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five-rivers · 3 years

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Loved chapter 4

Written for Dannymay 2021 Day 3: Portal, even though the connection is sort of tenuous.

Bad things happened when Vlad came to Amity Park. For that matter, bad things happened wherever Vlad was. It was part of what made Vlad Vlad. Some part of his otherness, some twist of the shadow-fabric he was made of that left rot and ruin wherever his hem brushed. Of course, Vlad was never affected by this misfortune. In fact, he seemed to suck the luck out of everyone around him. Like a vampire.

Along with sanity. But that was a given for the others, even partial others, like Vlad. Or Danny.

But Vlad didn’t even try to hide or ameliorate the effects he had on people, didn’t try to keep them safe, to make their lives shine like the precious lights they were.

(Danny drummed his fingers on his chest and wondered, if, perhaps, it would feel less empty if Clockwork let him become a jewel box.)

But that was the way Vlad was, and Danny felt him enter Amity Park like nails on a chalkboard. His skin started to itch. His teeth hurt. Pressure pulsed in his head like waves of heat coming off asphalt. Being human, being real, was too tight, too heavy. It would be so easy to slip into the cool waters of the Dream and cut through them to wherever Vlad was.

No. He couldn’t. As shown time and time again, that would just exacerbate things. No matter what Vlad did, it would be worse if they fought, especially if there was anyone there to see it. Like what had happened with Jazz…

Danny was beyond lucky he’d been able to snap her out of whatever Vlad had done to her, but she still was quite right. The Vultures had actually apologized on Vlad’s behalf, after that.

(And wasn’t that strange, standing in the Dream on ground covered by bones and feathers, the Vultures on a dead tree, speaking as one. A thing of terror, apologizing for their ward. For pain suffered through Love. For lines crossed.)

Still. He had better… supervise Vlad, for a lack of a better word. Make sure he wasn’t getting up to anything. He’d go as a human – as himself.

He sighed and splayed his hands out on the table.

“Something wrong?” asked Sam, who had been making a complex sigil out of her fries and ketchup.

“Vlad’s in town,” said Danny. “I—”

The doors to the Nasty Burger were thrown open with a bang as Jazz came running in. She ran halfway through the store, to weak protests from the employee behind the counter, and skidded to a stop in front of their table.

“Vlad’s here,” he said.

“You saw him?” asked Danny, concerned. “Did he try—”

“No,” said Jazz. “I can just—It’s like he’s under my skin, and I—” She made a sound of frustration and gripped both sides of her head with clawed hands.

“Hey,” said Danny, gently, grasping her wrists. “It’s going to be okay. I’ll take care of it.”

“Okay,” said Jazz, breathing deeply. “Alright. I shouldn’t have freaked out like that.”

“It’s okay,” said Danny. He looked back to his friends. “Anyway, I’m going to go see what he wants, okay?”

“I’m coming with you,” said Sam, standing.

“Me too,” said Tucker. “Sort of. Halfway.”

“You really shouldn’t,” said Danny. “You know what happens when we get together.”

“Which is why we want to back you up,” said Sam. “As long as he stays physical, there’s stuff we can do.”

Unless Danny was prepared to do something incredibly inadvisable, there wasn’t much he could do to stop her. “Okay,” he said. “Just… be careful. If it looks like it’s going to turn into a fight, you need to leave.” He didn’t want them to get anymore spiritually messed up than they already were.

“We know, we know, you give us the spiel every time,” said Sam.

Yes, and Sam ignored it every other time. Danny shook his head. “Alright, let’s—”

Danny was promptly interrupted yet again, this time by his parents rushing in wearing… He could loosely call them clothes.

“It’s retro night, baby!” shouted Jack.

It was not retro night. There was no such thing as retro night at the Nasty Burger.

“I’ll take care of them,” said Jazz.

“Thanks,” muttered Danny, sliding out of the booth. “Come on, let’s go out the back.”

The alley behind the Nasty Burger was fetid in a way that made Danny’s shadow lift from the pavement and float on the air. Something that inhabited rats skittered in the corners at Danny’s presence and ran for a storm drain. He breathed shallowly.

“Which way?” prompted Tucker.

“He’s actually coming this way,” said Danny, frowning, debating facing him in this alley, just to see the disgust that would surely paint itself on Vlad’s face, paper-thin mask that it was.

Reality rippled, the surface tension that kept the Dream from bleeding in snapping. A miasma rose from the ground. Vlad stumbled into the alley, clutching at his face, which was melting. No, transforming. No, stretching. No, layering over itself a in dozen sickening ways, all the masks Vlad wore flickering over whatever truth he had all at once.

“Help me,” he grated. His words felt sick, diseased.

“Guys,” said Danny, fighting back the urge to vomit, “run.”

“No!” shrieked Vlad. “Help me!”

And sanity fractured like glass.

Whatever Danny’s parents had done to stabilize Vlad had worked, to a degree. It hadn’t fixed the underlying problem, which Danny could still feel slinking through the Dream. It also didn’t fix whatever he’d done to Sam and Tucker, although it had kept it from progressing further.

Danny took a slow, angry breath and ran a mental count of the lives stored inside his chest. They were there, all of them. Whatever happened to Sam and Tucker, they wouldn’t die.

But Danny knew there were fates worse than death.

His fingernails left half moon impressions on his palms as he clenched his fists. The Dream roiled with his fury, the force of it enough to keep Vlad’s diseased thoughts away.

“Daniel,” croaked Vlad. “Cure me.”

“That’s what Mom and Dad are trying to do.”

“Find a cure for me,” said Vlad, as if he hadn’t heard Danny at all, “and you’ll find a cure for your precious little friends.”

Danny stilled. “You did this on purpose.”

Vlad laughed. “Of course, I did, my dear boy. What value is a simple human mind compared to those such as we?”

Any rage Danny had felt up to this moment paled in comparison. The mirror over the sink cracked down the middle, never to show a true physical reflection again. He hated—

A concerned tug at Danny’s throat jolted him from his thoughts. Clockwork. Clockwork would know what to do. He turned, and without a second glance at Vlad, strode bodily into the Dream.

It took Danny even less time than usual to find Clockwork, and, when he did, he immediately found himself at Clockwork’s center, deep within the castle that was his metaphor. Dozens of Chains were fixed to Danny’s collar, each of them completely taut, holding him perfectly immobile, the embrace of a relieved but panicking parent. Clockwork’s emotions, too vast for Danny to fully comprehend, were transmitted directly through those chains, microscopic vibrations raising gooseflesh on Danny’s skin. A wordless noise both distressed and pleased wound its way from Danny’s throat, continuing to echo long after he’d run out of the breath to maintain it.

Clockwork’s avatar cupped Danny’s face in its hands, long fingers almost completely encircling his head. There was more of Clockwork in it that there usually was.

“Clockwork…?” asked Danny, weakly, confused and overwhelmed by the sudden flood of affection.

Poor little one, whispered the avatar, this is what happens when matters are not properly attended to. The Vultures should know better, should take care of him properly… It pressed its forehead to Danny’s, startling a squeak from him.

Danny, reflexively, brought his hands up to clutch at the avatar’s robes.

My poor child. What are they thinking, letting him run around so ill, so that he might infect other children?

Clockwork saw Vlad as a child, too. Not surprising, considering how ancient Clockwork must be, but good to know.

That emotion! It was only a shadow, and even so-!

“Emotion?”

Hatred, hissed Clockwork’s avatar.

The collar around Danny’s neck constricted, a tighter, more Loving, more comforting, hug. Danny gasped, although breathing here was psychological rather than physiological. The cloth of the avatar’s robes began to wind up Danny’s arms.

Even the pale, human shadow of it is not something you should experience, my child.

Danny didn’t like being that angry, but—

Even the concept of it is too much, too heavy. You should not have to bear it. I should not have overlooked it. The avatar’s hands moved to the back of Danny’s head, pressing his face against its shoulder. It must hurt you so,murmured the avatar, carding fingers through Danny’s hair. Fear not. I will excise it. All of it, even the idea of it shall not touch you, shall not sully your thoughts.

The avatar stepped away.

“Wait!” shouted Danny, panicking.

Not being able to hate? Danny had mixed feelings about that, but he doubted he’d be able to talk Clockwork out of it, not with how damaging Hate could be. In the end, it wouldn’t be that much of a loss. Not being able to understand that it existed? Not being aware of hate at all? Being unable to understand that, sometimes, people would go out of their way to hurt one another?

That was dangerous. That would render him unable to even begin to comprehend vast swathes of human history and humanity.

“If I don’t know what it is,” said Danny, “if I don’t know that it exists, how can I protect myself against it?”

A gust of wind blew through Clockwork’s sepulchral hall like the sigh of a giant. It is my duty to protect you, my child.

The sheer possessiveness of the words lingered on Danny’s skin. He wanted to lean into them but held his imaginary breath.

But very well.

Danny let himself relax, slightly, even as the avatar walked to somewhere he couldn’t see, its silent footsteps giving him no clue as to where it was. With only the constant, regular hum and tick of Clockwork’s gears to stimulate him, it was hard for Danny to stay vigilant. He found himself drifting, his thoughts wandering.

Did his hatred of Vlad cause him pain, as Clockwork said? What was it going to be like, to not be able to hate at all, rather than just not being able to Hate? Would he still be angry at Vlad? He hoped so. The man deserved it.

Two points of frigid cold touched the back of his head, contracted into a single point, and pulled. Danny felt something within him come free, and he sagged as much as the chains would allow him.

The avatar walked back into view, and Danny recoiled from the thing he was carrying, clasped in a long, silver pair of tweezers. “Is that,” started Danny, before he swallowed, his mouth suddenly dry. “Was that in me?”

Yes, said Clockwork’s avatar, lowering it into a small, jeweled box. Danny felt relieved as soon as the lid closed on it and he was no longer forced to look at it. At the same time… Fear not, said the avatar. I could never destroy something of you. It will be remade into something more useful.

Danny nodded as much as he could and shuddered. He felt… dirty. Unclean. Just remembering what he’d felt, what he’d thought… It left a deep sense of wrongness.

Come, said Clockwork. I have just the thing for that. You are due for a bath. A cleansing, inside and out.

The metaphor of the chains fell away, leaving just the one, usual, slack one. Danny knew Clockwork could call them back at any time, that, in truth, they had not gone anywhere at all.

“What about Vlad?” he asked, twisting his hands around the hem of his shirt. “And my friends? Can you help them? Please.”

He felt Clockwork examine him appraisingly.

Perhaps the bath can wait for another day.

The mirror was a portal, tall and wide as a door, glassy surface gleaming with otherworldly light. The edges were crimped, filigreed, flared. Beyond the reflection, Danny could just make out the suggestion of movement.

It is not real, said the avatar, putting a hand on Danny’s shoulder, but a might-have-been.

“But I can find a way to fix things in there?”

The avatar did not answer. A prickling feeling rose up inside Danny, settling in his stomach. Somehow, this felt similar to when he’d eaten the mirror with the bad future.

It is,confirmed the avatar, briefly nuzzling Danny.

“Why?” asked Danny, just a little horrified.

Is it not satisfying to complete two tasks at once? I told you, back then, that our next task would be to remove those presents that seek to exclude you.

Danny didn’t understand.

You will. Clockwork’s avatar paused, as if thinking. This is what the Vultures should have done for young Vladimir, although they would have accomplished it differently.

“Oh,” said Danny, trying to wrap his head around that.

Clockwork’s avatar nudged him forward. Follow the chain when you are ready to come home.

Danny wasn’t connected to anyone in this might-have-been world. It was odd, watching every eye slide off him as if he wasn’t even there. If he wanted to interact with someone directly, he’d have to put a lot of force of will into it.

It was strange. Other than that, everything here seemed perfectly real. Not imaginary at all. The sun shone. People spoke to one another. The grass crunched under his feet.

The University of Wisconsin-Madison lay before him in all its questionable glory.

He’d have to find Vlad and his parents. They had rented a small lab space for their experiments with the Dream and research into the others.

Normally, he’d follow his connection to them to find them, or the disturbance Vlad made in the dream, but neither of those things existed, now. Not yet. Danny didn’t exist yet.

He could just wander, try to seek out questionable lab space, but the university’s campus was large. Normally, he’d ask for directions, but…

Yeah, the no one being able to see or hear him thing really didn’t allow for that.

But there was one other thing he could try to do, one other thing he could try to sense. Their experiments. They should send waves across and through the Dream.

He let his eyes drift closed and walked blind across campus. When he opened them, he was in a lab, watching his parents and Vlad working on a kind of magic circle, inscribed with runes.

A portal, intended to let humans directly access the Dream. A portal that had created Vlad, all because he leaned too close, watched too closely, seen too much, became something else, changed.

Something like anger stirred under his skin. After this, his parents had continued to experiment, continued to try to reach the Dream, to create a weapon against the others, and in doing so both doomed Danny himself and Amity Park by making what amounted to a highway for the others to come to the real world.

But they hadn’t intended to do that, he knew. They’d been trying as best as they could to fix things. Had been trying to defend the world the best they knew, portal or no portal. And speaking of the portal… If others could damage human sanity, if Danny, small and weak and almost-human as he was, could damage human sanity, then how much more could a direct link to the Dream do? Discounting, of course, that normal dreams could lead to the Dream… That connection was more tenuous. Filtered.

His anger was a distraction from what was really bothering him.

These people, they looked like his parents. They were his parents. But… they weren’t. There was no attachment there. Nothing. It was like looking at empty shells. No Love.

It was distressing.

He watched, waiting, making note of the symbols and the placement of the ritual objects and the technological enhancements. There had to be something here that would help explain why Vlad was having such a hard time, while Danny had transitioned to his present existence without much problem.

He leaned over his not-mother’s calculations, then his not-father’s, made note of the differences. Looked at the fire, the knife, and the carved cylinders. Some of them didn’t feel quite right. One of them had been nudged out of alignment by a soda can put down by not-Jack, shifting the circle, making it bigger. Could that be something?

Vlad leaned over to examine the circle, and, at the same time, not-Jack pushed a button on the tape player, which started chanting. Danny could feel the hole boring into reality before the first syllable was finished. They’d made the portal both too well and too poorly.

Danny reached for Vlad and pulled him back, out of the way of the opening portal.

Danny may have made a mistake.

He’d saved Vlad from becoming other. In doing so, he’d changed things, altered this entire make-believe world. The way the story was progressing was no longer the same as his own. Which meant that it might be useless for collecting clues for fixing Vlad, Sam, and Tucker. Mostly Sam and Tucker.

(He’d help Vlad if it wouldn’t hurt his friends, he didn’t hate the man, not anymore, didn’t desire his suffering. But his friends were, of course, his main concern.)

But he couldn’t just leave. He’d made note of all the flaws in the portal, but that wasn’t in any way conclusive, wasn’t a guarantee.

And, in the meantime, his not-parents and not-Vlad had continued working on the portal, which they hadn’t shut down, unlike in the proper timeline. Or had it been disrupted by Vlad? He didn’t remember the exact sequence of events. His parents had never been clear.

But the portal was on, it was working, and it was wrong. Everything was wrong. The portal was in a class of things that should-not-be.

Just like Danny, in this world. He… With the portal, and the way things were going, he shouldn’t exist here, the butterfly effect would keep him from being born, and he was becoming painfully aware of that fact. Literally painfully. It was starting to hurt, being here, a throb in the back of his head.

Or was that the portal?

Either way…

(He couldn’t shake the suspicion that he was breaking things just by being here. Everything was going wrong. So many little accidents.)

(Or was that the portal?)

He kept watching.

It had been… a while, now. It was easy to lose track of time like this, with no one to talk to. Days? Maybe? He’d been drifting, which should have been troubling.

Maybe he should go back. Cut losses.

(Besides, it was disturbing watching his parents flirting with each other. And Vlad. Even if they weren’t really themselves.)

Then his parents wheeled in a… What was that? He walked closer. This was about the same size around as the pillars that had done this to him.

Danny would never forget those, after all.

Something hummed inside him, picking up a kind of resonance between the active portal and the pillar.

The ground fragmented beneath his feet.

Reality followed soon after.

He found himself nowhere with nothing. Only nowhere and nothing.

Oh, no. Oh, no. Oh, no.

What had he done? He’d, he’d destroyed a world, he’d—

There was a gentle, but insistent tug on his chain. He followed it home.

He clung to Clockwork’s avatar, gasping, as if he was the only real thing in the world. His emotions were too much, too great, uncontained and roiling. They battered him like a stormy sea.

It’s alright, it’s alright, comforted the avatar. It wasn’t real, and now it never will be. All those worlds where you would not be. All gone.

No. No. No. Horror buzzed in his brain. He couldn’t have destroyed so much.

Never were,continued the avatar, Clockwork apparently oblivious. All disproven. Paradox. You could not be and yet you were. You were in the places you were not. So, now you exist, in all these places, in everywhere that could be, and always will. It stroked Danny, brushing away tears. Only one more to go, until you never were not, my beloved child, until you always were mine, as you were meant to be.

Danny keened into the robes of Clockwork’s avatar, distraught. Wind ruffled his hair.

Considering the point in time in which you were placed, said the avatar, Vladimir will be well again.

Danny looked up, hopeful for the first time in hours.

Mostly. The underlying cause has been removed. You should bring the rest to your… progenitors. They are at least competent in this area.

Danny nodded vigorously and attempted to extract himself from the avatar’s grasp. He was unsuccessful, although the avatar did adjust its grip on him.

You have had a difficult day, it observed. It then presented Danny with a cookie.

Confused, Danny took it.

A gift, said the avatar, Clockwork having evidently returned to his normal laconic mode.

“What’s it made of?” asked Danny, suspicious.

Love. What else?

“How do you feel?” asked Danny.

“Weird,” said Sam. “But okay.”

“What was it like?”

Sam shrugged. “It was like…” She waved her hand. “Watching a thousand different movies of my life, but they were all wrong. Like if they were crappy biopics done fifty years after I died or something.”

“Speak for yourself,” grunted Tucker. “I just got a lot of sand. So, so much sand. And sun. Do I have a sunburn?”

“No?” said Danny. “You look fine.”

“Ugh, I forgot you were white. You don’t know what sunburns look like.”

“I’d argue,” said Sam, “but you’re not wrong.” She fell back against her pillows. “I just want to sleep.”

“Same,” said Tucker. “I never want to see the sun again.”

“We’ll make a goth of you yet,” joked Sam, tossing a pillow at him.

“Okay,” said Danny, backing away. “Should I get the lights?”

“You don’t mind?”

“Sleep well,” he said. He hoped they would.

(Because he would not.)

#danny phantom #loved #eldritch abomination AU #dannymay #dannymay 2021 #dannymay day 3: portal

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longlivefanfic-net · 2 years

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Bainshed&Bloody: Eddie the Aching

Summary: Chapter 5 of 8. Eddie has been transformed into a vampire by Vecna and is training to serve him while he descends even further into madness. Post-Volume II. Eddie Munson wasn't dead when he was left in the Upside Down; well, he wasn't dead anymore. Steve Harrington has spent the days since they came back to Hawkins haunted by the idea that he could have saved Eddie--or at least died in his place. It quickly becomes clear that the Hawkin's group has to go back to the Upside Down and, when they do, they find an unfamiliar face. Vampire!Eddie Munson, Grieving Steve Harrington.

Word Count: 3.9k

Start from the beginning here!

Content: Gore, implied homophobia, blood drinking (he is a vampire though so like that shouldn't be a surprise I think?)

A/N: you ever write something and immediately think “why would i do this to myself??” thats where we are in this fic. Also: we r finally getting into some steddie but it is so angst driven im sorry jesus christ; vampirisim as an obvious metaphor for homosexuality and tw for implications of homophobia

Chapter Five: Eddie the Aching

When Vecna’s claw twitched, sending poison racing through Eddie’s veins until his heart had stopped, Eddie dropped to his knees in the attic and clutched at his throat as it burned. He was convinced it was the end. He pushed his eyes closed, tight, picturing the faces of his uncle, his bandmates, the Hellfire club, even his father. Right as his lungs stopped burning, his body twisting in pain, his memory shoved the image of Steve Harrington against the backs of his eyelids; it was the last time Eddie had ever seen Steve, as he was jokingly reassuring Harrington that he was not a hero. He had looked at Eddie like maybe he understood what Eddie’s eyes were saying, his mouth unable to form the words. Come back to me, Harrington. He couldn’t have said it outloud, couldn’t have risked Wheeler or Henderson narrowing their eyebrows at him, but he thought–maybe–Steve’s eyes were promising to see him again, to help Eddie figure out why his stomach flipped every time he found the former high school sweetheart’s eyes on him. “Make him pay.” That’s what Eddie had said to Steve before they had separated for the last time. He had meant for Steve to make Vecna pay, but, as usual, it was Eddie that ended up in pain.

Since his change, the burning along the sides of Eddie’s throat was near constant. It was a type of suffering he had never experienced before; worse than his first tattoo, worse than the time he decided to pierce his own ear and ended up with an infection. Vecna had seen how Eddie clawed at his throat when he changed, gasping in pain as the burning rippled through him. Within moments, one of the pale, too-tall creatures had appeared in the shadows of the room, dragging something dirty and blackened with dried blood around open wounds.

The smell of the animal–a deer–was wrong in Eddie’s nose, nauseating and dirty, yet it carried with it the scent of something warm and filling. His mind flooded with images of his uncle’s trailer, the lights warm on snowy winter nights as they shared bowls of venison stew, comfortable silence broken only by the sound of spoons. When Eddie felt his mouth water, his newly sharpened teeth aching, he finally understood what Vecna had done to him.

He folded to his knees, bending like a paper doll with creased lines, and ducked his head to the neck of the feebly-struggling animal. Its large, black eyes looked at his, and its legs kicked out in fear. Eddie simply put a hand over its face, covering its eyes as he dipped his head to its throat. He could smell the main artery running under the fur, and his teeth tore the soft flesh apart as he opened a life-ending wound and drank. It didn’t take long for the animal to grow still, legs slowing as its heart did. When the blood stopped flowing, Eddie ran his tongue over it, desperate to take as much as he could.

For the first time since he had woken up in the Upside Down, Eddie felt relief. He couldn’t hear the whispers, the moans that had haunted his waking moments since he woke up here. The hunger he had been unable to name for the last few days was gone. The burning in his throat was soothed, cooled by the heat of the animal’s blood. He felt complete, felt whole like he had never felt in Hawkins.

He looked up at Vecna, still suspended over the floor like a spider in a web. “Why would you do this to me?” Eddie couldn’t help himself from asking the question; he was confused. Steve, Nancy, and Robin had all been right here. If Vecna had wanted someone, a soldier like he had called Eddie, why hadn’t he taken one of them? Turned one of them? They were the heroes; Eddie was the one who always ran.

Vecna stared at him, giving Eddie the distinct feeling he knew what was coursing through his mind. “You died a hero. I intend to ensure your afterlife is the same.” “What do you mean?” Eddie felt his brows slide over his eyes, his mouth turning down as he flinched away from the sound of Vecna’s voice. “You know pain, Eddie Munson. True pain. The pain of being unloved, the pain of being the one who wasn’t like the others, the pain of knowing that if you ever revealed yourself you’d be cast out, maybe even locked up or killed.” Eddie swallowed, hard, at Vecna’s words, flinching slightly as he understood his meaning. “You have seen the worst of human nature. You understand me, Eddie Munson. You see why they must be eliminated. And you will rule at my bidding when they are gone.”

At that, Eddie’s head shot up, his eyes searching the scorched skin for any indication of whether he truly believed what he said. “Be my soldier, Eddie Munson. Be my bloody hand, and you will have the freedom to live as you have always wished to.” Eddie bit his lip, staring at the creature that promised him impossible things. But were they impossible? He had changed Eddie, had turned him into something stronger, faster, better than Eddie had ever been before. He had provided Eddie with the gift of blood, the gift of relief, and it was likely he would kill Eddie without flinching if he said no. Eddie looked up at Vecna from his place on the blood-splattered, weather-beaten wood floor, already on his knees, and he swore his fealty.

****

In the weeks since he made his pledge, Eddie had been preparing to serve Vecna in whatever way he was asked to. Every moment of his new life had been focused on gaining access to more blood, to satisfying Vecna so that he would be rewarded. Eddie had spent the first day after his pledge lying on the floor, allowing Vecna to hunt through every part of his mind. He had seen memories of his childhood he hadn’t even known he still had: images of his mother laughing, his father throwing a ball to him, the tiny house they had lived in together before his mom had died, his dad the morning after his first arrest, his Uncle Wayne’s face the first time his dad had been unable to pick him up from a sleepover.

Vecna had also pulled more recent images to his mind: the middle school talent show, his uncle’s face the first time he had been suspended, the bitter taste of his first beer, playing guitar quietly alone in his room, the way his body had felt the first time he got high. Finally, near the end of the night, Vecna showed Eddie his memories of his last day alive. He showed Eddie the image of Steve, Robin, and Nancy walking away from him after he proclaimed himself to not be a hero; himself, choosing to cut the rope that would have let him back into Hawkins; the demobats surrounding him, tearing his skin apart with their sharp mouths; Henderson making him a promise to lead Hellfire club as Eddie’s lungs burned with his last few living breaths.

Those memories had hurt. A part of Eddie had struggled, an old, vaguely familiar feeling in his now-ever-silent chest cavity, as Vecna had strung each memory out for the two of them to watch together. But none of it was as painful as what had come afterwards.

In the weeks since swearing his fealty to Vecna, he had spent every day training to be his best soldier, his most reliable hand. Much of the training was harmless; Eddie’s body didn’t feel exhaustion like it used to, his muscles light and loose at all times under his skin as he lunged and dodged. Vecna had presented him with a sword, a weapon like Eddie had only ever dreamed of while reading fantasy novels and playing Dungeons and Dragons in his past life. When he had picked it up for the first time, holding it in his chilled hands and examining the silver of the blade, the balance in the hilt, the light glow of blue light that radiated through the steel into his body, he had accepted, truly, that he was never going back to Hawkins.

That same little struggle in his chest had convinced him it could still happen; he had dreamed of going home, of hunting deer with his uncle, of living like the Byers kid, that one that had died and come back years ago. Dustin had told him that the kid–Will, one of Henderson, Sinclair, and Wheeler’s friends–had had something living in him, some of this Upside Down shit. It had almost killed the kid again, but they had rescued him, freed him from it. Up until Eddie wrapped his too-long fingers around his sword, hearing the click of his rings against the steel that had been forged for his hand, he had secretly held onto a dream that they would be able to do the same for him. That he would run like hell out of the Creel house one day, burst through the gate in his trailer with his new strength, and let Henderson and Harrington save him.

But that dream was gone now. It had slipped away in between the hours of darkness in the Upside Down, where Eddie fought demogorgon after demogorgon, colonies of demobats, even packs of demodogs. He had slaughtered so many of them now; the sword had become a natural extension of his hand, the blood splatter of his victims across his face a welcome warmth. Vecna insisted, frequently, that he continue to train his physical powers. He wanted Eddie to understand the full extent of what his new body could do, the sheer prowess unleashed when he had burned the last of Eddie’s humanity out of him. Eddie had never been weak before, but now he was strong, stronger than strong. He could move faster than he had ever seen anyone move before, and his eyes were always moving to the next target as his weapon sliced the life out of his last victim.

Eddie couldn’t help but think about the Hawkin’s High bullies every now and then–those kids like Jason, who looked at people like Eddie and thought they were weak. Eddie had been involved in more than his fair share of fights over the years, never choosing to avoid a black eye over protecting someone. Even other people who made fun of him, whispered jokes about his long hair and his chains and metal band shirts, were Eddie’s to protect. Before. Before he had woken up in the Upside Down. Now, he was the powerful one. Jason Carver and his little group of too-tough boys with daddy’s power to get them out of trouble wouldn’t be able to run from him now. Eddie was looking forward to the day Vecna allowed him into Hawkins, sent him with his sword to take the heads of the likes of Jason Carver like he had taken the heads of the creatures Vecna had him spar with.

Eddie also, occasionally, thought about Chrissy Cunningham. And Dustin Henderson. And Sinclair’s younger sister, the one who had played in the last D&D game as Lady Applejack. He thought about Red, and Robin, and Nancy–and Steve. He would free them, free them from the Jason Carvers of the world. And when they recognized him, when they realized he had come back to Hawkins stronger, faster, the hero they hadn’t realized they had needed?

Eddie had a vision in his mind: he would ask Vecna to pardon his friends, have his wish granted to thank him for his loyalty, and they would all be safe, Eddie serving as their protector. And, if he occasionally needed a bit of blood to keep the voices out of his mind, he imagined one of them would be willing. He would save them; he would rule with Vecna; he could be happy, the kind of happy he had assumed he would never find. The kind of happy that was off-limits to Munson’s, the kind of happy that was out-of-reach for men like him.

As the days ticked by, though, Eddie stopped dreaming of saving the weak. When he was hungriest, waiting for Vecna to reward him with the hot blood of an animal dragged from the Hawkins woods to die in the Upside Down and listening to the whispers and screams that flooded the world around him when he was hungry, he found himself wondering what they would taste like. He imagined Jason and the men like him in the world would taste similar to those droplets of blood that splattered his mouth as he killed creatures from the Upside Down; acidic, angry, like a burning ember on Eddie’s tongue.

But the others…Eddie wondered if they would remind him of meals he had enjoyed before he died, like the deer did. He wondered if they would be sweet, or salty; he wondered, if he drank enough of their blood instead of an animal’s, if he’d be able to feel his heart beat inside of his chest again. Every time these thoughts crossed his mind, Eddie would shake his head, violently, like he could simply push the thoughts out that way. He did his best to ignore those thoughts, but sometimes he wasn’t allowed to let them go.

