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dappledpaintbrush · 1 year

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HEY GAMERS‼️‼️🗣🗣 anyways I have a theory regarding the spm lore we’re given from Carson- specifically Dimentio’s past and how I’m going to try to piece it all together- so let’s get into this (unfortunately)

According to Carson, 3,000 years ago, there was an unnamed magician who created the first Pixl using the power of the Dark Prognosticus. This is done through transferring the souls of the dead into a new Pixl form. In his lifetime, the magician created thirteen Pixls in total. The Ancients began to use the Pixls as tools, and they became heavily integrated into every day life. The magician passed away, and 1,000 years later (2,000 years before the events of the game), the first Pixl reappeared. Where she was prior, we don’t know. She called herself the Pixl Queen, and- for 0 explanation from Carson- she ordered a rebellion. She put a spell on the Pixls (not the original 12) to fight on her side against the Ancients. This was the Pixl War.

Now, the magician had apprentices. We are not told exactly how many (but many-myself included-believe it to be 12). Regardless, during the Pixl War, it is said that 12 “inheritors” for the 12 original Pixls appeared to “defeat the waves of Pixl soldiers and free the enslaved Ancients.” However, every single one of these inheritors (not their Pixls) died- except for one, who is then referred to as the “last surviving apprentice.” This means the inheritors were the magician’s apprentices. This apprentice’s Pixl died during the battle with the Pixl Queen. After the Pixl Queen’s defeat, he took the Dark Prognosticus from her and fled. In Carson’s words, “He decided to disappear with the book so this kind of catastrophe wouldn’t repeat.”

According to Carson, the Tribe of Darkness “disappeared from the Tribe of Ancients.” In his final installment regarding the TOD, he states:

“I hear they stole the Dark Prognosticus from the Ancients and hid it. But I don’t know why they would do such a thing. Some say they did it to use the book’s power to enhance their dark magic… Some say they hid it from others who would use it for evil…”

This strongly links the last surviving apprentice to the reason why the Tribe of Darkness disappeared.

An unknown amount of time after the Pixl War, the Ancients forbid the use of their powers and the creation of any new Pixls. This implies that even though there is only one surviving apprentice of the magician, other Ancients were taught how to create Pixls- likely by the apprentices themselves (this explains Merlon somehow having the knowledge to create Tippi- it’s possible one of his ancestors passed down the spell). It seems like any Pixl that wasn’t part of the original set completely vanished.

Moving on-

Carson states, “The vanquisher of the Pixl Queen was confronted with an awful truth. It turned out the Pixl Queen was the first Pixl ever created.”

It does not state HOW he found this out, but what matters equally, if not more, is WHY he found this information out at all. Shouldn’t he be aware of the very first Pixl? After all, he was literally an apprentice of the magician. Wouldn’t he have seen her? Studied her? At least be informed of her existence at ALL? And even if the apprentice didn’t initially recognize her due to her form changing- that still means she was publicly around after her creation, and then suddenly disappeared without a trace for 1,000 years until she started a war for no stated reason. Why? It makes little to no sense.

That is- unless she was hidden from the start.

So let’s go back to the magician.

The magician- as like literally all of us still obsessed with this 16 year old game know by now- had a wife, daughter, and a son. The wife and son died in an accident, and the daughter died not long later from an illness. And, in his grief, the magician used his daughter’s soul to make the first Pixl.

Right?

insert loud family feud buzzer here WRONG.

Okay so.

Carson talks about a book from “the magician’s apprentice” (note the use of the word “the,” rather than “a” or “one of”- really, really note that). Carson talks about a quote from this book that reads, “The spirit within the Pixl Queen was not a demon, but rather a human…,” then he goes on to explain the story of the magician and the loss of his family.

(So that means the magician and his wife were humans- still part of the Tribe of Ancients, but just not members of the actual Ancient race. Or… only one of them was human… the magician specifically. But that’s a whole other can of theory worms left die and melt in the hot sun for a week so we are going to tackle that later.)

NOW.

What does Carson also say in this story? Come onnnn, you know it :3

“SOME SAY THE SON OF THE MAGICIAN MIRACULOUSLY RECOVERED FROM THE ACCIDENT”

Anyways 👹

Carson goes on to say, “If so, the bloodline of the magician could endure… Did they find happiness? Or otherwise…”

Now, we all know this story is talking about Dimentio. He literally calls himself a magician and is the ONLY character to do so. He is also the only member of Team Bleck to not explicitly get a backstory. Dimentio is clearly intended to be related to the magician.

But how? Is he actually the magician’s son, or a descendant? After all, Carson does mention a bloodline, not a singular person, and also says, “Did they find happiness?” While I want so bad for this to mean he/they Dimentio is real, Carson is using “they” to refer to multiple people- aka a bloodline. Which heavily refers to Dimentio being a descendant of the magician.

But then again- what does Carson really know? Like accurately. He is not a primary source. These stories are THOUSANDS of years old, there are quite literally no Ancients left, AND the Pixls are mute. And in SPM, historical facts tend to not be very factual. For example, two people are credited with writing the Light Prognosticus. Shouldn’t that be ermmmm I don’t know VERY CLEAR INFORMATION. But it’s NOT. Not even the author of the Light Prognosticus could be kept up with. What does a bartender- who leaves out a lot of details to begin with- know about historical events and backstories of Team Bleck members, information much less relevant than who exactly wrote the literal Light Prognosticus?

Well, a lot, actually. We don’t know how or why but this man knows a LOT. I’m not trying to discredit Carson, because if I do that, I can pretty much twist his stories into anything I like. After all, given that the magician’s daughter was human, her brother would be too, and thus have a human lifespan. It makes perfect sense why he mentions a bloodline enduring, rather than the son himself. So why exactly do I think Dimentio is the magician’s son?

Remember when I said it’s incorrect that the magician turned his daughter’s soul into the first Pixl?

According to Carson, the magician’s apprentice who published that theory DISAVOWED IT.

Disavow: deny any responsibility or support for.

Why would the publisher disavow the theory? Why would they deny responsibility? Why would they refuse to support it? Again, all with 0 explanation from Carson? And hey- again- why did Carson call this publisher “the magician’s apprentice”? There were multiple apprentices. The use of, “the,” implies what now?

That there is only one apprentice.

One. Apprentice.

Okay gamers are we still here?? Any survivors??? Great.

Something intriguing about this story (“The Pixl Queen”) is that Carson tells it directly after the story of the last surviving apprentice discovering that the Pixl Queen was the first Pixl created (“Pixl Uprising’s End”). That and, again, the word choice for how he presented the apprentice who created the Pixl Queen = Magician’s Daughter Theory. Due to all of this, I believe the apprentice who defeated the Pixl Queen and the apprentice who published and disavowed the theory are the same person. After all, if he did enough digging to find out the Pixl Queen was the first Pixl, why stop there? Wouldn’t he become extremely invested into who this Pixl is and why he had no idea she existed?

This takes us back to the Pixl Queen being kept secret. If she is really the magician’s daughter, it makes sense why he could be so ashamed of what he had done, he hid her away. Or, he could’ve been trying to protect her from getting killed again. Or, he could’ve wanted to protect others. After all, Carson DOES say, “But if [the theory] it WERE true… I’d bet the daughter was so horrified by the deeds of her father… That she wanted no one to ever use Pixls again.” This implies Pixls remember their past lives. If she was a threat to life as everyone knew it, wouldn’t that be a motivator in keeping her hidden- or more likely locked away- from the world? Until she found a way to escape 1,000 years after his death- because with him gone, there is no one to monitor her.

So. The Pixl Queen being the magician’s daughter provides the explanation for the cause of the Pixl War, and plausible reasons for why she was missing for so long and how the apprentice failed to recognize her.

Also- while we’re here- I would like to mention how these stories confirm that Ancients are capable of VERY long lifespans. The Pixl War occurred 1,000 years after the death of the magician, and his apprentices were still alive. I would also like to mention that- as far as we know- marriage between the Ancient race and humans was not forbidden (both fall under the Tribe of Ancients umbrella, btw). It was marriage between the Tribe of Darkness and anyone outside of it that was outlawed.

What does this all mean for Dimentio?

I said a while ago that Dimentio is the only member of Team Bleck who did not get a backstory when Carson talked about them. Rather, he is given the story of how he joined Team Bleck. Count Bleck rejected him at first, then read of “someone similar” in the Dark Prognosticus which caused him to track down and accept Dimentio into the team. Carson calls this “fishy,” which it absolutely is. It IS weird that Dimentio appeared before Bleck and pledged his allegiance before Bleck read about him- almost as if Dimentio is aware of what is written in the Dark Prognosticus. That’s even WEIRDER, because the Dark Prognosticus has been in the possession of the Tribe of Darkness ever since the fall of the Pixl Queen ~2,000 years ago.

So it’s heavily implied Dimentio has read the Dark Prognosticus. This means Dimentio HAS TO BE older than 2,000 years. Sure, Dimentio can just be a freak of nature beyond any rational understanding and that explains his age, and that’s probably true. But what if he’s not. What if what’s keeping him alive is not manmade horrors beyond our comprehension, but Ancient blood. Ancient blood passed down from possibly his mother. After all, the Pixl Queen was called a human. That means at least one parent has to be human. And like I said, the Tribe of Ancients didn’t forbid the marriage between humans and Ancients. Maybe the magician who was not alive 1,000 years long enough to ensure his Pixl-daughter’s confinement, the magician who seemingly died from a non-abrupt cause, a natural cause, was human.

What would someone feel after they find out their little sister died. TWICE. Their little sister- the only family they had left, by the way-, murdered, after her soul was forced to become an immortal entity crafted from dark forbidden magic, all because of the selfishness of a grieving father not allowing his daughter to rest. I would assume probably an unexplainable amount of pure fucking rage.

Probably enough rage for Dimentio to track down who killed his sister. Track down the same person who published a theory stating that the Pixl Queen WAS her. Track down the same person who took the Dark Prognosticus.

Probably enough rage and grief for Dimentio to force the person to disavow the theory in an attempt save what little was left of his sister: her legacy.

And probably enough for Dimentio to read the Dark Prognosticus- something he could use to ensure the end of all worlds that don’t seem to hold that much meaning anymore.

Maybe even write in it.

(and how dimentio knew his sister was the pixl queen uhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh let’s just say he did and that’s the end of that)

#is my autism showing #spm #super paper mario #dimentio #pixl queen #spm theory #sorry for edits!! i wrote this at 5 am and dropped dead

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evilautismcrusades · 1 year

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after seeing some of the votes and responses to my "what is mike going to be" poll, i thought maybe i should give my own response to the matter and reasoning for why i so strongly believe hes going to be the microwave, plus my own opinion on woody theory!

basically for those who dont know what woody theory is, its a theory that the deltarune chapter 3 bonus boss is going to be a toy woody-like darkner with a "friend inside them," aka a speaker who would manifest in the dark world as a separate entity of some kind controlling the toy host. this is apparently based on posts and even a fan song toby has made for toy story, and also something about "the cowboy show being cancelled" in the most recent undertale newsletter, which people took to be a reference to a similar scene in one of the toy story movies. (do please correct me if im wrong on any of this information, i havent seen any of the toy story movies in a looooong time.)

and, honestly? i could see him pulling something like that! its a cool and unique idea for a character, especially fitting for a bonus boss darkner. if he really does do this, i would be pleasantly surprised.

however, i dont think the woody boss or the friend inside them would be mike. in fact, i dont even think mike is going to be a microphone. if you think about it, there arent any microphones or anything that could contain them (without being bugged or something) inside the dreemurr house, and if there were to be a woody character they wouldnt contain a microphone unless they were one of those toys that repeat what you say to them. they would just contain a speaker.

something else i see in support of the thing inside the woody character being mike is the canon knowledge that spamton and jevil have of each others existence, and people wondering if this could point to a trend with all the secret bosses knowing or having met each other. given that spamton mentions mike quite a few times, and other chapter trends being implied at (such as rouxls having a cameo in every chapter), this is another thing i could see happening, but i still dont think itll be with mike.

if anything, i think it will be with tenna, the character mentioned on one of the spamton sweepstakes hidden pages. my reasons for this are how much disdain spamton seems to have for both tenna and jevil, which could definitely be another chapter trend. whereas spamton seems to care about and even miss mike, acting protective when he was asked about him in the spamton q&a, he is awfully hateful towards tenna. as quoted from this hidden sweepstakes page (notably the first and only place he mentions tenna by name, in the url):

"THAT DAMN [Boob tube]!!!

YOU'RE THE ONE THAT SHOULD BE HAVING A [Refr3shing n1ghts sleep] IN THE [Recycling Bin]!!!

EVERYTHING IS HIS

EVERYTHING IS HIS FAULT.

...PAY....

EVERYONE IS GOING TO

EVERYONE IS GOING TO PAY [5 easy payments of $9.99] UNTIL THEY'RE ALL IN THE [Disposal Area] BEGGING FOR MY [$#&*]!!!

EVERYONE... EVERYONE EXCEPT..."

here it really comes off that the "boob tube" he is talking about, and presumably also a darkner representing the tv or part of it, is tenna. another really interesting thing is whoever hes talking about at the end. given that he has shown a fondness for mike before, i believe he is the one spamton is sparing from his short person wrath, and tenna has wronged him and mike in some way. this clashes alot with the tv mike theory/depictions and is the biggest reason i dont believe he is the tv.

so, what does that leave in the house for mike to be?

well, he can still really be anything, but if we were to follow his name being a play on his corresponding light world object, this leaves the most likely candidate as being the microwave in the kitchen, and with that i rest my case.

if anyone has any other theories or details on this subject that i didnt touch on, please let me know!! id love to hear them

#deltarune #mike deltarune #mikerowave deltarune supremacy #tenna deltarune #woody theory #deltarune woody theory #deltarune theory #text post #long post

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randomclam24 · 1 year

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I don't know what to do with myself anymore.

For now, I'm writing out everything diligently, be it homework so I can focus properly or other texts.

I don't know what it is. Finding out the average amount of alcohol by volume people keep even as a long-term storage amount and the level of spiciness people in general will actually put up with

So the matters they consider important are also very important, yes?

In general, the sheer difference in spiciness in whether or not you leave in the seeds with jalapeno peppers or not already serves as a deterrent to newcomers. If you're just a kid, and you eat something with the jalapeno seeds cooked into it, it's like you're dying.

I don't know that it would help my case, but in a lot of cases I want to vent just like anybody else, except that doesn't match up with the sheer intensity of what I'm saying

Just take this with a grain of salt? No, that's not going to get me out of trouble

I spoke my mind because, as ghost says it, I'm a Republican and don't care if anybody thinks I'm racist, which is what's hurting the party Virtually zombified boomer take

I got a 4TB external hard drive in hopes that I would no longer have to deal with the transfer speeds of USB sticks, and given that the last storage USB is making its transfer now, that dream is being realized

Update I shortcutted the download of the vod where, by my influence downstream, someone saying "shit yourself" to his usual boomer sayings, that being their name in a donation, ironically managed to get drunken ghostler first from a downer or demoralized state all the way into a rant that was actually inspiring against the globalist cabal (in terms of something like "the light" versus "the darkness"), which is actually very off-key to what he's normally like. I basically wish for that more often

I don't know what to actually feel when we ultimately seem to agree in theory and then soberly diverge in about everything else, minus the basics

Update Speed-runs as a concept Even if you went through the trouble of charting out where, for example, every health drink etc. is in Silent Hill 2, there is still a range of choice for you to make like I did recently in Minecraft where I decided to keep the armor down to the 15 iron pieces necessary to craft the iron leggings and chestplate only so as to conserve iron if you lose lives and have to keep going without losing your materials.

Honestly, the top priority with speedruns in any case ought to really be kudos. Not unlike high scores back in their time.

Like it's an honest question, what kinds of runs do you want to make?

I think the Majora's Mask trading labyrinth was a prime example of what it means to use an external reference and built-up knowledge of the thing to trim down overall time spent on clearing the thing - *as opposed to* - using strategies that sound like they came out of an online forum that sound like they break the game whether they're technically cheating or not, like Quake wall-running. Technically, knowing where to execute the technique still definitely involves knowing specifically where to do things in advance. I don't know exactly how to define it, then.

And really, the Quake speedruns didn't rely on tool assistance like the Super Mario 64 speedruns involving backwards-long-jump techniques over a void.

Still, I'm trying to shoehorn the idea of meaningful speedruns sans godlike reaction times.

Update Trying to find the explanation of why Doom 3 with its mission packs as a whole seemed like the ultimate example of a non-tool-assisted speed-run game is difficult.

In concept, ideally, Doom 3 with some kind of spawning randomizer would be the ultimate speed-running game, because it would constantly challenge the player even who knew where everything was going to pop out in advance. There would be no guarantee, and that's where spawning randomizers for the original Doom shine as well.

Update I don't think people apreciate what Silent Hill 3 and 4 are enough. And then no wonder the Siren series doesn't get the love it deserves - it's all in sequence

Gamer confessions: I like Silent Hill 1 better than Silent Hill 2 That's just a stylistic choice

In a sense, I actually like Siren by all means the best, because of the complexity of what is involved in order to survive But I feel like, as gamers, we're entitled to certain answers as to the games' design like - I don't even know how to articulate that

#1: Trying to play Siren with a controller that isn't like the original PS2 controllers in having a good sensitivity about them - I don't know how better to describe that - it's borderline unplayable. But I love it.

Okay, definitely my biggest and most legitimate gripe - if Siren was supposed to be targeted towards the veterans of Team Silent's games, then why in all hell did they retcon the Silent Hill function of strafing while using the sprint button? (If you strafe in Siren, it's slow as all hell. I don't care what narrative appeal you're appealing to)

Update It feels like a deliberate throwback to the days of Wolfenstein 3D or such where people in general still weren't using the strafe function at all. It's ridiculous.

Update I'm internally conflicted, because I think the people's favorite, Silent Hill 2, is patently not scary enough, as opposed to the tension I always get with Siren. And I hear people recommending Siren in my local area too, so there's a real pressure toward that.

This pressure literally supercedes the urge to repeat "penis" over and over despite the audience - that's how much pressure is involved in Siren, and I kid thee not.

Siren is one of the few things that enters the realm of profundity in my mind as something like LSD Dream Emulator, which was never released in the West. But there are enough broken-feeling mechanics about it, I don't know if I feel like defending it.

*Literally*, comments I've read hold that Siren is like Silent Hill but doesn't give you breaks, meaning you have to do everything continually while zombies can potentially respawn, but that doesn't account for the broken-feeling mechanics. And yet I still love it.

So much so that I'm conflicted between considering playing *it* and just toughing it out over doing a speedrun of any kind on the most well-received of the games of Team Silent [(because I don't feel like that's intense enough)].

Update At any given time, I can hold it to my own name that I can retain my good judgment even when under the influence of what could make, as my parents called it, *five* grown men drunk - which is in relation to the fact that I have a very high ability to resist hypnotic suggestion. But at the same time, if people want to know me as a "pimp", that's not okay. Take what Common Filth said about the way society classifies people they hold in high esteem as "pimps" - they all have mommy issues, and they're not really alpha males.

Update So at times like these, it seems very clear what I want to do, but it's still the same with, do you really want to deal with these bad controls? I've had dreams about Siren by now. I think that already makes it larger than the thing itself.

Update Basically, the idea was, people with certain IQs, they could be put under the military practice of spraying them repeatedly with a fire hose to condition them to be normal unlike what they've discovered, and it still would not work. Ideally, that's the principle that sets me apart. I hope.

Update So ideally I'm a boon of my own ideology, be it good or bad.

And I don't see people making respectful argumentation one way or the other. I wish.

Update *But* - minus rep. - you're not really from tha hood - minus rep. - something completely autistic

I don't know what to think, if everything that I say ultimately gets applied all the way down to the lowest common denominator to make the judgment. Then what are we really talking about? I never thought about that. Honestly.

Update I got to the point, where, spoilers, with "Maria", she says, she's "not your Mary" - did no one ever make the connection with the whole social scheme of, "not your grandparents' xyz", like not your grandparents' Saturday morning cartoon, etc., meaning they've got it filled to the brim with cringey corporate attempts at coolness, like skateboards, etc.

And then for all that they give you game over if Maria takes enough damage What even is life What are they not telling us

Update Underrated despite everything: Silent Hill 2, still being the uncontested best survival horror game of all time, has the music exclusively in the bowling alley - technically you can have it play for a long time again when returning before making the great descent

Why are Siren's controls borderline broken - "Abba" - yeah, yeah

8/27 There's nothing to do. It's all over now. The r*ght lost the culture war with flying colors.

8/28 Honestly, the only reason that thing happened with ghost is because something very out-of-the-ordinary happened with his mental state as a reaction, *while* drunk. I don't even want to disrespect him that much because he gets trolled enough already, but normally he's a boomer faggot.

Update Continued on Saturday night's quip - things like actually considering the sheer levels of spiciness and the level of alcohol by volume in any case makes me reconsider, when we're talking people in general, what are the *units* we're really talking about?

I don't know how important it is, but there was recently a story about somebody who was saying all smiles despite my depression and whatever other disorders, and he was a well-renowned part of his community or something, and he just up and offed himself, just like that. That could happen to me, with alcohol, and thank God, by so many people, but I thankfully never bothered with all that "all smiles" crap - because I feel like it really just denies yourself the ability to work through your real feelings as they're coming, and they come in tidal waves.

Update soon after At some point, I guess the illusion breaks, and I have no choice but to be honest: the life I'm living right now is essentially perpetually on the cusp of falling apart into chaos, because it was never a permanent solution. What I'm doing is the closest I can get to being a NEET in secret in *spite* of what minimal effort my parents expect of me - like, I got really lucky and didn't get even my dad curious as to how much actual time was predicted for the courses I completed to actually take despite the months I took for them. Ha ha ha.

Incidentally, I'm starting to actually have a reaction to the sheer poverty I'm living in when I want something apart from what my parents already buy, which is just standard food plus the electric / air conditioner bills. And water. They don't make me pay rent. They *could* have, but - technically they know then that would mean having an entire confrontation, literally ongoing wherein they have to keep reinforcing that I'm obligated to have a job to pay for a rent that's right in their boomer standards, which would be significantly lower than the rent people pay on average to-day. Right, that would already be good for me, but they're essentially, secretly, pushovers. Of course the difference in base requirement in going from not having a formal job even part-time to *having* one is that you have to go and have a car in advance, which they would have to pay the rent and insurance for in the first few weeks or something to make the ends meet on that - honestly I think if it wasn't for the incident of me having a kind of mental connundrum at the last job with the way I was basically being flat-out overloaded, having multiple jobs to do where it was all in the back room where there was absolutely no one to ever notice - if that hadn't happened, mom and dad probably would have still thought that I still get the greenlight for holding down an occupation. Honestly though I do have issues with being in one place for several hours at a time. It gets to me very harshly. Then that starts to stack up over the sheer weeks. It doesn't just subside. It builds up. That's why I just went and held down a part-time job at a pizza joint after that. That's where I still had that - set of mental "lock-ups" I just described above where I just couldn't take the overload anymore for some psychological reason - meaning, I *could* physically keep going because I wasn't exhausted, but something about the acceptance of just being bogged down beyond any kind of reason just got to me. It was like no one really cared, and I was then going to be going out of my way to be rationalizing the overworking?

Everything I do, I got OCD or whatever to that effect where I'm completionist about getting it done, and it was even more intensified considering I was doing the dishes for the entirety of the restaurant at any given time at the pizza place. Then they give me this massive machine to clean off with non-distinct instructions as to how to get all the worst of it off and next to no experience to go on. Normally that doesn't sound that bad. How do I vouch for me? Well, at any given time, there was the additional job of collecting the dishes from any table out there that was done eating already, and I think they had me waiting tables on top of that. I think waiting tables was actively split up amongst the employees. Even among the guy in the back. Also, this was a team with an active system of cutting down the number of employees involved at any given hours to what they could milk them for all they're worth, basically. Essentially. I don't know if I could have toughed it out over the difficulty spike or not, but in such a moment that they gave me a large machine to wash by hand over a long period of time where I was already drowning in the requirements of trying to keep up with every other task, my mind told me that I had had enough, and I had a kind of breakdown where I got very nervous.

They didn't have more than one dishwasher at any given time, and I was working the most active shift of the day, so I don't think they were paying any mind to how balanced that shift would be compared to the other positions.

Honestly, I *did* open up socially during the event that, once a year, they all had a collective meeting at the place and then went to a bowling alley, and I talked with the employers, and they actually told me during that time they thought from the impressions I made that I was just antisocial and distant. But even though that happened, it was my first time dealing with these things, and I didn't realize I could have just asked them about the possible imbalance of the shift I was working, since, all things considered, I was working during the busiest hours of the day every day. It was part-time, but set up so all the hours I was working were as intense as you could get.

I can't apologize for being evil, but I can complain to find just a sliver of justification. I know how to do that.

Ikuso - shabba-dabba doo

This is the only result I managed to find for it

"* In Episode 20 Sakamoto shouts "Shabba-Dabba-Doo!" in the same way "[[WesternAnimation/TheFlintstones Yabba-dabba-doo!]]" is said, all while doing the classic Hanna-Barbara run startup."

History for ShoutOut/Nichijou - TV Tropes

I don't *have* anything worth saying

Update Even the New Testament says to be as crafty as serpents, for the sake of keeping yourself alive amongst adversaries. But a lot of the time, doesn't that mean doing nothing? And if I'm a Nietzsche fan, then that tends to go directly against that. I will read the Portable Nietzsche before continuing further in the book of Acts - not to abandon one for the other.

If we were in a world where no one knew about Christian theology, would that be the same? No

And second take: if Nietzsche is more a contrarian than he is productive ultimately, and doesn't really intend to help anyone - but at the same time, I legitimately haven't read enough to make the true judgment, being completely honest - even though you could probably tell by his followers whether or not they actually benefit anything - well actually they're spread out enough I don't actually know that

The obvious contrarianism to the idea that the value of kings on this earth is to be patient is something I identify with, so naturally I want to know more

Update And a legitimate concern I'm having is, after the books of the gospels, which reinforce each other as historical accounts by different people, the book of Acts has people being visited in visions with just the one account, and I don't think people in the modern day see things like the way they would back in these times with these things happening as they went along. Do modern people believe in miracles? It seems to rely very heavily on that.

Update I guess it's just very weird that there's this contradiction that goes unspoken within people's theoretical beliefs, that the historical record strength of the gospels gives validity to the idea of miracles *as something that could happen in those times*, but when it comes to the idea of miracles as something to justify the lifestyle of the actual original Christians, that's just defunct and no one listens, because clearly no one lives like that, and there are no miracles to even suggest the necessity of living like that.

Update I just don't think my illegitimacy as a source should even factor into that - the original Christian lifestyle described, that they shared in every bit of their finances and material wealth, is so far-fetched from anything we know today. I don't think it's unreasonable to say that it was reliant on the miracles still happening even after the passing of Jesus that people actively lived like that.

I asked my little sister who is already occupied as a teacher now whether she ever had Biblical groups, and she said she had classes back in high school - I tried asking her if it was in church or in the actual school, but that wasn't clear anyway. I asked her about it, and she doesn't know if she even read past the gospels in the New Testament or not.

Update I have a shirt of the Grinch with a Christmas tree behind him that was gifted to me by my cousin who took it up the ass once and said it wasn't that great to me that I'm wearing right now that says "You're a mean one"

My favorite rapper is the Grinch from The Grinch Who Stole Christmas

"Mr. Grinch you're a bad banana"

That was my cousin's in-joke, not mine

Update So, no matter how you approach that reality with the post-gospels New Testament, it still leaves some loose ends untied, like, what exactly *is* the Holy Ghost that there are no longer any miracles? Are they not needed?

Update So what is left? I read the Portable Nietzsche by borrowing it from my local library which was apparently leaning liberal, because after they had me on camera looking at the cameras like an idiot, knowing that those books were right next to some kind of documentary on them titled "Hitler's Philosopher", which meant they were on to us or something, meaning it was dangerous to pick them up at all even, before ever purchasing the text from a bookstore elsewhere. After that, they removed all Nietzsche texts from that local library, so I figure they might have been reviewing that camera footage.

Nietzsche says certain things against the Nazis and other things in defense of international jews that I think are unnatural to whatever extent. So if that in particular is not what it's about, I'll have you know I *am* contrarian like that. I'll just not show up at that liberal library anymore. I have it right here.

Update So, while there is starting to be a definitive split between the Christian right and the political right - I guess over the fact that Christianity is now accepting gays? Functionally it has no reason to be being like that - for the short-term I'll be reviewing Toward a Genealogy of Morals by Friedrich Nietzsche, because it's the one I've seen recommended the most, next to Beyond Good and Evil, Thus Spake Zarathustra being too long for these purposes. The purpose of this search was to determine what his core philosophy was above all else.

Update Out of those two, we're going to review both of them before going in depth with either, because either way, we're typing out both in their entirety as they're sampled in The Portable Nietzsche, which is a hard task. We'll bounce back between then until a satisfactory conclusion is reached as to which one to pursue as serious over the other.

Update Essentially, I could reject him based on his core philosophy, but the job is to get to that point faster.

Update In addition to the one dream I described in short detail, there was one the day after that where there was first a very intimidating elaborate version of the special sky stages of Super Mario Sunshine where you find a secret warp pipe or such and arrive there as a special course, and then three segmented additional episodes of The Mandela Catalogue that will never be, where there was the same thematic involving fractured wrists where the alternate zombies made out of friends in the starting bedroom end up slicing the main character vertically with some kind of paper cutter that's larger than the real thing.

