#nea: ''yeah i want my brother dead. dead with my own hands.'' | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

boop-le-snoot · 4 years ago

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Introductory prologue. The main pairing will be established ironstrange x reader. This story will be rated explicit, have some canon-typical violence and language. The 'fuck' harvest is bountiful this time of the year. Updates - irregular so far, I'm posting it as I go.

No y/n, no "you", no name - nickname only, no reader description - race/age/body type neutral, she/her pronouns. Please leave a comment if you spot a stray 'blushing' or the likes, I write as it flows and sometimes miss those words when I proofread. I try to be inclusive of all my readers.

"Your total is twelve dollars, seventeen cents," I rattled off on autopilot, casting a glance at the cash register and plastering an automatic smile onto my face. The pleasant expression was frozen on it, stuck like glue, despite the news I had received earlier in the day. "Thank you, have a nice day," I doubted the customer actually heard my words.

One of those business-types, wearing a tailored two-piece, with a Bluetooth headset attached to their ear and brain always a mile away, our little coffee shop a mild interruption in their daily routine of making more and more money. "Hello, how can I help you?" I addressed the next customer, my eyes unseeing, gliding over their face and to the storefront where I noticed we were running low on eclairs and carrot cake.

"Hey, Starlight," the woman's voice was familiar, tone soothing, as I snapped my eyes to meet a pair of reddish-brown ones, staring at me with concern. "The usual," our city's very own superhero; Wanda Maximoff stood before me with her head curiously tilted to the side and her brother hovering behind her, examining the assortment of various cakes on display. "Long day?"

"You have no idea," I sighed, sending off the organic, single-use cups with scribbles off to Dave, our barista. Wanda's order was large, usually about ten or twelve coffees and quite a few treats, so I donned on some nitrile gloves to package the treats while Dave handled the drinks with practiced ease. I admired his stoicism. "Might be seeing a bit less of me," the woman's eyebrows rose in displeasure at my admission.

"Tony won't be happy," Wanda mumbled, side-eyeing the backdoor behind which my boss usually resided during the day. "You got fired?" The words attracted the attention of her brother. Pietro was immediately at her side, joining into the concerned staring.

"Nope," I popped the 'p', methodically shoving the food in its packaging. "The café is expanding hours and our shifts are being split now. Jeremy is dead set on me working the graveyard shift, so I'll be here six AM to two PM," I couldn't help the sigh that left my lips.

My boss, Jeremy, had opened his boulangerie little over two years ago, and as he had predicted, it set off almost immediately. The place was located almost in the heart of the dozen corporate sky-rises full of busy, wealthy people who liked their things to be both instant and luxurious. Jeremy had fit right in with the law sharks and business vultures, if you ask me, with his penchant for demanding the impossible.

I was expecting an increase in work hours, I wasn't going to lie - our little cafe was busy nearly all the time it was open - but the fact that he chose to split a day's shift came as a punch to the gut. Like most service staff, I made most of my money from the tips, and they and they only were the only reason I stayed in a place with a shrew for a boss and the worst health insurance in the area. Thankfully, the rich businessmen from local offices didn't count their money and left me more than generous tips.

The coffee machine beeped for the last time as Dave passed me the three cupholders before I carefully bagged them, arranging the treats on top. I saw Wanda lick her lips at the aromas coming from the paper bag before Pietro snatched them out of my grasp. I rattled off the total, catching Wanda's eye as she passed me several twenty dollar bills, waving off my attempt to return the change.

"Penny for your wandering thoughts?" She smiled warmly as I chuckled at the question I've grown to expect with a quiet sort of joy.

The first time she'd wandered in, soaking wet from the rain and looking as lost as a child in a mall, ten minutes before closing time, I was reading my book right at the counter as I waited for the coffee machine to clean itself. I hadn't even noticed the quiet woman until her words startled me out of the book-induced trance and I shamefully had to ask her to repeat herself, hastily shoving my book under the counter. She smiled at me, shyly, and asked me about my reading instead of rattling an order for one of the sickly sweet caffeine concoctions female customers seemed to love. And she returned in a few days, asking the same question after taking a careful look at my face.

"And once the storm is over, you won’t remember how you made it through, how you managed to survive. You won’t even be sure, whether the storm is really over. But one thing is certain. When you come out of the storm, you won’t be the same person who walked in. That’s what this storm’s all about." I took a careful moment to recall a paragraph from the book I was currently reading, Murakami's 'Kafka on the Shore'. It seemed fitting, with all that had been going on in my life recently. I was still caught in the middle of the storm, unsure if I'd make it out but hoping for it nonetheless.

"That's beautiful," Pietro smiled at me, the tips of his silver hair reflecting the lights of the cafe's baroque style chandeliers. I barely managed to smile at him as he was already speeding off, the entrance door banging shut behind a blur of white and blue. Each time he did that, I couldn't help but wonder how he managed to not spill any of the hot beverages.

"Because it's true," Wanda added with a comforting smile. I nodded in agreement, hoping some of her positive attitude would dissipate the sense of doom I'd been lugging around all day. She departed, taking the sense of comfort with her, as I caught the tail end of something shouted in Sokovian - something that sounded exactly in place, coming from one disgruntled sibling to another.

When the residents of the nearby Stark tower began frequenting my workplace, I barely had the composure to stifle my quiet fangirling to socially acceptable levels. Not long after the Scarlet Witch turned a semi-regular, she started bringing her colleagues with her - Hawkeye at first, who was a decent, normal dude; he looked like an exasperated dad and Pietro appeared every thing the rambunctious son, as the younger man peppered the older man with questions about the cakes on our display.

They all had fancy names, but at the bottom of it, a chocolate cake was a chocolate cake. That much I told them, with a snort, earning myself a lopsided grin and a generous tip as I patiently listed off the more commonly used, simplified designations for the twins as the knowledge of them being European immigrants crossed my mind.

After Hawkeye came the Black Widow, and then Captain America with a sunny smile and his moody boyfriend in tow. While Bucky Barnes' expression was generally sour, the man had a wicked sweet tooth, shoveling frosted, glazed treats at the rate of a competitive eater. Both men were extremely polite if not very chatty and tipped well.

Tony Stark himself - well, he was a special one. His sense of humour trailed on the fine line of obscene, oftentimes raising the eyebrows of nearby people standing in line. I wasn't born yesterday, either: years of customer service work left me with little-to-no surprise regarding overzealous men and I could quip back equally as sharply, just slightly south of Tony's own jokes. He never overstepped, however, and with time, I developed a quiet appreciation for our small talks.

Which did brighten up my day, if only a little. "A little birdy told me your boss is being a douchebag. Want me to clean up that muck?" Tony was, as usual, wearing a bespoke suit and sunglasses, which he'd pushed up to his forehead as he frivolously leaned on the counter after placing his order.

I sighed, remembering Wanda's words. I didn't know what to expect from the eccentric billionaire; last of all, I didn't want any handouts. I'd started a search for a second part-time job the very day I got told my pay would be essentially cut in half. "No need, Mr. Stark, I'm gonna be fine and dandy," I replied with a smile that I was sure didn't really reach my eyes. "We'll still be able to resume our nice chit-chat at brunch on Saturdays," I winked, hoping to keep up the usual light atmosphere of our banter.

