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markets · 4 years ago

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helloooo

so this post of mine has been gaining some traction lately and due to popular demand (aka one comment telling me to write it), i actually wrote an essay about it. is it good? probably not lol, but its like 3 double spaced pages long and i actually really like it, so id appreciate it if you checked it out!

it’ll be under the cut but first i just wanted to clarify some things: this is about their characters on the smp, not them as real people. so just pretend that theres a c! in front of every name i mention lol. also, im still about a month behind on the smp and havent watched every stream, so if anything is inaccurate/not up to date i apologize

Two Sides of the Same Coin: A Tommy and Tubbo Analysis

Over the years, many fictional characters have been deemed two sides of the same coin; two things that are closely related regardless of how different they may seem. Tommy and Tubbo fit that description to a tee. Their positive and negative qualities balance each other out perfectly, something that allows them to bring about meaningful change when they’re together but causes chaos to reign when they’re apart, a fact that Dream used to his advantage during the exile arc.

One of the ways they balance each other out is in their leadership styles. Tommy leads with his heart and tends to let his emotions take control, while Tubbo has been known to lead with his head and make decisions based on logic rather than what he’s feeling at the time. An example of this was when he exiled Tommy to avoid violence and trouble for his country in the long run rather than letting his lifelong friendship with him cloud his judgement. By themselves, anyone who leads with their heart or head alone is bound to run into pitfalls, but being together allows the good qualities of these forms of leadership to shine through and the bad ones to cancel each other out: Tubbo acts as a voice of reason for Tommy and helps him think rationally, while Tommy helps Tubbo lead with more compassion to avoid becoming, in his own words, “the next Schlatt”.

In addition to this, some of their greatest flaws complement each other as well. Tommy is constantly regarded as being too stubborn, emotional, and angry, qualities that made Wilbur believe he would never be president and are the reason why Dream is scared of him. On the other hand, Tubbo is known to be a pushover, a “yes man” who, despite being able to stand his ground sometimes, typically gives in to others too easily. Just like Tommy, this quality made many believe he’d make a horrible president. However, the complementary nature of their friendship allows them to help one another and balance out each other's flaws: Tommy helps Tubbo stand his ground and make decisions for himself, while Tubbo helps Tommy avoid doing anything rash. A great example of this last statement is the aftermath of Tubbo’s execution, when Tommy was angry and started looking for the button to explode Manberg, despite his hesitancy to do so earlier, saying “Where’s the button? They fucked up for the last time”. However, Tubbo put a stop to this by telling him to go with him to Pogtopia.

There are many more examples of how they balance each other out from the times when they have been together, but even more can be seen when they're apart. Their separation was the root cause of all the chaos that occurred during and directly after the exile arc. Without Tommy and his warnings against becoming “the next Schlatt”, Quackity was able to take the helm in most major decisions and pressure Tubbo into violent political plans, despite one of the main reasons for exiling Tommy being to avoid violence. Tubbo only stood up to him when he realized one of his plans directly paralleled his execution under Schlatt’s rule. Meanwhile, without Tubbo there to support Tommy, he ended up teaming up with Technoblade, another thing Tubbo sought to avoid with the exile. Tommy’s habit of letting his emotions take over, not to mention his post-exile mental instability, and Technoblade’s penchant for violence and the destruction of L’Manberg proved to be a dangerous combination, since Technoblade not only failed to stop Tommy’s rash behavior but also encouraged it.

It is highly likely that Dream was not only aware of these facts but also motivated by them. This can be seen many times throughout the exile arc, as well as right before it began. Not only was Tommy’s crime arguably worthy of no more than the originally proposed three week probation, if Dream really wanted to unfairly punish Tommy, there are many arguably worse punishments he could’ve chosen, such as execution, forcing Tommy to give him one of his precious discs (though it’s not likely that Tommy would’ve given in to that easily), or the destruction of L’Manberg. However, Dream likely knew that, by separating Tommy and Tubbo, they would do his work for him and destroy L’Manberg from the inside. After physically separating them by successfully getting Tubbo to exile Tommy, Dream took it upon himself to emotionally separate Tommy from his best friend as much as possible by talking about how much better things were in L’Manberg without him there, breaking his spirit, and feeding him lies, such as the lie about what happened to Tubbo’s compass or his sabotaged beach party.

In addition, there is a small detail in Dream’s plan that is commonly overlooked: his mention of Technoblade's house. Without looking too much into it, it simply seems like an offhand comment made to perpetuate the idea that Dream was his friend. However, if Dream’s primary goal was to keep Tommy as isolated as possible from everyone else, it would make no sense for him to not only tell him how close by another person lived, but also give him directions to them, even if the person was one of the people Tommy hated the most. From this standpoint, it seems foolish, but it could actually be viewed as one of Dream’s smartest moves. From this, it can be inferred that Dream was not only aware of how destructive a Technoblade and Tommy teamup would be, but also encouraged it. For this same reason, he let Tommy stay in hiding with Technoblade, even after he told Ghostbur he knew he had been there. By doing this, Dream was able to twist Tommy’s volatility and aversion to the rules, the very qualities that made him the only person Dream feared, in his favor.

For all his flaws, Dream is a smart man, and he was able to realize what many others failed to: Tommy and Tubbo’s bond was the heart and soul of L’Manberg, one of the only things keeping it running. Without them together balancing each other out, they became powerful forces of mostly unintentional chaos and destruction, collapsing the country they loved and playing right into Dream’s hands. They are two sides of the same coin: despite how different they may seem, they are closely related, necessary to each other's ability to flourish, grow, and survive, and cannot be separated.

TL;DR: DO!! NOT!! SEPARATE THEM!!!!!!!!

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pyroclaststan · 3 years ago

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CW: body horror, gore, graphic depictions of injuries, Nanosurge event

The two of you had been running and you made it so far—you were going to get away, you were going to make it, but then Syrah started screaming.

She hit the ground flailing, howling, peeling apart. It was like her skin was disappearing from her limbs, and she kept yelling, pieces of her mouth starting to disappear, too.

There are no words you could ever use to describe the noise of someone gargling on blood and bile and those things as they ate through her lungs and chest and throat.

To describe the sight of your lifelong best friend sloughing apart and disappearing before your very eyes as she tries to scream and call out, only to be unmade.

In her final throws she reached out for you.

It hurt.

Now it feels like burning, and stinging, and itching all at once.

You cannot look away as the horror settles into you, freezing you in place. You watch as your left leg peeled, layer by layer, and eaten like the many before you—like the many around you.

It hurts, but you cannot scream, you cannot sob: you saw how they got into your best friend’s mouth that way. It ended quicker for her than the others but you do not want an end at all.

You kick the remnants of your leg in futility, as if to shake them off with sheer willpower as they eat their way closer. It’s all you can do. The swarm on you is multiplying; you see them like a hive of ants, now beginning to eat away at your fingers.

No one will be coming for you.

There is a chorus of screams a few yards away.

“NO!” a bloodcurdling howl of a voice echoes out.

It is the wretched, horrible scream of someone desperate out there, and your head whips around for the source despite your situation. Someone is close enough that they might see you—you might live.

Further across the field three—no, a body, just two—of the Rangers are gathered. One of them is actually not a Ranger at all but that vigilante you’ve seen, Sidestep, who is standing over the writhing form of Marshal Charge, hands out.

In the fields around you, you see the swarms of those creatures coalesce and gather, all stopping mid air before moving towards Sidestep, floating up and over their head like a rippling ball of shimmering black water. A river Styx of souless little creatures.

Looking down you realise that your leg is no longer being flayed by the microscopic monsters, flesh and bone gone like it was never there; your hands shake as you desperately peel off your shirt to tie around the stump, hoping through your panic it stems the bleeding as your adrenaline fades. You’ve never done anything like this before—your hands are shaking awfully. Blood loss and possible shock making you run cold.

In the few minutes more that follow the pause of those things, as you clutch what’s left of you, you hear more screams and the sounds of heavy footsteps: everyone left is being evacuated and before you know it Charge himself is beside you, scooping you into his arms before sprinting along with the crowds of survivors as if he weren’t screaming earlier. You were just close enough that he saw you; you clench his shoulders with your tremoring hands, unable to stop the tears that pour down your sweating skin. You’ve never known death this closely. You don’t know if your fear or relief is greater.

Surrounding the two of you are the desperate, the pleading, the injured, but you cannot tear your eyes away from their target to see all of them. Your hearing is muffled by a ringing of tinnitus, even as Charge hands you over to another person before running back to save others struggling out there. As all the heroes get to work while they have this new advantage.

You can’t stop watching Sidestep.

They stand there, alone, hands held to the sky as if to hold a barrier around the writhing mass of murderers. You think of the class last week: the Titan Atlas holding up the heavens. You see the way their arms and legs shake, muscles sure to be straining, their heavy breaths under their super-suit. There is no dramatic lighting or music to highlight their effort, this dire situation is all too real. They’re too close to those swarms but they don’t budge an inch, a hand coming to their head as they let out a bellow of pain.

The man holding you is trying to flee with you, but you can’t stop twisting in his arms—you need to see this: you need to witness what Sidestep is doing, what Sidestep has done. Someone needs to remember that they are alone amongst those… demons.

Others are watching too, crying, and after some time when Sidestep’s knee buckles and their hands fall to brace themself the entire crowd flinches as one. The swarm wavers looking like they might escape and spread again, but Sidestep’s hand quickly rises back up and they fall back into their synchronised swim. The terror is palpable, the air is thick, the smells of the dead nauseating in the breeze, but you all cannot stop watching. Even the reporters are keeping a silent vigil, unable to believe any of this.

A hero is saving you.

Time passes and you’ve all huddled together, taking care of each other, locating family, slipping out silent prayers. A nurse who was among the survivors has helped you with your leg so far: medical should be arriving soon, you won’t be saving that leg. You might have lost too much blood, or you will. She’s just waiting for the shock to set it now, holding your hand so you’re not alone through it.

But you don’t care because out there so many have lost more than you. Others are still fighting so you all don’t lose more, even now. And one is stemming the tide.

Charge is behind Sidestep as they keep on despite being brought to their knees and struggling, posted like a sentry but gripping his own arm, and you can almost make out the look of abject horror on his face as he watches the swarm hovering before them; small flickers of static arcs when the hive moves or breaks synchronisation.

Medical has arrived and you are being carted off to a rescue vehicle while containment is still on the way, but you still don’t look away—you can’t look away. It has been hours and they are shaking and they are struggling but they are holding. You burn that sight into the back of your head before the ambulance doors close. Your hero.

Your dream always ends there: you were gone before they’d collapsed. Before it was over.

———

Today is the anniversary of that awful day; the persistent nightmare that haunts even your days through all the scars. It’s hard to go outside most days, hard to watch the news and catch a glimpse of that silver woman that scares you so much. It’s hard to do much of anything that isn’t sitting locked in your workspace, building, tinkering, or fixing. But this day is an exception to all those great fears.

You stop by the florist with the modded hand: she remembers the day as well as you, sometimes the two of you talk about it while you work on her hand. She’s bundling up Syrah’s yearly bouquet, handpicking each flower by some meanings you’ve never gotten around to learning about them, stopping only to help a haggard looking man she also seems to know well with a bundle of white chrysanthemums. You can smell the alcohol on him from here, but that’s none of your business: today is a hard day for more people than you and Maritsa.

She tells you to give her love to your old friend; she never goes herself, no matter how much time passes. She lost too much to that nightmare—a wife, two kids, some family.

Your eyes linger on one of the few white chrysanthemums that man left behind, scratching the scar tissue buildup on your finger’s skin weave, something telling you to pick one of those up, too. Her garden hardy mums cost a lot but you know anything she grows in her greenhouse is well worth the price.

Heading out with your newspaper bouquet in hand, you fall into step with the Los Diablos crowds, easily able to pick out who in the crowd is headed the same way as you. You can see it in their heavy steps and weighted shoulders and you wonder if you show it, too.

The memorial isn’t a plot of headstones—too many were lost for that—but instead a large stone and steel wall, covered from one end to another with names and birthdays of victims. Flowers, candles, teddy bears, liquor, and photos rest on the ground here every year, and every year the crowd and offerings grow smaller. Everyone eager to forget.

You take your place in front of Syrah’s name, fingers sliding quietly against the stone that’s too cold for having sat in Diablos’ heat as long as it has. To your right you see Desiderio placing his usual marigolds—also from Maritsa’s—against the stone, then falling into prayers as he always does. The flowers in your hands begin to feel too heavy so you set them down, quietly sit in prayer with Desi, and hold each other once the tears that always come arrive.

It’s a small, distant family you’ve made out of this place and the only other people who could understand your loss; no matter how much time passes between gatherings you all know you have each other. But you cannot stay all day, lost in the memories: you have one more important stop to make.

At the gates of your destination a man in a grey hoodie and a larger man in a blue one passes you, and once again you are hit by a wave of booze. Looking after them, you notice the back of the smaller, hunched over one: it’s that man again, being escorted by someone you hope is his friend. A few moments more and you draw in a deep breathe, gathering resolve before heading in.

So here you are at yet another memorial. Not the memorial to that scarred, barren earth you pointedly avoid looking at but the memorial to the hero you’d lost, gone after another even that shook the city to its core before they ended it. The hero this entire city lost. The dark headstone that’s all that’s left of Sidestep.

The black and teal hoodie you’ve worn in over the years always feel likes the only thing appropriate to wear as you sit here, sitting before the looming stone in your usual spot, staring at the bundle of white flowers and the half-full beer can beside it. Chrysanthemums bundled up with Maritsa’s trademark twine. A smaller bunch of white lilies next to it, from somewhere else. That man’s modded friend maybe; you know the signs like you know the smell of the dead. All too well.

You scratch the phantom itch crawling along the former calf and thigh of your modded leg, unable to chase away the ghost of a life past. Unable to turn back the clock. Unable to say thank you.

You set your flowers down next to that man’s, hoping that he found peace in his visit here like you do. Hoping that someone’s there to help him through that event and its scars, too. You really hope that was a friend.

The picture of your masked hero is peeling from all the rain and heat, the flowers and offerings dwindling as folks try to forget those terrible events, but you remain. Year after year.

Living is the only thanks you can give them.

#the mischief scribbles #MC: Kingsley Chrysanta #(I mean—technically)#FH:R #I’m not really going to tag Ortega since this person wasn’t aware that it was him #Nanosurge #a FH:R NPC #pre-Rebirth #Fallen Hero: Rebirth #NPC: Ifama #hmm… don’t care for this one tbh

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fabdante · 4 years ago

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The Vergil and Kat Post

So um. This like idk essay, analysis, rant thing took took like five attempts to write because I would not stop rambling and it’s still like just barely five pages long. And that’s after I cut it down from like 11 pages.

The short version is: Kat and Vergil are really interesting and complex as we view their relationship usually from an outside perspective which leaves much up to interpretation. If you’ve been on my blog for a while you probably know the interpretation I have of them because I eat up tragedy like candy, but that’s not the only one.

The (very) long version is beneath the cut. And unfortunately this time there are no pictures. There’s some analysis but also just a lot of rambling. If Kat and Vergil, in any form, are not your cup of tea, this is probably not a post for you which is chill!

I’m going to start with the end. Vergil’s Downfall.

Recap, when Vergil encounters Hollow Vergil in his personal trip to his personal hell and all, Hollow Vergil eventually asks ‘but what would you do if you had another chance’. Vergil doesn’t answer. But since he’s the player character, we get access to his thoughts. And we get a montage of Kat. At first one might think this is about how the plan went wrong. Vergil’s regretting the plan. Then it becomes increasingly more apparent the thread that ties all the scenes together isn’t the plan, isn’t the plans failings. It’s Kat. Not Dante and Kat. Not the plan. Just Kat. The scene ends with a scene from mission 2, a moment from the end of the only cutscene Vergil and the real Kat share alone. There’s this little moment that seems to exist to show how pretty Kat is.

This is his last thought. Not the plan. Not how Kat relates to the plan. Not how he mistreated Kat in service to the plan. It’s just Kat.

Act one of Vergil’s Downfall is all about Vergil and Kat. The whole things a reenactment, just somewhat twisted, of how they met. Kat in Limbo, in danger from a demon, and Vergil doing what he can to help. He doesn’t hesitate either. He hears Kat call for him, call for help, and he runs. Except in Downfall the threat is with them, something he can fight and slay head on. So he does. But everything is wrong now. ‘Kat’ berates him. She tells him what Vergil must think she’s thinking. That she feels used, that she thinks Dante’s better, and all that. And Vergil tries to explain, he tries to justify himself, even if this ‘Kat’ is not his Kat. He wants her to understand, though. Because she’s Kat after all.

He needs to hurt her to proceed, of course. But he can’t. He can’t until she turns into a physical monster. Not until this fake Kat becomes something entirely unKat can he actually hurt her and proceed.

The Hollows represent aspects of Vergil that he needs to kill to gain power, as well as his insecurities and the people he cares about and more. Kat represents his humanity. So I suppose, in a way, it’s not surprising that she’s the hardest for him to kill and the one who receives the least of his cruelty that we see later in the game. But, the point still remains. He faces Hollow Kat first. And he begs her to understand him, longs for things to go back in what way they can.

