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ohagiwrites · 5 days ago

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─ ‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾ CHARACTER BIO ☽༓･*˚⁺‧͙ ─

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“You tried to change, didn’t you?

Closed your mouth more,

tried to be softer, prettier,

less volatile, less awake

You can’t make homes out of human beings.

Someone should have told you that.”

Ꮚ. Warsan Shire, For Women Who Are Difficult to Love

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💄₊˚ ꒰ఎ BASICS ໒꒱ ˚₊ 🌺

Name || Odesa Basilio Alves

⁀➴༯ Name meaning || Odesa, most commonly spelled Odessa, is of Greek origin, and commonly has two meanings. “Wrathful”, which stems from its origin word in Greek, Odussomai, which means “to become angry”. Its secondary meaning is “one who receives pain”, connected to the root name of the Greek hero Odysseus.

Nicknames || Des (Kageko)

Age || 18 years old

Birthdate || February 14th (Aquarius)

Gender and Pronouns || Cisgender (she/her)

Sexuality || Pansexual Polyamorous

Ethnicity || Filipina, Portuguese

Classification || Immortai

Role || Main character, hero

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💄₊˚ ꒰ఎ PERSONALITY ໒꒱ ˚₊ 🌺

Odesa is driven by her ambition.

Born into a small town with no hopes of a true future, becoming a hunter is all she has ever wanted. A competitive spirit, she dreams of becoming something greater; to be a part of a bigger, brighter future than the one others have envisioned for her. She wishes to be someone remembered by many, not just another nameless face of the Division that disappears into the background long after she’s gone. She wishes to make a difference, an impact. She wishes to be so much more than what anyone who has ever doubted her thought she would become. To be the best.

For as long as she’s known, she’s felt at odds with her peers her age. She struggles to connect with people, to make true friendships that don’t sit at surface-level conversations and just plain disinterest. She feels as if she’s an outsider inside the Seventh Sector, never truly at home in the same way that so many others are. Unlike many others, she’s obsessive, set on this path of revenge in a sort of intensity that most, despite their grief, can’t relate to. She has nowhere left to go, no Noroi to kill and be freed from. This war has been embedded inside of her, and she can’t let it go, no matter how hard she tries. Her fascination with becoming a hunter and her pure, unadulterated hatred of Noroi doesn’t seem to help her case, leaving her labelled as a freak among most.

It doesn’t help that Odesa is incredibly blunt and stubborn of nature, shrugging off others' views of her in favour of whatever goal she has set her mind to, even if it seems nearly impossible. Yet despite her rather intense personality, Odesa truly is, at heart, a kind and caring person. Despite her difficulty with creating connections, it doesn’t stem from an unwillingness to. She’s very compassionate and talkative, striking up conversation with people no matter the occasion. She loves community and strives to be a valuable member of hers, doing all she can to help out. Even with her reputation, she holds her head high.

୧ ‧₊˚ 🍎 ⋅ ☆

Odesa hates Noroi. This isn’t a surprise to anyone who has spent more than two seconds around her, her hatred for these vile creatures never too far in the back of her mind.

It’s an all-consuming kind of hate. It’s what drives her every move, her every action. From arriving at the Seventh Sector to training to become a Noroi hunter, all of it has always revolved around Noroi. She’s controlled by her burning desire for revenge, all other aspects of her life falling into the foreground, unimportant. She needs to do this, to free herself from this curse placed upon her while she was vulnerable and weak. Her very worth is dependent on it.

Yet there seems to be no records of the Noroi that doomed her to this fate. As she rises the ranks of the Seventh Sector and the division plunges deeper into this war that has been brewing over centuries, only one thing is certain for Odesa…….

She’ll do anything to get answers and end this battle for good.

୧ ‧₊˚ 🍎 ⋅ ☆

Traits || Brash, competitive, stubborn, ambitious, tough, speaks before she thinks, cheerful

Alignment || Chaotic good

Likes || Missions, her lovely cat, fashion, neon colours, training, small animals, extravagant shopping sprees, her friends, summer days spent outside

Dislikes || Noroi, her classmates, reading, schoolwork, having nothing to do, cleaning

Hobbies || Fighting, fashion design, shopping, scrapbooking, hiking, sports, shooting

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💄₊˚ ꒰ఎ APPEARANCE ໒꒱ ˚₊ 🌺

Odesa is a person who cares highly about physical appearance. While not (completely) vain, it’s evident that she spends a lot of time carefully curating her appearance to be put together in a way that expresses her personality at its core.

She has straight, black hair littered with hot-pink chunky highlights reminiscent of the early 2000’s, styled up into two messy space buns with matching twin braids trailing down from the base of her neck. Her eyes are sharp, frost-blue in colour, and always lined darkly by makeup, usually done up with some sort of star pattern around them. She has a heart shaped face, speckled by beauty marks and moles, and tan skin. A few piercings can be found around her lips, along with one on her tongue. Underneath her left eye is a jagged, pale pink scar, shaped in almost a thick, half circle shape, like a third eye.

With a strict training schedule such as hers, Odesa’s muscular physique is only to be expected. She’s fairly tall for her age, with a fuller figure and pretty prominent curves. It’s something that has gained her a fair amount of attention from guys and girls her own age.

Height || 5’10”

Aesthetic || Odesa’s sense of style takes heavy inspiration from the early 2000’s. Although she can be frequently found in a regular uniform that is expected from those belonging to the Division, on her free days she likes to dress a little more unconventionally. Her clothes are on the flashier side, embedded with jewels and gems and made out of materials that are most commonly dyed by shades of pink. She likes to express herself through fashion, wearing a variety of bracelets and jewelry along with her carefully-curated outfits.

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💄₊˚ ꒰ఎ ORIGINS ໒꒱ ˚₊ 🌺

Odesa was born to the seventh region of Seras, otherwise known as the home to the Seventh Sector. Eposa, a land akin to the Mediterranean, was once beautifully rich. Long rolling hills, thriving plant life, and a sparkling, deep green ocean bordering it, white waves lapping near the beaches. It was also known for its impressive architecture, stunning marble buildings that just completed the vision of ethereal glory that the region once was. But with the rise of Noroi, the region has been reduced to a crumbling whisper of the society it once was. Barren and cold, the grassy hills have become more blackened rock than grass, the sea dark and murky, completely unforgiving to all its inhabitants. It’s become a place of poverty and death — not riches and wealth.

She comes from a family of fairly unknown merchants, her parents both only-children who originated from small towns in opposite regions, with no true ambition for themselves besides living out their days in a quiet peace, raising a family with the ones they hold close. Although the latter of their dreams didn’t come true, the early days of their business was still something commendable to the other folks inside their little town, something that Odesa could almost maybe feel pride for, in a different life.

୧ ‧₊˚ 🍎 ⋅ ☆

Odesa was seemingly cursed upon birth. With a mother who succumbed to complications related to her childbirth, and a young father who was neither prepared nor willing to care for his child alone, her primitive years were spent from within the care of her grandmother, Divina. The only tie she had to her late mother, Divina was Odesa’s one beacon of hope within her dreadful existence. She was the gentle light at the end of the tunnel, always ready to guide her and soothe her, pushing away the negative thoughts and shielding her from most of her father’s angry outbursts, his anger always seeming to be directed at the poor girl.

With Divina’s care, Odesa’s childhood was a fairly regular one. Avoiding her father’s drunken fits of rage, she spent most of her days with her grandmother, living out her days inside their small town with a rather contented peace. Even with her unstable homelife, as long as she had her grandmother at her side, all was well. She was free and her grandmother was all she needed. Dreams of growing up and travelling the uncertain terrain of Eposa was enough to keep Odesa happy. She didn’t need much more than that.

But away on one of his benders, her father’s absence left Odesa and her grandmother vulnerable and exposed to the creatures that lurked throughout the night. And as she approached her eighth year, one of these very creatures came to break away Odesa’s brittle veil of a happy life……..

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𝘽𝙖𝙗𝙮, 𝙮𝙤𝙪'𝙧𝙚 𝙖 𝙫𝙖𝙢𝙥𝙞𝙧𝙚 / 𝙔𝙤𝙪 𝙬𝙖𝙣𝙩 𝙗𝙡𝙤𝙤𝙙 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙄 𝙥𝙧𝙤𝙢𝙞𝙨𝙚𝙙 / 𝙄'𝙢 𝙖 𝙗𝙖𝙙 𝙡𝙞𝙖𝙧 / 𝙒𝙞𝙩𝙝 𝙖 𝙨𝙖𝙫𝙞𝙤𝙧 𝙘𝙤𝙢𝙥𝙡𝙚𝙭 / 𝘼𝙡𝙡 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙨𝙠𝙚𝙡𝙚𝙩𝙤𝙣𝙨 𝙮𝙤𝙪 𝙝𝙞𝙙𝙚 / 𝙎𝙝𝙤𝙬 𝙢𝙚 𝙮𝙤𝙪𝙧𝙨, 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙄'𝙡𝙡 𝙨𝙝𝙤𝙬 𝙮𝙤𝙪 𝙢𝙞𝙣𝙚…

“Savior Complex” by Phoebe Bridgers

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💄₊˚ ꒰ఎ RELATIONSHIPS ໒꒱ ˚₊ 🌺

Divina Santos, grandmother

Miguel Basilio Alves, father

Ligaya Santos, mother

Odesa Basilio Alves, herself

୧ ‧₊˚ 🍎 ⋅ ☆

With no true connection to either of her biological parents, her father too grief-stricken to have any real involvement with his daughter, and her mother gone too soon to even so much as hold her, Odesa’s grandmother was the only real thing that she knew as family.

Throughout her childhood, she was always there for her. Seemingly the only person who was willing to be there for her. She was the one to put her to bed at night, to tuck her in and wish away the demons that seemed to lurk just outside her window. She cooked her sweets, braided her hair, and took her on trips to the countryside, where no screaming or fighting could ever reach her. She showed her the only type of true, familial love that the girl had ever known. And for that, Odesa will never forget her; she misses Divinia more than life itself. She’d do anything to feel her soft, weathered fingers combing through her hair once again. To be cradled by that soft touch.

To be loved.

୧ ‧₊˚ 🍎 ⋅ ☆

As for friends, Odesa doesn’t have many. She managed to squander all her chances as a small child, terrified and grief stricken, and completely isolated herself from all of her peers. Though she’s quite alright with that anyway, she decidedly doesn’t need anyone who’s just going to judge and belittle her anyway.

Yet by some chance of fate, she managed to befriend Ryuji. Her first official friend, although Aster had always been friendly to her; the two have known each other since they were kids. He’s the one person who manages to balance her out, meeting her in the middle and providing a sort of calm to her chaotic and loud personality. He’s gives her a sense of familiarity throughout all the havoc that crosses through her life. He’s there to tether her to the ground, to pull her out of her head when she becomes too wrapped up in her own thoughts. And she loves him for it.

Aster, meanwhile, although not as close to her as Ryuji is, undoubtedly is one of her best friends. He’s always been close by, given that he and Ryuji are inseparable, and the three were somewhat of a trio as kids. They hung out constantly, and Aster eventually became a sort of mentor figure towards her. He’s older and more knowledgeable, giving her advice, helping her train, and always bringing her back sweets and other souvenirs from his missions. The base is always strangely empty without his company to brighten it.

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💄₊˚ ꒰ఎ THE SEVENTH SECTOR ໒꒱ ˚₊ 🌺

Curse || Seer

Odesa, like the others before her, is one of the infamous Immortai: the undead warriors that dedicate their lives to eradicating the Noroi that ravage their earth. Similar to Ryuji, she was cursed as a child, and with it, forced to live out her pre-pubescent days learning to control this magic that constantly threatens to consume her whole.

Her curse, although seen as quite useful, is one that has left her as an object of ridicule too many times to count due to its physical toll on her body. Her ability focuses on her senses, leaving her specifically with extremely heightened vision. This allows her to see into the spiritual realm which most cannot, tracking all and any creature that she lays her attention to. This in turn takes a very heavy physical effect on her body, warping her form and skin until it becomes unrecognizable. Its source stems from the scar along Odesa’s cheek, which is where her own Mageia rests.

Odesa is fairly inexperienced with her curse. Like all (most) of those at the Sector, she is very cautious when using her own Mageia, although perhaps not as cautious as some. As a child, the curse was a subject of complete distress towards her, her unruly emotions causing it to poke through at the worst of times. But as she’s grown, she’s learned to deal with it when she can, growing pretty comfortable in her own skin, curse or not. Despite her undying urge to rid herself of it, she doesn’t find it to be quite as much of a nuisance as it used to be, even using it to her advantage when she can.

With all of this, Odesa is also an extremely skilled fighter. One of the higher-ranked at the base, pouring all of her energy into reaching the fullest of her physical potential. She’s an amazing marksman, her heightened senses allowing her advantages in battle that others don’t have. She uses dual-wielded pistols, specially infused with Mageia to match her own magical energy.

As the years pass, and she continues to rise the ranks, her goal of finding that very Noroi that cursed seems to be coming close to fruition. If only she can remember who did it….

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💄₊˚ ꒰ఎ EXTRA TIDBITS ໒꒱ ˚₊ 🌺

She has a white ragdoll cat that she lovingly named “Pickaxe”. She was gifted her when she was around 11, and since then Pickaxe has become her very best friend and closest companion at the base, always following her around wherever she goes.

She was rescued by a teenaged Noroi hunter named Dasha, who was like an older sister of sorts, for a few short weeks. She quickly passed after the two arrived at the Seventh Sector, due to a Noroi attack.

She has a massive collection of different-flavoured lip gloss. It's probably her favourite thing ever.

She prefers sweets over savoury snacks.

She’s somewhat of a shopaholic. She loves going off on different shopping trips, but her favourites are when Aster, Ryuji or Dior come along with her. Shopping alone is quite boring to her.

