#also sorry about the vague incomprehensibility of some of my answers its hard to not get esoteric with it. and a bit word salady haha

[hpdfag]

hello mutual!! how are you? I hope you are well :D here are some asks from the ask game for you:

moment of death, rigor mortis, putrefaction, and skeletonization!

hihihihi im doing well thank u !!!!! ^_^ answers r under the read-more since this got a bit long v_v

moment of death: to what lengths would you go for your beloved? is there anything you wouldn’t do? any dealbreakers?

almost any length at all. if he wanted me to get worse, id gladly succumb to despair. if he wanted to see me alive and happy, i'd keep fighting to survive. almost anything i can think of as a dealbreaker i would handle just for him. though i guess i'd hate having to share him with someone else... i have a terrible time with jealousy.

rigor mortis: describe your darling.

he's everything, he's a concept, he's an ideal, he's a feeling, he's a wonderful wonderful man that i love very much. i like to say i'm in love with the sun. he's so bright, he lights up a room with his smile alone. when he's there, it feels like everything is going to be okay. he's passionate, and driven, and the most wonderful man i've ever had the privelege of knowing, let alone loving. he's intelligent, and witty, and gorgeous. he's love itself.

putrefaction: do you believe in soulmates? what about reincarnation? if so, do you believe your beloved has always been your beloved?

this one's complicated. i think that, in his original form, he does not exist in this iteration of reality. he couldn't, he's still alive and well and waiting for my recovery. but through being inside the program as a part of the killing game, he's left his mark on the world. there's a piece of him in every living thing. man was recreated in his image, a little kinder, a little warmer.

i used to believe in reincarnation, but i'm not sure anymore. all i do know is that, in a way, every form that hinata has taken has been one that i've loved very dearly despite it all. even if i don't want to admit it to myself. i've always loved him, and who he became, and then who he became again. nothing could change that.

skeletonization: how would you describe your obsession? what does it feel like?

it feels like a hazy fog settled over my senses. it feels like my whole body is bathed in warmth whenever i think about him. when im jealous it feels like something sharp is lodged in my chest, something thats always been there as a dull ache but stings whenever i think of him with someone else.

even my more violent impulses feel warm. sunny. like theyre glowing. when i want to see inside of him or taste his blood it is not out of a desire to cause pain but out of reverence, curiousity, a deep hope that in knowing him as completely as he knows me i'll be able to please him.

all in all i am less an aggressor than i am a servant at heart. i was put on this earth to make him as happy as i possibly can, to please him even if i recieve nothing in return. just the simple act of service to him, a higher power, brings me joy. as much as reciprocation would make me the happiest man on earth, i'd do it all the same even if i wasn't appreciated for a second of it. its all for him.

[silence-burns]

Please Hate Me //part 38

Fandom: Marvel

Summary: Based on: “Imagine having a love/hate relationship with Loki.” by @thefandomimagine​ Who would have thought that babysitting a god could be so much fun?

Genre: slow-burn, enemies to lovers

The pale cheek was rubbery and cold under your finger. You poked it again. "Are you sure he's dead?" 

Loki looked at the severed, and a little chewed, bottom half of the ambassador. "Pretty much."

The body had been laid out on top of a desk, with all the books and documents previously occupying it put on the ground. It didn't really matter in the ways of making things messy, because the suite belonging to the recently deceased ambassador was already a dusty, chaotic mess. The room was dark and narrow and made even smaller by the bookshelves lined along one wall, stealing even more space. The carpet used to be gold and thick, but now it looked just worn and tired. 

"Do we even have a plan? Like, anything in particular to look out for?" 

Loki scratched his chin, looking around next to you. "Plans are for the weak of heart. We've got something better, love—a suspicion. Now we only have to find the evidence for or against it." 

You looked at the shelves filled with old tomes to the point of almost breaking the wood. And then at the loose papers piled carelessly along two of the walls and also in the bedroom. The notes were haphazardly scribbled and left in places where a thought must've struck the man, and then left forgotten or lost. Ink was spilled on the less fortunate ones. 

"...right."

You couldn't say you were happy about it, but there was little to do about it. Whatever the ambassador was working on before he died could shed some light on his death. Now you only had to find it. 

With a deep sigh, you braced yourself and got to work. 

It soon turned out you didn’t understand a single word of it. 

"You said your spell would work and I would understand everything." You focused really hard on the wall of text in a language you'd never seen before. "And it works fine when I'm talking to the lords here, but not on this." 

Loki leaned over your shoulder to peek a glance at the text. "I have no idea. Maybe it works differently on humans? Or maybe you're just a particularly weird individual of your species." 

"Thanks." 

"Welcome, love." 

With nothing you could read, your job there was crippled. Even when Loki assured you he didn't mind doing everything himself and that it wasn't your fault, there was still a sour feeling you couldn't quite shake off. 

"I'm going to see if I can find the kitchens and get us something edible." You decided to pass the time on something at least vaguely helpful. 

Loki looked up from the notes he'd gathered from the windowsill. He’d made himself comfortable in one of the cleaner parts of the room, although unfortunately it just happened to be near the corpse. "Be careful. And please, don't kill anyone without me." 

"I'd never," you promised with a wink and left. 

The castle was huge, but empty. At first, you put in on the murder that must've shaken the people living there, but the longer you looked around, it struck you as odd. Everything was clean, even if touched by time. There must be people taking care of it, but you couldn't find any. 

Or maybe they were avoiding the outsiders. Technically, you were an alien here. 

You walked the empty corridors, enjoying the silent breeze passing through the open panels. It was strange not to see any glass in the windows, but with the weather so mild, there probably wasn't any temperature drop to worry about anyway. 

There were shadows sneaking in the corners of your vision. They could be figments of your imagination and sense of wrongness of this place. They could be the things howling in the dark. 

No. Thinking about that probably wasn't the wisest idea. In a place where thoughts apparently could shape reality, thinking merry, happy thoughts seemed like a much more rational option if one planned to survive and not be eaten by their own fears embodied. You had such plans, and even if Loki was convinced that you had absolutely no connection to magic unless it hit you in the face, it was better to stay cautious. And happy. What a lovely day it was, after all, with the creeping light avoiding particular parts of your vision, and something definitely following you. How nice would it be to meet someone. Anyone. 

Your eyes wandered off into the gardens below, where the everlasting night was laying thick. A fountain shimmered in bluish speckles of water. And behind it, the night opened its eyes. 

You might've jumped a little. Just the tiniest bit. 

But there was no denying that, just for the briefest moment, your eyes met the Queen's, posed unnaturally still among the statues. 

…and people said wishful thinking wouldn't get you anywhere. 

You hopped over the railing, and onto the moss-covered ground. The guard you'd seen before was nowhere to be found. You stared around as hard as you could, trying to pierce the shadows and strange light. It took a moment to find what you were looking for. 

From up close, the stars overhead and the stars shimmering on her skin looked like mirror images. For a moment, the night sky felt within a hand's reach. 

Not one muscle betrayed the Queen had she noticed your arrival. Her eyes were dull and completely blank—to the point where you wondered if you hadn't imagined everything. 

You stood right next to her and still weren't decapitated, which was a comfort and a good sign. You bowed stiffly, even if she didn't see it. 

"Hi," you said quietly, looking for any sign of comprehension. "I'm one of the people who came here to explain the recent murder." 

Nothing. Just the vast expanse of the night enclosed in a fading body and crumbled into a vaguely humanoid shape. The Queen only had one horn intact, white as a bone, and sharp like the crescent moon—the only one to ever be seen on the edge of the universe. 

"I wondered if you knew anything about it," you tried again. "We're doing well so far, and I'm sure we'll find the murderer eventually, so don't worry about that, but… We'd still appreciate any and all help." 

Birds chirped somewhere in the trees. Shimmering pollen flew on the light breeze squeezing through the thicket. The night turned her eyes toward you. 

It'd been a while since you cowered under the sheets, afraid of the darkness. It was a common fear among children, and one that only a few grew out of. Those eyes reminded you of those sleepless nights. 

Not a word left the bloodless lips. Not a muscle twitched. The edges of the woman blurred into the night. 

"...right. Sorry to interrupt you, Your Majesty." 

You backed away a few steps before turning your back to her. A shiver ran down your spine. If that was what fading was, you preferred death. 

*

Loki enjoyed reading, he really did. Even as a child, he'd often been found buried among the old tomes in the palace's library, or smuggling particularly interesting ones to his rooms. There was something in the way of the written word that captured his attention way better than whatever training he was forced to participate in for the sake of Odin's misplaced ambition. There was a certain rush in learning facts previously unknown and in understanding the world or the forces in it better. 

Loki felt absolutely none of that while going through the ambassador's notes. 

Most of them were full of incomprehensible babble of half-finished ideas or references that led nowhere without the books they'd been taken from. Some seemed to be copied pages, which led Loki to the conclusion that the books were not to be taken off the library grounds. 

There were a lot of dates and numbers that made little sense to him, so he put them down on the pile of things he deemed irrelevant to the investigation. The pile was growing and now consisted of several piles, forming the majority of the room's contents. 

The doors opened. Loki was relieved to see you; the dagger disappeared back up his sleeve. 

"That took you awhile," he noticed, throwing the crumbled papers to the right, onto the pile of nonsense. "I was getting worried." 

"I'm good. I got you some apples." 

The apples were a dusted orange, but tasted sweet enough to justify the unusual color. Loki leaned back in his chair and let you settle on his lap. The feeling of your body pressed into his made you share the warmth and comfort, and made some of the stress building up since morning fade away. 

"I met the Queen," you said around a mouth full of apple, and the other hand buried in Loki's hair. "She seemed nice enough. The creepiness definitely runs in the family, though." 

Some of the stress came back. "Did she… say anything?"

"Nope. I don't think she’s… aware of things. Which is a shame, because I seriously hoped she could help us." 

Loki brushed your back in wide, soothing strokes. "There is a chance she'll regain her senses one day, just for long enough to answer some questions. Fading is a complicated process." 

"You know a lot about it." 

Loki's eyes dropped to the few remaining apples. "Gods fade too sometimes." 

"Will you? One day?" 

"I am a Frost Giant, love, even if I was raised on Asgard. I'm not sure how much that complicates my case, and there is no one to ask about it anymore." 

"I'm sorry." 

Loki closed his eyes and breathed in your scent as he felt you kiss his temple, gently and with enough unfiltered love to make his heart throb almost painfully. He was lucky, even despite the mess politics brought onto him. He was luckier than he ever thought he'd be. And luckier than he thought he deserved. 

"Did you find anything interesting?" you asked with a face burrowed into the crook of his neck. 

"There was quite a lot of nonsense, but the rest highlights the ambassador's interest in the wars and mass deaths that always follow them." 

You froze. The corpse laid on the desk next to you no longer felt like something you could forget about. "...what an interesting guy. "

"Most definitely, but it's too early to judge just yet. I made a list of the books he mentioned most often. I think it'd be worth our time to pay a visit to the library to check them out and maybe ask a few questions to the people working there. They should know something about him and the dead assistant."

"We could get some more apples on our way," you offered, standing up. Loki already missed you. 