(Also, an aside, it’s interesting to think about how Kat is not only humanity, but Vergil’s humanity. The implication being that Kat in a sense grounds him. A foil to how inhuman Vergil is.)

Downfall takes the scraps that the game gives and gives them a revamped, strengthened context for Kat and Vergil and their true feelings and intentions. The first game doesn’t give us much and why should it? They are built in a show don’t tell philosophy because, well, Dante can’t tell us about Vergil and Kat. He can only see. So we only see. But Downfall, we are explicitly told that yes, Vergil cared for Kat. She is important. And she is his one regret.

So, Downfall proposes that Vergil genuinely cared for Kat. And the base game proposes that Kat genuinely cared for Vergil. And it’s hard for me not to talk ramble when I talk about them because there’s…a lot of little moments between them that I love, little things that I find interesting to pick apart and wonder about (and have over the past 8 years). I’m going to try not to do that, though. Try being the operative word (I have failed all five write ups preceding this one).

Kat is often described as naïve because of her relationship with Vergil. But I think this is an inaccurate description. We never see her blindly trust anyone in the game. She doesn’t trust Dante because she just believes in him. We know this because she’s immensely skeptical of him and if he’s going to be helpful up until after the succubus boss fight. And we know she’s skeptical of him because she questions Vergil about it and she remains skeptical, keeping Dante an arm’s length away. She is not naïve. She trusts Vergil because he’s earned that trust.

It’s hard not to see how he managed to do that. He helped her kill her foster father and escape a bad situation, but it’s what happened after that solidifies this deep connection between the two. Kat tells Dante how Vergil helped her afterwards while she coped with the trauma and it’s something she mentions more then once. Kat’s trust and loyalty to Vergil is because he’s earned it. Because he has seen her at her worst and did not run. He stayed. He helped her through it. And still he stays now. It’s easy to imagine this going both ways, that seeing Kat ‘raw’ as he says makes Vergil vulnerable right back.

Plus, Vergil compares Kat when he first met her to Dante (‘He’s raw. Just like you were when I found you.’). I think one would be hard pressed to refer to reboot Dante, the one with self proclaimed trust issues, as naïve.

So, we have a relationship of deep trust between the two over what is implied to be a long time. The sort of trust and intimacy you get when someone sees all of you and knows all of you. At least, I think that’s Kat’s end. When it comes to Vergil…well, opinions are complicated.

There are the three options of how Vergil feels about Kat if we simplify it down. One, he was using her and this was all to use her and get the plan finished. Two, he was using her but grew to care for her over time. Three, he was never using her and this was all real. I’m three all the way but one and two aren’t really contradicted anymore than three is. Which is an issue when talking about Kat and Vergil and trying to be all inclusive but also concise. There’s no one answer. There are just different opinions on what the answer is.

For me, it’s hard to reconcile the idea that he did not care for her with what we see in Vergil’s Downfall. Or when we have moments like his genuine joy that she’s alive in the server room. It’s hard for me to reconcile the idea of Vergil using her this whole time when it feels like a lot of work to keep her at his side when she can’t even control her powers. It’s hard for me to reconcile the deep connection I see between them.

For other people, the opposite is hard. Seeing what happened in the server room, seeing Vergil write off Kat entirely, seeing him call her useful and referring to humans as subjects, cannot be reconciled with the idea that he genuinely cared for and about her. Or how one could get a very loyal side kick the way he goes about this, saving her and giving her a home and purpose and everything. It’s an easy way into getting a loyal assistant.

All that I can tell you is how I see it. And what I see is two people with a deep intimacy with each other. The relationship may be messy and complicated and not perfect, but that’s what I see. That’s not what everyone sees, and that’s ok. That’s just what I see and that’s what this post is about.

I think its notable to about how important this relationship is because Vergil actually gets like, jealous about it. I get side tracked for too long when I go on about this so, in keeping things short, we see Vergil in the background get frustrated with things Dante says to Kat (namely the ‘I like it rough’) and we see him get kind of jealous in the game. But we really see it in Downfall. And sure, there are things he’s jealous about that pertain to Dante that aren’t Kat related. But there are things that do relate to that. We mostly see this, again, with Hollow Kat. She pisses him off when she mentions Dante being a real man. There’s of course stoking at Vergil’s insecurities since he’s lost to his twin and he already seems to feel envious about how easy things are for Dante and everything. But there’s also the fact it’s Kat saying it. It’s Kat who’s telling him she prefers Dante. That stings Vergil, this idea Kat cares about Dante more than him.

Part of this I think is from the fear that Kat will run off to Dante because of their similar backgrounds. They both have similar childhoods, something Vergil didn’t experience. Which, going back to what I said, a person who must pride himself on how well he knows Kat (and how well she knows him) must find that kind of threatening.

There’s this scene added in the Definitive Edition. Before that we were left to assume Kat wandered the tower and that’s how she mapped it for the twins, but the Definitive Edition makes it clear canon. This makes the scene where Mundus records himself with Kat as a threat to the twins the only time we see Kat out of body in the game. During this experience, she assumedly betrays Vergil’s name to Mundus. Before the Definitive Edition scene, I always just kind of wrote off that moment. Kat’s under extreme duress, she’s just saying whatever at this point. I thought this for years after, to.

But then one day, after replaying the game for the umpteenth time, a thought came into my head. She’s out of body, in Limbo, surrounded by demons. She says his name because Kat is looking for him. She say’s his name because despite what happened in the server room, she still trusts Vergil. She doesn’t say Dante’s name, she doesn’t call for anyone else. She calls for Vergil. Because who else would she call for if not Vergil, the person she’s closest to and the person who saved her before?

It’s this sort of thing that makes the betrayal hurt as badly as it does for well, everyone. Us, Kat, Vergil, Dante. But focusing on Kat and Vergil, it’s the trust. It’s this deep bond between the two of them that’s suddenly shattered. What do you do when this person you think you know so well doesn’t do what you expect? When they do the exact opposite, actually? When they suddenly don’t understand you at all? It’s such a foundational relationship for the two of them to, it’s earth shattering to go from knowing a person so truly and deeply to looking at a stranger. This is all kinda true for Vergil who must have expected Kat to understand even if he may have thought she’d get upset. But this is all extremely true for Kat

It’s kind of a double sided betrayal. While I’m not really going to say Kat betrayed Vergil, because she didn’t she stayed true to her word and what she thought they were fighting for and everything, Vergil feels betrayed to, just like Kat and Dante. And oh does Kat feel betrayed. One of my favorite like, animation, character moments is like the pure disbelief, anguish and betrayal on Kat’s face at the betrayal it’s so well done. Like even the little look she does out over the city then back to Vergil like it’s just its good but not important back to topic. Kat thought they were fighting to free humanity. And Vergil seems to truly think this is for the best, if humanity is under his rule.

While one can argue Vergil’s goal was power, I feel like Vergil’s goal was the same he had from the start. Vergil wanted to free humans. He’s not even wrong, really. If Dante and Vergil do not put someone on the throne to replace Mundus, a new demon will take his place. Without someone controlling the demons, the demons will wreck havoc uncontrolled. However his wording could use some work. That said do I think Vergil is susceptible to power corrupting him. Absolute power corrupts absolutely sort of deal. I feel like him and Dante are similar in this regard, neither I think is quite equipped to rule with the amount of power that Vergil proposes they get. I also think Vergil didn’t think he’d get to this part, I don’t think he really thought about what happens after Mundus. Not the specifics. He ended up with this conclusion later in the game, and as a result never floated it by anyone. And to be fair, no one asked.

Kat always seems so full of hope at the end, right after she get’s Dante to stop killing Vergil and everything. She’s got these big Kat eyes, like she expects now things will go back. Vergil will say this was a joke and he’ll come back and things will be normal and she will have her best friend and the world will be safe. But that’s not what happens. Vergil leaves, of course (not after him and Kat have a long extended stare where they must be wondering mutually if the other will change their mind, if she will follow or he will stay). The whole ending in general from start to finish we get a lot with Kat and Vergil subtext. How she manages to get him to listen for a moment, even if Dante ends up getting him too angry to listen by the end. How Kat goes out on a limb to save Vergil, even if she didn’t have to.

She must be wondering, to, how real it all was. Dante’s answer I think is that it wasn’t. From what he saw, from his limited scope, it wasn’t. He cannot reconcile it, and why should he? He was thrown into their lives and resistance group with no context and he ends with little more. But Kat’s left wondering, and Vergil’s left regretting, and I’m left lamenting about the very large lack of post game Vergil/Kat content.

I don’t know. I could keep going. At just over four Microsoft Word pages, this is the shortest attempt I’ve made at this. And I will surely write up some more analysis on them, I didn’t even get to talk about fun stuff like Kat’s theme (or the comics but I left those out on purpose I have…complicated opinions on the comic), or like more about the whole divine/human angle here. I could keep going on and on and on like analyze every little microsecond and sound like this:

Which, to clarify, I will 100 percent do if prompted lmao. But I guess the short of it is, in my biased opinion, I think Kat and Vergil are in love. I think it was real. I think Vergil found her and he helped her because she needed help. I think they know each other better than anyone else. I think some things may have gotten muddled in the mists of being in a rebellion and saving the world and that rebellion was their priority. I think going into the DmC: Devil May Cry post game must be complicated for them, unable to let go of the other but unable to come back. It’s the sort of complicated relationship and tragedy I find fun to write and to read. That’s how I see it, anyway.

Also I mean idk if we are to believe Vergil’s bigger dick comment as truth, who else saw both Dante and Vergil’s dicks? Who except Kat? Who else had this info? Who else would Vergil believe? Just saying. Thanks for coming to my ted talk.

(edit: also I spelled hollow wrong like multiple times in this essay forgive me it should be fixed now lmao)

#dmc devil may cry #dmc reboot #devil may cry reboot #vergil/kat #vergilxkat #fab talks meta #can you tell i started a really long fan fic about kat and vergil that i never finished or posted #because thats 100 percent what i did they live rent free in my brain 24/7 #long post

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inheritorofmemories-archive · 4 years ago

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Andromaquynh Tomb Raider AU

I keep seeing those Indiana Joe fics and Mummy au post for joe/nicky and they are all very nice and cool but you know which galaxy brain idea no one has explored yet? Tomb raider AU for andy/quynh. Luckily I have nothing but time on my hands so strap in.

I re-watched the first tomb raider the other day (yes, the 2001 movie. Yes it’s 20 years old.) and the Croft universe can actually fit pretty well with Andy and Quynh with some tweaks and changes. I’ll preface this post by saying that raiding tombs and any ancient place really is not ethical At All and stealing artifacts shouldn’t happen in any way and the black market for cultural goods is an enormous spider web with ramification all over the world that is actually incredibly nefast to pretty much everything from sciences to culture to human societies and economy (look it up, it’s way bigger than just a stolen vase sold in a small market) so I’ll refer to this AU as Tomb Raider but know that what I really mean is Andy and Quynh protecting ancient sites and relics from companies and museums and the likes.

Go under the cut to read the rest of my detailed idea of what it would look like.

As much as I like the sci-fi and magic elements of the series, I really think a more grounded feel for this AU would fit them better. So no gods or illuminates or magic relics, sorry. Instead, I see this as them being adventurers who decide to put their skillset to good use and protect sites and places and objects and cultures from capitalism, stealing, overexploitation, appropriation and destruction.

Andy is Lara Croft obviously. She’s the daughter of an archeologist who mysteriously died during an excursion and fueled her will to go in the same field as her parent. Because we like complex characters in this house, I want Andy to start by actually raiding and selling from ancient sites at the beginning of her career because she's young and never learned better before she comes up close to the direct consequences of that particular market and she decides she wants no part of it. It allows for an exploration of real-world issues but it also gives her a deeper backstory and a proactive choice in being the character she is because I’m a sucker for the idea that you are not born good but you chose to be. After that, she'll keep the exploring part of her job but instead of stealing relics she’ll find lost places and give the coordinates to scientists. Daytime she uses the fonds of her family to support initiatives to protect places and restore art and goods to their rightful owners, the rest of the time she goes on cool adventures all over the world to get her hands dirty when legal means cannot get it done.

This is where Quynh comes into the picture. She’s one of Andy’s associates but not really they're in love and married. In the series, Croft has numerous allies that help her out either by giving tips or identifying objects, etc... I can totally see Andy going to Quynh for information about a particular site or object and them sticking together for the rest of the adventure and not leaving each other. Or, even funnier, Quynh has her own little business of going in the field to get things done, they run into each other and then keep running together. I really want Quynh to be a marine biologist and environment activist that also has a background in law because I think she deserves the right to legally bankrupt assholes, as a treat. Andy is exploring an underwater temple when she runs into Quynh doing plant analysis right there, they realize the site and the entire ecosystem is endangered by X industrial complex throwing their waste in the water and they bring it down while flirting and then it takes a year of adventures together and Andy who keeps finding excuses to go seek Quynh's counsel before they get together. And then, power couple who by daytime do activist work and advocate for the protection of sites and the environment and who by night dress in black and go sabotage factories, steal info to leak as whistleblowers and give various object and art back to their owners.

As a side plot that (kinda) follows canon, one of their mission goes wrong and Quynh doesn't get out with them, she's missing and they cannot find any trace of her for months/a few years and they think she's dead until Lykon locates her and they find out she's in prison somewhere. They go break her out and there's angst because Quynh believes she was forgotten by them until they talk it out and also deal with the trauma by going to therapy and bringing down the corporation that had Quynh thrown in jail. Power of love and bombs baby. After that they are much more careful but they keep doing it because they believe in the good of their work.

Also, a thing you don’t see really in the movies but is very present in the game series, about half the story if not two-thirds is spent on resolving enigmas and mysteries, not action. Sure Croft knows how to shoot and is a good fighter but the most important part is her brain and knowledge and associate in various fields (and that she seeks the help of, she's not a mary sue she has limits and has people who assist her). She thinks more than she fights and I really want to see that on Andy and Quynh, them thoroughly researching a subject, planing their op, getting info on people, going to recover intel and tools and associates and also using legal means to get things done and only going to the illegal method in last resort, and even then I want to see stealth mission with no big fight like Sudan in the movie rather than going in with a boom. Basically, show how important their brains are to the overall plot.

I also really want to add Lykon to the mix because their dynamic seems really cool from what we've seen in the movie and also from fanon and he deserves nice things okay. So he’s the tech genius that comes in the team a few years later when they're well established but technology starts to evolve and they're not the best at navigating it but Lykon is, he's the best at electrical systems and robots, internet and all the new tech. He'll help them break into places and do recon op. And then they become this tight-knit family of multiple doctorates and scientists and activists that also have a side business no one knows about (except the world knows there are people protecting the environment and cultural goods from destruction and their nickname in news press totally is The Old Guards okay).

And to end it beautifully, Andy Quynh and Lykon are a badass team for 20 years until Lykon decides to have a family so he cannot keep getting in danger and he retires to teach (happy AU, no death) and Andy and Quynh at 40 and some years old stumbles upon Nile who is starting in the field of archeology and art history and they’ll work together, thus passing the torch down to the newest generation. And you can even have a crossover with Indiana Joe and Nicky doing their things in their corner and they met on one mission, Booker can be a forger they hire from time to time to get false papers, all of them can meet and work together to fight Big Bad Guy Merrick, the possibilities are endless really once you get into the Archeological Actions Cinematic Universe (which is a genre on its own apparently).

Maybe one day I'll get to write this who knows, but I really needed to get the idea out of my head so this post shall be enough for the time being. Feel free to write or draw something from this, there's never too much Andy/Quynh content. And also, add to this post! These are just my thoughts and ideas but I would love to hear more if you have them, consider this an open discussion board about this very specific AU that has been living in my head since late summer.

#andromaquynh #andy x quynh #immortal wives #andromache the scythian #quynh #lykon #tog #the old guard #tog au #the old guard au #andy & quynh & lykon #em speaks

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route22ny · 5 years ago

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*Gaslighting, if you don’t know the word, is defined as manipulation into doubting your own sanity; as in, Carl made Mary think she was crazy, even though she clearly caught him cheating. He gaslit her.

Pretty soon, as the country begins to figure out how we “open back up” and move forward, very powerful forces will try to convince us all to get back to normal. (That never happened. What are you talking about?) Billions of dollars will be spent on advertising, messaging, and television and media content to make you feel comfortable again. It will come in the traditional forms — a billboard here, a hundred commercials there — and in new-media forms: a 2020–2021 generation of memes to remind you that what you want again is normalcy. In truth, you want the feeling of normalcy, and we all want it. We want desperately to feel good again, to get back to the routines of life, to not lie in bed at night wondering how we’re going to afford our rent and bills, to not wake to an endless scroll of human tragedy on our phones, to have a cup of perfectly brewed coffee, and simply leave the house for work. The need for comfort will be real, and it will be strong. And every brand in America will come to your rescue, dear consumer, to help take away that darkness and get life back to the way it was before the crisis. I urge you to be well aware of what is coming.

