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thekitschdiet · 3 years

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my take on the literary masterpiece, the chic diet

Firstly, I am no one. It’s part of my charm. My fifteen minutes of fame was years ago, when I had an instagram niche meme page. I didn’t even take any brand deals! And my posts averaged six thousand likes! Anyhow. I am hardly literate and well hydrated and carry a small sephora-CVS-hybrid worth in my mini tote bag. Here is my guide on how to live like me, the intermediate kitsch-rat, aspiring influencer. But like, in an apathetic, somewhat dissonant, ironic way. I like saying I live by dogmatic principles. But a lot of it, um, is just eating disorder rituals. But that’s not really important. You’re as hot as you say you are, and as much an authority on what you write so long as you say it with, you know, conviction. It’s kind of venerable how fucking delusional I am, actually. Giving any sort of advice like I’m anywhere close to the ritzy ideal of the amphetamine-areyouami label-american. New York, ideally. West Village, preferably. But I guess the kind of guide I can write is better suited to someone living in a suburb, in a house with the twelve-paned windows. I always thought those were so chic. SO quaint, in a somewhat luxe way. Like, Connecticut vibes. My parents used to drive me up there as a child to buy books and ice cream. Nowadays I’d opt for a matcha latte with novelty ice cubes, but I guess at the time it was pretty sweet.

Because I popped a Vyvanse at like, 10pm, this next little bit could go one of two ways. I will write the most articulate, brilliant piece of literature of my life. Magnum opus, if there was a skinnier word for it. Or, I will get wrapped up doing something like folding all my last-season knits (which is part of my look, okay! I don’t have a job!) and fixating on a paragraph on how a girl’s collarbones are almost as identifying as a fingerprint, or a signature. I’m not a graphologist, but if you write your A’s with the little tail on top (like on a computer), you’re probably a snake. Nothing personal, just an observation. Also, I do have a biology final to study for. Not that I’m super anal, or even particularly committed to academia, but even in my precariously manicured (read that as separate terms; I did a good job on my nail polish, okay? But I happen to also be teetering on the brink of an epiphany or a collapse. Hence the use of the word precarious.) state, I know it’s important enough I can let one of my countless side-quests sit idle for a couple more days.

The first section seems only natural to be about hydration. And the whole idea of drinking things, really. There was a section in The Chic Diet about Adderall dry-mouth, which deeply resonated with me. Once I bit off a chunk of a Nivea Strawberry Shine (my favorite lip balm, more on that later) and swished it around my mouth. Didn’t help. Really, really didn’t. Anyway, I suppose that even if it served no purpose for combatting my prevacatingly ingenious cottonmouth solution, I was able to milk a sentence or two out of the experience. “Do it for the Vine”, all grown up! And wearing bananapapaya resin hoops too. Side note, that Etsy shop is a parasocial enemy of mine. It stems from jealousy, which sucks, but hating from inside a club I’m adjacent to is much healthier than being a hateful individual towards people I would, you know, interact with. Daily. Or something. I stopped going to therapy because I felt stupid about going and I don’t live in the right kind of town to warrant vacuous $300 hours. Bitching about my well-adjusted parents and how desperately I wished my anxiety would just “go away” was plainly gross, and a waste. Like, pretty sure almost every problem I have could be solved by a couple painful conversations taking place during a hurricane. Such a shame it doesn’t rain much here. Anyhow, I digress.

Staying hydrated. It is essential to my character, my persona, if you will; to never be without either an elegant metal bottle (I’m loyal to the smooth enamelled S’well ones, printed to look like marble or a semi holographic solid) or a little 16oz tumbler with a metal straw. Hydroflasks were some of the worst things to happen to society. I want to preface this claim with the fact that I wanted one in the same way a teenage girl wants a new iPhone so she can keep up appearances with her dermatologist-dad friends who still have the XR, by the way. But I ended up spending the money on like, a minidress at Brandy Melville before it fled my city. Or maybe a Fresh Sugar tinted lipbalm. For the better, even though the dress has a busted zipper now and the lipbalm tube has inevitably gotten dinged and dented by the other contents of my mini-totebag. Unlike a car, though, a couple scuffs on your laptop or your luxury lipbalm tube looks kind of cool. Like, you’re not someone who values the pristine, unused quality of an item that was ambiguously intended to be used versus displayed on Instagram. Now, I’m wondering why this paragraph about hydration is so fucking impossible to stay on track for. I literally drink several litres of water a day, and more tea on top of that. And sometimes an almond milk latte if I can budget it in. Not that I’m so anorexic I can’t afford a 45cal latte. They’re just not that important to me. Anyhow. Drinking lukewarm (on the cool side) water is better than ice-cold. Partially because I just get it out of the tap of my ensuite and I can’t be bothered to wait for it to run cold enough every time, and it just seems wasteful. Plus, there is something so.. skinny about drinking water at an “obscure” temperature. Trust me, I want to know why my thought process is like this too. My favorite tea is blueberry tea foraged in a side aisle at my local supermarket. I love a good commercial, high-end steep or fruit infusion as much as the next girl. Maybe more. My pantry is filled with tins labelled with things like “emerald jade organic” and “magic potion”, which is really just currants and butterfly pea flowers. But there is a necessary glamor about drinking dirt-cheap tea on the daily. Seriously, a box of 25 sachets is like, $3. At a higher point with my, um, Adderall problem, I spent like several times that on pills. I didn’t really need to include that, and could have linked the price point to the cost of a drugstore lipbalm, but I wrote it in. And I’m married to it, stubbornly, as all amateur writers should be when they wittle in a somewhat indecorous little joke. This tea is sooo good because it has a strong fruit-reminiscent taste (not as sweet as a fresh blueberry, but who wants that anyway?), it’s zero-calorie, it’s the most GORGEOUS color ever. The latte, the third drink in my little trifecta, is nothing special. But necessary. The trick is to use a milk frother to whip up sugar free syrup with instant coffee and a little bit of hot water in a glass. It’ll make the most luscious foam.. Top it off with almond milk. My dad is a coffee purist, owning both an upstairs keurig AND a downstairs one (among other more analogue methods, but I can’t name-drop, so what’s the point?), so he hates this drink. Now, calling oneself a plebian is so unglamorous and teetering on self-deprecating territory, dangerously close to insecurity. But I can use it here because I am at least posh enough to have a different pair of earrings for every outfit I could possibly come up with, and I only wear Patagonia if I am in a situation where I just have to wear fleece. Like I was saying. It’s such a simple drink, certainly not a delicacy, and… I had a joke about the word plebian but I keep getting up to refill my water and I fear I have forgotten about it.

Next section; the importance of a good tinted balm

In the intro I alluded to how a girl’s collarbones function essentially as an identifier, the way a signature or fingerprint does. This is a lie, or at least an exaggeration. But one’s ultimate tinted lipbalm is actually extremely indicative about who you are, as a person, as a member of society, even…

If you are loyal to Dior Lipglow, I have a couple questions. One; did you shoplift one tube, once, and refill it with cheaper stuff afterwards? I did that. I consider it one of my better-kept secrets, but now you know. Might as well explain the catalyst for my parent’s first separation now, and the horrifying experience that was meeting my dad’s Manhattan sugar baby (?) at the age of thirteen, wearing an overalls dress from, like, Topshop or something else equally embarrassing. .. Kidding. I digress. It’s such a fancy lipbalm, and good too! It smells like thin mints! But I could just never justify cell phone monthly installation payment money on something I will inevitably talk off. I do own three, but two I stole (before I lost the nerve, somewhat unfortunately) and one, a boy(not)friend bought for me. This is not something I feel any remorse about, because his house was easily four thousand square feet and his sisters had a dedicated all-glass room for their shared peloton. Oil money. Ugh!

My personal favorite lip balm, and I have tried a frightening amount, has got to be the Nivea Fruit Shine collection. The frosted one is shit-ugly. Hideous. But the strawberry one is the love of my life. It’s such a pleasant red, looking healthy and rejuvenated and really completes any look. Only downside is it will always, hopefully not always, remind me of Charles. Kissing Charles, specifically. And him asking me what lipbalm it was, because he knew I was somewhat frivolous and definitive and would have a very long answer. But for whatever reason, I simply stated it was from “out of town”. Not really sure why I said that, but it plagues me (minorly) to this day. Of all the things to make up.. .. The peach one is a perfectly demure spring classic shade. Cherry exists too, but the only tube I have ever had the fortune of owning was purchased in Costa Rica and lost somewhere on the way home. Honestly tragic, it was the juiciest shade. Blackberry is perfect too, but I have to layer it with either peach or untinted lipbalm to avoid what I imagine TooPoor would choose if she believed in tinted lipbalm. I don’t mean this hatefully, I think she’s a queen, but super dark, smudgy makeup suits the eyes better in my opinion. Or something. Or something.

Afraid to bore the reader, I have to move on now. Maybe at a later date I will release an addendum on my ultimate lipbalm buying guide. But also, that is so deeply personal (and everyone needs the excuse of “hunting for the perfect staple shade!!”), so it is really not my place to have any authority on something so intimate and subjective. Etcetera.

Moving on; Decorating your room

Here is a section I lifted out of my memoir document. It fits, because as enigmatic as I hope I am, I am also quite unchanging.

I just pushed three hangers and two tiny strappy tops with the tags still on, off my bed. Most nights, all, these days, actually; I spend in my large but cluttered bedroom. I have a little ensuite with a jetted tub I’ve never used because I just never get around to it. There’s a plush grey rug, spanning the expanse of the room (covering an ugly cherry wood that doesn’t match the rest of the house; no clue why. I never asked, and the previous owners were eager to sell so they could finally ditch this town and retire in Montreal for the bagels, or Hawaii for the monk seals. Point is, I’ll never know) with loose beads and loose pills and little shards of glass from plier-crushed beads. I vacuum every day. The whole room tells you exactly the kind of person I am; the clutter I possess, the encapsulation of the projects I start, start, start and the hours I don’t sleep for and the clothes I tried on (these to sell, these to cut up with kitchen scissors; thrifted lululemon and aritzia and heaps of knits and plaid fabric..) I would not say the room is a mess. Lived in, maybe. Chopsticks and mugs and gum wrappers. Single dangle earrings. I just finished the last of my Creme Brulee eos lipbalm; disguised as a relic of 2015, I was gifted it Christmas of ‘20. I think my next waxy conquest will be a tinted Burt’s one I palmed a while back, before I lost the nerve. Peering around the room you will see shopping bags strewn about the mouth of my walk-in closet. Every surface has something shiny or colorful stacked up on it. Cluttered, busy, but intentional. Except for the walls, which are bare. Bare and gray and miles-tall when I lie flat on my back, high out of my mind, willing things to change but knowing I’m responsible for a first step I will always be too scared for. Bare, pristine, no gumtack. Empty, Like they’re waiting. I wait around a lot. It makes sense. That was an awful lot of words about my stupid blank walls when truly it does not bother me that much; I really just don’t get around to it. I have other things on the ground to tend to, like post-email nausea, addressing envelopes, marrying wire and bead. Writing a document I care about because I am determined and I am alive, alive, alive, goddammit.

Excerpt over. The memoir is coming out when I get famous, or something earth shattering happens. Like I become the world’s least remarkable entrepreneur, and I get retweeted by Colorpop. I don’t want to be the next Elizabeth Wurtzel. I read two of her memoirs one restless night, absorbing it to make up for the nutrients I didn’t that day (you can laugh. I think that is pretty clever), heart breaking a little bit. She writes about her struggles so intrinsically, you either get it, or you don’t. Anyway. She had the books and the fame from it, and she wrote more memoirs than I think a single person should. That is admirable. Aspirational, even. But I do not want to be like her. Where was I? Oh. Yes. Decorating/adorning/filling your room. Your room should serve as the kind of place to watch a movie (if you believe in film. I don’t) and put on ridiculous glittery eye makeup, or smoke an ~artistic cigarette~ or stay up all night on the phone, which is different from staying up all night simply on your phone. Chatting with someone you are tepidly in love with is much more exciting. Not chic as the whole affair is so juvenile, but fun regardless. It’s somewhere to keep your worldly possessions, too. I know I have a lot! Also, it is kind of thrilling to hide things in your room in little crevices only you know about. Now, unfortunately, everyone reading this will know too. But, like, I trust you not to really.. do anything about it. I keep my extra juul pods in the sliding box my apple pencil came in. That box is almost more useful than the pencil itself. I’m somewhat morally opposed to the iPad. Whole culture is so embarrassing! I have a tea tin with an ounce of golden teacher shrums in it. This is tossed in my closet among tins filled with other things, like lace trim and buttons. Which makes it actually a pretty terrible hiding spot, I see now… Anyhow. Keeping benign little secrets like that is so fun. You can tell I don’t have siblings. I sort of wish I did, but it is easier to believe there is something aristocratic about being an only child. Not sure if older-sister me would be egalitarian enough to share things. But that’s prophesying, which is kind of a waste of time. I live in the now, in a room positively cluttered with meaningless things that mean the world to me, chewing on my lip because my mouth is just so dry and 5gum is just not an after-8 indulgence. To live truly kitschly, you have to have somewhat hideous decor. Now, do not confuse dissonant, or incoherent, with what I mean by “hideous decor”. The kitsch room has as many surfaces to look at as possible, while also shying away from too many shelving units. Then you risk your room looking like a storage unit or something. When my mom renovated (re: paid someone to do it) our New York house so we could sell it, all our stuff was stacked up in a Cubesmart self storage. It was sort of horrifying, seeing my childhood home reduced to plastic storage tubs piled what felt like thirty feet high. Anyway. It’s just not an inviting way to store things; I imagine it makes your room look like your stuff is all trapped in gelatin. The more fussy, tiny things you have out in the open, the better. Nail polish. Earring trees. Bowls full of rings and lighters and water color pans perched on your windowsill. A rack with the tackiest assortment of knits and bucket hats and baguette bags. And so forth.. Quickly surveying someone’s room is so telling. Bonus points if all your books are spine-in, except for your favorite ones, because you don’t want people to get the wrong idea. (that you read).

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dat-town · 3 years

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colour the world with you

Characters: Yeonjun & You

Genre: fluff

Setting: witch shop au

Summary: The crazy hair coloured guy working at the witch shop where your grandma has you run errands for her keeps getting on your nerves.

Words: 3.7k

Author’s note: title is from TXT’s Your Light

For @restlessmaknae to fill your holidays with colours, smiles and happiness.

You told yourself you weren't a believer. People talked about magic as if they had seen it happen but you were doubtful, even when your weak grandma asked you to get a potion for her. When doctors couldn't help, she always turned to alternative methods even though you thought just taking her pills could have helped her. But no, she insisted, put the money into your hands and told you to ask for Han halmeoni's usual. You gritted your teeth but despite not saying it, you were upset how people out there could take advantage of naive elders with their expensive fake herb drinks. Though, you knew better than anyone that arguing with your grandma wouldn't have led anywhere since she was just as stubborn as you. So you agreed with a smile and promised you would get the potion the next day.

Finding the shop called Magic Island – what an obnoxious name for real – was easier than you thought. Witchcraft wasn't hunted or looked down upon as it used to be but you really didn't expect to find it between a coffee shop and a bookstore. From outside it seemed like any other store with its glass windows though it was more colourful and lively than most due to the flowers by the door and the dreamcatcher on the door. You double checked the name and the address then tentatively pressed down on the handle.

As soon as you crossed the threshold, the smell of herbs and spices, burning candle scents and warmth hit you in waves. The whole place gave off a very soothing and welcoming vibe and while the interior was even more colourful than the outside, nothing stood out as much as the vivid blue hair of the guy behind the counter.

"Hello, how can I help you?" he inquired, voice mellow and smile kind. The thin, light blue sweater he wore showed a bit of one of his collarbones and the dangling earring he had in one ear had small blue stones in it. You felt like you had never seen anybody like him.

"I came to pick up something for my grandma, Han halmeoni's usual potion," you recited the rehearsed speech before you could have blurted out something rude. At the mention of your granny, the cashier boy's eyes lit up and he smiled wider.

"Ah, just a minute," he excused himself and leaned down, opening small cabinets full of folies and cans under the counter until he found the glass of the thick green liquid. "Is halmeoni alright though? Has her knee been acting up again?" he asked while he rang up the product and you shouldn't have been surprised that your grandma probably told him about all her life.

"It's her waist this time," you said curtly, wanting to get over the payment as soon as possible. But even after the machine beeped accepting your credit card, the boy with his crazy hair switched on his employee of the mouth smile and kept you there with his rambling:

"It seems like you're quite stressed and anxious recently. Wouldn't you like some chamomile-lavender tea? Or we have a peppermint-citrus cream for headaches, too or–"

"I'm fine," you cut him off not too nicely. Argh... you hated when cashiers were so noisy and he even acted like he knew you just because you weren't in a good mood today but that had nothing to do with your usual exam stress. He couldn't have known about that anyway. And as if some cream would have helped!

The next time you saw the boy he had yellow locks. The unnatural, bright yellow like the fermented radish you liked so much with your traditional Korean dishes. Of course, you didn't go to his shop out of boredom or happiness but for your grandmother's sake you didn't want her to travel across half the city just to get her favourite tea leaves for better digestion. It had been about two months since you had visited the colourful shop, so the changes shouldn't have taken you so aback – after all every shop was usually decorated according to the season – and yet, for a moment you just stood there in the bright warmth of the sunlit room full of buttercups and sunflowers. It almost seemed like the same cashier guy as last time had a hair colour to fit the enterieur but that sounded a bit too ridiculous. Who would have dyed their hair because of their workplace's new decoration? Though who worked at a witch shop in the first place?

"Hi! How can I help you today?" the boy, Yeonjun according to his name tag, flashed a beaming smile at you. He seemed really giddy all the time, maybe being surrounded by all these herbs all day long did something to his brain… or maybe got him high.

"I would like to have a packet of Island of Calm tea," you told him straight, wanting to make it a real quick in and out.

"Ah, for your grandma? I'm glad it helps her," the boy smiled at you sweetly and started humming an annoyingly cheerful song while preparing the packet neatly. He wrapped it up, put on a sticker with good wishes before he would have turned to the cashier machine.

You had already prepared with your wallet but instead of letting you know the price, this Yeonjun guy decided to play with your nerves.

"Sorry about the other day if I came off too strong. We have amulets too if you prefer…"

You slammed down the money on the counter, grabbed the tea and turned to walk out on him before he could have finished that. But...

"It will rain today. Take an umbrella," he shouted after you which only made you snicker.

Hah, who was this guy? He should have minded his own business! The weather forecast didn't say anything about rain anyways.

"I'm fine," you bit at him and walked out.

It didn't even take 10 minutes though for you to get soaking wet in a sudden summer downpour. Under your breath you kept cursing the guy from the magic shop although he had nothing to do with the rain. He just had a good guess.

You really didn't want to go back to the shop. It gave you the chills, like that uneasiness in the stomach that made you want to throw up. You didn't want to go back because you didn't want to hear that crazy hair coloured guy's unwanted preaching about your stress level. You might have been a bit on the edge these days but you were okay, you could handle it. Even if you wished your group partners to Hell sometimes because they couldn't even answer your questions about the schedule and the presentation in your KKT group chat, even if your teacher was a pain in the ass moving the classes as he pleased as if you had nothing better to do. Even if an upcoming family gathering was unnerving you because you didn't want to hear them comparing you to your relatives. It was just a bad time, it would pass, you told yourself, nothing to whine about.

So you took a deep breath, list in hand and you raised your chin before you stepped inside the so-called magic shop. You planned ahead: going to the counter, handing over the list, pretending to get a phone call and leave. Easy and interaction-free. But the moment you stepped inside, the sight this time took your breath away. You really didn't understand how and why the store changed its interior so drastically and so frequently but this look was even more breathtaking than the ones before.

The whole place had a pink hue, it even smelled like cotton candy and everything had this rosy colour from afar. The ceiling looked like a pink sky with white cloud decorations made of cotton. The dreamcatchers and amulets hanging down all sparkled in the shade of blue hour and you forgot why you came for a moment.

"Pretty, isn't it?" A voice spoke up from beside you and only then you realised that the cashier boy wasn't behind the counter like usual but instead he was walking between the shelves in the book section, holding a few volumes in his arms. You jumped at his sudden closeness, blinking up at him surprised and it took you a moment too long to process what you had been seeing.

The guy had bright pink hair.

And it looked strangely good on him.

"Are you okay?" he asked, concerned and only then you realised that you had been staring. At the way his locks looked against his tanned forehead. At the way he pulled his mouth into a gentle smile and suddenly you felt like the air was getting sucked out of your lungs. What the hell were you doing? Why did he suddenly have such an effect on you?

"Yeah, I'm fine," you muttered, clearing your throat, stepping away.

You walked up to the counter confidently and the boy didn't try to stop you. He didn't say anything, not even as he followed you and took your paper with the list your grandma suddenly needed after you complained to her about the nosy guy in the shop. He prepared the small box with different herbs, creams and lucky charms wordlessly which was a bit unsettling. You only met him twice before yet it seemed like it was out of character for him. But you tried not to think too much into it and just watched him work.

When Yeonjun read your total out loud for you and you handed your card to him there was something knowing in his eyes that you couldn't quite put a finger on.

"You know you should really stop saying you're fine when you aren't," he spoke up finally when he gave you back the plastic but instead of letting it go, he looked down on your hand intently. Not understanding the reason behind it you followed his gaze and saw that you managed to cut your finger earlier with the paper when you got startled. You didn't even feel it up until then even though it drew a bit of blood, a few drops drying on your index finger.

"Let me," the boy muttered as he let go and looked around on a shelf not far from the counter.