"I told you to call me Tony!" He exclaimed, like always, shaking his head and glaring at the back door. "Yeah, no," the man had absolutely no chill. "I'll still sic the IRS on him," the last part was said quietly. Mr. Stark often spoke to himself.

I laughed at the rich-kid, spoilt way he was acting. A grown man with an attitude of a teenager and a sweet tooth to match one - except for his coffee. That was always the strongest, blackest one we had on hand. I hadn't even heard of a triple espresso until Mr. Stark had waltzed in, skipping the line and filling the air around him with the smells of cologne that smelled like money, motor oil, iron and soot.

The moment I opened my e-mail at home, I felt my gloomy mood worsen, Mr. Stark's words echoing in my head. I'd sent my resumes to two dozen places and only a handful even bothered to reply - all preemptive rejections, there weren't businesses needing a part-time employee with a useless degree, who could only work evenings. Except bars, but they required some sort of certificate for bartenders and lots and lots of bare skin for waitresses. I tried to steer away from that part of the industry as much as I could, saving it as a last resort option.

It had come down to browsing Craigslist as I ate my way through a carton of cheap take-out, too exhausted to cook and too anxious to go out to the nearby bodega after 9 PM. One more negative side of working late shift - making my way home in the dead of the night in NYC and hoping Spider-Man was hanging out nearby should a thug decide on me to be their next victim. The joys of big city life.

As the column of various ads stared at me with various suspicious offers to make quick money, ads for 'young, sociable women' and I stared back at them in muted disgust. The 'looking for a job' section was much more sensible with the few ads I'd clicked on out of curiosity depicting people seemingly in a similar situation as me - short on money but not desperate enough to surrender their dignity to corporate greed. The decision was momentary - I'd started typing and hit the post button before I was through with my food, slapping my old laptop shut as soon as the as posted.

Hopefully, the creeps will stay away. The next couple of days stretched out slowly as I got up at the crack of dawn to open the shop, served the early birds whilst sipping my own matcha latte and clocked out not a second later than 2PM, taking home half the usual amount of tips. My e-mail remained as silent as ever, only a few suspicious replies to my ad, texts that I didn't even bother replying to. Human trafficking and pyramid schemes, was that all that NYC had to offer?

Apparently, not. Around 6PM, my phone dinged as a notification popped up and I scrambled to read it - all too aware of the upcoming rent day, and was pleasantly surprised with the contents of the e-mail, re-reading it several times to make sure there weren't any hidden stones under the water. I replied with my phone number, not expecting it to ring within minutes of hitting the send button.

"Hello?"

"Hi, we just corresponded," the voice on the other side was feminine but slightly rough, as if it's owner spent days chain-smoking. "I would like to invite you for a small interview, if you wouldn't mind."

I chewed on my lip in contemplation. "Could I ask you some questions first?" The levels of anxiety, I thought, were reasonable in the situation. It mutely gnawed at my chest.

"Sure," the woman agreed amicably. "My name is Odette, by the way," she mentioned off-handedly, the name fitting her voice in a strange way.

"Uh, well," I stammered. "You mentioned it's a herbal medicine shop, you're not selling weed under the counter, are you?" I voiced my worries meekly, hoping for an honest answer.

The woman laughed, a sharp, terse sound. "No, dear, I do not sell or possess anything illegal. I merely offer supplies for the locals that prefer natural, alternative medicine." She sounded jovial.

"Like - um, healing crystals?" I vaguely remembered reading about them on the internet, or seeing them in a YouTube video, perhaps.

"Yes, we sell those, too," her tone grew more joyful at the mention of the shiny rocks. I didn't think that they actually cured anything, to be honest, however I was willing to give it some credit - the placebo effect was a scientific fact. Whatever floats your boat, I guess.

"Okay then," I chuckled nervously. "I'm free tomorrow after 3 PM."

"Grand. The shop is open until 10 PM, just say your name at the counter and I'll be right with you."

As soon as I hung up, relief and curiosity and trepidation blossomed within me, imagination unhelpfully supplying images of human trafficking documentaries, basements with chains and other, less horrifying but still unusual things. The pep talk over a wine glass that I had was necessary: it was a herbal shop, for fuck's sake. Worst case, I'm going to work with Karens who think the Earth is flat and quartz cures cancer. I could even get a funny story or two out of those, something to share with Bucky or Wanda in lieu of the usual book quotes I entertain them with.

The day went by smoothly, the café no more and no less busy than usual so after a brief detour back home to put on something that didn't smell like coffee grounds and yeast: comfortable pants and a soft sweater, something that would keep me warm but would not unnecessarily restrict any movement. My good luck charm, a large oval necklace with a shiny gold star in the middle, hung heavily around my neck, providing quiet comfort.

Heart thudding in my chest, I approached the old-style, inconspicuous building, double-checking the address before opening the old, heavy wooden door right at the corner of the building. It was like a movie scene, in a way - the day was overcast, meager sun rays shining through the lead curtain of clouds, the streets were clear and few honks rung out in the far end of block, sending a flock of pigeons into a lazy scatter over the slanted roof. The door creaked softly, the handle cold under my touch, instantly filling my nose with a strong smell of herbs so plentiful, I could not distinguish one from another.

Inside didn't look any less intriguing: the décor was outdated but somehow fitting and homely, high wooden shelves stocked with glass jars and wooden boxes with neatly placed labels on them. The counter was empty - save for a large, golden bell, which I timidly pressed.

The woman who emerged from behind the worn cotton curtains behind the counter most certainly was impressive. Tall and broad, with dark eyebrows and even darker eyes, she critically surveyed me for a moment, making me shiver under her gaze - and then she smiled, revealing rows of pearly white teeth and instantaneously losing the imposing aura around her.

"Um, hi- I'm-" I didn't get to finish my nervous stammering.

She interrupted me with a careless wave of her hand. "Here for the interview. Yes. Welcome, Star," her eyes briefly fell on my necklace while I struggled to swallow the unease.

I hadn't told her my nickname - to be honest, these days, I heard it more often than my given name. People quickly took notice of my love of star-patterned items and teased me relentlessly over it, losing heat only when I calmly went along with it, too used to hearing the same jokes since my early childhood.

Odette motioned me over, parting the curtains to reveal a tiny, but tastefully decorated hall with two doors on each side and a staircase at the far end of it. I followed her into the room on the left, which turned out to be a peculiar sort of office. I thought I noticed an Ouija board in there but wisely kept my mouth shut.

"I live on the floor above the shop so don't go throwing any parties while you're on the job," she remarked playfully, gesturing to a pot of tea. "It's peppermint, does wonders for calming one's demeanor," the gesture was sweet - and very telling.

I wondered if I looked as spooked as I felt. After all, it didn't seem like Odette and her business were fishy in any way, and the décor and atmosphere were quite... Appealing, in a way. Something magical, something belonging in Europe or on a high schooler's Pinterest board. I sipped my tea in-between questions, thinking how maybe, I could actually grow accustomed to this place.

The shopkeeper acted as if I'd already accepted the job and I - well, it's not like I had any other options waiting for me. The pay was more than I expected it to be, for such a small bodega and a part-time shift, and it would help me cover my bills with enough to spare. The customers were said to be mostly regular and undemanding, with a few rare exceptions, and should I need assistance, the owner was always a call and a floor away.