For the last hundred years, the multibillion-dollar advertising business has operated based on this cardinal principle: Find the consumer’s problem and fix it with your product. When the problem is practical and tactical, the solution is “as seen on TV” and available at Home Depot. Command strips will save me from having to repaint. So will Mr. Clean’s Magic Eraser. Elfa shelving will get rid of the mess in my closet. The Ring doorbell will let me see who’s on the porch if I can’t take my eyes off Netflix. But when the problem is emotional, the fix becomes a new staple in your life, and you become a lifelong loyalist. Coca-Cola makes you: happy. A Mercedes makes you: successful. Taking your kids to Disneyland makes you: proud. Smart marketers know how to highlight what brands can do for you to make your life easier. But brilliant marketers know how to rewire your heart. And, make no mistake, the heart is what has been most traumatized this last month. We are, as a society, now vulnerable in a whole new way.

What the trauma has shown us, though, cannot be unseen. A carless Los Angeles has clear blue skies as pollution has simply stopped. In a quiet New York, you can hear the birds chirp in the middle of Madison Avenue. Coyotes have been spotted on the Golden Gate Bridge. These are the postcard images of what the world might be like if we could find a way to have a less deadly daily effect on the planet. What’s not fit for a postcard are the other scenes we have witnessed: a health care system that cannot provide basic protective equipment for its frontline; small businesses — and very large ones — that do not have enough cash to pay their rent or workers, sending over 16 million people to seek unemployment benefits; a government that has so severely damaged the credibility of our media that 300 million people don’t know who to listen to for basic facts that can save their lives.

The cat is out of the bag. We, as a nation, have deeply disturbing problems. You’re right. That’s not news. They are problems we ignore every day, not because we’re terrible people or because we don’t care about fixing them, but because we don’t have time. Sorry, we have other shit to do. The plain truth is that no matter our ethnicity, religion, gender, political party (the list goes on), nor even our socioeconomic status, as Americans we share this: We are busy. We’re out and about hustling to make our own lives work. We have goals to meet and meetings to attend and mortgages to pay — all while the phone is ringing and the laptop is pinging. And when we get home, Crate and Barrel and Louis Vuitton and Andy Cohen make us feel just good enough to get up the next day and do it all over again. It is very easy to close your eyes to a problem when you barely have enough time to close them to sleep. The greatest misconception among us, which causes deep and painful social and political tension every day in this country, is that we somehow don’t care about each other. White people don’t care about the problems of black America. Men don’t care about women’s rights. Cops don’t care about the communities they serve. Humans don’t care about the environment. These couldn’t be further from the truth. We do care. We just don’t have the time to do anything about it. Maybe that’s just me. But maybe it’s you, too.

Well, the treadmill you’ve been on for decades just stopped. Bam! And that feeling you have right now is the same as if you’d been thrown off your Peloton bike and onto the ground: What in the holy fuck just happened? I hope you might consider this: What happened is inexplicably incredible. It’s the greatest gift ever unwrapped. Not the deaths, not the virus, but The Great Pause. It is, in a word, profound. Please don’t recoil from the bright light beaming through the window. I know it hurts your eyes. It hurts mine, too. But the curtain is wide open. What the crisis has given us is a once-in-a-lifetime chance to see ourselves and our country in the plainest of views. At no other time, ever in our lives, have we gotten the opportunity to see what would happen if the world simply stopped. Here it is. We’re in it. Stores are closed. Restaurants are empty. Streets and six-lane highways are barren. Even the planet itself is rattling less (true story). And because it is rarer than rare, it has brought to light all of the beautiful and painful truths of how we live. And that feels weird. Really weird. Because it has… never… happened… before. If we want to create a better country and a better world for our kids, and if we want to make sure we are even sustainable as a nation and as a democracy, we have to pay attention to how we feel right now. I cannot speak for you, but I imagine you feel like I do: devastated, depressed, and heartbroken.

And what a perfect time for Best Buy and J. Crew and Gwyneth Paltrow to help me feel normal again. If I could just have the new iPhone in my hand, if I could rest my feet on a pillow of new Nikes, if I could drink a venti blonde vanilla latte with two pumps of syrup, then this very dark feeling would go away. You think I’m kidding, that I’m being cute, that I’m denying the very obvious benefits of having a roaring economy. You’re right. Our way of life is not ruinous. The economy is not, at its core, evil. Brands and their products create millions of jobs. Like people — and most anything in life — there are brands that are responsible and ethical, and there are others that are not. They are all part of a system that keeps us living long and strong. We have lifted more humans out of poverty through the power of economics than any other civilization in history. Yes, without a doubt, Americanism is a force for good. It is not some villainous plot to wreak havoc and destroy the planet and all our souls along with it. I get it, and I agree. But its flaws have been laid bare for all to see. It doesn’t work for everyone. It’s responsible for great destruction. It is so unevenly distributed in its benefit that three men own more wealth than 150 million people. Its intentions have been perverted and the protection it offers has disappeared. In fact, it’s been brought to its knees by one pangolin.

And so the onslaught is coming. Get ready, my friends. What is about to be unleashed on American society will be the greatest campaign ever created to get you to feel normal again. It will come from brands, it will come from government, it will even come from each other, and it will come from the left and from the right. We will do anything, spend anything, believe anything, just so we can take away how horribly uncomfortable all of this feels. And on top of that, just to turn the screw that much more, will be the one effort that’s even greater: the all-out blitz to make you believe you never saw what you saw. The air wasn’t really cleaner; those images were fake. The hospitals weren’t really a war zone; those stories were hyperbole. The numbers were not that high; the press is lying. You didn’t see people in masks standing in the rain risking their lives to vote. Not in America. You didn’t see the leader of the free world push an unproven miracle drug like a late-night infomercial salesman. That was a crisis update. You didn’t see homeless people dead on the street. You didn’t see inequality. You didn’t see indifference. You didn’t see utter failure of leadership and systems.

But you did. You are not crazy, my friends. And so we are about to be gaslit in a truly unprecedented way. It starts with a check for $1,200 (Don’t say I never gave you anything) and then it will be so big that it will be bigly. And it will be a one-two punch from both big business and the big White House — inextricably intertwined now more than ever and being led by, as our luck would have it, a Marketer in Chief. Business and government are about to band together to knock us unconscious again. It will be funded like no other operation in our lifetimes. It will be fast. It will be furious. And it will be overwhelming. The Great American Return to Normal is coming.

From one citizen to another, I beg of you: Take a deep breath, ignore the deafening noise, and think deeply about what you want to put back into your life. This is our chance to define a new version of normal, a rare and truly sacred (yes, sacred) opportunity to get rid of the bullshit and to only bring back what works for us, what makes our lives richer, what makes our kids happier, what makes us truly proud. We get to Marie Kondo the shit out of it all. We care deeply about one another. That is clear. That can be seen in every supportive Facebook post, in every meal dropped off for a neighbor, in every Zoom birthday party. We are a good people. And as a good people, we want to define — on our own terms — what this country looks like in five, 10, 50 years. This is our chance to do that, the biggest one we have ever gotten. And the best one we’ll ever get.

We can do that on a personal scale in our homes, in how we choose to spend our family time on nights and weekends, what we watch, what we listen to, what we eat, and what we choose to spend our dollars on and where. We can do it locally in our communities, in what organizations we support, what truths we tell, and what events we attend. And we can do it nationally in our government, in which leaders we vote in and to whom we give power. If we want cleaner air, we can make it happen. If we want to protect our doctors and nurses from the next virus — and protect all Americans — we can make it happen. If we want our neighbors and friends to earn a dignified income, we can make that happen. If we want millions of kids to be able to eat if suddenly their school is closed, we can make that happen. And, yes, if we just want to live a simpler life, we can make that happen, too. But only if we resist the massive gaslighting that is about to come. It’s on its way. Look out.

https://forge.medium.com/prepare-for-the-ultimate-gaslighting-6a8ce3f0a0e0

#covid19 #return to normalcy #social manipulation #everything is broken #julio vincent gambuto

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hiddenwritingsintheworld · 4 years ago

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Where You’re Bound Pt. 12 (Final Chapter)

Dear sweet Followers, I never in all these years thought I’d be posting this. This is it. The end....THE. END. I cannot believe we’ve followed the Reader and Sam through this huge, horrible, long, sad, tear filled, sweet road. I can’t wait for you all to read this ending!! It was so bitter sweet. I loved this series and I loved writing it! That being said, I do have some new ones coming out!! YAY!!! and finishing some old ones!! Yay!! So be on the look out!! :) I love you guys! Thank you for making this story come to life!!! You never know, there maybe something in store for this series in the future! ;) P.S I may or may not be willing to add an epilogue to this series-only if its wanted!

Donations

Where You Belong (Series 1)

Where You’ve Been (Series 2)

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4

Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8

Part 9 Part 10 Part 11

Chapter 12-The Final Chapter!

Saying yes was the best choice you’d ever made in your life. Sam wanted you to have a grand wedding, and while the idea was appealing, you wanted to keep things small and intimate. Sam had decided that a new house would bring a new happiness to your future together. As you moved boxes in, Sam wrapped his arms around your waist, “I can’t believe this is real, you being back in my arms, about to become my wife. I feel like my life is complete.” He grinned kissing your cheek as you giggled.

“The wedding is still four months away handsome.” You said smiling at him as you turned around in his arms, allowing him to take the boxes from your hands and set them down before pulling you in close. “I know, but you have your dress, I have my suit, why wait? We can do it right here in the backyard, what do you say?” Sam smiled.

You looked at him with a surprised look, “Wait are you being serious?” you asked him, which made you smile. Sam couldn’t wait to make you his wife and you couldn’t wait to make him your husband. “Yes, I’m dead serious,” Sam said with a bright smile. You grinned and kissed him deeply. “Alright, let’s move up the wedding!” you kissed him again as he picked you up, carrying you upstairs as you giggled.

~6 weeks later~

You paced your bedroom, your nerves getting the better of you, you’ve tried for two days to tell him and you still weren’t able to find the right words. You stopped in front of the mirror and stared at yourself, your ivory gown fit perfectly, hugging your torso just so. The sleeves were fitted perfectly, and the skirt was large and rounded, all satin, all beautiful. You loved staring at it. It was a simple gown and what made it more and more beautiful was the fact you were marrying Sam in it. The door opened and Sam stepped in. He froze when he laid eyes on you.

“My god Y/N, you’re absolutely amazing, and stunning and beautiful…oh my god,” Sam walked over to you smiling brightly. Your worry showing clear on your features. “Sam I have to talk to you about something, and it’s serious so I need to tell you but you have to understand I haven’t know but for like two days and I wanted to say something but-” Sam chuckled putting his finger against your lips.

“Baby, you’re rambling. What’s going on?” Sam asked sitting you down on the bed. He held both of your hands in his as you took a deep breath and looked up at him. “Sam I found out I’m-” the bedroom door opened and Dean stepped inside. “Dude, what the hell! You can’t see the bride before the wedding! It’s bad luck! Get your ass out!” he grabbed Sam’s arm and began leading him out. “I think we’ve gotten past our bad luck,” Sam grinned at you before pulling away from Dean. He walked over to you and slid his hands up along your jaw, cradling your face and kissed you deeply.

Kissing him back felt like heaven with a double chocolate chip cookie and a glass of chocolate milk. He was your everything. “Alright alright Save it for the ceremony,” Johns voice broke the kiss, causing Sam to pass you a wink and a smirk. You got butterflies in your stomach as you grinned at him. “I love you,” he whispered softly. “I love you more,” you whispered back.

“Alright break it up love birds,” Dean walked over and dragged Sam out of the room before you had a chance to stop them.

John smiled at you, “Y/N you look incredible,” Sam’s father grinned at you. You smiled thanking him softly, you’d pushed all thoughts of what you needed to tell Sam to the back of your mind, knowing that you’d just have to talk to him about everything after the ceremony. Which, you didn’t mind, you just had finally built up the courage to say something.

Sam stood nervously at the small wooden alter he, his father and his brother had all built together. Cas sat with a very pregnant Ellen who beamed at Cas with happiness. Sam smiled at them, maybe that would be you and him one day. Truth be told, you and Sam hadn’t talked much about a future, you just knew you wanted to be with him forever and he wanted to be with you. But you hadn’t talked about having kids. How would you feel about that? Your childhood wasn’t so amazing, maybe you didn’t want kids. Sam would be okay with that; as long as he had you, he had the world, and he knew everything would be fine.

You walked with John down the make shift isle that everyone had chipped in and put together. The moment your eyes landed on Sam a large grin covered your features. You didn’t pay attention to the twinkling lights that hung above your heads between the trees, or the pink and white flowers that surrounded you guys. It all looked incredible, but what really caught your eye was Sam, who stood there grinning, wearing a black tux and his hair was just slightly tussled from running his fingers through it.

He looked incredibly handsome; you couldn’t get down the isle fast enough. Sam loved you more than anything in the world. You were the best woman he’d ever had and he’d made a huge mistake letting you go once, he wasn’t about to make that mistake again.

You let go of Johns arm and gently kissed his cheek thanking him. The moment you stood in front of Sam it felt like the world had faded around the two of you. To anyone watching, it was like two halves of a soul were becoming one in that moment. No two better people had been made for each other.

Through everything though, neither of you guys had stopped loving one another. You both knew that you’d found the one when you first met. Now, you were being pronounced Mr. and Mrs. Samuel Winchester and you couldn’t stop yourself from wrapping your arms around his neck as you kissed him deeply. Sam smiled into the kiss wrapping his arms around your waist lifting you off the ground some.

As you and Sam made your way to the house for your reception, you stopped him. “Sam, now that we’re alone for a minute there’s something I really have to tell you…” you stopped yourself and looked up at him. He grinned at you, you were now his wife, and no matter what you said next he’d be able to handle it.

“What’s on your mind Mrs. Winchester?” he beamed with pride as he looked down at you, calling you by your new official title. You smiled up at him and took his hands in yours, “Sam, I’m pregnant.” You said softly.

Sam’s smile turned into a grin, “Are you serious??” he asked you, you grinned and nodded your head as he scooped you up in his arms and kissed you deeply. “you have no idea how happy you’ve made me Y/N! I’ve never been this happy before,” he laughed kissing you again.

You grinned kissing him back, “So you’re okay with this then? Even though we don’t well, we haven’t talked about having a baby?” you asked as Sam set you down. “As long as I have you Y/N by my side, my life is perfect, and adding kids to that equation just makes it even better Y/N. because no matter what, you are most important. Forever and always.” Sam said kissing you deeply.

Your childhood and even teenage life may have been hell and torture but the moment Sam entered your life, all that changed. Sam and you had finally found your happily ever after and nothing would keep you from spending the rest of your forever together.

@adriellej @sgarrett49 @smoothdogsgirl @mrssamfuckingwinchester @hobby27 @traceyaudette @mogaruke @thewalkingdistancefrom @booger206 @ellen-reincarnated1967 @heimganger @moonlitskinwalker @teamfreewill-imagine @stoneygirl @monkeymcpoopoo @sandlee44 @asgardianvamp21 @frozenhuntress67 @babypink224221 @just-another-busy-fangirl @flamencodiva @for-the-love-of-the-fandom @jaylarkson @auriel187 @animenerdz1819 @jessica-marsh09 @woodworthti666

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deberiaestarescribiendo · 4 years ago

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Saint Jude's Miracle: A Javier Peña x OFC (Isa) Fanfiction. Chapter VI

Summary: Javier and Steve reunite and reflect on their past and their present and the hurtful memories they have to carry from their time in Colombia. Meanwhile Isa struggles with her everyday life and not having news from Javier for days is starting to worry her.

Word count: 2,6k

Warnings: PTSD talks, mentions of violence. (This is me trying to solve one plothole from season 2 from a character I really liked and hated at the same time👀)

A/N: So this took longer than I thought, I completely lost the inspiration and words didn’t flow I had to restart this many times. I guess I will look at this in a few weeks and think I should have revised even more, but I promised to post this today, so there it is. This is plot and more plot with a little bit of angst and fluff at the end.

Series masterlist

Chapter VI: Old Friends

Time is a curious thing; here they are many years after: Their bodies are not the same; the jeans are tighter around the belly and the hair is already grey in some parts, wrinkles around the eyes bear witness of the years that had pass through them, but nonetheless the conversation flows as if not a day has passed.

The empty beers sit to the side of the table leaving a small pool of their condensation over the wooden table. The music is loud at the bar and Javi and Steve had been quite for a few minutes now. The question floating above them making the air thicker every second it passes without addressing the matter.

“I should have reach to you sooner” Javi says holding his half bottle, is it the fifth or sixth he has finished?