"Sure, why not. It's not like you'd take the fruit of the sacred trees from the very clearly separated part of the gardens, right?" 

"...of course. I'd never overlook that." 

You did overlook that in the end, and Loki just happened to overlook it too. Overlooking things was always more fun in good company. 

The gardens were a beautiful, lush place, bursting with colors and leaves that danced on the wind instead of falling. Some of the branches were covered in flowers so tiny they looked like ants, traveling up and down the bark. Birds too shy to leave the shadows chirped and sung. 

It was a strange change to witness, especially having in mind what the gardens were like in the morning. Whatever put them in a good mood had clearly done a good job. It made the winding paths easier to follow, and the water passing through the fountain shimmer like starlight. 

Loki shrugged when you voiced your thoughts. 

"In your world, the weather changes just as rapidly," he said, looking at his mirrored image. "Here, it's the very essence of the Edge that's capable of changing." 

It was poetic, like most things on the Edge. And just like them, the forest suddenly decided to hate you. 

First, the birds vanished, their voices cut short. 

Then, something else moved between the curled, twisted trees. Loki noticed too, and handed you one of his knives. The knives had a habit of appearing around him in just the right moments, and you loved them for it. 

And finally, the Edge decided how to make your lives difficult this time. 

The monstrosity that circled the fountain was a terror of thin legs and bulky torso, armed with too many teeth.

"Is it a spider?" you asked in a voice too high because of your heart leaping into your throat. 

"It could be, if someone really hated spiders," Loki said, but there was a smile on his face. "And it might present a problem, if we were still on Earth—but now I'm free and ready to deal with this the old-fashioned way." 

You blinked when golden light enveloped him in a flash. The green armor poured onto his body while magic danced around his fingers. The golden helmet you'd seen only once in the battle of New York, now returned in its full glory. 

You cheered as Loki stepped out, swinging a spear with a nonchalant ease only available to children forced to learn something for years against their will. 

"Kick its ass, babe!" 

Loki winked. 

The creature didn't want to have its ass kicked. It charged on its eight legs reaching far and fast. Loki striked, gutting its belly and cutting two legs off. It should've died, but it didn't. The cuts should've killed it, but they healed. 

Loki's magic should've blocked the furious mass hurtling itself at him. It didn't. 

The spell flashed a blinding yellow before it cracked like glass and shattered. The legs that were no longer cut, they hit and didn't miss. 

A gold-and-green body flew through the air with a very surprised face. The fountain crashed in a rain of water and marble, covering everything in a thin layer of dust and a thick one of mud quickly forming under your feet. 

"...Loki?"

Loki didn't answer, half buried under the stone. 

The spider turned its too big head to you. Its legs were black and covered in thick stubble. 

"Shit," you whispered. 

The spider agreed. 

You ran. 

[tainbocuailnge]

Couldn't be there for the stream, but congrats on finishing Nier. What did you think of it? And what game will you play next? (Maybe you already answered somewhere, if so sorry for being redundant.)

in terms of style and aesthetic the game is absolutely gorgeous. definitely one of its strongest points is the ways it uses design to reinforce its themes and provide subtle worldbuilding. the example freshest in my memory is how different hacking a2 looks from hacking anything else because she’s such an old model, but also the way the vivid colors of the regular overworld contrast with the grayscale of the bunker or the white cubes of that city where you fight adam/the tower cannon, or 9s’ fucked up memories of 2b in C and D routes using the same attacks as adam and eve’s bossfights in A and B routes. the game really leans into the strong contrast between vibrant organic shapes and washed out mechanical shapes, from the very start with the overgrown buildings of the city but also the difference between the detailed & colorful regular interface and the hacking segments consisting of straight lines & muted browns, and it will reverse that distinction at key moments to make a point. switching between different styles of video game (like the visual novel sections) is a really neat way to control the pacing of the story too

conversely i think a lot of the game’s actual playability was sacrificed for the aesthetic. hacking is really cool as concept and visually i adore the way it’s implemented but in terms of gameplay it fucking sucks. not only does it throw off the whole flow of combat but the actual gameplay of the hacking segments themselves is just frustrating as hell because it wants you to hack stronger enemies instead of fight them with 9s’ weak noodle arms but then makes specifically the stronger enemies a huge pain to hack, and if you fail at hacking you take damage anyway so in the end it’s still easier to just fight directly. stuff like the emp’s being able to seal your combat abilities or fuck up your visual processors also makes sense and enriches the game storywise, but is a huge fucking pain in the ass to deal with as someone Playing A Video Game because it means you just have to run the fuck away until the effect has worn off. switching between 9s and a2′s individual bossfights in the tower, too, is very cool conceptually but ended up being super annoying in practise because like the hacking it just disrupts the flow of combat (it was very cool when they were fighting the same enemy though)

i also feel like a lot of the fights just took way too damn long. this one might be on me since I didn’t do a lot of sidequests and thus was underleveled, but it felt like a lot of the combat was intentionally stretched out in order to pad out the game’s length. honestly i think i have a case here even with being underleveled because having to do the sidequests in order to even be strong enough to progress the main story at a reasonable pace is very much padding out the game’s length. even though it took me several dozen hours to complete the main story it still feels pretty short to me because so much of that was just dragged out bossfights. bloodborne definitely spoilt me on this point because in that one once you figure out a boss youre Done, you prove you know how to deal with it and you perform the Trick a few times and then you’re done with it but every Phucking nier automata boss was just endlessly whaling on some annoying mother fucker while i’m thinking bro just show me the next story section already. and then every other bossfight they dump lore on you WHILE you’re trying not to die and i hate that too dude i can’t fucking read and fight at the same time Don’t Call For A Meeting You Son Of A Bitch This Could Have Been A Cutscene

STORYWISE. storywise. honestly I need to rewatch some cutscenes before i can form a Real In-Depth Informed Opinion cuz we spent so much of the stream joking about horsecock that i didn’t pay enough attention to perform my true analysis no jutsu. what you’re about to read is subject to change. looking at just the progression of events in nier tomato there’s some things I don’t really understand why they happened other than ‘themes, bro’ which is not necessarily a complaint mind you because im a fate fan after all but its. hmm how do i say this. i feel like yoko taro is very much a Conceptual Writer. he’s got a strong idea of the kind of message and themes he wants to convey and then he constructs a story around that idea, but because it’s all so thematically driven the actual logistics of the story end up falling behind, like with all the above bitching about the gameplay suffering for the aesthetic. a lot of time i was like ‘no idea who i am no idea why im here all i know is im sad’ if you’re the kind of person who needs [ending EXPLAINED] videos then tomato is probably an incomprehensible robot ass simulator. speaking of robot ass I think it’s super cool that they just fuckin killed 2b actually because I absolutely did not expect that, it really puts a hard line between AB and CD routes.

it’s a very bittersweet game.... it asks “is there meaning in wanting to live when there is nothing left to live for?” and “is there meaning in wanting to protect something when there is nothing left of it to protect?” and answers with “if you want there to be, yeah” it’s about being able to die with hope in your heart as ultimate definition of humanity

ultimately it’s a very beautiful game both in visuals and emotionally and I’d recommend it to anyone whose tastes even vaguely align with mine but I don’t think I’m ever gonna actually replay it. look up story compilations on youtube at most. and it’s really such a shame because I think the way the gameplay is integrated in the story is fantastic from a thematic standpoint but it comes at the expense of the enjoyability of that gameplay so even though this is very much a Video Game Story it’s a hassle to actually consume it in video game format. [yoko taro voice] you WILL be sad about these robots and you WILL work for it

[bluehhj]

listen to me — chapter 32

LISTEN TO ME — 0032

listen to me masterlist;

WORDS: 1.6K

Jinah woke with a knock on the door and decided to ignore it to see if the unoccupied person who disturbed her sleep at about ten in the morning realized this and left. The bright sunlight streamed through the narrow gap between the wall and the heavy curtain covering the window, warning that the day had begun long ago, but in Jinah's subconscious it was too early to open her eyes.

"This is it, I'm coming in." — Woojin's voice was heard just before the bedroom door opened, and Jinah only let out an incomprehensible murmur and covered her head with the blanket. — "Your room smells like a woman."

"I wonder why?" — ironically, the girl grunted with a hoarse intonation from lethargy. — "I thought only boys slept in this room."

"No, dumbass, I'm talking about it here" — Woojin sniffed again at the lost male shirt on the dresser, which made Jinah think of the fabric that 'mysteriously' appeared inside her drawer — her guy best friend had an annoying habit of storing clothes quickly after ironing them and ended up mixing it up by accident. — "I've seen Chan in this shirt. It would be a very strange situation if I didn't know you and Chan so well."

Jinah wrinkled her nose as she vaguely imagined the scene and lowered the blanket, aware that she could no longer continue her sleep thanks to the chattering plague in front of her: — "Not wanting to be unkind, but already being: what are you doing here?"

"Changeun made a beautiful cake and posted on Instagram stories, I came to eat."

"Okay, but the kitchen is on the other side of the apartment" — Jinah saw no need to discuss the miracle that was Jade and Changbin had woken up willing to bake together, would take care of that later.

"I wanted to come see you, huh."

"...For what?"

"Insensitive" — Woojin rolled his eyes and, against all limits of personal space, laid over Jinah's body, who began to complain in the same second. — "I'm offering you my love and you don't want it, it hurts."

"You have to get a boyfriend or girlfriend to offer all this affection, now get out."

"Single I lie down, with no horns I wake up; that's my motto" — Woojin rolled to fall beside the girl on the mattress, but still kept one leg over her. That was how he alerted people. — "And I don't need a girlfriend or boyfriend when I have you to go shopping, either."

"But what?" — sulking, Jinah sat on the bed and ran her hand through the dark, tangled strands of her hair.

"You said we were going to buy Sana's gift together, did you forget?"

"No, but already?"

"Jinah, the party is today."

And as if returning to the slow processing state, Choi frowned slightly and spent about six seconds in silence before answering: — "I wasn't even remembering that today is saturday, dammit."

"Yeah," — Woojin sat down too. — "You're welcome."

"Jinah!" — hurried footsteps in the hallway came along with Chan's call. When he emerged at the bedroom door, he was carrying the phone that Choi had forgotten in the living room, but the call had already ended before he could deliver the phone to its proper owner. — "It was your mom."

She unlocked the screen and saw two missed calls, but she didn't find it odd, as Mrs. Choi always called at least once a week.

"Go eat your cake, Woojin," — she patted her friend's shoulder. — "In the meantime I'll get ready and call my mom back, then we'll leave."

"Send a kiss to auntie" — that said, Kim got to his feet and headed out of the room. That's because he hadn't even spoken a word to the woman.

"My shirt" — Chan took the said whose over the dresser. — "I just realized it was missing. I put it in your drawer by mistake?"

"As always" — Jinah laughed softly and stood up too. Bang just shrugged, as if the need to apologize about something that happened so often was unnecessary, and left his friend alone.

Jinah yawned and went to the bathroom first of all, taking the opportunity to take a warm shower in the middle of the process. She glanced over the social medias as she brushed her teeth, but then set her phone aside and went after a simple outfit, choosing the first long-sleeved red shirt she found in the closet and the black pants that were closest to her field of vision. She could still hear the laughter of the others in the kitchen, so she assumed she had a few minutes left to make a video call instead of a call, as she would rather see her parents' faces than just hear their voices.

