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wordynerdygurl · 3 years

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Skin Deep - Part 6

Author’s Note: Honestly, this story is nearing it’s ending. Hard to believe that a little idea I couldn’t shake has now grown into this mini-series! For all my die-hard homies, waiting for the next installment, I hope this is worth your while! If you’re new here, take a look around, see if you like anything and please, let the management know if you have any questions!! As always, writing like this requires the emotional support of people and pets. My dogs, Murphy and Winston, get me through a lot of plot bunnies just by being stalwart companions. My husband, graciously, lets me take these flights of fancy when I probably should be paying better attention to him and his day... and some of my besties here on Tumblr make it possible for me to do this for you guys. @sammy-jo1977 , my sister from another mister! Couldn’t/ Wouldn’t do it without you! To all the folks who follow me... My Minxes! Love you all! Stay well, be kind, and remember that Love, really does conquer all! If you want to be a Minx, send me a note, I’ll happily add you to my tag list! Lastly, be sure to like and share anything that you see on Tumblr that catches your eye. Creative types, we need the constant validation, you see? Without it, like an unwatered plant, we wither on the vine and perish! Be kind to those who help you through the day and reblog! Skin Deep Part 5 - click here for the previous chapter! Pairing: Loki x Reader, Steve, Valkyrie & Thor all make appearances Summary: Continued from Part 5, You and Loki put your plan into action, returning to Farmhouse. When you encounter Steve again, you learn there’s more than two sides to this story. Warnings: Loki’s POV and perspective, including mentions of his time under Thanos. I’m re-writing MCU history here, but some of the main beats are the same, so look out for SPOILERS for Dark World, Ragnarok, and a touch of Infinity War. The SNAP never happened because, reasons.

Empathy used to seem such a human emotion. Loki had no time for that on Asgard, not when Odin denied anything as frivolous as feeling. Hiding in plain sight was the means to survival and if that made the young prince sneaky and sly, so be it. By placing those parts of himself under lock and key; the parts that hurt, the ones that ached, Loki found it was safer to disconnect from others than subject himself to their suffering too.

Operating under the influence of Thanos and his minions when he held the scepter, Loki had purposefully divorced connection of any kind from his mind. It was dangerous. Weak. And moreover, it allowed Loki to do what Thanos commanded without really experiencing the horror, the havoc, of his actions for himself.

Who could hear the screams of women when the voice of Ebony Maw subliminally chanted all the ways that one could be dismembered at Thanos’ hands should Loki fail? What man would shed a tear after the near constant beatings doled out by Black Order members, just for the fun of it? How could someone care about a house, a car, a city, when they no longer cared about themself? Losing the Battle for New York had consequences far beyond the destruction of property. With Thanos’ hold over him vanquished, the walls around his heart, constructed in youth, crashed and burned like the dream of ruling Earth. Suddenly and completely out of reserves, Loki was powerless. And he felt everything. The fresh hurts caused by his manipulated ambitions in the hands of Thanos. The furious feelings of his brother, the inadequacies of his character, the feeble needs that drove his wild ambition washed over him unceasingly. Anger. Loss. Lunacy. Loki learned a hard truth in that moment. He was a monster. A freak. A creature beyond hope and salvation; proving his adoptive father right and his own hopeful heart wrong. Bitterness soured the fallen prince. Endless hours in isolation on Earth, which continued in his father's house, had Loki believing he had no chance of seeing the world outside again, and it hardened his heart further. To feel was so painful, so raw, and so humane. Why bother anyway? All that emoting, those high spirits, all they really did was expose you to derision. What was grief to a goblin? What was horror to a monster? What was love to a villain like him? An evil, conspiring demi-god, with a mind bent toward domination. A damaged, destroyed, deity alone and in pieces. Who would ever give someone like Loki Odinson a chance? Why should they?

Turning to his mother, Loki did everything but ask for forgiveness. In long rambling talks, her projection to his jailed person, the pair talked around ideas of guilt and innocence, of fate and fortune, of destiny versus desire, yet Loki never heard the words he needed in order to truly find peace.

If Frigga was aware of her son’s need for absolution, Loki would never know, as their last exchange was harsh and full of anger. Another stroke of loss, crippling now, because there was nothing Loki could do to change any of it from inside his prison cell. No illusion could conceal the painful ache that consumed him entirely.

Those days were dark, even for a soul as dusky hued as his own, and Loki’s thoughts followed a similar path. If there had been a way for him to shake off this immortal coil, free himself of the burden of living, Loki would have done so and been glad. Death was welcome compared to all this longing and heartache. But life, even a nearly immortal one, was funny.

When Thor provided a chance at redemption, Loki snatched at it, in his own detached way. He played hero, rescuing Jane, aiding his brother. And if he took a bit more in the form of deposing his arrogant, aging father, who would be surprised? He was Loki, God of Mischief, after all. Ruling the Nine Realms without the oppressive oversight of his father allowed Loki to prove himself in ways he never imagined. And Loki wasn’t just good at it. He was great. Of course, it helped that no one knew he was Loki. Living disguised as Odin was often unpleasant, frequently frustrating, but entirely necessary. Being Loki was still too difficult and likely to bring unwanted attention in the form of The God of Thunder, a thing that no one truly wanted, Loki least of all. Return Thor did, along with an unknown sister and the end of Asgard. When confronted with the insanity of Hela’s bloodlust, Loki’s only thought was of his kingdom, now without a ruler. He had worked too hard, too long, to see the land he cared for in the hands of an enemy, even if she called herself sister. Opening the Bi-Frost, panicked, his mind was solely on saving those he had recently held dominion over. They were his people, after all. But he never reached Asgard. Swallowing his fear, Loki focused all his energy on staying alive in a new and distracting environment, initially. What Loki found on Sakaar wasn't a new home base under a flamboyant, ineffective leader that he could control, even if that was his first design. On Sakaar Loki found his loyalty.

The proud, deep resonance of being Asgardian, of being an Odinson, of being capable and cool under pressure. Sure, he had to prove himself to Thor, Valkyrie, Banner and honestly, the rest of the kingdom, but actions speak louder than words. And through his actions on Sakkar, and by extension rescuing the people of Asgard, Loki had shown everybody his true mettle. It was on the deck of a stolen ship headed for Midgard that Loki had made a commitment of sorts. One that was not to the people, so recently saved or for his found family. This time, the promise Loki intended to keep was for himself. Loki was going to change. The problem is, a task like that takes time. Patience. Motivation. It was something that Loki had to work at and it was exhausting. They say that the best things come to those who wait. Loki was learning to wait everyday. Having earned a place at the side of his brother, he worked tirelessly to win over the heroes of his new home planet. Was it easy? Hardly, but Loki wasn’t willing to compromise. Not anymore. A life like Hela’s was not in his runes. Loki was simply going to be better. Not perfect. No one could be as good hearted as Captain America, nor could one be as tech savvy as Stark. So Loki was planning on being the best Loki he could possibly be, and that’s how he found himself going to meetings at The Avengers Tower, a mostly welcome addition to the team. Meetings weren’t all that exciting and boredom was an awful temptation for a deity devoted to mayhem. In fact, Loki spent more time doodling in his notebook than listening to whoever was droning on about whatever part of the world needed the attention of this motley crew. That was, until Pepper Potts hired her new assistant. That you were polite, pretty and pert wasn’t lost on the young god. Sitting outside Mrs. Iron Man’s office, typing away with a phone tucked under your ear, moving faster than anyone he had ever seen was certainly impressive. You were quick witted, clever and most of all, funny. Everyone else seemed to fall under your spell without much effort on your part, something that Loki found frustratingly fascinating. Here he was, struggling to get people to say his name without having a traumatic flashback, while you simply smiled and smarted off prettily, and had everyone singing your praises. But Norns, were you adorable. If he thought about it, and while off planet, Loki definitely had, he could remember the moment he realized that you were the woman he wanted. You were busy, as always, fielding phone calls and flipping through screens yet every moment your flying fingers weren’t hovering over a keyboard or pushing down telephone buttons they curled around a heart shaped charm at your throat. Clearly, it was a habit and one that you weren’t even aware of, still - it transfixed him all the same. Watching you from his side eye, your voice never wavering, your tone always so pleasing, and your nimble digits returning again and again to the small sigil around your neck. “Loki?” “Huh?” Dumbfounded at your call, those deep sea eyes blinked wildly at the sound of his name on your lips. “Hi! Yes, Pepper can see you now. Go ahead, she’s ready!” He rose on stiff legs, adjusting his tie, about to lie to Tony Stark’s woman all for the chance to see you in passing. Who had he become? It started out innocent like that, but soon, Loki was having to invent excuses for being in the office so frequently. Missing files, random visits, even going so far as to buy Tony coffee just for the thrill of seeing you. Something needed to change, and quickly, or Loki was going to blow. On another made up errand, hanging around the executive’s high rise office, Loki was doing a bad job of pretending not to see you. His mind was on your pouty lips as you sipped lemonade through a straw and not on the stately woman seated behind the desk.

“Loki, you’re a man of some… style.” Pepper said it so casually that he almost didn’t hear, his head lost in thoughts that would shame any other person. “I like to think so.”

Shutting her folder with a snap, Pepper smiled, “And you’d love to help your old friend Pepper out, right?” That got his attention, and quickly. Loki, shoving his hands in his pockets, turned to face Pepper with a widening grin, “I feel like I’m being baited.”

“Baited? Never! It’s just, you’re always here and I have a… project that needs the kind of help that you can provide.” At those words you entered the office, ready for action with a notebook and pen, eager and excited. Suddenly, it was all clear to Loki, “Pepper, no.”

The noose closed in on the handsome god as Pepper gathered paperwork without looking his way, “Come on, it’s the Stark Homecoming Gala and the two of you will do great! I have faith in you both. I can’t wait to see what you come up with!” “Really, Miss Potts, I simply can’t-” Stopping short, the strawberry blonde whipped around, almost nose to nose with Loki. Shrewd and straightforward, Pepper interrupted, saying, “You’ve been dancing around my office for weeks now. Clearly you like her and… against all the odds, she likes you too. I’m doing you a favor and when someone does you a favor, you say “Thank You”.” “Thank you.” Nodding curtly, “You’re welcome. Now, make yourselves comfortable, order some dinner, my treat. And do whatever you need to make sure this is one great party!” That’s how Loki found himself sitting at a clear glass table over sweating bottles of iced tea as you discussed color themes and tablecloths. You were shy, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear as you reviewed notes from previous gatherings both large and small. His hands itched with wanting to do that job himself. “So, what do you think?” It was the first time you had addressed him directly since coming through the door and for a moment Loki couldn’t answer. You were too… not beautiful, that wasn’t the right word, although you were. No, you were too open, too easy to read, and the earnestness you offered him was downright frightening. Sitting forward in the uncomfortable, yet fashionable, office furniture, Loki cleared his throat and again tugged his tie, “What I think is that you should let me take you dinner.” Dropping your eyes, your cheeks colored slightly as your fingers found that locket charm once more, “Loki, I… I don’t know-” Grabbing for your hand, suddenly afraid that you would take those shining eyes away, Loki lowered his voice and did something he never thought he would. He begged. “Please? I find that you’re all I can think about.” It rushed out of him in a torrent, the way truth so often does, and he found himself unable to look you in the eye. Loki was afraid to see rejection on your easy to read face, afraid that wanting you had cracked open the lock box holding his heart, afraid that you would see just how weak you made him. Your fingers twined with his own as you replied, “You didn’t let me finish. I don’t know what took you so long.” Sighing with relief, his face melting into a genuine smile, “Me either.” Over the next two months the pair of you worked tirelessly to plan and execute a perfect party. You were inseparable during the day, heads buried together as you discussed linens and table settings, the quality of cocktail glasses, and debating over a band or a dj. But at night, at night Loki talked about the things that haunted him in the dark. And you loved him in spite of the awful things he had seen and done and said. Others took notice. Loki was more lighthearted, more available. He listened when people spoke and wasn’t constantly doodling during meetings. Yes, Loki was learning how to love through your loving him. If empathy had seemed too humane before, then sharing his life, his love with you, was the kind of immortality that earned someone a place in Valhalla. It was the bravest thing Loki Odinson had ever done and he didn’t mind one bit.

The first time Loki tasted you was burned into his brain, as bright as a flash of lightning. A firefly in a memory jar that he kept returning to, time and again. Loki remembered what you were wearing. He recalled exactly how the light shone in your eyes. If he concentrated, he could tap out the rhythm of your racing pulse as he held you in his arms. It was the night of the gala. Inviting everyone under the Stark Industries banner, up to and including the heroes tasked with saving the world, the event was a way to earn money for one of the many charities Tony supported. The place was full of beautiful people wearing gorgeous clothes under perfect lights set to the hand crafted soundtrack you had created together.

But, Norns, he could still remember the way your eyes sparkled under the lowlights of that hall. How your dress, simple but sophisticated, clung to the fullness of your bottom. Low cut but somehow still modest, Loki couldn’t tear his gaze away from the promise of your curves, willing himself to find anything else as interesting as the idea of you.

You were across the room hanging onto Tony’s every word, eyes bright and cheerfully glowing as you sipped champagne. It made Loki want to do something grand, something suave, something that would demand your attention for his own. Moving towards you, his tuxedo perfectly pressed and fitting better than it had any right to, Loki looked long and lean. Each of his steps seemed to echo, even though the room was full of sound, and you turned your head as if you also heard. Breaking away from the cluster of acolytes surrounding Iron Man, you bit into your lip as the crowd parted, moving closer together one step at a time. It was one of the sexiest things Loki had ever witnessed. Lifting your glass in a toast, taking in the room of mingling millionaires, wealthy hangers on and Avengers, “Well, we did it!” “You did it, my dove, I just hung around and judged everyone.” “Oh stop. I couldn’t have done it without you and you know it.” Playfully you pushed against his shoulder and Loki took advantage, using your momentum to pull you to his side, your curvy figure flush against his own. Crooning into the shell of your ear, his lips brushing over that sensitive skin, “Somehow, love, I think you would have managed.” Before you had time to think, Loki had melded his mouth with your own, stealing your breath along with your heart. Loki’s feet moved in time with the music as he pulled into a dance, laughing in his arms, your cheeks hot and your head swimming. You laughing was, without question, Loki’s favorite sound. Nothing in this world or any other came close to matching the joyful, childlike glee of that enchanting noise. Loki memorized its melody, the rise and fall of your giggle. He had craved it, being away for so long, and now he wanted… no, needed to hear it. But you were the furthest thing from happy at the moment.

"Darling, please. We have to go." Loki tapped his watch, shaking himself free from the memories of your previous life together and barely suppressing his irritation.

Tears filled your eyes as you whipped your arms around Thor’s mighty shoulders, his deep voice grumbly with emotion, "Take care of him, would you? He's a jerk, but Loki is the only brother I have."

"Of course… always. And Valkyrie, your highness, I can’t thank you enough for-"

"No need. Loki, and by extension yourself, will always have a safe haven here in my palace."

Looking on, Loki and Thor embraced almost tenderly before crashing their heads together.

"Stay safe, little brother."

"Be good, Thor."

Eyes on the sky, Val ignored the show of masculine emotion, chastising your plan, "You’re going to start a war, Loki."

Straight backed, Loki turned to the king, "Not on the grass of New Asgard. I will take the fight to them, that is my vow to you."

As Loki offered his hand, Valkyrie shook it, with parting words, "Work on staying alive. You have a tendency to worry your brother."

Solemnly nodding, "As the king commands. Shall we?" With that Loki laced his fingers with yours, leading you a few paces away from the people who loved him most, before summoning the magic that had you both transcending space and time.

This time when your feet touched down it was on the familiar turf of the orchard, surrounded by the scent of apple blossoms and the buzzing of happy bees. Morning had broken and the world seemed full of promise, with the exception of that knot in your stomach.

"Are you ready? Darling?"

"Oh… yes. I mean, I still don't love this plan, but-"

"But it's going to work." Only it was no longer the baritone voice of your long, lean Loki speaking. In his place stood Nick Fury, leather duster and eye patch in place.

"If you say so!" And you clutched your own throat as Natasha’s bored tones came out of your mouth. The suit, skin tight but flexible, molded to your modified form. All in all, you were comfortable, "The boots are a bit much."

"Ya think? This jacket weighs a ton." Pulling at his collar, "Why does he wear a turtleneck anyway?"

"Loki, this is so weird. It feels so weird."

"Agreed, but then, why am I so turned on?"

Laughing, you shook your false red hair, hands resting on Natasha’s waist, "God, I've missed you."

"Same, dearest. Now… let's get your necklace and some answers!"

---

Convincing Bucky to head home had taken a lot of work, but sometime around 2 am Steve had finally seen his friend off. The house was empty. Steve felt the same way.

Turning the black velvet box in his pocket, fingers crushed against the fragile fabric, Steve struggled to feel anger. When that didn't materialize he shot for sadness but even tears seemed beyond his ability.

With a sigh, climbing the same stairs he had trudged up a hundred times before, Steve started going through the motions of bedtime. Only tonight you weren’t there to tease him about the wildly inappropriate amount of toothpaste on his brush. He didn’t have your light footsteps to follow to the bedside or your help with stacking all of your extra, yet entirely essential, pillows on the chair.

Someone must have changed the sheets, he thought. There was no evidence of you and Loki’s adventurous afternoon anymore. Steve made a mental note to thank Buck for that little piece of kindness in the morning.

Shucking his shirt, Steve sat on the mattress, a hand to his forehead. He had lost. Captain America had been bested. Beaten. And by Loki, no less.

Moonlight in silver slivers shone through the window panes, squares of light in the deep of night. Steve was alone. Utterly and totally alone.

And there was no one to blame but himself.

Sighing hard, Steve stood, pacing the floor to work off some of the unspendable anxiety he kept creating. The room still had your energy, your vibe, as you liked to call it, and the feeling was a prickling itch Steve couldn’t quite satisfy. Traces of you were everywhere and something about you leaving all of it, and him, behind was just too big to process. “Damn it.” Even whispering sounded like thunder in the silence of your recently vacated room. His hands, so big, so strong, smoothed along the fabric of your hanging clothes. All that power had done nothing to help Steve get the thing he wanted. Sorting through the baubles and trinkets on your dresser, bottles of perfume he had purchased, necklaces and pins, each with a moment of memory it hurt him to recall. Your watch ticked away the minutes as he stood, stoic and still, surrounded by the shadow of you. In the orchard the birds were waking, their song filling the air, as morning broke in low golden rays. Abandoning his plan for sleep, Steve watched as the light chased away the dark, casting rainbows on the floor. The sun was reflecting off of your Grandmother’s necklace. A pretty, ancient, carved cameo, heart shaped locket. He recalled his own mother owning one just like it, pictures of loved ones pressed inside, holding them as tight as history would allow. Fisting the filigree chain, winding it around his fingers as if it would somehow undo what he had done, Steve slipped it into his pocket before settling back onto the bed. ----

At the back door to the home you so recently shared with Steve, Loki hung back, “I think this is where we split up. You go find your treasure and me… I’m going to find some answers.” Nodding, Natasha’s signature red hair swinging, you squeezed the hand holding your own. It no longer looked like Loki’s long fingered paw, but that was only a skin deep change. You felt the undeniable essence of him in the press of his fingers against your own. “Be careful.” “That’s no fun, dove.” “Loki-” You hated the way your voice broke as you said it, but there just seemed to be so much at stake and you had already lost him once. Sensing your unspoken concerns, Loki flashed you Nick Fury’s best smile, “I will. I promise.”

“Ten minutes.” “Ten minutes.” You watched the black coated back of your charmed paramour as he opened the shed door, hoping that he’d find something worth knowing in that place out of sight. Inhaling deeply you twisted the doorknob as quietly as possible, letting yourself into what was once your kitchen, “What a mess.” It was impossible not to notice the unwrapped leftovers and empty bottles littering the table. An overturned trash barrel, crumpled beer cans littering the counter, things that Steve, your Steve, would never have tolerated. All evidence that the grand evening he’d envisioned had been thwarted by Loki’s arrival and your collective escape.

You started up the stairs, praising Natasha's footwear for its stealth, when you heard the toilet flush and the unmistakable shuffle of Steve’s feet on the carpet. There was no place to hide on the wide stairwell. It was time to see if Loki's plan was going to work.

Voice blurry, eyes rubbed red and raw, you couldn't deny that Steve looked like shit, “Bucky? That you? You back?” Steve’s voice bounced around the brightening room as morning sunlight filtered through the soft sheers you had picked out for exactly this reason. Panicked, you backed into the railing with an over loud “Oof!” “Nat? What are you doing here? I thought you and Fury were headed to New Asgard?” Suddenly wide awake and wondering, Steve rushed to your costumed side, eager for information. The man in front of you now bore little resemblance to the angry Avenger you had escaped from hours before. This man had hair sticking up in odd angles from near constant finger raking. This man had a hint of a stuffy nose and red rimmed eyes, all indicators that tears had been shed. Now those blue eyes were scrutinizing you closely, full of concern.

“Uh… We... We got intel. Yea, intelligence, that Loki was headed back this way. Turned around… and uh, here we are.” One of those sandy blonde eyebrows lifted, “Natasha?”

Squaring your shoulders, channeling that cool confidence you’d see Black Widow display over and over, “Steve?” Something about your tone of voice convinced him in a way your words couldn’t. He visibly relaxed, those broad shoulders going slack as he asked, “Didn’t make it to Norway, then?"

Nodding a negative, you felt the unfamiliar brush of her red hair at your cheek and had to fight the urge to tuck it away, “No. Loki’s using some sort of transporting power to move them around. Fury suggested I keep an eye out here, in case they come back this way.” “She won’t be back, Nat. There’s nothing for her here.” To you, Steve sounded so sad, so removed, that you had to will yourself not to comfort the giant before you. “That’s not true!” It came out of you forcefully, thoughtlessly, and you saw the shock register on the Captain’s face. “That is, Fury and I… we… have reason to believe that she will come back. They left with nothing, Steve. She’ll need clothes… maybe some shoes… and-” Swallowing hard, you didn’t want to give anything away, “-a necklace from her grandmother.” Steve, patting his pocket, felt the weighted chain and it’s heart shaped locket, “I don’t think-” Stepping up to his bulky form, suddenly aggressive, you started, “Never mind what you think, Captain. We're here for a necklace... the necklace. Our intel suggests that your former flame might return for it and… And, I want it, with me, as a means to subdue her when she arrives." Sounding forceful and official was enough to back Steve down. Just a touch deflated, you watched him shrug, “If that’s what you want, Nat, here-” From his pants he pulled out the shining bauble, a trinket really, but full of sentiment and memory. Sitting in his palm, the tiny heart that held the picture of your grandmother and mother looked so small, almost unreal. Reaching for it with wet eyes, you smiled at Steve as you lifted the charm and chain, “Thank you, Steve. Thank you.” Nodding deeply, that golden head bobbing, “You’re welcome.” The large grandfather clock could be heard ticking throughout the house. The sun was gaining on the day and you, dressed as Natasha stood in silence in front of a somber Steve. For another long beat nothing was said, then, as if sensing a shift in your conversation, Steve flashed your fake Natasha a weak smile, “I could use some breakfast. How about you?”

“Um… sure. Yea, ok. Breakfast.”

Steve started moving again, downstairs towards the cluttered kitchen when he paused, "So how did you get back so fast? Cause that's like a 7 hour flight, even with you in the cockpit." “Steve…” You could hear it, the whining almost pleading tone that signaled the end of Loki’s well planned charade. That wasn’t enough to stop Steve. He broke hard, one of those strong arms stopping you in your tracks before you could reach the lower level. “It’s clever, I have to give you guys that. Almost perfect, really.” Panic rising, you doubled down on the ruse, struggling to keep your voice even, “I don’t know-” Blocking you in, his body the perfect unmovable buffer, “Loki’s here too, isn’t he?” Pushing against “Steve, I… I don’t…” “Don’t lie. You don’t have to…” “But… how-?” “You’re not mean enough to play Natasha, doll. Not by a long shot.”