“Don’t worry about it” Steve shakes his head and leaves his bottle on the pile “I called a few times, but I thought you needed time to process it all”

“The thing is I didn’t” Javi shows half a smile “I really fucked up and when they gave me Cali I thought I could redeem myself. Tried to do it by the book, tried to outsmart them” he leans on the table “and what happened? It was a fucking charade” he snarls

“You did well getting all that shit on the news” the blond agent taps on his friend arm “Shit! I wanted to quit myself when I saw it”

“They didn’t give me another option. But...” Javi crosses his arms over his chest when he feels that familiar feeling, the words and feelings choking him

“You didn’t want to”

“Fuck, I’m a middle age man! This is what I’ve been doing for my whole life? What was I supposed to do?” he exhales deeply, a burden is lifted out of his chest

“Everybody said it was unfair if it helps” Steve consoles

“I guess not Stechner” Javi scoffs

“Oh, you haven’t heard?” Steve comes close “He disappeared. For real, MIA. Nobody has heard from him in years”

“Well, I don’t wish death to anyone...” Javier shakes his head:” who am I kidding? Fuck him!”

The two of them laugh out loud for a few minutes; the waiter guessing that their laughs deserve another round; leaves two cold beers on their table with a wink

“For Stechner, I guess”

“May he rot in hell” and they drink together

“So...about that wife of yours” Steve has been dying to ask more about Isa and Connie has tasked him with getting all the information he can gather.

“Isa” Javier reaches for his wallet. In the small plastic pocket inside it, there’s a picture of the three of them on a photo booth, the same day they had to go to the mall to get Elvi’s photo for her school application.

Elvira is seated on their laps while Javi and Isa smile at her

“Oh, she’s gorgeous. You’ve been always lucky with the ladies, Javi”

“Well, I am. I don’t know how she bears with me. I give her too many headaches”

“Connie was happy when they stopped asking me to go on field operations. Not gonna lie, it felt good for a bit getting back to a desk and just do paperwork. But then...” Steve blue eyes look glossy in this light and after too many beers “I saw myself reflected on the glass doors of the office and shit, it hit me; I was old and dying on a desk. And then you called”

“I understand”

“When you said you were married with a kid, I really couldn’t believe that you and I were once those dudes in Colombia”

“It feels like a million years ago”

“And just a few days ago at the same time” completes Steve and Javier nods

“What does she know? your wife, how she handles all that?”

“She doesn’t. When I met her she was...first of all she had left Laredo before everybody knew me for the Escobar shit, so when we met, we were just two strangers. We could talk and I could kick everything under a rug and let her form an opinion about me by herself without interferences” his gaze wanders over the tables: families having a quite dinner; a couple that has an untouched plate in front of them while they kiss and talk in whispers.

“And after you married?” Steve asks interrupting his thoughts

“I just told her the necessary” he shakes his head the necessary is almost nothing.

“Well, it’s better that way, but I couldn’t hide it from Connie. Man! I was out control; everything and anything could trigger me. I was anxious, paranoid all the time. I woke up in the middle of the night, got my gun out of the safe if I heard a car tire exploding or any loud noise and I’d had my heart beating fast for hours. And let’s not talk about the nightmares”

“The helicopter?” Javi asks, his voice is thin almost a whisper remembering the extreme methods the police used when the hunt for Escobar was on its peak

“Yeah...and many others. I keep on seeing the two of us entering that house, but instead of finding Olivia crying, she’s dead, shot dead as her mum” Steve sniffs and coughs moving uncomfortably on his chair. “That’s when I looked for help”

Javier nods remembering so many nights where he thought his brain could kill him, reimaging that kid in the ally, rescuing Helena, all the things he saw when Los Pepes were unleashed. By your hand.

“We should call it a night, amigo”

“I see your Spanish has not improved. Just the two words you knew back in Colombia” Javi scoffs with a grin

“Cabrón”

“Yep, that’s the second one”

Isa

It’s been two days since he left and he hasn’t called. Isa tries to focus on everything she needs to do before Elvira starts the new school year. She has called Chucho every afternoon thinking that maybe he had some news, but nothing.

“Ese marido tuyo aguanto mientras Elvi era chiquita y ahora que pudo se largo” (Your husband stayed with you while Elvi was a baby and now that she’s grown, he has left you) her mother commented once she got the news that Javi was away and he hadn’t call in three days. News travel fast in a small town and she hears the comments about her, about Javi: he did it again, he left another woman and run away, he left her as he left Lorraine. Every day Isa had to struggle with her own thoughts and the constant reminder from her mother and the ladies in Laredo that something was wrong with Javier.

Her brain repeats the same litany:

He must be caught up in something

Maybe he’s somewhere where there’s not a good connection

Maybe he cannot call for security

Maybe he did run away

Maybe he’s in danger

She tries to stop her mind when it gets that fast spiraling down towards the darker scenarios she can imagine. On the third night after he left and hadn’t called she had a terrible nightmare and she had to keep her little night lamp on as she does every night he spends away and every day since then, the lamp is on while she rests, sleeping just for a few hours and then spending hours turning back and forth trying not to think about the worst possible things she can imagine. What would she do if he never comes back? What would she do if something bad happen to him? Even though they had made peace by making love in that old truck before parting she could not forget their arguments and the things left unsaid. He would never leave them like that, would he?

Isa tries to be calm, not to project her fears and worries onto her daughter but each day she’s challenged with the never ending things she has to do at home each day: laundry, cooking, cleaning, and every time she thinks she’s finished there’s something new that has come up. Elvira is stressed, as any kid her age, watching the summer slipping away with its long days of freedom on top of her dad being away. So she’s more agitated than usual, sassy and misbehaving just to get her mother’s attention.

The trip to the supermarket is a long chant of demands: I want Cereals, I want Ice cream. All Isa can hear is IwanIwantIwantIwant and the wheels of her shopping cart screeching on the ground. She thinks her wrist is about to snap open just trying to hold Elvira’s hand so she sticks to her side.

“It’s really crowded, cielo, stay with me” she sighs trying to be patient.

But the moment, Isa hesitates and looks down to read her shopping list, she’s out

“I’m gonna get my cereal”

“Elvi!”

Isabel gains a few complaints from some old lady that she almost railed over trying to run for her daughter.

“Oh, you want that one?”

“Yes, please. I can’t reach” Isa laughs softly watching her daughter acting polite and looking like an angel towards the stranger woman. The lady gives her the colorful box and Elvi jumps excitedly until she sees her mum at the end of the aisle.

“¿Qué te dije de que te separases de mi?” (What did I tell you about running away from me?” the little girl pouts and answers

“I thought you would say no if I ask for this”

“Ay, Elvi. I’m sorry if she bothered you” Isa smiles to the woman. She is on her 40s, Isa guesses, she has a beautiful elegant visage framed by a brown with blond highlights mane. She smiles widely with her scarlet lips: “No hay problema” (No problem) she answers in Spanish, her accent seems different to the Mexican-American accent Isa is used to listen to in this part of Texas.

“Gracias igualmente. Está obsesionada con esto que está lleno de azúcar” (Thank you anyway, she’s obsessed with this sugary thing” Isa ruffles her child’s hair

“La comprendo, mis hijos son igual” (I understand, my kids are the same)

“¿De dónde es? tiene un acento muy bonito” (Where are you from? you have a very beautiful accent) Isa asks, for a moment she thinks that she might be overstepping but the woman laughs softly patting Isa’s arm with her hand stylishly decorated in elegant gold and diamonds rings, her manicure is perfect.

“Colombia,pero ya llevo unos años acá en los Estados Unidos” (Colombia, but I’ve been here in the USA for a while now)

“¡Oh! me han dicho que es muy bonito” (I’ve been told it’s very beautiful) Elvi grabs her mum by the hem of her dress rushing her to finish the boring conversation, mainly because she wants to get back home and open the box of cereal “Bueno, un gusto” (Well, it’s been a pleasure) Isa waves

“¿Cómo se llama?” the woman asks when they’re leaving

“Isa, ¿y usted?” (Isa, and you?)

“Judy. Un placer” she grins

The TV has already passed to that late night teleshopping advertising stupid stuff with even more stupid people repeating again and again the same lame catchy phrases. But there’s silence at this hour, Elvi is sleeping soundly and now Isabel can rest on the sofa, eyes fixed on the stupid people on TV and her longing for Javier.

She took the laundry out of the dryer today. Mixed in all the clothes an old “University of Texas” t-shirt that Javi rarely wears around the house and that she has stolen as pajamas. Without even realizing it, she smelled the fabric only sensing the sweet scent of the softener she uses so she had rushed to the bathroom and sprinkled the t-shirt with Javi’s cologne. And now hugs herself silently praying that tonight will be the night he calls.

The TV volume is set to the minimum and when the strong ringing sound surrounds the house Isa thinks is coming from it until she realizes that is coming from the kitchen. She runs, stepping on Elvi’s toys and bumping her knee over the sofa. Limping she runs and picks up the phone

“Hello?” her voice is shaky

“Isa is me” Javi says on the other line

“Javi, thank God, where were you? You told me you will call when you’d arrive and it’s been three days and I...” she babbles

“I’m fine, I’m sorry...it’s been a little bit crazy” he sounds tired and he’s speaking softly as if he cannot raise his voice

“Are you okay? Are you in danger?” Isa sniffs, the tears rolling down and she leans on the cold tile wall of the kitchen

“No, it’s just we have to go to different places, meet a bunch of people. I didn’t have the time. I’m sorry Isa. Elvi’s sleeping I guess?”

“Yes, but she will be really happy to know that you called”

“I’ll try to call earlier tomorrow”

“Yes...please, she’s being a bit difficult lately”

“Why?” Isa can hear how the bed creaks on his end and his deep grunt

“I guess it’s the end of summer, you’re not here, my mum...”

He huffs

“Elvi told her we didn’t know where you where and you can imagine”

“She hates me even more”

“Don’t worry about her. Tell me about the job” Isa sits on the ground holding the phone on her shoulder

“Isa...I rather listen to you”

“I haven’t done much. Nothing interesting”

“It doesn’t matter” he answers

And thus she begins telling every tiny detail, Javi was silent on the other side and when she asks if he’s listening he just hums.

“Anyway...I guess that’s all. And I hope you’re not mad but your old university t-shirt has a new hole in it which somehow makes it even more comfortable”

“You’re wearing it now?”

“Yes...I miss you so it’s just like having your arms around me”

“I miss you too, Isa. I only have this old dude on the medallion and the picture I keep on my wallet to remind me of you...not that I need anything to remember you”

“That old dude...” she laughs “he’s a saint and I think he’s doing a good job for the moment”

“Really?” Isa smiles widely when she hears his deep chuckle on the other side

“You’ve said I miss you for the first time, I will say it’s even a miracle”

“What? I’ve told that plenty of times” he says a little bit offended “ but we’ve never been parted that much since we’re together”

“You don’t say you love me that much either...” Isa adds

“That’s not true” he says firmly

“Yes it is, I’m not mad, you express it in other ways. I’ve accepted that when I marry you”

“I’m sure I say it many times...”

“You can say it now...” she whispers

“I love you, Isa, and I miss you” he mutters

“See? Saint Jude is working its magic” Isa laughs. Her heart is full and she feels like an enormous weight has been lifted. He loves me, he’ll be back

“So I’m not a lost cause anymore?” Javi replies with an amused tone

“We’ll see when you get here”

“And you won’t say it back?”

“What?”

“That you love me and miss me”

“Ay, Javier” she sighs “I sleep every night waiting for you with the lights on, praying that you will get back to me soon, I sleep with your t-shirt and even if I don’t believe in it really, I keep praying and praying that you will be back to our bed, that I will turn and you’ll be there, so yeah, I miss you and I love you. Te amo”

“Yo también te amo”

“Good night, mi amor”

“Good night”

(taglist: @sara-alonso)

#Javier Peña #Javier Peña fic #Javier Peña fanfiction #Pedro Pascal #Pedro Pascal characters #Pedro Pascal characters fanfiction #pedro pascal fic #Narcos #Narcos fic #Javier Peña x ofc #Javier Pena #Javi Peña #Javi Pena #Javier Pena fanfic

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mail-me-a-snail · 5 years ago

Text

A Heavy Burden (of Fangs)

Chapter 1: The Burden Tag list: @starl1ght-child tw for: eye horror, mild blood, swearing

Another blot of ink splatters the rim of the bathroom sink. Drip, drip, drip. A drop falls onto his lips; it’s a sickly sweetness, like rotting fruit. That is what has become of Rezyl Azzir, hero of Six Fronts, Twilight Gap, and of the people: he is rotting inside out. His eyes hurt. He’s slept, at most, four hours in the last two days. The breath in his lungs rattles like a ping-pong ball in a tin can. His hands are now unsteady, unable to grip the edges of the sink because of the slick black sludge that coats his fingers.

When he had thrashed his way through his latest nightmare to consciousness, the front of his shirt had already been stained black and the world had tasted just a bit more like rotting pumpkin--that poisonous sweet--than it had usually been when one of these...attacks happened.

He doesn’t recognize himself in the mirror. His eyes, once a hopeful green, have lost their vibrancy. They’re just as grey as the circles under his eyes. Rezyl wipes off as much as the black sludge he can with his calloused knuckles, but it doesn’t go away. It never goes away. It smears and stains--it boasts its permanency. In the first month post Luna, it had never been this bad. His eyes had ached like hell but it had been nothing compared to now.

Now, he couldn’t control it. He couldn’t go outside, not like this. It screamed corruption, just as the tattoo sleeves on his arms do. Once, they had been empty outlines. It being comprised of long, flowing shapes and roses, Rezyl had always thought of it as a river, with roses floating down it.

He’s not sure what to think of it now, when it’s all been filled with a pure black, as if every time these nightmares happen the tears only come so that they fall from to fill them. The roses are gone, choked by the muteness of the color. They’re nothing but blobs of ink now. He had only realized his tattoos were filling when his Ghost had pointed it out. Rezyl had tried to explain it away by saying he spent a bit of glimmer to fill them in--being all too aware of their emptiness and wanting something solid--but that explanation had fallen through when the Ghost had questioned why a half the shapes had been only half filled in.

Rezyl had learned then that his tattoos had become measurements--how much of him was now Theirs? He knows the answer, and has known it every time he takes his shirt off and sees the patterns on his back and arms completely filled in.

He returns to the mirror with reluctance. He glowers at his reflection. His hair is a ghostly white, with the last strands of black standing their ground at the roots like Rezyl had had at Six Fronts. He brushes it out of his face. Every day, the black blot around his eyes and nose spreads bigger and bigger like a Rorschach. The one tonight looks like a rotting tree trunk.

Underneath the grime are the features of Rezyl Azzir: the long nose, the three scars--two arched across his nose, and a smaller one on his temple--the scruffy beard that still retains some of its original darkness, but is slowly fading too. Underneath this smothering burden is the same hero everyone knows and loves.

So, why isn’t it him staring back from the mirror?

You are who we made you to be. Who you wanted to become. Let go, Rezyl Azzir. Let go of this city, of this name--there will be nothing for you here.

“No, no--” He shakes his head, flinging tears this way and that--”I can’t...I won’t.” From an outsider’s perspective, it would seem to them that Rezyl has finally lost it, after two City-wide battles and countless years under the Traveler, to Luna. He speaks to no one in particular, no one that anyone else can see. They speak back.

And he listens and hears:

We are the only ghosts you will ever need.

Someone--something--knocks on the door. He jerks around, the Rose already in his grip, though can he really call it the Rose anymore? What was once silver and grand is now a charred husk, slowly growing to look like it was carved out of sea-weathered stone. Bones adorn its chamber. “Who’s there?” He hisses, leveling his trophy. The pain in his eyes is unbearable--as if he’d go blind at any second.

We are the only eyes you will ever need.

He dares to closes his eyes, just for a moment of respite. “Hold it together, hold it together...” He mutters this mantra under his breath, a prayer he has worn out every night he doesn’t sleep. His prayers often reach the wrong sort of deities.

“Reyl,” the softest mechanical voice says, and yet Rezyl doesn’t falter. He keeps his aim true. “It’s Aster. When I woke up, you were gone. I was worried. Are you alright?”

He lowers the gun. It’s just his Ghost. Of course. He wants to laugh at himself, but it just doesn’t come because of that eternal what if? Logically, there would be no one else in the apartment. It really is just him and Aster most days. What little flings he’s had with Guardians here and there had never truly stuck. It’s more him than them, but that’s neither here nor there.

Of course it’s his Ghost. Is it? It is. It is. It couldn’t be anyone else. No other speaks to him with such bare worry. But this isn’t the first time the Ghost has spoken to him with that kind of tone. The other week, the Ghost had confessed his doubts--how what he has become is not what the Traveler wanted. He had continued confessing, but it had been a little harder to understand him when he had begun talking softer and softer.

When he had asked Aster about his confession the following day, the Ghost hadn’t known what he had been talking about. That was realization number two, and the underlying cause of his paranoia. The conversation had been a hallucination. A nightmare. The point being: it had never happened.

“Are you truly Aster,” he demands, “or is another...another sick manifestation?”

“I--of course I’m Aster,” the Ghost scoffs, but his chirps are concerned. “Rezyl, I’m as real as you are. As that gun is. The Darkness coming off of it--I can’t tell if it’s the gun’s or yours. You have to open the door. Please, let me in. Let me help you with this...this thing you’re fighting. A Guardian can’t fight without his Ghost.”

