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acideathr · 4 days ago

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──── ꒰ @peaktora collaborative event ꒱ 9.9k words

𐔌 ﹒ ❝𝘴𝘰 𝘪 𝘭𝘰𝘷𝘦 𝘸𝘩𝘦𝘯 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘤𝘢𝘭𝘭 𝘶𝘯𝘦𝘹𝘱𝘦𝘤𝘵𝘦𝘥 '𝘤𝘢𝘶𝘴𝘦 𝘪 𝘩𝘢𝘵𝘦 𝘸𝘩𝘦𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘮𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘯𝘵'𝘴 𝘦𝘹𝘱𝘦𝘤𝘵𝘦𝘥❞ . ノ－𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘦𝘦𝘬𝘯𝘥 / 𝘳𝘪𝘯 𝘪𝘵𝘰𝘴𝘩𝘪．．• ♡︎

↻ EPISODE 13 ▶︎ EARNED IT

──── ❝during the intensity of the neo egoist league, you find yourself working behind the scenes at blue lock, brushing shoulders with japan’s most ambitious young players - including rin itoshi, who treats you with the same cold distance he gives everyone else. but beneath his silence lies something more careful, more deliberate, and far more personal than you expect. what begins as indifference slowly unravels into a quiet tension, not built on chasing affection, but on discovering a connection that may have been there from the start - waiting, unspoken, just beneath the surface❞

by the time the world started paying attention, blue lock was no longer just a radical experiment. it was a revolution.

gone were the days of locked doors, anonymous rankings, and caged desperation. what had started as a brutal isolationist boot camp for strikers had evolved into something far more calculated - and far more dangerous.

the neo egoist league was proof of that.

split across the world, blue lock’s top players now trained and competed under the banners of international football giants. germany, england, spain, france, italy - each offered its own philosophy, its own brutal expectations. matches weren’t just exhibitions anymore. they were auditions for real-world contracts. global eyes were watching. careers were being made - or destroyed - in real time.

but while the players chased their future on the field, another system had quietly risen behind the scenes. the player development team.

ego’s idea, of course. “optimization,” he called it. a unit embedded within the neo egoist framework - not to coach, but to refine. analysts. mental performance experts. physical therapists. tactical strategists. data engineers. each one hand-picked, and bound to a single mission: make the best, even better.

you were one of them.

not a coach. not a scout. you weren’t here to yell from the sidelines (you actually were you just didn’t want to) or stroke egos in press conferences. your job was quieter, but in some ways, more intimate. you were assigned to observe, document, and distill player behavior - both on and off the pitch (also yell at players when they screw up). daily data logs. psychological markers. fatigue tracking. team interaction reports. everything that couldn’t be captured in a box score or a highlight reel.

half of your work took place in shadows - training footage reviews, performance debriefs, reports filed directly to ego and his remote advisory team. players knew who you were, of course. but they didn’t always understand what you did. and you preferred it that way.

because in silence, you saw more.

the moments when fire cracked through discipline. the flash of self-doubt behind a smirk. the way a player glanced at the bench when no one was watching. the seconds after a missed goal, where the body didn’t lie.

france’s training camp didn’t believe in rest.

that was the first thing you learned upon arrival from japan along with the other staff and players. every session ran like war games - precision drills, full-contact scrimmages, silent cooldowns that felt more punishing than the practices themselves. the french philosophy didn’t waste time on motivation speeches or ego massages. if you were here, it meant you were good enough. if you didn’t perform, you wouldn’t be here long.

you hadn’t spoken to everyone yet. not directly. some players stayed elusive. others dismissed you as background noise, or worse - another cog in ego’s machine. you didn’t take it personally.

but there were a few you watched more closely than the rest.

one in particular.

his name wasn’t on your lips, not yet. but you were already writing him down in margins. already tracking patterns that didn’t show up in goals or kilometres run. you couldn’t explain it - not to your team, and certainly not to yourself.

and yet, none of it seemed to faze him.

rin itoshi moved like someone immune to exhaustion. always the first to finish sprints, the last to speak in team meetings. he followed instructions with robotic sharpness - never flashy, never showy, but unmistakably dominant. you watched him pick apart defensive lines like a machine learning algorithm in real time.

but the strangest thing about rin wasn’t how good he was.

it was how little he cared about anyone noticing.

after today’s double session - technical drills in the morning, high-intensity simulation in the afternoon, with a usual match nearing the end - the sun dipped low over the alpine skyline. the players peeled off the pitch in clusters: some dragging their feet, others with towels over their heads, one or two already bantering about post-dinner fifa matches.

you and your team of development staff stood at the edge of the training field with fresh water bottles, protein recovery mixes, and data collection tablets. you weren't required to hand the bottles over yourself, but sometimes it was easier than chasing players down for sensor returns or feedback points.

plus, it gave you those small, unscheduled moments. the ones in between. the ones where you weren’t hunched over a screen looking at random numbers that start to fly off into space.

you handed a bottle to shidou first - he winked at you as always, took a long sip, then jogged off without a word. then chigiri, who barely glanced your way but muttered a hoarse, “thanks.” you logged his hydration stat mentally. one more bottle.

you turned, and he was already walking past. rin.

“hey,” you said, voice calm but audible. “itoshi.” he didn’t stop walking. just flicked his gaze in your direction, then looked forward again. you held the bottle out anyway, stepping slightly into his path. “recovery mix. you’ll need the sodium.”

that got him to pause. barely. his eyes dropped to the bottle, then up to your face. something unreadable passed between you - like he was trying to place you, or worse, deciding whether acknowledging you was worth the effort.

then, in one smooth movement, he took the bottle from your hand.

not a thank you. not even a nod.

just a quiet, clipped: “don’t need reminders.”

he walked off, the sun casting a long, cold shadow behind him.

you stood there a beat too long, pulse flickering - not from offence, but from curiosity. his voice wasn’t angry. not rude. just dismissive, as if any attempt at connection was a waste of time. as if you didn’t exist in the same world as him.

and yet-

you watched the way his fingers had brushed yours when he took the bottle. barely contact. almost clinical. but something about the moment stuck. not attraction. not yet. but the awareness of something closed off. guarded. heavy with weight you hadn’t been allowed to see yet.

that night, while updating your internal notes on player feedback and training response rates, you added a small, unofficial entry at the bottom of rin itoshi’s profile.

observational note: doesn’t speak unless necessary. high tension during decompression phase. avoids eye contact.

additional note: brushed past - but didn’t avoid.

you didn’t know what made you write that last part.

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over the past couple of days of the usual routine, you’ve noticed two very important things:

one: these players are talented beyond reason. and two: they’re absolutely exhausting.

not in a bad way. just… intense. all of them. all the time. even the quiet ones vibrate like coiled wire beneath their skin, ready to snap into motion at the first sign of ego or opportunity. you’ve grown used to moving around them like you’re in someone else’s dream - one filled with blunt edges, impossible goals, and far too many protein bars.

which is why, when you’re assigned to hand-deliver post-match performance reports at the end of the day, you keep your head down and your hands steady. no chit-chat. no analysis. just delivery.

you go down the line like usual, placing each manila folder on the bench beside its intended recipient. some players ignore you. a few smile, flirt, or joke. you're polite. nondescript. professional.

and then there’s rin itoshi. great.

that exchange a few days ago was the first time you’ve actually talked to the talented football player, you think. he doesn’t speak to you, doesn’t look at you, doesn’t nod when you pass him water or a report or eye contact.

today is certainly no different.

you place the folder beside him on the bench. “itoshi-san,” you say quietly.

he doesn’t look up. doesn’t acknowledge you. but you swear you see his fingers tighten slightly around the edge of his towel.

you move on.

it’s not until you’re halfway down the hall, exiting the training facility, that you glance up at the mirrored glass near the entrance - and catch something that makes you pause.

rin. still seated. still unreadable as ever. but his eyes - they’re on the door you just walked through.

and when he notices your reflection looking back…

he looks away.

but after that first and second interaction, where he barely acknowledged you and walked off with the recovery mix like it had insulted his pride, you couldn’t help but watch a little closer.

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day two: he didn’t stop walking again, but his gaze lingered longer - half a second more, maybe. when you offered the bottle, he took it without looking at you, but the motion was less sharp, less dismissive. you couldn’t explain why, but it felt more like a habit than a rejection.

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day three: you didn’t have to call his name this time. he was already veering slightly in your direction after cooldown, hand out before you said a word. still no thanks. still no eye contact. but his fingers brushed yours again when he took the bottle, and this time you felt the faintest pause there - like he noticed the contact, too.

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day four:

he stopped. briefly. accepted the bottle, looked at it for a moment, then at you. not through you. at you. his expression didn’t change - same impassive eyes, same tense mouth - but something about the pause between gesture and movement held weight.

he didn't say anything. but you felt it. he was thinking about it now.

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and then, on day five-

the sky was overcast, the kind of dull gray that muted everything on the training field. the team had just finished a particularly ruthless scrimmage against france’s reserve lineup, and sweat dripped from every inch of the players’ bodies. some were limping. some were complaining under their breath. ego was watching from a distance with that blank screen glare, arms crossed like a judge waiting for someone to screw up.

you stood in the usual spot, bottle in hand, watching rin jog off the pitch.

he didn’t look at you at first. just walked the same path he always did - tired but unbothered, his hair damp and clinging to his forehead, jaw set with its usual tension. you stepped forward as he approached, offering the bottle like always.

he reached for it. and then - paused. his fingers curled around it gently this time. no brush, no rush.

and his eyes met yours, calm and direct. “…thanks.”

you blinked. actually blinked. did he just-

“oh wow.” that came out louder than you intended.

he paused. just… stood there for a second, turning his head slightly, like he wasn’t sure if he misheard or if he was about to regret engaging. “…what?”

you tilted your head, arching a brow. “i just didn’t think you knew how to say ‘thanks,’” you said plainly. not teasing - just observational. dry. like you were updating a data point on a clipboard somewhere.

his eyes narrowed - not in anger, more like a reflex. the itoshi version of side-eye.

“i’m not a caveman,” he muttered.

you smiled. just a little. “could’ve fooled me.”

he stared at you for a beat longer, like he was trying to decide whether to walk away or fire back. you could see the moment he chose neither. instead, he just shook his head slightly - more to himself than to you - and walked off, muttering something that sounded suspiciously like: “annoying.”

but he took the bottle with him.

you tugged your staff badge into your jacket as the players began dispersing - some toward the locker rooms, others toward the dorms. the chill in the air had picked up as the sun dipped, but it wasn’t enough to cut through the heat radiating off the field.

you fell into step beside someone familiar.

aya, your fellow development analyst - and if you were being honest, your only real friend in this whole tightly wound machine.

she had her tablet tucked under one arm, hair tied in a messy bun, eyes already scanning over the numbers from the afternoon session. you didn’t even need to say anything before she muttered, “tokimitsu’s deceleration rates are garbage today.”

“i thought i was supposed to be the quiet one,” you teased.

“sorry,” she grinned. “my brain’s melting from watching chigiri run full speed for thirty minutes straight.”

you both laughed, your footsteps echoing in the corridor that led back toward the staff hall. the fluorescent lights buzzed faintly above, the scent of grass and sweat trailing in the air like a second skin.

“still,” you said after a beat, rubbing at your neck, “they’re good. really good.”

aya glanced at you. “the players?”

“yeah. it’s wild seeing them up close like this. the way they move. think. it’s all instinct, but also precision. ego might be a maniac, but he wasn’t wrong. these guys aren’t just athletes - they’re weapons.”

aya smirked. “weirdly poetic for someone who got body-checked by zantetsu’s warmup ball.”

“that was one time.”

“and it left a dent.”

you elbowed her gently as you both reached the hallway junction that split the dorms and staff quarters. the scent of dinner from the kitchen wing wafted faintly toward you - rice, grilled chicken, steamed vegetables.

you groaned.

aya looked over, concerned. “what?”

“i could really use a cola right now,” you muttered like it was a sin.

she burst out laughing. “you and me both. but nope, ego’s orders. staff matches the players' diet. something about solidarity and clean input.”

“i hate that i know exactly how many grams of chicken i’m allowed to eat in a day,” you said dramatically. “if i ever hear the phrase ‘macronutrient alignment’ again, i’m going to scream into my electrolyte packet.”

aya laughed again. “come on, it’s only two months. you can survive. we’re getting paid stupid well, remember?”

“that’s true,” you admitted. “but still. one cola. one ice-cold, bubbling, sugar-drenched-”

“-drink,” came a voice behind you.

you froze. so did aya.

you turned. there he was, walking about five steps behind you.

rin.

you hadn’t even realised he was there. hoodie half-zipped, damp hair still clinging to his forehead, earbuds in - though apparently not on, if he’d heard everything. his expression was cold as ever. maybe a little annoyed. maybe not. you honestly couldn’t tell.

he stopped just long enough to level a glance at you. “…you’re dramatic.”

you blinked. “…you were listening?”

he didn’t answer that - just shifted his gaze forward again and walked past, brushing by the two of you without another word.

aya looked at you wide-eyed the moment he was out of earshot. “oh my god,” she whispered. “he spoke.”

“he called me dramatic,” you said flatly.

“okay, but he spoke. like, a full sentence.”

you watched rin’s retreating figure turn the corner, silent for a long moment. then you looked down at your half-crumpled schedule sheet in your hand. “…do you think if i brought him a cola, he’d tell ego on me?”

aya snorted. “probably. but he’d say it in the most condescending way possible.”

you grinned, shaking your head. somehow, you got the feeling he absolutely would. but for someone who didn’t talk to anyone - who moved through blue lock like a storm made of silence - you couldn’t help but feel a strange sense of victory.

he heard you. and he said something. and you were starting to think… that wasn’t nothing.

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after that hallway moment, nothing changed. not really.

rin still didn’t talk to anyone unless absolutely necessary. he still ignored jokes, eye contact, and 90% of social norms. he trained like the world owed him something, and he acted like the only person he trusted to give it to him was himself.

but you (once again) started noticing little things. because it’s literally your job. like how, somehow, he always passed by your spot near the field during cooldown - even when it wasn’t the most direct path back to the locker room.

or how you caught him glancing in your direction during team meetings - not obviously, not like he was checking if you were watching. more like… making sure you were still there.

or how, during one particularly chaotic morning, when your tablet slipped out of your hands and hit the ground with a very unprofessional clatter, someone stooped to pick it up and handed it back to you without a word.

you didn’t even see his face. just his hand. that same smooth, calloused grip you’d felt on a water bottle. when you looked up, he was already gone.

“okay,” aya said a few days later, walking beside you again after evening drills. “i know you keep pretending you’re not into him, but this is starting to look like a slow-burn anime and i refuse to sit through 20 more episodes of stolen glances.”

you snorted. “i’m not into him.”

“you’re into watching him almost become a human being because of you.”

you rolled your eyes, pulling your staff tablet closer to your chest. “he’s just… interesting. you know? like watching a glacier move. you’re not sure if you imagined it, but you know something shifted.”

aya gave you a smug look. “sure. just make sure you don’t end up crushed under it.”

you turned the corner toward the staff room, brushing your hair out of your eyes - just in time to nearly run face-first into someone, shoulder to chest - with someone solid and fast-moving. you gasped, stumbling back.

“oof—!”

strong hands caught your arms to steady you. a beat later, a grin slid into your vision.

“oh?” came a deep, amused voice. “didn’t know blue lock was adding tackling drills to the staff program.”

you looked up. platinum blond hair, pink eyes, that unmistakable sharp grin.

ryusei shidou.

you knew who he was, of course. everyone in the building did. shidou had the kind of energy that made you feel like he might punch a wall or flirt with it - depending on the mood. chaotic, volatile, talented beyond reason.

“i- wasn’t looking,” you said quickly, stepping back as he let go of your arms. “sorry.”

“no complaints,” he said with a smirk, brushing a hand through his damp hair. “i like a surprise. especially when it’s cute.”

your brain short-circuited slightly. aya let out a choking noise behind you. you ignored it. “try not to run people over next time,” you said, voice cool, already recovering.

shidou grinned wider. “i’ll run slower next time if it means you’ll fall into me again.”

you almost laughed. almost. but then, from the corner of your eye, you could see rin walking past. he didn’t look at you. didn’t glance at shidou. didn’t pause, or say anything, or acknowledge the encounter at all.

but the second he passed between you and shidou, something in the air changed. it dropped a few degrees. dense. tense. you felt it - not just you, even shidou felt it. his grin twitched, not in fear, but in interest.

“oh?” he said softly, almost to himself. you turned slightly, watching rin’s retreating figure disappear down the hallway without a word.

aya leaned closer, eyes wide. “that was…”

“…frosty,” you finished under your breath.

shidou let out a low whistle. “well, well,” he mused, sliding his hands into his pockets. “didn’t peg him for the jealous type.”

you blinked. “jealous?”

he cocked his head. “you didn’t feel that? he nearly froze the floor under our feet. classic itoshi-rin ‘i’m-not-mad-i-just-hate-everything’ energy.”

“i think he just hates you,” you said flatly.

shidou laughed. “yeah, but now he might hate me even more. because of you.”

you opened your mouth. closed it again. you didn’t know what to say. you hadn’t done anything. except talk. breathe. exist near shidou.

but still - that moment, that coldness rin left behind - it hadn’t been nothing. and the strangest part? it didn’t feel like the kind of silence rin gave the rest of the world. it felt personal.

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that night, you didn’t expect to see rin.

the incident with shidou had already slipped into the background of your evening - something weird and mildly amusing that you and aya gossiped about over dinner while pretending to enjoy flavorless grilled chicken and steamed broccoli. (you still wanted that cola. desperately.)

the halls were quiet now. most players were either resting or reviewing footage. you stayed late in the staff tech room, filing final sensor data and notes from that day’s session. you were just about to shut down the monitor when the door creaked open behind you.

you didn’t turn right away.

“forgot something?” you called out casually, assuming it was aya coming back for her tablet.

“no.”

you froze. not her voice. his.

you turned around slowly. rin stood in the doorway, hands in the pockets of his blue lock hoodie, hair still slightly damp from his post-training shower, eyes flat in the dim lighting.

“…itoshi?” you asked, surprised. “everything okay?”

he stepped inside, letting the door click shut behind him. quiet. controlled. “i need to ask something,” he said simply. you raised a brow, gesturing for him to go on. “i want access to the stat logs from last week’s match against spain,” he said. “my movement heat map was off, and i want to confirm if it was fatigue or spacing.”

you blinked. that was… fair. totally reasonable. but rin never asked for staff support unless ego ordered it. he did everything solo. the idea of him voluntarily seeking you out for data? odd.

“okay…” you nodded slowly, turning back to the console. “i can send you a private file link.”

“send it to me directly,” he said.

you paused, glancing at him. “you want it now?”

he didn’t answer. just stood there, still as ever, his jaw tense.

you tapped through a few menus. the air in the room felt thick. not hostile, but… heavier than it should’ve been for a conversation about movement stats. you slid the file onto a flash drive and handed it to him.

as he reached out to take it, you asked - casually, but pointed: “you always this curious about your heat map, or did shidou just piss you off that much today?”

the question hung in the air like a spark waiting to catch.

his fingers brushed yours as he took the drive. his eyes lifted slowly to meet yours. flat. quiet. but burning just underneath. “…what does he want from you?”

you blinked. “shidou?” rin didn’t answer. you tilted your head, lips twitching. “you tell me. you walked by before i could even blink.” his jaw clenched - so subtly you almost missed it. you crossed your arms. “are you mad about something?”

he looked away for the first time. not down. just… sideways. like whatever this was, he hated that it was happening. hated that it mattered. “…he gets involved in things that don’t concern him,” rin muttered. “that’s what he does. then things get messy.”

you stared at him. and then it clicked.

this wasn’t about shidou talking to you. this was about rin not doing it first.

you softened. just a little. not enough for him to notice, but enough to speak without the usual edge. “well,” you said lightly, “i guess if it does concern you, you’ll have to make that clear.”

he looked at you one more time. said nothing. then turned and walked out. but this time, you knew he’d heard you. and more importantly, he understood.