--- It was strange to be seated at the table and chairs that you and Steve had picked out together one sunny Saturday when you thought that your future was going to be Loki-less. Your place, the one that you had imagined filling with children that had golden hair and bright blue eyes, felt like a set. Something false and fake. A facade, put together simply for show. Steve must have felt it too because his fingers drummed against the white washed table incessantly. Clearly he had something on his mind. “Steve-” “No. No. Please, let me just get this out, ok?” Raising an eyebrow, you waved at him to continue, nervous but interested in what the super soldier needed to explain. With a shaky inhale, running his constantly moving fingers through his golden locks, Steve caught your eye and didn’t waiver. “When I saw you… No, that’s not right. Let me start at the beginning. “When Loki left Earth, you… you were so sad. It hurt me to see you so… deflated.” “Steve, I-” “You know it’s true. When he returned to Asgard, something in you, it dimmed, and I just couldn’t allow that… Not when I felt the way I did about you. “I don’t think you realize just how incredible you are… how full of life! And since I had already missed one chance to be with you, I knew I needed to prove that I could be the man you needed… If you forgot about Loki along the way, even better. “Only… you never did. I waited years for you, ya know, doll? Years. And just when I thought there was no chance with you, Nat gave me a reason to hope. “She was your friend. An ally. Someone you could trust… someone I could trust. I swear it started out that innocently, at least for me. I just wanted to make you smile again. But she had other plans. Plans that came from higher up the ladder of SHIELD. “Fury, he wanted us to watch you… something about Loki being too powerful. And-”, grabbing your hand tightly, Steve emphasized his point, “-I promise you that I had no idea about his success, or the messages he had sent to you through Nick. Like you, I thought that Loki was gone. Missing. Never coming back.” “I… I believe you Steve. I know that you didn’t do all this on your own… but what was Nick hoping you’d find out? I knew less than nothing about what was going on!” “I think he was worried that Loki would get to you first. That if… when Loki returned, you would be his first stop. Then you would know about Loki’s success and, frankly, Fury’s failures. You would also know… well, everything you know now. That Fury had you tailed, lied to, and led on in an effort to stop Loki from out flanking him.” Frenzied and frantic, you felt anger boiling up inside of you, “But I thought Loki was gone forever. There was no hope for him and I… and Natasha, she told me that he was dead.” “All a part of Fury’s plan to keep you neutralized and Loki away. If Loki thought that you’d ignored his letters, that you no longer loved him, why would he come back here? And, if that didn’t work… when Loki came back and you were with me, what else could keep him on Earth?”

Whispering with realization, “So, they used you too.” Steve sighed and buried his hands in the pockets of his sweatshirt, “Don’t feel bad for me. I let them use my love for you, let them twist it up and shape it as they needed. Honestly, I wish I could tell you that it was for you, but it wasn’t. It was for me. I wanted you, so, so badly. I didn’t care what strings were attached. And we built a life together, you and me. I thought I could outrun the reality of the constant monitoring and daily reports. Telling Natasha and Nick about every word and each email. Don’t you see, I love you… and I wanted you, however I could get you.” Shaking your head, Natasha’s red wisps flying, “That’s not love, Steve. I don’t know what that is… but love isn’t it.” “No?” With a loud thunk, Steve slammed a small velvet box on the table between you. “Is… Is that what I think it is?”

“Last night. It was going to happen last night. Our friends here, under the lights and the stars, I was going to ask you to marry me. I still would if-” Realization hit you like a ton of bricks, “If Loki hadn’t stepped back into our lives.” “-If Loki hadn’t stepped back into your life.” It made you both laugh in a sad way, how you finished the same thought, and for a fleeting second you could see why you had allowed Captain America to sweep you off your feet. He was a lot of things to you now, but there was a time when he had been almost everything. The evidence of that was in the small black square that said nothing but spoke volumes. “Steve, I don’t know if I would have said yes… even without Loki’s… arrival. I think I have always known that you and I… we are very different people.” Sitting back in his chair, his gaze still locked on your own, “I just want you to know that I’m sorry. I’m sorry about what I’ve done… what I’ve said… How, shit, how I’ve behaved. I could say that it was my duty. I could tell you it was out of love, but the plain truth is that I have always been jealous of what you and Loki share.” “You’ll find it Steve. You really will. There’s a person out there waiting for you. And once you’ve found them, oh Steve, you’ll see that this… what we had, it’s a shadow. An illusion. Because love, real love, doesn’t come with caveats and catches. It is an undeniable force which, in my case, even the boundaries of time and space can not deny.” Something like a sob burst out of Steve, and you were surprised to see tears in his eyes, “I was so wrong. Could you ever forgive me?” “I want to, Steve. I really do... “ What more could you say? Patting his hand you started to rise, “I have to go now. Loki and I need to keep moving and I don’t want to risk running into Nick and Natasha. At least, not yet, anyway.” “Where are you planning to go?” “To the Avenger’s Tower. I believe I know what Mr. Fury has been planning all along.” Loki’s strong voice entered the conversation as smoothly as his arms wrapped possessively around your waist. Steve took in the protective stance of your returned lover with a raised eyebrow, and without further comment asked Loki, “Really? And how are you going to breach the building? They’ll be looking for you, even with disguises… Fury is no fool. Plus, there’s little chance that Tony hasn’t activated a million safety and security protocols by now.” Only interested in you, Loki refused to give Steve any of his attention, “Getting in can’t be that hard! I’ll figure it out when I get there. Ready pet?” With a gentle push under his broad hands your feet started to move towards the door. Loki was eager to be off and away, especially after hearing so much of Roger’s confession. Just knowing what Steve had done, manipulating you while also convinced of his love for you; it was enough for Loki to commit murder. He was having quite a difficult time not tearing the good Captain’s limbs off his body. Softening his tone, Steve practically pleaded, “Loki. Wait. I… I can help.” Turning his attention fully to your former flame, Loki purred venomously, “You can help? I’d love to know what entails, Captain.” “I can get you into the place and take you exactly where you need to go. Fury’s going to hate it, but I’m tired of taking orders that hurt the people that-” His pause was as lingering as the look he gave you, “- That I love.” Before Loki could offer a sincerely sassy reply you grabbed his sleeve, tugging, “Um… Excuse us a minute Steve.” Pulling him down the hall of a home that felt like a familiar faced stranger, you waited until you had a bit of distance from Steve before harshly whispering, “How long were you listening?”

Serving you that small, sexy smile, Loki grinned, “Long enough. How did you know I was there?” “You are sneaky, but even you, God of Mischief, cast a shadow.” Swinging you close enough to catch your mouth with his own, Loki pressed a sweet kiss there before answering, “A mistake I will be careful not to make again!” “The tower, huh? That’s where you want to go?” Grabbing you at the swell of your hips, grinding his frame against your own, “Where I want to go, my darling, is to the nearest bed, preferably naked, with you and you alone.” Your hands traced over the lapels of his borrowed leather duster, pausing only to jerk him closer by the supple fabric, “Hmm… is that so?” “Oh yes…” Loki’s buttery grumble filled your ear as his strong hands dug into the flesh of your bottom. For a moment you thought he’d give in to temptation, his sweet lips teasingly close to your own upturned mouth, “But-” On your toes, leaning into Loki’s sturdy, leather draped frame, you paused, “Ugh. But?” Moving you to a safer, less kissable, arms length away, Loki sighed with the same frustration you felt, “-But, where we need to go, as soon as possible, is the Tower.” Moaning grumpily, you stepped out of the arms you longed to linger in, “I was afraid you were going to say that.” “I know it’s less than… ideal, love, but I did find something useful before the good Captain unburdened his soul this morning.” “And that is?” “Fury’s plan. At first I couldn’t figure out exactly what he was after. What did Fury want? How was I involved?” Loki was dragging this out, loving how it kept you hanging onto his every word, and you rolled your eyes, “Well? What is it? Weapons? War?” “All of that, yes… and… yours truly.” That triumphant smile that filled Loki’s whole face lit up his mischievous eyes. Tilting your head, struggling to make sense of what Loki had just told you, “What do you mean, you. Fury wanted you… to do what, exactly?’ “Loki was going to be the patsy.” You both turned toward the sound of Steve’s baritone at the door, suddenly remembering that the Good Captain was still there and that he was waiting to see what you were going to do next. Leaning his 100 year old bones into the doorframe, Steve crossed his arms, “The fall guy. An example of what happens if you cross SHIELD.” “I think, my dear Mr. Rogers, that you mean, I am to be used as an example of what happens if one crosses Nick Fury.” Loki countered, slinging an arm over your shoulder protectively. The idea was frightening. A man like Fury had too much power, too much at his disposal. Just knowing the lengths he had gone to in order to keep you and Loki apart was scary enough. Making enemies of your friends. Threatening the people you loved. Selling your affection to Steve in an effort to control Loki.

Now, the knowledge that all of it was done in an effort to ensure that Nick Fury was the toughest guy in the galaxy, it made your stomach clench. “What do you mean, an example?” “Unless my intelligence is flawed, I believe that Fury was going to kill me. Is that correct, Captain?” Steve felt the weight of two sets of eyes on him. Yours, full of fearful love and blind hope that this was all just some misunderstanding. Innocent and naive and as lovely as he could ever remember. Loki’s were reflecting a deeper understanding. The kind of knowledge that only time in the trenches teaches. There was no answer from Captain Rogers. None was needed. Honesty, final and resolute, was out in the open. “Look. I know I’m not the guy you want on your side. I’ve… I haven’t been the man I needed to be. Not for you-” Steve locked his bright blues onto you, offering a small smile that spoke of sadness before facing Loki, “-Or you, Loki. But if you let me help you now, I promise that I can get you into the tower and maybe, one day, you won’t think so little of me.”

Around you the morning gained strength. Somewhere nearby birds chirped wildly, blissfully unaware of the drama unfolding in the modest little farmhouse and its implications on intergalactic politics. Without moving a muscle, Loki plainly asked you, “Do you trust him, dearest?” Squaring your shoulders, you crossed your arms, staring down the man called Captain America. Nodding decisively, “I do. I don’t think he’d spill everything like that only to turn on us. He’s not so bad Loki, really.” “We’ll see about that. For now, we trust Steve. Ok, what’s your plan, Rogers?” --- “Hey. I… I have one other thing to show you.” Steve was dressed for action in his branded tactical gear, looking every inch the super soldier that Dr. Erskine envisioned. “Steve, we have to get moving. Loki’s eager and -” “Just open it, ok?” The envelope was thick with folded paper, the flap tucked under and not sealed. Clearly it had spent time in and out of pockets, the edges frayed and tattered. In exasperated curiosity you gingerly pulled the sheets free.

Shaking, your hands trembled holding the once white documents as your voice thickened, “Is this… is this what I think it is?” Cocking his head playfully, that rueful smile pulling at his full mouth, Steve almost seemed cheerful as he teased, “It’s yours. I think something about this place has always been yours and I want you to have it.” “But-” Folding your small hands in his mighty ones, Steve squeezed gently, “It was a wedding present, or it was supposed to be.” “But we’re not getting married.” “I know. Still-” “I can’t, Steve. It’s yours. Your house, your farm, your dream.” Shaking his head, disagreeing, but feeling lighter than he had in decades, Steve insisted, “Too late, I’m afraid. It’s done. Actually, that version of the deed has been signed since our second week here.” As realization sunk in you appraised the man changing right before your eyes, astonished but exhilarated, “Where will you go?” “I dunno. Think I might need to be alone for a bit. Maybe see the world… but first-” “First, we have to stop Nick Fury.”

To Be Continued... My Minxes: @scrumptious-finicky-illusion @iamverity @mizfit2 @sammy-jo1977 @wolfsmom1 @jessiejunebug @iluvsumbucky @unadulteratedwizardlove @procrastinatinglikeabitch @shxdowofdarkness @nonsensicalobsessions @ahintofkiwistrawberry @alexakeyloveloki @rorybutnotgilmore @crystalizedcaramel @lokislittlecorner @capcapcapsicle @jamielea81 @caffiend-queen @otakumultimuse-hiddlewhore @jenjen8675309 @that-one-person @roguewraith @toomanystoriessolittletime @vodka-and-some-sass @just-random-obsessions @brokenthelovely @lots-of-loki @thefallenbibliophilequote

#loki x reader #loki x you #you x loki #loki smut #steve rogers x you #steve rogers x reader #mcu smut #MCU fanfiction #loki fanfic #loki fanfiction

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authorgeek · 3 years

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Isolation

I think “Lonely” is the primordial emotion. The Mother feeling. At least, perhaps, it is for me. I’ve been lonely my entire life, even and especially while surrounded by the people who care about me.

When I am very happy, the first thing I want to do is to call my best friend. Call my mother. I don’t want to sit in this good news or excitement alone. I want to share it. I want to spread it. I want others to celebrate with. Joy and happiness are only sweeter when shared with others who can join and partake in these things with you.

When I am very sad, I do not wish to sit in despair or lament on my own. I want support. I reach out in hopes others have needed wisdom or assistance, in hopes of community and understanding. Sadness becomes compassion. Despair, Empathy.

Likewise, when I am angry. I find without sharing it anger quickly turns to rage and wrath and resentment. Anger, when shared in community, can become organization. Motivation. Rage steps aside for action. Activism. Movement.

I have found I am not alone in this. Many people react this way when feeling any strong emotion at all.

Emotion, for me, can be a very physical, active, and tangible thing. I don’t just feel happiness, anger, or sadness. I am these things. I am happiness. I am anger. I am relaxed. I am fear. My chest burns. My heart rises to my throat or falls to my stomach. My eyes widen. My gut drops, tightens, relaxes, heats and cools. It’s embodied. It’s painful and aching. It’s balm to a wound, cool and relieving. My hands shake and my legs bounce and I cry and yell or cheer. I sigh and roll my eyes. I breathe. I unclench my jaw and lower my shoulders.

I have always felt everything deeply, intensely, fully. I cannot bring myself to apologize for this. Nor can I change it.

Perhaps it’s a bit like Tinkerbell is said to be. Fairies are so small they only have room for one emotion at once. When she is jealous of Wendy, this becomes all consuming and she embodies envy.

I’ve tried shrinking myself. I’ve tried hiding it. I’ve tried containing everything as best I could. It’s resulted in physical illness and excruciating pain. I don’t want to be palatable to others anymore. I don’t care to be consumable and neat or tidy. Above this, I want a healthy relationship with my internal and bodily self and how the two meld together.

I’ve been called self centered for this, but I pity and sympathize with those who feel this way - constantly setting themselves to the wayside, and taking their emotions out on others through name calling and accusation rather than face their own internal selves. They are deeply afraid at what they see, and it’s too painful to take on, so they choose to ignore and bury it rather than allow it to make itself known and move on. This is how generational trauma forms, and begins the cycles I am determined to break and will take part in no longer. Feeling things in their entirety, giving these emotions full recognition and space is a strength I’ve known few others to understand. People get angry when I insist upon taking up space for myself, but I’ve learned It makes my emotions easier to control, less explosive, and causes less physical and emotional turmoil. Along with the assistance of therapists and medication, which I admit - I am privileged to have access to.

In fact, my intensity can be exhausting and draining to those who do not know how to take care of themselves this same way. I understand I can be a lot to handle, but I make no apologies for it because those who love me understand in order to handle this kind of intense emotional presence they must share it and be working towards like internal goals. Those who give themselves space for emotional care and self examination are less likely to be exhausted by me, and communicate clearer, kinder, and with more respect - what it takes to hold relationship and share an emotional bond with each other. This is why I share such undying and intense love for those who feel the same. My chosen family, my soul partners, my healers, companions and truest friends.

Above all of it, no matter what else I am temporarily feeling at the time, I am nearly always deeply and intensely lonely. Lately, this stems from physical isolation due to a combination of COVID and my own chronic illness. From the feeling of everything I once had planned, all my dreams and ideas and hopes for the future, being pulled out from under me both by personal illness and global pandemic. I watch others move on, go “back to normal”, gather and celebrate - and there is almost too much for even me to feel. Fear, at gathering again when so many are stubbornly unvaccinated. Jealousy, of the ability to do so, and deep pain, at seemingly being ignored and deserted through it all.

Though, of course, I am not alone in this experience whatsoever. Being politically marginalized as woman, disabled, and queer, I find so much in common with these communities, who are watching the same. We are forgotten in the same way, left behind for the same reasons. All while recognizing myself as privileged because I am white and educated. I know for a fact my experiences are not unique, and I am not alone. I recognize this, it is why I write. Why I speak out, refusing to stay silent for a single moment. Without my voice, even while aware I am not alone, I am going through all of this largely by myself. Therapy and meds can only do so much against such an actively, systemically hostile environment as the US currently is for marginalized people. The human body can only handle so much emotional pain. We can only experience/watch so much brutality. We can only ignore and fall deaf to so many cries for help.

I can turn off the news. I can shut off my socials. I can turn off my phone and deactivate my accounts. I can hide post after post all day long. It can only serve so well in the face of simply knowing, deeply, personally, that the violence and desertion and hostility does not go away just because you’re not seeing it anymore. All that means is that I’ve ignored one event - one shooting - one queer child being exiled from their home - one woman in danger - one more ableist rearing their ugly heads - one more needless death of an innocent person. I am sad. I am angry. I am afraid. For legitimate and real reasons. I am so far beyond being able to turn it off, ignore, bury, and pretend anymore. Without large scale cultural, political, and environmental change, everyone I share so much in common with will continue to feel this way.

And all of this makes me profoundly lonely. So this is me, doing what I do when feeling strong emotions. Speaking. Processing. Reaching out. Sharing. Communicating. Giving it space, exposing it in the light for what it is. Here it is, on the table, forced into the open, just like airing out any dirty laundry. It will not be allowed to hide or shrink, because I must be allowed to breathe.

And suddenly, it feels just a little easier to bear.

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alorenawrites · 3 years

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On Words and Meaning

So I've been thinking a lot about how Loki is being discussed and the words used, particularly by Hiddleston, given his bent for using literary language in his descriptions. There are three words I want to touch on in this little post, one of them definitely rooted in his usage.

So the first I want to touch on is the term "romance." We've heard (often from Hiddleston), that Loki is, at heart, a romance. I think there's a dimension of the discussion missing in these conversations in that is important to consider.

To the layman, a romance is simply a love story, sometimes with a sexual undertone. But in the literary sense, a romance is a much deeper genre. I want to consider that this layer may also be present in Hiddleston's intent on using the term in describing the story arc. It certainly is in mine, as someone with a fascination with literary form and also with an English degree who has spent way too much time exploring genre.

So firstly, we need to define "romance." From literaryterms.net:

I. What is Romance?

In the strictest academic terms, a romance is a narrative genre in literature that involves a mysterious, adventurous, or spiritual story line where the focus is on a quest that involves bravery and strong values, not always a love interest. However, modern definitions of romance also include stories that have a relationship issue as the main focus.

II. Examples of Romance

In the academic sense, an example of a romance is a story in which the main character is a hero who must conquer various challenges as part of a quest. Each challenge could be its own story and can be taken out of the overall story without harming the plot.

Example 1

A knight who wishes to prove himself by recovering a stolen heirloom from an enemy may find himself attempting to make his way through a dangerous wood filled with thieves.

Once he has accomplished this challenge, he may find himself climbing a tall mountain on which a group of people are in trouble. He would save the group somehow, and then move on.

Then the final stage: the enemy’s kingdom. There may be a fair maiden whom he meets and somehow helps or rescues, or perhaps she helps him.

But the fair maiden is not the focus of the story – his quest is the focus. Each story can be taken out, yet each builds the hero’s strength to face his final quest. These stories tend to be serious rather than humorous and touch on strong values.

In considering this, I've thought about Loki's arc as a quest that does, indeed, involve the discovery and exploration of strong values with a three part quest, though I don't think the quests entirely stand on their own. The overarching theme is about Loki discovering his sense of self- his quest to become a full person, not just a trope for the universe to exploit so others can reach their better selves. I divide the show up in to three quests. The first, in episodes 1 and 2, is Loki finding a sense of purpose in the new world- his quest is to discover who this new variant is and where they are hiding. This is resolved by the end of that second episode. The second arc takes place in the next two episodes- Loki discovering his empathy for others is the continuation of the overarching personal development plot, while his quest is to discover Sylvie's goals and to uncover/share the truth behind the TVA. And in our third section, episodes 5 and 6, we get the culmination of the personal growth arc in his ultimate discovery of different facets of himself (illuminated by the different elements of self shown in the multitude of variant Lokis) while the quest is to uncover who is in control of the Sacred Timeline and why. The differences in colour palettes, settings, tones, etc. between the three episode pairings is a part of how I started to distinguish my thoughts on each. And regardless of the visual distinctions, I most definitely see the entire arc as exploring strong values and bravery, though the bravery is multi-layered, showing not only the visible bravery of facing down an apocalypse, Alioth, etc., but the internal bravery of challenging one's self and digging deep into discovering who one really is. This is a theme of queerness that I see lingering in this series- discovering who we are is a process, not an outcome.

I think that this definition of a romance, in the classical sense, is a little oversimplified, as there is often a theme of discovery of self or improvement of self along the way. In a Gothic romance, themes of "the people are the real monsters" come into play (Crimson Peak is an excellent example of this)- there may be elements of the supernatural, but the real thing of which the viewer/reader should be afraid is the person behind the curtain. Gothic romances also often do include a love story arc, but it is often deeply flawed on some level and often also includes some sort of sexual or romantic awakening, often by a female lead, that leads to the discovery of whatever darker is taking place (Crimson Peak turns this on its head in that it is Thomas' awakening with Edith that leads to his turning point and Edith's realization that the Sharpe siblings are the monsters, not the ghosts in the hall). The themes of discovery of self, or of the fortitude of moral values, or of the journey of a person's development, play into both a Gothic romance and its foundations in a classical romance.

So. There's part 1 of this ramble.

On to part 2!

The next word I want to examine is the term "relationship" and its companion, "love." Now, mind you, I come at this from a queer perspective as a demisexual, demiromantic individual, so these two words are ones I've spent a LOT of time pondering, in the quest to define my own identity.

We've heard the term "relationship" tossed around so often with only a romantic implication attached, but in truth, this word is so much more broad than this. You are in a relationship with your barber. You are in a relationship with your cat. You are in a relationship with a spiritual advisor, a professor, your best friend, your partner. Just because it is so heavily used in this way doesn't mean the relationship is only an intimate one (though intimate relationships are also not inherently sexual or romantic in nature, either, so let's remember this as well). Now if we break down what a relationship is, it's just a consistent interaction with someone based on some common interest or goal. It's a remarkably benign word. Its connotations, however, take it in a multitude of directions.

So let's look at it through the lens of an intimate relationship and add in the component of love. We'll start with just a blanket statement that love is not only one single thing. It isn't just romantic. It is our family, our friends, our pets, pie, the colour blue, that feeling of perfection when the waves of a warm lake brush over your calves...love is embedded in the experiences of these things. We love them. Love it as vast and broad as relationships. We love places, people, things, and experiences. We love ourselves (or we try to learn to).

In my world, through my particular brand of queerness, love changes in intimate relationships on a regular basis. I love my partner dearly. But on some days, that love is to my best friend, while other days, it is a romantic love and on others, sexual expression may be involved, but they may overlap in different ways. Sexual expression is independent of romantic attraction and the degree of each isn't tied together in any way. If we can separate these things, I think we can see the relationships in our everyday lives in different lights and with greater complexity.

I also think that looking at these things through the lens of diverse sexual and romantic experiences can inform how we interpret the Loki x Sylvie pairing and why some of us just aren't bothered by it (though certainly not the only reason people aren't).

We've been told Loki loves Sylvie. That much is beautifully clear. But love (and being in a relationship) doesn't automatically mean that 1) both parties are experiencing it in the same way, 2) both parties have the same approach or priorities, 3) the level of romance is necessarily the same between the people involved, 4) that sexual attraction exists at all.

Sometimes a kiss is a form of communication and not tied to the want to shag someone.

So this is where my interpretation of this particular pairing comes into play. I do see the story as a romance, in the classical sense, but also with a slight streak of the more modern sense involved. The focus is still on the quest, even when the love story emerges. And that is where I see the priorities of these characters and their definitions of the relationship differing and I analyze it through these different dimensions of love and relationship orientations.

Loki actually embodies one of the traits I've seen listed for demisexuals- we hold our friendships extremely close and because we hold our friendships the way we do, it isn't uncommon for us to end up with crushes on our best friends (and no, they don't generally develop into other forms of relationships, but they could). This is the phase in which I see Loki by episode 6. He has formed this intense bond, unlike any other it seems he's had, and his heart is breaking over the thought of losing her to her own rage. All he wants is for her to be OK, remember? This isn't a selfish action. But I think it is significant that while he tries to stop her, he's not the one who initiates the kiss. All his actions here are ones that a close friend would also do for their best friend. Like, I'd try to stop my besties from inadvertently destroying the universe. I'd even throw down over it. And for the exact same reasons- the risks are too great, we need to think, and I want them to be OK. Almost everything Loki does throughout his growing closeness to Sylvie is something I'd do for one of the people I've told I'd defend- as in, I literally told some of these people, "anybody messes with you, I'll cut a bitch- just tell me who and I'm there."

So because of all this, I don't see this relationship as sexual in any way. Romantic? Possibly. But not necessarily. Even being in love with one another doesn't mean a relationship has to have a sexual component.

Looking at Sylvie, I see her also as having found companionship with Loki, but her overriding goal is, ultimately, not to bond with someone- it's her mission. And she has sacrificed her entire life because of the TVA to this mission. She tells him repeatedly, in one way or another, that the mission comes first. Yes, she does care about him, but I don't think the way she cares about him is the same as the way he cares about her because they have differing priorities and needs (and hence why she feels betrayed by him when he tries to stop her). Or at least she hasn't allowed herself to express that. When she falls to the ground after she's killed He Who Remains, I think we get a glimpse of what Loki meant to her- she is alone, she grieves, and there is no meaning left to her story. She's done what she dedicated her entire life to and the person who could have given it other meaning is no longer beside her.

