#vague story stuff hand demanded i draw for no reason | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

mariamariquinha · 2 years

Text

Bossa Nova (Benny ‘Borracho’ Magalon x f!reader) - Five

Four | Six

Summary: DMs, drinks and emojis.

Word count: 2.792

Warnings: Bad words, a pinch of flirting, a slight mention of a crime scene, alcohol consumption and uuuh... Yeah? I guess that’s it.

Author’s Note: This came by an idea I had a few days ago 😂 There’s a lot of dialogue through DMs so I hope it works.

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!

Join my taglist! Don’t forget to reblog, comment and like! As always, I would love to know what you’re all thinking! ❤

---------------------------------------

Listen, it wasn’t like you were searching, okay?

Although Benny had caught your attention for more than obvious reasons, he was the type to do things around the edges, diligently, which you respected. There was a readiness to him, something that made him understand when to take certain actions, which included not invading your space (quite debatable) or being a complete asshole. Again, you respected it. And even if he continued the discrete ploy of keeping aloof in the days that followed, you wouldn't mind creating a friendly relationship with him. Nothing else.

Thing is that Benny piqued your interest more than you would like to. And if he already followed you on Instagram and you already followed him back was a pure friendly retribution, after all, you two worked together. Friendly.

Like you, he had a few hundred followers; Benny with 547, you with 326. Maybe you took a look unpretentiously one day, but that wasn’t the point. Your virtual presence was pretty vague, so it was never important to you. There were some videos of karaoke nights, photos at events, old high school memories and a few pictures of your New Year’s Eve in Massachusetts; the only considerable time you’d spent with your college friends for celebrations. His social media followed the same pattern, but he seemed more reserved.

Was it a kind of modern approach, as the Buzzfeed articles said? Liking photos, comments, sending posts the person might like? This just didn't look like Benny's style, he seemed to be traditional enough to prefer the tête-à-tête stuff.

What happened was that your brother invited you for a night of drinks – which you could deny for a variety of reasons, but he was going to pay and the gastritis phase was over. You posted a story of the outfit you chose: a slip satin dress, another one from the collection of pieces that were tucked away in the back of your wardrobe. At best, it was short. The heel highlighted your calf, thighs, ass. It was normal for it to draw attention considering the clothes you wore at work, which was the only place you saw each other.

“... Then I was like: are you out of your fucking mind?! Three hundred dollars for a fucking dog clothes?” Your brother was in the middle of a rant about a client, gesturing to the air and all.

The first buzz of the phone didn't catch your attention. In the notification, you saw that it was Lennon liking the story. You returned your focus to what was being discussed in an instant.

“I would also demand higher alimony from my ex if he did that.”

“Exactly! And when I tried to explain how…”

It was on the second buzz that you were completely distracted. The notification didn't signal a like or anything like that. You frowned, looked again, and this time your eyes fixed on the screen of the device.

@bennymagalon99 replied to your story:

Lookin good, mama 🔥

You stared at the screen for a long time, picking up the phone with both hands and opening the message instantly because… Well, because it didn't make a lot of sense, right? He never-

“What was it?”

“Mm?” Your head turned to him, but your eyes were still fixed on the message.

“Don't tell me it's work.”

“... Mm? Oh no! No, I was just…” You blinked a few times, fumbling with the words like a stupid. “It’s nothing. Keep going.”

“Right.”

And despite his hesitance, he kept talking, and you left your phone on the table again as you nodded your head at whatever it was he wanted to vent.

Benny didn't say anything else until you got home; he wasn't even online when you had time to sit on the couch with your feet up on the coffee table. You had taken off your heels, hugged a bottle of water, and opened Instagram. The DM was still there.

You Thanks!

Kojak was still awake and you turned on the TV because as there was no chance of falling asleep with the effects of alcohol in your system, it looked like another night of napping on the couch watching the evening's programming.

It looked like. Didn't take long for it to change completely.

@bennymagalon99 Date night?

In a way, you didn't think he was teasing you, but Benny instigated an answer to the question he already knew. The next story was of a photo of you and your brother on the way out of the bar, taken with reddened faces and smirks from the drinks, so it seemed more like a conversation starter.

You didn't know how to react to it at first, like the alcohol had slowed you down. Well, perhaps. Perhaps, because he could also just be curious given the 'closeness' you two had been nurturing, and you weren’t even that drunk.

Your fingers hovered over the keyboard for a moment before answering.

You Nooooo

Drinks with my brother.

@bennymagalon99 If you went out like this with your brother, I'm surprised you came home so soon

You Why?

Benny considered. He typed, deleted, typed, deleted. You sipped more of the water and waited; alcohol was low, it wouldn't be enough to make you so anxious for an answer, right?

As if you wouldn’t be anxious in other circumstances.

@bennymagalon99 Is it naive of me to think that nobody interested you today?

Or vice versa?

It was your turn to consider. All of a sudden that guy at the counter was giving you a signal? Maybe? Or the Uber drive? He was older but cute.

You really should cut down on alcohol.

You It depends on how naive you are

You groaned right after because damn if it wasn’t the most ridiculous thing to say.

You Like

Nothing happened

I think it would be smart of you to think that

You know?

Benny was faster than before.

@bennymagalon99 What did you drink? 😂😂

You I’m not drunk 😒😒😒

@bennymagalon99 No judging, ma

You look as cute as ever

Huh. You could blame your flushed cheeks on the drink too.

You Never get tired of showering me with compliments?

@bennymagalon99 Don’t like it? 😬

You I’ve never said that

@bennymagalon99 So you do

You Ugh, you want me to start being mean to you 🙄

@bennymagalon99

I was already getting worried that you hadn't started yet

Rolling your eyes was spontaneous at that moment – he sure had a smirk on his face.

You Bye 😒😴

@bennymagalon99 At least tell me what was the drink

You had already dropped your phone on the coffee table, taking another long sip of water before settling on the couch to watch (sleep).

He would really be talking to himself.

It wasn't a hangover, but you didn't want to risk that headache for something else, so you took an aspirin and had the luxury of eating a full breakfast: pancakes, eggs, even a mango smoothie your father had brought for you as a courtesy for the trip to the farmers market.

Kojak got a treat too. That food that the pet shop girl indicated seemed to make him have the most beautiful scales, but that could’ve been your hallucination. You couldn't really trust your mind those days.

Despite that, you remembered everything that happened the night before, including the texts you exchanged with Benny. You didn't particularly know what to expect, after all, he could only be bored on a night shift and that came in handy. If he remembered, he wouldn't say a thing at work.

And in a way, he didn't.

That day you didn't even have any work involving Major Crimes – if there were two times when you crossed paths, it was a lot and still no one even looked at each other because you were busy. A 'good morning' maybe, but you’re kinda sure it was Connors.

At the end of the day, Emma knocked on your lab door and said something about 'updating the case', which meant having to go to the briefing room for a meeting with them and the DEA team.

“I need to go?” You asked like a petulant child, even though you knew it wasn't a request. “Nobody has sent me anything since the guy at the hospital, I have nothing to add.”

“They haven't done this in weeks. Just stay there, listen or not. If they bring up the subject of security cameras, speak up. I'm taking your report just in case.”

Everyone was there – Nick, Zapata, Henderson, Connors and Magalon. They sat in the back of the room like that bunch of troublemakers in high school, while Walsh and his team took the lead in running the meeting. You sat on the other side, alone, letting Emma go with Gina to the front row.

It didn't take long for you to realize that it really was a waste of time. The case was stagnant and there weren't many updates other than those that everyone had already revisited four times. As far as you knew, Travis Brown was refusing to talk, not to mention you had at least 10 other different cases awaiting photo-video analysis.

You were a little impatient and bored at the same time. When your phone vibrated, it wasn't hard to pick it up almost immediately.

@bennymagalon99 Gin and juice?

Benny was staring at the agents in front of him, so you frowned and made sure no one was looking before you answered.

You I don’t drink gin and juice

You waited, watching to see what his reaction would be. By his position, Benny had sat in the row behind the others, which left him alone and with more privacy to answer. He saw the message, scoffed and turned his face towards you.

“Really?” He mouthed with a slight smile. Instead of answering the same way, you got back to typing.

You For a detective, you don't do well with guesswork

@bennymagalon99

Ooooh there she is

You don't know how long I've waited to be the target of your smart mouth

You Masochist? 🤨😯

@bennymagalon99 Would that be an impediment?

You For what?

@bennymagalon99 Friendship

Someone said something in a louder tone, which roused you from the conversation. Emma, of course, used to always having to be above her voice to be heard – being in a small room with few people, she scared you.

Your eyes roamed the space and for a while you did what you had done with your brother, looking but not quite listening. When you dared to look in Benny's direction, he kept watching you. Curious, probably, gesturing discreetly with his phone, expecting an answer.

“Isn't that right?” Emma called your name and luckily, no one noticed what you were paying attention to.

You cleared your throat, nodded.

“... Indeed.”

If Benny hid a smile after that, you pretended you didn't see it.

You Why would you want to be my friend?

@bennymagalon99

Why not?

You’re funny

Btw you live in California and celebrate your parties in Massachusetts, which is interesting

You So you’ve been snooping at my profile?

Stalker 🤪

He took a while to answer that. Nick spoke again about something aimed at the team and it was better to pay attention.

@bennymagalon99 Think I wouldn’t notice right away that you have a bikini picture in Cape Cod?

You hoped he wasn't staring at you when you saw the message because you’d definitely be looking the most disconcerted. Like, coming from someone like him… You know? He was far from the asshole type of guy, but you weren't an idiot. Tara from Homicides, for example, had said countless times that he was her type, which meant any woman on planet Earth was out of the picture because she was a goddess. It wasn't something to just assume.

You You'll get me used to these compliments

@bennymagalon99 They won't extend to your holiday destination choices

You A friend has a house there, gimme a break

@bennymagalon99 And they gave you mojitos? 🍸

You Is it your second guess?

Because you’ve never been so wrong, detective 🤭

@bennymagalon99 WHAT? NOOOOOO 😭😭😭

You You only have one more chance

But before you could get an answer to that, Emma was approaching with slow, unobtrusive steps. Your distraction didn't let you see that she'd been alerted to a break-in – she explained, guided and you jetted out of the room without looking back. Work, after all.

It wasn't until you started driving and in need to warn the scene crew you were on the way that you saw what he responded. Luckily you were alone, because you didn't have to hide one of the widest, funniest smiles you've ever had without reservations, even if it was a really stupid thing because… Well.

@bennymagalon99 And what do I get if I get it right?

“He-”

“Argh!”

Again, the parking lot. It was after eleven at night and by that time, few people were walking around. That made the shriek that came out of your throat louder, as did the laugh Benny let out when he saw your startled face. Really, you guys haven't met this casually before.

“For Christ alive, man!” You put a hand on your chest. “Warn a girl, yeah?”

“Always getting scared that easily?”

“Only when people sneak up behind me.”

“I’m sorry,” He raised his hands in surrender. A considerable silence hovered between you two, fading the initial scare.

“Another night's work?” You asked.

“No, I forgot my phone here.”

“Oh.”

“And how was the case? Just break-in?”

“Yeah! Yeah, you know, robbery season in Beverly Hills.”

“Got it.”

“Mm-hm.”

Another silence, as if each unexpected meeting between the two of you was a struggle to keep from making everything awkward.

“... I’ve been thinking about what you said,” Benny offered after a beat.

“What I said?”

“Your drinking taste seems pretty specific.”

“Ah,” You giggled. “Do you already have that one last try, perhaps?”

“I plead the fifth. You still didn’t answer my question, I don't want to use all my cards without knowing the profits.”

Charming. Like, really, he could easil-Wait, what?

“Right… What do you want?”

Benny was weighing the possibilities, as if he really wanted something impossible. You started to worry just a little bit, wondering what kind of favor he might ask, but after a while of looking you in the face, he ran his tongue over his lips, thumb brushing his goatee.

You may have watched the scene cautiously. You may.

“I admit I didn't expect this.”