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the workload had ramped up by a ton.

with the first two weeks being done in the neo egoist league cycle, ego was demanding more detailed reports: individual assessments, tactical breakdowns, psychological markers. one fatass file per player. personal observations, weaknesses, growth potential.

you barely had time to eat lunch anymore, let alone loiter around the field with a water bottle and casual banter.

you’d been assigned chigiri this week. which meant hours tracking movement data, compiling sprint velocity patterns, and reviewing clips of his game tape until you could practically recite every pivot of his left foot in your sleep.

you didn’t see rin much. correction: you didn’t interact with rin much.

you saw him. across the pitch. during cool-downs. passing by you in the hall, silent and steady. eyes still tense from training. that same faint flicker of tension in his jaw every time he glanced your way and realized you weren’t there to talk to him.

and shidou? shidou noticed that too.

you’d made the mistake of being nice to him once. and that had been enough for him to decide that you were now his favorite chew toy. not in a sincere way - just in that way shidou loved: chaos. instigation. making people uncomfortable, especially when it involved rin itoshi.

which is how you found yourself, post-training, walking off the field with your tablet in one hand and a half-full bottle of sports drink in the other, only for shidou to appear like a lion with too much free time.

“well, well, if it isn’t my favorite stat queen,” he said, draping an arm casually over your shoulders like this was some kind of romantic drama and not a workplace governed by strict personal conduct policies.

you stiffened instantly. “shidou-”

“you know, you should really spend less time with chigiri,” he continued, smirking down at you. “that guy’s fast, but i don’t think he can appreciate you the way i-”

“aappreciate data sets?” you cut in.

his grin widened, unfazed. “sure. data sets. curves. graphs. whatever you want me to appreciate.”

you shoved his arm off - not hard, but firm. “if you’re trying to flirt, it’s not working.”

he laughed. “who said i was trying?”

but then - his eyes flicked to something behind you. you followed his gaze.

rin.

he was maybe ten meters away, towel slung around his neck, still in his sleeveless training top, water bottle in one hand. frozen mid-step. watching. not moving. not speaking. just… watching.

there was no expression on his face, not technically. but the air around him had shifted. cold. still. predatory.

shidou turned back to you, voice a little lower now. “you see that look?” you didn’t respond. shidou leaned in - closer than necessary. “you really want to find out what it takes to make him snap?”

you stepped away, frowning. “you’re seriously messed up.” but your voice was quiet. because part of you felt it too.

that look. the tension. the way rin wasn’t just glaring at shidou - he was calculating. not jealous. not insecure. triggered.

shidou smirked again, this time more to himself. “later, sweetheart,” he said, ruffling your hair just to be a menace before walking off.

you turned - expecting rin to have moved on. but he hadn’t. still there. still staring. not at shidou now. at you. you opened your mouth, maybe to say something-

but rin turned, walking away without a word. you didn’t know what you would’ve said anyway. but you knew this much: something inside him was tightening. and eventually, something was going to break.

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the next day, you didn’t even step foot on the main field, due to having to spend the entire day working one-on-one with chigiri, helping him fine-tune his new golden zone - that optimal shooting radius he’d been refining since entering the neo egoist league. a zone built not just on speed, but precision. and most recently, one with a terrifying new shot at its core:

the 44 panther snipe.

ridiculous name. his idea. you let it slide because, honestly? it fit.

you stood just behind the line of cones he’d set up, tablet in hand, wearing a headset mic linked to a drone camera overhead. the french team’s assistant coach monitored from a distance, giving the two of you space while you focused on tracking footwork data, deceleration points, and shot timing down to the millisecond.

you’d seen chigiri run a thousand times. on screen. on the field. in ego’s training labs. but something about today was different.

there was no hesitation in the way he moved - no second-guessing, no doubt. just fluid acceleration, a cut sharp enough to slice air, and that signature flick of the ankle that had slowly become his trademark.

you watched the ball rocket into the top right corner of the goal - again. top bin. clean. ridiculous. you glanced at the impact velocity on your screen.

“35.4 metres per second,” you said into your headset mic, eyebrows lifting. “you’re either getting stronger or angrier.”

across the field, chigiri gave a breathless laugh as he jogged back toward the starting cone. “i’m getting faster. that’s the point, right?”

you looked down at the data trail of his approach speed. “you broke 36 km/h on that cut. that’s about as fast as your body can safely go without burning out your knee again.”

chigiri slowed to a walk, wiping sweat from his temple with the back of his glove. “that’s the thing. it doesn’t feel like i’m pushing it anymore.”

you turned your screen toward him so he could see the curve of his entry angle into the golden zone. “if you hold this trajectory and keep snapping at this velocity,” you said, pointing, “your panther snipe will hit 8 out of 10 times - provided you’re not blocked.”

“then i’ll just go around them,” he replied, grinning. “that’s what the hair is for. intimidation.”

you snorted. “it’s giving flamingo. not panther.”

“rude.”

“true.”

he laughed again, this time genuinely - relaxed, confident, and completely in his element. you’d seen plenty of players burn themselves out trying to chase ego’s impossible standards, but chigiri had carved out something that was his. a method. a mindset. a rhythm.

“remember when i couldn’t even take a shot without overthinking it?” he said, nudging his toe into the turf. “now i don’t even hear myself when i move.”

you looked at him, thoughtful. “that’s flow state. you’re hitting it naturally now. that’s rare.” he smiled, eyes glinting with pride. you added quietly, “i’m glad you let me help with this.”

chigiri turned to you with a shrug. “you’re the only one who actually tells me what’s wrong. everyone else just says i’m fast and walks away.”

you gave a small smile. “fast isn’t enough anymore.”

“exactly.” a pause settled in - not awkward, just present. the way it does when someone understands you a little more than they did yesterday. “anyway,” he said, taking a breath and stepping back into position, “i want to lock this in before the weekend. if i can snipe from here during the spain match, i won’t even need to push full sprint every time.”

you adjusted the angle of your tracking drone and checked the recording status.

“alright then,” you said. “you should have your break now. fifteen minutes, i’ll be back soon.” that’s all you gave chigiri - a water break, a protein bar, and strict instructions to not try shooting from the sideline “just for fun” while you were gone.

you jogged back to the building to find aya standing in the hallway outside the staff room, tablet in hand, swiping through her notes like she was memorizing them with sheer willpower.

“need the latest set?” you asked, already pulling your own tablet from under your arm.

she looked up with a breath of relief. “god, yes. mine glitched. again. i swear ego’s testing us more than them.”

you grinned and passed her the file. “chigiri’s foot strike data and deceleration pattern are on page three. he’s getting cleaner with his zone timing.”

aya blinked. “wait, is that the panther thing?”

“panther snipe,” you corrected, tone dry. “yes.”

she snorted. “he really named it that?”

“don’t start.”

as you both walked, she stayed glued to her screen, scrolling through the stats. “this is actually solid,” she mumbled. “the coach is gonna love this.”

“i’ll be back in a sec,” you said, veering toward the bathroom. “don’t let chigiri convince you to time his sprints.”

“no promises.”

you were only in there for a few minutes - just long enough to splash cold water on your face, stretch your shoulders, take a shit, and take a breath that didn’t smell like synthetic turf and sweat.

but when you came back out, you stopped. aya was still in the hallway. but she wasn’t alone.

rin stood in front of her, shoulders tense, arms crossed loosely. he said something - low, serious - and aya answered, tilting her head slightly in polite confusion. she wasn’t flirting. just… caught in conversation.

rin, on the other hand?

his eyes flicked up the second he noticed you. there was a split second - maybe less - where something shifted in his face. not full panic. but close. that quiet jolt of "this isn’t what it looks like.”

his posture straightened. you met his eyes for half a second, your face neutral, unreadable.

then you turned to aya, calm and even. “thanks,” you said, reaching out to gently tap her tablet. “got what i need. see you later.”

“wait-” she started, glancing between the two of you.

but you were already walking. not fast. not cold.

just… done with hallway moments that didn’t matter. rin didn’t call after you. you didn’t look back. because today, you had data to finish. and a striker to sharpen. and no time to waste wondering why a guy who barely spoke had suddenly started looking at you like you were supposed to say something first.

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after a long day on the turf, your post-training shower felt like the only thing anchoring you to sanity. you scrubbed off layers of sweat, synthetic grass, and ego-fueled tension, pulled on clean clothes, and let your hair air-dry as you made your way back to the staff lounge.

aya was there already, legs tucked up on the couch, tablet on her lap, stylus tapping idly as she reviewed her notes from earlier.

you dropped down beside her with a sigh, head falling back against the cushion. “i feel like i got hit by a truck,” you muttered.

aya didn’t look up. “you didn’t. you just watched one sprint up and down a field for three hours and yelled at it when it missed the cone.”

“…he needed to hit the cone.”

“panther boy’s gonna cry if you push him any harder.”

you cracked a smile and nudged her leg with your knee. a beat passed before you turned slightly to look at her. “so…” she glanced at you out of the corner of her eye. “…why did rin look like he was about to mug you earlier?”

aya blinked, then snorted. “oh, that? he just asked how long the individual training sessions are running.”

you raised an eyebrow. “that’s it?”

“mmhm.” she looked back down at her tablet.

you narrowed your eyes. “aya.”

“mhmm?” she turned slowly toward you, face far too innocent - except for the unmistakable smirk tugging at the corners of her mouth. her eyes glinted with pure mischief. “he so wasn’t asking for himself-”

without warning, you smacked a hand over her face. she burst into muffled laughter against your palm. you groaned. “stop. whatever you’re about to say - stop.”

aya peeled your hand away, still giggling. “i didn’t say anything!”

“you were thinking it.”

“you think i can’t see the way he looks at you? like you invented gravity?”

you flopped sideways against the couch, burying your face in a cushion. “i hate you.”

“love you too.”

the two of you dissolved into quiet, exhausted laughter - the kind that only really shows up after long days, too much data, and just enough emotional chaos to keep things interesting. and for a moment, it was easy to forget about everything else - the tension, the looks, the silence - and just exist in the stillness of something simple and safe.

just you. just her. until tomorrow, when everything would get complicated again.

ılıılıılıılıılıılı

the sun had barely started burning overhead when you slipped into the side corridor that led from the staff lounge to the hydration station. chigiri’s water bottles were tucked under your arm, and your clipboard was jammed with notes from yesterday’s sprint data.

just as you turned the corner, there were footsteps. fast. measured.

you glanced up, only to find rin walking toward you from the opposite end of the hallway, his pace slowing the second he saw you. of course.

you adjusted your grip on the bottle and kept walking. but rin didn’t keep going. he stopped directly in your path.

you raised your eyebrows. “need something?”

his jaw flexed. there was a pause - just long enough for you to think he might walk away. then, finally, his voice. low. clipped. serious. “are you mad at me?”

you blinked. “what?” he didn’t move, didn’t look away. his stare was sharp, cutting through the quiet of the hall. you tilted your head. “why would i be mad?”

he hesitated - just a beat. “yesterday. in the hallway.”

you let out a small breath and gave a half-shrug. “for what? you did nothing wrong.”

he frowned, like he wasn’t sure if you were being sarcastic or honest.

you continued, voice calm but laced with a pointed dryness. “we’ve had fewer conversations than i have fingers on my right hand. most of our interactions involve you staring at me menacingly from across the pitch like you’re trying to laser-beam me through the skull. so… no. nothing to be mad about.”

something flickered across his face - something subtle, like he wasn’t used to being read so plainly. like he didn’t know whether to defend himself or back off.

you adjusted the bottle in your hands, casually. “unless you want me to be mad.”

he exhaled through his nose, barely a laugh. “no.”

“then we’re good.”

you moved to step around him. but he didn’t move. not right away. “…i don’t stare at you.”

you turned to look at him over your shoulder. “sure you don’t.”

you didn’t move. neither did he. the silence between you stretched thin - not tense, just full. like you were both waiting to see who’d flinch first. you gave him a once-over, your tone still cool. “you’re kind of bad at this, huh?”

his eyes narrowed slightly. “at what?”

“talking.”

“…i don’t need to talk.”

you raised an eyebrow. “right. you just lurk. say two words every other day. and stare.”

“i don’t lurk.”

you tilted your head. “you’re lurking right now.”

he looked like he was about to argue, but something in your face - too even, too unreadable - made him stop. he shoved his hands into his jacket pockets, jaw tightening, then loosening like he was working up to something.

“…i don’t know what i’m doing.” the words were quiet. not defeated. just… honest. you blinked. that wasn’t what you expected. he didn’t look at you when he said it. his gaze shifted to the floor for a second - unsteady, uncertain. a rare crack in the polished, cold exterior. “…with you,” he added, barely audible.

that stopped you.

and maybe - maybe it stopped him too, because as soon as the words left his mouth, he seemed to regret them. his shoulders tensed again. like he wanted to take it back, or bury it under his usual scowl.

but you didn’t make it easy for him.

you held his gaze. “you could’ve just said that instead of burning a hole through my skull every day.”

he exhaled slowly. “i didn’t think you’d care.”

“i didn’t,” you said flatly. “until you started acting weird about it.”

that earned a brief flicker of something - maybe a smile, if you squinted. not a real one. just the ghost of amusement passing over his expression like a shadow.

he shifted his weight, glanced sideways. “are we… okay?”

the question landed awkwardly. like he wasn’t used to asking that kind of thing.

you let the silence settle again. then: “we’re fine.” he nodded, once. you took a step past him, then paused. “i’m on chigiri duty until late afternoon,” you added, like it was just information. “if you plan to lurk again, at least bring your own water.”

that time, the corner of his mouth twitched. and you didn’t look back as you walked away.

and true to his word, he was there.

you were on the pitch again. same cones. same stopwatch. same striker pushing himself harder than the weather should allow.

chigiri blew past the center line in a blur of crimson and white, the explosive rhythm of his steps faster than the breath he barely had time to catch. you clicked the lap timer.

“0.22 seconds through the zone,” you called out, adjusting your grip on the clipboard. “cleaner. still dragging your plant foot slightly.”

chigiri bent over with a hand on his knee, panting. “swear to god i didn’t drag-”

“you did.”

he groaned and threw his head back. “you're impossible.”

you grinned. “you like it.”

he muttered something you chose to ignore and walked back to the cone line. you marked the interval on your sheet, then looked up-

-and there he was.

rin. a good twenty feet away. arms folded. half-shadowed by the metal structure that housed the benches. watching. not saying a word. just there.

he looked away as soon as your eyes met, like he hadn’t been doing exactly what he’d been doing for the past few minutes. you sighed under your breath.

“someone’s lurking again,” you murmured, just loud enough for chigiri to hear.

he followed your gaze. “rin?”

“mmhmm.”

chigiri huffed. “man, he never used to watch my trainings.”

you handed him his water bottle. “maybe he’s trying to absorb your speed by osmosis.”

chigiri gave you a look. “or maybe he’s just trying to get close to someone else.”

you didn’t answer. because the way rin watched - quiet, intent, like he was studying a language no one else could read - it wasn’t casual. and you were starting to realize it never had been.

you returned to the stopwatch, trying to ignore the way your pulse jumped every time you felt his eyes flick toward you.

you made it look easy. like magic. but he saw more than you wanted to admit.

and he wasn't the kind of person who wanted things handed to him. no - rin itoshi was the kind of person who wanted to earn them.

ılıılıılıılıılıılı

the sun was high, the heat dense, and the players were running at full match tempo. you weren’t watching the scrimmage.

you were on the far end of the facility, cataloguing training metrics from the previous day. chigiri had been tasked with reviewing his own footage - which meant he was now half-asleep next to you, absently scrolling through clips of himself at 2x speed.

“your form’s better than last week,” you said, jotting a note down. “your head’s more centered.”

he mumbled a tired, “thanks,” without looking.

that’s when you heard it. a sharp whistle. a shout. then nothing. dead silence for three seconds - just long enough for your stomach to twist.

you turned your head toward the field. the air felt off. players had stopped moving. coaches were jogging over.

then you saw it.

rin, sitting on the grass.

no - not sitting. slumped. his weight tilted awkwardly to one side, one leg stretched out in front of him while the other stayed bent at the knee.

even from here, you could see his hands gripping his ankle. and you didn’t think. you were already up.

you weren’t allowed in the medical office once rin was inside. that privilege was for certified trainers and the team doctor — not support staff with clipboards and water bottles.

you hovered just outside the glass doors.

aya eventually came out, tablet hugged to her chest. you didn’t even have to ask. “minor sprain,” she said, reading your face. “nothing fractured. just bad enough to sideline him for a few days.” you let out a breath - not relief, not exactly. something murkier. tighter. “he’s pissed,” she added. “refuses treatment. said he doesn’t want to be handled like a child.”

you scoffed quietly. “that sounds about right.”

she studied you for a moment. “you gonna go in?”

you hesitated. then shook your head. “no point.”

aya raised an eyebrow. “you sure about that?”

you didn’t answer. because no - you weren’t sure at all. you leaned against the wall just outside the medical office, arms folded, foot tapping against the tile with no rhythm.

aya stood next to you, still holding her tablet, occasionally flicking through the match logs. but neither of you were paying attention to data anymore.

“he looked like he was gonna bite someone’s head off,” she muttered.

you exhaled through your nose. “that’s just his resting face.”

aya tilted her head. “okay, but it was worse this time.” you didn’t answer. the hallway lights buzzed quietly overhead, too bright for how drained you suddenly felt. aya glanced at you again. “you’re really worried.”

“i’m fine.”

“mmhmm,” she said, unimpressed. “and i’m secretly a ninja. come on. you’ve been fidgeting since he hit the ground.”

you sighed, rubbing a hand over your face. “i just… it’s rin. he won’t sit still. he’ll pretend it doesn’t hurt even if it does. and he hates being on the sidelines.”

aya smiled faintly. “you know him well.”

you didn’t say anything to that. not yet. then - the door opened. the team doctor stepped out, clipboard in hand. both you and aya straightened.

“is he okay?” you asked immediately.

the doctor gave a small nod. “nothing serious. a bad sprain - probably from the way he landed and twisted mid-air. he’ll need to rest for at least a week, and then do lighter individual training. by the time we fly back to japan, he should be near full recovery.”

you exhaled. some of the tightness in your chest eased, but not all of it. “can i see him?”

the doctor raised an eyebrow. “are you going to agitate the patient?”

you blinked. “it’s rin. he’s agitated by everyone. it won’t really make a difference,”

he gave a small sigh - somewhere between exasperated and amused. “ten minutes. he’s already in a mood.”

aya gave you a small shove toward the door. “go.”

you walked in before you could overthink it. you pushed the door open.

it was dimmer inside than you expected - just the late afternoon light bleeding through the high windows, casting gold on the walls. the air smelled like antiseptic and something warm and sterile, like clean linen.

rin was seated on the edge of the med cot, his right ankle propped up and lightly wrapped. his shirt clung to his back, damp with sweat from earlier, and his bangs hung over his eyes, the usual sharpness dulled.

he didn’t look up when you entered. you didn’t speak at first either. you just stood there for a beat, quietly watching the boy who’d made your entire month a slow unraveling.