I still don't think that the first thing they would do upon seeing each other is suck face and have wild sex. Would that bother me? No, not really. I can headcanon something different than what actually happens, I'm fine with that (just look at all this glorious headcanoning happening right here!) I'd like it to stay a romantic friendship (queer platonic relationships for the win- they're squishes!) because I don't think we hardly ever see those types of relationships and queer platonic relationships are incredibly beautiful and powerful and yes, based on love and maybe even romance, in their own way. They are defined by the people in them, as are all relationships.

And now to address "but she kissed him!"

Yes, she did. And I've kissed my partner when there wasn't romance involved because I wanted to share a moment, to express something deeper than I had words for (yes, even on one of my aromantic leaning days), or just because it's fun. And it doesn't have to "match" up with how the other partner feels it, either, so long as the message itself is what comes across. This is how I read the Sylvie x Loki kiss. It was a message of worthiness. Loki's entire arc, including in that scene, is in discovering if he's anyone different than the monster he's made himself out to be (and encouraged others to see him as). He tells Sylvie that he can't be trusted, falling back on the habit of characterizing himself as the professional liar, the one who can't form those attachments which are built on trust. He also identifies her as someone incapable of trust in that moment, which I think is also a projection of how he sees himself. He tells Mobius he can only trust himself and the show slowly shows Loki coming to trust others, but in this moment in the Citadel, he's falling back on a different perception of himself.

This is where the kiss comes in, for me. Sylvie isn't trying to tell him she'd jump him right then and there, if things were different. Sylvie is trying to tell him that she does trust him, that he can be trusted, and that he is worthy of the affection of a friend, even if she can't have him in her way. She is prioritizing her mission, yes, but not without giving him some sort of reassurance, in her own way, that this rejection isn't personal. That he isn't too broken to be loved. It doesn't have to go into romance (not saying it couldn't, just saying it isn't a requirement). It doesn't have to go into sexual relationship territory.

Maybe I see this so vastly differently because of my experiences exploring gender, sexuality, and romantic orientation. Maybe I see this so differently because at this stage in my life, I would absolutely kiss a friend if I felt something so heavy was going to break them. I have a friend I say "I love you" to every time we talk on the phone or video chat- we've been together for 20 years. I've got photo proof of a snuggle pile of friends when I was a young adult. I've shared a bed with a friend with no reason other than that we didn't want to sleep on the floor and why not. I've had friendships that were awkward to start and intense once they got going that are absolutely still important in my life. I've had crushes on friends that have faded and just shown me another dimension of what it is to love someone. I've watched adults who struggle to make connections to other people discover those moments of awkward "how do I do friend mode?" and come out stronger for them, with that huge sense of victory hidden behind a small smile they don't want to share with anyone else quite yet.

I see so much possibility in how we interpret a television show reduced to "it's a romance and that's sick and incest and he wants to fuck himself!" and it just saddens me that so many people have such a limited understanding and experience of the depth and breadth of human relationships and of how people love one another.

#loki show #loki meta #thoughts on love and relationships #literary genre romance #loki and sylvie

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imagines-to-quench-thirst · 4 years

Text

Prima ballerina and her Vicious Viking: Ivar the boneless

I have seen a lot of Youtube clips so I don't know much of the show so sorry if I missed some names.

Warning: some grammatical mistakes and misspelled names

Still living in a house with no internet so this piece was made in a cafe with the internet where I sat for a good half an hour sorry if it wasn't the best.

Enjoy!

And then I dance on the tops of my toes with the rhythmic music following my lead.' The soft giggles at the end of the sentence gave the man beside the girl much room to think.

'How do you mean that the music follows you? Music is invisible. I don't understand.' 'That's a term of saying. For example when you are dancing-' 'I do not dance.' Y/n looks at him again hitting her head in the realization that she forgot.

'Sorry.' the ruthless man chuckles nudging her shoulder with his. 'I like it when you get sad like this and apologetic. It's very much... Sweet.' Ivar smiled at his lover leaning towards her soft and cold lips kissing them to give her little of his own warmth. She reciprocates his action pushing against lips letting the bystanders pass them with shock in their eyes seeing a young fair maiden kissing him. As if she felt the wave of unpleased she moves back whispering 'I wish you could see it.'

Ivar nods in agreement answering in the same tone 'As well, I could only imagine how graceful you look.' Y/n steps up from the small chair holding her hand out to Ivar as he grabs his crutch walking long side her holding her hand delicately and the crutch holding onto for dear life.

Arriving in his room he flops down ready to tell out the order for his lackluster slave but feels Y/n's hands on his legs unbuckling his leg braces. He wants to rebuke her kind gesture but when she was so soft, nice, slow with him he could do only but melt at her love and affection. She always was one step ahead of him, everyone is but still... she was in his head far longer than his brothers, no one could survive for that long as she did.

Finishing up the job Y/n grabs the braces placing them next to his crutch, within arm's length. Letting go of the bonds of metal and leather Y/n looks up at the moon as it shined bright with only a few stars as companions. 'When are you going back?' Ivar asks his hands clasping together hoping to hear the largest of numbers 'This my second full moon... tomorrow.' Responding to his question she turns around seeing his head hung in sadness

'But I'll be back. Soon. Very soon.' Ivar nods as his blue eyes pleaded to her to stay more, not to put any more days apart and than together. Her steps squeezed along the dry wood as her derriere sat next to Ivar's on the bed 'I understand... I just wish that we- we weren't such worlds apart.' she knew what he meant and how literal it was for she was a lucky girl who stumbled up a portal in the deep woods behind her house falling directly into his world with no warmth to keep her alive only stumbling over him as she desperately asked passers to lend her their warm coats not bothering to look down tumbling over the man she will fall in love with.

Oh, the irony the only one to help her was the only one she didn't ask. And thus having her tumble from one world into another, pushing her body from a normal warm temperature to freezing winter.

'I know, but I don't want to risk the timeline of history just so you can see my dance.' That was also a problem. The timeline. That's what she thought maybe it was a historic timeline or it was an alternative world where everything was frozen. She didn't know and if she asked him things that would develop later she could change the lives of future billions. She heard stories of him, she read them and witness them but when he was with her it was more a question of that man was capable of killing in cold blood for an honor when he told her she was his true love. She did not know. Nor she doesn't want to know. It was safer that way. But also she knew that he was a Viking that one day will come when she will decide if she'll leave her world or his... forever. Even that was for another time. Not now, when she held him in a tight and warm embrace.

'I'll find a way.' Ivar whispered through her clothes letting his heavy eyes close as he is lulled into a peaceful sleep knowing that when he wakes up she will be gone until the next full moon.

The cold sun shined brightly into the room as its soft icy rays fall onto Ivar's s eyelids making him force open. He opens his blue eyes seeing the pillow next to him empty, he was right. She is gone. 'What's wrong brother?' Hvitserk asked his brother as he involuntary ate his food. 'Nothing-nothing.' Ivar replied not wanting to look at his brother's smirk. Ubbe looks at his baby brother saying 'Ah, is the woman of your "life" gone?' Ubbe let the words drag far longer than normal to irk Ivar more and more. Ivar held the fork with all his strength feeling as if with one more "joke" he will fling it to his brother's eyeball. 'Boys, enough.' Aslaug says with authority in her voice pleading the boys to stop harassing their youngest. Everyone around the table knew just how much Ivar had a short fuse but still his family should understand his sorrow. 'Do not worry dear brother, soon she will leave you so you will not feel like this anymore.'

Ubbe said with no cares for his brother's love. Ivar looked ta him immediately fearing the worst. He knew that whatever his brothers said about her was meant as a joke but this kind of sentence bore throughout all layers of emotions, intentional or not. It broke his heart to think there won't be unanticipated waits of her return or walking down a street just holding her hand to see the shocked reactions of his people, feeling on top of the world with her. He didn't want those moments to stop coming in, he doesn’t want to feel alone and in pain.

Hell, even when he was in pain she was with him to tell him about her life as a dancer. It didn't have to stop. Not if he wanted to.

'Okay, class. From the beginning. Step 1, step 2, hop 3 and twirl 4 aannndd falls gracefully down. Good job.' the teacher applauded her team of marvelous ballerinas letting them take a rest talking to each other to catch up on their days they spent free.

Y/n laid next to her friend Micheal as he nudged her shoulder 'So, the guy, Ivar? When I'll meet him?' he asked the all too telling question as he untangled his ballet shoes.' Well... he is-well he is... busy? Yeah, that.' 'Sure... sure Susan. I mean I just want to see a man that fell in love with your soul and not your amazingly talented feet.' Michael was right. He always was.

His questions were innocent enough but his intentions were sincere. But he didn't meet a historic/alternative universe Viking who captured her heart. 'Besides, the grand show is in 2 days and he won't come?' 'Yeah, he isn't the one for the finer arts.' 'I can understand that. But if I had an artistic girlfriend I would be with her each day and attend all her shows.'

Y/n slumped her shoulders feeling the sadness sead into her heart she wanted to see Ivar at her shows but it just wasn't going to happen. As her shoulders sank so did her smile, giving Micheal a big smack on the head. He was stupid.' Y/n...' 'It's okay... really, it is.' Y/n looked at the wood flooring hoping to remove this sad energy from her soul hoping that Ivar is having a better day than her.

'I am telling you it is true love!' Ivar screamed at his brothers seeing the doubtful gleam 'Brother, having sex is not love. That is something you cannot understand.' Ubbe restored back' 'Oh yeah... And what about your love life Ubbe, your wife isn't really faithful I heard.' Ivar halted his words seeing the sudden snap of his brother's posture, he grins 'Maybe it's because you aren't active anymore so she searches for other men to please her.' Ubbe stood up holding his hands reaching towards Ivar's neck over the table to strangle the life out of him. Ivar felt Ubbe's chubby fingers around his neck trying to choke but as much ut was dangerous it was funny to Ivar 'Brother have you... lost your inner man? I'm still here breathing.' Ivar said with little to no effort as he saw Ubbe's eyes glare at him cursing and condemning his soul and body.

'Enough!' Aslaug slammed her fist on the table startling everyone present 'Ubbe that is not how you act with your brother. Not when he is hurting.' she says softly trying to calm the brut.' His ways of thinking got me angry. ' Ubbe said trying to explain his harsh actions. Ivar looked at his older brother feeling a kick in his stomach, he stands up leaning on his crutch leveling his eyesight with Aslaug and Ubbe

'So does that mean that you do not think that I am worthy of love? Because I am just a cripple?' 'Let's face it Ivar, no one other than mother can love you.' Sigurd bugged in leaving Ivar at a loss of words. Ivar looked at his "family" seeing no smug of empathy, no desire does not help him feel better about the woman he loved so dearly. He wanted to scream at them but he needed to prove it to them

'Follow me, and I will show you the truth.' Ivar hobbled out of the dining room as he heard steps in the back following him.

The reflectors shined down on the podium as the dancers took center dancing along the musical influences that played beneath them while Y/n waited for her grand stage.

The piece de résistance.

She will have her solo number finishing off the ballet show. Her dress was long and flowing, hoping that she will seem like a floating ghost and not a white sheet falling on the floor, her hair tied into a bun pinned in with many fake jewels but still giving her regal glow and her ballet shoes neatly tightened with a bow behind her calf.

'Ready?' Micheal asked as he hopped off the stage next to her his breath trying to catch up to him. She nods as the lights dim down giving her the cue to go out, to take the final dance and close of this beautiful show. Bending her knees a little she feels the warmth lights on her back snap right back up as the music starts its first few sharp notes.

Her head snaps to the crowd seeing the influx of esteemed guests dressed in dresses and suits waiting for her to show them her skills. Standing slowly up with the music she looks further seeing the back door open a few more guests entering.

Not now.

Letting the music take her on she spins along letting her mind go blank and her feet take control. Each step careful as the last one, soft and mellow as the music played, her arms moving along with the musical air telling a story of their own, while her eyes every now and then watched the crowds reaction seeing a glimmer of silver, her eyes stop still focusing on it.

Her spins take her around still trying to see in the far back who it was. The music mellows down her movements following the pace as she takes one more final step towards the crowd ending the grand show.

Y/n bows her head and the crowd stands up in thunderous applause showing her with cheers, claps, and whistle... wolf whistles? Here? In a posh theater? She looks up seeing the person who wolf-whistled was none other than Ivar. What?! Not letting the sudden shock show she walks backstage passing the cheers of her teacher and peers and running straight to the back to see if this was happening.

Her dress flowed behind her but immediately stopped. 'Ivar.' The love of her life turned around on his crutches smiling proudly 'Now I understand what you meant.' There he was Ivar, Ubbe, Sigurd, Hvitserk, and Aslaug. How? Ivar walked along the plush corridor as Y/n drew closer and closer steps to him, hugging him tightly as possible. He hugged back feeling underneath his fingers the white fabric on her waist her sweet scent was now sweeter as if she was dipped in the richest honey.

Ivar pulls away smiling at his girl seeing her eyes he missed so dearly for the last 4 days while she gazed at his blue irises seeing that a day more and he could have a mental breakdown 'Are you alright?' Y/n asked 'I am now. My ballet princess.'

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goldenkamuyhunting · 5 years

Note

Do you think Ogata is a sociopath?

Sorry for the late reply. Sadly this is an extremely busy working period for me.

Anyway…

is Ogata fitting sociopath trope?

It’s a really interesting question and also, if I’m not wrong, a hot topic for the fandom so I’ll try to answer it the best I can.

I’ll use as reference for the Sociopath trope tvtropes because it’s good enough to analyze a character of a litterary work.

So, for this trope, we’re given 5 defining qualities (I’ll copy the words of tvtrope below so people don’t have to go back and forth to check it).

1) Lack of Empathy and Devoid of Conscience: Their defining feature. Utterly ruthless doesn't begin to describe them: except for when trying to appear normal, they will disregard any social norms and semblance of morality in pursuit of their own selfish desires. The Sociopath will do whatever it takes: lie, cheat, steal, extort, manipulate, or use outright violence without the slightest hesitation, disgust or remorse, and for as little as Pleasure or The Evulz. Murder and violence have no more emotional weight than eating Chinese takeout or some other mundane activity, and they have no concern for the direct or collateral damage they do to other people, being unable to understand why anyone should. Likewise, they never truly understand the feelings of others on anything more than an intellectual level, and may even believe that everybody else is faking it too. As many Real Life criminal psychologists put it: "They know the words but not the music." Techniques for learning moral behaviour, such as reason, therapy, rehabilitation and behavioral reward/punishment, will not work on them or tend to only make their behavior even worse by making it easier for them to fake it. This is why the only thing resembling consistently successful treatment involves teaching them to avoid behaviors that have predictable consequences; they may still believe that consequences are bullshit, but if they have been made sufficiently aware of the fact that their behavior will always end up with them in jail, getting sued, or simply just getting jumped or killed when they fuck with the wrong people, and that they can't lie and fake their way out of it because people are wise to their game, they will usually shape up.

Noda actually debunk this in Ogata’s second apparition and it’s THE DEFINING FEATURE of the trope.

Not only he has Ogata decide they won’t kill Tanigaki in Huci’s house because Huci reminds him of his grandmother, whom he loved and therefore he doesn’t want to kill her (chap 43),

but he also have him to save Nikaido (Chap 45)

eventhough Ogata is sure it’s a trap (Chap 45).

In case people hadn’t gotten the message well Noda remarks his meetingwith Huci left an impression by having him remember her when Tanigaki mentionedher (chap 110)

making him consequently offer to help Tanigaki (yeah the way hewent at it was horrible) and in other small instances (like how although hedoesn’t believe in dreams he tells Asirpa he should write her instead than justsaying he should ignore her for being senile and naïve (chap 113)).

He also remarks that Ogata knew a wounded Nikaido would be a liability byshowing how one of the war techniques Ogata learnt in war was to woundopponents instead than killing them (chap 46)…

and underlines this again in thefight with Vasily, where not only it’s explained again how wounding opponentsis a technique used to damage enemies (Chap 162)...

but Ogata also comments on how Vasilywon’t expose himself for his companions as he evidently would be comfortablehearing their screams of pain through all the night (chap 162)...

which was what Ogata should have done instead than saving Nikaido.

We’ve other instances in which Ogata showed he’s not utterly ruthless,like when he saves Shinpei instead than letting his father kill him and onlyafterward killing the man (chap 59).

We’ve him claiming he doesn’t feel guilt for the people he kills and yethe hallucinates and is clearly haunted by the memory of his brother, whom hekilled (chap 164/165).

More recently instead we’ve the scene in which he comfort Koito (chap199)

...or the fact once he was left alone with Koito he didn’t harm him in retaliation for slamming his head against his nose but just tied him (Chap 200).

Noda likely created those settings exactly to debunk the defining feature of thetrope, so we won’t get the wrong impression about Ogata.

2) Consummate Liar and Manipulator: In the event they are ever targets of suspicion in crime dramas and thrillers, sociopaths are able to fool any Living Lie Detectors in the cast, pass polygraphs effortlessly, and fool even you, the audience, into believing they are genuinely kind and caring people who are victims of a "big misunderstanding" (assuming they are not so smugly confident of their own invincibility that they feel no need to hide their unsavory personality). Moreover, despite their lack of empathy, sociopaths are capable of using their knowledge of others' desires, emotions and insecurities to manipulate them for their own personal gain. Because of this, many of them are Faux Affably Evil. This is related to their lack of empathy and shame - they don't feel the slightest discomfort about lying or exploiting others, so they do so with the same ease in which normal people perform mundane activities. This is why you should always assume that any apparent epiphany from a sociopath is bullshit; as far as they're concerned, it's just another tool to get what they want, and they don't actually believe that they have done anything wrong. Don't let them know that they are full of shit, because it will just force them to become more slick, but do act with the knowledge that they will go right back to their old ways the minute that they think it is safe to do so.

Yeah, Ogata lies in Golden Kamuy. All the cast does, even Asirpa.

But the idea here is he has to be a consummate one, a GOOD one, a masterful one, not just a guy who here and there lies. He has to be so good at lying he can manipulate others though his lies.

And Ogata fails at lying. Noda debunks this as well in Ogata’s second apparition when he tells Tanigaki that he was joking when he said Tanigaki might have killed Tamai and Co and Tanigaki is free to remain in Huci’s house because Ogata will act as if he had never seen Tanigaki (Chap 43).

Tanigaki is so sure Ogata is being sincere he thinks he has to leave AS SOON AS POSSIBLE (Chap 43).

And I’ve spent lot of time discussing how his lie about Sugimoto’s final moments was a complete and utter mess, the clear sign the most Ogata can do are extremely simple lies because as soon as he tries to make up a story that’s as unbelievable as possible.

Ogata can be a good strategist during a battle.

We see it in the Barato arc, also in the sniper duel and, if we want, also in his recent escape. However he’s clearly not good at manipulating people in interactions.

He can’t win over their trust, which is a big requisite to manipulate people as he’s almost universally distrusted, we see it not only with Tanigaki, who simply didn’t buy his lie nor spilled the truth about Sugimoto’s involvement but also with Sugimoto himself, who’ll be more prone to trust Kiro or Hijikata, who’ll both betray him to try to get Asirpa, and even Tsurumi than Ogata even when it’ll be really obvious Ogata is actually right (remember the fake Ainu arc?), with Yuusaku, who won’t spend time with whose women nor kill a man, with Asirpa, who won’t give him the code and honestly, I’m not even sure his attempt at hinting Tsurumi’s involvement in Koito’s kidnapping will be something Koito will understand.

In order to be a manipulator is not enough to attempt to manipulate, you’ve to do so successfully. And Ogata fails at this.

3) Pathological Need for Stimulation: The Sociopath's raison d'etre (i.e.: an overriding goal which serves as one's "reason for existence"). Due to their inability to empathize or even care for those around them, sociopaths largely view their existence as boring or meaningless and therefore feel compelled to engage in "thrill-seeking" activities to alleviate their restlessness. How this manifests depends largely on the sociopath's personality. It can be as relatively benign as binging on video games, compulsively gambling, or leading highly promiscuous lifestyles. Far more dangerous examples are prone to satiate their lust for thrills by partaking in criminal enterprises, becoming serial rapists and/or killers, or (if they are unusually high-functioning) accumulating vast wealth and/or influence for the sole purpose of dominating as many people as they can for their own amusement. Due to their obsession with indulging their insatiable appetites however they want whenever they want, sociopaths have a very low tolerance for inconvenience or irritation which in turn leads them to have a pronounced lack of impulse control. Because of this, many of them are Ax-Crazy, have a Hair-Trigger Temper, and/or are Mood Swingers.

That’s hard to say.

So far Ogata never stated to find existence boring without action. Sure, he’s engaged in a very risky hunt and he’s rather reckless but does he has a pathological need for this or, like the rest of the cast, he’s just thinking this is the price to pay to reach his goal? He’s in this for the fun of it or he has a different purpose? Until we don’t know Ogata’s goal we can speculate as much as we want but we can hardly say for sure.

What we know is Ogata has a very good impulse control, that he’s usually very cold and even in the few circumstances we’ve seen him angry or in a tight spot he hardly lost it.

4) Shallow Affect and Complete Lack of Emotional Reciprocity: A Sociopath is physiologically incapable of experiencing a deep emotional attachment towards others but - being a Consummate Liar - learns early in life how to fake them. This shallow emotional life means that the Sociopath is unable to form sincere long-term relationships with anything or anyone, but will feign feelings of love and affection if they feel it serves their purposes. Most of the true feelings a sociopath harbors towards others, positive or negative, are rooted in an insatiable desire to dominate or control them. While narcissists desire to be loved or at least respected, sociopaths don't care whether others view them positively as long as they don't stand in the way of their own self-centered gratification. In the rare event that a Sociopath actually does form an "attachment" to another person, it rises no further than that between an owner and a possession and/or a valuable resource for advancing their goals. Thus, once such "friends" cease to be useful or entertaining, they will abandon them or, in some cases, even kill them without any hesitation or regret. Any emotional reaction to having committed a heinous act is met indifference at best and glee at worst.

Technically debunked again in Ogata’s second apparition.

As said before not only Ogata declared he had feelings for his grandmother but even went out of his way to spare Huci because it reminded him of her.

But I know this is viewed in a rather controversial manner.

In fact so far we hadn’t seen him developing a deep emotional attachment toward others as he remained a loner.

The fandom though was very impressed by two things.

One is his relationship with Yuusaku. It’s worth to note that Noda made very clear that Ogata wanted to avoid Yuusaku and not have a relationship with him at all (chap 164),

...and it was on Tsurumi’s request he ended up on having to try to deceive him and get them what they wanted. It’s also meaningful how Ogata never played the whole thing on the affection side. The most he did was to point out he and Yuusaku were brothers so they should get to mischief together, but he never tried to use feelings into the play, he insisted in calling Yuusaku ‘Yuusaku-dono’ and he never asked Yuusaku to do something because Ogata loved him or out of the love Yuusaku should feel for him.

Ogata is clearly not faking any affection for Yuusaku, he’s at most giving him some of his time. Yuusaku, who has already decided Ogata has to be delighted to have a little brother even when Ogata clearly hinted the contrary, might not see it but this speaks more of Yuusaku’s obsession to get Ogata to be his big brother than about Ogata’s attempt at faking feelings he didn’t felt.

The other thing the fandom likes to talk about is Ogata’s relationship with Asirpa.

That one is a rather controversial topic.

Asirpa is friendly with Ogata. Nothing over the top, she just deal with him with the same kindness she would deal with everyone else (actually she’s kinder with Tanigaki considering the guy threatened her and tried to use her as human shield and she completely forgave him that and saved his life. Twice).

Ogata’s interactions with her, for most of the story, are not responding to it at all.

He’s not faking affection, he’s just mostly not interacting and keeping on his own.

It takes him months to say ‘citatap’ as she repeatedly asked him and call Asirpa by name. It’ll take him even more to say ‘hinna’.

Asirpa decides to remain friendly with him. That’s Asirpa’s decision, it’s not Ogata’s actions, or more exactly his lack of actions that cause Asirpa to remain friend with him.

And Asirpa is clearly not the type who needs to be rejected to latch to someone as we see she’s just fine with being friend with Sugimoto, Shiraishi, Kiroranke, Tanigaki and others, who aren’t keeping distant, nor she’s so starved for affection just a word would win her over.

Even when he will try to get her to give him the code he won’t try to play it on the ‘if you care for me/trust me give me the code’ or on the ‘I care for you so I’m telling you what would be best for you’.

Really, to assume Ogata was faking affection with her would require accepting he can’t fake it to save his life.