"Fuck all that let's get to it" - "What lil' shawty say?" Yes, as in, we disregard everything for whores, as being whoremongers, in the most strict interpretation

But I still have some part of me having belief in anything that glitters like gold

I found out from another 4chan post that the average age of marriage in classical America whom every appeal to the Constitution and the founding fathers derives from knowing it or not was ten years old, some reaching down to seven years old, and the original progenitors of the movement to raise the age of consent to more toward eighteen years of age were definitively feminist movements. So what's your conclusion

In any case if it went on that long, I feel like people have a right to know

Update So yeah, if you stop bullshitting in order to consider the actual units involved with the matters themselves, it's less like "what is the meaning of life" and more like, it's already, "you will live in the pod, you will own nothing, and you will be happy - World Economic Forum" in real life with the modern institution of marriage, given how she can divorce you and put you on eternal mortal alimony and throw it around like it ain't shit. So that's not good.

And one of the few stories from the Gospels that I *hadn't* heard and retained explicitly beforehand was that Christ negated the Pharisees' notion of marriage as an institution as well, in that he said that it was because of Jews' disobedience that it was granted to them the ability to put away one's wife in divorce in the first place. In theory it was never supposed to be divinely granted at all.

Update Definitely that bit about the average age of marriage in classical America was what set me off the most in relation to all these people of the modern day - contrarians are like in their satire videos, this girl's twelve years old? that's okay, I don't have any morals. All I have to say left is this annoying, bitch, bitch, bitch, bitch bitch bitch bitch

So then it would make sense to "put two and two together" with the ages of girls from anime in the modern day. What age is Shiro from No Game No Life? Eleven

Realistically, that sounds like a fantasy world, but if it truly went on that long, who am I to judge, even despite the entire multitude fearing the same poster who posted that's saying, this is something all Americans have to be embarrassed over?

Nobody was bold enough to go forward and try to verify that history one way or the other.

Update In summation from my present thoughts, I don't know what else to say, but, let's try to summarize what we have to "appreciate" about our feminists

The modern casual sex scene totally trumps young fertile pussy from the daughters in any generation or age (sarcasm)

Okay I had a clarity just now: what I want is definitely what they call "shed talk", where you only do it normally in privacy, which is what Trump happens to have been attributed with in 2016 in his first election cycle - that's absolutely a good thing for this day and age. But getting drunk as a necessity for such a thing is something that can be co-opted for evil. Right.

I feel like it's showing my ass to say there's porn and hentai out there without having to actually commit real-life fornication. That's not a moral proclamation. I'm just saying from experience.

I don't know what to say. People don't do their research, first and foremost

Update *I don't know.*

In any case, it's like there's this reality out there that has these clearly wider outer limits, that constitutes physical reality, and then even so, there's the lower "mild sauce for white people" limits that, when broken, even so, after that point people will still definitely go crazy and lose their minds in any case, so it's like there's no point in going into that range because people consider it like there's sharks in the water. It's like I just have to listen when I'm told of an upload, this is probably too pleasurable for most people.

Update Is it accurate to say, when you make the insult "white people", it's patently not classical Americana?

Update As someone who wanted to cause an uprising among the common people, I'm actually kind of insulted by proxy that something like "extra mild [sauce] for white people" ever came into prominence, as a meme. But what can you do

Update Okay, so I went by something said in an authentic classical American location that was made into a touring place, and I found out smoking was only made illegal ranging from ages 14 to 24 by the 1920s, whereas back in the founding days it wouldn't have been banned locally, but even so you can't make an appeal to that later than the 1920's.

And we have enough historical accounts even taught to grade schoolers about how historically, women impregnated in young ages like fourteen would die in childbirth, so that doesn't require self-explanation.

And yet that was approximately the age of both Romeo and Juliet in that play, which I guess would make people shit their pants.

Update "Extra mild for white people" - I guess if nothing else, let's just blow that out of the water

But then again, if people of other races wanted to justify their presences in repopulating all our neighborhoods in the coming years with, oh, if you wanted to be seen as so tough, why would we be such an issue despite the fact of you having natural instincts and all of that? Because, technically, it's still a meme running rampant as we speak that "white flight is a human right".

Update Honestly, I don't have any other means of violating the principles I would appear to have as a wh*te person without it being so edgy that it violates my principles as an actual person. Just, nothing comes to mind.

Update "I got a hundred problems, but a bitch ain't one"

Actually if a women died giving childbirth that would obviously be very bad

8/29 definitely already night One time when we were kids, and we had a night over across states - so not something that happens very often - I started making sounds from the sides of my lips with my tongue stuck up on the roof of my mouth like what I remembered from the weird tongue of the voice from Harry Potter 2's movie from the bunk above my older female cousin's bed, and I did this until she copped out and went to her father for moral support in the middle of the night, and then after she came back with his assurance it wasn't a real thing, eventually I just kept doing it

Update Once, I had a nightmare where the spinners from Cuphead's "Floral Fury" became incorporated in an interactive segment of Silent Hill 4's opening sequence where they came through your front door, where both them and you were stuck in a painful slow motion.

Definitely the meme "I give no fucks", as in, "they can't give me *nothin'*" isn't entirely true, as there are a lot of things that could go wrong that would be very bad - still, that doesn't mean I'm going to give the sources of these kinds of complaints any credence.

In retrospect, that doesn't sound very good at all

I had a few nightmares in recent months where a water slide where everybody was in an eight-person-or-so water-tube was constantly at risk of sliding off the edge at such a height that everyone would die at any given time

If I'm awake, I don't particularly like anything, and if I'm asleep, I get ridiculous things like that more often than not

"Fair dinkum" non-racism - I'm playing Cuphead and Mugman, of which the designers said, this actually *is* your grandparents' videogame - see n*ggers beat me in sheer skill level at this, clearing it beyond world 2 which I'm more or less limited to with my own skill level - then say you are worthy of my inheritance - no cucking, no bullshit

Then everybody's like, "I will beat you to an inch of your life" - epic

Update But millenials and zoomers don't *get* any inheritance generally, so that's that

Update At the limit of posting here, but - the genre of music ragtime was, that was primarily composed by blacks post-civil-war - I remember in some museum, it was claimed it was considered a radical genre of music at the time

The most complicated pieces of music I know are all composed by Scott Joplin

Update You would get the kudos; that's for sure. My younger cousin already did the whole game on the extra hard mode, whatever that is once it unlocks. I don't know how that's humanly possible, but so it is that it's been done.

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qqueenofhades · 3 years

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Do you really hate this county? Or were you just ranting?

Sigh. I debated whether or not to answer this, since I usually keep the real-life/politics/depressing current events to a relative minimum on this blog, except when I really can't avoid ranting about it. But I have some things to get off my chest, it seems, and you did ask. So.

The thing is, any American with a single modicum of genuine historical consciousness knows that despite all the triumphalist mythology about Pulling Up By Our Bootstraps and the American Dream and etc, this country was founded and built on the massive and systematic exploitation and extermination of Black and Indigenous people. And now, when we are barely (400 years later!!!) getting to a point of acknowledging that in a widespread way, oh my god the screaming. I'm so sick of the American right wing I could spit for so many reasons, not least of which is the increasingly reductive and reactive attempts to put the genie back in the bottle and set up hysterical boogeymen about how Teaching Your Children Critical Race Theory is the end of all things. They have forfeited all pretense of being a real governing party; remember how their only platform at the 2020 RNC was "support whatever Trump says?" They have devolved to the point where the cruelty IS the point, to everyone who doesn't fit the nakedly white supremacist mold. They don't have anything to do aside from attempt to usher in actual, literal, dictionary-definition-of-fascism and sponsor armed revolts against the peaceful transfer of power.

That is fucking exhausting to be aware of all the time, especially with the knowledge that if we miss a single election cycle -- which is exceptionally easy to do with the way the Democratic electorate needs to be wooed and courted and herded like cats every single time, rather than just getting their asses to the polls and voting to keep Nazis out of office -- they will be right back in power again. If Manchin and Sinema don't get over their poseur pearl-clutching and either nuke the filibuster or carve out an exception for voting rights, the John Lewis Voting Rights Act is never going to get passed, no matter how many boilerplate appeals the Democratic leadership makes on Twitter. In which case, the 2022 midterms are going to give us Kevin McCarthy, Speaker of the House (I threw up in my mouth a little typing that) and right back to the Mitch McConnell Obstruction Power Hour in the Senate. The Online Left (TM) will then blame the Democrats for not doing more to stop them. These are, of course, the same people who refused to vote for Hillary Clinton out of precious moral purity reasons in 2016, handed the election to Trump, and now like to complain when the Trump-stacked Supreme Court reliably churns out terrible decisions. Gee, it's almost like elections have consequences!!

Aside from my exasperation with the death-cult right-wing fascists and the Online Left (TM), I am sick and tired of how forty years of "trickle-down" Reaganomics has created a world where billionaires can just fly to space for the fun of it, while the rest of America (and the world) is even more sick, poor, overheated, economically deprived, and unable to survive the biggest public health crisis in a century, even if half the elected leadership wasn't actively trying to sabotage it. Did you know that half of American workers can't even afford a one-bedroom apartment? Plus the obvious scandal that is race relations, health care, paid leave, the education system (or lack thereof), etc etc. I'm so tired of this America Is The Greatest Country in the World mindless jingoistic catchphrasing. We are an empire in the late stages of collapse and it's not going to be pretty for anyone. We have been poisoned on sociopathic-libertarian-selfishness-disguised-as-Freedom ideology for so long that that's all there is left. We have become a country of idiots who believe everything their idiot friends post on social media, but in a very real sense, it's not directly those individuals' fault. How could they, when they have been very deliberately cultivated into that mindset and stripped of critical thinking skills, to serve a noxious combination of money, power, and ideology?

I am tired of the fact that I have become so drained of empathy that when I see news about more people who refused to get the vaccine predictably dying of COVID, my reaction is "eh, whatever, they kind of deserved it." I KNOW that is not a good mindset to have, and I am doing my best to maintain my personal attempts to be kind to those I meet and to do my small part to make the world better. I know these are human beings who believed what they were told by people that they (for whatever reason) thought knew better than them, and that they are part of someone's family, they had loved ones, etc. But I just can't summon up the will to give a single damn about them (I'm keeping a bingo card of right-wing anti-vax radio hosts who die of COVID and every time it's like, "Alexa, play Another One Bites The Dust.") The course that the pandemic took in 21st-century America was not preordained or inevitable. It was (and continues to be) drastically mismanaged for cynical political reasons, and the legacy of the Former Guy continues to poison any attempts to bring it under control or convince people to get a goddamn vaccine. We now have over 100,000 patients hospitalized with COVID across the country -- more than last summer, when the vaccines weren't available.

I have been open about my fury about the devaluation of the humanities and other critical thinking skills, about the fact that as an academic in this field, my chances of getting a full-time job for which I have trained extensively and acquired a specialist PhD are... very low. I am tired of the fact that Americans have been encouraged to believe whatever bullshit they fucking please, regardless of whether it is remotely true, and told that any attempt to correct them is "anti-freedom." I am tired of how little the education system functions in a useful way at all -- not necessarily due to the fault of teachers, who have to work with what they're given, and who are basically heroes struggling stubbornly along in a profession that actively hates them, but because of relentless under-funding, political interference, and furious attempts, as discussed above, to keep white America safely in the dark about its actual history. I am tired of the fact that grade school education basically relies on passing the right standardized tests, the end. I am tired of the implication that the truth is too scary or "un-American" to handle. I am tired. Tired.

I know as well that "America" is not synonymous in all cases with "capitalist imperialist white-supremacist corporate death cult." This is still the most diverse country in the world. "America" is not just rich white middle-aged Republicans. "America" involves a ton of people of color, women, LGBTQ people, Muslims, Jews, Christians of good will (I have a whole other rant on how American Christianity as a whole has yielded all pretense of being any sort of a principled moral opposition), white allies, etc etc. all trying to make a better world. The blue, highly vaccinated, Biden-winning states and counties are leading the economic recovery and enacting all kinds of progressive-wishlist dream policies. We DID get rid of the Orange One via the electoral process and avert fascism at the ballot box, which is almost unheard-of, historically speaking. But because, as also discussed above, certain elements of the Democratic electorate need to fall in love with a candidate every single time or threaten to withhold their vote to punish the rest of the country for not being Progressive Enough, these gains are constantly fragile and at risk of being undone in the next electoral cycle. Yes, the existing system is a crock of shit. But it's what we've got right now, and the other alternative is open fascism, which we all got a terrifying taste of over the last four years. I don't know about you, but I really don't want to go back.

So... I don't know. I don't know if that stacks up to hate. I do hate almost everything about what this country currently is, structurally speaking, but I recognize that is not identical with the many people who still live here and are trying to do their best, including my friends, family, and myself. I am exhausted by the fact that as an older millennial, I am expected to survive multiple cataclysmic economic crashes, a planet that is literally boiling alive, a barely functional political system run on black cash, lies, and xenophobia, a total lack of critical thinking skills, renewed assaults on women/queer people/POC/etc, and somehow feel like I'm confident or prepared for the future. Not all these problems are only America's fault alone. The West as a whole bears huge responsibility for the current clusterfuck that the world is in, for many reasons, and so do some non-Western countries. But there is no denying that many of these problems have ultimate American roots. See how the ongoing fad for right-wing authoritarian strongmen around the world has them modeling themselves openly on Trump (like Brazil's lunatic president, Jair Bolsonaro, who talks all the time about how Trump is his political role model). See what's going on in Afghanistan right now. Etc. etc.

Anyway. I am very, very tired. There you have it.

#anonymous #ask #politics for ts #covid for ts #i had a lot to say evidently #rant

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transdemigod · 3 years

Text

Cutting Yourself Off from the Entities: A Comprehensive Guide

I am once again overanalyzing the Magnus Archives for fun. This topic is super interesting to me, and I haven’t seen it explored as much as other theories, so here we go.

So, you’ve pledged yourself to one of the Dread Powers, but decided that you’ve had enough of terrorizing others. Not to worry, there is a way out. Melanie King did it and lived all the way to the end of the series!

Here is the summary, though I’m sure a full explanation will be more satisfying:

To escape the Buried, lose yourself to the emptiness. To escape the Corruption, kill what loves you. To escape the Dark, give yourself to the sunlight. To escape the Desolation, choose kindness. To escape the End, cut yourself off from dreams. To escape the Eye, blind yourself. To escape the Flesh, give up control of your body. To escape the Hunt, tear out your teeth and claws. To escape the Lonely, bind yourself to others. To escape the Slaughter, remove your emotions. To escape the Spiral, destroy your voice. To escape the Stranger, make yourself known. To escape the Vast, trap yourself in a small place. To escape the Web, give up your autonomy.

The rest is under the cut. Let me know if you have any ideas that you think I missed, I would love to discuss theories.

We know for sure that the way to escape the Eye is to gouge your own eyes out. The other entities have less information, but we get a few clues here and there. In the season 4 Q&A, Jonny and Alex joke about leaving the service of the Stranger by running naked through the streets. They also mention that the Desolation can be left by an act of true altruism. With these details, as well as other details in the rest of the canon, we can make a list of criteria that must be satisfied for an act that will cut someone off from each of the 14 Entities.

Firstly, it isn’t enough to just stop feeding your god. Daisy and Jon both tried to abstain and ended up wasting away, and it is implied that they would have died if they had continued. Dying is certainly one possible way to escape the service of a Fear, but we’re going for living out the rest of your natural life here.

Secondly, there has to be some sacrifice made that relates to the specific power. This is where the Desolation’s explanation kind of falls apart; doing one good act doesn’t stop you from just continuing to be destructive, so the act must also include giving up the thing that ties you to your Entity. In the Stranger’s case, one could argue that exposing yourself does count as giving up your anonymity, and there are several Stranger avatars that seem to thrive on being unknown. My theory is that each Entity has a draw of some kind, a power that it gives its followers, which you would have to completely give up if you are to leave it for good. Jon mentioned that the blinding has to be permanent, so I’m assuming this applies to the others as well. Basically, the avatar who wishes to leave must give up something that one who does not wish to leave would never want to.

Third, the change can be physical or symbolic. Obviously blinding yourself is a very physical change, while committing acts of altruism or making yourself known are less so. Some of the Entities will have pretty clear parts of the body that connect you to the power, others will need a bit more of an explanation. In special cases where a person gets their power from an artifact or a Leitner, destroying the thing would probably be enough to cut them off from that power. And of course, if you are as lucky as Georgie Barker and manage to completely get rid of your fear, that would probably be enough to cut you off from them as well.

So, here are my explanations for what you would have to do to cut yourself off from each of the 14. I’m basing it on examples we get in the series, the few rules I have decided to set, and what would seem thematically or symbolically appropriate. Realistically, each individual would have their own personal journey and each avatar is different, but it’s more fun this way.

The Buried- The draw of the Buried is a little difficult to narrow down, we’ve heard about restfulness, the comfort of enclosed spaces, the desire to be a part of the earth, etc. The thing Buried avatars seem to dislike the most is wide open spaces, though I don’t know how that would translate to something you can change about yourself. How would a person cut themselves off from the earth? You could move to a place that is very open, but you could also just leave. I’m not sure if there is a way a person could give up the concept of space, so I’m probably going to have this same problem when I get to the Vast. Probably the only thing you could give up that makes sense is the type of space the Buried is tied to, so you’d have to keep away from enclosed spaces. However you’re supposed to do that, I have no idea. This one is just going to have to be a less satisfying answer, unless I find another idea later.

To escape the Buried, lose yourself to the emptiness.

The Corruption- Most people who get into the Corruption get filled with bugs, and we know from Jane that it is appealing because you have a sense of belonging and purpose. The Corruption focuses a lot on toxic love, and I think communities specifically because the things we think of as infections are multitudinous: insect hives, bacteria, fungal colonies, etc. Even in the case of that one guy with the beetle wife, it was implied that there would soon be many more beetles. So, I think to stop being fed by the Corruption, you have to get rid of the infection in whatever form it takes. The one woman in the statement about the cult ended up leaving, but she wasn’t a full avatar, so I think that would require a bit more drastic action. If Jane had wanted to leave, she would probably have had to kill every worm inside of her. Knowing what we know about her, she would never want to do that, but she also had no regrets about becoming the Hive. Someone like John Amherst would have to get rid of all the diseases inside of him, so it might be as simple as a hospital visit and getting pumped full of antibiotics. If you got hollowed out by bugs, you might have to fill in the space somehow to be able to move, but I’m sure you could find a way. Maybe some help from the Flesh? It does seems to be in opposition to the Corruption in many ways, so that would work thematically.

To escape the Corruption, kill what loves you.

The Dark- Another abstract one. What’s the opposite of blinding yourself? The Dark, aside from the literal definition, includes things like weird science and unknowable things that lurk in the dark. Seeking knowledge would be a good opposite to darkness, but that’s not making a sacrifice or a permanent change. It’s not very clear what avatars of the Dark would hate to lose. Manuela Dominguez describes hating the light, how traditional divinity and knowledge are unnatural as opposed to the dark state of the world. This might be another location based one. Apparently, the sunniest places in the world are in northern Africa and the southwest parts of America, so moving there might do it. There isn’t an easy permanent change to make, but committing yourself to being in the sunlight as much as possible would probably work. Change your sleep schedule, move somewhere sunny, just avoid the dark in general. Maybe even start worshipping the sun; that would be in opposition to the cult following the Dark has.

To escape the Dark, give yourself to the sunlight.

The Desolation- We know it’s an act of altruism. I think it might need some adjusting, though, to make it more of a sacrifice by the person who serves the Desolation. This fear is all about sacrifice and loss, so it’s a bit tricky to think of something a Desolation avatar could give up when they’ve already committed to giving up everything. Well, everything except themselves. Many avatars, like Jude Perry, have shown themselves to be selfish, but I don’t think even they would be opposed to going out in a blaze of glory. No, the hardest thing for them would be to settle down and live a prosperous life. This one probably would have to be continuous effort instead of one grand sacrifice. It doesn’t fit with the others, but it does fit the theme of the Desolation. Yeah, I’ve just gone in a big circle. Altruism does make the most sense. Just make sure that selfless gesture counts. It’s not a real choice if you don’t mean it. I guess that would be really difficult if you’re used to burning everything around you, so maybe it’s more of a sacrifice than I thought.

To escape the Desolation, choose kindness.

The End- We actually already have a canon answer for this one: lobotomize yourself. Adelard Dekker found an End avatar that was killing people with carbon monoxide through their dreams, and he stopped him by cutting through his pre-frontal cortex- the part of the brain that lets you dream. It’s implied that this didn’t completely work, but I think the reason for that is that the avatar was not the one to make the choice. It’s emphasized again and again that serving the fears is all about personal choice, so it makes sense that any attempt to cut someone off wouldn’t take if the person hasn’t decided to give up their connection. The End is associated with dreams in most appearances, so I believe that a person who chooses not to dream would no longer be bound to it. Oliver Banks could see those whose deaths were coming in his dreams, which directly led to him becoming an avatar, so if he had decided to stop dreaming, that would be it. This procedure might be a bit difficult, I can’t imagine performing your own lobotomy would go very well, but I’m sure getting someone else to do it would count if you were the one to make the decision. Of course, Terminus would still have you in the end, but that will happen no matter what you do.

To escape the End, cut yourself off from dreams.

The Eye- This one is already answered. The draw of the Eye is the power to watch, so you have to give that ability up. Simple, straightforward, and definitely fits the theme.

To escape the Eye, blind yourself.

The Flesh- Oh boy, this is a weird one. We have dysphoria, consumption, body horror, I can’t say this one sounds very appealing. But it must be, or else it wouldn’t have people serving it. A lot of the draw to serve the fears could be interpreted as dishing out what you can’t take. You don’t have to be afraid of being watched if you do the watching, you don’t have to fear harm if you harm them first. Maybe the appeal of Flesh is making others share that fear that you are nothing but meat. I don’t think it’s really possible for people to give up their corporeal form, unless it’s metaphorical but I have no idea what that could mean. I think those who serve the Flesh thrive on being “more” than others. More body parts, more mass in general. You could go on a diet or become a vegetarian, which I think the writers may have joked about once? I want a more concrete solution, though. Diets are easy to break. You can’t fully give up food without dying, so I guess you could give up the control of food. Giving up your sense of taste would be interesting, but I’m going to keep it more general. No easy answer for this one either.

To escape the Flesh, give up control of your body.

The Hunt- People are drawn to the Hunt by that deep, primal desire to chase and attack. Humans have both predator and prey instincts inside of us, so you would have to completely leave the predator behind to escape the Hunt. I think a good way to do this would be the get rid of your teeth, or nails, whichever you use to cause harm. Daisy was able to temporarily leave behind her power in the Buried, but as soon as she got out, she started starving. I think this is a good argument that you could partially cut off your power by using a power that opposes it in some way, but you would have to give up a part of yourself to make it stick. As soon as she had the freedom and ability to hunt again, that was when the urge came back, and she eventually succumbed to it. Getting rid of the parts of your body that do harm wouldn’t completely stop you if you were dedicated enough, but it’s the choice to do so that matters. This one is a bit more of a symbolic choice, and you could probably do something else to your body that would prevent it from hunting, but I am going with the cooler option.

To escape the Hunt, tear out your teeth and claws.

The Lonely- Probably all you have to do to escape the Lonely is just…be around other people. I’m sure this is easier said than done, but there are lots of ways to commit to other humans. Get married, join a club, make a blood pact and permanently bind yourself to another human. The possibilities are endless! This one, I think more than the others, would require a bit more of a continued effort. I know that the whole point is to make one drastic, permanent change, but the Lonely feels like something that’s easy to relapse into. Maybe it’s the depression metaphor, I don’t know, but I don’t think this one has as easy a solution as the others. It’s hard work forcing yourself to stay connected to others, and it’s something most people in real life struggle with. Giving up any of these powers is a difficult choice, which is the whole point. Life is hard, and we have to make tough decisions. Anyway, I’m okay letting this one be a bit more abstract.

To escape the Lonely, bind yourself to others.

The Slaughter- This one is very similar to the Hunt in terms of actions, so I think the solution might be similar as well. Destroying your weapon would fit well, but it is just way too easy to pick up something else and continue hacking and slashing away. To give up violence entirely, you might have to destroy a significant part of your body. For the Slaughter, I think we should go with a less physical act. The opposite of violence is healing, so maybe become a doctor? You would have to really commit to helping others instead of hurting them, and that is too easy to go back on. I think the sacrifice made here would have to be emotion. Anger and the desire to hurt would go away if you couldn’t feel anymore. I don’t know how you would do this, except through drugs, but that isn’t permanent. There is probably a part of the brain you could destroy that causes emotion. It’s not the same as the prefrontal cortex, which we destroyed back in the End section, so at least it’s not the same solution twice. Honestly, the drugs could work if you did them long term, it’s about the choice anyway. However you do it:

To escape the Slaughter, remove your emotions.

The Spiral- The draw of the Spiral is the power to lie and deceive. There are many ways to do this, and there are probably just as many ways to stop yourself from doing it. However, there is one way that I think fits very well and is absolutely a permanent change: destroy your voice. This is actually the first one I thought of because even though it’s not technically the only way to stop yourself from lying, it fits very well thematically. Michael as the Distortion calls itself the Throat of Delusion Incarnate, so what better way to break yourself off from the same power then by tearing out your throat? It’s not perfect, but I like it so much that I’m going to pick it. I don’t know how one would go about destroying one’s voice, except with very careful surgery. Or screaming for a very long time.

To escape the Spiral, destroy your voice.

The Stranger- We got our answer to this one in the Q&A. Run naked through the streets, and make sure to engage with everyone who talks to you so that you can’t hide. Utterly terrifying. It makes perfect sense though; we heard from the Not!Them that beings of the Stranger hate losing their anonymity. Whether by switching skins, tricking the mind, or looking so generic that no one can remember your face, being known is antithetical to the Stranger. There are probably other ways to go about losing your anonymity then running around naked. You could get up on a stage somewhere and pour your heart out, or publish an autobiography. Basically anything the Eye would like. As long as you are putting yourself out there in a way that you can’t take back, you should be able to successfully cut yourself off from that uncanny fear.

To escape the Stranger, make yourself known.

The Vast- This one might actually be easier than the Buried, because it’s not purely spatial. It includes things like longevity, our insignificance in the face of a massive universe, and large scary things in general. A Vast avatar would hate to be enclosed, but they would also hate to be made responsible. They enjoy making others afraid of their insignificance, but what if they were important to the universe? What if the world was actually very small, and they fit neatly into it instead of being lost? There’s a lot of different ways to go here, so narrowing down one sacrifice might not be the best answer. I can’t really think of any one action that makes a person feel as though the world is small and trapping them. Giving themselves to the Buried would, probably. A direct contrast is the easiest answer.

To escape the Vast, trap yourself in a small place.

The Web- Avatars of the Web are manipulators, through and through. There are so many ways to manipulate a person that no one action could prevent you from doing that, so this one would likely vary a lot between individuals. That movie director who had people puppet him in his own house comes to mind, I think giving up your freedom like that is a good way to do it. Being paralyzed wouldn’t stop you if you used your voice to control others, and giving up both would suck, but if that’s what you need to do, then I guess it’s your choice to make. Maybe all you would need to do is let someone else tell you what to do, and fully trust them. That would be difficult, coming from the Web where everything is tied together and you know how easy it is to manipulate you.

To escape the Web, give up your autonomy.

#tma #the magnus archives #the buried #the corruption #the dark #the desolation #the end #the eye #the flesh #the hunt #the lonely #the slaughter #the spiral #the stranger #the vast #the web #tma entities #tma analysis

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makeste · 4 years

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BnHA Chapter 304: The Council of OFA

Previously on BnHA: Hawks and Best Jeanist were all, “what up Todofam, we are here to apply for the positions of ‘son #4’ and ‘weird uncle’, respectively,” and then proceeded to insert themselves into the family drama without waiting for an answer. Hawks briefed Endeavor on the nation’s current status of “totally fucked”, promised to help him sort that out, and then asked him about OFA. Endeavor was all, “oh do you mean One For All, the mysterious thing that my intern Deku was apparently being targeted for?” and then we cut away, presumably before Endeavor could clarify that it never occurred to him to follow up on that, and Hawks was all “no of course not, why would it occur to anyone other than me to follow up on any of this super weird and ominously important shit.” Anyway so meanwhile Bakugou was all “LET ME SCREAM AT DEKU UNTIL HE WAKES UP” and the other kids were all “NO”, and then the chapter ended with All Might being all “I wonder what the vestige!me is currently chatting with Deku about.”

Today on BnHA: Deku drops in on the Vestiges, who are all “sup Deku, how do you like our fancy chairs.” OFA II and III are all “if you need us we’ll just be standing here silently in the corner pretending to be invisible and sparking endless discourse with our mere existence.” OFA IV is all “and now I will explain to you in a very convoluted way that you being quirkless was actually a good thing, since it means that you are probably not going to suddenly drop dead at the age of twenty. But also you’re probably going to be the last user of OFA for that very same reason.” Deku is all “that is wild. I’m just gonna stand here and stare at my hand.” Nana is all “so now that that’s settled could you please do me a small favor and kill my grandson for me”, because having just one topic to discourse about this week WASN’T ENOUGH, apparently. Thanks so much Horikoshi.