“you’re not supposed to be up,” you finally said.

his eyes flicked to yours. “i’m not,” he replied. still that flat tone - but softer. like he couldn’t quite summon the usual edge.

you moved closer, careful, until you were standing in front of him. “they said it’s a sprain.”

“it is.”

“they also said you’re refusing treatment.” he didn’t answer. “why?”

“i don’t like being touched,” he muttered, eyes lowering again.

you blinked. not because it was surprising - but because it sounded more like a confession than an excuse.

“…but you’re letting me in here.”

he was quiet. then, “you’re different.”

that hit somewhere low in your chest.

you sat down beside him, close but not touching. he didn’t move away.

“everyone’s worried about you,” you said. “chigiri asked three times if he should bring you energy drinks. i think zantetsu almost offered to carry you.” he gave a small huff of breath. a laugh, maybe. the closest he got to one. you hesitated, then added, “i was worried, too.”

that silence again. heavy. and then-

“…are you mad at me?”

you blinked. “what?”

he finally turned toward you, fully. his voice was still low, guarded - but his eyes were different. unshuttered. like he was showing you something raw beneath the usual stone and steel. “i don’t know how to… talk. or do this. i thought staying away from you would make it easier.”

you stared at him. “easier for who?”

“for me.”

that landed.

he looked down at his wrapped ankle, jaw clenching. “every time you looked at someone else - every time you laughed with shidou or sat with chigiri - i wanted to make you stop. i just didn’t know how to say it without sounding like a child.”

you swallowed, heart thudding against your ribs. “so instead you glared at me from across the field and stormed off whenever i tried to talk to you?”

“i never stormed off.”

“you did, actually.”

he ran a hand through his hair, frustrated with himself. “i didn’t know how to want someone the right way.”

your breath caught. for a second, everything felt suspended in air.

he glanced at you again, this time not looking away. “but i want you. i have for a while.” you stared at him. speechless. he added, voice just above a whisper, “and if i have to earn it… then i will. i’m not used to wanting anything but football, so it’s very… new,”

that undid you.

you felt the words before you could even respond - how long it had taken to get here, the weight of every stare and silence and near-touch that never happened.

and then you said, “okay.”

he blinked. “okay?”

you nodded. “but if we’re gonna do this… we’re going to do it the right way.”

his eyes narrowed slightly. “what does that mean?”

you turned toward him on the cot, folding one leg under yourself. “it means we talk.”

he blinked again, slower this time. “…talk.”

“yes,” you said, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “you know - people use words to learn about each other.”

“i don’t do small talk.”

“i don’t care about small talk,” you said with a soft laugh. “i’m talking about the real kind. you’re rin itoshi. i know how fast you run, how sharp your angles are, and how you can read a pitch like a chessboard. but i don’t know what movie you fake hate but secretly love. or if you’ve ever had a pet. or what kind of music you put on when you’re angry and want to thug out.”

he stared at you. not coldly - just quietly stunned.

like no one had ever asked for anything else from him before. you continued, voice softer now. “i know your stats, rin. i want to know you.”

he swallowed, just once.

then - “i had a cat once.”

you blinked. “you… what?”

he looked down, faintest bit of pink at his ears. “when i was eight. stray. named him nagi.”

you snorted. “you named your cat after your future teammate?”

“it was before i met him.”

“that’s messed up.”

he gave a short, barely-there smile. “he ran away after two weeks. probably smart.”

you grinned, something in your chest lifting. “see? that wasn’t so hard.”

he looked at you again - really looked.

and for the first time since you’d known him, his gaze wasn’t heavy or guarded or too much. it was just... open. “okay,” he said. “we’ll talk.”

you nudged his uninjured leg gently with your knee. “good.”

and it wasn’t some grand resolution. it wasn’t everything solved. but it was a beginning. and for someone like rin - who’d spent his whole life playing alone - that was everything.

ılıılıılıılıılıılı

it started with one hour a day.

no tactics. no drills. no other names. no mentions of japan or france or blue lock or the looming weight of expectations hanging in the air like fog.

just rin. and you. and time set aside to be nothing more than two people figuring each other out.

sometimes it was in the quiet corner of the staff lounge - you with a lukewarm protein shake, rin nursing a bag of ice on his ankle while pretending he wasn’t enjoying this. sometimes it was the edge of the field, long after sunset, under floodlights humming low in the silence.

and sometimes - it was just walking.

no goal, no destination. just a loop around the complex.

talking. real talking.

you found out rin hates tomatoes but eats them anyway because they’re “efficient.” that his favorite color changes depending on his mood. that he listens to classical piano when he’s angry, and post-rock when he’s thinking.

you found out he likes rain. horror too, apparenlty.

he found out you bite your lip when you’re trying not to laugh. that you once cried watching an animated movie and never admitted it until now. that you like airports but hate flying. that you used to play football, just for fun, but stopped when it stopped being fun.

he asked why.

you told him honestly, “i think i hated being bad at something in front of people.”

he looked at you for a long time after that and said, “i get that.”

you both sat with that silence, and for once, it didn’t feel heavy.

you laughed about stupid things. told each other half-baked dreams and guilty pleasures. he admitted he never understood memes until someone had to explain it to him for like, five minutes. you confessed you once walked into the wrong meeting room and sat through twenty minutes of a budget proposal because you were too afraid to leave.

he called you an idiot. but the fondness in his voice made your chest ache.

and slowly - day by day - the hour began to stretch.

sometimes two. sometimes three. you’d go to bed at 2:00am and wake up at 6:00am just for him. only for him. you didn't always notice when they started, or when they ended.

it just became natural. like gravity.

you weren’t even sure when you stopped calling it “just talking.”

and rin’s ankle - steady, healing - mirrored the pace of your connection.

by the time the final week in france rolled in, he was cleared for light training. he moved carefully, but with purpose. still sharp. still focused.

but different, too. less guarded. less alone.

and you knew - without him saying it - that this hour a day had become something sacred to him. something untouchable. something real.

something earned.

you were walking. side by side. slow, deliberate steps, his pace still cautious as his ankle tested freedom again.

neither of you had said much at first. just the quiet rhythm of footsteps and distant birdsong, like the world was giving you space to say something that mattered.

then, rin spoke - quietly, like he wasn’t sure he should. “after this training program… will i ever see you again?”

you didn’t answer right away. it wasn’t the kind of question you wanted to rush. and you knew, by the way he said it - the way his voice wrapped around the words like they might sting - that it wasn’t just about seeing you. it was about losing something before he ever really got to have it. you inhaled slowly. “professionally? no.”

he looked at you, eyes narrowing. “why?”

you gave a soft shrug. “we’re part of a separate company. the staff program was a short-term contract. i was hired for university experience, not as a full-time job. it’s for my application portfolio - sports psychology.”

he was quiet again.

you added, “once we’re back in japan, i submit my reports, get bank, and that’s it.”

rin stopped walking. you slowed, then turned back to him. he was staring at the gravel path like it personally offended him. “…so you can’t come back to blue lock?”

you smiled gently. “nope.”

he looked up at you then, his mouth pressed in a tight line. something unreadable passed through his eyes - frustration, maybe. or disappointment. or something harder to name.

and then, after a long pause, he said - simply, directly, “then… give me your number.”

you blinked.

not because you were surprised he wanted it - but because of the way he said it. not desperate. not demanding. just… decided. like he had no intention of letting this be temporary.

you stared at him for a second, lips twitching at the corners. “no please?” you teased.

he didn’t flinch. “if i say please, will you stop making fun of me?”

“definitely not.”

he exhaled through his nose, almost a laugh. almost. “then no.”

you pulled your phone out anyway. unlocked it. handed it over. “don’t ghost me,” you warned.

he took the phone, typing with his thumb. “i won’t.”

“you say that now, but wait until you get swarmed by agents and endorsements and all those fangirls who definitely don’t eat boiled chicken for breakfast.”

“i don’t care about them.” he looked at you again - direct, clear. “i care about you.”

you blinked again. and this time… it hit you different. not just because of what he said.

but how.

like he’d already made peace with the fact that this connection - whatever it was - had taken root inside him. quietly. permanently. he handed your phone back without another word.

the contact name just read: rin. no emoji. no full name. just rin.

but somehow, that said everything.

ılıılıılıılıılıılı

the airport was loud in the way all airports are - buzzing voices, overhead announcements, the low rumble of luggage wheels against polished floors.

it was déjà vu in a strange way.

just like when you first arrived in france - same gates, same fluorescent lights, same staff-issued duffel slung over your shoulder. but everything else had changed. you had changed. and somewhere not far from you, rin itoshi had, too.

you found him standing near his gate, boarding pass in one hand, hood pulled loosely over his dark hair.

he didn’t look like a boy flying home. he looked like someone flying forward. you stopped beside him, nudging his arm lightly with your elbow. “this is it, huh?”

he looked over at you. not away. not through you. at you. “not really,” he said. you raised an eyebrow. “the next time i see you,” he said, “will be at the u-20 world cup. i’ll be on the field.”

you blinked, almost smiling. “you sound pretty confident.”

“i’m not hoping,” he said simply. “i’m promising.”

you crossed your arms, amused. “that’s a lot of pressure. what if i can’t afford tickets?”

he tilted his head slightly, the ghost of a smile tugging at his mouth. “i’ll pay for them.”

you laughed. “you don’t even know how much they cost.”

“i don’t care,” he said, turning to face you more fully now. “front row. center. you’ll be there.”

you stared at him, heart catching for just a second. “…and after?” you asked softly. “when you win?”

he didn’t hesitate.

“i’ll take you out,” he said. “for real. no blue lock. no staff meetings. just us. a real date.”

you felt something warm bloom in your chest - slow, careful, but certain. you nodded, just once. “okay.”

his flight was called. a boarding line began to shuffle forward. you stepped back, giving him space to go - but before he turned, he paused.

and then, without asking, without looking around to see who was watching…

he leaned in. pressed his forehead gently to yours. just for a breath. just long enough for it to mean something.

“i’ll see you soon,” he murmured.

you closed your eyes. “you better.”

and then he was gone, swallowed into the crowd and the call of boarding gates. you stood there a little longer, hand curled around the strap of your bag, heart impossibly full.

not an ending. just a pause.

because the truth was, he’d earned it. and so had you.

67 notes · View notes

ofteacupsandclocks · 6 months ago

Text

I think Hannibal is a show all about transformations and becoming. And throughout the show the characters that transformed, that changed, that evolved and adapted survived. And the characters that didn’t change died/got badly hurt. To break it down:

Will is the most obvious. He started off wearing a neatly tailored person suit and attempting to be normal. Throughout the show he accepts his real self and takes off his person suit. And he survives. (I don’t believe Hannibal and Will died when they fell off that cliff but I already made a post about that and I don’t wanna repeat myself)

Next up Hannibal - it’s a little more subtle but still pretty obvious. He finally met an equal, a friend. He fell in love and for the first time in a long time he was ready to give up everything for another person. He literally went to jail when Will rejected him even though freedom is one of the things he values most. He also survived.

Alana - she is probably the character that changed most. She went from pretty much the walking moral compass of the lot to somebody willing to throw others under the bus (e.g. chilton when dealing with the great red dragon). And by the end of the show she is also alive.

Margot - went from being afraid of her brother, lost and alone to having a family and love and finally being able to kill her brother. Also stays alive and well.

Jack - now he is way more subtle than the rest because his transformation was mostly internal. But I do think he changed. At the start of the show he was very defensive about how he is using Will to solve crimes. He wouldn’t admit to anyone, not even himself that he is putting Will in danger. By the end however in one of his final scenes with Hannibal he is almost directly admitting he views Will as a means to an end. Also stays alive.

Now for some characters who didn’t change:

Chilton - he was an arrogant prick and stayed an arrogant prick. Throughout the show his main motivator seemed to be arrogance and jealousy of other’s success. He was hungry for fame and that hunger is what drove him to be maybe not killed but very seriously injured by the end of the show.

Bedelia - she seemed to be someone who always attempts to manipulate the situation to their benefit. She seemed to be driven by the idea that she isn’t like the others. She thinks she is smarter, cleverer, better, that she’s special. She thought she could get close to Hannibal with no negative consequences. She thought she could dance with fire and escape unburned. Well she paid for that.

Mason - he started off a sadist and he ended his life a sadist. If he hadn’t wanted to torture Will and Hannibal and killed them as soon as he got his hands on them he would be very much alive. Alas he is not.

The one character who doesn’t fully fit this framework is Freddy Lounds: from the beginning to the end she was a journalist hungry for fame and fortune seeking a good story. The reason I think she managed to escape unscathed is that I don’t think she fully is a character. I think instead she is more of a representation of journalism as a whole. She is an idea. No matter what happens, what changes, what horrors occur the yellow press will always be there to sensationalise the news and turn a profit. That is the one constant. And so Freddy Lounds remained constant.

So here is my little analysis. Hope u enjoyed!

#this makes sense right #hannibal #hannigram #overanalyzing #again #will graham #hannibal lecter #bedelia du maurier #alana bloom #margot verger #mason verger #jack crawford #frederick chilton #freddy lounds

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thewriteadviceforwriters · 1 year ago

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Hiii, I just dicovered your acc and i'm loving it 🥰 I have this lil problem where I have in mind and write scenes but without a plot. And I'm very fond to the characters so I can't put them into a plot because I don't want them to suffer or a think if they do suffer it'll we forced and too much. Any tips for that?

How to Plot A Novel If You Only Have Characters & Scenes

So, you have a great cast of characters and some exciting scenes in mind, but you're struggling to put them together into a cohesive plot. Don't worry, you're not alone. Many writers struggle with plotting their novels, especially when they have a strong focus on characters and scenes. I have also been facing difficulties with this recently. But fear not, in this article, I’ll help you explore how you can plot a novel even if you only have characters and scenes to work with.

Why Is Plotting Important?

Before we dive into the how, let's first understand why plotting is important. A well-crafted plot is the backbone of any successful novel. It keeps readers engaged, creates tension and conflict, and ultimately leads to a satisfying resolution. Without a strong plot, your novel may fall flat and fail to capture the attention of readers.

Types of Plots

There are many different types of plots, but they can generally be categorized into three main types: character-driven, plot-driven, and hybrid.

Character-driven plots focus on the internal struggles and growth of the main character. The plot is driven by the character's desires, flaws, and decisions.

Plot-driven plots focus on external events and conflicts that drive the story forward. The characters may still have their own arcs, but the main focus is on the events and how they affect the characters.

Hybrid plots combine elements of both character-driven and plot-driven plots. They have a balance of internal and external conflicts that drive the story forward.

Understanding the type of plot you want to create can help guide your plotting process.

How to Plot A Novel with Only Characters & Scenes

Now that we understand the importance of plotting and the different types of plots, let's explore how you can plot a novel with only characters and scenes.

Start with Your Characters

Since you already have a strong cast of characters, it makes sense to start with them. Take some time to fully develop your characters, including their personalities, motivations, and flaws. This will help you understand how they will react in different situations and what conflicts they may face.

Identify Your Main Conflict

Every novel needs a main conflict that drives the story forward. This could be a physical conflict, such as a battle or a chase, or an emotional conflict, such as a character's internal struggle. Identify what the main conflict in your novel will be and how it will affect your characters.

Create a Story Structure

A story structure is a framework that helps guide the flow of your novel. It typically includes the beginning, middle, and end, and can be broken down further into acts or chapters. Creating a story structure can help you see the bigger picture of your novel and how your characters and scenes fit into it.

Map Out Your Scenes (High Priority) 🚩

Now it's time to map out your scenes. Start by listing all the scenes you have in mind, even if they are not in chronological order. Then, arrange them in a logical order that makes sense for your story. This may require some rearranging and tweaking to ensure a smooth flow of events.

Connect Your Scenes with Conflict (High Priority) 🚩

Once you have your scenes in order, it's time to connect them with conflict. Every scene should have some form of conflict, whether it's internal or external. This will keep readers engaged and drive the story forward. Look at each scene and identify the conflict present, and how it connects to the main conflict of the novel.

Create a Character Arc for Each Character

As your characters go through different conflicts and events, they should also experience growth and change. This is where character arcs come in. A character arc is the journey a character goes through, from their initial state to their final state. Create a character arc for each of your main characters, and make sure their actions and decisions align with their arc.

Add Subplots

Subplots are smaller storylines that run parallel to the main plot. They add depth and complexity to your novel and can help develop your characters further. Look at your characters and see if there are any side stories or relationships that could be explored in a subplot. Just make sure they tie back to the main plot in some way.

Use Plotting Tools

If you're struggling to put all the pieces together, consider using some plotting tools to help you. There are many resources available, such as plot diagrams, beat sheets, and storyboards, that can help you visualize your plot and ensure all the elements are in place. If you need help with scene structure use my new scene workbook here.

Real-World Examples of Plotting with Characters & Scenes

One example of a novel that successfully uses characters and scenes to drive the plot is "To Kill a Mockingbird" by Harper Lee. The main conflict is the trial of Tom Robinson, but it is the characters, particularly Scout and Atticus, and their reactions to the events that drive the story forward.

Another example is "The Hunger Games" by Suzanne Collins. The main conflict is the Hunger Games themselves, but it is Katniss' internal struggle and her relationships with other characters that keep readers engaged and invested in the story.

Final Thoughts

Plotting a novel with only characters and scenes may seem daunting, but with the right approach, it can be done successfully. Start by fully developing your characters, identifying the main conflict, and creating a story structure. Then, map out your scenes, connect them with conflict, and create character arcs. Don't be afraid to use plotting tools to help you along the way. With these tips, you'll be on your way to crafting a compelling plot that will keep readers hooked until the very end.

If you require assistance with developing your scene structure, you can access my Scene Workbook for Writers at no cost.

I am sorry to the individual who sent me this question. I have a lot of questions in my Tumblr inbox and have only recently come across this nice question. I apologize for the 4-month delay.

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rawliverandgoronspice · 4 months ago

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I'm thinking about going back to my old Zelda WIPs and continuing writing them. Since Ganondorf is a huge part of them, and you have a PHD in Gerudo, I was hoping you could help me with some tips. How do I avoid orientalism as much as possible while still keeping him morally grey and/or a villain? (Different incarnations are different degrees of morality in my fics).

It's ok if you just forward links from your blog where you already discussed it. I'd just like directions on how to find them, hehe.

Hellooo I'm sorry it took me so long to get to your ask, I wanted to make sure I had good refs for it (and was very busy ;;)

So I do not think I can claim to have a PhD in Gerudo when tumblr users @bloobluebloo and @blackautmedia share this website with me (among others), but I can recommand Bloo's thoughts overall, their blog is a great resource; and Blackautmedia has done an amazing and super thorough breakdown of the Gerudo situation (and TotK) in this Youtube video.