5) Grandiose Sense of Self-Worth: The trait that ties it all together - the one that changes it from moustache-twirling evil into a mental disorder. Sociopaths will go so far as to convince themselves that they have succeeded in their plan, even as failure stares them in the face and snaps on the handcuffs. They genuinely believe it. They don't really care what others truly think on the matter, but they do care about what they say, and like to fill their social circle with people who say what they want to hear. Any others - even former 'friends' - will be dismissed from the sociopath's social circle simply for doubting them. They consider themselves better than anybody else and that they are entitled to special treatment - and they can't stand anybody being considered better than them. However, while the Narcissist is self-conscious of how they measure up to others' standards (and therefore will experience shame or guilt for failing them), a sociopath's grandiosity is all-encompassing to the point they have no concern how their actions reflect upon them UNLESS it threatens their ability to indulge their appetite for further stimulation. They are incapable of acknowledging personal responsibility for failure, and will always blame others, no matter how irrational it is. In fact, it's considerably difficult convincing them that the activity they have partaken in has even failed. This is all part of why a sociopath can't change - since they consider themselves to already be perfect, and refuse to acknowledge failure on their part, and consider the true opinions and feelings of others insignificant, they never try to improve themselves.

Honestly I wouldn’t say Ogata has a grandiose sense of self worth.

Sure, he knows he’s an amazing sniper and he occasionally brags about it.

Everyone does know Ogata is amazing at sniping. This is, after all, a fact that’s accepted by the whole cast and that’s actually proved more than once, after all Ogata fits the trope of improbable aiming skills with his impressive feats of shooting two deer at once or managing to catch three woodcocks with a less suitable rifle, exterminating a reindeer herd on his own or hitting targets with an impossible precision from an amazing distance.

Ushiyama too comments on how he’s Ushiyama, the Undefeated, even if he lost to Gansoku here and there when they only used fists (Chap 143).

Just bragging a little on a real skill isn’t a sign of grandiose sense of self-worth, just of rightful pride for it. Yeah, modesty is an important virtue but you don’t turn into a sociopath if you’re proud of what you can do.

What’s more noteworthy though is he knows he’s a rejected kid, anunwanted one, who wasn’t loved and that feels he lacked something fundamental. He’s aware of how, being an illegitimate, his existence was a source of shame for his father. He comments on how he knew he wouldn’t be able to persuade Asirpa, admitting his failure. He admits his responsibility in his actions.

Therefore I can’t really see him as a guy with a grandiose sense of self worth.

And so with this, we’ve finished with the defining traits for this trope.

Tvtropes also says:

Many of these traits are shared with other disorders, but it's the combination of them all that creates the trueSociopath.

In short you need them all to have a character that fits this TROPE (please, remember, this is a TROPE, the real personality disorder that goes with the same name is not something an ordinary person can find out in real people with this checklist, no, not even if, like me, they studied psychology in high school, this is a list for a TROPE as this is a fictional work).

As a result honestly I can’t see Ogata fitting into them because, for the first 2, Noda actually did his best to remark howthey don’t fit to Ogata from his second apparition, for the 3rd we can’t really say as we lack material, I’ll let the 4th up to debate and honestly, I don’t see him matching with the 5th.

As a trope Ogata fits the cold sniper with improbable aiming skills and an ambiguous disorder (at least for now... who knows, in the future Noda might tell us).

The one of the sociopath isn’t really cut on him.

It doesn’t mean Ogata is a good person, or that he only does good things, it’s clear he does a BIG DEAL OF TERRIBLY WRONG THINGS and we know sociopaths can do this sort of wrong things.

However Noda apparently wasn’t interested in making Ogata a sociopath or otherwise he wouldn’t have written scenes debunking a sociopath’s main characteristics and, believe it or not, in real life you don’t need to be a sociopath to do the sort of wrong things Ogata does so it’s not like Noda is being unrealistic.

Sorry to whoever wanted him to be one, I know each fandom loves to have its own memetic psychopath but as they’re not my cup of tea I fear I won’t partake into the ‘fun’ of turning Ogata into one.

Thank you for your ask!

#Golden Kamuy #Ogata Hyakunosuke #Ask

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3w-writer-with-wings · 5 years

Note

Maybe Judai for the ask thing? (ㆁᴗㆁ✿) if that hasn't been done of course ^^

Why I like them/why I don’t

To be honest I didn’t like Judai that much at first. He was cute but other than that he was just an average overpowered character to me and his outgoing persona didn’t really help. The first time I watched GX it was in my native language dub and Judai happened to have the same voice as a character from another show that was extremely annoying, so I wasn’t that fond of him at all. Around the end of the first season, the airing stopped and I continued with English dub and while he was slightly likeable with a different voice I still didn’t like his character at all. But then season 3 happened… and it changed my mind. He felt like an entirely different person and the plot finally started getting interesting. It was like the new season made him start taking things seriously and with each new episode, it felt like he slowly started revealing his true self. And at that point, it finally started making sense why he was so happy and outgoing the first two seasons - he was lonely as a child and card games was the only thing that made him happy, so it makes sense that once he got accepted to school all about card games where he met new friends made him all excited. This was already hinted once in season 2, after his loss to Edo where he could no longer see cards and was convinced he has nothing else to do in Duel Academy so he just left. From all protagonists, Judai has by far the most unique development and from where VRAINS is now, Yusaku is likely to follow Judai’s journey of self-discovery. In a way, both of them are complex characters that are dealing with their breaking points in their own way.

One other thing that I really love about Judai is his ability to talk with Duel Spirits. There have been several characters in other series with the same ability, but no one had as much focus as Judai had. I absolutely loved his connection to Yubel, about how obsessed she became with him to the point of hurting other people and how much she wanted to protect him at the same time. The fact that Judai uses Super Fusion in order to merge them together was a really nice conclusion and in a way, it symbolized the fact that Judai matured.

What I like about their appearance

The fact how normal he looks compared to other protagonists XD. Like seriously all protagonists are either embodiment of rainbows (Yuya and Yuma) or edginess (Yugi, Yusei, Yusaku) and Judai is just an ordinary teenager in a simple school uniform and a puffy hairdo that looks like a Kuriboh.

Do I prefer their dub names or original names?

Judai and Jaden sound very similar so I tend to switch them depending on the situation because some of my friends are not familiar with his original name. In my fanfics I use his original name most of the time, but honestly, both versions sound okay and are not that different compared to some other dub names.

OTP

Spiritshipping all the way! Judai X Johan is not only my favourite GX OTP but my second favourite OTP of all Yugioh series! (they are just a little behind Keyshipping and Puzzleshipping). From the first episode where Johan showed up when Ruby and Winged Kuriboh played together and when Judai welcomed Johan to the Duel Academy, I knew there was something special about to happen. And boy was I not ready for this! The way those two dorks interacted with each other, how others described Johan as “Judai with a southern accent” and just every scene where they showed up together - it was a blessing! And when Judai went to look for him and how he sank deeper and deeper in depression while trying to find him was absolutely heartbreaking. And when Johan came back and Judai was instantly better was just so wholesome to watch. In my headcanon they really are more than friends, they just don’t show it that obviously and I’m completely fine with it. Their personal lives shouldn’t interfere with the plot and deep down I believe that they settled down once Judai returned from his travels. In my perfect reality, they founded a school for people who can also talk with the Duel Spirits and the two of them help others control their abilities.

NOTP

I’m not really sure about Fusionshipping… It just doesn’t feel like a ship at all. I already hate Ryou’s overall character since really, he duels just for power. To him, Judai is not even a rival, just a mere opponent that might pique his interest if he is strong enough. Even in the show, he appeared only when the plot demanded him to do so and had little to none motivations other than power. I completely lost respect for him when he said he wanted to duel Supreme King aka. Judai’s alter ego ALL WHILE JUDAI WAS UNCONSCIOUS AND SUFFERING FROM TRAUMA INDUCED FEVER JUST A FEW METERS AWAY FROM HIM. Like dude chill out, not everything is about power. I was so glad Edo called him out on it cuz seriously this dude would be the worst possible boyfriend. It was even worse when he tried to “help” Judai overcome his trauma cuz really he had zero empathy to help someone as traumatized as Judai. If those two were to date, it would either be over fast or would result in a really unhealthy relationship.

OT3

Competitorshipping or Jun X Judai X Johan is actually something I didn’t know I liked. I do ship Judai with both Jun and Johan, but I’ve never really seen all three of them together. This all changed when I got a request as a secret santa to make a story with three of them as a functioning relationship. I wanted to change a request at first since I’m not keen on writing threesomes, but the more I thought about it more I thought it could work. So in my story, I made Jun and Judai into childhood friends that befriend a transfer student Johan and together they become roommates during their college years. After graduation, they separate for a few years, Judai travelling overseas to pursue his career in acting and coming book illustrating, Jun marrying and getting a son and Johan opening his own clinic. Eventually, they all live together again since Judai gets a new job nearby and Jun divorces and gets custody of his son. Johan and Judai help him raise his son and the story continues with Johan and Judai adopting a child (my OC). If you’re interested you can read it here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16790146/chapters/39405268 I still have three more chapters to go. While I was writing it, I realized just how much the three of them interact in the anime, especially with all bonding over the fact that they can talk to Duel Spirits. It’s a relationship that could as well work and I’m sure they feel the same way about it.

The favourite card they use

It might be useless, but Winged Kuriboh is by far my favourite monster in the whole GX. It’s simple but gives away just enough nostalgia to make it work. I love how much Judai interacts with it and in a way Winged Kuriboh is his constant companion, providing him comfort whenever it can. I also love how it used to belong to Yugi and was given to Judai because “something was telling him it belongs with him” like Yugi could hear its voice. In my headcanon, Yugi knew Judai was a reincarnation of the Supreme King and gave him Winged Kuriboh so the spirit could help him control his power. Winged Kuriboh is not just a spirit, it is Judai’s partner.

The favourite moment they were in

When Judai merged with Yubel it was like Judai made a huge step in his life. For the first two seasons, he approached his problems with confidence and a grin on his face. He was having fun, not really thinking about his actions. This was all a mask to run away from his past of loneliness and fear. With season 3 the past finally caught up with him and he was forced to face it. Yubel wanted him back after she was discarded and Judai knew it, afraid she would find him again. After seeing his friends fading away, succumbing to Supreme’s King power and being scared of using Fusion, Judai is literally lost of what is he supposed to do. In the end, he finally faces Yubel, claiming all responsibility on himself. It may seem like Judai succumbed to his yandere stalker when he played Super Fusion, but from what I’ve seen it, he did it as a way to apologize. It’s true that it was his parents who sent Yubel to space and he couldn’t do anything about it, but for someone who has a superhero deck, this was Judai’s heroic sacrifice. He was scared and unsure of what could happen, but in that single moment, he made a very mature decision. He knew Yubel would only stop once the two of them are together again and he did it so his friends would be saved. This was when he truly acted as a hero, giving everything up to save someone who has been putting him in so many dangerous situations, because when he forgave Yubel he was ready for the true battle.

Least favourite moment

A basically entire first and second season when he acted like the way overpowered character. I know this was necessary for his later character development, but some episodic plotlines and duels were just plain stupid and completely unnecessary considering how many of them were there already.

Would I fuck, marry or kill them

How about if he adopts my child OC? XD Yeah I would definitely marry this dork. He is sweet, childish and full of energy and at the same time he is mature and knows how to handle the situation. In my slice-of-life headcanon he is an actor and comic book artist, living with his partner Johan and together they raise their shy adoptive son. I think he would make a great dad and would be great with kids in general, like organizing birthday parties, babysitting and having art workshops with children.

(Here’s Judai with my OC from my fanfic Safe in Your Arms ;) I used several references for this drawing )

#Judai Yuki #yugioh gx #yugioh series #Spiritshipping #johan andersen #chazz princeton #jaden yuki #the child on the drawing is my OC that shows up in multiple fanfics of mine #look for Hunter13Hawkie on AO3 and Safe in Your Arms #I drew the sketch #I'll color it soon

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dyinglightroleplay · 5 years

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𝐁𝐀𝐒𝐈𝐂𝐒.

NAME : Arabella Petra Figg RELATIONSHIP TO THE ORDER OF THE PHOENIX : Member ( active - duty ), On-call Non - Magical Physician AGE / BIRTHDATE : 37 Years Old / born 16 July 1942 at 10:02pm EST ZODIAC SIGN : Cancer ( sun ), Virgo ( moon ), Aquarius ( rising ) EDUCATION : Université de Paris / Université Pierre-et-Marie-Curie ( MD ) BLOOD STATUS : Pureblood Squib

𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐍𝐄𝐂𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍𝐒.

✧ Benjy Fenwick ( platonic ) ✧ Peter Pettigrew ( antagonistic ) ✧ Gabriel McKinnon ( player’s choice )

𝐋𝐀𝐒𝐓 𝐒𝐄𝐄𝐍.

Directing the makeshift infirmary created at Order Headquarters following the Battle of Hogwarts. She’s yet to hear a full report of the battle’s events.

𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐓𝐔𝐒 : 𝐓𝐀𝐊𝐄𝐍.

PLAYER : Mod Rivka FACECLAIM : Rachelle Lefevre URL : @aerabella

𝐀𝐏𝐏𝐋𝐈𝐂𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍.

TRIGGER WARNINGS: BLOOD SUPREMACY, GASLIGHTING, ALLUSIONS TO THE SHOAH, WAR

ZERO / RISING. * How is your character perceived by others? What mask do they wear, and is there more than one?

The biggest current conflict in Arabella's life is, frankly, that she's essentially leading two of them --- --- she's spending her days ( and three nights a week on call ) at Charing Cross Hospital, working as a general surgeon, and her nights ( and nearly every waking hour she isn't working ) making herself available for Order business. These two worlds hardly dovetail in any convenient, meaningful way, and often, Arabella feels more like she's being slowly - pulled apart between them than she is bridging any sort of gap. And, as the War progresses this feeling only intensifies for her, bringing a new companion in doubt. Albus' move to the Ministry saw one of her major remaining ties to the Magical world frayed, and she can't help but feel lost ; the disintegration of her relationship with Alastor, no matter how necessary or mutual, hasn't helped that. Arabella has always relied on her uncanny ability to seek strongholds in people, rather than places, in friends rather than family, to keep herself tethered to the life she's chosen. But even that is called into question as the Order steadily begins to turn inward, as bonds strain, as the stakes raise in ways she's not even certain herself she can withstand.

Something I'd really like to investigate with Arabella is how much of her literal existence is affected by continual, subtle gaslighting --- --- even unconsciously, bias lives so intertwined with Magical politics that not a single day goes by where she doesn't question her place in this world, or her ability to participate in it. Losing Albus’ influence only fuels this, leaves her unsteady enough to begin to doubt her own competence, her own power ; while she may not have Magic, she's never felt its lack as keenly as she has in the days since the news of the Battle of Hogwarts broke. And of course, she's grown used to fighting this, she's grown used to proving herself time and again at tests that never would have been presented to her if she could wield a wand. But the weight of displacement wears, a quiet wound she doesn't dare mention for fear of seeming too needy, too weak, too much. Arabella has spent her life taught, continually, that who she is, who she was born to be, is something of an accident, a problem, a tragedy, something to be hidden or forgotten, something to be ashamed of. And the fear in that self - fulfilling prophecy --- that by asking for help, that by speaking about her insecurity or her fear, that by appearing anything but self - possessed and certain she's somehow proving them right --- keeps her from growing past it.Additionally, I'd really like to explore the shape Arabella's role in the Order takes, as a non-magical person. We know that she spends her life as this 'double agent', continuing undercover and keeping an eye on Harry as he grows up on Privet Drive --- --- how does she get to that point? What about her training, her personality drew Dumbledore to that conclusion, fostered that trust? And what is she doing now, in his absence? She's a woman with military training, an accomplished physician, but these are not valuable skills to Magical eyes ; how does Arabella translate her accomplishments for Magical colleagues in order to establish her competence and earn their regard? And what does she do with it, once she's finally managed to earn it? What inspires her to carry on even after the fall of You Know Who, even after Lily and James' deaths? Why does she continue to devote her life to a world that has, from the moment she was born, tried so hard to forget her ?

And perhaps it's the nature of a woman brought up across two worlds, but Arabella is a woman of contradictions. She is brutally soft, she is tender in equal measure as she is tough. From a very young age, she understood that she, and she alone, was responsible for her happiness, for her safety, for her security, for her love. Coming of age the non-magical child of pureblood parents taught her early that no one would make space for her, if she did not demand it. And does that necessarily always make her the easiest to get along with? Of course not. But has it made her singleminded, driven, powerful in ways that she would not have been otherwise ? Absolutely. She exists in a space entirely of her own making, and taking that space is a purposeful, continual choice. Arabella is, above all, protective of this, and careful to only allow people into that space who will respect it, or help her maintain it.

Ruled by her emotions ( a true water sign ! ), Arabella thinks with her heart, with her gut. She's intelligent, well - spoken and well - educated, but pragmatism doesn't serve her ; she's action - oriented, stubborn, and proactive. Still, she is steady - handed, and is less about the rush of acting before thinking and more about the dominant emotion of the action --- --- while she allows her emotions to dictate her choices, time has given her the benefit of perception and self - awareness. She learnt empathy long before she decided to pursue medicine, and discovered the joy in using her perceptiveness to bring others peace early in life. Guided, always, by her heart, Arabella presents a calming, opening presence, but it is not one that she abides being used or taken for granted. And again, this is where her fundamental duality comes into play ; she can be generous, kind, and affectionate with those she trusts with those energies, but she can be equally cold, distant, or aggressive with people who've proven themselves unworthy of that emotional labor. Protecting herself --- because, truthfully, she doesn't trust others to do it --- takes precedence here.

A classic introvert, Arabella can come across as quiet or aloof, but her rich inner life --- and vibrant energy, shown to those who know her well --- fills her time and keeps her from retreating inward or closing herself off fully. However, she has a distinct confrontational side, and one that is not always to her advantage ; Arabella wears her anger, just like her heart, on her sleeve. Despite this, she is not a good arguer, preferring instead to sort through her own feelings first to address her needs, if possible. Sensitivity and intuition rule here, as well, and while Arabella is at her most obvious when angry or frustrated, she is very particular about whether or not 'fighting it out' will serve her, or simply take away her peace. This combination is interesting, especially for a woman who prioritizes herself, especially for a woman stretched between two worlds as she is --- --- Arabella is, truly, the sort of unbothered who can decide if a confrontation will not be worth it long before it comes to a head. In this way, her anger is valuable to her --- --- not as a weapon, but as a means to separate out what is and is not worth her investment.

ONE / THE SUN. * Choose one to explore : what about their personality, general preferences, sense of self / ego, or fundamental traits attracted you to them?

I have .... so quickly fallen in love with Arabella, in the same way I fell in love with Davey, as an opportunity to really dig deep and explore intersections in this universe that don't usually get much attention. With Arabella, there's a chance to delve into how Squibs interact with the magical world in a time where their very existence is questioned even more than it usually is --- --- where do Squibs fall in the hierarchy desired by blood purists ? What part of their identity is more valuable, is more important, is more easily leveraged, politically and interpersonally ? And what does it feel like to be part of a sub - group so small that you might very well be the only you you know ? But even beyond that, Arabella presents the opportunity to look into the worth of a woman's work, and how its gauged in a society that fundamentally considers her to be 'broken'. Children raised in magical homes who end up without magic don't have that Hogwarts Moment that Muggleborn children do ; at eleven years old, at ten, maybe even earlier, Arabella's entire world got infinitely smaller, rather than broader. She was raised in one culture and fundamentally turned out of it, how does she cope with the intersection ? What life does she chose ? How does a Witch who can't perform magic parse her own identity and how does she go about making space for herself to just exist ? And all of this, of course, viewed with the Dark Lord's war as the backdrop .... I can't wait to tell the rest of her story. I can't wait to hear it.

The Order is not Arabella's first time amongst soldiers, but it is undoubtedly her first time fearing for them. Albus was never a man of great explication, preferring to work as close to omnisciently as possible in what was, at least she'd believed, an attempt to protect anyone else from the pain and loss of the great labor of war. But as the recruits skewed younger, as the faces seated 'round the meeting's table grew rounder, softer, before they became fewer altogether, Arabella caught herself thinking less and less like an Officer. And the newest ones, the youngest ones, they are fierce and indomitable in ways the Order undoubtedly needs to re - invigorate their efforts, but is that worth this ? Is that worth losing them ? It seems absurd that a world of magic, armed with the fantastic and limited only imagination, could fall so easily into a pattern repeated in the wake of the waste laid to the Muggle world mere decades before. She wants to be hopeful, she wants to see that ferocity and conviction and let it reassure her, let it comfort her, let it reignite her own fire. But Wizards are so ineffably human, in this way --- --- as prone to mistakes as they are to a fervent refusal to acknowledge them. So she worries, instead.

TWO / THE MOON. * Which color would you associate most strongly with them and the emotions that dominate them? Describe however you’d like.

MUTED TONES. Lavender, clary sage, rose quartz --- --- soft but lingering, perfumed, precious, protective. Spring rain on windowpanes making watercolor, worn - in knits, velvet or silk, the thatch of an aging floral sofa run - through with unmistakable cat scratches yet beloved all the same, comfortable all the same. Multi - colored capsules and oils, blood seeping pink through the white threads of sterile gauze, the faint - orange stains of iodine left behind and the quiet yellow of sterile soap caught under cut - short fingernails. The blue - lipped hush of the operating theatre, and the lavender tinge of dawn that greets her as she leaves ; sunset - colors of desert and death, white enveloping as some believe it will always do, when life leaves this world. The sweet melt of candlelight across a familiar face, the pale gold pinch of a well - baked challah, burnished gold and the cream droplets of dried wax.

THREE / MERCURY. * What is this character’s area of expertise? Where do they excel?

Several years of Medical study and residency later, Arabella is currently practicing as a hospital - based general surgeon. She spent two tours of French Army duty as a field medic, first at eighteen ( and simply an assistant ) and again at 35 and running her own team. She's also an active participant in Médecins Sans Frontières, helping to train younger physicians in field strategies they might use abroad, and while she hasn't yet had the pleasure of taking a humanitarian trip herself --- blame this war, of course --- she very, very much wants to.

Despite being unable to accomplish any Magic on her own, Arabella takes careful consideration and great pride in finding and placing protective objects and plants in her personal spaces. Growing up so entrenched in Magical culture meant she sees the efficacy --- and the appeal --- of utilizing crystals, candles, oils or scents, and herbs for their healing, safeguarding, and enriching properties. She's also a rather adept Tarot reader --- --- the grey area between everyday magic and Magic is expansive.