(ETA: okay so just a note before I start, this week’s RHA translation was a huge mess, so I followed up this chapter by reading a couple of other translations. the main one I’m using for reference is the one by @hanashimas, whose weekly posts I highly recommend. anyway so you’ll see a couple of ETAs in this post in places where the initial translation was off.)

how many layers of bandages did they wrap this poor kid’s fucking hand in omg

jesus Deku. are you holding onto a bouquet of flowers under that thing?? or a tennis racket??

omg yes, finally

is he reading these names off a teleprompter lol. and if so, what has Jeanist ever done to slight you, Deku? “god bless Kacchan and Aizawa-sensei and Todoroki-kun and everyone else in the whole wide world... except for Best Jeanist. fuck that guy.” actually this joke would be funnier if half of tumblr didn’t legit feel that way lol but anyway

OH MY GOD

I NEED TO HAVE A TALK TOO. ABOUT, OH, EVERYTHING

I got immediate KHR vibes from ALL OF THIS. this is seriously such a Vongola aesthetic. “let’s use the luxuriously cushioned chairs with the seat backs that are ten feet high, and arrange all of the handsome ghost people in a big circle” like come on

that said there are also some slight LoTR vibes as well. “bring forth the ring, Deku”

I like how Six is sitting there with his feet drawn up all casual, but with his arms inexplicably sticking STRAIGHT OUT IN FRONT OF HIM and dangling over his knees like he’s doing some sort of zombie walk

apparently the Fourth wasn’t a big fan of shoes huh

interesting that All Might is the only one who’s still faint/indistinct, and and that Two and Three are fully visible

(ETA: the rest of my speculation about Two and Three has been moved into a separate post, the better to focus on the shit that’s actually happening in this chapter lol.)

and lastly, interesting that all of them are talking now, except for All Might (and I guess the Second and Third as well). to the best of my knowledge Deku hasn’t unlocked the Sixth’s quirk yet, so I guess the quirks don’t really have anything to do with it

oh and it looks like Deku’s mouth is still covered. I guess that’s convenient for the vestiges since we all know it’s hard to stop Deku once he gets going. but on the other hand it’s very inconvenient for people like me who wanted to see some interaction. alas

so First says that OFA’s power has grown a lot in the last four months (i.e. since Deku unlocked Blackwhip), and now the vestiges can communicate with each other as well as Deku

so even when Deku’s not around they can all just chill with each other. this is such a weird thing to me lol. like it’s cool, don’t get me wrong, but it’s also strange as hell to know that you’ve got eight other people hanging out in your head spying on everything you do and having conversations with each other about it. it would be like if Dark Shadow had someone to hang out with other than Tokoyami. good thing you weren’t triplets, Tokoyami

First says that it’s become easier for the vestiges to interact with Deku ever since TomurAFO barged into the OFA Domain back at Jakku. huh

(ETA: apparently this is because AFO forcibly pulled out OFA’s power when he was trying to steal the quirk, so I guess that makes sense.)

okay thank you Banjou for addressing this concern which I initially brought up as a joke, but which was apparently real enough for you to reassure Deku about

“don’t worry, even though we’re awake and hanging out inside of you at all times, we’re definitely not secretly watching and making fun of every single thing you do” hmmmmm

(ETA: “not that you could do anything about it even if we were, since you’re probably going to be the last OFA holder ever!” I don’t trust anything this asshole says lmao.)

OH SHIT??

YESSS DEKU now you can hold them accountable for all of their bullshit! because I do not doubt that there will be bullshit lol but let’s see how that goes

oh damn

well okay then. you didn’t have to stand up and walk over to him and loom all threateningly like that but okay sir

this guy has kind of a Kimimaro vibe to him. remember? that bone-growing guy from Naruto? except I’m pretty sure he had eyebrows. and wasn’t twenty feet tall. speaking of which, that explains the chairs

why are you wearing only 3/5ths of a shirt

lol what

someone’s gonna have to explain this to me. is he just redundant or something lol, or is he strangely poetical or what

(ETA: apparently HE’S MAKING A PUN omg. I immediately gained +10 love for him lol. also it flows a lot better in Japanese. this is one of the things Caleb is usually good at, so we’ll see what he does with the wordplay.)

omg the hermit theory is true!!

“I’M NOT WEIRD, IT’S SOCIETY WHICH IS WEIRD.” lol whatever you say buddy. also love how Banjou tried to give him a big hearty slap on the back but Hermit Boy was not having it lmao

IS HE TRYING TO CAPTURE HIM WITH BLACKWHIP

AND ACTUALLY, NO, SIR, AS A MATTER OF FACT, WE ARE NOT AWARE. SO SPILL!!

?!!?

okay my first response was LOL ARE YOU SERIOUS, THAT’S THE BIG SECRET!? -- and then it hit me what the significance of “died from old age... AT AGE FORTY” meant. at which point it was like “!!!!!” and then “OH, SHIT”

(ETA: there’s also an Iida joke here somewhere but I’m just too tired to make it.)

oh my god oh my god

did he somehow get a copy of the coroner’s report or something? like how does he even know that he died from “old age” as opposed to any number of other natural causes? ??

but anyway. so this is the quirk singularity coming into play then I guess. but then how come All Might is still alive and ticking?

(ETA: so this is one example of where this week’s translation is a mess lol. apparently the Fourth explains here that he didn’t know what the fuck he died from until All Might researched it. and it turns out there actually was an autopsy lol so there you go.)

so Fourth says he held OFA for eighteen years, and since he knew he would never be strong enough to defeat AFO on his own he basically just spent all his time punching rocks in the woods and training to power the quirk up

oh shit

is he implying that his body literally fell apart?? like that’s how he got the scars on his face? -- IS THAT WHAT KEEPS HAPPENING TO TOMURA, THEN. oh shit

DUDE

so you’re telling me that this quirk actively shortens the lifespan of anyone who uses it?? and my little boy here has had it now for a year already?? fuck me, I have immediately have a TON of thoughts about all this but let me save it until he’s done with his explanation

THANK YOU, DEKU

right?? how come All Might didn’t die then. even after he got injured. please don’t tell me he actually is dying still and is just being slow about it because I SWEAR TO GOD

what does this mean??

so what you’re trying to say is you all have NO FUCKING IDEA how long Deku’s gonna be able to hold this quirk before he SUDDENLY DROPS DEAD?! five generations ago this dude was able to hold it for eighteen years, and then four generations later All Might was able to hold it for thirty-odd years or so, and now Deku has it and you all have no clue which way it’s gonna go? actually this makes it sound like it really wasn’t OFA that killed the Fourth at all and you guys are just really bad at forming hypotheses. but since you’re making a big plot point out of it I guess it must be true

and don’t think I didn’t notice the part where you said you didn’t have OFA very long and then “died while fighting”, Firsto. I want to hear more about that. specifically who you passed the quirk onto before your death

and yes, if we are agreeing that OFA was the cause of the Fourth’s death, then the conclusion on this next page is the natural one to draw

so that’s a bit of a relief then, because Deku is quirkless too. so it means he won’t be able to hold OFA forever (and will probably have to find another quirkless person to pass it on to), but at least he won’t be randomly dying out of the blue next Tuesday or something

oh my god now he’s talking about OFA and AFO and user consciousnesses and all sorts of good theory stuff but it’s so much exposition. you’re really gonna make me read all this lol

wait what. why would All Might being quirkless have anything to do with the presence of his vestige in OFA Outer Space Party Land

but Deku is also quirkless and he’s clearly visible and chatting with you guys. so what gives. like how much of this is verified fact and how much of it is you guys just shrugging and making stuff up lol

SERIOUSLY, GUYS

BUT DEKU IS ALSO -- you know what, never mind sob. none of this shit makes any sense but whatever

(ETA: seriously, this all seems like an awful lot of speculation on their part. for Deku’s sake I sure hope they’re right.)

FSSKDJFLSKLKJLKJL ALL MIGHT IS FIFTY-FIVE?!

lol that’s a full ten years past my closest estimate, wow. but this pretty much confirms his age now at last! or at least confirms it within a couple of years, because we know All Might and Nana met when he was in middle school, and he presumably had the quirk by the time he took the U.A. entrance exam. so yeah. gonna go with fifty-five

so they think that because All Might was quirkless, OFA was better able to adapt to his body and became his true quirk, as opposed to being an extra quirk that stacked on top of the one he already had and overwhelmed him. ties in back to the whole “AFO used to bend people to his will by forcing quirks on them” thing, as well as the “Noumus are all mindless because of the strain of having multiple quirks”

Two and Three are really ruining the serious vibe of this scene here lol

they look like they’re doing the counting for hide and seek

and is this Deku talking now? I was about to get mad at First for implying that quirkless people are somehow freaks, as opposed to “normal” people jdslk

so in other words, don’t go giving it to your best friend all casually for shits and giggles, Deku. even if it would make a really cool climax for a movie. well shit. maybe that’s why they were so quick to nope back into Deku’s body afterward

so First says that because quirkless people are becoming rarer and rarer, the fact that All Might just happened to stumble upon Deku is “nothing short of a miracle.” which, yeah, that was definitely a stroke of luck there. being quirkless saved his life. but being quirkless is also part of why he was chosen in the first place, and we’ve always known that much

“in other words, kiddo...”

looks like there was some hurried clone stamp usage going on here lol. but props to RHA as always for putting this scan out so fast, especially given how exposition-heavy this week’s chapter has been

“anyways, that was the main topic” ARE YOU SERIOUS. there are like ten other topics imma need you all to get to here, people

(ETA: seems like this is a mistranslation; the line should actually read something more along the lines of “and now for the main topic.”)

FFFFFFFFF

“ENJOY YOUR CLIFFHANGER THIS WEEK.” dskfalkjlkjwlgkjl you really went and dumped this discourse on us yet again. fucking...

(ETA: forgot to mention, but as several people mentioned, this seems to be another mistranslation -- rather than asking Deku to kill Tomura as though it’s doing her a personal favor, Nana is asking “will you be able to do it.” in other words more of an “are you capable of doing it” type of thing. which is a very reasonable question to ask given that Deku is, well, Deku.)

anyways, and the answer is obviously going to be “no” of course. this isn’t going to end any differently than when the previous Avatars all told Aang to kill Ozai. but I guess it means we’re in for a fun conversation next week

so Nana looks pretty grim here though (nothing at all like the person who once taught All Might the importance of saving people with a smile), and I’m wondering if this means she believes that her grandson is already beyond saving. as in killing him would be a mercy, as opposed to him continuing to live with AFO bending his mind and body to his will. except if that is the case, I think she’s underestimating Tomura’s own will. and definitely underestimating Deku’s will to save

and also, just... I’m so fucking sick of AFO screwing the Shimura family over, honestly. this is exactly what he wanted. well fuck you, guy. you don’t get to have what you want. go out there and save Tomura, Deku. for his sake and for Nana’s. give them some hope. do your thing, boy. can’t wait for your big speech all about it next chapter lol

#bnha 304 #midoriya izuku #all might #ofa prime #ofa iv #idk what his name is I forgot it already lol #the actual forty-year-old man #bnha #boku no hero academia #bnha spoilers #mha spoilers #bnha manga spoilers #makeste reads bnha #ofa the first

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the-river-person · 3 years

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Secrets of the Deltarune

Okay so I was taking a closer look at the Deltarune and I started to notice some really weird things. It’s a symbol for the Kingdom of Monsters, right? Wrong. Gerson tells us “That's the Delta Rune, the emblem of our kingdom.The Kingdom...Of Monsters.” Okay so its the same thing, right? Nope. I looked up emblem and its distinction from Symbol. A Symbol represents an idea, a process, or a physical entity. While an Emblem is often an abstract that represents a concept like a moral truth or an allegory. And when it is used for a person, it is usually a King, a saint, or even a deity. An emblem crystallizes in concrete, visual terms some abstraction: a deity, a tribe or nation, or a virtue or vice and can be worn as an identifier if worn as say a patch or on clothing or armor or carried on a flag or banner or shield. So what does it matter? Well Gerson even tells us why. “That emblem actually predates written history.The original meaning has been lost to time...“ Hold up. Predates written history? The beginning of written history is approximately 5500 years ago. Somewhere around 3400 B.C.E. Thats a long time. And the prophecy that goes with the symbol talks about the Underground going empty, so it can only really be as old as The War Between Humans and Monsters. But...when was that? The game doesn’t tell us the exact dates. Well we have a couple clues. At the beginning of the game we have a little cut-scene of the war and then a bit where we see a human going up the mountain only to fall down into the Underground. Most players assume that this is you, beginning your adventure. Except its not. Later in the game, when you SAVE Asriel in the True Pacifist Route, we’re shown another cutscene with the exact same human figure in EXACTLY the same position, being helped by a very young Asriel and the silhouette of Toriel. It’s Chara, not Frisk. So our date of 201X (2010-2019) takes place long before Frisk even arrives. We don’t know how long before. That really doesn’t help with when they were first thrown down there though. So I took a look at the images before that, of the war. The first image shows a human who is very different from the later pictures. Both the make of the spear and the animal hide-like clothing suggest that it’s probably stone age. The text tells us a very general “Long Ago”when describing how both races ruled the earth together. In the next two images we’re shown the actual war. The crowd of humans have various things like torches and spears. Those diamond type spears are very similar to Roman Pilums. The Human figure with a sword was interesting though. He bore a mantle (cape or cloak) and is sporting a sword. Though there’s not much detail, we can still identify the general time period of the sword. The size isn’t big enough for a proper claymore or longsword, or even a hand and half sword. Since our figure appears to be moving forward, and we can guess that it’s not in a friendly manner given the context, yet still holding the sword in one hand instead of two, it’s probably a one handed broadsword. It also has a cruciform hilt (cross-shaped) that is slightly curved. The blade is quite wide with what appears to be straight edges (based on two images with limited detail). And it has a very narrow Ricasso, an unsharpened length of blade just above the guard or handle. Ricassos were used all throughout history, but they’re pretty notable for the Early Medieval Period in Europe. And the rest of the sword (blade type, length, crossguard, and method of use) is very reminiscent of a Medieval Knightly Arming Sword, the prominent type of sword in that period from the 10th to 13th centuries. So I had to take a closer look at my spears. Turns out, they actually more closely resemble a medieval cavalry lance or javelin. And many Javelins have their root in the style of the Roman Pilums, including the sometimes diamond shaped tips. The sword and mantle of the figure suggest heavily he’s a knight, and backed up by the spear carriers we can guess that its the Early Medieval Period, possibly the beginning of the Romanesque Period. So that would place us all roughly a thousand and at least ten years before Chara fell into the Underground in 201X. Asgore was certainly alive back then. In the Genocide Route Gerson says “Long ago, ASGORE and I agreed that escaping would be pointless...Since once we left, humans would just kill us.“ and in the Post-Pacifist when you go back to talk to everyone he’ll say this when talking about Undyne “I used to be a hero myself, back in the old days. Gerson, the Hammer of Justice.” He even talks about how Undyne would follow him around when he was beating up bad guys, and try to help, by enthusiastically attacking people at random such as the mailman. This tells us that Gerson and Asgore are as old as the original war and both had been part of the battle. And both lived long enough to survive till now. Gerson is quite old looking, while Asgore is not. He explains this by saying that Boss Monsters don’t age unless they have children and then they age as their children grow, otherwise they’ll be the same age forever. But Undyne doesn’t appear to be old. And I started to wonder how long normal monsters lived in comparison to Boss Monsters. A long time for sure. From the Undertale 5th Anniversary Alarm Clock Dialogue we can learn that Asgore once knew a character called Rudy (who also appears in the Deltarune Game), who he met at Hotland University and appeared to be generally the same age as Asgore. Since it takes place in Hotland we know that it was already when they were underground, Asgore was King and was already doing his Santa Clause thing, and that Asgore was trying to find ways to occupy his time aside from actually Ruling. In the dialogue he tells us that Rudy began to look older than him. “I was there for it all. His Youth, his Marriage, his Fatherhood. Then, suddenly, one day... he fell down. ... Rudy... I... was never able to show you the sun.” Monsters can live a long time. But Boss Monsters, as long as they don’t have a child, can live nearly forever as long as they aren’t killed. Based on that, Undyne is probably quite young and Gerson is incredibly old even for a Monster, and yet only recently he’s stopped charging around fighting bad guys. Since Undyne was with him, those bad guys were in the Underground, and his distinction of her attacking not so bad folk like the mailman, means that he was probably in an official capacity to fight crime, such as a guardsman, or maybe captain of the royal guard. So. Even though there’s plenty of time for a prophecy to spring up naturally. We have a number of Monsters who have actually lived that long that would be more than happy to correct mistakes and assumptions. Gerson is quite elderly and is a tad forgetful, but he still knows much. Characters such as Toriel and Asgore are still hale and hearty, and both had witnessed so much. Though we know very little about the character, Elder Puzzler is also implied to be quite aged and knows a great deal about the “Puzzling Roots” of Monster History. You’re probably wondering what all of this is leading to. Well with these characters in place to maintain knowledge of history in the populace, then we have an Underground which created a prophecy AFTER it was trapped there, which leads me to conclude that when the prophecy was created, it must have been referencing something older than the War of Monsters and Humans.

“The original meaning has been lost to time... All we know is that the triangles symbolize us monsters below, and the winged circle above symbolizes... Somethin' else. Most people say it's the 'angel,' from the prophecy...” ‘Angel’. This is when we hear about the angel. We see the Deltarune on Toriel’s clothing and on the Ruins door. As well as behind Gerson himself. The thing he mentions clearly has wings of some kind. Surrounding a ball (note to self: Look into possible connection between mythical ball artifact from the piano room and the Deltarune Emblem). It looks a little like the fairy from the Zelda series. Those “triangles” are the greek letter Delta. That letter has a lot of connections and meanings to it. A river delta is shaped like the letter which is how it got its name. There are a number of maths and science connections. But the two connections you’d be interested in are that a Delta chord is another name for a Major Seventh Chord in music. The soundtrack of Undertale uses these chords to do fantastic things with the tone and aesthetic of its leitmotifs, changing them from a happy or hopeful tune, to a dark and despairing one without actually changing the melody. And in a subfield of Set Theory, a branch of mathematics and philosophical logic, it is used to calculate and examines the conditions under which one or the other player of a game has a winning strategy, and the consequences of the existence of such strategies. The games studied in set theory are usually Gale–Stewart games—two-player games of perfect information (each player, when making any decision, is perfectly informed of all the events that have previously occurred, including the "initialization event" of the game (e.g. the starting hands of each player in a card game)) in which the players make an infinite sequence of moves and there are no draws. But why is one of them turned upside down? I started looking things up again. Turns out there is such a symbol. The Nabla symbol is the Greek Letter Delta only inverted so that it appears upside down. Its name comes from the Phoenician harp shape, though its also called the “Del”. A musical connection is exactly what Toby would do. But its main use is in mathematics, where it is a mathematical notation to represent three different operators which make equations infinitely easier to write. These equations are all concerned with what is called Physical Mathematics. That is... Mathematics that calculate and have to do with measuring the physical world. Why is that relevant? Well the difference between humans and monsters is that humans have physical bodies while monsters are made primarily of magic. Well I also discovered that the Delta symbol for the ancient Greeks was sometimes used to as an abbreviation for the word δύση , which meant the West in the compass points. West, westerly, sunset, twilight, nightfall, dusk, darkness, decline, end of a day. All this symbolism for a couple of triangles. There’s entire books devoted to them. And he calls the whole symbol, deltas and angel alike, the Delta RUNE. Whats a rune? Well a rune is a letter, but specifically a letter from the writing of one of the Germanic Languages before the adoption of the Latin alphabet. Interestingly... the Greek Letter Delta does NOT qualify as a Rune. In any stretch of the word. I searched for hours. What I DID find was the etymological origins of the word Rune. It comes from a Proto-Germanic word “rūnō“ which means something along the lines of “whisper, mystery, secret, secret conversation, letter”. Interesting. So since its paired up with the Delta... it could be taken to mean “The Secret of the Delta” or “The Delta’s Secret”. If we make a few assumptions we might even get something like “The Secret of the West” or “The Mystery of the Twilight” or numerous other variations that have different connotations. It’s conjecture, certainly, and possibly a few stretches. But it is certainly there to think about. My thoughts centered around the positioning of the letters. The idea that the one facing up represented Humanity, and the two ordinary Deltas were Monsters. With the Angel above them all. Or rather, SOMETHING above them all. We have no proof that the idea of an Angel existed before the Underground’s prophecy. I like to think it did because usually that sort of thing draws on previously existing beliefs and ideas. For all we know the symbol could represent an abstract idea that governed both monsters and humans. Like “Kill or be killed” or “Do unto others as you would have others do unto you” or other basic idiomatic ideologies of that sort. Other than the realization that the Deltarune is older than the prophecy and the Underground, I didn’t have a concrete idea of what the Emblem actually means. Just a lot of theories and connective ideas. But there’s certainly a lot to be found. I don’t really know how much thought Toby actually put into this, but he’s quite well known for secrets within secrets. So its possible he knew all this going in. If he’s anything like me, and I am notorious for writing this sort of twisting references within references within references into my stories, then he’s probably at least aware of an existing connection. Its quite probably that the Deltarune is exactly what Gerson tells us. An emblematic set of symbols that is used to represent the continuing Kingdom of Monsters and has been since before written history. But as he says... its so old that it might have had a different meaning originally, whatever idea the Monsters wanted to remember, wanted to uphold enough to use it for their royal family and their kingdom, a reminder. Of something, or someone.

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angelanimedesaray · 4 years

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Wings in the Dark Chapter 7: Subversion

AN: I’m gonna admit, I was half asleep writing the first half of this cause the fatigue hit me HARD once I got home.

Also, I forgot to put this up a few chapters ago, but this story IS on AO3. The link is on the AOT Vampire Masterlist, but also right HERE.

I felt like I was missing something, but no matter how many times I looked at it, I couldn’t think of what it was...If it occurs to me, I’ll probably just find a way to work it into the next chapter, lol

Also if you want a good soundtrack for this series, honestly, all you gotta do is listen to the Forgotten Odes album by Eternal Eclipse, I always pull it up when I’m writing these XD

Characters: Levi, Fem!Vampire!Reader, Erwin

Pairing: (Eventual) Levi x Fem!Vampire!Reader

Warnings: Language, Blood, Death, Dead Bodies, ummm...idk, Vampire Legends? Is that a Warning?

Word Count: 5391

<----Previous Chapter Masterlist Next Chapter---->

*Levi’s POV*

"I've been trying to catch her sneaking out for weeks, now, Erwin, but it's like she knows when I'm awake and watching for her. I can never catch her when she's leaving, it's always when she comes back."

Levi paced slightly in front of Erwin’s desk out of agitation as he stressed why, after all this time, he still hadn't managed to follow her into the Underground and see what she was doing.

"Do you at least know when she usually sneaks out? The time, or the days?" Erwin asked calmly.

"It's always when everyone's asleep...and it is fairly regular. Every week, I think, though the exact day varies."

"If you can't follow her, then you'll need to get ahead of her. Get down there before her. You know the window of time when she'll be down there, and you know the Underground."

"But I have no idea what she's doing down there. It could be anything--and the Underground isn't a small place where I can wander around and /hope/ I run into her."

"Then narrow down your search based off your theories. We considered she might have family down there, so you would be looking at residences, or asking around about a woman of her description. And your theory of the worst she could be up to--"

"Murder or treason. I know the places you'd go for that--more so than normal, anyway," Levi murmured, mind already conjuring the worst areas in the underground, the places where the Underground's worst elements like to stalk the streets, the areas of the highest risk, the worst gangs, the shadiest deals.

The residence search could take months--no one was going to want to talk to a soldier, a surfacer, even someone who had once been a part of the Underground. Not to mention, they had no idea what Y/N Frazier looked like, or what name she was going under while she was hiding in the Underground--if she was, in fact, hiding in the Underground.

Besides, shouldn't he rule out the worst, first?

"I know where to start," Levi said decisively. "It's still going to take some time, though, because she's still aware I'm watching her, and she's good at shaking tales and evasion. Not to mention part of it is going to be based on luck--that I manage to go to the right place at the right time without knowing where she'll be."

"You're good at what you do, Levi. You'll find a way."

So began the unpleasant ritual of Levi going down into the Underground every night of every other week, all in the name of hopefully, eventually, managing to find L/N. All it would take was one glimpse, one time seeing her, and he could follow her, learning from the mistakes of last time to make sure that he didn’t lose her this time.

And he could finally find out what was happening below ground--what had been happening for years since she’d suddenly appeared on the surface.

While Levi had made a name for himself Underground, enough so that it became general knowledge not to test him, he hadn't gone around looking for the kind of trouble that would have brought him to the places he found himself in, now. He’d always been aware of these dark holes in the Underground, and on a few unpleasant occasions had to make a trip to one of them. The worst elements of the Underground were found in these holes--she shadiest deals, the scum of the earth, the darkest corners with the most blood and carnage seeped into and tainting the earth around them.

Levi’s every step in these places was careful and quiet, his guard always up, his hood always drawn to hide his face.

Even with the name he'd made down here, he was cautious to use it as a warning sign to keep danger at bay. Not only did he want to avoid sticking out and alerting L/N to his presence if she was down here, but there were always going to be the idiots who wanted to challenge someone who'd made a notorious name for themselves like he had. There might be more than normal who wanted to test him if they knew who he was, people who thought that he was a prime target because his name still stood, but his time above ground might have made him soft.

A terrible, foolish notion, really, since his time above ground and part of the Scouts had only made him more dangerous.

He'd been coming down here regularly since his talk with Erwin, scouting the area and looking for any signs of L/N, whatever they may be. Not many people down here were the talking type, and those who were couldn't give him anything about any surfacer woman prowling the streets. The only thing they could tell him was to not wander these more dangerous parts of the Underground alone because people who did tended to turn up dead or go missing.

That wasn't news to him. He was already well aware of the dangers of these parts of the Underground that had spawned chilling legends even for the people who saw the darkness of the Underground daily. He knew what he was doing was dangerous, which made L/N's presence here all the more questionable if he did manage to see her.

Levi glared fiercely at a man who'd been giving him the target sizing look after glimpsed his clean surfacer clothes. The man slunk back into the shadows and Levi's skin prickled, his senses on high alert for any kind of ambush someone might be tempted to spring on the man leaning against the wall at a four way intersection. He was keeping his head down to keep his face well shielded, but his eyes were constantly flickering around to take in his surroundings, to watch every figure that passed or came down one of the alleys, tense and ready for a fight every time someone came close to him.

This search was slow work, but with no hint to L/N’s motivations for being down here besides the scent of blood on her cloak, it was the best option he had.

A familiar, dark robed figure flashed by the opposite end of the alley on his right, and Levi straightened, disbelief flashing through him. Surely that hadn’t been…

Before he lost her in his disbelief, Levi moved quickly through the alley to at least get her within his sights, being mindful not to get too close, even though he needed to at least be able to confirm that it was her.

Sticking to the shadows, Levi peered around the corner of the alley, just enough so he could see the cloaked figure and watch them as they continued down the path at a fairly leisurely pace, as if they were strolling along the lakeside instead of through one of the most dangerous parts of the Underground.

He was fairly certain that was her cloak. It was the right color, and a quick glance down revealed that yes, it was long enough to drag along the ground like hers did, but at the moment it was gathered and tucked into the waist to keep it from dragging through the filth, keeping it just above the ankles instead.

And those boots were dark brown, leather, suspiciously similar to the Scout’s uniform--even though he couldn’t see the rest from this angle, he was willing to bet they went up to the knee. The height was right, the posture seemed militaristic--it was a hard thing to shake, especially when still in active duty and so soon after graduating from the cadets, to boot. Levi held his breath, watching intently and hoping for something a bit more defining that could give him one more bit of evidence to convince him it was her, besides this gut feeling of his.

She took a turn, and while she kept her head down, hood hiding her face, he saw a flash of hair, and glimpsed the civilian clothes underneath--

Civilian clothes he knew were hers because of the day he’d gone through her stuff and saw what she had. She didn’t have much, so it was easy to tell this was one of the four pairs she owned.

Not wanting to lose her like he had that first night, Levi hurried forward, keeping his steps as quiet as possible. He had to give her more space then he was used to giving someone that he tailed--he hadn’t forgotten how during the expedition, she seemed to have immensely attuned senses, with how quickly and easily she could pick up on what no one else could see. He still didn’t want to lose her because he fell too far behind, but he had to be careful--something kept tipping her off to his presence, and while he didn’t know what, he had to control everything he could and make it harder for her to notice his presence. Distance was his friend, right now.

It was hard, trying to trail someone while having to put so much distance between them that she frequently turned out of sight, but he kept it up, heart pounding in anticipation as his mental map of the area tried to come up with where she was heading. Right now, it just felt like she was aimlessly wandering, like there was no real direction to where she was going. What the hell was she doing?

After several minutes of following her around like this, Levi started to grow impatient, wondering if she was aware he was following her and was just walking random places until he got bored and left. If anything, it was more likely to make him confront her.

Except he needed to see what she was really doing down here, and if she was aware he was following her, that wasn’t going to happen.

Another shadowy figure entered their line, in front of Levi but behind L/N. It was a man, staying far enough back that he clearly wasn’t walking with her--another tail. Someone with more sinister intentions, too, Levi would guess, by the way he seemed to be stalking her. With how far back Levi was, he hadn’t been noticed by this new party, but he was close enough that Levi was certain L/N had noticed them.

Except...she wasn’t trying to shake them. She should have been able to do it with ease after she had lost Levi so easily that first night, but she didn’t do anything differently. Her pace remained the same, unhurried and with no real direction, even as the intruder got gradually closer.

What the hell?

Was he wrong? Was it someone she knew that she was meeting up with? No, that looked like something else, Levi knew exactly what this was, he’d seen it enough times to recognize when someone was about to get jumped.

On the other hand...this was perfect for him. Horrible as the initial thought might have been, if he tailed her tail, it put plenty of distance between himself and L/N, and as long as her tail didn’t lose her, even with her completely out of sight he wouldn’t lose track of her. And if something went wrong, well, he was right here.

Levi shifted his cloak aside at the waist, turning slightly and waiting a few moments before he fired the cables into the nearest building, using it to get onto the roofs and nothing more. The rest could be on foot, no more use of the gear. ODM had a very distinct sound any soldier who had been around them as long as L/N had would recognize instantly, so he didn’t dare use it any more times until he’d found what he was looking for. He didn’t know how keen those remarkable senses of hers were, if it was her hearing or her sight or hell, even her nose like Miche, that had allowed her to spot those Titans. Because he didn’t know how, he couldn’t risk it.

Now with the advantage of a higher vantage point, Levi followed L/N’s tail from quite a distance, able to see him further and more comfortably from so high up, his footsteps still light and silent even though he was alone on these rooftops.