A few seconds were enough for Jinah to giggle, her mother's face, Choi Seohyun, appearing funny on the laptop screen until she found a good angle to support her phone. She was a lady in her fifties, but her hair in a bun was always dyed weekly, so that not a little white hair played hide and seek on the surface. She wore round-rimmed glasses and had such a sweet smile that it was impossible to look at her without wanting to smile along.

"Hi, honey" — her eyes started to water, as they always did when they talked like that. She missed her daughter.

"Hi, mom" — Jinah also felt her own waterline produce a little more liquid than needed. — "I didn't answer you before because I was still sleeping, I'm sorry."

"No problem, I called too early" — Seohyun laughed heartily, her laughter was so easy! — "Your dad told me to wait a little longer, but you know how anxious I am."

"By the way, where is he?"

"Here" — at this moment, a man of similar age took a little space on the screen. The urge to cry increased in Jinah, for seeing all those snow-white hairs on her father's head intensified his emotions. — "How are things there?"

"Fine. I'll be on vacation in two months, inclusive."

"And can you come visit us?"

"Of course." — Jinah always visited them every six months, but her parents wanted to make sure she came at all times. — "And things there? Is everything alright?"

"Yes," — Seohyun replied with another smile, but her expression became a little more restless, which made Jinah worried. — "You've been taking good care of yourself, haven't you?"

"Yes, as far as possible. But why do you look worried?"

She shook her head: — "Mother thing. I just want you to promise to be very careful, wherever you have to go."

"Last time you told me that, I fell off my bike and broke an arm." — Jinah remembered the episode from years ago. It was supposed to sound like some kind of joke, but she watched as Seohyun swallowed hard.

"Your mom is too worried" — Mr. Lee Jungjin wrapped an arm around the woman's shoulders, reassuring her, and wisely circumvented the situation. — "Anyway, where is that guy you introduced us to the other day?"

"Working" — that day was epic. Nor was it in Jinah's plans to 'introduce' Jisung to her parents, although she had already spoken to them about the boy, but it was pure coincidence that Han entered the room just when another video call similar to that was taking place. Jisung almost had a heart attack, but disguised it well. — "Today the publishing house is open until noon."

"You both have to start dating at once, honey," — Seohyun scolded. — "In my time, you didn't kiss anyone before a formal request, what you two are doing is wrong."

"But the jurassic era is over, mom. Now you kiss first and date later."

"I think that's wrong. And you respect me, because I'm still young."

"Sorry" — Jinah laughed and her father accompanied her. — "Maybe I'll solve this dating story soon, I don't know yet."

"How don't you know yet? Will you keep the boy waiting until when?"

"Honey, this is something only the two of them have to solve," — Jungjin said. — "Jinah's right, things have changed a lot for a few years here. If it's a tendency to kiss before dating, then let them follow the trend."

Seohyun cast an indignant look at her husband: — "Is this how you raise your daughter?"

"But-..."

"That's why the world is lost these days!"

"And you still have the nerve to say you're not getting old." — Jungjin snapped his tongue on the roof of his mouth and turned his attention back to the screen. — "I have to finish mowing the lawn. I've left the garden gate open and it's likely that neighbor's dog has already come in and made a mess in the backyard. Send a hug to all your friends in the apartment and have sense, get it?"

"Yes, sir. Sense is my second name."

"Take care, my daughter, my pans are also on the stove," — Seohyun said. — "Don't forget to call if you need anything, we love you."

"I love you too" — and amid the farewell that started, Jinah became emotional again and had to take a deep breath when she finally closed the laptop. She missed them so much, but, on the bright side, she didn't even have much time to enjoy the melancholy, as Woojin was soon to resurface and dragged her into a ridiculous shopping session.

Jinah had enough distraction to toast her patience for the rest of the day, but it was the night she really should worry about.

(a/n: hi, guys!!! long time no see huh? 

well, unfortunately i wasn't able to update so fast, this last week was crazy for me and i think the next one is going to be too, especially cause i'm gonna >>>try<<< to write a one-shot of hyunjin and yoorim that i'm wanting to write it's been two weeks and i can never complete it 👺👺 so sorry now and i hope you guys understand me. bye, love u~)

[bladekindeyewear]

Boots Reads Homestuck Epilogue(s) Part 10 - Candy Part 1 again

I was told that finishing the epilogue MAY make me feel better by some with opinions, with some vague hints that the ridiculous start of Candy may have underlying reasons, so now that I’m awake again (though my stomach is roiling a bit again) I’m gonna take another crack at it.

Alright, so I was also hinted that this Candy part ends with a different cliffhanger, so maybe those two will cancel out?  That’s my hope anyway.

Reading page 1 again since I didn’t finish the very tail end of it... alright, so WHY IS ROXY CRYING again????  Was she just PRETENDING that she didn’t know it might turn out bad for John if he went at the end of the last one?  Was there some weird mind-rewriting going on?  Is the crying a symptom of this whole thing potentially being an our!Callie fanfic and she knows what’s being dodged??  Don’t know.

Alright, let’s have him save Gamzee and... is Vriska going to get saved in this version?  Or is that descent into the black hole without seeing what happens her well-deserved comeuppance while only the ghost version of Vriska truly figured out how to be happy?

==>

Dirk acknowledges him when he zaps back, but it’s YOUNG Dirk so hopefully there isn’t any stupid Meat stuff going on.

...Yeah, Gamzee immediately being repentant is weird as shit.  Maybe he Chucklevoodoo’d Callie into escaping him into this whole candied mess so he could start shit, I dunno.  That or this isn’t really Gamzee or someone’s manipulating him or etc etc etc.  The hint I got earlier was that if I thought Calliope wanting to bring Gamzee back and everyone just rolling with it was a little out of character, there are “reasons”, so I’m just going through all of this under the assumption that some emotion-manipulating weirdness is going on regardless.

Oh shit, Gamzee’s going to start recounting his character reasons for doing bad stuff in a surface-hope of justification and understanding.  All the characters immediately recognize how painfully groanworthy this is going to be.

GAMZEE: AnD sUcH iS wHy I’m GrAbBiNg HoLd Of My RePeNtAnCe As FiRm AnD sErIoUs As I wOuLd A wHoRe’S tItTy!

Yeah, that really encapsulates how “serious” all of this is.  And of course, John’s not having any of it.

Yeah, Terezi wouldn’t have any of it either, remotely.

Something feels different, but he can’t put his finger on it.

Hm.  The aforementioned manipulation-weirdness?

==>

Okay, so it’s kind of Dirk who notices something different and is cancelling his stupid villain plans, got it.

Volatility of causality, huh?

(I’m going to be going through these parts a little faster than the Meat section, unsurprisingly.)

==>

Okay, Rose and Kanaya, are we gonna cure her substance abuse or--

With all the distance between them lately,

God damnit, have Dirk’s manipulations extended that far OFFSCREEN or is this legitimate character distancing???? Because either is BAD.  >:(

Right, now that the plot and “relevance” has been sidelined over to a different timeline, Rose can now breathe easy free of her condition.  And whichever parts of her condition were, perhaps, IMPOSED on her.  Fuck.

I’m going to try my fucking best to cling to this, hope I can carry on a memory after this is over that DOESN’T imagine Rose trapped in a fucking existential dying villain coma with a hard fucking cutoff that promises nothing is ever coming to resolve it ever.  (Or Jade in a somewhat-similar sidelined situation, or Jane doomed to fuck herself over and everyone else too, or...)

What’s slipping away instead is the feeling that any of it mattered at all. Was she insane to be so consumed by such lofty concerns, and is she only beginning to experience clarity today, for the first time in ages?

Yeah, you’re no longer in a timeline of Light and relevance.  And that’s not so bad, which is something you never expected to be true given your derision of the concept.  Void is pretty goddamn alright.

--Oh right, the illness and substance abuse probably caused plenty of distance between them.

KANAYA: There Was A Feeling I Couldnt Shake That Something Terrible Was Going To Happen To Us KANAYA: Something That Neither Of Us Could Stop KANAYA: A Powerful Outside Force That Would Take You Away From Me KANAYA: And I Couldnt Stop Myself From Thinking That Maybe KANAYA: Maybe That It Would Be For The Best ROSE: Kanaya... KANAYA: I Can Now See That This Is Completely Ridiculous

For some reason, this doesn’t settle my stomach much?  It’s clear Andrew wove this in here so that if you read Meat first, you’d be able to acknowledge readily how this diverged in a way the characters kind of recognize, and... I’m not sure what I’m even saying.  It’s like there’s hope that this is TRYING to take the bad taste out of my mouth, but I don’t believe it overly much.

ROSE: What a relief, considering that we are both going to be young and magically fit literally forever.

Wait, so they DID find a way to extend their non-ascended friends’ lifespans to practical immortality?  Jane’s Life powers?  Something else?

==>

yay jade.  more extended dave metaphors.  calm down stomach.

JADE: i never thought id be thinking of you as my weird nerd friend by the time we were in our twenties

Heheheh.

DAVE: yeah well i never thought youd be like the premiere woo girl on the planet

Had to look up what a “woo girl” was.

Yes Jade go flirt them to death

What she’s planning isn’t a seduction. It’s a public service.

Pff

(And yeah, she’s being pushy but at least she doesn’t go DIRK FAR about it.)

DAVE: its incredible hes driven at least ten people off the site by creating thinly veiled parody accounts of their usernames

Oh my gosh, Karkat’s good enough to ANDREW HUSSIE them?!???  :D

That’s incredible.

Karkat knows damned well what a husband is. He’s been force-fed enough bad movies from Dave to pick up any human euphemism you could name. He still plays dumb sometimes, for comedic effect, to irritate his friends, or simply to avoid a topic of conversation altogether.

Yeah, it was always pretty clear that about HALF of the trolls pretended not to understand something human that they knew about just for comedic effect and they knew it.  :)

It would be pretty easy to mistake his reaction for arousal, so it’s understandable that Jade is extremely surprised when Karkat snaps his jaw shut and chomps down on her hand.

PFFFFHahahahah :D

And yep, Jane cancelled her run at Dirk’s direction.

DAVE: lets all just thank whichever christ was responsible for making whatever decision resulted in her deciding not to do that

*nod nod*

JADE: well i hope she gets a better hobby JADE: there are a lot of less ominous things she could do with her time KARKAT: WHAT, LIKE FUCKING HER WAY THROUGH HALF THE POPULATION OF EARTH C?

Jade pinches his ear and twists hard, smiling pleasantly.

JADE: get fucked karkat

Yeah, this is about the level of violence/threat I’d expect from Jade when anyone slut-shames her for perfectly acceptable behavior.

==>

There is almost no crime on Earth C, and so almost no one locks their door.

Huh.  I guess post-scarcity might do that.

Alright, we get to see Jane being less of a fuckass.

Dirk was the one person on Earth C who took the state of the locksmith industry with the seriousness it deserved.