“Why?”

“You shouldn't give people that much freedom.”

“I just like the challenge.”

“Okay then,” He shrugged. “Friday we're going out. You and me.”

“... Mm?”

Did you hear right? He… Was that right? Good heavens, it sounded so unlikely that you thought you hadn't heard and were silent for a long time, at least long enough for him to start to get uncomfortable.

“But if you don’t want it, we can-”

“Don’t worry!” Your voice came out loud, fast. “I just… I wasn’t expecting it, that's all.”

“No?”

“Nn-nn.”

“Why not?” He was really confused.

“Well… It never occurred to me.”

“I know it sounds weird,” Benny held up his hands in surrender again. “But we’re colleagues, right? And I told you we could strengthen our relationship. Respectfully.”

Respectfully. He was certainly a man who knew how to use words, which could be dangerous if you were even remotely attracted to him.

You weren’t. Of course not.

“... Okay.” The answer was simple and straightforward. He raised his eyebrows, you raised yours because you said it so abruptly.

“Okay?”

“Sure. Shoot your shot.”

“You’re putting a lot of pressure on me,” Benny teased.

“Are you chickening out?” The defiant tone came out with some effort and he pursed his mouth at the insight.

Magalon repeated his motion: lips licked, thumb brushing the goatee. It was probably a habit of his.

“Cosmopolitan.”

Your mouth opened to tell him he was wrong, until he wasn't and you were like a fool processing the fact that the guy actually got it right. Just like that. He was smiling again, this time more openly.

“So?” He pressed.

“How did you-”

“You have like four different pictures with one of these. Including when you were on Cape Cod.”

“... Really?” You asked with a weak and defeated smile.

“Really,” Benny mocked your tone. “Which makes me wonder if you'll give me your number so we can work out the details. I really hate chatting through DMs.”

Taglist (no pressure)

@cheesybadgers

@thesandbeneathmytoes

@nerdyreaderpapi

@thoroughlymodernminutia

#benny magalon x reader #benny borracho magalon #benny magalon fic #den of thieves #den of thieves fic #maurice compte

20 notes · View notes

interact-if · 3 years

Note

Umm hi 👉👈 I realized that most of the asks you guys get are about games and rec lists. You guys deserve so much recognition for the work you put in this blog, so I wanted to ask if I can do a little get-to-know-the-mods thing? If that's okay!

1. Besides writing, what are your hobbies?

2. Do you have a niche interest right now?

3. Any fave songs/artists/bands?

4. Any fave movies/tv shows?

5. On a scale of 1-10, how likely would you survive in your wip's world?

You can totally ignore this if you guys want, no pressure. Anyway, much love to all the interact-if mods! You guys are incredible! ❤

We saw this ask and we went 👀 👀 👀 so we’re happy to answer! Thank you so much for the fun ask!

We also rated our survivability in all of our collective games, since Mars isn't an author! Fun stuff! Spoilers, though: it’s really not looking so great for me (Dani) but that’s fine!!! 😌

1. I’m a photographer as well as a graphic artist (but not like. A painter/drawer kind of artist!) and, on a general level, a maker and a tinkerer!

2. Fountain pens! I only write with ink, and only with fountain pens, and I use bottled inks/converters!

3. I’m pretty eclectic with music, but my top genres are alt rock, indie, indie pop, etc, as well as top 40s and some rap.

4. I feel like this is the hardest one for me to answer? Favorite movies/shows? Avatar: the Last Airbender has been a favorite show of mine since I was a little kid, but I have a harder time thinking of shows I would call a favorite in recent years. There are shows I’ve liked, and a lot of shows I’ve watched. But I’m picky! And demanding! It takes a lot to earn a place in Dani’s Trophy Case of Favorites. 😌 I would say I quite liked A Quite Place (movie), and I liked Us (movie). When it comes to TV shows, I have a hard time being pleased with them if they don’t end well. As a result, I have a penchant for a good limited series/miniseries (because they’re stories that have an end in mind and the plot reflects that, dagnabbit).

5. Heh. Okay.

In The Goodfellows? I think I stand I chance. I can exercise my sparkling wit and lovable personality to the best effect. I’m gonna give myself an 8/10 survivability rating. Even if I don’t have the right skills, I can go crying to the person who does and they’ll save me. Maybe.

In Creatures’ Cradle? I’m super $**!%d. 😌 1/10 survivability rating. And that 1 is me being nice to myself. The day the apocalypse breaks out I would probably be patient 0. I am self-aware. I would not do well in an apocalypse. Zombies care not for aforementioned sparkling wit and lovable personality, and I have all the muscle of a boiled spaghetti noodle. So it’s a no go.

Greater Than Gods (Cruz): Well. I’m going to be optimistic. And say that I have the wisdom not to do things I shouldn’t do and not to rock boats I shouldn’t rock. I’m going to give myself a 7/10 based on insider information, but also based on reckless optimism!

Vardir (Cruz): Cruz says this is a lighthearted game, so 10/10 LOL.

When it Hungers (Roast): I’m giving myself a nice, mediocre 5/10. I think I could put my mind to work here; I joke that I’m the village idiot, but I’m actually pretty smart! Unfortunately, I’m also curious, and maybe a little bad with authorities who won’t answer my questions. So I knocked off a lot of points due to the fact that I’d probably poke the metaphorical bear. So it’s a real coin flip as to whether I’d really make it or not.

Orthall Bay (Nines): Considering the genre is “horror” and the game intro includes the words “monster” and “maim,” I’m giving myself a whooping, enthusiastic 3/10. Yes, folks, I am that confident in myself! Once again, I can’t charm the socks off a monster (or can I?), so one of my greatest weapons is snatched from beneath my feet. Alas!

1. Beloved I’m a college student in the middle of a pandemic... i can hardly even write LOL i do draw at times which u can see in my personal blog (nothing too good really) and i used to do karate before things went to shit <3

2. Nothing niche I believe? All I do is leave Netflix as bg noise every day n play popular videgames (genshin)

3. Porter Robinson <3 I love Bea Miller a lot as well but lately I’ve been feeling Porter a lot

4. The Good Place <3

5. My WIPs:

Greater than Gods: Highly situational, the world GtG is set in is as broad as the real world LOL so I don’t have an universal answer. But keeping it vague, and knowing my own personality, I feel like 5/10. depends on my luck.

Vardir: 10/10 no one dies in Vikgade, unless you’re a hunter but I wouldn’t be a hunter <3

Others’ WIPs

I'm gonna give myself a solid 5/10 in all other WIPs because y'all aren't writing lighthearted stories either. I feel like as long as I avoid the role of the MC I will be mostly fine. I hope. But as Dani said I'm also prone to fight the wrong person and dig my own grave so 😌

1. Well, writing is a very, very, very, distant hobby since Words Hard, but I like to crochet and sculpt a little! Anything to do with fiddling with my hands and I’m good to go. And like, debatable but graphic design is my passion [insert clown emoji here since Tumblr said No]

2. Oh yeah a bunch! DnD yelling at people, thinking of arson, crocheting, rock climbing and simply vibing. I got into podcasts a few years ago and I’m always looking for more recs, so if you have some, hmu 😤

3. Pls,,,,my music taste is,,,so weird do not let me expose myself with lack of consistency but uhh. Current songs that are stuck in my head include; Cult of Dionysus , Achilles Come Down and The Last Shanty

4. If you’ve ever spoken to me before, I probably yelled about Pacific Rim to you or at you. Plus I love all The Mummy films and really enjoyed Castlevania (s3 excluded, we do not perceive that) as well!

5. Ah, mod survival simulator pt. 3

Alright, let’s go! I don’t have a WIP because again, words hard, but like, considering how feral I am when not tryna seem professional hm...

The Goodfellows: I wanna say a solid 7/10 because I’d hardcore vibe with the Traveler and probably instigate so much nonsense. I can also bribe with blueberry cake so maybe.

Creature’s Cradle: maybe a 4/10 and only because of pure spite keeping me alive long enough to smack someone. I’ve prepared for hypothetical zombie apolcapyses and I won’t hesitate to bap, but will be bapped back because I’m weak as hell.

Greater Than Gods: a toss up between 2/10 and 7/10! I can vibe and be chill but I also have terrible impulse control so...

Vardir: hm....I think pretty good survival rates all around? If you ask me to fight then like, okay sure, your knees are mine. So maybe a 8/10?

When it Hungers: .......8/10 just because I’d refuse to die if I can be a cool creature. Living for the aesthetic can and will drag me outta hell. But I’m also clumsy as hell so I’d probably crash as a porcelain or hold a rooster and perish (aka, real rating is a good 3/10)

Orthall Bay: 2/10, nope. Nope I’d be taken out in a heartbeat. Monsters can go pspsps and I’d head straight into the dark creepy forest like a fool if someone comes @ me. Half the time I’ll just assume it’s sfx makeup and vibe until it’s too late.

god, never put me in a universe where I cannot squawk like a bird and throw pebbles from a window. Oof

Anon, you're so sweet! I give you a forehead smoomch <333 As for your questions...

1. If I'm not writing, I'm usually watching video essays on Youtube. My go-to channels as of right now is Disrupt and Aperture! I just really like their videos. Aside from that, I recently got into podcasts. Currently going through Hello From The Hallowoods and Shelter and Warning, which are made by queer creators!

2. Oh oof, there's quite a bit so I'm just gonna put down one thing. For some reason, I really got into collecting tiny astronaut things? I recently bought this astronaut desk light, and I've got a package coming in for the miniatures I ordered. No purpose for them other than I think they're neat <3

3. I'm a bit private with my music taste (even tho I have Spotify connected on Discord lmao), but there's 5 songs that I'm currently obsessed with. I keep replaying them over and over again. Just squeezing all the serotonin I could get outta them.

4. I can't really say I have a fave TV show or movie because I can't really just pick one, but my current fave is 9-1-1 and Resident Alien. 9-1-1 because I just really love the found-family dynamics and how the show tackles sensitive topics, and Resident Alien because it's lighthearted comedy. My all-time fave movie is Flipped! I have the book too and I like rereading from time to time <3

5. You're in for a doozy, anon, because we're rating each other's games <333

The Goodfellows: 7/10

Listen. Shenanigans with the Traveler. I would get up to so many of them and that is what'll get me possibly bodied, not the actual environment itself <3

Greater than Gods: 7/10

I like to think I have enough common sense to uhhh not recklessly flip stones that should not be flipped <3 I'm a cautious and skeptic person irl so I think I'll hold up well? Then again, it's a vast environment change and while I can adapt pretty quick, I wouldn't like the lack of control in the unknown.

Vardir: 10/10

Going off what Cruz said, Vardir is lighthearted and focused on personal growth so I think I'll be okay! Self-growth here I come, babey!

Creatures' Cradle: 8/10

Maybe I'm overestimating myself, but I think I'll be able to survive in a supernatural post-apocalyptic world! Ah, but it depends on the motivation though. I like the idea of rebuilding communities and eventually societies, but the survival turmoil would be a constant battle I'd have to overcome. If we're talking survival itself though, I think I'll do well.

When it Hungers: 8/10

That's probably my wishful thinking but I think I'll be fine. Maybe. Possibly. Don't like the idea of being regulated by an organization so if I was a non-human creature that could pose a problem but I can roll with it <3

Orthall Bay: 6/10

Assuming I'm not playing as MC, my chances of survival uhhh changes quite drastically. Not enough to guarantee an untimely demise, but certainly enough that it would constantly keep me on my toes. I think that's the safest answer I can get without spoiling anything lmao

Thank you so much for asking! It's super sweet of you <3

1. Too many :'D I knit, I sew, I do carpentry (well, learning), I bake, I'm hammering away at HTML and CSS, my job kind of encourages learning new things and I take that to picking up new hobbies!

2. My time is kind of consumed with school work and work work and WIP work so not a lot of time to pursue niche interests right now. I've been watching a lot of horror game playthroughs, true crime youtubers, and an adorable show on Netflix called the Repair Shop <3

3. My taste in music is "what am I vibing with atm?" I've been listening to a lot of 80's music atm (don't @ me), but also Lo Fang and Kaleo, and whatever spotify recommends me on my discover weekly which is usually complete chaos.