Eddie’s thoughts did not belong entirely to him anymore. Vecna had started more intensive training as Eddie mastered his sword. Plunging into his mind, Vecna would pull out memories of the worst days of his life. The demogorgons would transform into high school bullies, into cops who patrolled the trailer park looking for reasons to get out of their cars, into the strangers at the grocery store who turned their lips up in disgust as he passed by with a six pack on a Friday night.

Eddie had hesitated the first time Vecna had done this; Jason Carver had taken the place of the demogorgon in front of him, his too-thin lips curving into that shit-eating grin that Eddie associated with never seeing a single consequence of any of your actions. The sword had suddenly felt heavy in Eddie’s hands–he couldn’t lift it, couldn’t swing with the force he needed to take the demogorgon’s head off now that it looked…real. Like someone Eddie knew. Even if he hated him, Eddie had never pictured himself murdering Jason (well, not really, not in an actionable way).

The demogorgon had clawed at him, scratching against Eddie’s skin and cutting another hole into the filthy Hellfire club shirt he had been wearing for almost a month now. He had looked at the hole in his sleeve, thinking of his friend’s crowded around a table filled with hand-painted characters and dice, and had spun the sword in his hand before wrapping both palms around the hilt, raising it high, and bringing it down to split Jason’s grin in two.

After a while, though, that hadn’t been enough for Vecna. Eddie could kill the creatures of the Upside Down without blinking; he still hesitated, occasionally, when it looked like he was beheading the monsters of Hawkins, but he could do it. Vecna had started his true training after a particularly long night, Eddie’s body warm and loose as the animal under his hands stopped moving.

He had tossed his long hair over his shoulder as he looked up, expecting to see his master watching him in approval, and had found Steve Harrington standing there instead. “Steve,” Eddie had rasped out, his jaw immediately going slack. He hurriedly wiped his chin, smearing the stray drops of crimson over his pale skin, as he jumped to his feet, eager to separate himself from the scene of gore he had left on the floorboards. Steve stood there, looking at Eddie with the same half-skeptical look in his eyes that Eddie had already learned to associate with him, his skin bright against the dark denim of his jeans and Eddie’s Dio vest.

Eddie reached out to take Steve’s shoulders in his hands, wanting desperately to wrap his arms around Harrington’s broad shoulders, pull him close to him, feel his pulse under his body to affirm that Steve was alive even if Eddie wasn’t–and was left standing, arms open, as Steve stepped back. Steve’s hands came up to his chest, motioning Eddie away. “What the fuck, Munson?” Steve asked. His wide eyes narrowed, slitting into tight almond shapes as he grimaced. “Did you just…eat that thing?” Eddie glanced down to the cooling animal corpse on the floor then back to Steve. “I–I can explain, Steve, but we should–” “No.” Eddie’s head recoiled in shock.

“I don’t want you to explain it to me, Eddie,” Steve said, running one of his hands through his hair, making it stand on end briefly before he swooped it over to the side. Eddie watched Steve’s fingers, watched the muscles in his shoulder move, watched his chest expand as he breathed; watching Steve, after thinking for so long that he’d never see him again, made a fire burn under Eddie’s skin like a duller version of the change he had experienced. “What…what do you mean?” Eddie whispered, eyes on Steve’s face. Steve shook his head.

“I don’t want you to explain what you are to me, Munson. You’re a fucking freak.” Steve stepped back, his face alight with revulsion as Eddie stopped breathing. The disgust in Steve’s eyes was the exact look Eddie had feared, had made him keep so much to himself while he was in Hawkins. “I’m not like you,” Steve hissed at him, and Eddie felt a different type of burning in his throat, the burning of a sob aching to be set free, a sensation he had been familiar with when he was alive.

“Kill him,” Vecna’s voice rasped. Eddie’s jaw dropped, suddenly remembering where they were. “Steve!” Eddie yelled, immediately disregarding Steve’s apparent revulsion. “You have to run!” With Eddie’s words still echoing in the air, Steve disappeared and Eddie froze. It was just Vecna and Eddie, still in the attic of the Creel house. “Weak,” Vecna had said, and Eddie had felt himself burn with shame. “Too weak, still. My bravest soldier will need to be stronger. Or he will watch his friends die.”

The next day, as Eddie prepared to swing his sword through Jason Carver’s throat, he watched him shift into Gareth. Eddie’s hand faltered, his eyes roaming over the image of Gareth in a Corroded Coffin shirt, smiling at Eddie like he was thrilled to see him. Eddie’s sword hand fell beside him, his jaw slack as his eyes widened. “Gareth?” Gareth smiled at him, his curly hair flopping as he shook his head. “It’s me, Eddie,” Gareth said.

Suddenly, his puppy dog smile slipped off his face, replaced by a look of scorn. “Not that it should matter to a freak like you.” “What?” “You’re a freak, Munson. A real freak. None of us even like you, you know. We used to be scared of you, but we’re not anymore. We know what you are now, Eddie, and none of us are scared of you anymore.” Gareth grinned again, but this time it was filled with malice. Eddie’s hand shook, his sword suddenly too heavy.

“You’re exactly what everyone ever called you, Eddie: a freak, a loser, a burnout…” Gareth took a deep inhale, and when his voice came out it was the voice of Eddie’s father. “A waste of space.” Eddie gasped, anger burning through his veins as his sword rose in his hands. His arms moved without thought, carving a jagged line across Gareth’s torso as he screamed. When he disappeared, a demogorgon laying dead in his place, Eddie blinked away the tears that had flooded his eyes.

His training continued like this for hours, for days, for what could have been years as far as Eddie was concerned. Vecna pulled images of all of Eddie’s friends, of Chrissy Cunningham telling him how much better Jason was than him, of Dustin telling him he would never willingly spend time with someone like him, of his Uncle Wayne telling him he was a disappointment and just like his father. Eventually, Eddie’s sword didn’t falter against them.

He became used to the image of Chrissy with his sword through her abdomen, Dustin’s body falling to its knees as his head hit the ground seconds before the rest of him, of his Uncle Wayne screaming as he sliced through his thin skin. Even though he thought he had proved himself, really proved himself, as loyal to Vecna, Eddie stayed on his guard always–any sound, any creature, anything other than himself and his master couldn’t be trusted.

The first time he faced a demogorgon that looked like Steve, he struck before it had the chance to speak. He had already heard what Vecna’s version of Steve had to say to him; he didn’t need to relive it, didn’t need to add it to the voices of Wayne and Dustin and Chrissy and Gareth in Eddie’s head. The next demogorgon was Steve, too. Eddie waited, prepared for him to hurl insults and names and acid at him, to wash over whatever was left of his heart and eat away at the last shred of humanity Eddie had buried inside his chest. Instead, Steve held out his arms.

Eddie straightened out of his slight crouch, his sword coming down slightly. “Munson!” Steve crowed. “You’re alive!” “I’m not,” Eddie hissed, shocked at how animalistic his voice sounded compared to Steve’s. Steve cocked his head to the side, confusion in his warm eyes as he smiled slightly and his arms dropped. “But you’re here. You came back to me.” Eddie felt that tiny shred of his heart in his chest hammer, pounding against his ribs feebly. “You came back to me, Munson, and I came back to you. You saved me, by the way, when you went back against those bats–I’m, uh,” Steve ran a hand up the back of his neck, the other finding it’s usual place on his narrow hip, and his honey and almond colored hair ruffled under his wide palm as he looked at his feet. A blush snaked over his cheeks, and Eddie watched the blood color his skin, his fingers twitching with the need to trace over it, feel the heat under his fingers that proved that Steve was there, was alive. “I’m alive because of you, Munson–Eddie. You saved me.” He looked up at Eddie, gazing warmly into his eyes as they watered. “You’re a hero, Eddie.”

Eddie couldn’t stop himself. A sob broke through his clenched jaw, hot tears finally slipping down his cheeks as his chest heaved. “I just wanted to save you, Steve,” he choked out, and Steve raised his arms to him again–only to have them separated from his body. Steve screamed, dropping to his knees, as Eddie raised his blade again, tears flowing freely now, and drove his sword through Steve’s chest, praying that cutting through Steve’s heart would make his own stop aching.

When the demogorgon fell back, a pool of black blood forming under its corpse, Eddie turned to Vecna. “Better,” his voice called. “But you’ll need to be stronger.” Eddie took a deep breath, preparing himself to see Steve again as he turned.

#stranger things #eddie munson #my fic #feral fics #eddie stranger things #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson fic #eddie munson stranger things #eddie munson imagine #steve harrington #stranger thing fan fiction #stranger things fanfic #eddie fics #eddie munson fics #steve fic #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington fics #steve harrington fan fiction

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chelsfic · 4 years

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Leftovers - Part 12/12 - Nandor the Relentless x Female Reader Fanfic

For Previous Parts: WWDITS Masterlist

Summary: The reader shares her last night alive with her new family.

A/N: I realized as I was writing this that this whole fic could really be read as an elongated metaphor for my falling in love with this show and this fandom. I hope you guys like this ending and aren’t disappointed.

Warnings: Angst, Emotions, Crack humor, Turning into a vampire

---

It’s an hour after sunset and you can hear your housemates stirring. You’re still lying in bed. The ceiling overhead is cracked and peeling in places. You suppose this probably won’t be your bedroom for much longer. Nandor will want you to move into his crypt. Will you have your own coffin? Or will he want to keep sharing? How does one even purchase a coffin for...personal use?

You know you’re stalling. Nandor is being uncharacteristically patient, but he won’t wait all night. You’re not afraid. Okay, you’re afraid. But, you’d be stupid not to be. You saw Guillermo during his transition. He looked like hell for about three whole days. But you know Nandor will take care of you. Well, strike that. You know Nandor will try to take care of you and if he fails, Nadja and Guillermo will be there.

The night you met...the night you almost became a meal...was your birthday. So much has happened since then. You’ve been kept prisoner, fed upon, attacked, hurt. You’ve also fallen in love with every vampire in this crazy house, even Colin Robinson, bless his heart. Nandor and his bizarre mix of vicious lust and achingly sweet softness has somehow pulled you into this world, into a place you’ve always belonged without even knowing it. So, yeah, you’re afraid. But the idea of not spending every night for the rest of eternity surrounded by these beautiful, damaged, stupid idiots is even more frightening.

A knock comes at your door and Nadja’s voice trills, “Hello, human? May I come in?”

You roll onto your side and sit up, dangling your bare legs over the edge of the bed. You’re wearing one of your few dresses because...well, because you’re going to die tonight and shouldn’t you dress up a little?

Nadja slips inside looking resplendent and deadly as always. She gives you a sympathetic smile and comes to sit next to you.

“Feeling a little nervous about our unholy transition, are we?” she ducks her head and gives you that mama-vampire-knows-best look of hers.

You lean your shoulder into hers, taking comfort in her presence.

“Maybe a little…” you admit. “I’m not having second thoughts or anything it’s just…”

“A little spooky wooky, yes?” Nadja supplies. She wraps her arm around your back and pulls you closer. “Don’t concern your head off, darling. I don’t know if you realize this but I am considered a bit of an expert. I’ve turned many, many humans in my time. Including my dear Laszlo. I’ll make sure Nandor does not slip up and accidentally make you into a zombie monstrosity like my poor Topher.”

You rear back and stare at Nadja with horror stricken eyes, “That’s a possibility!??”

Nadja chuckles and tweaks your nose, “I am giving you sarcasm! To lighten the mood! It’s working, yes?”

You let out a long-suffering sigh that hiccups into nervous laughter.

“I love you, Nadja,” you say with sudden, overwhelming emotion. You dive forward and wrap your arms around her in a fierce hug.

Nadja is stricken for a moment and she pats your back gingerly, “That’s...very nice. You think you want to come downstairs now? Because Nandor is being a real donkey dick down there waiting for you, but his balls are too shriveled to come up here and get you himself.”

You laugh and pull back from the hug, wiping tears from your eyes, “Yeah, let’s go. I’m ready.”

---

“SURPRISE!”

“HAPPY DEATHDAY!”

“SMASHLEY’S IN DA HOUSE!”

“What’s crack-a-lackin’?”

Nandor looks supremely put out when everyone yells something different as you walk through the door to the fancy room. Does no one listen to him? They had an agreed upon plan! He scowls at at the other vampires, especially fucking Colin Robinson, before sweeping over toward you and taking you from Nadja’s arm.

“Welcome to your Death Day Party! Do you like it?” Nandor looks down at you with those wide, sparkling eyes that make you forget he’s a centuries old blood-sucking fiend who once conquered nations and slaughtered thousands.

You take in your surroundings with a look of wonder. There’s a giant glitter banner hanging above the fireplace that reads “Congratulations on your Dark Awakening.” You recognize it as Nandor’s handiwork at once. Also, Guillermo has obviously been to Party City because everyone is wearing pointed birthday hats with little Dracula emojis all over them and the whole room is absolutely covered in crepe paper.

“It’s...so cute!” you squeal, grabbing him around the middle in an enthusiastic hug. This is...just want you needed. A little goofy, human levity before stepping off the edge of the unknown. Your eyes continue wandering over the room until they fall upon a long table set up against the wall. “Oh...my g--gahhhh--is that mac and cheese?”

The table is covered in dish after dish of all your favorite comfort foods. Macaroni and cheese, pizza, lasagna. Apple pie, blueberry pie, cherry pie! There’s a whole giant bowl of Reese’s peanut butter cups. You pull away from Nandor and dash across the room, launching yourself into Guillermo’s arms.

“You’re the sweetest monster I’ve ever known!” you cry, doing your best to squeeze the unlife out of him.

Guillermo laughs, “Listen, you’re going to be puking for days either way. You might as well have one last chance to enjoy human food.”

You roll your eyes, “Thanks for the reminder, Memo.”

“Alrighty!” Nandor is suddenly picking you up from behind and plucking you out of Guillermo’s arms. “That’s enough of that. Why don’t you have some of this--” he turns his head away from you and gags “--yummy food and then we’ll listen to some human musical arrangements that Nadja and Laszlo have prepared.”

Nandor hovers at your side, watching with a wrinkled nose as you pile food onto your plate. You’ve barely made a dent in the impressive spread and you’re feeling guilty about the waste when Colin Robinson ambles up.

“So, nervous about Nandor draining all your blood and killing you tonight?” he asks breezily.

You ignore the question and instead ask one of your own, “Hey, you think you can bring some of the leftovers into your office tomorrow? I’d hate to waste all this…”

Colin’s face lights with a maniacal grin, “Barbara’s on a diet...Yeah...this will be perfect!”

You settle onto one of the couches, sandwiched between Guillermo and Nandor. Both vampires look vaguely nauseated as you tuck into your food, but they’re holding it together.

Laszlo stands up with Nadja and starts strumming a guitar as he addresses everyone, “When I first met our human I assumed she’d soon be fertilizing my vulva garden--”

Nadja slaps his arm and Nandor hisses indignantly.

“But! But!” Laszlo continues, bowing with a flourish in your direction. “I came to realize that this particular human was something special. I decided to accept her into the fold. Mostly because she kept Nandor off my back and also my wife threatened to maim my testicles if I ate her…

“So, here we are, human. The last night of your life and we’ve got just one thing to say…”

The couple launches into a screeching, cloying rendition of “(I’ve had) The Time of my Life” from the Dirty Dancing soundtrack (blatantly stolen from Laszlo’s catalogue of compositions). Your face is frozen in horrified laughter and you flick your gaze to Guillermo’s to see that he’s covering his mouth to stifle his own laughs. On your other side, Nandor is clapping along and bobbing his head with the music. Yup, this is your tribe.

The party goes on for another couple hours. Laszlo and Nadja perform several more “hits” before finishing up with “The Girl in the Village with the Very Small Foot.” Nadja’s singing voice is still ringing in your ears when Nandor bends down to whisper, “It’s time, my human.”

The levity of the party has done a lot to calm your nerves, but you can’t help the sudden grip of anxiety around your throat at his words. You look up, falling, once again, into the fathomless depths of his lovely, dark eyes and you think, That’s what this is. You’re going to live in that deep, dark beauty from now on. There’s nothing scary about that.

You both stand up to leave and say your goodbyes. Laszlo and Colin wish you luck. Guillermo hugs you and presses several quick kisses to your cheeks as Nandor murmurs warningly, “Watch it!”

When he releases you, you’re suddenly engulfed in the arms of a crying Nadja.

“I do love you, you magnificent, ruthless baby!” she sobs. “Nandor, if you fuck this up I’m going to make a hat out of your asshole.”

You laugh into her shoulder and Nandor complains, “Yeesh! Alright, calm down, Nadja!”

By the time you’ve pried yourself from Nadja’s grip you’ve joined her in crying and your face is soaked. Who knew vampires could be so sentimental?

Nandor grimaces in distaste as he brings his hands up to wipe away the tears.

“Ready!?”

---

Nandor’s crypt looks just as it always does. No crepe paper or glitter in sight. Just the warm glow of candles, the rich red and gold accents of the decor, and the solid familiar bulk of the coffin where you’ve spent so many nights wrapped in his protective embrace. He leads you over to the chaise lounge and you both sit, fidgeting nervously and darting shy glances at one another.

Nandor plucks at the fabric of your dress, “This is nice.”

You smile faintly, “Thanks, I--I thought maybe I should dress up for the occasion. Is that stupid? I guess it’ll just get stained…”

“No,” Nandor cuts in, looking earnest and serious. “No, I’ll be careful.”

You nod and fall silent again. The knowledge of what you’re about to do seems to hang like a thick curtain between you. The easy intimacy that you’ve shared is strained with the gravity of what is to come. Nandor finally huffs out an exasperated sigh and pulls you into his lap. At first you think he’s just going to bite the bullet, so to speak, and dig into your neck at once. But instead he grabs your face and pulls you into a searing, all-consuming kiss.

He tangles his fingers in your hair, pushing his tongue into your mouth with a low groan. You stroke your hands down the long column of his throat, running them across his broad shoulders and down his back. How this man--this perfectly imperfect, wonderfully fragile, fierce warrior man--has come to choose you, you can’t begin to understand. For countless other human souls, catching the eye of Nandor the Relentless has meant grim misfortune. For you, finding yourself the prey of a murderous vampire is the best thing that’s ever happened in your life.

Except maybe being MVP at last year’s championship bout.

Nandor’s lips fall away and he looks up at you, panting heavily with his hair mussed and tangled. His gaze flicks down to your exposed throat and you see him swallow in anticipation. He reaches for something on an end table and shows you the stainless steel travel mug containing his blood. You take it from him noting the strip of masking tape on the lid with Nandor’s elegant scrawl--his name and the date.

You snort, setting the container down on the cushions beside you and looking back up at Nandor.

“Prepare yourself, my mortal,” he growls, fangs elongating and eyes flashing with a predatory gleam.

You turn your head, baring your neck for your vampire boyfriend, and answering lightly, “I have a name, you know.”

---

THE END

A/N: Hey, thank you so so so much to everyone who read and supported this fic from the beginning! Your comments and encouragement mean the world to me!

Tags:

@festering-queen, @kandomeresbitch, @strangestdiary, @glitterportrait, @scuzmunkie, @redwoodshadows, @sarasxe, @rileyomalley

#nandor the relentless #nandor x reader #nandor the relentless x reader #nandor the relentless imagine #wwdits fanfic #wwdits #what we do in the shadows

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ithinkthereforiamfandom · 4 years

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MarvelLock

(As a welcome to my newest Patreon Kate (sorry this took so long dear one), and I confess a touch of self indulgence. Loki was Actually first in Mitguard many years before Thor, and he met an interesting human, who was high as kite!) Established Johnlock, Established LokiSigyn,

In this AU Loki does not die on that ship and indeed finds the sunshine again!

Loki landed in Midgard, he had heard tales of this land where his people had once been Gods and had also heard endless lectures that this could be no more, as they had to leave Earth and it’s peoples to their fate. The whole was pointless, but he had decided to look the City of London in the eye because it sounded like a challenge. To look a city in the eye must be an interesting feat and it was said that the London Eye was quite impressive.

“Could you direct me to the eye of London?” Loki asked a neatly dressed policeman. “The What!?” “The city's eye, the London Eye. I wish to meet it’s gaze” The man had given him a quizzical look, maybe one could only met the eye by invitation, as a Prince could he not appeal to their Queen. “Down by the river" had been his only direction but his guide gave a further “follow the smell" before going on his way. Loki could smell only one source of water so he made his way towards it. The destitute were everywhere but he understood that the city looked after them, maybe it had a kindly eye, he thought grinning to himself until further enquires led him to an enormous wheel strung with carriages.

This was the great City of London's eye!

Loki barked a laugh of disappointment, it was a perfect metaphor for the whole damn planet, all just spinning in place pointlessly! “It won’t blink you know" Loki started and turned to the voice. One of the destitutes had approached him, a striking face but Loki could smell the poison he’d put in his blood. Curiously Loki held his peace hoping that maybe his sudden companion would speak again.

“You asked after the eye like you were about to have a staring contest and were so clearly disappointed to see it… you’re not from around here, no. You smell wrong, like winter but it's the middle of June and you move strangely too, like you ride a lot of horses but you don’t carry the callouses of caring for them, gloves would mask the marks of riding.” Loki watched the interesting mind race behind those odd eyes. “Sherlock Holmes" Who held his hand out for a polite shake in the manner of someone meeting a new animal, cautious of bites.

“Loki Odinson" He responded in kind and the heat of Midguard blood startled him almost as much as the words that followed “Norse mythology, god of mischief, shape shifter and Mother to a few supposed monsters… this isn’t your real skin is it? It feels wrong too” Loki's eyes filled up blood red right through the sclera as he allowed his Joten face to push through his human skin. Sherlock look intrigued and oddly relieved. Like he has been waiting for his mind to leave him all along.

Loki smiled as questing fingers lightly traced the patterns in his Joten skin, he couldn’t break his glamour for long but to enthral one mortal was really no risk. “This is my true skin Sherlock Holmes, Fenris and Sleipnir are no monsters but if you treat something as monstrous for long enough what’s the difference.” He was growing melancholy and that was not the purpose of this journey. He would entertain his new found friend instead, so he grabbed the hand that lingered on his skin, he had some time while the poison was working during which Sherlock Holmes would dismiss it all as fantasy and hallucination.

The revelation of his true nature had sparked an idea in the mad man's head to they found themselves outside of a bland looking building. “So this establishment is where your brother spends his leisure time, but refuses you entry…” Loki read a small brass plate that displayed Diogenes Club and the rather impolite phrase of ABSOLUTE SILENCE that was engraved beneath it. “You say he has cut you off because of the poison, the drugs, and you would like me to play tricks on him for your amusement…” Loki studied the face in front of him it was sickly and underweight but with arresting eyes and a fine frame to the body. He could work with this. “Just don’t let him touch you" Loki warned as he wove the spell, his magic was still young and could be unstable. “Won't be a problem” Sherlock had managed before the rush of the magic stole his breath.

The door swung open and two men strolled in; hair just slightly longer than proper matched well with impeccably tailored suits. Sherlock took a slight lead to the tea room where the so called powerful but most just plain boring sipped and chewed in their desperate collective solitude. No Mycroft, he shook his head at Loki and turned them towards his brother’s office, pausing beside the doorway to the antechamber he tried to figure out his next move. The fussy old secretary would interfere and he was at a loss until Loki moved him to face himself in a brushed steel light fitting… He barely held back a gasp as his illusion self vanished but not just his illusion, he and Loki were simply gone.

Loki grinned as he guided his shocked accomplice towards the entrance, entering was easy enough and he swiftly moved them into the office proper as the brother's assistant had left the door open to drop off some documents. A pallid man sat at a desk frowning at words and scratching his own mark irritability on each page. A tray beside him held a plate of sweet confections and some hot beverage gone cold, cancelling all sound around them Loki turned to Sherlock. “Okay, what next?”

Sherlock's smile split his face and he hoped he would remember this after the high. “The biscuits, Mummy, our mother sends them by the batch. He always eats too many, has since we were kids" He watched incredulously as Loki waved a hand and the biscuit in his brother’s fingers snapped in two. Startled his brother tried to pick up one piece but it broke again and so did the next one. Sherlock could see the sweat form on his brother’s temple and waited for his next move. A crack, deafening in the habitual silence, heralded spilled tea and fallen papers as his brother’s fussy desk split in two under his palms. Mycroft was on his feet now staring at his secretary who had glanced into the room and continued without a word. The phone was next and the plastic shattered into his palm, his trousers were the final casualty. He’d tried to dust the plastic’s shards off his hands and then fled in his ragged clothes to the next room.

Sherlock followed crying magically silenced tears of mirth as his brother pointed and waved soundlessly to his beleaguered secretary, climbing to her feet she glanced into the office again. All was as it should be. “Are you okay sir, you look a bit peaky" She’d queried quietly and Mycroft had nearly fainted dead away as he had turned and seen his office in perfect order.

Sherlock guided Loki back the tea room and took a few breaths to collect himself, he nodded to his companion to drop the camouflage and led them out to the streets in the requisite silence before collapsing on a park bench to chortle out his thanks.

Loki nodded as his almost friend thanked him, he could smell the poison was leaving Sherlock’s blood and knew he would need to depart soon. “It was my pleasure, the pointless rule of silence, it that your brother’s doing" “No it’s a general rule, avoids political discussions which inevitably always get loud, good rule though” Sherlock was sobering fast so Loki lead them to a small well tended park and settled them on a bench. “Enough poison Sherlock, no more drugs" He watched as Sherlock took in his words but cast a sleep charm upon him before there could be an argument.

If Midgard held One such as Sherlock Holmes maybe it wasn’t so pointless and he was smiling as he went home.

… Ragnarok and one mad titan later. ...

Loki lay on a couch and watched the Midgard sun rise over the green land they had called Asgard because where else would they live. Sigyn would be awake soon and Loki would forever be grateful that she was among the survivors who had trickled in after the attack, Heimdal could see them, see what remained of the Asgardians after that harrowing battle and they had gathered everyone to their new home.

Sigyn had been away in Vanahiem with a small group when Hela had attacked and there had been a few groups in other Realms but Thor had insisted everyone be present in their new home as the people of Asgard rebuilt.

Loki's face clouded over as he remembered how he had gained a wife, she had been delivered by an emissary of Jotenheim, and he had watched his brother’s blood boil as Thor had very slowly realised that the emissary was not actually asking for aid for the clearly ill woman in his charge. Thor had stood to say something, no doubt very kingly and self-righteous, so Loki stepped between his brother and the trouble maker to graciously accept the gift of a spouse from the new king of the Joten, he had been the one to destroy half of their city many years ago and had aided greatly in the repair as recompense.

The woman raised wary eyes as Loki guided her to the healers and then promptly guided her to his chambers after they had dismissed her suffering as simple exhaustion. He was quietly furious as she sank into the couch, he was no healer but he knew who might help, many years ago he had been having fun on Midgard, in London, it wasn’t far. He had watched the mortal many times after that first meeting, he had displayed a brilliant mind but far too many scruples, Sherlock! ... his companion had been a healer, between them they would aid his wife. So he gathered up his precious cargo and stepped though space, South and West over the waters.

John was pecking his way through a blog post as Sherlock prepared dinner. “Sherlock" a voice called from their lounge, holding up a hand for Sherlock to stay where he was John peered into the other room. Loki stood in the lounge holding a limp form to his chest. “John!” John dashed forward as Loki lay the woman carefully on the couch. She wasn’t human, half-mast eyelids showed blood red eyes and the distinctive Joten markings pushed through pale human skin.

Sherlock knew that voice but stayed in the kitchen as John had indicated, Loki had sounded relieved to see the doctor so clearly there was a medical problem, he turned off the gas and collected John’s kit as well as a blanket upstairs. He put the kit at John’s side and stepped around Loki to drape the blanket at the woman’s feet, John would pull it up when he was done so Sherlock clasped a hand to Loki's shoulder in support and quietly headed to the kitchen, two more for dinner then. He let John get on with clearly urgent work.

She had been a cast off like himself, an insult intended to remind Loki of what he was but she was also a true person in Loki's eyes and he had made sure she knew that.

He chuckled to himself because she had learned; she had healed and become his wife but she also grew fiercely independent and though they were wed they saw no need to be in constant company. Loki was pleased with her boldness and proud that she had recovered from her ordeal so excellently.

He could hear her waking, these new chambers were small but suited them with a simplicity that Asgard had never really possessed. It had been a few months since everyone had been called to this new home and the quiet domesticity had been a balm he did not know he’d needed but his heart froze as a loud thump came from the bedchamber.

“Sigyn, my love. Are you well?” He called as he rose then raced through the small house, because he knew the answer. He knew there would no joke to share, of two left feet, or playful mocking of Midgardian shag carpets. His wonderful wife lay pale on the floor as she tried to rouse her body from the collapse.

Loki lifted his wife with quiet words to sooth her distress, there were human healers, a hospital a short way away. He could maintain her illusion for her and hoped they would be able to help as he turned on his heel and stepped through space into a strange room. “My wife, my wife!” He approached a woman standing nearby, her clothes and name tag identified her as a doctor, like Sherlock’s John! “Please aid my wife, she collapsed a few minutes ago, it’s never happened before!”

He lay his very soul on a steel treatment bed and also wept with relief as the room burst into action. They fussed and took readings from all kinds of things that they attached to her arms, fingers, and head. She spoke to them quietly and called to him for answers when she could no longer talk then when once again he was told exhaustion and he nearly screamed, but these were uninformed human doctors. “I’m going to bring her regular doctor, he can consult for you" He gritted out before he threw himself through the doorway of the room, stepping through space once again into 221B Baker street.