"It's nothing really," you protested but you felt bad because he shouldn't have been worried about you just because it was him who got you scared. You should have paid more attention.

"It could get infected," he reasoned as he got back with some lotion in a small capsule. He took your hand, gentle and you realised that his hands were soft despite the calluses on his fingertips. Not to mention, it was endearing how attentive he was, even sticking out his tongue a bit in concentration as he put a plaster over the oil-coated wound.

"Thanks," you breathed not really knowing what else you could say and you couldn't even anymore, not with the way he smiled at you, warm like the Sun and soothing like spring breezes.

As you were leaving you couldn't help but think that the way he said those words about you pretending to be okay was about more than just your scar. Maybe he had a great sense for such things.

It was not until you got home that you noticed the extra object in the packet you bought at the shop. You even double-checked with your grandma's list but a scent bag of herbs for better sleeping weren't on that and you didn't even pay for that, so how?

The answer was ridiculously easy: the cashier guy must have sneaked it into your bag, yet you didn't get his reason and why he always tried to have a say in your life but then you looked down on the cute pink plaster on your finger and decided to accept the gift. Even though you didn't believe in it, you put it under your pillow for the night like you were instructed. You almost forgot about it because by the time it was bedtime for you your head was full of unnecessary drama and thoughts that were driving you crazy. On nights like this it was hard to fall asleep because you had too many what ifs going on inside of your head. But this time, even before you could have realised it, you were already drifting off to sleep, tense shoulders relaxing, head empty. You didn't remember when you last slept so well.

So maybe it was confusion, gratitude or the mix of those two that led you back to the Magic Island only a few days later, this time without your grandma having to make you. This time you were expecting the change of interior, so the universe-like violet colours and planets flying around (must be some kind of trick) didn't take you that aback. Yeonjun was nowhere to be seen even though the bells rang prettily above the door when you arrived.

For once, you decided to take a look around, so tentatively you wandered deeper into the store, into parts you hadn't been before. You had seen tarot cards in one corner and Ouija boards in another, there were books about ghosts and other dimensions. There was a whole section about curses and a closed off one for potions. You were reading some of the ridiculously long tea names (and why does The night when the world has burned, we are… has chilli in it anyways?) when you heard someone clear their throat. You turned around to face them but your hello died on the tip of your tongue.

Now Yeonjun's hair was purple, that dark but warm kind, like nights on which the sky seemed to embrace you.

"Does halmeoni need something else?" he looked up at you with a genuine, kind smile.

"No, I... Actually I just wanted to thank you for the scent bag," you muttered under your nose, a bit embarrassed but determined to be a bigger person and not act petty over an act of kindness.

"Did it help?" Yeonjun's eyes lit up immediately, straight up happily when you nodded. The smile on his face widened. "Then you're welcome."

You just stood there, uncertain, not knowing what to say or do because apparently he was well aware that he gifted you that and it seemed like he didn't expect anything in return. Not to mention that he figured out that you barely had any sleep lately and cinnamon was one of your favourite scents. Was it just a coincidence? Or did the bags under your eyes betray you like that? Was cinnamon just a lucky guess?

"How did you know?" you blurted out eventually, not getting over your internal struggle. For a moment Yeonjun just looked at you, really looked as if he tried to figure you out and he was rather tentative when he spoke up:

"You don't believe in magic, do you?"

You raised an eyebrow as if asking: seriously? at which he let out a chuckle. His laughter made such a pleasant sound!

"Well, then you could say it was just a good hunch," he shrugged and his carefree attitude made you even more curious, throwing you more recklessly into the unknown.

"And if I said I believe in it?" you wondered out loud and the cashier guy looked back at you as if it was a challenge. Maybe it was since you were interested in how he would try to convince you about magic being real.

"It's your aura," he said simply, looking at you and at the same time around you and started explaining: "It has a different energy based on your mood and well-being. It wasn't that hard to figure out based on that."

You hummed, trying to see whether your rational mind could take it as an answer but even auras and halos and such seemed too... intangible for you. Yeonjun must have sensed your hesitance because a moment later he straightened his back and tilted his head.

"It's easier to show you," he offered, waiting, patient. He must have learned that being pushy with you didn't work because the more he insisted, the more you resisted. But putting it this way: him offering a chance for you to see and believe but with no pressure, it made you halt. Because all your life you had liked certain things. You liked plans, schedules, believing in things you saw or experienced. Maybe that's why magic had always been obnoxious for you: you had met with too many liars and fakes.

You slowly, tentatively nodded.

"Close your eyes," Yeonjun smiled at you encouragingly and albeit not liking the idea of becoming vulnerable even this much, you obeyed. About five seconds passed before the boy called your name. "You can open them."

Not expecting any big change, you were at a loss of words when Yeonjun stood in front of you with silver grey hair. And not just that! The shop's interior changed in a blink of a minute, too. It was no longer purple but rather monochrome, serious, angular.

"How?" you gasped in awe.

"Magic," Yeonjun smiled and laughed at you before explaining that his mother was a witch, so he's partly one too and that the shop is enchanted, changing based on his mood or will, similarly as his hair colour. It was still unbelievable but you couldn't deny the obvious, so instead of protesting against it anymore, you threw your dozen questions at the boy to which he answered very enthusiastically.

After that afternoon, you slowly started to become a regular at Magic Island. Not only when your grandma had an errand to run but you visited the shop even when you got tired of your scent bag's type or due to another excuse. It was easy to come up with those when you had so many questions. With Yeonjun by your side guiding you through a whole new world opened up in front of you. After your uni classes, you sometimes dropped by to read a book between the shelves about auras and the harmony with nature or potions that actually worked until Yeonjun found you there. Sometimes he called you out on never buying the books but it was only a friendly, teasing banter that ended up with him inviting you over for some herb tea matching your mood (a lot of sweet strawberry and rose mint lately). On other occasions, he joined you on the floor, leaning his back onto the bookshelf too, his arm almost brushing yours as he asked about what you were currently reading about.

He also told you a lot of fun stories and while chuckling over his jokes your stomach didn't ache only due to laughter. You hated to call this feeling as 'butterflies in your stomach' but you had no better word for it and being so good at reading your aura, Yeonjun must have known, too. Yet, he didn't say anything, so you decided to take matters into your hands.

When you opened the door of the magic store on that chilly December afternoon after finally finishing with your exams before winter break, the first thing that hit you was the cinnamon and plum scent. You inhaled deeply and smiled at the Christmassy atmosphere inside the store with the festive decoration. Yeonjun must have had the holiday spirit these days, you thought and it seemed like right because the boy walked out of the storage room in a cute snowman sweater and with faded lavender coloured hair.

"Heya, how was the exam?" he turned to you with a bright smile which you couldn't help but mimic as you walked up to the other side of the counter.

"Manageable," you shrugged, happy that you were finally done with it. Then before you could have chickened out during your conversation, you blurted out: "Do you perhaps have the opposite of love potions?"

"Like an antiserum? Did someone give you a love potion?" Yeonjun wiggled his eyebrows but his tone was kind of worried. Cute, you noted.

"No but I'd like this stupid crush gone," you sighed and even grimaced for impact, watching the boy's reaction closely but he seemed more curious and a bit confused than anything.

"Why?"

"I just..." You vaguely threw your hands up and pouted which Yeonjun must have found endearing because the mischievousness was back in his glittering dark eyes and the smirk was on his lips again as he leaned provocatively closer.

"And if I like you back?" he raised an eyebrow and the confidence in his voice made your jaw drop.

The audacity!

"I'm not talking about you!" you retorted right away but more out of pride and teasing than honesty. You couldn't hide that too well from the witch boy either as his grin only widened seeing your blushed cheeks.

"Too bad," he snickered playfully, his lower lip jutting out in a sulky pout. Then he pulled back in an instant, brushing his lavender hair out of his eyes with an overdramatic sigh. "And I was about to suggest a hot chocolate date..."

"A date you say?" you breathed with a hopeful smile and rested your palms on the counter while this time it was you who leaned closer. Not that it meant a lot because with Yeonjun's height, you just had to angle your neck even more sharply. At least until he decided to scrunch down to your level, dark orbs glimmering in the colourful lights of the shop.

"That I say," he nodded and briefly looked up prompting you to do the same only to see a white mistletoe slowly growing and hanging down above you.

"Don't get too ahead of yourself, mister," you flicked his forehead but giggled anyway knowing all too well that your aura must have been just as pink as your cheeks. But you didn't mind one bit, not until it was Yeonjun who made your world so colourful.

#txt scenarios #txt x reader #yeonjun x reader #yeonjun scenarios #yeonjun fluff #txt fluff #stories

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anthrat · 3 years

Text

Like a Moth to a Flame

Shino Aburame/Reader

Shino has been away on a mission for the last couple of days, as his girlfriend you make the executive decision to start waking up early in the hopes you'll be able to welcome him back to the village

1785 words

It was another beautiful morning in Konohagakure, the sun was just beginning to rise, casting a faint orange glow upon the streets. You sighed heavily, thrusting your hands in your pockets as you made your way towards the entrance gate. Mornings didn’t really suit you. Unfortunately, being a ninja meant you had to begrudgingly abandon your dreams of being able to sleep until noon without interruption. You were secretly quite jealous of those who could handle waking up early without feeling like they’d been hit by a bus, mornings really made the world feel different somehow. Nothing quite felt the same, on the few occasions you were awake this early you always felt as though you were somehow out of place, disturbing the complete calm which enveloped the world. In just a few short hours the peace and tranquillity would be broken by the bustling of people as they went about their day to day lives. This was the third morning in a row you’d woken up early, as much as you hated the loss of sleep you had a very good reason to be up. It would be any day now that your boyfriend would be returning from his mission.

You and Shino had only been dating for a few months but by God, you loved that man. Everything about him made your heart skip a beat, maybe it was because you were young and stupid but you honestly couldn’t see yourself ever finding a better man. He was perfect, yet so misunderstood. People constantly mistook his stoic nature for ignorance or a lack of compassion but you knew first hand that wasn’t the case. Even before you’d started dating you couldn’t understand how people didn’t see him for the pure and gentle soul he truly was. Shino was a man of small actions, never one for grandiose displays of affection. That’s what you loved most about him, everything was genuine, nothing was for show. The little gifts he gave you every time you spent time together, things like pretty rocks, cicada shells and feathers which seemed worthless but weren’t. They were always gifted to you alongside a story of how they had reminded him of you. Even when his gifts had more material value they were always well thought out. You’d often come home to find small packages with the new book you’d wanted, your favourite snacks and even things like milk and bread which you hadn’t even realised you’d run out of. Your hand instinctively reached towards your neck, gently fingering the necklace he had gifted you before you’d begun dating. You smiled, remembering your complete and utter confusion when you’d first received it.

The necklace was adorned with a small moth pendant, at the time you’d looked at Shino, unsure of what to make of it. You knew he loved bugs but even then… A moth? Something like a butterfly or ladybug you’d understand but a moth seemed so unfitting. Sensing your confusion Shino had quietly explained the importance of the moth. “Why is it a moth? It’s because they are a symbol of determination. They always fly towards the light even when their efforts may prove to be futile. Just like the moth, I hope you always have faith in your own abilities and continue to have the strength to never give up.” You remembered the blush that had adorned his face as he said this to you, the intensity of his stare as he waited for your reaction. The warmth of his body as you pulled him into a tight embrace, hiding your own blush by burying your head into his chest as you thanked him profusely. It was after that day that you found yourself unable to rid your mind of Shino. No matter where you were or what you were doing, from that moment onwards you’d been bitten by a love bug.

You waved to Kotetsu and Izumo as you walked past, Izumo grinned at you “We were just wondering when you’d show up grasshopper. Don’t worry, you haven’t missed Shino”

You blushed profusely and murmured a thank you, slightly increasing your walking speed as you exited the village, trying to ignore the fading voices of Kotetsu and Izumo as they called after you. You’d made the mistake of telling them that Shino often gave you nicknames of bugs, they’d taken this as an invitation to only refer to you as some sort of insect. Finding the patch of grass you’d claimed as your own you slumped into a sitting position, your back pushing against the wall surrounding the village. It wasn’t the most comfortable position but it had served you well over the last few days. Pulling your knees towards yourself you rested your chin on top. Your eyes strained against the light of the sun as you tried to focus on the road ahead, hoping that you’d soon be able to make out the figure of Shino. It wasn’t long before you found yourself slowly drifting off.

You could feel something warm on your face, “Mmmf go away” you mumbled sleepily, wafting your hand to try and fend whatever the warmth was away. Instead, your hands made contact with something large and furry. Very confused and startled, you opened your eyes. To your surprise, your vision was almost entirely obscured by the nose and snout of a very large, white dog. “Hello Akamaru!” You grinned, scrunching him behind his ears and marvelling at how furiously his tail was wagging.

“Yo, Y/N!”

You looked up as three figures made their way towards you, hauling yourself up and wiping your legs free from any dirt you waved at them, a huge grin plastered on your face.

“Morning Kiba, Hinata and Shino, lovely day for a walk isn’t it? How was your mission?” You asked whilst gently patting Akamaru’s head.

Kiba gave you a goofy grin “It was great! Me and Akamaru absolutely destroyed these two ninjas and-”

“Uhm… Kiba…” Hinata mumbled, “Didn’t those two ninjas end up capturing you?”

“Hey, Hinata shut up!” Kiba shouted, “Getting captured was all a part of my plan so we could complete the mission” he explained to you, he opened his mouth as if to continue before he was interrupted.

“It wasn’t a plan. Why? Because you never plan anything, you just run in headfirst and put everyone else in danger” As he said this, Shino gently pushed his goggles further up his nose. You snorted as Kiba stuttered a number of insults at both his teammates, something about them being unsupportive of his fighting methods. You weren’t really sure.

“Well, whatever. Never mind me, Y/N what are you even doing up this early, and what were you doing on the ground?” Kiba questioned, clearly he was desperate to change the subject.

“Ah, well… I was actually waiting for Shino, I wanted to speak to him” you responded, turning your head to smile at the goggle-wearing shinobi. Although it was hard to see Shino’s face behind his large collar, you could have sworn you saw it turn a gentle shade of pink as you said this.

“Really? What do you even see in this guy anyway, he’s so quiet and-” “Kiba, let’s leave” Hinata murmured, pulling gently on his sleeve trying to guide him into the village. “Don’t worry about the report Shino, me and Kiba can do it ourselves.”

“What? That’s not fair! How come Shino doesn’t have to come with us? Reporting missions is such a waste of time! We’re a team aren’t we? We should always -” He paused as Shino glared at him. You shuddered slightly, Shino wasn’t even looking in your direction yet you could feel the anger within his gaze. Raising his hands in defeat Kiba turned away from you both, “Alright I get it you two. Have fun or whatever. Shino, you can count on us to report to the Hokage.”

You stood besides Shino and watched them leave, gently brushing your hand against his. As soon as the pair were out of sight you practically leapt onto him, burying your head into his chest and wrapping him in as tight an embrace as you could. “Welcome home” You murmured into him. You felt him initially stiffen, and then soften as he relaxed into your arms, wrapping his own around you and pulling you closer. You stayed like that for a while, his head rested atop yours, you listening to the quickened beating of his heart. He was the first to pull away, moving his hands to cup gently cup your face, lifting your chin slightly so you could meet his gaze.

“What did you want to speak about? Did something happen whilst I was away?”

You placed your hands on top of his and slowly pulled them away from your face so you could hold them. “Nothing in particular, I just wanted to see you. I missed you.” You smiled up at him, interlacing your fingers with his.

“I see,” he responded quietly. “I missed you too.”

He pulled your hands towards his lips, leaving gentle kisses on each of your knuckles before grabbing your chin and pulling you into a deep kiss. You could feel yourself melting, you gently pulled his hood down and laced your fingers behind his head. You felt his hands trail down to your waist, gently stroking your sides as he pulled you in even closer. You withdrew from the kiss, panting slightly as you tried to steady your breath. Shino gently kissed your nose, a slight smile forming on his lips as you scrunched it in response. He wasn’t entirely sure if you’d ever be able to understand just how much this meant to him. He’d finally found someone who remembered him, someone who genuinely missed him when he wasn’t there. After years of feeling like a third wheel, years of feeling like his friends didn’t even know who he was he’d found you.

“Y/N?”

“Yes?”

“I love you” He didn’t even wait for your response, he instead pulled you in for another kiss, his lips crashing against yours. All your previous kisses had always been gentle, somewhat tentative and uncertain. This one was rough. You could feel the quiet desperation in the kiss, the years of repressed emotions spilling out His hands gripped your waist as his lips grew more frantic. You placed a comforting hand on his chest, pushing him back slightly.

“I love you too” you breathed, barely being able to catch your breath before his lips smashed into yours, hungrier than before. You smiled inwardly, questioning why it was only now you’d decided to start welcoming him back home from missions.

#shino aburame #shino x reader #shino aburame x reader #fanfic #naruto #reader fic #naruto fanfiction

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anxiouslyfred · 3 years

Text

Calm Down Stories

Summary: Remus wishes his telepathic link with his soulmate helped him calm Virgil down in ways beyond telling stories, but it works. Today he tries helping a stranger in a music shop at the same time by talking about a CD cover to them, and sending his words over the telepathic link.

/\/\

'Can't do this. Too loud, too busy. Can't, can't can't' Remus wished that he knew how to help, really help Virgil, especially when these repetitions began to echo through their connection. He'd tried looking up what helps anxiety, methods soulmates had used before meeting in the past.

Virgil had only panicked more when he'd tried using them, terrified that he was harming or annoying Remus with his fears, worries, everything.

Later they had spoken about it, covered that Remus had only wanted to help, support him since he couldn't take the anxiety away but also that he hadn't sounded like himself to Virgil while following those methods. Besides as soon as he knew it wasn't helping Virgil, he'd returned to his usual method of trying to help with his soulmates panic, imagining stories, and adventures he'd gone on, or thought sounded fun.

Remus knew that was all just distractions though, nothing that actually helped long term. Their telepathy thankfully hid his wishes to do more, even just talk through the struggles Virgil had when overwhelmed so he projected stories about his day, and compliments, so many compliments about the things Virgil let slip through in his thoughts.

'You somewhere safe to calm down in? Or still stuck among the madding crowd?' Remus asked, already heading into the nearest shop. It was always easier to come up with a story if he didn't have to worry about walking into strangers constantly. Their yelling could filter through to Virgil and make things worse if he did walk into them.

'Music Shop. Can't move, can't hide, can't can't can't cope, all too much, going to have people staring at me.' On one hand Remus could start trying to come up with some distraction story, on the other, if Virgil was already worrying about getting stares that usually meant he needed someone actually with him to calm down alongside the thoughts Remus could send to him. They'd already mentioned this morning that they were both out picking up some new accessories and clothes alone today.

He glanced around the shop hoping for something he could twist into a bizarre story, more confusing than a surrealism painting and realised that he was in a music shop too, with plenty of CD cases to take inspiration from and a guy in a hoodie clinging to one of the shelves as though the world was ending...

A guy looking like the world was ending could probably use a distraction just as much as Virgil needed on too so Remus had a focus and a way to start chattering away. The display the man had stopped at had some weird album art on it.

“Hey Fella, can I get to those CD's in front of ya?” He asked, trying to pantomime reaching around him without breaching any personal space the man might need.

He got a panicked look and a stumble out of the way for that, but picked up on of the cases anyway, raising an eyebrow. “Are you breathing there, Honey? I would help more but have been told I suck at leading breathing patterns. Or rather that I'm too impatient to count slowly in whatever way they need.” Remus just let any thoughts that crossed his mind and would be okay for Virgil to hear while panicking be said. He knew that quite often if he spoke things they'd get sent over their bond as thoughts too, and really didn't want to make either his soulmate or this stranger worse.

The man did attempt to take a deep breath at his words though, so Remus classed that as a win and waved the CD case up. “You know, Fella, I always wonder what the story could be behind album art like this. Seriously half of music nowadays is all love, sex, money, or escaping to nature. I bet none of the songs even mention a bat, let alone an octopus so why put them on a cover.” Really he could have found a worse cover to talk about, but this would do.

Virgil was quiet, no repetitions of 'Can't' to be heard for the moment and the panicking man was just nodding, clearly still upset, but definitely trying to breathe to some pattern Remus couldn't fathom.

“Then again, why would a bat even be flying over the ocean? It doesn't seem like something they'd do. I mean sure, birds migrate, and there's gotta be some bats that live in seaside town. Literally enough books and films set in England mention bats that it has to be like a given some are near the sea. That island is tiny.” Remus now had to get the CD if only so he'd remember to look up ocean bats later on. If they existed he wanted to know everything, including the weirdest things they eat. Can bats prey on fish?

“Some in Mexico migrate and hunt at sea.” The man breathed out, sounding shaky and half terrified of actually joining in with Remus's conversation.

He nodded in thanks, now frowning at the other animal on the screen. “Still, pretty unrealistic for an octopus to be that vibrantly yellow in the middle of the night. Practically all cephalopods have some ability to change their colour and that bright near the surface. It's basically putting up a sign saying ' I'm here, hunt me' to any predators near the surface. Although maybe it's more trying to get the gift delivered to it and would go to darker shade as soon as that box is actually in its grasp.”

“Why would a bat be taking presents to an octopus anyway?” Remus blinked at the question. It was one he'd expected to have thought at him, if Virgil was starting to calm down at least, but instead the stranger had asked it.