Rezyl falls silent. His heart beats in his nape and he coughs; it come’s out wet. An ugly, putrid mix of bright red and ink. He kneels and the Rose clatters to the tiles. He is sick and tired and strained and he knows as much, if the blood is anything to go off of. He has to keep it together. He cannot falter so soon, to a sickness of all things.

“Rezyl?” Aster continues, “I’m worried about you. You haven’t been yourself lately; you’ve rarely slept or eaten; you take patrols hours at a time without telling me; you don’t talk to me or the Vanguard anymore, let alone other Guardians; you’re obsessed with the Hive. Ever since you adorned their fangs like trophies, you’ve become someone else entirely--”

He coughs again. Each little puff that racks his body makes his head pulse and throb. The fluorescent lights in the bathroom are much too bright. He can’t believe he hasn’t replaced them yet, despite living in this apartment for years. The blood, though it seems too sweet to be called blood, drips down his chin and neck and stains his shirt.

He is dizzy; the room doesn’t stop spinning, no matter how much he begs it to in his head. His heartbeat is erratic, but distant, as if it’s not the heartbeat of the great Rezyl Azzir, who kneels on the bathroom floor, lips and teeth black and tasting, unfortunately, of licorice, a result of the sickness festering in him. It had entered his veins; eventually it would reach his heart...

...and it would beat no more.

“--Rezyl? Are you there?”

The Guardian huffs, shakes his head, then wobbles to his feet. He wipes his mouth. He spits into the sink and turns on the faucet, watching it all go down the drain. He gargles. The tears have stopped. They left behind black lines on his cheeks. He rinses it off, but he knows it’s futile in the long run. They will come back.

But now it is quiet, and Rezyl savours the blessed silence, even if his heart is in his throat. He composes himself. He might be sick, but he is not weak. He is goddamn Rezyl Azzir, champion of Six Fronts, of Twilight Gap, and of the Crucible. He picks up the pieces and puts them back together.

“I am Rezyl Azzir,” he mutters to himself in confirmation.

You and I both know that isn’t true. He isn’t sure if it’s his thought--or Theirs. He flicks the lights off. He takes the Rose with him and opens the door.

Aster, named for the flower of the same name, has the color of one; a gentle purple. His shell lacks shine; Rezyl hasn’t polished it in weeks and the Ghost can hardly apply it himself. Aster reels back in surprise as the door swings open.

“Good Traveler!” he exclaims, then comes back forward cautiously. “You look...”

“...like shit,” Rezyl closes his eyes briefly. It’s not as quiet anymore. It’s raining. The window in his room back down the hall rattles loud enough for him to hear. “I’m alright, Aster. I just need to sleep.” These are the most words he’s said to the Ghost in two weeks.

“That wasn’t what I was going to say,” the Ghost sighs, “I was going to say--” he does a double take, then floats right up to Rezyl’s face--”Are your eyes glowing?”

He grunts, then walks past Aster into the hallway. “Don’t be ridiculous,” he growls, too tired to tolerate this.

The hall is dark, with the only light being the occasional flashes of lighting that dance across the floor, flecking the hardwood with the silhouettes of raindrops on the windows. He’s intimately familiar with the halls of his own home, so he can make it around just fine despite the low visibility. Aster follows behind, sputtering.

“You don’t get to just shrug me off,” the Ghost spits with vitriol, “after weeks of not telling me a single damn thing. You know how many times I’ve seen you, Rezyl, in those fourteen days? Once; you were asleep.”

“So for not very long, then,” Rezyl snorts, shouldering his way into his room. The rattling is much louder. His bed is as messy as he left it. Aster’s charging port is on the desk, though it’s more of a nest than it is a machine, comprised of soft cloths and blankets. The Guardian sits down on the edge of the bed. The Ghost hovers, shell twitching anxiously.

“I can’t believe you think this is funny.”

“It isn’t funny.” Rezyl shrugs.

“No, it isn’t! What if you had gotten into trouble and I wasn’t there to help you?” He darts this way and that, a Ghost’s way of pacing. “It’s just like the bloody Hellmouth on Luna all over again. Every day that you brought me there and left me at the precipice to pursue the Hive, I never knew if we were going to leave together.”

“I didn’t want you to see the things I did.” Rezyl leans back, staring up at the ceiling. “The fury of the Hive is not something anyone should witness. This is my burden to bear, Ghost, not yours. Leave it at that.” He turns over, towards the window. The drops that strike the window are relentless. The lights of the City blink in the blue.

“You are my burden to bear, as your Ghost.” Aster covers his view of the window. Rezyl can tell he’s angry; his shell is tighter than Vanguard restrictions. “Nothing has changed that. Not even two weeks of complete silence. Besides, you wouldn’t know the sort of things I saw before I met you. I wouldn’t have been able to forgive myself If you died, much less you for leaving me alone in the first place.” Aster leaves that hanging in the air. Thunder rumbles above them.

It isn’t like Rezyl is lying. He really hadn’t wanted the Ghost to be enveloped in so much Darkness. Though, now with the Rose and his slow deterioration and the whispers, it doesn’t matter. There will always be Darkness, as long as there is Light. And that is the problem, the root of poison: Light. This cursed existence, to make friends and enemies only with other immortals, to cut ties with the Lightless.

It’s not as if Guardians perceive themselves as superior; it’s just better for both parties involved. Their immortality isn’t guaranteed, either. Such high power is tangled in the many strings attached. What’s the point of it anymore?

Rezyl is grateful to be alive. Grateful to the Traveler. But he is not satisfied just yet. There are things in this city, in this world, that have to be fixed. Monsters to be slain. People with powers they don’t deserve that needed to be cut down. He’s seen it everywhere. Luna, Earth, anywhere the Fallen or Hive or man have planted themselves; there is no peace where they run rampant.

He knows in some small part of himself that it’s no way of peacekeeping--enforcing it through fear and blood--but for once, it will have to take the wrong form of ideology to get the job done. He’s tried the Traveler’s way and it only postpones the battle for another day.

No more. There will be peace. Nothing like Twilight Gap or Six Fronts or the massacre on Luna will ever happen again.

Then and there, lying on his back in his bed, listening to the distant thunder and his Ghost rambling on, Rezyl realizes what he has to do and vows to himself this: I will listen this time.

Aster returns to his charging port with a huff. Rezyl turns his head, rustling the sheets, to watch the Ghost’s path.

“Aster?” he says to the Ghost. He says nothing to his Guardian, understandably frustrated with his silence. The Guardian frowns and decides not the badger at him any more than he has already.

He turns his head back to the ceiling. What Rezyl doesn’t know is how the little Light will factor into this new plan of his. What would he even say to his proposal? Would he try and dissuade him, tell him that it’s a fruitless endeavour? It wouldn’t matter. Rezyl is the Guardian; Aster is the Ghost. Rezyl says what goes. He closes his eyes.

I’m ready to listen, he thinks, sending it out into the black expanse behind his eyelids. He falls asleep to the sound of the storm, looming and inevitable, and it, in turn, listens to him.

Chapter 2 coming tomorrow night.

#destiny 2 #dredgen yor #rezyl azzir #destiny 2: shadowkeep #fanfiction #fanfic #writing #mine #my writing #my first posted destiny fic!

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rosesloveletters · 4 years ago

Note

For the fluff self-ship asks: blankets, hugs, lights ... Oh, you know what. Actually I would like to hear your answers to all the questions 😊😍💖

OMG DARLING THANK YOU FOR ASKING!💖💖💖 I will answer the rest of the questions here:

blankets: how do you relax together?

We all relax the most while watching television together. My comfort show is The Goldbergs (its a sitcom on ABC about a family in the 80s); I have to watch it almost every night and I’ve seen each season and every episode countless times. I’ve recently found that it is calming for anxiety to re-watch shows and I’ve been rewatching it literally for several years now. J and Pat like to watch, even if they aren’t as wrapped up in it as me. Pat thinks it’s funny; I don’t think J cares for television but he likes to be around when Pat and I are together. William does like to watch television as well and his interest in it has gotten J to relax with us more (J really likes William and I tease him about it; he doesn’t like that but it’s all in good fun!)

rainbows: how do you spend an off day inside together?

Surprisingly, whenever we have a day to just...be, they each find things they are wanting to do and leave me to myself if I’m working on something. We find each other here and there or I’ll go looking for them if I want company. Pat and J often come and sit with me, just so there’s another body in the room for the both of us, but we each like our solitude. Sometimes Pat and I will cuddle if I’m just watching a show or listening to music or something; occasionally if I’m working on a project they’ll come and help or just chat with me.William likes to read my poetry over my shoulder. I haven’t shown him my full notebook yet, but he’s read a couple (with my help) and he really enjoys it. It’s funny when J gets involved with helping because he is so chaotic that it never works out according to my plan (but it makes it so much more fun!)

nostalgia: what makes you and your f/o nostalgic?

(I headcanon my Pat as my own age because 10 Things was released in my birth year as well as my birth month) Pat and I grow nostalgic over the way things used to be back when we were both young. We like reminiscing about the different things we would all do as children, the games we’d play, the trends, the shows, the way school was for us, etc. We both miss that time when we were nothing but happy children.

Pat also grows nostalgic over his home in Australia and his grandpa; we have chats regularly about both. At first, he was hesitant to be open about these topics because talking in depth about them really struck a nerve for him, but over the course of getting to know Pat, he’s told me more and more and he’s willing to answer questions and tell me stories.

One day, we got giggling about how a lot of people call him “kangaroo boy” as both a derogatory quip at his nationality and a personal jab at his accent; he thinks it’s funny now that he’s out of school. In school, he was a target of ridicule because he was different and instead of fighting it, he let people fear him because it meant he could be left alone to do his own thing. He lets me call him that playfully now, because I know of his past and have helped him embrace it and not see it as something “less glamorous” that he has to hide or keep to himself so that people wouldn’t bother him.

(I head canon my J as 32, mainly so it fits with my interpretation of his backstory)

I don’t know if anything really makes J nostalgic, though he always sits and listens attentively if Pat and I are talking about our childhood. He takes in all that we talk about and we all wonder about his own childhood and there were any similarities. He would’ve been in school in the 90s then, so things may have been somewhat different as opposed to Pat and I; we wish he would talk about it, but J is not an open book.

(I headcanon that my William’s father has grown old and passed, as well as Pat’s grandpa who also passed of old age.)

William is not a particularly nostalgic soul either, however he does miss the time he got to spend with his father and he reflects with Pat on what it is like to lose a family member; they both comfort each other when it comes to this and they know what each other needs to hear.

bubbles: do you take baths or showers together?

Yes we do. Pat, J and I shower together regularly. William and I have only showered together once. Whenever I’m extremely tired, J will wash my hair for me, though the times he does this are few and far between. Pat is extremely touchy-feely in the shower; he likes to hug me from behind or kiss me or put his hands on my waist or hips. If I’m showering with both J and Pat at the same time, they both stand on either side of me and cage me with their bodies so I don’t freeze. I have to have super hot showers because I am always cold and J and Pat make sure they keep me as warm as possible.

moods: what makes your f/o happiest?

It makes them all the happiest when I am in a good mood and am happy. We all strive to care for each other the best that we can and when everyone is feeling good and happy, then we all are. If one of us isn’t well, then the rest of us do our part to help. We care deeply for each other and everyone’s happiness is our sole mission.

special: what stands out to you about your f/o? what stands out to your f/o about you?

I will re-post my favorite personality traits of theirs here, because those are what stand out the most to me about each of them:

J: His ‘devil-may-care’ attitude. I heavily admire that J can do whatever he wants regardless of the rules - he’s untouchable and nothing can hurt him. I wish I could have a taste of that and perhaps that is one of the reasons I’m drawn to J; he gives me an outlet and a way to experience that kind of freedom that is unattainable within my real life.

Pat: His independence and how he isn’t affected by what others think of him (I know I said only one for each but I admire both of these qualities equally). I always admire independence because I am very independent as well. And as someone who used to be very concerned with how others saw me, I admire the lack of that quality in Pat because I strive to be that way every single day. I don’t want to be defined by what people think of me. Watching Pat be a good person in spite of his reputation inspires me so much - that is the exact sort of person I’d like to be.

William: His persistence and desire to ‘change his stars’. William is not a quitter; ‘quit’ is not in his vocabulary. Even in times when he is likely to fail, he still persists until he comes out a winner. I admire that in him and I see it as a great advantage in a world of quitters or people who wish to take the easy way out. William faces challenges head-on and doesn’t run from his problems. He stands his ground and takes whatever life has dealt him. William believes that if one truly wants something out of life, then nothing is impossible; he only must want it enough.

What stands out to them about me: My overall kindness, acceptance and love. J admires that I am not afraid of him. He, Pat and William love my strength and determination, even when it comes to things I am terrified of going through, doing or dealing with. They are each aware of the things I’ve been through and continue to battle and they are each, in their own ways, in awe of how well I manage in spite of it all. They value my strength of character, maturity and wisdom.

relief: how does your f/o help you feel better? how do you help them?

We all make each other very aware of our needs and how they must be met; we each view open communication as extremely important, even J. It is no secret that J does not like to open up, but he listens to each of us and knows what each of us need in any given moment and makes sure he tries to give it to us any way he can. Our safety makes J feel better; he wants all of his younger partners to feel secure and not worry about our safety.

Pat, depending on his mood, needs to either be held and cuddled or left alone to work. Since we’ve been spending most of our time at home, Pat has been working on some welding and metalworking, which William greatly appreciates. He wants Pat to make him new armor, but Pat doesn’t quite have that ability or skillset yet. Pat loves to work with his hands and he has gotten a lot of equipment to set up his own metal-shop in our shed. He enjoyed his time in metal shop at school and has continued that passion here. It helps him release frustration and gives him a distraction to focus entirely on whatever task he’s working on. J has stolen a lot of equipment for Pat (we do not condone stealing, but J refused to return it, so.) We often let Pat go to work on his welding and metalwork whenever he is frustrated or needs time alone.

William practices sword fighting when he is frustrated and J has proven to be a worthy adversary. William pushes himself to the limit when he’s not feeling well, but J tests him and keeps him sharp and on his feet.

We all don’t solely help one person; each of us help out when and where we can because we all have different needs that have to be met. For example, I might help Pat and then J might help William. We all try to help each other as much as we can, but some of us have to help more where others cannot, yet we all have the same goal of making each of us feel better. We all help each other in different scenarios.

They all help me every day with their concern for my well-being, basic human needs and lots and lots of cuddles and comfort (thanks, Pat<3)

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crescentgames272 · 4 years ago

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What do each part do for a gaming pc

Unforgettable Moments In Gaming Part 3

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ineffable-endearments · 5 years ago

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“It’s Over” and Resisting Temptation

During the bandstand breakup, Crowley is trying to actually put the value of their relationship into words. He knows they’re each other’s most important people. He’s trying to bring that out into the open - the OPEN! - and Aziraphale cannot deal with it.

Why? Sure, he comes from a world where rhetoric matters to an absurd degree, so for Aziraphale to simply admit that he prefers Crowley over Heaven would probably be taken worse, from Heaven’s perspective, than many of the things he could actually do with Crowley.

But there’s got to be something else. Something that takes it from the denial of “we’re not friends” all the way to “it’s over.”

Crowley just keeps pushing and pushing. It’s funny - and sad - Aziraphale gets away with lying about knowing where the Antichrist is, but Crowley calls his lies about their relationship immediately.

Crowley knows Aziraphale loves him and won’t let him deny it any longer.

“Go off together? Listen to yourself.” (You’re saying this out loud and it! Scares! Me!)

“How long have we been friends? 6000 years?” (Yes I’m saying it out loud because the world is ending and it’s time to admit it!)

“Friends? We’re not friends. We are an angel and a demon. We have nothing whatsoever in common. I don’t even like you.” (No, stop trying to make me say it. I’m not going to admit it.) (Aziraphale really seems to be trying to convince HIMSELF here.)

“You do!” (You’re lying. You like me. A lot.)

“Even if I knew where the Antichrist was, I wouldn’t tell you! We are on opposite sides!” (Okay you called my lie but we have REASONS for being secret!)

“We’re on our side!” (It doesn’t have to be that way. That might as well be a lie, too, because there’s no real reason to think of us as being on separate sides anymore.)

“There is no our side. Not anymore. It’s over.” (Okay so we DID have a side but now we don’t! There! You can’t push me to admit anything anymore if we don’t have a side!)

After that, Aziraphale is still standing there - probably, if their past interactions are any indication, hoping that Crowley’s brilliant imagination will come up with some sort of alternative. He wants Crowley to accept that suggesting the running away was too much and that he’ll present something else. But this whole interaction has been incredibly painful for Crowley; it’s a lot of rejection for one day. As emphasized by the chain around his neck, his hands are as tied as Aziraphale’s, if not more so. And he is tired of getting yelled at for trying to preserve the relationship.

Is this a disagreement over their feelings for each other? Aziraphale is trying to convince himself that it is, but I don’t think that it really is. There’s too much emotional weight to the denials, and if you follow the conversation, you’ll notice that Aziraphale actually gives a little ground and changes the subject every time Crowley calls him out on a lie about his feelings. Also, I believe Crowley knows what he’s talking about.