“John!” He called this time and Sherlock answered “He’s occupied at the moment Loki, he won’t be long" “Unoccupy him then, my wife has collapsed and these simple Midgard healers know nothing!” Loki was pacing the dingy room when John appeared. “Your wife collapsed, what were her symptoms before it happened” but the end of the sentence was muffled as Loki grabbed John’s shorter frame firmly around the shoulders and stepped through space back to the hospital door he had left from.

“No! Loki, no, I’m not looking at a thing" John adamantly refused as he had been out and out kidnapped from London without even his phone for Sherlock to trace. He could see Sigyn, Loki's wife where she lay resting on a gurney in a pile of blankets. “Just review the tests John and I will return you personally!” “No Loki we discussed this, my phone is at home. Sherlock will be going spare. Trust Loki, there needs to be trust.” Loki almost roared with anger but a quiet coughing sound from the bed drew his gaze, she was laughing weakly at him and shooeing him off with a small gesture.

The regular staff had long since cleared out as the Asgardians had quickly made arrangements with the nearby hospitals, they would be needed until healing rooms could be set up and currency could do anything on Midgard. He returned her small smile and gave John a glare for good measure before he step through space and almost straight into Sherlock, who stood in the lounge in his coat and scarf obviously waiting. Loki had been about to comment on blinding, pig headed loyalty but Sherlock simply flashed a ring shining on his left hand. “I know, he’s lovely isn’t he" Growling at the nonchalant comment Loki quickly confirmed his consent and wrapped an arm around Sherlock's waist before he thrust them both through space to John’s side.

John was smiling by the time they returned and Sigyn seemed more awake too but there were tears in her eyes and he rushed to her side. “What did you do to her!" “I did nothing, what did you do to her” John responded as he turned to lean against Sherlock and whisper in his ear.

John watched the bed from Sherlock's arms. Sigyn held Loki and copied John’s gesture of quiet words in the only ear she would need. He watched as Loki froze and then shook, John heard sobs which turned to laughter as Loki scooped Sigyn off the bed and stepped magically though the entire wall, like it was the illusion, before heading towards the reception area. He heard more laughter and walked beside Sherlock as they followed it at a human pace.

Loki smiled with tears on his face as he thanked the staff, he rejected the offer of a wheel chair, refusing to put his wife down so that she might simply walk. “Regular exercise is important in early pregnancy Loki" John had called to him but this was irrelevant for the moment. “Maybe a taxi rather" Sherlock had suggested which made sense as stepping through space had taken him practice and took effort so there was no way to know its effect on a baby. “Loki, get them home first Love" His beautiful, glowing, miraculous wife had chided gently as he had turned for the door. “We'll wait" Two smiling men had said in almost perfect unison and they did wait, quite patiently until Loki strode out from a different doorway and embraced them both.

Arms lock around chests and shoulders as the three men embraced tightly over the good news. Loki dropped his head to Sherlock’s shoulder and said a quiet thanks in John’s ear. When they left the hug they were back in Baker street. “We will visit as much as we are able. John I hope you’ll remain in attendance of Sigyn's condition" Loki turned to John who looked a bit crescent fallen. “I’m not an obstetrician, a birthing doctor.” “But she would prefer you by her side, even if you’re only consulting. I believe you’re familiar with the practice of consultation” He flicked his gaze to Sherlock who was glowing, and Loki knew that look very well. He had worn it just that morning, pride in his partner, and a fathomless depth of love

@fanishjuli @mofftissfan @sarahthecoat @loveismyrevolution @riorothbates @underestimatemethatwillbefun @anotherwellkeptsecret @benaddictedandsherlocked @johnlockismyreligion @almosttomorocco @superwholocklmt @strangeps3lyricsmuffin @chinike @sillystring111 @ben-locked @jobooksncoffee @notjustamumj @johnlockunicorn @chained-to-the-mirror @thinkanddoodle-batch @melmey-fanfics @the-persian-slipper @melsesowieso @morgendaemmerung89 @shiplocks-of-love @pri1982 @kitten-kin @francj96 @sabrina-phynn @colourfulwatson @thejohnlockoutlet @lady-phoenix-of-tardis @shoshililly @mrb488 @yaycoffee @pippn-frodo @barbsiebabe @skullinitium @boisinberryjamarama @anchored-in-high-tide

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batmanie · 4 years

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Old Habits - scriddler

“Jeeezus!!!” The yelp was quite loud and – to be honest – quite satisfying. Eyes wide, and with a hand clutching onto his shirt, exactly where the heart would be, Nigma made a perfect example of someone who was suffering a cardiac arrest. His chest was rapidly rising and falling as he was trying to catch his breath. “Did I scare you?” He knew he did, and it felt so strange that he was still able to enjoy those little things in his life after all he'd been through. “You look like you've seen a ghost.” “Perhaps I'm seeing one?” Edward had to take a moment to collect himself, his voice was still hoarse and breathless, which would have made the old Scarecrow smirk – not the new one, though. The 'new him' didn't know what fun was anymore. “And it's an ugly view,” Riddler frowned. “How did you even...” “Survive?” Crane cut in with the most casual tone. He took a step toward the source of the light but his whole head was hidden in the shadow of his hood. “How did I escape? Crawl out of the sewers? Drag myself back to the town with a broken leg to get medical attention? Well, obviously not thanks to you...” “I was going to ask: How did you manage to make yourself look even more ridiculous than before?” It was almost jovial how quickly Nigma was getting rude and offensive when feeling attacked. 'Some things never change', Scarecrow thought with a pang of nostalgia. “It is good to see you too, Edward.” It really was, even if Riddler didn't look too happy to see him. This little reunion in the dark and unwelcoming system of the underground tunnels which were currently Riddler's hideout was giving Scarecrow the false but somewhat soothing impression that nothing had changed while he was gone. “How have you been?” He decided to keep the conversation going – talking was one of Riddler's favorite activities after all. “Perfect!” Nigma waved his hand in a nonchalant gesture. Crane, being no less observant than he had always been, had already noticed all the signs that were telling otherwise. The room they were in, one of many in this maze of a place, looked like it hadn't been cleaned up in ages. Multiple papers were scattered across the floor along with some cables, tools, and all kinds of trash. Riddler must have spent a lot of his time down here, as his skin was so pale that it probably hadn't seen any natural sunlight in months. His cheeks were hollow, his hair messy and there were dark circles around his eyes. And in this sad picture, the only two things that seemed to be alive were Edward himself, and his eyes – radiating confidence, intellect and thirst for revenge.

“I assume you didn't kill the Bat?” “Not yet.” The man shrugged, pretending not to care but at the same time nervously tapping his fingers on the desk – one of his many motor tics. “But with my new plan he is as good as dead, don't you worry about that! As you can see, I'm very busy right now and I don't need you, or anyone, to distract me. I am a perfectly self-dependent one-man army, capable of besting the Bat on my own!” His angry, slightly high-pitched tone told Scarecrow just how much Riddler had actually changed. His time-alone had done the man no good but he was too far gone to notice that. “Do you want me to leave then?” “Yes, please!” Edward crossed his arms. It was more of an angry order than a polite request. “If you expected that I will ask you to stay, just because we used to be... whatever you want to call that. Well, sorry to disappoint you,” he turned his back to Scarecrow, now facing the desk littered with some blueprints. “I bet you are still very busy playing dead – so busy that for the past six months it didn't cross your mind to inform me that those news about the crocodile eating you alive were exaggerated!” Now, there was something new in Edward's voice, something similar to a sad and bitter undertone. Jonathan immediately caught on that shift and he had to admit, it got him interested. “Would it have been so hard, to contact me earlier?” The man continued, holding onto the edge of his desktop, as if it was a lifebuoy preventing him from drowning in his own madness. “Instead of treating me like I was nothing to you? Like I was one of those morons who wrote you off as dead?!” “I was dead...,” Scarecrow stated with a hushed, almost murmuring tone. “Jonathan Crane died that night in the sewers of Gotham. Now, there is only Scarecrow.” Riddler turned his head and laughed mockingly, the short, bark-like sound lacked any joy. “Oh, really? You seem rather fine for a dead-man!” “What makes you think, I am fine?” Riddler went silent and looked at him, surprised. It was a long, calculative stare, the longest one Edward had graced him with yet. Jonathan was sure, Riddler was about to ask him about the leg brace – the newest addition to Scarecrow's already terrifying look. He didn't – his gaze lingered on it but soon wandered higher. Jon stepped forward, sensing that this was the time to present his 'new face'. He took another step toward the man so the two of them were really close now. There was the desk behind Edward's back – no place to run – and even if the situation seemed harmless, Jonathan could already sense the tension between them. Slowly, he pulled his hood down, revealing the disturbing view underneath. Riddler's blue eyes widened at the sight of the dirty piece of cloth stitched to the very skin of Jonathan's face. Edward's right hand twitched and instinctively reached to examine the stitching but before his fingers touched the fabric, the man stopped himself. “Are you...insane?” He breathed out, in a half-shocked, half-furious manner. Scarecrow observed his reaction with anticipation, their eyes locked together as both of them refused to look elsewhere. “It felt like a necessity back then,” Crane made sure his voice was as smooth and chill as possible. He had quite a story to tell, however, he doubted Edward would understand him. “I had to patch up the open wound that used to be my face. All I had, was my old burlap mask so that was my first choice. Not the smartest one, I admit, since the infection spread through my whole body just a week later, leaving me delirious and weak for the next two months. And it was only worse from there...” Edward just stared at him, saying nothing even though he looked like he wanted to. Driven by old habit, Crane observed how the small veins over the man's temples pulsated with the rush of blood, and at the same time, he did a quick analysis of his own actions. What exactly had he expected from Nigma? Was it his pity that he sought? Did he desire to see, how poorly the man was doing without him? Well, he had gotten a taste of that, but did it please his cold, dark heart? “As you can see,” Scarecrow pulled up his hood and backed off, letting Riddler return to his comfort zone, “...I wasn't exactly in shape to come to you earlier. I did not mean to offend you...” Oh, so it was making peace then, was it? That was the purpose behind coming here after all those months. To convince himself, to convince Edward, that everything was, as it had always been – even if it was not. “Well,” Nigma awkwardly cleared his throat, his eyes examining the dirty, stone flooring for a little while before he was able to look at his guest again. “I guess, I have no choice but to accept your reasoning.” “That's very generous of you, Edward.” Riddler tried to smile but it came out more like a nervous twitch. “But where are my good manners,” he reminded himself and it seemed like all the resentment that had been there before, had vanished. An almost child-like eagerness replaced it. “Sit down, please.” He offered Scarecrow the only chair he got in his cramped, lonely dumpster. “Do you want anything to drink? Coffee? Hot cocoa? I had a second mug...somewhere around here.” “No, thank you, Edward,” Crane stopped him from searching through the dusty shelves. “I can't have hot beverages just yet. But I appreciate your effort. I think I will go now.” “Already? Why don’t you stay longer? I will share some juicy details about my next, big plan with you, and I can even show you a prototype of my latest contraption. I promise, it will blow your mind, haha. Metaphorically speaking, of course.” Edward must have missed that – talking to someone who would just sit down and listen to his crazy ideas.

To be honest, he himself might have missed the sound of a human voice just a little.

Deep down, Scarecrow knew his days were numbered, his body broken beyond repair. And it was his fear of dying defeated, humiliated, and forgotten that brought him back to Riddler.

...because of all people, it was Riddler who could understand that fear best. “Fine... Let’s talk about that plan of yours.”

#batman #scriddler #Jonathan Crane #edward nigma #Arkham City #arkhamverse #riddler #scarecrow #edward nygma #Arkham Games #batman fanfiction #fanfiction #My Story #temarcia #Bat-mania

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dathen · 4 years

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TMA 166 Liveblog Dump

I finally got through an episode without my twitter getting locked for spam good for me

OH GOOD THEY'RE GONNA TALK ABOUT THE THING

Domain of the Buried oh I was not expecting that

"look down" and then helen shows up IS SHE PUTTING HER DOORS ON THE FLOOR..

I wish Martin had wanted to talk about the Implications of Jon killing vs. the "how"....like...does the "how" matter..? everything is fairy tale logic

Helen trying to put Jon at the same level as Elias for having a difficult time describing stuff >:| fucking helen

oooh this is GOOD LORE though Helen describing herself as a manifestation on par with the Not!Sasha is EXACTLY what my theory was (vs. a Helen-the-person becoming a formerly-person avatar)

Jon being able to shift someone from being The Feared to The Afraid [eye emojis] I am dying for this to happen to Jonah I am DYING

"I don't see why you were being so coy about it--" "Because I'm ashamed, Martin!" Jonnnnn ;;;A;;; Also said in the EXACT same delivery as "because I'm afraid, Martin!"

hhhh this Martin characterization is exactly what I felt was the context of the end of 165; he's so used to being in a position of powerlessness and having to play these dangerous games to stay safe, power is EXCITING

it's weird to hear the words "go full Kill Bill" and "get our murder" on coming from his mouth, but the idea of him supporting Jon in avenging himself on those who hurt him and killing the torturers of the new world is..not as surprising to me as it could be

(I hate that this conversation is happening in front of Helen though. Helen is the one of the worst influences I could come up with for either of them right now, and I genuinely expect some level of spying/sabotage from that direction if they're too open)

[presses face to glass] Martin honey you've been doing great with relationship stuff so far and this is probably your first one but you might have not learned the "have delicate arguments in privacy and security with boundaries vs in front of a Monster Jury" bittttt

I think Martin realized he fucked up a bit, his voice gets so soft asking if Jon needs anything after Helen leaves ._.

I can't get over Jon's ramble about why he's ashamed that he still blames himself for this, and hates that he has less pain and more freedom than those he considers more innocent, and even hates that he has the power to defend himself now. I'm SO SAD but I love him so much

once again I get where both of them are coming from; Jon feels it's WRONG that he's not suffering and can kill things that try to hurt him or Martin while Martin sees Jon as a victim regaining agency Jon is back to being eight years old and blaming himself for escaping Mr Spider

oh man oh man this buried statement coming after Jon's confession of shame and guilt "He never knew something that could be called freedom, even if he had choice" That sums up so much for these characters from the moment they started working in the Archive

"while his feet could turn left, only turning right let him scrape out a meager living" I REALLY love the explorations of the tyranny of poverty this season; with the show as a whole working as an effective metaphor for capitalism, it makes me wonder what the ending message is

this statement is a jon metaphor all the way through "If it moves like a worm and thinks like a worm.." for the self-dehumanization of the victim compare to "if it lives like a monster and feeds like a monster" for him

(I'm having a little ADHD trouble following statements this season--I think it's because they're less of a personal story format)

"forces of paper and ink and decimal points" go OFF

hhhhh this also feels like a parallel to how Jon feels about the very journey they're taking if even THAT is the pinprick of light at the surface Martin's hope of fixing the world? does Jon even have that tiny spark of hope?

me: for this statement to really parallel how the characters in the show are trapped, it would have to include something about how they turned on each other when they couldn't escape statement: [does exactly that] me: surprisedpikachu.jpg

Jon's "god, I hate the Buried" and struggling to catch his breath after... .________. retraumatizing himself over his own stay in the coffin.... I'm so SAD

Martin: Man I wish I had some magazines Martin: *imagines Leitner magazine* ACTUALLY NEVERMIND

ohh I do NOT like Martin seeing a spade and then giving in to using it I do NOT LIKE THAT AT ALL where is my boy who refused to pick up the telephone

LKSJDFLSJF I KNEW THAT WHEN WE HEARD FROM ANNABELLE THE VOICE WOULD BE UNDERWHELMING listen it's impossible to top "Jon reading a woman's statement" voice that is just maximum appeal to me it doesn't get sexier than that

I am seething this entire conversation but Martin starting out with refusal and telling her to stop calling him is giving me my scraps of validation against the "Martin's been working for the Web the whole time" idea

"does he even need you at all" Annabelle........is that really the angle you're gonna try............are you kidding me.......

okay what is Annabelle's angle here at all Trying to convince him that Jon doesn't need him...and she does? Offering him help...to do what? She's obviously trying to hit some nerves or pull some strings but it felt very hamfisted fhhsdfh

I'm going to make Martin hanging up on Annabelle and telling her to never contact him again my ringtone

*adds Telephone by Lady Gaga to my TMA playlist* it's a Martin song

#tma #the magnus archives #tma spoilers #tma liveblog #TMA 166 The Worms

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pippki-writes · 3 years

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An Ill-Fitting Name: Snippet 4

NOTES:

Snippet 1

Snippets 2 & 3

Features lyrics from Danny Schmidt’s “This Too Shall Pass”

Faoust belongs to @thebiggestnerd - she writes him, the healer (whose contribution I summarized in this snippet, I don’t think she comes up again much for our murderboy here so I didn’t go too in depth with her) - everyone else is mine.

Longer post, 8,066 words folks! Buckle up.

%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%

The name is like an ill-fitting coat, but it’s either wear it, or go naked in the cold, metaphorically speaking. He knows Faoust will kill him, but he’s not dead yet.

The officer sitting outside the room tilts her chair back on its legs, in one ear her radio turned low and largely ignored, holding her phone out playing music and keeping her other ear tilted to the room and its occupant for signs of life. He listens to the music coming from her phone:

We think too big

We think our self is one whole thing

And we claim that this collection

Has a name and is a being

But deep inside

When every cell divides

Well, it sets upon the rule that states

Self-interest is divine

He scrapes out an involuntary cough, and the officer lets her chair fall forward as she twists to check on him.

She tries to interrogate him, but he can’t talk, and only whispers “no.” He writes on her notepad, “I’m expecting a visitor,” and refuses to communicate further. His intuition is that Faoust will come here for him eventually, though he doesn’t know how long Faoust will let him live. Maybe Faoust won’t come while he’s in the hospital. But hovering over the edge of the pain, death feels certain and he knows where it will come from.

Finally, a visitor arrives. He hears the footsteps approaching, certainly heavier than any of the nurses that have tended to him, and the sound of a respectful shuffling in place, acknowledging the officer guarding his hospital room.

A familiar voice speaks. “Hey. I’m here to see my friend Asmodai, officer…?”

He can hear the sound of the officer crossing her arms, but she neither gets up nor offers her name. “Don’t suppose you might be able to tell me what the hell happened to him and how he ended up here?”

“Nah, wish I could. Is he ok?”

“He’s not in great shape. I’m not a doctor but he’s bad off. And not the kind of bad off that happens accidentally.”

“That’s crazy.”

“Almost as crazy as whoever did this. You don’t have any ideas?”

“Nah. I’m not really an ideas guy. Just a guy who worries about my friends. Can I go see him or...?”

The officer gives a defeated little grunt. “Yeah, sure. Go ahead. We can talk later.”

Dorien walks into the room as though he belongs there. Machines. IVs. In the middle of the room, bed propped up, staring at him, there’s that bastard Asmodai. Dorien takes a moment to breathe, staring back, looking angry. Dorien reminds himself why he is here. Not to kill him. Not to bring retribution. Just information to help Faoust. He clenches and unclenches his hands.

It takes Dorien a moment to realize what Asmodai is doing. The slight, strange sound, chest heaving—he is, very quietly, laughing.

He hasn’t come to terms with how to refer to himself—he is no more Isaiah than he was Asmodai, but he supposes, out of respect for the wish of a self who once knew what it wanted, he will call himself Isaiah until it fits. Or until he’s dead.

Isaiah laughs until the sound breaks into a cough. For starters, this was not the visitor he was expecting. And he can see why he would have been drawn to Dorien. Tall, dark-haired, handsome, and vulnerable. So many of his favorite things. The wizard Asmodai, before he stole his name, had been much the same.

Dorien keeps himself in check, and comes closer to the bedside. He doesn’t want the officer to hear him.

“What’s so fucking funny?” Dorien growls quietly.

Isaiah frowns. Talking will be an effort. He can’t even breathe too deeply, thanks to Dorien’s best attempts to slowly crush his ribs the other night after what he tried to do to Faoust. This is merely a fact—he doesn’t feel particular malice over it. He tries to choose his words carefully, so as not to waste them. There’s no volume, only whispering, but even the whispers are so resolute, so final. The playfulness of Asmodai is gone.

“Too much...to explain. What ...do you want...to know?”

Dorien folds his arms, lest he be tempted to do anything. “C’mon, what do you think I’d be here wanting to know. The magic-blocking cuffs. How do we take them off? Where’s the key?”

Isaiah shakes his head. “Didn’t get...a key. Wouldn’t...have wanted it.”

Dorien glares down at the bastard who nearly succeeded at killing the love of his life, and proceeds to try to get information out of him while texting Faoust. The conversation is slow going. The answers Dorien gets are halting and unsatisfying.

Faoust texts Dorien: "I want to know what he thinks should happen next."

Dorien looks down at Asmodai. “So what do you think should happen next?”

Isaiah sighs, unfazed. “Talking...not exactly....easy. Paper? Pen? Your phone?”

Dorien looks around for paper. He’s dumb, but not dumb enough to hand over his phone. He finds a notepad and a cheap pen in the desk drawer, and throws them on Asmodai’s lap.

Isaiah scribbles, handwriting messy and difficult on the flimsy pad, “He kills me for what” a scribble then, crossing out an “As,” and the writing resumes, “I’ve done. Why wouldn’t he? It’s inevitable.”

Dorien tears the paper off the notepad and holds it up, taking a picture to send to Faoust. “You’ve really fucked up, Asmodai.”

Isaiah’s mouth twitches a little at the name.

Above the top of the note, in the picture, Faoust can see Asmodai staring at the camera. There is no fear, nothing pathetic in the way he looks. Resolute. Certain. Final.

Faoust frowns. He had hoped for a bit more fight. But this is sort of like putting down a rabid dog at this point. It's not enjoyable for anyone involved.

Faoust: "tell him I'm disappointed that it came to this"

Faoust: "tell him I'll be there soon. As soon as my magic is back"

Dorien reads his phone, and before he can speak another note is being waved at him that reads “tell him come talk to me himself. This is fucking ridiculous.” Dorien sighs and snatches the note, snapping a picture for Faoust. There is a touch of defiance in Isaiah’s eye.

Faoust's lip curls in irritation and a tiny bit of embarrassment. Fine.

Faoust makes his way to the hospital, to the third floor, to the charge nurse.

“Looking for my friend,” says Faoust, “A John Doe?”

The charge nurse points with a pen. “The room with the officer. There’s already a visitor and technically I shouldn’t let too many people visit at once, but you know what? The world is hell. This hospital is hell. Go nuts.”

“Amen,” Faoust replies, heading over to the officer. “Hi, I'm here for my friend. I guess I have to answer questions first?”

The officer squints up at him suspiciously. “Damn, did the city call a prettyboy convention and I missed the memo?” She lets the chair rest back on all four legs. “I dunno, what do you know about what happened to your friend?”

“Not much. We were out partying, I know pandemic and all, but spare me the lecture. I told him goodbye and to call me when he got home but he never did.” Faoust pauses. “I heard he's bad. Maybe a hit and run?”

“Sure. Sure. Right.” The officer eyes him for a moment. “You’re a better liar than your friend. Go on in.”

“Liar? I- ugh. Fine.” He gives up on the officer and goes in the room.

“Alright you piece of shit. I'm here. What do you have to say for yourself?”

Isaiah looks at Faoust appreciatively. Yeah, he can see why he did all that shit. He sighs, wishing he could just fucking talk, and settles for hurriedly writing on the notepad.

Dorien mutters softly to Faoust. “He can’t talk..apparently.”

Faoust chuckles a little. “I should expect so.”

Isaiah rips off the note and holds it out. It begins with “A” scratched out and then “I resented the power you had over me. Wanted you to suffer. Wanted to kill you, and Dorien, and take your name, take your power. And didn’t want to kill you. Wanted to fuck and kill with you. Poorer judgment won out. Tried to make you suffer.” He sighs, frustrated at the time it takes to write, already writing on a new note.

Faoust reads the note and sighs. It was just as he thought.

“I wanted to just keep it fun and casual.” Faoust grits out through his teeth, “Why did you have to complicate things?”

Isaiah tosses Faoust a finished note: “No point in apologies. Won’t change what was done. No actions to right it” and starts writing a response to the question, tapping the pen on his chin, thinking.

“Wasn’t as fun fucking and killing without you. Didn’t like that.”

“That's called friendship, you absolute dolt.”

Isaiah pauses, and writes “Asmodai didn’t do well with having friends.”

Faoust runs his hands through his hair in exasperation. “Wait-Asmodai? Third person? Who the fuck are we talking to then?”

Isaiah makes a face. It’s difficult to explain. He writes. “I am. Was. Asmodai. For too long I think.”

He pauses, rolls his eye. He doesn’t feel like Isaiah either.

“I did what he did. But don’t feel what he felt, anymore. Memories, yes. Feeling? No.”

Faoust pauses. “So is..is Asmodai gone?”

“Depends on what you mean. The me that felt what he—I felt?”

Isaiah makes a quiet frustrated noise and slams the pen down. He is so tired of writing. He jots another note, mindful of trying to do magic around either of them. “Can I try magic on my voice? You mind?”

Faoust shrugs. “Go for it.”

Isaiah holds his right hand around his throat, eye closed. Healing has never been his strong suit, but he knows enough to get by. He just needs to be able to talk. His hand glows faintly.

When he speaks, his voice is rough, not much volume to it but it’s more than a whisper.

“If I don’t feel the things I felt when I called myself Asmodai, am I Asmodai?”

Faoust thinks. This complicates matters. “I'll be frank. If I were to leave you be, what would you do? Don't lie to me.”

“I would leave you alone.” Isaiah shrugs. “The things I ...Asmodai...I felt, I know them. Factually. I don’t feel them anymore.” He looks at Faoust sharply. “But I am responsible for what I did.”

Faoust thinks for a moment. “This is complicated. I'll need some time with this. What do you think you'll do when you're out of the hospital?”

“What do you mean, when I’m out of the hospital? You’re going to kill me. No further planning needed.”

“Well, I was thinking about waiting when you got out of the hospital regardless.”

Isaiah sighs. “Wish I’d known that sooner. Might’ve kept this magical existential crisis at bay.” He shakes his head. “No. Probably not. Asmodai—I. Fucked up too much. There was no way he...I...would win. It’s certain. You will kill me.” He shakes his head again.

“Look. I don't want to kill you. Asmodai. At all. At this point it's about putting down an animal. That's all. And now there's this whole thing that you're not even who I knew anymore? This complicates things. Shit, if I were to kill you, it wouldn't even feel right.”

Isaiah makes a frustrated noise. “Fuck. The only reason I’m like this is because you’re going to kill me.”

“Do you want me to kill you?”

Isaiah dodges the question. “Back when I started killing to take power and names, I bound my own name away, far beyond my memory, and it would only come back if I was certain I was going to die. So I could die not as whatever fucking asshole whose name I stole. But as myself. Or at least. In the name I was born with, right?

“I was Asmodai. I was happy being Asmodai. But now?

“I’m no more Asmodai than I am this damn name my shit mother gave me.”

Faoust thinks. “Well, look. Fine. I'll kill you. Put you down. But I have to wait. I can't do anything until I have my magic back.”

Isaiah twists his lips a little. “Hm. Can’t help there. Told your boy here, I don’t have a key for the cuffs.”

This whole time, Dorien has just been watching, arms crossed and not believing this bullshit.

“Yeah,” Faoust says, “I heard. I've just got to wait. So you've got to wait.”

Isaiah sighs again. “Isaiah. Isaiah James. My name.” He shrugs. “Me. Not me.”

Isaiah twists his lips briefly in disgust at the taste of his own name on his tongue. “If you’re going to kill me, you ought to have my name.”

Faoust nods and rubs his face. “Look, I'll put you down. I will. But it's going to take like at least a week for me to get my magic back.”

Isaiah gives another shrug. “You know where to find me. I know what I’ve done. It’s only right.”

“Alright. You're not going anywhere?”

Isaiah gives him a flat look. “Where and how the hell would I manage to do that?”

“I mean, you've got magic. I don't. You could pull out some magic to take yourself somewhere.”

Isaiah rubs his fingers together on his right hand, little sparks arcing between them as he stares vacantly at his hand. “Where would I go? For what purpose? I know my fate.”

Faoust nods, satisfied. “Alright. Well then, we'll be on our way. You've got my number.”

Isaiah nods, dismissing the sparks. “I’ll be waiting.”

Isaiah wonders if it’s worth healing himself--physically, at any rate. He closes his eye and takes stock of all his pain. So many choices. And what else is he supposed to do with his time? The burns, he thinks, he will work on those. He hovers his right hand over his burned forearm, wrapped loosely in the day’s fresh gauze, and slowly works a healing spell, distracted by memories of the fight. Remembering the moment it all turned on him, when help came for Faoust while he had no one. He shakes his head, his thoughts wandering around. So many emotions that ruled him that he’s no longer bound by. Though perhaps he should be. He ought to be more angry. But he is mostly hollowed out. He does not even notice when his thoughts slip over the witch and his magic doesn’t so much as flicker, the healing steadily and slowly knitting in his skin.

Those were Asmodai’s problems.

The worst part is the waiting. Or perhaps the worst part, right now, is the burns on his arm—his healing magic is slow, the process tedious, and his head is empty of any warming memory to draw upon to make the healing go faster. There are memories, so many memories, but as he turns his mind to each of them in turn he feels nothing he can pull from. Perhaps it would have been better not to restore the nerve endings that had been burnt away—as they return, so too returns the opportunity for fresh pain to scream through his senses. And the drugs have trouble working their wonders as his magic interferes with the natural order of his body. Too late now, he’s already started this project. When the nurses aren’t looking in on him, he hovers his hand over the burned arm and continues the laborious process of working healing magic. Healing was never his forte. It still isn’t. Good to know, though it still seems like all he knows is a catalogue of things he was, and now isn’t.