Mentally he thought threw bringing the bat bombs he'd read about once up, but shook the thought away, shrugging and carrying on wriggling. “Could be any reason. Perhaps bats are the animal worlds equivalent to Santa, only instead of one man in a sleigh you have hundreds or millions of these fluffy little friends flying around trying to give presents on like midsummer or something. Can't have a winter celebration for the animals when tons of them are hibernating.”

“Would be more animals on the picture if that was the case. Could just be the octopus and bat are friends.” Remus looked at the man again, staring for a moment as he spoke. There was still a shake to his breaths but they were slow again, and his hands weren't tensing for something to grip onto.

“Well now I just want to know how a bat and an octopus would become friends. It can't be easy given one lives literally under the sea and the other in caves or treetops and flies everywhere.” He exclaimed, getting a snort, before focusing on his thoughts. 'Hey Virge, You've gone quiet there. Are you calming down or has something happened?'

The man he'd been helping to calm down at the same time smirked, “Who are humans to limit what friendships animals can make? I'm more curious over what gift they would share.”

“Well that's easy, things the octopus couldn't get normally but might like to eat. Some other types of insects or whatever.” Remus suggested, now frowning as he still got no response.

“Is something wrong? I thought your story from this CD cover was going really well. Have I upset you trying to join in with it?” The man asked, worried again as he watched Remus.

He shook his head, “No, your ideas are brilliant, awesome actually. I just, well my soulmate was upset too so part of the story was for you, partly for him, but now I'm not getting any response.” Remus tried to wave away the concern, already thinking again 'Virgil, please just a random I've been knocked out and thoughts aren't awake response would be wonderful right now.'

The man frowned too, “That could just mean you've... Give me a moment to try contacting my soulmate cause you're right. He'd normally have been telling me some weird story but instead you were here talking and I don't think I've heard from him for a bit.” Remus didn't need to ask what the broken off sentence meant. He'd have lost the telepathy if he had met his soulmate, and the only person that would qualify for that was this man.

He waited for a moment, watching as the man closed his eyes, before staring at him again. “So is your soulmate called Virgil?”

“Is your soulmate called Remus?” He countered, beginning to bounce in place again.

“Yes, oh bloody hell, you accidentally managed to find me, mid panic attack and still decided to help me calm down? You're insane, what if I was dangerous or something?” Virgil exclaimed, shoving at Remus's chest lightly.

Remus just started laughing, grabbing the arm that shoved him to pull Virgil into a hug. “Somehow I don't think anyone dangerous would be frozen clinging to a display in a music shop. Come on, You need food and hot chocolate after that freak out, and I need as much sugar as I can fit into a drink. There's a cafe a few shops down.”

He didn't release the hug while making that decision, and only snickered when Virgil half heartedly attempted to pull away. “If we're going there you need to let me go, and pay for that CD.”

“Hmm, maybe in a bit. I've wanted to wrap you up in hugs when you're upset for all our lives so you can enjoy the longest hug ever before we move.” Remus declared, tightening one arm while the other came up to pet Virgil's hair.

Perhaps he wouldn't normally have helped a stranger calm down but he couldn't be more please that he had today.

#dukexiety #soulmate au #remus sanders #virgil sanders #panic attack #bats #octopuses

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chyornaya-vdova · 3 years

Text

She's gone, come Over

A collab with panda365 aka @gammacousin

Tony's made a stupid Titkot Challenge on Pepper and wants Bruce to do the same to Natasha. Obviously Nat is not amused and Bruce has to fear for his life.

AO3 ff.net

Tony’s whining again, grumbling in the lab with puffy eyes and a scrappy blanket over his shoulder. He jumps when Banner enters the lab, the door slammed behind him.

“What’d you do? Pepper kicked you out?” Bruce asked, wondering what Tony's done to make Pepper that furious with him.

Tony tried to compose himself, but failed. “Uh nothing. Just a joke. She didn't take it that well…“ He mumbled, looking away from his science bro.

Bruce sighed and held the bridge of his nose. “What did you do?“ Sure, it wasn't the first time this happened, but Pepper sounded more angry than usual when it came to Tony's shenanigans. And he should know, he was an expert when it came to anger.

“You know the latest app all the kids are using?“ Tony explained with a flourishing hand gesture “I tried one of the trends out. Didn’t end well.”

“And?”

“Annnd I texted Pepper a minute after she walked out the door and said ‘okay she’s gone, you can come over now’. And I waited.“

Bruce sighed again, long and deep. He could already guess what happened next. What did Tony expect to happen? That she won't be furious and won't throw him out? He held his forehead and thought about what he should say. This was just too ridiculous.

“You know how her nose twitches when she’s mad?” Said Tony, before he could think of anything to say.

“No.” Was all he could say in that moment.

“Well! It was twitching!”

“Is that really important right now…?“ He mumbled, not getting out of the sighing circle anytime soon.

Tony was supposed to be smart and then he did something as stupid as this. When Bruce looked at his friend again, he knew something bad would happen soon. Tony had this weird look on his face. As if he had a stupid idea that'll bring them into lots of trouble.

“No.“ Said Bruce before Tony could vocalize out his idea.

“I haven't said anything.“

“I said no.“

“What if I dare you? I’ll make a bet!”

He'll regret asking, “What bet…?“

“I’ll give you $500 to put towards your new microscope if you try the trend on Natasha the next time she leaves.”

Banner scoffed and put on his lenses, ready to focus on working, “I don’t have a death wish, thanks anyways.”

“Dude! Bro! Come on…! You have to live-!“

“Yeah! I’d like to.”

“$700…$1,000…eternal bragging rights with the boys? It’s bad luck to keep telling me no.”

“Look, when the time comes where Nat needs to take me down, I don't want it to happen like this, okay?“ Bruce grumbled. As nice as it sounded to have a new microscope, his life was at risk. It's not the same when Pepper's mad. Yes, she was creepy when angry, but Bruce swore to never ever get on Nat's bad side. Ever. And he was quite sure once she 'killed' him, the other guy would be next.

Tony tapped at his knee, jaw twisted in thought. “I’ll bargain with Cap on the next mission! No Hulk. Period. You can science behind the tech screen while we kick butt. Deal?”

Bruce bit his lip so hard it almost bled. He groaned, tugging at his curls frustrated. Before he could answer he needed to look at his options. Would it be really worth it? “I guess it won't matter if I'm dead...”

“If you live it’s an amazing story.”

He whipped around and counted on his fingers. “No Hulk on the next mission, a brand new microscope, and $50,000 down on a new house for Nat and I.”

Tony was visibly cringing. “Shi-rrr. Sure. Dang you’re expensive upkeep! One condition- this is all recorded via the security tapes for my viewing pleasure later. Okay? Deal?“

He already knew why Tony wanted it recorded. “You're gonna put the footage on YouTube and this children’s app, aren’t you?“ He asked, sighing once again.

“Nooooo, of course not! Who do you think I am?“ A liar. That's what he was.

Bruce hesitated for a few more minutes, weighing all his options again. Maybe if he already had the house, she probably, hopefully would be less pissed? He was thinking about surprising her with it anyway, so why not use it as a method to prevent his imminent death. Bruce sighed. “Okay. Deal.“ He already regretted it...

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

Natasha suiting up for an errand always took twenty minutes. She’s lingering in the hallway and strapped on her gear and a knife in a secret holster.

She yelled with her short hair bouncing, “Bruce! I’m getting sandwiches for lunch, what do you want?”

“Is the salami going to threaten your life?”

He pointed to her holster.

She smirked, tugging her belt a little tighter and reached for the keys, “Not if I kill him first.”

“Where are you going?”

“Whatever I see first. Tony's paying of course.“ Said the redhead, as she held up Tony's credit that she kept stealing from him.

“How-? You’re going to get caught one of these days.”

“I’m a spy, Vrach.” And it's not like Tony made it difficult for her. It was easier than stealing a lolly from a baby.

Bruce rolls his eyes, looking her over with a thought. “Do you have your phone on you?”

She tapped her side. “Yep. Should I text you where I end up? Can you text me your order?”

Bruce smirked, already trying to hide his evil thoughts and the unhinged nerves that accompanied it. “Yep! Sounds great!”

Natasha made sure she had everything she needed, before kissing Bruce's cheek. “Okay, I'm off.“ Bruce gave her a little wave, as she left.

He bit his cheek and watched and waited. Maybe if he lingered a bit longer she’d be halfway to pick up their lunch. He’d have a full half hour to prepare for the explosion.

Or maybe Natasha would just laugh it off...find amusement in the prank. Heck, she lives with a bunch of guys. She’s used to this...right?

“R.I.P, me...” Bruce reached for the phone, tapped his messages and clicked her name. He typed quickly;

‘She just left. You can come over.’

As he hit the 'send' button he let out a breath he didn't know he was holding. Now he had to wait...

He stood and dropped his phone back onto the table and circled around to head to his private office. He lifted a hand to the door handle and heard the sound of screeching tires pulling back up to the tower. Someone was driving recklessly. Dangerous considering New York streets. He entered his office and swung the door lazily closed. It sprung back open and hit the wall, forcefully. Almost as loud as the screech that followed...almost.

“Robert Bruce Banner!”

He cringed and looked up, trying to play innocent. The green shade in her eyes and the blush on her cheeks did nothing to help the situation.

Natasha stood there, his phone in her hand with her pupils the size of full on quarters.

“What. The. Hell?!“

“Uh-”

He couldn’t get a word in. She was talking again. “Who’s ‘she’?! ‘She’ who?!”

“She uh.. “ he stuttered, English shipping his mind. “She you.”

Natasha lifted her eyebrows. “Me. So I left and you thought it would be a good idea to call over your, what, your other girlfriend?!”

“I don’t have another girlfriend-“

“Did you realize you were texting me?! Who were you trying to text?!“

“Well, uh...“

“Give me your phone!” She dropped her head and charged like a bull, searching his pockets like an unhinged rabid animal.

“Natasha!” He squirmed away, receiving a slap to his shoulder in the process. “Ow!”

She screamed, pivoting. She dropped her own device in her circle, scrambling to locate his device. “Where did you put it?!”

“Natasha!” He followed her down the hall, finding just the slightest amusement in her demeanor. If she wasn’t a trained killer, unraveling his significant other might have a bit of play to it.

She slammed her hand on the table and lifted his phone, her lip trembling as she went off in a mumbled Russian. Bruce would prefer the screaming to the whispers. He knew she could hurl a knife in his direction at any moment with just the flick of her wrist.

“Betty?! Were you trying to text Betty?! You texted Betty, didn't you?!”

He looked at her, softly and kindly, trying to take a seat at the table she was hunched over at, frantic with his phone in her hand.

“Hey, honey-“

“Don’t you honey me! You’ll answer the damn question!”

“Okay, okay!” He lifted his hands in surrender. “Easy! Just take it easy.”

…there’s the knife. An inch away from his throat. Natasha held her frown, immovable in her position. “Answer. The. Question.“ She growled at him and it was pretty frightening.

“I will. I will. Let's talk, okay?” He managed to squeak out.

Romanoff glared at him for a few more seconds, before tucking her blade and hurled it at the wall, shattering a glass in the process. She forced a grin and dropped his phone. “Okay, let’s talk…”

“It was a bet, Nat.“ he grinned nervously, “I didn’t, mean to-.“

“Tony? Was it Tony? It was Tony, wasn’t it.”

“Nat. We’re just talking.”

Natasha tugged her jacket in a huff, standing a bit straighter with her same intimidating eye contact. Her jaw was tight, no doubt grinding his heart against her molars.

“It was a prank- that’s it.“ He reassured her as honestly as possible.

Her head tilted, an eyebrow raised. It was crystal clear that she didn't believe a word he said. “Really. That’s it?”

“I might’ve. Well I might’ve...”

“Talk, Robert!”

“I made a bet! Alright? I made a bet with Tony.”

She crossed her arms, her death glare was still there. “With Tony.”

“With Tony…it was a big bet.”

“Did you gamble away a kidney?”

“No…just...listen-“

“I am listening!” She hissed impatiently. Yes, he understood, she just wanted him to get to the point.

He looked up, those bright puppy dog eyes she would like to tear out at that moment, “Without cutting me off?”

Natasha walked over to her knife, took it down with a huff, and sat back at the table with a boot on the chair. With her fingers running along the blade she nodded ever so slightly.

“I’m going to die...” He mumbled to himself.

She nodded again, still staring at the knife. “We'll see. I'll be the judge of that.“ Nat answered, who obviously heard his mumbling. It was true, though. His life was in her heavily armed hands. It's usually a good thing, but he's never been on the receiving end before...

He laid his hands on the table. “Alright. First of all, there is no other girlfriend. Just you. You’re my everything.”

Natasha snorted with sarcastic laughter, again not believing anything he said. “Listen! Please. I made a bet with Tony, for us. For you and me. He was being stupid, he wanted me to do something equally stupid, so I said I would if he gave me $50,000.”

Now she looked up from her knife with a raised eyebrow.

“For a house! Tasha! Put away the judgement for ten minutes, I swear you can cut me open when I’m done talking.“ He sighed and crossed his arms. “It was supposed to be a surprise.”

Natasha looked back down at the knife in her hands. A few seconds ticked by. A minute. A very long and agonizing minute. “And that...that’s worth giving me a heart attack?”

“Well, uh…“ It kinda was, since now they had the house, but he still feared for his life and half lied to her instead. “No. No it’s not. I'm sorry.”

“This wasn’t funny.“ She scolded. Of course she was right. He knew it from the beginning.

“It wasn't.“ He agreed immediately. “Forgive me?”

She kicked the chair in front of her, still glaring. “I need a ten foot radius for the next 48 hours.”

“Sooo, I’m not forgiven.”

“I’ll think about it.” She reached back for her keys. “You never told me what you wanted for lunch.”

“Oh. Yeah. Well if you’re going to-”

“No no. You’re going with me. You obviously need to be supervised since apparently you can’t behave when I’m not around.” She scolded as if he's a little kid.

“It was a stupid prank!”

“Stupidity has its consequences. Get in the car.” Natasha turned around to go outside, but he wasn't quite done with her.

“Nat?“ She stopped and just looked at him over her shoulder. “Let's hug it out?“

“Ten foot radius.“ She reminded him, but he wasn't having any of it. Bruce opened his arms and gave her his best puppy look. The redhead glared at him and they stood there for a few seconds. Then, she eventually gave up and came back to hug him. Bruce wrapped his arms tightly around her, holding her as close as physically possible. “You're still not off the hook.“

“I know. You can punish me all you want. I deserve it.“

“You sure as hell do. You have five seconds left.“ Bruce listened as she counted from five downwards and only let go when she reached one.

“I love you, Nat.“ He said, but she answered with something he should've expected but honestly didn't in this situation.

“You're a dork.“ Natasha turned around to leave the room and on her way she waved at him to follow her, which he did.

“Well, I heard chicks dig that.” He couldn't help but reply, which earned him a slap on his arm, this time more gentle than before.

#fanfic #fanfiction #brutasha #bruce banner #natasha romanoff #marvel #mcu #tony stark #avengers

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wyofabdoms · 3 years

Text

Undercover I Do - Chapter 3

Characters: Javier Peña x female reader

Summary: While on an undercover assignment posing as a married couple, you are attacked and nearly assaulted. Upon waking, all you remember about Javier Peña is what you remembering seeing from two photographs of the two of you posing as the happily married couple. As you struggle to regain your memories, Javi struggles with his own feelings for you.

Rating: Mature (Eventual smut)

Warnings: attempted sexual assault, fake/pretend relationship, married and undercover trope, temporary amnesia, hospitalization, blood and injury, soft Javi, brief mention of domestic Javi, mentions of some smexy stuff, unrequited feels, lots of medical things that are probably wrong but I did a five minute internet search so we’re gonna call it good, okay?

Word Count: 1982

Notes: You're awake....but what do you remember?

Read on Ao3

Every inch of your body felt like it had been smashed with a heavy hammer. The soreness seemed to echo and reverberate up and down, through your wrists, through your calves, along your hips, up your back. Everything was black and you sluggishly realized it was because your eyes were closed. Based on the way your body was feeling, though, you didn’t have much desire to open your eyes.

You did anyway, feeling like Sisyphus hauling his boulder up a hill at the effort it took to simply lift your eyelids. Blurry daylight streamed through the vinyl shades of a window. A news program was playing on a muted television in the corner. The parts of the room you could see were stark and sparse: clearly a hospital room. You tried turning your head to survey the rest of the room and groaned, a shrieking thumping in your head threatening to send you right back into the blackness of unconsciousness you had just come from. You heard rustling coming from somewhere on your other side, out of your vision; then a wizened older woman with chin length grey hair stepped into your line of sight. She looked at you earnestly and brushed a smooth, dry palm softly across the top of your head, pushing your hair back and murmuring your name.

You struggled to place this woman’s face….your mother? No, that wasn’t right. You got a maternal feeling from her, certainly, but this woman wasn’t your mother...so who was she? Your brain grasped to remember.

“It’s all right,” the woman spoke and her voice was gentle but commanding, calm, steady with a flint of authority. “You’re safe. You’ve been unconscious for a while and had a nasty head injury. Take it slow...don’t push yourself too hard.” As she spoke, she pressed a recessed button next to you on the hospital bed, calling for a nurse and half asking, half ordering said nurse to get the doctor down here to check on you immediately. This woman was clearly used to having people do what she said. She sat next to you, a comforting hand resting on your forearm.

“How do you feel?”

“Like I’ve been run over.” Your voice croaked and something clicked in your mind. You flicked your eyes back to the woman. “I’m in Columbia, right?” The woman nodded slowly, her eyes searching your face. “Bogota?” Another confirmation. You carefully turned your head and stared at the ceiling for a moment, trying to remember, feeling your mind spinning like tires in mud trying to get traction as you tried to remember what had landed you in this hospital bed. A memory of this woman’s face rose in front of you, sitting behind a large desk in an office, poring over maps and files and directing yourself and others. “Agent Dixon.” You said, flashing your eyes back to her. Her face appeared years younger as a smile spread on her lips and you made your own attempt at a small smile as memories of your mentor seeped into your mind, like water finding cracks in a sidewalk.

The doctor arrived then and proceeded to examine you, asking you questions about what you did and didn’t remember: names, dates, presidents. Already confirming that you were in Columbia, you also remembered you work as a DEA agent, having been stationed here for close to two years now. You did most of the talking while the doctor and Dixon merely asked you questions, elaborating on how you had ended up in the hospital: the DEA had been tracking a drug lord with lofty and insidious aspirations named Rafel Ortiz, an operation to capture him and his network that hadn’t gone as planned, you had been injured during the operation, though after a meaningful shared look across your hospital bed, neither Dixon nor the doctor gave any details as to said operation, nor how you had sustained your injuries. As the doctor finished up, you lifted your hand to brush a stray piece of hair that was tickling your face beneath the bandage on your head. Your eyes caught a glint of something on your finger. You stopped, remembering through a fog: photographs with you in them, a warm grip on your hand, a gentle kiss on your forehead, a panic-stricken voice filled with concern calling for you to wake up, then the same husky, low voice whispering to you to sleep well, calling you “princess”. Your eyes turned with concern from the ring on your finger to the doctor and Dixon.

“Where is he? Is he ok?” Another shared glance between the two across your bed. Your heart sank. Dixon spoke quietly after a moment.

“Where is who?”

“I don’t remember his name. The man in the pictures...he was with me in the ambulance. Where’s my husband?”

****

Javier had managed to sleep, though certainly not well. He knew he looked like shit as he stalked through the halls of the hospital. He’d managed to make himself look slightly less of a mess than yesterday after a shower and change of clothes this morning, but he didn’t feel much better. Beneath his pounding head and screaming muscles, a bubbling of worry simmered and all he wanted was to get back to the hospital and wait for his partner to open her eyes, to give him a wry smile and shoot him some teasing barb about how much worse for wear he looked than she did.

They’d almost pulled it off, the two of them. He had felt a little ridiculous during the pre-op: having his finger measured for a ring that fit properly, posing with his partner for “engagement photos” in the small garden courtyard of the DEA office building, then changing into formal wear and recreating what would hopefully look like a sweet moment from a wedding ceremony, but was really a job of play acting in front of a blank wall in a conference room. They’d set up in the large house on the outskirts of the city, posing as a freshly arrived expat couple, newly married and looking to supplement his international banking career by padding it with up and coming connections in the cocaine trade. They’d “been married” for a little over two weeks, operating normally as agents and partners when on their own, but putting on a convincing performance as a newlywed couple when entertaining or meeting with Ortiz or any of his men.

Javier couldn’t lie to himself. He had always been attracted to his partner. She was smart, feisty, independent, strong-willed, and beautiful...oh so beautiful. When they had first started working together he had pursued her relentlessly for a grand total of three days before she had knocked him across the face and nearly twisted his hand off when he had gotten grabby. In no uncertain terms, she had made it crystal clear that no, she was not interested in sleeping with him, she had no desire to be a notch on anyone’s bedpost (much less his), that he was being an absolute pig for assuming that she was and that if he ever tried to grab her ass or any part of her again without permission she would shoot him in the dick.

That had been well on two years ago and thinking back, it was probably in that very moment when she had growled at him and he had stared up at her from where she had landed him on the bar floor, that he had started to fall for his partner. After that night, he had never made another attempt to pursue her...at least not physically. There had been times, over one too many drinks at a bar or over shitty take out or during a late night glance through the smoky haze from the cigarettes they would chain smoke, that he had seen something in her eyes. Something that had made him pause and wonder if things had perhaps changed...if maybe the needle had moved for her, if she thought differently now. They had been through so much together, had grown so close. But he had never been quite brave enough to ask. And she had so often made her opinion abundantly clear on considering him merely her partner; teasing him about being able to outrun him in a foot chase, scowling in distaste whenever his amorous methods with his informants came up, screaming at him at least twice a week for over some disagreement or another.