Being up here reminded him of several things he hadn’t fully realized when he’d lived down here, or that he’d learned to ignore or had forgotten in his time above ground. How there was no wind down here, which was disconcerting after so long above ground with fresh air and cool breezes. How dark it really was, even with the orange glow of firelight from homes, impacting his visibility and making it hard to pick out details from a distance. And the stench--he’d been blocking it out, something he’d trained himself to do down here when he wasn’t in his own space that he could keep clean, but now that he was higher up and not in the thick of the shit, the air wasn’t quite as thick with it.

Slightly. Just barely.

The man he was following sped up and took a sudden turn into a narrow alley, causing Levi to speed up his step as well, keeping an eye on the opposite end of the alley in case he exited the alley before Levi could reach it. Crouched low so that he wouldn’t be spotted if someone happened to look up, Levi reached the edge of the building before the alley, his hand placed lightly on the dirt-covered edge as he peered over with care, trying to lean far enough he could see but where he couldn’t be seen, or at least would hardly be seen. L/N’s tail hadn’t left the alley, so they should be--

Before the alley became visible, Levi realized there were no sounds coming from the alley--no sounds of a fight, no drip of blood, no talking, nothing. If her tail had caught up to her, there should have been /something/ coming from the alley below.

A few seconds more, and he had visual confirmation that the alley was empty, even though he hadn’t seen anyone leave it from either end.

Levi kept himself calm, not allowing himself to even worry about losing sight of them--he didn’t have the time for that. Clearly he’d been far enough behind that he’d missed something that had happened. Maybe they had cut through the building opposite the one he was standing on. There were no sounds coming from there, either--it was silent as the grave in this part of the city, unsettlingly enough. But it let him know they weren’t simply hiding in one of the buildings beneath him.

He knew this area--he knew the Underground, had grown up here, walked these streets or at least mapped out in his mind the best and worst places for all kinds of situations. He could figure out what had happened. Whether she got the drop on her tail or her tail had successfully jumped her, if they weren’t here they would have gone somewhere discreet, somewhere private that was also nearby. Not a residence, and anything that was dilapidated beyond even entry wouldn’t work. What was the best spot for that criteria that was also nearby, close enough it could be quickly ducked into without anyone noticing?

Levi jumped over the edge of the building and dropped back down into the mud, knees bent to absorb the impact before he quickly shifted, navigating the streets quickly and with a purpose as he closed in on the building that came to mind. He was still careful to be quiet and stealthy lest he spook L/N and lose his chance, but he was now running out of time--the longer they were out of sight, the greater the chance he would fail to see what was happening. And he’d come so close, he couldn’t let the opportunity slip past him again.

Her being in trouble didn’t even cross his mind--he knew she could have shaken that tail if she wanted to, and she had beaten him in a sparring match. Even if that tail jumped her, he doubted she would be the one in trouble.

*Reader’s POV*

The one thing you hated the most about coming to the Underground to hunt was the smell. With how sensitive your senses were, it was absolutely horrid for you. It had taken all of your focus and much of your time when you’d first come down here to learn how to block that foul smell out, though usually it involved handicapping your sense of smell altogether--except for with blood. Blood always pierced through any mental block you’d constructed for yourself.

Still, you were down one sense when you came down here to hunt, refusing to breathe through your nose so you wouldn’t become nauseous, sickened by the stench in the air.

The only time that changed down here was when you fed--when the scent of blood filled your every breath with your teeth latched into your most recent kill, warm at first but growing gradually colder as you drained the life from them, a hand over their mouth to muffle any sound or screams until they could make them no more.

Of course you had known about the shady individual tailing you--you had wandered aimlessly in one of the worst parts of the Underground specifically so you could draw someone out, could lure in one of the many victimizers that lurked in these dark corners and turn the tables on them, making their chosen path of victimizing and terror a fatal one. As soon as he entered the dark, isolated alley that you had turned into, you had grabbed him and dashed away with that inhuman speed of yours, pulling him into the nearest abandoned, unowned building where you immediately sank your teeth into him to satiate the hunger that had started to claw at you once again.

Hidden in the darkest corner of the abandoned building, the man had stopped moving beneath you, body turning cold, though from experience you knew he still had more blood to give. You were going to take it all, so it would last you just a little while longer before you had to delve back into the Underground’s cesspool for a fresh kill to satiate the hunger again after it returned.

By now, this was normal for you. You had been doing it for decades, and had long worked out your feelings over the moral implications of it all. This was just your way of life, how you survived. And it would continue to be for years and years to come.

One thing about scents down here--there was no wind to carry them away or towards you. So when you picked up on someone’s scent, it usually meant they were close...very close. Especially since you went out of your way to block scents down here unless you were in the middle of a feed, like right now.

As such, you stiffened when you caught the beginning traces of a familiar scent, one that was usually carried towards you on a breeze and let you know you were being watched. Tea leaves, cleanliness or cleaning products, hints of mint that might have just been a figment of your own imagination because it was something you associated with a clean smell.

Levi. And if you were catching his scent strongly enough for it to pierce through the blood you were feeding off, then he was dangerously close.

Immediately, you tried to gulp down every last drop you could, wanting to still finish so you wouldn’t have to come back down here so soon, even though your instincts were yelling at you to get out of here before he found you. As a result of your suddenly rushed attempts to finish your meal, you made a bit more of a mess than you usually did. Blood smeared across your face and dribbled down onto your shirt, some unfortunately falling to the ground below as your teeth tore into the man’s neck in an attempt to get this last bit to gush out.

You could hear him, he was just outside the building, you couldn’t wait any longer, you’d already waited too long.

How much had he seen? How long had he been onto you? How had he found you?

You could worry about that when you were safely back at the Scout’s headquarters and in the process of cleaning up any evidence you’d ever been to the Underground, right now, you had to leave.

Now you didn’t even have time to try and hide the body.

Teeth unlatching from the man’s neck, hood pulled low over your head to hide all of your features, you finally bolted, heading for the opposite side as you heard the door open, worried that you still had been too late, that he might have seen your hasty exit, or at least a flash of your cloak disappearing around the corner of the open doorway.

There was no chance to take it back now. The best you could do was damage control and dig in your heels. He might have seen your cloak, maybe, but as far as you knew, he had no way of knowing it was you. No definitive way, anyway. He hadn’t seen your face, hadn’t seen any defining features. As far as you were aware, he’d only seen your cloak. You still had a chance. Especially if you cleaned your clothes fast enough and thoroughly enough there wasn’t a trace of blood or the Underground on them.

Heart pounding as you attempted to keep yourself calm so you could act rationally and not tip your hand and give yourself away by panicking, you raced back to the surface to start disposing of evidence in the safety of your quarters.

*Levi’s POV*

Levi tried to be quick when he opened the door, intending to catch L/N in the middle of whatever was happening in here and then act accordingly. As far as he was aware, he’d acted fast enough and quietly enough he should have gotten the drop on her, even with that apparent sixth sense of hers that had allowed her to avoid him thus far. The door swung open, and he saw a blur of motion--a blur he tried to write off as simply his eyes still adjusting to the scene at first--and the flash of a dark cloak disappearing around the corner.

Levi’s eyes widened at the realization that blur or at least the cloak was L/N fleeing from the scene, a ‘Tch!’ escaping him as he dashed across the abandoned building to try and make it out the other side before she could disappear again, hand on the edge of the doorway as he slid out into the alley on the other side.

Nothing.

He rushed to the mouth, hoping that maybe she had just turned out of sight, that he wasn’t about to lose her again like he had the first time he’d followed her.

Again, nothing. Not even the sound of retreating footsteps. She was just...gone, like the first time.

“Shit!”

Swearing loudly to himself, with the sound surprisingly disconcerting when it was thrown out into the silent streets, Levi turned back to the abandoned building, the only thing he had now that L/N had fled.

She had fled, which meant that this time she might have left something behind for him to find in her haste to leave. People got sloppy when they were in a rush, and he was going to take full advantage of it.

Giving one last frustrated look down the deserted street, Levi doubled back to the abandoned building she had been inside, standing in the middle of the room as his eyes did a quick roam over his surroundings, looking for anything out of place, anything out of the ordinary.

Over in a dark corner, there was a mass, some kind of shape that looked distorted and unlike any kind of furniture or item found in an abandoned building like this. It wasn't moving, but Levi still approached with caution, the dark shape slowly taking form as Levi approached, gradually becoming clearer as Levi silently came closer.

It was a body. The tail he'd been following, from the looks of it, though Levi still didn't have a cause of death. The body was distorted and lying unnaturally, head bent at an odd angle--not broken, just left in an odd position--and it was lying face down, as if it had been dropped in a rush.

He had interrupted something. The question now was what had he interrupted. His gaze had already darkened with the realization she'd left a body behind, but whether this had been intentional or self-defense remained to be seen. The motive, her intentions, were largely going to affect how he reacted.

Levi turned the body over with his foot and froze, staring at the man’s throat. It was ripped out, like an animal had sunk its teeth all the way in but had been startled into tearing away before it was ready, bringing half the man’s throat with it. Yet, despite the gruesome sight, there were only a few drops of blood on the ground beneath the body, a couple light smears around the wound itself. When Levi crouched down to touch the body, it was ice cold against his fingers. Algor mortis shouldn’t have even started yet, the man had hardly been dead for a few moments, but there was next to no blood despite his manner of death, the body lacked all warmth--the warmth shouldn’t have drained from him for at least a half hour.

There should have been blood all over this place--should have still been some blood in him draining to the parts of his body lying on the ground. And yet…

A memory was making its way unbidden to the front of his mind, whispering sinister, impossible, dark thoughts into his mind as Levi stared at the dead man's throat. A memory of a legend Kenny once tried to scare him with, one he had dismissed as nonsense and scoffed at the impossible tale.

A tale about an immortal creature that plagued the Underground as long as there had been an Underground, choosing the miserable place because of its darkness and isolation from the sun, and its plethora of people that no one would even care if someone went missing every now and then. An undead demon with glowing red eyes, the last thing a man saw before it feasted on his blood and drained the life out of him, leaving his empty body lying in the street with his throat ripped open.

Kenny had told it to him once to scare him, to keep him from getting too cocky and thinking he was untouchable. And Levi had called him out on it, called it the bullshit he'd been so sure that it was. There was no such thing as demons or bloodsucking monsters. There were real monsters in the world, but not of this dark, fantastical variety.

And Kenny had taught him the lesson that had led him here. And made him a bit more wary of the darker corners of the world.

"Maybe not demons...or maybe there are. There's Titans above ground, right? Why wouldn't we have our own brand of monster down here?"

Kenny scratched his chin. "Whether you believe in the demon part or not, there's always a little truth to every legend. At the least, there's probably a killer somewhere down here with a signature like that who caused the stories."

Levi looked dubiously at Kenny. "Yeah? How do I know they're not just legends about your murders."

"Because, Runt. I slit throats, I don't rip 'em out."

Levi felt his blood run cold, chilling him to the core.

What he’d witnessed...she had not been a target, she had never been someone’s prey; she had been the hunter luring in an unsuspecting victim.

How long had she been doing this? A couple years at least, going off how long she'd been sneaking out to the Underground, but it probably went on before that, before she joined the military, before she even showed up on the surface. When he'd caught the smell of blood on her cloak he hadn't expected this to be the source.

“I...conduct blood rituals to achieve perfection.”

That deadpan delivery at the table in the mess hall--had she been secretly mocking them? Or, more accurately, secretly mocking him, the one trying to figure out what she was hiding?

Was she...even human?

It was insane, but so was the thought of the empty grave before he’d opened that coffin. It was madness, but it fit, it made things that had seemed alien suddenly belong in this greater picture. Where else would all this blood have gone, especially with how quickly she had to leave because of his interruption? How else would she have these senses that told her when Levi was near--that allowed her to know when she was being followed when it should have been impossible, that allowed her to see him in detail in the shadows from a distance yet still draw a perfect portrait, and had made her aware of the Titans before anyone else? That strength and ease in all of her physical requirements as a soldier had to have come from somewhere, like Levi’s, but this hadn’t been what he was thinking.

And then there was the undead thing, the immortal thing, from the story he’d heard as a child.

No, no that was pushing it too far. That she might not be human was a hard enough pill to swallow, even when he had his own superhuman abilities and lived in a world of Titans. He was not a superstitious person, and this was a hard thought to even entertain, let alone to take seriously. Even when he was staring at a corpse that strongly suggested the truth of the tale.

Even if it would explain how Y/N Frazier crawled out of her grave when it was supposed to be humanly impossible. Even though it smoothed away the question of how Y/N Frazier and Y/N L/N were connected by suggesting they were the same person.

No matter what the full truth was, he was at a point where he had to confront her either way, for everyone’s safety. He might be the only one who could match her, physically, and even then he’d have to be extra careful about his approach, because she could still overpower him if he wasn’t careful. At the very least, she was a murderer, a serial killer who hadn’t stopped even after joining the Scouts and was still regularly killing, and somewhere he used to live, no less. He had hated living down here, but part of him still took that personally.

At the worst, though, she was a monster of shadowy legend. One that preyed on humankind, like the Titans. A true enemy of mankind that it seemed almost no one was aware of. Now he knew, and he had to do something about it.

But first, the confrontation. And he better make sure he had her cornered and that he was ready for a fight. It was likely she would lash out, and he needed to be prepared for a fight for survival. He needed to be ready to handle the situation as soon as he had the truth, because whether she was a murderer or monster only affected how the fight would go and the severity of the stakes. If she was a legitimate monster as well as a murderer did not affect the fact that a fight was inevitable--it just decided how deadly it would actually be.

And he needed a contingency in case the worst happened, so the truth wouldn’t die with him.

The Scouts needed to know what lurked within their ranks. Erwin needed to know. It was all a front--something deadly was masquerading as one of them, and it needed to be stopped before it could do irreversible damage.

Next Chapter---->

Levi Tags: @clary-quinn @humanitys-hottestsoldier@whalerus @sunny-flo @thirstyforsometea

Wings in the Dark Tags: @regalillegal @animeluver23 @theshylittleelfgirl @queenthorin1 @dilucs-thighs @sociallyanxiousmouse

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songofclarity · 4 years

Text

The theory that Nie HuaiSang pushed Mo XuanYu to suicide, especially the theory that he killed Mo XuanYu as some kind of eye-for-an-eye revenge against Jin GuangYao for killing Nie MingJue, doesn't make any sense to me because Jin GuangYao never wanted Mo XuanYu alive to begin with. Jin GuangYao was afraid of Mo XuanYu before they even met. In fact, he was likely more afraid of Mo XuanYu than he had ever been afraid of Nie MingJue!

[Jin GuangYao,] “Do you think that I’m in a steady position, here at the LanlingJin Sect? Do you think that I can rise into power the moment Jin ZiXuan dies? Jin GuangShan would rather bring another illegitimate child back than want me to succeed him! You think that I should be afraid of nothing? Well I’m afraid of everything, even other people!” (Ch. 49, ERS)

So Nie HuaiSang getting rid of Mo XuanYu would have done Jin GuangYao a favor. I just can't fathom Nie HuaiSang doing Jin GuangYao's dirty work for him at any point in time after Nie MingJue’s death. After all, Jin GuangYao had done a fine job getting started destroying Mo XuanYu’s life without anyone else’s help.

However, before Mo XuanYu [could] achieve success in cultivation and inherit his father’s position, he was driven back.

On top of that, he was driven back shamefully.

Like adding frost to snow, aside from the event itself, when Mo XuanYu returned, he often behaved in a crazy manner, almost as if his life was scared out of him. (Ch. 2, ERS)

Jin GuangYao was already playing with the dangers of incest, but now he’s going to make it work for his benefit. Claiming Mo XuanYu was toying with incest was possibly the one and only thing Jin GuangShan could not have tolerated. Mo XuanYu could have had anyone he wanted! Jin GuangShan knows it best! But his own half-brother? Absolutely not. Mo XuanYu was so psychologically damaged by whatever happened to him that he can’t defend himself. And to the rest of the family, Jin GuangYao is nothing but the victim of Mo XuanYu’s perversion. Jin GuangYao becomes someone they defend from Mo XuanYu.

[Jin Chan, Jin Ling’s cousin], “Mo XuanYu, you still have the face to return?” (Ch. 47, ERS)

It’s a win-win for innocent A-Yao. But Mo XuanYu could always come back if he’s alive. Reputations can be repaired, especially if they were falsely damaged. Mo XuanYu dead? That would be much better, but it’s not a pressing matter once Jin GuangShan is dead and Jin GuangYao is Chief Cultivator.

But to Nie HuaiSang, Mo XuanYu is far more valuable alive. We only get a few hints of what Nie HuaiSang is thinking, and here’s one of them:

[Sisi,] “But after my savior heard about what happened to me, he decided not to let that pretentious, immoral man continue to fool the world.” (Ch. 85)

Mo XuanYu was just another one of Jin GuangYao’s victims. He was a witness to Jin GuangYao's crimes just like Sisi and Bicao. If Nie HuaiSang went to talk to Mo XuanYu as is commonly believed, the evidence points to him trying to get the dirt on Jin GuangYao. Sisi told Nie HuaiSang about the rape-murder of Jin GuangShan. Bicao revealed Jin GuangYao’s incestual relationship with Qin Su. Mo XuanYu, as well, can reveal Jin GuangYao's ties to practicing demonic cultivation.

This is important because the lack of this information drives part of the story. No one knew Jin GuangYao had a hand in demonic cultivation or the Stygian Tiger Seal until the end at Guanyin Temple. Because no one knew this, there were no other suspects except the Yiling Patriarch wrecking havoc at the Burial Mounds before the second siege, and the cultivation world moved just as Jin GaungYao wanted it to move. Jin GuangYao was able to continue pulling strings from the shadows with Su She.

Xue Yang might have been a slim follow-up after Mo XuanYu to pin Jin GuangYao’s connections down, but even Nie HuaiSang’s role with Yi City is tenuous at best. And then Lan WangJi both killed that evidence and Su She whisked it away via teleportation. Jin GuangYao had many crimes, but the malicious use of demonic cultivation he neatly evaded, just as he evaded having to admit to murdering Nie MingJue.

Again, Mo XuanYu was more more valuable to Nie HuaiSang alive than dead.

Let’s still go ahead with the idea that Nie HuaiSang went to Mo XuanYu to ask questions. What happened to Mo XuanYu at Koi Tower? What did Jin GuangYao do that drove Mo XuanYu insane? What demonic cultivation did Mo XuanYu learn from Jin GuangYao? Where is the entrance to Jin GuangYao's treasure room? How does one get into the treasure room?

Don’t forget that Nie HuaiSang is still looking for the rest of Nie MingJue's body at this point. All he has is an arm. Might Jin GuangYao be keeping Nie MingJue's body close to home? Is that why Nie HuaiSang can’t find him? And he’ll find out not much later that yes, he was partially correct. Nie HuaiSang’s reaction in the treasure room could very well be half and half. Half of him suspected as much, but it doesn't change how shocking or disgusting the reality of it is to the other half. The best lies are based on truth, and Nie HuaiSang showing a weak constitution when faced with horrible news and frightening encounters might not have been completely fake.

(Nie HuaiSang was afraid but he didn’t let fear stop him. It’s the one trait he shares with Jin GuangYao, although their means and ends are quite different.)

Nie MingJue’s head was likely in the treasure room when Mo XuanYu was reading Jin GuangYao’s demonic cultivation collection all those years ago. Mo XuanYu could have told Nie HuaiSang of this, except Mo XuanYu might not have been in his right mind to be telling anyone anything of value.

Worse case scenario here is that Nie HuaiSang, as a willing conversationalist about demonic cultivation, stirred Mo XuanYu up from whatever abused docility he'd succumbed to for years. Mo XuanYu was kept locked up and abused and treated like an animal. Now here is someone willing to talk to him like a real person. Just as Nie HuaiSang saved Sisi from her imprisonment, he could have very well have saved Mo XuanYu from his, but the results were wildly different.

Any hints or reveals that Nie HuaiSang is out for vengeance could stir such wishes in Mo XuanYu in turn, his own trauma provoked, his own need for justice inspired. Mo XuanYu moves forward with his revenge just as Nie HuaiSang is trying to move forward with his.

Perhaps Nie HuaiSang name drops Wei WuXian or perhaps he doesn’t, it doesn’t really matter. Mo XuanYu would already have known who is the Grandmaster of Demonic Cultivation. Mo XuanYu already knows what evil spirit he needs to call upon for help. Demonic cultivation was likely the only thing he had left to make him feel empowered, and so Wei WuXian is the one who will take care to right all wrongs when no one else will.

Sadly, Jin GuangYao is not on the list of people Mo XuanYu wants revenge on -- because Jin GuangYao is already experienced at making himself look innocent. Mo XuanYu would have had no idea how wronged he was by his half-brother. So Mo XuanYu only wants the death of his immediate family. His immediate abusers.

But Mo XuanYu is missing something: knowing he needs to convey his wishes to Wei WuXian. Without it, Mo XuanYu’s sacrifice is in vain and the both of them die. Or that would have been their fate if Wei WuXian had not figured it out for himself in time.

We already know Jin GuangYao can put an extra piece into a cultivation technique, such as the Collection of Turmoil into Cleansing. It stands to reason that he is just as able to take a piece out of a cultivation technique.

After all, Mo XuanYu got the technique from him. The gap of this knowledge is thus a ticking time bomb just waiting for Mo XuanYu to give it a try and cut the wrong wire. Jin GuangYao also immediately knows and is quite happy to tell everyone the details of what Mo XuanYu did, despite finding out this is Wei WuXian in front of him barely thirty minutes ago and Mo XuanYu was banished years ago:

Jin GuangYao continued, “I’m sure that none of you know this, but back when XuanYu was still at Koi Tower, he had seen a copy of the YiLing Patriarch’s manuscript at my place. The manuscript recorded a dark technique that ‘sacrificed’ one’s body. With the price being the soul and the body, one could summon a powerful spirit to seek revenge in place of themself. Sect Leader Jiang wouldn’t be able to test it even if he hit him with a hundred more strikes. It’s because the person who used the technique sacrificed their body willingly. It doesn’t count as a possession at all!” [Ch. 50, ERS]

“I’m sure that none of you know this,” Jin GuangYao says, because this was all a plot of his own secret design. It benefits him now to reveal the truth of Mo XuanYu’s demise just as it doesn’t benefit him to ever reveal the truth of Nie MingJue.

But Mo XuanYu was as much a victim of Jin GuangYao as Nie MingJue. Jin GuangYao made sure they destroyed themselves on their own time rather than holding the blade himself.

Nie HuaiSang might not have been a holy avenger and mistakes were very likely made, but there is a lack of motive and evidence here that he ever wanted or sought Mo XuanYu’s death. Too much damage had already happened by the time Nie HuaiSang arrived on the scene. I can picture him throwing up his arms in despair and letting Nie MingJue’s arm go free onto this already crazy crime scene. Imagine the struggle the whole Lan Sect had had with the arm and now imagine Nie HuaiSang trying to manage it all on his own. He was not having a good time!

Mo Village was already a crime scene and now here was one more piece of evidence. The Lans knew inquiry whereas Nie HuaiSang did not. Let the Lans take the arm and find the rest of Nie MingJue for him. Let Nie HuaiSang continue to play innocent in front of Jin GuangYao. Let the arm claim more of Lan XiChen’s attention than Jin GuangYao.

But then Wei WuXian survived his resurrection trial and was taken in by Lan WangJi.

The next time Nie HuaiSang sees Mo XuanYu is at the Stone Castles, and by seeing Mo XuanYu, he knows immediately that the sacrifice worked.

But just because he knows and he saw doesn’t mean it was Nie HuaiSang’s doing, especially when Jin GuangYao’s bloody fingerprints were already encircling Mo XuanYu’s neck.

#nie huaisang #jin guangyao #mo xuanyu #nhs vs jgy #mdzs thoughts #thinking maybe nhs shouldn't be blindly accused of 1st degree murder #just for consideration lol #saying nhs killed mxy is so weird to me #nhs becoming jgy to defeat jgy feels uninspired #nhs is that meme where the man is like #do you think a depressed person could make this??#jgy was afraid and wanted power #nhs was afraid but he wanted justice #they are not the same person #you can tell how much i'm procrastinating irl #by how long these spur of the moment posts are lol

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that-random-chaos-entity · 3 years

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How does your OC display love? What are some habits your OC has picked up?

Forgive me as this is a LONG post, but I felt it would be better to show, rather than tell, this one:

Words could not describe how awkward Perturabo felt being back in the Emperor's palace. It would have been bad enough if it were just his deadbeat father, a half-rotten corpse sitting in an overglorified golden life-support casket, ignoring him as per usual. But it wasn't just his father; so many of his brothers had come for this... ...this Sanguinala... ...in many ways it almost felt like the Heresy had never happened.

Vulcan, Corvus, Fulgrim, ROGAL FUCKING DORN, Magnus.... ...hell, even SANGUINIUS had come back from the dead. Raised by the same mysterious chaos entity that had turned Perturabo's world and soul inside out. Made him live his own life over and over again, through the eyes of the people around him, until he got the point. The people he impacted. The people he used, abused, and destroyed without a second thought. The people he...

...Perturabo shook his head, the physical action somehow dislodging the poisonous psychic tumor from his soul. Even though that parasite was long gone and the Eye of Terror no longer loomed over him, it had been feeding on his twisted spirit for so long that its blasted and withered hide still bled for it. Casting his self-destructive thoughts into the warp. This was a good thing (or so the Lanky Llama said). Though sometimes, when he started to brood and sulk, things would get... ...gummed up. He could shake any errant clots loose himself, but nobody helped the darkness bleed out of him like Nehetari.

And holy shit did he wish she were here right now. When she and her robotic people were around... ...the Lord of Iron actually felt like... ...himself. Or the version of himself that he wanted to be, anyway.

But no, "No xenos allowed at a family gathering," the Emperor had said. Not that it even would have mattered if they were; it was one of those weird weeks where the lanky llama disappeared on him and holed up in her room by herself. Something about a "Necrontyr biological cycle," that would, "likely make her act inappropriately," or "embarrass herself and him," but she would say no more on the matter.

Of course it would happen over the day when he needed--erm could have used her presence the most.

"Aren't you going to open your gifts, brother?"

Perturabo snapped out of his brooding to see Magnus looming beside him. It took him a second to process what he said, but when he did he scowled.

"Gifts Magnus? Really? Do think anyone here would ever give me a gift?"

"Excuse me! What am I, grox manure!?" there was no real irritation in Magnus's voice. He gestured to table in front of Perturabo, where three gifts sat that he could have SWORN were not there before. "And if you must know, you're the only brother here I saw fit to even GET a gift for."

"Aside from Sanguinius."

"Well... ...yeah..." the Crimson King shuffled his wings awkwardly. Both primarchs stole a glance at the MOUNTAIN of gifts that their brother had received. "...b-but he doesn't count."

Perturabo sighed. He didn't feel like feeling jealous of Sanguinius right now. Instead he grabbed the first package; it was obviously Magnus's gift. Whatever was in it was so warp-touched that it levitated a solid three feet off the table and changed size randomly. It turned out to be a small inter-dimensional rift that contained a book of arcane engineering, one that Perturabo had surprisingly not seen before. He thanked his brother; something that drew a surprised look from Magnus and a complimentary hug that Turbo awkwardly returned. The second gift was from Sanguinius, as it turned out, and when he opened the box he saw his own face, reflected in a simple yet elegant mirror. After a moment of wondering if this gift was actually meant for Fulgrim (clone fulgrim), he saw the inscription on the box lid which read, "to my big brother: it brings me joy to see happiness in your eyes now. I hope with this you can see it too."

Perturabo swore under his breath and slammed the box shut, furiously hoping that Magnus hadn't heard him sniffle just a tiny little bit. It was a moving gift to be sure, but after everything that had happened... ...somehow it just made the Lord of Iron feel like garbage. Well... ...more so than usual.

Thankfully, quick-thinking Magnus directed his brother's attention to the third gift. In fact, if he didn't know better, Perturabo would have sworn Magnus seemed even MORE excited for him to open this gift than his own.

"What is... ...is this from...?"

"MHMMM!" Magnus's enthusiasm was all-consuming, his grin audible in his tone. "She asked me come and pick it up from outside her door earlier this morning."

Perturabo's melancholy dissipated into a wave of curiosity. What sat before him was a perfect cube of blackstone, though if he knew anything about Nehetari, he knew that wasn't all there was to it.

Sure enough, when he picked it up, glyphs flashed along its side.

"Is... ...that..."

"Necrontyr," Perturabo murmured in deep concentration. "...and not just any form of Necrontyr; this is Ksakhemet Script."

"What?"

"Think of it as our high gothic. Except it's as if we had a high, HIGH gothic. Only the three Necrontyr kings and their families even knew how to speak this script, let alone how to read and write it. It is ancient, according to Nehetari... ...it's from a time even before the Necrontyr first started their galactic expansion."

Those statements alone were like a different language to Magnus, but his lust for ancient knowledge ignited like a blazing inferno. He would absolutely have to grill both Perturabo AND his xenos companion for more information once she was.... ...*ahem* no longer indesposed.

Perturabo turned the cube over and over in his hands, reading the ornate lettering as best he could. He'd only just started learning how to read Ksakhemet; he couldn't speak it properly because he lacked the extensive Necrontyr vocal range, but the lettering started to make sense the more he plied his fantastic mind.

"It is... ...a puzzle cube. I believe."

"D'AAWWW... How sweet...!"

Perturabo punched his brother in the shoulder, but it phased through his immaterial form.

"Shut your mouth!" He could already feel the heat creeping up his neck and he HATED it. Although he had to admit he was a little touched, if amused, that Nehetari had put together such a... ...thought-out gift.

And well-thought-out it was indeed! It became clear to the Lord of Iron that this wasn't just some slide and lock, physics based puzzle toy for mortal children. It was a custom-made testing tool designed to challenge his understanding of spacial compression, sub-atomic energy transfer, and even Necrontyr cultural theory. Each segment was challenging, unique, and soon he found himself absorbed. Magnus tagged along for the ride of course, and his respect for Nehetari grew each time he heard his brother growl in frustration, or give a small "...Ha! So that's it..."