She likes to sing alone in her room before she goes out on missions. It leaves her feeling slightly more normal, as if she’s a regular teenaged girl, getting ready to go out and have fun.

Her favourite colour is hot pink.

She and Ryuji bicker quite often, though it’s always in a playful manner. She loves to joke around and mess with him, egging him on during training sessions together.

୧ ‧₊˚ 🍎 ⋅ ☆

|| MOODBOARD

|| PLAYLIST

|| MASTERLIST

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ohagiwrites · 6 days ago

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|I SEXUAL ASSAULT AND ABUSE INSIDE THE CHRYSALIS: ATLAS

TRIGGER WARNING: This post is going to be one of my heavier ones, with discussions of rape, sexual assault, abuse, grooming, sexuality, substance abuse, homophobia and the like. I fully understand if you wish to skip this one, so please proceed with caution.

Prefacing this, none of the topics found below are meant to romanticize or glamorize this kind of taboo subject matter. There has been plenty of research that’s gone into these storylines and still research that happens on a frequent basis. If anything is incorrect or harmful, please feel free to correct me.

More below the cut:

· · ──────── ꒰ঌ·✦·໒꒱ ──────── · ·

Trauma is at its core of The Chrysalis’ story. It’s what shapes it and its characters in its entirety. The grief, the rage, and the hopelessness that comes with it. It’s how Eden and The Congregation came to be, and what leads the plot forwards. The trauma, the grief of it all, and how it can irrevocably shape you.

One of the topics that is eventually explored through this is abuse, power dynamics, and the aftermath that comes with it. There’s many examples of this throughout the story — it’s arguably one of its main themes, afterall — but the arcs that really dig deep into it is the Forgotten Memories arc, and the Miscommunication arc, which is Avoidance, Kazuya Inoue, and The Aftermath all grouped into one.

So, to start off, what is abuse? It’s formally defined as “cruel and violent treatment of a person or animal”. Abuse can be found through a wide variety of things, that be physical, psychological, mental, or sexual. It can happen to anybody, no matter their identity, sex, height, weight, race, et cetera.

Many of the characters in the story experience abuse — past or present. But one character in particular, is Atlas.

No stranger to abuse, Atlas goes through his fair share of trauma as the story of Chrysalis progresses. One part of his character I’d specifically like to speak on in this piece, is his experience with sexual abuse.

When Atlas is 20, he gets in a relationship with a woman named Daphne. She is 33 at the time, and his first real “serious” relationship, in his eyes, despite how fairly short-lived their status as a couple was. If you could even call them that.

The two first meet at one of Atlas’ gigs. He and his band had unofficially broken up only a couple months before, and so he is alone and vulnerable, in a rather rough patch of his life at the time, when Daphne approaches him.

The two had seen each other around the AOM from time to time, but it’s here at his gig that Atlas truly catches Daphne’s eye. With Atlas alone, Alastair having flaked yet again and Wren off who-knows-where, he finds himself enjoying her sudden interest in him, and the two end up making out backstage.

It’s here that the start of their relationship begins. He and Daphne meet up frequently after his gigs to make out, eventually ending up hooking up as well. Their relationship isn’t very romantic — the two of them are purely physical with each other. They’d barely been acquaintances before this began, Atlas having rarely tolerated Daphne’s presence.

Through the three months that they’re together, their relationship quickly goes sour. Atlas is depressed and desperate for someone to cling to, Daphne bored with her life. The two are in completely different places both mentally and physically and Daphne takes advantage of this.

She lovebombs Atlas, waiting until he’s attached to her, and then uses his attachment against him. She pressures him to do things he doesn’t want to, be it sex, drugs, partying, or whatever reckless activity she’s set her sights on. She has no care for his feelings, taking satisfaction in embarrassing him or belittling him, playing it off as just “jokes”. She pushes the line between what he’ll tolerate, manipulating and gaslighting him until he’s lost sight of what’s right.

Atlas is in an extremely vulnerable state when he meets her. His last mission had left him in a suicidal state, and with Alastair going missing only days after, he’s just recovered from his fear of losing his best friend forever. And then when Alastair ghosts him on top of it, he’s left spiralling. He has lost touch with his sense of self and his identity, the one person to always reassure him of it — Alastair — having removed himself entirely. He’s confused and lost and when Daphne offers him a sort of comfort through sex, he takes it.

She makes him feel special, like he belongs again.

And so he ignores the things that don’t make him feel so good.

When she pressures him to drink and smoke with her, he caves, despite his extreme dislike for alcohol and drugs. He’d sworn to himself he’d never drink, but that promise is forgotten with the judgemental eyes of all of Daphne’s friends on him. And when Daphne says he’s better to be around when he’s drunk, that he’s more fun, more at ease, he decides she must be right. When his drinking spirals out of control, Daphne only feeds into it further, taking him to bars, buying him booze, getting him drunker than he ought to be.

She uses her power over him in any way she can. Helping aid his bad habits, isolating him from his friends, causing fights between him and Wren, and taking the little secrets he murmured to her while drunk and desperate, and holding them over him.

This bleeds into their sex life as well.

Atlas is a virgin when he meets Daphne. She’s his first real relationship and a rebound he uses to get over the mess that is him and Alastair. She has way more experience than him and both of them know it. And Daphne uses this.

Although originally their relationship was fully consensual, this quickly shifts as their dynamic changes, Daphne becoming much more pushy and aggressive with him. It starts with little sexual comments and remarks in front of her friends, or Alastair and Wren. Little things that bother him but he shrugs off, because they’re only “jokes”. And then it’s sexual advances in public places, a way to assert dominance when he feels like he can’t say no, not with so many people around.

She’ll pressure him to have sex with her, poking at him until his resolve breaks. Using things against him, making little comments that she knows will get to him. Calling him a fag, muttering about how she saw the way he was making fuck-eyes at Alastair. Asking him if he really cares about her.

And he lets it be, because despite how uncomfortable it makes him, he thinks he shouldn’t make a big fuss out of nothing. He always says yes in the end, and that’s what matters, isn’t it?

And when it escalates, when she shoves him roughly and pins him down and forces herself onto him, he still doesn’t tell anyone. It makes him feel empty and more alone than ever, yet he’s sure it can’t possibly be that bad, because he could stop her. Even if he freezes up everytime it happens, he’s sure he could have found a way to make it stop. He’s physically stronger than her, he knows this. So it has to be his fault that it always ends up like this, because he could have pushed her off of him and told her no, I’m not doing this. He could have stepped away.

And their relationship just grows to be worse and worse. Daphne picks at his insecurities, pushes him to change his appearance, how he acts, who he hangs around with; she feeds his addictions, grows physical with him, and constantly belittles him. She’s constantly pushing boundaries, testing to how much he’ll take. And Atlas, cut off from any strong support system, goes along with it, because he believes that he’s in love, and that’s all that matters. He’ll take it, as long as after it all, she murmurs to him how much she loves him, how she’ll never leave him.

And then, finally, she does.

One night she kicks him out. No explanation, besides telling him how she’s bored, and forcing him out half-naked. And that’s it, she’s gone. No amount of his begging and pleading will make it up to her. It just seems to solidify it in her mind. He’s boring and plain. He’s worthless.

It’s at this point Atlas is at the lowest point in his life. He’s heartbroken, alone, and left with really no reason to live. And then, in a burst of impulsivity, he meets Kazuya.

The mission to Kazuya’s opens up into the second part of Miscommunication. While Daphne and Atlas’ relationship dealt with imbalanced power dynamics, domestic abuse, and sexual assault, Kazuya and Atlas’ dynamic deals with the question of consent.

Atlas is in even more of a vulnerable state when he meets Kazuya. It’s his first official mission since he and Alastair (amongst others) went on one together — the very thing that caused their relationship to crumble apart. And here he is again, beside Alastair, going to a place that belongs to the church. One of his biggest fears. He was just dumped by Daphne, spending the last few weeks in a numb haze as he attempted to get over her. The thought of this mission was a clear distraction — something to fill the void inside him that sex and alcohol can’t seem to satisfy anymore.

He’s newly sober, and so it’s of course just his luck that Kazuya’s temple ends up to be a place that is brimming with sex, drugs, and booze — everything he was trying to distract himself from. With a nonexistent relationship with Alastair and a near-ending one with Wren, it leaves Atlas more isolated than ever.

The mission is doomed before it even begins.

Kazuya is much more intelligent than he lets on. Although the mission was supposed to be easy, freeing the humans rumoured to be enslaved under his control, Kazuya catches on almost immediately to the group’s true intentions. He knows exactly what they’re here for, and yet, he pretends he doesn’t. He humours his intruders, preying on each of them separately, in true predatory fashion.

Atlas is his first target. Like a wolf and sheep, Kazuya has power over Atlas before he even realizes it. He watches how he interacts with the others, using the guise of welcoming activities to get a better idea on how exactly Atlas operates. He notices Atlas’ discomfort, his insecurity, and uses it. He compliments him and singles him out, whispering to him about how special he is, how he knows he’s not like the others. He manipulates his vulnerability and desperation, repeatedly offering him booze, touching him for a little too long, getting much too close.

The lines of consent always seem to blur around Kazuya. He has the ability to get into Atlas’ head, and whenever he’s near, his mind is always much-too-foggy. Atlas doesn’t understand it, confused on why he doesn’t seem to be in control of his body whenever Kazuya is near.

And yet he doesn’t know how to voice his concerns, Kazuya having perfectly isolated him from the group. Wren is pissed at him, convinced Atlas is falling back into his old habits. Meanwhile Kazuya has turned Atlas away from Altynai, showering her with compliments in a way that makes Atlas insanely jealous, despite the circumstances. And of course Alastair — well, he certainly can’t go to Alastair.

And so, when Kazuya finally gets Atlas alone one night, he manages to weave his way into his mind. He convinces Atlas to drink some booze with him for the first time since they arrived there, leaving his guard down, and Kazuya takes full advantage of it. He lulls him to sleep, and it’s there, unconscious, that he rapes him.

The weeks that follow are a blur in Atlas’ mind. Kazuya is in full control of him now, both metaphorically and literally, and he’s left in a state of drugged-out bliss, never truly aware of his surroundings. Kazuya continues to use him how he likes, and as the rest of the group becomes enamoured with his spell, there’s no one left to protect him from it.

When he finally comes to his senses two months later, he isn’t in Kazuya’s temple. They’ve finally escaped, managed to break through the spell, most of their memories a blurry haze. Yet despite his fuzzy memories, Atlas is inexplicably changed.

Kazuya has left a burning mark on him, one that no spell can make him forget.

This period begins Atlas’ struggle with addiction.

He doesn’t know what to do with himself after Kazuya’s. The memories are sharp and invasive, always pulling him back to those painful, half-conscious moments, where Kazuya was on top of him, touching him and whispering taunts into his ear. He hates himself for being so helpless and weak, for allowing this to happen himself.

He was raised to be a weapon, powerful and commanding. And now, he feels like a failure, nothing more than a bunch of wasted potential.

He can’t go on missions anymore, he can’t help with the Alliance’s cause. The last two missions he’d gone on were complete busts, and in the center of it, is his shortcomings. He was supposed to be a leader, the one to change the tides of the war, yet all he seems to be doing lately is making problems for the people he cares about. He’s defected and broken, and without his skills on the battlefield, he’s completely useless.

And so he refuses to acknowledge what happened. It’s the only way he can hope to grapple with what happened — if he just ignores it, then maybe it’ll eventually go away.

He convinces himself that what happened at Kazuya’s temple is completely fine and normal. Surely he wanted it, didn’t he? He allowed Kazuya’s advances towards himself, even becoming jealous when he paid attention to Altynai. He allowed Kazuya to kiss him and get him drunk, so it’s all his own fault. Something shameful that only exists as a reminder of what a disappointment he’s become.

With his deep-rooted shame and inability to face Wren, Alastair, or Altynai in fear of what they’ll think of him, he spirals. He drinks until he’s blacked out the entire ride back to the base, ignoring anything and everything.

The weeks that follow he’s rarely around. He falls into heavy drug use, something he became physically dependent on ever since Kazuya’s. Cocaine, MDMA and alcohol seem to be the only answers to all his fucked-up problems. When he’s using, he forgets about all the shitty things that’s wrong with him, forgets about Kazuya entirely. He likes it better that way, doing anything he can to keep that same blissful high. He’ll do anything, as long as it means he isn’t sober.

It’s during this time that Atlas starts a long series of hookups.

Atlas was written to be hypersexual, among other things. Worsened by his experiences with sexual assault, he originally developed it due to his experiences inside Eden when he was 17 and 18. Hypersexuality is defined compulsive sexual behaviour, with an intense focus on sex to the point that it negatively affects your health and other areas of your life. Atlas deals with this throughout his life, but most intensely during the aftermath of his rape.

He constantly frequents bars, going home with anyone who will take him. He equates all of his self worth into sex; it makes him feel loved. If he’s being touched, he feels needed, wanted.

Yet the sex is only a momentary distraction, most nights leaving him feeling empty and hollow. The men he meets are rough, much too old for him, and never truly know how to make him feel good. Sometimes, he’s too high to really understand what’s going on, waking up the next day in clothes that he’s sure aren’t his. Other times, the drugs have worn off a bit too much, and he can feel every touch and grope against his body, torture upon his skin.

And even sometimes, he can smell Kazuya on him, his voice in his ear, blocking out everything else. It suffocates him, leaving him shuddering and blinking back tears he can’t allow himself to cry.

Yet the cycle repeats.

Atlas has grown up with a constant reminder: Emotion equals weakness. And it’s this very notion that shapes him to his very core. The thought of rape is something that seems to be truly impossible in his mind. Men can’t get raped. And it’s this very thought that causes him to allow his trauma to fester inside, keeping all those terrifying memories locked away. He can’t look weak in front of the others, he can’t allow himself to be vulnerable again.