He had liked being “married” to her, though. For just a little while, he had gotten a taste of what domesticity might be like for Javier Peña: jaded DEA agent. He had liked the excuse to hold her hand at dinner in a restaurant or place his hand on the small of her back while walking...all of the moments when he could give her little touches: a brush of her cheek with the back of his hand, a kiss to her temple.

Then there had been the moments that stirred something deeper than his interest in domesticity. When she had sat on his lap after dinner and nibbled on his ear while he talked business with Ortiz. When they had attended a party the drug lord had hosted and Javi had found his hands exploring the smooth planes of her body, her fingers knotted in his hair, pressing the occasional kiss to the other’s lips as they danced recklessly until the early morning hours. He had felt like it had been real, moments like those. As though the pretense of their undercover personas gave permission for their unspoken craving for each other to float to the surface and be reality, even if just for a little while. Kisses for the benefit of their marks had seemed to linger just a few moments longer than necessary, her lips had discovered the spot on his neck below his ear that drove him crazy and seemed to just naturally end up there whenever they had to “act” married.

Then there had been that last night before everything had fallen apart: the two of them pressed together for a moment in panic, trying to keep themselves hidden from the suspicious gaze of Ortiz’s men...then suddenly pressed together like lovers, hands under clothes, groping and grappling for purchase on each others’ skin wherever they could find it, the smell of the plumeria trees wafting over them. Javi knew it had only been to cover the fact that they had been snooping somewhere they shouldn’t have been, but he couldn’t shake the way that moment had made him feel: as though suddenly every barrier and wall that separated he and his partner had crashed and crumbled between them. If they hadn’t been discovered as DEA later that evening Javi wondered what might have happened when they had returned to “their” house….

No. He couldn’t let himself dwell on those kinds of “what ifs” right now. He shook himself as he rounded the corner and spotted Dixon and the doctor standing outside your hospital door, speaking intently. As he approached, Dixon glanced at him and both of them abruptly stopped talking.

“Peña, what are you doing here? Shouldn’t you be at the office? I’m sure you have a report to fill out...” Javi shot her an annoyed look.

“I just wanted to stop by on my way, see how she’s doing….” He trailed off, looking back and forth between Dixon and the doctor, waiting for one or both of them to give him an update. When none came, he irritatedly asked, “Well?….How’s she doing?” Worry tugged at him as he saw the look that passed between them.

“Agent Peña…” Dixon said slowly. She gestured to one of the crappy plastic chairs along the wall outside the rooms. “Have a seat. We need to talk.”

Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 4, Chapter 5, Chapter 6, Chapter 7, Chapter 8, Chapter 9, Chapter 10, Chapter 11, Chapter 12, Chapter 13

#javier peña x reader #javi #javier pena x female reader #narcos #pedro pascal fanfiction #undercover marriage

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kayr0ss · 4 years

Text

Halfsies

[Diakko Week 2020, Day 1: Chilldhood Friends, Fluff, Hehe, Cute, Maybe 2% Angsty] AO3

Happy to participate in Diakko week 2020! @dianakko-week

---

“We can halfsies!”

Diana blinked from behind her mother’s legs, peeking curiously at a foreign little girl who spoke funny and had sparkling, red eyes.

What did it mean to ‘halfsies’? Diana trained her eyes upwards—towards her mother—as though to ask how to proceed. She’s never encountered something like this before. The other girl came bounding in with unopened twin popsicles in her hand. She saw Diana, smiled, and then proceeded to tug at her own mother’s hand so that they would stop in their tracks.

That’s when she took the popsicle, and with some effort and a funny expression, tried her best to break it in half. Her face had scrunched up in concentration, and her brown hair bounced about while she animatedly moved around to get it done.

Finally, with a bit of help from a man who must have been her father, the popsicles were split into two.

Which brought them to where they were right now: a foreign girl close to her age—with a smile that Diana had never received from any of the other kids before—was holding out her hand with half a popsicle for her.

It was orange flavored and already melting.

“I said we can halfsies!” the young girl insisted in broken English, nearly crashing into her as she pressed on forward. Their noses bumped for a short second (it made the girl laugh), and Diana stepped back because it was a bit too much of personal space invasion for her liking. Six-year-olds knew what personal space was, of course! So was why was it her parents seemed so permissive, all but laughing at their daughter’s antics?

Much to her surprise, her own mother had a tender look in her eye that she couldn’t understand. She was smiling softly. She put a hand on her shoulder and urged her on.

“Go make friends, my darling.”

She looked towards the little girl. None of the other kids in this Shiny Chariot show had even bothered to stop and say hi to her, and the prospect of a friend other than her mean cousins and beloved teddy bear made her feel giddy with excitement.

She felt warm and welcomed.

Diana smiled, completely charmed, and reached towards the melting orange popsicle.

She thanked her gracefully—but she never got her name.

---

Her first heartbreak was at twelve years old.

She was surprised at how effective a method for distraction work and study was, but the moment she had discovered it she decided to pour every minute she could spare into the endeavor. She was suffering through loss that she couldn’t even begin to measure, and so she’d stop trying to and simply be what she needed to be.

Calm, collected, ready to restore the Cavendish name and—

Perfect.

But on some nights, it was impossible to pretend.

Not when the one source of warmth she had come to know had been snuffed out and with nothing to replace it. Not that anyone would come close to how much her mother meant to her, no, but anything… anything would have helped.

She tossed and turned in bed, craving for one more goodnight kiss to her forehead and—

She wished she had a friend.

Her mind wandered back to better days with her mother, and with a sad smile she remembered that the little girl from Japan six years ago had a warmth to her that felt like the next closest thing.

She should have really asked for her name.

---

Diana looked around Luna Nova’s main hall. She was grateful to be here, to finally learn what she needed to learn in order to restore both magic and her family’s legacy—but she wasn’t quite excited.

The moment she stepped in, there were whispers of reverence and awe. Even her two closest friends knew better than to get too familiar, treating her more like a leader than friend.

It didn’t bother her anymore though, or at least that’s what she told herself as she scanned through the new faces in the main hall.

Would any one of them walk up to her and ask if she’d like to share a snack?

She almost laughed.

She doubted that. Despite the many years she’s wished and searched and craved for another such selfless display of warmth, she knew better than to have her hopes up.

Not when she was Diana Cavendish.

But loud crash interrupted her thoughts.

Some sort of outsider crashed into the matriculation ceremony and Diana couldn’t help but furrow her eyebrows. This was scandalous!

Not only was the landing so poorly done (was she hitchhiking on someone else’s broom?), but the hour of her arrival was outright disrespectful. She hadn’t even bothered to change into the standard uniform! Diana huffed through her nose, knowing better than to give such a nuisance more attention than she deserved and set out to restore order in the auditorium but then—she paused, blinking.

Where?

Where had she seen those eyes before?

---

Akko took both her hands, stepping forward and invading her personal space in a way that only one other person had dared to do in her life. And that was ages ago. But now was not the time to reminisce, not when they were trapped underground at the Cavendish Manor, and Diana seemed hopeless in her mission to ascend as the proper heir.

But Akko never lost hope.

She looked a little comical, the way tears were streaming down her eyes, but it was her words that struck so close to home, and her hands that grounded her.

“You can’t give up now!” Akko sniffled with a determined look in her eyes. “You can still save this house, Diana!”

She had a few words to say, but Akko wasn’t having it.

“I never knew that you had something so important to you.” The brunette said in a softer voice—but with just as much conviction. Akko stepped forward, their noses bumped, but this time Diana didn’t step back.

She welcomed it.

It’s been years since she had last felt something even close to how Akko made her feel. It was as though for a moment; the painful ache of longing had stopped.

The Claiomh Solais began to glow green. It was wonderful.

But all she saw was the loveliest shade of red.

---

Diana sat along a Blytonbury bench with Akko humming softly by her side.

She tried to not blush too much at the sound of Akko’s voice, but the tips of her ears glowed pink and her stomach fluttered anyway. They were friends—and quite a bit more—and the in-between of where they were and where she knows they’ll be left her absolutely smitten.

Smitten, infatuated, taken, enamored—ah, it didn’t matter which word. Maybe all of them.

For Akko.

Akko came crashing into her life, and it didn’t take long before she forgot about the void that had been growing within her. The longing, the searching for something that was simply out of reach had ceased; replaced by a feeling of completion that she couldn’t quite describe. She chuckled to herself and held the brunette’s hand just because she could.

Akko bumped her on the shoulder. “What’s got you so giddy?”

Diana smiled and answered simply, honestly: “You.”

She wasn’t the type to be so forward in her affections, but the wonderful shade of red that rose up in Akko’s face was worth it and more. Days with her were days she didn’t know she’d ever get to have—they warm and they were easy.

The sun shone against her face, but the woman beside her was even brighter. And as beautiful as the scenery might have been on this fine, summer afternoon, it didn’t strike her quite as strongly as the way Akko’s face scrunched up in concentration. She was biting her lip as she reached into the paper bag she brough out from the store. She was rummaging for something.

“Do you need help—” Diana offered tenderly, and with a bit nervousness tested the waters: “—d—darling?”

Akko gawked and grew even pinker. “Did you just stutter?”

Diana wanted to roll her eyes.

“Hey, don’t give me that face!” Akko was grinning now. “That was adorable! Were you nervous about terms of endearment? Can I call you that too? Or not, ‘darling’ is like two whole syllables, maybe something else like—”

“Akko.” Diana said sternly, but the weight of her voice was betrayed by the small smile on her face.

The brunette just smiled even wider. “Fine, I’ll get off your case. But hey—”

Akko finally found what she was looking for in the bag. It was a pair of twin popsicles, fresh from the store, and in an action so familiar yet so far-away to Diana, she took it and split it in half before opening the packaging.

Once Akko had done away with the wrapper, she smiled, shoving a block of orange-flavored ice towards her.

Then it hit her.

Diana felt her heart swell and a stinging in her eyes. No wonder she stopped looking.

“We can halfsies!”

She finally found her.

---

A/N: Happy to get to join a ship week for the first time!

#Diakko #Diakko Week 2020 #Diakko Week #Dianakko Week 2020 #Diana Cavendish #Akko kagari #Dianakko #fluff #Day 1 #Childhood Friends #fanfic

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luminashdawnwing · 3 years

Text

The Wages of Sin: Part I

Never had Luminash set foot in a place where the air was so utterly dead. Not still, for there was movement of a sort, drifting particles swirling about. He shuddered to think what, precisely, they were. Some intelligence, after all, indicated that the very dry, dusty ground beneath his boots was the shattered, trampled remnants of tormented souls, reduced to nothing more than powdery stygia. It was not his first time diving into this abyss, and it never failed to fill him with dread.

Nothing in this place possessed even a passing semblance of life. The Mawsworn appeared to be little more than walking armaments, hollow shells filled with agonized spirits, mere husks of their former selves. They did not speak - at least that Luminash heard in his hunts here; there was no way to communicate with them. Whatever they had once been, they now were empty vessels for the Jailer’s will.

The Tremaculum teemed with them, and the stygian shades, their faces - multiple screaming faces, shifting, growing, shrinking on each one - trapped in torment, the preparation for becoming fuel for the Mawsworn. That was, as far as the magister could tell, the purpose for this fortress. A cozy, fortified corner of the Maw to tear and warp the innocents now rushing into it in droves until nothing remained.

The very idea of this place was sickening. Not just the Tremaculum, but the entire plane. Had it always been this way, an endless, timeless hell with no escape? Or had the Jailer turned it into a weapon for his ends? Perhaps if he could find more information on the First Ones beyond their waystones, their little baubles…

Shaking his head, he dispelled his wandering thoughts. At this moment, they mattered very little. What was of greater importance were the souls trapped below. Luminash observed the fortified Tremaculum from a vantage point on a floating piece of debris, twisted remains of whatever this place had once been. Following the stray paths of anima, his keystone had allowed him this, and he was thankful, for below were too many Mawsworn for his taste. It reminded him of more pleasant times, more pleasant places. Nagrand, for instance. He permitted himself a short, dry laugh.

His efforts in the Maw had seen new souls brought into Sinfall, new souls to drive the machine of redemption. Here, though, he had traced one of particular importance. Amid the flows of anima bleeding from all the wounded, maimed spirits trapped, Luminash had caught something familiar. A fleeting trace of a memory, a man lying face down in the mud of Nazmir, shovel - his only weapon, his failed hopes - lying beside him. Reliquary chief digger Ardien. Luminash’s charge, and Luminash’s failure. He could not tell if it had been calling to him, or purely a trick of his mind. Either way, the traces had led here.

The Mawsworn patrolled almost aimlessly, unpredictably, and yet there were few gaps to exploit in their defenses, so great were their numbers. The traces of anima were too slight here to follow - he had tried - and too tangled up in the multitude of others. How he wished he could save them all, but this had driven him nearly to collapse entirely in Nazjatar. He would not allow it to happen again, for his sake as much as for Jaskian, as for Theras. He would need to fight sooner or later here, he knew well, and closed his eyes, gripping the keystone.

In the span of a breath, he was now just outside the outer wall of the Tremaculum, sheltered from view in its shadow, hugging the cold metal - was it metal? - tightly. A step closer, and yet infinitely more dangerous than his distant perch had been. His quarry - his charge, his failure - had passed by here, through this gate, a presence the magister still could feel, still could follow. Using the keystone here, though, would be too risky. Too likely to hurl him into the midst of Mawsworn. He would have to rely on the more traditional methods available to him.

Stepping out of the shadows, the darkness seemed to cling to the magister for a moment, he becoming an extension of them. Another step, and there was only a shimmering haze in the air where he ought to have been, the light bent around him to cloak him from view. Within, he felt the rush of the arcane, a sense of calm as he rode that surging river, and the lingering presence of the exhaustion he would feel if he drank too deeply. This could not last long.

With quick strides, he slipped past the Mawsworn sentinels at the gate, his magic muffling the sound of his steps, too, on the hard-packed stygian soil. The keystone throbbed in his hand his grip was so tight, but the trail remained clear, winding through the courtyard - of a sort, anyway - and veering towards cages lining a shaded passage beneath a rocky outcropping, the tormentors of the souls within standing watch.

Still wrapped in invisibility, the magister continued, his steps purposeful. To his right, a sight he tried to put out of his mind to better focus on the task at hand, the Jailer’s husks were inflicting something upon captive shades, tendrils of domination magic snaking around them, the horrific amalgamations shrieks echoing off the walls. To his left, those rows of cages, most of the souls within recognizable as Azerothian - victims of the Fourth War - winding out of sight in the shadow of the rocky outcropping that sheltered much of the Tremaculum. It was through them that he had to follow the trail. In all likelihood, Ardien was trapped within.

Luminash could feel his grip on the space around himself slipping. His cloak would soon give way, exposing him to the sight of the Jailer’s legions. A lone Mawsworn stood guard over the way forward, the deep shadows behind it a perfect refuge, and it posed little threat while unaware. Drinking from that river of the arcane, Luminash focused on a location nearby - but not too close - perhaps his former vantage point, the lone rock teetering over the abyss. There was a tearing in space as he raised his hands, clasping them and pulling them apart again, and a sound like ripping fabric. In a split second, a portal opened beneath the guard’s feet, and snapped shut again as soon as it had fallen through, a clattering arising from the other end before silence again fell.

Launching himself forward with a blink, Luminash slammed into the stone, slumping against it and letting out a breath he did not know he had been holding. The shroud of light folded around him dissipated. This was going well enough, he thought, even if he had spent this much energy early on. This secret corner would provide a bit of respite. Another thought, and a small chuckle - how the Kirin Tor would grouse and moan if they knew how a portal had been abused!

What would he do when he found Ardien? The Venthyr had acquired a soulkeeper, a Broker device, for the magister to use, to bring the broken spirits of the Maw back to aid in restoring Revendreth. He thought, wryly, that he might just know which Broker was responsible for this deal. He had no illusions that they were still keeping tabs on him. The device itself, a white crystal not too much larger than his hand, could only hold a few souls at once. What if others were trapped too? He could not leave them behind. But he must, if need be. You cannot save them all, he repeated to himself, a refrain in his mind, melancholy yet ringing with surety.

Heavy thoughts weighing him down, yet light with purpose, Luminash began to slowly, carefully, make his way along the walls, always keeping close, and winding by cage after cage, ebon-clad tormentor after tormentor. He repeated to himself, blinking from refuge to refuge, you can’t save them all. Not today. The trail, the traces of Ardien’s anima, continued through the passage and out the other side, winding down steps. He was not in one of the cages after all, it seemed. Though this should have been a relief, Luminash’s stomach turned. There was no relief in the Maw. Wherever he was being held, it could only be worse.

Another drink of the river, another shroud cast over the magister’s body as he slipped down the steps. The path continued into a doorway carved in the stone face, its frame that same dark, bleak metal as the rest of this infernal architecture. The anima was stronger now, its source closer, and something told Luminash, in pain. He had another flash before his eyes of his chief digger scrabbling in the muck, a wave of panic in the face of the inevitable. It was enough to shake his concentration, and shatter his illusion. He slumped forward outside the door, looking up to see one of the armor-clad Mawsworn before him.

The sentry lashed out before Luminash fully understood what was happening. His reflexes, though, saved him from the downswing of its axe, a barrier of pure arcane raised by his own raised hands. The axe struck, a sharp crack, like a rock striking glass, and Luminash grunted with exertion as he channeled that force into his own blast, the barrier folding and striking back against the attacker, sending even a figure as large and imposing as it stumbling back.

Standing on more even ground now, Luminash’s hands and eyes surged with the arcane. One hand rose up, tightening the space around the Mawsworn’s axe, then jerked to the side, the black steel torn away and clattering against the passage’s wall. In what may have been surprise, the armored figure turned, and while reaching for its weapon, was struck again with another arcane blast, the surge overwhelming it and knocking it to the floor too with a crash. The metal encasing the soul fragments swirling within began to buckle and screech as Luminash clenched his other hand into a fist.

The magister strode forward, stepping over the crumpled heap of metal, even as it still tried to reach for its weapon, to no avail, “Do stay out of my way.” His target was still further along, and it seemed that stealth was no longer an option by the sounds of more Mawsworn clattering about ahead, alerted by the shrieking of their fallen sentry’s armor. The air had changed; what once was still had become heavy, oppressive. Something had taken notice.

The hall that wound into the depths of the Tremaculum grew darker as Luminash traveled further from the surface. He wondered, perhaps, if the Mawsworn even needed light to see given their nature. The idle thoughts were shattered by the arrival - he had expected them - of backup for the fallen sentry.

As the first clanking shell of armor rose into view on the steps, Luminash unleashed a burst of power into its chest, sending it flying back and bowling into those following. The crashing of metal on metal echoed off the bleak walls, but the magister paid it little heed. As the Mawsworn scrabbled back to their feet, weapons at the ready, he blinked by their tangled mass and continued on. A wave of his hand to gather the thread, a clench of his fist to knot it, and the sentry’s reinforcements were trapped in a time lock. Not for long, though, Luminash reminded himself. Every second counted now.

The air of oppression continued to grow worse as Luminash delved deeper, quickly discounting any side path or open door beyond which he could not feel the pull of Ardien’s anima. It felt as if eyes were boring into the back of the magister’s neck, peering from somewhere in the darkness - or even through the stone and steel above and around him. The threads that bound the time lock were beginning to slip, he could feel them, the flow of arcane growing thinner and thinner as his distance from his hapless victims grew. As the passage opened into a massive underground chamber, the threads at last snapped. Ardien must be here, or else he would need to make a hasty retreat. His heart had begun to pound as the eyes bored deeper.

Luminash’s eyes grew wide and his heart sank as he observed what lay before him. He had not seen anything like this since the Sunreaver campaign in Icecrown, though this made the Cult of the Damned and the Scourge look like amateurs. The walls were lined with nooks, souls bound in bleak chains, the ashen magic of Domination swirling around them, woven by floating figures in dark robes, the armor worn over those robes looking eerily like the frosty spires of Icecrown itself. The victims of the dark magic were each, from their disparate corners, letting out screams of torment, resulting in a grim chorus assaulting the senses. Grasping at the keystone again and focusing, Luminash could see, at last, clear as day, the trace of Ardien’s anima leading directly to one of the nooks, to one of the bound and shrieking souls.

Amidst the screams, a renewed clinking of Mawsworn armor in the passage leading back to the surface, and the arrival of a dull throbbing in his head from the weight of whatever was watching him, Luminash blinked again, throwing himself forward in a panicked rush towards Ardien’s captor. He pulled his hand back, drawing energy in, then released in a swirling burst that whirled through the air and struck the tormentor, washing over it and breaking the hold the chains held over its unlucky prisoner.

Twisting around - and it was twisting, as if the fabric of the tormentor’s robes had nothing underneath, like a scarf caught in heavy wind - the Mawsworn let out a hiss, a cold rush of air, and released a wave of its own Domination magic. Lashing out, Luminash bent the space between himself and the Mawsworn, sending the ashen cloud harmlessly to the side.

Continuing to close distance, Luminash flung a needle of magic into the tormentor’s chestplate, driving it deep. As power began to radiate from it, causing the Mawsworn to begin clawing at its own chest, the magister called upon a barrage of arcane missiles, striking his foe from all sides. With each blow, the power embedded within built, the crackling energy growing until it could not be contained. The breastplate was the first to split open, spilling out blinding white arcane power. Another hiss of air and the Mawsworn’s helm split with a loud crack. The thrashing did not last long, as a final burst from within tore the fabric of its robes apart, and the debris fell to the ground, motionless.