"She has... ...quite the impressive mind. Especially for a xenos."

Perturabo grunted his affirmation. "...you don't know the half of it. She makes the Hrud look like a bunch of children." With a click the puzzle changed shape in his hands again, "...I would even say she has a mind similar to ours."

"...you don't say..."

"Hmph, she's DEFINITELY smarter than Dorn. I know that for sure."

Magnus chuckled. Of course she was.

The Lord of Iron didn't realize it immediately, but the puzzle cube was meant to serve another function, not just being an intriguing mental exercise. The more he fidgeted with it, the more time passed. Not by some technomantic power or magical means; he was just so absorbed in Nehetari's gift that he didn't notice his brothers packing up their gifts and starting to drift around and away from the throne room. Magnus, realizing he wouldn't be much help with this exercise, had taken notice of the custodes' Captain General (the one they call "kitten") and had begun to chat with him. Sanguinius was now at the Emperor's side, trying to pacify an impatient and belligerent Angron who just wanted to go celebrate Khornnuka with Lotara and Kharn. Corvus had dissapeared to... ...somewhere, and Vulkan was... ....had he somehow jackknifed himself into the psychic fireplace that the Emperor created!? Russ was laughing at him and drinking himself stupid (not that he had many IQ points to lose in the first place), but thankfully nobody was paying any attention to Turbo. Huh, who'd have thought; Perturabo was actually HAPPY that he was being ignored right now.

With a satisfying ding the cube shifted again, and to his surprise, glyphs flashed indicating that this was, in fact, the final challenge.

"Let's have it then. I'm ready..." the Lord of Iron grinned. He flicked the raised pad below the text and the final task scrolled across blackstone. Surprisingly, this time it was in High Gothic.

"...who is... ...my... ...favorite... ...human?"

He stared at the screen, dumbfounded. "Really? After all that, the last puzzle, is 'who's my favorite human?' Really?"

But wait... ...was the answer actually as easy as it appeared? Perturabo wanted to put his own name, but what if he was wrong? What if he wasn't her favorite human? He was hardly even "human" in the first place. Maybe she meant a true, normal human? But if this was supposed to be a present for him, why would she blatantly make him answer that her favorite human WASN'T him. What if...

"Hey nerd, the answer's obviously you."

Perturabo jumped to see Leman Russ passing him.

"What the-! Whe-how did you... ...you can't read!" Perturabo stammered. There was no way Leman just waltzed over here...

The Wolf Lord grinned, "Hey, ye nerds aren't the only ones who know how teh learn things. If I taught meself teh read Fenrisian runes, I can teach meself teh read some wolfin' High Gothic!"

"..."

"...that and I may or may not have used some of meh own psychic powers to read yer mind. You know, teh fill in teh blanks."

Considerably less impressed, Perturabo grumbled as he keyed the letters of his name into the cube. With another ding and a flash of green light, previously invisible cracks along the cube's surface began to glow and the cube began to shift one last time. When it finished, a tiny black tray was left in its place, revealing... ...a letter? And a pict?

"What's all this now?" Leman reached towards the tray.

Perturabo snatched it away, "Fuck off Russ! This is MY gift!"

"Oooh, is this from yer GIRLFRIEND!?"

"SHE'S NOT MY GIRLFRIEND!!"

"Hey fuck you Leman!" Oh boy, here comes Magnus, "Like you could ever understand the subtlety and genius that went into that puzzle box! Let him enjoy his gift in peace!"

"LeT HiM eNjOy HiS gIfT iN pEaCe!" Leman crooned. "Shut her trap and go back teh yer boyfriend, yeh big red canary."

Magnus puffed up in outrage and looked about ready to turn Leman inside out. When Perturabo noticed Sanguinius inbound, no doubt to dissolve the impending battle, he took his chance to dip out. And by "dip out" I mean grab the tray and its contents, and duck under the table. It would hide him for all of a second, but that would be as long as it would take him to read the letter.

Or it would have, if Leman hadn't, SOMEHOW, been able to reach the tray before him. He snatched up the letter, practically from between Perturabo's fingers, and with utter horror the Lord of Iron watched as his brother brandished the page, cleared his throat, and began to read:

"Perturabo..."

"FUCK YOU LEMAN THAT'S NOT YOURS!!" Magnus howled. Perturabo roared in fury. Both brothers made a mad lunge at the Wolf Lord but he dodged, shit-eating grin on his face as he continued reading.

"...Perturabo,

I'm sorry, but I...."

"....failed you?"

At the mention of the word "failed", Perturabo's onslaught faltered, as did Magnus's. Leman's grin died on his lips as he read the next line, his eyes widening for a moment before they squeezed shut. He then passed the letter back to Perturabo, mumbled a barely audible apology, turned, and without a word walked off.

"That's not what I... ...uh... ...expected?" Magnus muttered. "He looked like a kicked pup. What did that letter..."

Perturabo clutched the paper looking the most feral Magnus had ever seen him.

"...you know what, never mind. That letter's meant for you anyway." He added quickly. "I'll be in the library if you need me, brother."

And just like that, Perturabo was alone. Well, mostly; the Emperor was still there, but he was oddly quiet. Sanguinius was watching him too, but from a discreet distance.

The Lord of Iron backed up into the corner of the room, still riled up but looking a little less crazy. Once he was satisfied that NOBODY ELSE would attempt to confiscate his stuff, he finally began to read what Nehetari wrote for him.

"Perturabo,

I am sorry, but I failed you. You said you wanted your brothers' appreciation for a Sanguinala gift, but of all the ones I interviewed asking for an appreciative memory they have of you, the only ones who gave me a response were your brothers Magnus and Sanguinius. So instead I instigated a situation to make one (please reference the included image). If your brother's expressions are to be believed, then I believe they all enjoyed attacking your snow bunker. I certainly enjoyed helping you defend it.

May you have a somber and pleasant celebration,

The Mehlrose,

Nehetari of the Szarekhan Dynasty.

Heir to the Silent Throne."

...Perturabo couldn't believe it.

He's asked for that as a JOKE. He hadn't actually been serious. When she's approached him, asking what he wanted as a "Sanguinala gift," he'd been in the middle of a complicated programming script and had said that just to get the point across that he didn't want to be bothered.

Slowly, and with a shaking hand, he lifted the pict from the tray and turned it over.

And she was right. This shot must have been taken by one of her tunneling scarabs. Or maybe one of her guard as they were circling the perimeter, hurling snow and distracting Russ. But however it was taken, somehow it was able to get a perfect shot of every primarch, including himself and Nehetari, hurling fucking snow or getting completely dunked on, but every single one of them had varying degrees of stupid fucking grin on their faces. Even Corvus was smiling!

It struck him: had that been her plan all along?

Minutes passed, and finally the Emperor himself spoke up. "My son, you're shaking like a Dark Elder nightclub on a Tuesday."

Perturabo didn't hear him. It took everything he had just to hold the pict in his trembling hands.

Why? Why. Why would she bother. How did she... ...why, why, why WHY? HOW!? When did she even have the TIME to plan this out!? There was no way. And not for him. Why? Why for him? And ALL OF THEM. How could she have known they would ALL come?

"Brother, are you ok?"

Perturabo snapped out of the loop to see the Angel standing beside him with a hand on his shoulder. He hadn't realized just how loudly his two hearts had been thundering, how BADLY his whole body had been shaking, until he felt that steadying touch. Instinctively he tried to regain control over his mind and body, and stowed the pict away in his belt.

Sanguinius asked no questions; he simply nodded.

"I'm going to find her..." Perturabo's voice sounded like sandpaper. He could feel the tears rolling down his neck, but he ignored them. "...I don't care if she FUCKING KILLS me; I am going to find her. She has no right.... ...she had no right to... ...to..."

"...go ahead brother." Sanguinius's smile was warm with understanding.

Salvaging what little dignity he felt he had left, Perturabo straightened up, turned on his heel, and walked shakily out of the throne room. He disappeared into the darkness, leaving his father and his brothers to stare after him in wonder.

(Sorry this is such a long post, but I started writing it and just went to town. I wanted to SHOW, rather than just tell, the kinds of things Nehetari does for the individuals that are important to her)

@gracia-regina @ask-a-scheming-sorcerer @luwupercal

#perturabo #nehetari #sanguinius #magnus the red #the emperor of mankind #leman russ #if the emperor had a text to speech device #tts #tts universe #necrontyr princess #warhammer 40k #wh40k #more oc shenanigans #asks #fuukonomiko

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rangerlink · 3 years

Note

Okay so your like the only other deltarune person I know but I need your input on an idea. Okay so you know how Jevil and Spamton got knowledge on how its all a game from Gaster? What if Ralsei is the same thing. Thats how hes able to make tutorials like that.

anon I don’t know how I ended up being the only Deltarune person you know but yeah it’s possible!

I mean, we don’t actually know if Kris is making all the dark worlds, or all of them except Ralsei’s, or just the one we see them making, or what. if you lean towards option b or c then that opens up the possibility that Ralsei’s whole dark world could even be made by Gaster

then there’s the matter of just where the hell did Ralsei’s prophecy come from in the first place?? like what’s the deal with that?

one thing I can think of just off the top of my head is that it seems like Gaster is linked/connected/involved in some way with all the dark worlds, including Ralsei’s, since the Entry 17 garbage noise plays when you try to use the phone in any of them

(plus entry 17 is where “darker yet darker” comes from, and Ralsei mentions his own dark fountain being made of “pure darkness”, as opposed to the other ones which...... aren’t? I guess?)

then there’s the fact that all three of Jevil, Spamton, and Ralsei have information they... really should have no way of knowing??

like you said with the video game aspect, both Ralsei and Jevil mention video game mechanics; with Ralsei it’s partly because he’s the tutorial guy, but there’s also that “who the hell is X” bit in Chapter 1, and then there’s Jevil’s “it’s a simple numbers game, if your HP reaches zero you lose” (very badly paraphrased lol) Jevil also makes a reference to the Queen, who ended up being the main antagonist of Chapter 2, which is just like...... how did he know that?? the computer lab dark world hadn’t even been made yet

I don’t remember Spamton referencing video game stuff (though I could have just forgotten), but he does mysteriously know Kris’s name, and I know lots of people are suspicious of how Ralsei knew Kris and Susie’s names. and I think it’s very plausible that Spamton’s knowledge came from Gaster

then there’s the shadow crystal things that get left behind by each secret boss, which show the light world when you look through them, so Jevil and Spamton may have seen through them also? and you totally could connect this to Ralsei’s mysterious knowledge of the light world

honestly with only two chapters out just about everything is still on the table! that’s why it’s so fun to theorize! this whole post was just me throwing spaghetti at the wall, but look how much spaghetti I found to throw!

Ralsei’s a mysterious guy and pretty much anything could be going on with him at this point, and I think you could do some really interesting things with this theory!

#asks #deltarune #dr spoilers #wow this got away from me! thank you anon!#again though this is all off the top of my head so if anything's wrong well. that's why #but yeah at this point things are so open and it's great

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miss-tc-nova · 3 years

Text

A Way Into the Future - Luxu

Alright, we’ve got the green light kiddos! So, without further ado, here’s my piece for the Shattered Fates - Foretller Zine. Enjoy!

Music Inspiration: I’ll Sleep When I’m Dead - Set It Off

~~~~~

Footsteps echo off the stone walls of the underpass beneath the Outer Gardens. One set—much faster than the other—struggles, moving unsteadily and with a lot of panic. It’s no wonder considering the owner of said steps took quite a beating. He put up a decent fight, but poor Braig had no hope of prevailing against his tormentor: a legend, a man of time, a Master—Luxu.

Ruthless yellow lights barely have the power to illuminate the tunnels, but the young man doesn’t need to see to know the man hunting him is not far behind.

As the black coat stalks persistently closer, his prey stumbles down the path, unaware that he’s being driven straight into a trap—doing everything that the stalker had intended to a T. Luxu has spent many years refining a variety of skills, both combative and strategic; coercing his victims into his snare is child’s play. Decades of thought have gone into formulating the criteria for his perfect vessel and, unfortunately for the young man, he matches every point perfectly.

Unbeknownst to the Radiant Garden native, Luxu had scouted his playground days prior to this encounter and had collapsed the only escape that gave his victim any prospect. His hope is effectively crushed at the sight of the clogged tunnel.

Eyes wide with pure terror, he turns back to Luxu. The sharpshooter has a quick draw, even in fear, but it proves just as useless as it had before. Barely any thought is spent on the barrier that prevents the bullets from reaching their mark.

“I already told you resisting me was useless,” Luxu drawls. “All this fear and pain could’ve been avoided if you had just done as I asked. But I guess it’s only fair to assume any self-respecting warrior worth his salt would struggle.”

Backed against the debris, the kid quivers. To his merit, he maintains his aim, despite how utterly doomed he is.

“What do you want with me?!”

Luxu pauses his approach. “Hmm, let’s see—that brand new job you just took at the castle is a good start.”

“A job? You want my job? I-I can talk to my boss! Just let me talk to Ansem!”

“I hate to tell you, kid, but I need more than your job. I need your entire existence. Or more specifically, I need your body.” The boy’s petrified face goes pale. “My scapegoat has finally arrived; things are about to get very interesting and your life perfectly fits all my needs. Now, I’d appreciate it if you’d stop struggling; I’d like to avoid injuring that body any more than necessary.”

As he closes the gap and the boy cowers beneath him, Luxu recalls how he came to be here, stealing the bodies of young men.

~~~~~

“Master, what is this?” the young man asks, looking over the paper and not entirely sure he’s read it correctly.

As he has many times before, Luxu stands in the Master’s study. The room is filled with books, vials, and plenty of objects of which Luxu couldn’t even guess the purpose of. The only thing he can be sure of is that none of it is as it seems, and that broad statement brings with it its own sense of security. It has always been filled with wonders and the Master seems to introduce him to a new one each time he visits. This time is no exception.

The eccentric man folds his arms. “What do you think it is?”

His voice catches in his mouth. He’s read it over once, twice, but surely, he must be mistaken. “This sounds like a method for taking over someone’s body.”

“Bingo! You are correct, sir!” the Master praises, waving his hands animatedly.

“WHAT?!” In his exclamation, young Luxu throws the paper in the air.

His master snatches the fluttering paper. “Don’t lose it! I only have one copy of that!”

“Okay, one, why don’t you make another copy? And two, why do you know how to possess someone’s body?!”

“Oh, I don’t know how; this is all just theory. I wrote it this morning.”

His master never fails to perplex him. “And you think I need it why?”

“Because you’re only human,” the Master of Masters replies. “That body of yours will become old and decrepit and weaken over time but your job will be far from done. So, you need some way to continue living and persist into the future.”

The Master may be a strange man, but it’s no secret that he enjoys pulling emotions from his pupils—his favorite being shock. Luxu has made a point to accept his master’s eccentricity and all it entails, having come to see the unpredictability as predictable. It’s been a long time since the Master has been able to truly flabbergast the young man.

Luxu’s arms wave in disbelief. “And you think body snatching is the way to do that?!”

Matching the animated gestures, the Master retorts, “Well do you have any other bright ideas?!”

Luxu glances away. “Couldn’t you figure out immortality or something else?”

The Master holds his arms up in an X. “Absolutely not. Immortality is far more complicated and we just don’t have time for that. So, this is your only hope of completing your task.” Again, the paper is pushed into Luxu’s hands. As the student stares at the page, the Master’s tone turns serious. “Remember, while the others have very important roles, everything hinges on the success of yours. If you don’t see this through, the Book of Prophecies won’t be written and things will fall in ruins.” His tone drops even more, almost as if he’s threatening his pupil. “And all those people you care about will die for nothing.”

Those words strike the young man. Aced, Ira, Invi, Gula, and Ava—they’re family. Even if they sometimes bicker and disagree, Luxu grew up with them. He already disliked the idea of them fighting, possibly to their destruction, but they’re all fighting for the light’s survival. If he doesn’t do his job, they’ll lose their guidance and their struggles will be meaningless—his family will die in vain.

But taking someone else’s body and losing his own: it’s unthinkably horrifying. He’d never considered that his body could be disposable; that something so undeniably “Luxu” could just be swapped out as easily as his coat. These thoughts become too much to deal with in this moment, so he decides not to. Still, he can’t simply throw away a key aspect of his master’s orders, so the paper is carefully folded and tucked into his jacket to address later.

“Thank you for your guidance, Master,” Luxu murmurs.

Back to his light-hearted self, the Master of Masters slings an arm around Luxu’s shoulders. “That’s more like it. Now, let me show you why you’re going to need that paper.”

~~~~~

Spasms wrack every gasp he takes. They come not from his chase of the now-unconscious man at his feet, but from the seriousness of what he must do next.

Staring down at his very first victim, he feels a heavy guilt in his chest. Based on what’s written, he can only assume the original heart will be ejected and either become a Heartless or ascend to Kingdom Hearts. This man had no say in the matter; he was hunted down like a dog and endured only terror and pain in his final moments. He’s still young and could’ve had a full life ahead of him filled with happiness and adventure. He had potential but Luxu deemed him a lamb for slaughter.

Luxu shakes his head; he can’t have these sorts of distractions dragging him down.

The old parchment slips from his pocket, a perfect cross forever creased into its aged surface. Instructions written in black still read perfectly clear despite time’s efforts. He’s read and reread the page thousands of times, each time going through the shock of what exactly is being asked of him: ice shoots through his veins while his skin scorches, a suffocating grasp squeezes at his throat, and a violent churn nearly upheaves his stomach. The possibility of failure reels in his mind, threatening to evolve into a full-blown panic attack. He spent his whole life as himself—as Luxu—but now, for the sake of light itself, he must discard that. Just thinking about looking in a mirror and not recognizing the face looking back reminds him of his nightmares. Supposedly, his heart will retain his memories, but he still worries over exactly how much of himself he’ll get to keep; after all, sacrifices for such sins must be made.

The tremors in his chest have spread, shaking the page in his gasp. A deep breath does nothing to soothe his fears but allows him to regain focus. He reminds himself that this is for the existence of everything—for the people he loves. It doesn’t matter if he’s scared, it doesn’t matter if he loses himself, it doesn’t matter if the people who matter don’t recognize him, he has no choice.

Sighing, he lets the paper float to the ground, letting his eyes linger on the victim at his feet. He can’t let himself dwell on anything lest his mind trail back to his fear. He gets started.

Clearing his head, he rests both hands against his chest. The suggested mental imagery serves him well while his heart begins to compress. He remembers the most important parts of himself—the things about himself he values—and imagines placing them in a box. His personality, skills, and knowledge are added inside. Memories follow suit; all the good, the bad, and the in-between are stowed away as important, for they have shaped the person he’s become. The young man takes great care in packing all of himself away.

As these things fade from his conscious mind—all bound to his heart for transfer—the darkness stalking at the edges of his mind begins encroaching on his thoughts like wolves prepared to devour him. Luxu’s natural instincts react in fear, causing the man to tremble and his physical heart to pound in his ears. Just like the darkness, a chill creeps along his quaking limbs, his control over them waning. With every bit of himself that he stows away for his next life, the little rationality that must stay behind cowers in terror. He would simply do away with all his senses, but he knows that some of his consciousness must stay to facilitate the move. He must suffer this fear and lose part of his mind to succeed.

The body to be left behind is nearly shut down. His throat closes, no longer able to draw air into his spasming lungs. He has no idea if he’s doing anything right or if he’s even ready, but the innate fear of death has him in a panic. He has to go now.

Eyes snap open, nothing but bright light consuming his vision. This is it; this is where he discards everything he is. This is the point of no return. With the dread as potent as ever, his consciousness fades as he sends the light on its way.

Instantly, Luxu becomes aware of the intense, stinging pain. Every nerve is like a needle, searing at his heart. He would absolutely be screaming if he could but, as it currently stands, he has no access to any vocal cords, let alone a mouth.

A firm pressure resists his heart, struggling against him. The way it reverberates is reminiscent of his own screams. This is his victim, desperately fighting to keep control. Their panic gives them strength, allowing them to push against Luxu to the point he feels his grip slipping. A desperate alarm shoots through him, fueling his struggle.

As it turns out, Luxu’s fear is stronger than that of the man he’s possessing.

Resistance suddenly stops. Slowly, the presence of the other heart begins to fade, allowing Luxu’s heart to fill the hole left behind. The pain begins to ebb at an unbearably slow rate, but there is solace in the fact that it is fading.

His consciousness begins unfurling within his brain as he lies on the ground gasping. Comprehension begins weaving through the unpacking, bringing attention to what exactly just happened. He hadn’t been prepared for resistance; he didn’t know he could still lose after disarming his target. There was no warning for that. If Luxu’s heart had lost the struggle, he would’ve been expunged, become a heartless, and failed his task; he would have failed his loved ones. And this is only his first time.

It takes an eternity for the agony to fade enough and allow him to assess the body. It’s all still sensitive, like a limb falling asleep and waking back up, only far more intense. Nevertheless, he manages to open his eyes. Even they feel the stinging, giving him blurry vision. Nerves feel like fire as he struggles to raise a hand. The trembling extremities are different: the skin tone is a shade off, fingers are slightly longer, and there’s no sign of a mole he used to have on his wrist. It’s strange to feel and control the hand of a stranger.

It takes some time for all the nerves to properly connect. Small repetitions get the muscles moving as they should, and after a few hours, he is able to stand. Weak legs hold him up while he tries to regain his bearings. Palms press against his eyes, struggling to get rid of that remnant sting.

When his hands drop, he finds nothing. The expelled heart is gone and so is the body he left behind. There is no going back.

The old paper flutters, threatening to fly away. However, this is only the first of many stolen bodies and he will need those instructions to repeat the move in the future.

Reaching down, he scoops up the paper. The action nearly topples him. Despite his careful decision for this particular individual, he couldn’t find someone exactly like himself. There are still differences that will take some getting used to, driving home one very important, horrendous fact.

He is no longer Luxu.

He is no longer himself.

The reality finally kicks him in the gut, bringing him back to the ground where a foreign scream tears from his mouth.

~~~~~

“You’re crazy! Stay away from me!”

The cry drags the man back from age-old memories. Braig is the latest of his numerous casualties.

Luxu could’ve stopped long ago, given up his master’s orders and spared so many ignorant hearts—innocent people didn’t have to die for this. However, sacrifices must be made for sins, and Luxu’s been paying his due. With every bit of himself left behind, the rest naturally tries to fill in that hole, but it’s not the same. The new pieces become influenced by the suffering and bitterness Luxu endures with each move, filling him with more and more darkness. That’s not to say darkness is a bad thing, but it fuels the apathy born from repeated trauma.

Luxu’s views on humanity have deteriorated; each passerby could die at his feet and he would simply step over them. Those chosen as new vessels hold some interest, but he no longer has any qualms putting them down. Only the people he started this journey for mean anything to him now; they are the only light left in his unrecognizable life. They would likely look down on him with disappointment, scold and abhor him, but he would burn every world in existence for their fates. But the end is near. The scapegoat has finally shown himself and soon Luxu will be free of this burden—his family will return to him. No matter what wrath he may incur from them, the relief of the end is just too tempting to spare this last victim.

Luxu shrugs. “You might be right about that; repeatedly losing part of your mind does that to a guy. Unfortunately for you, there’s nothing more dangerous than an insane person with a goal. You were simply the poor soul that caught my eye this time.”

“N-No! Please!”

Having done this so many times, Luxu doesn’t even need the instructions, so he burnt them long ago. His mind already begins to pack away the things he wishes to carry forward and the chill starts in his fingers.

“Sorry, but everything I’ve dedicated my life to hangs in the balance. Neither of us have a choice here. But don’t worry—this isn’t my first time and I’ll ensure it’s as painless as possible.”

As he strides closer, the man scrambles closer to the wall. Fear shines brightly in his eyes, but it doesn’t faze a man who’s seen it so many times before—who’s endured it so many times before.

“Take a deep breath, Braig. It’ll all be over soon.”

#kh luxu #zine feat nova #luxu

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ghostmartyr · 4 years

Text

SnK 133 Thoughts

They’re trying to stop the apocalypse but they’re dummy traumatized and the clap of their sins keeps alerting the glow tree.

Kids, just remember: Body count doesn’t matter, it’s how you feel while producing that body count. If you’ve killed people to stop genocide, you are not immune to being party to genocide. ⭑⭒⋆

I’m being reductive because I’m not too eager to go over how not all murder is created equal again.

Going by a good faith read, I do think what the narrative is attempting to establish is that these characters all know what it’s like to be backed into a corner and do desperate things they’re horrified by.

Putting aside the extra psychological difficulties of his childhood preceding the choice to knock down the wall, Reiner believes he’s saving humanity. There’s an island full of devils, and he’s attacking them. He, Bertolt, and Annie are dumb kids who do what they’re told. Because they think it’s right, or because they want to go home, or just because they are dumb kids.

Armin’s killed plenty of people with the power of the Colossus. He can’t plead innocence; he attacks Liberio’s port intentionally, knowing exactly what terror the people on the ground will be going through.

Connie kills the friends he’s trained with for years, when the worst thing about Reiner and Bertolt revealing themselves is feeling betrayed by comrades he loves.

None of this is directly equivalent. Dumb children at war are trying their best. Always, this conflict has been orchestrated above their pay grade. RAB get abandoned behind enemy lines and are told to make the best of it. Armin destroys Marley’s port because Marley will not stop going after Paradis, and Eren has forced a renewed conflict that they need to move against fast. Connie betrays his friends because they’re okay with letting the rest of the world die.

No one on this ship has enjoyed any of this. They have consistently been doing their best with the information given to them while people with more power drag them into fights that never should have happened.

Shiganshina falls because Marley chooses to murder Paradis.

Liberio falls because Eren turns himself into Paradis’ only hope and puts himself into a situation he can’t win alone.

In the crudest way of putting it, these people are grunts. They’re not the ones who picked the game being played. They’re the ones being manipulated into war after war.

That’s why they look at each other without counting the bodies. It isn’t the scale of their actions that hits at this moment, it’s the decisions they’ve made to be part of it. They choose to keep fighting. When it creates an outcome they hate, what can they say? ‘Look what you made me do’?

Whatever their reasons, and whoever set up the board, they are the ones who participate. In this case, pure moral imperative is the driving force. Daz and Samuel die because they’re willing to let genocide go uncontested. That’s on them.

Guilt doesn’t work like that, though. Daz and Samuel die because they are killed. Connie kills them. He betrays their trust.

All of this is to say that the people on the ship truly do understand each other perfectly, even despite the difference in scale. It’s a bit on the nose, but I don’t think anything they’re going through is at odds with the people they are.

Applying that feeling to Eren is a feat of misguided grace that... hell, I don’t know.

As a human person, I like grace as a concept and want more of it. I don’t want the world to burn, I want the burning to stop, and for everyone to be okay in the end even if they don’t deserve it. A world where we all get precisely what we deserve seems an incredibly dark place to me. That doesn’t leave room for mercy or kindness. You get what you earn, and nothing more.

The more time we spend on this portion of the story, the more I’m inclined to think that the themes agree with me. Our heroes at this point aren’t full of the rage they’re entitled to. Every inch of them is tired, and they’re not here for more death. They’re willing to keep going, but even the thought of killing Eren, when he’s massacred thousands, makes them all hesitate.

Everyone wants to go home and have the fighting stop.

That’s all.

Whatever happened, and whose fault it is -- forget all of it, just give them a place to rest and have it be over.

Thematically, yay. I approve. Beautiful. We start out with a series that makes a name for itself almost entirely on the back of the spectacle of violence, and after years of participating in that violence, the main cast wants nothing to do with it anymore. Love it.

Within the plot, I am not in the mood to have Eren’s traumatized friends apologize for not understanding him.

I get it.

I get why they all feel this way.

I do not like reading it.

They’re projecting their own guilt on someone who has shown a reckless disregard for their lives and sanity.

They’re trying to reach Eren as a human being and friend when he’s done his absolute best to make himself unreachable.

That’s sort of the point Reiner thinks is being made. Eren has intentionally set them up as his adversary so that if he has to be doing all of this, maybe there’s still a chance someone can stop him.

Okay, fine.

It falls short for the same reason all of Eren’s stuff is falling short.

We don’t actually know what the fuck is going on with him. We’re guessing.

You know those picture puzzles you do as a kid? Draw a line from bubble 1 to bubble 2 to bubble 3, and eventually you will make a bunny. Or a dog, or flowers, or something that looks like a picture in the sloppy mess of numbers.

Eren’s general portrayal matches that of a toddler who doesn’t yet know his numbers, and understands the instructions to be that he’s trying to get to the last bubble by scribbling lines through all the other bubbles.

Look, it’s a bunny.

And Eren’s friends are all like, oh wow, that’s such a good job! We’re going to put it on the fridge!

Then people come over and are like, why is there a constellation of a deer jumping through a house on the fridge, but they hear the child did it and immediately are like, oh yeah, that’s the best bunny I’ve ever seen, I can’t draw like that.

The child, being a child, is like, ‘Damn right. I’m going to be in bunny museums.’

Meanwhile, I’m just going to come out and say it.

It’s not a fucking bunny.

What it is, I don’t know, but it is not a bunny, stop calling it a bunny, it is actively erasing the knowledge of what a bunny looks like in my mind.

So ends this skit on what Eren’s portrayal has been like.

Eren has decided that this is all necessary. He doesn’t like it, and wants someone to stop him, but he is totally going to do it, and he knows he’s going to do it because future vision told him so and he’s really sad about that even though he’s emotionally in a place where genocide sounds like the only way out but that is wrong.

I think I’ve said before that Eren getting to this place mentally isn’t too off the rails. His sanity has been deteriorating with each mission, and he’s nineteen. Snapping like this could arguably be expected.

But the last we see of Eren’s thoughts, we still have this back and forth of how he refuses to yield the future to fate, but he already feels condemned by that future because he chooses to cause it.