With a considerably lighter heart, I left to pad the damp sidewalk back towards my house. Thankfully, my new workplace was only a short walk away.

The tag list is open until the story is finished. Please use the 'taglist' Google form to request (top of the fic, clickable link).

@mikariell95 @letsby @sleep-i-ness @toomanyrobins @mostly-marvel-musings @persephonehemingway @schemefrenzy @lillsxd @bluecrazedandbeautiful @slothspaghettiwrites

#bun writes #practical alchemy #ironstrange x reader #tony stark x reader x stephen strange #tony stark x reader #stephen strange x reader #tony stark fanfiction #stephen strange fanfiction

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redcrossroads · 5 years ago

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Floral Reminiscence

„You’ve just woken up from months of bedrest,”

Exasperation colors Nea’s voice as they come to a stop, both breathing heavily after running so far. Mana wheezes for breath, hands braced on his knees. Nea narrows his eyes and warps a hand around his brother’s wrist. “Don’t you think you should take it easy?”

“You’re such a worrywart,” Mana grins and stands, wiping the sweat on his brow away with his sleeve. “I’ve spent enough time confided to my bed. I missed running around with you like this.”

“Yeah,” Nea drops his wrist with a frown, deeming the pulse beneath his hands steady enough for now and flicks Mana on the forehead with his fingers. “and that’s why you should take it slow. I don’t want you to end up sick again.”

Mana rubs the spot on his forehead and pouts. “But it’s fun!” He whines.

“It’s dangerous,” Nea scowls, reaching up to lay his hand onto his forehead before reaching out to do the same to Mana’s. The skin beneath his hand is damp with sweat, a bit warmer than what he’s comfortable with but not scorching hot to cause alarm.

“Alright, alright,” Mana takes Nea’s wrist into his hand, pulling it back down and takes his hands into his own. His fingers curl around Nea’s knuckles and he squeezes them. “I won’t run off again, I promise.”

“You better not,” Nea hisses, glowering but he squeezes back without hesitation. “You gave me a heart attack, running off like that.”

“Sorry,” Mana leans forward to bump their heads together, foreheads pressing againt each others, with a sheepish smile. “I got carried away.”

“I can see that,” Nea muses, glancing around to see nothing but a swath of gold and grass. He squints and thinks he can see a familiar leafless tree in the distance and pulls back. “Mother won’t be happy if she finds out we ran so far. You know she doesn’t want us out of Cornelia’s line of sight.”

“She’ll be more than happy if we bring some flowers back to her.”

“Is that what’s all this about?” Nea slaps a hand to his forehead and groans like he’s in pain. “You could have said that instead of running off in the middle of our conversation, you know.” He pulls his hand away, shaking his head. “What’s wrong with singing her a song?”

“We always do that on her birthday.” Mana huffs out, rocking back and forth on his feet. “I wanted to do something different this year. Who says we can’t do both? She’s looked after me the whole year.”

“Fine,” Nea sighs. “Let’s look for some flowers but if we don’t find any in the next two hours we’ll go back.”

Mana grins and nods. Despite Nea’s reluctance, he rolls his sleeves back and climbs onto the nearest tree to have a better view. The gusts of wind have made his unruly hair a bouncy mess and he shoves it back away from his face.

He’s always been soft-heartened. Combined with his ambitious nature, Mana is sure if they won’t find any in the next two hours, Nea would walk him back only to sneak away to get some. Even if he’d have to crawl through the wheat fields for hours on end.

The thought brings a smile to his face.

“There’s something red over there,” Nea shouts, pointing in the other direction, one hand shielding his eyes from the glaring sun. He begins to climb back down. “I don’t see anything else.”

They trudge through the fields, glancing around.

“There,” Mana perks up at the flash of red peeking through the wheats. On a closer look, there’s a bunch of them hidden from view because of the wheats coming up to their upper legs. He brushes them aside. “Which ones do you think she’d like the most?”

“Why are you asking me?” Nea raises a brow. “Just pick some and get it done with. We haven’t gotten all day.”

“She likes the songs you pick out, so I’m sure she’d like the flowers you pick.”

He’s curious about the choice. To him, the flowers all look kind of pretty. The yellow one he sees is nice to look at or the small blue ones barely visible through the grass. They smell good too and he knows if he has to choose, he’ll end up picking them all or taking too long.

“The red ones,” Nea says and carefully breaks of the stem. He breathes in their scent and smiles. “I like these ones the best. They’re pretty.”

Mana sniffs at the flower Nea extends to him and sneezes. The smell is sweet, reminding him faintly of lemons and vanilla, but not heavy on his nose. Petals soft to touch, he nods.

“They are,” He agrees, picking out a bunch of them, adding a patch of greenery to make the bouquet thicker. “She’ll love them.”

“C’mon,” Nea holds out a hand. “Let’s go back before she notices we ran off.”

Mana takes the hand, interlocking their fingers as he swings it back and forth, humming a tune as Nea picks at the shirt sticking to his skin with distaste, tugging him along with a fond sigh, eyes soft and warm as he shakes his head at his brother’s antics.

Katerina is waiting for them, leaning against Cornelia and basking in the shadows she throws to block the blazing heat of the afternoon sun. Any hint of stern disappointment melts out of her eyes when they bounce up to her with the flowers in hand.

“Oh my,” She gasps, taking the flowers with a smile. “What a surprise!”

“Nea picked them out for you.” Mana throws himself at her, hands fisting her dress as he snuggles into her arms, face pressed against her stomach.

“It was Mana’s idea to get some.”

“They’re lovely,” She says, brushing back hair out of Mana’s face. “Thank you.” And presses a kiss to his forehead.

“You’re welcome.” They chorused.

“But don’t wander so far again without asking first.” She chides. “No matter the reason. You know I worry.”

“Sorry.”

“How about some tea, now?” She ushers them towards the residence. “You must be thirsty after spending hours running around.”

“I’ll drink the whole teapot.” Nea deadpans as he turns to Mana. “You’ll have to drink out of the water hose in the backyard.”

Mana laughs, lunging forward to wrap his arms around Nea’s neck. Nea startles, choking at the unexpected weight slamming onto his back and stumbles. He doesn’t fall, but it’s a near thing.

“Mana,” He groans, tugging at the arms around his neck with a grumble. “Get off.”

“No,” Mana whines, nuzzling into Nea’s neck. “Carry me, I’m tired.”

“I told you not to overstrain yourself!”

“Don’t be mean.” Mana mumbles as Nea’s hands hoist him up so he’s carrying him on his back. Nea grunts at the effort, rolling his eyes.

“I’m not.” He says sullenly, wrinkling his nose. “It’s gross carrying you when we’re soaked with sweat. My shirt’s sticking to my back and you’re making it worse.”

“This is nice,” Mana fights back a yawn, hearing Katerina chuckle. “You’re comfortable and warm. I missed this a lot during the last year.” He confesses, feeling Nea stiffening under his hold. “You’d make a good pillow.” He pats Nea’s hair, eyes growing heavier.

“Hey, don’t go nodding of just yet,” Nea protests in annoyance, blowing a stray piece of hair out of his eyes. “You’ll need a bath and you should eat something before going to bed—”

“But we’ll do that together, right?”