Pffff

JAKE: Thats my theory at least. Maybe its tommyrot but i have faith that dirk will be back. After all where is he going to go?

Good question that wasn’t answered in Meat, so of course Jake says it here obliviously.

JAKE: I must admit i am rather half rats at the moment. JANE: You’re what? JAKE: Haha sorry that was a pretty obtuse way of putting it wasnt it. JAKE: What i mean to say is that ive been powdering my hair quite a bit today.

Andrew is SO good at making Jake sound completely incomprehensible.

...Ouch, Jane, don’t drink so hard! D:

The “morbs”??

JAKE: Dirk has that manner about him does he not? JAKE: A way about him that makes you feel like whatever you do as long as it does not involve him it doesnt count for dick.

Yeah, fuck Dirk.

Hm... is the absence of relevance affecting them, or some other manipulation? It’s not just the LACK of Dirk’s manipulation.

JAKE: Except of course for that time when you were under mind control and had me trussed up in your lair as you pontificated villainously about using me as a breeding stud to create a blood lineage for your incumbent corporate space empire.

A fate Dirk seems to agree with, judging by Meat.  Let’s sidestep that fucking entirely, thank you.

...yeah, I didn’t expect Jake’s response to be any less oblivious than exactly that.

==>

So why DID Callie bring Gamzee back, anyway?  Is there some secret use for him in mind?  Was she manipulated into it?  Maybe BY Gamzee?  Hm.

...alright, priestly with followings.  That ain’t good.  Is he aiming for Clown President MK2?

Everything Callie and Roxy have done and said in this Candy section so far seems creepily contrived, possibly by design.

...okay did they have some kind of weird agreement? Like, “okay John is gonna make his choice, and if he chooses to stay i try dating him instead of you, Callie”???  That’s... no that can’t be it.  Roxy’s NEVER acted THIS oblivious before.  What’s she playing at?

GAMZEE: mY fUcKiN *gUy*. :o) JOHN: ... GAMZEE: My DuDe AnD mY nInJa AlIkE. GAMZEE: mY *hOrN* dOoOoG. JOHN: ... GAMZEE: mY hOrN tO tHa MoThErFuCkIn DoG. ;o) JOHN: waiter! help!

I’m imagining Gamzee now as a sweaty and homeless, unkempt Guy Fieri.

Yeah, this doesn’t look like it’ll be fun.

==>

...Swifer Eggmop.  ¬_¬”

There’s a third member of their social group who definitely hasn’t arrived at the conclusion that his power and influence should be meted out responsibly either. Neither of them speak his name, however. For some reason, it feels like a shadow passing over the sun. A brief spike of pain flickers through Rose’s head, a bolt that strikes between her eyes and splinters out. There is color and light behind it. A vision that tears through the material reality in front of her and gives her a brief glimpse into a parallel reality where things are very different.

Yeah, fuck Dirk.

...Pff. Yeah, Rose WOULD mimic the record-scratch gesture.

Don’t invoke “never seeing Vriska again” like that, you’re really tempting fate.

Heh, Rose is finding some Light in the darkness, wanting to do something that’s meaningful on an expressive level with this Vriskgrub business.

Hm... why is my stomach a little less uneasy?

I sure hope it stays that way.

==>

KARKAT: OH MY GOD, ARE THE MECHANICAL GLUTES ON THAT BILLBOARD ACTUALLY PADDED WITH PLUSH TO MAKE THEM MORE LIFELIKE?

Heck Yes

...Yes, touch the butt, Karkat.

Jade, pouting a bit, glides in between them and uses her Space powers to teleport Dave’s phone out from the center of his traumatized palm and into the pocket of her sweater.

Hm!  So she still has teleportation abilities over a limited range even without her Green Sun boost, that’s nice.  :D

After all, where would these two pitiful beta boys be without her?

Oh my fucking god stop being Dirk, Jade.  And never use that narrative language again, even in your head.  Heck, even if Dirk’s the one WRITING this still, don’t even think CLOSE enough to think those words.

...yeah this sounds like an Active player class taking things slightly too far.

Thank you, Karkat, for drawing the consent-line in the sand.  Looks like Jade’s backing off a little.

--hold on, wait, Dave kissed him? He did, so why is-- let me read back up--

Dave doesn’t answer. She answers for him by leaning down and planting a dry, affectionate kiss on Karkat’s cheek.

Okay I misread this line earlier.  Jade kissed Karkat when neither of them were looking and is BLAMING Dave.  Hmm.

Alright, Dave ollies outie.  Karkat tumbles down some hillstairs.

Jade could probably catch him. Actually, she could easily do it, but it doesn’t seem like the kind of favor you should do in a fledgling kismesissitude.

Thaaaat’s a little presumptuous??

JADE: well i guess im eating grub spaghetti alone JADE: *again*!!!

:C

I’d be sadder if you didn’t bring it down hard upon yourself but

:C

==>

Yeah, John, better clear up this Callie business because it’s muddy as heck why Roxy would just drop everything to try things out with you.

Ah, we’re bringing up the gender identity thing on this side too, hm?

More serious talk, this is good, reading reading...

The glasses clink together clumsily, and water gets all over the complimentary breadsticks.

Oh no.  This had better not be Olive Garden.

ROXY: no one else has ever made me feel like this

--not Calliope???

What the heck is even going on.

Dave’s coming for some bro help it looks like.

==>

It’s hilarious how much Dave is freaking out about this, and how completely in-character it is.

JOHN: holy fucking shit. JOHN: there’s a gay snooze button? DAVE: yeah man theres a gay snooze button JOHN: wow.

I love these two’s conversations

......wait, Dave’s been holding off on kissing Karkat because of what he thinks JADE might think???? D:

JOHN: i almost managed to forget that she was trying to fuck you and karkat.

Pfffffffff  :D

Yep.  I love it being put so bluntly.

Reading on... yeah, for some reason I also always figured that the end result of a nice three-way relationship between those three people would be Jade and Dave essentially both just glomming onto Karkat more than each other?  Hm.

JOHN: i mean... it doesn’t sound... JOHN: *canon*?

...I hope you’re just talking about his coin flip explanation and not DaveKatJade.  >:(

John wonders when talking to Dirk has fixed anything for anyone.

Nod nod.

She grins up at John with shimmering, adoring eyes. They’re reflecting every star in the sky, all for him.

Seriously, what the hell.  Is Roxy hypnotized?  Putting on an act?  A voidy act??

I’m not doubting that Roxy COULD feel that way about John, I’m doubting the suddenness and the way Calliope is being deliberately ignored in the situation, which is so goddamn obvious that JOHN is uncomfortable about it.  There’s something seriously strange going on.

It itches at the back of his head, the idea that he might have just fucked up Dave’s entire life.

D:

Alright next post after a bit of breakfast.

[cardshcrp]

FIVE TIMES KISSED

FIVE TIMES KISSED.

@prctettcre // BILL WEASLEY // always selectively accepting !

                                                                                                                     i.

         So it isn’t his most graceful moment in the world when he yelps and nearly topples right off his seat, but that’s just what happens when someone pops up when you’re half-dozing, which he’d been plenty guilty of. Bill hardly notices, swings himself right onto the bench to face Remy, straddling the wood as he details his latest escapade. 

Remy’s groggy brain finally catches up, realizes it’s the boy he’s spoken to a few times, can tentatively call a friend even if it’s only been a couple of weeks since he’d arrived. And maybe it’s the sunshine keeping him drowsy enough to forget that not everyone follows the customs he’d grown up with, or maybe it’s the vague need to make Bill stop and slow down so he can actually comprehend the elaborate scenario being laid out for him, but - 

He leans in, fingers curling around Bill’s shoulder, and brushes his lips to one freckled cheek and then the other, the chatter cutting off abruptly.

“Bisous,” he offers belatedly once he pulls back and sees the look of frank astonishment on Bill’s face as he stares at him. It’s only then he realizes that maybe this doesn’t carry over for Brits, he isn’t quite sure - and that even if it did he probably should have done bises and not bisous for a new friend, but he’s always been affectionate - but it doesn’t seem to matter, because Bill just grins at the way Remy’s going pink all down his throat and starts his story over. 

Remy decides later that day that he rather wants to keep Bill Weasley and that he’s quite fun, mostly spurred on by the fact that they construct a very elaborate prank to play on one of the snobbier Slytherins over dinner, and maybe also because when Bill next bounds up to him, he stops to give Remy bisous.

                                                                                                                    ii.

         When Bill had offered Remy a place to come for winter holiday, he hadn’t been sure exactly what he’d expected, but the reality of it was much better. The Weasleys make everything feel like home, which is rather odd because he already has one, but he doesn’t bother questioning it. 

Neither does Jean-Luc, who’s mostly just pleased his son has made friends, though Henri is the practical one that gives Remy an extra deposit to stay in England instead of coming back between their father’s scattered cheers and enthusiasm.

Instead, he lets himself get swept off in the humdrum whirlwind of activity that is life at the Burrow, sure to stick cold finger and toes on Bill’s ankles and cheeks every morning and laugh out a good morning one each to Molly and Arthur. He also makes sure that Ron gets a liberal amount of tummy tickles, and he learns not to protest very much when Bill is put in charge of dressing him the once they venture into Ottery St. Catchpole, because as it turns out Remy is wonderfully good at wizard fashion and a disaster at the ordinary kind.

It’s easy to settle into a scratchy sweater and kick his friend half out of his place until they can scrunch in together on the couch. It’s easy to yelp when the twins latch onto his legs in a coordinated attack and bring him tumbling down. 

It’s easy to kiss Bill properly for the first time when they’re back on Hogwarts grounds with snow stuck to their hair and scarves, easy as breathing to wrap his arms around the other boy’s neck and just steal his lips without an ounce of hesitation. 

Later he wonders what he’d been thinking, because he could have ruined everything, but it doesn’t matter so much then either because he’s got his fingers laced through Bill’s and his head on his shoulder, and it all fits pretty nice.

                                                                                                                   iii.

          He’s panicking. That’s the first thing his very helpful brain tells him, which really makes everything worse, but there isn’t a whole lot he can do about it because he’s on one knee and ow the gravel drive is really taking its vengeance out on him, but he’s staying put, damn it.

Served him right for being to chicken to go according to plan, anyway. If he had, he would’ve dropped down an hour ago before they headed home from the Muggle concert he’d gotten them tickets for (which was, as usual, some band that Bill very much liked and Remy thought was nice but had no brain space to remember the name of).

“Uh,” he starts, very eloquently, and cracks open the ring box - it’s simple enough, really, just a gold band inlaid with tiny, complex patterns that shifted and changed with movement, but that sudden sinking weight of what if he doesn’t like it settles deep in his belly anyway. “I thought, um - since the world is going to shit, and you know I love you, and I meant to do it a little while ago but I got nervous. And, um, uh, if it doesn’t fit or you don’t like it, that’s totally fine, I don’t know if it will fit anyway, I tried to guess the size just holding your hand and this was a horrible idea, I am so sorry - ”

Bill is just staring, mouth half-open and jaw working wordlessly as he stutters something incomprehensible, and suddenly Remy is that much more anxious because oh no, he sees more ginger heads peeking just barely out of the Burrow and this was the worst idea, absolutely terrible, he’s about to get dumped in front of the whole Weasley tribe and suddenly he can’t tell if he’s speaking in English or French but he would bet it was the latter and - 

That’s about when Bill decides to slap a gentle palm over Remy’s mouth and haul him up to his feet. “Yes, I will happily marry you,” he tells him, and then he kisses the absolute hell out of his stupid French fiancé, who very nearly faints on the spot in absolute relief, not that he would ever admit it.