#marauders rp #first wizarding war rp #hp rp #oc rp #lsrp #arabella figg #takenf #takenootp #taken #gaslighting tw #war tw #shoah tw

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somniatcr · 5 years

Text

character study series--- o.rihara i.zaya

let us first begin with what may be, perhaps, one of the most important questions regarding my personal portrayal of this character--- do i genuinely view and / or write izaya as being sociopathic in nature?

essentially, yes, i do. mostly. izaya, inherently, is complex, impossible to specifically narrow or pigeonhole into any one particular category. that’s not him, it isn’t how he works. does he tend to fit or to display certain sociopathic behaviors or tendencies? he absolutely does, yes.

izaya has shown himself to be absolutely masterful in the arts of manipulation and conning; there’s zero room for doubt or question here. he, at times, displays a grandiose sense of self, namely in regard to his high level of intelligence ( which is fair and we’ll touch on that later ). he frequently displays a lack of remorse for his actions; he doesn’t feel shame nor guilt for the things that he says, that he does, nor is he bothered whatsoever by the consequences or repercussions that follow--- this is blatantly displayed during his initial introduction to the series in which he manipulates, drugs, and kidnaps a girl who, following a conversation and his taunts, attempts to leap to her own death; an action which, ultimately, doesn’t affect him in the slightest ( it’s also implied that he may have been responsible for multiple suicides under similar circumstances in the same locale, though he of course denies this--- note; this is based strictly on izaya in the anime as the manga portrays this scene very differently ).

his emotional range is, for the most part, shallow; this can be argued at points, but ultimately he lacks warmth, compassion, isn’t capable of the sort of love felt or experienced by most ( a fact to which he, himself, more or less attests to ), and remains unmoved and lacks both sympathy and / or empathy where most people otherwise wouldn’t. which leads us to the following point, he lacks empathy for others--- if anything, he’s amused by the distress, the pain, and / or the anger that he causes others and, furthermore, frequently goes on to take advantage of it, as is shown time and time again to be his nature. he has a near constant need for stimulation; this can be seen in both his chaotic behaviors ( his scheming, the games in which he plays with others, the creation of chaos amongst others, his constant conflicts with shizuo, etc ) to his frequent playing of chess in his downtime ( even if only with himself, as he admits to he, himself, being his greatest opponent ). he’s incredibly versatile in his criminal activities, i.e. changing his identity at will or as needed to avoid being caught or to manipulate and deceive others ( each and every last one of his online personas is an absolute testament to this ).

he also doesn’t necessarily have what i would consider to be any sort of particularly realistic life plans or goals, ultimately being hyper-focused on supplying himself with mental stimulation, wreaking havoc about the city that he claims to love, proving shizuo to be the monster that he resolutely believes him to be, and finding companions who meet this strict, almost impossible, criteria of his ( again, something we’ll be touching on shortly ).

that said, do i believe him to be an absolute sociopath? almost, but no.

regardless of however i may happen to talk about izaya, however i happen to, at times, write izaya, i don’t believe he’s entirely what he seems to be.

izaya is, without a shadow of a doubt, phenomenal at what he does, but not because of any sort of mental disorder, it’s because he has built himself up to be the person that he is. izaya is nearly one hundred percent self-made. he’s easily the most highly intelligent character within his respective series, so much so that he actually laments the fact that he has no intellectual rival ( told you we’d be coming back to this ). izaya is a rare form of genius, a large portion of his intelligence being rooted in his own form of observational proficiency; in the way that he takes in, absorbs, visual, auditory, and sensory information and in the way in which he happens to categorize and log away all of this information, forming patterns and creating his own mental files. furthermore, he never forgets things, not anything. he may, at times, pretend to or feign ignorance, but he absolutely doesn’t forget. he also has an eidetic memory and is capable of recalling faces or images from memory, even if only having seen them once and for a short amount of time.

it’s essentially this, his mind, his overall intelligence that initially sets him on the path that it does, that leads to izaya becoming the person that he is today. during his youth, it’s remarked upon that his parents were actually quite concerned for him as it’s stated that he disliked interacting with other children or, later in life, with people his own age ( perhaps, even, people in general ). there are two very plausible reasons for this. the first being that as a child, he was likely ostracized due to his level of intelligence. he was, simply put, on a much different level intellectually which made it difficult for him to interact with his peers and vice versa. which, in the end, led him to then remove himself from these social interactions entirely--- which happens to be our reason two; if he’s going to be shunned or excluded anyway, then why bother trying to include himself in the first place. at least in removing himself from the situation of his own accord he has a sense of control. something that he needs.

inherently, he’s actually quite lonely. it isn’t as though he’s above human interaction as a whole, nor is he incapable of wanting or forming connections with other people altogether ( although i don’t believe him to be capable of forming and maintaining healthy relationships with others ). but, rather, it’s that he has, thus far, been incapable of forming such connections with the people that he’s met. no one rivals his mind save for him. he wants stimulating conversation, he wants to be surprised and to be challenged, and no one supplies this, no one provides him with what he needs ( the closest that he’s canonically come to this is shinra, who spiraled so deeply into his obsession with celty that he, more or less, cast his relationship with izaya to the side ). and, so, ultimately he’s left bored and wanting. which then leads him to create his own stimuli ( something that rarely bodes well for anyone else ).

ironically, his shallow emotional range and incapability of effectively understanding and processing the emotion that he does feel is also largely part of what has led izaya to become the person that he is now. he’s lonely, yes, but lacks a full and true awareness of the fact that he is so, deeming such feelings to simply be boredom. he feels empty, a sort of void, and immediately jumps to that one particular conclusion time and time again--- he must be bored. there, as far as he is aware, can be no other logical explanation.

he also has experienced jealousy, primarily notable when shinra essentially ditched him for celty, which triggered a whole series of unhealthy coping mechanisms ranging from obsession ( which he has another of in shizuo ) to him flagrantly casting aside what little remained of his capabilities in regard to vulnerability and emotional expression. he was unable to properly form and maintain one human relationship and, so, naturally would refrain from making the same mistake again. izaya, if nothing else, is consistent and learns his lesson the first time around ( even if, perhaps, the takeaway that he gets from it is very, very wrong ).

in his own twisted way, it’s this deep seeded, misconstrued loneliness that leads him to his self-proclaimed human loving behavior ( always plural, always collective, and never the singular person ). this is where these emotions / behaviors and his sociopathic tendencies begin to intermingle, where the lines begin to blur, izaya walking this odd line of claiming to love humans unilaterally due to being unable to find and connect with that one person and loving humans due to simply finding them to be fun and for his own enjoyment, their nature and behaviors fascinating to him. it’s all at once disturbing and depressing and indicates this bizarre simultaneous mental instability and frightening level of self-awareness and control.

as a result, the only connections that he’s since been able to form are of a superficial level, people only wanting to get to know him, to become close with him, due to a facade, a fabrication of his own self that he’s used to lure them in, to use or to manipulate them for his own personal benefit. this, however, is something of a double-edged sword; he’s granted, albeit temporarily, with the mental stimuli that he craves, that he desperately needs, but in jumping from one person to the next ( enacting numerous mind games, collecting people and drowning himself in these near constant social interactions ), he’s overfilling those aforementioned mental files of his, he’s interacted with so many people, experienced so many interactions, that, over time, everyone begins to become predictable. he becomes more and more difficult to entertain and so, oftentimes, is left at least vaguely disappointed. which, in turn, causes him to continuously up his game, to up the stakes, leading to further and further consequence--- even going so far as to put his own life at risk, to risk death, for the sake of satisfying his own personal agenda or to prove a point ( case and point, his final fight with shizuo, which leaves his body utterly destroyed and leads to him being stabbed and near death; he’s ultimately fine with being killed if it’s at shizuo’s hand just so that he can finally prove that shizuo is, in fact, the monster that he’s constantly touting him to be--- note !! this particular scene / interaction is one that i don’t entirely maintain as canon for my particular portrayal of izaya ).

izaya is, without a doubt, the great villain in his respective series, but in becoming so has found himself becoming his own great villain as well. his inherent problematic qualities coupled with misconceived loneliness and emotional repression has led to him being his own greatest vice. he’s incapable of relinquishing control, banishes all signs of vulnerability ( however few there may be ), and views others as being beneath him, none capable of being or becoming his intellectual equal.

long story short, izaya is one part sociopath, one part self-made enemy number one ( both in regard to those unfortunate enough to cross his path and to himself ). and though i strive to bring out the best of both worlds, there’s only so much that i’m capable of in writing for a character quite so interesting and complex as this.

#☆. ( hc )#☆. ( izaya )#me: izaya is a rat bastard #also me: izaya is an incredibly complex character and in this essay i will--#anyway this is very. long. but it was fun to think about & write & really get into #my views & hcs & portrayal of izaya!#& i can't wait to do these for as many #of my muses as my brain will allow #suicide //#☆. ( character study )

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monstersandmaw · 6 years

Text

Male orc (Damien) x reader (sfw)

Edit which I’m including in all my works after plagiarism and theft has taken place: I do not give my consent for my works to be used, copied, published, or posted anywhere. They are copyrighted and belong to me.

Here's my orc boy Damien, who's a chocolatier (!) with a gender-neutral, bi reader. I really hope you like this one! You folks seemed really excited about this concept, so I hope you like it! If you missed my post about the tiefling in this story, make sure you check out a drawing I did of him here! I hope to give Alexios a male reader in the future.

The reader has just broken up with their girlfriend, who wasn't really able to deal with the fact that they're into both guys and girls, but other than that, no warnings. (Very very light nsfw (kiss) at one point)

___

Everything hurt. Your throat was raw, your eyes pink and puffy, your cheeks blotchy. You had been crying for what felt like hours in a quiet corner of the park – what had been your bench, where you’d shared your first kiss with her, and where you’d met every day for lunch. To say that you hadn’t seen it coming would have been an understatement. The words she’d used struck you more deeply than you’d care to admit, even to yourself. Nothing felt real, and everything hurt.

Eventually you managed to scrape together the scraps of your pride and courage, and you pushed yourself upright, dusting your palms off reflexively on the front of your jeans. You’d always been quick to laugh and quick to cry, wearing your heart on your sleeve, and you’d been no slower to fall in love this time. But apparently two years of dating no longer meant anything to her, and she was heading back to your apartment to start clearing her stuff out.

No way you wanted to go back there just yet. You trusted her just enough not to be vindictive and take anything that wasn’t hers, so you just wandered round town aimlessly with your hands in your pockets until you saw a sign swinging in the bleak autumn wind, and decided on a complete whim, to go inside.

You actually passed the shop every day on your way to and from the bus station, but you’d never really taken much note of it. Now, however, you saw the welcoming, softly-gilded front window and hand-carved sign, and decided you’d like nothing more than to duck into the beautiful chocolaterie out of the cold and perhaps even buy yourself some fancy-ass chocolates. Wasn’t that what you were supposed to do after you had your heart broken after all?

Tastefully decorated in dark teal wood panelling, with temperature controlled glass cases and brass edgings, the interior was gorgeous. The décor trod the line between ‘ostentatious’ and ‘antique’ without ever tipping over into ‘pretentious’. Baskets of sugared almonds and marzipan fruits rested on the top of the glass cases, and pre-boxed packages were arranged in delicate pyramids. There was even a werewolf-friendly chocolate stand, laden with delicious, theobromine-free goodies.

At the back of the shop, a massive marble counter stretched the width of the room, and behind it, the owner and his assistant were engrossed in their work.

On the right, opposite the display cases on your left, was a fin-de-siècle style bar which had been tastefully divided into three levels to accommodate patrons of most sizes. Tall, gilt-frame mirrors lined the wall behind it, and bar stools befitting a range of customers dotted the length of it. There was a space for everyone, from the enormous, snow-white minotaur who sat reading a book at one end, leaning on his elbow and occasionally chatting with the owner, to the tiny goblin who sat at the other, lower end of the bar near the door, debating something heatedly with his human companion, who sat with her wheelchair tucked neatly to one side. Their intense discussion filled the room at that end, but every now and again they broke off, laughing, and sipped frothy mugs of chocolate.

You paused just a moment, a deep, sharp yearning twisting your gut as you watched the goblin reach his hand out delicately towards the woman he was with and let her take a bite of the chocolate from his slender, sharp-clawed fingers. His slate-grey skin looked like condensed shadow and his coal-black eyes glittered, his mouth full of sharp teeth smiling sweetly as she giggled and took it from him, leaning her elbows on the low bar-top.

Already, you had no one to do things like that with, to be silly with, to share food and conversation with, and all because you liked boys as well as girls, and she hadn’t been able to deal with that. The memory of the last time you’d been able to do that with her lanced through your chest suddenly and you turned away, fighting unexpected tears. She’d truly broken your heart and you weren’t sure you’d ever trust anyone again.

“Stop it,” you hissed to yourself, turning your blurry gaze to the rows of immaculately-laid out chocolates and truffles in the glass cases, all labelled in elegant cursive handwriting, with allergy warnings in little symbols. It was a beautiful, beautiful shop and the urge to scoff everything like a baby troll at a birthday party was suddenly almost overwhelming.

By the time you made it to the end of the counter, you could plainly see that the owner was as beautiful, enticing, and delicious as the things he made.

The orc stood at nearly seven feet tall, with a white apron stretched across his impressive chest and embroidered with the symbol of the shop in appropriately cocoa-brown stitching. He had his long hair pulled back off his forehead in a braid which then fell into a long, black ponytail down his back. Thick, tortoiseshell-framed glasses were slipping down the bridge of his nose, and he shunted them back up with a knuckle, barely pausing as he went to lift a huge bowl out of a bain-marie, first testing the temperature with a thermometer. Satisfied, he turned the temperature down a little, and then heaved the big bowl aloft as though it weighed nothing at all.

You watched, entranced, as he poured glistening, liquid chocolate over the bare marble counter, his assistant standing back with a smile as his boss set to work. Using a broad, flat, palette knife, the orc swirled it through the chocolate with the confidence of someone who had been doing that for many years, before scraping it with another tool into the centre, beginning all over again, cooling the chocolate gradually, evenly.

His assistant, a tiefling with unusual, cloudy-grey skin and stunning, marbled black and white horns cast his gaze up at you for a moment. He wore his blue-black hair half-tied back in a bun, though some had slipped out of the knot and was beginning to hang into his astonishing, silver-blue eyes. He smiled shyly, long canines flashing, before turning back to watch the enormous orc at his work. You couldn’t fail to miss that his slim, lean body was peppered with beautiful, geometric tattoos, including one right over his throat and Adam’s apple and then down his chest beneath the collar of his shirt. It was only as you gazed at the gorgeous designs that you realised with a little jolt of surprise that his left arm was missing from just above the elbow joint, the shirt sleeve tied in a knot.

Your attention was drawn immediately back to the orc, however, who checked the viscosity of the chocolate with an ostentatious scoop, somehow spilling nothing. He then repeated his routine: drawing it into the centre, spreading it out, drawing it in again and spreading it out All the while his thick arms – beautifully bared up to the short sleeves of his t-shirt to show incredibly toned and sculpted muscles – worked seamlessly without hitch or stutter, as fluid as the chocolate he was tempering.

Once he was happy with it, he returned the chocolate from the counter back into the bowl it had come from with a few economical scrapes, mixing it in with the remainder. His gorgeous arms worked it with ease, muscles flexing and rippling, until he was again satisfied with the consistency. With a final check of the temperature, he set it back in the bain-marie and waved at his assistant, who smiled, nodded, and took over.

Wiping his hands off on his already chocolate-smudged apron, he looked up and saw you watching him with obvious wonder in your still-slightly-pink eyes. He laughed then, a sound so kind and rich, warm and rough, that you forgot how to breathe for a few seconds.

“Looking for anything in particular?” he smiled, using a knuckle again to push his glasses back up his nose.

Kicking your brain back into action, you snorted. “Uhh, is it socially acceptable to say I’m looking for a pick-me-up for myself?”

He laughed, the corners of his warm, brown eyes crinkling. “Absolutely it is! That’s one of the reasons I started this place. Now, would you like to choose something, or perhaps you’d like me to surprise you?”

You licked your lips and then sank your teeth into your lower lip, thinking. His eyes were fixed on you, which was somewhat nerve-inducing but also rather exciting. Fuck it, you thought, and sighed. “Surprise me,” you said coyly.

“Alright,” he said, a twinkle in his eyes, which you now saw were actually dark on the outer rim of the iris and a warm caramel colour on the inside. “Any allergies or extreme dislikes?”

You shook your head. “Honestly, anything will do right now.”

A flash of concern flickered across his handsome face, and your stomach lurched wildly as his eyes lit up again, this time with empathy. Standing there, you felt small and fragile, and the desire to be swept up into those massive arms – ridiculous as it was – almost overwhelmed you.

“Sit tight,” he said gently, “And I’ll bring something out to you.”

He waved at the bar against the wall behind you with a massive hand, and as you turned to follow the gesture, the white-haired minotaur grinned at you. Even his horns were pale as cream, with just the very tips fading to a blue-grey. He had ice blue eyes, and a warm smile waiting for you as you took your seat.

“You’ve not been here before, I take it,” he said conversationally as you wiggled inelegantly onto a slightly-too-tall bar stool so you could chat with him rather than sit on your own in the middle of the bar, which was lower. His white tail dangled down behind his seat, swinging casually from side to side, and he had propped his hooves on the low rung of his bar stool, and somehow, despite being easily a full two feet taller than you, and colossally wide at the shoulders, he was far more elegant than you could ever hope to manage.

You snorted a laugh. “Is it that obvious?”

He blew out a friendly laugh through his nose, the smooth, silver ring glittering for a moment, and a white-tufted ear twitched. “People always get that look in their eyes when they first see Damien work.”

“Can you blame them?” you replied, adjusting your weight on the bar stool. “It’s amazing watching him work.”

“Oh yeah. See those awards up there?” The minotaur pointed at a series of framed certificates on the wall above the tiled lower section where the other two were working away in perfect harmony, safely out of the way of any splashes or mess.

You nodded, intrigued. There were lots of gold stars and seals visible even at that distance.

“Our Damien only trained with the best chocolatier in all Paris he did…” the minotaur laughed, “A succubus by the name of Elurien. She taught him all he knows… And rumour has it, not just in the kitchen, if you know what I’m –”

“Nik!” the orc growled over the marble countertop. “Come on now…” He raised a beautifully sculpted, dark eyebrow at the minotaur, who only laughed.

A deep flush coloured your cheeks as Damien raised his finger in mock threat at his friend, and you turned your gaze elsewhere. He was really very good-looking. You’d never been with an orc before, but you’d always found them very attractive.

To distract yourself from his looks, you found yourself focusing instead on his assistant, unable to keep looking at the big orc without feeling self-conscious. You watched, fascinated, as the lean tiefling worked with great concentration and focus. He was making what looked like decorative bird cages in chocolate. With stunning precision he laid out the filigree design in semi-liquid chocolate, piping it onto a sheet of acetate, and then, using his cool fingers, and no doubt a little tiefling magic, deftly rolling it up until he had created a perfect cylinder of lace-like chocolate. Having only his right arm to do it didn’t seem to hinder him in the slightest, tucking the piping bag under his chin when he needed to squeeze a little more further down the bag.

Damien obviously saw you watching the tiefling work, your eyes focused on the tip of the piping bag as he traced out filigree swirls for the bird cages. “Alexios is my development chef,” he grinned, slapping the tiefling on the back which inevitably made him mess up the very beginning of the next design.

He looked up and raised a dark eyebrow before casting a look over his shoulder at you.

“You’re both very talented,” you said rather lamely.

“I’m just his assistant,” Alexios said in a warm, dry voice.

“Rubbish,” Damien scoffed, grinning. “You came up with my latest best sellers!” he said, and he beckoned you excitedly over to a refrigerated display cabinet.

There was something indescribably endearing about seeing someone so big being quite so childishly excited. Unable and unwilling to refuse, you slid off the bar stool – on which you’d only just got comfortable – and followed him round on the customer side of the counter. Hanging off a display tree were a myriad of the little bird cages, some in white chocolate, some in dark, some marbled, with a tiny, coloured fondant bird inside, sitting on a trapeze.

“They are stunning,” you said.

“Aren’t they!” Damien boomed, leaning back, hands on his hips.

Alexios’ cheeks flushed a darker grey. “Says the guy who won an award for making an entire doll’s house out of chocolate…”

“What?” you asked, and it was the orc’s turn to look bashful.

“That was a one-off,” he mumbled, turning away and getting back to whatever he’d been doing for you.

Alexios caught your eye over the counter top. “He made it for his little sister’s sixteenth,” he said. “It had chocolate furniture and marzipan food and everything. He ended up winning an award for it.”

You couldn’t keep the grin off your face as you saw the huge orc trying to make himself smaller, shoulders hunching as he kept his back turned to you. You took the opportunity to admire the way his long ponytail fell down the length of his spine, sleek and thick and shiny.

“Well, like I said, you’re clearly both very talented,” you said.

You returned to your seat, and Alexios to his work, and in no time, Damien was coming over to you with a little hand-made ceramic mug full of steaming chocolate. “Try that,” he said, “And if that doesn’t make you feel better, I’ll close up shop right now, and spend the rest of the day trying out different things with you.”

Something about the way he said it nearly made you burst into tears again, and as you raised your head to look at him, he blushed, but he didn’t break eye contact, only smiling encouragingly.

Nik returned to reading his book, and you let Damien set the mug down on the bar for you. He then went back behind the counter and fetched a tiny saucer in matching glazed blue and grey earthenware, and gently set that down beside your mug. As he leaned across, he almost touched you, and you could smell the cocoa lingering on his olive green skin.

“Cognac truffle,” he said. “You look like maybe you could use it…”

Swallowing thickly, you smiled and thanked him.

“I’ll leave you in peace,” he said, “But don’t thank me til you’ve tried it, ok?”

You smiled weakly and he placed his hand quietly on your shoulder for just a moment. It was enough to set you off. Your lip wobbled, and then silent tears spilled down your cheeks. You turned away, embarrassed.

“Hey now,” he murmured. “Hey, hey, I’m sorry…”

“It’s not you,” you sobbed, desperately trying to stop. “I literally just split up with…” you gulped, the words choking your throat.

“Oh that’s rough,” he said. “I’m so sorry. Look, that’s on the house, ok? Take all the time you need.” You weren’t sure but it seemed like when he spoke that his ears went back like a sad puppy’s. “When you’re done, do you wanna come back and help me with some stuff?” Yes, his ears definitely perked up a little at his question, as though in hope.

“I… I’m not… I’m not sure I’d be any good…” you sniffled.

He smiled, the silver cuffs around his beautiful thick tusks gleaming in the soft light of the shop. “Nonsense,” he smiled. “I think you’d be beautiful at it. Finish that first though, and then decide. Up to you.”

He left you with another gentle touch on your back. His huge hand left a warm imprint that seemed to sear through your woollen jumper to your skin, leaving a lasting impression.

You sipped the hot chocolate and honestly it was the best thing you’d ever tasted. A warming hint of cinnamon with the deep sweetness of vanilla beans and cocoa made you moan out load and you forgot everything, even her, for as long as it took you to finish it.

As you set the mug down for the last time, you saw him looking up at you from the other side of the counter. “Any good?” he asked, but it was clear he already knew the answer.

“Ex girlfriend who?” you said, smiling.

“That’s what I wanted to hear,” he grinned.

At his side, Alexios muttered something which you could have sworn sounded like ‘maybe not quite what you wanted to hear, boss…’ but before you had the chance to tell him that the cognac truffle had had more kick than a frisky centaur, the orc’s mobile rang, and he stepped into the back room to answer it.

The doors had large glass circles in, and you watched curiously as he clearly began to argue with the person on the other end. At one point he ripped his glasses off his face and pinched the bridge of his nose, rubbing little circles there, alleviating tension that was building up rapidly in his handsome features.

Alexios caught you staring as you returned the mug to the counter, and he sighed, taking it from you and putting it carefully in the big butler sink behind him. He turned back to you and said, “He’s got his own relationship issues going on…”

“I’m sorry,” you said. “Look, let me pay for this, please,” and you glanced up at the chalk board on the wall. Not quite seeing anything that matched what you’d had, you drew out a note and laid it on the counter. “I insist.”

The tiefling looked at you for a moment, and then sighed, picking up the money and putting it in the til. “Alright,” he said, “But on one condition.”

“What’s that?”

He paused, looking shy but determined. “That you come back here again.”

“Oh,” you chuckled, “No doubt about that.”

He flashed you a grin.

“Say goodbye and thank you to Damien, for me, will you?”

He nodded. “Take care now.”

“I will,” you said, trying to be brave.

Honestly, being at home in the now-empty apartment was awful. Everything reminded you of her, and you spent the entire evening browsing estate agents’ websites for apartments you knew you couldn’t really afford on your own. The rent was paid for this month, but next month you weren’t sure you’d be able to make it.

Despite promising Alexios that you’d go back to the shop, you didn’t return for another week. After the shock of what had happened truly hit you, you had barely felt like leaving the apartment outside of work, let alone going outside and being sociable. But eventually, on your way back from work one rainy afternoon, you stepped into the shop on a whim.

Damien saw you immediately and grinned as you pushed the door open.

“Hey!” he called the moment the little brass bell announced your presence.

“Hey,” you returned shyly.

“Good to see you again,” he said, dusting his hands off on his apron. “You come to help me this time, or to enjoy the peace and quiet of an empty shop?” he asked, looking around the deserted room.

You shrugged shyly.

“Fancy helping me dip these?” he said, eyeing a batch of fresh truffles to one side as he obviously spotted your discomfort. “Alexios is off with his new boyfriend today and I could really use a hand…”

“Isn’t that, like, against some kind of health and safety laws or something?” you asked playfully, shrugging out of your damp coat and dumping your work bag under the furthest end of the bar.

He hitched a lopsided smirk. “Not if you wear these gorgeously sexy gloves,” he said, waggling his fingers in a pair of his own latex gloves, “And agree to be my intern for the day.”

“Your intern?” you laughed.

His smile was infectious.

“Fine, fine,” you said. “I’ll do it. Though I should warn you, I’m not very artistic…”

“I don’t need you to make sculptures,” he said. “I just need you to dip these in that white chocolate for me. You think you can do that without eating half of them?”

“Half?” you smiled. “How about a quarter?”

“Done,” he chuckled easily, holding up the hinged counter-top for you to pass through. “Grab Alexios’ apron from over there,” he said, pointing at the dark green apron that hung on a peg in the doorway to the back room.

As you slipped it over your head, you felt him standing close behind you and he took the strings at the back and murmured, “Here, let me,” his quiet, gentle hands tying a bow before you could object. Your heart began to hammer at the proximity of the big orc, but he was kind and sweet, and the gesture was oddly intimate in the confined space behind the counter.

“Thanks,” you smiled, turning slowly. “So, show me what I’m doing?”

The rest of the afternoon passed in the blink of an eye, and it was well after closing time before you finally drew back from your work and cracked the tension out of your neck.

“You did great!” Damien smiled, his eyes crinkling in the corners again. “Would… Would you like me to walk you home?” he asked, eyeing the deepening sky outside.

You turned, picking up your bag and jumped slightly as he appeared right behind you again, silent despite his big stature, and picked your coat up to help you into it. “Thanks,” you whispered. “Sure.”

He locked up the shop, nipping back inside briefly when he said he’d forgotten something, and once he was done, you headed down the nearly-deserted street together, your collar turned up against the worsening weather.

“I should have grabbed an umbrella for you,” he muttered as you slid your hands into your pockets.

“It’s fine,” you said. “I don’t mind the rain that much.” After another few paces you said, “Can I ask how you got into all this?” you said, gesturing vaguely behind you. “The chocolaterie, I mean…”

He laughed, a natural, beautiful, booming, rich laugh that made your own lips quirk at the corners. “Not the first job you’d think of for an orc, is it?”

You shook your head bashfully.