Though perhaps, Isaiah thinks, it’s pointless to dwell on. Does he need that badly to know who he is now, if he’s only going to die? Not that he wants to die. Though, he can tell, Asmodai didn’t want to die in a particularly crazed and desperate way that Isaiah no longer feels. He doesn’t want to die, but then, he doesn’t feel a clear sense that he wants much of anything right now. From the moment the spell he placed upon himself fell away, he has simply accepted the fact of his death. Imminent. Inevitable. Deserved.

Asmodai was awful—not in a way that Isaiah feels, merely as a summary of fact considering the things that he’d done. The drives that motivated him. But to be fair, Isaiah had not been a good person either. No. He had been awful too. Killed people. Tortured them. Enjoyed it. Sought power beyond his measure, and took it.

Killed the dark wizard who taught him everything.

Sealed himself away.

What had he thought would happen, if this spell had ever had cause to come undone? He can’t remember, but he is pretty sure he would not have guessed it would leave him like this. So...uncertain.

Regret implies a level of sadness Isaiah doesn’t feel. He...wishes he had been someone different though. He wishes he had acted differently. Had recognized his limits. Recognized battles he wouldn’t win, and had the sense not to fight them.

The nurse surely notices when Isaiah’s arm does not look as bad off today as it did yesterday, putting fresh gauze on, but says nothing. Discreetly checks the patient chart—yes, third degree burns. It definitely said the patient had third degree burns. But you don’t last long in this town by asking inconvenient questions. Since the patient is conscious now, staring out the window, the nurse offers him his phone from his belongings and plugs it in for him. There’s a crack across the screen, but the phone works.

Isaiah has been working on healing his arm. It is such a slow, deliberate process. He isn’t sure why he’s doing it, but now that he’s started he’s committed to continuing. After all, what else has he got to do? His arm is still a mess of burnt tissue and pain, fresh nerve endings and the testament to his limitations.

Later, he looks through his phone, deleting pictures that bring him no particular joy to look at. Eventually he texts Faoust, “Have you decided how you’ll do it?” and nothing else.

Faoust: “something quick. Could stab you right in the heart.”

The heart had been Asmodai’s favorite, ripped from his victims—sometimes raw, other times he’d toast them before devouring them whole.

Isaiah: “poetic. fitting.”

Faoust: "look man. I really don't want to do this. You could go about your business. I don't care"

Isaiah sighs, and leaves the message on read for a few minutes. He thinks.

Isaiah: “I did wrong by you. I accept responsibility for it.”

Faoust: "and I'm telling you it's fine."

Isaiah waits again before responding.

Isaiah: “now I’m the one that needs to think on that”

Faoust: "Asmodai tried to kill me. He failed. You're here now. Not the same as Asmodai. It's not the same kill for me. Look, I beat the shit out of you. That should cover it. Do you really want to die?"

Isaiah sighs to himself.

Isaiah: “no, I don’t”

Faoust: "then I'm giving you your fucking out. Take it."

Isaiah pauses. Again, Faoust giving him the opportunity not to die, after everything he...Asmodai...he did. After so many times he honestly deserved to die. He was a warped and twisted thing, not right, and surely not to be trusted. But fuck. He didn’t really want to die.

Isaiah: “...ok.”

Isaiah: “fine”

Faoust: "want me to call a healer for you?"

Isaiah: “...seriously?”

Faoust: "otherwise you're going to be stuck at the hospital forever. No offense but I want you out of here."

Isaiah: “sure, sure. If I’m healing myself it’ll take forever”

Faoust: "you can't kill her"

Isaiah: “of course”

Isaiah thinks about the warning, which is fair, considering his history. He doesn’t even feel like killing anyone right now. Which is strange to him. He wonders to himself as he waits if this is the right thing to do, not insisting Faoust kill him. If he’s just avoiding fate and what he deserves. But when Faoust arrives in his hospital room with a healer, and she uses magic to transport the three of them out of his hospital room, he just watches quietly, making no protest. The empty alley she takes them to is cold, and Isaiah’s broken body falls to the ground painfully without a bed beneath him anymore.

He sucks it up, grits his teeth, and withstands the pain and the cold. Not out of any sense of pride, but because he feels he deserves it. He lists out for the healer the procedures the doctors had done, along with his own meager attempts at healing, and in turn, she tells him what she’ll be able to do. The metal they used to set his bones will always bring him some pain and discomfort, and there’s nothing she can do for his eye, the curse--

“The eye,” says Isaiah, touching his cheek lightly, “has been there a long time now. It’s fine.”

The magic of healing is painful, and there is a lot of it to be done. Isaiah doesn’t scream, not the way he did when Faoust beat him in the first place. He endures, and tries to focus on the fact that he deserves this pain. This doesn’t stop a few strangled screams and growls from bubbling up. Faoust watches impassively, satisfied.

When it’s finished, Isaiah breathes heavily for a moment, feeling every nerve on fire, taking stock of how he feels. He sits up, slowly, impressed and in awe. He gives thanks to the healer, to Faoust, and stands up shakily on knees that are no longer shattered. He summons up the illusion of clothes over his hospital gown, with no idea where he ought to go, what he ought to do. When Faoust tells him to get the fuck out of here, he readily agrees. Not the first town he’s been kicked out of. Always violent. Always deserved.

He could teleport himself, but where the hell would he go? There’s nowhere he belongs. There’s a dull ache in his bones, and he picks a cardinal direction and starts walking toward it. The speed doesn’t matter. Isaiah doesn’t strictly need actual clothes. He could use magic to keep himself warm. But the first window shop he passes, he swaps his hospital gown for the outfit on display, and keeps walking. He walks until he’s passed by a sign indicating leaving/entering, the liminal space of one town bleeding into another, goes to the first clean motel he can find, uses his magic to procure a room, and passes out after having walked for hours.

At the hospital, a call is placed to 911. A patient is missing.

The officer assigned to take the report is the same one who had been guarding the room when Dorien and Faoust visited. With the most deadpan expression, she questions the charge nurse on duty, intoning dully, “wow, just fucking vanished, huh?”

She files a missing persons report for “Asmodai / Isaiah James,” because in spite of trying not to hear things she doesn’t want to have to question, she hears them anyway. She makes note of possible contacts / persons of interest, “Dorien” and “Faoust,” and submits her report to see if she can get away with not following up on anything further.

She doesn’t even bother running any checks on any of the names. She doesn’t find anything out about a decades-old missing persons report for a runaway boy of the name Isaiah James out of Ohio. If anyone bothered to fingerprint the victim at all to try to ID him while he was unconscious, the prints have been lost.

After all, a lot of people go missing in this town.

It’s just one more.

Her supervisor literally flips a coin to decide if such absolute bullshit shoddy work will be accepted. Tails. That’s a nope. He rejects the report, and sends her a CAD message: “hit the streets and try again sweetie.”

Officer Dannic “Dani” Voros swears, loudly, in her patrol car in the hospital parking lot, and slams her computer shut. Growls, and opens it again to search for any information she can find about Dorien and Faoust. If she can find anything, she’ll talk to them at least.

Here’s what she finds: no drivers licenses. No arrest records. No voter records. Nothing in any database she has access to. No hospital records, which no, her friend in the hospital records should NOT have looked up for her probably but dammit, this was important. Well, not important to her, but it’s what she was supposed to be doing and she was getting very annoyed with the lack of any hints of paper trail for those two.

She starts angrily and haphazardly googling search terms, and some combination of tall, mysterious, handsome, and Dorien does bring back a tabloid article about the enigmatic artist, which brings up several printed interviews and connections to a particular pre-teen punk rock band apparently bankrolled by Mr. Dorien Godforbidhehavealastname, and the names of its musicians. Actual names. First and last names, unlike those recordless bastards Dorien and Faoust. She searches the names. Property tax records. Bingo. A lead. And an address. She puts the patrol car in drive and heads out. One conversation largely conducted through the few-inch gap of a chained door later, Officer Voros has both probably offended another citizen with an inappropriate joke, and obtained an address for the two handsome strangers that called on her missing person.

The cold rain makes all this work extra annoying. She debates putting off the follow up until more clement weather. Or just never. Reluctantly she puts the patrol car in drive and heads to the address.

She looks at the apartment building as she pulls up. No, correction. She looks at the giant skeleton covered in Valentine’s decorations outside the apartment building as she pulls up. The apartment building itself is an afterthought. As she arrives, the weather around the apartment changes. Suddenly it is clear and 59 degrees.

Officer Voros just stares at the atmosphere and blinks at it like it has personally offended her. She twists in her seat to look back down the street at the weather there, then stares at the apartment again, and sinks back in her seat for a moment, closing her eyes, and thinks to herself, “thiiiiiiis. iiiiiis. some buuuuuuuullshiiiiiiiiit.”

She sighs a very angry sigh, gets out of the patrol car, and goes up to the appropriate door. She raps on the door with her very best authoritative knock.

Faoust opens the door and clocks the cop. “Hm.”

Officer Voros puts her hands on her hips and brightens comically. “And they said I’d never find the secret prettyboy convention! Those bastards once again were wrong.” She smiles, and doesn’t offer her name. “Evening citizen. I’m hoping you might help me with this absolute crazy missing persons case I’ve been cursed with.”

“Oh yeah? Who?”

“Why, your dear friend or whatever bullshit you said at the time. Asmodai? Isaiah? You know, the guy SOMEBODY in this cursed plane of existence beat all to hell and put in the hospital.”

“Wait, wait, wait. How did he go missing? He couldn't stand, let alone walk? How did you lose him?”

“Yeah! That’s the crazy part, he just. Fucking. Vanished. Shattered kneecaps, pelvis, and all. Gone. Between you and me, that’s on the hospital. We weren’t watching him anymore at that point, but now it IS my problem to, you know. Figure out what the fuck happened and make sure there’s not a homicide investigation that should be happening here.”

Faoust shakes his head in disbelief as he tries to come up with a plan. “I could give you his motel room and location if you want? I mean, I haven't heard from him since I went to go see him?”

“Sure, sure. And it’s not like it’s illegal for him to leave the hospital. If he’s fine, I just need to lay eyes on him. It just seems real fucking suspiciously inconceivable how he’d have managed that in the state he was in, ya know?”

“Yeah, no, for sure. Let me go get some paper.”

Faoust leaves her at the front door and digs around in drawers looking for paper and pen. She stands at the front door, looking inside, pondering Faoust the whole while. He hands her a note with the address of the motel Asmodai had been staying at.

“Let me know if you find anything, yeah?”

Officer Voros takes the paper. “Of course.” She takes a blank card out of her pocket, a generic business card for the police department that doesn’t have her name on it. She writes down a phone number and offers the card to Faoust. “You think of anything else helpful, call or text me. Or if your prettyboy friend Dorien knows anything either.”

“Dorien doesn't know anything. At all. Not a braincell up there. But I'll keep it in mind.” Faoust takes the card and pockets it.

“Thanks. Stay safe citizen.” She heads down the steps and back to her patrol car, looking at the address. She knows the motel.

Officer Voros looks back toward Faoust from her patrol car for a long minute before she pulls out. She doesn’t have any sort of proof necessarily, just a feeling that Faoust was lying quite smoothly out of every side of his head right to her face. She types up a field contact for alias Faoust along with the address before she leaves.

Asmodai’s motel room ends up being a dead end. There’s nothing obviously off about the room, but she gets a weird vibe. Still a suitcase here. Some knives. Nothing much else. She does not discover that the room is under a stolen credit card in another name. She doesn’t look up any other purchases that stolen card might have made to connect it to an abandoned rental car that was impounded on Faoust’s street. She types up her report and deletes “went on a wild fucking goose chase because my corporal is a dickhead” from the report.

Officer Voros swears loudly, because she realizes she didn’t ask Faoust if the mysteriously vanished bastard had. a fucking. cell phone number. She groans. She decides she’ll pretend to have thought of that tomorrow, because she doesn’t want to follow up now.

The weak and cloudy light of morning is scattered further by the cheap, hazy curtains pulled loosely across the window. Isaiah wakes up, still dressed in his stolen clothes where he passed out on top of the covers. There it is—a dull ache in his bones, a twinge in his hips and knees as he pushes himself up to sit. He looks down at his palms, and they are smooth and untroubled, marked by nothing but the simple creases of where his hand folds. He flexes his left hand. The countless scars that had made a tangled nest there in his palm, the countless times he’d cut and called upon blood magic and done only a just-good-enough job of closing the wounds, when he remembered to heal himself at all, they’re all gone.

Isaiah doesn’t even have a knife, he realizes. His...Asmodai’s favored knives were either in the clothes left in the hospital, in the rental car, or in the motel room he has no intention of returning to. But it feels like he should have a knife. He has no money, but money isn’t too necessary when you’re flush with magic and short on moral qualms against stealing.

He heads out for the day to get a knife, zipping up his stolen coat. Something simple. New. He goes to the nearest outdoors store and sees a nice Benchmade folding knife with a black-coated blade and white handle and feels drawn to it. With an effortless bit of magic, the knife disappears from the case and appears in his pocket as he leaves the parking lot.

Isaiah flips the knife open experimentally, admires it, turning his wrist this way and that to see the sides of the blade. He unlocks the blade and closes it again, clipping the knife in his pocket. He doesn’t have a plan for it, but it felt appropriate in his hand.

Isaiah has been somewhat skirting around thinking about this fact, but taking the knife in his hand he has to confront it. He’s not someone who can go work a 9 to 5 job, take a little paycheck home, find someone sweet to love him and love in turn. Whatever he does next isn’t going to be some contented kind of life. That wasn’t the lot he was born to.

What he is good at...all he has ever been good at, is violence.

He walks slowly back to the current motel. He takes the knife out of his pocket, opening and closing it as he goes, thinking to himself. Magic, and violence. Magic and violence. This is all he’s ever known. Even if he wanted to do something else, how could he, at this point? He’s not a good person. And surely nothing he is capable of can be used for good ends. He hasn’t killed anyone in so many days now, and strangest of all, doesn’t feel particularly compelled to. Not averse to it either. But the stirring in his blood that craved to see the icy glint of fear through tears before an untimely death doesn’t move him, for now.

Officer Voros follows up with Faoust the next night, gets a phone number for her missing person, and puts in a request for a ping before taking a nap in her patrol car. She’ll follow up further in daylight hours. Before ending her night shift, Officer Voros tries to call the phone number Faoust provided for the missing person. It’s almost 6am, of course he doesn’t answer. She leaves a voicemail indicating for him to call the communications center so they can speak.

The next day, Officer Voros, as soon as assembly is done, goes to her patrol car and puts herself on a follow up before any calls can be assigned to her. She tries calling the number again. Isaiah looks at his phone. A blocked number. He silences the phone without answering, because who would be calling him? He hasn’t bothered checking his voicemail either, since he didn’t recognize the number that called. He’ll check it eventually. He sits in his motel room, opening and closing his stolen knife.

Officer Voros checks the latitude and longitude of the ping. Another motel. It’s within a mile of what technically counts as her jurisdiction, so technically she CAN go investigate her own damn self, OR she can call her counterparts in the next town over to check for her. She debates which sounds like more work. With an agonized groan that can surely be heard two counties over, Officer Voros puts her patrol car in drive and heads for the motel.

Officer Voros checks with the front desk, but thanks to his use of magic there’s no one checked in by the names of Asmodai or Isaiah James. She pulls up the coordinates on her phone to get as close as possible to the ping, and starts knocking on doors fruitlessly, starting with the ground floor. She has an idea, and dials the number again, and faintly hears a ring from a couple doors down. A little excited in spite of herself, she hustles down to the door and knocks.

Asmodai would’ve checked through the peephole before opening the door, if he opened it at all. Isaiah does not care, and opens the door as he silences his phone again, looking up from the phone at the officer.

“There you are, you mysterious bastard! Alive and unmurdered, and my hatred of paperwork thanks you for that.”

Isaiah feels a slight needle of panic, if only because he has done a lot of things that would not put him on the good side of the police. His eye darts briefly to her neck and back to meet her eyes.

“Here I am. Alive. Unmurdered, as you say.”

Officer Voros looks him up and down, frowning. This is definitely the same guy, that’s not a common scar after all, but he’s clearly not just unmurdered, but very significantly undamaged. “Didn’t you have a hell of a lot of shattered bones?”

Isaiah shrugs. “Modern medicine is a miracle.”

Officer Voros just blinks at him. She doesn’t believe him for a moment. “And I don’t suppose you might be able to tell me how you managed to make your way so secretly out of the hospital that they felt compelled to report you as a missing person?”

“Sorry, no. Not sure what the miscommunication was there. Quite obviously, I left the hospital.”

“Quite. Obviously. Of course.”

Isaiah smiles wanly. “Am I in trouble?”

Officer Voros continues looking him over suspiciously. “I suppose not. You left your paperwork from the hospital.” She hands him a stack of paperwork and billing statements. “Somehow.”

Isaiah takes the papers. “Oh, thanks.”

“And the belongings you came in with. Are still at the hospital.”

“Oops.”

“And a bunch of shit I’m guessing belongs to you is all left at another cheap motel.”

“You think?”

“No,” Officer Voros snaps. “I try to avoid thinking whenever I can. But I do think some weird ass shit is involved here with you.”

Isaiah’s hand twitches slightly, and he presses his lips together. “Hm.”

“But shit being weird isn’t my problem. Not my jurisdiction. So I suppose I don’t give a fuck. Glad you’re not murdered. Take care. Call your friends, they’re pretending to be worried about you.” She heads back to her patrol car.

Isaiah slowly lets out a tensely held breath.

Officer Voros sits in the parking lot, wrapping up her report. She tries calling Faoust from her blocked number. He answers, not knowing any better.

“Solid citizen! Faoust right? Your favorite friend-finding officer here. Found your friend.”

“Oh my god! Where was he? Is he ok?”

“He’s better than ok, considering the state I last saw him in. Damn near miraculous recovery. He’s just outside of town, another motel not far off the highway.”

“Oh man, thanks so much for finding him. I'll have to go see him. Are you able to give me the address?”

“That depends, are you going there to murder him?”

“Why the hell would Igo there to murder him?”

“Aaaa I’m just fucking with you. I’ve got a nice neat solved missing persons case here and if you went and murdered him it would just be an assfuck of paperwork that I don’t want to have to deal with is all.”

“Fucked up joke, officer.”

“Yeah, file a complaint on me if you’d like. Oh, right, address,” she says, and gives him the address and room of the Quality Inn where Isaiah is staying.

“Thank you. Despite the fucked up joke, I'm glad you found him.”

“Just doing my sworn duty and all that. Stay safe citizen,” she says and hangs up.

Without fully realizing it, Officer Voros has solved the first missing persons case in the department in nearly a year.

Officer Voros always keeps a spare portable radio among her belongings. She managed to get it more or less off the record, so that when she inevitably loses track of her actual radio again, she can make do with the backup until the original eventually resurfaces, and not get all manner of shit from her corporal for losing her radio AGAIN. She doesn’t think hard on the fact that her radio is once again MIA. It will turn up in time.

In his motel room, Isaiah switches the radio on, and fiddles between channels.

Isaiah lays on the bed, one hand manipulating the knife—open, closed, open, closed, each motion with a satisfying little sound—the other hand resting on the radio on his chest, occasionally following the chatter of traffic to a side channel. An officer keys up, her voice annoyed and muttering over sounds of entitlement in the background—“6676 to 200, switch to 2”—and Isaiah flips the radio to channel 2, partly because he is curious and partly because it sounds like the officer from the other night.

The officer keys up, he’s quite sure it’s her, and a voice that sounds like it expects the world laid compliantly at its feet cuts through the backdrop of everything the officer says

6676: 200 you on?

—this is AMERICA, I have RIGHTS, I demand to speak to your SUPERVISOR, I—

200: go’on whatcha got

—what is your NAME, no WHAT is your NAME—

6676: *you can hear the eye roll in her voice* can you just come over here and deal with this.

There’s a final indignant “do you even KNOW” in the background before the supervisor cuts over the traffic to advise he’s en route. Isaiah’s thumb closes the knife again with a sense of finality. He doesn’t care about the officers, but the woman in the background had the sort of voice you’d love to cut right out of her throat.

Isaiah sits up, goes to put the radio aside but pulls it back in front of him again. He focuses on the radio, whatever traces of grit and grime and little skin cells from the officer still stick to the plasticky radio, and does a tracking spell. He switches the radio off, puts it on the bedside table, and grabs his jacket on the way out the door.

Isaiah returns to his motel room. Hands clean. Knife clean.

He did not appear with an ear-splitting bang, as the witch does. He knows ways to move through shadows and though it isn’t instantaneous, it’s a hell of a lot quieter. Isaiah remained in the shadows, waiting. There, yes, the officer from the other night, and there, that must be 200, the human embodiment of an industrial refrigerator crossed with a boulder, and there. Jabbing her finger, practically frothing at the mouth, hair crisply cut, every line in her body set in the conviction of her own righteousness and that she should get what she wants. Isaiah didn’t even try to listen to what she was saying. It didn’t matter. He waited.

When the officers left, the woman turned to her minivan to get in. Or, that was what she intended to do. But she found as she walked, it was like her body was being pushed and pulled, and the sound had left her voice, and she walked into the shadows across the parking lot.

Without saying a word, Isaiah came up quickly behind her and slit her throat, and before a drop could hit the concrete sent her body and all its rapidly spilling blood deep, deep into the earth below.

Magic cleaned the knife. Magic cleaned his hands. He slipped back into the shadows and hurried to get the hell back out of Faoust’s town.

Isaiah returned to his motel room, everything clean. Feeling a certain ...satisfaction? Correctness? A bit of lost unease dissolved away within him.

Of course, Isaiah reflects on how different this murder was. He flicks the knife, open and closed. When he thinks of himself as he was, he has gotten in the habit of thinking of himself as an entirely separate person now. Asmodai was. Asmodai would have. So on. Asmodai would have taken far more enjoyment from the killing. Asmodai would have tasted the blood on the knife. Asmodai would have savored the delicious fear in her eyes, for as long as possible. Asmodai would have had the possibility of someone to share the experience with, though he resented so much about that fact. Asmodai was an idiot.

Isaiah switches the radio back on, quietly, to have something to listen to, since that’s all he has.

When Officer Voros was handling the latest missing person case early this morning, part of her was perversely satisfied—maybe that bitch descended back to hell where she belonged—and that other part of her, the part made of intuitions that guessed too correctly, that had long ago tried to bring up things that had since gone ignored, the part that she did her best to keep buried, that part felt a sharp jolt of unease. She was, officially, the last person to have seen the missing person. There was a security camera on the other side of the parking lot, and the footage made no sense. The victim—victim? Why was she already thinking victim?—missing bitch, then, started walking to her car, and then turned, and walked off to the far side of the parking lot, into grainy shadow. It didn’t look like someone had called out to her, she just...decided to go on some random bitch walk. In the dark of early morning hours, Officer Voros walked around the spot she went off to, clicking on her flashlight, looking for clues. Nothing.

It seemed appropriate for Isaiah to return to murder on his own...it’s all he knows. He’s not suddenly a good person. He’s not full of remorse for everything he did. It’s all just facts. Things that happened that can’t be changed.

He listens to the radio again today, and thinks with a sort of mirthless chuckle how hypocritical it would be for him to kill some of the people he’s hearing about. “If I were cutting throats for that, have to start with myself,” he thinks, over and over and over. Asmodai craved victims, sought them out. Isaiah is content to see what serendipity will bring.

Isaiah struck out into town yesterday to find a charger for his stolen radio. Listening gives him something to do besides think. He could have just gotten a commercial police scanner, or used an app on his phone to listen in, but that didn’t have the same appeal. He listens carefully, mentally keeping track of the addresses and where the officers are, when it’s announced anyway. The officer from the other night he can find easily enough, but without addresses and nothing to trace them with, magically speaking, finding any of these other officers would be incredibly difficult. Well, to do in a timely fashion anyway.

So he listens, and waits, hoping to feel that same jolt of dead certainty, knowing a voice spoke that would be his to kill.

Isaiah knows. An officer keys up “put me out with an animal problem at” and gives an address, and just before the radio cuts out he hears a man in the background, derisive, say “I don’t understand, it’s just a stupid—“ before being cut off by the end of the transmission. That voice. He felt it, like a nail being slashed at high speed across a chalkboard, a string plucked so hard it snaps, THAT is a man he needs to kill. He is equal parts thrilled and yet feels the calm certainty slipping over him. His knife is ready. He knows where to go. He slips out into the cold rain.

Sliding through shadows. Waiting. The man goes inside, alone. Isaiah slips inside, without a word, the only sound made is his knife blade locking into place. The man finds his voice is gone. The man walks toward Isaiah, against his own will, and kneels before him, fear shining in his eyes. Isaiah looks down, cold, comes around from behind, threads his fingers in the man’s hair and pulls back, hard, exposing his neck. He draws the blade firm and fast across the neck, and like the woman before Isaiah sends the body hundreds of feet into the ground below before a drop of blood can hit the floor.

He looks at the blood on the knife, for a moment, imagines the taste on his tongue like a mouth full of pennies. It doesn’t appeal to him, not right now. Magic cleans the blade, cleans the bit of blood on his hands, cleans the scene of any trace evidence, and Isaiah slips away.

- NEXT SNIPPET -

#an ill-fitting name #My writing #original story #collaborative fiction #Original work #original writing #original fiction #magic fiction #Magic murderer #Snippets #fictional murder #fictional murderer #Fictional incompetent police

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greenninjagal-blog · 5 years

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Kiss and Tell pt3

And a stunning conclusion! If you miss the beginning, you can find it [here] and if you need a refresher pt2 is [here]! Are we ready for some happy endgame Analoceit?

Summary: The number Three is a tricky concept to learn. Virgil walks into a party and tries anyway.

Words: 4778

TW: Cursing

Quick Taglist: @cerberusisspot @never-end1ng-suffering @chelsvans @faithfulcat111 @felicianoromano @holliberries @jemthebookworm @killerfangirl3 @silverflame-wc @stricken-with-clairvoyancy @thenaiads @treasureofpriam

Read on Ao3 || My General Writing Masterlist

It feels like the start to a joke: Virgil Storm walks into a party and asks to kiss his ex boyfriend. Except that the punchline is Virgil, himself, and its not supposed to be metaphorical.

He picked up a few things from Wit Protect: crippling anxiety, a willpower to hold grudges far longer than an average person, and a healthy dose of masochism.

Because he just had to ask didn’t he? Couldn’t keep his thoughts to himself, couldn’t keep his tongue in his head and the words in his throat and the smile off his own stupid fucking face. There’s something wrong with him, that much is obvious. Because he asked and expected Logan to punch him, expected Dee to kick him, expected all their friends to jump between them and shout at Virgil to get out and go away and never to come back again.

And he still had asked. And waited for that pain that tore deep into his chest and ripped apart his fragile little unlovable heart.

He had asked.

Virgil Storm walks into a party, forgets, for a moment, how to count and asks to kiss his ex boyfriend.

1 + 1 = 2

Logan + Dee = a happy couple

And Virgil had no right to be coming in and ruining that.

(Like he ruined everything else too: ruined Mom and Dad’s marriage as a happy little accident, ruined Dee’s life by just up and leaving without an explanation, ruined the first and second safe locations because he couldn’t remember a stupid name, ruined, ruined, ruined.)

Virgil had come back to town a week before school started. He had been sick the entire week, feeling feverish every time he stepped out of the house. The park had been updated, so the swings that he and Dee had played on as kids were replaced with new ones that didn’t screech when someone used them. The bakery his mom and him used to visit before school was now a coffee shop and the pastries weren’t as good. The old man who ran the grocer in town had a stroke and so his nephew ran the place now.

The Watertower was a new color. The library had a new statue outfront. The paint studio was boarded up.

Their treehouse was decrypted.

Virgil had walked alone with his hood up and he had been terrified of running into someone who remembered him.

He felt like a kid again: keeping his curtains drawn because that meant that no one would come peeking at him to see what he was. Keeping his curtains drawn because he didn’t need any friends.

Keeping his curtains drawn and wishing someone would come anyway.

Last time it had been Dee.

(Dee’s house is different too. Looks like his mother gave up on that vegetable garden.)

Dee who should hate him, Dee who would hate him, Dee who had a perfectly good and fine life without Virgil in it again.

Which Virgil knew, because he had a heart attack when he heard that laughter outside the library, that unforgettable laughter that preened and danced in the air like some kind of fairy to enchant all that heard it. Because he’s heart had stopped when he saw Dee standing there, amidst a group of people, of friends that Virgil didn’t recognize, smiling so very brightly, arms linked together with the others to prove that he belonged with them. Because his heart shattered when he watched Dee lean over and kiss another boy right on the lips.

Virgil Storm walks into a party and wishes he could hate Logan Ackroyd.

But the guy is just...fucking perfect. Its a different kind of perfect than Dee is. Dee is a magician who could make the sadness disappear, who could pull reasons to keep fighting out of his sleeves, who could turn a sniveling pathetic little kid into a lovesick teenager who thought he knew what the hell “forever” meant.

Logan’s not like that. He’s cold hard facts, with no time for those who don’t want to listen. He’s a preacher and Virgil didn’t realize he wanted to be at the front of the audience until its too late. He’s the teacher that makes him write an essay in class and then gives him a fucking gold star because he managed not to fuck it up too bad and somehow Virgil still thinks about it late at night, guiltily enjoying the pleased feeling in his chest.

Virgil wants to hate him, because Logan was everything he wanted to be: smart, collected, happy, with Dee.