4. I love the Mummy even though it hasn't aged 100% well (I'm a librarian, of course it's one of my gotos LOL), Legally Blonde, Leverage, Jumanji (the original), I'm....very bad at having recent tastes... and very bad at remembering my favorites when asked.

The Goodfellows: I'm a creature of comfort, 5/10 if I can just luxuriate in town and not actually interact with the story sfjkdbsdkf

Creature’s Cradle: I'd like to think I have a 50/50 shot XD 5/10, I want to think I'd be decent at a zombie apocalypse but ultimately would suffer an early fate.

Greater Than Gods: 10/10 if I'm just vibing, less so if I'm involved in the actual story XD

Vardir: I'd still suffer without technology but I can also knit for a living in this world so I'm down 8/10

When it Hungers: I feel like I could vibe here, there's tech if dated, hot showers, telephones are around by now... might still get bored. 7/10 though it'd be cool to be another creature....I should make a 'what creature of snv are you' quiz!

Orthall Bay: 7/10 idk I feel like after the first monster of the week I'd just skip town XDDDD I'm the worst protagonist, I see danger I just leave.

#mod talk #long post #interact if: asks

53 notes · View notes

madfantasy · 3 years

Text

Bank Account, the details

I finally have it, my own bank account..

Now that I got it, maybe its just because my soul drained out but it seems like a hallow pitiful victory..

I have been trying tho for probably 3 years to open an account online behind their back. Being basically not allowed anything, a bank account was most of my ludicrous demands in their eyes, yet. And when ever I come close making them agree, they always fall back to only go to "gender specific" serving banks. When I basically beg them to come with me to a general one, they call me the worst of names and a "third gender" for saying I'm obviously not like them and saying that they don't "all think the same way" and degraded me for being weak around "my own kind".

Ignoring that they never allowed me to see or to go with anyone I choose before, and now I stopped schooling for 9 years, that the longest time I barely have seen anyone..

Until a month ago they needed a new phone number, but every phone company rejected them saying they had too many phone numbers already. So, recently coming to the option of ordering a new phone number delivery available, I suavely came to em saying, well you can take mine and I'll order me a new one that they'll be delivering to us! They reluctantly allowed it, demanding that I not answer the phone and give it to them whenever it called. And pushing me off saying I don't need to meet the guy and I give them a note stating everything I need to give to the delivery guy. The dude came in the same frking day I placed the order, but to my luck, the gov system was crashing up to 3 days, and one had to give the delivery dude a code they send so he can release the SIM card to you but no matter how I spammed the site it was hopelessly down, and it came back up when he left, rained and the guy skipped on us for more days. My grinding gears were shooting sparks by the time I got it.

In the same time, my first time bought cosmetic stuff that I "treated" myself to arrived, and them finding out I spent money on junk they flew into a rage and forbade me from ever ordering stuff anymore threatening without reserving their usual choice of foul langu, to cancel my credit card, the one they gave me and have no access to, enabling my PayPal account. Reasoning that I don't need money or jnternet and everything I need already I have and should be grateful considering. Meaning the bare minimum of things that occasionally the bills are favored over.

... all because I know they were tired from answering the door that they don't allow anyone else to do.

Predictably, rock bottom depression hit, my hands were shaking from how much it stressed me out, I didn't even unpack my sweet goods. No money means no Mani online, no haven from this daily concept of living, no human company, basically no more generated hope and anything..

So I pressed on making the bank account anyway, trying it with the phone under their name and getting rejected as usual, I next assigning everything to mine to see if my suspension was correct. Cuz I tried EVERYTHING, nothing worked, no instructions to this shi or why it would not work ANYWHERE or be it just vague and generic looking info everywhere, and all the answers I asked those customer care accounts lead to them saying just go to the bank..

In a moment I cracked, muffling my weeps into a cloth, in one hand I was drawing commission, couldn't even tear up from how dry I was, other hand tapping the sign up button manically no matter how many errors it gave me, the dawn prayer announcement broke the silence. As I looked down to the flash of change in the phone's background color, only to see

"Your account successfully opened, welcome valued-- whatever "

Mother of all shocks, had tbh. The bank addressed me by name (oh the gratification) and said my ATM card will be mailed to me...

...more schemes to plan..

I tried so hard for days but they won't deliver it to my frking door, it RAINED AGAIN on the day a delivery was promised. Eventually they messaged to come and just take it from their office... down the street... close enough. So remains that they know about me having an account, me sugaring it with actual truth that I can do many things with this account like usless bonuses and stuff and it makes things easier in legal shi, and they were impressed that I did that all by myself and got a the card too, then they demanded the messages to go to their phone instead of mine. I told them that's not how they system work, I can't change it. I asked to go with them to the mail office but they fought me and came back smug to my warnings that they won't hand it over cuz its in my name.

Still, i got to get out of the house at last when my ATM card obviously needs activation and they didn't know how to do it.

So I got to touch a grimy ATM machine for the first time and feel the simple joy of being existing in the real realm of life and seeing its signs around me with my own eyes..

Sorry for the possible culture shock but cheeeese (I had to sneak that shot, yes)

Now all that remains is to visit the bank to give them my signature to unlockall the extra features, my account still stands 70% completion, in a way. But that's another push and pull struggle for another day.

And thats the story that I have to scheme to have perfectly normal things, driving me mad and making my life like cheap story fillers to a lame upcoming event. C:

Thank you for humoring me, bless youz🍀

18.2.2021 11.pm

#text #drawing journey #personal #also why i go with the slytherin #nd why im always more tired than i should be probably

63 notes · View notes

voiceless-terror · 4 years

Note

hi friend!!!! i love your writing!!! if you're taking prompts from the bingo card (if you're not then feel free to delete this!!), how about N5 for Jon? :) i hope you have a great day!!

‘fighting to pay attention to urgent information’ ahh i love this prompt!! thank you so much for the ask, it means a lot since i love your writing so much (and it inspired me to starting posting my stuff, to be honest). Here you go, I hope you like! This takes place right after Sasha makes her statement to Jon in season one.

Sasha is talking but Jon can’t hear her.

It’s all muddled in his mind. So many things have happened over the last couple of weeks- Martin’s worm attack and now Sasha’s encounter with Michael- and his mind is refusing to process. She gave her statement in his office and was now explaining the situation to Martin and Tim while Jon stood awkwardly in the doorway, trying to nod at the appropriate time.

“We’ll need a plan of attack if Prentiss comes or if any of us encounter Michael again,” she’s saying. “Martin’s already living here, but-”

A plan. Yes. A plan would be good but Jon can’t think beyond Sasha bleeding in his office and Martin throwing open his door demanding to be heard. The worms on the pavement crawl and creep and remind him of something he thought he’d finally put behind him but he’s been chasing it the entire time, hasn’t he?

His body feels at once too hot and too cold. Jon’s never understood that about illness. How a body can burn with fever and shake with a chill at the same time. But he’s not sick, he’s just...overwhelmed. Needs to eat a normal meal, needs to get some sleep. If he could just get a deep breath in his lungs the black spots would stop dancing in front of his vision and he could pay attention and come up with a plan.

But every other word is ‘worms’ and ‘infestation’ and all matter of disturbing things and his mind goes wild with imagination, horrible scenarios playing out in his mind as his breaths turn into an uneven staccato of sound that he tries to stifle.

“-could get more CO2 you think? Jon?” That’s your name.

“A-Ah, yes. I’ll t-talk to Elias.” Sasha nods and Jon is relieved to have said the right thing. The fog in his brain lifts; the panic eases for just a few moments but it only reveals more physical pain and he starts to shake. He knows he needs to sit down soon or he’ll be lying on the ground either way. So he slowly backs out of the room, hoping no one notices as his hands grasp at the wall for balance. He manages to stumble back to Document Storage before he hears someone calling his name. But he’s lost now, barely breathing as his heart stutters in his chest and he sinks to the floor.

________

Martin had been watching Jon while Sasha spoke. Martin watched Jon a lot- innocently, of course, and Jon never seemed to notice. He was either willfully ignorant or really that oblivious.

Martin was starting to double down on the ‘willfully ignorant’ theory.

Jon was nodding along, sure. But his face held a detached blankness, as if each word were in one ear and out the other. Of course he would zone out during this conversation; it involved real, actual supernatural occurrences. He only contributed once, a vague promise to talk to Elias, who was turning out to be a very useless manager. Martin thought Jon was getting better about this. After all, he seemed to believe both Martin and Sasha’s stories. But he watched as Jon moved further and further out of the room when he should be contributing to the conversation. He disappeared down the hallway and Martin let out an irritated sigh, drawing Tim and Sasha’s attention.

“What’s up?” Tim asked from his perch on Sasha’s desk. “Don’t worry, we’re gonna figure this out-”

“It’s not-” Martin got up, starting to make his way down the hallway. “It’s Jon. I can’t believe he would just walk out on this. I’m going to go talk to him.”

“Martin-” Sasha sounded hesitant but he ignored her as he spotted the open door to Document Storage. Why would Jon go here instead of his office? This was Martin’s room with his things. And I didn’t exactly keep it clean. “Jon?” he called out. “Jon, you need to- what are you doing?”

The man was leaning against his cot, knees brought up to his chest as he stared at the floor. His glasses were tucked into his sweater and his hair was a mess, as if he’d been running his fingers through it. And he was ignoring Martin in favor of whatever the hell he found so interesting about the floor. Martin stooped down to his level, ignoring the twinge in his knees on the cold cement. “What’s going on?” he asked again, trying to keep the annoyance out of his voice. God, Jon could be so infuriating at times, but he was still concerned.

Jon barely spared him a glance and tightened his arms around his knees, looking like a ball of tension. His shoulders moved very minutely upwards in a sort of shrugging motion and Martin thought he heard a mumble of ‘’nothing, fine,” under his breath and he couldn’t help but roll his eyes. He moved in closer, setting a firm hand on Jon’s bony shoulder- when did he get so thin?

“Look, I know it’s a lot,” Martin tried for comfort, though it was getting harder and harder to do so these days when the man refused to see reason. “But you can’t just bury your head in the sand whenever someone says something you don’t want to hear, alright? We’re all struggling and it would be a lot easier if we had a boss who actually listened instead of- shit.”

Jon was shaking so much. How had he not noticed? His breathing was off, like a sputtering engine as his white-knuckled grip dug into his knees. His face was ashen and sweaty. He was clearly unwell but he opened his mouth anyway in an attempt to respond. His eyes did not meet Martin’s.

“It’s- it’s all I think about,” he began, his voice more of a croak than the smooth baritone Martin was used to. “She’s after us, after you and Sasha and now there’s Michael and I don’t know what to do.” Martin watched in horror as his eyes filled with tears and his voice trembled. “And- and what if I go home and she’s waiting there? What if she gets Tim? What if we aren’t safe anywhere?” A slender hand shot out and grabbed onto Martin’s sweater, startling him as Jon’s eyes met his own with a desperate fervor. “I-I can’t sleep. I can’t eat. And Elias doesn’t even care, just w-watches while we all scramble around doing- doing-” his voice broke into a hacking cough and Martin couldn’t witness any more. He dislodged Jon’s hand and backed away. Seeing Jon like this was uncomfortable and he wasn’t sure what to do about it, so he went into his natural problem-solving mode. “I’m going to get you some water, yeah? You’re- you’re not well, we can talk about this later.” Despite keeping his voice soft and low, Martin watched as Jon shrunk into himself, desperately trying to stifle his coughs. “I’ll be right back.”

He hightailed it out of the storage area, eyes firmly on the ground and steps so quick he didn’t notice Tim until he ran right into him.

“Oof! What’s wrong, Martin?” Tim said as he grabbed him by the shoulder. “Boss giving you trouble?” Martin shook his head, voicing his next words as diplomatically as possible.

