HMMMMMM interesting to think about arranged marriage with prince shouto...............
i think he wouldn't know. what to expect with you. i think he'd have an idea, as in, what his father, the king, has taught him; the duties of a wife, where your importance ranks in relation to his duties. what he's not meant to discuss with you, like politics and matters at court and foreign relations. how you will speak to him. what to buy in the event that you become...unhappy. a nuisance.
("and she will," enji had muttered, briefly glancing up from the parchment on his desk to fix shouto with a look he didn't understand. "they always do.")
you don't meet until the royal wedding, when you're coming down the long aisle of the grand cathedral, dressed up in a swathe of silk and lace. a thin, gossamer veil hides you from him, but he can feel the ardor in your eyes, the intensity burning through the material. it doesn't seem real until your bare face is only a breath from his own, until he has to see the earnestness in your stare, too.
your kiss is simple and chaste, nothing spectacular, something that leaves his mind as soon as it's over. ever a todoroki, a hundred other things enter his mind, all regarding his now iron-laid obligations: it's vital he meet with advisor keigo to reiterate the plan to establish his authority among the council; general aizawa is in attendance to the wedding, and shouto has not yet received word on his opinion of the new king's ideas to modernize their armed forces; midoriya is somewhere, no doubt wanting to go over state affairs again.
truthfully, shouto doesn't spend long "celebrating". there's already too much that's required of him, hardly enough time to even scarf down a few bites of the banquet laid out before he's being chartered off into discussions on foreign relations and infrastructure development. maybe once or twice does he look back to check on you, chatting pleasantly with his mother and sister at the front of the great hall, and that's satisfying enough.
it's not until much later that he sees you again; freshly bathed and wearing something sheer and long and white, atop his bed.
or his marriage bed, he must remind himself.
enji didn't spend long going over consummation, with him or either of his brothers—natsuo, red-faced and annoyed at the very subject, always storming off, and touya had seemed well-aware of the process, at the time (back before he'd been ex-communicated). it had sounded simple: strip off your dress, get his cock out and into you, and only retreat once he was sure his seed had been spilled.
—so he's not exactly sure what to do or think or how to feel, when you're laid bare and reaching up to hold his face.
it's so startling that he sits back on his knees, to frown where he's looming over you.
you stare at him quietly, like you're expecting him to say something, and he only has a moment to wonder if this is you becoming an unhappy nuisance—what had been the answer, to solve this, anyway?—before you let out a soft laugh.
"c'mere," you tell him, sitting up, too, when he keeps his distance. "i want you to kiss me."
"i already have."
"yes," you laugh again, amusement glowing in your eyes, like the warmth off the fireplace, as you reach for the ties on his trousers. "but you're meant to do it again."
and up until then, he'd felt confident in his achievements, his executions; he'd managed a lot today, in one evening, and he had a lifetime to manage more. it was a good a start as any, he'd thought, but now—
shouto almost can't get the words out when he feels your hands ghosting up the inside of his shirt, nails tickling over his ribs. "a-am i?"
you wrap your arms around his waist in what could be a hug, scooting forward to look up at him with your chin against his chest. "yes," you smile and—it's familiar in a way, how touya would whenever he was teasing. "you're my husband, you're meant to kiss me whenever i want."
that—was not something his father had ever said, he was sure, and it was a too-rare exchange between his own parents. now that he thinks about it—and he does, then, because he's faced with the reality that he doesn't know as much as he should—he's not sure the former king and queen even sleep in the same room, much less the same bed.
much less hug and touch and even smile, the way you do now.
there's no argument he can make against it, aside from finding keigo to find his father to verify the truth to such a statement, and he's only meant to retreat from this bed on one condition.
and if this is what it takes to meet that—then shouto supposes he'll have to do it, for now. he's a brand new king, after all, and it would seem he still has much to learn.
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Pariah Dark. Ghost King. Master of War. Tyrant. The Breaker of Worlds.
Currently found himself... perplexed and at a loss.
He had assumed he would never be free once more, the one-time his punishment was cut short he wrote it off as the mistake it was. A pitiful fool who believed he could claim his crown from his prison without consequences.
The second time.
Well.
He would not have thought himself to be so lucky, assuming that no other would be foolish enough to free him once more.
He most likely should have learned not to assume a lot of things, when one is more than acquainted with the Master of Time. There was a lot he would do and did for the other before his eternal rest, and a lot of things he could've wrapped his mind around, found out the reason for, even so long as he had the clues no doubt left by Time.