Is this about Heaven’s approval? Yes, but not entirely - when Aziraphale is uncomfortable with breaking Heaven’s rules, he subtly asks Crowley to help him rationalize until he’s comfortable doing it. That’s much more standard for their relationship than what’s happening here.

Is this about Crowley’s safety - Aziraphale trying to push him towards Heaven? Partially, yes, I think so - Aziraphale is bitter that Crowley won’t even consider joining Heaven, and based on the assumptions Aziraphale is making (Hell is going to be angry about Armageddon being stopped, while Heaven is strong and also technically Good and therefore will be Merciful), Heaven would theoretically be the safest alignment for Crowley (it’s not true, but I’m looking at it through his flawed perspective). Aziraphale keeps emphasizing Sides because he wants Crowley to conclude that he will just have to come over to Aziraphale’s. But that can’t be the whole problem, because we already went through this process earlier in the conversation and Aziraphale called for further discussion (”You can’t leave, Crowley”) rather than cutting things off.

Is this about Aziraphale not trusting Crowley? Absolutely not. He’ll say ‘oh you’re a demon you lie blah blah blah’ but that is ENTIRELY lip service. Who’s the one Aziraphale’s been going to for all his solutions for all of human history? Who’s the one he goes to the instant Heaven reveals its true colors?

So no. None of the above issues cover the desperation of “it’s over.”

I’d submit that “it’s over” is a matter of resisting temptation. It’s a way of not having to describe and name and accept all the feelings, because then they will become too powerful and Aziraphale just might take up that offer of going to the stars. Aziraphale wants to be with Crowley. He wants to follow Crowley wherever he goes - to a faraway planet, if necessary, just to be together. And naming the relationship WILL give it the power to make that happen.

If they acknowledge that the feelings are real, if they name the feelings out loud, then Crowley’s offer becomes rational. And Aziraphale doesn’t want to resist his wily, cunning, brilliant serpent’s rationality. It’s one of the things that has kept their double lives intact.

However, leaving the planet wouldn’t be good for anyone. Aziraphale would be running away from everything he’s ever tried to stand for; it would rip apart the person he’s trying to be, both the Good Angel and the Good Person. Crowley would talk a good game about it, but he would really miss the world, and I think Aziraphale knows that Crowley would bitterly regret leaving Earth to burn. And, of course, Earth would burn.

But Aziraphale loves Crowley. He is tempted. And he is running out of ideas. Think about it: we just established that even if they find the Antichrist, they don’t know what to do with him. So Aziraphale says what he needs to in an effort to end the conversation before he agrees to something they’ll both regret in the end.

In the grand scheme of the story, Crowley is very happy on Earth, cares about its denizens, and would never have wanted to actually leave. Aziraphale is an emotionally constipated mess here, but it’s not just about being too frail to acknowledge feelings; it’s about knowing exactly how strong those feelings are and trying not to do anything rash with them. Ironically, Aziraphale at his most repressed is him fighting his most desperate, irresponsible urges. He’s not in a healthy place, and lashes out when he realizes the strength of all these feelings.

(Another incredible post crossed my dash this morning JUST as I was finishing this one. It seems a little too ineffable to be a coincidence, but anyway, @wanna-b-poet31 is doing a multi-post in-depth analysis series on the power of naming in Good Omens which you should definitely check out.)

#good omens #ineffable husbands #ineffable partners #ineffable spouses #ineffable lovers #good omens spoilers

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starr-fall-knight-rise · 6 years ago

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Humans are Space Orcs,”Duality of the Soul.

Sorry I haven't posted for so long. We are at the beginning of finals week, and things have been stressful. Forgive me if the writing shows that.

Regardless, I hope you enjoy!

You don’t understand, they inhabit the flesh, they draw their power from the unknown, they hail from the ether. You have to listen to me.”

Around the room the assembled gathering of humans and other intergalactic species stared on in consternation, confusion and some measure of unease as the Gib scientist babbled on in manic desperation.

Krill sat to the side of Captain Vir staring down at the maddened intellectual in confused consternation. Captain Vir looked on in bemused silence prosthetic foot tapping silently against the ground below.

Just below them, splayed out behind a semicircular table, the galactic assembly sat in impatient silence. No two faces, or forms were alike representative of each species protected under the name of the galactic assembly. No human representative had yet to be called, so they had brought in a stand in.

Captain Vir, while nowhere near politically minded, had agreed to sit in on the meeting on behalf of earth, seeing as he was the closest, and most highly ranked human on that side of the galaxy.

Out on the floor contained as he was within an energy web, the scientist rambled on.

His five glowing orbs scanned the crowd before him glittering with the intensity of his insanity.

“They are here! Just look in their eyes, and you shall see. The worlds beyond worlds the bisection of soul and body.”

At the head of the table, the spokesman raised a digit silencing the madness, “Cease your ramblings and speak sense to us, truth seeker, or you will find yourself imprisoned until you can find your coherence.”

In front of them the small figure grew silent, wide glittering orbs falling unsettlingly still.

“Now, start from the beginning, tell us of your research. Tell us why we found HUMAN BODIES dissected in your laboratory.”

Around the room, muffled hisses of fear and alarm followed. Krill glanced at Captain VIr aware that humans were known to be aggressive towards the criminally minded, but the human remained impassive even unconcerned though his brows were furrowed in confusion.

The small scientist quivered, “It was bound to happen, everyone has thought of it. The humans are to interesting NOT to study, not to pull apart and decode. So fragile they survive, so intelligent, they remain animals. So, I did it, I gave in to the wonder. I knew the galactic council would never agree to my methods, so I did it in secret. I stole the human from the far reaches of space, where no one would notice their absence. I drugged them, and I bound them with their very own methods. I caged them with their own technology, and I studied them. I tested them. And I pulled them apart.”

Off to his side, the human shifted uncomfortably in his seat.

“Go on.”

The creature remained silent for some moments before, “The humans…. They talk about themselves as if they are two separate beings….. Have you noticed that? Ever seen a human talk to its body, address its feet or its internal organs like they aren’t one in the same. They personify themselves like they themselves are not people.”

Krill shook his head in mild confusion. In fact, he had noticed that little oddity, but he had never thought about it.

“Well, I thought it was odd, and I looked into it. Those humans that spoke with me could not give me a direct answer, but they demonstrated a profound ignorance about their own internal workings, their own feelings, like a separate being living inside the body of another.” Around the room, the crowd jolted uncomfortably, “I looked into the evidence further, I found mentions of something the humans refer to as a soul. It is the very essence of their personality, what makes them different from the animals, but when asked what it was made of or where it was located, the humans could not tell me. Some thought maybe it resided in the brain, others thought maybe the entire body, some others disputed its existence at all, so I dug further.”

The voice of the mad little scientist drifted up around the room eerie in the near silence.

“Did you know that, when a human dies, they lose 21 grams of weight, almost immediately?”

The eeriness grew deeper crawling into their bones with a malignant chill, one that accompanies vast space.

“If they couldn’t find this soul, than I would find it for them, so I cut, I dissected, but I found nothing….. and then I remembered the stories, the stories I had heard about the Moor, those that can see into the beyond. They are said to be extinct or in deep hiding, but I was determined. I thought that, if anyone could puzzle out this mystery, it would be them, and after years of searching, I found one. The last hidden atop an asteroid alone in the vastness of space. He would not speak with me, so I forced him to follow me against his will. I brought him to my laboratory, and I made him look, and the things he saw…..”

The profound silence grew and deepened.

“Keep going.” The command came

“Oh the madness he suffered. Oh how he screamed and babbled. I remember what he said word for word. They hide behind their eyes, the glow within, they are not they, they are ether they possess the body but the body does not possess them. I could not understand at first, but slowly, I began to see. I looked in their eyes and I saw it, the duel nature of the soul. A body, an empty vessel operated by a cosmic energy, it glows within them. I could see them retreating across the stars as their life faded from their chests. At first it was small, a shimmer at the corner of my vision, an out of place wind with the death, but then it grew clear. The creature rising from its shell….. Oh the horror. Its eyes burned, its body glowed, it was a power beyond worlds I saw there, breaking away from the chains of the body. It was not death, it was transcendence. Like a pupae maturing to adult….. the human body is not the end result. It is the incubation of the horror that is to come the very cosmos brought low and then released.”

Around the room the crowd murmured in horror and confusion.

Krill turned to look at Captain Vir, but instead of knowing, or agreement, he appeared only confused and even disconcerted. The entire galactic assembly had turned to watch him as he stood, pacing down the stairs with the thud of his prosthetic leg barely differentiated form the flesh.

Upon seeing the human approach, the small scientist began to scream, loud and log, “SEE IT, SEE IT NOW, IT GLOWS BEHIND HIS EYES. IT PUSHES AGAINST HIS SKIN TO ESCAPE. IT SEEKS FREEDOM!”

The human paused at the side of the semicircular table as the galactic assembly watched.

“And what do you say to this, human?”

The man paused for a long while examining the crowd before him, “A lot of humans do believe in the soul. The core of ourselves something separate from mind and body. We’ve tried to find it before, tried to find where it connects to the brain, but we never could. Philosophers argued about its nature, and then scientists argued about its existence. Certain sects of human lore believe we were created by a cosmic being who molded the universe, others believe our souls came from the energy and that someday we will return, others believe that we will be recycled based on our deeds, and yet there are some who believe none of these things. When we die, we die.”

“And this cosmic power?”

The human gave a laugh, “Not really. It is true, sometimes I DO feel separate from my body, like I don’t understand it as much as I should. Some describe the fight between the soul and the body as a struggle between light and dark.” He tapped his foot thoughtfully, “Ghosts are thought to be the souls of those who cannot move on. If that really is true, than they don’t usually do more than push around tables and break your dishes”

The room was silent.

From behind him the creature called on in a shrill voice, “He LIES. The human LIES. That’s why man does not DIE when he should. The SOUL holds on, it holds on to stay with the body. It will not give up its vessel lightly. You know that, humans will not DIE.”

The human turned to face the little scientist and stepped closer, “You talk about the soul like it’s something to fear, well, if it is real, the soul is discussed as something light.” He turned to the council, “If the soul does exist, it is a representation of all that is good in humanity. It is the part of us that was created in perfection and tied to imperfection.” He motioned to his body, “He talks about it like we are some demonic entity possessing the body, but that’s not true. Without the soul the body does not function. The one needs the other to survive, they were made for each other, if indeed the soul exists at all, and to murder someone to prove its existence is unacceptable.”

The human glared at the little scientist, who began to scream in horror, “CANT YOU SEE IT.” He wailed, “THE EYES, THE EYES SHOW THE TRUTH.”

The screaming scientist was carted away under the thoughtful eyes of the human. Krill sat silently in his place not sure what to think.

***

The galactic assembly couldn’t come to a conclusion about the meeting, no one did. How could they? A mad scientist had babbled about the humans as if they were…. A dual being, a cosmic spirit of unknown power possessing a body until time of death when they were freed to flee across the universe and out towards the edges of unknown. But fleeing towards what? Or returning to what?

How could they come to a consensus, it was crazy talk. Most of them rejected the idea outright, but some saw a margin of truth. Have you ever watched a human, struggle with themselves, no other species does that. When presented with a right or wrong decision, they don’t do what their instincts tell them but they fight with themselves on the morality, but how can you even fight yourself? It makes no sense.

While some see the fighting, others see the impossibility, a body dead kept to life by some unknown power. They die, and they come back with a will, they defy reason, they reject wounds against all odds. The human ability to survive is not logical. What keeps them here?

What lets them hold on? And what lets them slip away?

Some say you can see it in their eyes. Even humans can see it though they don’t admit it. Those given over to the dark are described with blank, hollow eyes devoid of humanity, why is that? Under the control of their empathy, and their love, you can see it in their eyes. It is distant, just noticeable behind the pigment and the reelections.

I believe something lies within humans, something not of this place, not of this galaxy, not of life as we understand it.

Could it be that the human is merely a stage of life? Is the true essence of a human something more transcendent, and if so... where do they go when they flee into the blackness?

Thank you all for reading!!!! Comments and requests are ALWAYS welcome. I hope you all have a great week!

#humans are space orcs #humans are weird #humans are spaceoddities #earth is space australia

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rayveewrites · 4 years ago

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So as a simultaneous end of the year/ completion of Golden Echoes/ launch of Buried Gold celebration, I thought it would be neat to go through every chapter and post my favourite line/phrase/sentence/paragraph/etc from each. Why? Is this a genuine celebration? Do I think I’m funny and laugh at my own jokes? Am I actually just procrastinating? Yes. (Very obviously spoilers for the entire fic.)

Prologue: Lost Darkness, pierced by the faint glow of sunlight through the holes in the ceiling. The sound of dripping water, pooling in the centre of the room.

Prologue: Found It remembered a time of life and colour, when it danced and played and sang, when children flocked around him and fed off its happiness and energy and gave him their own. Would it ever experience that again?

Prologue: Name Old, brittle bones grinded. Rusted metal sounded against the tiled floor. Colourless eyes softly glowed silver.

Returned ...whoever thought it was a good idea to create a horror attraction out of the actual murders of actual children needed to have their heads readjusted. Forcefully. With a mask full of crossbeams and wires.

Exploration ...servos and circuits, they had been at this location for an hour and Freddy was already having a terrible day. Also it was 10 AM. The location operated at night. Why.

Darkness So young, and left without a voice. I ask you now to make your choice. Clean the tiles of blood and tears? Or let them suffer with their fears?

Void He called up a memory, of turquoise eyes and golden fur, of whispers in the night that meant nothing and everything, of a feeling of happiness, that nothing would ever change, because the world was already perfect.

Balloons Of course this place has wonky physics.

JJ “So let me get this straight. A potentially dangerous supernatural rabbit wants me to take a cryptic message to a potentially dangerous animatronic rabbit, and then somehow convince the other potentially dangerous animatronic rabbit and his potentially dangerous animatronic friends that the first potentially dangerous animatronic rabbit is not, in fact, the definitely dangerous child-murdering serial killer who’s...somewhere else. Have I got all that?”

Rabbit Part of his mouth twitched, as if he was trying to make a facial expression, but couldn't.

Arcade The Void was not cooperating.

Parts Things had always seemed much brighter when they were two.

Guard Whatever came to one or the other's mind, in the breaks between people coming through and Sam playing creepy sounds over the speakers because 'a couple of teenagers are smooching on cam six, do they you realize I can see you, jesus christ, why are you even snogging in a horror attraction anyway, I really don't get the appeal, I swear to god-' or something along those lines, anyway.

Adventure Peace wasn't a feeling the ghost had had for a very long time.

Notes ...it had been a handful of wild yellow daisies a little girl had found, and he’d woven them into a ‘flower crown’ (actually more of a flower bracelet- the girl had picked as many as she could hold, but children had small hands) and put it on Fredbear’s hat when his partner wasn’t looking. Fredbear had promptly worn it all that night and the next day, daisies and all. Spring hadn’t been sure if he’d noticed or not, but either way, it had been very cute.

Cupcakes If the kid wanted a dinosaur, the kid should get a dinosaur, as far as he was concerned. Clothes were clothes. Why did people kick up such a stink about it sometimes?

Tapes “Uh, hello? Hello, hello! Uh, there’s been a slight change of company policy concerning use of the suits. Um, don’t.” “Oh gee,” JJ muttered, “imagine. It’s almost as if they were giant metal deathtraps.”

Talk ...she didn’t need to understand every aspect of Springtrap's life. That was Springtrap’s job, and he was apparently terrible at it.

Performance “It smells like something crawled in there and died.”

Gold Fredbear had been Springtrap’s heart and soul; as much as he loved the children and gave each performance his all, his real reason for living was in the bear who sang beside him. Springtrap remembered singing on stage, a guitar in his hands and love in his soul. He remembered stolen kisses in the night, waltzing on cool tiles with music nobody else could hear. He remembered stealing Fredbear’s hat dozens of times, running off wearing it and giggling like a small child himself. He remembered quiet nights, when the only sounds were his guitar and Fred’s soft humming, sometimes the same tune, sometimes not, but neither of them ever cared. He remembered curling up together, watching stars twinkle in the night sky beyond the walls of the little diner, and truly believing that the time they had together was infinite.

Stage He was holding something. He looked down, opened his hand and saw a gleaming purple microphone, accented with gold. It had been years, decades, since he had last seen it, but he recognized it. He knew what it meant. "Even after everything, I’m still with you."

[Note: this is also the chapter that contained Springtrap’s poem. I’m quite proud of that one, despite how much of a pain it was to write. So, honourable mention]

Notes [Note: wait, crud, there’s two chapters named Notes? I’m gonna have to change one of those later.]

Maybe she just needed to hit something.

Knife [Note: I forgot to actually title this one in AO3. Welp. Better fix that later]

It was slightly strange, a Freddy’s-related crime that was just… basic burglary. It was always the unusual crimes that happened- murder, manslaughter, OSHA violations (so many OSHA violations). But theft? That was new.