“He’s, um- I think he’s sick?” Tim’s brow furrowed in concern. “I’m just going to get him some water, yeah.” He walked off before Tim could ask another question; he didn’t want to leave Jon alone for too long but he also didn’t want to be subjected to Tim’s questioning.

It only took him a couple of minutes to grab some water and a cold towel but by the time he got back to the room Jon was laid out on his cot, eyes barely open as Tim said something Martin couldn’t hear and smiled softly at the man in the bed. He knew they’d all known each other before the Archives; it was something that he thought about quite a bit, to be honest. But he’d never really seen Jon interact with someone like this, so quiet and trusting that he nodded off right in front of them.

“There you are!” Tim said, uncharacteristically quiet. He reached out and Martin handed over the supplies, still stupefied by the whole situation.

“Just gonna let him sleep for a mo’ before I force this down his throat,” he chuckled as he gently placed the towel on his forehead. “Glad you checked up on him- didn’t realize he was having a rough go of it. I’m usually a bit more observant.”

“We’re all having a rough go of it, Tim,” Martin felt like he had to explain some of his frustration. “How did he let himself get to this point? I mean, he’s always so skeptical on the tapes but it turns out he’s worked himself up so much he’s sick and it doesn’t make any sense.”

“We all tell our lies, Martin,” The words weren’t said unkindly, but he remembered that Tim knew about his resume and though he didn’t think the man would ever tell anyone it did seem like the words were rather pointed. “His coping mechanism is all this skeptic nonsense. Don’t get me wrong, it’s terrible and very annoying,” Tim conceded, giving Martin a knowing look. “But not all of us ended up here accidentally. Most of us are here for answers. For a reason.” Tim’s far off look reminded him that he knew so little about the people he worked with. He wondered what Tim’s reason was, what Jon’s was. And if they would ever feel comfortable enough to confide in him.

Martin doesn’t know how to respond to those words, so he does what he does best- deflect and nervously offer his services. “I can throw the kettle on, maybe order some takeaway? Food would probably make him feel better.”

“Yeah, reckon it would,” Tim’s just staring at Jon as he fitfully dozed. Tim may not have been attacked directly but he looked tired and worried all the same. “He likes Thai.”

Martin noted the fact down for his mental file on Jonathan Sims. Hates spiders. Likes his tea with milk, no sugar. Hates my handwriting. Likes Thai. It’s not very comprehensive.

Later, when he’s making tea in the break room, he watches as Sasha slips into the hallway to Document Storage, attempting to go unnoticed. She’s got a hand to her shoulder like she’s trying to rub away the ache and Martin grabs some paracetamol out of the cabinet, knowing both her and Jon will need it. Everyone in the Archives likes to hide their pain, himself included. But maybe for one night they could help each other out. Four tired humans against two eldritch abominations.

Martin could get behind those odds.

ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27065482

#asks #my writing #tma #the magnus archives #jonathan sims #martin blackwood #tim stoker #sasha james #sickfic #prompt #panic attacks cw #taylortut #thank you for the prompt! i loved it

43 notes · View notes

photiniainsummer · 3 years

Text

A Little Audience Participation Can Tip the Scales (2/?): Hunting Blind

Genre: GenFic - Action, Mystery, Humor Rating: Teen and Up Story Summary: There’s a strange group living at the old Markiplier Manor. They’re the villains of their tales, they’re looking for information, and they need your help putting Mark’s scattered egos back together to get their lives back. And stop Mark and the Entity breaking reality. Small goals. (Second Person POV, vaguely fem-coded Reader) Chapter Summary: The one where you gin up the courage for some minor trespassing Word Count: 5810 Author's Note: Decided to cross-post from my Ao3! The next three chapters are already up, and I try to post every Tuesday. :3

Interested?

Read on Ao3 here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30510852/chapters/75668213

Hunting Blind

With the Manor’s heavy gate behind you, you tug your shirt back into place and loop your bag to hang securely across your body before beating a quick path up the driveway toward the Manor. There’s no real point in trying to be sneaky about it - with the dusk wrapping around you and the nearest neighbors seemingly out, there isn’t much to try to sneak around. Regardless, your nerves push you onward at a steady pace up to the large front plaza, your thoughts roiling. Jonah had seen to that, giving you just enough to be suspicious of, to drive you onwards in his absence.

What could be bad enough that a decade after Mark’s death, and even longer after whatever might have happened actually happened, that the boards of practically every paper in the state would nix any mention of him? What could he have possibly left behind at what was likely the scene of his crime that would unveil the truth?

Most importantly, what or who would you find when you made it inside?

Shaking off the thought, you dig out the little collapsible nightstick your parents had insisted you carry when you’d moved into the city proper. Thankfully, you had never been in a position where you needed to use it, but many where you had been grateful for its reassuring weight. You hold it now in your hand, thumb on the release as you make it up the annoyingly long and snaking driveway to the silent plaza. Shrouded by trees, the space is even darker than the rest of the grounds, all awash in strange, late evening shadows. It had clearly been meant for welcoming in guests, for hosting a number of their vehicles at a time, but now, overly quiet with the added dampening of the trees and without even a security light to cut through the shade, it was eerie. Lonely.

Again, you have to focus on the task at hand and keep your mind off these wandering asides. You’d always had an active imagination, but now was certainly not the time to let it run wild. You gather your wits about you (really, you just take a really deep breath and hope that’s what that looks like) and approach the large, wooden double door entrance. A built-in eaves houses it, and even in the gloom, you can see a family of spiders have made the nicely sheltered spot their home. Reflexively ducking your head just in case there are any low-hanging creepy-crawlies, you press close to the doors. They still gleam despite their disuse, well-burnished dark wood carved in elegant yet simple patterns.

It’s only when your hand finds one of their brass handles that you consider the Manor could be locked. You try it anyway, pressing on the latch with your thumb. It makes some downward progress but sticks halfway before popping back up to its original position. You curse quietly to yourself and try again, but the latch repeats its stifled motion. You start clicking the latch repeatedly, tugging on the door for good measure. You lean your weight into it, and a particularly good press-and-push combination sends the latch snapping suspiciously like you’ve broken it, and you stumble into darkness.

Catching your weight on the swinging door, you pull up short in the entryway, stunned by the sudden reveal of the yawning belly of the Manor. Although your eyes begin to adjust to the darkness, you don’t need them to be able to tell that the place is massive. You can feel it. A cool breeze of emptiness strokes your face, and you straighten up to get your bearings. Out before you is a massive room seemingly a little lower than the tiled entryway where you stand. Along with the vaulted ceiling directly above you, your stumbling footsteps echo back loudly.

“....christ on a cracker,” you breathe, then reflexively cover your mouth as you remember you’re meant to be sneaking around. After your entrance, though, you’re not sure if that’s a totally viable strategy. Regardless, you drop your hand from your mouth and retrieve your phone, turning on its flashlight and casting a somewhat shaky light around the core of the Manor. Just as Jonah had said, it’s still full of… well. Stuff. The massive room you felt before is filled with what seems to be heavy furniture, ornate shapes covered in white sheets and pushed around at strange angles. You swing the light around, catching yourself in the eye with it as it falls across and is reflected by a massive, cracked mirror directly to your right. Thankfully, you manage to stifle a hiss of surprise before it slips out between your teeth. Blinking through your self-injury, you move the light to the side, allowing you to see the rest of the surrounding area more clearly.

The mirror there is uncovered, spotted with age and covered in a thin layer of dust. You can see a few handprints on its gilded frame, but the massive, multifingered, spiderweb crack running along the center demands your attention. It looks as if it’s dented, almost, the rounded crack pressed inward from the force of impact. Your inwardly warped expression stares back at you - do you always look so much like a deer in the headlights?

The feeling of being watched strikes you again.

Lifting your unextended nightstick, you instinctively shine your light up to the second floor, illuminating a landing with dark wood to match the floors of the house. Emptiness is all that greets you, although you can feel a shiver hiding down in the muscles of your shoulders, now. There’s nothing enough to shiver at, but something in you knows, instinctively… something. You aren’t sure what to call it, but there is something there.

All the more reason to stop standing around like an idiot and look for what you came here for, your brain helpfully supplies.

Resolving to speed this process along, you shut the door somewhat behind you before easing across the tiled floor to keep your steps from echoing so loudly. An imposing statue of a woman in flight welcomes you to what seems to have been the main sitting room. Now, it seems more like the main workspace for whatever restoration crew was here last. The wooden floors, likely once as burnished as the exterior door, are dim with dust, cut through with work boot footprints. Your light falls across a far alcove, home to a dustcloth-covered piano that fits so well in its corner that you wonder if the house was built around it. Everything about the place feels intentional, if a bit over the top - the walls’ dark wainscotting connects to the interestingly arched ceilings above with intermittent, delicate strips of wood, drawing your eye up into its inlaid patterns. They feel designed to capture your attention and hold it, demanding of your gaze and keeping it there to let it dance through complicated tiles and curling designs that disappear as soon as you try to intentionally follow them.

But there’s nothing here along the lines of what you’re looking for, so you almost reluctantly pull your gaze away from the craftsmanship of the Manor and keep searching. The sitting room connects through to an intimate dining area and further on to a large kitchen, as far as you can see, so you turn back toward the main entryway. The passageways here, apart from the grand entrance to the sitting room, feel horribly narrow despite the size of the rooms they lead into. You wonder idly if it’s the size of the occupying furniture eating up space as you carefully move your weight across the old wooden floors, cautious of traitorously creaky spots.

Mindful of the cracked mirror, you swing your light to either side, realizing the entryway sits almost at the midpoint of the house. With the sitting room behind you, a narrow hallway to the right opens onto the dining room and kitchen and ends in a staircase. To the left is the cracked mirror and a winding bit of hallway that seems to open onto another, larger room. Unsure of what you’re looking for but knowing Mark’s personal possessions would very likely not be in the kitchen, you opt to head left, winding around the sharply angled walls and their shadowy corners. You realize, then, that the narrowness is intentional. It’s meant to make the rooms feel bigger - the hallways squeezing you before releasing you suddenly into a wide open space.

All it does is make you claustrophobic.

The larger room you’re let into is a bit of a let-down, clearly also meant for entertaining and barren of anything of note but another cloth-covered couch near the far wall’s fireplace and a sizable bar to your left. There are a few dusty bottles on the mirrored wall behind it, but some have been knocked over and most seem empty, their contents long evaporated. The barroom feels larger and emptier than the others. Although you’d think you’d feel less closed-in here, the air feels heavier. That creeping sensation of someone watching you only grows. You don’t feel much desire to linger - it’s already starting to feel like you’ve been in the house too long, even though it’s probably only been minutes since you broke through the door. You wonder if the realtor has a silent alarm on the place, the thought settling more of that desire to shiver in your muscles. Come on, come on. Just keep moving and stop getting all squirrely.

The hallway continues past the bar room, tight and dark except for the light of your flashlight which sends strange angles of shadow twisting across the walls and floor. It ends in a door, about where the far wall of the barroom seemed to end, but you find it locked tight. Because of course it is, you gripe. A massive suit of armor looms to your right, standing guard over a staircase that draws your eye up its tight spiral. The top isn’t immediately visible, and dread settles into a pit in your gut as you crane your neck and light in tandem to peer up its length. Of course the first abandoned house you end up exploring is absolutely massive and endlessly creepy. Not that you necessarily want more experience exploring abandoned houses, but. You shake the errant thoughts away, just pushing your feet to take you up the stairs, its once-rich carpet beaten thin and worn with age.

Where could his office have been? you wonder as you climb, assuming Mark might have left some suspicious letters or blank checks, maybe even a diary if you’re lucky. You reach the top of the quietly creaky steps to find that the landing here opens onto yet another sitting room -- really, how much sitting did people do back in the day? Putting your bewilderment aside, you notice it’s much darker up here - all of the curtains you can see are drawn so even the rising moonlight can’t creep in. It’s quieter and stiller, too, warmer as you check your surroundings. Another door to your left, which you test and also find to be locked. Swearing softly to yourself, you try to ignore how your breath shakes as you exhale. You’re starting to feel like this is all pointless, that you’re just scaring yourself for no reason or benefit to either you or Jonah. How did he even know the house was still full of stuff? Even if the historical society had left the furniture behind, surely they would have removed books, papers, things people could easily steal long ago. You had no reason to believe there would be anything useful here, beyond, what, Jonah’s hunch?