(and of course, Edward Saïd's body of work for a more precise breakdown of Orientalism, where it comes from, why it exists, and the countless ways in which it manifests in culture and geopolitics)

To give my own two cents on the matter, I think there's several things to take into account:

the very framework being proposed by Nintendo is born out of orientalist sensitivities, and so a lot of the very fundamental ideas that led to the gerudos and Ganondorf existing as they do will never be neutral. That doesn't mean we can't do anything with them or that they are inherently corrupted (tho some people think the subject is messy enough to make them unwilling to engage with it in any way, which is fair enough), but any narrative decision being taken will probably carry on that weight, that framework. Some parts (like the very harem-like logic of the one guy many girls --even if it's not how gerudos are interacting within canon, we know where the inspiration came from) are kind of very deeply baked in. We can recontextualize it and make it interesting or human or complicated or just not really deal with it (or break the rules entirely, some people decide they don't want to deal with the one guy many girls situation and more power to them honestly), but there's only so much anyone can do about the framework. There's going to be some authorial intent happening no matter what.

Speaking of authorial intent, I guess my (general tbh) advice is: know what interests you, be sensitive to your own internal motivations, be informed of other people's perspectives, and figure out what you are comfortable with, and why. It's a combination of what drives you and being aware of the choices you're making. You can even disagree with other perspectives of course, but it's about making sure you understand your own reasoning and can stand by it within your own art.

Then I guess my main take is: Ganondorf can be as brutal and as selfish as he wants (as a treat) and that will never erase the fact that he lives in a feudal world where the main neighboring kingdom has arbitrarily decided his people (and by extension himself) is considered lesser than a hylian, and that his only path to being considered good is to accept that reality for himself, and kneel and happily become a vassal with zero resentment towards anything. That is kind of the fundamental Zelda game situation: Ganondorf being dissatisfied at his own status leads to him reaching for the biggest source of power available, at any cost. Then, you can complicate him in ways as extreme as him saying he went on to this quest for the sake of his people and was vilified in extreme ways as punishment for this, or in less extreme ways, by deciding he did throw his entire people under the bus with complete disregard --but that it doesn't change the fundamental injustice that pushed him to pursue this path of domination for his own selfish sake. And then, there's entire worlds of nuance between these two extremes, and many, many ways to sidestep what I just outlined and decide this is an AU and Ganondorf's story is about something else entirely.

Honestly, my biggest suggestion is just: give this dude an internal world. It doesn't have to be a sensitive and tearful one, but just some internal reasoning, a sense of purpose, and weave in some of the qualities we see in the games in which he appears, and you have a guy who can cause a big mess and still be terrifying and still be a person.

And then of course I could start to wax poetry about all the angles I see one could pursue with him, all of his relationship to the gods, to fate, to agency and control, to violence and strife and resistance and madness and humanity and and and --yeah there's a lot to find in that thick red hair of his in my opinion, and it's just about... kind of, being interested in that. It doesn't have to be the main focus of course, and you can just have a Ganondorf who's there to provide conflict and be a big guy who's really into having the fight of his life, but there's always this risk of forgetting why he's angry, what shaped him, and therefore falling into tropes of... I don't know, he's a rapist for no reason just because it felt logical that he would be one 🙃 (not saying it can never ever be a take, but to refuse to give him any room for introspection on why he ever would be one given both his very... "I never showed even a hint of sexual interest towards anyone in canon" + "I grew up among a group of ostracized-yet-fetishized women" circumstances might just be the orientalism speaking unfortunately )

So yee!! Those are my perspective!! I hope it's helpful in any way!!!

#asks #ganondorf #gerudos #orientalism #tloz critical #I genuinely need to build myself some kind of library of Good Posts #so that I can refer to this (and reread them myself)#(especially since I'm far from the most qualified person to speak on this)#but thank you!!!#hope that is not just a collection of mad ramblings haha #(and I hope the tags are ok!! I can remove them otherwise no problem)

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dertoteschriftsteller · 3 months ago

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Liberal feminists, read

When someone insists that engaging in sex work or conforming to patriarchal beauty standards is simply their individual choice, they overlook the way ideology interpellates them—hailing them into subject‑positions that feel voluntary precisely because the patriarchal order has already scripted those desires and options. In other words, the ‘choice’ they claim is not a purely autonomous act; it is a response to the ideological call that has pre‑shaped what seems desirable, possible, and even imaginable for them. Conforming to patriarchal standards recapitulates the very harmful norms already imposed on women, reinscribing the hierarchy instead of disrupting it. To conflate choice(1), the at of chosing to conform to patriarchal ideologies, and choice(2), to chose to do something without knowledge of patriarchal ideologies, is a reified abstraction that obscures the structural forces at play, ultimately harming women even more. Without a concrete totality of feminist-theory, your understanding of the subject is limited, and you risk falling into the misogynistic trap—either perpetuated by overt misogyny or internalized misogyny—that treats conforming to patriarchal standards as nonconformity (because it’s framed as a 'choice') rather than acknowledging it as conformity (since what appears as a 'choice' is actually shaped by external influences, and is not a true autonomous decision). To claim that sex work is inherently empowering is to reify the capitalist structures that commodify women’s bodies, obscuring the social and economic forces that coerce individuals into these precarious labor conditions. This reductionist view ignores the systemic exploitation underpinning the sex trade, which is often an extension of patriarchal domination and economic disenfranchisement. Sex work cannot be extricated from the hegemonic patriarchy that shapes societal conceptions of gender, labor, and autonomy. The belief that engaging in sex work is an exercise in autonomy is illusory, as it disregards the structural inequality and ideological conditioning that heavily influence women’s decisions within these oppressive frameworks. The notion that sex work is non-oppressive fails to account for the alienation of labor within a capitalist system that commodifies human beings, particularly women. The fetishization of sexual labor within capitalist economies perpetuates the objectification of women’s bodies, positioning them as mere commodities to be bought and sold in a marketplace driven by profit motives. The framing of sex work as empowering fails to interrogate the ways in which individuals are interpellated by dominant cultural ideologies that normalize the commodification of the female body. These ideologies perpetuate the belief that women’s value is inherently tied to their sexual labor, thus contributing to the perpetuation of gendered and class-based exploitation. You are not 'progressive', you have internalised misogyny.

#radical feminism #radical feminist safe #terfsafe #radical feminists do interact #terfism

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olis-inkwell-symposium · 7 months ago

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5 Occult Concepts That Explain the World Better Than Science

Throughout my extensive research into occult philosophy, I’ve been fortunate to gain a ton of knowledge that has truly enriched my understanding of the world. This journey has been deeply personal, as it has allowed me to explore the hidden corners of my mind and connect with a broader spiritual and philosophical landscape.

What I’ve come to realize during this time is profound: if the world weren’t so rigid and complex, we could all live and practice our lives in such diverse and meaningful ways that are truly personalized to our unique needs and desires. This realization has inspired me to seek out a more balanced and harmonious existence, one that embraces the individuality and creativity that lie within each of us. It’s also motivated me to share this knowledge with you all, hoping to spark a similar sense of wonder and empowerment in your own lives!

Now don’t get me wrong; science is brilliant at breaking things down—atoms, ecosystems, the expansion of the universe. It gives us answers, solutions, and a framework to navigate the physical world. But let’s be honest: science often trips over itself when trying to explain the messy, intangible, and deeply human parts of existence.

The cracks where logic doesn’t fit? That’s where the occult slips in. Occult philosophy thrives on the edges of understanding. It doesn’t just ask “how”—it asks “why,” “what if,” and “what does this mean for me?” While science maps reality in clean, objective terms, the occult dives into the subjective, the mysterious, and the uncomfortable truths that can’t be measured in a lab.

Here are five esoteric concepts that, in their raw and provocative nature, offer a far more compelling explanation of the world than science ever could:

1. As Above, So Below: The Reflective Nature of Reality

This phrase is a cornerstone of hermetic philosophy, a cryptic little mantra that implies the micro mirrors the macro, and vice versa. In simpler terms: the structure of the universe can be seen in the structure of a single human life.

Science has its own version of this idea in fractals and self-similarity across scales—patterns that replicate endlessly from the molecular level to the cosmic. But where science stops at structure, the occult digs deeper.

As above, so below isn’t just a reflection of patterns; it’s a commentary on how everything—your struggles, desires, and choices—ties into larger systems. Your internal chaos mirrors societal chaos. A broken relationship might reflect a deeper imbalance in your worldview. It’s not just poetic metaphor; it’s a map for self-awareness.

When science shrugs at the meaning of human patterns, the occult says, Look closer. What’s happening out there is happening in here, too.

2. The Law of Correspondence: Connection Beyond Logic

Occult philosophy insists that nothing exists in isolation. Every force, event, or idea has a counterpart. Correspondence suggests that unrelated things—symbols, objects, emotions—are part of an invisible web of connection. You lose something important, and suddenly, you’re flooded with strange coincidences that feel almost intentional.

What science brushes off as statistical anomalies, the occult embraces as part of the design. For example, synchronicity—the idea that unrelated events can feel meaningfully connected—is often dismissed by science as cognitive bias.

Yet, anyone who’s experienced these “coincidences” knows they carry a weight science can’t quantify. Correspondence doesn’t just explain why these events happen; it dares to ask what they mean. It argues that your personal reality is shaped not just by physical actions but by symbols, metaphors, and the unseen forces tying them all together.

3. The Hermetic Principle of Polarity: Duality Without Simplicity

In science, opposites are defined by contrast: positive and negative, light and dark, heat and cold. The occult, however, sees polarity not as opposition but as two ends of the same spectrum. Hot and cold, for instance, are both expressions of temperature; they’re not enemies, just different manifestations of the same underlying force.

The principle of polarity teaches that extremes are always interconnected. Love and hate, joy and grief—they aren’t separate forces battling for dominance. They’re two expressions of the same energy. This doesn’t just help explain emotional complexity; it’s a tool for navigating life. Feeling overwhelmed by fear?

Polarity suggests that courage isn’t its opposite—it’s a reframing of the same energy. Science is great at measuring extremes, but it struggles with the liminal space between them. The occult lives in that in-between, showing how the line between opposites is much thinner than it seems.

4. The Rule of Threefold Return: Consequence Beyond Physics

Karma often gets watered down into a pop-culture idea of “what goes around comes around.” But the occult’s threefold law takes it further, suggesting that every action—good, bad, or indifferent—comes back with amplified force.

Cast harm into the world, and harm returns not as punishment but as a natural ripple of that consequence. Put good into the world, and its return carries exponential weight. Science traditionally examines phenomena through straightforward cause-and-effect relationships, often focusing on linear progressions where one event leads directly to another.

However, it often struggles to capture the complex and layered nature of our decisions, which can produce effects that multiply and interact in unexpected ways. Our actions as humans don't just create simple, predictable outcomes; they can initiate chains of events that grow in complexity and impact over time, creating a web of consequences that are difficult to predict or quantify using standard scientific methods.

Why does a single act of kindness resonate so deeply? Why does unchecked anger spiral into unforeseen consequences? The occult’s perspective on consequences isn’t moralistic; it’s mechanical. This concept is as much about accountability as it is about empowerment. It forces you to think beyond the immediate result of your actions, asking: What are the ripples I’m setting in motion?

5. The Alchemical Process: Transformation as a Cycle

Alchemy is often reduced to the pursuit of turning lead into gold—a quaint historical footnote in science’s evolution. But true alchemy was never just about metal. It was—and still is—a philosophy of transformation. Lead and gold are metaphors for the self. The base material (lead) represents the parts of you that are raw, unformed, and heavy. Gold is the refined self—lighter, brighter, and forged through struggle.

Science can tell you how cells regenerate, how the brain processes trauma, how habits form. But alchemy explains the why behind transformation. It frames struggle not as a problem to be solved but as an integral part of growth.

Calcination, dissolution, and coagulation form the stages of a chemical journey that mirrors the human experience of transformation and self-discovery. The process begins with calcination, a fiery purification that strips away the unnecessary, burning away the dross to reveal the essential core beneath. This is a time of intense reflection, where one begins to cast aside the illusions and impurities accumulated over time.

Next comes dissolution, a stage of deep introspection where old structures and beliefs are broken down. It is a time for letting go of outdated habits and ideas, much like dissolving bonds that once seemed unbreakable. This phase requires courage, as it involves dismantling one's protective barriers, leaving behind comfort zones to explore the unfamiliar.

Finally, there's coagulation, the phase of reconstruction. Here, from the remnants of the past, something new and robust is forged. It's the alchemical rebirth, where a person emerges transformed, having integrated the lessons learned from the previous stages. This rebuilding is not simply a return to the original state, but an evolution into an entity more aligned with one’s true self.

Through each stage, the journey can be deeply personal, reflecting a unique path of self-awareness and growth. Calcination, dissolution, and coagulation are not merely chemical stages but serve as a profound blueprint for personal evolution, guiding one towards a deeper understanding of themselves and the world around them.

This transformative cycle encourages embracing change, fostering resilience, and celebrating the unfolding of a renewed identity. Where science provides explanations, alchemy offers profound meaning. It asserts that transformation isn’t merely possible—it’s inevitable, provided you’re willing to endure the transformative fire.

Why the Occult Makes You Ask Better Questions

Science excels at answers. It gives us the tools, cures, and frameworks to navigate the tangible. But answers, for all their value, are useless without the right questions. This is where the occult shines. It doesn’t care about tidy conclusions; it cares about pulling you deeper into the unknown, daring you to challenge what you think you understand.

Occult principles don’t aim to replace science—they simply just… fill in its gaps. They explain not just the mechanics of life but the meaning, the purpose, the strange and chaotic connections that defy logic.

They don’t seek to fix the world; they ask what the world is asking of you. And sometimes, just by asking the right question; life is far more enjoyable than always trying to find the answers.

taglist ; dm or reply to be added 🫶🏾

@slenders1ckn3ss @lucistarsfire @mai2themai @fond-illusion @p00lverinecentral @ambidextrousarcher

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autisticexpression2 · 9 months ago

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I feel like Pattamika is getting some unfair hate. I understand how some (western) people might be put off by her politically incorrect values: the period-accurate internalized homophobia, the corporal punishment, and just her general strictness that can seem over the top to a modern western audience.

But you have to put this into perspective. This isn't modern America, it's 1950s Thailand. 1950s Thai royalty no less. Family honor and reputation is a big deal for anyone, especially the royal family. She is under a huge amount of pressure to maintain a standard of proper behavior and raise her neice accordingly. Gay marriage simply isn't an option. She sees Pin going down the same path that brought her only pain and does what she thinks she has to.

And even then, as awful as the whole wedding arc is, she tries to find small ways to show compassion to Pin and Anin within the rigid societal framework that restricts them. She goes out of her way to let Pin keep the ring Anin gave her even if it makes insecure douchecanoe Kuea feel threatened. She doesn't personally approve of the ring and what it represents, but she's kind enough to compromise on some things to make the horrifying ordeal of comphet as bearable as possible for Anin.

Even the infamous "I want to see if you will stop breathing" line is not motivated by malice but informed by her own trauma. She had to see the woman she loved die without any of the support Pin and Anin have. She shouldn't have taken her trauma out on Pin in that moment, but it is understandable that she would see her problems as melodramatic in comparison.

What I especially love about her is how she responds when operation comphet falls apart. She doesn't double down or blame anyone else. She takes full responsibility for her mistakes and expresses admiration for Anin's bravery in openly declaring her love for another woman, something she never did in her time. She only holds off on apologizing to Pin because she is ashamed to face her after failing her.

She's a wonderful complex character, and she deserves to be appreciated, flaws and all. This is exactly the kind of complex female character we want.

She's also just really hot, guys. I'm sorry if you can't see the apeal of a dommy milf spanking a younger woman but there is beauty everywhere for those with eyes to see it.

#the loyal pin #princess pattamika #thai gl #idolfactory #charm osathanond

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morilovern1 · 7 months ago

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Mori and Chuuya analysis: Whitin Loyalty and Logic.

The world of BSD thrives on its complex characters and their intricate relationships, often blurring the lines between loyalty and manipulation, strength and vulnerability. Among these compelling figures are Mori Ōgai, the enigmatic leader of the Port Mafia, and Chuuya Nakahara, its fiercely loyal yet independent executive. Both characters embody the organization’s dark allure, yet their dynamics and individual arcs reveal layers of humanity, ambition, and control that go beyond the surface.

Mori, a strategic mastermind, wields power with chilling precision, often treating people as pawns to further his goals. In contrast, Chuuya's raw strength, unyielding sense of pride, and complicated relationship with authority make him a foil to Mori's calculated demeanor. Their interactions, though limited in the series, offer a fascinating exploration of leadership, trust, and the weight of responsibility within the mafia's brutal hierarchy.

This analysis seeks to dive deeper into their characters, exploring how Mori’s manipulative tactics and Chuuya’s principled loyalty shape their relationship. By examining their motivations, key moments in the narrative, and their roles within the Port Mafia, we can better understand how these two seemingly different characters contribute to the intricate web of BSD’s storytelling.

Foil and Parallels

Mori and Chuuya as Narrative Foils

Mori and Chuuya serve as contrasting figures in personality, leadership style, and morality. Mori’s cold, calculating pragmatism is the antithesis of Chuuya’s fiery and emotionally charged demeanor. Their juxtaposition highlights the different ways individuals navigate power and duty within the morally ambiguous environment of the Port Mafia.

Parallels in Struggles and Motivations

Both characters wrestle with the weight of their positions in the Port Mafia. While Mori manipulates his subordinates and environments to maintain control, Chuuya grapples with his personal honor versus the brutal necessities of mafia life. Both seek stability and efficiency for the organization, though their methods diverge—Mori relying on foresight and control, and Chuuya on raw strength and loyalty.

Ethics and Morality

Mori’s Ethical Framework

Mori exemplifies a utilitarian perspective where the ends justify the means. He is willing to sacrifice individuals or moral principles for the greater good of the Port Mafia, often leading to morally questionable but strategically sound decisions.

Chuuya’s Moral Dilemmas

Chuuya’s internal conflict lies between his sense of personal honor and the morally ambiguous actions required by his position. His loyalty to the mafia often places him in situations that test his ethical boundaries, forcing him to choose between self-identity and duty.

Narrative Critique of Morality

The narrative critiques both approaches: Mori’s ruthlessness leads to fear and resentment among his subordinates, while Chuuya’s emotional decisions sometimes compromise his effectiveness. Yet, Chuuya’s honor often earns genuine respect, contrasting Mori’s manipulative reliance on fear.

Leadership Styles

Mori as a Leader

Mori’s leadership relies on manipulation, foresight, and calculated decisions. He maintains control through a mix of strategic planning and psychological manipulation, often symbolized by his relationship with Elise—a representation of his control and detachment.

Chuuya’s Leadership

Chuuya’s leadership is more direct and personal, rooted in his strength and charisma. As a leader of the Sheep and an executive in the Port Mafia, he inspires a mix of respect and fear, commanding loyalty through his actions rather than manipulation.

Tensions and DynamicsThe tension between Mori and Chuuya stems from their differing leadership philosophies. Mori sees leadership as a chess game, while Chuuya views it as a battlefield, where personal involvement and honor are paramount.

Personality and Ideological Differences

Mori Ougai

Mori’s pragmatic, utilitarian nature emphasizes efficiency over emotion. He prioritizes the survival and dominance of the Port Mafia above all else, even at the cost of personal relationships or ethics.

Chuuya Nakahara

Chuuya is a study in contrasts: fiery and passionate yet deeply principled. His emotionalism often clashes with the ruthless pragmatism of the mafia world, creating internal and external conflict.

Comparison

Mori’s cold rationalism and Chuuya’s emotionalism highlight their ideological divide. Yet, this contrast also underscores how their respective traits complement the mafia’s needs—Mori’s calculated strategies ensure stability, while Chuuya’s passionate leadership inspires loyalty.