He’s supposed to be strong. He has to deal with this on his own. It’s the only way.

TAGLIST || @ohagiwrites @bloodinkandashes @corinneglass @icantthinkofablognameatm @vesanal @inky-anathemata @bioniclechronicles @seastarblue @gr3yhellh0und @aalinaaaaaa @robinshandhurts @ieppiq @sugaredparchment @lunaeuphternal @ifmasonbasonwasawriter @steh-lar-uh-nuhs @blackboxwarrior-mkultra @lancedoncrimsonwings @sharkblizzardblogs @nightmaricwriter @theink-stainedfolk @write-with-will @cepheusgalaxy

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ohagiwrites · 6 days ago

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I decided to answer for Metamorphosis, since they’ve been on my brain as of lately. I’ll do the three brothers, Aster, Ryuji and Kageko.

. two

What sort of music would they like? have you thought about what genres or bands do they lean towards? Do they have a favorite song?

Unfortunately due to the apocalypse, most of the music recorded from before the fall was lost and forgotten. But Ryuji, who has an interest in collectibles, does anything he can to find old recordings and et cetera!! I think he’d really enjoy stuff like traditional pop, vocal jazz, and swing music. Stuff like Frank Sinatra, Lesley Gore, Louis Armstrong, Vera Lynn, Connie Francis, Judy Garland, Dean Martin, Michael Bublé, The Ronettes, et cetera. His favourite song is Fly Me To The Moon by Frank Sinatra.

. eleven

What do they have in common with you? How are they different? Would you get along with them?

Kageko and I don’t have much in common tbh tbh. His personality is very exaggerated to a point and he’s like, sometimes almost a caricature of himself. I would NOT get along with him whatsoever props to Ryuji to putting up with that guy for like 15 years I would’ve attempted earlier. (I love Kageko I swear.)

. thirty

Do they smell like anything notable?

Aster smells very nice. It’s a mix of flowers and fruit; a pleasant scent that isn’t too overpowering.

Thank you so much for the ask @lancedoncrimsonwings !!

TAGLIST // @cepheusgalaxy @ohagiwrites @bloodinkandashes @corinneglass @icantthinkofablognameatm @vesanal @inky-anathemata @bioniclechronicles @seastarblue @gr3yhellh0und @aalinaaaaaa @robinshandhurts @ieppiq @sugaredparchment @lunaeuphternal @ifmasonbasonwasawriter @steh-lar-uh-nuhs @blackboxwarrior-mkultra @lancedoncrimsonwings @sharkblizzardblogs @nightmaricwriter @theink-stainedfolk @write-with-will

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ohagiwrites · 6 days ago

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doodle dump ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 .ᐟ

I’d been feeling down about my art lately so I did some facial studies!! Pretty girls are like my absolute comfort zone so this actually ended up being pretty fun hehe

TAGLIST || @ohagiwrites @cepheusgalaxy @vesanal @aalinaaaaaa @write-with-will @toads-and-gremlins @whump-till-ya-jump @sugaredparchment @lunaeuphternal @bioniclechronicles @thisisalljokersfault @blackboxwarrior-mkultra @yourpenpaldee @hansenesque @nrivanwrites @corinneglass @fizzydreamz @silly-scroimblo-skrunkl @ieppiq @fangedcinnamonroll @sockfleecy @seastarblue @mapplesand @cacophonyofwords @the-one-the-fool @nightmaricwriter @aalek-d @arality @citrush117 @melzinhaartist

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ohagiwrites · 24 days ago

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THIS IS SO CUTE AND SILLY AND MWAH MWAH MWAH OH THEYRE WONDERFUL EVERYONE READ

‧͙ ⁺˚*･༓☾ Flowers For My Love ☽༓･*˚⁺ ‧͙

Ꮺ. Can I Call You Rose — Thee Sacred Souls

Can I call you rose? / Cause you’re sweet like a flower in bloom / Can I call you rose? / Cause your fragrance takes over the room, baby

The trips into the city were always Ryuji’s favourite.

Stepping out from beyond the tree-lined borders of the Sector’s base seemed to have some sort of effect on him. A breath of fresh air, a sort of relief settling inside of his chest — these visits always found some way to soothe him. It was freeing, he assumed. Being trapped within the same setting for so long, no break from his surroundings… it all became suffocating, in the end.

Which was exactly why these trips were some of his favourites. The little break, however short it may be, a quick interval within his usually rhythmic days, a time to be alone, unrestrained from the usual eyes of judgement upon him. It all allowed him to have a sense of normalcy, in his life filled with the very opposite.

But it was especially this morning, of all mornings, that Ryuji felt truly glad to make this trip. With extra time to spare, the walk to the city felt less like an errand and more like a vacation; the boy momentarily free from all of his expectations.

The day was truly perfect. With a pleasant breeze in the air, the sun cutting its way across the horizon in a swirl of orange, leaving the sky washed golden by its soft brilliance, and the gentle smell of petrichor to greet him, Ryuji couldn’t be more at peace. Days like these were scarce, once-in-a-blue-moon type of occasions. You were lucky to experience such kindly weather more than thrice a year, when the planets all seemed to align in just the right way, dulling the harsh, unrelenting atmosphere of Seras into what one could assume it had been like before the Fall.

Days like these were meant to be spent basking in the warmth of the sun, its glow smiling down upon them; they were meant for relaxation, for enjoyment. And the townsfolk evidently agreed, as when Ryuji passed through the streets, he found them cluttered and bustling with people, citizens in high spirits as the morning opened up in full. The good weather was even almost enough to reduce the amount of sideway glances he received his way. Almost.

But for once the burning stares from strangers weren’t enough to distract him, leaving him tense and burning uncomfortably with an all-too familiar shame. For today something far more important currently occupied his thoughts.

Remind me again… why the hell are we doing this?

Kageko’s voice was dripping with annoyance, his displeasure evident from the sharpness of the breath against the nape of Ryuji’s neck, slightly harsher than usual. Ryuji held back the urge to scoff at his brother’s impatience, side-eying him from where Kageko hovered. Or at least, he assumed he was supposed to be hovering. With the sunlight beating down against the block brighter than it typically would, it was near impossible to make out Kageko’s blur of a figure. The only way to track his movements was through his grating voice, never falling silent for too long.

Ryuji drew his shoulders back, standing up a little straighter as he rounded the corner. “Because,” he muttered, quickly glancing to the left of him to ensure nobody could see him. “I felt like it.”

Kageko let out a long, bored sigh, blowing hot air into Ryuji’s ear.

Lame-o.

Ryuji paid him no mind, eyes wandering over the many shops that line the street instead. Of course Kageko found this little trip stupid, that didn’t come as much of a surprise to the boy who had to live with every single one of his decisions being needlessly criticized and made fun of for his entire life. He’s sure that even without making this short detour Kageko would find something else to be annoyed with. He always did. Whether he be in the library, training, or outside, nothing was ever enough to satisfy him.

And so on Ryuji continued, groceries in hand as he cut his way through the market, the soft rays of sun a welcome warmth upon his back. And despite Kageko’s many quips and complaints, he couldn’t be enjoying himself more.

After a quick stop at a concession stand to gather some fruit for Ophelia, Ryuji finally found himself in front of the very shop that he had come here for.

‘Bells and Thistles’.

Kageko mocked, sneering. He took in the shop beside his companion, eyes flicking over the stout little building with evident disapproval.

The place was quaint, small. Tucked into a little corner, pressed beside a local bakery with wafting scents of sugary goodness drifting out onto the street, attracting flocks of people to its doors. The floral shop was easier to miss, with a brick tile pattern and eggshell yellow trim, two circular windows revealing the interiors which had been packed to the brim with a variety of different flowers. Shades of sunshine yellow, peach, baby blue, pastel pink, and violet all bloomed before his very eyes, vibrant and beautiful as ever.

Out of every shop that lined these cobblestone streets, this was the one that took the cake by far. Even with the alluring smells of the bakery next door, the fancy futuristic collectibles from the antique store and the sparkling signs directing towards a variety of different art stands, Ryuji always found himself standing right back in front of this entrance.

He could spend hours staring at these flowers, admiring the vibrancy colours, taking in the softness of their texture, the freshness of the floral scents. He loved it.

Blegh, I hate it here. Kageko scowled. It’s so boring. Why can’t we go somewhere else?

Ryuji readjusted the strap of his satchel, pulling it taut across his shoulder. “You know,” he whispered, swinging the door open. “With the amount of complaining you do about always being stuck at the base, I thought you’d be a little more appreciative.”

Kageko let out a gasp of indignation. Appreciative? It’s grocery shopping, that’s nothing to be excited about. It’s still the lame old shit we do every other day. But the musical festival happening downtown, now that’s—

“Welcome!”

The pleasant greeting of the shopkeeper kept Ryuji from listening to any more of Kageko’s nonsensical rambling. “Ah Ryuji,” she called, waving from behind the counter. “It’s nice to see you, my boy.”

Miss Frazier was a kindly woman, short and wrinkled, with a gentle sort of way of carrying herself, a type of youthfulness to her despite her age. Hard working and kindhearted, Ryuji had grown to enjoy her company throughout his many visits to her shop. She was one of the nicer folks throughout the city, not as quick to judge and discard him as the others had been. He liked that.

“Good morning, Madame,” he greeted, nodding to her. “How are you?”

“Oh just fine, just fine,” Miss Frazier mused, tapping her fingernails upon the counter in a rhythmic manner. “Lovely day it is, isn’t it?”

Ryuji nodded, his attention drifting towards the wide display of flowers carefully set up around the place. The interior always felt a little smaller once you stepped inside, but with the plants bundled in rows upon every square inch of the walls, Ryuji could never make himself care. It truly never failed to take his breath away.

“Anything special in mind that I can get for you today, dear?” Miss Frazier asked, cocking her head in his direction. She’d always been so careful with him, something he appreciated. It was more than he can expect from most.

“No, that’s alright.” Ryuji smiled, crossing through a particularly pink row, a variety of bouquets sprouting up for him to select. “I think I’ll be okay.”

Flowers, flowers, flowers. Kageko sighed. Who even likes flowers? They’re pretty much the most useless thing on the entire planet.

Ryuji could not bring himself to be bothered today by Kageko’s onslaught of comments, simply continuing on his leisurely way, passing through the shop without any true urgency, allowing himself to soak in the beauty of the store. He passed by lilac, lavender, and Canterbury bells; Fuschia and calla lily. Each bundle was more eye-catching than the last. He couldn’t tell if he’d ever be able to decide on one — if he’d just allow himself to become lost within the store for the rest of his life, the flowers and caring shopkeeper all he would ever need for company.

Yet finally, a specific bouquet caught his eye.

A more simple arrangement than he would usually go for, the bouquet contained two varying flowers: A set of pale, faintly purple Gladolius, stunning as he had ever seen, which were standing straight behind an arrangement of widely bloomed, vibrantly pink orchids. Ryuji smiled softly, picking up the bouquet and bringing it close to his face. A nice scent, with the fruity sweetness of the orchids and the gentle clove-like fragrance of the Gladiolus mixing well with each other.

“Excellent.” He murmured.

God, can you hurry up already?

Tempted to hold back and continue perusing just out of pure spite, Ryuji approached the front counter, placing the bouquet on the counter and reaching inside his satchel for his wallet.

“Found everything you need?” Miss Frazier smiled, ringing up his item with refined practice, wrapping the bouquet with a fancy sheet of paper, a milky-white colour that went well with the flowers. She hadn’t bothered him much during his time here, something he’d always be grateful for. The small moments of almost-quiet are something he forever looked forward to.

“Yes,” he replied, dishing out a wad of bills and sliding them over. The lightness in his wallet as he dropped it back into his bag was a heavy reminder on why he made these trips on such rare occasions. His paycheck didn’t even come close to compensating for something as precious as Miss Frazier’s flowers.

Miss Frazier smiled as she pressed the bouquet back into his palms, placing the receipt on top. “It was nice seeing you again,” she murmured, offering him another smile as he bid her goodbye. “Enjoy yourself, Ryuji. The flowers too.”

“Oh, I will.” He replied, turning to make his leave out. “Thank you.”

A gift for someone special. What wasn’t to enjoy?

°‧ 𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 ·｡

This has to be the stupidest fucking idea you’ve had in your entire lifetime.

The sector was surprisingly quiet as Ryuji made his arrival back into its clean, orderly halls. With most recruits away to either their classes, training, or other morning activities, Ryuji had no one to try and avoid as he trekked down the passage to the left wing balcony. Somewhere that was lesser-known by those new to the Division, Ryuji had spent countless nights sitting atop the rickety old rail, dangling his legs with Odesa positioned dangerously beside him. And that was exactly why, without a doubt, he knew he’d find her there, hidden from the others below.

She’s going to hate it, Kageko continued on, taking on a sing-songy voice as Ryuji drew nearer. We should go with my idea, serenade her with a song! Theatrical, romantic, and original. What’s not to love?

Ryuji shrugged him off, rounding the corner. “Don’t start getting jealous now, brother,” he said, tossing Kageko a glance over his shoulder. “It’s a bad look.”

Kageko squawked, whirling in front of him in a rage. Jealous? I’m not jealous. I just know that you’re a complete dunce who thinks flowers are going to impress a girl like Odesa. I mean, really? You seriously can’t do better than a couple of pathetic little—

Leaving Kageko to fume behind him, Ryuji slid into the little crawl space leading to the balcony, holding the bouquet tight to his chest as he shimmied out onto the other side.