You kick the old door out of frustration, still leaning on it and rattling the handle. It immediately strikes you as childish, especially after your explosive entrance to the Manor, and you let go with a quiet mix of embarrassment and frustration swirling in your throat. You wish Jonah was here, he’d have some crazy idea about how you could get in, he’d break all this skin-crawling tension that threatens to suffocate you. He’d make you laugh, at the worst possible moment, and it would be just a stupidly big, dark, empty house and not the imposing darkness that felt like it was watching your every move. He’d…

Suddenly, a bone-chillingly loud creak comes from back towards the stairs. You turn in a rush, heart leaping into your throat. But as you do, you fumble your phone and lose your grip in your panic. The device uselessly flings light across the walls around you as it clatters to the floor. You’re thrown into darkness and your free hand reflexively scrabbles on the wall for a lightswitch while you shakily raise the night stick in your other. The release jams when you press it, and your chest tightens as you hunt in a blind panic. Finally, you feel a smooth metal casing and its switch under your fingers, and you snap it up sharply.

The switch was, apparently, connected to more lights than you had thought - practically every light in the hallway and stairwell bursts to life and briefly blinds you. You blink through the spots dancing across your vision, driven by fear to find whoever was creeping up on you. The hallway you’re standing in seems to follow that of the first floor, running the length of the front of the house - you can see clear down it even from your far position.

Or you could, if not for the man standing about twenty feet away on the other side of the narrow, cat-walk-like landing that winds around the entryway below. In a beige coat and dark pants, he occupies most of the hallway’s width with his broad shoulders, and is staring directly at you with...

… a thick, fabric blindfold, deeply stained with blood.

Suddenly, he’s advancing on you, catching the crooked railing to guide himself. He moves so quickly it startles the breath out of you - how can he see me? But you jerk into motion, scooping up your phone from the floor and rushing to the staircase between you. The man is fast, his mouth twisting in rage, but you’re closer to the stairs. In your rush, though, you stumble and almost throw yourself down the steep flight, only narrowly catching yourself against the heavy banister pole. The impact manages to shake loose a nearby picture from the wall and it crashes to the floor with your bum nightstick. None of this does anything to slow the man closing the distance between you, and you thunder down the stairs in what feels like broad daylight compared to the gloom you’d been in, begging your feet to stay underneath you where you need them.

He hits the stairs shortly after you, taking them quickly with heavy steps, so close behind that you can hear him muttering gutturally to himself as he goes. His voice makes that deep, horrible shiver that’s been building in your muscles all night finally burst to the surface and send your skin up in goosebumps. But you just push your legs harder, rushing down the hall toward the entrance. Finally able to see where you’re going with the ambient light from behind you, you clear the barroom and can just see the tiled entryway - your escape - when you hear a dull thwack and pain blooms across the back of your head and neck. Your balance lost, the floor rushes up to meet you and sends you back into the all-consuming darkness.

---

It’s darkness to which you awake, too, head pounding. Your ears ring, dully, and everything hurts - your neck, jaw, the side of your face… The memory of your skull bouncing on the Manor’s black and white tiles forces a soft groan from you.

“Oh, look, our little spy finally decided to finish her nap.” A deep voice echos around you, and you feel like you’re somewhere… low. There’s a distinct chill and stillness to the air that makes you think ‘basement’. You don’t immediately sit up, the effort of trying to lift your head feeling like too much all at once. Its weight isn’t something you’ve ever really considered, but now it’s all you can think about - it might as well be a sack of rocks. A firm tsk breaks the silence. “Come on now, we know you’re awake. No point in playing dumb,” the voice comes again.

It’s strange, a man’s voice, vaguely British although impossible for you to place. Stranger still, it’s as if he’s rather poorly practicing his enunciation, both overworking and mashing his syllables together into a dizzyingly paced patter. And despite its warm timbre, it’s clear this man has precious little patience to afford you.

“Sit up, little spy.”

You blearily blink your eyes open, although the darkness you’re swimming in is only slightly less than that behind your eyelids. You’re slouched forward, staring at your legs and sitting in a chair supported by some kind of restraint wrapped around your chest and arms. Your hands are bound behind you, tied together themselves for good measure. You can feel that whatever your captor used is digging into your skin the longer you stay curled over. When you lift your head and try to scoot yourself up in the chair, though, you only succeed in awkwardly bumping it around as if trying to escape. The motion messes with your balance and makes you sick, and you fall still, firmly secured. “Ah, ah, ah, none of that, stay right where you are… we’ve got a few things to ask you, don’t we…”

“Indeed, we do,” a second voice agrees. If you thought the first one was strange, this one defies explanation. Although it speaks as one, it is complicated, multi-throated, reverberating. It bounces off the bare walls of the darkened room as easily as it does around those of your mind. Like an agonizing accompaniment, the dull ringing in your head rises, as its owner seems to approach you. The sound of his steps across the floor partners with the ratcheting up of your throbbing headache. More pressingly, though, the voice’s tone is terse, focused, and has none of the lilt and implied smile of the first. A clammy, cold sweat breaks out on your neck. Fear coils in your stomach for the first time - whoever had spoken, whoever is so near you that you can feel how he displaces the dank air of the basement is not human.

You feel horribly small in the dark with these… beings. But you force yourself to look deeply into the shade and try to make them out, to know their faces should you get the chance to escape - as unlikely as that possibility seemed. Your throat is dry, and you croak out, “What… what do you want?”

“It would be simpler to ask you the same,” comes the multi-voice again. Despite its many layers, it is steady, assured. “Tell us - what, exactly, brought you here tonight.”

The ice it carries makes your mind seize up. How weak you realize your story will sound, in your creaky voice, in the face of such sharp intensity. You try to begin, anyway. “I. I can explain, it’s just. Weird…”

“Well ‘weird’ is pretty much our constant bedfellow at this point, my dear girl, give it a shot,” the first voice goads. Against the tight restraint of its companion, it’s like if a rainbow bouncy ball had suddenly stood up and spoken. It’s hard to tell if its lilt is earnestly playful or just hiding a crueler edge. You try to focus despite the whiplash between the two, pushing through the throbbing of your damned head.

“I… This friend of mine, he asked me to check the place out with him. We’re reporters, and he’d heard on his police scanner last night that a neighbor had seen, just, someone wandering around… Which isn’t super weird by itself, but when an officer showed up, there was nobody around and there were lights on inside, despite… I mean, it’s been basically abandoned for years. And… we just thought we’d look around, but he couldn’t come and he asked me… He really wanted to check it out, so. So I came in.”

You’re surprised you even got to finish your jerkily delivered explanation with how quickly the first man interjects. “Oh, a very likely story, ‘just simple curiosity, that’s all!” His voice goes a bit falsetto in a crude parody of yours before dropping sharply back to his original range and practically roaring, “You really expect us to believe such hogwash? For all we know, you could’ve killed this so-called friend of yours before breaking your way in here!” He’s so close to your face, you feel his breath across on your skin and despite your best efforts, your legs shake against the hard wooden chair beneath you. What is he talking about?

“Wilford, please, she isn’t one of your interviewees,” the second man sighs. “Control yourself.”

The first man, Wilford, retreats with a muttered exclamation, apparently trying to calm himself. “Let’s just get rid of her quick, Dark, she’s no better than the last one.” The tell-tale click of a pistol hammer being drawn back is bright and sharp in the close room, clearing your foggy head. Pain replaced with cold fear, your feet scrabble slightly on the smooth floor. From the sound of it, the whole room is tiled in stone.

Would anyone hear you if you screamed?

“N-No, I mean it, I’m serious, it,” your voice is strangled, too obviously panicked. You struggle to swallow, steady yourself. “It really was just… just curiosity, he’s so nosy, and… and he wouldn’t let it go, he practically twisted my arm, but I only came t-to keep him out of trouble. He just, we… please. Please, don’t kill me, I won’t tell anyone you’re here, that I ever came here--”

“Stop.” The being’s tone is slightly less terse than before. He allows silence to fall for a moment, only broken by your damnably shaky breathing. You try to calm it, but your body’s panic switch has fully flipped, short, ragged breaths echoing in the darkness. The ringing in your head reasserts itself, sharper in the silence, and you squint against the way it so easily exacerbates your wounded head. You wonder if you’re bruised, if you’re bloodied. Finally, he speaks again. “Nobody is going to kill anybody. Not yet, at least.” Somehow, that’s not as reassuring as he seems to intend it to be. “Who sent you here tonight.”

A weak groan creaks out of you unconsciously, although whether from pain or dread you’re not sure. “Nobody, I mean, Nobody but. But my friend, like I said, he was the one who wanted to come here, but, h-his car, it. Something happened, it practically exploded on him. He couldn’t afford a ride over, so. So he just asked me to come in and look around. That’s all…”

“And your friend, who is he, again.”

“Another reporter, we work together, we basically share a desk… He covers crime, I’m. I do politics…” Another pause, another almost unbearable moment with the ringing. Your stomach churns, everything awash in pain and just feeling… too much. The ringing is either steadily getting louder and that much worse, or your tolerance is rapidly declining.

“Nobody asked you to come here, apart from him? And nobody asked him to come here?” You shake your heavy head. “Answer me,” he suddenly growls, the ringing rocketing to excruciating heights. Your head feels like it might split open.

“No!” you cry. “Nobody asked us to come here! Nobody told us… nobody told us to…” After a brief moment where it sustains that splitting frequency, the ringing begins to recede, and your pain along with it. Although the pounding remains, it feels more appropriate to the blunt force trauma you’d been through. The relief is like sinking into cool waters and you do your best not to sob.

“She is telling the truth.” The first voice groans, clearly unconvinced.

“And how can we be so sure someone else didn’t put the idea in her little friend’s head and she just doesn’t know it! Someone up the line from them pulling the strings for Mark. We can’t trust her, Dark, and you’re just going to let her go-”

Wait. Mark?

“You forget yourself,” Dark interrupts, his voices losing focus, thundering in the small space as their unity unravels. He echoes, pitch dipping as if intentionally warped before returning to normal. “Did you not say yourself that you are a part, not the leader? I believe it was me you foisted that title on. So when your leader tells you that she is honest, I expect you to trust me.” Silence reigns for a moment. Dark seems to be putting himself back together in the silence, corralling. He sighs, quietly, then speaks, unified once more. “I did not say anything about letting her go just yet. Possess yourself with patience.” Wilford settles with a not-so-subtle harrumph, but seems appropriately chided for the time being. Shoes scuff quietly on the floor as Dark turns back to you. “My apologies. We are all a little… tense these days.”

Realizing he expects a response, given his pause, you look in what you think is his general direction. With how long you’ve been here in the dark, your eyes can make out a faint figure of what appears to be a man, standing tall with his arms clasped behind his back. His head tilts in your direction. You work your brain for something to say. Play along, keep them talking, don’t panic too much. “...It. It’s all right… I mean, I did break into your house.” It’s hard to tell with him, but it seems for a moment like Dark chuckles, albeit without humor. An acknowledgement more than anything.

“Yes. You did…” He pauses, considering you. “But I believe that you did not do so for any ulterior reason… apart from your own curiosity. Or, rather, that of your friend’s. However, you do now know of our presence here, and you’re somewhat of a… liability to our continued residency.” You swallow thickly. In the dark, you can see him twist, as if craning his neck to one side to crack it. It’s a tortured gesture, demanding its performance. Is he in pain? He returns his attention to you, moving on. “Now… Why should we allow you to leave? Alive, I mean.”