He shouldn’t have come back. When Agent DW placed the folders in front of him after his dad’s trail was completed and all the guys trying to kill them had been jailed, and when she had asked him if he wanted to stay in Bumfuck, Wherever with the name Andy, or go back home as Virgil…

Virgil Storm walks into a party and thinks that if he’s ever called Andy again he’ll commit murder and join his father in jail.

Isn’t it strange? Isn’t it awful?

Logan and Dee should hate him. He breaks everything he touches.

Why had he asked to kiss Dee?

Because he knows he doesn’t have a place here, doesn’t deserve a place there. He doesn’t want a place there.

He doesn’t want-- not like this.

Not where Logan has look from the sidelines, or Dee has to watch Virgil take this good, happy thing him and Logan have and crush it. He doesn’t want something like this, if it means one of them ends up in tears.

1 + 1 = 2

That’s what his teachers told him.

Virgil already left once. Virgil already took himself out of a relationship once, removed himself from the problem, erased his own existence from the variables.

Its a word problem and Virgil knows this one well: Logan is the oranges and Dee is the apples and Virgil can pick one, or the other, or none. And even though he’s a Starving African Orphan he knows picking one is going to leave the other to rot away and he won’t-- doesn’t-- fucking can’t--

Maybe it was supposed to be a goodbye kiss? Its a reach, Virgil knows because he’s never been good at goodbyes and he fucked up the only ones he got: a paper note really? A roll of his eyes as his dad was carted away? A two fingered salute to Toby who had still be reeling from the idea that Andy was a work of fiction that he had been hanging out with for seven years?

Dee had deserved a goodbye.

Virgil had put his tongue in his mouth instead.

He’s a masochist (who liked ripping his own heart out again and again and again).

Virgil Storm walks into a party and now he’s still sitting there as reality comes careening back on him, a tsunami to drown him, a bag to suffocate him, a guillotine to decapitate him.

Because Virgil hadn’t thought about consequences and Dee had pushed him away before fleeing the scene and Logan had to sit there and watch. And the world feels like its too small, and the air feels like its too thin and Virgil feels like he just threw himself through a glass window into a freefall waiting for the ground to smash the rest of him to bits.

Dee ran off.

And Virgil is staring at Logan.

Roman is punch drunk out of his mind, laughing as he stares at the billions of pictures he just took. Remus is slung right over Patton wheezing with his joy. Patton has tears streaming down his face and pink cheeks and happiness glowing off him. Emile is trying to spin that stupid bottle and Remy is fighting over it with him.

And not one of them seem to be aware of what just happened. Virgil’s not sure a single one of them could tell him where they are, what their names are, who he just kissed.

But Dee ran off.

And Logan is staring at Virgil.

“I--”

He means this. He means this more than anything. Why can’t he say it? Apologize, damnit.

“Go,” he whispers, not even sure that he can be heard over Remy’s stupid music.

Because Dee ran off and Virgil is here and Virgil isn’t going to make Logan choose like this. In a decision between his boyfriend and his boyfriend’s colossal fuck up of an ex, there isn’t even a choice to be made.

Shouldn’t be a choice to be made.

Logan is blinking at him.

Logan is walking towards him.

Logan is grabbing his hand.

“Come on,” Logan says.

Virgil Storm walks into a party and he’s still trying to figure out how to do math.

Because 1 +1 = 2 and Virgil learned that when he was six fucking years old when Dee had knocked on his door and demanded at Virgil come out and play with him, and then again when he was ten when he was so scared of graduating elementary school and Dee held his hand the whole time, then again when they were twelve and Virgil slammed their lips together while they were in the back of that Movie Theater before he could chicken out.

Dee + Logan + Virgil does not equal 2.

Virgil knows this. He knows that Logan knows this, because he and Logan share their Calculus class and have cursed out their homework together many times. If Logan can do three digit multiplication while drunk, he should be able to see that 3 is more than 2 and one of them needs to go.

Its pick and choose and and and

And Logan’s hand is tight around his, warm like an open flame, and strong like someone who knows what he is doing. Because it is Logan Ackroyd and Virgil’s only known him for a handful of months but he’s the most put together person he’s ever met, the person that never lost sight of what he wanted before, the person who always had a solution.

The person who had invited Virgil to sit with them at lunch and then refused to let it be awkward when everyone else had whispered was that a smart idea, Logan, don’t you know who this is? Don’t you know what he did? Don’t you know what he is to Dee?

Virgil Storm walks into a party and wishes he could tell anyone why he kissed his ex.

But he doesn't know why. The bottle had landed on him and Dee had just looked so smug about getting Logan out of the game and someone had to take him down a notch, didn't they? Someone had to defend Logan's honor?

But wait thats not right, because this was a game and it was fun until Virgil forgot that he left Dee without a warning and then showed back up just to threaten this relationship that he and Logan have. He doesn't have a right to kiss anyone, not Dee, not Logan.

He tries to dig his heels into the carpet, tries to wretch his hand from Logan's, tries to stop the world from spinning so much.

He thinks that maybe the universe is laughing at him. What a ridiculous notion, thinking that Virgil can stop ruination before it comes.

Logan drags him down the halls of Remy's house right after Dee, and finds the bathroom empty with the lights on and the door open and the toilet filled with vomit.

And the window open.

And, oh.

Dee jumped out a window to get away from Virgil, didn’t he?

"Come on," Logan says.

Virgil stumbles after him: back out the bathroom, back down the hall, right past the party and straight for the front door.

"Be Safe!" Patton yells after them (followed by a delighted shriek when Remus presses a multitude of cursory kisses into his neck).

Virgil Storm walks into a party and Logan Ackroyd drags him right out of it.

It seems so stupid, doesn’t it? Logan taking Virgil with him, holding his hand, being a steady center of calm while Virgil just wants to cover his ears hunch his shoulders and scream until the memories of Dee are gone and he stops….fucking… trying to… fucking ruin… This. Them. Here. Now. Whatever.

The city is so big now, bigger than when they were kids: Virgil doesn’t know where Dee would have gone in a disgusted panic, in a horrified frenzy, in whatever it was that Virgil had made him feel. At one point it might have been their fucking treehouse, the movie theater backlot, the icecream aisle of the grocer staring at the stupid fucking popsicles. But Virgil doesn’t know Dee anymore, doesn’t know this town, doesn’t know what he’s doing.

Dee could have gone anywhere to get away from him.

Except that he’s just on the ground next to Remy’s mailbox, one hand clutching the grass, the other a fistfull of hair and shaking like all of his bones were trying to leave his skin at once.

Its cold, Virgil realizes a second later. Its cold because its December and they’re outside wearing jeans and T-shirts and not a single coat between the three of them and its night so of course its fucking cold--

Logan plops onto the ground next to Dee, narrowly missing the mailbox and Virgil tumbles down after him.

There are over seven billion people in the world, Virgil knows this, but somehow all he can do is count the ones in front of him.

1, 2, 3.

Dee, Logan, Virgil.

It doesn’t equal 2. Can’t equal 2.

And Virgil still loves the feeling of pain, loves tearing his heart apart, loves watching Logan be soft and Dee be happy because he’s not and won’t ever be necessary for them--

“I--” Virgil says just as Logan cups Dee’s face with one hand. The other is still weaved between Virgil’s fingers like some sort of knot project. Virgil tries to let go-- he does-- but Logan just tightens and squeezes and does not let him let go.

Dee is shaking and crying and Virgil thinks that anyone who ever said that someone is beautiful when they cry is a fucking idiot. There was nothing pretty about see him in the moonlight leaking tears like a garden hose and covered in snot and curling on himself like his own arms are the only things stopping him from shattering apart on the lawn right now. There’s nothing gorgeous about the way his eyes are puffing up and his make up is smearing and his breaths are short and fleeting and fully of incoherent apologies.

There’s nothing heart warming about seeing him sobbing.

“Breathe with me,” Logan commands. “Dee, Inhale with me. One… Two… Three--”

Dee shudders. And tries and tries and tries but every breath is choked and wet and rattling.

And Virgil.

Virgil has no right to be doing this, but he flings his chest against Dee’s back and presses against him because pressure had always been one of the things that Dee liked when he was not-okay. How could Virgil forget, when so many of their days in that treehouse included him and Dee lying on one another musing with each other’s hair or scrolling on their phones or soaking in the silence?

Dee’s breath shudders, stops, and then he inhales. Logan counts steady as a metronome, steady as a time passing, steady as the Earth turning.

1, 2, 3, 1, 2, 3, 1, 2

Dee stops sobbing and his shaking decreases and his hand loosens on his hair just enough for Logan to reach up and untangle his fingers.

“You’re doing good,” Virgil whispers in Dee’s ear, because that’s what he needs to hear isn’t it? That’s what Virgil wished someone would say every time he crammed himself in his closet and willed his lungs to just fucking work when his Mother didn’t know or care or understand what was going on.

Logan counts. Virgil whispers. Dee breathes.

1, 2, 3

Logan’s hands are holding them both. Dee is leaning back against Virgil like he’s the shield between Dee and insanity and Virgil isn’t sure why he’s still there and can’t remember how to leave.

“I think…” Logan starts which is almost comical because when doesn’t he think? “I think we need to talk.”

“Talk,” Dee repeats, hoarsely. “Yeah. You’re right.”

“Yeah,” Virgil says.

They don’t say anything.

Virgil knows what he needs to do. He knows that he needs to pull back, needs to untangle himself from Logan and stop draping himself over Logan’s boyfriend and go back into the house to get his coat and shoes and maybe a blanket for the other two before he starts that trek back to his apartment. He knows that he needs to go because he doesn’t belong and he needs to call Agent DW and get her to find him another place to live again because-- surprise-- he ruined this one too.

Virgil tries to shift back, but Dee follows him.

“Don’t--” Dee croaks.

Virgil stops moving. Because Dee sounds so fragile, because he never sounds fragile, because its was Dee.

“Please…” Dee whispers, “Please don’t.”

And, well, Virgil is a masochist who hates himself. What other option does he have than to stay and await for the speech of telling off that Logan is preparing?

Virgil’s seen Logan tear into people, he’s seen Logan put people straight, he’s seen Logan stand on tables and slaughter the morons who dared go against him. He and Dee had that in common: their words were weapons and they knew how to use them.

“I--” Virgil says, “I’m--”

Sorry? Not Sorry? Sad? A fuck up?

“Did you mean it?” Logan asks.

And Virgil’s chin is on Dee’s shoulder and the cold breeze blows straight through him.

“Virgil,” Logan says patiently impatient, “Did you mean it when you kissed Dee?”

Virgil knows what he has to say. What he’s supposed to say. What he needs to say.

“It was a goodbye kiss.” “It was an apology.” “It was part of the game.” “It wasn’t meant as anything.” “No, I didn’t.”

“You fucking liar.” Dee growls at him, miserably. (Aren’t they all miserable right now?)

And really what did he expect? Dee knew him better than he knew himself.

“Virgil.” Logan says.

“God, Fucking Shut Up!” Virgil snarls, “Both of you! Shut Up! Stop Asking Me if I Liked Kissing My Ex!”

“Did you?”

“SHUT UP!”

“That’s not an answer!”

“Fuck Your Answer!” Virgil throws back, and maybe its the hysteria talking because his voice is louder than he meant, louder than it should be with the three of them so close they are touching to keep warm. How can Virgil cover his ears and block out the sound of Logan’s accusing voice without pulling away from Dee or letting go of Logan’s hand?

“Why Does Anyone Need an Answer?” Virgil snarls, “What Does it Matter At All? You’ve Got--” He chokes because of course he does. And isn’t that an answer all by itself? “You’ve Got--”

Seven years ago, Virgil had entered Witness Protection with his mother when his father agreed to testify against the “shady organization that promised him big money to help put Virgil through college”. Seven years ago, Agent DW showed up on his doorstep ten minutes before he was set to meet Dee at the bus stop and took his phone from him. Seven whole fucking years ago, Virgil Storm was ripped out of time.

And things are different now: Dee is different, the town is different, life is different.

And Virgil feels like he’s playing the longest game of Catch-Up since Captain America himself. How can he belong when everyone around him is years and miles beyond what he remembers?

“You’ve got each other,” Virgil says, finally, miserably.

Dee can’t turn to look at him, but Virgil can feel the way he’s tensing and closes his eyes so that he doesn’t have to see the way that Logan is staring at him.

1 + 1 = 2

“What’s wrong with three?”

Three? Its a prime number, its an odd number, its one more than 2? And bad things come in threes don't they? A man, a woman, and the son they didn't want; a treehouse, grape popsicles, and a movie theater that sells overpriced candy; a party, a bottle, and a kiss that's still tingling on Virgil's lips.

So Virg startles a laugh. What else can he do?

(Leave, let go and leave and never come back.)

He blinks back a sting behind his eyes, one he's familiar with-- dontcrydontcrydontcry-- and suddenly right in front of him is Logan.

Logan, whos eyes swim with galaxies in them, who's pale skin drinks in the moonlight and glows like a lighthouse to bring him home, who's voice is a tremor in the night, a general with the power to raze countries. Logan, who's so close Virgil can see through the fog of their breaths and feel his warm exhales on his nose and cheeks.

Virgil breath catches in his throat. He can see each individual eyelash on Logan's face. Surely that must be because Virgil is still clinging to his boyfriend--

"I want to run an experiment," Logan's lips move smoothly, softly, barely more than necessary and Virgil can see his tongue flicking around the alphabet soup of syllables.

Logan leans closer. Virgil stays still, transfixed on those lips, and pressed against Dee's shoulder. This is a mistake, isn't it? Maybe Logan hit his head on the Mailbox and now he thinks Virgil is Dee and he doesn't really mean this at all and they need to take him to the hospital before he dies of bloodlo--

Logan's nose is touching his. "May I?"

And whatever sound Virgil makes is pitiful, and pathetic, and embarrassing, and a "yes, please."

Logan kisses him, is kissing, kissed him. Virgil finds a new meaning in the term "seeing stars" because right then his eyes are dazzled with sparkling diamonds and bursts of colors. It does something to him, makes his heart race and leap into his throat, makes him lurch forward because its not enough, he's not close enough. Logan’s fingers twists around him and Virgil thinks that he should be freezing but his palm is clammy. And his other arm snakes around Dee’s waist before he can even think about what he's doing (does he ever think?).

Logan kissing him, and Dee leaning into his touch and Virgil thinks he died and somehow ended up in heaven.

This--

Oh.

This is 3.

One more than 2.

Virgil Storm walks into a party and somehow ends up kissing his ex’s new boyfriend, too.

Logan's pulls away slowly, like a hesitance, like a regret. Virgil thinks he licks his lips, breathing so warmly, looking so flushed-- flushed? Logan's flushed and shy and soft in a way that Virgil’s never blessed enough to see before.

He coughs, weakly, fakely, and Virgil distantly thinks thats his attempt to regain some form of control. "Well. I believe my hypothesis was correct."

"Nerd," Virgil croaks. "God fucking ner--"

Dee's lips are on his by some magic-like contortion because Dee's back is still pressed into Virgil's chest squeezing all the air from his lungs and last time Virgil checked humans weren't supposed to be able to do that.

"Do shut up," Dee whispers into Virgil's mouth.

Virgil thinks that if he died this isn’t such a bad way to spend his whatever’s-next.

(Dee’s learned new things, Virgil realizes, because he kisses differently now than he had back when they were twelve and so fucking stupid.)

Dee’s mouth moves off Virgil’s lips, dashing across his cheeks and peppering him with featherlight kisses. If Virgil wasn’t so absolutely out of it he might have been annoyed because that was Dee, kissing his fucking freckles and Virgil had worked to hard to cover them with concealer--

Then Dee turns around and drags Logan by his fucking tie into a kiss of their own with Virgil in a front row seat. Virgil’s always enjoyed theater but this is something more: being this close, feelings both of them just inches away-- thats a show he thinks he wants to come back to again and again and again and--

Isn’t that ridiculous? Isn’t that insane?

A week ago, a day ago, twenty minutes ago, this sight would have Virgil’s heart shattering right down the middle and stomping on the pieces and crying because even though it hurt like fucking hell this is what he wanted for them: he wanted Dee and Logan to be happy and safe and, and, and yeah he wanted them to be together too.

But right here, right now? He’s a part of this, and his heart does this stupid- fucking- jump thing when he watches them and his jaw hurts because he’s smiling so damn wide.

God, when was the last time he smiled like this?

He’s feeling some stupid emotion and its so nice and warm and safe that he doesn’t think he can even describe it with actual words (he’s always been a math person anyway). How does anyone describe this feather-fragile feeling, this cocktail of emotions, this atomic bomb of Need that causes him to hold on to all of this when he knows every other person he knows would tell him to let go?

This is something breakable.

And Virgil doesn’t know if it will be him that breaks or if it will be this… thing that he thinks came out of nowhere.

But he’s a masochist and he wants to find out.

“So,” Logan says between gasps for air, “Three?”

Dee laughs and blows a column of white condensation into the air. “Three, definitely.”

1 + 1 + 1 =/= 2

Virgil always thought that math was overrated anyway.

“Three,” Virgil says and it tastes like grape popsicles. Isn’t that weird? Virgil hasn’t had grape popsicles since that summer seven years ago. He misses that taste.

He sends a squeeze to Logan’s hand and Logan squeezes back. He hums into Dee’s neck and Dee laughs like he’s going to cry. Its the three of them together and who would have thought this day would come?

“Uh…” A fourth voice speaks up and Virgil squints up into the yellowed flashlight that’s rolling over the three of them. Its a guy-- must be one of the neighbors, though who knows why he’s out so late at night. “You three okay? I heard some yelling earlier....”

Virgil laughs at him, at them, at the universe. Dee’s shaking, too, something wonderful to learn and feel next to his heart.

“Should I take that as a no?” The man asks.

“Uh, no, Mr. Sanders,” Logan says but he’s grinning like he just achieved immortality. “I mean, yes! But not like--”

“I kissed two boys,” Virgil says, “And I really like them both.”

“Moron,” Dee laughs again.

The man, Concerned Neighbor, Mr. Sanders, looks somewhere between amused and confused. He shifts his weight, glancing beyond them, towards the house. (And Virgil doesn’t need to turn to know that fucking Remy is watching them from the windows.)

"Well you three should get back inside," the Concerned Neighbor says and Virgil gets the feeling he should be embarrassed, but honestly? Who gives a fuck? "Its cold out here."

Right.

Because its the end of December and its nearly ten oclock and jackets were quite literally the last thing on any of their minds.

Oh god what if they got pneumonia from this?

“Unlikely,” Logan says, straightening his tie. “Most likely one of us will contract a common head cold and then transmit it to the other two through an abundance of close proximity to each other.”

“Yes and that sounds completely awful,” Dee says wriggling around as he tries to get up. Virgil lets him go briefly, but snags the back of Dee’s neck before he can go too far. Dee squeaks in a way that is adorable.

“STORM! You fucker! Your hands are fucking ice cubes!” Dee bucks away and punches him in the shoulder before sprinting toward the door with a sharp little smile on his face.

And Virgil runs after him, pulling Logan along because he doesn’t want to let go at all. Its ridiculous. Its silly and hilarious and laughable and, and, and.

And they catch up to Dee right on the door step, bathed in the multicolored lights of the party where Logan gets a chance to snag Dee in a hug and Virgil--

Virgil Storm walks into a party and gets to tell everyone how he kissed both his boyfriends.

#analoceit #sanders sides #Kiss and Tell #virgil sanders #symapthetic deceit #Deceit Sanders #logan sanders #tw cursing #anxceit #loceit #analogical #kissing #Just let the boys be happy #Hmmm might make more for this au #stay tuned #happy ending

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modernagesomniari · 4 years

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Fic - ‘That Ocean Carries Everyone’

So the absolutely lovely @siberianspring gave me a prompt for this title, based on the quote from Solas highlighted in the conversation below with Cole. Babe, I have no idea whether this is what you had in mind, but it gripped me by the metaphorical balls and wouldn’t let me go until it happened. Thank you, thank you for the prompt!

If you prefer AO3, you can read it here.

~3000 words

(background) Solavellan, Solaveli (My Eli x Solas - Yes, I’m giving them a name of their own I have no shame)

Includes elements of the future, so I guess kind of AU cos we have no idea. More a ‘what if?’.

R (no particular warnings, but this is a bleak war)

That Ocean Carries Everyone

Cole: You are quiet, Solas.

Solas: Unless I have something to say, yes.

Cole: No, inside. I don't hear your hurt as much. Your song is softer, subtler, not silent but still.

Solas: How small the pain of one man seems when weighed against the endless depths of memory, of feeling, of existence. That ocean carries everyone. And those of us who learn to see its currents move through life with their fewer ripples.

Cole: There is pain though, still within you.

Solas: And I never said that there was not.

*******************************

He walked the Vir Dirthara.

The ancient library was as it ever had been since he had destroyed it; fragmented and heart breaking. The Archivists that hung in the air taunted him with their ruin, their pitiful attempts to please, to be what they had always meant to be.

He deserved every twist of white-hot guilt that churned in his gut. He walked this place to feel these things, to remind himself of what he had done, to remind himself of what he had to do. How could he leave this place the way it was - broken pieces of masonry slavishly responding to whoever was lucky or foolish enough to come across how they were stitched together? How could he not do everything in his power to heal it, no matter the cost? Surely it was no greater than what had already had been paid.

As he walked a broken path between packed shelves of books that no longer held pages, he took a breath to steady himself. He could not lie to himself, not now. If he was to do what he had set out to do, he must do it with his mind and eyes open. Do not shirk from the pain he will cause, do not close his eyes against the suffering of thousands for what he believed to be the right cause. To do so would be to become what he had fought against for Ages. He would not be so.

So he admitted to himself, as a shadow of a child laughed and scampered around a stack of historical tomes, that he came here for solace. For reassurance. If one tempered and honed the mind, one could experience the memories here like they were one’s own (and if he avoided those memories that the Archivists seemed to assume he wanted to see lately, in those places where he had spent the time to paint, to wallow and to agonise, he could not be to blame, not when he had now chosen his path, reaffirmed his purpose). So, as he walked, he opened his heart, freed his soul from where he kept it tightly hidden from the people that followed him outside of the Crossroads. He listened. He needed it today, of all days. The Anchor sat new and restless somewhere just below his breastbone. Her screams still echoed in his ears. At least they drowned out her words.

In front of this array of religious texts sat a scholar, feverishly writing. Opening himself to the echo, Solas himself felt the kindling of the fire of curiosity at what he was discovering. Digging further, he felt the barren ache in his own heart as he left his Bonded bed, his wife cold to his own touch even though he could all but feel the heat of another. His own identity blurred now, he smiled slightly at the gentle warmth of this man’s child in his arms, the boy surprised by his father’s embrace. Could feel, too, the steely core of determination behind this father’s delicate affection - he would not be to his son what his own father had been to him. One life, among many. Who could dare to judge it unimportant?

Around this corner, now sheer into the abyss with the destruction, a young woman. Afraid and alone, but this determination tasted like sulphur and lemons in his mouth - a bitter victory over a mistress who denied her everything. He could reach in and sample from the first moment this girl felt her mother’s wet kiss on her brow, to the pain on her bottom from the last time her mistress had her brother beat her. Another life to add to the weight pressed upon him. Was he being dramatic, putting too much on himself? Another memory, the same girl. Fear, blistering and all-encompassing - the sky was falling in, she had only snuck out for a moment, no one would have noticed only the sky was falling in, this didn’t usually happen did it? Mistress would know what to do, where was she, where was anyone? Anyone? Anyone? Please?

He stayed with this girl (Alleria, was her name) until he could feel the area settle, the Archivist beside him like a maternal parasite, soaking up the girl’s history until she became part of this mutated garden of knowledge. Only when there was nothing left, when the last remaining life of this person was faded into his memory and the memory of the Vir Dirthara, did he move on.

He descended what had used to be a sweeping staircase and moved through an Eluvian to a Nexus. The Librarian here was newly dead, and he had just enough time to marvel at who might have done it before another memory presented itself, one he hadn’t come across before.

It was a shemlen child, dark skinned with lush, black hair. He was weeping, a broken apparatus of some sort in front of him and the dim echoes of quiet, disappointed words ringing around his ears. Solas couldn’t quite tell what the words were saying, but he felt the sharp edge of them like a scalpel at his heart. Another, later, this boy now a man joltingly familiar, raging at the owner of this voice like a tempest, another young man behind him, half-naked and shamefaced. Solas felt his own cheeks heat with sympathetic embarrassment and the feeling was almost enough to replace the shock he felt to his bones at what, at who, he was seeing. Another shift to overwhelming gratitude, as his new friend spoke a elvhen word for a relationship he hadn’t known existed before, another shift that stole his breath and tightened his balls in a rush as he felt silken rope against his wrists and a hot mouth on his chest. Another memory, newer, his gut hardened into rage and fierce protection, fighting against a shapeless horror within this very library and shamelessly putting a face on it just so he could get it out of his system. She needed him to be supportive, not vengeful.

The vision left him with chills spreading over his body from the base of his spine.

Dorian.

Of course he had been here. She had known Solas for who he had been when she arrived, he knew she had been here. So of course they would have been here, too. It explained the dead Librarian - they were one of the few groups of people who would have had the power to defeat one. But he had received the vision like he had received every other vision here. He had seen punctuations in the life of a mere shadow in the same way that he had seen the life of a man who had lived the way this world had always intended to be.

As was his wont of late, a thought occurred just behind his consciousness. A place where thoughts could come and stay without interfering with his own self. A place where they were, if not safe, then contained. He did not think. But he did move.

As he walked to the bookshelves opposite where Dorian had forced an imprint of Solas’ own face on the now dead Librarian, the shelves in front of him melted away to reveal another Eluvian. Finding these secret things was so easy now, the Archivists didn’t even try to stop him. They hadn’t retained enough of themselves to. As he walked, he turned his mind to all the memories he had seen just this one day - how many more were within this library, caught in the moment the Veil fell, beyond where the Veil fell? This was the Vir Dirthara, he could find anyone here, if only their record had survived. For whatever reason he was putting one foot in front of the other in this particular direction, regardless of the knot of ice in his gut and the blazing, barely contained roar of inferno in his heart, nothing could compare with all of these. For whatever he felt now, they had felt. And they were legion.

The place he came to broke his heart, just a little more. It was humble; there were only the splintered remnants of plain wooden boards, the dust settling amongst the cracks. The musty thickness of air filled with too many books filled his lungs. This was the most protected of all the Archives. It was also why the Archivists were so revered and so venerated.

Every book on these shelves hummed. He could hardly bear to see them, ruined as they were. No one entered the library without giving of themselves to knowledge. And Knowledge kept records. If there were memories left in the library it was because they were caught in the liminal space between occurrence and classification. Or they had bled out of the books cracked open like wounds, bleeding the life of whomever they belonged to onto the parched wood and through the fissures into the swirling air of the Vir Dirthara until they landed, to be scooped up by anyone who passed. Row after row, column after column - even if they were damaged beyond repair, there were thousands. He stood for a moment, breathed in dust and paper and life, let his nostrils fill with the stench of ruin, his gut broiling like he had breathed in the raw decay of a long dead corpse.

That place that had germinated the thought that brought him here stirred and no matter how desperately he tried, not even he could control his own senses. Far down along the seemingly endless wall of books was a harsh end, a cut off from where he had severed all ties between this place and anything truly living. Only, where there should be nothing but a tattered, frayed edge of reality, were four new books. They pulsed with life, garish in their colouring, warped and different in shape and size from any of the others. But they were there.

He was paralysed with indecision, caught with his mind pinned between what he must be and this place where the shadows of the last three years dwelt. And howled.

If he turned his head he would see them fully. If he saw them fully then he would have to see them within their context - as part of this library, broken as it was. Their lives, their memories, their reality sitting nestled in amongst those that came before like they belonged there.

But if they belonged there, if they were part of this ocean of life and love and pain, then that would mean things that he could not admit. At least, not that he could admit and do what needed to be done.

On the other hand, if he didn’t turn his head, then he would not see them. And if he decided he did not see them, then he was deciding to ignore reality in order to make his own selfish choices easier. He had fought for so long, so very, very long…

He closed his eyes. He breathed. He squared his shoulders.

He turned away.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * *

It was Bull the next time. A hard woman with a heart of wool, that picked up the blocks he had just knocked down, laughing in her joy and pride morphed into larger man, soft around his belly, but his words were like knives in his own mind, rummaging around and slicing at any soft tissue he found until there was nothing but purpose. How ironic that the only man sitting alone at this bar was a Vint. How soft his hands, hard like diamonds his words. How fragile his heart. Fuck but why did she have to be so damn tiny - hard as a rock in his britches as the dragon above him roared and he heard her yell right back, this could almost be better than sex. Certainty, obvious enough to make him weep when the bitch offered him a choice, because time was relative here and Solas felt the bone-numbing realisation of parallel Bull had made between the two of them before the Vidassala had ever dared offer him the deal. He shied away then and pretended he hadn’t. Fled from the floating feeling of unwanted freedom as Bull and he watched the ship blow, heard the triumphant cries of the men that were only supposed to be his in name.

The thought chased him through the library until he had stepped out of the Eluvian to the unsettlingly reverent gaze of his people.

Until those men had become more real than the ship.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Varric took him in the middle of watching a pair of scholars make their slow, tantalising way to a tryst between the stacks, fuelled by mutual academic passion. One moment he was watching them dance shyly around each other and the next it was the woman from Kirkwall and the mage he didn’t like to think about too much for all that he had accidentally come too close to truths this world couldn’t uncover unless…unless…

Only then it was Fenris and Varric was helpless, watching this doomed triad stumble their way towards an inevitable messy end and hoping against hope that the lack of contact he’d had from them all recently meant they were somehow all right. The weight of feeling in the man was almost too much to bear and yet, perhaps because the last few weeks had not been easy and he had not slept for days, he stood there and took it. Perhaps, if he accepted enough pain from these shadows of shadows (the four new books lurked restlessly in the back of his mind) he wouldn’t see the fourth. Let him not see the fourth. Desperate as he was, he watched Varric bid farewell to his beloved again. And again. And again. It became almost atavistic, he revelled in the echoed heartbreak until he felt dirty and petty. Then he left.