Odesa stood leaning against the railing, still in her sleepwear from the night before, just a tank top and basketball shorts; nothing special. Her hair wasn’t elaborately done up as Ryuji usually could expect, instead thrown into a simply ponytail that hung loosely from the base of her neck. Yet to Ryuji, she couldn’t have looked more elegant. Even in the simplest of clothes, she managed to make them look extravagant and carefully-picked.

And when she turned, face brightening at the sight of him, sunlight beaming out around her like a halo, Ryuji could have sworn she was the prettiest girl on the entire planet.

“Morning, my love.” He smiled, pressing a kiss to her cheek. “How did you sleep?”

Odesa leaned her back against the metal of the railing, soaking him in. “Good.” She said with a nod, hooking her hand around his waist and drawing him in nearer. Her thumb moved gently, tracing small circles just beside his hip. “How’d your morning errands go?”

“Just as planned,” Ryuji replied, welcoming in the warmth of her touch with a soft hum. He pulled his arm from behind his back, pressing the bouquet into the empty space between them. “I brought flowers.”

Odesa took in the bouquet, with its fancy, expensive wrapping paper and vibrant flowers tucked inside, and her eyes lit up. “Oh you big mush,” she grinned, bringing them up to her nose to smell. “Thank you. I love them.”

Ryuji could hear Kageko scoff from behind him.

Odesa held the flowers gingerly, glancing up to meet his eyes again. “What are they?” She asked, that little lilt of curiosity present in her voice. Ryuji adored it.

“The purple one is known as the Gladolius palustris,” he murmured. “Also known as the sword lily. It’s supposed to signify integrity and strength — that’s how I knew it was perfect for you.”

Odesa snorted, smiling in that wide way she did whenever he talked about these things. Like she wouldn’t trade his long-winded explanations for the world. As if nothing else were more important than what he had to say. Her eyes were only on his, shining with a sort of reverence that she reserved only for him. He never felt more real than he did when she stared at him like that.

“And the pink ones,” he continued, swallowing as his cheeks flushed. “They’re orchids. Known as the Phalaenopsis amabilis, or sometimes the moon orchid. They’re supposed to symbolize grace, femininity, and admiration.” He recalled, ignoring the sound of Kageko coughing nerd into his ear.

Odesa grinned. “Well they’re perfect.” She said, pressing up onto her tiptoes to kiss him. It was soft, sweet, and everything he could have ever wanted.

God, he’d never get over her. Her voice, her taste, her touch, her feel — he loved every part of it. Just basking in her presence would be enough for him to spend the rest of his life satisfied and content. With her, he never cared about anything else.

Odesa pulled away, grabbing his hand in her own. “Let’s find a vase for these, why don’t we?” She asked, cocking her head towards the side and leading him back towards the foyer.

And Ryuji let her, the promise of another brand new, lovely day with his girlfriend pushing away all other annoyances and grievances. Kageko, nor whatever other unwanted attention he received at the base would be enough to dull his good mood. All he needed was her smiling at him, and he knew at once—

Things were looking up.

|I MASTERLIST

Hello everyone, long time no see!!

I haven’t written anything in practically forever (not counting Chrysalis chapters, obv), so take this little oneshot lightly. I’m not one for romance but Ryuji, Kageko and Odesa have been basically living in my mind rent free so I’m hoping to finally introduce them properly and expand a little on their characters in the near future.

This might be a little cringe and mushy but… IDC IDC LIVE YOUR LIFE TO BE CRINGE IS TO BE FREE YOU CAN’T STOP ME

Comments and reblogs are much appreciated ^_^

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ohagiwrites · 24 days ago

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EVERYONE READ NOW

|I Snippet .ᐟ.ᐟ

I have a short little oneshot prepared (hopefully will be done sometime early this week) that has to do with Ryuji, Odesa, and Kageko’s dynamic and relationship. Here’s a little snippet from it that I felt like sharing!!

I have a bunch of different oneshot ideas in my head for Metamorphosis, so maybe I’ll do a little poll for what one you guys would like to see next. I want to further develop Ryuji and Kageko’s story a lot more. I also have Odesa’s character sheet in the works, so watch out for that.

Hopefully this habit of writing short little snippets will catch on and I’ll manage to curb my terrible habit of writing once every two months!! It makes me miss Febuwhump, I was so productive back then…

𝖮𝗎𝗍 𝗈𝖿 𝖾𝗏𝖾𝗋𝗒 𝗌𝗁𝗈𝗉 𝗍𝗁𝖺𝗍 𝗅𝗂𝗇𝖾𝗌 𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗌𝖾 𝖼𝗈𝖻𝖻𝗅𝖾𝗌𝗍𝗈𝗇𝖾 𝗌𝗍𝗋𝖾𝖾𝗍𝗌, 𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗈𝗇𝖾 𝗍𝖺𝗄𝖾𝗌 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖼𝖺𝗄𝖾 𝖻𝗒 𝖿𝖺𝗋. 𝖤𝗏𝖾𝗇 𝗐𝗂𝗍𝗁 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖺𝗅𝗅𝗎𝗋𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗌𝗆𝖾𝗅𝗅𝗌 𝗈𝖿 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖻𝖺𝗄𝖾𝗋𝗒 𝗇𝖾𝗑𝗍 𝖽𝗈𝗈𝗋, 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖿𝖺𝗇𝖼𝗒 𝖿𝗎𝗍𝗎𝗋𝗂𝗌𝗍𝗂𝖼 𝖼𝗈𝗅𝗅𝖾𝖼𝗍𝗂𝖻𝗅𝖾𝗌 𝖿𝗋𝗈𝗆 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖺𝗇𝗍𝗂𝗊𝗎𝖾 𝗌𝗍𝗈𝗋𝖾 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗌𝗉𝖺𝗋𝗄𝗅𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗌𝗂𝗀𝗇𝗌 𝖽𝗂𝗋𝖾𝖼𝗍𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗍𝗈𝗐𝖺𝗋𝖽𝗌 𝖺 𝗏𝖺𝗋𝗂𝖾𝗍𝗒 𝗈𝖿 𝖽𝗂𝖿𝖿𝖾𝗋𝖾𝗇𝗍 𝖺𝗋𝗍 𝗌𝗍𝖺𝗇𝖽𝗌, 𝖱𝗒𝗎𝗃𝗂 𝖺𝗅𝗐𝖺𝗒𝗌 𝖿𝗂𝗇𝖽𝗌 𝗁𝗂𝗆𝗌𝖾𝗅𝖿 𝗌𝗍𝖺𝗇𝖽𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗋𝗂𝗀𝗁𝗍 𝖻𝖺𝖼𝗄 𝗂𝗇 𝖿𝗋𝗈𝗇𝗍 𝗈𝖿 𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝖾𝗇𝗍𝗋𝖺𝗇𝖼𝖾.

𝖧𝖾 𝖼𝗈𝗎𝗅𝖽 𝗌𝗉𝖾𝗇𝖽 𝗁𝗈𝗎𝗋𝗌 𝗌𝗍𝖺𝗋𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖺𝗍 𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗌𝖾 𝖿𝗅𝗈𝗐𝖾𝗋𝗌, 𝖺𝖽𝗆𝗂𝗋𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗏𝗂𝖻𝗋𝖺𝗇𝖼𝗒 𝖼𝗈𝗅𝗈𝗎𝗋𝗌, 𝗍𝖺𝗄𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗂𝗇 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗌𝗈𝖿𝗍𝗇𝖾𝗌𝗌 𝗈𝖿 𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗂𝗋 𝗍𝖾𝗑𝗍𝗎𝗋𝖾, 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖿𝗋𝖾𝗌𝗁𝗇𝖾𝗌𝗌 𝗈𝖿 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖿𝗅𝗈𝗋𝖺𝗅 𝗌𝖼𝖾𝗇𝗍𝗌. 𝖧𝖾 𝗅𝗈𝗏𝖾𝗌 𝗂𝗍.

𑁍ࠬܓ……

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ohagiwrites · 2 months ago

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EVERYONE HYPE BRO UP NOWWWWWW

guys my bestie is so cool and talented AND AMAJXJANFIWNA CJANCJWBXBSJSJSJS HES SO COOL EVERYONE LIKE THIS

🫃🏻

|| Meet the Artist ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 .ᐟ

Managed to push through some artblock finally and so here is a little intro I made for my Instagram!! I’m trying my best to become more comfortable with just drawing more frequently again (╥﹏╥)

art taglist \\ @ohagiwrites @cepheusgalaxy @vesanal @aalinaaaaaa @write-with-will @sunflowerrosy-backup @toads-and-gremlins @whump-till-ya-jump @sugaredparchment @lunaeuphternal @bioniclechronicles @thisisalljokersfault @blackboxwarrior-mkultra @yourpenpaldee @hansenesque @nrivanwrites @corinneglass @fizzydreamz @carb0n-m0n0xide @silly-scroimblo-skrunkl @ieppiq @fangedcinnamonroll @sockfleecy @seastarblue @mapplesand @cacophonyofwords @the-one-the-fool @nightmaricwriter @aalek-d @arality @citrush117 @melzinhaartist @strangerthingsartir

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ohagiwrites · 2 months ago

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RAGH RAGH RAGH OMG ITS HERE WAAAAAGHHH

── ‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾ Character Bio ☽༓･*˚⁺‧͙ ──

Kageko Fukenaga, the Ghost ᯓᡣ𐭩 🎭₊⊹⋆

𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊

“This is how it goes: God says, I will take you or your brother.

God says, You get to choose.

And Cain says, ‘When you split me and my brother in the womb, you did not divide us evenly. He got kindness, and I got longing. He got complacence, and I got ambition. I want to kill him sometimes. I think sometimes he wants to die.’”

꩜ .ᐟ Hevel (via nathanielorion)

𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊

🩸⋆˚ ࿔ Basics ｡𖦹° ☠️

Name || Fukenaga Kageko

⁀➴༯ Name meaning || Kageko is a feminine given name of Japanese origin which translates to “shadow”. Fukenaga is also of Japanese origin, and means “blessed longevity”.

Nicknames || Kage (Ryuji), Riku (Ryuji), The Ghost (Ryuji), Him (Odesa and Dior), The Pest (Aster)

Age || 18 years old

Birthdate || January 4th (Capricorn)

Gender and Pronouns || Cisgender (he/him)

Sexuality || Unknown

Ethnicity || Japanese, Moroccan

Classification || Immortai, ghost

Occupation || None

Role || Secondary character, hero

𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊

🩸⋆˚ ࿔ Personality ｡𖦹° ☠️

Kageko has been left suspended in time. Murdered at 6 years old, he had no time to grow or age in a normal sense, experiencing the world only as an extension of Ryuji. He has all this passion, this energy and fuel and drive, and it is all left brewing, deep inside of him, unable to escape. He is forgotten, lonely. He has no friends to call his own, no family besides a brother who couldn’t despise him more, no one to support or love him. He is left in Ryuji’s darkened shadow, forced to watch on as his twin brother, his undoer, takes his place. And everything he has ever wanted.

He has since become obsessed with the Division. If he can not be a real boy, with a life and hobbies and happiness, he’ll force Ryuji to. He is the mind behind the operation, driving each and every one of Ryuji’s actions, pushing him further and further until he is so deeply entangled with this war there is no chance of escape. Kageko has an ambition that he will never be able to ignore, no matter how much the cards of fate try to push it down. He is driven by his hardship and he will never ever forget it. He won’t rest, not until he’s satisfied this gaping hunger consuming him.

But, through it all, he is also a child who was unable to grow up. He’s childish and immature, and in the same sense, has no proper understanding of people or life. He is completely disconnected from reality, to the point where he genuinely doesn’t understand humanity. He is not a Noroi, yet, not entirely human, either. He is a six-year-old boy who was ripped from his chance to grow up, to develop. To become better.

And all that is left in its place is a glimpse of who he could’ve been, all his negative traits amplified by the trauma that has been boiling inside of him for an entire decade.

୧ ‧₊˚ 🍒 ⋅ ☆

Kageko wants nothing more than to be free.

He has been stuck tethered to his boring twin brother for over ten years. Ten years of nothing but Ryuji’s own wants, needs, and decisions. His days are spent catered towards Ryuji, pushed to whatever room Ryuji would like to visit, talking to whoever Ryuji would like to speak to, doing whatever Ryuji wants to do. No one acknowledges him, even realizes he’s there. He has forever been trapped inside his own brother’s shadow. And he’s sick of it.

He was born with dreams of adventure. Travelling, moving somewhere grand, making something of himself. Since he was only a child these are the exact things to occupy his thoughts. And yet he was cursed with a fate as cruel as this, no more than a whisper into an ear that has learnt to block his taunts out.

He won’t stand for it any longer. He’s going to find a way out of this, he is going to escape. He will make it out, no matter how much the world is against his very survival. Kageko will not give up, no matter what. In the face of complete isolation, he will make it out.

୧ ‧₊˚ 🍒 ⋅ ☆

Traits || Childish, restless, adventurous, excitable, silly, vengeful, apathetic

Alignment || Chaotic Neutral

Likes || Silly jokes, meeting new people, talking, travelling, art, museums, artifacts, theatre masks, acting

Dislikes || Being cooped up for too long, having nothing to do, being dead, Ryuji

Hobbies || Talking, acting, annoying Ryuji, doing voice impressions, haunting, stand-up comedy

𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊

🩸⋆˚ ࿔ Appearance ｡𖦹° ☠️

Kageko is not noticeable to anyone other than his brother. He is a ghost, for all intents and purposes, and being such, his physical appearance isn’t very consistent at all.

He is most frequently characterized by the black-and-white tragedy mask found upon his face at all times, morphing to fit his expression, almost as if it is a part of his very musculature. His hair is made up of several messy, silvery-white locs, with dark crimson roots, as if a pool of blood sits atop his head. He has blood-red eyes to match, swirls of crimson that appear vaguely inhuman. They’re cold, hardened. They follow you to every room you enter.