“My mum and I used to bake all the time when I was a kid. When my mum died, my dad and I raised my lil sis, and I ended up doing all the little things that she used to do for Melody, and it turns out I was pretty good at it…”

“That’s really sweet,” you said, feeling something aching in your chest.

He shrugged. “I enjoy it, and it means I get to meet nice people like you, so…”

“Even when we have mini meltdowns in your shop?”

He chuckled. “How are you doing, by the way?”

“Oh, you know,” you said, gesturing vaguely.

“Yeah,” he replied. “I do.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah,” he said heavily. “My girlfriend and I split up a few days ago.”

“Shit,” you murmured.

Damien shrugged his massive shoulders. “It was a long time coming, you know?”

“No,” you said honestly. “When I got dumped I didn’t see it coming at all.”

“Ah, shit,” he said. “I’m sorry. I always put my big foot in it… Look, I’m not going to pretend I know what happened or anything, but…” he pushed his rain-spattered glasses up his nose one more time before apparently deciding to take them off altogether and tucking them into his breast pocket. His big brown eyes peered down at you from his great height as he went on. “I think she made a big mistake, ditching you… Her loss, you know?”

“I wish I could see it like that,” you said.

He paused, and then said, “Let’s go somewhere and grab a drink and something to eat…?”

You paused, the rain sheeting down in a dreary mizzle around you as you stared at the toes of your boots for a moment.

“No pressure if you don’t want to,” he began, but you cut him off with a shake of your head.

“I’d like that,” you said. “Thanks…”

He grinned, his beautiful, thick tusks gleaming. “C’mon, I know the perfect place.”

He ended up taking you to this olde-worlde pub down by the river, and it was absolutely perfect. You shared a bowl of chips and drank a rather silly amount of craft beer, and chatted about everything from culinary school to family, and by the end of it, you’d both almost forgotten your heartache.

Damien was big and muscular and sweet and funny, clever, kind and he had a wonderful laugh. You could have sat there for the rest of forever, listening to him and trying not to stare in wonder at the vast expanse of his chest and shoulders as he gesticulated with gentle hands and laughed a rumbling, warm laugh that made your insides ache.

More than a little tipsy, you made your way back home afterwards with him by your side, his hands clasped politely behind his back.

“Well, this is me,” you said as you reached your modest apartment block. “Thank you for tonight, and for letting me help out in the shop earlier too. I had fun.”

“My pleasure,” he said. He sighed suddenly and then started to worry his top lip with his tusk.

“Damien?”

He huffed a nervous laugh. “I… um… I guess I want to kiss you,” he said, shuffling anxiously, “But I don’t want you to think it’s just a rebound thing… And, I don’t know if you’re even interested in guys, or orcs so… you know…”

Your heart erupted into a million spasming, fluttering butterflies, and you beamed up at him. “You can, you know,” you said. “I’d… I’d like it if you did.”

And then his big palms were pressing gently around your jaw, his thumbs stroking your cheekbones, and he lowered his head down to you. His kiss was gentle, almost chaste, and it was surprisingly easy to avoid his big tusks, simply because he was so much bigger than you.

It was the kind of kiss you never wanted to end. It was the kind of kiss you’d not had in over a year, or possibly even ever. It was the kind of kiss that told you that you were beautiful, and loved, and valued, and brave, and kind, and everything you wanted to be, all in a breathless, brief moment.

Stunned, you almost swayed as he pulled back. He ran his fingers through your hair just above your ears, and smiled down at you, brown eyes glassy and bright. “Can I see you again?” he asked in a hoarse, deep rasp.

You nodded mutely, then swallowed. “I’d like that,” you said.

“Perfect,” he smiled. “You should get inside out of this rain. I’ll call you, I promise.”

“You need my number first,” you giggled, fishing your phone out. “What’s yours?”

He laughed. “Right,” he said, and dictated his number to you before taking yours down.

He turned to go in a bit of an awkward rush, leaving you standing on the step into your apartment building, but you grabbed his massive wrist in your fingers before he did. His skin was warm despite the rain and his lack of a jacket. He had only his t-shirt on, and it stuck blessedly to every beautiful contour of his sculpted chest and arms. “Thank you,” you murmured, fighting off tears. “I needed this.”

“Me too,” he said with a smile. “I’ll see you soon.”

Before he left this time, he leaned down and put his hand behind your head, bringing his lips to the side of your head and leaving the softest, gentlest kiss on your temple before he went. His other hand went to your hip, near your jacket pocket but he didn’t hold you there.

“Take care,” he said, and then he was walking away through the rain.

You watched him go, dizzy with emotion, and finally let yourself into your apartment building. As you fished for your keys, however, your fingers brushed against something in your pocket that you didn’t recognise.

Once inside your apartment, you drew out the mystery object from your pocket and discovered it was a small box of truffles from his shop. He must have grabbed it on a whim when he darted back into his shop, and slipped it into your pocket before leaving that night. On the gift label which hung from an elegantly-knotted gold ribbon, read the words ‘Forgive me for saying this, but these are not half so sweet as you. D.”

Giggling, you tried one, and moaned aloud at how good it was.

Already you couldn’t wait for your next meeting with Damien, and not just because of the sweet chocolates.

___________________________

#orc #modern orc #male orc #modern fantasy #male orc x reader #bi reader #sfw monster

1K notes · View notes

collapsethis · 5 years

Text

Far Cry 5 Deputy Ask Meme

Name: Giselle Fontaine/ Kassandra Stathi

Height: 5’ 4”

Hair: Shoulder length dark brown hair

Eye Color: Gray

Skin color: Tan with freckles

Age: 28

Gender: Female, she/her pronouns

Sexuality: Bisexual

1. How did they end up at the Hope County Sheriff’s Department? How long have they worked there?

Before Hope county Giselle was apart of an underground para-military group that spanned the globe that was formed after the U.S dropped the bombs on Japan to try and slow the creation or more bombs by other governments. It was a small group at first but gained steam during the Cold War. Giselle’s parents were both agents who would go “on vacation” for a few months in another part of the world to steal info on the nuclear programs of various countries. She joined when she was a teenager. Unfortunately, after one job she caught the attention of a serial killer who was a former agent. He kidnapped her but she escaped. Her handler in the organization decided to fake her death and move her to safe place. He sent her to Hope County because Dutch was apart of the group in his youth and is the only one who knows the truth.

2. Relationship with Pratt, Hudson, and Whitehorse?

She has a professional relationship with the others in the Sheriff’s department because she is still adjusting to her new life. She feels a bit bad about lying to them.

3. Do they have an education?

She was homeschooled by her parents both of whom were professors before joining the organization, was trained by the organization in various espionage skills and sciences, is an excellent hacker.

4. Where are they from? Did they speak a different language there?

Was born in Alabama to a Louisiana French mother with a deep southern accent and a Greek father. She knows English, Spanish,French (both the original French dialect and the Creole version spoken in the deep south) also knows Greek and a smattering of Italian from her time in the org.

5. Is there anyone outside the valley that might have come looking for them?

The serial killer that kidnapped her tried to “reclaim” her when she was in the hospital after she escaped and tried to grab her again before she “died” and came to Montana. She and Dutch are both preparing for when he finds her.

6. Did they have a religious background of any kind?

Wasn’t particularly religious, was raised on the belief that the only way for humanity to survive and thrive is to support and protect the ones that can’t protect themselves. She was raised on the idea that sometimes you have to eliminate a threat to protect others. But when she was escaping from the serial killer she had an experience that makes her believe more of what Josephs been saying than she lets on.

1. What was going through their head when the helicopter went down and during the subsequent chase?

She was thinking about how her handler told her that hope county was supposed to be calm, supposed to be her “retirement”

2. Were they afraid of Joseph and Eden’s Gate? Angry?

She wasn’t afraid so much as sad that someone who had obviously been through so much was choosing to spread that pain around instead of helping people.

3. Did they trust Dutch?

Dutch is the only one in the county that she really trusts. He was apart of the same group as her and is the only one that knows that truth about her.

4. How did they feel about their team being taken by the cult, did they count them as lost, did they want them back, did they not care?

Due to her upbringing there was no way she was going to leave them in the Seeds’ hands. She also feel responsible because with all her training she still didn’t see this coming.

5. How did they take to the idea of being part of, if not leading, the resistance?

She loves the resistance. She helps them whenever she can. She tries to turn them more towards saving other people and helping the county rather than focused on revenge on the Seeds.

6. Which companions did they recruit, and who did they travel with the most?

She travels mostly with Grace, she loves her quiet support, as Giselle tends towards rambling. She also fucking loves Boomer and takes him everywhere.

7. Did they have time to find romance amidst the chaos? How did they do it?

She doesn’t intentionally romance anyone. But, shit happens.

8. Feelings about Joseph?

She feels empathy for Joseph, for what he and his siblings have gone through, and if there’s a chance that she can redeem any of them she’ll take it. Due to her own experiances she’s 100% sure that he isn’t hearing God. She wants him to realize that and make steps to heal not only the county but him and his siblings as well.

9. Feelings about the other Seeds?

She also feels a lot of empathy for the other Seeds as well and wants to help them, in a way, atone for what they’re doing. She has already decided that she isn’t going to kill them to liberate the regions.Her parents taught her that you should always try to help even the ones who seems the worst, as they’re usually the ones that need it the most. She feels for them but she also won’t take shit either. She feels most strongly against Jacob and his “cull the weak” mentality, since it’s directly opposite what she was raised on.

10. How did they handle having to kill animals and other humans? Had they done it before?

She has had to kill people before as part of the organization, mostly as assassinations. She doesn’t like it but she is very good at it. She has a harder time with animals because she wasn’t taught how to deal with them. She got a crash course from Dutch when she got to Hope County but she’s still not as confident or comfortable killing them. She views animals as “innocents” that have no ill intentions to her and are just going with their instincts, except for turkeys, she hates turkeys.

11. Which canon ending did they choose in-game, and would you have changed the ending at all?

She’s going to do what she can to change the ending, but in game she would have chosen the resist ending.

1. Favorite weapon(s)?

Combat knife, hand gun, bow and smoke bombs. She can use rifles but she isn’t as good with them.

2. Stealth or firepower?

Stealth all the way. Until she gets spotted and then its full on Black Widow at the end of IM2 rampage.

3. How did they spend their time, when not fighting peggies?

When she’s not fighting peggies she’s working with Dutch to make a bunker for the resistance, just in case.

4. Where did they live during the events of the game?

She moves between living in Falls End and popping down to Dutch.

5. Any other facts you want to share about your Deputy!

She loved watching action and spy movies with Dutch while they heckled all the mistakes before all the shit hit the fan.

She spent so much of her time as a teenager training to join the org that she never really dated, so she’s a virgin. She’s not really bothered by this.

She has a long jagged scar on her chest, right in the middle between her breasts that goes from just above her boobs to the top part of her sternum from her time with the serial killer.

She and Dutch refer to her handler as her “Uncle” who sent her to “family friend” Dutch when her parents died.

Her parents both died in a car accident when she was 20.

Dutch and the killer were both in the org at the same time. Dutch hated him with a burning passion for no reason he could pinpoint, as such the killer is terrified of Dutch. This is why her handler sent her to Dutch.

#fc5 #deputy #far cry 5 #far cry 5 oc #I finally wrote something about my dep!#so excited #sorry for the wall of text

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grimoiregirlsbook · 5 years

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01:

A Lament For Al’s Pancake World

A wind carries with it no voices, no songs, no texture whatsoever. This distilled breath finds its way through crevices unknown to even rats, and how desperately have they burrowed their way into this derelict building. Even as four individuals covered in grime-laden flesh feel the welcomed lick of cool air, any sound is refused.

Characterized by a pout and straight black hair stuck to her skull, Lorelai sits at a table where two companions occupy where her parents once had sat. Across from her would be her daughter, missing, though presumably safe. Instead, there is a man consumed by heat but who can no longer sweat.

Formerly the owner of his town’s only soda shop, the elderly Taylor Doose remains proud of his inability to succumb to death.

Occasionally the man will peer down at his wrist and remember the moment he had lost a majority of his left hand. Chewed away and wrapped up in cloth moistened with blood, he has virtually become useless to his party. To his left, Lorelei’s right, is a thin lad encumbered with exhaustion and a fidgeting leg.

“Oh, Kirk. Would you please stop that incessant…” Taylor exhales and is unable to finish his sentence. His head bobs forward when a chill runs through his body. “That incessant…”

“It’s restless leg syndrome, Taylor, and it’s a common ailment of men between the ages of fourteen and seventy-two.” His tort does not inspire a response. “If we’re really going there, I’d ask you to stop breathing so heavily. The rhythm of my lungs naturally attunes to those who are nearest to me, and if you’re exhaling at a rate above a-hundred-four beats per minute, my anxiety tends to…”

Lorelai raises her hand. Her eyes are shut so tight she can remember what fireworks look like. All three look to her with expectation, perhaps some wisdom or comforting words. “Everybody needs to shut up. Like, right now.”

The fourth occupant of the dinner table pipes up. “I agree. Everyone is bickering like little annoying dogs. Chihuahuas.”

“For once, I think I agree with Mrs. Kim. You are all acting like chihuahuas, the mutant rejects of the animal kingdom.”

Kirk shrugs. “I think they’re sweet.”

“I had a chihuahua growing up,” Taylor’s voice breaks. The three are silent. This is the first time Lorelai paid attention to his tongue: dry, scaly. Something resembling empathy rises in her and she flutters her eyelashes after feeling a lump grow in her throat. “A sweet dog, yes,” he continued. “But infamously difficult to train.

“I remember I must have been ten, maybe twelve. No, eleven. Eleven…” His mind trails away and the story ceases like a water hose gradually losing pressure.

The four return their attention to themselves and the ever-growing hunger in the pit of their stomachs. Lorelai knows she must have lost weight. The way they look at her anymore spikes her self-image issues. She notices how she inadvertently covers her arms and avoids eye contact, more-so now than she ever had in high school.

Another gentle gust rolls in. Her mouth parts to breathe in this cool air that cuts through their sweltering sanctuary. “I think it’s going to rain.”

“Rain always excites me,” Kirk claims with a croak. “Something about the electricity in the air. My body is sensitive enough to feel the change of electromagnetic pressure in the atmosphere. My mother always used to call me her little thunder rod.”

Mrs. Kim frowns, and Lorelai verbalizes what she is unable to muster the strength to say. “Don’t you mean ‘lightning rod’?”

He looks down at the table and creases his browline. “I don’t know.” This distant memory, no longer relevant or clear. “Maybe.”

There is a sound from the other room that stirs them from an incoming depression. Each look to the hallway that connects to the kitchen, sans Taylor who is, instead, viewing a movie under his eyelids. A man, unshaved and tired, emerges with a tray of cold sandwiches. “I scraped the mold off of the bread the best I could. What, you’re going to be picky now?”

Lorelai crosses her arms and watches as the serving tray is placed in the center of the table. This stirs Taylor from his rest. Kirk cocks his head. “Is that safe to eat?”

“Safe?” Luke scoffs. “Nothing’s going to be safe for a while, Kirk. Might as well fast if you’re worried about contamination, especially here. What, have your parents ever heard of canned goods?”

Spawn of Gilmore rolls her eyes. “Well, there. That’s the thing. My parents believe that, by default, nothing from a can is good.”

“Try telling Budweiser that. Here,” he bites down into the corner of a sandwich that was cut in half. Through a full mouth, he insists, “Perfectly safe. Delicious. Eat it.”

Kirk removes himself from the table without a word. Luke frowns. “What, too good for a little bit of mold?”

“Oh, no, never. I am going to wash up, though.”

“You’re going to wash up before eating mold?”

“Even while society falls, we must maintain our dignity by living as we would. Civilized, sanitized. Also,” his shoulders straighten. “I have to pee.”

Mrs. Kim shakes her head and Lorelai turns to her with a dim smile. Mentally, she considers how difficult it has been to comfort the woman who is separated from her daughter as well. Though the bond is different and at times estranged, there is no terror as specific as being uncertain about a loved one’s fate.

She can ascertain, however, that Lane is perfectly fine and more-than-likely holed up in the same stead as Rory. Perhaps they are regaling each other with stories of the olden days. It is possible that they are laughing at a strangely specific observation. It is possible that they are able to survive in the same way her mother is, the same way this room full of people are.

Luke’s voice breaks her from this trance. “Is he okay?” She looks to Taylor, who is now shivering in violent throngs.

“Looks like a totally normal reaction to a zombie bite.”

“Oh, zombie this, zombie that. Spare me. Those are just - just sick people who have gone crazy or something.”

Lorelai’s eyes reduce to a sliver. “You can tell that to my mom. No, feel free! She’s upstairs, waiting for you to tell her that the flesh-craving is just a minor symptom of the common cold.”

He is silent for a moment. Taylor’s groans of pain fill the empty space. “I’m not saying it’s the cold, but…”

“Luke.” She shakes her head, telepathically forcing a suggestion to drop the conversation. He agrees with a snarl and a silent mock. Lorelai ignores her sandwich and focuses her attention to the man opposite her. “Taylor, sweetie, can you hear me?”

The old man blinks, disoriented. His eyes are not trained to any specific point. “Hm. Huh?”

“Do you feel good enough to eat something? It’s no pancake from Al’s Pancake World, but it’s something. Are you thirsty? The taps in the bathrooms still work.” Though there is no verbal response, the state of the man is enough to elicit action. Luke shakes his head when the woman begins to shift in her seat.

“I’ll get it. No, sit. Eat the moldwich.” With confidence -- because at least one of them must have some amount of it -- he quickly walks to the bathroom after grabbing a scotch glass from the late Richard Gilmore’s liquor cart. Remembering the escapade of his companion, he knocks on the door. “Kirk, you gotta let me in.”

There is no response. Luke frowns and tries at the handle, and to his surprise, it opens with ease. He peeks in. “Kirk?” Even though the man is gone, there is evidence of his brief visitation.

Luke cranes his neck and looks into the toilet. He suppresses a gag, rolls his eyes, and turns on the faucet. Nothing comes out.

Back in the dining room, Lorelai is pacing. She attempts to calm herself down by refusing the interior dialogue that struggles to become exterior. She tries to remember how to breathe let alone exhale slow, deep breaths. The panting of Taylor increases over time, and so does her anxiety.

Ms. Kim slams the table with either palm and knocks Lorelai from her trance. The exhausted woman points to the injured man. “Would you stop that? Always breathing -- heh, heh, heh. Just die already!”

“Mrs. Kim!” Lorelai finally allows her lungs to clear from stagnant breath. “That is - that is so mean.”

“I don’t understand why we must keep him around. Look at him! Pale and sick and dying. Where is the gun?”

“No. We’re not… Taylor, hush, sweetie. Nothing’s going to happen.”

Luke passes through the threshold with a still-empty cup. “Uh, everything okay, guys?”

“No!” Mrs. Kim stands up from her seat. “We must kill Mr. Doose before he becomes a monster like the others, like your mother.” She directs a hard glare to Lorelai, who quickly looks away after feeling a paralyzing shock run through her body.

“Oh, nope. No, you don’t.” Luke approaches the hysteric woman and places the empty glass on the table. “You’re not allowed to emotionally torment us when we already have very real, physical torment just outside of these doors.”

Lorelai runs her hands through her thick, graying hair and cups her ears. The voices come muffled now. He continues: “There are solutions other than violence. Plus, between you and me, I’d rather not waste one of our precious bullets on a man that looks like a strong breeze could evaporate him.”

Mrs. Kim raises her chin. “Go on.”

“Okay, good,” he says, relieved. “We can start delegating in a totally cool-headed way. I’m glad to see that we can communicate with each other about this instead of resorting to, you know, murder. There’s always a simple solution.”

“You have no idea what to do, Luke Danes.” The sound of Mrs. Kim’s voice has always cut through him as she was one of the few women to completely intimidate him. Lorelai creases her brow and unlatches her hands from her ears. She crosses them and cocks her hips.

“Oh, come on, Mrs. Kim. Luke of all people not having a plan?” The woman laughs and looks to an unconvinced Mrs. Kim and a nearly comatose Taylor Doose. “That’s - that’s why they call him the man with the plan. Right?”

Not receiving an answer, she verbally prods him once more. “Right, Luke?” He begins to cock his shoulders in a slow shrug. “What? No, no, no.” She rounds the sharp corner of the dinner table, cuts in front of Mrs. Kim, and closes in on the uncertain man.

“Listen, Lorelai,” he begins while rubbing the back of his neck. His voice reduces. “Maybe we should do something about Taylor. I mean, look at the state of him.” She humors him by examining the man; bereft of color, gasping for one of the few instances a breeze could be felt.

She does not respond immediately. Her gaze floats like a transient yellow rubber duck upon a freshly drawn bath. “We have two more bathrooms.”

Luke blinks. “One more time?”

“Two more bathrooms. Mom’s in the upstairs master. The guest bathroom in the hallway is free. I don’t want to put him down here, because, you know, just in case, I guess.”

He looks at her creased face and empathizes with what little energy she has left. This compromise saps her remaining reserves of hope.

Luke chews on the inside of his lower lip and straightens his posture. “I’ll need help getting him upstairs. No, you can stay here. I’ll find Kirk.” An uninvolved Mrs. Kim re-seats herself, but not before grabbing the empty scotch glass. She stares into the bottom and imagines the taste of every liquor it has once held.

“Find Kirk?” Lorelai tilts her head. Her voice still holds passivity. “I thought he was just using the bathroom.”

He shrugs and pulls away from the conversation without another word, leaving Lorelai to stand alone, idly bobbing like the useless rubber duck she hated imagining herself as.

Once again, Luke disappears from the room but his voice can still be heard calling for the missing companion.

He travels up the flight of stairs and knocks on the wall as he does. “Kirk?” His voice projects and cuts through the cement maze that is the Gilmore mansion. “You gotta help me out here.”

Intuitively, he approaches the guest bathroom. Even as his body contours around a wall he is able to see the door cracked and the lights off. He hums inquisitively and feels worry crease his forehead. “Kirk, buddy, you better not be doing anything stupid.”

He waits for a response but instinctively knows that somewhere within this building, Kirk was indeed doing something stupid and perhaps even dangerous. The man considers a mental archive of each possibility and flares his nostrils when one resonates particularly so.

Luke sets off to the master bedroom where a disoriented Emily Gilmore resides. Excommunicated, alone, infected.

He keeps his footsteps quiet as to not alert his companions downstairs. Heel to toe, he deftly navigates the tight labyrinth and eventually happens upon the master bedroom where a soft voice speaks with child-like innocence.

Kirk speaks to the bathroom door. “It’s okay, Mrs. Gilmore. I’m just going to use your sink for a few seconds. Maybe use a hand towel if you have a clean one you’re not using.” He feels a new presence and turns to an angry Luke.

“Jesus, Kirk! Are you insane?”

“I just need to get in there for just a moment, you know? Just a quick moment.” He reaches for the door handle and Luke lurches to swat his hand away. The frail man observes the back of his left hand. “Ow. That’ll probably bruise.”

Luke’s nostrils flare and his mouth parts open to further admonish him, but a thump against the bathroom door causes either man to jump. “Okay. We have to get out of here.”

“That’s probably a fair assessment, but, Luke, the downstairs faucet isn’t working.”

“Don’t wash your hands, then.” Another thump, this time with more force. “I don’t think that door is going to hold. We need to lock her in here.”

Kirk nods and claps his hands together with excitement. “Great! I’ll open this right up and you can distract her while I run in and wash up.”

Incredulous, Luke is unable to prevent Kirk from following through with his own asinine plan. His eyes widen and feels time slow around him as he watches the door swing open to reveal Emily Gilmore.

Sunken cheeks and dim eyes are fixtures on a canvas of skin that has since lost any familiar color. Makeup is smeared from her lips up to just below her right temple. A concave eye is made beauteous by uneven liner and a nude eyeshadow.

As Kirk brings the door to a full pivot, Luke is able to see the damage on the inside of the door: expensive makeup residue patterned within the splintered wood. Dark, unhealthy blood had been exhaled on the walls inside of the bathroom. The shower curtain is mostly dislocated, with few rings remaining intact.

Emily Gilmore locks her remaining eye on the man in front of her. Somewhere deep within her skull spins the few gears that belong to lucidity.

Backward hat, the corpse churns this recursive thought through sickness induced mania. Backward hat, backward hat.

She lunges forward and pauses to regain control of her failing nervous system. Luke backs up in short strides with his hands positioned just inches ahead of his chest. “Emily, Mrs. Gilmore,” he attempts to reason with the woman in a quiet, synthetically calm voice. “Kirk just has to use the bathroom. You can have it back after he’s done…” He cranes his neck around her to watch him hovering over the sink. “After he’s done washing his hands.”

Her lips curl and reveal shattered teeth. The force of her clenched jaw coupled with a bereft of pain receiving faculties has resulted in a loss of all of her front teeth. Her hair, however, is still in pristine form.

Another step forward and she trips over her own feet. This opening is enough for Luke to make an executive decision.

The toe of his boot, having known soil both dry and moist as well as the grease-slicked tiles of his restaurant for decades, is now introduced to the underside of Emily Gilmore’s throat.