Stepping forward, breathing heavily, Luminash at last reached his goal. Kneeling, he reached out a hand towards the tortured soul. Since the chains of Domination had failed, it had ceased its pained utterances, and only remained motionless, hanging in the air. It bore no resemblance any longer to a mortal, only retaining a tattered, shredded form.

“Ardien?” Luminash ventured, voice low. He tried to project an air of hope, of comfort, but he could not help his voice cracking. His charge, and his failure.

The soul remained silent for what seemed an eternity. The echoing shrieks remained, their tortures continuing. At last, it spoke, “It is...over? Magister Dawnwing?”

“It is. They can do no more harm.”

“Good. The Alliance’s...dishonorable attack…” The spirit struggled, as if having trouble finding either the words or the voice with which to speak, “Has been...repelled?”

Luminash’s heart sank, and he struggled to keep his voice even and calm, his face steady, “It...has.” Did this shattered remnant of his crew even know he had been slain?

“Will we be able to… We will be continuing our work, Magister?” What was left of Ardien shuddered, its edges beginning to fray and grow fuzzy.

Clenching his jaw, Luminash nodded, “We will begin again at dawn. The Reliquary is...very much looking forward to what we will turn up.” He reached for the soulkeeper, slowly.

“It should be a...good day. We had a promising lead before...the fog came. I can only hope they did not...trample…” Another shudder, “Magister… It is still so...cold.”

Luminash forced a smile and shook his head, “The sun has yet to rise. But it will, do not fear.” He held the soulkeeper out towards the rapidly degenerating spirit, “And I went out as soon as the Alliance was driven off. The site is secure. They might…” He cleared his throat, “The Reliquary may even consider a commendation for your efforts, Ardien.”

A note of happiness soared in the spirit’s raspy, hissing voice, even as its form began to collapse entirely, “Oh? That is… That is wonderful… Wonderful news, Magister…”

As it uttered its final word, trailing off in an echoing magister, the soul - or what remained after the Mawsworn’s torture - was drawn into the soulkeeper, and Luminash was left once more alone with the screams of torment pounding upon his ears.

His ears perked at the sound of metallic steps behind him. So the guards had tracked him down - he knew they would. The weight of the Jailer’s eye had only grown while he had spent these final moments with the last remnant of his Nazmir crew, so much that he found it hard to stand, soulkeeper in one hand, keystone in the other.

He turned, haltingly, to face the Mawsworn now approaching. Holding the keystone before him, he managed a dry laugh and shook his head. Already in his mind’s eye was the soul anchor, that column carved in the patterns of the First Ones. He closed his eyes, and let go.

“Not today. Don’t worry, I am certain you’ll have another chance.” So he spoke, and then he was gone.

#story #wow #shadowlands #wages of sin

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avery-allyss · 3 years

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I guess this could be worse.

The assignment was to create a design based off of one or more creation myths. I have little hints of several because copying something too closely seems redundant. Yes it a bit of a confusing jumble and you need to stretch a lil to pick up all the references, but I like it that way.

Egg shape is from several myths, mainly because my favorite myth is the Finnish creation myth, which is also the source of the duck. I'll get more into that further down in the reflective portion of this post.

The yin/yang base for the devision of the egg is from Asia. The concept is more into the description of the energies, the yang being masculine firey intenseness of light, and the yin being the quite coolness of darkness.

The volcano ang glacier are derived from Norse mythology, and I played with the idea of making some sort of root system in the line separating the two to represent the beginning of yggdrasil.

The reeds and cat are from the native American myth. Something about a Reed carrying the founders through worlds, and loosing a war to cat people? It stuck in my mind.

This is the second time I've ever done print making, the first was over ten years ago and stamping a smaller design on an extra large Tshirt I still use as pjs.

The entire process was a mess.

We had one linoleum panel to work with. We had to carve away each color we wanted to keep.

I started slow because the white and yellow layers were so complicated.

I miss measured the paper size so the back of all four copies are a mess.

I made four copies, and every one had a different mystake. The one showed was the only one that the cat showed up on.

I fucked up carving alot, I just got good at covering it up.

The duck has no bill. I tried to make up for it by giving them an intentional halo, it didn't quite work.

The reeds are too short. This actually gives off a slightly more organic vibe than I was going for. I'm not quite sure if I like it.

One of the sun swirls is broken up a bit because my hand sliped.

The blue layer was off and ended up giving the volcano some highlight. It pops a little until you realize it's out of place, so I don't like it.

Printed red through black in one day, my entire arm hates me still. I had my entire arm tensed to prevent slip ups. It's not so bad right now because my mom told me which med to take today, but I couldn't sleep on that side or my back very well last night. At least I didn't break skin when I stabed myself! I need to lay off crocheting, but that's how I decompress...

I will repost with individual pictures of each copy and the drawing on Monday, that's when the crit is anyway.

What I would do differently

Smaller egg, let the corners interact with each other a bit.

I would play with the idea of white clouds, or white with black highlights.

I would make the sun swirls part of the red gradient. I would also simplify their shape to make them easier to carve.

I would look at different ways to portray the cat. Maybe I would play with the idea of red eyes on the cat. Red claws to represent violence? Cause I'm not going to ever go all in on a horrific portrayal, hints have to do for kitty.

Multi colored and more consistent pebble bed. Maybe mossy rocks or sand with grasses growing in? Seeds? Arthropods to pull in yet another creation myth?

Duck would have a bill and a halo or some sort. There plenty of methods to imitate and explore.

I would play with the idea of defining individual rock structure on the volcano and the small waterfall.

Gemstones on the volcano?

Maybe not even do a volcano, and just make a black dragon on a mountain? Chinese style to keep up with the theme of creation?

Shade the reeds in gradients, maybe make thin red lines to imitate their texture?

Dragonflies by the reeds?

Green layer to add moss and lichen, as well as springtime pigments for the reeds as opposed to fall, can you even marble shades effectively in print making? Green detailing on the cat would start getting Erie.

Yggdrasil roots in the division, multi color highlights on yellow, tiny branch coming around to poke out by the sun?

Grey to black gradient instead of straight black for the outline?

Use a digital painting software instead of actualy carving it all. That's the only way I will play with this image again.

The Finnish Godess of Creaton

Luonnotar

Once the universe was comprised of three things.

There was nothingness, a vast unmeasurable abyss where not even a single star shone. The power of stillness was held in the dark expanse.

There was a river, a mysterious flow of swirling posability. The power and movement of the universe was held in the 'waters'.

And lastly, there was a girl. Luonntar was the daughter of the stillness of the abyss and the power of movement. She was alone, and there was nothing for her to do, no way to express herself, or to release energy, or even just simply enrich her life. She did not know companionship, so she did not know to be lonely. She did not sleep, nor did she truly live. She only felt emptiness. There was no pain to be felt, nor was there joy to be had.

Something changed. Something tightened in Luonntar's chest, as though her heart was hurting. Over another eternity she came to recognize the pain as desire. Into her emptiness had flowed a blind longing. She wanted something but she did not know what there even was to want. She wanted change, but because she never experienced anything but the same river and the same darkness, she had no idea what it was she wanted.

Slowly (as everything so far had), an idea budded in Luonntar's mind, the first idea ever in the universe. She jumped into the river and swam. She did not sink, but floated on the surface, looking back up to the darkness she had left from. This action permanently altered the universe, though seeing how took some more time (of corse). In the meantime the girl relaxed as she drifted through the river.

Then came a duck ((grapes are not involved in this myth stahp)) swimming up to Luonntar. A duck, in a universe where there had only ever been one being, now there were two! With Luonntar's change and wish, she changed the entire universe and a new world was created in which the duck could exist too.

The curious bird swam around the girl looking at the strange other being, the girl laying very still as she did the same. The duck climbed up onto Luonntar's warm knee and sat. Then something else happened, something so beautiful that Luonntar could not believe her eyes.

The duck layed three eggs there upon the goddess' knee because it was the only warm dry place in the entire universe, and the only place the future could hatch.

Luonntar kept so very still, anxious of the fragile life prched upon her knee. The duck warmed her clutch as they grew hotter and hotter as the future drew near.

Luonntar yearned for that future like she had never yearned before, bringing back the dull pain from before. She ignored it.

The eggs grew uncomfortably hot, the ducks featherstickled her, and the bebed feet left tiny scratches on her. She ignored it all.

Suddenly the duck shifted, her feathers tickling Luonntar and she couldn't help but to twitch reflexively. She did not mean to but it was enough. She watched horrified as the eggs tumbled into the river. She berated herself, fearing for the eggs. Would they sink forever out of sight? Would the future be lost?

Instead the eggs broke open. Marvels poured forth. The yolks joined into the sun and rose up into the abyss. The whites became a silver moon, rising as well. The tiny bits of the shells became the stars, scattered disjointed with the rest of the remains of the three eggs. In a world where only darkness had existed, light was born. It was magic.

Luonntar was changed by the magic, as she dove beneath the surface. Something was calling to her from the depths. It was the mud at the bottom. She grabbed handfuls and swam back to the surface. She molded a cone from the mud upon her belly and placed it on the surface of the river. It rose into the sky and became a mountain.

She dived again and again, returning to the surface to mold more new landscapes. She carved veins of rivers through the land, scooping out lakes. The stars watched in fascination. Inspired, they rearranged themselves into designs. The moon learned out to show its changing face to the earth.

As Luonntar built the land, life burst forth. Plants grew, creatures came to be. All life was the children of the new earth. When the goddess rested at long last and looked at the bright sky, the green foliage, and the lively children, she knew it was good.

((Adlibed from "Wild Girls" by Patricia Monaghan))

#crafts #art #myths

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mcrmadness · 3 years

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Madness draws: Behind the Scenes of the latest Farin&Bela pencil drawing.

Aka the one that’s also my icon, even when that was a big risk to take because normally I start hating the photos I have once drawn, especially if I have failed miserably. This is how the drawing itself turned out:

ATTENTION: The original post about that drawing, with better image, behind this link.

This post is solely about the process itself with lots of pictures and also plenty of gifs, because I promised to do one if people would like to see that and I got some comments saying that they’re looking forward for that. So, here’s now that post!

For starters I have to apologize for the terrible quality that is the photos. I used my phone camera only and never thought about posting them, I just took them as a reference for myself and to show the progress to a friend and only after finishing the drawing I noticed that the angle of the camera causes a huge impact on the perspective of the drawing, so I sometimes might have done useless work when I thought some perspective was wrong when it was actually the photo that was wrong and not my work! I mean, take a look at these photos of the finished piece:

You see that? I realized this when I took maybe the second photo of the Farin sheet and looked at it and couldn’t believe my eyes because I didn’t remember drawing his torsto THAT small! And then I looked at the drawing and was like “wtf???” because it looked nothing like in the photo and then it hit me...

Also, another thing that I learn was that I might need to pay more attention to the perspective of the whole thing also because when I draw, I sit at the table so I am constantly seeing the drawing from my perspective instead of looking at it from above so that’s probably also going to affect the way I draw. I try to keep that in mind in the future so I can avoid redrawing things again and again just because my perspective is different than the reference photo’s.

Also the giant forehead of Farin’s in the photo on the right might have caused me to laugh a bit too much but anyway, let’s continue~ Or more like: let’s start for real this time.

Here’s the reference photo to y’all:

What I did in photoshop was to draw a line between them to see how I can divide the photo on two A4 papers. I had been thinking about this photo for some time already because it’s one of my favorites (but now I just feel cringy looking at it after I have drawn it... goddamnit!), and I got this idea that I could try drawing it on two papers in case I fuck up so I can start over or try again without having to do twice the work! Which was actually a good decision because this was the first version of Farin:

And it was awful. I also realized I had never drawn Farin’s face from he front. I have drawn him before from the side a few times but maybe once it came out actually good so that was why I decided to do the 2 paper method - because I knew it was not going to be an easy job! Bela is relatively easy to draw so I knew already that I would not have too many problems with that one.

I struggled with Farin’s eyes the most, at first.

It took me a while to figure out how to do that white line in his lower lid. Keep in mind that this was my first face portrait in over 10 years so I was very, very rusty and I just didn’t remember how to draw like anything anymore. (The photo is tilted because Bela’s face is a bit tilted and my hand can’t draw anything that is not straight [lol] so I have to rotate the photo in order to even draw the sketch of Bela’s eyes.)

So I took my sketchbook and tried to do some eyes...

I was still struggling so much here until I remembered about blending. And I didn’t have my hopes high but grabbed the eyeshadow applicators (my fave tool for blending) anyway, and switched to my other sketchbook in case the paper was the issue and:

Blending. It was all about blending! So with that in mind, I realized I can continue and I don’t need to do these in my old way, everything doesn’t have to have a lineart done but some of the job is done not with the pencils but with the eraser.

Anyhow, the previous Farin looked really bad and was too big as well so I just discarded that and started a new sheet because the old lines were not coming off properly anymore. I don’t remember if this is the old face or new but I think this might still be the old one:

Yes it definitely is the old because look at those lines! This is the new sheet:

And in the photo you can see one of my pencils - I use Derwent Graphic pencils, it’s a 12 pencil set with very soft pencils, starting with H, F and HB and ending to 9B. With this one I used F, HB, B, 2B, 5B, 7B and 9B. The white pencil is actually my new love aka the eraser pencil Koh-I-Noor Hardmuth. It’s amazing, I recommend! I just didn’t order 10 new ones this other day. I actually used about 1,5 full eraser pencils on this drawing alone so that’s why 10.

Here’s a “little” gif of the process on Farin:

I felt crazy when I went for the shirt, and I felt like I was going crazy MEANWHILE drawing it but in the end I did it and I’m super proud of it!

Below is the reference photo, it was pain in the ass to follow all those lines with my eyes and try to find what was I drawing and where was I but I think I did good. That was a fun challenge.

Okay so, when I was done with the new lineart, I decided to go for the shading and blending because that’s what really makes the drawings to pop. I started with the left (his right, my left) side of Farin’s face because I’m right-handed, and in the first photo I had done just the left (right) eye and mouth and nose, but in the second there’s also the other eye done already:

Keep in mind this was not the last time I drew the eyes. Not even close.

Something was off with the right (left) eye so I had to do that one again and I noticed that when you blend but haven’t erased and cleaned it yet, it looks like a black eye :DDD So here’s the before and after images of that cleaning. (Cleaning = I draw, blend, erase, draw and blend more when needed and then erase again, and repeat this as many times as I need until it starts to look ready to my eye.)

So here Farin was “finished” but if you still remember the final piece or compare it to it, you might notice it looks quite different. And you’re right. But more about that later, because at this point I started to work on Bela.

It actually started really well - I also had to do the whole lineart again because it did not match the size of “finished” Farin. I don’t remember if this is the first or second eye but when I had drawn his eye for the first time, I noticed it was not in line with Farin so I had to redraw it. A gif of the progress:

What’s that brown paper I’m using, you may ask? Well I noticed that people have some sort of paper on top of their art to keep it from smudging and I have no clue what that is so here’s my poor artist recommendation: baking paper! I tested it and it works (if you just remember to keep it under your hand, that is...) so that is, in fact, baking paper! :DD

I have drawn Bela’s face a few times before and he’s just so much easier to draw. In fact I used 4-5 days on Farin but I managed to start and finish (this version of) Bela just in one day. And that means that out of 12 hours (because I literally used the whole day for drawing) I used maybe like... 5h or something on Bela. That’s how much easier he really is to draw.

I don’t know wtf is wrong with Farin’s face but he’s extremely difficult to draw and I’m not the only one who has been saying this. I guess he just looks so regular but still unique enough to be difficult to draw. Bela then again has features that are very unique and very... caricature-like? I mean that just by drawing his nose or chin you can make a comic book Bela look exactly like himself, and with more realistic style his eyes already do a lot, but Farin’s really the opposite. My comic book version of Farin is literally the most basic version I can draw, it’s how I draw those characters and the only thing that makes him look himself is the hair, and his nose in a side profile. So I think that’s why it’s so difficult to draw him because he doesn’t look too regular but still regular enough to make is a very challenging task to do properly.

So yeah, the same day as I started working on Bela, I was also “finished” with the drawing:

Also look at how different it looks like from this perspective:

With the reference photo open in photoshop and I don’t understand how Bela looks more like himself in my drawing than in the photo. Also when I showed the WIP to my brother, he said that I somehow had succeeded at making Farin look more like Farin than what he does in the photo even. It’s weird.

But we were still far from finished. I was going to use the fixative on this soon but it just kept snowing the whole week so I couldn’t so every time I walked past the drawings, I stopped to fix this and that. For days I kept telling myself “I’m done, I can’t do more than this, I can’t do better than this.” and considered the drawing finished but still kept fixing things. Every time I was “done” with the other drawing, I saw something to fix in the other one and once that was done, I felt like the first one wasn’t as good and had to fix something from it too. And that led to a cycle where the other drawing was always better than the other and the worse one needed to be fixed. In the end I was hating the whole process and myself and my skills and I was already ready to abandon this whole thing and call it a day and never ever show it to anyone “because I cannot draw”. The photo above, here’s a list of things I redrew after that:

Bela’s eyes, the right (left) one at least twice.

Bela’s nose.

Bela’s mouth a couple of times.

Farin’s eyes x588045028520

And a list of things I kept fixing and fixing:

Bela’s chin.

Bela’s neck shadows.

Bela’s hairline.

Farin’s whole face was tilted so I tried to fix that.

Farin’s face was too wide, which meant also partially redrawing the ear.

Farin’s hair was too long and wide too.

Farin’s nose.

Farin’s mouth might be the only thing I drew only once and I’m actually still extremely proud of how it came to be. I did the lips solely with blending so that was super exciting to notice how I can use it for drawing and don’t need the pencils for everything!

During Bela’s eyes and nose and mouth especially I was hating myself so much and I felt like I was taking the risk of ruining the whole thing and a few times I was certain that was what I had just done too, until I somehow was able to save it again. But because of that, I wasn’t able to make Bela’s mouth any lighter anymore, the color wasn’t just coming off the paper so had to use what was there and make it look like it’s how it’s supposed to be, too.

Here’s a gif about those changes on Bela - the first one has the old eyes and nose, the others have minor changed on the nose and mouth:

(The blacks probably don’t get any blacker in reality, I did add more color to it all the time but mainly it’s just the lighting and my phone camera changing the brightness.)

I did the final details on his nose without even using the reference photo anymore. The photo didn’t seem to make any sense anymore at all so I was just using my mechanical pencil and the blending tool and eraser to make is look better. To my eye it looked more like a very flat nose with a big tip of the nose and he doesn’t have a flat nose and I tried to get rid of that illusion. I still feel like it makes him look bit weird but I’m not entirely sure how. Maybe it was because of my improvisation, idk...

So, Bela was then finally finished for the last time. In the Farin piece his left (right) eye had been bugging me the whole time and I didn’t want to touch it but still I felt like I have to do something about it because it was bugging me way too much. I then figured I could draw the eye line by line and take a photo of it each time to see if it looks right already or not, maybe I could then avoid doing all the phases before I was sure what to think about it. I mean, now the only way to see if it was correct was to draw e.g. an eye from start to finish, I couldn’t see from just the lineart or unblended eye if it was in the right spot etc. And here’s that progress on a gif:

The gif about only the eye would look so nice if Tumblr didn’t make the gifs so HUGE - this one is actually only 300px or 400px or something:

Apparently I also wasn’t happy with the other eye because:

But good thing is: I really enjoy drawing eyes. I love seeing them to “come alive”, my favorite part was to eraser a bit of the color on the iris to make them look like they are actually shiny! It feels like something so small to do and yet it makes a huge impact on the drawing!

And here’s yet another gif of the whole Farin sheet with all of the changes, including the last changes that made his head narrower, and less tilted and more in line. Look at the left side of his head especially to see that:

I can also see his nose changing between the first few photos. I keep forgetting about that but yeah, I also fixed that a little at some point.

And last but not least, the whole drawing in some sort of a timelapse gif:

Last two are the same but just a photo and the scan of the finished drawing. I still keep seeing things I would do differently but no can do, I already used fixative on it, also to keep myself from obsessing with it any more :D And to use it as a study of some sort. I have never been able to draw a perfect pencil drawing and this isn’t one either. I probably never can draw perfect drawings from references.

I do enjoy the whole shading and blending process, so much so that when I was editing these photos, I just wanted to start drawing something so bad but I also figured that I start to lose motivation when I get to the point where everything should be finished but I just can’t make it perfect. Like the current WIP I have, all I should do is to get the proportions and perspective and the lines of their faces correctly and I would be ready but it feels more like a superpower some people possess and I’m not one of those. I don’t know what is it but I just feel that I cannot see. I don’t know how to explain it, but I can’t see what I try to do and somehow keep drawing everything the wrong way. Just like in this post’s drawing too. There’s still things that are wrong and I know what it is but I don’t know how to solve it. My hands just don’t listen to me and they can’t do what I think they should. I also think the reason I cannot draw perfect copies of photos is because you can always see my “handprint” in them. If I copy a photo, it will look like a photo and not like a drawing made by me. So I believe that in my drawing there’s always a part of me visible and I’m not entirely sure if it’s a good thing or not. On bad days it’s not a good thing, obviously. On good days? Well I guess it’s good then because it just means I have my own style which I really should appreciate. But I wish I had my style only when I want it to be visible, but I can’t control it. Just like I cannot write text by hand that would look like it was written with a computer, so I guess I should just try to get used to it, no matter how much it’d bug me sometimes.