His body is translucent in appearance, though more evidently so during the daytime. But the right side of his body always appears to be more visible — and solid — than the left, holding a stronger shape and form.

His physique is of a regular 18-year-old boy, though he does seem to be slightly malnourished, appearing much shorter and stringier than Ryuji is.

Height || Unspecified

Aesthetic || Has a very much circus clown vibe. Although he doesn’t own any real clothes, his figure being for the most part transparent and hard-to-place, Kageko prefers outfits similar to what a jester would wear. He likes to be bright, vibrant. Noticeable. It is through many of Ryuji’s hallucinations of him that he can be found in these very clothes, typically donning red, black, white, or yellow. Along, of course, with a wide variety of masks.

𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊

🩸⋆˚ ࿔ Origins ｡𖦹° ☠️

Kageko was born to the seventh region of Seras, otherwise known as the home to the Seventh Sector. Eposa, a land akin to the Mediterranean, was once beautifully rich. Long rolling hills, thriving plant life, and a sparkling, deep green ocean bordering it, white waves lapping near the beaches. It was also known for its impressive architecture, stunning marble buildings that just completed the vision of ethereal glory that the region once was. But with the rise of Noroi, the region has been reduced to a crumbling whisper of the society it once was. Barren and cold, the grassy hills have become more blackened rock than grass, the sea dark and murky, completely unforgiving to all its inhabitants. It’s become a place of poverty and death — not riches and wealth.

Kageko’s family was small, unimportant in the grand scheme of things. His mother was an orphan, who didn’t have much to her name. She worked all kinds of odd jobs, doing anything to provide for her children, even if it meant losing parts of herself in the process. She’d do it all, as long as it meant they had food on the table at the end of every night. They moved around a lot during Kageko’s early life, finally settling on a small cabin at the edge of the woods, where they kept their own self-sustaining garden and strayed away from the people of the town next over. It was just them against the universe.

୧ ‧₊˚ 🍒 ⋅ ☆

Kageko’s life was never the place of perfection he makes it up to be, his childhood being quite unstable and tumultuous. With only smaller, distinct memories of his father, most of his childhood was spent with his single mother and his siblings. She kept them mostly isolated, constantly hopping from town to town, doing what she needed to get by. That time of his life was a blur, his only strong memories being that of his time with his twin brother — his best friend — who he was immensely grateful for as his lifelong companion. Being on the run was more fun with him by his side.

It was around the time he and Ryuji turned five-years-old that their mother finally decided it was safe enough for them to settle down. They found a cabin that bordered on the edge of one of the abandoned woodlands in the far south of Eposa. With a small town to their right, it seemed like the perfect place to grow up. Homeschooled by their mother during the day, with their eldest sister to take care of them during the nights, their life finally had some sort of semblance of balance to it. Kageko felt truly happy. This was all he ever wanted. Staying up late at night to whisper and giggle with Ryuji, imagining dreams of where they’d go when they were older — it felt perfect.

It was on a darkened winter night of his sixth year that Kageko and Ryuji lay awake, waiting for their mother to return home late. And it was this very night that another creature entirely lurked outside the walls of their cabin, ready to tear away all his dreams of a new future……

𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊

‘Cause everybody, they love a winner / So nobody loved me / Lady peaceful, lady happy, that’s what I long to be / All the odds are, in my favour / Something’s bound to begin…

“Maybe This Time” by Natasha Richardson

𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊

🩸⋆˚ ࿔ Relationships ｡𖦹° ☠️

Father unknown

Naô Fukenaga, mother

Hinata Fukenaga, eldest daughter

Kageko Fukenaga, himself

Ryuji Fukenaga, eldest son

Kenzo Fukenaga, middle son

Saku Fukenaga, youngest daughter

Junpei Fukenaga, youngest son

୧ ‧₊˚ 🍒 ⋅ ☆

Being the second-eldest to five children, Kageko comes from quite the large family, despite everything. Being so young when he lost them, his memories of them are short, simple. He remembers the time of his life with them as carefree and vibrant. He didn’t have any expectations, allowed to explore and do as he pleased. He and his siblings were all incredibly close, each day spent playing with each other. But out of them all, he was closest with his twin brother, who couldn’t be more alike him. They seemed to be linked to a single mind, always attached at the hip. There was nowhere Kageko would go where his brother couldn’t be close next to him, reaching out to hold his hand.

Since the Noroi attack, the size of his family has dramatically decreased. He no longer has the giggles of children to surround him anymore, the silence of the void enough to slowly drive him mad. With the whispers of ghosts ticking the back of his neck at all times, his memories of his family slowly slipping away with each passing day, the only choice he has is to slowly try to seek out the voices of his deceased family members. Sometimes he’s sure he can hear Saku’s giggle, or Junpei’s cute babbles.

The only person he has left inside his company is Ryuji. The boy couldn’t be more unlike him, quiet and reserved with no interest in seeking out revenge against the very Noroi who ruined their lives, fusing them into one. Where Kageko is all harsh lines and jagged edges, Ryuji is soft and gentle. Where Ryuji is soft-spoken and polite, Kageko is loud-mouthed and unrestrained. Kageko couldn’t despise him more. Any soft feelings he had towards his brother in his past life have been quickly replaced in death by hatred and anger. Ryuji is the root of his problems, the very one to make him into this. He can’t stand to be stuck with him like a constant, can’t stand to be the one with drive and ambition, all his hopes and dreams dulled behind the veil of the afterlife.

Ryuji is the one that was supposed to die, not him.

𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊

🩸⋆˚ ࿔ The Seventh Sector ｡𖦹° ☠️

Curse || Spirit

Kageko is not an Immortai in the stereotypical sense. The transformation from human to husk to Immortai is one that is mostly misunderstood by the public, the exact reason it occurs completely unknown — nothing more than whispered theories into the night. When a Noroi and human come into contact typically, it results in death. Noroi exist off of the souls of humans, making it nearly impossible to resist or fight back. But by some sort of miracle, a select few manage to survive this encounter, their soul fragmenting instead of being consumed altogether.

Kageko doesn’t exactly understand the logistics of his curse. He is stuck in between life and death, connected only by his singular living relative, Ryuji Fukenaga. He is a ghost, for all intents and purposes. His body — what would’ve been his vessel — was too far gone by the time the two brothers received help. This has left him suspended in time, stuck to watch on as his brother lives out the life that he wishes so desperately to have.

He is quite the mystery to all that hear about him. The idea of an Immortai without a body to complete their mission was completely unthought of, before he came around. The current leader of the Seventh Sector, Ophelia Dyal, has spent too many hours to count trying to make sense of him, and his connection to Ryuji. As it stands, they have not been able to come up with a proper reason on why the twins are in a constant battle against the singular body in which Ryuji resides.

Without a vessel, he has no hope in becoming a Noroi hunter or defeating the Noroi that forced his very person out of his body. He is left to simply observe, with no true autonomy of his own, as he prays for his brother to do the thing that he physically cannot.

𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊

🩸⋆˚ ࿔ Extra Tidbits ｡𖦹° ☠️

Although most would assume Kageko to be the younger than the two due to his childish personality and immature antics, Kageko was actually born before Ryuji was.

His favourite food was Taiyaki, back when he was younger. He hasn’t been able to taste any sort of food since he died, so only thoughts of his favourite meals are there to keep him content.

He does not sleep, eat, or do much of anything. He doesn’t even really have memories of what those sensations felt like.

He likes to watch things — people, training, secret meetings. But especially theatre. It’s his favourite downtime, on the rare occasions he manages to convince Ryuji to go.

Kageko was not his birth name. He started referring to himself as it after he died.

He frequently strikes up one-sided conversations with the people around him (not like they can actually see or acknowledge him when he does). This makes it increasingly hard for Ryuji to study.

He dislikes Aster, but also wishes to be his friend.

He frequently pushes Ryuji to study and train and learn more on the roots of Immortai, and any cases in history similar to theirs. He wants Ryuji to become the best out of the best and free the both of them from this soul tie that they’ve developed. Yet Ryuji’s studying bores him to bits, as he has no one to talk to. Ryuji ends up very frustrated when he tries to study and Kageko won’t stop complaining.

When he isn’t with Ryuji, he exists in a dark, gloomy liminal space, which exists between life and death itself.

୧ ‧₊˚ 🍒 ⋅ ☆

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ohagiwrites · 2 months ago

Text

“ALASTAIR AND ATLAS ARE HAPPY AND THEIR RELATIONSHIP IS STABLE” I scream as they drag me away in a straightjacket

＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙* —| “One Final Time” |—*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*＊

Characters \\ Alastair (he/him), Atlas (he/him)

Come on, don't leave me, it can't be that easy, babe

If you believe me I guess I'll get on a plane

Fly to your city excited to see your face

Hold me, console me and then I'll leave without a trace

The Marias || No One Noticed

· · ──────── ꒰ঌ·✦·໒꒱ ──────── · ·

TW: Drug use, references to sex, references to suicide

✧ ೃ༄*ੈ✩

This is my final chance.

Alastair’s hand trembles as he brings his fist up to the door. It’s so plainly recognizable, a door Alastair has passed by too many times to count, longing to step inside, to allow himself to spill the words he so desperately wants to say. The rusted metal, pale and cool, the little markings scratched upon the surface, they’re something he has seen almost a million times by now. Yet standing here, he couldn’t feel more petrified.

He pauses for a moment before sucking in a sharp breath and allowing his fist to gently fall upon the metal. It reverberates through the silence, almost scaring Alastair off altogether, but he manages to harden his resolve, letting his hand fall down near his side.

No words are spoken to announce himself. He stays completely silent in fear that if the boy on the other side of the door recognizes it is him, he won’t even bother in opening the door.

That thought scares him more than this foolish plan of his.

The door creaks as it slides open, revealing a rough-looking Atlas, body leaned up against the frame, blocking any view of the interior of his room. His hair is matted and probably feels just as greasy as it looks; it’s bare in colour, not holding any of the dye that would previously be found upon his head. His shoulders are slumped and his posture is guarded, dark rings encircling under his eyes.

The sight causes a queasy feeling to settle inside Alastair’s stomach. This is it. A last desperate attempt. He tries not to squirm but with Atlas’ bloodshot, narrowed eyes on him, he finds it difficult.

“Hello,” he breathes out.

Atlas seems hesitant to even respond. His face is tight, violet eyes gloomy pools of darkness. “Uh, hey.” He says reluctantly, raising a brow. The meaning is perfectly clear. What do you want?

“I was—” Alastair pauses, stealing a moment to swallow thickly. His hands are trembling, despite himself. He’s unsure what he’ll do if he faces rejection. This is what he’s avoided for so long, hasn’t it? How long has it been since he actually really just looked Atlas in the eye.

“I was hoping I could… spend some time with you.” He cringes at himself, quickly fumbling to add, “If you wanted.”

The silence that stretches on afterwards feels like an eternity. He blinks, almost as if he is taken aback by the answer. Like the thought of Alastair spending time with him is something entirely foreign, something strange and unusual. Like he can’t possibly compute it. His expression is hard to read — it always is — but Alastair almost thinks he looks nervous; confused.

And then the spell is broken. He laughs, scoffing a little under his breath, his expression hardening in an instant. “Uh, yeah,” he mumbles, shrugging and stepping back to allow Alastair in. “Sure. Whatever.”

Alastair’s lips pull into a thin line and his brows draw together, something broken panging inside his chest. He doesn’t know why this feels like a rejection already, when Atlas is actually doing the opposite. Doesn’t even know what reaction he has expecting, what he was hoping for.

“Thank you,” he whispers, ducking his head down. There is a brief hesitation before he steps inside, trying his best to keep a neutral expression when a stench of cigarettes, booze, and sweat hits him. Atlas’ room is nothing like what it had been the last time Alastair has been here. There are clothes strewn about, the bed unmade and walls spotted with questionable markings. Although the room had never been the pinnacle of cleanliness, Atlas liking to keep some sort of disarray with his belongings, the state of the room now is nothing like before. Its like all the previous care and consideration that had gone into taking care of his living area has vanished, replaced by a whirlwind of clutter.

The door slides closed behind him, not saying anything else as he weaves around Alastair and crosses over towards his bed, lowering himself onto the floor without paying another look in Alastair’s direction. Alastair’s eyes track his every movement, eyelids fluttering, as he can do nothing but watch as Atlas swipes something from off his very messy desk and produces a cigarette, instantly placing one in his mouth.

Oh.

He tries not to grimace too hard but Alastair suddenly wishes he hadn’t entered this room at all. The smell from inside here is already making him queasy, burning the insides of his nostrils and leaving him dizzy; he doesn’t want actual smoke clogging up his senses as well. But he can’t bring himself to interrupt, he is the one that requested Atlas’ company after all. He instead slowly takes a seat on the floor beside Atlas, doing his best to put as much room between the two of them as possible.

“So…” he starts, glancing away. “How are you?”

It’s a stupid question indeed but it’s the only thing Alastair is able to grasp at.

Atlas is silent for a second, producing a lighter and sucking in a breath, allowing smoke to fill his lungs. Finally he turns to eye Alastair, his gaze cold and weary. “Just peachy.” He replies dryly, a wry grin cracking through his features, the image almost unnatural. He blows out a puff of smoke from the corner of his mouth, turning his face away in an instant. “You?”

Ah, what more could Alastair have expected. He should be glad Atlas doesn’t kick him out for such a stupid question. He inhales shallowly as to not take in any smoke, turning away just slightly to avoid it as it glides through the air surrounding them.

Alastair clears his throat. “I’m—”

Should he answer honestly? Should he tell Atlas how terrible these past few weeks have been, should he open up about all his insecurities and self hatred and sleepless nights? No. It feels like he’s not allowed to at this point. Are they in a place in their relationship that allows openness? Alastair doesn’t think so.