He didn’t come back for a very, very long time. He told himself it was because the war kept him too busy. He certainly didn’t listen to the part of him that told him, brutal in its honesty, that his reluctance to come to this place now was the same reluctance that stopped him from wanting to sleep, to risk that brief couple of moments before oblivion where every ghost you had would come to haunt you. As if she didn’t do that every turn he made, every manoeuvre he thought he’d used to outplay her. Every dream he tried to pretend wasn’t real, until he had fallen asleep beside his lieutenant and woken to find her flattered and happy, rubbing up against him because she thought it was for her.

No, he had no intention of coming here again.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * *

The bare wood is harsh against his knees as he lets himself fall. He is hollow, please let him be hollow. The shadows have grown in their place beside his conscious thoughts, pressing against his mind like rabid dogs.

Children. She had used children against him. Seen that there was no chance of evacuation and used the time she’d had to go around every house and bring out the children to play on the green. She’d stood, eyes frightened, fierce and unmoving as she looked straight at where she knew he and his men were preparing for the Fade-Pillar. The Pillar that needed the weakening of the Veil under this village and which needed the bodies of the villagers to take what would come through. He had tried to find another site for it, he had really truly tried. She had raised her head as if she was looking straight at him. And she had dared him to cut the children down as they played.

He doesn’t realize his face is in his hands until his fingers press hard enough into the softness of his eyelids he sees nauseating bursts of colour. The books above him quiver, whatever life is in them shivering in the face of the torment he is confronting them with. He is numb. He must be numb. Something tugs at his consciousness, almost inaudible through the chaos. Even though it has been months, even though within those months has been enough story to fill a stack of its own, the place in his mind where the shadows dwell remembers. He knows, without taking his palms from his face, that this place will have moved in response to his need. Whatever he is trying to desperately to forget is no longer far away at the edge of the bookcase. There are four of them and he knows if he looks up they will be in front of him on the shelf. Within his grasp. It cannot not be his need to have them here. It cannot.

The fourth book had been the colour of moss in the deep of trees marked by time only in their greatness. If the embossed gold intricacies of pattern looked like anything he’d recognised from Elvhenan, they had morphed in front of his eyes (that had not looked, had definitely, desperately not looked) into something quite unique. Her very own. He sees it in his mind now and he is too tired to make himself decide he hasn’t seen it. His own voice is loud and unrecognisable in his ears. Surely only animals make such a sound.

On the patchy grass of the village green, one of the smaller boys had tried to leap frog another and fallen. An older girl, with dull hair and a gap in her teeth, had come over and taunted him into trying again, carrying him over and then pretending to the other children that he’d done it himself. Solas had seen it so clearly, like an imprint of them on the world that could never be unseen by anyone who had witnessed it. No one would write this moment, but it was etched into his gut deeper and more permanent than any ink.

The time for the Fade-Pillar to be brought down had come. And then it had passed.

He knows he will see moss-green and gold before he looks up. The four books are still acid-bright in their colour. So very, very different from what he knows.

He reaches for them.

#dragon age #solavellan #solas #solavellan hell #dragon age fic #somni #mywriting

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ladyreapermc · 5 years

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Fic: Catching Feelings 9/10 (Keanu x OFC)

Summary: AU in which Keanu is down on his luck after he comes to Hollywood trying to be an actor. To earn some money, he joins this app for escorts and meets Steph, a rising star who hires him to try to forget her ex. Neither of them is expecting to fall in love and all the problems it brings. Previous chapters: 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8

Author’s Notes: This might be my favorite chapter so far. I’m very proud of how it turned out. Just to be safe, keep your tissues close.

Wordcount: 3377

Warnings: angst and mentions of alcohol

“So, I heard back from the producers,” Jean started tone just a little hesitant and Steph got up from her seat, rolling her eyes.

She already knew what the next words would be. He had been her agent and publicist for a few months and she learned to recognize when he was about to break the news of another no.

“They said you great but…”

“Not what they’re looking for?” she completed with a bitter snort and Jean nodded, grimacing. “In other words, you’re radioactive and we want nothing to do with you. I don’t know why I even bother anymore.”

“Steph…” he started with that unsufferable sympathetic tone and she could feel his gaze on her as she paced in his office. “We gonna get through this. You just need…”

“To be patient and persevere,” she cut him off, repeating the words she had been hearing for the past six months. Even since her career imploded with the whole Keanu fiasco.

For weeks her face had been plastered in every trashy magazine that existed, her name associated with a sex scandal. Because she dared to fall in love with a man that happened to be an escort.

The first blow she suffered was the call from Judy, the woman had been with Steph since the beginning of her career. She ranted at Steph for being stupid enough to put herself in that position and offered a solution that was basically throwing Keanu under the bus. Tell the press that she had no idea he was an escort. Steph wouldn’t do it. This was her mess, not his.

Judy quitted after that, leaving Steph without an agent or publicist to help her navigate through this mess. Fortunately, Jean had been a lifesaver and took Steph under his wing, working out all the necessary statements and helping her dodge most of the press.

The second blow came on Monday when Fincher was waiting for Steph at the set with an added scene on his script. They were killing off her character. To keep the integrity of the work, he said. It made more sense…

Even he didn’t believe his own words and Steph just wanted to scream and hit someone. This had been a dream project for her, and they were casting her aside like she was nothing. And even though it cost her a hefty penalty for contract breach, Steph never regretted walking out of the set and refusing to shoot the metaphorical death of her career.

Instead, she flew back home and discovered it was true what they said: you only knew your real friends when shit hit the fan. Ad companies ended contracts with her; production companies that had offered her parts in upcoming movies pulled back their offers; people she had worked before, that knew her, and that Steph always considered close friends, and cut off communication with her. Only a handful remained in the end, among them Vincent, Jean, and Gwen. Everyone else bailed and Steph couldn’t believe how naïve she was to believe that they were her friends.

“Maybe it’s time I face the truth, Jean,” she sighed, looking out the window in his office. In the distance, she could see the Hollywood sign in the Hills she called home. “If I can’t even get a secondary character in a cheesy rom-com, my career is over.”

“No!” he protested, getting up to stand beside her. “You made only one mistake in this whole thing,” Jean said, laying his hands on her arms, making Steph look at him. “You pushed away the man you love. Everything else? That’s judgmental bullshit from a hypocritical business and I’m not gonna let them punish you for falling in love.”

There was determination in his handsome face. His eyes shone with it as he let go of Steph and moved back to his desk, shifting things around until he came up with a stack of papers and handed it Steph. It was a script and she recognized the writer and director’s name: Katheryn Gerwig.

“They sent it in for another actress I’m representing,” he explained. “It’s an independent movie, very low budget, unlike anything you’ve ever done, but it is the main character and Gerwig is a genius.”

“What about your other client?” Steph asked, looking back to Jean.

“I’ll just make sure she had a schedule conflict,” he assured with a wink, making Steph smile thankfully, before pulling him into a hug. “You might want to give up on yourself, darling, but I’m not there yet. So, read it and if you like it, I’ll set up a meeting with Gerwig.”

---

Steph changed positions on her chair for the sixth time in the last five minutes, her fingers restlessly rearranging every single item there was in the table, trying to work out the energy thrumming through her.

She hadn’t felt this nervous since her first audition ten years ago, coming back to acting after dropping out at age 13. At least back then the only reputation she had was of child starlet that gave up the spotlight for a normal teenager life. Now, even months later, she knew they still referred to her as the former raising star that had to pay for love.

Steph was tired of it; the whispers and snide comments, but she was determinate to keep her head high. That was why this meeting was so important. If this didn’t work, if Gerwig wouldn’t take her, she would be done. Steph would rather get out in her own terms than everyone else’s.

Checking the time again, Steph considered asking the waiter for something stronger than orange juice. Even if it was 10 in the morning. Maybe decided against it. Her worst decisions had been made thanks to alcohol. Instead, she looked out at the view, trying to see it the rhythmic movements of the waves would soothe her racing heart.

Gerwig had scheduled this meeting at a seaside restaurant Steph had never heard of before. It was small and intimate and more importantly, out of the way enough that most people around had better things to do than worry about potential celebrities hanging around. Aside from that, the view was fantastic and if the smell waffling from the kitchen was any indication, the food was too. This could easily become Steph’s new favorite spot. If this meeting went well.

“Sorry to keep you waiting, dear,” Gerwig spoke, startling Steph. “No need to get up,” she said before dropping on the chair in front of her, taking off her hat.

The woman that sat before Steph was impressive. Not only because she was stunning; Her sand blonde hair waving in the soft breeze, a few grey strands shining against the sun. Her blue eyes were startling bright and showed a sort of keen intelligence that seemed to pierce through her. The wrinkles around her eyes and mouth spoke of a life well-lived, full of laughter and challenges.

Steph didn’t know why, but she immediately liked Gerwig. It was almost as if she had found a kindred spirit and something inside her connected at a deeper level with the older woman before her.

“It’s an honor to meet you,” Steph said, suddenly feeling like a beginner meeting their idol. “Thank you so much for meeting me, Mrs. Gerwig.”

“Of course,” she replied with a kind smile. “Call me Katheryn. I’ve always hated Gerwig. It’s my ex-husband's name.”

“Sure.” Steph nodded quickly, her own smile nervous and hesitant as Katheryn asked for a mimosa. Apparently, unlike Steph, the older woman had no qualms on drinking before noon.

“I have to say, dear, a lot of people advised me against taking this meeting,” Katheryn declared, sipping her drink. “So, before we talk about my movie, I want to understand why.” She set her glass aside, entwining her fingers together and resting her chin on top of them, watching Steph with her full attention. “Tell me everything.”

And Steph did. Much like she had done to Vincent, she shared every detail of what happened between her and Keanu and the aftermath of it until they reached that particular moment of her life, struggling to get a role in anything worth wanting to be part of.

“That’s it?” Katheryn asked once Steph fell silent, and the young actress nodded. “For fuck sake! The way my producer was speaking, I thought you murdered someone or something. Definitely something more serious than falling in love with a hooker.”

She clicked her tongue in something like disappointment. If with the fact that Steph’s story wasn’t as juicy as she expected or that her producer made a bigger deal of it than necessary, Steph couldn’t tell.

“Honestly, if the roles were reversed, it would be a fairytale. He would be Richard Gere and you Julia Roberts,” Katheryn continued with an eye-roll. “This is why I hate Hollywood.”

“You don’t care, then?” Steph asked hopefully and Katheryn shook her head, gesturing to for the waiter to bring her another mimosa. “So, you let me audition for the role of Sarah?”

“That’s another matter entirely, dear,” Katheryn replied, looking back at Steph. “I took a look at your work and you weren’t exactly what I was envisioning for the role. Don’t get me wrong, you’re great, but I was thinking of something more subtle.”

“Oh.” It was all Steph could say. She really didn’t expect that it would be her career itself that would take this role from her and not what happened.

“I hope you understand,” Katheryn said with a sympathetic smile. “I need raw emotion, but not something too overt or explicit. I need…” she paused, deep I thought. “You know what the title of my movie means?” She asked and Steph shook her head. “That word, Saudade, it’s Portuguese. There’s no translation to English, but it conveys a sort of nostalgic longing for a place, a memory, a person. Like…”

“Like it’s a part of you that you’re missing?” Steph said, her gaze looking away from the woman in front of her.

To an onlooker, it would seem like she was just admiring the ocean extending in front of her. The blue waters that seemed to mix with the bright skies. The fluffy white bubbles whenever the waves crashed on the shore. The boats in the distance and the couples walking hand in hands through the wet sand… It made the scene look like a painting. However, Steph’s gaze was actually lost, unseeing as she searched for the words to describe the feeling Katheryn was talking about.

“It feels almost as if they left a hole in your soul, shaped like them and that never full heals,” she sighed, feeling the tears brimming in her eyes. “Most days, it just a dull ache and you can actually trick yourself into forgetting and not noticing. If you’re busy enough if you work hard enough, it makes you believe that maybe… maybe one day… you’ll be fine and it will be over. But then…” her voice broke as the lump in her throat grew, making it harder for Steph to bring the words forth, but she had to do this. Digging her fingers on her knees under the table, she wetted her lips and continued.

“Then you see something that belonged to them or heard their name or smell their scent and… Sometimes I believe that’s what time travel must be like because you’re there. Back at that place with them and it’s so sweet because you can feel how happy you used to be, but at the same time, God! It hurts. That kind of throbbing, pulsing pain. All compassing and consuming. Suddenly, it’s all you know again, and you can’t believe how you thought, even for a second, that it wouldn’t hurt anymore. Because it’s a piece of you that’s missing and it’s the most human thing to want to feel complete, but you can’t. Not anymore. Not without him.”

Steph let out a shuddering exhale, ducking her head to wipe away the tears that managed to escape while she swallowed around the knot on her throat before she turned to look at Katheryn and the other woman had tear tracks marking her cheeks as she watched Steph.

“Is that what you mean?”

“Yes,” Katheryn nodded, a smile gracing her lips as she reached across the table, catching Steph’s hand and squeezing lightly. “You understand. I think you understand Sarah better than I could ever hope to write her. Maybe I was wrong. Maybe you’re exactly what I need.”

“Thank you.” Steph’s lips tilted into a smile too. Katheryn had a point. She never felt this connected to a character before.

“We’ll start shooting in Toronto in two weeks. Think you can be ready by then?”

“Yes.” Steph nodded, satisfaction and happiness filling her heart. “I’ll be there.”

----

Steph never had an experience quite like this shooting a movie, but she loved it. Jean wasn’t kidding when he said it was a low budget independent movie. Katheryn crew was tiny and the entire thing was shot in a single location, this two-store house in Toronto, using one single camera.

All of it meant long hours of shooting, especially since Katheryn liked wide angles and long takes so Steph felt this incredible pressure not to screw up. She was the protagonist. The entire concept of the movie depended on her doing her job right.

In the end, it was an incredible thing. After a month of working intensely and living in close quarters with the rest of the cast and crew, Steph grew close with all of them. She knew the names and birthdays of the DP’s children and all the cameraman allergies… They had become a second family to her and when they finally wrapped up filming, even though Steph was exhausted and in desperate need for long hours of sleep, she accompanied them to this local club so they could celebrate.

It wasn’t an official wrap party, then didn’t have the funds for that. Just a bunch of friends trying to find a way to fit at a too-small table in an overcrowded club with overpriced beer and some nice rock tunes.

Basically, it was all Steph needed after the dreadful year she was having. No one could blame her for letting lose, drinking a tiny bit too much – not quite like the night with Jean, Vincent, and Keanu – but just enough to make her tipsy and overfriendly, hugging people left and right, much to Katheryn’s amusement.

She danced to the music played by the band on the stage and even agreed to a couple of selfies from one or two people that recognized her, before retreating to the table, tired, sweaty and dizzy, but very happy.

“When we back to LA, we need to do this in a proper bar,” she commented to Katheryn, who had kept up with her the entire night and the older woman laughed and nodded, clinking her beer bottle against Steph’s.

She drained her beer, before getting to her feet again and stumbling towards the restroom, getting stuck in line for ten minutes, until she could finally step out of the warm, smoky bar, into the slightly cooler air of the restroom, which was a reprieve despite the faint smell of urine and disinfectant.

Steph took her time relieving herself, washing her hands and retouching her makeup, faintly hearing the muffled sounds of the new band presenting themselves before they started to play. She bobbed her head a bit at the very little she could hear while she applied another layer of lipstick and stepped out just as they finished the first song.

She didn’t know why she didn’t glance at the stage on her way to the bar to pick up a new beer, even if the first accords of the new song was so pleasing. She was happy she didn’t because when a familiar voice reached her ears, one that Steph never thought she would hear in a million years, she froze, beer bottle halfway to her lips, eyes wide, staring at nothing.

She didn’t know the song itself, but she had heard enough Dogstar before the entire mess with Keanu that Steph could recognize Brett’s voice. Shaking, she turned around to face the stage, her gaze instinctively finding Keanu and her breath caught in her throat as she watched him.

His hair was longer again, curling by his nape, sticking to his sweaty forehead. His jaw was covered with a spotty beard that shouldn’t look that charming. His broad shoulders ripped and moved as he played, making the black t-shirt he was wearing stretch over his strong chest and biceps. His jeans, as usual, were tighter than needed, displaying muscular legs and, if his red bass wasn’t positioned right in front of his crotch, Steph knew she would be able to see the generous volume of his cock too.

Somehow she much had forgotten how gorgeous he was because Steph couldn’t bear to look away from him as her heart rabbited in her chest as if trying to burst from her ribcage and butterflies fluttered in her stomach, especially when he joined on the back vocal, his voice barely audible, but enough to make her knees weak.

She leaned against the bar, gaze fixed on the band in front of her, completely oblivious to Katheryn approaching her, calling her name. Not until the woman shook her shoulder and Steph finally tore her eyes away, blinking away the wetness in them. Katheryn looked confused for a moment before realization dawned on her and she glanced back at the stage.

“It’s him?” she asked, and Steph nodded, holding her bottom lip between her teeth to keep it from quivering. “Which one?”

“The bassist,” she whispered, eyes returning to him, watching the wide smile in his face, the one she had only seen when he was on his bike or with her.

“Do you want to leave?”

“No,” Steph gasped, once again unable to take her eyes away from him. “I’ve always wanted to watch him play.”

Katheryn nodded, squeezing her arm gently before retreating to the table, leaving Steph alone to watch the band, but mostly Keanu. The way he bounced over the stage, grinning like a manic, playing around with his mates and some of the audience. He was a natural, completely in his element, like he was born to be there and Steph was so happy he had found a way to make this work.

At the end of their set, Dogstar thanked everyone and announced that they had CDs for sale in the back before disappearing into the bowels of the club. Part of Steph was sad that it was over. She could spend the entire day listening to them, so she located the table with the merchandising, grabbing a CD and a t-shirt, before stepping outside for some fresh air and to recompose herself.

It was one thing Katheryn to see her like this, shaking and troubled. She knew the entire story, but the rest of the cast and crew only knew bits and pieces. Not because she was ashamed, but because it was still too hard to talk about it.

Steph exhaled slowly, the cold air grounding her to the present, keeping her from getting lost into memories of Keanu. And as long as she was grounded and kept a level head, she could stop herself from seeking him out. He didn’t want to see her. He made that very clear in that hotel in Paris.

“Steph?” She shivered at the sound of his voice saying her name. She missed that. She missed him. So, so much.

Slowly, Steph turned to look at him, her hands shaking so much the plastic case of the CD rattled a little. There he was, tall and strong and perfect and she couldn’t help but think about the title of the movie she just finished shoot: Saudade. That was what she felt, her insides yearning for that lost piece of her and she wished there was a way to tell him.

“Hi Keanu,” she said instead. What else could she say when there were so much, but not enough words?

xxx (tbc) xxx

Go to chapter 10

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eve-mega-theory · 5 years

Text

My theory on Eve’s MVs, from Sister to Raison D’etre

People have asked, and since no one else has yet (and since I’ve always wanted to do it), I’ve went and put together a theory that connects all of Eve’s MVs into a single large narrative about the cycle of depression. Since I go over every song in-depth, and each song is filled with detail and complexity, it’s long. I actually had to skip over a lot of little details making this, because if I did the length would just get out of hand. Also keep in mind that I’m not assuming my theory to be the “one true meaning.” I just took a lot of personal meaning from this series, and its portrayal of depression and how to overcome it has helped me immensely. I want to do these videos, which are clearly labors of love, some justice.

*I’m going to put time stamps for the other songs to make things easier to follow. It's not required, but I recommend that you rewatch the previous songs as you read.

**Each of the early videos have a dominant color to them, which is often used in later MVs to subtly reference them, which I’ve listed next to the title.

Sister (Red):

The first Eve MV released was Demon Dance Tokyo, but I believe the 1st, and arguably most important video in the timeline is Sister. The MC suffers from severe depression throughout the series, and this is where it originated from. His sister died in an accident while he was young, and he was overcome with guilt that he was so distant from her while she was alive. He felt like this happened because he was rotten to the core, with him declaring that even if he went back in time, he still would've made the same mistakes, because that's just the kind of person he is. He ends up repressing those memories to deal with the guilt, and he becomes distant from people. The video's expressed entirely through notebook paper and paper mache because as a child, the MC was fond of drawing and sketching, and used this to cope with these difficult times and express himself.

Chocolate Town (Brown):

This song’s pretty easy to miss, as it’s under the account of the artist “Sou,” who did many collaborations with Eve in the past. It’s sung by Sou, but written by Eve, and it shares too many similarities with his city-scape series to be ignored. It fits perfectly in between “Sister” and “Demon Dance Tokyo.” There’s a large time skip between the two songs, in which the MC goes from grief-stricken child to selfish teenager, and this song fills in that gap, making for a more seamless transition. His appearance here is more similar to that of “Sister” (0:15), as he tries to live the way he used to. The world is no longer a rose-tinted explosion of color, but a uniform chocolate brown, more sickening and suffocating than sweet (0:51). He doesn’t experience new things anymore, he just stays in his comfort zone and drowns himself in the things he knows, as he’s locked in place by a vague apprehension that eats away at him (0:21). He’s suppressed the memory of his sister, but the guilt remains. That guilt leaves him unable to connect with people the way he used to, out of fear of hurting or being hurt. The ‘book of spells’ from Nonsense Literature is referenced, as the MC keeps the deeper parts of his heart locked away (1:30). As he grows distant, his friends do the same (“Mason does seem quite superstitious,” which you could take to mean the MC’s real name is Mason) [0:32]. He tries to just ignore it and go with the flow (0:36), but it’s not enough. The tries to drown himself in desire to ignore the pain he’s feeling (1:10). Deep down he knows it’s wrong, but the guilt he feels keeps him trapped (1:15).

In the second half of the song, it’s revealed that after Ano Ko Secret, the MC successfully worked up the courage to talk to the blue haired girl, and a friendship formed (2:00). As shown in later MVs, the two would play on the playground together, and we see here that even during this difficult time, the MC felt complete when he was with her. Even so, here she’s obscured in chocolate, showing that the MC is unable to see outside his own problems. Because of his selfishness, he’s unable to connect and they grow apart (2:08). Losing her hurts him, as he lost the only real friend he had left, so all that’s left to him is his suffocating city of chocolate (2:30). He tries to just keep enjoying his little comforts and joys (2:45), but it’s not enough as his “heart is destitute” (3:08). His pain and guilt continues to eat away at him from the inside. Being alone isn’t enough for him, and he won’t let himself truly connect with other people. Combine that with his focus on simple pleasures, and it’s no surprise that he turns to being on top of the ‘social heirarchy’ as a teenager in “Demon Dance Tokyo.”

Demon Dance Tokyo (Green):

This song depicts 3 people touring around Tokyo, dressed in the finest clothes and dining on the finest food. In actuality, this city is in the MC's head, and is a metaphorical manifestation of his psyche. That's the style and layout of this series, they all take place in the MC's head, and almost all are in a city that changes from song to song to reflect his mental state. In this case, he sees this touristy, trendy world because he's like a desperate tourist, trying to run away from his problems by flying off somewhere else and drowning in the superficial; food, parties, clothes, women, etc. Since he repressed his guilt over his sister's death, this is how he chases happiness; by running away from that guilt and chasing materialistic fulfillment. Relationships to him are the same way. He just chases after people who look trendy and beautiful to him, and puts on a fake mask to appear cool. That greed is personified by his crocodile form dining on the women and the massive Godzilla towering over the city. He wants to be above everyone. At 2:40 of that song, his undercurrent of loneliness takes over, as it often does, because those kinds of relationships never last. At 2:57, that loneliness overcomes him, making him desperate. He's still selfish and bad at relationships, but he swears to one girl that he'll be her everything on matter what. This leads into the next song....

Nonsense Literature (Black):

This is where things really get bad for the MC. Out of desperate loneliness, he tries to get into a serious relationship with this girl (maybe one of the girls from the last song), but he doesn’t really know how to connect with people anymore, putting thick mental walls between them. Despite regularly meeting with the girl, he doesn't really know her at all,which is why she has a cone on her head throughout the video. As a result, their relationship is no more than "becoming idiots, dancing on air," so it doesn't take long for them to start fighting and disagreeing, at 1:16. Since he refuses to open up to her, he starts to feel trapped and bitter around her, becoming paranoid at 1:29, and eventually believing she's taking advantage of him and lying to him, that she doesn't understand him at all, that he doesn't even understand himself, that he might be going a bit crazy, but they keep hanging out, during 1:42. At 2:00, he can't take it anymore. "I lost my composure when you laughed at me in scorn;" either he was genuinely betrayed by her or he just misunderstood. Either way, that betrayal severely damages him, and depression takes over hard. While you see many tiny dancing demons throughout these MVs, the main face of his depression is the mysterious cloaked One-Eyed Man. He essentially acts as the devil on his shoulder, feeding him all the worst ideas, telling him to protect only himself, morality be damned, and believing that he's doing it for his sake, that he's protecting him. In this case, he uses this moment of weakness after his betrayal to take control of the MC. He rips his guts out, opens up his head, and stuffs it with books. It’s the same as whispering into his ear "you don't need people, they'll only hurt you. You don’t need this world, it will only hurt you. I’m all you need. Use this sharpened blade of words to ensure no one will ever do this to you again." The MC, smiling, gratefully accepts. He cuts ties with that girl, as well as the rest of the world. He's become a monster: safe, but empty.

Dramaturgy (Light Blue):

This one is basically "depression the song." This time the world is like a stage play, with the MC being an actor. After shutting himself out from the world, he's lonelier than ever before, his self esteem skyrocketed down, and his life has come to a screeching halt. He no longer even feels human. Every day is a struggle just to keep on living. By making the whole world into the enemy, he's incapable of revealing any of himself to them, disassociating to the point that he might as well be just an actor wearing a mask. He's trapped even within the safety of his own mind. If you act only how everyone wants you to act all the time, eventually you feel like there are actual physical walls all around you. It's exhausting to keep up, and you start to forget who you are. He’s also developed an inferiority complex, and a fear of other people. He just doesn’t want to be betrayed again. At 2:13, he wants to reach a climax where he breaks out of these walls around him, but he can't do it, because he NEEDS them, they’re there to protect him. The One-Eyed Man makes sure he never forgets this. At 3:28, we get a kaleidoscope zoom-in to the MC's psyche, which stops at a floating white cube. These cubes contain him at his deepest level, his fundamental perception of himself. His hopelessness, and the One-Eyed Man's words have reached to his very core and torn him apart at the deepest level. At 3:48, he's lost himself. He likely becomes a shut-in at this point as well, only doing the most basic necessities and heading straight to his room when he gets the chance.

As You Like It (Yellow):

You might’ve noticed that although yellow’s the most prevalent, this MV has plenty more color to offer. It's probably the most colorful so far even. Not only that, the pacing's way faster, the music more upbeat. Why would this come immediately after the most depressing and hopeless song yet? That's because this song is in the MC's imagination, like a daydream. While he's lost almost all hope, trapped in his own head and unable to move forward, he's still able to cling to hope by escaping reality into this fantasy. In this escapist world, he's cooler, a popular musical artist, singing his heart out to a big crowd. And he's able to conquer his fears, deal with his stresses, and connect with a girl the way he wishes he could. After all, while he doesn’t let himself connect with others out of fear, whether he realizes it or not,he just wants to be loved and understood. So he makes up this ideal fantasy girl with perfect fashion taste (0:03), who can do that for him. In the song, he represses his true self in the form of the Glove-Mask Man so that he can deal with life’s stresses (which hit him one after the other at 0:35, and are symbolized by the rocket taking off at 0:22), and he disassociates, literally splitting into two people. He starts to struggle against him (1:33) so that his honest self can reach her, and he finally pulls it off at the end, her responding with a wholehearted smile (3:26). A perfect conclusion. Thing is, his ideal girl is a reflection of reality as well. The playground at 0:28, where he wishes he could go back to his childhood memories, partly shows that he’s letting his past drag him down, but he also describes talking with this girl in memories of old, because he had a real-life friend when he was young that he would talk with at a similar playground. She is his goal in these dreams, because he never forgot those times they had together, and he has subconsciously idealized her as a result. On a sadder note, this fantasy also confirms that he’s become a shut-in in reality, as we see him lock himself away in his room (1:02). That’s what he wishes he could escape from. Regardless of the truth behind the scenes, this dream of his gives him hope that he’ll get through this difficult time.

Outsider:

Now we leave the escapism and return to the MC’s mind he’s trapped in. All the past colors come into play here, as we see that the only color in his world comes from these past scars and experiences. He can’t see anything else, he’s painted by them. The test tubes everywhere (0:59) show that he's genuinely trying to deal with his pain by organizing and compartmentalizing it, and by grasping onto hope with his fantasy, he's able to get by. But he's not at all perfect at it, with his little demon-monsters knocking over test-tubes and purposely painting each other. The pipes everywhere all lead to his brain, with each of them pumping these experiences and memories into him. It’s like they’re in his blood stream, a part of him. These pipes also nourish past monsters, like the Godzilla monster depicting his narcissism. He’s come to hate these less desirable parts of himself, so at 1:30 he tries to just break the tubes to sever that part of him, but that just breaks the overall flow, flooding his brain with black, bringing him back to square one. You can’t just get angry at yourself and remove all your flaws. It takes immense time and dedication. This accidental overflow causes some of the monsters to transform into even worse forms. At 3:02 he's sitting next to an especially nasty-looking demon, shaded black and red. This demon is a reminder that his refusal to confront his guilt toward his sister is at the heart of all of this. He keeps struggling with himself, hating himself, and he won’t tackle the fundamental problems. But at least he’s fighting. The last lyric "because this tiny bit of courage will ignite the fire in my heart," shows that just by being aware of the struggle, he's trying to change and improve, he's not giving up.