Power Dynamics

Mori’s Authority over ChuuyaMori’s control over Chuuya is multifaceted, relying on institutional authority, manipulation, and subtle psychological pressure. This dynamic emphasizes Mori’s role as a puppet master within the organization.

Chuuya’s Responses

Chuuya’s pride and strong sense of self often clash with Mori’s manipulative tendencies. While he respects Mori’s strategic mind, he resents the control and moral compromises Mori embodies.

Trust and Loyalty

Chuuya’s Loyalty

Chuuya’s loyalty lies more with the Port Mafia as an institution than with Mori personally. While he respects the organization’s structure, his trust in Mori is conditional and often tested by the latter’s decisions.

Mori’s Perspective

Mori views Chuuya as a valuable asset—his loyalty and power are tools to further the organization’s goals. Any personal regard Mori holds for Chuuya is secondary to his utilitarian priorities.

Philosophical Differences

Approach to Leadership

Mori’s leadership is detached and strategic, prioritizing long-term outcomes over individual well-being. Chuuya, by contrast, leads with a hands-on, emotionally driven style that values personal connections and honor.

Views on Power

Mori sees power as a tool for control, while Chuuya struggles with the overwhelming nature of his ability, Corruption. Their differing relationships with power shape their worldviews and mutual understanding.

Moments of Conflict

Tensions in the Narrative

Conflicts between Mori and Chuuya often arise from strategic disagreements, with Mori pushing for cold pragmatism and Chuuya advocating for honor or personal involvement.

Chuuya’s Defiance

Chuuya’s moments of defiance are significant in the narrative, showcasing his refusal to fully succumb to Mori’s manipulative control. These acts highlight his individuality and moral code.

Manipulation vs. Autonomy

Mori’s Manipulative Nature

Mori uses Chuuya’s pride, loyalty, and vulnerabilities to maintain control, ensuring Chuuya remains a key asset to the Port Mafia without allowing him too much autonomy.

Respect or Contempt?

Mori respects Chuuya’s abilities but views him primarily as a means to an end. Chuuya, in turn, tolerates Mori’s leadership out of necessity but often questions his methods and intentions.

Subtle Parallels

Similarities

Both characters share a strong sense of duty to the Port Mafia and a willingness to bear heavy burdens for its sake. They are both ruthless when necessary, driven by a desire for stability and effectiveness.

Differences

While Mori’s ruthlessness is calculated and emotionless, Chuuya’s is driven by passion and honor. Their differing motivations and methods set them apart.

Impact on the Port Mafia

The dynamic between Mori and Chuuya significantly influences the Port Mafia’s structure. Mori’s manipulation ensures stability, while Chuuya’s charisma and strength foster loyalty among subordinates. Their relationship, however, can also create internal tensions, especially when their differing philosophies clash.

Mori as the Calculating Leader

Mori Ōgai, the head of the Port Mafia, is characterized by his cold, calculating nature and his ability to manipulate those around him for the sake of the organization. His leadership style is pragmatic to the extreme, often prioritizing the survival and power of the Port Mafia above all else. This approach makes him a formidable leader but also one who is untrustworthy and morally ambiguous.

Mori’s interactions with Chūya reflect his tendency to view individuals as tools to be utilized. As one of the most powerful ability users in the series, Chūya’s strength is an asset to the Port Mafia, and Mori ensures that it is fully harnessed. However, Mori’s treatment of Chūya often borders on dehumanizing, as he focuses on Chūya’s utility rather than his individuality.

Chūya as the Reluctant Pawn

Chūya Nakahara, on the other hand, is a character who values loyalty and personal agency. Despite his fiery temperament and disdain for authority, Chūya remains committed to the Port Mafia, partly out of a sense of duty and partly because it provides him with a sense of belonging. His relationship with Mori, however, is fraught with tension.

Chūya is acutely aware of Mori’s manipulative tendencies, and this awareness fosters a sense of mistrust. Unlike Dazai, who actively schemes against Mori, Chūya’s resistance to Mori’s control is more subtle. He follows orders but maintains a critical view of Mori’s actions and motives. This duality underscores Chūya’s internal struggle: while he recognizes the necessity of Mori’s leadership, he resents the lack of autonomy it affords him.

Moments of Interaction

One of the most telling moments in their relationship occurs during Chūya’s induction into the Port Mafia. Mori’s role in bringing Chūya into the fold reflects his ability to identify and exploit potential. At the same time, it highlights Chūya’s vulnerability as someone searching for purpose and direction. This dynamic sets the tone for their future interactions, with Mori acting as both a mentor and a manipulator.

Could Mori Be a Father Figure?

Mori’s relationship with Chūya also raises the question of whether he could act as a father figure in Chūya’s life. While Mori’s manipulative tendencies and focus on utility might seem to preclude such a role, there are elements of their dynamic that resemble a paternal relationship. Mori provides Chūya with guidance, albeit in a way that often prioritizes the Port Mafia over Chūya’s personal well-being. This mirrors the dynamic of an authoritarian parent who seeks to mold their child to fit a specific purpose.

For Chūya, who values loyalty and seeks a sense of belonging, Mori’s role as a leader may fill a void left by a lack of familial connection. However, this "father figure" dynamic is inherently fraught, as Mori’s actions are rarely motivated by genuine care. Instead, his guidance is a means to an end, reflecting his cold pragmatism. Chūya’s awareness of this dynamic complicates their relationship, as he must reconcile the authority Mori represents with his own need for agency and self-respect.

And now what you all have been waiting for:

Did Mori Abuse Chuuya?

While it isn't confirmed, and depends on who you ask, i'm pretty sure Chuuya is a victim of abuse by Mori because repeated manipulation does count as abuse.

Examples of Mori's Manipulation of Chuuya:

Control through authority: Mori often uses his position as the boss of the Port Mafia to pressure Chuuya into fulfilling his orders, regardless of Chuuya's personal feelings.

Exploitation of Arahabaki: Chuuya’s powers, which come from his connection to Arahabaki, are dangerous and taxing. Mori appears willing to exploit this ability for the Port Mafia's benefit, potentially disregarding the toll it takes on Chuuya.

Threat of Violence: In the first text, Mori threatens Chuuya and the members of the Sheep (Chuuya's former allies). This demonstrates a clear use of coercion to force Chuuya into cooperation. The casual way Mori delivers this threat underscores his calculating and ruthless personality, making it clear that he prioritizes his agenda over Chuuya’s autonomy or well-being.

"Chuuya-kun, I will withdraw my previous statement of joining the Mafia. Instead, I

would like to offer a joint investigation. The rumors we've heard about the previous boss's return and the 'Arahabaki' that you're after are clearly rooted in the same incident. I think we could achieve a mutually beneficial relationship simply by sharing information, don't you think?"

" .... And if I refuse?"

"I'll kill you." Mori said with a natural tone, like the moment when sugar is put into coffee. "Though it's hard to kill you, even in the Mafia. So I'll kill all your companions in the 'Sheep'. How about it?"

Emotional Manipulation: In the second text, Mori dangles the truth about Chuuya's identity and his connection to Arahabaki in front of him, only to pull it away at the last moment. This is a psychological tactic to assert control over Chuuya, keeping him dependent and unable to fully trust Mori. By withholding this critical information, Mori solidifies his leverage over Chuuya.

"This is the data collected by Randou-kun." Mori showed Chuuya the envelope. "There are many other interesting things written in here."

"In there ... Is the truth ... " Chuuya subconsciously reached his hand out. "Arahabaki's … My true identity ... "

But right before Chuuya grabbed the envelope, Mori quickly pulled it away from him.

Chuuya looked at Mori suspiciously.

"Sorry, but this is the hidden asset a traitor of the organization had." Mori said with the usual smile on his face. "It's something that was originally going to be burned, and therefore can't be so easily disclosed. This is only available to people who are executives or above in the organization."

Chuuya stirred slightly and quietly stared at Mori.

A few short, tense seconds passed between them.

Now, the next one.

"I ... " Chuuya squeezed out the words in a voice similar to that of a boy's. He gently touched the wound on his back. "I was the Sheep's leader. But all I was given were my friend's anxieties and the reliance of the group. At this point, I'm not that upset about joining your organization and obeying your orders. But can you tell me one thing? What does it mean to be a leader?"

At the boy's serious gaze, Mori's smile abruptly disappeared.

He closed his eyes, then opened them again. Then, with a genuine look that nobody had ever seen before, said,

"The leader stands at the top of the organization, but is also its slave. For the profit and survival of the organization, I will gladly soak in all its filth. Raise my subordinates, position them optimally, and if I need to, use and throw them away. I will gladly do any inhumane act if it's for the organization. That's what it means to be a leader."

Mori shifted his gaze to look out the window at the various cityscapes.

"All to protect this beloved city."

Chuuya listened with clear eyes. He had an expression of innocence on his face, like he was reborn.

"That's ... what I was missing."

Chuuya hung his head as he dropped down to one knee. And with a soldier's sharp,

commanding voice, he said,

"In that case, I will devote all this blood to you, boss. I will protect this organization that you support as your slave, crush your enemies as your slave, and let those who undermine the Port Mafia know how it feels to be crushed by gravity."

1. Chuuya's Vulnerability

Chuuya is shown reflecting on his experiences as the leader of the Sheep, where he felt burdened by the anxieties and expectations of his peers. This reflection leaves him open to influence, as he seeks guidance on what it means to be a true leader. Mori seizes this moment of vulnerability to instill his philosophy of leadership, shaping Chuuya’s perspective.

2. Mori's Philosophy of Leadership

Mori’s response is chilling and pragmatic, emphasizing his willingness to embrace inhumanity for the sake of the organization. He paints leadership as both an immense responsibility and a position of ultimate servitude to the group. This resonates with Chuuya, who, as a former leader of the Sheep, realizes what he lacked in his own leadership—unwavering commitment to the survival and benefit of the group, no matter the personal or moral cost.

3. Chuuya’s Transformation

Mori’s words spark a rebirth in Chuuya’s identity. He internalizes this philosophy and pledges absolute loyalty to Mori and the Port Mafia. The imagery of Chuuya kneeling and vowing to be Mori’s "slave" is both powerful and tragic, signifying his acceptance of a life of servitude and violence in exchange for the purpose and structure that the Port Mafia offers.

4. Themes of Manipulation and Control

This scene also underscores Mori’s skillful manipulation. He doesn’t coerce Chuuya with threats or force this time but rather appeals to Chuuya’s need for direction and understanding. By presenting his own harsh worldview as the "truth" of leadership, Mori binds Chuuya to him ideologically and emotionally.

5. A Tragic Bond

While Chuuya’s devotion to the Port Mafia and Mori is admirable in its intensity, it’s also rooted in the toxic dynamics of the organization. Mori’s definition of leadership is deeply self-serving—it positions him as indispensable while justifying any cruelty or sacrifice in the name of the Port Mafia’s survival. For Chuuya, embracing this philosophy means willingly giving up a part of his humanity.

Conclusion

This moment cements the unequal power dynamic between Mori and Chuuya. Mori takes advantage of Chuuya’s vulnerability and longing for guidance, molding him into a loyal subordinate. While Chuuya believes he has found purpose, it is within the confines of a system that exploits his strength and loyalty. The scene poignantly reflects the series’ recurring themes of power, loyalty, and the sacrifices required to survive in a harsh world.

Could Mori Be Connected to Chūya’s Experimentation?

One of the critical elements of Chuuya Nakahara’s backstory is his suffering due to experimentation at the hands of the organization that created Arahabaki. However, there is no evidence in the canon to suggest that Mori Ōgai was directly involved in these experiments. The timeline of events and Mori’s role within the Port Mafia do not align with the actions of the researchers who experimented on Chuuya.

The experimentation on Chuuya is tied to a separate scientific group that sought to control and weaponize his connection to Arahabaki. By the time Chūya joins the Port Mafia, Mori’s primary focus is on integrating him into the organization as an asset. Mori’s interest in Chuuya begins after these events, positioning him as a manipulative leader rather than a scientist or direct perpetrator of Chuuya’s past suffering.

This distinction is important because it reinforces Mori’s role as an opportunist who capitalizes on Chuuya’s existing trauma and abilities rather than creating them. His lack of involvement in the experimentation also shifts the focus to how Mori uses Chuuya’s power within the Port Mafia rather than how he came to possess it. Thus, while Mori’s treatment of Chūya is morally questionable, it is not rooted in the direct exploitation of Chuuya’s origins.

Does Mori Care About Chuuya?

The question of whether Mori cares about Chuuya is complex, as Mori’s actions are often guided by pragmatism rather than overt emotional connections. However, there is evidence to suggest that Mori’s interest in Chuuya extends beyond mere utility. As a leader, Mori values Chuuya’s loyalty and recognizes his significance not only as a powerful ability user but also as a steadfast member of the Port Mafia.

Mori’s form of care is rooted in his strategic mindset. For example, he ensures that Chuuya’s abilities are honed and that his position in the organization remains secure. While these actions serve the interests of the Port Mafia, they also indicate a level of investment in Chuuya’s well-being and stability. Mori’s decision to rely on Chuuya during critical moments further demonstrates his trust in Chuuya’s capabilities, which could be interpreted as a subtle form of respect.

However, Mori’s care is not altruistic. It is shaped by the Port Mafia’s hierarchical structure and Mori’s overarching goal of maintaining power. This dynamic complicates their relationship, as Chuuya may recognize Mori’s manipulative tendencies while also benefiting from the structure and support that Mori provides.

Fifteen: Chuuya’s Entry into the Port Mafia

In the prequel novel Fifteen, Chuuya’s entry into the Port Mafia is portrayed as a reluctant decision made under duress. Chuuya joins not out of a desire for power or belonging, but to save the lives of the Sheep—a group he had considered family until their betrayal. While Chuuya primarily blames Dazai for orchestrating the events that led to this decision, it becomes evident that the entire scenario was a calculated move by Mori. Mori recognizes Chuuya’s value, both as a powerful ability user and as someone who could influence Dazai, and he meticulously plans to bring Chuuya into the fold.

Mori’s speech about leadership plays a pivotal role in shaping Chuuya’s perspective. Mori emphasizes that true leadership requires treating everyone, including oneself, as pawns for the greater stability of the organization. Chuuya internalizes this philosophy, contrasting it with his own belief that prioritizing people’s safety above all else led to his betrayal by the Sheep. This moment marks a turning point for Chuuya, as he pledges loyalty to Mori partly because of this newfound purpose and partly because Mori holds critical information about Arahabaki, which remains a mystery central to Chuuyas identity.

Stormbringer: Loyalty Tested and Principles Affirmed

In Stormbringer, Chuuya’s loyalty to the Port Mafia is further explored and tested. Despite discovering that the Flags—a group assigned to support him—were also spying on him, Chuuya remains steadfast in his commitment to the organization. His loyalty is portrayed as a matter of principle rather than emotional attachment. When a detective offers Chuuya a chance to betray the Port Mafia, Chuuya’s refusal is definitive and unapologetic. His response is not driven by blind allegiance but by his personal code of honor—he swore loyalty, and he will not break that promise.

Chuuya’s loyalty to the people within the Port Mafia, however, supersedes his loyalty to the organization itself. This is evident in his actions throughout the novel, as he prioritizes the well-being of his comrades and even extends help to the remaining members of the disbanded Sheep. Despite Mori’s pragmatic philosophy, Chuuya’s core values—his humanity and his care for others—remain unchanged. This dynamic tension between Mori’s utilitarianism and Chūya’s empathy highlights the fundamental differences in their principles.

The ending of Stormbringer is particularly significant in understanding Chuuya’s relationship with Mori. Armed with information about his origins provided by Mori, Chuuya takes steps to uncover the truth about his humanity. Yet, even after learning he was always human, Chuuya reaffirms his loyalty to the Port Mafia, viewing it as his family. Mori’s satisfaction with this outcome underscores his deep understanding of Chuuya’s character and his deliberate efforts to shape Chuuya’s loyalty. By surrounding Chuuya with individuals he could grow to care for, such as the Flags, Dazai, and Kouyou, Mori ensures Chuuya’s integration into the organization is as emotional as it is strategic.

Present-Day Chuuya: A Complex Leader

The Chūya we encounter in the main storyline of Bungou Stray Dogs is markedly different from his younger self. The events that shaped him into the person he is today remain largely unexplored, but his demeanor is more cynical and guarded. He openly critiques Dazai’s moral posturing and questions the naivety of the Armed Detective Agency, suggesting a disillusionment with idealistic views of morality.

Chuuya’s current relationships within the Port Mafia are more formal and distant compared to the bonds he shared with the Flags. While he treats his subordinates with respect and compassion, his deep emotional connections seem muted. This shift hints at significant experiences that led to his increased wariness and self-reliance. Despite this, moments of vulnerability—such as his grief over subordinates lost to Q’s abilities—reveal that his capacity for care has not diminished, even if it is more cautiously expressed.

One of the most telling moments in the manga occurs during Chuuya’s confrontation with Dazai. Dazai’s suggestion that Chuuya’s loyalty to the Port Mafia might be questioned speaks volumes about Chuuya’s precarious position within the organization. Chuuya does not argue against this implication, acknowledging that his loyalty has always been to the people rather than the organization itself. This distinction becomes apparent when Chuuya provides Dazai with critical information and allows him to proceed with his plans, prioritizing personal principles over organizational directives.

Chuuya’s Reflections on Dazai’s Betrayal

One of the most fascinating aspects of Chuuya’s character is his likely perspective on Dazai’s betrayal of the Port Mafia. Dazai’s departure wasn’t simply a rejection of the organization—it was a direct response to Mori’s ruthless decision to sacrifice Oda Sakunosuke for a piece of paper. For Chuuya, who places immense value on people over principles, it’s not difficult to imagine that he could piece together the reasoning behind Dazai’s actions. This raises the question: why does Chuuya remain by Mori’s side despite everything?

It’s possible that Chuuya stayed because he believed he could mitigate Mori’s more destructive tendencies from within. Perhaps he thought that by remaining loyal, he could protect people from Mori’s calculated ruthlessness. Alternatively, Mori might have justified his actions to Chuuya, convincing him that the sacrifice was necessary for the greater good of the Port Mafia. Given Chuuya’s principled nature, however, it’s unlikely that he would accept such reasoning without significant inner conflict.

Why Mori Wouldn’t Lie to Chuuya

While it is tempting to consider the possibility that Mori lied to Chuuya to secure his loyalty, this theory doesn’t align with Mori’s established character or leadership style. Mori Ōgai is an opportunist and a strategist, but he is also pragmatic. He understands that trust, even a wary and conditional kind, is essential for maintaining control over individuals as powerful as Chuuya. A lie, if discovered, would jeopardize Chuuya’s loyalty and potentially incite rebellion within the Port Mafia—an outcome Mori would seek to avoid at all costs.

Furthermore, Mori’s speech to Chuuya during his induction into the Port Mafia emphasizes his philosophy of treating everyone, including himself, as a pawn for the greater stability of the organization. This transparency, however cold and calculating, establishes a baseline of honesty in Mori’s dealings with Chuuya. It’s far more likely that Mori framed his decisions in a way that appealed to Chuuya’s sense of duty and responsibility, rather than resorting to outright falsehoods.