“Well. I’m well.”

Atlas stares at the wall, lifting the cigarette to his lips again, his actions almost robotic. “Good.” He says flatly, not adding anything else as silence fills the air.

“Right. Yes.” Alastair answers dryly, unsure of how to stretch the conversation out. He doesn’t know what he was thinking coming here. He had plans of what to say, of course he did, but now to execute it? How could he possibly revive their dying spark when Atlas so clearly wants nothing to do with him. How can they fall back into their easy rhythm when they’ve been offbeat for so long.

“Have you been out lately?”

“Uh-huh.” Atlas’ answer is no more than a grunt, his body fixed rigidly in the same position as before. He’s barely acknowledging Alastair’s presence, gaze focused straight ahead.

“Ah.” Alastair rubs the palms of his gloved hands against the top of his thighs nervously, tapping the tips of his loafers together. “That’s nice.” He whispers, even though just hearing Atlas has been out makes his gut curdle with worry sitting heavy in his throat. “Are you… spending your evenings out with anyone in particular?”

This is idiotic. He shouldn’t be prying into things Atlas clearly doesn’t want to disclose. And yet he can’t help the words from spilling out. He’s worried. Terribly worried. And if Atlas has someone new in his eyes Alastair would at least like to know that he’s going home with just one person rather than a different stranger each night.

“Nope.” Atlas replies, popping the p with a harsh click of his tongue. He sucks at his cigarette again, the only thing that he seems capable of doing inside this interaction. Smoke blows out and Alastair squeezes his eyes shut, trying to calm himself.

His throat bobs. “Ah,” he croaks out, his voice suddenly terribly small. What else can he say. A part of him feels a foolish spark of relief and another wishes he at least had someone with him every night he goes out. Someone to watch over him and keep him from getting swept off by any stranger who bought him a drink, who offered him just a sliver of attention. Tendrils of smoke drift his way, curling around his neck, and anything else that might’ve been said to keep the conversation from dying stops in the back of his throat as he chokes briefly and holds back a cough.

Too afraid to inhale again, Alastair attempts to subtly place and hand over his mouth and nose to filter his breathing. The stench grows stronger with each puff Atlas lets out.

Why is he here? Where was he hoping for this to go?

Alastair once again asks himself that for probably the millionth time in the past few minutes. The silence is stretching on unbearably stiff, Atlas rigid and unmoving from beside him. He has not asked Alastair to leave and he supposes that’s some sort of a good sign, but to say that this interaction is going anything other than terribly would just be completely incorrect.

He should have planned this out better. He can’t keep sitting here, choking back gags from the smoke. He needs to do something, say something. Why come here to sit in silence? What sort of progress is he making. He came here as a last resort to keep Atlas in his life and now he feels pathetic, lingering in Atlas’ room, foolishly wishing this was easier.

“Atlas,” he says abruptly, without proper thought of what might come next. “I- um…”

Atlas turns to look at him finally, eyes expectant. It is unnerving now, to see him staring at him, waiting. It feels more sudden than his impulsive idea to say something, anything. He is stunned by it, mouth hanging slightly agape as he trails off from anything he was going to say. His lips are moving but an invisible hand has wrapped around his throat, trapping the words. The feeling is not foreign but it is unwanted all the same, frustration bubbling inside his stomach. Why is he like this?

But then again, what had he been hoping for? At this point, what is it that he can say? That he misses Atlas? That he hates what Atlas has become because it eats him up inside? That he feels so insanely guilty, about Kazuya and that mission and everything else that came before it? That most of all, despite all his fears and emotions, through it all, he just wants his friend back.

No, of course not. Anything he says will fall deaf on Atlas’ ears, only aiding in fuelling his anger. The last thing he wants right now is to cause a fight. “No… nevermind. I’m sorry.” He mumbles, averting his gaze once more.

Atlas quickly looks away. “Uh, okay.”

“Right.” Alastair ducks his head down, shoulders tucked in. The anticipation inside the air shatters, replacing it with the same suffocating awkward tension, just fuelling Alastair’s already rampant jitters.

He feels so stupid he could cry. He can't say anything. Why can’t he? Is it really that hard. He likes to think he could be eloquent if he wanted, allowing all those secret, stowed-away thoughts and emotions to tumble from his lips with an unrestrained sort of glory; but then he imagines the disgust, the anger that might set onto Atlas’ beautiful features and his throat tightens. He just wants Atlas to stop this, to come back.

“Right.” Atlas mutters, voice flat. The tense silence stretches between them once again and Alastair can practically feel Atlas’ distaste. He wants him gone. He wasn’t open to this in the first place and now that Alastair has allowed all his worries to consume him, leaving this stupid, horrible silence in its wake, he knows that he wants this even less now. He knows Atlas has things to do, things he’d rather partake in that struggle through this silence that clings to Alastair no matter how hard he tries to force it not to. He should go, stop wasting his time. Atlas would prefer it, would gladly welcome it. He would be doing both of them a big favour.

He should just get up and leave.

So Atlas can run off with some guy twice his age.

The thought is sudden and bitter and dripping with that secret jealousy he never allows himself to face, and Alastair immediately scolds himself for it. That’s not fair of him. Rather than insult Atlas in his mind he should simply remove himself entirely. He has no reason to be here if Atlas doesn’t want him.

Atlas sighs from beside him, breathing heavily from out of his nose. His cigarette is burnt to nothing now, and he leans over to the cluttered ashtray on his desk, crushing it into the dirty glass. He leans back again, fumbling with his fingers as he pulls a new one from out of his pack, fire clicking as he lights it again. But this time, he turns to Alastair instead of sliding the pack across his desk, extending it instead in his direction. He shakes the pack a little, cigarettes hanging half out of the box. His eyes glint, all dark and unreadable. “Want a smoke?”

Alastair blinks once, twice, staring warily at the pack of cigarettes held out to him. “What?” He blanches. “No thank you.”

He had almost forgotten Atlas’ quite frustrating tendency to offer him those horrid cigarettes, despite the fact Alastair has never voiced any liking in them. Quite the opposite, actually.

He eyes the new cigarette between Atlas’ lips and his mouth goes dry. “Those are terrible for you.”

Atlas huffs out a laugh. “They haven’t hurt me yet.” He says almost amusedly, sliding the pack into the pocket of his jeans.

“Mm.” Alastair's lip curls just slightly and he wrinkles his nose.

“They could.” He points out, tone almost clipped. Wren has had this argument with Atlas more times than he can count, yelling at him about his dangerous habits and how he needed to get a grip on himself. Alastair, of course, never added anything to those sorts of conversations. He has never been one for bossing people around, telling them what to do with their lives. If Atlas wants to kill his lungs so badly, Alastair isn’t going to stand in his way. Yet he can’t ignore how much Atlas’ habit irks him. He doesn’t understand it. A year ago Atlas would never have even thought to partake in such things.

Before he can properly think about it, he blurts out the words he’s wanted to ask for much too long now. “Why do you smoke them?”

Atlas scoffs. “Smoking makes me want to kill myself just a little less.” He says with a small grin that doesn’t really reach his eyes, blowing out another puff of gray. “That’s reason enough for me.”

Alastair’s face falls from grim to distressed. Atlas just talked about killing himself and now he’s smiling. “Don’t say that,” he says in a voice that’s quiet yet firm. “That’s not funny, don’t say that.”

Atlas eyes him. “I’m joking.”

Alastair only hums. Joke or not, those words coming from Atlas leave a sour taste in his mouth that he can’t get rid of. It’s something he’d never thought Atlas of all people would say.

Atlas turns his back on Alastair, fiddling with his finger in between his fingers as he leans against the desk. “What’d you come here for anyways? You can just get out with it and get lost.” He mutters, his voice coming out harsh and cold, more than Alastair ever expected from him. He snorts. “I know you have better things to be doing than be here with me.”

Alastair tries to ignore the stinging in his eyes at those words. “I told you,” he whispers. “I was hoping to spend time with you.”

He clicks his tongue, brows furrowing. “I don’t have better things to do. I don’t have much of anything to do.” He stares down at his hands, clasping them together. This is all ridiculous. He’s here in vain. Maybe Atlas is right. Maybe he should get lost.

But if he does he’s not sure he’ll be able to work up the courage to speak to Atlas again. And leaving here like that, so much unspoken going between them, seems impossible.

“Whatever.” Atlas scoffs. The room falls silent again and Alastair cannot even see Atlas’ face anymore, cannot even try to deduce what he might be thinking.

His eye twitches. Atlas is right. He’s wasting his time here. He is two seconds from nervously excusing himself and retreating back to the dark, isolating depths of his room when Atlas suddenly stoops down, face inches from the wood of his desk.

Alastair narrows his eyes, suspicion prodding at his insides as he peers more closely at the piece of furniture Atlas is leaned up against. He isn’t given the time of inspection, as Atlas snorts loudly and dust puffs up around him, the small piles of white powder very clearly coming into view now.

Alastair shoots to his feet. No. Absolutely not. There’s no possible chance Atlas would have the nerve to do this right here in front of Alastair.

Alastair watches as Aflas wipes his nose, sucking in a sharp breath and blinking hard. The assortment of drugs and pill bottles and booze Alastair had not been able to recognize at first are now in full view, flashing in front of Alastair’s eyes; poisonous, dangerous. His hands tremble and his face is hot, breathing uneven as he storms closer.

No. No.

Alastair shoves past Atlas, knocking him back as he swipes the remaining powder off of the desk and into the air. He grabs the sealed bag of power beside the smear of white and rips it open, movements all fast and sharp as he marches to the trash can in the corner of the room and dumps the contents, a cloud of white puffing up around him. “What are you doing?” He shouts, spinning back around to face Atlas, his eyes wide, brows raised high.

Atlas recovers quickly, whipping around, eyes narrowed in an instant. “Alastair, what the fuck?!” He shouts, all this blind rage exploding from him in only seconds.

Alastair raises a finger and points it at Atlas, leaning forward. “No. No. Don’t you—” He inhales shakily, his face pulling into a seething sneer. “This is not okay. It’s not. And the absolute nerve to do it while I’m feet away. No, what is wrong with you? Can you truly so casually do this to yourself?”

He takes a step back, shaking his head, his hand pointed at Atlas trembling furiously. “Do you even know what you’re doing to yourself? Do you know how awful that is for you? It’s just like the cigarettes. You’re acting as if you’re immortal, untouchable! You’re not! These things will kill you!”

Alastair’s voice strains as he shouts, all this outrage cracking through his words, uncontrolled. He stomps forwards again, looming over Atlas and gripping the sides of his desk so hard the wood creaks in his grasp, eyes bulging and alight with fury.

Atlas stares at him with wide eyes, shock lining his features. His mouth drops open and he gapes, frozen, like a deer that has been caught inside the headlights. It’s almost as if he doesn’t believe what he’s seeing.

Alastair stares at Atlas as if he’s offering him a moment to defend himself and when he says nothing, Alastair scoffs. “Of course. Now you don’t have anything to say? It’s because you know I’m right. You’re destroying yourself! All that vile crap you put in your body is going to shut it down and one day, you’re going to die. All because you can’t control yourself! You seriously don’t know when to stop.”

Alastair's voice is a low growl, the wood in his hand splintering and cracking as he runs his other gloved hand through his hair. “Do you seriously feel no remorse? No inkling that you shouldn’t be doing this? When Wren found you they thought you were dead.” He spits, eyes narrowed into a harsh, uncharacteristic glare. “They found you and cried for help and held your body thinking you died. And you don’t seem to care! You put your body through the same torture over and over again! It’s insane!”

A large chunk of wood comes free of the desk, the lip of it cracking and crashing to the ground. Alastair throws the chunk in his hands at the wall with a frustrated grunt, not caring that it leaves scratches in the paint, that Atlas is flinching at his violent behaviour. “Do you even think about how it hurts them to sit and watch you slowly kill yourself? You don’t do a thing to change!”

Atlas is unmoving for a second, mouth parted slightly, and for a second Alastair almost thinks this is actually getting through to him, that for once he’s actually listening to someone besides himself. But then his expression hardens, closing off within an instant; his brows narrow and he shoots to his feet, clenching his fists in a rage. The next words out of his mouth come out in an inhuman growl. “You don’t get to say that. You don’t get to say a fucking thing about what I do or the shit I put into my body or how Wren felt because you weren’t even there. You weren’t even there!”

Atlas’ expression is twisted up and cruel as he leans forwards, screaming back just the same as Alastair had done. “You’re never there and I bet you would’ve barely even noticed it happened if Wren didn’t go whining about it to you. You’re too busy fucking shooting up to think about anybody but yourself! Get off your fucking high horse Alastair.”

Alastair gapes before gritting his teeth, baring them at Atlas for a second, all sharp and dangerous and monstrous, before pulling his lips over them again, eyes squinted into slits. “Are you serious? You think I haven’t seen you? I went to those bars for you! I watched you! I watched the things you did, the people you were with!” He screams, his voice hoarse from how loud he is yelling. He has never, in all of his twenty-one years of living, yelled at someone like this, but right now he is too angry to care. He can’t stop himself, can’t stop all this repressed anger he’s been holding onto for so painfully long from coming out. He can’t stay silent any longer. “And how absolutely dare you! Wren was distraught because you were off getting yourself killed and you call that whining?! How do you know I wasn’t there? You don’t even know your own name when your brain is so rotted with all those putrid things you put in your body!”

Alastair turns away from Atlas, swiping his arms through the air, the things atop Atlas’ desk being flung to the ground with the erratic movement. Atlas’ words settle onto him in their full, powerful extent, the weight of the meaning they carry slicing through him like a sharpened blade. Alastair goes rigid, shoulders drawing back tight. “And shooting up?” He repeats, voice dangerously low. “You don’t know what you’re talking about…. You don’t know anything.”