He’s missed this more than anything. Nea hadn’t been allowed to sleep in the same bed since he’s fallen sick in fear of catching whatever had made him sick in the first place. His time on at Mana’s bedside had been cut short, Katerina taking his place to soothe his ruffled feathers at being denied access to his brother’s bedroom. He’s missed Nea, with his lullabies and smiles, sitting next to his bed and holding his hand until he fell asleep.

He doesn’t want to be separated from him for so long ever again.

Tightening his hold around Nea’s neck, he doesn’t care if he’s being clingy.

“Of course,” Nea says it like it’s a given and Mana is stupid for even thinking otherwise. A promise and reassurance in his voice Mana takes strength in. “Just like everything else…who do you think will make sure you don’t fall face first into your food? I’ll be right by your side—"

With a gasp Mana jerks awake. Lying on his back, shivers wracking his body all over, he tries to calm his racing heart. The ache of loss sinks into his bones, heavy and heartrending familiar and his throat closes up. A sob chokes him and the image in his mind vanishes, a pot of spilled ink washing away the watercolor painting he wants to cling to. Something hot spills over his cheeks and he stares unseeing at the ceiling, hands fisted into his sheets. His chest rises and falls rapidly with each breath until he calms, the panic fading slowly.

“…Nea…”

The name is bittersweet on his tongue. Full of longing and grief. A dead name lost to the shadow of history stained with blood.

He doesn’t know how long he lies in the dark, unwilling to leave with the raw wounds torn open and the phantom sensation of warmth in his arms, staring at nothing while waiting for his tears to dry. Soon he becomes restless, shifting on his pillow, uncomfortable in his skin. The blanket is stifling and he tears it off, legs swinging over the bed to touch the floor.

He doesn’t want to stay in bed any longer. Mana buries his face into his hands. The dream had shaken him despite it not being a nightmare. Rising to his feet, he paddles out the door. No use staying in his bedroom when sleep won’t come to him for the next few hours.

The thought of spending a minute longer in the room makes him sick.

.・。.・゜✭・・✫・゜・。

She walks through the halls, following the echo of the piano, on bare feet. Dress bouncing with her steps, blanket dragging along on the floor, she comes to a stop in front of a familiar room. She glances around the wall, peeking into the room to see a man hunched over the keys, hands dancing to create the melody responsible for rousing her from her slumber.

He doesn’t notice her presence.

“Millenie.”

The piano comes to an abrupt stop with a sharp cry of the keys.

Road paddles into the room. “Bad dream?” She eyes the tear tracks on his cheeks with a frown.

“No,” The Earl replies in a steady voice, staring at his lap. “I don’t think it was. Quite the opposite.”

She takes a seat next to him on the bench, pulling up her legs and cuddling into her blanket. The Earl doesn’t react as she leans onto him, the back of her head resting against his upper arm. She glances from his face to the piano, taking note of the vase standing in the center.

“They’re pretty,” She comments as the Earl’s head snaps up. She gestures to the vase and he seems to brighten. Though his smile reaches his eyes, there’s a sadness lurking beneath the surface.

“Ah,” He scratches at the back of his neck. “I’d thought they’d brighten up the room. They’re quite lovely, don’t you think?”

She hums in agreement. “Who are they for?”

“It’s bad manners to ask question you already know the answer to.” He turns to look down at her head, watching her. She mirrors his smile before closing her eyes. A hand comes out to stroke her hair and she leans into the touch with a sigh.

He’s right of course. She knows exactly for who these flowers are and what they resemble. It’s the reason she’s determined to stay here to keep the Earl company even if she isn’t the company he wants.

She cannot deny for all the pain they must bring, the bouquet of red poppies sitting in the vase light up the room of the Ark with their beauty and color in a way she cannot remember seeing in years.

#d gray man #nea d campbell #mana d campbell #katherine eve campbell #road kamelot #dgm #my writing #dgm fanfic

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post-itpenny · 4 years ago

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The Challenge

So this is completely ridiculous but I’ve had the idea for a while and just really wanted to try writing some Dead By Daylight.

Yeah this is definitely ridiculous.

There were few things they could take comfort in while trapped in this never ending nightmare that the survivors called “The Game.”

The first being that despite how twisted and horrifying the game was, it did still have some semblance of a set of rules that both survivors and killers alike had to follow.

The second being that for some reason, despite coming from different countries and languages, they could all understand each other. They heard each other in their own languages except or obvious accents. It was strange and unnerving, something that became more disturbing as more and more survivors came claiming to be from different decades.

Jane speculated it was because they were dead, explaining to the others the last thing she remembered was flying off the road thanks to some black ice. Adam added that he had been in a train crash which he was certain he should not have survived. It was Kate that pointed out she had been literally yanked out of reality by The Entity and dropped by the campfire. Several others could attest getting lost or just walking into the fog by complete accident.

Perhaps it was another rule they didn’t fully understand. But then again, communication was vital during a trial. Regardless of the reasoning of The Entity the survivors all agreed it was a small comfort being able to speak with each other.

Which led to how everything started.

Dwight, Claudette, Nea, and Jeff had been pulled into a trial. The anxiety that came with waiting for those in a trial to return never lessoned. There had been a handful of survivors that only lasted a few rounds before completely breaking, dying in a trial and not returning to the campfire. No one wanted to think about what may have happened to those few but the fear someone else would break was always present.

Fifteen minutes in and Dwight had appeared, his clothes muddy and torn. The look on his face said it all- a mori.

“Ghost Face,” he groaned, “‘Dette was hooked and I ran to help her. Should have known it was too easy since he had already gotten me once.” Dwight sighed as he shrugged off his shirt and took the offered needle and thread from Quinten. The Entity could repair broken bones and gored flesh; heck, it even fixed Dwight’s glasses more than once. But it was apparently not a tailor.

From across the campfire Bill shook his head as he took a drag of his cigarette, “how the hell did he get you so fast boy?”

“It wasn’t my fault,” Dwight snapped back with a slight whine in his voice, “I spawned in right next to the guy. I didn’t have a chance.”

Half an hour later the other three came back, Claudette seemed…. dumbfounded.

Nea was laughing hysterically.

“I would have paid anything the see his fuckin’ face!” She cackled. “You guys, guys! You won’t believe it!”

Apparently Nea had also tried to come to Claudette’s aid, hanging back in the tall grass as she saw Ghost Face pounce on Dwight. But then-

“So he’s fishing his camera out of a pocket and to take a picture and- an-“ Nea couldn’t continue, breaking into another fit of laughter. Claudette, who had seen everything, continued.

“Ghost Face took a selfie with Dwight’s body and Nea photobombed it.”

“He sat there for two minutes just staring at the stupid screen!” Nea screamed between fits of laughter, Dwight gave a huff of annoyance and half-heartedly shoved Nea off the log she sat on and flat on her back in the dirt, tears in her eyes with laughter.

Bill took another drag of his nearly dissolved cigarette and scowled. “That was bold but stupid, what if he turned around and stabbed you?”

“Oh come off it old man,” Nea scoffed, “pass me a cig from wherever the hell you get them from.”

“Nope, you’ll ruin your lungs.”

“Bill you-“

“So what's a photobomb?”