It’s you now, who pauses. Your mind is spinning, lost in the darkness and overwhelmed with new information. What had Wilford meant, ‘pulling the strings for Mark’? He was dead, why would a dead man need strings pulled on his behalf? Did this have something to do with whatever the actor had done and its cover-up job? More pressingly, what could you possibly give some… nonhuman entity and his paranoid partner to earn your freedom? And was his name really Dark? It felt too cheesy to be true.

It all seems beyond belief or explanation, but the silence between the three of you is only growing longer, and now you really feel watched. You push your mouth to move, to just start speaking - your brain promises to catch up.

“Well. Apart from me… not having anything to do with… whatever you’re doing here. I. I’m a reporter, I have connections. I can get you information that… that you might want.” You pause, letting the offer hang. The other two are silent, but they’re still watching you. They’re not disinterested, and that’s the best you’ve got right now. You swallow, trying to get your dry mouth to cooperate. “I. I heard you mention Mark.” The air in the room seems to go tight, but you soldier on. “Part of why my friend wanted to come here is because he’s been… paying attention, I guess. Any stories about Mark, even now, they. I mean, our board, at the paper, they kill them, nothing ever gets to print, not even puff pieces. Other papers have been doing the same thing, too. The most famous guy from this place, and we can’t even write about him. That. It’s weird.”

“I am failing to see the purpose of this explanation,” Dark presses, as if through gritted teeth. You keep going, your voice coming out in even more of a breathless rush than before.

“Our. Our editor, he keeps all the stories we put up, even the rejected ones. There was a big one my colleague did, nearer the anniversary of his death, I know she did a lot of work on it, did a lot of research into what happened after… after he basically became a recluse. I. I could get ahold of it for you. And more, if that… if that’s something you’re looking for. Or something else, just. I can get you something about anything. I swear.”

Again, the room falls silent with you. Your pulse thrums in your throat, rushing in your ears. It’s a thin connection, barely there, but it’s what you have. Jonah might kill you for offering to basically be a mole for god knows who these people are, Walker might have questions about why you suddenly want everything about the man, and, hell, this might put some invisible target on your back given how the board’s been treating articles about Mark... but that would just have to be a bridge you cross when you get to it. You have to be alive to approach that metaphorical bridge, and for now, this is the one card you can lay that you know has any value to your captors.

It was like the two men began communicating telepathically in the dark, debating back and forth the value of your offer. You can see them staring at each other and shifting ever so slightly, but they never speak. Time creeps by, and after what feels like an eternity, Wilford makes an irritated noise while Dark decidedly turns back to you.

“By when could you have these articles.” Yes. You feel light enough to float on the ceiling. You’re going to get out.

“The earliest, tomorrow evening, but it could be two or three days, depending on when my boss is in. The cabinets are in his office, and he locks up when he’s out.”

Dark hums. “Two days, then, to return with what you find.” You open your mouth to agree to the terms, eager to be freed, but Wilford interrupts again.

“You are letting her go. How do we know she won’t just skip town on the first train out of the station?” His tone is still blistering, but his ire is a shadow of its former self. “We don’t even know if she’s a real reporter. You know, little missy, I’m a reporter myself, and I’m just not sure you’ve got the--”

Thankfully, Dark asserted himself once more, sounding as if he was physically restraining Wilford from re-invading your personal space when he spoke again. “We will just have to trust her, won’t we. Something you seem to need a little practice with. Besides, something tells me she’s honest about that part, as well.”

Wilford rounds on him, then. “And if she’s not?” Dark however, doesn’t take the bait, maintaining his chilly smoothness.

“If she’s not… well. You always say you prefer a moving target, don’t you.”

A beat passes wherein all of Wilford’s suspicion and frustration seem to melt. He chuckles in pure glee. Although it doesn’t have a drop of malice in it, that sound makes you shiver in your restraints. “Ahh. You’ve got me there, old boy, you know I live for the hunt!”

Dark gives that barely-there chuckle again. “But we will handle that… business if and when it comes to that. For now… see her out, Wilford. Carefully, this time, she doesn’t need a concussion.”

“Fine, fine… All right now, dear girl, up you come.” Two solid hands take hold of your forearms and draw you up from the chair. You start to exclaim, but the ropes binding you fall away, like they had only been loosely draped around you. They had been digging into your skin only moments before, you were sure of it… Wilford places you back on your feet but stays close, and even in the gloom of the basement you can make out snippets of him - a loose mess of curly, dark hair hangs over a strong brow. Similarly dark eyes crinkle with a mirthful, massively mustachioed smile as he registers your surprise at being so easily freed. “No peeking for this part now, close those peepers for ol’ Wilford.” Before you can formulate any kind of response, one of the man’s hands covers your eyes.

“And… voilá!”

Suddenly, a cold night breeze swirls around you, and you can see again. Moonlight illuminates the quiet neighborhood street before you. You realize, blinking against even the dim light you’re now washed in, that you’re back to where you started: standing alone outside the locked gate to the Manor, bag hanging from one shoulder, cell phone in hand, staring up at the imposing building. The stars shine down brightly on you without the city’s light pollution to hide them, but the Manor is all dark.

...what?

If not for the remaining dull ache in your head and the ghost of Wilford’s touch on your face, you would be certain you had just had a very violent and vivid hallucination. But your head does ache, and you can still feel the callused touch of the man’s hands on your arms, on your face, clear as anything. Dumbfounded, you stare at the Manor for a moment before you hear the crunch of gravel. You jerk and look towards the sound - the Manor’s neighbors are home, a sleek car pulling into the driveway. Quickly, you move behind one of the trees ringing the Manor’s massive grounds and unlock your phone. Your rideshare app is still open, still waiting for you to select your driver. Without hesitating, you pick one and press the confirmation button.

You wait until the neighbors are well inside their similarly opulent house before you make your way quietly back down the street. Even with your head swimming like it is, you try to fix every detail of the experience in your mind, just as it had happened, fighting the blurring tides of adrenaline and, now, exhaustion. It’s hard to hold on to any one thing, especially with how much time you spent in semi- to total darkness, but by the time your ride pulls up, you are keenly, yet strangely, aware of one detail for certain.

Although his hair was dark, Wilford’s mustache was tinged with a rich pink.

#markiplier fanfiction #markiplier egos #markiplier lore #actor!mark #actor mark #wilford warfstache #darkiplier #who killed markiplier #mad market pliers ramblings

2 notes · View notes

gothic-safari-clown · 3 years

Text

The Mind’s Power Over the Body

PART FIVE: LIBERATION

Story Summary: They only ever had each other. It had been that way since high school, ever since Elianna transferred to dreary Arlen and took Jonathan under her wing. They go separate ways for college, and when they’re reunited at Arkham Asylum professionally, Elianna comes to find that they’ve both changed during their time separated. Can she look past the promise of danger and stay by Jonathan’s side as they slide further and further into the darkness while she grapples to come to terms with the truth about herself? Can she accept what needs to be done in order to hold onto the only person who holds any meaning in her life? This is a very self-indulgent AU that draws from several different canons of the DCU and ignoring others, starting in the Batman Begins Nolanverse. This will follow the plot of the movie, although the timeline has been very slightly tweaked.

Trigger Warning: Mention of suicidal thoughts, blood, stalking, assault, and explicit language

Part One / Part Two / Part Three / Part Four

Word count: 5414

When her alarm sounded on the morning after her weekend, Elianna was under no circumstances ready to wake up. Vaguely ominous dreams had plagued her for the third night in a row, and although she couldn’t recall a single detail, they had left a looming sense of foreboding hanging over her head.

Unhungry, she decided to skip breakfast and took advantage of the extra time that the decision bought her after getting ready to pick up a coffee from the shop down the street from her apartment on her way to work.

The uneasy feeling redoubled as she parked in her spot and shut off the car. “Something bad is going to happen today,” she said aloud to herself. “But at least I can be ready for it.”

She picked up her week’s schedule from the front desk, and one glance over it told her exactly where the trouble would come from. Her first session of the day was with Zsasz, right in the morning. She sighed when she saw it and shook her head, thanking the receptionist begrudgingly, and made her way up to her office.

Upon arriving, El retrieved her notes from the other day to look over them and compare them to the pre-existing information in Zsasz’s file. A knock on the door caught her attention, and she looked up at it, lifting herself out of her seat with a sigh. Opening the door, she found Jonathan on the other side and let herself relax.

“Good morning, love, come on in,” she welcomed distractedly and stepped aside to let him in. Looking at his face, he seemed as tired as she felt. “You look terrible, Jonathan, did you sleep at all last night?”

“Not much,” he admitted as she returned to her seat, and he settled into the guest seat opposite her. He cast a weary look around her still bare office. “Knowing you, I thought you would have decorated a little more already.”

“Hm?” El asked distractedly, looking back up from her notes. “Oh, yeah, I just haven’t thought about it much, I guess.” She looked around at the naked walls for herself. “Although now that I am, I suppose I’ll bring some stuff tomorrow. Care to help me?” She leaned her weight upon her elbows on the desk and rested her chin on the lattice of her fingers.

“Do I have a choice?” He cocked an eyebrow, to which El smiled in response, absentmindedly noticing once again the way the light would catch in his eyes with the slightest shift of his head.

“Of course you do, but if you loved me, you would anyway.” She gave a wide, innocent smile and blinked sweetly at him, earning an eye roll and a tiny smile in response.

“Oh, and who says that I do?” he challenged.

“Well, there’s me, of course,” El began, counting off on her fingers, “and the fact that you made extra sure that the warden would read my application so that I would have to come here and work with you. So there you have two pretty solid sources, but I’m sure that I could think of more if that isn’t enough.”

“Alright, alright, you’ve got me, you win,” he replied tiredly, raising his hand for her to stop, to which Elianna chuckled softly, before finding her attention back on Zsasz’s file. “What are you so distracted by?”

“Ugh, just my first session this morning.” She sighed, shaking her head and beginning to gather everything she would need into her briefcase; she had fifteen minutes, and she liked to be early to things. “Have you ever worked with Victor Zsasz?” El asked her friend as she stood, to which he shook his head and stood with her. “Well, wish me luck and hope that I don’t get killed next time he decides to escape.” She opened the door for Jonathan to leave first and followed him into the hallway.

“Well, I don’t have any appointments scheduled until this afternoon. Want some company?”

“Please.” The pair started down the hallway to the stairs. “So how’s…our mutual friend? Is he the reason you didn’t sleep well?” El inquired, looking to change the subject.

“Mostly. I also had some paperwork to finish before the weekend was over, and that took a while.” They chatted about Jonathan’s disorganized work habits as they followed the stairwell to the third floor.

Waiting for them were the same three guards from the day before. Once again, one posted himself at the glass—now joined by Jonathan—and the original two accompanied Elianna inside.

“Good morning, Victor. Sleep well?” She asked politely as she took her seat and once again removed her notepad and pen from her briefcase along with her trusty voice recorder.

“Like a rock, doctor. That’s the upside of a padded room; you can get comfortable anywhere.” Oh, that voice. Once again, El found herself fighting off a shiver.

“Why don’t we pick up where we left off a few days ago?” El suggested amicably and made a small note when she didn’t receive an answer. “How about you tell me what made you begin liberating people?” Immediately, Zsasz’s mood shifted; he clearly loved to talk about himself. Narcissistic??? El scribbled in her notes as he began to speak.

“One might say that I had it all,” he mused. Oh, dear, thought Elianna, he’s rehearsed this too. “Wealth. Family.” The word fell to the table and dripped with sarcasm. “Until one fateful day, my dear, sainted parents died in a boating accident. Consumed with grief, I soon gambled all that wealth away, and made my solemn way to Gotham Bridge.” The lilting of his voice reminded El of a dramatic narration over a soap opera. “As I prepared for the plunge, I was confronted by a homeless gentleman with a knife, who demanded I give him all of my money. Of course, I had none left, but he simply wouldn’t believe me. A struggle ensued, and I ended up with the knife.” The memory makes Zsasz smile dreamily. “I stared that man in the eyes and saw the meaninglessness of life. The desperation, the hatred, and the hardship that I felt in myself, and I realized something…significant: it’s all for nothing. You could say, in a way, I owe my existence to that man. With that first kill, I became what I am today.”