#mcrmadness draws #mcrmadness draws: behind the scenes #dä fanart #die ärzte

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chibivesicle · 4 years

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Golden Kamuy chapter 243: OgataOgataOgataOgataOgataOgataOgataOgataOgataOgata

Oh yes, finally some much awaited Ogata backstory! Ah, I feel alive again - well that and I can finally work half days which is a vast improvement from working from home in a make-shift office in a spare room which includes my cat’s litter box. This is a dense chapter, so I’m going to analyze it alone and also - Ogata.

Chatper 243 is titled “Superior Privates” and it clearly is setting up conflict between Usami and Ogata. We have Usami’s face framed by Tsurumi and Ogata as the men tattooed on his face running but never able to meet.

I have to admit it took me a bit of staring at it to get the joke. I also think there is a Captain Tsubasa reference in here as it looks like they are playing soccer, but that is a series that I know little about.

The title page also has a rifle and a hammer and a horse in the background implying the vastly different ways that Ogata and Usami have for killing other people or living things.

The chapter starts out with Usami using his *ahem* rather intimate method for trying to find the serial killer while Kikuta tries to make small talk with him. He remarks on how Usami’s methods are odd and it leads him into mentioning Ogata. He states how he thought that there was something wrong with the superior privates. Kikuta says this calmly and his eyes are shaded a bit and his eyes are narrow. I think Kikuta is trying to get a rise out of Usami or see how he really feels about Ogata. Usami is not happy that Kikuta has put him in the same category of weird with Ogata, he doesn’t want to be lumped in the same category as Ogata. Now keep in mind that we are reading an English translation so that is what I have to work with but Usami both refers to him as a bastard and I get the feeling that it is both a literal and a descriptive way that Usami feels about Ogata. He even uses very interesting language of ‘snot-nosed spoiled little punk’ which in English implies that Ogata has much more in common with Koito as it reads to me that Usami sees him as a spoiled rich kid (something that we know Ogata certainly was not).

Kikuta seems to partially ignore Usami’s statement and continues to state that he was the best marksmen in the 27th and that Tsurumi gave him ‘special attention’. Again, this statement seems to be baiting Usami and he quickly and angrily responds yelling that Ogata was just a glorified walking firearm, and he’s Tsurumi’s number one.

This leads Usami to give Kikuta information to prove that he’s better than Ogata and that Ogata is not important. I read this exchange to be an expression of Usami’s jealousy of Ogata and he is here to set the ‘record’ straight. This is interesting as we know that Kikuta was working with Ogata for some time as they were the ‘Russian’ kidnappers of Koito in 1902 in Hakodate. Usami must know that Kikuta and Ogata worked together, but we still don’t have a time when either of them joined the 27th.

Anyways, Usami brings up 2nd lt. Yuusaku Hanazawa and he reminds Kikuta that he died during the battle of the 203 Hill. Which he then transitions to when Ogata was recovering in Otaru from being beaten up by Sugimoto and dumped into the river. Ogata is in bed, he’s groaning and he says Yuusaku-sir which is one way to translate Yuusaku-dono. So while in pain and potentially dreaming, Ogata has mentioned a very distant and respectful way to refer to Yuusaku.

This has such a strong callback to chapter 165 when Ogata has the fever dream and he links Yuusaku to Asirpa as being a pure idol for a cause.

Now let’s stop and pause here - many readers of the manga have always thought that Ogata is a cold hearted bastard who feels no remorse for killing at all. Ever since I read chapters 164 & 165, I have always felt for Ogata and I read it to be the glimpse into the fact that Ogata did have second thoughts about what he did and he had doubts and possible guilt. I started writing meta because of how strongly I felt about Ogata and I have thought that he is a very complicated and fascinating character. This scene here in 243, gives much more evidence to how Ogata feels about Yuusaku’s death, that he does feel guilty as he is haunted by Yuusaku and it makes chapter 164 and 165 make so much more sense. Keep in mind when he has his melt down on the ice floe with Asirpa, he’s haunted by Yuusaku again there so more evidence of his feelings of confusion, anger, and guilt. He wasn’t just haunted by Yuusaku in 164 and 165, he was haunted by him all the way back in the beginning of the manga’s current events timeline.

Okay, back to the flashback. Ogata isn’t alone saying his half-brother’s name in a detached fashion, but Usami is watching over him and he mocks Ogata by repeating “Yuusaku-dono” and Ogata then stares at him, now awake. It is a typical blank Ogata stare back at Usami. It is clear that Usami wants to get a rise out of Ogata from the start with his aggressive body language.

Usami then drops the ‘bomb’ that Ogata said the name of his brother that he killed and he follows it up with Ogata being a weakling. This implies that Usami sees this as an admission of guilt about Yuusaku’s death and that Usami doesn’t feel guilty about killing others.

Kikuta seems surprised that Ogata may have killed Yuusaku and Usami is certain based on the fact that Ogata is the only person who could snipe that accurately. This implies that they actually performed an autopsy on Yuusaku which I do find curious as they were in the middle of a trench warfare situation. But I am no expert on battlefield autopsies. I would have thought that they didn’t pay much attention since, well they were in the middle of a battle but perhaps the fact that he was an officer they felt it was more important to at least note how he died.

This then leads to an interesting comment from Kikuta. He makes it clear that Ogata would have no reason to kill him and he follows up with the fact that they seemed to get long well. The next panel is a flashback with Yuusaku trying to be friendly with Ogata and he’s literally trying to merge with the wall to escape his attention. Now when I first saw the raws and read two rough translation from @goldenkamuyhunting and inori, I was like, seriously? Come on Kikuta the body language is so obvious that Ogata wanted nothing to do with Yuusaku.

So I dug around to find a similar type of panel for a character’s expression in profile like Kikuta and I came back to this one here. We have Ogata hallucinating Asirpa as Yuusaku as he looks stressed and a bit deadpan but he’s definitely surprised by what he’s seeing.

When I then look at Kikuta’s expression, I think he’s also surprised at the obvious fact that Ogata is not happy with Yuusaku. Therefore, I think Kikuta is lying to Usami. He knew that Ogata was uncomfortable with Yuusaku but plays it cool when talking to Usami at this moment.

There is also this helpful tweet from Sei Kobiyama:

He highlights that the fact that Ogata uses such formal language with Yuusaku also shows a clear separation of Ogata from Yuusaku. Keep in mind that in 103, it was stated that Yuusaku would refer to Ogata as “older brother” while we know 100% now that Ogata called him “Yuusaku-dono”. This shows that both men were defining their relationship based on their own prerogative. Ogata never saw Yuusaku as a brother, he kept the relationship professional. Yuusaku wanted an older brother and thus he used the language towards Ogata to make their relationship familial.

Therefore, I think that KIkuta is smart enough to read between the lines and see that the brotherly relationship was one way and unrequited. I know you are clever man Kikuta, I’m giving you the benefit of the doubt and that you are playing Usami in this conversation.

Usami continues to explain to Kikuta why he believes that Ogata killed Yuusaku. The flashback goes back to the battle for the 203 Hill. This is directly after the flashback from 165 when Ogata is sniping Russians from the trenches and Tsurumi approaches him and updates him that there is a new plan. He is to not kill Yuusaku as he is an inspiration to the men in battle as a flag bearer. Ogata replies to Tsurumi as he uses the bolt action to eject the expired shell as he blankly replies to Tsurumi.

Chapter 243 starts off with this scene where Noda copy-pasted Ogata into the trench from 165 but added Usami in. Usami is asking Ogata if Tsurumi told him that it is better for him to not kill Yuusaku. This means that Usami was also aware of the original plan to kill Yuusaku along with Ogata. What is interesting is that Usami then repeats that Tsurumi used the lines that “if Yuusaku is out of the picture Hyakunosuke’s father will show him love” and via Hanazawa’s love for Ogata, the 27th can control Hanazawa. Usami adds in that this is a boring option; I find this hard to read as is he thinking Ogata controlling Hanazawa is boring or if this is how Usami is expressing his jealousy that Ogata is required to control Hanazawa thus giving him more Tsurumi love.

Ogata replies that Tsurumi has decided to use Yuusaku’s role as a pure idol as a way to inspire the men in battle. Ogata looks reflective as he says this, he clearly understands the power of an idol such as Yuusaku and this is before he has his conversation with Yuusaku on the battlefield.

Usami clearly disagrees with Ogata’s read on Yuusaku, he angrily states that he’s just using his father’s position to gain respect from others and he already hopes that Tsurumi doesn’t give him more glorification that he deserves. Keep in mind that 164 was when Ogata tried to get Yuusaku to destroy his purity by having him visit with a prostitute in a brothel but it failed. Tsurumi read this as an indication of Yuusaku’s purity and his nobility, which Ogata clearly disagrees with. Ogata had first hand evidence of Yuusaku’s attempt to fulfill his father’s wishes.

What is interesting is that when Usami speaks to Ogata, his back is to him and we see Ogata’s eye from under the hood of his cloak and then we see Ogata frowning just a bit as his eyes look rounder than normal. I really think that Ogata at least is beginning to observe that Yuusaku’s purity may be a part of his character but he’s still unsure if he’s doing it as a dutiful son or if he’s doing it for himself.

The flashback jumps to sometime later and we see Ogata having a conversation with Usami. At this point in time, Ogata is stating a hypothesis that Yuusaku is presenting a false image of himself. He states that if the false front is removed, Yuusaku will be shown to be the same as everyone else, and Tsurumi will change is mind about him as an idol of purity. Ogata states that everyone is the same deep down. He then asks Usami if he feels bad when he kills a Russian solider and Usami replies that he doesn’t. Ogata continues with the rationalization that those who die on the battlefield die b/c of their own fault, that they are inept and therefore they die and Usami just agrees again with this statement.

The bottom right panel is more important as it shows that Ogata is setting up his ‘test’ for Yuusaku with Usami, you see Ogata to the right, Usami to the left and a third figure being dragged between them. It looks like Noda made a goof in the final panel as Ogata’s hood is now down on his cloak but it was clearly up right before then.

Ogata continues his verbal thesis as he states that the love from one’s parents doesn’t change how you turn out. Usami agrees. Usami came from a 100% loving and friendly household and he’s our most twisted member of the 27th. Ogata came from a completely broken home and he tries to rationalize that is why he can kill. This allows Ogata to state that, he’s correct and if he and Usami are the same despite different household he’s not strange.

Some period of time passes and Ogata goes to find Yuusaku and test him with the Russian POW. This means that we need to recall what happened in chapter 165 where Ogata brought Yuusaku to the POW here. I always wondered who else was involved in this ‘test’ as Ogata does not look like the kind of guy who could carry a Russian POW to a random place to hide him and stage him for Yuusaku to encounter.

With his hood heavily drawn and no longer wearing his military cap, Ogata asks him if he’s killed a single person. This leads to Ogata’s observation that Yuusaku doesn’t even use his sabre which other flag bearers will fight with in battle. Ogata asks if he’s using his position as an excuse so that he doesn’t have to get his hands dirty by killing.

Yuusaku is clearly nervous about this accusation. Is this actually in part the truth of Yuusaku’s own personal beliefs? This leads to the ultimate Ogata ‘test’ he asks him to kill the POW. Note that Yuusaku refers to Ogata as brother while we know that this entire time Ogata is using Yuusaku-dono again showing the gulf between them. He questions if Yuusaku is trying to stay innocent by using his position and he presses him that he wants to see him kill him.

This is then repeated with Usami narration on page 7. The text box is Usami stating that Yuusaku was truly pure and we see Yuusaku walk away from Ogata.

We have to remember between Ogata handing the bayonet to Yuusaku and then Yuusaku leaving a LOT more happened. Yuusaku explains that he’s upholding the role that his father told him that he must play. That he must go above and beyond the expectations of most flag bearers. It is his job to alleviate the inevitable guilt that soldiers will feel as a result of their actions. Ogata questions his statement about guilt and that people only act like they feel guilty. This reply makes so much sense as we now know that right before this happens, Ogata was talking with Usami about how all people are the same deep down. It doesn’t matter if they came from a loving family or a broken family, they are the same and that they can kill and NOT feel guilt.

Ogata’s statement that everyone is the same as me, is with the huge caveat that Usami says he’s the same as Ogata. This conversation ends with the incredibly awkward brotherly hug of one direction. Yuusaku looks like he’s even crying from his left eye has he embraces Ogata, while he stands there unresponsive. Yuusaku is certain that Ogata does have feelings and will feel guilty and he emphasizes that he’ll understand one day.

The hug scene ends with Ogata blankly staring off as Yuusaku hugs him and we can see a small foxhole in the trench that we saw before.

Going back to 243, we see Ogata address what first appears to be no one (clearly not the Russian POW) and it reveals that Usami was in the bunker/foxhole the entire time! This means that Usami witnessed the full awkward brotherly hug and the statement from Yuusaku that people must feel guilt over killing.

Ogata then states that if he kills Yuusaku and it shows that his father loves him, it will demonstrate that Yuusaku could have become just like Ogata. And he asks if Usami agrees with him. Of course, Usami emerges from the bunker to state that he completely agrees with Ogata as the Russian POW still remains hog tied between them. We get the final panel of Yuusaku collapsing on the battlefield.

The conversation returns briefly to the present as Usami tells Kikuta that Hanazawa instead became depressed over the loss of his legitimate son and never even bothered to look up Ogata. The next statement is unclear to me, “So he was feeling all miserable and upset because Yuusaku died while he was still pure and good.” This could be about how Hanazawa felt, but it could also refer to Ogata, and that Ogata was upset as he was never able to prove that Yuusaku wasn’t pure. Or is this referreing to both Hanazawa and Ogata making their responses to Yuusaku’s death the same?

After this is said, Kikuta decides that he doesn’t have time for this and leaves Usami behind to lay on the ground in the afterglow.

Usami then thinks more about his conversation with Ogata in the hospital. He tells Ogata that he knows he’s involved in the rebellion in the ranks and that he’s one of the people who has been stirring up discontent.

Usami inquires if it has to do with Ogata’s role in the death of Hanazawa. Usami can’t see how Tsurumi could do something that makes him unhappy.

Usami’s recollection then reveals that he was the carriage driver when Ogata met up with Tsurumi after he killed Hanazawa and staged the body. We see Usami biting his lip seething with anger as Tsurumi dotes upon an unemotional Ogata. This the leads to more information, at somepoint, Tsurumi gets out of the carriage and leaves Usami and Ogata alone. Tsurumi damn well knew he was able to rile Usami up, just like what happened with Usami and Tomoharu at the dojo.

Usami then quotes Tsurumi, “You’ve been left behind Ogata, so I’m sure everyone will support you.” this leads Usami to ask Ogata if his goal is to become the leader of the 7th and if this was the reasn he agreed to be the member of the 27th to kill Hanazawa. This implies that Usami at this point in time thinks that Ogata wanted the power and status of becoming the next Hanazawa of the 7th.

Interestingly, Ogata stated that he accepted the job because he had to ask Hanazawa things before the end. This implies that Tsurumi’s plan to kill Hanazawa could have gone to others in the 27th and knowing that Hanazawa was a marked man, Ogata’s opportunties were liminted to get his own personal questions answered.

What is interesting is we see here now in 103 that Ogata’s mindset about children is different than his previous conversation with Usami. First off, Hanazawa tries to rationalize that how Ogata responded to his mother’s mental illness was the same that Hanazawa felt towards her. We know that her mental status was already poor around the time that she gave birth to Ogata and Hanazawa never came back for her. Ogata then highlights that children can’t choose their parents. His theory has shifted that if love exists, he is a child who grew up lacking love and therefore he’s lacking something fundamental and it is unrelated to social status.

This is different than what he had when he spoke to Usami. At that time Ogata felt that he and Usami were the same, they could both kill regardless of the fact that he grew up lacking the love of his parents when Usami was clearly loved. After Yuusaku’s death, Ogata’s opinion changed, he now sees himself in a different category than Usami. His words make it clear that he, himself is lacking something fundamental due to his upbringing.

He uses this as the transition to reveal that he shot Yuusaku on the battlefield with the intention of getting Hanazawa’s attention. Ogata wonder if this was an event that might allow his father to love and accept his other son.

This lead to what is one of the most bittersweet panels of the entire manga where he asks if there was a ‘blessed path’ for himself as well.

Hanazawa makes it quite clear that Ogata is ‘lacking something [fundamental]’ and that he should go to hell. Hanazawa’s dying statement is pretty clear, if he could kill his mother, his brother and now Hanazawa he was a broken individual who lacked love.

With time and perspective, this confirms for Ogata that he is lacking something fundamental. He was able to get the words from his own father thus creating a self-fullfilling conclusion.

What this does tell us, is that Ogata wanted answers more than anything. He’s an intelligent man and all of these flashbacks are beginning to show how he’s trying to rationalize who he is, how he became the adult that he is.

So when we return to this part of the page, it makes so much more sense. Ogata had to ask Hanazawa questions before Tsurumi made sure that he was dead. Usami then immediately thinks that this is a power play on Ogata’s part to get more attention from Tsurumi. Usami is thinking “Ogata volunteered to kill his own father - he clearly wants Tsurumi’s love!”

Ogata replies after a brief hesitation that this is not the case. Usami just looks at Ogata with his angry rabbit face.

Usami decides to stir the pot more and he tells Ogata the true purpose of why Tsurumi wanted Hanazawa dead, the Manchurian Railway (Mantetsu). Usami then decides to try to rile up Ogata by saying that Tsurumi didn’t want Ogata to kill him so that Ogata would be in Tsurumi’s good books but that Ogata’s father was preventing Tsurumi’s own plans in regards to the Manchurian railway.

Usami then thinks back to when he approached Ogata in the hospital as he tries to rationalize why Ogata was a part of the rebel element. He thinks Ogata is upset that he killed his father to gain Tsurumi’s love, to show his loyalty, but instead Ogata was just a simple tool to allow Tsurumi’s plans for the Railway to proceed.

Usami tries his best to rile Ogata - he killed Yuusaku and he didn’t gain his father’s love, he killed his father but didn’t gain Tsurumi’s love. Therefore, Ogata is bitter and angry and full of spite since no matter what Ogata has done, no one has loved him. I think that Usami is partially correct, Ogata did these actions to see if he could gain the blessed path. He killed Yuusaku to see if Hanazawa would approach him, but deep down, I still think Tsurumi ultimately wanted Yuusaku dead and I still think in a way, Ogata thought he was saving Yuusaku from being killed by another member of the 27th in the future. Say Yuusaku survived the war. It was clear as soon as he heard about Tsurumi’s plans he’d be dead.

With our new information that Ogata wanted to ask Hanazawa questions ‘before the end’ implies that again, Ogata knew that Tsurumi’s plans required Hanazawa out of the way. Ogata needs answers to his questions about the nature of his own guilt and his need to be loved and recognized. To me, by volunteering to be the person of the 27th to kill Hanazawa, it was the only way that he would be able to talk to his father. His father was a dead man walking with Tsurumi’s plans and if say Tsukishima had killed him instead, he would have been left wondering if the ‘blessed path’ would open up for him as a result of his father recognizing him. That fact that Hanazawa completely ignored Ogata’s existence after Yuusaku’s death clearly bothered Ogata and he needed to hear those answers. It is terrible that he could only get his answers in such an extreme situation but it was Ogata’s only option and if there is something Ogata is, it is hyper-rational.

Usami tries to push Ogata further by tearing him down as he explains why Ogata became a traitor. He states that he’s a “piece’ in Tsurumi’s game, just like Koito is a “piece”. Thanks to inori for clarfying on discord that the translation refers to them as shogi pieces; as shogi is similar to chess, I think it is safe to make a leap that this implies that members of the 27th are pieces with different abilities and therefore, some are more useful and valuable while others are less valuable. Usami really goes for the hurt by comparing Ogata with Koito as we know that Koito and Ogata never got along even when Koito was a young officer in training. He thinks that Ogata’s ego got the better of him and this is why he became a traitor. He says that his ‘overwhelming’ love became ‘overwhelming’ hate and he states that Ogata knows exactly what he means and he sees Ogata for what he is. This is interesting as we know that Ogata has changed his opinion on love and around the time that he killed Hanazawa he didn’t believe in ‘love’ as a concept. It is clear that Usami never realized that this shift occured in Ogata’s thinking.

Ogata finally whispers something in Usami’s ear that we don’t know. Ogata then smile as he replies to Usami’s shogi [chess] anology. He calls Usami’s hypothesis a delusion and if they are to see members of the 27th as shogi/chess pieces, Usami is the cheapest piece on the board. Ogata’s insult likely means that Usami is a simple pawn (or whatever the shogi equivelent of a pawn is, I should know this after watching “March comes in like a Lion” but it clearly didn’t stick in my brain). If we are to follow a chess/shogi example, I’d say that Ogata’s interpretation hurts Usami deeply, by implying he’s a worthless pawn, he’s disposable and not important to Tsurumi.

This clearly does the trick as Usami pulls out his bayonet to stab Ogata and we see his veins on his face bulging out, a direct reference back to when he killed Tomoharu.

However, just like with the poor Russian doctor, Ogata clocks Usami in the face with a bedpan. Ogata, using bedpans to beat people in the face since ~1907.

The next page then shows us how Ogata was so effective when he escaped the hospital in Akou. He hit someone with a bedpan, and sprinted off barefoot in hospital clothing. This flashback has many parallels with what happened in the hospital. Usami refers to both Ogata and Koito as similar pieces and we learn that Usami told Ogata to investigate the Mantetsu before this happened. On Karafuto, Ogata manages to have the Russian doctor hit Koito with the revolver and he also hits Koito with it.