Shadows

They lapsed back into silence for a moment. “So, this place… is it real?” In a fashion. It was created from your memories of what is gone. “So… if Fredbear isn’t here…” He is unreachable. “Where?” I cannot tell you. “You don’t know, do you.” The Shadow-Bear was silent, telling Springtrap all he needed to know.

Puppet RWQ… Yes? Stop tormenting the rabbit. You’re no fun. Puppet? She hissed at the purple bear. Stop tormenting the rabbit. “And why would I listen to you?” Because, Shadow Freddy said as the Puppet was slowly levitated up into the air, all four limbs flailing, he’s needed. And also, you are being, as Springtrap so eloquently called RWQ earlier, an asshole.

Voice Specifically, it was more a mixture of blood, rotting flesh, and whatever other bodily fluids lingered in William Afton’s partially mummified decomposing head and was accessible via Springtrap’s mouth, without opening said mouth to the point where someone would notice said partially mummified decomposing head. [Or] Springtrap was displaying remarkable self-restraint. First, he hadn’t punched the Puppet in the face for threatening his friend’s life. Then, he hadn’t punched the Puppet in the face for implying he had a problem with the golden bear. Now, he wasn’t squeezing the life out of JJ in a hug.

Ghosts “No. The thing is, I’ve never had a name I felt truly fit before it. I can’t be Bonnie any more; the Classic model has taken that name, and he is welcome to have it. Spring Bonnie was the name the Man Behind the Slaughter used; I never truly referred to myself with it. Some employees called me Golden Bonnie, to fit with the whispers of a Golden Freddy, but that was never truly a name either, although I suppose I could have gotten used to it eventually. But Springtrap? It lets me keep my past, and it lets me have a future. Sure, it’s a little odd, but I don’t mind. I kind of like it. It’s unique.”

Humans Oh, Spring has a key. That explains where the spare went! When did he get that? Jake’s been looking for it for ages. Not that it’s my business. He says he technically works here, so it’s not stealing. Cheeky. He’s right though.

Henry “I’m not sure whether I should be pissed about the weird way he’s been constructed, or impressed he hasn’t collapsed yet. What the hell is holding him togeth- wait what the hell is that.” Springtrap winced. He knew he should’ve warned them beforehand, but he still tended to hide the rotting corpse. It was instinctive, a sort of habit- born from the fear he would be scrapped is the workers found out, and increased by the fact he was being blamed for murder.

Sound No matter how bad Springtrap’s eyesight could get, no matter how often his joints locked up, Springtrap had always had his rabbit hearing. It had saved his life several times, back when the Classics were hunting him. He had figured out a basic method of echolocation for when his eyes were useless. He relied on his ears, and now they were letting him down for the first time in his life. It scared him.

Doors “Freddy! We have a problem!”

Attack He did. He needed a hand. God, it hurt. Where was his arm? Was that his arm? No, it couldn’t be. He was gold. Not green. Or maybe it was. It was hard to think. Thinking. What a strange concept. The Greeks had invented thinking, hadn't they? Why would they do that?

Rest There were voices. Voices. His voicebox had lungs. His lungs were in his spine. His spine was being held together by lungs. His spine attached to his legs. He had no legs. He heard voices. He couldn’t hear. The grass was nice. Cool. Soft. Green. Like his eyes. Not like his eyes. Like his fur. He had no fur. Like his plush. His plush was green. Or gold. Or red. Or brown. He couldn’t remember which. Maybe it was all of them There was a breeze. It was nice. Warm. Hot. It was sunny. The sun was a star. He liked stars. Stars meant Fredbear. And dancing. Where were his legs? He wanted to dance with the stars. Or with Fredbear. Fredbear. His Fredbear. He missed Fredbear.

Epilogue: Box Smeared down the plaster, it started about six feet up, and grew thicker toward the ground. It looked like Springtrap, or the Purple Guy, had slid down the wall until they were sitting. The tile beneath was stained heavily, and Freddy marvelled at how much blood was in a human body.

Epilogue: Opening ... no killing. That was the new rule. It was a strange one, for Master, but he supposed Master knew what he was talking about. He had changed, too; he had scratched behind his ears a couple days ago and it had felt so good.

Epilogue: Spark He remembered a time of life and colour, when he danced and played and sang, when children flocked around him and fed off his happiness and energy and gave him their own. He would experience that again.

#Golden Echoes

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aliceslantern · 5 years ago

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Beyond this Existence: Atonement, chapter 11

Ansem always had a penchant for strays, so it's not at all surprising when he takes in the orphaned child Ienzo. The boy's presence changes everything, far more than Even is willing to admit. Ienzo's brilliance seems promising, but the arrival of a young Xehanort pushes the apprentices onto a dark, cruel, inhumane path which will affect the future of the World. And even once it's all over with--once Xehanort is dead--they still must pick up the pieces, forgive one another, find a way to atone for their atrocities, and struggle to accept the humanity which has been thrust upon them.

Or: Even's journey from BBS through post-KH3

Chapter summary: Despite Even's efforts, Ienzo makes a choice which ripples across the castle.

Read it on FF.net/on AO3

---

His peace, incredibly tenuous, does not last long.

He receives a call midmorning the next day, from Ienzo. “Even. I need help.” His voice sounds shattered.

“Whatever is the matter?”

“It’s Demyx--”

Even takes a quick breath. “Is he hurt?” He seems to have recovered from that wound, but that means nothing.

Ienzo’s voice is full of glass. “Not physically.”

Oh. Of course. Now that they’re bonded… he may have very well become fully human. And his memories were only a hair’s breadth away. “I think I understand. I’m on my way.” He goes to his lab, grabs a few different things which may be of help.

He finds them in the study room which seems to be their favorite haunt. Despite himself, he feels a concern for the boy--is it for what this implies about his own wellbeing?

“What is it? What’s happened?”

Ienzo has the boy on the ground. The boy’s face is contorted in pain; he’s breathing hard and twitching a little. Ienzo’s face is drawn. “I’m not really sure--he--this score… he insisted it was his, and then he went into this weird trance, and I think he’s remembering something . Even, I don’t know.”

Even catches sight of this supposed score. At a glance, he can tell it’s ancient; much like the young man on the floor. He crouches next to him and begins checking his vitals. The boy’s heart is positively racing. The blood loss was really hard on his heart. “He’s clearly in pain, and cannot maintain a heart rate that high for very long.” He sedates the boy, and finally Demyx settles into it, his expression slackening, his heart rate beginning to lower to something livable.

The boy’s memories must be coming back. The score was a trigger. If he is as emotionally fragile as Even--and is reliving all that war trauma--he might not pull through, his new heart might break.

“You know what this is, don’t you?” Ienzo asks.

He looks back at the score again. It doesn’t surprise him Demyx hasn’t told Ienzo. Where to even begin? Then again, does Ienzo need to deal with yet more lies of omission? “It was not my secret to share.”

“Even,” Ienzo says, his voice sharp and, if he’s reading this right, afraid.

“Xehanort had more than one trump card up his sleeve.” He sighs.“Didn’t you find it strange how we all arrived in groups? Us apprentices with Lea and Isa, and then the four neophytes. There was some degree of time between each arrival, but not nearly enough to justify what were were told. If we were to believe it, that humanoid Nobodies were rare, shouldn’t it have taken a lot longer to find the original thirteen?” He brushes his hair out of his face. “I’m not sure how exactly, but Xehanort pulled four Keyblade wielders from the age of fairy tales and made them Nobodies. Obfuscated their memories too, from the looks of things. I have no idea why it is he did this. But Xemnas told them at some point before the war, and Demyx asked me to investigate. I’m guessing this connection between you two only furthered his progress to humanity, and that when presented with a trigger, the memories came back.”

Ienzo looks down at him, his expression pinched. “So it’s true then.”

Even nods. “...Yes. It’s true. I’ve studied his DNA myself. You positively would not believe it, Ienzo--”

Something like hurt crosses his face. “And you didn’t think it prudent to ever mention this to me?”

“Would it have changed your mind?”

He drops his eyes. “No.”

“Precisely. I assure you he hasn’t experienced that passage of time.”

“...He said he’d remembered something from his past. I did not think it was this. So that means he’s really a--” He bites his lip.

“Yes.” He smiles sadly. “I worked so hard to make replicas who could wield Keyblades, and we had four wielders right under our noses.”

“But will he be all right?”

No point lying any longer. “Hard to say. All of those memories, some doubtless very gruesome and traumatic, his heart just healing… we must be patient.”

Again, they maneuver him to his bed, as gently as possible. Even starts him on fluids, another dose of the sedative. They can’t afford to have his heart rate spike. In all this, and despite his own nursing training, Ienzo doesn’t help; his expression is empty, horrified. He’s crying, though soundlessly. Even takes him away, makes him drink some tea.

“It is… a lot to process,” Even says. “But we’ve seen Roxas and Xion in spells like these and they both came out on the other side. Have faith.” He doesn’t mention that the two had considerably fewer memories to recover. This will not help Ienzo. Then again, Even isn’t sure what will.

In a voice that breaks Even’s heart, he asks, “Why is healing so dangerous?”

Question of the century. “It’s only as dangerous as we delude ourselves,” Even says finally. “Unfortunately, the spell he was under was a strong one.”

“Do you think he’ll be different?”

He thinks about it, about Ienzo’s own dramatic transformation once he returned to himself. This gentle boy is nothing like his cruel Nobody; though likely that took, and is taking, work. “Perhaps,” he says. “But no different than you yourself are. But the boy loves you, Ienzo. You can tell by the way he looks at you. I don’t think that will change.”

He drops his eyes. “Is it typical, to feel this amount of shock?”

He reaches out to feel Ienzo’s temperature. Clammy. “Like many such reactions, it’s a stress response.”

He speaks haltingly. “It is so… strange. With all that’s happened in the past month or so, I find myself wondering if it is good to allow such vulnerability.”

This is the most candid Ienzo’s been with him yet, the closest insight Even’s had to his emotions.

The last thing the boy needs is to close himself off more. “I admit the situations have been… extreme.” Even flinches. “But we’ve spent long enough closing our hearts and minds off to others, don’t you think?”

This doesn’t provide the comfort he thought. “You’re one to talk,” he says in a sharp voice. “You’ve been holed up in your lab all day every day, barely speaking to anyone. You seem to be the most hesitant of us all to accept humanity. Atonement aside.”

Thing is, he’s right. “I don’t deny it. But I have not spent my time experimenting.”

“What are you doing, then?” He looks exhausted now.

“Writing. Reflecting, mostly. Things always were the most tangible to me when they were on paper. If I can record my thoughts as data, perhaps I can make sense of them.”

His eyes soften just a little. “Is it working?”

Even can’t believe it; a real conversation. “Heavens, no. But if I do not tread these tides of emotion, then I am more foolish than I thought.”

He cants his head slightly. “What is it you feel?”

“Mostly--remorse--” He admits. He shakes his head. “As scientists, one of our duties is upholding a moral code. Needless to say, we broke it. Xehanort was manipulative, yes, but while you were a child, I was an educated man who should have known better. I did know better. But I figured the gains I made would offset the costs. They have not. And now I want to use my skills for the greater good.” But how?

“Do you think the replicas could have anything to do with that?” He becomes yet more earnest.

He still has those samples needing analysis, sitting quietly in the freezer. “Perhaps. Perhaps not.” But--what right does he have to create life, anymore? Isn’t it unnatural? A query to ponder over later--back to the matter at hand, the real, tangible human sitting across from him. He gathers the rest of his remaining strength and looks Ienzo in the eye. “I must apologize to you, Ienzo.”

He blinks. “Even--”

“We can blame Ansem’s utter lack of paternal instinct all we want, but ultimately it is my fault that this all happened to you.” He thinks of his foolhardy plan to escape; even after that there were opportunities. “I should have understood Xehanort’s machinations and taken you out of that mess, but I was selfishly nearsighted. Things are always clearer in retrospect. Are they not? You deserved a normal childhood, a normal adolescence, and got anything but. And years of fear and trauma on top of it.” Who knew where Ienzo might have gone, otherwise? Without all this holding him back?

The boy exhales. “I forgive you,” he says.

He can’t mean that. There’s no way. But there’s no dishonesty in his face, his body language. A warmth wells in him, something bittersweet. Is it possible to mend their bond? Or is this just another example of Ienzo’s newfound “niceness”? “You’re a kind young man,” Even says. “I will try to make this up to you.” He stands. “I’m off to do some reading. There might be a better way for me to help Demyx after all.” He squeezes the boy’s shoulder.

And retreats to his work.

He wonders if his replicas might be of use once more. The screen seems piercingly bright when he cracks open the laptop.

It’s actually been a while since he’s read the real journals. He starts from the most recent, begins working his way back, skimming over all the biological nonsense, towards the more metaphysical.

There’s a question how to give No. i memories, he reads. It’s going to need them, to carry through--if we hope to make its “heart” worthy of a “Keyblade”, it’s going to need a sense of self, a certain nobility. How to do this while also keeping it under our control?

Oh, Vexen. You naive dunce.

The replica reports aren’t much use. Xion did all the work on her memories herself, almost spontaneously. There has to be something he can do to wavebreak the tide, so to speak; not just for Demyx, but for everyone. He storms to the library, digging for volumes, his hands trembling. In a sort of desperation, he even seeks fairy tales. The boy basically is one. But it’s all magic, and Even has no magic--

He feels helpless. If he fails Demyx, he fails Ienzo. And he can’t do that.

Maybe sleep will give him some clarity?

Some hope.

He’s just drifting when he hears the door creak open. Without thinking, he grabs the scalpel on the table next to him. “Who’s there?” He blinks, his vision focusing. “Oh… Ienzo? Is something wrong? Is it Demyx?”

“No, he’s still stable--it’s fine. It can wait until morning.” His tone is devoid of feeling.

“Clearly not, if you felt the need to come to me at this godforsaken hour. Whatever is the matter?”

He thinks for a moment. Then, “Do you think it’s possible to regain our powers?”

Of course--with Zexion’s power of illusion, and therefore memory, he might be able to shake this horrid spell, or at least find some way to help. But… humans simply aren’t meant to have these powers, otherwise they would’ve had them already, yes? He’s read something about this… he tries to remember. Won’t the use put yet more undue strain on Ienzo’s body? “Why on earth would you want that?”

“Illusion let me see memories. If I can gain control over it, maybe I can help purge the darkness in the basement and help whoever’s stuck down there find peace.” He bites his lip. “Demyx is likely to be shaken up. Perhaps I can help him too. If I can make order of his memories, perhaps he will wake up without too much damage to his heart.”

Naturally Ienzo will be the best one to handle this-- if he can control those powers. But the nature of such power is that it is unnatural. It’s not supposed to exist. In their studies, the calculated entropy alone-- “Have you even tried casting a spell?”

“Once,” Ienzo says. “It… did not go well. I had a terrible migraine. I was wondering if you might have some sort of medicine that might let me work through the pain.”

Even darts over to his bookshelf, seeking a certain volume, finding it finally. “You see… the thing is… such elemental power comes from the will, typically as a manifestation of some psychological trait or another. Hence why, in the absence of a heart, we were able to use it as Nobodies. But now that you are human… you’ve no need for such defense mechanism. Your being is whole. Trying to invoke it could be disastrous. The entropy of it alone would, in the best possible scenario, induce sleep.” His heart and will would fight for control over his body, destabilize him…

“Sleep?” the boy asks.

“Sleep akin to death,” Even says darkly. “They must lie so closely together. And you must hope you find the strength, fast enough, to save your life before you’re claimed by the other side. Ienzo.” His turns towards the boy beseechingly. “Would the risk be worth it? Is there not another way you can atone?”

“What about the reward?” he asks instantly.

“Ienzo--”

“Please, Even. I’ll be careful.” His eyes show that his mind is made up. Regardless of whether or not Even helps him, he’s made his decision.

Even can’t make this boy’s choices for him anymore. If he were ever able to. He crosses over to a cabinet, considers what’s left of his store, what’s still good. He finds one of the only painkillers he has which can also allow the boy to remain lucid. “Take half of one of these,” he says sternly. “You’ll feel no pain. But should your nose start bleeding, drop everything instantly and rest.”

“Is that a side effect?”

“No. But that’ll be entropy wreaking havoc on your body.” Even presses the bottle into his hand. “Let me watch over you.”

He looks at the pills. “I think this is something I have to do on my own.”

“You children always think you know what’s best. Fine. But if you do not text me within three hours I will hunt you down.”

He nods. For just a second, Even senses a kinship between them again. “Very well. Thank you, Even. This means a lot to me.”

“Don’t thank me yet.”

---

As the timer ticks down… Even frets, and paces. He prepares a kit, should this all go poorly, with fluids and epinephrine and the like. His own anxiety is spiking. But if he were in the same shoes, wouldn't he do everything in his power to save his dear one? Imagine the guilt otherwise?

He can't breathe. Panicking will be no use. You must be calm. Focused. The boy has always been more than he seems. If anyone can do this, it's Ienzo.

He's still not prepared when it happens. When he hears the gummiphone, and sees it's Ienzo, the relief hangs heavily in him. But the voice that speaks isn't his, it's Demyx, jagged and full of razors--"I need help. Even, I need--”

“Demyx? How long have you been conscious?”