It’s alright, though, because they’re equally embarrassed when they make it back into the house and have enthusiastic questions and congratulations peppered off of them, and it’s quite enough that Remy’s hair (though not the rest of him because angry is the last thing he is at the moment) catches fire in half a minute, and that’s a whole fiasco in and of itself.

                                                                                                                    iv.

          His hands are sooty and stained, bloody too, when they go back to looking like his own hands and not twisted with claws. They’re also shaking, all the noise and clamor lost in the way his ears are ringing but he does hear one thing, and he recognizes Jean-Luc’s face hovering before his, warm eyes anxious as he brushes hair flaking ashy remnants of dye away from his son’s face. 

“You hear that, boy? He’s alive. Go. Je l’ai.” And really, what did it say that they’d put up shields, hidden him in the middle of a dying battlefield for losing his temper in all that rage and grief and oh, no, he’d done it, hadn’t he? Remy’s eyes dart to Charlie’s face, and he swallows hard, but he’s already reaching for the younger boy’s outstretched hand. 

After all, his father was good at memory spells. If even one person left remembering what they’d seen, it would be strange - and there was time to worry later.

Alive. Alive. Alive. 

He keeps turning the word over in his head, a half-prayer as they stumble off and make their way to the infirmary. It’s the only word that matters when unsteady fingers drift over the gashes on Bill’s face, not touching for fear of infection - it’s the only thing he thinks when he looks up to see Molly staring at him with some kind of wariness on her face, like she’s expecting something bad from him; he doesn’t have anything else in his head, can’t process what that means. 

“He’s going to be okay,” he rasps, and it comes out like a question, more hopeful than maybe is allowed and god, he’s fucking terrified. He’s so small all of a sudden, or he feels it, squashed with the weight of all that fear and fuck, just fuck, but the next thing he knows he’s getting swept into a big warm hug (the Weasley specialty, innit) and they’re both crying all over each other but that’s alright too.

Remy loses track of how long it takes for Bill to wake up - days, probably - but when he does, it’s with a whole lot of anxious family hovering over him, and the first thing he says is “My face hurts,” sounding vaguely indignant. It’s enough to earn him several eye rolls and sighs of oh, he’s fine - Remy opts for bursting into tears of relief. He hadn’t meant to, but he does, and Bill looks awfully startled, but he can’t help it.

It takes a while longer for everyone else to filter out, but they eventually do, leaving Bill to rest and Remy to settle back into the chair at his side. Before he does, he leans in, brushes careful lips over the corner of his fiancé’s mouth, fingers curled under his jaw so soft he thinks he can pick up the ache from all the torn flesh above. 

“You’re an idiot,” he tells him, tart, and Bill shakes a little with a laugh he can’t quite get out without it hurting. “You picked me. Who’s the idiot now?”

                                                                                                                     v.

          Ras Abu Gali is very much off the beaten path for Muggles, let alone wizards, and the local Bedouin are friendly enough that they stay there awhile; they are strange no matter what they do, so Remy doesn’t bother to dye his hair and lets it hang to his waist like moonlight though he does cover it most days. 

It’s comfortable, he thinks, the way he can roll over under heavy travelling blankets to kiss Bill awake, weave long fingers through red hair and press a scarred cheek to his collarbone and fall back asleep. It’s nice, actually, that he dresses in stupid loud colors and glaringly mismatched patterns and no one cares at all even if Bill rolls his eyes at the worst combinations. 

He ducks his head down, bites soft at his husband’s ear with a low hum, a chuckle slipping from him at the answering grumble of protest. Bill tugs the cover up over their sleep-rumpled heads to block out the light, and Remy kisses him, still smiling.

“Vite-vite, wake up,” he murmurs, and pinches Bill’s side gentle, rolling them until he’s resting atop him with chin settled nice and neat on his hands. “We need to pack. We’re going back to visit today, remember?”

Bill sighs, and Remy presses warm lips to the underside of his half-sweaty jaw, thumbs tracing warm circles over his ribs until he finally shifts, toppling Remy onto his back instead and pinning him there. 

“Five more minutes,” he sighs against Remy’s skin, and with a snort Remy gives in, wrapping his arms tight around him like he really minds at all. Five more minutes.

And then if he didn’t get up, Remy would shove ice down his pants.

[kellanved-ammanas]

Midnight Fire

It was past midnight when Spy returned to the base. He hated staying out that late – it reminded him of how old he was getting, he used to easily be able to stay up until the ungodly hours of early morning and feel fine, now though his body ached and he just wanted to go bed – but it had to be done sometimes. This wasn’t the first time nor was it likely would it be the last, unfortunately.

He was so tired and ready for bed he almost missed the kitchen light being on – shameful but he was back at base, he was allowed to relax a little and he did catch it. He pulled his knife out just in case danger was afoot, being careful that it didn’t make any noise as he flicked it open. It was probably just one of his teammates making a midnight snack, or either Medic or Engie were skipping sleep to work on something again, they needed to stop doing that. But it was better to be safe than sorry, doing so had saved his life more times in the past than he could count.

He snuck in, tiptoeing and being as quiet as was possible when opening and closing the doors – which was still quite noisy, this was a mercenary base after all, the doors were built to be secure, not quiet. There was the sound of glass bottles clinking together coming from the kitchen. Spy followed it and peeked in.

It was Pyro, still in his fireproof suit despite the time – not that that was surprising, no one had ever seen him with it off as far as Spy knew. He was moving frantically, placing bottles of liquor on the table. He wasn’t the type to drink though.

“Bonjour,” Spy said, as he stepped around the corner, deftly flicking his knife closed before sliding it back into his pocket.

Pyro let out a muffled yelp as he jumped around to face Spy. He only relaxed a tiny bit when he saw it was Spy though. He was still tense and almost shaking as he mumbled something too fast for Spy to decipher but it was clear from his tone that he was unhappy Spy had snuck up on him.

“What are you doing?” Spy asked, crossing his arms and leaning back against the wall. Pyro started to reply, still speaking way to fast and frantically so Spy cut him off. “Slower, calmer.” It was clear Pyro was distressed so Spy kept his voice and posture relaxed, the last thing he wanted was for Pyro to lose his cool completely and set something on fire and almost burn the base down.

Pyro stopped, balling his hands into fists and breathing loudly through his gas mask. It was a good ten seconds or so before he spoke. “Fire,” he said as he pointed to the bottles of liquor he’d place on the table. “Engie hides the gasoline at night now.” He mumbled some more unintelligible stuff that was definitely not nice things about that move and possibly Engie too. “Alcohol burns good too though. I’m doing it outside, promise, away from Sniper’s van.” He gathered the bottles up in his arms and marched around the table towards the door.

Spy stepped in his way. “Demo’s going to be furious if you do that.” Not necessarily at Pyro but just in general.

“I don’t care,” was all his angry answering mumble could be translated as.

Spy could either let him go and hope he didn’t set a fire big enough to do any damage to anything or he could try to diffuse him but risk riling him up instead and probably making things worse. With how late it was, the former was tempting but that would be shrugging the problem onto somebody else.

“How about a small fire instead?” he said. “I have a fireplace in my quarters, remember?”

Pyro trembled hard enough to make the bottles rattle in his arms, he’d drop them if he wasn’t careful. He nodded though.

“Put the bottles down first, don’t drop them, place them on the table.”

Pyro almost seemed to whimper before finally obeying. He stayed silent as he followed Spy to his rooms. Right away he ran over to the little brick fireplace Spy had had installed in there shortly after they’d moved into this base.

Spy watched patiently as Pyro frantically worked. There was only just enough material for a small fire, appropriate for the size of the fireplace, meaning it was perfectly safe to let Pyro do as he pleased. Pyro was the reason Spy kept so little firewood on hand, he wasn’t in here often but it was better to be safe than sorry.

Despite its size though, Pyro was still immediately enraptured by it as soon as he had it going. The shaking tension drained from his posture as he sat directly in front of it. If it wasn’t for his fireproof suit it would’ve been dangerous.

With a sigh, Spy plopped down into his fireside chair and pulled out a cigarette. “Feel better?” He asked after lighting it. He needed to keep an eye on Pyro to make sure he didn’t burn the base down so he might as well try to figure out what had had Pyro riled up and needing to set something on fire in the middle of the night.

Pyro’s answering mumble sounded like a positive, his nod confirmed it.

“What to tell me what upset you?”

More incomprehensible mumbling, happy sounding though. Pyro was too distracted by whatever he saw in the fire to answer, probably hadn’t even heard the question.

So Spy sighed and resigned himself to sitting here and watching the flames with Pyro until they were gone. It’s not like he could leave Pyro unattended with fire in the base, it had been a long time since he’d last almost burnt anything important down – that he wasn’t supposed to burn down – but it was better to be safe than sorry. And he had to make sure Pyro didn’t touch any of his things. And he’d be able to see the light through the crack under the door leading to his proper bedchamber. So he had no choice but to stay and watch over Pyro.

Thankfully he not only had the foresight to keep very little firewood on hand but also fast burning firewood. Pyro made mumbled sounds of sadness as the flames died half an hour or so later, he made no move to renew them though. A good sign, probably.

“Now do you want to tell me what upset you?” Spy asked again.

Pyro titled his head back and mumbled something.

“Come again?” Talking to Pyro was a pain but as long as one was patient it could be done… eventually… sometimes.

Pyro let out an exaggerated sigh – if he was so annoyed by people not understanding him he should speak clearer the first time or not wear a mask that muffled his voice so much. “Nightmare,” he said.

“A ‘nightmare’?” Spy repeated to make sure he’d heard right.

Pyro nodded as he stood and turned to face Spy properly.

“What was it about?” As tired as Spy was his curiosity burned stronger. Pyro had always been an enigma, a chance to learn more about could never be turned down.

Pyro tensed up again though as he turned his head to the side. He mumbled something that sounded vaguely like “Don’t remember,” as he wrung his hands together.

Spy opened his mouth to press for the truth but stopped himself, upsetting Pyro again wouldn’t be fair. “You have nightmares often?”

Pyro paused for a few seconds as if thinking hard about it before hesitantly nodding. “Can I sleep here tonight?” he asked, pointing to the floor at his feet. “Engie lets me sleep in his room sometimes,” he interrupted before Spy could answer, “so does Medic.”

Spy burnt out the butt of his cigarette and place it in the ashtray on the table. “Why don’t you go sleep in one of their rooms then?” he asked as he stood up too.

“I’m already here and…” Pyro trailed off into thoughtful mumbling. Spy wasn’t in the mood for it.