Chuuya’s True Loyalties

Ultimately, Chuuya’s loyalty to the Port Mafia is not about the organization itself. His commitment lies with the people within it—those he considers his subordinates, friends, and comrades. This distinction is crucial when writing Chuuya, as it underscores his fundamental conflict with Mori’s leadership. Chuuya values humanity and connection, while Mori views individuals as tools to be used for the collective good. This ideological divide creates a tension that defines their relationship and shapes Chuuya’s actions within the narrative.

Chuuya’s principles are a driving force behind his character. Despite Mori’s manipulations, Chuuya remains steadfast in his commitment to the people he cares about. This focus on personal loyalty over institutional allegiance makes him a compelling and multi-dimensional figure, one whose choices continue to intrigue and inspire deeper exploration of his character.

Thank you for reading. Having said that,

TOODLES!!!!!!!!!

#mori ogai #bsd #bungou stray dogs #bsd analysis #bsd mori #mori #mori analysis #chuuya bsd #chuuya nakahara #chuuya analysis #bsd chuuya #bungou stray dogs analysis

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what-about-zaladane · 4 months ago

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The "Big Four": Why Mercury Deserves a Spot Next to Your Sun, Moon and Rising

The three pillars of modern astrology, after you get past Sun sign astrology, are your Sun, Moon and Rising sign (which I have complicated thoughts about -- but more on that later).

Sun: Your core self, ego and identity

Moon: Your emotional landscape, habits, and inner needs

Rising (Ascendant): How you interact with the rest of the world. How others first see you.

But to me, these "Big 3" leave out a very important part of the human experience: cognition and mental processing. Without it, I believe we can't capture the full complexity of who a person is at their most fundamental, and why they make the decisions that they make.

Why Mercury?

Mercury rules how we think, process, and communicate. It is the superego to the Moon's id and the Sun's ego. (I don't have a clean Freudian metaphor for the Rising, sorry.) It translates our internal motions and worlds (Sun and Moon) to the external (Ascendant). Without considering Mercury we risk ignoring that very crucial bridge between our motivations and our actions. No other planet has this level of foundational role in our psyche -- other than the Big 3.

Mercury helps you process and articulate your emotional needs (Moon)

Mercury helps you understand your own core motivations and desires (Sun)

Mercury impacts how the Rising sign is actually translated to the world -- after all, thinking (or lack thereof) is fundamental to making decisions on how and where to act.

How Mercury Fits In the Big 4

Imagine a two-dimensional axis:

If we consider Mercury (thinking) and the Moon (feeling) as opposites on one axis, and the Sun (internal drives) and the Ascendant (external actions) as opposites on the other, we start to see a workable framework for balancing the respective powers of the "Big 4" in a chart. As I like to call them:

Sun: How you want (motivation)

Moon: How you feel (emotion)

Rising: How you move (embodied expression)

Mercury: How you think (cognition)

For example, we might consider how dignified or debilitated a given planet is, and then we can see where along each axis a native might fall.

That's all mostly incidental though -- what I really care about is incorporating Mercury into the core reading of the chart as a balancing agent between the other three.

With Mercury, we have a richer, more nuanced framework. We can see how the energies and motions of the other chart objects are integrated and expressed via the processing of Mercury -- the integration of inner and outer worlds.

A note on sect doctrine and traditional importance:

A fair point to raise is that traditionally (hellenistically?) the Sun and Moon are considered important due to their centrality in sect doctrine, while the ascendant is critical due to setting the planetary rulers for each house. I'd argue that Mercury also has a soft signal of importance -- it is the only sect-neutral planet that can be a native of either. I'd argue that this points to its utility and function as a "bridging" energy between two diametrically opposed halves (the day and night sect; the inner and outer psychological words)

A Quick Example: Marilyn Monroe

Marilyn has:

Gemini Sun: Restless, observant and clever. Motivated to gather data and make sense of the world. Performs intelligence as allure.

Aquarius Moon: Emotional glass walls -- she watches, analyzes and retreats. Needs emotional freedom but fears it. A coolness to this placement.

Leo Rising: A sparkling icon, a force of expansive personality, a walking light source. Projects warmth, sensuality and confidence to everyone around her.

But the addition of her Gemini Mercury shows how she takes her Big 3 personality (charismatic, emotionally complex, and deeply creative) and filters it through her deep intellectual curiosity, wit, and remarkable communication and negotiation skills. Without Mercury, we don't have a clear window into how emotion and personality are translated into words and actions.

Mercury is how her Sun learned to articulate itself.

It's how her Moon kept intellectual distance from the pain.

It's how her Rising crafted a language of seduction and softness.

Mercury-Moon-Sun-Rising: An Active Feedback Loop

I'm borrowing here from my limited knowledge of psychological systems theory, so forgive me if I mis-step.

With Mercury in place, we can model identity as an adaptive feedback system rather than a static map.

Moon triggers feelings -> interpreted by Mercury

Mercury builds narrative -> energizes or inhibits Sun motivation

Sun expresses intention -> channeled through Rising action

Rising behavior leads to experience -> which re-informs and triggers Moon

Loop complete. When you're well-integrated, the cycle hums along. When you're fractured or "unhealed" one part hijacks the loops or shuts down the others. That is the client story every chart is showing.

Try It Out Yourself!

Try reading your chart with Mercury as part of your core system. You can ask yourself some questions:

How do you process what you feel? (Moon)

How do you think about and negotiate your desires? (Sun)

What story do you consciously tell when you step out into the world? (Rising)

That's Mercury. That's cognition as a bridge.

A Quick Note on Rising Sign

I disagree with the idea that your rising sign is solely "your mask" or affects only your 1st house. In fact, your rising sign is the key to the rest of the chart -- how sign rulership over every house clicks into place (especially in the Whole Sign System). I'm currently writing up a post about my problems with the Rising Sign and my suggestion that we expand our view into a Rising Archetype, divorced from a single sign and instead incorporating all 12. More later! :D

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dokidokitsuna · 1 year ago

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Magical Girl #1

So I realize I haven’t been posting a lot here lately…there are several reasons.

Most of it was just a garden-variety depressive episode, which was unfortunately extended after I had to go on antibiotics for a couple weeks. It got to a point where I considered canceling a bunch of projects because I just didn’t like to draw anymore. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ (Still recovering from that, tbh…)

After a while I decided to focus on my writing instead, at least to take my mind off that frightening thought. ^^; I got pretty far into a new novel (which I’ll probably talk about later) but more importantly, I managed to complete a 19-page script for ^this concept, the first new original comic idea I’ve had in years.

It’s basically my take on the idea of a solitary magical girl, which you don’t see so much of nowadays…I think the most famous is Cardcaptor Sakura, and even she had some magical sidekicks (iirc, they just had different sources of power, something like that). I’m not familiar with any examples in the genre where it’s literally just her, ala typical Western superhero…

But that’s not really the reason I wanted to write this story– I developed it mainly to explore the idea of a solitary protagonist, someone who doesn’t have any conventional social relationships outside of their family, AND doesn’t use the story to form any. How could I develop an entertaining story around such a person; what sort of character arc would they go through? Might this character realize, to some degree, that they’re not a ‘traditional’ protagonist, and have some thoughts about this…?

For a while I toyed with the idea of applying this framework to an existing idea, but then I figured it’d be easier (and shorter) to write a completely new self-contained story. Which led to the creation of Anno the magical girl, and her partner Armitage. ^^

My #1 rule was ‘no crutches’: No making her (2) family members stick to her like glue and take the place of the usual friendgroup, for instance. This rule also forced me to change the usual characterization of the helpful fairy sidekick to that of an abusive parasite…which ended up being one of the best writing decisions I ever made. ^^ I love Armitage; not only are he and Anno a great comedy duo, but I think his meanness makes Anno a stronger character.

His worst ‘friendless loser’ insults towards her are just simple statements based (oddly enough) on things I’ve heard people express about themselves. So his dialogue becomes almost cathartic, and Anno’s reactions to it become more realistic as a result. She can’t just brush off his comments as meaningless hate; she kinda has to internalize them whether she wants to or not…if she were just a little more sensitive, this story would probably have a very unhappy ending. ^^;;; But as it is, it’s just an introspective comedy about a neurodivergent girl learning to love and trust herself.

I’m not 100% sure what I’m going to do with the script now that it’s done…mostly I’ve just been using it as motivation to draw for fun again, and to continue developing a manga style (I think I’m getting close to something solid). But will I actually attempt to draw the manga? Will I try that thing I always wanted to try where I commission some artists to draw it with me…? Or will I just hang onto it and start writing a sequel in my spare time, like I usually do? ^^; Only time will tell…

#magical girl no. 1

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byoldervine · 5 months ago

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How do you stop your characters feeling flat

I try to ask myself a lot of questions about the character to get it right. I’ll use Angelus as an example character to answer them. I’ll put the questions on their own at the bottom if you just wanna yoink the questions

The first thing I do is consider if they’re relevant enough to make the cut of being in the story in the first place:

1. What role does this character fill?

Angelus serves as a sort of deuteragonist in the story; he starts off as a sort of antagonist getting in the way of Enigma’s hero work and taking all the glory for her efforts, but as time goes on and the pair begin to understand each other better, he shifts his behaviour and aligns himself more with his reluctant partner, the pair growing closer over time as a result. He is a big part of Enigma’s motivations for continuing as a hero, which is critical to the plot. Also additional relevance that I cannot share for spoiler purposes

2. Do any other characters fill these roles? If yes, is it worth keeping both characters?

Other characters do not fill Angelus’ role and, due to spoiler reasons, no other character would be able to fill his role in the same way that he does

Once I’ve determined that it’s worth keeping the character, I consider what their arc would be, and how it would tie into their personality, traits and background. This also clarifies the internal conflict of the character, which is very important when writing multi-dimensional characters:

3. What is this character’s main goal or motivation in life? If they were a Disney princess, what would their ‘I Want’ song be about?

Angelus is incredibly passionate about all sorts of things; his hobbies, his friends and loved ones, his identities in all senses of the word, etc. His main desire is to be able to express these freely and openly, without having to guard and protect them so valiantly against those who may shut him down or try to spoil or take them from him

4. What is keeping the character from achieving their goals?

While being Angelus allows for some level of expression that he wouldn’t get as his own self, he is of course also sacrificing other forms of expression when donning the heroic persona. Revealing both sides of himself to someone he can trust with both of them may be the first step, but the trouble is finding someone he’s both willing and able to trust with that. And even then, there are people in his own life that would need to know all sides of him before he can be truly free to express his passions to the fullest - and it will be even harder to trust them with that

5. How does this tie in to the character’s involvement in the main plot? How does their internal conflict relate them to the external conflict?

At first, Angelus makes a mistake that leads him to taking on his alter ego, but as time goes on he grows passionate about Enigma and strives to protect both her and the passions that she herself has. He also grows passionate of the mission they are on and the rest of the party with them, though for differing reasons. Following his passions is what motivates Angelus at every step of the story

And from here I have a solid framework of the character; I know what makes him relevant enough to the plot to be in it; I know that he isn’t doubled up with any other characters; I know what his long-term goals and motivations are; I know what’s getting in the way of them that he needs to try and overcome; I know why he as a person would choose to be involved in the plot; and I know how his internal conflict can relate to the plot enough for him to stick around

Here’s a list of the questions so you don’t have to scroll back up if you want to use them for yourself:

1. What role does this character fill?

2. Do any other characters fill these roles? If yes, is it worth keeping both characters?

3. What is this character’s main goal or motivation in life? If they were a Disney princess, what would their ‘I Want’ song be about?

4. What is keeping the character from achieving their goals?

5. How does this tie in to the character’s involvement in the main plot? How does their internal conflict relate them to the external conflict?

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rei-ismyname · 11 months ago

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X-Men/Mutant Dynasties

Something I've always felt uneasy about is when offspring of Marvel mutants basically inherit their mutant gift 1:1. The X Gene (though I don't love that either) is supposed to be a naturally but randomly occurring thing in humans that causes them to develop a strong mutation. In many cases, a superpower as opposed to six toes. I'm sure people experience such minor mutations as well but it's not due to the X Gene.

A character that exemplifies the my dislike of this is Raze, the alternate reality/'future' child of Wolverine and Mystique. Them existing in a pretty ridiculous era with a constant nostalgia recycling is a factor too.

His stupid face makes me angry

This idiot. He literally just has both parents gifts - shapeshifting, claws, and a healing factor. Keep in mind those are metal claws too - something Logan doesn't have biologically. Maybe it's a Mystique thing and she's like a ditto in Pokémon breeding because her kid with Xavier is this chump.

It's just Charles Xavier again! I'll admit part of the dislike is them featuring in such mediocre, unimaginative stories, and they're pretty transparent Nostalgia bait. Has it lead to good stories? I don't think so, not as a critical element. Could you honestly tell me what either of these idiots' motivation is without looking it up?

Also, I think taking the randomness out of it just leads to eugenics and bioessentialism - a place the x books should not go, or at least not have nominal heroes doing it. Leave it to Mr Sinister.

Mutant trait inheritance has been around since almost the beginning. Polaris has Magneto's powers but weaker, Siryn has *similar* powers to Banshee, Nightcrawler looks like Mystique (though that makes sense through retcon. Shit, maybe she IS a Ditto.) On the flip side, there's even more Mutants that inherited none of their parents' mutation.

IRL Mutation is supposed to be, well not random per se, but the result of damage to genes. In our universe it's neither a good thing nor bad thing. In 616 it's pretty muddled tbh. I'm not a scientist - I'm a writer, so I'm not going deep on something that doesn't have internal consistency. I'm always going to dislike thin characters trying to evoke familiarity through mashing two iconic ones together, but it's more than that. What's the source of my discomfort then?

Yeah, it's the eugenics. HoxPoX actually took it further, revealing that Moira and Charles intentionally sought to breed reality warpers, to the point of researching partners that would give the desired result. They were successful too, resulting in Proteus and Legion, two of the most powerful mutants alive. The ethics of these actions aren't editorialised but I think they're meant to be read as horrifying - especially when you consider the context of the 'pairings' and the lives these poor kids have had. Maybe it's not so surprising Xavier views David as a weapon and Moira seems to hate Kevin. It makes Chuck and Moira look terrible.

Pic unrelated, I just wanted to break up the text and what better than Beatnik Namor?

The superbaby schemes never come to light and they're not really punished for being shit parents. Certainly not socially. I'd love a book where they were, but the time has kinda passed. Maybe the fairy tale morality of big two comics doesn't have the framework or the desire to explore it, though I think that if you're going to put eugenics in your fiction you probably should.

I've been sitting on this draft for months because I feel like I don't have the knowledge or vocabulary to explore it properly. I'm probably missing something. I've decided it's been edited and rewritten enough and I'm posting it as is, so if you have any thoughts on this I'd love to hear them. Join the conversation!

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streets-in-paradise · 5 months ago

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Maiden of Gladiators

Pairings: Maximus Decimus Meridius/The Spaniard x (Fem) Reader, (flirtatious friendship only) Haken x (Fem)Reader.

Warnings: Captive man x kind lady captor romance and friendship dynamics, some grumpy dad Proximo fluff, Commodus being casually mentioned in different interactions that have teasing undertones ( we reached Rome, he is a latent threat.).

Summary: Rome awaits with excitement the first presentation of the Spaniard in the Colosseum, where the gladiator school gets a warm welcome beyond anything you have ever witnessed across the years internalized in your father's business. The mix of excitement and fear you feel for your fighters finds framework in the sights of sublime beauty and rotten greed the experience on the city has to show you.

More to you than expensive live stock, admirable performers, or objects of desire, the men whose daily lives you follow are closer to you than any suitor ever would. Your devoted love for the Spaniard is a romantical epitome for the loyalty you have for them all, experienced in different ways. Proud of loving him like Rome never would, you carefully follow the every step of what you believe to be the most important day in his career as a gladiator.

Tempted by your love, Maximus finds comfort in the eve to his vengeance.

Notes: Divider by @thecutestgrotto.

Works as a continuation for Feast of Champions, I decided to write some more on this concept after the popular demmand of two asks and @wildsaltair convinced me it was worth it.

From the ashes of burned Troy they said it raised, and from the first moment you saw Rome you started to believe it. Sights more spectacular than you could have possibly imagined were available at every corner and the bustle of the streets made you guess that loosing oneself into anonimity would be so easy as a newcomer. In any other context of arrival, at least, for anyone else but the only woman travelling in the caravan of a gladiator school. Certainly, the multitude following all the way was more interested in the sportmen, but watching you descend from the carriage after the master was for many another surprise. Wondering eyes nearby observed you with curiosity, making you consider if perhaps you too were a novelty.

The passion that gladiators inspired in the roman crowd was like nowhere else in the empire and you didn't even need to step in the Colosseum to discover that. Everything your father told you fell short to the evidence of such madness right in front of your eyes. One particular detail caught your attention and it was seeing the amount of excited children, something not unusual in the province, but growing in the capital. It made you wonder about all the kids that must have grown watching your father fight, and the new generation about to embrace the Spaniard. You had no doubt that he would become the favorite of the children, there was no one else capable of creating such delightfull combination of amazing skill for killing and approachable sweetness. Heart-melting cuteness, if allowed the chance to show himself, and natural charm.

You have never allowed yourself to play favorites, but your eyes searched him ahead of anyone else as you watched the gladiators descend. He haven't spot you, not before you realized your father had stopped in his tracks and your overwhelmed self followed as if you expected to learn something from him.

A statue of the previous emperor, the man that had set him free, and you paid homage feeling sorry that you couldn't meet him in life. Even if it was Marcus Aurelius himself who raised the prohibition that eventually expulsed Proximo out of Rome, all you got was thanks to his circunstantial mercy.

" Thank you, ... for my family. I am not alone in the world anymore, I have my father. " You sweetly prayed, copying the gesture of touching the feet of the statue. " As a daughter I beg you, Marcus, to help us keep your son propitious to our motives. Either on love or fear to your haunting memory ... Give him a little scare If you need so, but make him mercifull of us."

Near the end of the speech you started sounding as if you were talking with an old friend of your father that you came to visit, whispering the last plead with some mischievous complicity.

Overhearing you had amused your father and touched his heart on equal amounts.

" … Don't bother him with the saids of the Spaniard. He may have been in the legion, but he doesn't know Rome better than me."

It was calm reassurance, inocuous enough to not making him feel too sentimental.

" What would he achieve with lies? " You still questioned, loyal to your beloved. " If he says we must beware of the Emperor, I will beware of the Emperor. "

" Perhaps he is jealous, fears that on his cause he would loose your worship. " He teased you in return, aware of your infatuation with the gladiator. " It's said the young emperor is a very good looking man and you are an idealizer of men. If chasing the impossible ones is your preference … What's more unreachable than our prince-aged new ruler?"

Regardless of the fact that it was presented as a joke, the mere idea made you extremely unconfortable.

" Don't hear that, Marcus! He has no idea of what he is saying. "

You could barely look at your father without bursting into laughter, and before doing so you concluded on switching the topic.

" Make yourself some time to tour the city with me, because it would be too boring without you. "

Your pleading eyes made him aware that you wanted for that to happen as fast as possible.

" After the games, young lady! We are doing business here, don't forget it. In the meantime you can take the greek for a walk. "

The scribe, at your service as a manservant, had been contextually forced to travel among the gladiators and your father's casual mock reminded you of rushing to check on his wellbeing. Precisely as the master approached the fighters, you searched for the man of letters and he practically ran towards you as fast as he saw you.

A mix of anger, annoyance and terror in his eyes allowed you to guess he had been the victim of a very bored Haken.