It had been Nancy that had asked, which considering it had been the 80’s last time she and Steve had checked no one could blame her. Confusion about slang did not change even if they could understand each other, the time gaps not helping. So it was explained what it meant to photobomb someone and as the realization of what Nea had done really started to sink in, most of the group could agree, it was hilarious.

But then two days later Ace decided it would be funny to sing “I Only Have Eyes For You” to the Nurse, leaving the apparition coming to a halt in her chase with Meg. He made it through the first verse before she seemed to pull herself together and swing at him with her bone saw. Ace died pretty quickly that round but that night at the campfire they were all in better spirits than they had been in a long time as they listened to Ace and Meg recount the story.

And so, the challenge was born.

There were several like Bill, Tapp, and Jane who saw it as reckless but even Claudette who was arguably one of the most level headed of them all pointed out that it wasn’t like anyone would die permanently. Plus, if it raised everyone’s spirits then wasn’t the risk worth it?

Even the survivors got bored with the monotony of one trial after another, so anything that could spice things up was welcomed by most.

It took some time to explain what a “meme” was, several failing since the best they could do was give examples that not everyone understood. But the idea got across soon enough and quickly led to Steve screaming “is that a cat?!” As the Demigorgon charged his way which led to Feng Min screaming “yeet!” As the Huntress threw a hatchet in Bill’s direction.

The Huntress didn’t seem to appreciate the humor as much as Feng Min did.

Perhaps the boldest came from Laurie who had at first been very much against the idea of taunting the killers in such a way. But she had been inspired, and there were very few things that could bring her as much joy as giving her brother any form of grief.

Kate and Quinten has been trapped in a corner of the ironworks, Michael staring them down as he prepared to strike-

But they were far more interested in Laurie who was standing an arm’s length behind him.

Michael lunged and they split in separate directions; Kate apparently being the unfortunate chosen as Michael chased her out of the ironworks and Quinten watched as Laurie followed right behind, just as stealthy and quiet as her brother could ever be. She followed him like this for nearly the entire match and when Michael did finally turn around to spot Laurie he skipped the usual protocol and went straight to a mori.

It was amazing and Quinten was well convinced Laurie could be just as dangerous as her brother given the right circumstances.

Many of them took turns playing like this, even at the risk of an early death the survivors found it worth it for just two minutes of a good laugh. They now had stories to share around the campfire aside from the mournful accounts of what they missed from their old lives. Even Jane eventually joined in, propping her arms up on a window ledge and holding a thirty second mock interview with an extremely confused Wraith with an imaginary microphone held out for his response.

They started repeating the antics of each other which infuriated some of the killers to no end. The Huntress especially really did not seem to like it when someone screamed “yeet.” But a challenge was still a challenge and the ultimate goal was to outdo each other.

Dwight often did not feel like a proper leader even though he somehow had found his way into the role. He didn’t like the idea of the others willingly throwing themselves in harm's way for the sake of a laugh. It already worried him to no end when Meg or someone else would lead a killer on the chase so the others could work on a generator. The theory that they would always come back as long as they had hope felt shaky to him at best. If The Entity could bring them back on a whim then surely it could just get rid of them if they proved too troublesome. It did make the rules of the game after all.

And yet…

Dwight was running as fast as he could, the leader of The Legion right behind him. He turned a corner and dashed for a pallet, hoping the killer had not reached a frenzied state yet. Dwight lept to the other side of the pallet and slammed it down in the killer’s face. He stood there for a moment as some speck of sanity seemed to snap and his brain went to autopilot.

Dwight dabbed and took off running again.

From behind him came a roar of laughter, spotting Nea he gave a grin as he dashed off into the cornfields of Coldwind Farms.

Later on he somehow made it out of the trial alive, giggling like mad as he sat down next to Nea.

“Did you see? That was amazing!”

“Y-yeah I saw you,” she stammered.

Dwight frowned, “look I know it’s not the most impressive but you still laughed-“

“That wasn’t me.”

“... what?”

“Dwight, that wasn’t me laughing. I was hiding in a corner, I wasn’t laughing.”

It was then Dwight realized the laughter he had heard was distinctly male.

Dwight slipped off the log in a dead faint.

#dead by daylight #dbd #just thought it would be funny #may do a part two if this gets received well enough

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complicatedandstained · 5 years ago

Text

The Other Day at Hot Topic: Cameras Don’t Lie

Axel swaps his gaze from this morning’s Hot Topic security footage on the desktop computer to the current security feed.

On the sales floor, Aqua’s returning from her break, her black ballet flats dragging across linoleum. She pauses by the piercing displays to offer Roxas a bite off her soft pretzel, before ducking behind the register to shove a set of metallic pink keys into a white, studded handbag. Rising, she flicks her middle finger up in response to some stray comment from Vanitas.

Vanitas grins back, sharklike, before he returns to helping their single customer fish a backpack shaped like a Ninja Turtle shell (Leonardo—a subpar choice) from a rack near the ceiling using a large metal hook that Axel frankly does not feel safe knowing Vanitas has access to.

Axel raises the walkie talkie to his lips and taps a button on the side, amused by the way if startles Roxas from his crouch a few feet from the register. Scrambling behind the counter, Roxas pauses to adjust the checkerboard patterned slide escaping his foot before nabbing the radio from its cradle. Then he straightens, glancing around to ensure no one saw him tripping over himself.

“Hey Roxas,” Axel purrs through a smirk, “this is your conscience speaking.”

Roxas glances toward the ceiling, processing, and then gives a slow, satisfying smile. “Hey, conscience.” The words are slow, quiet.

Is it the radio or is he whispering back?

“It’s been a while.” Roxas rubs his eyes and drags weary fingers down to tug at his cheek, hipster glasses slipping slightly down his nose.

At the private moment, Axel opts to tear his eyes from the camera. He ignores the compulsion he feels to tug at Roxas’ cheek himself in the near distant future.

“Wish you’d chimed in sooner.”

The security video replays in Axel’s head. Roxas effortlessly taking Vanitas down. The smile slipping from Vanitas’ face replaced with shock and a hint of respect.

“Why,” Axel wheedles, too knowing, maybe, but fuck it, he does know, “didn’t do something you regret, did ya?”

There’s a long pause. Axel peeks at the security feed again. Roxas’ spine seems straighter, though his back’s propped against the counter and his head is down, eyes likely shut. Axel fancies he’s contemplating offering him the truth.

“I pushed my brother off a dock yesterday.”

Axel chokes a bit, then presses the button so Roxas will think it’s radio static.

Not what he’d been expecting, but a hell of a lot more interesting. Almost makes up for Roxas’ lie of omission, though Axel knows it’s smart of Roxas to keep a lid on his little scuffle.

Still, he decides to be diplomatic about it. “Probably not your finest moment, there, Roxas.”

“He’s fine. Swims like a merman.” Roxas bats a hand dismissively, though he has no idea Axel can see it. “He called me chubby, so I had no choice.”

Axel hates the tension that mars Roxas’ face, like he might actually be considering this absurd notion. He watches Roxas sliding his shirt up to pinch at a bronze, well-defined abdomen.

Axel snorts, his throat feeling unusually dry, wondering if Roxas’ brother has always had such severe vision problems—realizing Roxas really is that badass. “You serious? I take it back. You made the right call. You’re…”

Dead skinny? Ripped? Petite? Angelic? Gorgeous? A ray of effing sunshine.