The force of his response tears a hole in the woman’s neck. Her weak flesh rips away and Luke’s foot is shallowly burrowed. The woman squelches in pain, the sound muffled and reduced, garbled from the blood that she chokes on through this.

Kirk pokes his head out of the door as Luke heaves the woman off of his shoe. He looks up and furrows his brow with such intensity the man thought it would be better for him to find new residence in the decimated bathroom.

“You son of a bitch,” he barks through gritted teeth. For just a second, he watches the infected woman struggle against the ground. She claws at his ankles, but he steps over her to avoid the simple attacks. As Luke approaches, Kirk reaches to shut the door. “Don’t you dare, Kirk. Don’t you --”

“Get away, you lunatic!”

“Me? I’m the lunatic?”

Just as the metal lock connects with its home and the wooden door meets its frame, the same bloody boot connects with the mullion and collapses the door inwards. Kirk strafes away to avoid the intruder he once considered an ally.

While Luke’s boots are familiar with the concept of hard work and have been purchased with the idea of friction in mind, Kirk’s shoes have only known the feeling of escapism. Loosely connected activities, incomplete schemes. Never once grounded in a shared reality.

They do know now, however, the taste of old blood.

As the heel licks the metallic paste left over from somewhere in Emily’s lungs, the man is able to feel himself fall backward. The nape of his neck wraps over the side of the exposed bathtub where within many jets were installed to provide a comfortable yet exciting bathing experience.

Luke is frozen. He feels the cold drip of terror work its way through his lungs, and then into his esophagus. Dehydrated as he already was, there was even less moisture left on his tongue and none in the back of his throat. He speaks, but his words are made of dust: “Kirk? Are you okay, buddy?”

The man’s body is limp and impossibly contorted. “Kirk?” He hesitates before stepping forward. Luke’s head bobs forward like an unsure cat in an empty alleyway. His heart thrums in triplets -- each third beat further closing his throat.

Kirk’s hands and feet simultaneously twitch. Luke can feel all collected air escape from his lungs in the manner of one second. He is lightheaded and clutches his chest to calm his flailing heart. “Oh, my God. I was really worried there. Here, let me - let me help you up.”

He extends his left hand and uses his right for support against the cool wall. Another full-body twitch from Kirk, but no verbal response. Luke’s fingers wilt and he slowly pulls away. Two more twitches, then a seizure. His nostrils flare and, as if by divine timing, he turns away from Kirk to witness another stressor.

The body of Emily Gilmore had dragged its way out of the bedroom and left with it a trail of mucus and blood. He resolves to deal with her as his top priority but first tries to seal the door to the best of his ability. The hinges were destroyed in his breach and he is still able to clearly see Kirk’s spazzing body.

Luke does not have to travel far to meet up with the tenacious corpse. She hears his footfall and turns to face him. He is not able to look at her for more than a second before feeling nausea overwhelm him.

With a deep breath, he moves to grab her ankles and drag her back into her bedroom. Flecks of loose skin and crumbled teeth are left in her wake.

As he re-enters the room, he notices Kirk has dislodged himself from his previous position. While gripping Emily’s ankles, he keeps a close eye on the ostensibly dead man. “Kirk?” He calls once more. There is a belch as a reply. Luke drops Emily’s feet and quickly shuts the bedroom door before returning to Kirk with anxiety in his chest.

The man is not dead, nor is he alive. The same look as the late Emily Gilmore is etched on his face, sculpted deep within his eyes where there is no intelligent luster, but a drained well of lost sentience. “You too, huh?” Luke breathes this out and feels wasps of guilt swarm his thoughts.

Behind him is a snarling Emily Gilmore, the first of their party to be lost to the terrible and unknown disease. Several feet from Luke is the second, a man whose death could be somewhat beneficial for their longevity. He frowns and idles for a long moment. There is a sharp voice that calls his name.

Lorelai is at the bottom step, too weak to continue more than this. “Luke, are you okay?” There is minor panic in her voice after having heard a strange commotion. In the next room, Taylor’s pained heaving has reduced to calm, short breaths. She thinks about the sick man and wonders if she should feel relieved or even more worried.

Soft steps alert her, but she recovers with a genuine smile as she sets her eyes upon the grizzled but handsome Luke Danes. He tries to smile but his words do not carry with them the confidence they should have. “Hey. You okay?” They travel back to the kitchen with a quickened pace.

“Yes, but you aren’t. Obviously.” Lorelai looks behind her shoulder to examine the staircase. “What’s going on? Where’s Kirk?”

“Alright.” Luke clears his throat. He examines Mrs. Kim from the end of the room staring them down, and then Taylor with raised eyebrows. “He’s looking better.”

Lorelai’s smile acts more as a grimace. She is waiting for him to communicate with her and he picks up on this. “Kirk, erm, he… Yeah, do I really have to say it?”

“What? Yes, you do,” Lorelai’s voice raises and the neurotic woman stands up from her seat once again. He huffs and crosses his arms as Mrs. Kim joins the conversation with wide, speculative eyes. “What happened to him?”

Mrs. Kim scoffs. “Kirk?” He nods with a short sigh.

“Best to just tell you, I suppose. Alright! He freed Emily and -- no, Lorelai, listen. He wanted to wash his hands, and…”

The daughter of the household’s pet corpse looks up. A chandelier catches the corner of her eye. Cobwebs connect to multiple bulbs, once acting as a bridge for eight-legged critters. “She bit him.”

Luke freezes. He examines the woman he had known for as long as he could remember.

Even as many old memories have begun to fade -- holidays, festivals, birthdays, Lorelai remains a fixture in his mind. Every moment he closes his eyes, no matter how tired or distracted, the woman eventually finds her way into his mental cinema.

He sucks his lips for a long time before replying with a slow nod. Luke is unable to bring himself to lie, not out loud, not in his own voice.

#gilmore girls #grimoire girls #fanfic #fanfiction #fan fiction #al's pancake world #chapter one #chapter 1

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arcanum-exo · 6 years

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Positive traits: Pragmatic; flexible; adventurous; compassionate; shrewd

Variable traits: Independent; spontaneous; rebellious; straightforward

Negative traits: Egotistical; erratic; temperamental; obstinate; insensitive

Blood type: B+: “Blood type B is generally described as jikochū 自己中じこちゅう, or selfish. They are also known for their creativity. Blood type B has a strong sense of curiosity, but at the same time, loses interest easily. Though there are a lot of positives to B types, people tend to focus on the negatives.”

Temperament: Choleric: “Someone with pure choleric temperament is usually a goal-oriented person. People with choleric personality type are very savvy, analytical, and logical. Extremely practical and straightforward, choleric people aren’t necessarily very good companions or particularly social. They dislike small talk and enjoy deep and meaningful conversations. They would rather be alone than in company of shallow, superficial people. Ideally, they want to spend time with people who have similar professional interests.”

Zodiac: Nov 18th, Scorpio/Sagittarius cusp: “Known as The Cusp of Revolution, the Scorpio/Sagittarius cusp is full of strength and rebellious energy. Individuals born on this cusp [...] possess the bold, aggressive qualities of Scorpio along with the active and adaptable traits of Sagittarius.” ... “The Sagittarius philosopher meets the Scorpio psychic detective in this cusp. They both have a special talent for telling it like it is and in a matter-of-fact way. They're the friends who tell you the truth, not what they know you want to hear. The confidence of the Scorpio-Sagittarius cusper comes from trusting life, by surrendering to these revelatory changes. They gain trust in their ability to put their intensity in service to a cause or vision.”

Chinese zodiac: 1979, Earth Sheep: “The Earth Sheep are plain-spoken and straightforward. They usually speak without any consideration, but they are not sketchy with things. To friends, they always put their hearts and souls in when needed. In addition to their elegant looks and noble sentiments, they enjoy the love and esteem of friends. However, their changeable and easy to anger personality usually keeps others away from them.” “The Sheep has a very persuasive nature and often uses their charm to get what they want out of life. They can hide their feelings quite a bit and would benefit from letting them out from time to time. The Sheep has quite a reserved nature but when they’re around company that they are comfortable with and trust they become much more talkative and confident.”

Myers-Briggs: ISTP, the Virtuoso: “Friendly but very private, calm but suddenly spontaneous, extremely curious but unable to stay focused on formal studies, ISTP personalities can be a challenge to predict, even by their friends and loved ones. [...] ISTPs also have a particular difficulty in predicting emotions, but this is just a natural extension of their fairness, given how difficult it is to gauge ISTPs’ emotions and motivations. However, their tendency to explore their relationships through their actions rather than through empathy can lead to some very frustrating situations. People with the ISTP personality type struggle with boundaries and guidelines, preferring the freedom to move about and color outside the lines if they need to. [...] With all this hands-on creativity and spontaneity, it’s no wonder that ISTPs are naturals in crisis situations. People with this personality type usually enjoy a little physical risk, and they aren’t afraid to get their hands dirty when the situation calls for it.” “They may sometimes seem to act without regard for procedures, directions, protocol, or even their own safety. But while their approach may seem haphazard, it is in fact based on a broad store of knowledge developed over time through action and keen observation. ISTPs enjoy self-sufficiency and take pride in developing their own solutions to problems.”

#||character aesthetic: the good doctor #||character analysis #||it's a slow friday at work #||and i love a good character analysis #||don't mind me

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veridium · 6 years

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Cass x Olivia: Insult to Injury

Author’s note: to cap off my sick day of endlessly producing queer stuff, here’s a scrap I had from one of their short fics that I never posted/included in the main romance arc. I think it’s hella cute even with the angst.

Summary: Olivia gets injured during a skirmish out in the Exalted Plains. Normally, such a thing would gain little fanfare. But, when your lover is the Seeker of the Inquisition, people find out quick that if anything happens to you, it is quite in fact a big deal.

Title: Insult to Injury

Word Count: ~1,800

It was as if everyone was trying to duck and cover out of an explosive’s direction when the Seeker came stomping down the line of tents in the northeastern Exalted Plains encampment. A curt report from the camp to their south told of a skirmish with neighboring bandits that got out of hand, causing several Scouts and one Mage to be injured in the process of fending off their encroaching violence. Once Cassandra had heard the last part, though, not even the Inquisitor could stop her from mounting a horse and heading off in the direction of the camp.

“Where is she?” she asked as she approached someone who looked to be a Healer, and their face became confused and intimidated to see the Seeker approaching her.

“My Lady, whom are your referring to?”

“The Mage – I mean, Olivia. Where is she being kept?”

“Oh!” the Healer grinned, “Olivia! She is resting in the tent over there, but you can feel free to check on her.”

Cassandra turned to look at the tent the Healer was referring to, before eyeing her once more. “Is she alright? What are her injuries?”

The Healer rested her hands on her hips, watching as several Inquisition personnel cautiously walked on by, seeming to be hesitant to exist around the Seeker’s presence. “She has a couple knife wounds, from a broad blade. But, we were able to cease the bleeding, and stitch her up quickly. She was a most stoic patient, you know.”

Cassandra exhaled sharply, rubbing the back of her head as she felt anxiety brooding in her body. “So, she will be alright?”

“Yes, quite right, actually. No fears except for possible infection, but that comes with the territory.”

“Good. Thank you,” Cassandra breathed, nodding to her in stern gratitude as she withdrew from the Healer’s company. She then hurried in her walking pace to the tent, her body less dexterous underneath her full Seeker’s armor. Coming to the closed tent drape, she wasted no time in opening it, careful not to lead the overbearing sun in too quickly so as to disturb her if she were sleeping.

When she peered inside, she saw Olivia’s body laying lightly on her back, legs curled to the right. She had her hair collected in a loose braid that rested across her pillow, one hand across her abdomen and one tucked up underneath her head. She had her breeches on, but not much else: the bandages wrapped around her torso and her left upper arm clued into where the knife wounds had struck her. Cassandra slipped in through the narrow opening she made for herself, letting the curtain fall back behind her.

Sensing the presence of someone, Olivia’s eyes opened, and a broad grin broke her cover for “sleeping.”

“I thought I heard you hammering nails with your words out there,” Olivia said, her voice hoarse from being through her ordeal.

Cassandra felt her stomach flip, self-conscious now about the way she had entered the camp. She couldn’t help it, though: hearing Olivia had been wounded in combat with her not there, even if it was not life-threatening, filled her with a protective dread. She remembered how the Inquisitor looked when she gave her the report: the face of smug knowing, and empathy. Theia would have ridden a horse across an frozen, endlessly deep lake in order to get to Josephine if the roles were reversed. She would hardly think to get in the way of her friend.

“I…I came as soon as I could. How are you feeling?” Cassandra said softly, coming to her side and crouching down to be level with her gaze.

Olivia didn’t move, her body was sore and she could still feel the resonating pain from the sutures. It wasn’t exactly a dream come true to have to endure cauterization and stitches in the same morning, but, she had proven her grit. The sweetness in her eyes and her grin made up for her lack of animation.

“I am fine. They have me on the good stuff,” she cleared her throat gently, adjusting how her cheek rested on her pillow. “It was a foolish ordeal, I can’t believe I ended up with all this.”

“What happened? The report said little about the actual conflict,” Cassandra lowered herself to sit down on the ground, and she leaned up against the cot alongside her, an arm moving up so she could place her hand on Olivia’s head, gently resting her hold on her head of golden hair.

Olivia took a breath, shallow so as to not disturb the sensitive nature of her stomach.

“Bandits were antagonizing our Scouts, so I went out with a small party to handle them. Everything was going according to plan, but, they had reinforcements we did not expect. Just as I was getting the hang of things, one rushed me. I had to do the most ridiculous flip in order to escape with only these wounds.”

Cassandra smirked, imagining Olivia’s flexible body dodging offensive maneuvers like they were child’s play. The humor was curbed, though, by her imagining that some of them struck home.

“I should not have left you here alone. The region is still overtly hostile,” Cassandra chided herself out loud.

“Cassandra, I am not a small child you must take care of. I am quite capable. You forget that I have sliced my way through half of a Chevalier’s contingent before,” Olivia swallowed a meager amount of spit, her dry mouth a symptom of the medicines she had been given. She took a mental note of it, so as to work on something to remedy the side effect once she was returned to Skyhold.

Cassandra checked herself, hearing Olivia’s words. Her protectiveness couldn’t overbear Olivia’s ability to fend for her own life, something she had proven in spades over the last several years of her life.

“Forgive me – I’m only regretting that you were injured. You know how I am,” Cassandra’s tone ached with adoration, something Olivia was weak to. She could easily forgive such a vice, caring too much for a lover who is in the thick of danger.

“Yes, I do know. Which is why when they asked if I wanted a sleep aid, I said not yet, because my love was most surely going to storm the countryside to see me look like a wounded animal,” Olivia’s self-deprecating humor hinted to her fatigue. Sleep aids weren’t necessary to her, she felt the temptation of rest more than enough. Though, she was stubborn in her anticipation of Cassandra’s arrival enough to hold off.

Cassandra blushed slightly, her hand stroking the side of Olivia’s head, feeling the resonating moisture of sweat in its strands.

“What do you need of me, then? You have my undivided attention for the next hour, surely.” Cassandra’s workload in the Plains was hefty, but it could wait a bit, if it meant ensuring Olivia’s security and comfort.

At that, Olivia smirked. “Even if I asked you to gather every ounce of elf root in the Plains?”

“Yes, though, I will admit it will be a bit arduous. The Inquisitor has an ego for such things; she swears it is she who has gathered the most elf root in all of Thedas.”

Olivia shook her head ever-so-slightly. “You two, always competing for the most arbitrary trophies.” She then tried to adjust her position, but winced when the muscles surrounding her abdominal wound sent a jerk of pain up her back. Her eyes closed as she moved her legs to lay straight. Meanwhile, Cassandra had halfway jumped into action, gesturing too slow for Olivia’s tastes.

“I’m okay, Cassandra, I won’t break,” Olivia huffed, finding a comfortable-enough resting position and quieting her body. This wouldn’t be a recovery from a sore muscle or pulled tendon, and it made her impatient already.

“I know that well enough. Nothing breaks you, that is why you are the only woman for me.”

Olivia tucked her chin against her shoulder, her eyes flickering open again as she gazed at her love. She grinned on one side of her lips, and reached a hand to gently take hold of Cassandra’s; her bare fingers and palm embracing her lover’s thick glove.

“Thank you for coming, my Love. I am honored to have the Seeker of the Inquisition be my recovery bed companion, at least for the time being. I need nothing else.”

Cassandra gave a soft smile, her hand intertwining her fingers with hers and gently squeezing with her grip. As long as Olivia was safe, and her wounds were cared for, that was all that mattered to her in this moment in time. The Inquisition could stand by, surely the affairs of a world-altering organization could carry on for the next hour or two without her.

“How bad did it hurt when they burned the wound?” Cassandra asked, speaking from experience with such unsavory things.

“Ugh, it was awful. I had to bite down on someone’s jacket, the poor thing. I’m sure I will need to send a token of gratitude, or perhaps a new jacket.”

Cassandra chuckled. “You would do well to not use people’s bodies as braces for pain. Try a block of wood next time, perhaps.”

“You seem to like it when I use you for one. Though, it’s when I’m enduring something far more pleasurable than a molten hot blade to my flesh.”

Cassandra scoffed. “Olivia, what medicine do they have you on?”

“Just pure love and wit, my Darling. Those concoctions can smooth over any injury,” Olivia bit down on her lip to prevent herself from laughter, which in any other case would be painless joy, but not now. She eyed Cassandra with a whimsical mischief in her eyes. Clearly, her prognosis was stellar.

“Fair enough,” Cassandra held the back of Olivia’s hand to her lips, kissing it lovingly as she gazed back at her. “You might wish to sleep now. It is good for recovery.”

“No,” Olivia sighed lightly, “I know I’ll be bitter when I wake up and you have gone. I can stay awake for a while longer and survive just fine.”

Cassandra blinked, and her smile reappeared. “My Love, it is alright. I will be here when you awake. I would not move from this spot, if you so demanded it.”

Olivia’s eyes flickered open and close, the sleepiness in her body making itself known. “But…how can you promise that?”

“Well, my Love, such advantages are known when you consider the Inquisitor a friend as much as a colleague. I am sure she will forgive such behavior.”

Olivia let her eyes shut gently, her dimpled smile relaxing. “Fine then, Seeker, but you mark my words: if I feel this hand be let go of, I will show you the wrath the man who did this to me had to endure before he died at my hands.”

Cassandra’s heart relaxed as she watched Olivia finally give into sleep.

“I would not dream of such a terror, my Love.”

#oc stuff #olivia sinclair #cassandra pentaghast #olivandra #olivia x cassandra #femslash #angsty fluff #fluff with a twist you could say

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princess-nope · 6 years

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Love Emerges in a Galaxy Far, Far Away

The following is an essay I wrote back in 2016 for an art history class focused in women’s studies. The prompt of the essay was to compare a piece of media to one of the books we read and using it to define melodrama. I don’t expect many people to read this but it’s just something I thought I would share. I’m still very proud of this essay and re-reading it after so long reminded me why I love KOTOR and Carth Onasi so much. I hope you like it.

In all honesty I never truly knew what the term “melodrama” meant until this course. I’ve heard it at least a thousand times but tried to avoid using it in conversation to prevent from looking foolish. Learning about melodrama in class and conceptualizing it beyond the one-dimensional insult most people use it as has been for the better. Not only is melodrama not necessarily a bad thing, it’s present in almost all the things I enjoy to some extent. So as I wracked my mind for something to write about, I opted for my most current obsession, Star Wars: Knights of the Old Republic. KOTOR is a Star Wars role-playing video game developed by BioWare and Lucas Arts released in 2003 that takes place 4,000 years before the original trilogy. However, because of the numerous characters and side quests it is impossible to write about it as a whole in one short essay. With that in mind I chose my favorite part of the game, Carth Onasi. In this paper I will analyze Carth Onasi as a character in the world of KOTOR by comparing his character traits and side quest with my working definition of melodrama.

Before I dive too deep into this paper I want to step back and properly introduce you to the character of Carth Onasi . KOTOR allows the player to be either male or female and provides romance options for both genders. When the opportunity is presented to me, I always try to play a female so I can truly become immersed in my gaming experience. It should also be noted that the player can play as a dark side or light side character based off of the decisions they make throughout the game; with this in mind my analysis will be based on the light side PC. Carth is the love interest for the female PC and is the first companion the player gets in the game. The player is encouraged to talk to him and throughout the game more information about his past and motivations for hanging out with the PC are revealed. He is very charismatic, charming and witty as well as a dedicated Republic soldier. Carth is a classic example of the “victim-hero” and comes from a tragic past that I will get into later. What is arguably the most interesting thing about him outside of his purpose in the game is the male gaming demographics’ reaction to him. I learned soon after beginning KOTOR that Carth is overwhelmingly hated by male players because he is “annoying, whiney and over emotional.” That sounds a lot like the definition of melodrama I got from my friends, I’m sensing a connection here.

With all of that in mind I will be working with Linda Williams’s concept of the melodramatic mode. How I interpret her concept lies in her five key features of melodrama which all in some way fit into Carth’s character and backstory. Her definition hit a chord in my brain and helped me wrap my head around what melodrama truly is. When asking my friends what they believed the term meant, they generally answered that it was a method of making things overly or unnecessarily emotional to get a reaction or move the plot forward. My boyfriend added that usually when something is melodramatic, the writer didn’t mean for it to be. However, I respectively disagree to an extent. It appears in KOTOR as it does in Stowe’s Uncle Tom’s Cabin, a scene or situation that forces the audience to empathize or sympathize with the characters. This makes Carth Onasi the best avatar for melodrama in KOTOR because objectively he is the only character that can share a “happy ending” with the female PC through the means of a romantic relationship.

Video games are a bit different than literature or film in the sense that the player is directly involved in the story. In role-playing games especially the story progresses in a certain way based off of the player’s decisions. So it’s one thing for me to witness St. Clare’s death through the eyes of Tom, and totally another for me to be Tom. Though it can be argued that the player cannot physically feel and experience what the game avatar does, there is only one degree of separation instead of two or three. I am Tom because I made decisions as Tom, I am directly being affected by my choices and feeling all the pathos that come with those decisions. With the open character progression of KOTOR, I am experiencing this universe because the game is allowing me to make these decisions with little to no restriction. Therefore as the PC I am experiencing the adventure with Carth as myself, I am making the decisions I want to make and falling in love with Carth along the way.

Going back to Carth’s massive unpopularity in the male demographic Williams states, “suffering itself is a form of powerlessness that is coded feminine.” Carth is much like St. Clare in this sense, with St. Clare’s father describing his son as feminine and unfit to run the family plantation. Almost all of the PC’s companions have side quests that play out their own little melodramas, but they don’t seem to receive the same negative reaction. For the sake of argument my reaction to the male PC love interest Bastilla was negative, but for different reasons. Right off the bat the player’s first interaction involves her condescendingly expressing her ingratitude for her rescue. This immediately left a bad taste in my mouth for the character. Bastilla continues to deem herself superior and only after talking to her a lot does she get off her high horse and show some humanity. So do I dislike her because I find her too masculine? Of course not, I dislike her because she’s rude. Video games are notorious for being a boys club with few games including something for heterosexual women that isn’t a “game for girls.” Carth Onasi was specifically designed and written to be a companion for the PC, but a love interest for the female PC. Carth might have been given melodramatic tendencies to elicit a positive female response, but he was also given conventional good looks, cool clothes and a sense of humor.

Just as Williams uses Rambo as a masculine example of a character working in the melodramatic mode, Carth shares similar traits of “endur[ing] multiple indignities and pathetically suffer[ing]” in a way “that elicit audience empathy” even going as far as to also “begin his prolonged rescue-revenge.” Through player dialogue Carth tells the PC he had a wife and son who tragically died during the attack on his home planet. Before this he mentioned how his mentor, Saul, had left the Republic to join the Sith which was a huge betrayal to Carth. So with just this brief chain of dialogue Carth perfectly conforms to Williams’s description of a masculine character operating in the melodramatic mode. Saul, the villain of Carth’s story, directly attacked his home, a “space of innocence,” thus hitting the first key feature of melodrama. When playing KOTOR 2 it is possible to run into Carth again when he returns to Telos to get information from the new PC about the PC from the first game. He asks the new PC if they’re able to find the last PC to “simply tell her Carth Onasi is waiting for her.” Though it isn’t present in KOTOR Carth comes full circle and returns home to wait for his happy ending to return to him.

My take on Carth’s character appeal is that he appears to be the most relatable character. He is often times the “straight man” of the story and reacts to space magic like a normal person typically would. His role as a victim-hero in his own story is merely additional layers given to build a complete character. The second feature of melodrama is the virtue of a victim-hero. Carth suffers from the loss of his family and by this logic holds virtue. Carth can only gain his virtue by “purg[ing]…the taint of selfish ambition.” Carth’s “selfish ambition” is his desire to kill Saul and avenge his family. He states, “I know killing Saul won’t bring them back, and it won’t make me happy again… but I have to do it.” Carth is aware of the fault in his bloodlust for Saul but cannot overcome it. The PC can act as a voice of reason if the player chooses, but I allowed Carth to have his revenge therefore moving from pathos to action.