He spins back to face Atlas, an unrestrained fury in his eyes as he advances so close that they’re inches apart, Alastair looming over Atlas, casting a shadow across his face. They’ve never allowed each other to get so close in months. Any other day Alastair would be too terrified to go near, too scared of what Atlas would think, but right now the buzzing inside his head, this rage that is blinding him, is all that occupies his thoughts. “That’s different and you know it. You know it is, are you kidding me? It’s not something I want to do, it’s not a choice I’m making because I want to forget my responsibilities! I’m doing it to have a quiet mind just once every now and then. You’re destroying yourself but these are helping me! They make it so that I can sleep at night, so I don’t feel like I’m constantly losing my mind! You think you know anything about why I do this?” Alastair’s spit is venomous, flying out as he screams, the black shadows clinging to him flickering threateningly, kicking out towards Atlas. “ That’s rich.”

“You’re such a hypocrite.” Atlas spits, his lips pulled back into a snarl. “You wanna lecture me on what’s dangerous? How I’m destroying myself?” His eyes are narrowed and he straightens his spine, staring Alastair head on. “You act like you’re all holier-than-thou, that you’re so much better than me because you don’t smoke or drink. You’re still taking illicit drugs, Alastair. Give me fucking break! Power suppressants? They’re a million times worse than a little bit of coke every now and again. How many times did Wren and I try to talk to you and you just shut us out? Lie to us and flake on us and act like we didn’t fucking exist? Hope up in your bedroom and take those damn drugs until you were sick?” His voice rises with every sentence, booming and loud in a way neither of them has seen in years. “Don’t pretend like those things help. Don’t pretend like they ‘make it better’. After everything I’ve been through, all that shit they made me do, I can’t believe you’re actually defending that bullshit.” His eyes burn with disgust, voice dropping to a whisper. “You think I’m bad? That I’m an addict? Why do you look in a goddamned mirror for once.”

Alastair flinches at that word. Addict. “Stop. No, don’t say that to me.” He hisses, stepping away again and shaking his head, jaw clenched. “That’s medical. They do help me. You don’t know! Maybe they make me sick but that is infinitely better than what I have to see and hear every single day! How could you possibly imagine the things I see! I can’t close my eyes without facing the worst things my mind could possibly conjure, without all my fears coming to haunt me. These stupid things don’t even work half the time and they’re still better than going without them because then at least I don’t feel like I’m losing my mind!”

He paces as he screams, gripping at his hair and clawing at his face. “And why would I talk to you about it anyways! You don’t understand! You don’t now and you wouldn’t have understood then! How could I possibly speak to either of you about any of it when I can’t even think straight! I can’t tell what’s real and what my mind is showing me to mess with my head! I couldn’t be sure I wouldn’t do something terrible to either of you!” Alastair wants to yell that if the horrible, twisted demonic version of Atlas himself didn’t lurk in the corner of his eyes and taunt him constantly that maybe it would be a little easier to manage without the suppressants. “So you don’t get to call me that.”

“What? Don’t think I know what a drug addict looks like?” Atlas scoffs, laughing without mirth. His eyes are dark, glaring up at Alastair, mouth pulled into a cruel sneer. “It’s not fucking medical and you know it. It’s a twisted, disgusting drug that you’re using to destroy yourself. Don’t you dare tell me I don’t know when you and I both know full well I know a million times more than you!”

Alastair slams the side of his fist into the wall beside him, cracking the drywall and revealing red brick beneath it. “That’s so easy for you to say! You don’t know how helpful it is! You don’t know how desperate I am! At least you have a power you can live with. How could you understand?” Alastair runs a heavy hand through his hair, breathing heavily. “You don’t have to live with the fact that you’re a monster and WILL be a monster forever! You’re perfect! How could you fucking understand?!” He screams, voice raw and inhuman, scratching his throats like blades as his words spit into the air.

Alastair watches Atlas flinch and stumble back, his eyes wide as saucers. Guilt pierces his heart, passing through his chest, heavy and suffocating, and he feels a familiar stinging in his eyes. No, not here. Please, not here. He already thinks I’m a monster, he doesn’t need to see this, Alastair thinks dreadfully. Yet he can’t stop the next words from tumbling from his mouth, hot and sharp, his voice completely not his.

“Now you want to be quiet? You know I’m right. You know that really, you don’t know a thing about me! About what it's like! And I’m glad you don’t because I’d hate to see how much more you’d hate me if you did! But to compare that to your stupid drugs and you alcohol and y-your sex? Don’t you fucking dare! That shit is killing you Atlas. And I worry that you’re so goddamned blind to it that you won’t see that until it’s too late. And then you’ll be dead!” Alastair takes a shaky inhale again and his voice cracks pathetically. “And Wren will be left to pick up the pieces. Because that’s what they’re doing for you! Constantly! They’re always cleaning up your messes, taking care of you! I tried too and we both know that turned out shit.”

Alastair’s eyes well up with tears and he can hardly see through the black that fogs his vision. “Well I’m not trying anymore,” he says in what he hopes is firm but he knows sounds fragile. “I don’t want to watch you do this to yourself. With a rattling, barely-constrained sob, Alastair ducks his head down and tries to wipe at the tears in his eyes, only succeeding at smearing the black across his cheeks. He opens his mouth to speak again, grasping for something else to say, something to finish this for good. Yet he finds nothing, his mouth abruptly shutting again. There is nothing left between them that he can find, the last remnants of a relationship poured out into an endless void.

Alastair turns his back on Atlas, moving towards the door and pulling at the handle. This is the end.

The door creaks and bends under Alastair’s iron grip, the room is silent as he slides it open, before a step and a motion of movement behind him interrupts him. This is the end, yet he still can't let go. He whips around, eyes narrowed and teeth bared. “What?” He snaps, the word mangled by a sob. He no longer cares about the black streaks running down his cheeks. Maybe they would frighten Atlas into not saying anything at all. “What do you have to say now?”

Atlas is staring at him with this pitiful expression, his lips parted as if to say something. Alastair almost does want to hear him say something. As long as it’s not more angry yelling, all his rage directed towards him. Alastair almost wants to hear Atlas speak again if it's that voice that's like music to his ears; if the deep rumble of his words is soft, maybe even pleading.

Ask me to stay.

Silence answers Alastair’s wishful thinking. With a broken scoff, Alastair tries to hold in another sob. “No, of course not,” he whispers, voice trembling. How could he be so stupid in coming here?

“I am so fucking tired of you.” Alastair says in a small voice, low and trembling like he’s holding in another sob, which he is. With one last wounded glare at Atlas, Alastair turns, ripping the door open. He storms out and when he slams it shut again, it rips straight off the hinges, hanging lopsided in the doorframe. Alastair leaves it there as he retreats down the hall, not looking back once.

|| Masterlist

Credits, as always, go to @ohagiwrites for helping me write out this drabble!! Everyone should go check out some of her past drabbles, I highly recommend ⋆˚࿔

✧ ೃ༄*ੈ✩

✩ Send an ask or dm to be added/removed from the taglist ✩

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ohagiwrites · 2 months ago

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RYUJIIIIIIIIIIIIII AAAAGTGHRRRRR GRRRRR RUFF RUFF FRAAAGSHFHDBSHXHSHXHD

[ID: A portrait drawing of Ryuji, a boy with dark skin and black locs mostly tied up in a ponytail. The right side of his hair is partially white, and there are silver rings around his locks. There is a burn scar around his right eye, which is white, and he has dark eyebags. /end ID.]

@oros-ash3s i know ive drawn a lot of people alr but i tried drawing ryuji hes just. so cool

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ohagiwrites · 2 months ago

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they’re crazy guys

|| Last Line Tag ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 .ᐟ

Thanks so much for the tag @theink-stainedfolk ؛ ଓ

“I am so fucking tired of you,” Alastair says in a small voice, low and trembling like he’s holding in another sob, which he is. With one last wounded glare at Atlas, Alastair turns, ripping the door open. He storms out and when he slams it shut again, it rips straight off the hinges, hanging lopsided in the door frame. Alastair leaves it there as he retreats down the hall, not looking back once.

──★ ˙🍓 ̟ !!

+ an open tag ˎˊ˗

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ohagiwrites · 2 months ago

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THIS IS THE MOST WONDERFUL THING EVER AGH AGH AGH ATLASSSSSS

[ID. A drawing of Atlas, a young man with a red mullet cut, some tattoos, golden piercings and violet eyes. He has a pair of white wings behind him and a golden halo. He is crying, and cracks form on the right side of his torso and face, but he looks away from it. His hands are posed into a prayer, but a bit hesitantly. Atlas' scars glow and the image has a golden tint to it. End ID.]

Oh hey it me im back with drawings yayy!!! Yet another fanart for @oros-ash3s 's Atlas again bc i like him. Although I do hate rendering more than I love him so it's a bit uncooked. Sorry atlas

This took me quite some time but esp because since I didn't know what to do? With it? I like it anyways. Moreso flat colored version under the cut also, as a treat

[ID. The same drawing as before, but the shadows are minimal and the golden circle behind the halo is gone. The colors are also paler. End ID.]

^this was the stage where i stopped knowing ehat i was doing lmao. jokes apart i just messed with colors and blending modes from then on but it got kinda cool! I confined my rambles ab the piece to the tags this time

Art taglist || @for-the-love-of-angst @seastarblue

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ohagiwrites · 2 months ago

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I LOVE RYUJI SO MUCH AAAAAGHHH EVERYONE THIS IS SO COOL

── ‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾ Character Bio ☽༓･*˚⁺‧͙ ──

Ryuji Fukenaga, the Necromancer ‧₊ ᵎᵎ 🪦 ⋅ ˚✮

.….⋅˚₊‧ ଳ ‧₊˚ ⋅ ⋅˚₊‧ ଳ ‧₊˚ ⋅ ⋅˚₊‧ ଳ ‧₊˚ ⋅ ⋅˚₊‧ ଳ ‧₊˚ ⋅ ⋅˚₊‧ ଳ ‧₊˚ ⋅…..

“Death must be so beautiful.

To lie in the soft brown earth, with the grasses waving above one’s head, and listen to silence.

To have no yesterday, and no tomorrow. To forget time, to forgive life, to be at peace.”

ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 Oscar Wilde, The Canterville Ghost

.….⋅˚₊‧ ଳ ‧₊˚ ⋅ ⋅˚₊‧ ଳ ‧₊˚ ⋅ ⋅˚₊‧ ଳ ‧₊˚ ⋅ ⋅˚₊‧ ଳ ‧₊˚ ⋅ ⋅˚₊‧ ଳ ‧₊˚ ⋅…..

⚖️𓇢𓆸 Basics ୧ ‧₊˚ ♟️

Name || Fukenaga Ryuji

⁀➴༯ Name meaning || Ryuji is a Japanese name that means “double dragon”. It was popularized through the character Ryu in the iconic video game Street Fighter. Fukenaga is also of Japanese origin, and means “blessed longevity”.

Nicknames || Ryū (Kageko)

Age || 18 years old

Birthdate || January 4th (Capricorn)

Gender and pronouns || Cisgender (he/him)

Sexuality || Bisexual Polyamorous

Ethnicity || Japanese, Moroccan

Classification || Immortai

Occupation || Belongs to the Seventh Sector of the Division. He works at a low rank and mostly goes on patrol missions.

Role || Main character, hero

.….⋅˚₊‧ ଳ ‧₊˚ ⋅ ⋅˚₊‧ ଳ ‧₊˚ ⋅ ⋅˚₊‧ ଳ ‧₊˚ ⋅ ⋅˚₊‧ ଳ ‧₊˚ ⋅ ⋅˚₊‧ ଳ ‧₊˚ ⋅…..

⚖️𓇢𓆸 Personality ୧ ‧₊˚ ♟️

Ryuji is a person that is misunderstood by many.

Although not actively attempting to be so, he is very unnerving and intimidating to be around, an after-effect of the curse that's been placed upon him. He can be easily distracted in conversations, eyes always focusing somewhere else, darting to the darkened corners of the room, and he has a habit to mumble little things to himself, nonsensical and hushed, as if trying to be discreet. Not to mention the aura of death that surrounds him at all times, chilling the atmosphere around him, making it almost impossible to hang out with him peacefully. Most people just write him off entirely, saying the boy is too "weird" or "creepy" to handle.

But Ryuji at his core truly is a kind and caring person. Although he has a rough and tough exterior, tending to be very blunt and cold with his words, once you get to know him on a closer level, it's clear that he cares very deeply about many things. He's thoughtful and considerate, always going out of his way for others that he loves, doing just the smallest little gestures of kindness.

Yet despite his gentle nature, he has been hardened by the cruel realities of their world. He doesn't trust easily, holding all those that dare come close at arms length. He is sharp and quick-witted, and tends to neglect things like socializing and talking in favour of training or studying. He can also be very quick to anger, snapping at what can be assumed to be just the littlest of things, which oftentimes leaves him isolated from others.

He truly has created a self-fulfilling prophecy; afraid to let those near him to get too close, too closed off for those near to allow themselves to do the same.

୧ ‧₊˚ 🍇 ⋅ ☆

Ryuji has been stuck at the Sector for twelve long, torturous years. Despite training for almost all of his life, honing his abilities and skills to near-perfection, for some reason the boy can’t seem to be allowed along any sort of mission that fits his skillset. He is held back, for apparently no reason at all, each of his requests for a promotion sharply turned down by the Leader of the Seventh Sector, Ophelia Dyal.

He is restless, unable to complete his mission as a Noroi Hunter and vanquish the very demon that set his life on such a path of death and destruction. No matter how hard he tries, it seems he cannot escape this horrible fate that has awaited him since he was six years old.