Eren is clearly trapped by this web of contradictions, but his motivational core is so obstructed that it’s hard to actually connect to. It is easier to say that Eren’s gone off the deep end than it is to spend any amount of time asking how Point A became Point 3.

That’s frustrating, as a reader. I don’t want to be told a story, I want to experience it.

Eren’s experiences are not universal.

I need some hand-holding here. There needs to be a few more clear indications of Eren The Person, and how the individual we know wrapped around to making these choices.

Hooray, he’s not taking away their powers.

The guy he let run his cult still nearly killed all of them.

Hooray, he’s protecting his island.

He just actively courted an international incident so everyone wants the island dead.

Yes, Eren thinks that hope is lost before he makes these choices. That’s how moving forward drags him to this place; he doesn’t have the vision to imagine a world where this isn’t happening.

If you don’t fight, you can’t win, and Eren’s still fighting. But he’s forgotten what winning looks like. All he knows is the dreary march forward.

I would like for that to be explicit, not me extrapolating. Because even as I’m typing all of that, and feeling like it makes sense, it has the confidence of tissue paper, and I know my numbers, but half the numbers making this bunny were missing, and I’m not an artist.

The story I’m digging around here for is one I could like, but I don’t trust that it’s actually the one being told, because too much feels unexplained and weird. You can’t just make your main character nuts and use that as an excuse for anything.

Well, okay, you can.

You shouldn’t.

Please don’t do that.

Which I guess leads us to Eren and OG Ymir doing a Shining twins thing.

Here is my wild speculation.

The Attack Titan is the only Titan capable of resisting the Founder. It cannot be controlled, it simply continues forward, fighting for freedom.

When Eren talks to Ymir, her eyes losing their shadows are the cue for him taking full control of the Founder.

Now we’re back here, and her eyes are shadowed again, with Eren’s joining the ride.

I think that where we’re going to end up is that Eren’s mental fragility made him incredibly susceptible to the Attack Titan’s core nature, and enough of that nature aligned with Eren’s that everything except pursuing a way forward fell away. The Attack Titan is Ymir’s furious will, and she’s had it suppressed for 2000 years. I don’t think either one is emotionally capable of surfacing and deciding to resist the urge to march forward and destroy this world that has cursed them so.

Making my theory that yeah, okay, Eren’s lost it, but he lost it with the help of ancient plot magic, which we are now seeing the full extent of.

Does that have any basis in anything?

Who the fuck knows.

But one thing is very clear: Eren’s not free.

“In order to gain my own freedom... I will take freedom away from the world. [...] You are all free.”

The Attack Titan “has always moved ahead, seeking freedom. It has fought on for freedom.”

Eren, embodiment of the Attack Titan, is the first one to hear Ymir in 2000 years. Going with the vaguely logical theory that Titans are all pieces of Ymir herself, the Attack Titan is the part that rebels against every indignity she bows to in life.

Zeke frees the Founder from its promise of peace. Eren frees Ymir from the chains tying her to the royal family’s will.

All that’s left is 2000 years of trauma, and the ability and will, for the first time, to lash out.

It’s not what you’d call surprising.

It’s the getting here that I take issue with. Now that we’re here, yeah, got it. But I really don’t feel like Eren’s journey here has been done well enough to capture the emotional rawness that is trying to be accessed. His friends are shouting for someone who is effectively dead, for all the presence he’s showing.

Then you’ve got Annie and Kiyomi sad.

ON A BOAT.

While Falco wants to be a Titan with WIIIIIIIIIIINGS.

Kiddos, you’re very cute, and I support you not wanting to sit still and do nothing while the world is ending, but I can’t begin to express how little I care.

Except that your families are alive and you two and Annie deserve to be reunited.

SO FINE, OKAY, FALCO CAN HAVE HIS WINGS AND SAY HI TO HIS PARENTS AND GABI CAN SAY HI TO HER PARENTS AND ANNIE CAN SAY HI TO HER DAD AND IT’LL ALL BE FINE DOES ANYONE KNOW WHAT THE FUCK WE’RE GOING TO DO ABOUT EREN?

BECAUSE YEAH, I’M SURE THE AIRSHIPS ARE JUST GOING TO SPLODE HIM AND END ALL OF THIS AND EVERYONE WILL HOLD HANDS AND SING SONGS THAT THE EVIL HAS BEEN DEFEATED AND THAT WILL BE THE END OF IT.

Conversation: FAILED

Attack: probably FAILED

GO AHEAD, MANGA. SHOW ME THE DEUS EX MACHINA. I’M NOT GOING TO LIKE IT, BUT I AM PREPARED FOR IT.

inb4 yeah they just are going to bomb Eren with Armin that’s how we end this.

133 status: Still Looking For A Win Condition (This Ain’t It Chief)

#Shingeki no Kyojin #SnK 133 #shingeki no spoilers #SnK spoilers #Survey Corps #tl;dr #chapter post

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alicemitch09writes · 4 years

Text

be careful what you wish for

pairing: Prince!Sakusa Kiyoomi x Historian!Reader

summary: He didn’t mean to wish you away. He never did. labyrinth AU.

author’s notes: i have the vaguest idea of labyrinths, just depending only on what I already know from literature class and the fics I read. Also, this was an excuse to make said AU, aaaaaaaaaand because I'm a sucker for angst, I wanted to delve and write into this. Mwahahaha This turned out longer than I expected it to be, and I'm worried if I was able to deliver what I wanted to deliver. Eugh. The fact that reader is the adoptive siblings to the Miyas was an accident, because that was intended for another fic but decided to scrap that idea entirely because I have OTHER WIP fics to worry about first. Heh. Finally, I went for Sakusa because I love him and he kinda fits the general idea of this kinda angst (which was inspired by a prompt list for bakudeku originally lol). Also, if the last part seems rather rushed, sorry it's 12:59am here and I want to sleep yet I want to finish this bc I have a lotta other fics to work on.

also available on ao3.

He wished you away. Prince Kiyoomi actually wished you away.

Which was probably for the best, since, in his words were “you’ve been nothing but a hindrance, a pest” and you've been nothing but pathetic, contributing to little with your history and books, doing little to help prosper the kingdom.

And now, here you were: forever stuck in this maze-like dungeon, guarded by a hulking beast for all of eternity.

Fact remains: your first love actually wished you away.

And away you went to some castled walls, far from the kingdom you grew up in, away from civilization, far and away. Away, away, away from it all. Away from him.

Cold, numb, and hollow, tears blurred and streamed down your face through the monster's running, never letting go as you helplessly watch your kingdom shrink from view.

Then he stopped, your tears halted, heart in your throat. Arriving in your destination, it was a surprise when the monster put you down gently, huffing down at you, before leaving you to your lonesome.

(E/c) eyes slowly took in the room you were in - a wide room, marbled floors, fizzled candles in elegant stands, a plush-lookng canopy bed in the middle, with draperies made from the finest silk, there was an antechamber connecting to a library filled to the brim with books, another antechamber leading to a bath. It was a lot to take in. And strangely enough, it looked like it was waiting for a host to live in.

Shaken and raw from the events that occurred, it was only the sound of clanging iron doors that brought you out of your stupor, rushing towards the doors, shaking, banging, yelling helplessly, and begging to be free.

Huffing lowly the horned-monster disappeared into the corners of darkness, your cries falling on deaf ears.

The first few nights were spent crying.

Crying for you missed your books. Crying for you missed your apprentice and students. Crying because you missed your friends in the palace. Crying because you missed that little boy who sneaks into your room, begging for stories of time beyond him. Crying because you missed Big Brother Osamu, checking in to ensure there was something in your stomach. Crying because you missed fighting with Big Brother Atsumu. Crying because you missed chatting with Motoya. Crying because you missed the handsome visage, the aloof, sarcastic, cutting, yet gracefulness of your dear friend - Kiyoomi.

Crying because he wished you away, far, far away.

Night and day, you spent crying. So many tears were shed, too many had been dried up. Not only did you cry on the outside, but so were you on the side. Your whimpering echoing through your empty prison. Your throat had been hoarse from being used up, wailing for nobody.

Nobody was there to hear you cry, nor were there people to console you.

Alone.

Alone did you cry, alone did you suffer.

Denying everything and anything that was happening to you.

Why you? Why? What had you done? All you did was research on the country's past, pouring hours and hours in your books, often writing drafts and exchanging theories and discoveries - was that so wrong? Why you? You didn't deserve this! No! No!!!!!!!

You could deny your destiny all you want but at the end of the day, you were still imprisoned and by your lonesome. You were here. Nobody else. You.

Denying didn't change the fact that this was your reality now.

And soon, denial bled into acceptance.

Resigning to your hate, you could only feel tears start anew.

You were never to see your family again, let alone leave and see the outside world.

You would never see little Romero again.

You would never gush with your apprentice again about new discoveries and strategies, nor have educational debates with visiting historians.

You would never delight in sweets with the older Sakusas for afternoon tea.

You would never laugh with Motoya again.

You would never see Kiyoomi again.

With a heavy heart, you accepted it.

But it doesn't mean it'll hurt any less, the same way that it didn’t change the fact that your first love, the second Prince of Itachiyama, wished you away.

He didn’t mean to wish you away. He never did. It was just a rash thing he said because he was tired of people prying into his personal life, of people making decisions for him, and probably his fear and frustration that you were slipping away from him.

His status as the crowned prince meant that a lot was expected from him, even though his older brother was expected to inherit the throne. But his brother was never one for battle - too focused on politics and his people, neither was his sister - who fared better in navigation, so Kiyoomi was set to become the commander of the Royal Guard. It was a given since he born and bred for it. His skill and strategic mind were not to be underestimated, as he's led the kingdom to many victories and earned the respect of kings, generals, nobles, and soldiers. His prominent fame eventually caught on different aspects of his life, so it was only a matter of time before marriage was brought into the discussion.

Try as he might, he was a royal and these were inevitable. That doesn't mean he likes people prying into his private life, disliked it even more, when they began to question his relationships - especially with you, the royal historian.

A well-regarded historian, who practiced a bit of politics, you were someone he sought before deciding to go to war or for just a friendly debate over philosophy and strategies. What you thought of his strategies mattered a lot to him, he held your opinions over anyone's in the castle - even to his own parents. It wasn't to say because you were childhood friends, but he recognized your abilities as a historian. You did a lot of things, aside from chronicling the day-to-day life of royals. You were unique, for you were keen on gaining knowledge and voiced your ideas and opinions, never fearful and always respectable to whoever you were talking to.

That, and because of your closeness, became the reason that you became a target for many, for them to keep an eye on you. Sakusa knew this, tried to let it die. But the crowned prince had been too naive to the workings of twisting tales.

And then, marriage proposals were coming in. Left and right, people were badgering him. Not a moment's rest when they were on the brink of war for god's sake! He was not interested, leaving the proposals unanswered for all he cared.

One summer's night, a ball had been prepared to celebrate the foundation of their kingdom. As expected, visiting dignitaries and royals were invited.

("Chatterboxes who don't really have a place in this palace except a name," he'd mutter under his breath, you laugh at his comment.)

As the royal historian, you were expected and had been dressed in the finest clothes, a gift from his older sister - who absolutely fawned and adored you. Dressed in his royal robes, he felt the need to get on his knees, undeserving to be in the presence of such beauty.

In a sea full of royals and socialites, you were the prettiest thing he has ever laid eyes on, easily besting and outshining everyone.

This was the one night he was supposed to tell you how he felt about you, social status be damned, he only cared and has eyes for you and you alone.

In hushed whispers, gossip crept through the castle walls, snaking its way to each and every ear, poising and tainting their image of you. People began talking, eyes darting between him and the unsuspecting girl, who was laughing with an ambassador.

Suddenly, the whispers reached his ears, tainting his thoughts.

"Kiyoomi?" you whispered, tone laced with worry. Discreetly following after him when he pulled away from speaking with some ambassadors, you brought with you a goblet filled with water, fingers splaying over. "Are you alright?"

At the sight of you, he relaxed. Slightly. "No," bringing his fingers to his face, he massaged at his throbbing temples.

Taking a step closer, you held out the water, which he took graciously and took a small sip, eyes gazing out into the night with you next to him, not saying a word.

Behind you two, the loud music and fanfare went about. Camaraderie abounded inside that ballroom, glitz, and glamour just filling and living to their fullest as the night went on. However, on that balcony, there was nothing but silence - the silence one desperately sought for, the silence one could offer along with a companion who understood the need for said silence.

You didn't say anymore then, letting the silence fill in, working on a small smile when he looked your way and he appreciated you for it. This way, away from it all, under the moonlight, he could appreciate your beauty even more.

But it didn't last long.

One minute, you were joking about how gaudy people were dressed tonight, the next you were discussing Kiyoomi's battle plans and possible alliance with the Shiratorizawa kingdom, notorious for their undeniable power and might. They started as a small kingdom, which vastly grew over the years. Personally, you've met and been acquainted with them when they visited and enjoyed debates with Satori, Kenjirou, and even the emperor's son, Wakatoshi. Kiyoomi held said man to a high regard, never shutting up about his feats and skills. This was worrisome because Shiratorizawa was becoming especially unyielding when it comes to conquering neighbouring kingdoms - likes their recent dispute with Aoba Johsai and Karaunso, caring very little in casualties. Kiyoomi was quick to defend Wakatoshi, never minding the lives that were ignored during their rise to power, or your obvious discomfort of such alliance.

"So, I'm the bad guy now? For wanting what's best for my people?"

"What you want is war with defenseless people, in an unfair and one-sided war that'll only lead to bloodshed," you reasoned. "I just think you should rethink it, or at least have terms."

"There is nothing to rethink and no terms to talk about," his voice rises, his temper rising. "As royal historian, you should know at least that this alliance is promising and will yield results for the betterment of our kingdoms."

"You're forgetting that history is a philosophy that teaches by example," you quote, hands curling into fists. "I just don't want you making the same mistake-"

"I don't make mistakes, I make results." Something cracked in the darkness, his eyes warranting a scary drip of pride.

"That's not what I'm saying-"

"What would you know about wars and alliances anyway?"

Swallowing, you stood your ground, turning to face him. "Plenty. Enough to tell you, that as the royal historian, one mustn't needlessly push through with alliances without thinking them through first. Yes, it may yield good results but at the cost of many? I don't think so." A cold gust of wind blew, clouds rumbling overhead. "And as your friend, I worry about how rash you're being just because of Wakatoshi-"

Kiyoomi scoffed, actually scoffed at you, incredulously at how ludicrous your words were.

"God, could you be any more pretentious? Not everything is as easy as you make it!"

"Kiyoomi, stop-"

"What would you know? I wish you'd just be taken away, far away because I don't need you here when you've been nothing but a hindrance and a pest to this kingdom's chances of glory. I don't need you here when you've been nothing but a pest and a hindrance. I've clearly wasted all those years of educating you for a rather ignorant mind."

"You don't mean that,"

"Maybe, I do!" he yelled, throwing the goblet away, his voice was able to catch the attention of people nearby. "You think you know everything, just because of your books that talks about dead people-"

"Kiyoomi-"

"-then you talk to me as though I haven't learned about them and disregard the fact that I’m trying to be better than them-“

“I know, Kiyoomi, I know-“

“Shut up, you don’t know! Just like you don’t know a thing outside your books, it’s not always as it was written! You don’t know just how difficult it is to really man an army, let alone try to make efforts to ensure that we make it out alive. You wouldn’t understand how weary the job is at the end of the day, because you’re happy being in the castle surrounded by your books all day. You wouldn’t understand, so just leave this to me,” overhead, thunder rumbled loudly, ferociously. Kiyoomi took a step, you took a step back. “Stop nagging me over things I already know!”

Lower lip quivering, you bit down, chin held up high as you asked. “D-Don’t my opinions matter to you, Kiyoomi?” it was a question laced with hurt, enough to guilt him, but Kiyoomi didn’t yield.

“Just stop!” his breathing was shaking, harsh. Consumed completely by anger, frustration, and fear, his eyes met yours, voice cold as he said, “I wish that you were taken away, there’s no place in the palace for someone so ignorant and a hindrance to the prosperity we’re guaranteed to have. If you can’t join us, you might as well be a pest.”

Famous last words.

Something compelled him to say it, he couldn't stop himself and the words just went out.

Fear, frustration, anger, all pushed him to his boiling point.

Twin pools of (e/c) widened, slowly filling with pain and tears, stopping him cold.

All the words he’s said comes crashing over him, regret quickly followed. Kiyoomi pales, feeling cold all over.

“(Y/N)-“

And then came chaos.

Crashing in uninvited, wildly wreaking havoc with little regard of who was in the way. Panic screaming, yelling, and thrashing.

And then, it lifted its head. To the balcony. Its blank eyes dilating, narrowing at the sight of you.

Kiyoomi only had a moment to realize what was going to happen before it was too late.

One moment, the horned-monster was in the middle of the dance floor. The next, it was barrelling its way towards the two of you, pushing anyone in its path, destroying the doors, grabbing you harshly, and throwing you over its shoulder, all in one second. Kiyoomi hadn't realized that he had been pushed away, blood matting his hair, his robes–

"(Y/N)!" but it was too late, the Minotaur was speeding away with you in its grasp.

Shakily, he tried to get to his feet, only to fumble.

“(Y/N)…”

He tried again.

"(Y/N)..."

And again.

"(Y/N)..."

Again.

Slumping against the ground, his eyes never left the direction the Minotaur left with you in tow.

'I wish you were taken away...'

Twin pools of (e/c). Broken. Destroyed. Humiliated. Tears flowing.

He couldn’t focus. Nothing was right. No. Nothing felt right. Something tightened in his chest. Breathe. Breathe. How do you breathe again? Plink! Something wet fell down on him, wetting his hair, his robes, blood smearing on the marbled floors. Blood. That was his blood. He hit his head. His blood. Blood smeared. To his hands – since when had he fallen to his knees? And screaming. Anguish. Pain. Regret. Screaming. Wait, was somebody screaming?

Oh, wait.

It was him.

He was on his knees.

He was screaming.

Screaming through the pouring rain as he bled.

Dread washed over him when he realized that his wish had been granted, you were whisked away by a beast and never to be seen again.

You slipped away from him, only because he wished for it.

The labyrinth was a rather large domain.

Massive concrete walls, quiet stones that suffocated you with silence, enough to drive you mad. A maze that was endless in its length, wide in its berth, and dizzying to traverse.

Many were the days you spent roaming around, in high hopes you've found an exit, only to find yourself in a dead-end. Many were the days where you practically rammed yourself into walls, hoping for a secret exit. Many were the days where you hoped, that if you crashed hard enough or hit yourself hard enough, you'd wind up unconscious, never to wake again. Dead. You didn't want to stay here forever.

But one day, as you were walking about, you happened upon the strangest thing - a garden. A hidden garden, to be exact.

Walking towards and through the archway, you were greeted with something that was a sight for weary eyes. A lush garden, filled to the brim with blossoming flowers as far as the eye can see. And fruit trees! The rarest you can find and have only heard of from stories. It stretched the whole area that you almost forgot that you couldn't tell if it was closed in by the labyrinth's high walls.

Taking a step in, bare feet meeting the damp grass, for the first time in what seems like forever, you broke into a shaky, wet laugh. Hands covering your mouth as you walked further in, uncaring. (E/c) eyes were filled with tears anew, tears of joy.

The air was fragrant, sweet, comforting. Flowers, colorful flowers in different shapes and sizes painted the gardens with vibrant colors and life.

Alive, the garden was alive, buzzing dragonflies, fluttering butterflies, and other smaller insects.

Feeling something warm kiss your sigh, you made a shaky sound - a gasp. Slowly, you began to breathe. Sighing, you craned your head up to meet the sky up above you. Squinting, your eyes fell shut, soaking it in.

You were probably up in the highest tower, for you were encased in a glass ceiling, allowing the sun to shed its light down on you, on the greenery.

The garden was spectacular, almost like the ones in the castle.

You lost track of time, but you didn’t care. This little heaven was all that you had, even if it were lonely.

Many were the days, with tear-dried face, did you wonder if you were going to go insane in here. Many were the days spent memorizing paths – some were useful, like the way to your chambers and the garden, while many paths proved useless, meaningless. Like the labyrinth knew you’d want to find a way out, giving you nothing.

Acceptance bled from denial.

However pretty your prison was, sadly, you remind yourself again, Kiyoomi wished you away.

A bruised cheek and a split lip. To many, injuries would be a badge of honor to satisfy their male ego. But for Prince Kiyoomi, they might as well be a badgeof dishonor. And for two good reasons - each came from your adoptive brothers, Atsumu's having the most hits since he was the oldest, boiling with rage after finding out that his youngest sister was taken away because of him. Crowned prince be damned, Atsumu would gladly beat him black and blue, had Bokuto not stopped and held him back.

Osamu would surely help, without a doubt. The punch he delivered was undoubtedly was painful. And that was it, followed by a long, cold, hard stare and nothing else. Miya Osamu was always known to be the calmer twin with a filter to his language and could be just as vile with his words as his twin. But his silence, that long, cold, hard stare was enough. His silent gaze was burning enough, a thousand words dying to be said that cut through thanks to his fist. A split lip and message received.

You were too good for him, that much the twins knew.

You were sweet, headstrong, brave, and annoyingly book smart, but still way too good for someone like the third crowned prince of Itachiyama.

Atsumu didn't like it that his (self-proclaimed) rival and commanding officer was romantically tied to his beloved sister. Osamu doesn't give a shit, so long as you were happy, but he was miffed by the fact that he was royalty.

"It's so cliche," he'd tell you, brandishing some rice balls in three different variants. "he's a prince, you're a commoner. That in itself is a recipe for disaster."

Unamused with your older brother's words, you eyed the rice balls in his tray before taking the one in the middle, wolfing without thinking. "Yum!"

"Oi, listen to yer brothers when we're talkin'!" yelled Atsumu, who grabbed the other onigiri, spitting rice everywhere.

"You piece of shit for a brother, don't talk with your mouth full!" but rice also flew everywhere from when you opened your mouth.

Sighing, Osamu took the last onigiri for himself, taking bites as the two of you fought.

Kiyoomo, who had just arrived, could only watch as the Miya siblings fought amongst themselves before the argument died down and you were all laughing at something. Without a doubt, the twins loved you, even though you weren't blood-related.

Looking up, you waved at him with a wide, warm, welcoming smile. Osamu inclined his head, a sort of bow. Atsumu coolly two-finger saluted him, his commanding officer by the way.

Osamu trusted him.

Atsumu trusted him.

They trusted him.

And what did they get? A brokenhearted sister who's now held captive somewhere.

He deserved it, Kiyoomi knew without a doubt that he deserved it and more.

After all, who wishes their childhood friend away?

Who wishes the person they're madly in love with away?

With badges of dishonor brandishing his face, Prince Kiyoomi set out on a quest: to find and rescue you. No matter what.

As far as the books you've read have told, Minotaurs were supposed to be blood-thirsty creatures who devoured on sacrifices kept in the labyrinth. But this Minotaur was different. First of all, it appeared out of nowhere. There had been countless sightings of strange creatures within and outside the kingdom, but they'd been territorial and respectable of keeping their distance from humans. And through your desperate walks around he maze, there were no signs of bones, of any sacrifices that legends told you the creature devoured of. Nothing.

Instead, the creature was just there. Tall. Hulking. Intimidating. Silent. Watching.

When you saw each other, it just stared. It didn't try to stop you, because only it knew the way out, and no way was he willing to let you escape.

It didn't seem to have a master, either.

It just was.

Day in and day out, it was just there.

Unnerving you.

You knew you'd never escape.

Many of your days were spent in the gardens. Sometimes in your room, with a comfortable bed, a warm hearth, and all the books you could read to your heart's desire, and a single gilded narrow window. In the garden, the window was up above you, far within your reach even if you climbed the trees. As though it were a reminder.

Sometimes, when you stared too long at the windows, you could hear the Minotaur huffing behind you, almost laughingly. Mockingly.

Pretty as your prison was, so long as the beast lingered, you knew you weren't safe forever.

Perhaps it was biding its time? Waiting on you to accept death, surrender to it before it could do it's bidding? Maybe it just wanted a dame to lure victims in wanting a chance to prove their heroism? Or maybe it just wanted you to share fate, to stay here in this maze forever? You couldn't escape even if you tried anyway.

Ferocious as he was, the horned-beast saw to it that you were fed, bringing you meals during breakfast, lunch, dinner. Occasionally, he’d bring some fruits. At times, some books and gifts to keep you entertained. When your dress – the beautiful dress the older Sakusa gave you that night – was tattered, ruined, he had given you a new one. It was a wonder where he got these gifts.

“Thank you,” (e/c) eyes turned to the hulking creature, who huffed in response, then left.

Denial bled into acceptance.

If this was your fate forever, then so be it.

After all, Sakusa wished you away for it.

As disappointed as he was in his cousin, Motoya couldn't find it in his heart to hate his cousin completely.

With a brother and sister, both of which who were much older than him, they were all busy learning how to run the castle. His parents were no exception either, as the king and queen of the kingdom. Kiyoomi spent so much of his time alone, growing rather quiet and aloof with his surroundings.

Luckily, the Komori family was there, Motoya was right by his side. But Kiyoomi was still quiet and a bit of a snob.

That was until the Miyas arrived.

The Miyas, who came from the west with two strapping young boys and an adopted bright-eyed girl. They worked around the palace as smith and cook, respectively, the twins always bickering amongst themselves while the youngest quietly tended to her books. More often than not, she'd sneak off to the royal library and read.

Motoya remembered seeing her deep in the library, nose stuck to the book as her eyes glimmered with life, drinking in information with scary speed. She was on her third book. He was with Kiyoomi then, the two were doing self-study, but stopped at the sight of the strange Miya girl.

The next day, Kiyoomi asked for her name. “Miya (Y/N),” she said, tucking a book under her arms, bowing slightly, before walking away, books in tow. Probably to return them.

The day after, she was joining in their self-study, often debating about the histories she read with him, which ended up as a full-blown discussion not even part of their studies!

The next, next, next day, she wasn't there, having been scolded for running off too much to read her books. However, Kiyoomi came to her defense, and (Y/N) was granted access to the library. She eventually caught the attention of the royal librarian before taking the little girl under her wing. Never had Motoya seen (e/c) eyes shine so bright that they rivaled the best jewels some snobby royals had. Later that day, as her older brothers were fighting amongst themselves (for possibly the nth time) and he and his cousin were passing by, (Y/N) saw and ran up to them and did the impossible: she tackled Kiyoomi into a hug! Motoya, and the Miya twins, stared in shock. Nobody just hugs the prince like that, he doesn't like to be touched! Nobody!

But Kiyoomi just stood there, taking in the hug, arms awkwardly raised to the smaller girl's form, before decidedly resting on hand on her shoulder, and the other to pat her head. Not one ounce of disgust registered on his cousin's face. Instead, he saw a soft smile, his onyx eyes warm at the girl.

And the rest was history.

Over time, (Y/N) had proven herself with her studies - as her brothers had proven themselves as well as soldiers, showing promise with each passing. Motoya was amazed by her academic prowess, her sound mind, and cunning demeanor, no wonder she wounded up as the royal historian. He'd like to think his cousin played a role in there somewhere. More often than not, Kiyoomi would endorse her to his teachers, her ideas and opinions, too.

It was no secret that since her promotion, Kiyoomi would always seek her out.

It was no secret either that, eventually, the older Sakusa siblings would hear about infamous Miya (Y/N) and fawn over her.

It was no secret either that Kiyoomi only his eyes for her, having been his cousin’s close-confident regarding confusing feelings and possessiveness over her. For someone who always saw things through, who absolutely refused to do anything half-assed, Motoya made sure to poke at his cousin’s rather slow pace with her. Kiyoomi would reason that the timing was never there, because of his duties, and he didn’t want her to get caught in the drama brewing amongst castle chatterboxes. He wanted to protect her from that. Yet he failed.

Guilt was written all over Kiyoomi’s face the night (Y/N) had been taken away. Unflinching from the cold rain, the blood in his hands, his head injury, Kiyoomi just looked…blank.

Since her disappearance, his cousin was a living doll, he barely slept, barely ate, and barely even cleaned himself!

Worried, Motoya saw to it himself that his cousin was taken care of. His parents would send maids to ensure he'd leave the room. His older brother would personally check in with him and talk. His older sister would rush in and forcibly take him to walks in the garden or get him to bathe. Later, Osamu would send him food to eat. Atsumu came by a few days later, pissed still at his superior, but asked him if he had any orders. Slowly but surely, he was getting on his feet. But at the end of the day, Kiyoomi would buckle from it all and just exist.

He was like a living doll, with no function, no purpose. Nothing. It was unbecoming of him.

Everything seemed pointless now.

How did the Great Commander of Itachiyama's Royal Gaurd fall so hard? Simple, it was because of her.

(Y/N) was always his greatest weakness just as she was his greatest strength. Only, he took it for granted.

Motoya couldn't find it in his heart to hate his cousin, for he knew, probably more than anyone else in the castle, how much he hated himself for what happened.

If there was one thing he knew about his cousin, it's that once he starts something, he'll be so fixated on it and ensures he finishes it through. And with his dying breath, swearing even on his sword, his life, he would- no, he will find (Y/N) and bring her back.

“Kiyoomi?” he asked, entering his cousin’s office after two knocks.

Motoya stopped at the door, noticing the maps scattered around his usually kept desk, along with some notes written in messy, familiar penmanship, the look in his cousin’s eyes.

“Motoya,” he glanced up briefly, shoulders straightening, hands planted on each side of the desk.

“Do you have any leads?” the brunet starts, walking further in.

And Motoya would be there, to help him bring his heart back.

At night, you see him in your dreams.

Intimidating, tall, handsome, wearing that rare smile of his, one that reached his eyes. A secret-like smile, one he shared for those who were worthy of it.

Kiyoomi would be sitting by the pavilion in the castle gardens, watching you across him, head titled slightly, before his lips curled.

And then you’d wake up.