" How did it happen? When a sweet girl like you became friends with that mindless savage??? " He complained to you directly, making use of the closeness you had adquired. " … I don't want to cause you any more trouble, but your barbarian has a problem with me. "

You took his hand, intending to bring him comfort and security on how you trusted his word.

" I am so sorry! Deep down Haken is a good man, but he often behaves like a bastard because that attitude has kept him safe for so long. "

You smiled for him and he smiled back hesitantly, almost shyly.

" I am going to make it right, he will learn from me to respect you. "

His face adquired a timid bright, sign of cheer brought by a taste of fearless hope.

" it's only you he listens to, so I have no other way. "

He spoke as if he believed the frightening giant could only be charmed into docility by you. Far from what you considered the truth, but you still didn't refuse to do an intervention. For so, you dragged the scribe with you to find the germanic fighter and demmand an apology from him.

As expected, he was already alongside Juba and the Spaniard. Feelings distracted you from duty and the intended seriousness you needed for the task was shortly lost in the sight of the man you loved. A waving hand and your sweetest smile for him found a brief answer before his attention got caught in something else. Some colective amazement was taking place between the three gladiators and you joined it with curiosity by simply following the direction of the stares.

It was the sight of the Colosseum, magnificent construction that mesmerized you as well. Ever since you started travelling through the Empire alongside your father, no ampitheatre you have ever visited got even close to matching the majestic lavish of the one you had in front.

" Can you believe that is considered the epicentre of vulgar entertainment? Romans of culture won't think it's fancy … The most luxurious building i have ever seen still doesn't match roman ideals of luxury. Imagine how their library must look like … or the Imperial Palace!! "

Your clever observation was strictly about architecture, but the mention of the palace was enough to take the Spaniard out of the enrapturement.

" Not a chance, you will stay away from all of that. "

His protectiveness was excessive, but adorable.

" It was mere commentary: for such rotten place, they do know how to hide on layers of beauty. "

As a bystander of what then looked like an encounter destined to the Spaniard, Haken knew you must have been already aware of his mischief. The silent scribe was beside you exchanging glances with Juba.

" Speaking of beautifull things … How has the end of the journey found you, my dear? " He interrupted with his usual cheerfullness, attempting to sweet talk you ahead. " I can't wait to cross those gates and prove my worth to those roman bastards."

You smiled with complicity to the other two gladiators, letting them know the attempt had failed.

" I can't wait to have a bath … Unfortunately, first I have to figure out why have you been terrorizing Andros. "

The cheeky smile had faded to the seriousness in your voice.

" Does he have a name?"

" It's not wise for him to use his actual name, that could be dangerous given the circunstancies of his captivity. " You corrected him in a tone way more formal than your regular adressing of him. " Do you know why this man, clearly not suitable for the arena, ended up with us? Did you care to ask him before starting to insult his so perceived lack of virile courage? "

Your eyes were throwing daggers at the germanic, image so unusual for him that he didn't inmediatly try to defend himself and listened instead.

" He refused to serve a tyrant and they sold him to a merchant known for trading with a gladiator school. He expected to get fired, not to receive a death sentence from the negatory. Still, he is no different from you: not all rebels fight in revolts. That small act of resistance required inmense courage!! " You continued, getting a shy pridefull smile out of the small man in the background of your callouts. " Do you remember what was like to fight for a noble cause, Haken? To stand up for what's right? If you do so, you will apologise to him right now. "

Even knowing you were old time friends with him, nobody expected you would accomplish much from such arrogant man. Nothing they have ever watch him do on the arena surprised the numidian and spaniard as his reaction to your speech.

" Forgive me, little friend! Perhaps I mistook you for a coward. " Haken apologised in light hearted way. " Should we call you Andros? "

The greek scribe breathed relief and smiled nervously at him.

" We choose it together, it means man in greek." He politely explained. " I too want to be acknowledged as a man."

In his first attempt of genuinely friendly approach since their meeting, Haken patted him on the shoulder between affirmative chuckles. Measuring his strenght didn't stop the hit from landing a bit too heavy, since his extended hand was wider than the entire shoulder.

Everyone else laughed with them, and you caressed the affected zone as subtle encouragement.

Occupied as you were in sharing secret triunphant signs with the scribe, you ignored the Spaniard was then looking at you with what could only be described as curious adoration. Hidding behind his own facade, Maximus wondered how long have you been protecting that man and if you would be as supportive of him.

" Does your father know anything of this?" He sweetly called you out. " Aren't you afraid it could trouble him? "

" She found out in the morning we left. " Juba corrected, revealing then to have weaponized his quiety to overhear you. " I think he knows nothing"

Your lips parted halfway into a smile, surprised by the numidian yet gratefull to see he had respected the secrecy you were moving with regardless of whatever he could be thinking about it.

" it wasn't his fault! He is a good man, completely harmless ... And I need to believe he has the right to a second chance, a new life. Acting on good morals shouldn't be a man's death sentence."

Maximus deviated his glance from you merely for an instant and you noticed it was to peek at the statue you were saluting at the arrival.

" He would have liked you, ... has your father told you that? You have a beautifull heart and it's hard to believe you came from an inmoral man like Proximo. Although the same can be said about his souless, conciousless son, ... that's exactly why he would have liked you. "

The compliment, flirt-less attempt of expressing his admiration, awakened more conflictive curiosity in you.

" Did you knew Marcus Aurelius or are you just playing guesses to flatter me because you saw me honoring him? "

" I've followed his philosophy works, passionately read at any chance I had. " He quickly corrected himself, knowing that would still impress you and you wouldn't make more questions. " From the four core virtues he wrote about, I can clearly spot at least two in you: justice and courage. "

If he would have openly flirted with you, doing some shameless comment of the ones someone could expect from Haken, perhaps you wouldn't have felt so enticed as you were then.

" Which ones do I lack of? It would be good to know, so I can work on my flaws. "

Your flirty tone made him chuckle, but he responded from the thoughts the eternally idealized image represented on the statue of the deceased emperor inspired him.

" Prudence and temprance, but it shouldn't matter to you. Philosophy constructs rules that nobody strictly follows, it works with ideals. It theorizes about what someone should be, not of what trully is ... "

The kind explanation was deviating into dangerous territory, but you were too spellbound on his words to realize and he decided to end it before you would start wondering where his half truths could lead.

" ... Recklessness and some self indulgence aside, you are a wonderfull person. Besides, you know how to get away with anything with heart-melting tenderness not even I can resist."

It was too much to endure successfully pretending you weren't melting of love for him.

" Not happy with being the living enbodiment of an homeric hero, turns out you are also a philosopher! How can I resist? You are going to be the death of me, Spaniard. "

The simple flirty joke had accidentally hitted his biggest fear regarding you in the new enviroment. Failing to protect you for not proceeding with care, his past finding you no matter how hard he would try to keep you out of his personal matters. It reminded him that, at least in public, you had to be for him a lady as distant as the stars. No matter what the proximity of living on the limits of the same facility allowed, the closeness you had reached needed there to become a secret. Strange enough must have been for romans seeing the owner of the gladiators arrive with a young daughter, single woman moving to a place respectable ladies stayed away from. People would talk of you, exactly as they did in the province, but the sentiments there could make of it a scandall.

Reputation didn't seem to bother you, since you keep around the men the old ways of the province, even going as far as venturing to introduce yourself to new ones. Focused on the protection of his investments as he was, Proximo had temporally relegated his concern for you and it was clear you would make reckless use of the freedom. In that context, Maximus knew he didn't want ill whispers to start circulating in claims that you were the well deserved reward of the Spaniard. If the worst would get to happen and he would be exposed, Commodus didn't have to keep the slightest suspect of how he cared for you.

Excuses he told himself to keep watching you from afar pretending he surveiled the reactions of other men, ignoring his own moments of weakness in your nearby presence. When you left to start exploring the city, you did looking so radiant you could have been mistaken with a roman lady taking her manservant shopping. Your small world was getting wider, the walls of the school wouldn't guard you forever, and this realization brought him distress. Even taking Commodus out of the portrait of all his fears, there was no good man for you to encounter in Rome. They were all rotten to the core, and pure light such as yours was never meant for them. if someone would ever get to take away the one light left from that nightmarish place, from his life, he had to be a worthy man. Romans had no right to enjoy of your attentions, your beauty or your affections.

Maximus couldn't understand why he felt such visceral repulsion because he wouldn't admit his will to protect you could possibly include hints of jealousy. The kiss you once shared wasn't the seil of any pact between you, but a small gift he compensated you with for not being capable of telling you the truth about himself. Through it he got proof of how honest you have been about your feelings for him, and also of your condition of maiden. If on any other aspect of your approach to men you have been practicing with the slaves, it was clear to him you haven't been kissed at least in a long time. For more unfortunate reasons, you also have been his first kiss in many years.

It was the most tender of his new memories, revisiting it made him crave life. Pretending he believed no one was good enough for you was perhaps easier than accepting he didn't want you to leave for following someone else. He needed you to stay, to accompany him in the waiting untill death would take him to his family. His mourning would never end, they would be in his heart forever, but he had somewhat of a lifetime to survive. Whatever time the death sentence implied in his position left him, you would make better. Your shy love was comfort, peace, a beautifull feeling to hold on. In such desperate times, something very hard to find in the world of mortals.

You were his lady and he was your champion, what created a bond different to the one experienced between husband and wife. Between you there was the certainty of knowing that it could never happen, a paradoxically chaste passion finding its one possible realization in the yearning for each other. After that one kiss, you didn't dare asking for more and he didn't offer it again. However, he didn't stop thinking about it and he guessed you didn't either.

In your unawareness of how much more complex the situation was, hopes haven't completely abandon you. It was your belief that, as long as he still breathed, you had plenty of time to wait for him. Untill then, when he would be ready to embrace your love, you would remain as the sweet partner of his mundanity. Sharing your life with him, the joy you had left, and being there for him through the many horrors of the everyday life.

The devotion you professed him could sometimes create an illusion in which you would circunstanntially become the most gentle simulacrum of a wife. A bride for the Spaniard, his cover identity you knew him as, like if this character he created could ever be a separated man from Maximus. The enemy of the emperor that escaped death with the sole purpose of reaching his family, the man who failed to protect those he loved the most.

You knew nothing of that, and maybe thanks to this silence, he was a hero in your eyes. One finding attentions that would be negated to others, even in the infinite kindness the lady of the house had. On the next morning he knew of another one, when you dragged him out of his cage earlier insisting he should do armoring testing for his great entrance in the Colosseum.

Alone with you in a simple room of the facility that barely counted with spot to sit and a fireplace, he let himself be armored by your own hands.

" ... My father likes to say: ' In the arena, everything that could go wrong, will go wrong.' , so I would prefer to be extremely cautious this time ... It's a special occasion, perhaps the most important moment of your gladiator career! " You were rambling with excitement as you checked the securing of the breastplate from behind, more invested in it than him. " Not only you must survive, but bewitch the romans without question in the process. It's a hard test, and I will not let an armour failure ruin it for you."

Seeing you being the one adopting a protective attitude was atypical, but the change responded the circunstancies. His rivals in the province were no match for him, but Rome could be the challenge he wouldn't easily overcome. For the first time since his original debut, you were trully scared for what could happen to him.

" ... And what kind of expertise do you have for it? Have you done this before? "

His mock attempted to distract you out of the concern.

" Enough to become good at it. " You sweetly replied. " For instance, I prepared Haken for his first fight, although that didn't end very well. "

" I wonder how that could happen? Such charming man he is! Did the armor fail? "

His sarcasm made you chuckle and you patted his right shoulder.

" No, I did an excellent work. He misbehaved, already profiling himself like a rebel. " You began to explain. " He thought I was doing it as means of approach to flirt, and tried to give me what he thought i seeked. It was a misunderstanding, Haken spent too much time as a slave. He got used to only be an object of desire in his interactions with women, you should have seen the surprise when he realized I had no interest on his body."

You began to carefully roam his back, then the sides of his body, hoping he would present a complain to detect any problems with the fitting. After all, it was an old armor given to him by your father and he haven't tried on it even once since he received it.

" That's beautifull consideration on your part, but I hope he didn't do anything I should beat him for ... "

" ... I thought you wanted to see us married. " You teased him in return. " That you believed he is the one for me, because I am banned from pursuing you."

The impossibility for eye contact had turned you brave, open to say things that would be harder to admit if you could notice his glance stopping you.

" I doubt there is much future to think about alongside me, this is all we have. At least untill you will grow tired of waiting ... Of playing pretend you are the bride of the Spaniard. "

He stopped himself for an instant, hesitant to continue because he intended to be realist without hurting your feelings, even if it hurted him.

" The bride, not the wife ... Isn't this exhausting for you?"

Pausing the serious inspection, you got playfull and hugged him from behind. Hands tangled around his belly, your torso pressed softly against his back and your chin resting on the back of his shoulder for you to whisper him.

" You are not courting me, I am courting you ... And when the Emperor will give you that wooden sword, I will ask for your hand in marriage."

You gave the final touch to the joke clinging harder into the hug and pressing three descending pecks at one side of his neck. He wasn't responding, not precisely out of rejectment. Mocks aside, he had no way to tell you the Emperor would never set him free. Honors, fame and freedom were not his real motivation, but revenge. He wanted to kill Commodus, an unforgivable debt he had with his lost loved ones.

" Is that your fantasy? To publicly choose me, like Helen standing in front of Menelaus? ... Only if no Paris steals you away from me, and this city is full of them." He joked in return, a tease that masqueraded some of his unspoken thoughts. " Vain, beautifull boys that could offer you plenty of luxuries. Most sons of oligarchs behave like this nowadays, you should beware of that. "

You smiled against his skin, stiffling a chuckle because he had accidentally evoked memory of the silly joke your father made out of your crush and the gladiator's hatred for the emperor.

" Paris will come tomorrow, with all our other animals. " Was your initial mockfull reply, referring to the leopard cub you named after the trojan prince, right before getting very serious. " I don't need this, I know where I want to be: loving and sheltering my gladiators. No one would appreciate me like you do, no man out there needs me more than you. "

Despite you were using general terms, speaking of the gladiators of the school as a collective, Maximus got the certain impression that the phrase spoke to him specifically.

" Gladiators in activity don't get wives, ... they don't get to be with their daughters either. " You continued, allowing yourself the reference to the personal experience you could speak from. " The only feminine presence in places like this are the prostitutes they get as rewards, or the rich women they get prostituted for. I make a difference here, so I think I am done rehearsing to find a normal husband. "

Your hands travelled slightly up, getting good grip of his waist. The contact didn't have the energy of an advance, but of a comforting gesture for reminding out loud the sorrows of his situation.

Maximus felt safe with you, he trusted in your touch.

" Sounds like determination, I hope you didn't change your mind only because of me "

" You all deserve more than what you are given, than what this life would offer you. " You simply replicated, letting the vagueness speak. " ... You are more than what your body can offer, either in the arena or the bed. I am a virgin among gladiators, contradiction that roman comedians would love to exploit, but I am proud of loving you in the only way Rome can't. "

You released him and he turned back to face you, presenting himself for a final evaluation. His gaze followed you in silence, on internal conteplation of your words, and he realized nothing he could have added would have aided such beautifull words.

" What do you think? Do I look like the stupid mock of a hero the crowd wants to see? I don't feel very heroic myself. "

Invited by the situation, you admired him with discretion. Up from his eyes, down to the perfect fitting of his dark graeves. No matter how used you were to the spectacle of fighters prepared for the arena, nothing prepared you for such perfect image. As if a hero of the old tales would have jumped out of the scroll, turning you speechless.

" You look like made of dreams. This is the most dreamy vision you have gifted us with, Spaniard, and I feel so conflicted. " You finally admitted. " Did this armor belong to my father back in the day? Is this blissfull longing state how my mother felt watching him? It's strange, not bad, ... just strange. "

Finding his contemplative silence made you fear you may have said something wrong, for what you rushed to correct yourself.

" ... But only for me. I am sure the women of Rome will make line at our gates for you. "

The gladiator directed you a calming smile.

" None of them as privileged as you, for being so close to me. Their envy will be your fame. "

His flattery caused more than the wanted effect and you briefly smiled back, tension raising in a silence then product of not needing anything else to add. You were so close he could smell your perfume and you felt weakness finding yourself again in the encounter of his blue eyes. He looked down at your mouth for a hesitant instant, making your then relaxed lips part in anticipation.

Loyal to his polite ways, the Spaniard satified the impulse pressing his lips against your knuckles. It should have been enough, but it wasn't. Not in that particular moment, at the gateway of the biggest challenge he had yet to face. Even if you didn't want to think about it, his death was a very rational posibility.

You didn't think it twice, contradicting yourself to give him the mad, desperate kiss of a lover that fears separation. Strenght you didn't know you had pushed you towards him, one hand caressing the back of his shoulder while the other grabbed the back of his head to keep him closer. His hands found the way to your hips, firm grip that still resisted to explore you, but kept you grounded.

Only the sound of the gate opening managed to separate you, catching you breathe and composing yourselves to find out you got the worst possible option for causants of disruption.

Proximo paced inside in silence, since the fire in his accusatory glance was already speaking for him despite he didn't got to witness incriminatory actions.

"Spaniard looks magnificent in his new armor, Pa! They will love him, I have a great feeling for today." You spoke first, carefull to use your sweetest tone because you wanted to exonerate the gladiator. " I hope you don't mind I got him out earlier for armour testing. "

Far from achieving your goal, you only awakened his cynic humor.

" ... Armour testing? Is that how they call it these days? " He angrily mocked you. " ... Get out before I can start regretting to let you participate, or I start preparing the debut for the first eunuch gladiator in roman history. "

The harsh threat didn't scare you, what you let him know in your playfull approach.

" If you didn't castrate Haken when he offered himself to me, you won't try it on anyone else."

You were standing right in front of him, sheltering the Spaniard with your innocent looking image, to what your father spoke to him through you.

"I cutted what I could, ... those long locks you said were aiding his barbarian character. We shall see what I can take from the Spaniard if he steps out of line with you."

His jealousy of father was perhaps one of the mosts likeable traits Maximus found in Proximo. The man he became near you was someone he could understand better than the greedy entertainment businessman pridefully profitting of death. If by themselves they have reached a unique understandment through the shared experiences on the gladiator condition, you would only increase chances for that human connection.

" Your daughter is as virtuous as she is beautifull. " He spoke directly to him, trying to ease his fears. " A maiden among gladiators, what I find to be an impressive example of pure stoicism. Even if it isn't a result of your uprising, it's clear your fierce protectiveness taught her well ... I only hope you will guard her as well of the real threats on the outside. "

Your mischievous smile, shared with some sort of secrecy with your father, made him suspect something he had said got you excited for reasons only two knew.

" I'll have to, she will march with you today. " Proximo informed, still serious but calmer than before. " She sold it to me as a good idea to get attention, and because her involvement has made her feel a part of this. The journey here was long, she had plenty of time to drive me insane, and I agreed. "

Maximus' expression shifted inmediately, from calm concern to nervous alarm, and he looked at you with accusatory ways.

" You inspired me the idea, Spaniard! " You defended yourself, surprised to find out you were somewhat more worried about dissapointing the gladiator than your own father. " It's what you always say about gladiators being impersonators of heroes, what to some extent is true. It's entertainment, so if you will march as soldiers I will play the character of the lady you are guarding. A Helen for my trojan war heroes. No other school has that, it is a colorfull detail for the parade that will surprise the people. "

Not even Proximo's presense stopped him for lecturing you against it, going as far as abandoning his cautious static standing in the opposite extreme of the scene to reach you.