“Not.”

Roxas chuckles back, the sound remarkably light and fluid even through the shitty radio. “You’re not very good at this conscience thing, Axel.”

“Nah,” Axel rubs at the back of his neck, turning from the screen again, thumbing the crescent moon shaped charm on one of Saïx’s bracelets, forgotten on the desk, “not my strong suit. Speaking of, would you send Aqua on back, my good buddy?” His switch to an insincere, lighter tone does not go unnoticed.

“Aqua?” He can hear the surprise and… that’s not hurt is it? … in Roxas’ voice. “Uh, sure, yeah, hang on a sec.”

“Thanks, babe.”

He watches Roxas go rigid for a second before he sighs, returns the phone to its cradle, and glances around for Aqua like a man who’s been caught half asleep.

Huh.

* *

“Axel?” Aqua toes her way into the back room, holding the door open, like she hopes she can get this over with quickly. Cute. “What is this about?”

“How do I put this delicately?” Axel spins slowly in his chair to face her, like he’s a heavily ringed mob boss smoking a cigar. There should be some kind of cat purring on his lap with a scrunched-up face and a holier than thou stare.

The eyes tracing paths across his face seem wary.

“You’re fired, Aqua.”

“I’m…” Aqua blinks back, almost dropping the remainder of her soft pretzel entirely, one hand going white knuckled against the door frame. “That was not delicate.”

“Eh,” Axel squeezes his knee, Saïx’s bracelet cool where he’s slipped it onto his wrist, “yeah, sorry.”

She tilts her head, examining his expression, her dark blue brows lowering. “You’re joking.”

“Yeah, God. I can’t even keep a straight face.” Axel cackles, rubbing at the back of his neck. “Gonna need more practice if I’m going to lay it on Vanitas, huh?” He begins to rotate the desk chair away from her again to check on the brat, but Aqua darts forward, grabs the chair arm to whirl him back.

“Wait. What?”

“Vanitas,” Axel repeats, his eyes narrowing, wondering where the confusion is coming from, how she didn’t see this coming. “Vanitas is fired.”

“You’re…you can’t…!” Aqua grasps at the air, stammers, volume rising. This time Axel doesn’t smile.

Christ. This had better work.

Realization flashes in her eyes. She retreats to the door and shuts it. As she returns to Axel’s side at the office desk, she raises her pretzel to take a contemplative bite. “You saw the tape, then.”

Axel nods, jerking a thumb back to the computer. “You know, when Saïx asked me to check in on you hooligans, I figured I’d catch you, like, dancing in the aisles and eating all the SweeTarts and tell him I didn’t see anything. But instead I find Roxas and Vanitas making like a pair of Rock ‘Em Sock ‘Em Robots. That’s a bit harder to ignore.”

She blanches, charcoal-lined lip jutting out to reveal pink. “You’re telling me that fight was Vanitas’ fault?”

He opens his palm toward the computer again, can feel his own frown lines deepen. “Cameras don’t lie.”

“I can’t believe it.” She sweeps pointed, glossy black, manicured nails through blue bangs, “I had a feeling, but I really hoped—”

“Exactly!” Axel interrupts, hands clapping together, and she scowls at his enthusiasm, which makes him feel a little like his mother never loved him. “You’re the only one working in this godforsaken store that actually cares whether or not Vanitas gets fired. And that is, of course, including Vanitas.”

His eyes stray to the nearby wall of employee lockers. Most of their surfaces have been layered with friendly post-its, graffiti, and stickers, but Vanitas’ stands blanker than even Saïx’s is.

“That’s...” her voice fades, following his gaze, fingers sweeping down through her bob, “probably true.”

Axel shrugs, tone amenable, “I mean, to some degree, I get it. He’s your housemate,” he offers with one hand, “you need rich Uncle Xemnas to pay his rent,” he continues with the other. “I guess I wouldn’t want him fired either.”

Aqua rolls her eyes, and then waggles her pretzel at him. “It’s not all about the money, Axel. He’s my friend. I don’t want to see him give up again. He needs to work through this.”

Axel’s definitely not going to let her elaborate on this tragic backstory business she’s trying to dredge up. Vanitas has always been a prick, and now he’s a prick who almost punched Roxas. End of story.

But Axel nods so she’ll stop talking to him like he just told Demyx Santa’s not real. “Fine, whatever. I can work with that.”

“What do you mean ‘work with that’?” She lowers the pretzel a bit, her other hand resting on her hip as she tilts her head to reevaluate the lanky red-head, stretching his legs out straight and crossing his ankles. “Axel…I don’t understand. If you’ve made up your mind, you’ve watched the tape, why call me back here all?”

Axel folds his hands in his lap and the sun and moon charms on Saïx’s bracelet slide together. “A lot of people pretend they like Vanitas. You, Luxord, Demyx…um.” He pauses, closes his eyes, mentally running through a list of employees. “Okay, ‘a lot’ was an exaggeration.”

His cat eyes flick open. “Point is: I wanted to make sure you really meant it, because as much as it pains me to say it, I can’t fire him. And if you don’t want him fired, then whatever you saw, you need to unsee it.” He draws a couple fingers to his temple and offers a mocking smile. “Got that memorized?”

She stares for a second, processing, and Axel, figuring he better speed things along, spins back around to face the computer, minimizing the security feed and pulling open a folder he’s stumbled upon previously, labeled Employee Records. He’s prompted to enter a password. Delightful.

The pretzel slaps into Axel’s shoulder and salt sprinkles down the front of his black tee. “Why?” Aqua says in a voice like he’d missed the first time she said it. “Because you’re afraid of what Xemnas will do to Saïx? But you have video evidence. Even Xemnas can’t ignore that.”

Aqua’s such a martyr she’s telling him he should fire Vanitas? Sweet Jesus.

“Because.” Axel’s teeth dig into his lower lip, more sharply than intended, as he keys in a third attempt at the password—two Hot Topic favorites and one of Saïx’s regulars. The program locks him out for twenty minutes. Delightful. “Because Vanitas isn’t the only one Saïx would fire.”

“You think he’d fire us?” Aqua steps back as he swerves in his chair and rises, abruptly several inches above her rather than several feet below.

He half scoff-half sneers, sidestepping her, approaching Saïx’s pristine filing cabinet, squatting between the desk and lockers. “No, sweetie.”

He tugs at the third drawer, and she follows him over, obviously about to make a fuss, so he continues, brows furrowing at the neat little lock in his way, “I think he’d fire Roxas. He’d have to, to get Xemnas off his back.”

He whirls back around and locks eyes with her. Hers go wide, lip dipping again.

“No kidding?” she mumbles, through the stare down.

“Roxas was only defending himself, but Xemnas wouldn’t see it that way.” He turns, pulling out painstakingly neat desk drawers, flipping up organizers and rifling through paperclips in search of a small silver key, though he already knows in his chest, Saïx would never leave it lying around. “Roxas doesn’t deserve that shit.”

“So?” Out of the corner of his eye he sees her gesture for him to continue.

He slides a sticker gun back in the drawer and seats himself on the desk to face her. “So?” he mimics, expression too innocent to be genuine.

“What do you care what happens to Roxas?”

“He’s…” Axel finds himself gesturing vaguely, “a good guy.”