Usami at somepoint wakes up and another man checks in with him. Usami states that Mishima is following Ogata and it implies that Usami is smart enough to realize if he let Ogata go, he’ll lead them right to the other rebels. Usami is upset that he was called a cheap piece by Ogata. Of course I’m not surprised that Ogata knew exactly what to say to Usami to piss him off, he is always watching. Usami is not a piece, Ogata, Koito, Tsukishima those men are pieces but Usami is special.

And yes, for good measure his is the scene after Ogata called Koito a bon-bon in Russian he told him about the South Manchuria Railway and to investigate it as it would explain that Hanazawa’s death was suspicious.

Chapter 210 has Koito’s whole, I’ve connected the dots Tsukishima and Tsurumi may have been involved in Hanazawa’s death! This lead to Tsukishima revealing to him that Ogata was the one who killed Hanazawa. Just like Usami, Tsukishima projects his own issues onto Ogata’s behavior as he also thinks that Ogata became upset after he killed his father even though Tsurumi gave him exactly what he [Tsukishima] wanted.

Tsukishima also re-interates his own theory that Ogata is working as a spy for Central Command which came up during his shoot out with Ogata in Yubari.

Therefore, a really major theme is that Usami and Tsukishima both think that they know what Ogata wanted from Tsurumi with their own issues projected onto Ogata’s behaviors. It is clear from Usami’s flashback that Ogata wanted something else that we the readers know but Usami doesn’t know because he didn’t hear the conversation between Ogata and Hanazawa.

What this also shows us is that Ogata’s motivations are not what others think that they are and he clearly has his own agenda. We’ve known for sometime that he has his own agenda and now we can see it is partially driven by his own need to answer some pretty basic philosophical questions about the nature of love and how people are raised and if this is connected to the ability to kill and to feel guilt or not.

Back to the chapter, we have Usami now alone, abandoned by Kikuta, doing his ‘thing’ as he says that Ogata will come to Sapporo to interfere with Tsurumi’s plans and he’s clearly upset by it.

The chapter then wraps up with an update on Ogata’s marksmenship. Ogata sees a duck, takes aim and fires. I like how the final panel shows an emotionless Ogata pull his rifle back before the next page reveals the result.

Like any good cat, he comes bearing a gift for his current servants. He holds up the duck to display and offer to Hijikata and Ushiyama. With full on smug cat expression, he explains that he’s finally become accustomed to shooting with his left hand.

He looks like such a happy cat has he lifts the rifle off his shoulder. Hijikata then asks if this implies that the sniper has completely recovered. Ogata looks quite contimplative as he replies “No. . . .”

The answer is defined by his final full page reply.

He can only be called a sniper when he snipes a person. He’s now holding the rifle left handed indicating that he’s ready and he looks so confident.

Based on the fact that Usami predicts Ogata’s involvement in the search for Jack the Ripper, and that Ogata has now stated his ready to become a sniper again. It looks like Ogata’s sniping will begin again in Sapporo and Usami will be involved.

And with that our chapter ends.

As a card carrying Ogata fan, I was so happy to read this chapter! Ogata, I have missed you sooo much and I’ve been waiting for more background for your mysterious motivations.

1.) Ogata feels guilty about killing Yuusaku. The fact that Ogata said “Yuusaku-dono” in the hospital, the fact that he was being possessed by Yuusaku in chapters 164 & 165, the fact that when he was talking to Asirpa, he was talking to Yuusaku on the ice floe; all of these events show us that he does have feelings of guilt in regards to his actions.

However, I do not think Ogata’s guilt is because Yuusaku was his half-brother, it is clear that Ogata did not want Yuusaku’s love or attention as it likely made his already miserable life in the 27th even worse. We know that Ogata was bullied due to his status as an illegitimate child (chapter 169). From Ogata’s language around Yuusaku he saw him as a pure idol. A man who was shaped to become a pure idol by his father and he was the dutiful son that Hanazawa expected from him.

The pure idol concept is a connection that Ogata made himself between Yuusaku and Asirpa. When he wakes up from his fever dream in 165 he knows that in his mind, Asirpa is a pure idol that Wilk shaped to lead the Ainu and ethnic minority groups into the future. We as readers know that Asirpa’s personal value to not kill is something that she developed herself and it wasn’t something that Wilk told her to be or do directly. But Ogata doesn’t know this, he assumes this from his own interactions. That is why when he has his meltdown on ice he begins to talk to Asirpa like he picked up his converation with Yuusaku with the Russian POW from chapter 165. This is why Asirpa is a bit puzzled herself, Ogata is speaking her in terms that she doesn’t quite get since she is not Yuusaku but in Ogata’s mind they are cut from the same cloth and therefore in a way almost the same person.

Both Asirpa and Yuusaku were raised by important men who had a clear destiny laid out for their children. Yuusaku was the dutiful son who was placed into a ‘pure’ job as a flag bearer even though he likely knew it would result in the loss of his son’s own life. If Sugimoto can make the connection of Asirpa to Joan of Arc and he only read it in a shoujo magazine, we know that Ogata clearly knows of such examples as well and he learned enough from Kiro and Sofia about Wilk to know his motivations.

I’m guesing he may have been able to see Wilk’s conversation with Sugimoto at Abashiri before he shot him as well, Wilk flat out tells Sugimoto that he raised Asirpa to be a guerilla fighter for Ainu independence.

Or Ogata already knew this and his time on Karafuto only confirmed his thoughts. It doesn’t really matter, what we know is Ogata thought for sure that Wilk trained Asirpa to be the pure idol for Ainu independence.

What I’m really trying to hammer home is that Ogata, seeing Asirpa’s own personal code to not kill implied to him a need for her to be a pure Ainu idol, just like Yuusaku was a pure Japanese military idol.

And Ogata clearly has indicated he doesn’t like how these men groomed their children into becoming pure idols who lead others into battle. Those others lead into battle, such as himself, are supposed to feel better about their guilt of killing others as their idols remain pure. But Ogata thinks that this is utter bullshit and that there are no pure people. To cope with all of the trauma from his own life, he has to tell himself that people don’t feel guilt and that people are not that great.

Yet, the two pure people he has met both wanted to connect with him. Yuusaku wanted so much for him to connect with Ogata and be his brother. Now, Yuusaku was a next level dumbass in this regard as he clearly was making Ogata very uncomfortable, likely making his position in the 27th worse than it already was and in a way, his desire for an older brother was quite selfish.

Asirpa accepting Ogata and caring about him really throws him for a loop as she is not related to him, nor is she Japanese. Perhaps, @goldenkamuyhunting and I’s crazy idea that Ogata is mixed race may play a part of this if Ogata is part ethnic minority from Karafuto. It would make his connection to Asirpa more of a familial/genetic type again making him more uncomfortable.

Yet, it is clear that he comes to accept her attention and he clearly cares about her on some level. So when she tries to pull the same “purity” crap on him that he feels Yuusaku did he snaps. I think what started it was when she told him she “There’s not a single thing I can trust about you!” He really lost it then as all these other people have lied to Asirpa and she trusts them but the one time he lies to her she knows immediately and rejects him. And she had accepted him. It hurt him.

Ogata gets his wish when Asirpa accidentally shoots him. His twisted smile, to me, indicates that he was like “Yes, she shot me! There are no pure idols in the world. My hypothesis is correct!”

This therefore, at that point in time shows Ogata that if only Yuusaku had more time, he too would have lost his purity if given the right circumstances.

What I’m more curious is where this leaves Ogata standing in at the present in the manga. We don’t know what he was thinking after he was injured, but I’m sure there were more fever dreams and deep thoughts about philosphical contimplations about the meaning of love, purity and family in Ogata’s overactive mind.

Did Ogata escape the possession of his soul by Yuusaku in chapter 165? Or with the admission of his guilt in 243, does it mean this was a self-imposed ‘possession’ which was removed by Asirpa shooting him in the eye and he lost his sinning eye.

It is also interesting that he replies to Hijikata that a sniper needs to snipe other humans to be called such, will he actually snipe to kill or will his sniping style change with the loss of the eye and the guilt tied to it.

The fact that we still have yet to see Yuusaku’s full face implies to me that his guilt still remains and when Ogata confronts that guilt, we will see what Yuusaku actually looked like.

And this long first point is to conclude that Ogata feels guilty for killing an ‘innocent’ like Yuusaku, not because he was his half-brother but due to his commitment to what was expected of him by his father.

2.) Our interpretation of Ogata almsot always comes from another character’s interpretation of Ogata. Throughout GK, Ogata has been framed in a rather unique fashion as a character. Most of what is said and believed about Ogata is based on what other characters say about him and how they act with him.

Sugimoto sees him as a traitor and can’t be trusted, though likely it is due to the fact that Sugimoto feels that he has betrayed others and he even goes on to betray Asirpa for 200 yen to Tsurumi.

Koito first sees him as an ungrateful son, and the son of a wildcat. Therefore, Ogata is out to con others. He may also think that Ogata should love his father as a second son, because he learned that his own father (Koito Sr.) loves him as the literal second son. He later learns that Ogata killed Hanazawa and he has not given us any indication what this means to him.

Tsukishima sees him as a man who was angry at his father for hurting him. When Ogata was given the chance to kill his father, Tsukishima thought it would have given him peace and a place in the 27th to continue to live off of Tsurumi’s sweet lies.

Usami sees Ogata as an individual who wanted Tsurumi’s undevoted attention and love. Just as Usami gained love from Tsurumi through violence, he saw Ogata perform despicable acts to his half-brother and father but those did not get him Tsurumi’s love. Ogata is just like Tomoharu in Usami’s eyes, another person taking attention from Tsurumi away from him.

Tamai saw Ogata as a capable solider and reliable. Unfortunately as a member of the bear death trio we learn little else about how he saw Ogata as Noma and Oda seemed less keen on Ogata.

Hijikata knows he’s an unusual man who was under Tsurumi and as much as he deflects, he knows that Ogata has an intelligence background. He keeps Ogata as far away from him as possible and makes Ogata travel with the other groups while he tries to figure out Kiro’s background. Hijikata likely knows that Ogata has his own plans and he’s not going to tell him for sure.

What this has done for many readers of the manga is that they take what these characters say and do and use that to form what they also see Ogata to be. But really, we have a bunch of unreliable narrators telling us who they think Ogata is, not who Ogata actually is.

When we examine Ogata’s own actions independent of what everyone else thinks, we see a different picture. Ogata is an intelligent military man who pretty much calls things as they are, figures out things quickly, thinks on his feet and can command small groups of people effectively. I really don’t want to belabor this point, I’ve written tons of meta about why I think Ogata is an interesting and capable character.

3.) Ogata is a philosophical guy. This drives his interpersonal behaviors and likely is a coping mechanism with his poorly developed childish emotional maturity. The flashbacks in 103, 164, 165, 243 as well as many things that Ogata have said throughou the manga or done all point to a man who is mature as an adult but who never got beyond basic child emotions.

What is really interesting is that we see what Ogata is thinking, he asks others for their inupt, he finds more people and asks them questions which then allows him to change what he is thinking as he gets more information. He is clearly constantly thinking and changing how he feels about family, love, guilt from killing. The issue is that all of his behaviors are through a rational and logical thought process. Sadly, he is not taking his emotions into his questions since he doesn’t really know what to do with his own emotions.

We know that he does feel guilt from killing at least ‘innocent’ people and this may be where his self-control came from. Think of when he was with Nikaido trying to snipe Tanigaki. Nikaido didn’t care about Asirpa’s Huci and Osoma, but Ogata wouldn’t hurt them, he only wanted Tanigaki. His character’s behaviors scream out that he wants to be loved and accepted by someone after a lifetime of bullying but he doesn’t even know how to go about it.

4.) Usami is super messed up. I just felt that this makes a good point. Usami is fucking nuts. This chapter just gives us more information that Usami has his mindset and he sticks to it = Tsurumi loves him, he loves Tsurumi and he will be Tsurumi’s favorite. Obviously, he’s indicating there will be an Ogata encounter. Usami better be careful as Ogata’s sniping skills are back.

5.) Kikuta is likely relaying information to Ariko and Central Command perhaps. As I stated when I first read the chapter and saw Kikuta’s remark about Ogata and Yuusaku, I was like, wtf Kikuta are you blind? But then if you read the beginning of the chapter, Kikuta is gently nudging Usami to talk. He drives the entire conversation and as Usami is so emotionally invested in it, he says so much that he likely shouldn’t. This is exactly how Ogata got information out of Sugimoto when they first met in chapter 5. Both men have worked in intelligence and they easily pull information out of others before they even realize it. The fact that he asked Usami his opinion of Ogata makes me wonder if Kikuta knows more or he started asking Usami about Ogata as Ariko told him Ogata was in Sapporo with Hijikata and got injured somewhere. Ariko was shocked to see Ogata as he thought Ogata was dedicated and loyal to Tsurumi.

The fact that Kikuta literally left Usami alone in the street ‘investigating’ means he could be going to do his own intel exchange and he doesn’t have to worry about Usami snooping on him. If Usami was supposed to keep an eye on Kikuta for Tsurumi in Sapporo, he’s doing a shit job.

Well that is all that I have for now. Apologies for the long meta, but it was so interesting and I’m sure I’ve missed a lot of points.

#golden kamuy #golden kamuy meta #ogata hyakunosuke #warrant officer kikuta #tsurumi tokushirou #asiripa #hijikata toshizo #ushiyama tatsuma #sugimoto saichi #tsukishima hajime #koito otonoshin #hanazawa yuusaku #hanazawakoujiro #wilk #kiroranke

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mecomptane · 3 years

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MQ: Imbros the Parched

Once again my formatting is MIA... dreamwidth is looking like more and more of an option. Anyway, Kassandra and the first non-Talos the Stone First mercenary (incidentally, the first mercenary I ran into as well, and ranked only one higher than me at the time)!

In Kassandra's defense, she had meant to head back to Barnabas and the Adrestia as soon as she was done in Megaris. Nikolaos was out of the picture and his helmet weighed heavily in her sack, and while he wasn't dead the Spartans--and second General Stentor in particular--didn't actually know that. The sooner she was out of Megaris and away from the potential arrowstorm from an angry phalanx, the better.

But the young farmer had a contract, and it was well ingrained in her to never turn down a contract, no matter how small. On Kephallonia any amount of drachmae was not just useful but could make the difference between eating for the next week or scrounging for scraps, and while the farmer didn't have much to offer by way of coin he had given her a few vegetables and strips of dried meat, with a small note and a promise of payment from the merchant she was delivering the letter to.

If that meant skirting the border with Boeotia and her fearsome military, then Kassandra would just have to expand and expound on her stealth abilities.

A day later she was heading back towards Megaris, a few hundred drachmae richer and belly stuffed with dinner from a grateful merchant. Much of Hellas was in turmoil, but there were still some towns and cities that had avoided the worst of Eris' touch and had some plenty to share with weary travellers and skilled mercenaries. (Taking care of that pack of wolves on the way in hadn't hurt her initial meeting with the locals, either.)

Another few hours would bring her within sight of Panoramos, and hopefully the Adrestia would still be at anchor. Barnabas had said his life--and ship, and crew--were at her beck and call, but just bringing her to Megaris was more than most captains that sailed by Kephallonia would do to even the debt. For him to stick around this long would be unimaginable. With the sun beating down hot overhead and only sparse shade along the road, Kassandra whistled for Ikaros and settled down under a small copse. "Break time," she crooned as the eagle settled on her raised knee, chirping at her before taking off to find his own prey. The loaf of bread and handful of figs didn't make a substantial meal, but it was more than enough to keep her going until Panoramos. And resting for a while wouldn't hurt. It would be easier to enter Megaris in general and Panoramos in particular after dark, when most of the Spartan forces would be resting and those awake on guard wouldn't be able to see as far. Not that they were any equal to her sight at their best, and with Ikaros flying above they didn't stand a chance.

If the Adrestia was still there, getting to her during the night would be easiest, even if they waited until sunrise to depart. And if she wasn't... sneaking through Panoramos towards Megara would still be easiest at night. The part of her that had been trained from birth for warfare called for blood, to fight her way through the Spartan camp and shower the ground with red. But the rest of her--who grew up under Markos' spotty guardianship, who had to learn how to play nice, make friends, negotiate, and keep her head down just to survive--prioritized safe travel over violence.

Ikaros landed arms length away, a small rodent clutched in his talons as he tore into it. Kassandra smiled at him, ripping off another piece of bread with her teeth. "Such a swift hunter, Ikaros." He chirped at her again, acknowledging her compliment before returning to his meal.

Moving around the copse of trees to the side away from the road and mostly hidden, Kassandra reclined on an elbow and gazed over the landscape. Megaris was in ruins closer to the beachhead, but up here in the foothills was largely untouched. Almost peaceful. The sun was warm on her skin, Ikaros was keeping watch nearby, and she actually had a mostly full stomach for the first time in weeks. It was the perfect opportunity for a nap.

She awoke to Ikaros' screech near her ear, the brush of feathers over her face. Kassandra snapped upright, grabbing for her broken spear as she landed in a crouch, Ikaros leaping up to settle on her shoulder, wings flared and talons digging into the armour there. She started to scan the area, ready for danger--and stopped.

A fire had been built to ward off the incoming darkness of night, though the sun still sat low in the sky. Across from Kassandra crouched an armoured man, the chestplate of a different design and age from the pteurges and the bracers. His head was shaved and, overall, he looked like he had spent the last few years on the road, living off the land. But the armour was well tended and clean, and the sword at his side was clearly recently cleaned.

"....misthios," the man greeted, poking the fire before settling down to roast what looked like a small gamebird over the fire.

Kassandra eyed him, debating whether or not to leave... but it wouldn't hurt to talk to someone more familiar with the land. "Mercenary."

"Imbros," he offered. "That's a beautiful eagle."

"...Kassandra," she greeted and stored away the broken spear as she finally sat down, Ikaros shifting his weight to accommodate her movements. Might as well double check this... Imbros hadn't stolen anything before she took off. She could still make it to Panoramos before sunrise if she left in the next few hours. "This is Ikaros."

Ikaros squawked once, then set to preening her hair, tugging strands out of her braid. Kassandra let him; ages ago she'd tried to stop him, but that just made him more determined.

Imbros nodded, turning the bird on its spit. "So. You new around here?"

"From Kephallonia," Kassandra replied, rustling through her sack. Nikolaos' helmet was still there--the most important thing in the bag--and everything else she'd collected since Elpeanor had shown his face. Including the food. Ah, the food. Not much drink left, though she hadn't left the town with much in her wineskein to start. "Just landed before the Spartan and Athenian battle in Megaris."

Imbros hummed in recognition. "Aaaah, so you were the Mercenary the Spartans hired. We heard about the battle and came to offer our services, but by the time we arrived it was already over."

"For Sparta, or Athens?"

Imbros eyed her warily. "We are Mercenaries. Does it matter?"

Well... no. For all that she was Spartan by birth, Kassandra hadn't felt Spartan in years. Not since Taygetos. She hummed noncommittally, and then, "We? You travel with other mercenaries?" The only other she'd had experience with was Talos the Stone Fist, and the general policy there was avoid at all costs.

He nodded, picking at the meat to check doneness before returning it to the fire. "Occasionally. I'm new to being a Mercenary too, so it's easier to follow a more experienced misthios. But I'm getting better. Almost good enough to take bounties on my own." He stared her down, and for one brief moment Kassandra worried. Nikolaos had left the Spartan camp but at least she had held herself back from killing him. Surely Stentor wouldn't have put a bounty on her if there was no body, no death?

But then he shrugged, returning to cooking the gamebird. "Those who survived say you fought like ten men, killed or wounded many more."

To boast or to be demure? "On Kephallonia, there was only enough jobs--and space--for two mercenaries. We had to be good." And now there were none. Maybe she could suggest that to Imbros, get him out of the Peloponnese (and out of her hair)?

Imbros nodded slowly. "There's more room here, though, more jobs. More mercenaries to compete with. You were good before, but are you good enough to rise in the Tiers?"

Tiers... implying a ranking system. Talos had been older, more experienced, and she had partially modelled her way of finding contracts and getting work after his methods coupled with what actually worked on Kephallonia for a child from the sea and raised by a professional conman. If there was any sort of ranking system there, Kassandra supposed Talos would have been above her. There hadn't been, though. It was first-come first-served for all jobs and no one particularly valued one misthios over the other when it came to who would take the job.

A ranking system meant there was some kind of formality to it, an organization or structure or rules that mainland Mercenaries followed. She'd never been particularly good at rules--fighting, finding, protecting, yes, but rules? Yet... if she wanted to actually earn a living doing Mercenary work, she'd probably have to at least try.

Barnabas seemed to know his way around Hellas. Maybe he knew some of these structures and rules.

Something must have shown on her face, as Imbros started chuckling as he pulled the gamebird out of the flames and started picking at it. "Having second thoughts?"

Kassandra snorted, reclining onto one elbow. "Trying to figure out these... Tiers."

"Make a Name for yourself, and you're in. Every time a Mercenary ranked higher gets taken out by injury, illness or death, everyone below them moves up. Move up enough and you get bumped into a higher Tier, gain some notoriety, get some perks."

"Get more people after me."

Imbros chuckled around a mouthful. "Only if you kill people in broad daylight."

"Ah, so rule number one: be subtle when I kill people," Kassandra retorted.

"Or just... don't. Unless there's a bounty?"

"Difficult to complete a kill bounty without actually killing someone."

Ikaros chirred briefly, nudging the side of her head with his beak before taking off with a single powerful sweep of his wings. Kassandra and Imbros watched him soar into the sunset for a moment, but then she pushed herself up to her feet. "Well, time to go find a contract."