“Fine, if you must, you can sleep in here, but don’t touch anything or else I’ll…”

Pyro stepped forward and hugged him, squeezing him hard enough that his ribs hurt a little. Spy sighed and awkwardly accepted and returned the embrace. He’d learned a long time ago that the fastest way of getting through Pyro’s hugs was to just endure them, pushing him away made him upset which was more a pain to deal with than the hug. And by now Pyro had hugged him so many times he was used to it, he maybe even liked it a little.

“Thank you,” Pyro said full of enthusiasm as he stepped back. “Nighty-night.” He gave Spy another firm squeeze before stepping back and again and… lowering himself to the floor and lying down.

“You are going to sleep on the floor?” Spy asked.

Pyro rolled onto his back to nod up at him. “I don’t mind.”

“No, couch.” Spy pointed to his couch. He was not about to go to his big comfy bed while his teammate slept on the floor of his sitting room. “Be right back.”

He left and grabbed his spare blanket and pillow from his closest. He returned to find that Pyro had obeyed him and had moved to the couch. “You sleep in your suit?”

“Sometimes,” Pyro replied.

Spy wanted to know but… wouldn’t ask. It was none of his business. Instead he handed Pyro the pillow, letting him put it under his head before draping the blanket over him. It was probably unnecessary given the suit but it wouldn’t feel proper not to lend him one. It, the pillow, and the couch would need thorough cleaning later though, even if Pyro had three damn suits so he could always be in one even when the others were in the laundry they still didn’t get washed all that often.

“Hey uh… Spy,” Pyro interrupted before Spy could turn the lights off. “Can I uh… come to you when I have nightmares in the future? I like it here.”

It’s not like Spy could in good conscious turn him down. “Yes, you may.”

Pyro mumbled what could only be another thanks.

“Good night then,” Spy said as he turned off the lights on his way out. Despite how tired he was he felt good too. Seeing Pyro relaxed and happy again was much better than seeing him on the verge of a mental breakdown.

Ugh, he was getting too attached to Pyro and the rest of his teammates. That didn’t have to be bad though, did it? … No, probably not. Either way he was far too tired to deal with this right now. If Pyro wanted to come to him for comfort after nightmares in the future, he’d let him. Even if he wasn’t the best at offering comfort, all he could do was try, right?

[professorspork]

I sometimes wonder if within the Star Wars universe, bringing balance to the force means being able to use both the Light and the Dark without falling 100% into either side. Like, Rey being pulled to the Dark because it has something she needs, but maintaining her moral compass and compassion and urge to do good. idk it always seemed odd that an order all about balance only placed emphasis on one side of the spectrum 1/2

Tho it might just be a misunderstanding on my part. Is the Dark a separate part of the Force that Force-sensitive people can manipulate, different from the Light part? Or is that just what it's called when you use the Force for purely selfish reasons? 2/2

oh my friend you have unleashed such a can of worms i am so sorry please bear with me.

there are two answers to your question, one of which is “what we get from the series so far” and the other one being My Obviously Correct Headcanons And Opinions.

In the past, the Dark Side has been pretty much exclusively categorized as “what happens when you use the Force for purely selfish reasons.” That power corrupts, and absolute power corrupts absolutely, so the more you let your anger and resentment and personal need fuel your use of the Force, the more twisted you and it will become. that an act of weakness CREATES a darker seed of weakness within, to be continually exploited.

but that’s always been an inherently unsatisfactory definition--not because of what it implies about corruption, but because of what it identifies as the root of that corruption. it’s been frustrating as far back as Yoda’s lessons on Dagobah, where he told Luke that interfering in order to save his friends would make him vulnerable to the dark side for ???reasons??

It’s wrong to lash out in fear. It’s destructive to let your negative emotions be the sole source of your strength. all of that makes sense.

but where do you draw the line between selfishness and selflessness? Where do you find the boundaries on the spectrum from compassion, to caring, to possessiveness, to obsession?

the OT and PT never really gave us satisfactory answers to these questions--only vague pseudo-buddhist notions about how wanting things will make you miserable and terrible, probably, and that true balance means neutrality. means never having personal investment. and that’s just not how people work. so if we’re going by the idea that that’s the Jedi way, then yeah-- the Jedi do need to end.

but as Luke said-- the idea that the light side of the force will go away if the Jedi Order becomes obsolete is ridiculous.

so where does that leave us, in canon?

well, if the light side of the force stands for life, growth, connection, and peace, then that would seem to imply that the dark side must stand for death, decay, fractured society, and violence. this means that balance of the Force isn’t just some neutral value, because the Force itself isn’t value neutral. the Force isn’t weather--the Force is the collective intention and interconnectedness of all sentient consciousness. you can’t blame a hurricane for killing people because that’s just what hurricanes do. Hurricanes can’t decide. but people DO. and that’s what makes it the Dark Side of the Force--it’s the decisions behind the actions.

and yet.

so much of where the PT failed was that it did such a poor job of showing us what it actually set out to show us: how a good man, Anakin Skywalker, became corrupted by the dark side. what the PT ends up saying is “he wanted to end slavery so much that he became a fascist; he loved his mom and his wife and that made him Terrible.” which-- what the hell kind of lesson is that? We never actually saw that thing click in his head where it suddenly became okay for him to kill younglings. We watched it happen, but I never bought a moment where he gave in, because I never saw how his weaknesses as a good man--how his desire to protect and defend made him selfish and possessive--turn into something outright violent against people who had nothing to do with him. they never sold me on the connection.

but the sequels... they’re doing something different.

the consensus in the OT and PT seemed to be that it’s terrifyingly easy to succumb to the dark side. that you could be minding your own business having friends and wanting good safe things for them and one day you could trip and fall and that would turn you evil. i never vibed with that.

the ST, though... over and over again, what I see it saying is that it’s hard to be evil. It’s hard, and it sucks, and it kills everything good in you. that’s why Finn rejects it; that’s why Kylo Ren is so fucking miserable all the time. but it also demonstrates that there’s something so inherently compelling about using the Force to get what you want that once you’ve gone far enough, the idea of losing it is so incomprehensible you’d do anything--you’d do the worst thing--just to keep it from happening.

(Worth noting: the first Force power Rey ever uses is the Jedi Mind Trick. the first thing out of her mouth when Luke asks her what the Force is is “a way to make people do what you want.”)

it would be the easiest thing in the world for Ben Solo to be the golden boy of the Republic. that life was handed to him on a platter--all he had to do was stay there. all he had to do was take it. even now, Rey is still telling him: the door is open. the life you left behind is right there, waiting for you, needing you, if only you’d be willing to do the work to take it back.

so much of Kylo’s dialogue is talking about how he feels conflict, the pull towards the light, how his only goal is to kill the good in him, kill the past, kill all his ties to his obligation to morality. but it’s a constant fucking struggle for him. you don’t just trip and fall into evil. you have to choose it, every day.

and if that’s true--that tells me so much more about “the dark side” than the other films ever did. it’s not that caring is a curse, because Ben Solo killed his caring a long time ago. it’s that once you’ve had a taste of whatever it is that made Kylo Ren powerful enough to stop a blaster shot in midair and hold it there for five minutes, while carrying on an entire, quite distracting conversation--that once you have that, it digs so deep in you you can’t give it up. it’s a disease, the same way that an addiction is a disease. and with the Force behind it, it has the power to feed itself.

and you’ll never get well from an illness you have no interest in a cure for. so you keep digging deeper into the dark, because even if it’s hard, even if it tears you apart inside, the dark can give you things the light never will. and most of all, it’s convinced you that those are the things you should want.

what i think we might be heading towards--what i would LOVE to see us heading towards-- is the conclusion that we’ve been incorrectly defining the Dark Side this whole time.

if I have a rope, I can use it as a lifeline or as a noose. that doesn’t tell me anything about the rope. it tells me about me. 

Evil corrupts. Malice makes you strike first, strike hardest, strike in arbitrary anger. Trauma warps your sense of reality and makes it hard to distinguish between healthy and unhealthy, between acting for for your own survival and actively undermining your own self-interest. Wrath makes you act so that the punishment far outstrips the crime. Jealousy tells you that the things you love belong to you. Hate makes you want to destroy the things you don’t understand. Vengefulness makes you mistake personal satisfaction for justice.

but the Force... I don’t think the Force does any of that. it can be used as a vehicle to get you there faster, but that doesn’t mean that part of the Force is dark and used for dark things only. It means that you MAKE it dark when you USE it for the dark. 

Balance means harmony, not discord. the Force in balance needs must tend toward the light not because death is evil and must be avoided at all costs, but because life, uninterrupted until its natural end, is life as life was intended.

death isn’t the dark side. death is the Force in balance.

murder is the dark side, because it’s using the Force for something it was never meant to be used for, on purpose, for wrong, for personal gain. and no wonder it’s powerful, because the Force is always powerful--it’s all life and thought and spirit that exists! but that doesn’t mean the Force wants you to do a certain amount of bad things and the universe would fall apart otherwise. it means the Force needs people to tell the difference, because that’s all the Force has ever been: the interconnectedness of sentience.

the Force doesn’t tell us what to think. we tell it what to think. and the Force doesn’t need murder any more than people do. 

*collapses.*

[aliceslantern]

Nocturnal Memory, A Kingdom Hearts Fanfic, chapter 2

[Summary: Dying takes a lot out of you, it's true, but when Demyx wakes up for the first time since his fight with Sora nothing's right. His memories are fragmented and he's missing his true name. And he's not the only one. An incomprehensible mystery and an inevitable war make him question what, exactly, he would do to become whole, and reclaim the music lost to him.

Chapter 2/34]

He hadn’t expected the water to be so salty. It seared into his skin and burned the still-healing blisters all over his hands. When he choked and swore at the pain, the sailors just laughed at him. “Hurts, don’t it,” one of them said. “Maybe it’ll toughen you up.”

           Sometimes when he thought hard he realized how shitty his life was, to end up here. But he didn’t like to think. It got messy. The best thing to do was stay under the radar and keep his nose clean, and do just enough work to avoid being noticed. Maybe somewhere out beyond the sea he could find some place new, some place where the people were friendly and where you didn’t have to indenture yourself to avoid starving…

 Demyx woke drenched in sweat. His head was foggy and he fought against it, trying to remember what had happened this time. His shirt had been taken off and the bandages clinging to his left side were rusty red with dried blood. He lay back down slowly into bed. He felt like… he’d had a dream… he tried to reach for it before he forgot it entirely. Something about the ocean…

[on FF.net/ on AO3]

“I hope you’re happy with yourself.” Ienzo’s stern voice forced him to look across the room. Demyx couldn’t see his face; he was ripping bandages out of an old sheet. The sheer tearing sound made him uneasy. “What’s the point of treating your wounds if you’re just going to keep ripping them open?”

           Yes, that was right… it was starting to come back. Even those memories from just a few hours ago seemed so indistinct and dreamlike. He’d… he’d left the room to try and find answers, but had only ended up passing out. “I’m sorry. But staying here alone is driving me crazy. I need to know what’s going on.”

           “Have you considered that the people around you know what they’re doing? I’m not keeping things from you out of spite, but with your welfare in mind. We’ll tell you what we know when you’re healed. Not before.” Ienzo’s sharp tone kept a rigid beat with the ripping cloth.