“I see. May I ask you a question, Victor?” El looked up from the diligent notes she had been taking during his story.

“Isn’t that what you’re here for, doctor?”

“Well, your work liberating people gives you a purpose of sorts, doesn’t it?” Zsasz remained silent, but his eyes narrowed, and his smile faltered slightly. “To your mind, it gives your life meaning. In which case, life can’t be meaningless. In fact, I could argue that my purpose is to tell you this now, couldn’t I?” She hadn’t meant to get philosophical, yet there she was anyway.

“Very well spoken, Doctor Montgomery,” the criminal’s wide grin picked back up, and something in his voice had changed. Once again, the feeling of impending danger spiked, and El rose to her feet slowly in preparation to make for the door. “However, if that’s the case, then that would mean that your purpose has been served, wouldn’t it?” Suddenly, Zsasz lunged over the table, cuffs flung to the floor, and El heard one of the guards shout ‘he’s got a knife!’ and on instinct, her arm flew up to cover her face as she stumbled backward. A slicing pain rippled through her forearm near her elbow before the guards had a chance to catch him, and at the moment, she found herself stupidly upset about her now ruined yellow shirt before kicking herself mentally. That isn’t even close to important right now!

Forcing herself back to the situation at hand, Elianna fumbled to open the door behind her as her escorts surged forward to subdue the enraged Victor Zsasz. An alarm suddenly blared through the asylum when the outside guard pressed the emergency button beside the door, the sudden noise making Elianna flinch hard.

When she finally managed to wrench the door into swinging open towards her, El practically fell through it, and Jonathan was already there half supporting and half dragging her into the hallway as the third guard rushed past them into the room to help his peers. “What the hell happened?” She demanded, defensively angry. “Why weren’t his damn cuffs secured?” El felt herself trembling as her mind raced, gradually realizing that she had been in danger from the second she entered the room. Was it his sadistic enjoyment of suspense, or his desire to talk about himself that had kept her safe for that long?

“I don’t know, whoever brought him in must be helping him,” Jonathan explained breathlessly, raising the redhead’s arm to look at the gash. “This looks bad, come with me,” he did a good job of hiding the distress in his voice for his friend’s sake but kept a firm grip around her shoulders as he escorted her to the infirmary.

As soon as they walked in, a nurse was there to greet them, having been informed of the situation.

“Is it bad?” El asked the nurse, who shook her head.

“It’s a shallow cut, nothing to worry over. I’m going to clean and bandage it, and you should be good to go.”

“He went straight for your throat.” Jonathan recounted. “If you hadn’t thrown your arm up so quickly-” he shook his head, arms crossed over his chest.

“I don’t want to think about it,” El closed her eyes, swallowing hard. “At least we know I have good reflexes,” she added quietly in an attempt to lighten the mood and earned a smile from the nurse as she began wrapping a bandage around the wound. When she finished, she handed El a spare roll.

“You’ll want to take this one off before you shower and rewrap it afterward to be safe, but it should be alright in a few days.”

“He’ll be assigned a different doctor by tomorrow,” Jonathan commented as El stood, and she looked at him sharply.

“What? No!” she exclaimed, her adrenaline still pumping, and Jonathan looked at her as though she should be admitted. “I want to keep working with him; I can’t just let my first major case go like that!”

“Absolutely not,” he argued firmly, keeping his voice steady.

“We can have extra security next time, and have them double-check the-”

“No!” El stopped in surprise. He had never snapped at her like that before. He sighed exasperatedly. “Look, it isn’t up to me, the administration won’t reassign you to his case, but even if it were, there’s not a chance that I’d let you back into a room with him.” El stared him down defiantly, but upon seeing his resolve, she gave in.

“Fine.” She conceded begrudgingly. “I’ll just find another way to prove myself.” Jonathan nodded in response.

“That’s much better, and you will. Now come on, you’ll have to make a statement and fill out a report.” El nodded, and they made for the warden’s office together. Unfortunately, the pair needed to pass through the corridor in which the session had been held. It seemed that Zsasz had put up quite a fight; he had only then been successfully subdued and was being escorted back to his cell surrounded by guards (several of whom looked worse for wear) with three pairs of cuffs securing his wrists. A small crowd had gathered in the hall of people curious about the disturbance, forcing Elianna and Jonathan to stop as the twisted parade passed.

Zsasz caught sight of Elianna as he was marched through and grinned at her, forever unblinking. “Leave your door unlocked for me.” He taunted, earning a hard shove from the guard nearest to him. Jonathan stared the criminal down and put his arm around El’s shoulders protectively, pushing through the crowd and pulling her back into motion.

“You’re not going home.” His tone of voice left no room for protest.

“Fine, but I need to get some things first.”

“Then we’ll take tomorrow off and buy you whatever you need, but you can’t go back to your apartment for a while.”

“Jesus, fine,” El said exasperatedly. “When did you get so protective anyway? You’ve never been like this before.”

“When the only person I give a damn about was almost killed in front of me for the second time, now stop arguing and just keep walking.” Despite her displeasure of being chastised, El smiled to herself. She had gotten him to admit it openly when she wasn’t even trying. That in itself registered as a small victory in her mind.

Without another word, she did her best to match her pace to his much longer legs, clinging to his forearm in an attempt not to fall behind.

“Welcome to Gotham,” she muttered to herself and shook her head at the ridiculousness of it all. Gotham badly needed saving from itself; that much was clear to her. Only one question remained: who was going to do it?

.xXx.

Despite Jonathan’s insistence that she was to drive straight to his apartment when they left work, Elianna made an executive decision to go and get what she needed from her place first; she couldn’t let Jonathan buy her all new things when she could just get what she needed in ten minutes. She was sure that Zsasz would be heavily guarded that night, and she would call Jonathan while she packed to justify her actions.

“Jonathan? Don’t be angry; I’m just packing a few things, I promise I’ll be in and out.” There was an angry sigh in her receiver as she unlocked the door.

“Check every room first.” He instructed, knowing that he couldn’t convince his friend to get right back in her car.

“Yes, boss,” she replied sarcastically but did so anyway, thoroughly checking every nook and cranny. “All clear, everything is fine.”

“Stay on the phone while you pack, put me on speaker.”

They stayed on the phone, and in just a few minutes, she had everything she needed to stay with Jonathan for a week and was locking her front door as she left. See, love? Everything is fine.

“I’m on my way to the car now. I’ll be there soon.” She assured Jonathan. Satisfied that everything had gone smoothly with no further need of his supervision, he wished her a safe drive there before they hung up.

Once outside, she held her pepper spray firmly in one hand and her car keys in the other. It was dark out now, and even in the chaos of Gotham, the darkness drew out more crazies than the daytime. Once her keys were securely in her right hand, she returned her attention forward, and what she saw made her blood run cold.

“Oh, you’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” she breathed to herself and ducked behind a car. What she had seen was the distinct and unmistakable figure of Victor Zsasz turning from the sidewalk and into the parking lot, moving directly toward her building. A hundred questions hurtled through her brain: How had he escaped so quickly? Was his escape route in his cell somehow? How could he have gotten away from Arkham without being spotted? How had he learned where she lived? How many people were helping him on the inside, and who were they?

It was too late for her to do anything about it now, but God help her, she would track down whoever was responsible for this monumental screw up first thing in the morning, and she would make them sorry. But first, she needed to focus on avoiding the unthinkable.

Swallowing hard, she did her best to shove down her terror and quiet her breathing as she peeked up through the windows of the car she had hidden behind to track Zsasz’s progress. Her heart was beating so loudly in her ears, and for some reason, all she could think of was that goddamned Poe story. At that moment, she abandoned her atheism and begged desperately to God or anyone listening that he couldn’t hear the wet thumping of her heart over the echoing sound of his careless footsteps.

Was it possible they heard not? Almighty God! —no, no! They heard!—They suspected!—They knew! Again! Hark! Louder!

Louder!

As the solitary figure steadily approached the alligator green sedan that Elianna had found herself crouched behind, she slowly crept around toward the front of the car opposite him so as not to be seen. He passed the rear bumper close enough that she could hear him humming contentedly and breathing in the “fresh” Gotham air as though he were on a simple, pleasant stroll, and not on his way to construct his most recent gruesome crime scene.

I should have listened to Jonathan.

When El finally made it to the opposite side of the car, and Zsasz seemed a safe enough distance away, her heart leaped at the thought that she was in the clear—freedom! Safety!—and she was just standing up to break for her car, only a little further down the row, when her bag—my fucking duffle bag!—swung off of her shoulder and down her arm, swinging hard into that ghastly green car.

In slow motion, she watched the contact, unable to move to stop it, and jumped as the car alarm went off. Her head snapped back up just in time to see Zsasz spin around to observe the sudden disturbance. The fear rolling off of El was palpable as she watched in real-time Victor’s recognition of her face, his target, his victim, his newest zombie. His bald head turned almost skeletal as his grin built slowly, steadily transforming into the most horrifying thing that Elianna had ever seen.

“Doctor Montgomery! Is this a bad time?” He had already begun strolling toward her, to which El began walking backward shakily. “I’d like very much to discuss my philosophy with you.” The gash on her arm was throbbing, a reminder that she hadn’t escaped her last encounter with Zsasz unscathed. And here she had no guards.

“You see, since you obviously didn’t meet your death in that dismal room,” here he paused to laugh, “the universe is off balance!” He declared grandiosely, spreading his arms wide and tipping his head back as he continued. “How can things function properly if I allow a zombie to escape her fate?” His words filled El with heavy dread, rendering her muscles useless as he came closer and closer despite the screaming need to move, to do something!

She couldn’t help taking a mental picture of the moment as he continued steadily toward her. The tableau was almost cinematic: the dingy, yellow street lamp between them hummed loudly as it strained to stay on, and the resulting shadows were starkly black against the pavement, so sharp it was as though they had been stenciled on the ground; to say nothing of the man—the beast—that came toward her, almost Lovecraftian.

Thin, and stretched up tall compared to her small frame, the skin stretched tight against the sharp bones of the face beneath it, the bald head and teeth prominently displayed in a deranged grin reflecting the sickly yellow light, reminding El of how horribly insane the creature approaching her really was. Not to mention the scars—oh God, the scars!

The slim, raised tallies that marred his skin seemed ironically countless, and they almost glowed in the light of the bright moon and the stale light from the street lamp, and those eyes just continued to stare, as unblinking as ever.

Elianna processed all of this at once and was suddenly struck with the realization that if she didn’t act right then, she would be reduced to nothing but another of those haunting, alien marks; a trophy.

The thought hit her hard enough to release her from her stupor—just in time!—and raise her arm, releasing a stream of pepper spray into what was hopefully the direction of those too-big eyes as she turned on her heel and sprinted as fast as she could toward her car.

The wild laughter from behind her told her instantly that she had fully missed her target, and she pushed herself faster. Something struck her in the back of the knee, and she didn’t have time to wonder what it was as her head hit the ground hard, her hands scraping against the asphalt when she was sent sprawling. She groaned at the burning in her forehead, and something warm dripped down her face. If I can just get to my car, was her only thought as the pumping adrenaline took over, compelling her to start to her feet.

A cold hand wrapped around her ankle, and without thinking, she kicked out hard with her other foot. Something that felt like a nose cracked under her heel, accompanied by a sharp grunt of pain and the hand loosened, so she struck again, earning her a cry of agony and a free leg. Elianna scrambled to her feet as quickly as she could, not bothering to look behind at the damage she had dealt, focusing all of her energy on stumbling to her car. Get to Jonathan’s now.

Suddenly, a large, black mass swooped over her head, followed by the sound of a body hitting the ground hard and another cry of pain from Zsasz. El risked a glance behind to see a figure shrouded in black yanking Zsasz to his feet, and that was good enough for her. She finally fumbled her way into her car. She didn’t know who the hell that was, and she didn’t care to know. She peeled out of the parking lot, wiping at the blood dripping into her eye.