Immediately, your hands fetched for your books, a pencil, to sketch him before your memory of the dream fades – finely shaped jaw, twin beauty marks over his left eye, thick curls, inquisitive dark eyes, long nose, supple lips, his rare smile- only to pause. Stop. Then cry.

Tears starting anew, you looked down at your sketch – of Sakusa Kiyoomi smiling at you, breaking into a watery laugh, free hand shakily touching your sketch. “K-Kiyoomi…”

Dropping the sketch, you covered your mouth with one hand, the other fisted over your heart.

What was the point?

You loved him for the longest time. You’ve been stuck in this one-sided love for your childhood friend for as long as you can remember.

But as the crowned prince, and soon-to-be great commander of the Royal Guard, something as trivial as a romance - with the royal historian of all people, a person with questionable ancestry? It was not meant to be.

Had you been given a chance between taking you away forever and forgetting him forever, you would gladly choose the latter.

Because nothing hurts more than to remember every day that the person you love wished you away, crushing your heart and everything inside. At least when you forget, so will the feelings, leaving you hollow and numb. Ready to start anew.

You were sure he was happiest with your disappearance, finally getting the chance to be closer to Wakatoshi from Shiratorizawa, solidifying the alliance.

You did miss Komori. Your adopted brothers. Your friends. Your apprentice. Your home.

But they were gone now, soon to be a forgotten memory.

Here you stay and here you shall remain, doom to remember until your dying breath how your love wished you away.

Prince Kiyoomi dreams of you.

In his dreams, you were a sight to behold in cream, your (h/c) hair freely falling upon your bare shoulders as you poured into another book. When he walks up behind you, he scoops your hair away and plants a kiss to your shoulders, neck, cheek. A light giggle was his reward, curling his lips upward before he was met with (e/c) eyes.

You were so beautiful.

A sight to behold.

You'd say his name ever so lightly, gently, warmly, and with love. The only way he knew his name should be called leaving your plump lips. Plump lips that looked so inviting and endearing, making him want to lean in-

And then he'd wake up.

Prince Kiyoomi dreams of you. A lot.

Has been for the last 18 years of his life.

Has been for the past year you've been taken from him.

In his dreams, you would be in his arms.

But in reality, you were taken away from him.

All because he wished you away.

It was a plain and simple reminder that you had to remember: he was a prince, you were the royal historian. Nothing more, nothing less.

You didn’t come from royalty like him, so he was out of your reach. You could love him, but what good is the love of a lowly peasant girl? A girl with questionable origins, plucked from the ruins by kindly gentlefolk who took her in?

Even though you were regarded as a genius, strategic in mind that rivaled that of the crowned prince, you were still just a peasant. Someone was regal like Kiyoomi deserved nothing but the best.

Despite having your heartbroken, you smiled at Kiyoomi, eyes filled with so much love. Not knowing that it would be the last time he’d see you.

Later that night, in front of his constituents, brought by frustration and fear of his position and of your social classes, Prince Sakusa rashly wishes for you to be taken away. Not a second later, a Minotaur comes crashing in to take you away. Forever.

Wish granted.

There were many things he regrets.

One of them being missing the chance to press his lips to yours under the rain, a rather picturesque and romantic-setting, had it not been for the fact that he accidentally napped in the palace training grounds and you were happily playing under the rain before finding him.

He still remembered your laugh, a saccharine tune that was pure bliss to listen to. Your smile, it illuminated your face, brightening the dreary downpour, warmed his insides. “Kiyoomi, get up! This is no place for the crowned prince to lie down!” Taking him by the hand, he tugged you to take shelter and he let you.

“Speak for yourself,” he snorts. “what’s the royal historian doing getting herself wet?”

Laughing, you rolled your eyes at him. “I needed a break.”

“And you think getting wet under the pouring rain warrants as break?”

“I love the rain!” you laugh, bright smile splitting open your lips and your (e/c) eyes shining brightly. Reaching a hand out, Kiyoomi watched as the smile remained on your face, watching the droplets on your outstretched hand.

Silent, the crowned prince silently set his eyes in the way your (h/c) hair darkened in the rain, your dress was soaked, yet you had laughed, carelessly, a bright and gentle sound that was threatened to drown out in the thundering downpour. Dark eyes slowly took the slope of your neck, mapping your collarbones, trailing a droplet of rain that slithered down the smooth expanse of your neck.

Kiyoomi inhaled and exhaled, shaking his head slightly, dark curls shaking with him. He heard you laugh, sounding closer.

You had leaned in, playfully poking his two beauty marks before tucking wet curls away. Entranced by you, something inside him started, dizzying, confusing, satisfying. He caught your hands in his, bringing them to his cheeks, revelling, leaning into your touch. Ever so gently, he planted his lips on the center of your palm. Breath hitching, you were unable to look away. Kiyoomi’s eyes opened slowly to meet yours, the thundering in your chest increasing. There was soft, loving, endearing look in both your eyes, something both you wondering. Only a breath away, Kiyoomi slowly leaned in, your eyes fluttering close, waiting. And he would have kissed you then and there, had Atsumu not showed up and cut the mood.

The next day, he drilled the blond bastard harder than the rest.

But the one thing Kiyoomi regrets the most was wishing you away, for he never got the chance to tell you he loved you.

Books lined and filled the room, there was a disarray of scrolls, notes, and opened books scattered on the floor, the table. And there you were, pouring words into your notebook with your sleeves pulled up, stray hair escaping your upswept (h/c) hair - messy, curious, beautiful you.

"You have ink in your fingers," he says, as a way of greeting.

Looking up, your expression breaks into a beautified smile, "Kiyoomi!" realizing what he said, you looked around, then laughed nervously at your state. Grabbing a random cloth off the chair closest to you, you wiped at your fingers, walking around to meet him. "To what do I owe the crowned prince the honor?"

He rolls his eyes at your politeness, as though you haven't been friends since you were younger.

"I had a feeling you would be spending hours on the procured books on the Great Backyard Battle between Nekoma and Karasuno. Meaning, you'd be missing out on lunch." At this, he poked the space between your brows. Hard.

“Ow!”

“I’ve sent for lunch. Join me.”

Rubbing at your forehead, your face morphs into a sly grin. “Aww, you could just say you miss me, y’know~”

There were still remnants of ink on your fingers, because you smeared some over your forehead. With a roll – graceful roll, as you put it, he grabs the cloth, turns it to the clean side, and gently rubs the ink off your forehead.

“How are your hands always this dirty?”

“Kiyoomi, I’m not ready for that kinda joke,” you giggle when he’s finished, blowing into laughter when he throws the cloth into your face.

By the day, you were becoming cheekier like your brothers. He wouldn't have it any other way.

Pulling the cloth away, you inspect your relatively clean fingers, showing them to him. Unamused, he humored you by inspecting them closely.

“Clean enough for ya?”

“It will do. But I will ask the servants for a wash or utensils.”

You reply with a giggle, falling in step with your dear friend out your study.

With ink in your fingers, rumpled clothes, and messy hair, to him, you'd still be the most beautiful woman his eyes have ever seen.

Lonely were the nights spent by your lonesome, with nothing like companionship to fill the silence, to quell the fear, to steady your sanity. Yet, here you were. Still. By some miracle.

Books had been your constant companion all your life, feeding your ever curious mind. They were relative company, but not enough to satisfy your loneliness.

The garden, thriving with life and wonder, had lots to offer. Adorning flowers, gentle little insects, they were almost a reminder of life. Still, it wasn’t enough.

Lonely were the days that came by, yet somehow, you managed through.

Managing through keeping yourself sane.

Managing through the fear of your impending doom at the hands of the Minotaur.

Managing through the ache deep inside your chest.

Night-time befell, unable to sleep, you headed to the gardens.

A full moon was out tonight, big and bright. And yet, it seemed alone, like you.

Under the moonlight, you cry and pray.

Crying for the ones you've left behind – your family, friends, students, praying that they may be well.

Crying for your kingdom, praying that it may prosper.

Crying for yourself, praying that you can still manage by.

Crying for your love, praying that he may find happiness.

Denial bled into acceptance.

Prince Sakusa Kiyoomi, Third Prince of Itachiyama Kingdom and Royal Guard Commander, your first love, wished you away.

Finally, after days, months, and little over a year of searching, he found a lead.

Without wasting a second, he arranged his best men – Atsumu first to call for duty, followed by Osamu, who quickly put on his uniform and begged to join – and set forth.

It wasn’t an easy mission.

Kozume, the oracle, wasn’t lying when he said the road would be perilous, treacherous, and tested even the strongest minds. But he wasn’t commander of the Royal Guard for nothing.

Plowing enemy after enemy, never faltering and always on their guard, his men proved that they were best of the best, in leagues with the greatest fighters in the land - akin to jackals hungry for their next prey.

Even after years of quitting the army, Osamu was a force to deal with on the battlefield, especially with Atsumu. The Miya twins, the deadliest forces to deal with, truly a sight to behold.

Whatever came their way, they pushed through.

When night-time befell, you wandered off to the gardens, unable to sleep for some reason.

Unbeknownst to you, the Minotaur had turned its head and growled under its breath. Lifting its head up, huffing angrily, readily.

“I’ll go,” Kiyoomi told his men, eyes never leaving the tall walls before them.

“I’ll come,” Atsumu says, nearly bouncing on his feet, Osamu, a bundle of nervous energy beside him. Bokuto, Hinata, Meian, Inunaki, Thomas, stood by, waiting for orders. The walls in front of them were intimidating, yet as Motoya looked at his cousin, he was surprised yet unsurprised at the same time to see that Kiyoomi seemed…determined.

“No,” Kiyoomi said, firm and stern. Without looking back, he took a step forward. “I’ll go. Alone.”

There was no moon out tonight, you thought with a heavy sigh.

How lonely.

Bringing your knees to your chest, you heaved another heavy sigh, chin tucked in, as you gazed out to the stars.

As the oracle had warned, traversing into the labyrinth won’t be easy as trials awaits him at every turn.

Kiyoomi didn’t falter at his warning, not once.

Even when he was faced with goblins.

Even when hands began to emerge from the walls, reaching for him.

Even when the walls started to close in.

Even when the walls started talking, trying to goad him to leave, escape, give up.

He didn’t budge, not even once.

Through it all, Kiyoomi had to make use of his wit to beat the labyrinth.

Kozume never said anything about beating the labyrinth, giving him little to nothing. But then, he understood you can’t beat it, you just have to outsmart it.

So when the labyrinth began a new tactic, riddling the prince at each turn, Kiyoomi met the challenge head-on.

Nothing will stop him, not even these trivial challenges that try to undermine him.

Nothing shall stand in his way.

He was a man on a mission, everything else was in his way.

Orion. The hunter. Ursa Major. The Big Bear. Ursa Minor. The Little Bear. Bitterly, sadly, you found the Northern Crown.

Draco. The dragon. Lyra. The lyre. Canis Minor. The Little Dog. Pegasus. The Winged Horse. Cygnus. The Northern Cross.

Andromeda. The Chained Princess.

The story of a princess chained to pay for her mother’s demise was one that fascinated you as a child, especially because the princess had to await her demise at the hands of some monster only to be rescued by a hero.

Oh, what a naïve little child you were–

A shooting star.

Something in you shifts, then settles, a breathless laugh leaving your lips as you hugged your folded knees tighter.

Was it wishful thinking if you wished you could be like Andromeda and be saved? Or were you still naïve?

And there it was, the Minotaur.

Hulking, maddening like he remembered that night.

The night it took away (Y/N).

It was big, bigger than anything he’s ever faced. And strong, too.

With a flick of its arm, Kiyoomi was on the side of the balcony, hitting his head against the wall. It was also fast.

However, that doesn’t mean he would yield, nor would he surrender.

He tightened his grip on his sword, expression hardened, darkened at the sight of it.

He trained like crazy after that night, worked himself to the bone to match the crazy stamina levels of one Hinata Shouyo, and strength of Bokuto Koutarou. Precision and skills were his greatest feats, but he had to be cunning and nasty like that of Miya Atsumu. Also, he had to be reserved and patient, like that of Miya Osamu.

Before him, the Minotaur let out a mighty roar, echoing through the walls, dragging its hooves readily.

Kiyoomi never let go of his sword, neither did he drop his gaze at the Minotaur.

The air was thick, heady.

A beat.

And then they both charged.

“Hey, Tsumu-Tsumu, Myaa-Sam?”

The fire crackled in front of them, burning the iron pot above it, the smell of beef stew filling in.

“Do you think Omi can save (Y/N)-chan?”

The dark-haired twin stopped stirring the pot, the blonde-dyed twin stared into the fire, clasped hand gripping tighter. A brown-haired man perked at the sound of his cousin’s name, watching the men in silence.

The fire danced, wood snapping once, then twice, before it broke into two.

And then, “What kinda stupid questions is that, Bokkun?” Atsumu smirks.

“No one’s crazy enough like him, too,” Osamu added, dropping a few spices in.

Motoya smiled, honored on behalf of his cousin at the twins’ words.

Carefully, the lid was placed in, leaving a little space for the stew to simmer for few more minutes.

A dull pain hummed in his head, followed by a sharp pain that was sure to be from a broken rib. Breathing in was torturous, heaving laboring breaths through his nose and out his mouth.

Before him, the horned-beast huffed, sporting the stabs Kiyoomi had given him.

Yet, it stood there still while he was worse for wear.

The oracle's words rang through his head again, warning him that going in was the same as wishing for a death sentence.

And yet, Kiyoomi willingly accepted in, knowing full well of the risks and consequences - because he's had a whole year to think about them from the hollowness of his chest.

You were the one thing that kept him going.

You were the light in the dark.

You were a beacon he was desperate to follow.

You were the only thing that mattered.

Getting to his feet, ignoring how his body screamed in pain, he lifted his sword.

Angered, Minotaur charged again, head lowered, horns ready to skewer him.

Kiyoomi didn't move, only shifted his position.

When it was close enough, he raised his sword.

"Hey, Kiyoomi?"

"What,"

"If there was one thing in the world that you could have, what would it be?"

"..."

"Like, you could ask for anything - power, gold, magical abilities, a nice exotic pet, what would it be?"

"..."

"Oh? What a silence."

"What a question,"

"Well? What would you want?"

"Umeboshi."

"Kiyoomi, you're just playing with me aren't you?"

It shouldn't be a question, because he already knew the answer.

You.

All Kiyoomi ever wanted in the whole world was you.

And there you were.

Basked in the moonlight, your (h/c) was longer, falling over your frame, barefooted on the grass – looking like a goddess.

His chest heaves heavily with every exhale, weary from his long battle with the Minotaur, never minding the pain and bruises, all he could see was you.

You.

After all this time.

"(Y/N)..."

You looked up in surprise, his voice cutting through the silence, and got to your feet. Staring at him in shock.

It's been so long.

Too long.

Far too long.

A year and a half was long enough for him to meet your (e/c) eyes, to see your face, to be in the same room.

"K-Kiyoomi..."

He felt his heart beating, coming to life.

Dropping his sword, letting it clatter to the ground, he slowly walked, staggering in his steps, until he was in front of you.

What an image, a knight in shining armor, bloodied and bruised- did he kill the Minotaur?!

His hair was longer, slightly greasy, you noticed in shock. He was no way vain, but he liked to look clean and proper. But since you’ve been gone, he’s forgotten to take care of himself.

Suddenly, fear gnawed at his heart, remembering the last time he saw you, remembering the last words he said to you. Did you hate him? Did you fear him?

“Kiyoomi!”

And then, you were in each other’s arms, breaking down and crying, holding each other so tight in fear that someone or something would tear you two together again. Both of you collapsed to your knees, refusing to let the other go.

Kiyoomi’s cries were silent, but the relief that washed over him from a year’s worth of guilt and regret, of finally having you in his arms, it made was indescribable.

“(Y/N),” he says your name, like it’s the holiest thing to say, his saving grace. “(Y/N)!”

Hearing your name in his voice, after so long, it made you cry even harder. Kiyoomi kept holding you as you cried, rocking you back and forth.

Something hot and wet lands on your head, followed by Kiyoomi’s voice repeatedly saying your name.

Sorry, he wants to say ‘I’m sorry’, but the words were lodged in his throat. He wants to apologize, desperately apologize for hurting her. He wants to get on his knees.

Instead, he cries into her shoulder, relief continues to wash over him because he’s hugging you again, feeling you in his arms again and hearing your cries.

Pulling away, hands desperately clung to the other’s face – smoothing through the skin, memorizing the feel beneath their fingers, eyes drinking them in.

Finally, Kiyoomi does the one thing he’s been dying to do for years. He kisses you.

It’s everything he thought it would be – magical, spectacular, burning, and amazing, especially when you kiss him back. One hand holds his shoulder, the other snakes its way to his hair, gripping and grounding.

Uncaring of the snot and tears, he presses his lips against yours with much urgency, hoping to pour years’ worth of pining and affection he’s had for you. Pulling away for the second time, to breathe, he finger combs strands of hair away before cupping you by the back of your head, dark onyx eyes softening at the sight of you, enjoying the flush in your cheeks and the love in your eyes.

“I love you,”

Both of you said it at the same time, much to both your shock.

Eventually, both of you laughed, foreheads pressing.

It was a long time running and both of you were such fools.

When dawn broke out the next day, two figures were seen leaving the labyrinth hand-in-hand, as though they didn’t want to let go. The camp stirred awake, then the Miya brothers stumbled at the figures before they rushed – practically raced, over to meet their rescued sister. Soon, a brown-haired man rushed up to greet his cousin, a few more calls and more men rushed up to meet the two.

Behind them, the labyrinth magically disappeared without a trace.

However, it wasn’t important.

For what’s important was that the third prince of Itachiyama, the commander of the Royal Guard, finally got his heart back.

171 notes · View notes

five-rivers · 4 years

Text

Adoption

Based on a prompt by @fabnamessuggestedbytumbler for the Phic Phight! An excuse for Lost Time fluff? Don't mind if I do...

The Ghost Zone had a legal system. A court system. A prison system. A police system. A set of established rules. There were even lawyers.

In theory.

In reality the courts (Observants) refused to look at anything that wasn't world ending. Every group had their own, private prison. The police made up their own rules and, even then, broke them regularly. The actual rules had gone several hundred years without an update and referred to places, organizations, and customs that no longer existed. The lawyers were all clinically depressed. That's what happens when there's no active, unifying head of state for hundreds of years.

Still. Every so often a sufficiently foolish ghost, possessed of a brave purpose, would attempt to navigate the ruins of the legal system. Few made it out alive.

(True, being ghosts, they didn't necessarily go into it alive, but it's the thought that counts.)

But those who did make it out (metaphorically) alive, did so with prizes... well, not great enough, but something enough to convince others to make the attempt. Hence Clockwork's current location and headache.

"Sign the paper, Walker," snapped Clockwork.

"That would be against the rules," said Walker, leaning back in his stupid chair. Clockwork's nonexistent spine hurt just from looking at it.

Maybe he should give himself a spine, just so he'd have a reason to feel this way.

"How," he began, "would it be against the rules? This form needs to be signed by a law enforcement official that has seen or witnessed conclusive evidence the child in question being abused by their natural parents. That is you."

"Yes, but the law enforcement officer must first get a warrant approved by an appropriate court in order to collect such evidence," countered Walker.

"Not if the official came across the evidence or act of abuse while pursuing a different case or simply following standard operating procedure. You saw them shoot at him. His mother put a gun to his head. Have mercy, Walker. I know you don't like him, but he is a child who needs guidance. Not a criminal."

"He's a criminal in my books," said Walker.

"What he did was hardly a crime."

"Jailbreak is a crime!"

"Not if one is unjustly imprisoned," said Clockwork. "He was attempting to remove the foreign object." No matter that possessing material-plane items wasn't an actual crime.

"He let others escape!"

"And what were they imprisoned for?"

Walker grumbled. "Some of them are dangerous, and even he knew that," said Walker, nodding at the file spread over his desk.

"Consider it a cry for help. While you were watching him," stalking him, Clockwork did not say, "on the material plane, did he really strike you as criminally inclined? Or perhaps he was simply confused and scared? One thousand years is a very long time in human terms. The targets of his Obsession would have died. Even if he did commit a misdemeanor, he would have rightly been granted clemency, or at least had his sentence deferred."

Walker frowned.

"That's not what this is about, is it? You covering up a mistake?"

"No," said Walker.

Clockwork blinked, quickly running through potential futures. "No one will care that you crossed the veil without authorization. No one who can do anything about it, in any case."

"There'll be an investigation if I sign that there piece of paper. What's the big deal, anyway? Like you said, humans don't live that long. Just wait fifty years."

"They almost ended him," said Clockwork. "He's a child. Do you really want that on your conscience? With the knowledge that you could have stopped it?"

Sighing, Walker picked up his pen.

Danny went to school. Mainly, he went because he didn't know what else to do. He needed the routine, even if the routine was a lie and he felt like trash.

"You could have stayed," whispered Sam, as his hand inched towards the bandages on his chest for the fifth time that morning. "They wouldn't have noticed you."

Danny shook his head. His hand shook more. He put it back in his lap. "It wouldn't have been right. Besides, I need a passing grade in this class, right?" He couldn't get another F, or his parents would kill him, except- except- except-

They had already tried to kill him.

Everything had gone so much worse than he had ever imagined- No. That wasn't quite right. It had gone- It had...

At least he hadn't been cut open.

(Much.)

"Mr. Fenton?"

Danny jumped, banging his knees painfully on the underside of his desk. He looked up, wildly, tensing himself to flee, only the fact that he was currently human keeping his powers from activating.

(Well, that and... what had been done to him.)

When had Mr. Lancer gotten there?

"What?" he asked, breathlessly.

"Are- Are you alright, Mr. Fenton?"

"I'm fine," Danny said. He wasn't. His ghost half was urging him to go find a nice, dark, quiet, safe corner to hide in, preferably one in the Ghost Zone, his heart was hammering out of his chest, he'd spent the night not-sleeping in one of the guestrooms in Sam's house, and that was before even touching on his injuries.

He forced a smile. Mr. Lancer was one of the few teachers who hadn't given up on him, which was alternately touching and frustrating.

"You look sick," said Mr. Lancer. "Are you sure you don't want to call home?"

Danny's heart stuttered, his core painfully cold. "I'm sure," he said.

"Today is a project day," said Mr. Lancer. "You wouldn't be missing anything in this class, and I can talk to your other teachers."

"No, I'm fine."

The legal clerk for the family court was the kind of ghost who seemed to have fused with her role. The sleeves and collar of her shirt melded seamlessly with her skin. Her nails were brass pen nibs. The lenses of her glasses were part of her face.

She lived in either the basement or the attic of this particular building, depending on how one oriented themselves, among barely-organized stacks of books and papers. There were parchment scrolls and stone tablets, too, the later often re-purposed as elements of the room's furniture. Green-marbled filing cabinets grew out of the walls, and electronic somethings glittered out of the shadows.

The clerk had been reviewing Clockwork's paperwork for literal days. Rather, she would have been, if Clockwork hadn't surreptitiously dropped a time medallion around her neck and stopped time.

She hummed, thoughtfully. "In this document, you are using the pronoun tsai to refer to the adoptee. Are you certain you don't mean tusui? Or perhaps chahe?"

"Absolutely," said Clockwork. The intimation that he wasn't fluent in nchabhatsi was insulting. On the other hand, the requirement for that particular piece of paperwork to be in the language was also, in his opinion, rather ridiculous. Many ghosts, especially the recently dead, did not know nchabhatsi.

"The adoptee is liminal?"

"Yes," said Clockwork.

"Hmm." She stood up and flew from her desk to an inverted bookshelf anchored to the ceiling. From a box she took a huge sheaf of papers, and blew an amount of dust from them that was unhealthy even to a ghost. "It has been a while since we used these," she said, giving Clockwork a faded-ivory smile. "You'll need to fill these out and have them notarized by the proper officials before you can proceed. Liminal spirits are so rare, after all! They require special care. Oh!" Her hands fluttered. "And I'll have to get in contact with our liminality expert. That may take some time."

"If you can give me their name," said Clockwork, "I will take care of it." He gingerly took the stack of slightly-decayed paper. Had it really been so long since a partly-human child had been adopted? Probably.

"Oh, you're such a dear," said the clerk, not noticing the sudden absence of the medallion around her neck. "But that paperwork won't do itself, and-"

"It's done," said Clockwork. Fulfilling some of the new requirements had been more challenging than others and avoiding a paradox had taken considerable self-control, but what good were his temporal abilities if he couldn't use them for personal gain now and again? None at all.

"Ah," said the clerk.

Familiar, and very loud, voices spilled from the hallway near the office. Danny, one hand on his locker, trying to remember his combination, froze like a deer in headlights. His heartbeat picked up, his core buzzed frantically. He couldn't move. Grey crept in along the edges of his vision.

"... not him. It was never him! He's dead-"

"Mrs. Fenton, Mr. Fenton, I'm not sure what you're getting at, here, but your son has been at school all day, and we-"

"A ghost killed him and took his place! It's been playing a sick game with us this whole time!"

"Danny would never have gotten grades like this. We should have noticed the lower intellect right away, if nothing else."

"That's-" spluttered Mr. Lancer. "You- Daniel's work is exemplary, what little of it he turns in. I'm going to have to ask you to go back to the office-"

"No! Not until that piece of ectoplasmic scum is wiped from the face of the Earth!"

"Danny," said Tucker, much closer. "Are you okay? What's wrong?"

Right. Ghostly super hearing. Tucker and Sam, staring at him with concern, couldn't know.

"They're here," he managed, the words like sandpaper in his throat.

Sam uttered a word that would have sent her mother into a screeching fit. "We need to get you out of here," she said putting a hand on his back and pushing him down the hall.

"I'll run interference," said Tucker. "Make sure they can't follow you in the GAV."

"Good thinking," said Sam.

"Call me when you're safe," said Tucker, peeling off, presumably to hack the GAV.

"Danny, breathe," ordered Sam, as she propelled him through the double doors at the back of the school. "We're going to get you through this."

Clockwork had resorted to trapping the legal complex in a massive temporal bubble. Not the neatest solution, true, and it seemed to encourage the various functionaries, regulators, and bureaucrats to take even more time to process even the simplest request, but at least it would keep Daniel's suffering in the meantime to a minimum.

However, that didn't change the fact that he had been bouncing back and forth between the various floors of the building like a ping-pong ball, never getting closer to the solitary family court judge, for well over a subjective year. He was exhausted, frustrated, and he missed Daniel.

"You will be able to provide steady, stable access to the adoptee's preferred haunt?" asked his present interviewer.

"Yes," said Clockwork, dully. The room was ringed with runes that prevented deception of any kind.

"You will be able to provide shelter adequate for both his ghostly and human form?"

"Yes," said Clockwork. He had answered these questions so many times before.

"You have taken the mandated class on liminality?"

"Yes," said Clockwork. He was beginning to understand why other ghosts just gave up and sought extralegal solutions.

"You are aware of a liminal spirit's developmental and emotional needs?"

"Yes," said Clockwork. This was just so boring.

"And are you able to satisfy those needs?"

"Yes," said Clockwork. If only it would end.

The interviewer nodded. "Then we're done here," he said.

"Ye- What? Does that mean I can see the judge?" asked Clockwork, hopefully.

"No. That means that your adoption motion can move on to the next stage," said the interviewer. "Our liminality expert will examine your arrangements and determine whether or not they are sufficient, and we will contact law enforcement to follow up on your claim that the adoptee is being abused."

Clockwork bit back a groan. At least he was making progress.

They cut through the empty field behind the school, angling back toward the surrounding neighborhood. The grass came up to their chests, except where there were holes, mounds, and gouges from ghost fights. When there was one in the school, Danny tried to bring it out here, so people wouldn't get hurt.

He wasn't often successful.

Sam led the way. Danny felt- He felt ashamed. If his powers were working, he would be able to fly them away, or at least turn them invisible. This would all be so much easier. He could have taken care of himself, and Sam and Tucker wouldn't get in trouble, because they would definitely get in trouble for this. But he couldn't.

He couldn't even convince his parents that he was himself. He had to screw that up, too.

Before, he had thought, worse case scenario would be that they'd try to 'fix' him, to remove his ghost half, or maybe they'd think he was overshadowed. At least, he'd convinced himself of that, convinced himself that dissection would be off the table if he ever told them, that they would still love him. Maybe they might still want to do tests, but they'd love him. They wouldn't want to hurt him.

But he had been so, so wrong. They didn't believe him. They thought he had killed himself, replaced himself.

They had tried to cut him open.

(They succeeded.)

His core shuddered at the memory.

At least, though, there hadn't been any ghost attacks today. He wouldn't have been able to fight anything stronger than the Box Ghost. Heck, he might have lost to the Box Ghost. Like this, he would have to leave the ghosts to his parents, Valerie, or the GIW, none of which were particularly good options for the hunters, the ghosts, or the innocent bystanders of Amity Park.

His core pulsed uncomfortably at the thought of any of them getting hurt, including his parents.

He flinched. His core had been very jumpy, very active ever since... it... happened. Usually it only did this while he was in ghost form, and was otherwise almost dormant.

"Are you okay?" asked Sam. "Is it hurting?" She was the one who had bandaged him up last night.

"We can't stop now," said Danny.

Sam flattened her lips. "That isn't an answer. As soon as we get somewhere quiet, I'm checking you out, okay?"

"Yeah," said Danny.

When they reached the short fence, Sam gave him a boost to get over and they made their way into the suburb. There was a small library branch down the road a ways. It had a small family bathroom that Sam and Tucker had patched Danny up in before. It would be a good place to regroup before trying to put as much distance between them and Danny's parents as possible.

"We could take the city bus, I think," said Sam. "There's a stop outside the library. Maybe we could go to Elmerton?"

"Maybe," said Danny.

"Any ETA on Jazz since last night?"

Danny shook his head. "She couldn't get a flight. She's taking a Greyhound. Won't be here 'til-"

There was a beep. Danny stopped breathing. That could have been anything, a phone, a watch, a car, something from a building, but something about it tickled at Danny's brain as wrong.