“That’s it?”

“I…” Axel searches his head for a better explanation. But that’s it. He likes Roxas. Roxas is good. Roxas didn’t do anything wrong. He wants to protect Roxas. “Yeah. That’s it.”

She looks skeptical as Axel starts in half-heartedly on another desk drawer.

“And?”

His hand pauses. “And nothing.”

Her eyes roll again, revealing flashes of silver shadow and he’s going to have to ask her where she bought it some time. “Fine. Keep your secrets. So, that’s all you want from me. Pretend like it never happened, try to convince Vanitas to do the same?”

“And one more thing.” He pulls a black sticky note pad and a silver permanent marker from the desktop and holds them out. “Insurance this won’t happen again. I tried to find it myself, but uh, I don’t actually work here.”

“Axel, no,” her voice wavers, alarmed, tired. “We’ve been over this.”

Axel reaches across the keyboard he’s perched beside to the mouse and opens up the security video, rewinds, plays. “Let’s go back to the tapes, shall we?”

* *

Aqua’s marker jolts mid apartment number as she watches Vanitas lunge for Roxas’ middle and get sucker punched. She remains silent the remainder of the scene and then hands Axel a slip of paper, folded in half, and turns away.

He peeks at the address, giggles. “You live on Wayfinder Way? What, seriously?”

She smacks his shoulder again. “So help me God, if you show up at my house…”

“Aqua, that is exactly what I intend to do.” If Vanitas pulls this stuff again, he’s going to take it outside the bar, so to speak. And then whatever happens, no one can blame Saïx.

“And then what?”

“Excuse me?”

She takes an angry bite off the pretzel and waves it in a circle. “You’re skulking around our place and then what are you going to do?”

Axel examines his knuckles. It’s been a long time since he’s seen them purple and blue, black and yellow. Even longer since he’s set anything interesting on fire. “I’ll use my imagination.” Rising from the desk, he tucks the slip into a tight gold denim pocket, swapping it with the plugs that Roxas had handed him, and heads for the door.

“Axel, wait,” Aqua catches his forearm, swallows. “What if there was another way? No firing Vanitas or Roxas.”

He taps his fingers against the door frame and turns back around, wondering if Aqua had somehow come up with a solution he hadn’t. “You have my attention.”

“Fire me again.”

You’re killing me, Smalls. “What?

“Do it,” she strides closer, taping the pretzel against his chest. “Fire me. Say it.”

“Aqua,” he hesitates, wondering if she’s screwing with him, “you’re fired.” He lets it sit in the air, too heavy, and then groans, “Ugh. Nope. Still can’t do it. You’re unfired. And I’m going to have to gargle some Listerine now. Which drawer do you think Saïx keeps it in?”

Axel strides back to Saïx’s desk and tugs the bottom drawer open with the toe of his boot.

“Okay, so not fired, then,” she allows, taking a bite and chewing as she ruminates, arms crossing, “suspended?”

“Here it is.” Axel produces a small bottle of pine green mouthwash, and uncaps it with the same flourish he’d uncork a fine wine.

Aqua covers a laugh with her hand and manages levelly, “And you can unfire me when he gets his act together.”

“You think he’d do that for you?” Axel presses his lips to the bottle and tilts his head back.

The air smells like mint sprigs and Aqua grimaces. “You just straight up put your mouth on Saïx’s Listerine.”

Axel makes a show of gargling and spits the results into a spare coffee mug. Then he lifts an eyebrow, leering the tiniest bit. “Trust me, Saïx has no issues with my mouth germs anywhere.”

Aqua chokes, clears her throat. “Now I have a nasty taste in my mouth.”

“You brought it up.” He raises the bottle as if in toast and then screws the cap back on. “Sai won’t like this, speaking of.”

Aqua shakes her head, eyes on the security feed, where Vanitas is checking out the woman with questionable taste in young reptilian vigilante themed backpacks. Axel would have gone with Michelangelo or Raphael, himself. “Vanitas will straighten out his act to help me. I know he will.”

“If he doesn’t, I’m going to look like the massive jerk who fired St. Aqua right before Christmas.” Axel scowls, he can already hear the flak from Xaldin, and god forbid anyone tell Terra. “I’ll probably be haunted by sinister but well-intentioned ghosts.”

“Axel, honey,” she frowns, tone all sympathetic. “Everyone already thinks you’re a massive jerk.”

Ouch. Someone’s had one too many shifts with Larxene. She’s the queen of harsh but true.

“Yeah, well.” He slides the mouthwash back into the drawer and picks up the plugs he’s set on the desktop, watching them catch the harsh, backroom light. “Roxas doesn’t.”

Her expression hardens, a judgment he doesn’t quite understand written in her creasing forehead. “Then don’t prove him wrong. Axel…please.”

“Fine. You win. Congratulations, Aqua. You’re fired. Please return your lanyard and snarky attitude to the desk drawer.” He gestures toward the empty space beside Saïx’s Listerine.

Aqua takes off her lanyard and drops it in. Turning on her heel, she pushes her way out and onto the sales floor. He follows suit, hanging in the door frame as Aqua chucks the last nugget of her pretzel at his cheek. “Screw you, Axel.” And if the whole store didn’t hear that, it wasn’t her fault. The words echo in his ears as she storms out, grabbing Vanitas’ by the wrist and taking him along for the ride.

“Nice talking to you too, Aqua.”

#kingdom hearts #axel #aqua #roxas #vanitas #saix #akuroku #akusai #organization xiii #the other day at hot topic #my writing

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icharchivist · 5 years ago

Note

Oh no I agree w/you on not being hard on fans who think differently. One of the reasons I like fan discussions is to read other people's thoughts and try to understand where the ones I disagree w/are coming from. That's just my personal view and reading of the character. I think lately the stress has been getting to Chaoji so he's extra harsh and that's going to be unattractive to Allen's friends. I also think he's wording things the wrong way. It'd be better if he said I'll fight the Noah -

2 instead of I'll fight Allen or telling Allen's friends to forget about him. In this way Chaoji is, whether he means to or not, making it sound like Allen is JUST a Noah. Which.... Is actually a interesting thought. What does the average person think how a Noah works? Does he think Allen is 100% gone now? *shrugs* Either way agree to disagree on some parts. I have no probs w/fans so forgive me if it sounded I was harsh to them. I was just naming of groups I saw and thought it was interesting.

Ahh alright, sorry then for the lecture! it’s fine, don’t worry now that it’s cleared up.

I think i’m getting a little paranoid of some fandom arguments? especially when it starts to involve how some fans react to some controversial events. Bigger fandoms have been so filled with dramas (there had been a lot of push back against people liking not pure uwu characters that i get defensive at the idea of judging how someone may approach a controversial character they may like) i tend to end up having red flags over silly things i would probably have used myself a few years back.

Your argument was fine, and honestly pretty mild in that term, i guess i’ve just had seen enough more virulent argument to be a little.. *alarms bells* upon reading some vague keywords.

So my point is, my bad, i’ve got a little defensive there and judged your ask too harshly. I apologize.