Tokyo Ghetto:

This song takes place after a lot of time has passed. His cityscape is more dilapidated and volatile. Now, instead of the One-Eyed Man, the prime demon in control is the blue robot with the teeth mask. The robot symbolizes anxiety, a primal, damn near uncontrollable feeling which desires to keep him here by any means. He’s always watching, and he’s not afraid to get physical against the MC when push comes to shove. The shady-looking people in the town are extensions of that anxiety, individual worries and fears. This is why the town is more colorful, yet somehow more harsh and uninviting. All this time has allowed the anxiety to get in his head, to drive his imagination wild and fill his heart with more and more worries. He wants to believe these worries are on his side, but they just want the easiest path(1:41), they don’t give a damn about his wishes. The MC makes meager attempts to escape from the hell of his own mind, always being swiftly pulled back into a never-ending cycle (0:40). After a long while of this, he meets a girl who he sees much of himself in, and he reaches out to someone for the first time in a long while, in the hopes of maybe being saved by her (1:02). Problem is, she acts the same way he used to back in Tokyo Dance, and he winds up getting a taste of his own medicine. Every time he tries to get close to her, she just pushes him away. Like him, she’s actually hiding pain from the past too; she just refuses to show it (2:01, “it was sentimental, though it wasn’t like you at all) . At 2:40, we get a full glimpse into her mind. Many pairs of her shoes are bound together all around her, symbolizing that day after day she ties herself down, and the holy statue behind her symbolizes her holier-than-thou attitude. At 2:55, she happily bites into one of those shoes, drawing her own blood. She hasn’t yet learned that her self-destructive lifestyle isn’t the right way to go. At 2:59, we see their two psyches summed up perfectly. The girl, shrouded in darkness, putting up a cool front and slowly losing herself, standing confidently all the while. The MC, aware that he’s in a bad place, but desperately groveling, searching for any kind of escape at all. Without being able to find solace in the girl, shadows grow, the town floods, monsters come out of the sewers, the Blue Robot gathers his power (2:55). The MC’s anxiety is bubbling up as his desperation to find an escape increases. He’s pinned down by the water (symbolizing stress and struggle to change), and with the girl out of his reach, merely electing to watch him crumble, the Blue Robot is free to strike with all his might, revealing his true, monstrous form (3:48). The MC, in his weakened state, is torn to bits, reduced to trash (4:01). He’s back to square one, and the cycle begins again. He remains trapped in the Tokyo Ghetto.

Ambivalent:

After being trapped in that cycle for so long, the MC decides that he needs to do some serious soul searching. He looks deep into his subconscious, deeper than any song that’s come before. He peers all the way into his basic, fundamental outlook on life, to try to get to the heart of the problem. Keep in mind that he’s not trying to commit to any real action; he’s just introspecting, trying to take a look at his core values. This world is split in two sectors: the safe pink room, where his heart and memories lie, and the planet, which symbolizes change and reality, or rather his perception of it. He’s been resting in the pink room, stagnant, for so long that everything is overgrown, and his heart is weak, without motivation. Even resting is exhausting for him, something he’s only able to do thanks to his yellow wheelchair representing his hopes (As You Like It). The MC wants to understand why he can’t venture out onto that planet. Every time he tries, it’s a labyrinth of endless signs all telling him to stop and turn back. The plants themselves attack and hurt him. It’s a volatile world full of unknowns and hostiles. The source of this hostility is the disagreement between him and the cat, who's with him at all times here (1:26). Believe it or not, this cat is the One-Eyed Man’s true form. He doesn’t appear mysterious or “all-seeing” because the MC is self-aware of the One-Eyed Man’s influence, and he’s just thinking in the safety of his room; the One-Eyed Man has no power without perceived danger. He’s a cat because he represents the primal part of us from long before humanity developed complicated cognitive ability and intelligence. He only cares about the MC's safety and desires, and doesn’t give a damn about anything or anyone else. He was always watching, acting as the hidden voice behind every decision. When the MC wanted to run away from the pain of his sister's death (Sister), he helped him. When the MC desired safety from the world above all else (Nonsense Literature), he granted it to him. When he struggled with depression (Dramaturgy), deep down that desire never actually left. When that desire became the core of his being, the cat even created the Blue Robot as a sort of "hired muscle" to keep the MC in check for his own good. Despite the awfulness of the One-Eyed Man's actions, he’s just granting the MC's wishes. He genuinely cares about the MC and wants what’s best for him; that’s why he’s so cute and small. But the MC has been blaming him for all of his problems, without understanding his own responsibility in the matter, leaving them at an impasse (1:26). They both come to understand their disagreement with the words: “when I was a kid, I picture myself as a main protagonist in this world. I started to get embarrassed so I turned my eyes away.” (1:36). He's finally come to accept and understand his share of the blame, rather than just blaming the cat. His hair being green here could also show that he never truly grew past his selfishness after all this time. He begins to recall all the things he’s taken for granted and ignored in his life, and he realizes he wants to protect them (1:48). He doesn’t want to just be selfish, he wants to live for their sakes and be useful to them. Now that they’re talking on even terms, the cat can understand his desire for selflessness and gives him a match. They've agreed to stop letting memories of fear and pain that have long since passed guide their every move, so they burn them away (2:00). Those times won’t disappear, but it doesn’t mean they can’t move beyond them. The cat now realizes he was being overprotective, and that the MC can make his own decisions, so he decides to try and get out of his way (2:15). The MC's world is no longer centered around his own desire; he can see the 'bigger picture' (2:24). But while the cat is taking a more reserved role in his life, he didn't completely disappear (2:55). After all, desire is what gives our lives meaning. The difference is that the two are now a pair bringing out the best in one another, a balanced mix of selflessness and desire. Now that they’re in agreement, a world of possibilities is open to them, and the MC is ready to reach out and grab them, and begin his life again (3:01).

Last Dance:

The MC has now returned to the outer layers of his mind, and he wants to turn his newfound paradigm shift into action. Due to this shift, the city’s layout has gotten more realistic, lively, elegant, and inviting, far closer to the real world. He and his demons are hiding from it all at the center of his mind, a small, comfy room resting above a black center (2:32). This is to show that the MC is aware that the real world wasn't the problem; his own outlook was. His nails are being painted red by a demon to show how long he’s been letting these memories paint him without fighting back (0:22). He doesn’t blame them though, he understands himself and how this all came to be, so he gives one of his demons a hug (0:25). The room is more organized and homey to reflect his understanding. But he sees how small his world has been, and he wants to try and get out. He’s decided what he wants to do, but still easily comes apart when trying to move (0:37). He's put back together, revived by the support of the One-Eyed Man, who's lost his overbearing, omnipresent appearance, and learned to keep his dark side more under control (0:41). It's possible he's even taken on 3 different forms simultaneously, to reflect how both he and the MC now understand his multifaceted nature (0:47, 1:00, and 1:03). So the MC is spiritually strong, but he still unravels in the face of anxiety. At 0:33, he says “with different values, that guy who I hate put on a ridiculous sneer," referring to the Blue Robot, his main enemy. Even though the One-Eyed Man created the Blue Robot, it was never in his control. Anxiety doesn't think for itself; it's a raw, unfiltered emotion that carries out its objective long after its needed. The MC can't beat it alone, even with the One-Eyed Man's help. He realizes he absolutely needs the support of others if he’s going to move forward, and he needs a goal to get him moving in the short-term. He recalls the thing that’s given him hope for all this time, the person who was at the center of all his hopes for tomorrow, and the person he wants to protect most (1:52). It was a girl who spent time with him back when his sister first died. He was in a dark place and full of guilt, and that girl’s kindness gave him hope. But he drifted apart from her due to feeling guilty that he didn’t deserve to be around someone like her, that he would only get in her way. But he always idealized her, and those memories kept him going long after they stopped meeting. The elegant woman dancing is his perception of that memory (1:52). She’s also the girl from As You Like It, but that version of her was only a fantasy he himself didn’t even realize was based on her. She’s here because he only now consciously realized this, and he wants to reach out to her again and start over, without being selfish or afraid. Now fully motivated, he vows to be like “the melancholic patients who chose tomorrow,” and venture out into the world in spite of fear (2:12). He’s taking a leap of faith, venturing on a thin balance beam along with all his demons (3:02-3:32). Obviously they won’t really leave, since they’re a part of his psyche now. He has to understand and accept them, thereby rendering them harmless, or at least manageable. He reaches the girl (3:36), but before this point, he realized something about her. Notice that her hair is painted a light blue, the color of Dramaturgy? This means that throughout the song, upon examining his memories of her more closely, he realizes that she wasn’t as perfect as he was choosing to remember her. In reality, she was suffering too, and the reason they drifted apart so easily was because they both felt undeserving of each other. Deep down a part of him always knew, but when he gets a taste of the blue paint, (2:14) it's the first time he consciously considers the idea. When she tears off her hair and he gently caresses it, he accepts that her pain was real (3:15). He's finally taken the physical journey out of his mind, and he gives her a gentle, honest smile; a far cry from his actions in Demon Dance Tokyo (3:35). At 3:58, the One-Eyed Man gives the MC a book from Nonsense Literature, this time as an honest offering. The One-Eyed Man will help him through this new chapter as a partner, rather than a controlling force.

We’re Still Underground (Orange):

Now it’s time for the grand finale, We’re Still Underground, in which everything finally comes together in the most stunning video so far. This video marks the first time the MC has ever accepted the real physical world in the entire series. After Last Dance, he’s finally venturing outside of his room and moving forward again. As a result, this video is the real world mixed together with his mind. It’s almost like a fantasy world, filled with weird and unknown things. After all, in Last Dance he said “I will not understand everything right now,” but he’s still going to move forward. The camera shows reality, then pans down to the MC’s perception of things. His mind is now jaw-droppingly beautiful and full of color and life. The crows from Tokyo Ghetto are now beautiful pink birds, and big flying ‘monsters’ personify his newfound hope and optimism (0:14). The world is filled with vegetation and vines, similar to the blue planet from Ambivalent. Again, this is all new and uncertain to him, so it’s covered with the same vegetation. At 0:20, we see that much of the city is flooded, calling back to the water from Tokyo Ghetto. He’s moving forward, but much of the world is closed off to him due to that stress and worry. At 0:28, cloth being hung like laundry symbolizes how the MC is more collected and calm than before. We zoom into the house he’s spent so much time in, and it’s dark, overcrowded, and filled with masks symbolizing his mental journey (0:35). As an added bonus, his hair is orange, which is the color we’d often see in Outsider when all the colors were mixed together. He finally ventures out to fulfill a basic task, buying from a gas station, but even that proves to be a little too much. The people around him are shifty looking like in Tokyo Ghetto, and eventually a big octopus busts in and forces him to leave and settle for a vending machine (0:40). Both in the gas station and vending machine, you see the eye from the One-Eyed Man marking various items and signs, symbolizing that he’s using desire for the end goal and new things drive him forward (0:41, 0:43, and 0:46). The lyrics here are him wondering if he’s good enough for the girl he’s going to try and meet again, and deciding that if she’s hurting so much, then he needs to help her through it. Meanwhile, we finally learn who this girl he looks up to actually is. She looks very different from any version the MC had in his mind, dressing quite plain and modest, and having both blue hair and blue eyes, perhaps to symbolize her Dramaturgy-type depression. We learn that that song sums her up pretty well, but her depression still takes a somewhat different form from the MC. She’s not afraid to go out, but the life she’s living is completely dictated by other people. She’s afraid to do anything for herself. This is why she receives texts from the One-Eyed Man, and her world looks so realistic, dark, and rainy. She believes this is the only possible road for her, that THIS is reality. She’s like the opposite of the MC; she’s TOO selfless, and her One-Eyed Man, her desires, have taken on the form of everyone around her, as it believes that’s the safest route for her. She herself is empty. At 0:53, the playground is fenced off; no playtime allowed, your childhood doesn’t matter, your memories don’t matter, those times you played with the MC as kids (As You Like It) don’t matter. At 0:54, she sits in her house, dejected, the zombie poster behind her a good description for her mental state, and there’s a constant hue of water all around her. She always feels like she’s drowning, anxious that something about this isn’t right, that she’s about to lose herself. Meanwhile, MC is biking over to meet her (0:59), but they both end up falling into water (1:06), drowning in anxiety right at the moment before they both meet. Once they meet, they each see an answer in each other, a person to rely on in this difficult stage of their life. The two of them are then seen running toward a sort of junkyard of gold (1:26). Now that they see hope in one another, they are able to catch a glimpse of all the good things in life that they had taken for granted, ignored, treated as trash. Upon seeing it, they decide they want to move forward, and bite into an apple, symbolizing rebirth like Adam and Eve. They’re accepting this new chapter, and all the sin and desire and change that comes with it. For a moment, at 1:40, the girl sees the world the way MC does, with the beautiful monsters and rising bubbles everywhere. She’s inspired by his hope, and realizes she’s “still underground;” something needs to change.

At 1:44, the camera pans underground to show us a web of complex piping and overgrowth. It’s meant to call back to Outsider, and I think to show that while he’s moving on and changing, he still has an undercurrent of guilt with him. At 1:49, we see the girl surrounded by posters of people. They all have one eye; she doesn’t just feel oppressed and subservient to her loved ones, she also feels like she must be obedient to society’s whims as well. The lyrics here are calling back to everything that the MC went through in the past, especially Tokyo Ghetto at 1:55, where he remembers that giving up made him feel at ease, and that he feels helpless because of it. But his hopes and dreams (2:06) kept him believing in tomorrow. We see more shots of the duality between the two of them. At 2:15 we see the girl skateboarding on a bright green skateboard, rather out of place and spontaneous, hinting that she’s playing at embracing her individuality and optimism again. (Also, at 2:20 we see a poster of an apple with the One-Eye on it. This could further imply that rebirth and upheaval are what she truly desires deep down). The line at 2:22 “I’m not saying this as a joke, but everyone mocked me,” could imply that either his selfish, fake self of old would never be listened to by others, or that the demon residents of his mind aren’t going to help him (again calling back to Tokyo Ghetto). At 2:21, both characters’ strong desires for change finally manifest in a Matrix-style “red pill, blue pill” choice. They now have to take a true leap of faith, and accept that their lives are going to change irreversibly from this point on. We don’t see them choose, but the line “It’s goodbye to this town,” speaks for itself. At 2:26, we get a badass shot of the pair as two halves of the same whole, perfectly in agreement on what must be done. They’ll support each other through what happens next. At 2:28 we see a massive protest from the less agreeable parts of his mind, likely people from Tokyo Ghetto and on the far left the glove man from As You Like It. The billboards say “No,” and “Give Up,” and some have the One-Eye on them, perhaps a plea for the One-Eyed Man to return to their side. At 2:31, the MC and girl are seen spraying graffiti in direct rebellion to everyone, perhaps a last burst of courage before making the big choice. At 2:35 we see the MC abandon his bike in a carnival, perhaps a last goodbye to his naive childhood and an acceptance of adulthood. At 2:36 we see the girl with an umbrella in the rain, which is meant to further connect her to As You Like It. At 2:45, the pair has made their choice, and the town begins its massive upheaval. At 2:51, the two are back in the playground they used to play at, swinging way up in a leap of faith, looking toward the skies. At 3:00, “there will be no rerun,” this is the moment. At 3:08, he vows not to avert his eyes anymore, to accept whatever life throws at him without running away. At 3:13, the pair move up toward the future, toward the skies. The line at 3:18 is extremely important, as the MC directly calls back to when the two were young at the playground. He remembers how the guilt they both felt kept them from relying on one another, and while he treasures the friendship they had, he wants to make sure they never grow apart like that again. 3:23 is them coming to fully understand where they went wrong at that playground, and where they went wrong after they drifted apart. The MC’s mind is filled with symbolism; books from Nonsense Literature, birds for his greed and overactive mind, board game pieces for his attempts to distract himself and shun other people, every-day appliances for his focus on basic survival rather than true living, the list goes on. The girl, however, is completely empty, just an empty husk with no will of her own. They vow that while they’ll always be imperfect, they never want to return to this state of being. They cast aside these fake, improper forms they’ve made for themselves. At 3:36, we get to see VCR tape footage, a clear sign that this is in the past, showing sketches the two shared at that playground as kids. This calls directly back to Sister’s paper notebook style. Sketching was how the MC expressed himself as a kid, so it was deeply personal for him, and it looks like for the girl too. The images of a monster boy and a magical girl with horns come across as cries for help and a desire to escape, but neither of them realized the other’s suffering. This was where it all began, at a time where neither of them really understood what was happening to them; they were just kids. The VCR tape then shuts off, we see flashes of the town, and a messy drawing of the MC saying “goodbye.” He’s finally made peace with himself, he accepts the mistakes he made, he’s saying goodbye to that naive child that was behind every decision of his, and moving on. At 3:51, the two are played in reverse, undoing the damage they’ve been causing to themselves. This is a goodbye to their self-destructive tendencies. The line “wait for the 1, 2 signal,” directly calls back to As You Like It, and how once they get the ball rolling, things are going to happen really damn fast, and they need to be ready for it. 4:03 is the epic climax, where the Blue Robot, anxiety, once again appears in a last-ditch effort to stop the two. He’s not in control anymore, and he knows this, so he reveals his true form: a massive, feral, insane, uncontrolled mess of fear that wrecks havoc all across the city, almost like it’s willing to destroy the whole thing if it has to. The two are prepared, and together they run with everything they’ve got. At 4:14, we see masses of planes dropping hellfire on the beast in an attempt to quell it. Perhaps this is the One-Eyed Man, dropping in one last bit of support for the two. Maybe it’s a show that the pair now has more control over their minds, and are finally able to fight back against the entities that used to control them. Whichever it is, it’s enough to save them, and at 4:21 the sun rises, the two safe and sound overlooking the now destroyed city. At 4:23, the cube from Dramaturgy, their core, is perfectly fine, showing that they’ll get through this massive upheaval intact. At 4:25, we see that amidst the destruction, a massive tree has sprouted up, symbolizing rebirth. Perhaps this tree was able to sprout up from the piping underneath, meaning that the two making peace with themselves allowed their pasts to finally stop clogging up their brains. Finally, the video rewinds to before their upheaval, and we see the MC’s room, this time in the real world, no strings attached. We’ve finally been shown the real life setting for the vast majority of the MVs. Not long after, the MC pukes up darkness, which is a little nod to the fact that while the world itself wasn’t technically real, the pain and struggle he was going through certainly was.

This World To You:

This song is like the epilogue of the MC’s journey. He’s overcome his inner cycle which has kept him trapped for all this time, learned to empathize and think things through (2:07), and he’s now able to confront the feelings that were at the core of this struggle all along: his guilt toward his sister. During a beautiful purple sunset, he’s bicycling through the vivid new world open to him, grieving for her and accepting that “her tomorrow’s never coming” (0:48). This acceptance hurts him (0:31), and at first it even feels like he’d rather things just remain the way they are, (0:37) but it’s the only way he can learn from his mistakes and become someone she’d be proud of. He thinks from the newly found perspective he has, and seeing things more objectively, more selflessly, he wonders how similar her life was to his (1:11). He’s seeing his sister not as a vague, hazy image built up in his head made up of his worries, anxieties, and guilt, but as a normal person, with their own worries, feelings, problems, and dreams. By empathizing with his sister, coming to terms with the improper image of her he built up in his head, he’s able to move on, and empathize with other people in a similar way. By doing this, he no longer has reason to be afraid of the world out there, and he can start to reach other people’s hearts, learning from the mistakes he made in the past. Instead of wallowing in remorse over his sister, he can be someone she’d be proud of, and help other people who are hurting in the way he couldn’t with her. This spurs him on, and although the fact that she died so early is a fact he’ll always carry with him (1:52), he’s found a hope for tomorrow he’s needed all his life (2:14). However, he also accepts that death and pain is always a possibility (2:20), and that things won’t always go his way. But instead of fall into despair, he’s able to believe that things will get better, and that he has the power to make them better, reflected in the beautiful vista filled with sea creatures swimming in the sky (2:38). The creature at 2:39 is elegant, beautiful, a sight to behold, vividly painted by all sorts of colors, a callback to Underground. Its face also looks similar to the girl he’s managed to reach, symbolizing that reaching her is one of the cores of his hope. Throughout the video, we see the city to change to reflect the MC’s stream of consciousness. At (0:02), the MC is recovering from the wreckage after the mental battle in Underground, and he’s dealing with the grief of his sister, and as he comes to terms with it, the buildings gradually get cleaner and more structured, eventually colored with lights of his empathy and understanding. At (1:51), he continues to change toward hope and acceptance, and he moves toward an industrial zone, reflecting how the city is moving forward, springing back from this change stronger than ever, rebuilding and even adding new zones and structure. At (2:12), we see the sign “think it through,” as a reminder that the one-eyed man, once a force he saw as evil, is now a friend, working with him to overcome his anxieties and fears. The signs throughout the city spatter negativity like “arrogant” and “pathetic” and “regret,” but are now mixed in with “hope” and “future” and “I would put a flag here.” Then at (2:37), his hope is stronger than ever. Then finally, the MC’s empathy and selflessness is made manifest in a way it never has been before. At (3:01), the MC’s city seamlessly transitions into the perspective of the girl, and at (3:20) it beautifully changes into the girl’s more realistic view of the city. By empathizing with and reaching her, part of her perspective has now become his, as he’s able to learn from her and see things more objectively. He’s come to terms with his guilt, and allowed himself to truly connect with someone. By doing this, the world has opened up to him, and he’s finally able to become a part of society. He has made it.

Baumkuchen End:

At this point the MC has managed to enter society and step into the real world without running away (0:09 and 0:16). Rather than monsters of anxiety and fear, everyone he sees are normal people just like him. However, things aren’t going quite how he thought they would. He’s not afraid anymore (0:46), but he feels surprisingly empty. The world is a little less vivid than Underground, and the MC’s hair has been colored white, blank and aimless. He’s realized that things are more complicated than he expected. He went through so much to overcome his mental hangups, and now that he’s succeeded, life is still going forward. He’s struggled with that mental cycle (symbolized by the orange and blue swirl at 0:57) for so long, that he’s having a hard time seeing past it, and he feels unsure what to do with himself now that the cycle which defined him for so long is gone (0:45, “there’s nothing left to do”). In Tokyo Ghetto, the reason he couldn’t escape from himself was that deep down, he didn’t really want to leave. Part of him wants to go back to that time where things made sense, and he could comfortably wallow in hopelessness and self-pity (0:30). It’s like he hoped that once he reached this point, the credits would roll and everyone would live happily ever after (0:34, “there seems to be no ‘critical hit,’” and 0:37, “I was expecting an answer,” and we see the MC’s many paths disappear in front of him, leaving a blank wall of vague white). Not only that, but the MC is having a harder time with empathy than he expected. He wants to see beyond himself, but his own limitations are getting in the way of that. His ego has swelled somewhat after his victory (0:41), against his better judgment. Whether he likes it or not, he’s not an omniscient being that can just teleport into other people’s perspectives and points of view; he’s a human being, with their own emotions and biases and egos, and he can only see other people through the cage of his own skin. At 0:24, he vents over this struggle, lamenting “it’s all about me,” feeling both “disgusted and separated.” He hates these limitations and how he’s growing apart from the girl he reached out to. He’s afraid of getting trapped in a never-changing rut in which he can’t reach anyone, never changes, and slowly loses himself again (symbolized by the optical illusion triangle surrounded by orange inside the MC. It’s a cycle, always moving further inward, never changing.) However, things are far from hopeless. The MC isn’t the kind to give up anymore. He’s grown, and he’s more self-aware of his predicament. Throughout the video he’s introspecting, thinking to himself (0:48) and refusing to look away from the problem (0:43, 0:29, 0:38, 0:46, all throughout the video). To deal with these newfound problems, rather than get complacent and give up, he’s decided to ‘go back to school’ (0:41 and 0:58) and accept that he still has a lot to learn, that he needs to keep improving. And this time he has plenty of help. All the sides of his mind that were once his enemies: the one-eyed man’s multiple sides, the black blob of terror, the anxiety bot, and the bull-faced man (which is a japanese symbol of young people’s perspective of society); now that he’s managed to reign them in and keep them in check, he understands that they’re a part of him and they’re not going away. So instead of shunning and hating them, he’s decided to teach them how to work together (0:58). And since they’ve always wanted to help him, they eagerly accept. Through this teacher-student relationship, he’s realizing that there’s a lot he can learn from them, and they can actually help him in positive ways, like a paradigm shift. They actually have more sides and depth to them than he realized, and by shunning and fighting them, he was suppressing important parts of himself needed to improve. For example, the MC let desire aimlessly control him for so long (1:10, a strong callback to the brown of Chocolate Town), that for the longest time he ran from and shunned it (1:12). However, that desire is actually needed to motivate oneself to learn and change. That’s why the MC’s other sides are now wearing brown (0:47), because they’re all painted by the MC’s personal desire to improve. Understanding this, at 1:15 the anxiety bot makes a “no” motion, to tell him that he shouldn’t run from it. Speaking of the anxiety bot, his appearance has changed; he looks more inviting and friendly, and isn’t defined by the blue of depression anymore. “Anxiety bot” isn’t really the right name anymore, now he should be called “Motivation bot” instead. Because of the MC’s paradigm shift, the bot isn’t focused on instilling fear anymore. It’s instead focused on giving the MC a desire to improve. Because he needs a little fear to put things into perspective and keep from getting caught in a rut. He needs that reminder that time is limited, and that if he doesn’t do something, he may very well end up lost and alone. They both believe in him and know he’s strong enough to manage, so they use that fear as drive to move forward. Anxiety’s been symbolized by water throughout these MVs, and we need water to survive, so the MC keeps it under control and make sure he only takes it in in small doses (symbolized by the water bottle at 0:44).

Now that all of this is in place, the MC can start to really confront and understand the problem. He decides that the main thing he wants motivating him is the fear that the girl is suffering, with him unable to reach her or help, basically a repeat of what happened all those years ago (1:16). He’s not going to let that happen, and we see him twirling a yellow key (1:23). This is a callback to the fantasy he dreamed up in As You Like It, and how he realizes the fight isn’t over, he still needs to make that dream real. He defiantly declares “I don’t care if it’s a lie” (1:24). He’s going to make it real. At 1:25 his other sides all proudly take the stage. This calls back to Dramaturgy, but now he’s not afraid of the stage, he embraces it confidently. Now, after deciding his next move (1:30), he takes action. His first step is to hear the girl’s perspective for himself, to ensure he doesn’t create a convenient image of her in his head like he did with his sister. At 1:33 he talks to her with the support of his other sides. He opens up to her, sharing his worries and fears (“when he gets annoyed with his daily routine, he wants to break it down”). He talks in the third person because he’s starting to look at himself without being as clouded by emotion. In response, she confides in him. She tells him that she’s still having a hard time, she’s not sure if she can manage through the day-to-day, desperately gripping the rails (1:42). At 1:45 we see a shot of stairs, symbolizing that she’s suffering an uphill battle, unable to see her destination. Not too different from the MC’s situation. The girl is in a hospital gown connected to an IV, calling back to the hospital theme of Last Dance. Whereas before she was an elegant light as he struggled sick in bed, now she’s the one who needs his help. He processes what she said (1:48), and realizes that of course just reaching out to her isn’t enough. She needs to be helped through her predicament. If anyone here’s played Persona, think social links. Just wanting to help isn’t enough. He needs to regularly make time for her, teach himself how to properly talk to her, and gain life experiences. Basically, before he can tell her how to improve her life, he needs to work to improve his OWN life, turn himself into someone she can look up to, instead of just wallowing in his uselessness. This snaps him back to reality, gets him out of his doldrum (1:52 “I was attacked by this helpless dizzy night”), and we even see him reading a self-help book. A little bonus detail, in the background of the train as the MC is fighting to improve himself, we see the girl from Tokyo Ghetto, wallowing in self-pity. Turns out letting herself be consumed by her bad habits didn’t work out so well, and now she’s all alone. It could also be the MC’s old self from Tokyo Ghetto, as a visual reminder of how far he’s come. Back on track, we see the MC visiting a bakery, and ordering a strange ring cake, a Baumkuchen (1:55). This cake appears throughout the MV, and is a visual metaphor for the MC’s current actions, and how his perspective has changed. The cake is visually similar to a tree trunk, and a tree is a symbol of strength. It lives for up to entire centuries, and almost nothing can bring it down. This is possible because of its incredibly sturdy trunk and roots dug deep into the ground. A tree has rings in its trunk as a marking of its age, and the more rings it has, the longer it’s lived. This means that the stronger and wiser a tree is, the more rings it will have. Quoting a Japanese chef who specializes in Baumkuchen, “The appeal of the cake is in its many layers. The layers represent the accumulation of happiness, making it a strong icon of luck.” Sound similar? So by purchasing this cake, he’s moved beyond the As You Like It fantasy in which he does one big thing and the credits roll. Now he understands that the story’s never really over. To keep himself from falling back into his old ways, he has to create a sturdy trunk out of many small rings. This means taking on positive habits and responsibilities that he continues constantly throughout his life; working a job, going to school, scheduling his time, learning to cook, reading books to learn. He seeks to keep getting more rings, making more roots, and never getting too set in his routine. He now understands that the battle is never truly over, and he can always improve more. That’s why he’s willing to jump off the building for the cake at 2:05, because he comes to accept its importance. Once he does that, everything clicks, and he sees the light again. At 2:08, the girl’s IV is juxtaposed against the beauty of the sky. At 2:15, the Motivation Bot acts as a sort of gatekeeper. He hears the MC’s newfound purpose, and allows him to move beyond his little apartment from 0:25. At 2:18, he becomes more self-aware. He sees the enormity of the world, and how much he has to learn, and he realizes that if he keeps assuming he’s done all he can then he won’t be able to keep up. At the same time, it’s beautiful, and full of opportunity. At 2:28, the other selves watch him with pride, and once things have sunk in, they’re there to calm him down and snap him back into reality. Now the MC’s learning from them. They listen intently, (2:33) and once he’s ready to fight to get his life together and reach the girl, the Motivation Bot gives him a big hearty throw to get him started (2:42). At 2:47 we see the chairs the MC had been resting on, painted orange and blue to symbolize his previous cycle of guilt and self-destruction. They’re now empty, as proof that the MC is finally setting himself up to move beyond that cycle. At 2:45 the girl’s anxiety and hopelessness coalesces into a teddy bear, a callback to Ano Ko Secret. This is a final challenge to the MC’s selfishness and childishness, something he must overcome to finally reach others. Since her pain is a reflection of his, he’s essentially fighting himself too, and the bear attacks him with a laser at 2:53, tearing down part of the red tower from Demon Dance Tokyo. If you remember, in that song the tower was a symbol of the MC’s memory of his sister. Now, it’s being damaged because if the MC can’t grow beyond his past mistakes, he won’t learn from the mistakes he made with his sister, and he won’t be doing her life justice. 2:54 calls back to the MC’s fall at the beginning of As You Like It, a symbol of his frustration and hopelessness toward his situation, but now when he hits the ground (2:59), he takes it in stride, grits his teeth, and keeps running. At 3:04, he uses everything to fight to reach the girl; the memory of his sister, the help of his other selves, his positive habits and drive to improve. At 3:14, for the first time, the girl’s eye is colored with orange, meaning the MC’s efforts have truly touched her. At 3:16, the MC successfully reaches the girl, with the help of all his other sides supporting him. He’s made it, and at 3:20 the glove man from As You Like It gives him a round of applause. He’s sitting in the orange-blue chair, he’s nothing more than a dream. The MC has accepted that the battle doesn’t just end, made his dream real, and the glove man is proud of him for that. At the beginning of the video, at 0:19, the explosion from As You Like It rocked the MC and girl’s world, but this time he was ready for it, looked straight ahead, and overcame that trial he feared so much. The MC’s journey will continue, and he’ll be ready for whatever comes.