"There is a ghost twenty feet in front of you."

The whine of a charging ectogun-

Sam slammed into his side, and they both fell. Danny felt the cut on his chest begin to bleed again, and he curled around it protectively. It hurt so much more than it should, and Danny wondered if that was because ghosts were ultimately shaped by their minds and his was in so much pain right now.

His parents had just shot at him. From behind. Not ghost him, Phantom him, either. Human him.

They hated him. All of him. Not just half of him.

His ghost sense went off. Because things could always get worse for Danny and the universe apparently hated him.

He struggled into a sitting position and blinked, confused. There were people surrounding him, protecting him, standing between him and his parents. Sam was shouting. Danny couldn't make out what she was saying, what anyone was saying, not with his heart pounding in his ears.

"Kid," said one man, shaking his shoulder. "Are you okay?"

Danny considered that. "No," he said, finally.

The man pulled a phone from his pocket and began saying something about calling the hospital. Normally, Danny would be worried about that, but he was looking for the ghosts. It was possible one of the more benevolent spirits that haunted Amity Park had happened across the scene, but, somehow, Danny doubted it.

His ghost sense went off again. He whimpered.

His people were in danger.

Ghosts usually came for him (he was leading them here, an evil ghost, causing all this trouble, murderer), or at least attacked him first, to get rid of him as a threat. He staggered to his feet. He had to get away. Still clutching his chest, he turned and bolted.

Almost at once, he was surrounded by ghosts in police gear. Walker's goons. Definitely stronger than the Box Ghost. Still, he was going to at least try to fight. He put his fists up. Maybe some of them would be dumb enough not to phase out of the way of his stupid human punches.

Then Walker himself descended from the sky.

"Daniel," he said, stiffly.

"Walker," returned Danny. A small part of him was grateful that Walker hadn't called him Phantom and spilled his secret. It was strange, but no ghost had ever seemed particularly inclined to do that, despite how easy it would have been.

"We have a court order to take you into custody," said Walker. "Someone wants to ask you a few questions."

Danny decided today's mood was 'pointless bravado and defiance.' "And why would I want to come with- whoa."

As Danny talked, Walker had taken a piece of paper with strange symbols written on it in green ink out from the inside pocket of his jacket. The symbols made his head spin... Or maybe that was just his injuries catching up with him. His left leg was trembling, and he wasn't sure how much longer it would hold out.

He shook his head, trying to clear it, and focused on Walker. "I have no idea what that says."

Walker sighed. "Just come quietly, son. Make it easier on yourself."

Danny swallowed his discomfort at being called 'son.' "You won't hurt anyone else?" he asked.

"I'm just here for you."

There really wasn't much of a choice. Whether he went quietly or got himself beaten up even more, Walker would win and carry him off. Anyone could see that. Besides, ghost prison might be a better alternative than getting dissected by his parents.

He raised his hands in front of him, wrists together. "Go ahead, then," said Danny, flatly.

Walker nodded, and the goons converged on him. The cuffs they put around his wrists glowed green, but they had weight in a way most purely ghostly things didn't. Danny doubted that he'd be able to phase his way out of them, human or ghost. Then they picked him up and the whole swarm started to fly away.

"Yes, this is my lair," said Clockwork. "I can, however, duplicate and be both here and at the secondary residence I acquired expressly for the purpose of ensuring continuity of Daniel's human life."

The 'liminality expert' grunted. "He's still been here, though, hasn't he?"

"Yes," said Clockwork. "He has."

"And he might be here again in the future."

"Yes. I do plan to have him here, for short periods of time."

"And later, when he sheds his human life?"

"Perhaps."

"Then I need to know, are these up to OSHA standards? Your entire lair needs to be up to OSHA standards."

"They're time viewers and tools for unraveling paradoxes. OSHA, even the OSHA of the far future, does not regulate these items," said Clockwork. "Why, in the name of time, do you even need to know? Surely, OSHA didn't even exist the last time a liminal child was adopted."

"Well," said the expert, slightly sheepish. "No. But regulations state that all residences must be safe for children by both human and ghost standards."

"Then OSHA is not what you should be using," said Clockwork. "OSHA is the set of rules for occupational health and safety."

"Ah," said the expert. "Then we can move right along to the next check mark, shall we?"

"Hi," said a cheerful voice.

Danny looked up from his contemplation of the examination room table and glared balefully at the ghost who had just entered the door. They didn't seem to be affected. But then, why would they be? Danny was handcuffed to the table and clearly not a threat.

"I'm the interviewer," said the featureless ghost. "Do you know why you're here?"

"No," said Danny.

"Well," said the interviewer, "I work for the eighth authorized family court of the Infinite Realms, we're actually the only one right now, but there used to be more, and a little while ago, an adoption request was filed on your behalf."

Danny blinked and made a face. "You mean, someone stole my identity in ghost court?"

"No, no," said the interviewer, waving one amorphous hand. "Not at all. I mean to say, I ghost filed a request to legally adopt you."

"Who?" asked Danny. "Not Vlad?" Vlad was the only ghost he could think of who had demonstrated any interest in adopting him.

"No, that's not the name listed here."

"Plasmius?" asked Danny, still cringing internally.

"No."

"Then who?"

"Clockwork."

"What, seriously?" Danny liked Clockwork, and he liked to think that Clockwork liked him back, that they were friends, but the older ghost always seemed somewhat aloof.

"Yes, he was very serious. Now. I have a number of questions I need to ask you." They took out a small, glowing crystal, and set it on the table. "Do you know what this is?"

"No?" said Danny.

"It's a record crystal," said the ghost. "But one of its other functions is that it can sense deception, and record when in an interview it is being used. Go ahead, say something you know is false."

"I... like toast?"

The crystal's glow dimmed slightly before returning to its previous level.

"There, see? Very useful, don't you think?"

"I guess," said Danny. He didn't know how to feel about this. Any of this. What would ghost adoption even mean? He trusted Clockwork, but this felt like too much, too fast. He hadn't even properly processed what had happened with his parents a few hours ago.

"Right. So. We'll start with an easy one, then. Is your name Daniel Janus James Fenton-Phantom, also known as Danny Phantom, or simply Danny or Phantom?"

"Yes," said Danny, eyeing the crystal warily.

"And what would you prefer to go by, for the purposes of this interview?"

"Phantom," said Danny.

"Alright then, Phantom," said the interviewer, "could you please tell me where you primarily reside?"

"Fentonworks," said Danny, "in Amity Park." So far, he hadn't really had a reason to lie. All of this was common knowledge for both his human and ghostly acquaintances.

"And what would you consider to be your haunt?"

"My what?"

"Your haunt. The territory that you have metaphysically claimed."

"I- I don't really understand."

"Is there an area that you feel compelled to defend against hostile persons? An area in which non-hostile ghosts defer to you?"

"I- Yeah. I guess. Amity Park. And some of the bits around it, too."

"The entire city?"

"I guess? I don't know," said Danny. "Is that weird?"

"It would be unusual," said the interviewer.

Danny really wished the interviewer had an expression he could read. Or even just something approximating a face.

"Now, do you feel safe in your home? In 'Fentonworks?'"

The correct answer to that question would be no, but he wasn't sure he should answer. What if this was some kind of elaborate trick?

"We can come back to that," said the interviewer. "Are there any other places where you do feel safe?"

"I mean, sure?" said Danny. He fidgeted.

"Would you please share some of those places?"

"School, I guess?" Except that he got beaten up there all the time and his parents had hunted him down there and he had to escape and... Yeah.

The crystal dimmed. Danny grimaced.

"Ah," said the interviewer. "Anywhere else?"

"My friends houses," said Danny. "And the Far Frozen." To his relief, this time, the crystal stayed bright.

"Have you ever been to Clockwork's lair?"

"Yeah," said Danny. He slouched in the chair as much as possible. He wasn't sure he should be answering these questions, but he was. Maybe he should stop.

"Do you feel safe there?"

"Not at first, but now I do."

"I see. Why not at first?"

"Clockwork and I didn't meet on great terms and we sort of got into a fight." Maybe that would get the interviewer to stop. They'd decide Clockwork couldn't adopt him and leave. Did Danny want that? He wasn't sure.

"That's more common than one might expect. But you feel safe with him now?"

"Yes."

"Alright, moving on. How old are you?"

"Sixteen."

There was a long, drawn out silence that managed to be skeptical despite the interviewer's lack of a face.

"I know I'm small," said Danny, insulted, "but I am sixteen."

"Excuse my indelicacy, but... how old were you when you died?"

Danny flushed. "Fourteen," he bit out.

"Then you're fourteen."

"It was two years ago. I'm sixteen."

"Fourteen is your natural age," said the ghost. "A ghost's natural age is the age they died at."

"Yeah, but I'm still half human. I'm still aging. So I'm sixteen."

The interviewer shook their head. "As a liminal spirit, your apparant age range is likely larger than a normal child's would be, but your natural age, your true age, is still fourteen. Based on records of liminals, the highest extent of your age range is most likely to be either twenty-one or twenty-eight. That's part of the reason we investigate official adoption request so thoroughly. The relationship may very well last for thousands of years, if not forever."

"Wait, are you saying I could live forever?" asked Danny, incredulous. This was not how he wanted to find out he was immortal. Heck, he didn't want to be immortal.

"I'll admit, my understanding of liminality isn't perfect, but I believe that is the case. Why? Is that problematic?"

"The results of the law enforcement investigation have come back," said the bureaucrat to whom Clockwork was currently assigned. "As well as an inquiry as to the opinion of the mortal law enforcement arm."

"And?" asked Clockwork. "Their findings?"

The bureaucrat, who had up until that point not displayed evidence that xe possessed any emotions whatsoever, made a face of extreme disgust. "When the officers found the child, the human parents were openly shooting at him. Other humans intervened for long enough for law enforcement to pick him up. Of course, they then felt the need to arrest him and carry him away in handcuffs... I have no idea why I keep at this job, really I don't."

Clockwork's core shifted in worry. His first impulse was to leap up and go comfort Daniel, but he suppressed it. If he left now, he would lose his place in line and have to start over.

"The public nature of the event means that the human police are now investigating the child's circumstances and may recommend that the child be removed from his human parents' custody. If you have a human identity and you are able to gain custody of him there, it will aid your case here."

"I am aware," said Clockwork.

"Well, then," xe said. "I believe this is all in order. Here is your ticket to see the judge. Just show it to the door. You know where it is?"

"I do," said Clockwork, rising.

He had walked by the door several times in his dealings with the various clerks and notaries. The room behind it lay directly in the heart of the family court building, all the other rooms and residents armor for this one.

The door itself was made of dark wood full of eye-shaped knots. As Clockwork approached the door, the eyes opened, watching him. He held up the ticket and the doors swung inward.

Inside was a courtroom, complete with benches, tables, a witness stand, a courtroom recorder, a judge's box, and a judge.

The judge was a one-eyed ghost in pale purple robes. She examined Clockwork.

"We had not foreseen this," she said. "Not until you filed the first motion."

"You were never able to see me clearly," said Clockwork, hoping this would not turn into a power play between himself and the Observants. "Did you receive the relevant paper work, your honor?"

"Yes," she said. "Take a seat, Lord Clockwork."

Clockwork flew to the front of the courtroom and settled himself in the applicant's chair.

The judge leaned forward. "Why are you doing this?" she asked.

"Because I love Daniel, and I believe he deserves more care and protection than he is currently receiving from his biological parents."

The judge waved a clawed hand. "Yes, yes. But you didn't have to go through all of this and get to me in order to do that. You could have just taken him. That's what most people do, nowadays. Ever since the King was sealed and our systems of governance began to decay."

"I believe it is the only way Daniel will truly be safe," said Clockwork, meeting her one eye calmly.

"You want to prevent us from 'interfering.'"

"That would be nice, yes," agreed Clockwork.

"You want this to be binding," accused the judge.

"You say that like it is a bad thing," said Clockwork. "But what else could induce him to fully remove himself from that situation? You see how they treat him. Have you looked at the medical report, yet?"

"I have," said the judge, looking at her desk. "Very well. All the paperwork is in order. I am approving you for a one-month trial period. At the end of the trial period, the status of the child will be assessed. If his state is found to be acceptable, the adoption will be approved and bound. If it is not, this court will take custody of him until such a time as an appropriate guardian can be found." She scribbled something on a piece of paper and then hit it with a stamp. "The probationary bond should be active. You may go."

"Thank you, your honor."

After the end of the interview, which had become much more distressing than Danny wanted to admit, one of Walker's goons showed up and took him away, to another room.

This room was different than any of the other rooms he had seen in Walker's prison. For one, the walls were a soft, pastel green with purple accents, not the harsh, neon pink of elsewhere in the facility. The chairs looked soft, and were arranged almost randomly, clustered in little groups, or around tables. There were colored pencils and crayons on and occasionally floating over the tables. A large basket sat in one corner, overflowing with toys of various sizes.

Alright. Danny was confused.

He let the goon- the... officer?- guide him into one of the chairs and put a stuffed rabbit on his lap.

"I- I don't understand," said Danny. "What's going on?"

"Didn't that interviewer guy tell you?"

"He said I was being adopted," said Danny, who still hadn't wrapped his head around that particular tidbit of information. "But I thought- I was under arrest?" He raised his cuffed hands. "You arrested me?"

"Those're just so you don't run away," said the ghost. He ruffled Danny's hair. "You're not under arrest. We're just waiting for the court to decide what to do with you."

"And what if they don't do anything with me?"

"Then it's up to the boss."

"Oh," said Danny, not liking the sound of that at all.

"But, if it helps, I think that the court probably will decide to do something with you."

It didn't really help, no.

"Do you want a lollipop?"

"Sure," said Danny. It wasn't like this day could get much weirder.

The ghost handed him a lime dumdum. Yeah. That was about what he expected there, honestly.

The sensation of a thick, weighted blanket being draped over his mind hit him with such intensity that he looked around, trying to see if someone had just wrapped him up in a blanket without him noticing. Tension bled out of his muscles, and his core finally stopped the angry/depressed/frightened/pained dance it was doing in his chest.

He felt... protected. Which was wrong, because he was in Walker's prison, and Walker would use any excuse he had to keep Danny imprisoned for a thousand years. Danny was not safe here. Not by any stretch of the imagination.

And yet, that feeling remained.

He brushed his fingers over the bandages over his chest. What was wrong with him? His parents hadn't even cut all the way through, but he was so messed up. He didn't understand.

This feeling... This 'safety'... It felt like a cruel joke more than anything else, only it was one he couldn't escape from because it was coming from inside him and he was calm but he was also crying.

"Oh, heck, do you not like lime? I think I have some green apples-?"

The door to the room opened, and Danny looked up. Before he could register who had come in, he was swept up into a hug.

He blinked into silky purple cloth. "Clockwork?" he croaked.

"I'm here," said Clockwork. "It's fine. You're safe now, Daniel."

Danny pushed away. Clockwork let him. "You're adopting me?" asked Danny.

"Yes," said Clockwork. "Unless you don't want me to."

"Why?" asked Danny. "I don't understand. I didn't think you liked me that much."

"I like you very much," reassured Clockwork. "I want you to be my family."

Danny sniffed. "Okay," he said. It wasn't as if he really had anywhere else to go. "Okay. But what about," he made an awkward gesture with his cuffed hands, "Amity Park?" The idea of leaving hurt, even worse than the cut on his chest.

"You won't have to leave," said Clockwork, soothingly. "You can still have your life there."

"I'll have to go back?" asked Danny, in alarm. Back to Fentonworks, where even the walls had it out for him with how much anti-ghost weaponry they had packed into them? He couldn't. Not after what his parents had done.

(A small part of him knew that wasn't what Clockwork had said, and that he was being irrational. That part of him was ignored.)

"No, no," said Clockwork. "I have a new place, just for you. If you'll let me show you?"

Very hesitantly, Danny nodded.

"Alright, good," said Clockwork. He turned to the police ghost. "Do you have the key for these? We really must be going."

"Yeah," said the ghost, producing the item. "The boss says that he expects you to teach the kid how to respect the law."

"Appropriately," said Clockwork, neutrally, unlocking the cuffs.

Danny felt an urge to hug Clockwork. So he did. Clockwork hugged him back, and rocked him back and forth, gently.

"Are you ready to go?" asked Clockwork.

"Yeah," said Danny.

With a gesture of his staff, Clockwork opened a portal.

Clockwork wanted custody of Danny. He wanted full custody of Danny. Legally. In both worlds.

This posed a bit of a challenge, as he did not legally exist on one of those two worlds. Thus, Clockwork had to establish a legal presence in the human world.

On the surface of it, this did not seem too difficult. Between his temporal powers, his minor shapeshifting abilities, and overshadowing, simply creating an identity was easy. The hard part was creating an identity that Daniel would not have encountered before, in order to avoid a paradox, while making it plausible that Daniel had encountered the identity before, for the purposes of dealing with mortal law.

In one timeline, the hill to the west of town stood empty of habitation, owned by the county but rendered unusable due to a dangerous failed mine on the site. In this timeline, however, the mine had never been built, and the property was instead owned by a reclusive hermit who went by the name of Charles Worth. The property had passed through many hands in the years before Mr. Worth had purchased it in his youth, and a stately, if somewhat faded, mansion sat at the hill's crest, overlooking Amity Park.

Charles Worth went to Amity Park only rarely, and for good reason. He was an albino, with red eyes, white hair, and even whiter skin, and superstitious people often thought the worst of him. In recent days, he had even been mistaken for a ghost.

'Mistaken.'

He rubbed Daniel's shoulders, and the child startled, pulling away from him again. Daniel had missed Clockwork's, admittedly minor, transformation, and now blinked up at his newly pale face, confused.

"Do you like my disguise?" asked Clockwork.

Daniel's eyes flicked up and down Clockwork, assessing, processing. He gave a tiny nod, and reattached himself. "Where are we?" he asked.

"Hickory Hill," said Clockwork.

Danny frowned, mouthing the words. "Isn't that owned by... Charles Worth. Charles- Oh. I get it."

Clockwork gave Danny a little squeeze. "Would you like to see inside?"

"Okay," said Danny.

The house, Danny had to acknowledge, as they approached the front door, looked haunted. As if some pale, frail, spirit might look out one of the lace-draped windows on the upper floor at any moment. As if there was a Gothic mystery just waiting to unfold. A murder mystery, maybe, full of forbid love and jealous lovers. Or the tale of a sickly heir to a great fortune.

Or that of an ancient ghost and his adopted half-living son.

Even before they stepped inside, Danny's ghost half had decided it loved the building.

The door, as Clockwork opened it, creaked in a loving sort of way, the tone low enough to be comforting instead of annoying. The entrance hall's floorboards did not creak under the weight of the ghosts, but Danny could tell that if a human tried to cross them, they would. He hoped the rest of the floors were like that.

He padded forward, daringly leaving the protection of Clockwork's cloak, examining all the dark nooks and crannies, the odd architectural choices arising from generations of additions, smiling at cold spots. Clockwork shut the door. Even then, there was a draft, curling around his ankles, cool and refreshing.

Danny smiled. It was small and strained, but it was a smile. "It's perfect," he said.

"Don't you want to see your room before you say that?" teased Clockwork.

"Yes," said Danny.

Clockwork led Danny to a staircase with an elaborately carved banister and began to climb. Danny followed eagerly. He had never thought his core would be so happy simply to have somewhere safe to exist.

It almost was enough to let him forget what his parents had done to him. He stopped, hand on his chest.

"Daniel?" said Clockwork. "Are you hurt?"

"I'm fine," said Danny, automatically.

Clockwork frowned, the expression both familiar and foreign on Clockwork's falsely-human face. "Why don't we take a look at that, once we get to your room, alright?"

Danny nodded, swallowing back his irrational fear.

They went up, and Clockwork opened the door to a large room, much larger than the one he had back at Fentonworks. The bed was similarly large and equipped with curtains and enough blankets and pillows to turn it into a nest at a moment's notice. The walls and ceiling were painted a deep blue, with tiny green-white dots picking out a star map. The room also contained a number of carefully curated hiding places, areas where the dressers wardrobe or desk created blind spots and deep shadows. The floor was carpeted, but still icy.

It was an excellent room for a ghost (or half-ghost) like Danny.

He was too nervous to enjoy it.

Clockwork pulled a chair to the side of the bed and sat down. It was a little strange to see Clockwork actually sitting and not floating or coiling. Actually-

"Can you have legs in ghost form?" asked Danny.

"I can," said Clockwork. "But typically I don't bother." He patted the bed. "Let's take a look at you."

Danny hesitated, holding his hands clasped in front of his chest. Clockwork's face went soft.

"I just want to make sure you are healing. I know this is difficult, but neither you nor I want things to get worse."

"I'm fine," said Danny. "I heal fast. It was just- It should be gone now. I've gotten worse."

"Is it?" asked Clockwork.

Danny could still feel it. "I don't know," said Danny.

Clockwork patted the bed again. Danny sat down and started fumbling with the hem of his shirt.

"Would you like help?" asked Clockwork.

"No," said Danny. He pulled his sweater off. Taking off his t-shirt was harder. Then there were just Sam's bandages. He bit his lip a the red and brown blotches staining them.

"Would you like to talk about it?" asked Clockwork, taking one end of the bandage and starting to unwind it.

"I don't know," said Danny. "I just- It's so stupid. I shouldn't have- They saw me walk through a door and- They don't even know I'm Phantom. They just-" Danny hiccuped. "They tried to cut me open. They pretended."

Clockwork pulled free the last layer of bandages. The long, shallow cut was still there, straight along his breast bone until the end, where it curved sharply right and tapered off. That was when Danny had jerked free of the restraints and ran.

"Why isn't it healing?" asked Danny.

"It isn't just a physical wound, Daniel. Ghosts are spiritual creatures."

"Oh," said Danny. It made a sick kind of sense. "So my core is really hurt? I thought I was just... That it was in my head."

Clockwork raised a hand to touch the bottom of the cut. "Your parents are important to you, and to your Obsession, your existence as a ghost. Of course their rejection would affect you." The cut began to knit itself together underneath Clockwork's fingers. Danny's core thrummed strangely at the touch. "I can heal your physical injuries."

"But not the mental ones, huh?" said Danny.

"You need time for that," said Clockwork, reaching the top of the cut.

"Good thing I have you, then."

"It is," said Clockwork. He leaned forward and kissed Danny on top of his head.

Danny ran his fingers up and down the newly healed cut. "So my powers aren't going to work until, what, I get over this?"

"That is one possibility," said Clockwork. "But everyone heals differently."

"Can't you tell?" asked Danny, reaching for his shirt.

"The more involved I am in an event, the more difficult it becomes for me to see its future," said Clockwork. "The timeline branches and splinters as I look at it. Also, it may surprise you, but you are fairly difficult to predict on your own."

"Oh," said Danny. He pulled his shirt on, ignoring how it caught on the dried blood on his skin. "So, what now? Should I just, I don't know, hide out here? I mean," he shifted, uncomfortably, "It's fine if I can't let anyone know I'm here, I get that, but I'd like to, um..."

"Live your life?"

Danny flinched. "As much as I can, yeah." He licked his lips. "Sam and Tucker didn't get in trouble, did they? They're fine?" He'd been so wrapped up in how miserable he was, he'd barely spared his friends a second thought, and now that guilt from that rained down on his head.

"They're fine. Due to the circumstances, they haven't gotten in any trouble at all, so stop that."

"What?"

"Feeling guilty. I know for a fact that the safety of others was your first consideration." Clockwork patted his shoulder. "As for your continued presence here on the mortal plane," Clockwork smiled, "would it surprise you to learn that I am in fact registered as a foster parent? I have even had a few children here, although not many stay for long."

"Really?" said Danny. "But... Wait, um. What about- What about Mom and Dad?"

"They were seen shooting at you in public after insisting that you were a ghost. They've been arrested."

Danny swallowed. "Are they going to be alright?"

Clockwork sighed and shifted so that he was sitting on the bed next to Danny. He put an arm around Danny's shoulders. "They'll be fine," he said. "But we should come up with a story about how you wound up here, hm? For the social workers."

During Daniel's periodic visits to Clockwork's lair, Clockwork had noted how tactile he was, how much he enjoyed hugs and other physical expressions of affection. After Daniel got past his initial hesitation concerning his new situation, that particular personality trait multiplied.

Clockwork suspected the Fentons were ultimately to blame. Their hostility towards Daniel's ghostly identity and their tendency to carry objects that could hurt Daniel precluded him from seeking comfort from them, and his friends and sister, while very remarkable, were children themselves. Their relationship with Daniel was different.

This meant that Daniel could and would spend long periods of time laying against Clockwork. Usually, he would be doing homework during those moments or talking to Clockwork about various ghostly things that he had never had a chance to learn about before.

Today, however, he was just sitting there, quietly, almost dozing.

"I'm not keeping you from doing things?" asked Daniel, abruptly. "Am I?"

"No," said Clockwork.

"You don't have to do time stuff?"

"I can make duplicates and also time travel. I can be wherever I need to be. But if you want space-"

"No," said Daniel. "This is good." He snuggled closer and startled as a ring of light flashed around his waist. He was, for the first time since before his parents had attacked him, a ghost. Clockwork, in turn, shed his human guise.

Daniel was blinking down at his gloved hands.

"What?" he asked.

"I think you finally relaxed," said Clockwork, ruffling Daniel's hair. The smaller ghost leaned into the touch, purring. "Your transformations might be a bit unpredictable for the next few days."

"Good thing it's a weekend, then, huh?"

Danny jittered nervously as he and Clockwork passed through the large, eye-covered doors. This time last week, strange ghosts had been in and out of Clockwork's house, asking questions, poking things, and staring. Clockwork said they were checking to see if everything was in order, if the adoption could become official.

Danny didn't really see why it being official mattered. The Ghost Zone didn't really have a government to speak of. Families that Danny had seen just sort of decided that they were families, and that was that. It seemed important to Clockwork, though, and Clockwork claimed that there were certain benefits, like strengthening connections... Danny didn't get it. Wouldn't their connections be strengthened anyway?

Clockwork guided Danny with small nudges, directing him to a seat in front of the judge, who stared down at them with her one enormous eye.

"I have decided to approve the adoption request regarding Daniel Janus James Fenton-Phantom," she said.

Danny felt Clockwork relax incrementally beside him. He smiled. The judge's pronouncement felt a little anticlimactic to him, but, well, whatever.

But the judge wasn't done speaking. "The child's familial bond with his biological parents will be severed. The familial bond will be established with his current guardian, known as Clockwork. On all levels legal, physical, metaphysical, metaphorical, emotional, mental, and spiritual, Clockwork will be the sole parent of Daniel Janus James Fenton-Phantom. Due to the child's status as a liminal spirit, the memories and associations stored in his human brain will not be altered, and he may still experience feelings, especially those of nostalgia, towards his former parents, however, this is expected to fade with time. Questions?"

Danny had rather a lot, actually. Clockwork hadn't quite explained it like this. "Wait, are you saying I'll forget my parents?"

"No," said the judge, in a rather condescending tone.

"You won't forget them," said Clockwork. "But your core won't recognize them as your parents anymore. It's so you'll be able to defend yourself." His tone was almost pleading. "Your relationship with your sister will, of course, be unaffected."

"Okay," said Danny. They clearly didn't see him as their son anymore, so... It wouldn't really change anything. He didn't like the idea of ghosts he didn't know messing around with his core, but he trusted Clockwork. Even if he was apparently really bad at explaining ghost adoption. "What about the other stuff? The physical, metaphysical part?"

"The severed bonds in your core are replaced with ones to your new parent. Similarly, new bonds will be established in your parent's core," explained the judge. "Are you satisfied?"

Clockwork gave Danny an encouraging smile.

"I- Yes. I'm satisfied," said Danny.

"Very well." The judge waved forward a seven armed bailiff who had been waiting in the corner of the room.

The bailiff carried two tall glasses and a large, covered pitcher. He set one glass each in front of Clockwork and Danny and poured a thick, white, faintly glowing liquid into each of them.

"What is it?" asked Danny.

"It is a potion designed to stop our cores from fighting the changes that are about to happen," said Clockwork.

Danny looked at the potion dubiously. "Like an anesthetic?"

"Like an anesthetic," agreed Clockwork. He had already picked up his cup. "Together?"

"Okay," said Danny, still doubtful.

He picked up the cup and brought it to his lips, watching Clockwork carefully over the rim. Clockwork tipped his cup back, and so did Danny.

The potion reminded him a lot of eggnog, except that it was thicker, heavier, sweeter, like it had been mixed with honey. Almost at once, that heaviness settled into Danny's bones, weighing him down, a sensation just to the left of sleep settled over him. He lowered the cup from his face, his grip on it going gentle. The bailiff caught it as it tipped over.

Clockwork reached over and gently, slowly, pulled him close. Then he went as limp as Danny.

Inside, Danny's core became open. Not open, as in vulnerable, but as in receptive. Listening. He felt soft. Malleable. Like someone could press their thumb into him, and it would leave an impression when he hardened again. It wasn't an unpleasant sensation.

The judge sighed with something like disapproval. "So mote it be." She raised a stamp up off her desk, brought it down, and things changed.

Or, at least, Danny did.

Clockwork, being the elder ghost, recovered faster from the potion than Daniel. There was no reason to stay at the court, so, after bidding a goodbye to the judge, he picked Daniel up and left, flying a polite distance before opening a portal back to their home outside Amity Park.

He settled Daniel down in his bed, phasing him beneath his covers and tucking him in. Daniel would need to sleep off the potion, as well as take time to adjust to the changes to his psyche, however minor they might be.

"I love you so much," said Clockwork, brushing Daniel's hair out of his face. Getting here had taken subjective years of work and planning but it was worth it, because now Daniel was his child, in every way that mattered.

Forever.

Yes, that ending line was a little bit ominous, but they're ghosts. They wouldn't be happy if it wasn't ominous!

#danny phantom #phic phight #phic phight 2020

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