Now back to the topic, yeah agreed on Chaoji. I honestly think Chaoji doesn’t know what details makes a Noah? I mean, the Order didn’t know before Road made her introduction and the Bookmen had to explain to them a few things. No one knows what it is like to turn into a Noah, no one knows about the awakened memories, and hell, the 14th is already a specific sort of Noah (i say it with all the love, but Nea isn’t a Noah Memory like Joyd is, he’s a parasite inside Allen’s body: his own being, not a memory that awoke in Allen, so even that when you know Noah’s development logic, is weird)

Chaoji didn’t become an exorcist until after the Ark’s arc and no one had any reasons too explain to that random crew man who was just helping carrying Lenalee around what little secrets they had learn about the Noah. So I think Chaoji still sees them as “they control the Akuma, they are rotten to the core, and once they turn there’s no come back”, perhaps projecting what he knows of the Akuma (which in which case is true, once an akuma, the only thing you can do is kill them with innocence for salvation - no attempt to really save them. Which makes me think, Chaoji did know Chomesuke- i think he wasn’t developped enough to have a reaction to him, but the fact Chomesuke had to destroy himself bc he couldn’t resist to its nature anymore might have added to this argument that there is no salvation for Dark Matter).

For Chaoji I really don’t think he had the time to know about Noah stuff, and everything we know about how Noah comes to be come from Noah’s POV, so not something the Order may know, let alone a stubborn exorcist who hates them by principle. Allen tends to extend his compassion to non-humans because in a way... if he had seen Mana as non human the moment he would have turned him as an Akuma i think Allen couldn’t have stand it. (also i ended up mixing up with FMA but that reminded me of how Ed refused to kill the armor guys in the Lab 5 even when they kept saying they weren’t human anymore, because if he did so it would just imply that his brother isn’t human either and that it’s his fault that it is like that. I think the same reasoning can be applied to Allen @ the Akuma and extend to the Noah as long as the Noah are on the “side” of the Akuma. Ironically though considering “Mana” ended up becoming a Noah. Well. Always was, but you get my point)

Meanwhile the only strong feeling we’ve seen from an exorcist @ the Noah for being a Noah, was Kanda saying that since they are humans (which Skinn repeated) then they could be killed. Which i personally always took as a reassurance on Kanda’s part of reclaiming his own humanity and Alma’s, since they were denied it as kids and perhaps the only thing that, after all the horrors Alma had done, that made him human was that Kanda could kill him. Kanda asserting the Noah’s humanity in order to convince himself that death is part of humanity would, if i’m correct, be a sort of projection to protect that memory and identity, the same way Allen projects on others.

But for the others, Lenalee had never hesitated around the Noah, even upon meeting Road, she quickly fought back. Lavi has a bad experience with Noah but he’s neutral enough to care more about what Allen wants in the end (when Allen wants to rescue Tyki the whole thing is about “the guys at the Order will look badly at it but if you think it’s important...” and not “why you do want to rescue the guy i wanted to kill a few hours ago”)Then there’s mainly Krory with the twins (and Lenalee to an extend) and I think there was too much irritation going on about them being brats more than them being Noah that went on there.

But from Chaoji’s point of view who knew nothing about them, had spent his life hating the dark matter for taking what he loved, he saw.... Well Tyki playing with Lavi’s grief and threatening Lenalee, before trapping them in the Ark and trying to kill Allen, he’s seen Skinn attack everyone and they then left Kanda behind with him, he’s been here a huge chuck of the Jasdebi fight just to see the Twins being Absolute Disaster Making You Lose Faith In Anything They Ever Represent (And It Happens To Be The Noah This Time) (did i ever mention that i love those stupid twins? I love them. They’re so dumb.), Road destroying Lavi’s mind and torturing Allen into forcing him to destroy Lavi, and finally the Lullubel attack on the Order that killed a huge amount of people. And if we extend the timeline to when he could have caught up his next meeting with the Noah in the Alma arc made him KO, kidnapped Lavi and Bookman who are now thought dead, and Fiidora’s parasites tortured him when he was powerless to save Lavi and Bookman, which might add some feeling of guilt there by the by.

Without understanding of the Noah he just saw... the sheer destruction they brought along with them.

So Allen saying “I might become a Noah and you will have to kill me” - well I think seeing how horrible the Noah had been up to this point was enough for Chaoji to think that if Allen became one, it would override all of the good qualities Allen had. After all he has never seen the Noah before they became Noah.

Tbh It makes me even wonder if being introducted to Tyki in his human form (and Road to her human form as well but it’s more minor than how they befriended Tyki before that) may have made more possible for Allen to want to try to see that humanity. Because he saw this humanity with how Tyki behaved with his friends. More than just... hearing about “Oh apparently he has friends” that Chaoji would have heard from Allen, Lavi and Krory’s reaction upon meeting Tyki again.

In a way, the fact Krory also has this association adding to how much he cares for Allen to relativise the way “becoming a Noah” might affect Allen - in a way Chaoji cannot. Because Krory saw Tyki having seemingly meaningful friendships with humans so, becoming a Noah wouldn’t come out as completely monstruous for him a way someone who just know the Noah might. (that, and also how his love for Eliade was serious and might make him more willing to believe in that humanity, even if Eliade told him in the end that she was just using him. Krory didn’t know she was lying - but he might hold on to that feeling).

So adding to all of Chaoji’s unchecked prejudice, there is this complete unknown over people he had only known as cruel. He has never seen their humanity the way Lavi, Krory, Kanda and Allen has. Then again yeah it doesn’t excuse anything because Miranda and Lenalee for exemple are in the same situation having suffered first hand from tortures from, well, Road for exemple, but trusting Allen above all while just as much in the dark. Even if depending how much the infos Bookman gave came to Miranda and Lenalee before Chaoji joined the Exorcist Group.

So that ended up being a lot of rambling dkjhfd but my point is that therefore, Allen is the one to see the humanity of the Noah the most, Krory and Lavi has reason to at least know personally Tyki’s human side to doubt how the Noah’s cruelty works, Kanda had had how he met with Skinn to approach it, else every exorcists before Chaoji was recruited might have heard a bit from Bookman but that’s it. Any other sort of acknowledging this humanity would come with trusting Allen. Which Chaoji doesn’t.

And no one knows what “becoming a Noah” is like. And while Chaoji wasn’t there and i’m certain Lveille lied, but Allen did have a swift change of behavior and personality at least twice in the Alma’s arc for everyone to see (when talking to the Earl + when Kanda stabbed him). Even Johnny saw that. A second hand retelling could just convince Chaoji “well perhaps he had no control and it doesn’t matter what kind of person he was - once a Noah, you become a monster” and that could be enough.

That was a lot of ramble i’m so sorry dkjhfd but yeah. It’s a mess.

And it’s just... there’s no way Chaoji can know. All he could do would be to trust Allen. Even seeking for answers isn’t exactly a position Chaoji is in, even if it would be preferable if he did question what he thought so far (like the others do) rather than just thinking “yup, he’s a goner, i’ll fight him”

if that makes any sense kdjhfd

idk Chaoji’s perspective is kinda fascinating to me. I dislike that he has it and doesn’t question it, but it’s fascinating to see how being emotionally disconnected from every elements we have ended up caring about can make someone like this. It really shows the price of emotional investment for me to see how Chaoji behave. He’s kinda the Counter-audience in that regard. And that’s what makes him fascinating, for as much as i dislike him as a person ahah.

#ichafantalks dgm #Anonymous #ichareply

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