"You're... not staying here for the night?" The other novice Mercenary shifted, putting one foot flat on the earth as if to stand. "You're travelling in the dark? Where are you heading?"

Kassandra took the time to eye him, now, stretching her arms above her head and making no effort to disguise her appraisal. Travelled before with at least one other Mercenary, could have made it to the next town with only another hour of travel but stopped when he stumbled across her, admitted to being new to this line of work, was clearly nervous.... "I'm back to Panoramos, to meet with a... friend." Or close enough, anyway.

Now Imbros was on his feet, kicking dirt onto the fire as he shoved the last of the gamebird into his mouth and the carcass and spit into the copse nearby. "Panoramos? But that... why did you come out here if you're just going back to Megaris?"

"Because a contract I took brought me out here," which she thought was rather obvious, especially for a fellow Mercenary. You go where you need to, even if it takes you out of your way. Or, technically she could make it to Phokis overland if she just kept going North-West, but between the fighting, Boeotia's forces, the bandits, and the wild animals, there was no telling how long it would take her to get there. If she survived the trip at all.

His brows were furrowed and now that there was nothing to occupy his hands with, Imbros was wringing them, glancing between Kassandra and the road towards Panoramos... and then trailing back, focusing briefly on the road away from Panoramos before focusing on her again. He opened his mouth as if to speak, then snapped it closed, repeating the pattern of Kassandra-Panoramos road-Boeotia road.

She rolled her eyes, digging in her sack for a loaf of bread and something to drink. The bread was quick to hand, but all she had for liquid was the wineskein, and she wasn't about to give that up. "Look, Imbros--take this, and some dried figs, they should get you through. Another hour or so towards Boeotia is a small town, lots of friendly people. Ask if they need help--there was at least one huntress who mentioned that her sister was recently widowed, they could probably use another pair of hands--make friends. They'll give you room and board if you help out until you decide to move on. Are you any good at hunting? There's packs of wolves around that need clearing out. And be careful not to get too close to Boeotia's borders, the warriors there don't exactly like Mercenaries."

He was outwardly gaping at her as Kassandra shoved the bread and figs into his hands. Okay, time to head off before she actually felt responsible for him. "Safe travels, good hunting. And, uh, sorry for the lack of drink. I only have the one wineskein."

"Oh, no, it's... fine," he muttered, visibly shaking himself from his reverie and running one hand over his mostly bald head. "Uh, safe travels to you, too."

Kassandra waved over her shoulder and whistled for Ikaros, sending him scouting ahead even as she remained in the here-and-now. "Until we next meet, Imbros."

She was almost at the next bend in the road when hurried footsteps came up behind her. To absolutely no surprise, the other Mercenary greeted her when she turned to check. "Wait--Kassandra--" He gulped down a breath, then held out a small wooden token with rows of characters on it. "For Mercenaries. It's not a contract, but in Megara, there's a Temple. Mercenaries gather there."

Oh, she knew that Temple well. There was one less Mercenary that was likely to visit, now.

"Take it, show it to whichever Mercenary is there. If--if you want, they'll take you under their guidance," and at seeing her sneer at the idea, "Or--it will work as an introduction between you."

She didn't really need to go to Megara. But it was the largest city, so if Barnabas hadn't waited it was the best place to find a captain who might be willing to take her... even if it meant crossing the Diokoles. And if she was there anyway.... Imbros was new, and clearly still finding his feet. Maybe a more senior--no, a higher ranking, higher Tiered Mercenary--would no doubt have a better grasp of the rules.

"Fine," but she took the token with greater gentleness than her tone of voice implied. "...thank you."

"No, no," he waved her off, "Thank you," and he was back up the road, heading to Boeotia at a speed that would get him to the town well within the hour if he kept up the pace.

Kassandra hid beside a boulder and followed him with Ikaros' eyes, marking Imbros in their combined mental map. She waited until he was well away before returning to her own body, standing and stretching again. If she moved as quickly as Imbros was, she'd be to Panoramos before midnight, and on the Adrestia not too much later. By then, the other Mercenary should be well ensconced in the border town and hopefully getting into his cups and forgetting all about her presence. And name. And Ikaros.

The eagle chirped above her to signal he had caught up again, and then she was off. To Phokis, to Elpeanor... to the Truth.

#fic:Mercenary Queen #KHR/ACOdy #KHR #Assassin's Creed: Odyssey #meco writes

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aveyna · 4 years

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The Language of Flowers

Summary: Varian may have reached an agreement with the king, but he does not have to like him. Quite frankly, he finds everything the king stands for to be deplorable. As he is Rapunzel's father, Varian will refrain from seeking revenge. But that does not mean the alchemist can't get the final word before he leaves Corona.

Note: I never cared for King Frederic's character, but after reading quite a few fics, I have decided that...I really do not like the guy. Anyway, I doubt Varian would actually opt for insulting his enemies through plants, but that is something I have considered many, many times.....give me back my mail, Karen.

It's petty, sure, but hey, it beats reconstructing ancient automatons. It's less effort, too.

AO3 LINK

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“I need you to sell me the most terrible bouquet of flowers, one that will spell out complete loathing and contempt towards my enemies,” Varian states, the perfect image of innocence as he smiles at the flower seller. “Something that will be the most passive aggressive way to say ‘fuck you’ and not get me hanged on the spot.”

“So…no funeral flowers?” she asks, rolling her eyes.

“Right, nothing for funerals or something that could get me indicted for a crime.” Originally, Varian had meant to send funerary flowers, but…that could certainly be construed as a threat against the crown. He had thought of the idea on a whim. Revenge was sweet, sure, but…he’d rather not do anything severe.

While Varian had made amends with Rapunzel and is on decent terms with most of the royal family, it is not a correct assumption to say that he may hold a bit of a grudge against the king. Varian had not intended to pull this little prank, but looking back, it was more than due. It was not merely the king’s actions against him that had incurred his perpetual wrath and contempt. Thanks in-part due to the inactions of his royal travesty, King Frederic, the entirety of Corona was nearly overrun by the black rocks. And that is not even getting into the matters of how he had found out, years later, Rapunzel had been freed from one tower only to be thrown into another tower. He does not like to recall much of what happened from that year, but the alchemist knows he had a part in that. Still, it does not excuse Frederic from his actions.

The king had gone too complacent in this moment of peace. Afterall, everything is as it should be. No more threats, Saporians, tiny blueberry demons, deathly sharp black rocks, crazy blue-haired rock ladies, and most of all—no more of his ‘alchemy’. At least, that is what they had all been led to believe. His role as the royal engineer was cushy and safe...but there was no adventure or life to be had with being trapped. Certainly, he had been happy with his role for the first few months, to have been accepted by Corona. He felt as if he had finally found a purpose in his life, but the castle was stifling…too constricting. Now, he can see that this job…it was not for him, nor for his benefit. In the end, he was the last problem to be fixed, the only remaining piece that could not fit into the puzzle.

Corona merely wanted him to play his part at the expense of who he truly is, but not anymore. In just a mere few hours, the kingdom will have to make do without their royal engineer. He’ll finally be off, away from this kingdom and following in the footsteps of his mother. It is bittersweet to leave the land he had called home, but Varian can tell he is not wanted. At least, he knows the kingdom does not want ‘him’, but rather, the person they expect him to be.

He’ll be gone, but it does not mean he can’t have a little fun at the king’s expense in the process.

“Will these do?” The sales woman drawls in a dispassionate tone as she points her finger at…what could quite possibly be the most garish flowers Varian had ever seen. All an outrageous shade of hot pink, they honestly seem like the type of flower Rapunzel would be into. “Only that one shoemaker buys them.”

“What flowers are they? And what do they symbolize?” Varian asks, walking up to the pink flowers and plucking a few of them from the vase.

“Peonies,” she automatically responds, placing a hand on her cheek as she leans her elbow on the table. “They’re as passive-aggressive as you can get with flowers. You must really hate whoever it is you’re giving them to—”

“Perfect.” Varian grins, picking up the vase and placing it on the counter, water nearly sloshing out of the vase in the process. “I’ll take them all. Do you have anything else?”

“Not that I care,” she blandly mutters, “But how are you going to pay for all of these?”

“Don’t worry,” the alchemist chuckles…it…honestly does nothing to convince the clerk. Having the title of royal engineer practically thrust upon the alchemist as a method of placating had been underwhelming, but the title certainly did have a few perks. There’s no price too high for revenge.

---

All-in-all, Varian would call that little excursion of his a complete success. He may be stuck hauling quite a few [heavy] vases of flowers into the wagon, but the outcome would be more than worth the effort. In the end, vengeance would be reaped, and the king would be none the wiser. Varian wanted black roses; as dark and unfathomable as his complete and utter contempt for Frederic, but, well…the clerk merely rolled her eyes and insinuated his plans were pretentious.

Nothing would say ‘screw you’ more than a flower that proclaims the king is dead to him. Oh well…at least he had still completed the bouquet he had set out for. Unfortunately, the sun was still bright, which meant he had to hold off on his plans until nightfall. Luckily for him [and perhaps not so lucky for the king], Varian had his own place in the castle. He could come and go as he so wished, so…these flowers will just stay in his lab; buried underneath the castle. Afterall, besides his dad and Ruddiger, the only person who ever stopped by was Rapunzel.

The King wouldn’t know what hit him.

Besides the peonies, he had also opted for orange lilies and tansy. Nothing said ‘I hate you’ more than wishing for him to get decked in the face or mauled by a bear. Beautiful.

Varian knew his plan may be a bit ridiculous and a tiny bit petty, but it was so unlike him that he just had to try it. If the kingdom wanted him to be a different person, than by the Sun he was going to grant this one last request for them. He did live in a farming village, as well, so there was some irony to be had. Nonetheless, as long as it irked the king, his job was done.

“Hey buddy,” Varian says as Ruddiger hops onto the cart. The raccoon chitters, tilting its head in confusion and moving a paw towards a bright orange petal. “No, they’re not for you, but we’ll stop for an apple on the way to the castle.”

Consoled, the raccoon plops down in-between two of the vases, large eyes staring expectantly at the alchemist.

He could laugh, really—Varian was one step closer to his goal, but…he can’t risk fueling anymore gossip about his so-called ‘mad scientist’ status. Or the other rumors of how he was the princess’s feral wizard brother who lurked beneath the castle, waiting for the perfect moment to strike……

Actually, that last rumor was not entirely off the mark.

Shaking the intrusive thoughts out of his head, the alchemist sets his sights on the castle, grandiose in scale and bathed in the light of a warm spring day, for what he is sure will be the last time for a long while. Soon, he will be gone, and a new chapter of his life will commence.

At least, it will be, once he reaps vengeance against those who wronged him.

---

In the end, his plan worked without a hitch. Varian had snuck the flowers onto the king’s throne overnight, and no one had been the wiser. Of course, he and Ruddiger had stuck around the following morning—what good was it to pretty much insult the king and not be around to see the aftermath? While Varian is sure he wouldn’t understand the meaning behind the bouquet, he is certain Rapunzel will be there to fill in the gaps.

A gasp immediately follows as the princess places her hands over her mouth, tears threatening to spill down her face as her shoulders shake.

The king looks towards her, alarmed, while Queen Arianna merely looks amused. Her lips are quirked in a half-smile, green eyes lit up as she says, “What’s the matter, Rapunzel?”

“I—” The princess’s eyes trail towards Varian. He may technically be welcomed in the castle, but it is a rare sight to see him in the throne room. Though, since he is leaving, Rapunzel had insisted he visit them on the way out.

Ah, it seems she has realized just who the bouquet of flowers came from.

“It’s nothing, mom,” Rapunzel laughs, wiping tears from her eyes. Still confused as ever, the king furrows his brows, looking from the princess to the queen…until his gaze falls on Varian.

“You—”

Biting back a smile, Rapunzel tries to restrain the king. Queen Arianna merely says, “Thank you for not giving him monkshood.”

“I think it’s time you leave,” the princess says, apologetically. There is no harshness in her voice as she says again, perhaps too lightly, “It’s best if you go now, Varian. Dad’s not looking too happy right now.”

“Alright, Rapunzel,” Varian says, bowing dramatically and tipping an invisible hat at the princess before giving a polite, respectful wave of farewell at the queen.

As for the king, Ruddiger merely sticks a tongue out at him, clearly sharing the same sentiments as the alchemist.

“Oh, and don’t forget to write me letters!”

“Will do, princess,” Varian says, whistling a bit too loudly as he knows it would drive the king insane. As he makes his way towards the exit, with Nigel sneering at him, the alchemist turns around—

“You can’t charge me for anything, dad,” the alchemist knows this could potentially get him killed, but he is certain Rapunzel won’t let this happen. “I have impartial immunity. Cassandra was let off the hook, so all I have left to say is—”

I can’t tell the king to fuck off no matter how much I hate him.

“I hope you like flowers!”

Ah, yes—

It’s best he takes his leave before the king sends the royal guard after him. Again.

#Tangled #Tangled the Series #Varian #Varian the Alchemist #Rapunzel Tangled #Ruddiger Tangled #Queen Arianna #Fanfic

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meteor-cities · 4 years

Text

Þú ert jörðin | Feitan Portor

Yeah yeah I know I don’t write all the fucking time anymore. Anyways, I thought I might put something up and it’s really not a canon idea of mine but who cares?

CW: Mention of wounds

You sat at the vanity in your room, watching the rain, not daring to address the bruises and open wounds that covered your shoulders.

It was 5 in the morning, hence the sky started turning to a lighter shade of gray than it had been for the past few hours. You couldn’t truly sleep, despite taking many measures to relieve your lingering pain from the events that occurred earlier that night.

You didn’t turn on the light. You didn’t put on your clothes. You didn’t return to the bed, where your lover was sleeping. You didn’t make any noise and you didn’t move. The thought of provoking Feitan, the man you’ve loved for a long time, was one you didn’t cope with well. He hated being woken up. More than the typical sleep lover would.

You exhaled slowly, glancing at the mirror in front of you. The blood had long ago disappeared after you showered, however, the bite marks and scratches and cuts still had traces of dried blood that would hurt to touch.

You pondered over the methods you’d need to use in order to cover them up. Bruises were easy. Open wounds, not so much.

Some of them would definitely scar, which wasn’t a problem. The smooth, pale scars you’d accumulated over the years from nothing but rough interactions with Feitan were some of the few things you found enjoyment in. Abuse, people who had no idea of your dynamics would call it. However, you’d asked for them. Begged, even. Your masochistic nature was what drove you into such a complex relationship. It wasn’t something people would understand, except for maybe other people who did many of the same things as you and Feitan had. The only difference is that Feitan rarely showed mercy. He liked fear, he liked it when you cried and when things got pushed to the border of consensual and non-consensual touch. You enjoyed it, too. You never complained, and you never would. This is what you begged for. Regardless of how things had ended up.

You glanced at the time. Soon. Soon you’d have to stop sitting naked in front of your messy vanity and decide to reach for the scar creams and concealers and color correction products. Soon you’d have to get dressed, make coffee, make his coffee, find something for yourself to eat, leave to go to work.

Your thoughts were disturbed after you automatically reached for the scar cream in the drawer of your vanity. You heard shifting, then you felt some type of warmth on your shoulders. You looked in the mirror.

“It’s a little early for you to be awake, don’t you think?”

Feitan was obviously still tired, but nonetheless he was awake, standing behind you, making eye contact with you in the mirror with his hands on your shoulders, moving down to your sides. You nodded slowly.

“I couldn’t sleep. Did I wake you? I’m sorry.”

Feitan shook his head automatically, sighing. You checked the time again. He didn’t have to be awake for another few hours, two at the least, you’d guessed. So why was he awake now?

“You look cold,” he muttered, running his hands over the bumps on your arms. You’d adjusted to the temperature of the room a while ago, so you hadn’t noticed the goose bumps on your skin. You shook your head.

“It doesn’t bother me.”

The feeling on your skin was strange. It was very much his touch, sure. But this time there was some sort of emotion towards it. One that was different from either of his two defaults: lust and indifference. You looked up. He seemed to be thinking.

“Feitan.”

He looked at you, raising an eyebrow, acting as though he hadn’t spaced out into some other world you couldn’t touch.

“What’s on your mind?”

A confused look appeared on his face. You rarely asked this; usually it was because you were trying to figure out a behavior of his that wasn’t typical of himself. He thought for a moment again, replaying his actions from the time he woke up. He guessed that maybe it was because he was being gentle, being human for once. It wasn’t like those things didn’t exist in his personality; he certainly had his moments. But they were rare. Even if you’d known him from the time you were kids, only knowing him as someone who worked for your older brother, and having worked alongside the pair for some time since you two had become teens. You rarely saw a calm moment for the man, minus the times he spent reading or thinking or sleeping. Even then, though, he’d had some disturbance.

They were rare, yes. But not out of character.

Feitan let out a sigh, running his fingers through your now dry hair. You closed your eyes, enjoying the slight tug that came with him detangling your hair with his fingers.

“Darling, how long have I known you?” he’d asked. This wasn’t a question you were used to receiving minus the times he wanted to prove a point. You shrugged.

“Many years, Feitan. Many, many years.”

He nodded, pulling the cream from your hands and opening the small bottle, slowly applying it to the new wounds. Also not a common action, but sometimes he’d do it to reflect on the actions that created such violent features onto your skin.

This time he had another motive.

He paused, examining the numerous bruises and abrasions he’d inflicted. “Why do you let me do things that hurt you?”

You held your breath, exhaling after a moment, returning yourself the the present world. Preparing your answer.

“I don’t know.. Maybe because there’s never been an ill intent. You’ve never tried to kill me. You’ve never done things that damaged me later on. You’ve never wanted something I didn’t, I guess. If you needed to kill, you found something or someone else to soothe the need, but it was never me. Never my family, never my friends and especially never Chrollo.”

He thought over this answer for some time, returning to the gentle application of the cream to your broken skin.

“Except, I’ve had so many urges to kill Chrollo.. Many times for selfish reasons..”

“Like what?”

He paused, making eye contact in the mirror again. You knew the answer, and he knew that, but he also knew you wanted to hear it from him.

“Like wanting you for myself,” he muttered. You nodded. It was an answer you’ve heard many times, mostly for the times you asked him why he did away with someone who’d been hurting you or interfering with his plans he had in mind that included you in some sick way at times.

“Feitan. Do you know what love means?”

He stopped, nearly dropping the tube of cream in his hands. The question caught him off guard, since nobody dared to discuss the topic with him. Not even you, at least until now. Love wasn’t a concept the two of you discussed. You never discussed concrete concepts either, like relationship roles. Had anybody asked, you preferred to call him your husband, yet nothing of the sort was ever established between either of you. You knew him to be someone you adored and you knew he thought of you as something that belonged to him, regardless if it was in an objectifying sense or not. Neither of you spoke the word ‘love’ to each other. It simply was deemed unnecessary to the both of you.

And you knew it was because both of you knew that both of you thought of it. Both of you would give up anything for the other. So there was no need to speak it into the world if it could be seen in how the two of you acted towards the other.

You hummed, standing up and grabbing the robe you’d discarded to the side, putting onto your body. He watched you carefully, some of the sadistic motives remaining in his expression, even if it was diluted to the point where he could control it.

“You love me, Feitan. Even if you don’t say you do. You always have. Maybe in some sick, complex way that only you and I and maybe the Troupe understand, but I’m yours, and you’re happy.”

He listened, nodding slowly. You were right, he knew that. He wouldn’t try to object to it.

“I don’t need to hear it ever, Fei, not ever. And I hope the same applies to me, yet I’ll say it anyway, because I do love you, and I know you know that.”

He shook his head, grabbing your hands, running his thumbs over your knuckles. You could tell he wasn’t trying to put up his usual walls at the moment. It was a vulnerable moment that people would never see because he only trusted you with his insecurities. You smiled at the thought, moving to intertwine your fingers with his.

“How do you do that?”

“Do what?” You tilted your head, seeing his confusion.

“How can you read me so easily?”

You giggled quietly, kissing his cheek. “You know the answer, love.”

He nodded, pulling you tightly into his arms. It was a tender moment that he never really thought much of. He hated watching people display such affections. However, it was safe when you were home. It was safe to love you and to display it when the door was locked and the shades were shut. It was safe for him to cry and experience emotions and to smile. Because to him, there was no other safe place than you, and there wouldn’t be another one if you left.

And that’s why you said you were married. Because in the end, no document could correctly explain what the two of you meant to the other. It couldn’t show how much understanding and patience and practice it took to end up where the two of you were in the other’s life. It couldn’t show the mistakes made when it came to understanding the other person, couldn’t prove that the both of you made improvements to make the other happy.

And he was grateful you understood that as much as he did.

And he was grateful you trusted him to do the things he’d done to you.

And he was grateful because he was safer than he’d ever been in his life.

And he was grateful you loved him, too.

And he understood, no matter the effort, nobody would remove you from his life. And that’s all that mattered to him when it came to the outside world. That nobody would touch you. Nobody would give you the satisfaction and the care and the love he did because he was the only person who could do such things. He knew you were aware of it as well, which is why you gave into his wants and needs and why you let him torture you endlessly when it came to something going wrong. You were an outlet and in his mind there was nobody stronger than you, not even Chrollo, because of your ability to handle him and understand.

And now he could smile a genuine, happy smile. And that made you smile, too.

A killer, sure. A sadist. Someone who could never be happy, who could never have empathy. That’s what people knew him to be.

But you knew differently. And you wouldn’t listen when someone told you things you’d heard before. And that’s why he would never give you up.

Special.

You are special.

#hunter x hunter #hxh #feitan #feitan portor #the phantom troupe #chrollo #chrollo lucilfer #please enjoy!

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