But this.
This.
He was not exactly sure what his expression was, he could not even decide what exactly he was feeling, even. "Dearly belo-" Pariah Dark hid his mistake by clearing his throat. "Master of Time, what exactly do you intend for me to do with... these."
'These' referred to the small beasts currently amusing themselves on his body. A pitch-black chick with red eyes currently nesting in his hair, a snake trying to loop itself-and failing at looping- itself around his neck, a puppy currently resting on his arm and a cub currenting trying to get said puppy's attention only to be zapped away by the pup's foot.
Yes.
Zapped.
Despite this utterly befuddling situation, he was amused by it nonetheless.
"Your parole," The Master of Time said, all-knowing smile on his face. "Surely you would know what to do with children, would you not?"
Pariah Dark blinked. "What in the infinite is a parole?" Pariah tasted the word on his tongue, as if it was foreign to him. And, well. It was. "And what, exactly, would that have to do with children?"
The Master of Time's smile eased into faint amusement, as if aware of some joke the king himself was not.
Which happened more often than not, actually.
"Take good care of these children, and you shall be released from eternal sleep." He said, as if that explained everything. But Pariah Dark was staring at him in clear and undisguised puzzlement.
He then raised an eyebrow. "You would leave me alone with children? Truly? With no qualms?"
The personification of Time nodded, and Pariah could blink slowly, as if he had trouble wrapping his head around this. "Dearly beloved, surely you would not think that this-" If Clockwork noticed his slip of the tongue, then he didn't point it out as Pariah Dark continued. "Would be the best of ideas, no? Surely, you should be worrying for their safety."
Clockwork's eyes filled with mirth as he inclined his head slightly. "Well, do you currently hold any thoughts of harming these children?"
Pariah Dark's face gave away his faint confusion. "Not particularly, no."
"Then that is that." The ancient ghost nodded, as if everything was already decided and done as Pariah could only stare at him in unsurprised exasperation before shaking his head.
Perhaps, he should have expected this.
"The one currently making a nest of your hair goes by Vlad, the Pheonix King." Clockwork pointed his staff to the chick in question, who squinted open an eye before nestling further into the king's hair. He then pointed to the snake. "The one currently trying to strangle you, is Danny. Our prince as well as what humans would call an eastern dragon."
The way Clockwork pronounced our had Pariah feeling like it held another meaning and not just him being known as the prince.
Was there something he was not aware of...?
The staff then pointed to the pup dozing off in his arms. "That one," Clockwork said with faint amusement. "Goes by Dan, a fusion between the phoenix and dragon resulted in his creation and he soon became his own entity after becoming secluded from his timeline after its erasure." He said this casually, as if it weren't something that would cause questions. "He is also a Raiju."
How a bird and snake gave way to dog, Pariah does not know.
The staff then pointed to the last child in his arms, trying to bother Dan and being kicked away and zapped for its efforts. "That is Dani, formally Danielle. She is a Mishipeshu who is the only successful clone of the phoenix and dragon, making her our technical princess."
Again, the emphasis of our left Pariah feeling like there was something he should know. A missing piece to a puzzle he didn't even know he had started.
"You said this one was a king, correct?" Pariah asked, shifting around his arms to better support the pup and cub. "Would the phoenix's not take offense to me of all people being the one to raise their ruler?" As soon as the words left his tongue did he remember who exactly he was talking to.
He was met with a vicious smile, one that he did not see until the days of yore. His non-existent heart skipped a beat.
"Well, if they would like to voice their... displeasure." The Master of Time practically purred that sentence out, and Pariah felt something odd shift inside him. "Then they are surely allowed to do so."
Pariah grunted, silent for a few moments. Clockwork moved towards him in that time, and Pariah stood still, only tracking the ghost with his eyes. "I am quite certain you would make a wonderful father, dear-"
Excuse him, dear..?
"-So why not prove me right as you always have, hm?" Pariah Dark blinked, opening his mouth to speak before his mind screeched to a halt as he felt a pair of lips upon his own before they moved away in the next moment.
A ghost of a kiss.
"Now, run along now why don't you." Clockwork had a mischievous glint in his eyes, before Pariah found himself surrounded by a wide pasture, spanning as far as his eyes could see (and he could see very far) and at the end a forest with a house behind him.