“I think Ienzo’s dying and I don’t know how to stop it.”

Dying. The word echoes heavily, and so does the further gut punch-- I knew it. This is his fault, he should've fought Ienzo harder. “I’m coming. Stay on the line. Put it on speakerphone, do you know how to do that? What happened?"

Demyx sobs. "He found me. In my memory. I don’t know how, but he--he said he wasn’t supposed to have that power."

Even grabs his kit, already on the move. He swears. "No. He isn’t. There’s a reason humans don’t control the elements willy-nilly. What are the symptoms?" How bad did the boy let it get?

"He’s having trouble breathing. His pulse is really fucked up. His nose is bleeding and it seems like he’s in a lot of pain--” He gasps out another sob. "I'm sorry, Even."

His legs feel barely there as he runs. "I know you didn't ask for this."

"Why is this happening?"

The words feel divorced from him. His fingers fly across the screen--he needs more than mere medicine. "Power like that comes from the will. It can only exist without the presence of a fully realized heart--otherwise, it’s too much power. Hence why Nobodies can use it as a defense mechanism. At that point, entropy starts wreaking havoc on the body. Your cells literally start to break down and melt. The will to live starts to wear down." He has no doubt that the boy overextended himself. His fingers feel numb as he reaches out to that woman, the one who healed Demyx. If she could fix that, she may be the only one to fix this.

Demyx's breath catches. "Ienzo…"

Admittedly, it's a relief that the boy cares so much for him. “I’ve messaged Aerith. I don’t think my skills are enough. We must keep him alive until then.” His heart is beating so fast. You don’t have time to panic, you old fool. Get it together. Demyx can do all the suffering for both of us.

Distantly, tinnily, he hears, “Don’t do this. Please don’t do this.”

“Demyx?” he prompts, another thrill of panic making his vision sheeny.

“He’s not breathing.”

“I need you to start doing compressions. Hard. We can fix broken ribs.” He’s almost there. Why did he let himself get so physically weak?

“Why would you do this?” the boy asks. “Why didn’t you let me drown?”

He’s there. Finally. He throws the door open. He sees Ienzo on Demyx’s bed, more corpse at this point than boy, soaked again in blood from his nose, and Demyx frantically trying to do compressions. He pulls the syringe of epinephrine from his bag, sticks the boy. Demyx is sobbing, a weirdly animal sound. Without machinery or magic, Even has no way of truly assessing Ienzo’s condition. He barely has a pulse. “Keep doing what you’re doing,” he says to Demyx as gently as possible. “If you’re tired I can--” But he can tell he’s talking to a wall. The younger man isn’t responding.

Aerith arrives at last. He sees something like horror in her green eyes before a mask settles into place.

“You should go,” Even tells Demyx. The last thing they need is for him to have this mental breakdown right here.

“I’m not leaving him.”

“You are in far too much distress to be a comfort to him.”

“But what if he--”

Even seizes him by the arm and pushes him. He slinks towards the door, trembling all over; Aerith whispers spells, ancient old words. “What happened?” she asks after a moment.

Even explains as quickly as possible.

“I can try to treat the body,” she says, though her teeth. “But if his will is worn down, then--”

“Do you think it is?”

“Oh, it is,” she says. “I use… when I heal, I use people’s own energies, their auras, which is basically the physical version of a will. I can barely feel anything, Even.”

He feels himself go numb. “Is this a fool’s errand, then?”

“Like I said. I’ll try my best. If it would be more of a comfort you could leave too--”

“I will not.”

For a moment, the sharpness of his tone causes her head to snap up; she quickly glances back down. “Can you connect the port line you’ve started to the blood replacement I brought?”

He does what the woman asks, feeling so helpless. “Would it break your concentration, to tell me what’s going on?”

She takes a quick breath. She holds her hands over him, and while it looks like she’s not doing much, Even can see the strain the magic is having. “It’s the internal bleeding that’s the problem,” she mumbles. “Between that, and the nosebleed, he’s lost something like three liters--and he’s a small man. A lot of his organs have failed, and some are bleeding too. Feels like the power must’ve started eating them. Not to mention his heart. It feels like it hasn’t been beating, though I know Demyx was doing good compressions--two of his ribs are broken. He must’ve entered something like sleep to stay alive while he used his powers. Fixing it is going to take time--time I’m not sure he has.” She glances up. “But I’ll try my best.”

“Is there anything I can…” Ienzo’s in more trouble, and he can’t do a single thing except watch.

“Ethers, if you have them. I’m going to need them.”

Numbly, Even nods, and leaves the room. Demyx sits curled next to the door frame, his hands bloody from the compressions, his eyes wide and uncomprehending. “...Boy?” Even asks softly.

He doesn’t respond. Likely he can’t.

He heads back towards his lab, spots Aeleus. At least one thing can be done.

The other man takes in his bedraggled appearance, the spots of blood on his white coat. “Even?” he asks.

“Aeleus, I need you to do something for me--likely several. You need to look after Demyx. He’s in shock. I’m not sure what he might do. I’m afraid Ienzo’s done something foolish in order to save him.” He explains about Demyx’s past, Ienzo’s condition. “I need to be with him, and help that woman how I can. Do not let Demyx in--I don’t care what you have to do to the boy. Nor Ansem, should he approach. Understand?”

Fear breaks his stoic expression. “Of course.”

Even feels himself slipping, adrenaline and panic making him weak and clumsy. He gathers what supplies he has for the healer, and then he returns. “Anything?” he asks her.

“He’s fighting. But he’s so tired,” Aerith explains. “Still unstable. I’m working on it.”

So Even waits. He watches her hands twist and gesture in foreign spells, offers her ethers, water, cloths for the sweat on her face. Mostly he just tries to keep it together, to not allow himself to consider what might happen if Ienzo doesn’t pull through. After what must be hours… she drops her hands, breathing hard. Even begins bracing himself. “Stable,” she says quietly. “The bleeding’s under control. We should probably bring him somewhere he can recover in the long term.”

“...Just pick him up?”

“His body’s rebounding well… that’s not what I’m worried about.”

The door slits open--Even sees Dilan’s face, his own panic mirrored back at him. “What on earth is going on--”

“You moron, we don’t need your meddling right now--”

“Can he carry him?” Aerith asks.

“I’m sure I can,” Dilan says. “But what--”

Even sighs. And explains.

“But why would Ienzo do this?” he asks. “He never--”

“I will not have you fret,” Even snaps. “Let’s get him moved.”

Dilan approaches Ienzo slowly. Despite the transfusion, he still looks deathly pale. As carefully as possible, he lifts him. They settle him back into his own bed; Even dresses him in something clean. He knows the boy is unaware of everything, but still is embarrassed for him anyway. Washes the blood off his face. Tucks him in. Aerith starts another transfusion.

“You said you’re not worried about his body,” he says, suddenly processing what was heard earlier.

She shakes her head. “Now that the damage is largely healed,” she says. “It’s his will to live--healthy body or not, if he’s weakened it, there’s no animating force behind him. It must’ve taken energy to… do what he did. He must’ve essentially lent Demyx his own, to get him out of the memories. There are a… few things I can try, to gauge how bad it is. He’s hanging on now. That’s the important thing.” She looks up. There are bruise-colored circles under her eyes. “Is he a… determined person?”

“...Stubborn to a fault,” Even admits. “How do you think he got in this mess? First he didn’t listen to me about… falling in with that boy, and then he wouldn’t let me monitor him.”

She sighs. “Good. That’s good. It might make all the difference. You should go tell your family.”

It’s the word choice that startles him. “I’m sure Dilan’s doing nothing but making them worry.” But before he can move, there’s a gentle knock.

Ansem, exhausted and haggard. “My poor boy…”

Even scowls. “I thought I told Aeleus to keep you away from here.”

“Aeleus is preoccupied.”

“He doesn’t need more stress.”

“Even, I’ve missed most of the horrific events in Ienzo’s life. The least I can do is be present now.”

“And he definitely doesn’t need you two squabbling,” Aerith says firmly. “Stay, or go, I don’t care, but what Ienzo needs is peace. If it’s something this deeply metaphysical, he’ll definitely sense the difference.”

Ansem nods and approaches the boy, sitting at his feet.

Very well. Let Even do all the heavy lifting. Like he always does.

He leaves. He can feel he’s shaking. If Ienzo passes on… what then?

What would he possibly have left?

He finds the other three in the sitting room; Demyx wrapped in a blanket, Aeleus gently consoling him; Dilan sits with his head in his hands. “He’s stable,” he explains when the three of them look up. “Aerith is with him now.”

“What exactly happened?” Dilan asks. “Demyx said something about overextending his power.”

“As far as I can tell--and it’s still early--that’s the case.” He clutches the back of a chair. “We’re not meant to truly have access to our elemental power. It’s an essence of the self, a projection in the absence of a heart--weapons are another mystery. By trying to regain it, however lightly, the entropy of a Nobody’s nonexistence began to eat away at his organs. Particularly his heart.”

“...The organ?” Demyx asks. It’s the first Even’s heard him speak since. His voice is odd, hollow. “Or--”

“We’re not sure how his metaphysical heart has been affected. But I have to learn to relinquish control when something’s out of my hands… and it is. Aerith is healing the physical damage. He’s asleep right now. Ansem is with him too.” He meets Demyx’s eyes. “Might I have a word with you?”

The boy’s eyes widen a little in fear, but he follows Even, taking the blanket with him. He leads the boy to his quarters, gestures for him to sit. “Can I get you some tea? Something to eat?”

“I’m not hungry.” Hollow and raw.

“You’re going to need your strength.” There’s not much of anything in his cabinets, just some likely stale biscuits in a tin. He places them on the coffee table in front of the boy, but he doesn’t take any. He has no idea how to help. If Ienzo has saved Demyx’s life, the least he can do is be of use. It’s what the boy would want. He starts taking his vitals. “Slight fever. Blood pressure low. Eat something. It’ll help. We should probably try to get some more caffeine into your system too.” Demyx watches him warily. Something looks different about the boy, something Even can’t place his finger on.

“Did you lie to Aeleus and Dilan?”

“Not technically.” He takes off the stained coat, sits. He’s exhausted. “I need to gather more information about the situation. And considering the extreme… delicacy of the situation, I figured you’d rather have some privacy.”

He shivers and won’t make eye contact. “How is Ienzo really?”

“The picture I have is not clear.” He puts a hand to his splitting head. “As I said, use of his power wrought havoc on his internal organs. There’s a good deal of internal bleeding, as well as kidney failure. But the most concerning of these things was his heart. I’m not sure yet for how long or when, but use of his power stopped it from beating. Not… death, exactly, but a type of sleep very near it. Something impossible to maintain without intervention. So, naturally, once he tried to wake back up, he went into shock.” Even pauses. Now that he’s coming down himself, his perception is improving. The boy is different. His eyes were never that deep shade of green. “Have your eyes always been so green, or am I just getting old?”

Demyx stares at him blankly.

“Can you tell me what you recall from earlier yesterday afternoon? Do you remember anything?”

He sighs. It’s a heavy sound. “That’s putting it mildly,” he says. He explains that they’d been working, that he’d realized the ancient score was his. “I just… started remembering. Everything about my life then started coming back, wave after wave after wave. There was just so much pain. I felt like I couldn’t escape it. I couldn’t . And then… well I don’t know how. But he got into my head, literally, and dragged me out of the memory. And then I woke up.”

It’s all starting to click. “...Fascinating,” Even mumbles. “Zexion always could use the memories of others to create illusions. But to actively be able to alter them…” He clucks his tongue. “If he’s closely bonded to you, it makes sense that he was able to do so. Naminé was only able to alter memories of those in and around Sora. His power must have functioned similarly.”

“He should have left me there,” Demyx whispers.

“I believe his friendship with Sora has given him something of a hero complex.” He uncrosses his legs. “Nonetheless, you deserve to live too. I have been too harsh with you. I always have.”

“I wasn’t exactly a good person then.”

The admission surprises him. Demyx always had a sort of cockiness to him in the past. To have him out here so nakedly; is this the memories giving him clarity? Or is it simple change? If Even were not so shocked, he would find it fascinating. “No worse, I’m sure, than I. The complex dynamics of the Organization involved quite a lot of groupthink. It was easy to blame you as the source of our problems. The truth is more nuanced than that.”

“The Organization was all I knew at the time.” He tightens the blanket around his shoulders. “I still wanted to be free. But I didn’t want it enough to make the effort of fighting worth it. So I made do.”

“As one does.” He can’t help but see himself in this story, his wayward attempts at survival doing nothing more than causing himself and Ienzo years of trauma.

“It’s okay.” Demyx sighs. “Dilan and I agreed to start over. Maybe you and me should do the same.”

Even nods. “Second chances involve quite a lot of forgiveness,” he says. “But perhaps we all have more common ground than we think.”

This said, the boy’s eyes settle back into the middle distance. He is different; Even can just feel it. More intense. More serious, and vulnerable. He thought it was the lighting at first, but the boy’s hair has changed, all the remaining blonde gone. Changed like a replica when it gets a heart, though the boy’s body is organic. He holds himself a little straighter.

So he’s done it, then. Completed his reformation. Something similar must be coming towards Even in the coming weeks and months. Something that may be worth studying--at the very least, so he can brace himself, fall apart as little as possible. Not to mention, the richness of what Demyx might know of such old times, times that were hardly written about. Even feels a small thrill despite himself. “I understand you’re still in shock, and naturally are very worried. But will you tell me about your past? I can only imagine what this must all be like for you.”

“Shock is right. I feel numb.” He sounds it.

“Perhaps you should get some rest,” Even suggests.

Demyx shakes his head. “I want to see him.”

How can this traumatized boy offer Ienzo the peace he needs? Not when he himself is so uncertain. “I don’t know if that is necessarily the best for either of you at the moment. Believe me. We will keep an eye on him. Sleep might help you get some clarity.”

“What I’d like to do is take a bath. I’m so cold.”

“Then by all means.”

Demyx leaves without so much as casting a backwards glance in his direction. He hasn’t eaten, Even realizes.

He does not have the strength to care for the two boys and himself at once.

Even sinks into bed. He can feel wetness in his own eyes.

Don’t do this, Ienzo. Don’t give up. Please.

But is he praying for the boy’s sake, or his own?

No; Even does not matter. Ienzo deserves a full and happy life. He still has so much left ahead of him; unlike the rest of them, he can bounce back, can be forgiven for his mistakes (though are they really his own?).

Even can’t sleep. He is numb, tired. He forces himself up. Aerith and Demyx both need feeding. But he finds that Aeleus has already cooked. “The least I can do,” he says softly. “Even… you look positively horrid.”

“I… know why Ienzo did what he did,” he says. “If it were me… if I could save the person most important… I… like to think I would’ve.” I wish I could do it now.

“It makes it no easier,” Aeleus says, with a nod. “You should eat as well.”

“Yes.” Aeleus is a decent enough cook, but the soup tastes like nothing. “Any word?”

“Nothing yet. She hasn’t left that room but to ask for some water.”

“The girl needs food. It’s a lot of magic.” He doesn’t sound like himself. “I’ll get her.”

“Even?”

Wearily, he turns.

“You can be upset about this,” Aeleus says. “I know it must… evoke painful memories.”

Even chuckles. “What doesn’t, these days,” he admits.

Aerith is still crouched by Ienzo. “His body is still alive,” she says when she sees him. “I’m afraid… he’s very deeply asleep.”

“More than on a physical level, I assume,” Even says.

“Well, yes. The will’s worn down, but still here. It needs to rest, to restore itself. Kind of like… putting itself into power-saver mode. Ergo, Ienzo can’t move.”

“Can the boy recover from it?”

“I… believe so,” she admits. “But I honestly have no idea how long it will take. Weeks? Months? I’ve never seen something like this before.”

“I can care for a sleeping child. I’ve done it before.”

She nods, slowly. “I’ll come back later to check on him.”

“Aeleus has made dinner. I insist you go get some. You look peaked.”

“Thank you… saves me the embarrassment of asking.” She smiles a little.

“I… can’t thank you enough. If it were only me…”

Aerith nods. “It’s my duty. My pleasure.” She leaves.

While he’s at it, he rouses Demyx, too, who is just as surly about eating until Even tells him Aerith’s there. Both children fed… he returns to the scene of the crime.

Ienzo sleeps.

Much like that night all those years ago, he’s breathing much too deeply and evenly, not so much as twitching. It’s not natural sleep in that regard. Keeping the body breathing and the heart beating is all his will can manage. He sits next to the boy. He’s positive Ienzo can’t hear him, unlike a normal coma patient; but he still speaks anyway. Science is reasonable; scientists are human. “He’s alright, you know,” Even says to him. “But I’m afraid I’m going to give you a stern talking-to concerning your self worth, when you wake.” He brushes the boy’s hair out of his eyes. His skin is a little feverish. “Do not… scare me like that again.” He squeezes Ienzo’s hand gently.

And lets him sleep.

#beyond this existence: atonement #even (kingdom hearts)#ienzo #demyx #aerith #aeleus #ansem the wise #beyond this existence

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