Raison D'etre:

The MC reached the girl, and that's deeply affected her. The MC realized he could only help her after helping himself. By being a living example of what she wishes to be, she not only knows she isn't alone, she's also starting to understand what she needs to do. This video is the first time we see solely in the girl's mind rather than the MC. Her outlook's changed from the pure blue of sadness to a mix of the black of discontent and the yellow of hope. As she leaves her now messy room, going about her daily routine, she starts to get lost in introspective thought, likely something she hasn't done in a long time. Her falling into the underground of her mind, it looks similar to Ambivalent. That's because we're looking deep in her subconscious mind, seeing her fundamental outlook. It's like the mind of a child; pieces of an amusement park, a mess of toys and blocks. Our previous looks at her were almost barren of imagination; grey, lifeless, mundane. But here it's full of color and life. This shows all her deeper emotions and hopes were buried deep down inside her, and she kept from becoming totally empty by making sadness her purpose, her identity. Atop it all, we see the queen of this place, an alternate version of her with her old all-blue color scheme. An imposing crescent moon presides over the entire city, and the blue girl wears a similar crescent as a mask. A crescent moon is merely the first stage of the moon's cycle. It's perpetually a crescent moon here because the girl never moves forward, she's always waiting for something to change things for her, and this mentality blinds her. We even see that her leg is chained by blue as further proof. We can see by all the toys and such that she's being childish, she's emotionally immature. She's elected not to think and to just assume things will get better, letting her hopes come to her. If you look closely, her robot-arm things look like distorted, stylized power outlets. We see in her irl room that she's constantly plugged in, a little too exposed to technology. Nowadays our perception of the world is all too skewed by our biases via the internet. We believe what we want to believe, and there will always be a group of people online to confirm it. This girl is no different, the internet is keeping her that much more locked down. We see irl that as she walks around, the uniform grey people around her flicker like a computer glitch. She's not seeing people as they really are, the internet is skewing her perception. When we see her in the subconscious world, she's cloaked in black and red. The red is used to symbolize the girl looking to her past. For the male MC, red was almost always negative until Baumkuchen End, as guilt toward his sister was holding him back. But with the girl, the past is actually a source of hope, as she remembers the good times she had with the MC as a small child. She sees who he was, and who he's become through nothing more than his own strength. She also spins her past regret into something positive, as her failure to see outside herself and reach out to him more back then has turned into a vow to do better now. So her past frustrations and memories are coming at odds with her present blue self who expects others to come and fix things for her. At the 1:30 mark, she wakes up after this realization, horrified, having a bit of a quarter-life crisis. She finally sees things for what they really are, and she knows this can't continue. We then see the irl city surrounded by red, in the windows, street lights, cones. She had the opposite problem of the MC. While he looked to the past too much, she didn't do it enough. She needs to remember the past to remember who she is, to be able to make her own decisions. At 1:40 we see a sort of medical blockade, to show that she's put a much needed temporary stop to things so she can think about where her life's going. As she walks along, moving up stairs rather than down, she sees her black and red reflection. It scares her, because it can't be ignored at all anymore, it's pervading her real life as well. Essentially, there's no going back to her old way of life now that she's seen the truth. In her subconscious, the mental bedrock supporting the irl city fails, and her world turns upside down. Turns out her "realistic" view of the city wasn't any less a delusion than the MC's. She fights with her present self, doing markedly better, and forces her out of the subconscious and into the real world. She can't hide anymore. Now that her present self has been brought into reality, she really starts to see the truth of things. At 2:38, she sees her current path for the barren, ruined wasteland it is, and screams out in discontent. At 2:41, she realizes she'd been drowning in stress and fear the entire time, choosing not to notice. At 2:45, she's in the fetal position surrounded by a cocoon of introspection, a symbol of rebirth. At 2:48, she sees her present self in a beautiful field of reeds, as she comes to understand her. Finally, at 2:57, Her present self is flanked on both sides by red cones. She clearly sees who her enemy is, there's no doubt in her mind anymore. The two fight, her present self almost like that of an omnipresent goddess, what with her blue rays and power of flight. Yet the red girl is still able to reach her, breaking her mask of wait in the process. When she sees her face, she's almost dumbstruck, realizing her present self isn't just her enemy, she's a part of her. The two meet in the middle, coming to an understanding, similar to what the MC did in Ambivalent. The red of the past lifts away, reverting back to the yellow of the future, as the two are ready to move forward. The girl then wakes up with a smile. Like the MC, she's not going to wait on a miracle to come and rescue her anymore. From here on out, she's going to make her own choices, and decide for herself who she wants to be.

*If you’ve read this far, then thank you so much. I’ve really enjoyed making this, and these MVs have felt like looking into a mirror. Whenever I wouldn’t understand what a video means, I would just think in terms of my own struggles and experiences and everything would quickly come together. I doubt any of this was even what Eve and his animators intended, but that’s the beauty of art. Regardless of what an artist intends when making something, its messages can sometimes resonate with its viewers in ways even they didn’t expect. These MVs have impacted me so deeply that I had to get this out there, and if it reaches even one person and helps them a little, then posting this will be worth it.

Bonus Song:

Ano Ko Secret (EVERY color):

I was having a lot of trouble deciding where this song could fit, as it’s just so damn colorful and happy. In a tale about depression and guilt, why would the MC have such a fun romantic comedy amidst it all? He already has a daydream in the form of As You Like It, he doesn’t need another one. And then it seemed obvious. This song is at the beginning, before everything got out of control after the MC’s sister died. The MC and blue-haired girl have their true hair colors, because they’re both real (0:43). They’re both quite young, but because the MC is a standard happy-go-lucky kid (with an overactive mind and a touch of narcissism), he FEELS like a grown-up. When he sees the blue-haired girl, he’s infatuated with her at first sight, so she’s pretty and mysterious, also a grown-up (0:52). The MC is constantly experiencing new things, symbolized by the multi-colored bears popping out of the gacha machines en masse (0:11). He has no idea what the future might hold, but he’s eager to see it all. He even has a good friend in the form of the especially large orange bear (1:22). As orange is what we see when all colors are mixed together, this shows that the MC is able to confide in his friend and be totally honest around him. The fact that he’s a bear instead of a person could also symbolize how the MC literally sees himself as the ‘Main Character’ of his life, and others are background characters. Again, a little on the narcissistic side. But he’s so interested in the girl, that she looks different from everyone else. Because of that interest, he’s afraid to talk to her, so he enlists the help of his friend (1:03). Even together, he can’t gather up the courage, so his friend consoles him (1:19). When he finally does manage to talk to her, (albeit only through texts), all she seems to care about is his friend (1:37). He likely had a crush on her too, so with all her interest centered on the friend, asking her on a date is out of the question. He feels left out, betrayed by his best friend (1:54). But, angered, he refuses to give up, and he pushes past his fear to reach out to her anyway (2:05). Despite his best efforts, his anxiety wins out (symbolized by the black bears shooting down the white bears), and he stops just short of reaching her (2:18). However, he sees the girl reject his friend from the sidelines (2:47), and he rushes over, looking past his feelings of betrayal to console him (3:01). He doesn’t meet the girl, but when he saw her reject his friend, for a moment he saw a bit of himself in her, symbolized by them both exploring the same bear shop at 2:41. It’s a feeling he doesn’t fully understand, but he’s not afraid of her anymore, and he later works up the courage to talk to her off-screen, as proven by later songs. Neither of them truly realizes how similar they are to one another, and how their fates will be later intertwined, but their friendship will be a source of hope for them in the coming years.

#eve utaite #eve #vocaloid #theory #raison d'etre

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gra-sonas · 4 years

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RosweII, New Mexico star LiIy CowIes on lsobeI's self-empowerment and fangirling over Jason Behr

The actress takes us inside her character's heartbreaking grief and trauma on the CW extraterrestrial drama.

For a town inhabited by aliens, a whole bunch of very human, very real — and heartbreaking! — drama sure does go down in Roswell, New Mexico.

On Monday's episode of the CW series, we journeyed back in time to the scene of the 1947 saucer crash that brought Max (Nathan Dean Parsons), Isobel (Lily Cowles), and Michael (Michael Vlamis) to the New Mexico small town, and we got our first glimpse of Jason Behr (who played Max on the original Roswell series) as a zealous army officer intent on capturing the recently landed extraterrestrials. While we learned more about Michael's mother's arrival on Earth and the turbulent hours that followed, back in the present Isobel was having a rough time of it herself, having chosen to attempt to end her pregnancy alone and confront her grief over the loss of her brother and basically the whole life she'd known with Noah for so many years.

We caught up with Cowles about the emotional scenes with Parsons, the bold decision to bring an abortion story line to the forefront of the episode, and bumping into her teenage crush at craft services.

ENTERTAINMENT WEEKLY: Isobel is obviously carrying a lot of grief and pain this season from the loss and violations she suffered last season. How did you approach the character coming into this second season?

LILY COWLES: Halfway through the hiatus, Carina [Adly MacKenzie, series creator] and I started talking about what Isobel had been through, where she was coming from, and what we could expect to see moving forward. I was really hoping when it started, we'd be six months down the line, but no — of course that doesn't make for good television, nor does it do justice to character. So we very quickly realized we were going to be heading right back into the moment straight after. I was like, "Ooh, boy." I got a lot to take on: losing her brother, her other half, the twin that she'd had since birth, and of course having to digest the fact that her entire life had been a sham. Her marriage was a lie, to a man who had been physically and emotionally using and abusing her without her knowing about it. She'd been married to this sort of psychopath, serial killer who used her body to commit murders. How do you even begin to digest it? We talked about how Isobel was a character who had built a tremendous facade, and she was living this perfect life that looked really good on paper. It was a very carefully constructed house of cards, but it was a prison because it was all based in lies. Carina and I were looking at it and thought, "Well, the one thing that can be said is that that house of cards now has been destroyed. It's been razed to the ground." So she actually, strangely, has been given an opportunity to start again. In many ways, we were both excited to see: Who is Isobel outside of the confines of how she's defined herself? It's so painful and scary, and yet it gives her a fresh start to say, "Who am I, deep down inside?" I think that's something that everyone can relate to on some level, finding your authentic self.

It seem like a big part of Isobel's journey this season is going to be finding her own autonomy, making her own decisions, and not relying on anyone else to look after her. Can you talk about her decision to abort the baby in this episode and how that plays into her overall story arc?

Isobel is, of course, a special case because she's an alien. Her story line is largely metaphorical for a lot of people, but it's nonetheless a story that so many women can relate to: We have these bodies that other people want to control, and we have a lot of restrictions placed on our own reproductive health. It's crazy that it's still such a huge issue that women have to battle so much to be able to have autonomy over their own systems. Isobel finds herself in a position where she learns that she's pregnant and there are a lot of things at play here. One of the biggest ones is, of course, that the man who fathered this child was not who she thought he was. So there's a question of consent. It's tricky because all of these things are so shades of gray. She learns after the fact that this man had been lying about who he was. He had been manipulating her, using her body, and infiltrating her mind. It's hard to draw comparisons to a human on human, but she definitely suffered emotional, psychological, physical abuse and manipulation. Now she's dealing with a pregnancy that's come out of an abusive and traumatic relationship, and she's looking at this pregnancy as representing the legacy of that abuse and trauma. Isobel's looking at a woman's right to have it on her own terms, and these are not the terms that she agreed to, and she's very much alone.

That's a very relatable story line if you remove the alien element and just focus on how many women are alone and dealing with an unwanted pregnancy and don't have access to help.

Yes. That's a really terrifying thing. I think that's a place that many women find themselves. While Isobel's in extreme extenuating circumstances, I think this is something that many women face, and whether it's because they're under age and their families won't understand, or because they're illegal citizens and they feel that going to a hospital will compromise them and they'll be deported, or maybe they live in a state where medical assistance just isn't offered for that. This is something many women have had to really face. I think in that sense, Carina wanted to do justice to that story so women who have gone through it can see that they're not alone. Often on TV, you get to this moment and then it's like, "Oh, there was a miscarriage," or they find some way to do it without compromising the character's likability. It's so sad to me that the character's likability would be in question for having to make this kind of decision, but it's the reality that we live in. There's such a stigma. Carina wanted to say, "This character is alone, and she's making a choice to save herself." It was very bold, and I'm really honored to be a part of it.

It's an emotionally draining episode for Isobel, for sure. The scene with Max on the couch where she talks about how much she misses him but seems to come to the realization that she is the only person she can truly rely is pretty heartbreaking. How was that to shoot?

It was very challenging. Carina called me and we started talking about it and she said, "Okay, I have an idea, but I don't want you to freak out." She proposed this whole thing. My initial reaction was like, "Oh God, please don't make me," because you go through it as an actor. You put your human body through it, and you don't want to hold back. Especially with this, I felt an enormous responsibility to do justice to this story because I know it's so important to so many people. But it was rough. Every morning going to work was like walking into a war zone. You know what's coming and you're like, "Please don't make me go!" But it's such a beautiful monologue. It's heartbreaking. I lost a parent a few years ago and when I read that monologue I was just like, "Oh God." It just hits. It just rings so true. To be dealing with grief is its own miracle and monster, and that was something that was really important for me to show up for as an artist. I know that part of the human condition, that inability to move forward beyond the loss of someone.

Wow, yeah, pretty heavy stuff. I guess one bright spark in all of this was that Liz [Jeanine Mason] and Isobel are back on better terms. Will we see them team up going forward?

Yeah, something that's really beautiful about what happens to Isobel is that in the dearth of all other supportive relationships, she's going to have to learn how to be friends with the girls. Men, God bless them, can't relate as well to what she is going through as other women can. I think Maria sees it. She's got her psychic abilities and she's like, "What's going on with you?" Liz, of course, when she finds out, is like, "Why didn't you tell me?! I would have been there for you." I'm really excited that this season Isobel is going to learn how to play nice with the girls. Female relationships can be complicated, and they can be so powerful.

I'm assuming you won't have any scenes with Jason Behr since he exists in flashbacks, but how was just having the O.G. Max on set?

Such a dream. First of all, I was a huge Roswell original fanatic. I was obsessed with it. The first time I saw him was at craft services. It was lunchtime and I'm like stuffing my pockets full of all my snacks and I like look up, and it was like an angel had fallen to the earth and there he was. I don't get star-struck, but I was so awkward. I was like, "It's you!" You could tell the poor man has had to deal with this like a lot. He's like, "Yes, it's me. I know that I'm the hero of your dreams." It was embarrassing, but having him around was amazing. He's been such a huge champion of the show. We have a tradition of going out for karaoke on Saturday nights, and he came out one time. I had just recently bought this totally absurd floor-length fur vest, and he put it on and looked like Jon Snow, but sleeker. I was just like, "Is this real life?" I just wanted to tell my 12-year-old self, "Girl, wait until I tell you what is going to happen!"

Amazing. I love that so much. We should talk about the ending too with Michael's mom and the other woman who may be Isobel and Max's mom. Can you tease anything to come there? Is Isobel going to throw herself into investigating her past?

Yeah, I think you can definitely get ready for some exciting investigation into the past. Isobel is trying to figure out who she is in a sense of where's she from too and what her roots are. That's definitely a question that she's got intensely on her mind. Part of the trajectory of the season is exploring the past and trying to get some information on what happened and what went down in 1947. So we'll definitely get to know some of those characters and get to fill in a little bit of the family gaps. It's beautifully written and beautifully acted, and I'm really excited for fans to see it. I think they're going to love it.

~ EW

#lily cowles #isobel evans #roswell new mexico #rnm spoilers #rnm 2x03 #rnm cast interviews #jason behr

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pluviophile-bookworm · 5 years

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Thoughts/ reaction to AWAE 3x7

This cold open is… different. It has actual tension. Also, it ties directly to the end of last episode, and gods know I love that. And… it has actual speaking, too? Honestly, Anne is the typical teenager caught sneaking back in at night, while also being socially engaged. I mean, there’s nothing typical about her and the present mission of hers, but an untrained eye might have thought so.

I’m honestly afraid of people’s reaction to whatever Anne wrote in that paper. I have been since last week, and maybe not without good reason.

Have Diana’s parents learnt nothing? Not even from missing their chance with Mary? Apparently these people are immune to redemption. I hope I’m wrong about this.

Diana’s face after excusing Anne oh-so-smoothly is just like, “What has she done now?”, but she’s still not letting anything on. This is the friend we all dream of.

Poor Josie is getting those judging looks from everyone while Billy just sits there like he has nothing to do with it. In fact, he seems annoyed by the whole situation. Who gave you the right? How dare you sit there like you have no part in this? If I were Anne, I would definitely have done all she did and more. Heck, even if I were just me, I would have done something, and I’m so afraid of speaking up… Billy deserves the worst.

It seems to me that Josie’s father is no better than Billy. Blaming his own daughter and making her marry that little piece of *no swearing on main, but you’ll know what I mean* after what he did to her? Someone needs to teach those men a big lesson.

“Get him back”? Don’t you mean get back at him? Listen to your daughter, woman, why don’t you?

“How bad could it be?” Let’s just say you’re lucky not to know. I’m screaming right now, but we’ll have to live through this. No change comes without suffering.

Anne asking Marilla if she doesn’t deserve an opinion, and then bringing up Matthew’s blunder… hitting where it hurts the most, that’s what that was.

“All will sort itself out” Yeah it will, if Billy never so much as goes near another girl again. But we all know that’s not happening.

What? They’re looking for another girl? “More compatible with our interests”? What does that mean? Okay with being assaulted and treated like a piece of meat with no soul or opinion? No girl deserves the monstrosity that is Billy Andrews.

I knew Prissy would speak up. I hoped and prayed for at least one member of that family to have their mind and heart in the right place. The world needs more women like Prissy Andrews. At least two for every man like Billy Andrews. I still can’t wrap my mind around the two of them coming from the same genes. Biology and blood relations make no sense when it comes to what matters most, I guess.

Has Diana gone nuts? “Apologise to Josie”? For what? Trying to speak up for her when she herself wouldn’t dare to? Telling the honest truth to a town of people that are apparently too narrow-minded to see it? This isn’t the Diana that kissed Jerry at the fair last week. This isn’t the Diana that would fake an injury to experience freedom. I’m witnessing a full-speed slide down the metaphorical hill of character growth, back to square one. I’m disappointed in my girl.

“You’ve always been jealous of me”… for what? Being engaged to a piece of *see above* that assaulted you? Or for being too blinded by what society has taught you to believe - that you are lucky to be marrying him and are not the victim of what he did to you? Honestly, I feel bad for Anne in the present situation, but I feel even worse for Josie because, unlike Anne, she doesn’t seem to realise that she is the victim here and has rights to fight for. I hope this works out.

But honestly, does none of the girls remember about the Beltane? Does Diana not remember that Josie was in their circle and is therefore their sister now? Does Jane not remember what happened to her actual sister not so long ago - which said sister just reminded her of, in case she had forgotten? Josie is now her sister, too. Does that mean nothing? Is ostracising Anne and treating her like trash all over again going to benefit any of those girls? What is with everybody? Wake up, people!

Oh, shut up, Gilbert Blythe! Or whoever you are these days because I frankly don’t know you anymore. Do you still not realise what this is all about?

And Miss Stacy, too? You’d think she would have a thing or two to say about women’s rights. What is wrong with everybody?

Oh, so she agrees with Anne, but still won’t help her? I see where she’s coming from, but right now everything that goes against Anne even in the slightest is wrong in my eyes and ears. I’m looking at this too passionately. I might need to cool off.

All of a sudden I sympathise with Rachel Lynde. Who would have thought? But well, she just so happens to be the only woman in a council of men. Them trying to pass her opinion off as “hysterical” fits in perfectly with the theme of the episode about women’s voices and the right to equality.

Ok, so Diana might not be so lost, after all. I have to admit, I squeal in delight at the sight of her and Jerry. But… wait. What is going on just now? I’m not liking the sound of this. And why do I feel like his heart wasn’t in that kiss? Why are you doing this to me? I should be excited, nay, ecstatic, about Derry’s second kiss. Not hurt by the look on Jerry’s face. What did you do to my boy, Moira?

Miss Stacy seems to have finally come to her senses and is ranting about the stupid censorship that stupid men put on the newspaper instead of the “scandalous” actions that Anne took. And Anne having a full-on raging breakdown and taking it out on the remains of the writing club… “We rest in truth”… I feel for her.

Gilbert has finally come back. I have no idea where he was all this time, but he’s back and there’s at least one thing in this episode I’m glad about. It seems that suffering does bring about change, after all.

Anne coming back and being accepted with literal open arms… and then Gilbert’s face says it all. “I did what’s right. It was about time.”

“Anne’s farm boy is ever so tall…” First of all, yes he is, isn’t he? *heart eyes* Second of all. though, he has a name, and it’s Jerry. Third of all, he’s not Anne’s farm boy, he’s her brother. But at least we agree on something. Honestly, every now and then I feel that if I were to write a self-insert character for AWAE, I would end up with Ruby. She is just so much like me…

“Wonder if he has a farm girl…” Jerry’s just trying his best to hide at this point, and Diana looks like she would very much like to hide as well. But this is not hiding of the “secret forbidden romance” type. Why do I feel… embarrassment in her eyes? This is not my Diana.

“I’m certain Billy won’t understand any of it” - and that’s why the business should go to Prissy alone. Also because Billy deserves nothing, whether he understands the business or not.

What is wrong with Josie? The poor girl doesn’t even understand she’s perpetuating her own suffering. At least Anne tried. Multiple times. I’m afraid some victims deny themselves the chance to be saved…

“My girl”… oh sweet, gentle, wonderful Jerry… I fear she might not be very worthy of you right now… Also, it’s funny (read: cruel) what the fates do to us. I’ve wanted for Anne to know about Derry, but not in circumstances such as these…

“She seems to like the kissing part, but not the part where we talk”… this seems like a half-subtle parallel between their situation and what Billy did to Josie, and I’m not liking the implications this has about Diana. And it seems Anne has got the same impressions…

Poor, poor Jerry… I can barely see what I’m typing right now because I’m bawling my eyes out. I so wish I could be there to give him a hug and tell him just how much more he’s worth. Only, I couldn’t be much help because, as I said, I’m bawling my eyes out myself… That is NOT my Diana. Who’d have known the day I’d take Gilbert back in would be the day I’d lose Diana? But this is not about her. This is about how she made Jerry feel - wonderful, hard-working, smarter-than-he-is-given-credit-for Jerry who deserves absolutely no hurt. I knew the development of Derry was too good to last, but I did not expect the pain to come from within. I expected anything - society, their class difference, their families, even Diana’s higher education - to come between them, but never Diana’s behaviour to Jerry. Excuse me while I go throw pillows at my wall in rage and heartbreak.

“They can’t take your beauty away from you”… Umm, exuse me? All this happened because Josie was reduced to a “pretty face”. But you wouldn’t know. You weren’t there. She was, though, and she seems to finally realise just what was done to her. Please don’t let me be wrong in assuming that.

“I still like you”? Come again? What has happened that might reduce her likeability other than what you alone did to her? You’re an entitled effing brat, that’s what you are. And she owes you nothing. Good on Josie for finally realising her worth.

And you dare to just show up and act like nothing happened after what you did to Anne’s brother? If somebody treated my brother like this, I would make them pay. That much I know. I thought you would know better, Diana. “It doesn’t mean anything”… you better shut your mouth before you say anything else hurtful about the two people you’re alleged to love the most. walking on thin ice there, Miss Barry.

“Don’t you dare” No, don’t YOU dare! I was afraid Jerry would be just a temporary escape, a little adventure to Diana, but I shuddered to think it would be so anywhere beyond my anxiety-induced nightmares… and now there are some insulting words floating around in my head that I’m not directing at her just because I’m sure that, unlike Billy, she will redeem herself. I’m dying right here. I did not opt to miss my lectures to cry so much.

A real quote from my reaction to 3x5: “I live and would die for Anne and Diana’s friendship.” Well, now I feel like I AM dying - because this seems like the end of it. My brain knows it’s not, but my heart sides with Anne. And Jerry. I side with respect and equality. What side are you on, Diana?

“Just a suggestion. Not telling you what to do”… Gilbert seems genuinely a bit scared of her and I’m still dying - but now it’s of laughter. Gil has learnt his lesson and as of now deserves to be called Gil again… until further notice.

And the “rallying” that the episode description promised is in full force now. I’m finally smiling at this episode. It was high time.

Marilla stading up for Anne in front of the council and Matthew just smiling with pride is the golden content I had already lost all hope to see in this darkest of dark episodes… In Matthew We Trust!

In the name of all that is holy, I hope Moira’s deviations from the source material include the survival of both Matthew and Ruby. Seriously, source material, Matthew and Ruby? The biggest cinnamon rolls of them all? what’s next, Jerry? Delphine? No, forget I ever said that.

And now Josie joining in is just about the best thing I can hope to see before the hurricane of suffering this episode is comes to its end.

The “Not a Take Notice kind of guy” scene flashed through my mind when Gilbert said “Thanks for the suggestions”… this moment is so different, so much better… My Gil, Anne’s Gil, is back, and he’s making sure everyone knows it. You should see my face now.

The world needs more teachers - and women in general - like Miss Muriel Stacy.

Anne and Gil being aware of what exactly their relationship is like (Shouldn’t we be arguing about something…”) while not being sure what their relationship is like at all is… the most wonderful paradox I can think of right now. We’re getting a Shirbert kiss… in, like, season 6 or something, but it’s worth waiting for. Some slowburns should remain slowburns.

The spelling… oh gods, the spelling! #Shirbert

When Anne mentioned Winifred, I couldn’t help thinking of that time she mentioned Ruby… why do you do this to the guy, Anne? He’s trying to take a step forward, I can see that he really is.

Wait, what is happening? Why do they always make screens so dark, I can’t see what’s going on at all.

Oh no! When Miss Stacy mentioned the building spontaneously combusting, I didn’t think that was foreshadowing… but then, if I remember correctly, a fire was what made Anne and Ruby friends, so we never know - something good might come out of this. I hope so.

To sum up, in this episode we saw: Anne’s actions and their disastrous outcome; the town isn’t ready to accept the changes that are happening inevitably; Billy is an a**hole, Prissy is an icon - no surprises in either situation; Diana is not Diana; Josie doesn’t realise she’s a victim and has a voice; all the girls except Anne suffer from what we over at TV tropes call Aesop Amnesia about Beltane; Derry’s second kiss was nothing like the first one; Gilbert is BACK; Ruby is me; this is NOT MY DIANA; Anne finds out about Derry in the worst way imaginable; Jerry suffers and I want to kill someone because of it; the fall of Diana and what seems like, but is hopefully not, the death of Anne and Diana’s friendship; Josie realises her worth and puts Billy in his place; Gilbert is back like he’s never been gone; rallying and organised action at its best; In Matthew We Trust; Josie is back for the better; Shirbert knowing their relationship and not knowing it at the same time; Anne mentions another girl yet again - some people never learn; Miss Stacy unknowingly predicted the fire.

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