           “Alright. Alright.” He exhaled, sending another spasm of pain through his body as well as a wave of frustration.

           Ienzo kept working. For a long time that was how it went; Demyx would struggle to breathe without causing himself more pain, and the sound of the fabric would make him a little more anxious.

           “Ienzo?”

           “What?” He asked tersely.

           “I want you to call me Demyx.”

           The ripping stopped; Demyx sighed with relief. Ienzo paused but didn’t turn. He looked tense. “I suppose it’s your choice.”

           “I just don’t want to be known as a number. It’s bad enough that I have to use the name he gave me.” He looked up at the ceiling; the plaster was cracked and there was water damage. He kneaded a handful of blanket with one hand.

           Ienzo said nothing and resumed his work.

           Demyx closed his eyes. “Are you… mad at me?” He asked, and immediately felt stupid. “I mean, I know I wasn’t supposed to leave the room, but—”

           “I apologize if I seem tense. I am not angry with you.” Rip. Rip. There was no more sheet left. Ienzo hesitated, and then began to roll up the strips. “Are you still in pain?”

           “Well, it only hurts when I breathe, move, or am conscious, so you know…” He laughed a little nervously.

           “Then I trust I can leave you be for a few minutes? Will you be here when I get back?”

           He sighed. “Yes. I’ll stay here. I promise.”

           “Then I must take my leave for the time being.” He slammed the door behind him without once making eye contact or even looking in Demyx’s direction.  

He was slowly drowning in boredom.

           Time moved slower than molasses. At least Ienzo had had the propriety to bring him some books to read, but Demyx was never one to sit in a room and read for hours. He couldn’t read more than fifty pages without getting antsy. It seemed odd to him that none of the others had visited. They hadn’t been the greatest of friends, it was true, but he was so tired of being alone that he would probably talk to an old boot. Sometimes the stiff silence felt like it might suffocate him.

           And even when Ienzo came, he never really engaged in conversation, but would say stuff like, “Really?” or “Is that so?” Demyx even tried to get him to talk about books, which he knew Ienzo loved unconditionally. He always seemed tense and stressed. In the week or so that passed before he was feeling better, Ienzo seemed to lose weight. His eyes were constantly bloodshot with heavy circles underneath them. Demyx knew it was pointless to ask what was wrong, though he nursed a small seed of resentment for being treated like a child.

           After ten slow, torturous days passed, he was more or less healed. He could breathe and sit up without being in agony, even if he would occasionally get a skittering flare if he exerted himself. The bandages were gone now, leaving behind a mess of angry red scars that were both numb and hypersensitive at the same time; so sensitive, in fact, that the coarse cotton of his buttoned shirts was too much, and he had to wear an undershirt. He could walk across the room without feeling faint. Demyx couldn’t take it anymore. He didn’t think he could be in this room for one more hour without going insane.

           “I’m better,” he said to Ienzo as he checked his vitals. “You said so yourself yesterday. I’m better so please let me out of here or I swear to god I’m going to lose my mind.”

           Ienzo stared at him wearily. “I suppose you’re right,” he said. “It’s not fair to you anymore. You are absolutely right.” His voice was monotonous.

           “Why are you acting so weird?” Demyx asked. “You’ve been off all week. What’s going on?”

           Ienzo sighed. He crossed his arms. “You’d best get some shoes on and come with me.”

           The only shoes he had were his boots from the Organization, and even those seemed oddly loose in the calves and feet. Can you lose weight in your feet? He wondered. Still, it was a peculiar thought. What had happened to the cloaks? The only clothing he had now had been provided anonymously—simple, plain pieces with worn patches in the knees and elbows.

           Demyx followed Ienzo out of the room and down the hallway. Even with the sconces, it was so dark. Different situation, different castle, but we’re still in a clusterfuck, Demyx thought.

           It took a long time. He might have been stronger than he was after waking up, but still he quickly tired and a steady burn soon started in his legs. He said nothing and tried to keep his breathing level in case Ienzo changed his mind and took him back. He missed his old body’s vitality. He might have died, and he might have a heart now, but still it sucked that he could barely walk without getting tired.

           “You can rest, if you need, Nine,” Ienzo said as they rounded yet another corner. “I know it’s far and you’re still weak.”

           “How big is this place?” Demyx asked instead.

           “It’s not quite as large as the Organization’s, but it is a bit of an architectural folly. There’s no easy way to get from one place to the other. I… had almost forgotten.” A dreamy look came into Ienzo’s eyes.

           “So you’ve been here before?” Demyx asked.

           “Well, yes, of course. The first eight members of the Organization all lived in Radiant Garden prior to our transformation some twelve years ago. And most of us lived right here, in Ansem the Wise’s castle. I grew up here.” He spoke matter-of-factly. “My parents died when I was quite young. Ansem saw the potential in me and took me in.”

           “I’m sorry.” He’d known that the first six members of the Organization had been scientists, but most of the details he’d heard were hazy or vague. Still, Ienzo seemed much too young; he couldn’t be more than a year older than him.

           “It’s quite all right. I scarcely remember them anymore,” he said. “Even is more of a father to me, I suppose.”

           Demyx wondered where all this was coming from, after so many days of silence. He was tempted to ask. “Even raised you?”

           “In a way. Ansem the Wise was a scientist, but he was also a childless politician. He had no time or means to take care of a child, and I was only eight when I was taken in. Even had already been a parent. It seemed a natural arrangement.”

           “Vex—Even is a father?” Demyx asked. He tried to fit together his idea of Vexen with the concept of parenthood, and he couldn’t.

           “Was,” Ienzo said softly. “His son died many years ago. A sickness that could not be cured with magic. He turned to Ansem for that reason. And after he died… well... I suppose we became one another’s surrogates.” He shrugged.

           Demyx anagrammed quickly. “And Ansem the Wise… is Xemnas’s Somebody?”

           Ienzo smiled, but it was dry and ironic. “I’m afraid it’s a bit more complicated than that.”

           Ienzo told him everything.

Demyx was reeling. He could barely get his head around the story—it seemed fake—but the part of his mind that was hardwired to figure things out began to fill in the blanks. “So… I was right?” He asked weakly. “I was right about us having hearts.” He laughed. “It was a joke then, to me. I thought…” Part of him felt deeply unclean, and he hugged himself absently. The idea of being a vessel for someone… his body taken, violated…He shut down the thought before it ran its course.

           Ienzo sighed. “It seemed so foolish. But now we know so much more.”

           “So what does that mean for us? For me? Are we all just trying to move on, or… where is Xemnas… Xehanort?”

           Ienzo shook his head. “That’s what we’re trying to figure out. Or at least the committee is.”

           The committee… that name sounded familiar… Demyx groaned. “You’re kidding me.”

           Ienzo shrugged. “You have to admit that this is the best option for more information.”

           “The Restoration Committee works with Sora. Who, might I add, killed most of us?” His voice rose. “They helped orchestrate our deaths.”

           Ienzo touched Demyx’s arm. “Please. Try to remain calm. You’re healed, but I don’t want you to stress. Look at it this way. Had your Nobody survived, you wouldn’t be here today. You wouldn’t be human.”

           “But I would have been,” Demyx said. “Eventually, with time, if this bullshit is true and we were growing hearts. I would have had my memories. I would have known my damn name.”

           “I know it seems strange, but I promise you that this is for the best. The committee holds no ill will against us now that we’re on their side. We’ve been pardoned.” Ienzo eased Demyx down against the wall.

           “For what? What did we do that was so bad?” He demanded. “Maybe there’s a lot of shit I don’t know about the Organization, but what did we do?”

           Ienzo said nothing about that. “You really have remembered nothing of your previous human life? After all this time?” He asked instead.

           “No,” Demyx said. His heart was still racing. “I get… dreams… vague snippets of things… but… everything else is blank.”

           “I see,” he said.

           “You said we shouldn’t worry. But… shouldn’t I be whole?” He asked. “Isn’t that what this is all about? Now I’m even worse off than before.”

           “It seems so odd…” Ienzo said, more to himself than anything. “Why is the damage so extensive? Why you?”

           “What the hell are you talking about?” Demyx asked.

           Ienzo shook his head. “We need to keep moving. We’re going to go see Even.”

“Look left.”

           The room was frigid and bright white, just like he remembered the castle used to be; he shivered. It didn’t help that he was currently shirtless and his body was pressed against a cold metal table. A bright penlight seared his retina. He tried to do what Even said.

           “And right again,” Even commanded. They had been going at this for some time. At first it seemed like some sort of concussion test, to see if his eyes could follow, but now Demyx was just getting irritated.

           The light clicked off, finally. Demyx’s eyes watered from the intrusion. He slipped his undershirt back on tried to rub the warmth back into his arms.

           Even’s lab was a disaster area—not at all how he remembered it. In the Organization it had been so orderly and well-stocked, but here the glass cabinets that were against all of the walls were smashed, there were only some scattered brown glass bottles, and exposed pipe jutted from the ceiling. It must drive him crazy.

           “What do you think?” Ienzo asked even, looking up from the moldering book he’d been perusing.

           “I’m not sure,” Even said. “We know so little, but I think your initial diagnosis is on the right path.”

           “Guys, I’m right here,” Demyx said.

           Even looked at him. There was no warmth in the expression, only befuddlement, like he was a puzzle that couldn’t be solved. There had been no love lost between them, but still it seemed unfair to Demyx that after all this time that their interaction was nothing more than routine. “It’s hard to say for sure. But we have reason to believe that someone—or something—interfered with your reformation.”

           He blinked. His eyes were still stinging after the flashlight, and little purple dots swarmed across his vision. “What does that mean?” He saw Ienzo and Even exchange a look.

           “You’re not…” Ienzo hesitated. It was so unusual for him to stumble over his words that Demyx’s anxiety spiked. “You’re not whole. We have reason to believe…”

           “We believe that your heart has been fractured,” Even finished.

           “I don’t understand,” Demyx said. A tremor had crept into his voice. “What does that… I don’t…”

           “We’re not certain,” Ienzo said after a moment. “There is so little concrete, scientific information about the heart. We know that it’s a necessary component for a sentient being to exist. We know how darkness and light affect it, and that it can, in fact, break without the body falling to darkness. But other than that, we know nothing.”

           Even took the book Ienzo had been poring through and flipped through the pages. “The heart contains memories, yes, but it only contains emotions and connections with others. It’s the will that makes logical sense of these things through its physical existence in the mind—it fills in facts. So if the heart is fractured… it would make sense for your memories not to be fully realized. They remain in your heart, but you cannot physiologically recall them. But the real mystery remains… how did this happen?” He shoved the book at Demyx and paced over to the window.

           The page had a crude diagram of the three components of being—a silhouette of a body, a heart in the center of the chest, and a dotted line drawn around the silhouette to signify the will.

           “But if your heart was fractured, you shouldn’t be able to remember anything. You’d be a complete and total amnesiac. You still quite clearly have some semblance of self. How is the memory loss so distinct, with such a clear cutoff?” Even spoke slowly, as if he wasn’t aware that both of them were in the room. He turned. “And why are you the only one with this much damage?” He demanded.