This leads to the third feature, or the “recognition of virtue” through a use of pathos and action. This concept correlates with arriving “too late” or “in the nick of time” and is applicable to Carth’s confrontation with Saul. Though the main antagonist of the game is on his way to kill the PC, Carth revels in his lust for revenge. Carth’s pathos finally moves to action that in turn helps the player recognize Carth’s virtue and the villainy of Saul. This final conflict gives a resolution to Carth’s story and allows him to move on through the game assisting the PC whole-heartedly.

What follows is the fourth feature, being “realism.” A more literal aspect of this feature comes in the form of Carth searching for his son, Dustil. When the player discovers Dustil is actually alive, Carth desperately tries to find him in a “search for something lost” that “ties [him] to the past.” The PC can no longer gain any meaningful information from Carth until this side quest is completed. Though avenging his family is important to Carth, it isn’t his character side quest but rather his relevancy to the overall story. Realism ties in with the final feature of melodrama, morality and the sense of “good and evil.” Dustil has joined the Sith and is a student at the Sith academy while Carth is Republic soldier. Star Wars has always been surrounded by the simple concept of good versus evil, light versus dark, the Rebels versus the Empire or the Republic versus the Sith. Visually Carth’s base costume is brightly colored where Dustil’s academy uniform is grey. The two contrast and visually embody their alignment. This is a goal Williams claims melodrama is constantly trying to achieve. Though the plot can tell the audience all they need to know, visuals are just as important and the concept of showing and not telling can add to the overall story. However, this final feature of melodrama isn’t complete until good triumphs over evil and a sense of morality is achieved. Carth redeems Dustil and proves to him why the Sith are evil therefore teaching Dustil morality. With this act Carth has totally become a well-rounded character operating in the melodramatic mode.

In conclusion my working definition of melodrama involves intense emotion, visual conflict, a sense of virtue and morality, and finally redemption. I strongly disagree with the concept that melodrama is always a negative thing or is only applicable to women. Carth Onasi is my favorite Star Wars character despite the fact that he isn’t canon in the cinematic universe. His entire characterization revolves around melodramatic tendencies but those tendencies are what give him depth and make him interesting. Experiencing KOTOR until the final boss fight with Carth by my side made the game fun and memorable for me. There were plenty of other quests and stories that are much more melodramatic, but they operate in a non-constructive way and are the reason I believe melodrama is used as a negative term. Carth’s character is with the PC from the very beginning; therefore being the first real character the player can interact with. That just adds more to the relationship he and the PC develop and becomes fulfilling in the end. The fact that Carth is despised by men makes me love him even more in all honesty. Carth Onasi was made for my demographic back in a time when women were rarely seen as “gamers.” Carth is emotional, virtuous, moral and the embodiment of good. I couldn’t ask for more in a video game companion.

#kotor #carth onasi #revan #female revan #feminism #star wars

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frozenartscapes · 7 years

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Strike for Love, Strike for Fear - Chiralities AU

Hey! It’s been a while since I wrote anything fic-related, and now I’m back to this AU! It probably won’t be for a while since I write anything else... The only reason this one exists is because it had been sitting in my drafts forever and I only just got the motivation to finish it. I’m actually working on an original piece right now, and that’s so far been sucking up all my creativity.

But anyway, enjoy!

Being an Avenger wasn’t the same as being a soldier, as Elsa was steadily learning with each new mission they sent her on. There was something very distinct about having to fight supernatural enemies, bad guys with over-powered suits straight out of the future, or mega-organizations of pure evil that came vastly different from fighting people forced to the front lines by their own nations. But this particular mission felt a lot closer to home.

War-torn countries carry the unfortunate circumstance of being hiding places for members of some of those evil mega-corporations. Despite their best efforts, the Avengers and other good-natured forces of the world were still having difficulty weeding out former members of Hydra that have since run off to the most inhospitable places of the world to seek shelter and regroup. The fall may have taken out most of the heads, but the interesting thing about a hydra is that for every head that gets chopped off, two more grow in its place. And most of those heads have gravitated toward the Middle East and Africa.

Elsa navigated the streets of a small town in Northern Syria, an area that had fallen to bombs and bullets as a war raged on between rebels, government, and terrorists. It was perfect for defected Hydra agents, and despite the numerous times she reminded Ross and her other superiors just how little she desired to be sent back into an active war zone, they continued to send her to these horrible places because she was “one of their best”.

God, how she hated hearing that. Hydra used to say that about her. She even had a distinct memory of the United States Army in World War Two saying that about her. Both times it served to remind her that she was being used, desired for her powers and abilities and not who she was as a person. Even now, as an Avenger and Captain America’s sister, she was seen less as a hero and more as someone perfect to send to do the dirty work - the kind of stuff that would be a PR nightmare should one of the more well-known heroes on the team have to do it.

But she still had a job. She was following a lead on a defected Hydra agent, and that had led her here: in a small town that had practically been cooked by the desert sun before being ripped apart by mortar shells and sub machine guns. Despite that, however, there were still plenty of signs of life, as people moved about their days as best they could, walking through the streets with quick paces and distinct looks of fear and dread on their faces. Her long time spent as the Winter Soldier had made it difficult to link a feeling to their actions, but slowly she was getting the ability back. And while the empathy might be hindered, being the Soldier had trained her to be hyper-aware of people making quick, nervous movements, or of people flinching at the sound of an airplane high above them in the sky. The Soldier witnessed these things, and Elsa connected the emotions.

Most people paid her no mind, and the odd person who did often made sure to keep their distance. She wasn’t outwardly trying to show off who she was, but she had been told on many occasions (mostly by Anna or Romanoff) that she had a very terrifying walk when she was on a mission, appropriately dubbed “the Winter Soldier Walk”. And as much as she was annoyed by the name, the walk certainly was effective in getting people out of her way by doing nothing but glaring at them.

However, the Walk came to an abrupt end when, as she went past the opening of a small alley, a beat up and slightly deflated soccer ball rolled to a stop at her feet. Elsa paused to stare down at the ball inquisitively, before turning to spot a group of children - three boys and two girls of varying ages - all watching her intently. One had stepped forward slightly in an attempt to retrieve the ball, but he had stopped to stare at her with panic and uncertainty on his face.

Elsa smiled, and kicked the ball back into the alley for them to continue playing their game. The boy received the pass and shot her a grateful grin in return, then turned back to his companions. Elsa chuckled to herself, amused if not slightly amazed in a child’s ability to still find enjoyment despite how terrible life could be, and continued on her way.

She made it about a couple blocks away when another plane flew overhead, this one much lower in the sky. Seconds later, an explosion ripped through the busy streets, sending debris flying and a wall of hazy yellow smoke into the air. Elsa whipped around to spot the epicentre of the blast seemed to be that alley she had just passed.

Her shaky hands quickly yanked out a breathing mask from a pocket and strapped it hastily onto her face, all while she sprinted full-speed into the horrid cloud of toxic chemicals. Using her magic, she called on a wind to sweep through the streets and up into the sky in an attempt to push as much of the chemical away from those still alive and running in terror through the streets.

She made it to the alley, and came to an abrupt stop when she saw what had become of it.

France, near the German Border, 1943

She would always envy how children were always so good at making light of situations. But then, she distinctly remembered how her and Anna used to be able to play, carefree and happily, in the small parks and narrow streets of their neighbourhood in Brooklyn despite going home to measly dinners. Perhaps it was that innocence at that age, where adults don’t tell you about the bad stuff that’s going on, or if they did, they did so in a way that didn’t force the reality to break you. Looking back, Elsa could remember how her mother seemed to get thinner, especially in the winter, and would go with very little on her plate. Looking back, Elsa could see the struggle, but as a child she had been so blissfully blind to it.

This little girl she was talking to seemed to have the same issue— or was it a gift? Her patrol had taken a small side trip to a tiny village in France, one that consisted of only a few families and most of them were farmers. It had been spared from the war for the most part due to its small size, but the battle was closing in on the helpless town fast. The Americans had chosen to use it as a strategic base, offering the town their protection in return for shelter and food. The presence of war was all around, yet here was this little girl who was so fascinated by seeing a pretty, blonde woman in an army uniform that she had boldly broke away from her mother to tug on the soldier’s pant leg.

“You’re a woman,” the girl squeaked with both confusion and awe, playing slightly with the scrappy doll in her hands.

Elsa laughed softly and bent down to the girl’s height. “Yes, I am,” she replied in French, surprising herself in how well she had picked up the language.

“But you’re not a nurse,” the girl observed.

“No, I’m not,” Elsa returned.

The girl looked her over for a moment, appearing as though she was deep in thought. “I’m Joanne,” she said after a pause, very sure and confident.

Elsa’s smile grew at Joanne’s upfront greeting. “I’m Elsa,” she said warmly, “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Joanne.”

Joanne beamed. “You must be really brave,” she said, “And you’re also really pretty.”

“Well,” Elsa told her, “I’d say you are very pretty yourself.”

“Marie too?” Joanne asked, holding out her tattered, but very obviously loved, doll.

“Yes, Marie too,” Elsa assured her, only brightening that infectious smile even more.

“Joanne? Joanne!”

The pair then turned to spot a woman frantically running through the crowd. “Mama!” Joanne called, catching the woman’s attention and bringing her over to them.

“Joanne, my dear, what have I told you about running off like that?” she scolded, before turning to Elsa, “I’m sorry, Madame, she…she’s difficult to keep track of sometimes.”

Elsa rose to her feet. “It’s ok,” she said, “Believe me, I know the feeling.”

“Mama, she’s a soldier!” Joanne said as her mother bent down to scoop her child up, “And she’s really nice!”

“Thank you, for watching her,” Joanne’s mother sighed, “And I’m sorry if she was any trouble.”

“None at all,” Elsa assured her gently, “But I had best be going. Take care, ok?”

The young woman nodded. “Bye, Elsa,” Joanne said, waving a little over her mother’s shoulder.

Elsa smiled one last time at Joanne, and waved back. “Goodbye, Joanne.” To herself, she added quietly, “Hang in there.”

About a day later, she would return to that same town. Only this time it was to sift through the pieces of destroyed stone and charred timber after a bombing raid had completely levelled it.

Elsa found Marie, but not Joanne.

Elsa heaved giant boulders away, but the buildings on either side of the alley had completely collapsed. But still she tried, digging through the rubble in a vain attempt to locate those kids. But the longer she dug, the more she realized that it was hopeless. She couldn’t save them. And it made her so angry.

She hadn’t realized frost was steadily leaking from her hands, coating the crumbling cinderblocks with thick and spiky hoarfrost as she pitched them effortlessly out of her way. She hadn’t noticed how her frantic breathing was growing slower, steadier, and much more controlled. She wasn’t even aware of how her consciousness was fading, how her decisions and thoughts were becoming less and less hers — how Elsa was slipping away into the background as someone far more dangerous fed off her anger and took control.

She could hear another plane coming. Sharp, frigid eyes looked to the sky. She gave up her search, and with one, powerful leap aided by a spike of ice forming under her feet, she launched herself up into the air and onto what was left of a nearby building.

She remembered making visual contact with the plane, and feeling a surge of energy in her hands. Then nothing.

“You do realize that this is going to be incredibly difficult to fix,” Ross growled angrily as he paced back and forth.

Elsa said nothing, instead studying the various screens behind him all depicting different angles of what had happened. Apparently, the plane didn’t make it. That much she could guess. But then the snowstorm, the whirlwind of air sucking the poisonous chemical high into the atmosphere and away from the town, and the thick icy dome covering the whole area to protect it from anything else were all surprises.

“You were supposed to be on recon, Barnes,” Ross reminded her in annoyance, “That means not getting noticed.”

“There was an attack,” Elsa said simply, slowly drawing out each word so he could understand the severity of what happened.

“And we did not send you there to—”

“People died,” Elsa continued, her tone never faltering and her eyes never leaving his, “Children died.”

“Yes, we know, but—”

“It would have been worse had I done nothing.”

“But how you did things is the issue,” Ross insisted, “You took out a foreign fighter jet.”

“That was bombing its own people with chemical weapons. I had to do something,” Elsa fired back angrily.

Ross pinched the bridge of his nose and let out a heavy breath. “It’s not that simple, Barnes,” he said with exhaustion, “We have to play these things carefully, and we certainly can’t have you losing control like that.”

“Then why put me there in the first place?” Elsa shouted, rising to her full height from her chair to stand over him, “I can’t even tell you how many times I asked not to be sent back to a place that was going to dredge up bad memories.”

“Then why are you here?” he demanded, holding his ground despite the height and strength difference, “Why even bother with any of this if you don’t want to go where we need you?”

Elsa glowered at him. “Because I want to help,” she stated firmly, “I want to protect people, and that certainly doesn’t mean taking advantage of a chemical attack to hide my cover.”

“The best way you can protect people is by following the orders we give you, Barnes,” Ross said, “The international community is still on edge having learned who you are, and we’ve had to assure them time and time again that you won’t be an issue. But that only works when you do as you’re told.”

There was a pause. Ross’ words hung in the air. Elsa broke eye contact with him, but her heavy breaths gave away her emotion. The sound of metal plating scraping against more metal broke the silence as she slowly clenched her fists. “People. Would have. Died,” she said again.

“You really are just like your sister,” Ross commented with a sigh, “You, without much thought, attacked an enemy jet without clearance and created a powerful show of force and strength all while wearing a face mask. We’re trying to eliminate your Winter Soldier reputation, but what you just pulled put us back almost to square one to some countries.”

Elsa looked at him again, and this time the severity of her glare made him take half a step back. “Forgive me if I can’t help what has been programmed into my brain,” she said dangerously, “But the fact that the Soldier came back to protect innocent people should say a lot. I’m sorry I failed to listen to orders but at least I did what was right.”

“As an Avenger and a soldier, in accordance to the Sokovia Accords, you have to listen to the orders given to you at the start of your mission.”

“Even if those orders are to stand around and do nothing?”

“Yes.”

The air around them dropped so much in temperature that Elsa could see his breath. Realizing her control was slipping, she turned and took a few steps away, drawing in deep breaths and releasing them slowly in an attempt to calm down. But she couldn’t remember the last time she was this angry.

“I know it seems counterproductive,” Ross told her, his voice less hard and a little less authoritative, “But things need to be handled carefully. Simply throwing our weight around isn’t going to help anything. In fact, it might make it worse. I thought you understood that.”

“But at the expense of innocent people?” Elsa challenged in a low voice, not wanting to look at him.

“Unfortunately, yes. But the more control we have, the less threat there is to innocent people. And right now the only thing we know for sure that we can control, is our soldiers,” he replied.

Elsa heaved a deep sigh, but her unrest was still obvious in her tense shoulders and clenched fists. “I’m guessing I’m receiving a suspension?” she asked dryly, still with her back turned to him.

“Yes,” Ross informed her, “For three weeks. You are also required to see a specialist to deal with any trauma you may have faced, along with keeping up your regular therapy sessions. Any failure to comply will—”

“Will result in severe consequences,” Elsa finished bitterly.

There was another pause, this one not quite as intense as the one earlier. It was broken by Ross, who sighed, “I’m sorry you went through with that, Elsa. I personally think what you did was extraordinary, and heroic. But it’s my job to reflect what the international community has decided, and unfortunately what they decided is… Well, power is a thing to be feared. It is wise not to abuse it.”

Elsa finally looked at him again. She held his gaze for a moment, before heading out of the room without a word.

Anna was waiting for her. Elsa caught her taking a step back, meaning she had likely been standing with her ear to the door for the duration of that meeting. Elsa chose not to mention it and simply started walking down the hall.

“Hey,” Anna said as she hurried to catch up with her sister, “How’d it go?”

“You tell me,” Elsa sighed as she continued walking toward the helipad, where a chopper was waiting to take them both back to Washington.

“Well… You didn’t kill him, so I’d say that’s good!” Anna said optimistically, though her attempt to be upbeat fell apart pretty fast as she spotted her sister’s face. She reached out and grabbed Elsa’s hand, stopping her in her tracks. “Elsa,” she said quietly, “Talk to me. Please.”

Elsa made an attempt to pull her hand away. “There’s nothing to talk about, Anna,” she replied, in a tone that sounded like there very much was something to talk about.

Anna only tightened her grip on her sister’s hand, before dragging her into a nearby, empty conference room. With the door closed, she turned and said simply, “We’re alone. You can tell me.”

At first, Elsa’s stony face remained unchanged, and it looked as though she was going to walk around her sister and out the door. But after a moment her mask began to break away, and her standoffish mood was replaced with one of complete sorrow and misery. Anna rushed forward without hesitation and wrapped her arms around her sister’s trembling body. Elsa immediately hugged her sister back, burying her face in Anna’s shoulder to muffle her sobs.

It was a few minutes later when Anna’s heart completely broke, upon hearing her poor sister utter helplessly, “I tried.”

“Oh Elsa,” Anna replied in comfort, only hugging her sister tighter, “I know you did.”

“They were so young. They didn’t even know… They were playing, Anna.”

Anna swallowed the lump in her throat with difficulty. “You did all you could, Elsa,” she told her softly, “Sometimes we…we can’t save them all.”

Elsa tensed before pulling away slowly. Using her good hand she wiped the tears from her eyes and cheeks. “I know,” said weakly. Then her expression shifted, turning darker and more reflective of her anger. She clenched her metal fist tight and repeated, “I know.”

“Elsa…”

“I…I hate this, Anna,” Elsa stated.

“You… hate what, exactly?” Anna asked nervously, unsure as to where her sister was going and a little afraid of the answer.

The anger in Elsa’s face broke, a little, giving way to an expression Anna could only describe as grief. “Why am I like this?” Elsa uttered quietly, almost to herself, “Why can’t I be normal?”

Anna frowned with concern and gently squeezed her sister’s shoulder. “What’s going on, Elsa?” she questioned simply.

Elsa drew a deep breath. “I failed. I failed so many times, Anna,” she said, her voice shaky and worn, “Even when I try to do the right thing… I end up making things worse. Or what I do doesn’t matter. Or…” She paused to take another trembling gulp of air, squeezing her eyes shut tight in an attempt to keep the tears at bay. “It’s like Death follows me wherever I go. People always die when they see me. I…I remember each one of their faces…before they die. I bring so much bad… But I still want to do good.”

Anna said nothing at first, instead opting to pull her tired sister back into a hug. She opened her mouth a few times, but closed it when words failed her. Eventually, however, she found something: “You are doing good, Elsa. Look at where you are, and how far you’ve come. No bad person would ever get this far.”

She heard Elsa sniffle, and felt her tighten her grip on her arms. “I just…want to protect them,” Elsa breathed. Anna felt her eyes stinging with tears upon hearing just how small and desperate her sister sounded.

The serum does things. It turns people into near-indestructible, super-powered soldiers, yes. It takes someone from being scrawny and weak to the picture of perfect health, absolutely. But it does things — to the mind. It took a while for Anna to notice it in herself, because to her, that feeling of trying to do the right thing had always been incredibly strong, especially for someone her initial size. But it wasn’t until she was thrown into a scenario where she had to choose the Right Thing for Everybody over the Right Thing for her Sister that she suddenly has an epiphany. The serum had altered her mind, making it both harder to find logic and also incredibly easy — it just depended on which side the logic was on. It was hard, sometimes, to force herself to see the other side of difficult discussions where the Right Thing wasn’t black and white but more of a grey area, because to her the answer was so obviously one way while everyone else said otherwise. It was hard, but she was trying to work through it.

She had no doubt in her mind that the thing the serum had latched onto in her sister’s brain was that need to protect. Elsa had always had it. She always was the good big sister who was at Anna’s side whenever she needed her — whether she knew it or not. She, too, would always try and do the Right Thing, but on a much smaller, more individual scale. She was the one who rescued caterpillars off sidewalks, or instead of killing spiders would catch them in a cup and release them outside. Anna remembered this one time they had found a small bird that had fallen out of its nest and while Anna chased away the cat about to attack it, Elsa was the one who gently took it and returned it home, safe and sound. Elsa just had this soft, incredibly caring soul who didn’t want to see anybody hurt. She never wanted to fight, but if she had to, it was to protect another.

That’s what the army had to tell her: she was there to protect her country. That’s what Hydra had to tell her: she was there to protect a glorious new world. That’s what the Avengers had to tell her: she was there to protect the planet and all its people. That’s what she has to tell herself: she’s here to protect.

And it’s hard for her to understand that sometimes…you just can’t protect everybody.

Anna worried about her sister on a near constant basis, but the one thing she absolutely wasn’t concerned about was whether or not her sister would ever hurt someone innocent with intent. Now, after a few years of being away from Hydra’s influence, Anna wasn’t even worried about the Soldier doing so as well. Because both halves of her sister’s soul were devoted so deeply to keeping people safe that it practically tore her apart when she wasn’t able to do so completely.

“And you did,” Anna reminded her gently, pulling back so she could meet her sister’s gaze, “You protected so many people today.”

“But not all…” Elsa said sadly.

“No…Not all. But still so many,” Anna told her, “Elsa: what you did was incredible. To hell with the people who disagreed! So many people would have been dead or injured had it not been for you. So many more, anyway. You can’t have known that attack was going to happen, and I have no doubt that if you had, you would have stopped it. But you still fought to reduce the damage, and I couldn’t be more proud of you.”

Anna took her sister’s hands in hers and held them tight. “You are like this because you love, Elsa. You love so, so much. No bad person would ever have a heart as big as yours. Do you understand?”

Elsa sniffled and nodded, a small smile gracing her lips.

“Now let’s head home,” Anna added, “Let’s just…go back, order some pizza, change into something comfy, and watch a movie tonight. No news or anything else depressing. Sound good?”

Elsa nodded again, this time with a little more conviction. “Thank you, Anna,” she said quietly, relief present in her tone, “I…I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

Anna beamed at her. “I’m just glad I could help,” she replied, “Now let’s go. Chopper’s waiting!”

Several hours later, and things had relaxed a little. Elsa was still a little tense, and every now and then Anna noticed her staring off at the wall instead of the television. But she had stopped shaking, and managed to eat something. So it was a small win.

It was strange, really. Somehow seeing her in casual civilian clothes made Anna just a little more uneasy than in her tactical gear. It wasn’t a bad kind of uneasy, per se, but… There was something about everything seeming normal —what with soft, grey sweatpants and a loose white tank top, hair in a carefree braid and even bare feet — but then normalcy stopping abruptly upon spotting her left arm. It was just…a reminder. A reminder of a lot of bad things but also a reminder that, in a strange and twisted kind of way, without all that bad Elsa would never be here in the first place.

They would work through this, all of the bad, together. And one day maybe things that seem normal will finally be normal.

A knock on the door interrupted the movie. They shared a glance before Anna made a move to get up. “Wait, I’ll go,” Elsa said, stopping Anna with a hand on her knee, “I’ve barely been paying attention anyway. Plus I want another drink.”

“You sure?” Anna asked, “What if it’s one of those Jehovah’s Witness guys? You always hate getting stuck with them.”

“I think I’ll be ok,” Elsa remarked with a reassuring smile, “I doubt it’ll be anyone trying to get me to join anything at this time of night.”

And with that, she headed to the door. Upon opening it, she was met with the sight of a tall, dark haired woman dressed in a spotless red peacoat, loose skirt, and high heels. “Are you Elsa Barnes?” the woman asked, speaking with an accent Elsa couldn’t quite place.

“Yes…” Elsa replied hesitantly, feeling her powers flare instinctively, “Do I know you?”

“Not yet,” the woman replied calmly, seemingly unfazed by Elsa’s grip on the door slowly cracking the wood.

“Then who are you?” Elsa demanded, keeping her voice level but it was obvious her guard was coming up fast.

“I am Diana Prince,” the woman told her.

“Diana Prince?” Elsa looked the woman over once more, this time scrutinizing every detail, “That…that sounds familiar.”

Diana nodded. “It…might be,” she responded, “But I’m more interested in you, Elsa. I think there’s a lot for us to talk about.”

Ok, I admit it: the only reason I got enough motivation to finish this is because of Wonder Woman.

Look, I know they’re two different comic universes. But I figured if this AU already has a Disney Princess getting subbed in for Captain America, and Disney’s most lovable and least-likely-to-intentionally-harm-anybody Queen of Ice and Snow as the Winter Soldier then anything is possible.

And I’m totally not thinking up a headcanon for this universe now where surviving soldiers from WWI who watched Diana kick German ass on the front lines went back to their respective nations to regale the story of a fierce warrior-woman with the strength of a hundred men and a seemingly indestructible body, sparking massive interest in developing some sort of, oh I don’t know, serum to try and reproduce the results in normal humans. Totally not thinking about that...

Anyway, all I’m saying is that I strongly think Winter Soldier!Elsa and Diana would get along. Might be a bit of a rocky relationship at first, but would eventually become something very strong. Hell, maybe they even meet each other in passing during WWII and don’t even realize it until years later.

Aaand now I’m thinking about it. Damn, do I have time for this? Maybe...

#chiralities #s-side #frozen #crossover #fanfic #now with a surprise ending!

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