" Wouldn't this be the exact thing I recommended you not to do? Risk yourself in pointless spectacle for the mob, letting colorfull tales spread untill maybe one day reaching the ears of this circus enjoyer emperor? "

Observing the sudden rage induced fearlessness in the gladiator, his master decided to intervene.

" You have said it yourself: she is a maiden among gladiators. " Proximo replicated, attempting to explain the strategy. " People will talk anyways, but if we strike first she has a chance of profiting out of it at least on performance. Instead of sliently awaiting for the unfair gossip to start, she wants to take action. I think it's smart, shows she is learning the ways of the business. "

You paced towards the exit, gallantly as your happiness hearing his pridefull encouragement have made you.

" Speaking of what ... I can't be late for my own preparations! Andros accompanied me yesterday to get the rest of what i needed, and he says you all are going to fall in love with me. "

You blew a kiss to the gladiator and he abstained of any reactions, letting you leave quickly before Proximo could start getting exasperated again. Once they were left alone, he inmediately attempted to convince him against your involvement instead.

" You must stop her before it would be too late."

Proximo chuckled carelessly to his complains, aware that he haven't realized the matter was way deeper than a whimsical excentricity of yours.

" It's for her mother, Spaniard. She won't admit it, but I know it. She wants to be seen hoping she will come down to the gladiator school for a meeting ... I don't even know if the woman still lives, I left Rome for a long time. "

Despite explaining the core reasons of the situation, that didn't do much to calm him. Maximus felt trapped in between his need to make him understand his point and protect his identity.

" So you would rather let her endanger herself chasing the illusion than adressing the subject directly? "

Proximo didn't appreciate the questioning, but he allowed it.

" I can't currently afford to venture in personal matters with such big business deal on sight, but I don't want to break her heart. And so, I will let her parade to the Colosseum in a pretty dress and a shiny head wreath if that will keep her happy. She will be the prettiest girl around, that I can grant you. "

The gladiator didn't expect to find light hearted teasing directed to him, such obvious callout of the master to the fact that he had already noticed he silently admired his daughter.

" ... That's precisely what I fear. Make sure to place her far away from me, If you allow me the suggestion. "

Maximus made it sound as a simple mock to his closeness with you, but through that he intended to protect you from any possible backlash from being associated to him. Uncertain as his future was, with only one goal close in mind, he had to make sure whispers wouldn't speak of your infatuation with the Spaniard. Gossips inventing a relationship of inmoral nature between you, and Commodus' growing excitement to the chance of extinguishing the last light shinning for him.

" If you break her heart, I will search for a fixable part of your body to break by the end of the games. " Proximo warned him, calmly enough to make it feel part a mock and part a real threat. " … But if you touch her, I will feed you to the lions. There is only a very límited range of action for you to perform, if you seek to romance her. And if you don't, stop giving her hopes. "

Maximus had no clue of how to answer that dilemma, not even to himself. He appreciated that he wasn't forced to do it precisely for the father of the lovely woman bringing such sweet confusion to his sorrowfull heart.

" She is full of hope, Proximo. In her every action you find it and she refuses to loose it. For better or worse, the sole idea of her falling in dispair hurts me. She makes me wish i could be the man she deserves, but I fear I will never be that man again. "

Despite he didn't seek to particularly encourage him on that aspect, Proximo thought he understood what he meant. For him it was about the fear of loosing oneself through slavery and fighting, but he let him know he was seeing otherwise.

" Do you have an idea of how many hopeless bastards fell for her in a week and died the next? I never had to worry, because she never looked at anyone the way she looks at you. From the first moment she saw you, she found something special. And, in a different way, I sense it too … "

Maximus smiled, but he couldn't help wondering if he had to worry about any suspicious guesses on him. However, the old man's teasing got him the answer.

" … You are a good man, Spaniard. That's why you need me to teach you how to be a good gladiator. "

Master and slave laughed together, easing the tensions that made them feel like a favorite suitor being judged by the strict father of the soon to be wed maiden.

Favored by the owner and appreciated by his daughter, Maximus felt like the Odysseus in his own twisted phaecian palace. Death was the only way in which those persons could help him reach his family, since he arrived to them after being dragged away from the remains of his destroyed world. They still didn't know of the hero in hidding among them, or heard the tellings of his tragic odyssey, but a nature he couldn't hide allowed him to highlight anyways. It won him his respect and her love, even when he never searched for either. Curious inversion of his past, when a young soldier started to impress the emperor and secretly awakened feelings on his young daughter.

The irony made him wonder if the same gods that have cursed him or abandoned him were then offering again the chance he once lost with Lucilla. In terrible timing, because he wasn't a passionate lad anymore, but the temptation reminisced it. For the flawless vision of him you had your vengeance when the time came to leave and your father watched over the order of the lines of men for the departure.

Only then you emerged, called in for him by your manservant, to take your place. Shy, slow walk brought you closer to your first audience. Not a single man there said a word, but no one could look away. The blue of your dress was of a darker, slightly fancier tone than their tunics, but in good match with their dressing. Long skirt and long greek sleeves that still exposed the shoulders in an ellegant way. Discrete enough for the public event, delicate-looking enough to make you highlight among them. Your silvery coloured-headband was not too out of the ordinary, or at least not for a lady going to see the arena in Rome, but it was the only piece of jewelry for a reason.

It was subtly contributing to the character, and in that moment they felt it on you. They could be walking to a certain death, and your choice of following beside them showed great respect for them acting as an odd form of encouragement. When it became clear for the rest that you were going to take place around them, voices raised claiming you should walk beside the Spaniard. High was the respect that everyone had for him, and most wouldn't hesitate in bestow the highest honors to him.

He passed the honor to Haken, who playfully complained about how you could possibly scare away the women fanatics he was so eager to receive. For once he missed a chance to praise you, and noticing it his fellow gladiator wondered if he had discovered the performance-related nerves he never had in the province. Otherwise, you had probably outdone yourself an amazed him into silence.

Either would have been understandable to him, because you were lovely. When he heard you ask to Proximo where your spot on the scene should be, you were looking at him instead. Maximus felt secretly teased, subtly catching your want to express that you believed to belong with him. Denying you had been very hard, but he had to be carefull for both of you.

The lines of gladiators were formed to march closing around you in the center, and with the Spaniard as the front lead. In case the two tallest men of the group at your sides weren't enough threat, some guards for crowd control followed them. Your father instructed you to beware from the effusiveness of the romans if you were going to be the sole female companion of his gladiators. You listened carefully, but you didn't hope to cause major problems aside from creating attentive disconcert through the curious oddity that you represented there. Like Helen arriving in Troy uninvited and unexpected, the crowd would wonder who you were. From that position you had also excellent access to study their earlier preferences, paying attention of which kind of public followed each of your most beloved men in order to help them design successfull strategies. That was an important task your father wouldn't waste time working on, since their survival didn't concern him as much as the profit he could make out of them.

For the very first time ever, you experimented a taste of the euphoria he had described to you towsands of times. A whole city watching your every step, people talking to each other pointing at different details of the scene the humble parade of the school provided. Some saluted from afar, but the closer you were to the Colosseum, the harder was to advance.

In the vincity of the great roman amphitheatre, the following crowd lost any remaining civility. Cheerfull shouting and pushing broke the neat lines as the herd advanced. In that moment, you witnessed the chaotic fervor in its pure, raw state. Two young women pushed you in order to get near Haken, who apologised to you for them between chuckles before proceeding to ignore you. It was exactly what you expected from him, but it's still annoyed you. A curious little girl started pulling the skirt of your dress to get your attention, and as you smiled at her, she began to fill you with questions. The brief conversation ended because of the tumult, but even through it your observant gaze didn't miss anything of the surroundings.

An authentic procession formed only of women followed the Spaniard in the vanguard, pushing a quite confussed Juba to the side. No other gladiator got such receivement, the few more daring ones were throwing themselves at him in lustfull desperation. Filling him with kisses, whispering him things you could guess were begging to be in his bed. In different terms, you predicted it for him the day you meet him. Part of your conclussion was perhaps biased by an already present wish of being the one he would come to want, but you weren't wrong when you claimed he was going to drive women insane.

From your perspective at least, he didn't seem responsive to their affections. The difference shouldn't have mattered to you, since pleasing the lady fans was part of the circus and you knew it well. Never before the adoration experienced by one of your champions awakened such jealousy in you, untill then. The mistery surounding you had dragged some casual attention from men as well, nothing to worry much about, but it was enough to avenge your pride.

When he was finally released after the crowd have been controlled, he looked back searching you. His taunting smile was not a mock to you, but an invitation to share his amusement with the situation. In silence he reminded you that, if the public would know of the passionate kiss you gave him that morning, you would become the most envied woman in Rome.

Your paths were meant to part at the entrance of the establishment, when your father got out of the charriot to pick you up.

" ... I hope you had your fun, because from now on our focus is business. " He warned you right away, cutting your attempt of an effusive farewells to the men. " I need a silent, well behaved pretty girl walking beside me, and I make the emphasis on silent. Don't say a word, just smile for the important men."

To illustrate your understandment of his command, you showed him your practice of a polite, fake smile before replying.

" Aren't you going to review my performance? ... It's fine, I got some interesting ones already."

He ignored the last part of your comment to impart a few last quick directives to the gladiators and, as a kinder mirror of him, you awaited in silence to do the same.

" Find glory, as i know you will, but come back in one piece, ... the three of you. May Mars guard you, my dearests! " You said in particular to your friends, then started to individualize your words for them. " Juba, keep following the Spaniard but don't be afraid to improvise. You two make a magnificent team. If you find the way first once, he will follow."

His sweet smile comforted you. easing the moment with retributed kindness.

" I will so, have no doubt. "

A side glance at the Spaniard let you know both have catched the message.

" Haken, It's because I know you for so long that I don't trust in your common sense ... " You continued with the germanic, eager to rush towards glory like no other. " ... Or better said lack of it. "

He chuckled, giving one step ahead to arrogantly confirm the claims.

" ... Or maybe you are upset you had to share my attention today. "

" Use your head, the one that is up your neck. " You teased him in return, then resumed the seriousness. " And remember you don't have to be alone for everything, even if you are the strongest. Legends show great heroes fall only when they are alone. "

Context stopped you from hugging him, promising yourself that there would be another opportunity to do it. You good friend had survived for years and he would keep doing so.

With blatant optimism, he reminded you of his impossible stubborness.

" Your legends, not mines ... Don't worry for me, although it's sweet that you still do after so long."

He smirked for you, getting on himself a worldless scream of warning from the master surveiling the scene.

Only one was left, and you picked your words carefully.

" Spaniard ... " The misterious gladiator heard you calling, softly as a plead. " Make me swoon, only if I feel like my knees are about to fail, I would have known you have them where you need them ... "

He nodded affirmatively, with a barely perceptible movement, attentive to the speech with calm sobriety.

" ... And when you'll see the Emperor, fight the temptation of throwing your sword at him. That worked great in the province, and we know you seem to despise him, but doing that sort of challenging act is not a viable option here. "

Despite you remained unaware of the cause, he knew then that you still sensed his rage and wanted to ease it fearing for his fate.

" Your concern is lovely ... Always so thoughtfull, my lady. "

The intensity of eyes in the last look he gave you and the raspy sound of his so long silenced voice adressing you with such high respect were already causing the wanted effect, even if he wasn't performing for you. This sensation remained with you as you distanced yourself following your father with a heavy heart. Keeping complacent silence wasn't going to be a problem, because your mind was somewhere else. In the mix of excitement and fear you felt for the gladiators, that to you at least were more than expensive stock. When the euphoria faded, you also thought of your mother. Even if she wouldn't have been in that bussy street, what was most likely, perhaps the rumours would find her. A richly dressed girl walking down the streets of Rome with gladiators as guards was a spectacle unusual enough to be commented. Either on envy, hipocrit moral scandalization, or both, rich roman matrons would talk of it, and she will realize your father has brought you back home with him.

In the meantime, you were learning to deal with the sort of influential roman men a master of gladiators usually would encounter with before Colosseum matches would take place. It seemed simple at first: all you had to do was to silently smile, nod in approval, and add some fake giggling to their compliments on your looks as they would discuss the important matters with your father. However, you quickly realized most of those men weren't as easy to deal with as the old gamblers of the province, so fond of Proximo they would even let you share your own ideas before doing their bets.

The confussion manifested by a few when he would introduce you as his daughter made you aware that many of those wealthy romans probably had concubines or wives as young as you. It was a disgusting afterthought, there was horror in your face when you realized of it after the second strange exchange, feeling that your father tried to help you hide. Easing you with sweet jokes, his harmless response was saying you were so beautifull nobody could believe you came from him, and even the gladiators joked with each other about it. The interlocutor approved and you survived the small wordless outburst, but you hated every instant of it, with exception of the lapsus of paternal support.

From that point, your father got your back at any chance things would turn difficult, whenever one of those men he needed to impress would sound casually despicable and you had to pretend agreeing with them. The barbarian men they called brutes had never made you feel as uncomfortable, and at those moments you were thinking those buffoons belonged in the cages instead. You carefully smiled to yourself because the idea had amused you, knowing Haken would have been so proud of you, and perhaps the Spaniard too. Observing the average behavior of men in the roman elites made you wonder what kind of perverted being Commodus could be, if his managed to be reprobable out of the ordinary.

In behalf of him you meet an arrogant man named Cassius, head of the Gladiatorial Games, and the person in charge of your father's contract. As insufferable as the roman superiority attitude could be, he was demeaning of him and the provincial success of the training liceum he runned. This perception, that others there surely shared, was what you guessed ended up translated in humilliating underpayment that Proximo tried to renegociate.

The actual reason presented for that injustice was way worse than simple petty roman entitlement: your gladiators were adquired as the sacrificial flesh their prisons had ran out of. The knot in your throat reached all the way to your stomach, and you remained silent only out of terror-driven disbelief.

Your father ignored you on purpose, because the negociation demmanded of him to keep a cold head and he already guessed you were most likely to be at the edge of tears.

" If you're going to give away the best gladiators in the empire, then I want double the rates."

Your blood was boiling, because that measure of justice was no longer fair. Those men were promised, as worst possibility, an heroic death, but the romans were going to kill them like waste. To them there was no difference, their brilliant talents as fighters didn't make them different from the beggars and thieves they would throw to the lions.

Even ignoring the inconvenient affection you developed for them, the raw protective anger invading you, it was an unfair end for such excellent gladiators. No matter the rate those wealthy bastards would pay for it, no amount of money made it worthy.

The verdict of an even more rotten judge was the last straw.

" You will get your contract rates or you will get your contract canceled." Cassius announced, with careless arrogance, as he prepared himself for the event. " If you don't like it, you can crawl back down that shit hole that you came from."

Proximo grabbed your hand, trying to calm you while the roman was putting on his stupid wig. There was nothing he could do about it and the right thing to do for the both of you was letting it go and pray for the best. He needed to make you understand that, but when you looked at each other's eyes for a brief instant he understood it would be no turning back.

Cassius wouldn't leave to go lick the sandals of the emperor without hearing you.

" EXCUSE ME? This is not over. " You exclaimed loud and clear as you chased him. " We will laugh last, when our men will win the battle and Commodus will see you are an useless bureaucrat!"

He stopped in his tracks, outranged by your animosity.

" Don't taunt me, girl. who are you to question my judgement? "

" A maiden of gladiators, currently the onlyone in the business. " You proclaimed with pride, hands in your hips and a challenging rigid stance. " I live with those men, and I've watched them train, and I've watched them fight countless times. In many arenas across the Empire, with all kinds of external conditions … And now I am telling you that they will win."

Your speech was getting attention from the bystander gamblers, and noticing this encouraged you to expand the scandal with an intense defense of your men.

" Haken is so strong he can finish a man with bare hands, use of weapons is practically a formality to him. Juba started as a hunter, now he wields the sword better than ten legionaries … And the Spaniard? He is something out of this world: the noble grace of Hector and the killer vigour of Achilles. For such excellent warriors in his horde the spirit of Hannibal salutes you, Cassius! "

If he wouldn't have seen coming the reprimand expected by the distastefull surprise in the man's face, your father could have laughed.

" Well, Proximo! Your daughter's passion for the games exceeds Commodus himself. " Cassius mocked him in a threatening tone. " I'll make sure that he will hear about this. "

The master of gladiators was worthy of many unflattering descriptions, but coward wasn't one of those.

" Her manners were wrong, misguided by her youthfull recklessness, but she told you the truth."

The encouragement of your father gave you an idea to play that roman exactly as you would have played his old acquaintances back in Zuccabar.

" Let's settle this as we like to do in the province … Shall we make a bet? Unless you are too scared of loosing to a girl."

You knew that his pride would make him take the bait, that he would understimate you and accept the challenge imagining he could make some easy money from it. The expectation would keep him silent, and you would have fullfilled your promise to the Spaniard of not endangering yourself in the path of Commodus.

Proximo observed the movement with pride and dispair, because your chances of finantial success weren't as clear as anger made you think.

" If you ruin me, I'll sell you as a concubine to the emperor to stay afloat. " He joked his own anger away in whispers as you walked in the opposite direction of the petulant man." It would be an easier bargain. You heard Cassius, turns out you have something in common with the lad."

" Being a headache to our fathers? " You followed him, tangling your arm arround his with loving calm. " I got that one from the Spaniard, he said Marcus saw his son as a shame. "

The unfortunate comparison inspired him some mercy.

" You are not a shame, only a headache. "

It made you chuckle, slightly thankfull of still finding reassurance.

" Tomorrow you should let me bring Andros, i'm sad that he had to miss all the fun."

Your optimism never ceased to amaze him.

" … Only if by tomorrow we have any good gladiators left. "

He stopped himself before adding more of his usual cynism, because he had something else to recall.

" It's curious, a few of the things you said managed to inspire me some hope. You know the worth of our men. I think that if you would have born a man, and had less morals, you could have been good at this. "

The strange compliment was sweet in its own way, but you still exposed its implicancies.

" Lack of morals, you say? I can try that: If the school endures this, after the battle you will let me help the Spaniard in his bath."

He gave you a reprehensive look and you smiled as if for that you still had a chance of convincing him.

" Nice try, young lady, but you won't fool me. You know i was joking, I would cut the hand of the man touching you. When you were back there, with all the gladiators … I lost my mind for some of it, mostly worrying for how the crowd would react to you. "

You hugged him sideways, rounding him from the back with one arm. Gesture discrete enough to not ashame him, but good to show your affection.

" That's so adorable!! Pa, I will keep telling you that I love you untill you will get tired of hearing it. "

You squeezed thigther for a brief instant, emphasizing your effusiveness.

" That's enough! " He complained, releasing himself. " We can't show weakness in front of the romans. "

You agreed and adopted a comically serious lady-like bearing. In that instant, you noticed a few more rich men were walking towards you to speak with your father.

They were starting to approach in herd, and you were ready to flee.

" Entertain them, I am coming right back. "

Fearing you were about to cause another mess, he tried to stop you.

" Are you insane?? Where do you think you are going?"

At that point, the answer was quite obvious, but you still explained yourself to tranquilize him.

" To warn our men: they deserve to know we didn't betray them. The romans did. "

#gladiator #gladiator 2000 #maximus decimus meridius #maximus decimus meridius x reader #maximus x reader #russell crowe #russell crowe x reader

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