But he could not react, even as he felt pecks upon his head, a bite at his ear and most surely the scratching of claws against his form.
His hair burst into green flames as he stood stalk still.
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In watching more interviews with Liv about Van and the escalation of Van's pragmatism to such dark degrees, I find myself genuinely baffled that anyone could ever think Van the bad guy. I mean, I'm perplexed at finding ANY of these girls The Bad Guy. The bad guy is the situation. It's being lost. It's freezing. It's starving. It's being scraped down to the barest bone of being alive. They make choices that might be snippy, or cruel, or hard-headed, sure--Shauna refusing to just hash it out with Jackie; Jackie being too stubborn to come inside; Taissa refusing to discuss her situation plainly; etc--but by the time we reach the end of season 2, it doesn't even matter. Petty bullshit doesn't matter. Jealousy doesn't matter. Those things are still going to be present and complicated, because--for all their choices, for all the distancing they're trying to do--these kids ARE still human beings. But it isn't the point.
The point is survival. Plain, simple, straightforward. Van's pragmatism is survival. It is the difference between living another day with blood on your teeth or dying pretty. It is the difference between fighting forward through the fire and the snow and the hell of it all, and laying down to die. Van knowing, in watching the ritual violence of Shauna beating Lottie nearly the death, that they will be killing and eating one another soon. Van coming up with the cards for the hunt. Van not blinking when the moment comes, Van choosing a weapon that doubles as a tool to bring the body back, Van refusing to apologize for staying alive--it's not evil. It's not Bad Guy behavior. It's purely about survival, because there is nothing else left to her--or to any of them. They can play the pretty little Sweet Angel Girl game and die, or they can get dirty, bloody, horrific and fight. Van chooses the fight. Van chooses to fight for herself, for her lover, for her team, even knowing not everyone is going to make it out...because the alternate path there is that no one makes it out. Van knew the baby wouldn't live. Van knows the rest of them won't, either. Not unless they start making the hard choices.
And, honestly, the fact that Van sees this narrative coming. Comes up with this plan. Brings out the cards. To me, that is the opposite of Bad Behavior. That is as close to justice as anyone can find in the wilderness. If someone else came up with an idea, maybe it would have come down to voting--but that would have had such a human element to it, with bitterness or hostility or whatever ultimately petty shit always comes of humans selecting who to Other. The cards don't leave room for that. It isn't fair, because the situation isn't fair, because Man vs. Nature isn't fair, but it's as close to a just system as they could possibly find. It's the kindest solution to an unwinnable game. Not to bring it back to American Gods again, but all I can think is "it's easy, there's a trick to it: you do it, or you die." Van gave them that.
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Just tripped and fell into a what-if scenario:
"What if Jonathan really had caught up to Dracula in Piccadilly and killed him in the street?"
Head lopped off. Kukri through the chest. The 'murder victim' turns to dust in full view of the gawking crowd. Then what? Then what??
Piccadilly Police: "So this man beheaded and impaled an aristocrat in the middle of the street."
Witnesses: "He did."
Piccadilly Police: "And the body..?"
Witnesses: "Crumbled into that pile of dust."
Piccadilly Police: "..."
Witnesses: "..."
Piccadilly Police: "...So has he named which magician he's working for or--?"
Witnesses: "No, he's just been busy kicking the dust into the horse dung piles in the gutter."
Of course, this is the best case scenario sillytimes version. Serious version? Jonathan only manages half of the process before some Good Samaritans tackle him; and likely get cut in the process. I bet he could chop Dracula's head off, but not manage the heart-piercing in time. He gets dragged off to jail. The Count's two pieces get taken to the morgue. And now Van Helsing, the Suitors, and Mina are all on a ticking deadline to stake Dracula's heart before sundown with Important Witnesses present to prove Jonathan's innocence and sanity in the slaying...
And if and when that happens?
That means the Drac Attack Pack are responsible for bringing the reality of vampires into the public awareness.
So.
Surprise, everyone!
Imagine the can of worms that would open around them, around the whole concept. Their original plan to head to Castle Dracula to end the Brides gets a LOT of extra tagalong company. Photographers are there. Ditto shady government sorts who, of course, are eager to investigate a way to turn vampirism into a benefit to the Crown. The Drac Attack Pack would be swamped with sensationalism. It'd be a circus.
Which all adds up to a belated understanding for me about just why Dracula had to get away from them in Piccadilly. If he had been caught and killed? God. What a mess it'd be.
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