And yet, with the stirrings of a new hero to change it all, Ryuji is brought closer to his life-long dream of breaking his curse. It is with each day that he draws nearer to coming face to face with the very person he has avoided for so long, that he wonders if he’s strong enough to go through with it…..

୧ ‧₊˚ 🍇 ⋅ ☆

Traits || Mysterious, calculative, quiet, hard-working, tough with a hard exterior

Alignment || Neutral

Likes || Science, nature, botany, sketching, being alone, rain, the library, candles

Dislikes || Noroi, training, sleeping, people, talking, big crowds, being too busy, ghosts, his family, most things, himself, life in general

Hobbies || Reading, alchemy, studying, drawing, researching, microbiology, journaling

…..⋅˚₊‧ ଳ ‧₊˚ ⋅ ⋅˚₊‧ ଳ ‧₊˚ ⋅ ⋅˚₊‧ ଳ ‧₊˚ ⋅ ⋅˚₊‧ ଳ ‧₊˚ ⋅ ⋅˚₊‧ ଳ ‧₊˚ ⋅…..

⚖️𓇢𓆸 Appearance ୧ ‧₊˚ ♟️

Ryuji is most notably defined by his Mark. Taking up the entire right side of his face, a burn scar stretches across his skin, marring his features; his eye has also suffered extreme damage, appearing to be half-closed, a milky white in colour with splotches of red nearing its edges. And his flesh looks to be pulled taught, a darker brown than the rest of his face, the skin decayed and withered.

And still, the boy couldn’t be more beautiful. With a sharp jaw, smooth dark skin the deepest shade of brown, and a black-lined monolid eye a deep charcoal in colour, swirling like the deep abyss of the night, he looks truly ethereal. His hair is shoulder-length, normally pulled into a half-up, half-down style. The right portion of his locs have begun to turn a silvery-white colour. He can also frequently be seen with silver filigree tubes adorning the locs. Dark, blackened eye bags are present underneath his eyes, giving him an appearance of being eternally exhausted.

Evident of his strict training schedule, Ryuji has a very muscular build. He’s lean with toned muscles. Not exactly bulging like a bodybuilder, yet still quite noticeably muscular, something you would notice almost immediately. Along with his towering height and strong build, it just seems to add to his aura of intimidation.

Height || 6’0”

Aesthetic || Ryuji dresses very prim and proper. With a dark aesthetic of browns, dark grays, and black, he can almost always be found in a suit or something similar. It’s very formal clothing, something that sets him apart from the rest of the sector, giving him an almost distinguished look. But it’s most times that his clothes are also in a rumpled disarray, obviously very hastily pulled on. He dislikes wearing a lot of jewelry, as he says it irritates his skin.

…..⋅˚₊‧ ଳ ‧₊˚ ⋅ ⋅˚₊‧ ଳ ‧₊˚ ⋅ ⋅˚₊‧ ଳ ‧₊˚ ⋅ ⋅˚₊‧ ଳ ‧₊˚ ⋅ ⋅˚₊‧ ଳ ‧₊˚ ⋅…..

⚖️𓇢𓆸 Origins ୧ ‧₊˚ ♟️

Ryuji was born to the seventh region of Seras, otherwise known as the home to the Seventh Sector. Eposa, a land akin to the mediterran, was once beautifully rich. Long rolling hills, thriving plant life, and a sparkling, deep green ocean bordering it, white waves lapping near the beaches. It was also known for its impressive architecture, stunning marble buildings that just completed the vision of ethereal glory that the region once was. But with the rise of Noroi, the region has been reduced to a crumbling whisper of the society it once was. Barren and cold, the grassy hills have become more blackened rock than grass, the sea dark and murky, completely unforgiving to all its inhabitants. It’s become a place of poverty and death — not riches and wealth.

Ryuji’s family was small, unimportant in the grand scheme of things. His mother was an orphan, who didn’t have much to her name. She worked all kinds of odd jobs, doing anything to provide for her children, even if it meant losing parts of herself in the process. She’d do it all, as long as it meant they had food on the table at the end of every night. They moved around a lot during Ryuji’s early life, finally settling on a small cabin at the edge of the woods, where they kept their own self-sustaining garden and strayed away from the people of the town next over. It was just them against the universe.

୧ ‧₊˚ 🍇 ⋅ ☆

Ryuji’s life was never truly calm, even as a small child. With only smaller, distinct memories of his father, most of his childhood was spent with his single mother and his siblings. She kept them mostly isolated, constantly hopping from town to town, doing what she needed to get by. That time of his life was a blur, his only strong memories being that of his time with his twin brother — his best friend — who he was immensely grateful for as his lifelong companion. Being on the run was more fun with him by his side.

It was around the time he and his twin brother turned five-years-old that their mother finally decided it was safe enough for them to settle down. They found a cabin that bordered on the edge of one of the abandoned woodlands in the far south of Eposa. With a small town to their right, it seemed like the perfect place to grow up. Homeschooled by their mother during the day, with their eldest sister to take care of them during the nights, their life finally had some sort of semblance of balance to it. Ryuji felt truly happy. His family was all that he needed.

It was on a darkened winter night of his sixth year that Ryuji and his twin brother lay awake, waiting for their mother to return home late. And it was this very night that another creature entirely lurked outside the walls of their cabin, ready to tear away the peaceful life Ryuji had grown to hold so dearly……

…..⋅˚₊‧ ଳ ‧₊˚ ⋅ ⋅˚₊‧ ଳ ‧₊˚ ⋅ ⋅˚₊‧ ଳ ‧₊˚ ⋅ ⋅˚₊‧ ଳ ‧₊˚ ⋅ ⋅˚₊‧ ଳ ‧₊˚ ⋅…..

Make me scared, smell of sulfur in the air / Bring me to the witch's lair / Make me into a demon slayer / Let me feel the great beyond / Show me the other end of the pond / Let me feel like a hellspawn, just one taste of expired blood…

“Séance” by Billy Cobb

…..⋅˚₊‧ ଳ ‧₊˚ ⋅ ⋅˚₊‧ ଳ ‧₊˚ ⋅ ⋅˚₊‧ ଳ ‧₊˚ ⋅ ⋅˚₊‧ ଳ ‧₊˚ ⋅ ⋅˚₊‧ ଳ ‧₊˚ ⋅…..

⚖️𓇢𓆸 Relationships ୧ ‧₊˚ ♟️

Father unknown

Naô Fukenaga, mother

Hinata Fukenaga, eldest daughter

?????? Fukenaga, eldest son

Ryuji Fukenaga, himself

Kenzo Fukenaga, middle son

Saku Fukenaga, youngest daughter

Junpei Fukenaga, youngest son

୧ ‧₊˚ 🍇 ⋅ ☆

Being the second-eldest to five children, Ryuji comes from quite the large family, despite everything. Being so young when he lost them, his memories of them are short, simple. He remembers the time of his life with them as gentle and carefree. He and his siblings were all incredibly close, each day spent playing with each other. But out of them all, he was closest with his twin brother, who couldn’t be more alike him. They seemed to be linked to a single mind, always attached at the hip. There was nowhere Ryuji would go where his brother couldn’t be closely behind, grinning and chasing after him.

Since being taken into the Seventh Sector, the size of his family has dramatically decreased. He no longer has the giggles of children to surround him anymore, his home at the base being quite quiet and lonely, for the most part. Of course, he has his mother, Ophelia, who he’s very close with. She always seems to know just what he needs, giving him silence and space when the world is too suffocating, and comfort and hushed reassurances when the voices threaten to pull him from reality altogether. He loves her dearly, despite the times where he feels frustrated and resentful that she’s so protective over him. He doesn’t know where he’d be without her at his side.

And of course he has Aster, his older brother and best friend. He was the first person that Ryuji truly met when he arrived at the Seventh Sector, and the first person who showed him genuine kindness. They did almost everything together, two peas in a pod, always there for each other. Ryuji thinks Aster pulled him out from the other side, after he arrived at the base. He doesn’t know if he’d still be alive if he didn’t have Aster’s kindness and sunny disposition to ward off the hateful voices and spirits that haunted him. Even apart, the boys couldn’t be more close. No stretch of land, no matter how many miles long, could break their tight knit bond.

And there’s Kageko. Someone who was born to be his best friend, he is now no more than a reminder of Ryuji’s past, of his grief. A spiteful ghost that never seems to shut up, no matter how much Ryuji wills him to, he’s more of a nuisance than a true companion. Yet, being a part of Ryuji for so long, the boy isn’t sure what he’d do without Kageko. Torn between the urge to get rid of him and never let him go, he’s not sure who he is without his twin brother to drive all of his actions. He doesn’t know if he is even more than a hollow shell, without Kageko to fill the gaping hole.

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As for friends, Ryuji doesn’t have many. Having a reputation for being the “weird heir that talks to ghosts all day”, it’s hard for him to truly connect with people. Though, it’s not like he’s particularly interested in meeting new people in the first place. Being on his own is better. He is more content this way. It’s supposed to be this way.

Yet somehow, he found himself two of the best friends he could ever think of. Odesa and Dior, who are sometimes the only people he has left to tether him to the ground, couldn’t be truer friends. Odesa is loud and rambunctious, a drastic contrast to Ryuji, and the first friend he made at the base. A girl who he at first would have declared was his sworn rival has now become the person he’d dare whisper all his darkest secrets to. Both of them compliment each other, turning the others harsh edges soft, rounding each other out. They’ve sworn an oath to get out of the Seventh Sector, together, no one left behind. Ryuji will fight by Odesa’s side until the day he dies.

Dior was someone Ryuji met when he was a little older. Quiet and timid, they managed to pull out his more gentle, nurturing side. From two people who could almost be considered selectively mute on some days, when they’re together they couldn’t be more of a chatterbox. Dior seems to understand him, to truly accept him. Where others have found him ghostly and disturbing, Dior sees him just the way he is. And he couldn’t ask for more.

…..⋅˚₊‧ ଳ ‧₊˚ ⋅ ⋅˚₊‧ ଳ ‧₊˚ ⋅ ⋅˚₊‧ ଳ ‧₊˚ ⋅ ⋅˚₊‧ ଳ ‧₊˚ ⋅ ⋅˚₊‧ ଳ ‧₊˚ ⋅…..

⚖️𓇢𓆸 The Seventh Sector ୧ ‧₊˚ ♟️

Curse || Ghost

Ryuji, just like Aster, belongs to the Immortai: the undead warriors that dedicate their lives to eradicating the Noroi that ravage their earth. Although not uncommon inside the Seventh Sector, Ryuji was cursed as a child, leaving him, like many, in the awkward stage of a child forced to grow too quickly, grief burdening him all throughout it.

Ryuji’s curse is very ostracized around the Sector, a large factor into why he is so alone amongst so many hunters that have so many similarities to him. He has the ability to see and communicate with ghosts and spirits, as well as control them to defeat Noroi. This in turn causes his body to lose connection with the living world, slowly causing him to lose his form, until he is reduced to another ghost himself. It’s source stems from Ryuji’s scar on his face, which is where his Mageia rests.

Ryuji has very little control over his own curse. He despises it deeply, wishing to completely rid it from himself rather than use it. It doesn’t help that Kageko’s voice is constantly in his head, poking and prodding at him, unhelpfully reminding him of each and every one of his failures and losses. It is because his curse takes such a toll not only on his physical form but his mind, being a constant that he cannot shut off, unlike some Immortai, that makes him hate it even more. And it is his hatred and uncontrollable emotions that just feeds his curse, amplifying it to the extreme. The spirits that haunt Ryuji never go away, no matter how hard he tries to gain control over them.

Because of his lackluster abilities in containing his curse, Ryuji has instead forced all of his own energy into his swordsmanship. He uses twin Thai-Laos Dhaab swords, otherwise known as “Dha”. He is extremely skilled with his weapon, his own swords being specially crafted to suit his curse, and is known as the best swordsman inside the entire Seventh Sector. It truly is a surprise that he’s kept at a rank so low, with skills like this. Surely being out on the battlefield would benefit the whole of the Division much more than keeping him as a guard, but the Leader works in mysterious ways.

For now, Ryuji is stuck in his lowly position at the base, as ghosts chatter in his ears and he tries his best not to scare off the younger recruits. He trains, and trains, and trains. One day, he will be rewarded for his hard work. And the words of a vengeful spirit punishing him for all his failings won’t matter anymore.

…..⋅˚₊‧ ଳ ‧₊˚ ⋅ ⋅˚₊‧ ଳ ‧₊˚ ⋅ ⋅˚₊‧ ଳ ‧₊˚ ⋅ ⋅˚₊‧ ଳ ‧₊˚ ⋅ ⋅˚₊‧ ଳ ‧₊˚ ⋅…..

⚖️𓇢𓆸 Extra Tidbits ୧ ‧₊˚ ♟️

Ryuji is secretly quite a hopeless romantic. He’s read a lot of romance books and has forbidden dreams of a soft, picturesque summer romance with candlelit dates and quiet nights gazing at the stars.

He’s very knowledgeable on flowers and plants, and can list quite a wide arrange of facts off the top of his head.

He has a really intimidating aura so most people steer clear of him but in actuality he’s really socially awkward and has no clue how to talk to people.

He dislikes the idea of the Division quite a lot and wishes he could leave it forever. Yet it seems like his only option, so he stays.

People think him to be very violent when really he’s the exact opposite of it.

He works part-time inside of the Infirmary, which is where he met Dior.

He has the tendency to forget to take care of himself. Sometimes he gets so caught up in training, studying, or researching that he’ll go days without really sleeping, eating, bathing, or moving. It gets worse when Aster is more busy on missions and he has no one to pull him out of his head.

He doesn’t get along with animals.

୧ ‧₊˚ 🍇 ⋅ ☆

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