           “You think I know?” Demyx asked. “Like, seriously? I just woke up like this.” There was a sour feeling in the pit of his stomach and he thought he might be sick. “What will happen to me, then?”

           “It’s hard to be sure,” Ienzo said with some difficulty. “We had thought that eventually you would finish your reformation and become whole. But it seems like that won’t be happening. Right now we should try not to cause any further damage.”

           “You can’t fix it?” Demyx asked. He looked down.

           “I’m afraid not,” Ienzo said. “And even if there were some way, I’d be too afraid to mettle, in case something were to go wrong.”

           “Will it… heal itself?”

           “We don’t know,” Even said. He actually had the balls to try and be sympathetic. “I wish the answer were yes.”

           “Oh,” Demyx said. “I see.” He swallowed around the lump in his throat. “And… what happens if it gets worse? What would make it get worse?”

           Ienzo shook his head. “Should your heart totally shatter, you would be reduced to a comatose state. It’s possible that you could become a Nobody again, but shattering doesn’t draw out darkness in the same way. Restoration to a human state would be unlikely. Hearts only restore themselves if they’ve been lost.”

           “I’ll be as good as dead,” Demyx said. He felt faint. “And what are the odds of this happening?”

           “In your position, thankfully slim,” Ienzo said.

           “Or so we believe,” Even said. Ienzo shot him a look. “There’s no need to lie to the boy, Ienzo. The truth of the matter is that your heart may still try to heal itself. Your being will try to restore its natural order. Your memories may begin to return… and the energy and trauma that reawakens in you could threaten to shatter it.”

           “Trauma?” This was just getting worse and worse. He could barely listen anymore; he felt dizzy. But it was like looking at a train wreck—he had to find out more.

           “Well, surely considering you became a Nobody your heart and will are quite strong,” Ienzo said. He patted Demyx’s knee, and Demyx flinched. “It’s a stronger will that keeps one from falling into despair and, subsequently, the darkness. There must be moments from your past where you needed to strengthen your will in order to survive. Moments of crisis…”

           “Oh,” he squeaked. It was getting hard to breathe. He had to get out of here; but he wasn’t sure he was strong enough to run. “So what the hell am I supposed to do? Just… just… live like this? With the fact that any moment I could remember something and fall over and never wake up?” His fingers had gone numb.

           “Demyx,” Ienzo said. “The possibility of this happening is all very slim.”

           “You don’t know what you’re talking about,” he snapped. “You keep saying you don’t know much about the heart. How can you be sure that I’ll be okay?” A tight pain gathered in his chest.

           “We can’t,” Even said.

[the-scriptcaster]

The Story Ark, Ep. 1: Savior

First story on this blog, enjoy!

The heat. I am burning alive. Ark breathed heavy through the thick dust, licking sweat as it rolled down his cheeks. It never ends. He reached down for the canteen secured at his waist. His hand touched rough leather, but found no canteen. Oh yeah. I don’t have a canteen.

Pulling his shirt-turned-scarf up over his nose, he dropped to his hands and knees, climbing slowly up the steep dune just before him. I’ll look for water. That’ll work, right? Wind made progress slow as sand blew into every crevice of his body. Reaching the top did nothing for his hope, as his vantage only revealed miles and miles of sand. Behind him was endless dust as well.

Ark fell onto his side in defeat. Gasping for air, he felt as though he were suffocating in the heat. His vision darkened. Dehydration was setting in. Maybe they would have water. He looked up at a tall figure, standing silhouetted against the yellow sky full of dust.

He blinked hard. Wait a second. Who on earth… Where did they come from? The figure’s long scarf blew in the wind. They raised their arms to their hips, and shook their head.

“W-water….”, Ark barely managed, arm outstretched to this figure, before collapsing into the sand.

~~~~~

Ark sat up suddenly from the bed, gasping for air. Drenched in sweat, he threw back his covers. A bad dream?

“No, not a bad dream, unfortunately.”

Ark tensed. He looked around but did not see where the voice came from. Whether or not it was a dream, he was still not in his own bed. The walls of the room he found himself in were mostly window. All that could be seen outside is clear blue sky.

The room was bare, lacking furniture, decoration, and most importantly the origin of the voice.

“You nearly died, you know?”, the voice echoed about the empty room. “Why would you walk out into a desert without water?”

Above me? He looked up and noticed a hole through the ceiling. Up there? He got up out of the bed, which was simply a large cushion atop a stand. Most of his clothing was stripped off him, but thankfully underwear was left where it was. His belongings were nowhere to be found.

He crept silently up to the hole, to catch a glimpse of what was above. It seemed this was the bottom floor of where ever he was, as he could see upwards through several holes before he saw ceiling again.

Suddenly a foot appeared over the hole, and a person dropped down from at least three floors up. Ark stumbled back just in time to avoid being crushed by a falling figure. They landed without a sound on both feet, with a large pot in one hand, and a bowl and spoon in the other. Their long green scarf wrapped around their neck fluttered down behind them.

“Hey, you should be in bed! You are weak still,” they said, pushing Ark back towards the bed, leaving the pots and bowls suspended in midair. Ark sunk back into the bed, with too many questions filling his mind.

“Slow down with the questions, I can’t answer so many at once!” They gasped though and with eyes widened, they bowed down before Ark. “Oh, I am so sorry about the mind reading, I was worried about your state and whether or not you were alive. I don’t usually use it if I don’t have to. Please forgive me!”

“Well, it’s okay, I guess,” Ark said in response.

“Oh thank goodness!” They said, jumping back upright and fetching the floating kitchen supplies. “I made you some soup, because I figured you’d be hungry after how I found you in. Like I said, you almost died.”

They began to prepare soup from the pot, when Ark finally managed to ask a single question.

“Um, who are you?”

The mysterious host paused. Their tanned skin seemed to turn white in embarrassment. “Oh good heavens, I completely forgot.”

They stepped away from the soup, leaving it suspended in midair once again, and turned to face Ark. They adjusted their glasses, and brushed off their most beige outfit.

"I am named many things. I was once Tenchiuxingusu. Then, Cygnatii. While there are many other names, you can just call me Benji. Some call me a god, others, a deity. I’d like you to just consider me a friend though.”

Ark furrowed his brow. “Surely, this is a dream.”

“Nope, one hundred percent real!” They turned back to continue the preparation of the soup.

“So I am being cared for by a god, named Benji?”

“Hey, I like that name! It’s simple and easy to remember, not like those other names people made up for me. Also I’m not a god, I am an ethereal being. I am immortal though,” they laughed to themselves. “All technicalities though. Here’s the soup!”

Ark took the bowl in his hands, but didn’t even look at it. “Where on earth am I though?”

Benji waved their hands and the pot floated back up the ceiling hole. “Like I said, you nearly died out in the desert. I was watching for a bit, but you travelled in circles. Once you collapsed, I knew I had to do something, so I brought you back to my house!” They smiled with their arms outstretched, showing off the entirety of their empty room.

“Thank you for that. I am truly grateful, but I have one thing to ask. I don’t even remember going out into the desert. I have no idea what happened, but I know I didn’t go out on my own accord. Especially how unprepared I was. I didn’t even have a canteen! So very unlike me, truly. Do you know what happened?”

Benji crossed their arms. They seemed deep in thought. They shook their head and sighed. “I wouldn’t know myself. You would, though, technically.”

“Technically?”, Ark asked, while sipping his soup. It was really good, and started drinking it heartily. Ark couldn’t even begin to describe its flavor, but it was easily the best soup he’s ever had.

Benji began pacing. “You see, I could look into your memories, but like I said, I don’t usually like using the mind reading. If it’s your desire, I can make an exception.”

~~~~~

The two knelt across from each other on two plain green pillows taken from the bed. Ark shifted uncomfortably but Benji was obviously a natural, and settled into a peaceful disposition. At least I’m clothed.

“Ah,” they sighed. “Now that we are ready, we shall begin.”

Ark adjusted his position, and with brows furrowed, he nodded in agreement. Benji returned a smile to him, and closed their eyes.

“Now, you are going to have to understand that I am reading your thoughts. I’ll do my best to keep what’s private, private, but I’m just saying that I could see something secret. The human mind is a weird place.”

Met with another nod from Ark, they continued, lifting both their arms up to either side of his face. Fingertips lightly brushed against Ark’s neck and chills went up his spine. Benji’s eyes were shut tight in concentration as their fingers traced along his skin.

To Ark’s surprise, Benji halted their tracings and pressed hard just below his jaw. Their eyes opened and instead of their kind eyes, bright light shone.

Gasping for air, Ark found himself standing in the middle of a forest. Or at least what he thinks is a forest. Shapes are blurred and constantly morphing, but it generally looked as if he were surrounded by trees. He looked down to feet that were carrying his body onwards through the forest. He seemed to be wearing exactly what he had on in the desert.

“This seems to be tied to what happened before you made it to the desert,” Benji’s voice emanated from somewhere unseen. “Unfortunately, like most memories are, you have to remember it from the beginning. It’ll all happen as it did, so just sit back and watch.”

Through the blurry woods, a different color appeared between the trees. Ark arrived to an outcropping of rocks, which had been adapted into a strange makeshift home. What seemed to be a wooden door was placed in the middle, and a large chimney puffed purple-tinted smoke.

Ark reached his knuckles up to knock on the door, but it swung open suddenly and out ran a short old woman.

She began to talk but words were muffled, incomprehensible. The scene began to blur further, the old woman blending with her rocky home.

The scene continued nonetheless, and Ark raised his hands up in defense. He pulled something from a backpack he must have had on, and shows it to the woman. Vague motions of anger and muffled voices grow more intense, when a bright yellow light shines beneath Ark’s feet.

All at once, he is falling through the air, and promptly lands in the hot sand of the desert.

~~~~~

“Sorry, memories can be a bit foggy. Looks like someone got mad at you though, possibly a witch? Awfully rude to send you to the desert.”

Ark swayed, dizzy from the whole experience.

“Yes, well, I do remember what happened now. Seems that that was just enough to jog my memory.”

He struggled to his feet, dizziness turning to nausea, but he stands resolute.

“It is such a silly dispute as well, for I had come to provide that very witch with some rare herbs and reagents from a far friendlier witch friend of mine. She claimed I brought her bad ingredients, and I turned her into the old hag she appeared to be. Of course that was not true, for even I had checked the ingredients before delivery.”

Benji, still kneeling, shook their head in disbelief. “Like I said, that’s awfully rude!” They levitated themselves back onto their feet. “Will you do something?”

Ark shrugged and walked over to the large window looking over the desert. Winds kicking up sand made it difficult to see the ground but the building was easily built a good thirty meters up the side of a cliff.

“There is no point in it now. The woman got her ‘revenge’ so to speak. It is a shame though, as she would most likely not trust me anymore.” He laughed to himself. “Who am I kidding? Like I care what some lonely witch does out in the woods. It is honestly her own fault for screwing up such a spell.”

Benji giggled to themselves, joining Ark at the window. They placed a hand on their shoulder.

“Lucky you met me then, because that revenge of hers could have been the end of you! Now why don’t you show me where you live and I can bring you back, safe and sound. That’s enough wandering around forests and deserts for you today!”