She checked her reflection in the visor mirror at a stoplight to assess the damage. As was to be expected, she was bleeding profusely where her head had connected with the asphalt. She tried not to worry too much; head wounds always bleed more than seems necessary. Even so, looking at her reflection made her lightheaded, the sight of asphalt sticking in her skin, and her hair matted with blood. She slammed the visor shut, and when the light turned green, she drove as quickly as she could to Jonathan’s apartment.

I almost died twice today.

As soon as she parked, Elianna snatched up her bag from the passenger seat, and for reasons that she didn’t quite understand, locked the car eight times before running into the building and then the elevator as fast as she could. Once inside, she pressed the button for her desired floor and then jammed the 'close door’ button frantically, bouncing anxiously as it made its slow ascent—can’t they make these things any faster?

As soon as the doors opened enough for her to slip through, she sprinted down the hallway, miraculously keeping from tumbling over on the way. She needed to get to Jonathan’s door now, every second that passed inciting more paranoia of some fresh horror presenting itself.

By the time she made it to the right door (a ten second run from the elevator), there were tears in her eyes, and she knocked frantically, needing for him to open the door right this damn second, Jonathan Crane!

Luckily, he seems to respond to the urgent knocking and flings open the door in seconds, the confusion written on his face quickly replaced by shock as he ushered her inside.

“Elianna, what the hell happened?”

“You were right,” she breathed, shutting the door quickly behind her and locking it. “You were right. I-if I hadn’t been on the way t-to the car already….” A tear slipped out of her eye and down her cheek as she finally began to process that had happened.

“Okay, okay, come on,” Jonathan took her bag and her purse from her and set them on the floor. “Bathroom, come with me.” He led his still trembling friend into the bathroom and helped her onto the countertop to get a better look at her head, his brow furrowing in concern.

“Just don’t let me die, okay?” Elianna hadn’t even meant to speak, and nearly didn’t recognize the meek voice as her own.

“Not a chance, just hold still,” he replied as gently as he could, using a sterilized wipe from the first aid kit beneath his sink to carefully brush out the bits of asphalt from her bloodied flesh. Her eyes closed in pain when he moved on to cleaning off the mostly dried blood. “Okay, it isn’t as big as it looks,” he reassured her when he could finally see clearly; he was able to cover the source of the bleeding with a large bandaid. “There, you’re okay.” He concluded the treatment by gently dabbing antibacterial goop onto the divots left by the asphalt down her cheek.

She dropped her freshly clean forehead onto his shoulder when he finished. The light was so bright, and unsurprisingly, her head was killing her. Oh my god, if I had hit much harder, it might have.

“El?” He asked, resting his hand on the back of her head, worried that she had fallen unconscious.

“Lights.” Quickly catching on, he helped her off the counter and guided her back into the living room. She laid on the couch with her eyes shut tight as he went back into the bathroom and proceeded to make far more noise rattling about in the medicine cabinet than seemed necessary.

“You can have Tylenol.” She opened her eyes and sat up to look at the two little pills offered to her in his palm.

“Tylenol? Are you f-” El cut her off and forced a deep breath, taking the medicine from him. “It’s better than nothing. Thank you.” She didn’t even wait for water before she took them.

Jonathan sat on the couch by her head and guided her back into a horizontal position, guiding her head gently onto his lap, knowing that she found the intimacy comforting (regardless of his lack of understanding for it), while she closed her eyes again.

“Don’t fall asleep.”

“I know.”

After a minute, he turned on the television with the volume low and began to run his fingers through her hair absentmindedly. Eventually, her curiosity got the better of her, and El risked a look at the screen just in time to see Zsasz’s mugshot on the news. The sight made her nauseous, and she squeezed her eyes shut again.

Almost immediately, she began to sweat. Her anxiety quickly rocketed almost out of control, and she felt as though she couldn’t breathe as her chest tightened painfully. “C-can you feel yourself going into shock?” She asked meekly. She had meant it to come off as a joke, but unable to achieve that goal, she realized that it was a genuine concern.

“Deep breaths,” Jonathan replied calmly. “Put your feet on the armrest; you need to elevate your legs.” She did so without arguing, doing her best to keep her breathing deep and steady. “You know, you should consider yourself lucky, El.”

The statement hit her hard enough to make her forget her anxiety immediately, and she took a long, shaky breath before sitting up, swinging her feet to the floor so that she was sitting next to him properly.

“How. Could this possibly. Be lucky?” She asked slowly, doing her best to remain calm. “I have been attacked, threatened, slashed, bandaged, stalked, and practically bled out all today.” She had started slowly but found herself steadily speaking faster and louder. “I think most people-no actually, everyone on Earth would not consider that lucky, except for you. So why the hell are you smiling right now, Jonathan Crane? Do you think this is funny? I could have died tonight!”

“Of course, I don’t think it’s funny that you were attacked again. I just forgot how entertaining it is when you get angry.” For a moment, El stared at Jonathan, baffled by what he was saying, before hitting him with a throw pillow, to which he looked almost offended.

“It’s not entertaining, you bastard. Not now, in this circumstance!” She swung the pillow at him again, and he jumped up, ducking out of the way when she threw it at him instead.

“No, El, look,” he raised his hands in surrender, doing his best to backtrack and catching the next pillow that was flung at him. “You managed to escape Zsasz twice. Both times, on sheer dumb luck. Before today his mortality rate was 100%, so yes, that’s what I call lucky-don’t you dare throw that at me.”

El froze her with her arm up, ready to hurl another pillow at his face. As much as she hated to admit it, he had a point. She reluctantly dropped the pillow back onto the couch, and he relaxed.

“Fine. But you’re making dinner all week, and tomorrow you’re going to find out who let him escape so that I can shatter their kneecaps. What?” She asked in response to the puzzled look on his face.

“Weren’t you going into shock a minute ago? How are you fine right now?” He put the back of his hand on her forehead as though to check her temperature, to which she rolled her eyes and swatted his hand away.

“Through denial, all things are possible, love.” She paused for a beat before adding, “if I say that out loud, do I stop being in denial?” More to herself than to him. Another pause and then, “can we have pancakes for dinner?”

Jonathan stared down at his friend, a little impressed by her sudden resolve, before conceding and walking toward the kitchen.

“As long as you make that hot chocolate that I like.”

#the mind's power over the body #jonathan crane #scarecrow #batman begins #nolanverse #elianna montgomery #jonathan crane x ofc #slight au #fanfiction #multi chapter fic #attraction to the insane #cillian murphy #cillian murphy scarecrow #tmpotb chapter 5

4 notes · View notes

otonymous · 5 years

Text

Served (MLQC Victor) - Chapter 1: Hit and Miss

Description: Go ahead and give Victor a piece of your mind. Warnings: NSFW/18+: Explicit/graphic language — reader discretion is advised. Nb) This chapter is not smutty, but you best believe we’re gonna get there 😂 Word Count: 1424 words (~7 mins of…Victor being Victor) AO3: read here Author’s Notes: Hey everyone! This story is a BIG first for me, as I’m finally trying my hand at a something longer than a one-shot! At the risk of sounding vague, I thought it would be fun to toy around with Victor for a bit, so let’s see how this works out LOL! Hope you all enjoy it, and as always, happy reading!

Jump to other chapters: Chapter 2| Chapter 3| Chapter 4| Chapter 5

All characters & Mr Love: Queen’s Choice owned by Elex

“Fuck you, Victor.”

One blink, then another. A slackening of the jaw as his mouth hangs open in surprise, practically imperceptible if you weren’t already staring intently at his face. You find the sight strangely satisfying and it goads you onwards.

“I’ve fucking had it with you and your demands. Our relationship is purely professional; why do I have to get your goddamn lunch? Go get it yourself!”

Victor had been picking apart every second line in your proposal, and you just about had enough of his attitude after the word “idiot” had been tossed around for the tenth time.

Yes, you had been counting.

And when he ordered you in that tone of voice to get his lunch from the LFG office kitchen, that was the final straw that broke the back of an extremely tired, hungry and irritated camel.

At the back of your mind, you’re vaguely aware that you’ve scrunched up the proposal you spent all week preparing in your hand. Victor’s copy lay on the imposing avant-garde desk in the middle of his office, pinned under the critical tip of his golden pen.

The ensuing silence, uncomfortably loud, stretches on for much longer than necessary for you to have made your point. So you decide to speak.

“Listen-“

“I’m sor-“

Except that Victor opens his mouth at the exact same time, and you question whether your ears were working properly. Was Victor Li actually apologizing?

“Sorry, you go first.” Suddenly feeling sheepish about your outburst, you gesticulate towards Victor, gaze flitting over his face en route to the buckles that decorated your taupe flats. But what you saw in that split second scared you.

Were the features of Victor’s face even capable of drawing into such an expression? Always self-possessed and brimming with a commanding confidence, the uncertainty in the violet-indigo of his eyes didn’t suit him. The discomfort stirring in the pit of your stomach made you shift from foot to foot like a child awaiting impending punishment.

“Ahem. You’re right. I’m sorry.”

You never thought you’d hear the deep bass of his voice even so much as express remorse, let alone apologize.

“That’s okay. I mean...I shouldn’t have swore at you. My outburst was out of line. Forgive me.”

“That’s fine,” his reply is clipped as he reaches for the intercom button on the phone on his desk. “Jane, bring me the package in the kitchen. The one in the fridge. Thank you.”

Why’d you bother asking me to get your lunch if your secretary could’ve done it?! The exchange you just witnessed had you thoroughly annoyed all over again, silently fuming until his secretary entered after two sharp raps on the heavy wooden door.

“Here you are, Mr. Li. Will you be requiring anything else?” Jane was sharply dressed and spoke confidently as she placed a brown paper bag on Victor’s desk. She was also devastatingly beautiful, a fact that annoyed you a lot more than it should have. You relaxed your grip around the document in your hand as you stood a bit taller, wishing you wore heels instead of flats today.

“That’ll be all, Jane, thank you.”

Jane. The way he said her name made you wonder how yours would sound rolling off the tip of his tongue. Would it be equally pleasant? But then again, anything sounded better than “idiot.”

Drawing himself up from his seat, Victor towers over you, imposing in the crisp perfection of his dark suit. He holds out the paper bag and his next words effectively signal the end of your meeting:

“I’ll email you the rest of my thoughts on your proposal. Have it amended for Friday.”

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Four of the most juvenile looking bowls, each hand painted with the face of a dog bearing the most ridiculously cute expression. Each containing the most ridiculously delicious pudding you had ever tasted in your life, the stuff of dulce de leche fantasies spun from the kitchen of Souvenir. And an accompanying note, filled with the same handwritten scrawl that had dissected your proposal with brutal precision earlier that day, reading:

“As incapable of self-control as you are, try not to finish it all in one sitting unless you’re deliberately courting a stomachache like an idiot.”

And on the paper bag that had waited for you in the fridge of the LFG office kitchen, your name printed in the same hand.

Your heart ran the gamut of emotions: surprise, happiness, but above all, a deep remorse so unsettling you immediately tapped on Victor’s contact on your phone without thinking.

When he finally picked up after the fourth ring, uncharacteristic for Victor, the first thing you heard was the enticing laughter of a sultry soprano in the background.

“Do you have any idea what time it is?”

His voice is raspy, prompting you to glance at the time on your open laptop at the foot of your bed.

1:45 am. Shit.

“Oh my god, I’m so sorry! I didn’t realize-“

“What do you need?”

Deep breaths.

“I...I just wanted to apologize for what happened earlier today. Well, I guess technically, for what happened yesterday.”

“You already did. Put it from your mind, I’ve already forgotten about it.”

Laughter again, this time, fainter in volume. Subconsciously, you found yourself comparing the voice to Jane’s. Or did it have the lilting quality of Loveland City’s latest cinematic sweetheart, Chik? The head-to-toe in haute couture phenomenon who seemed hell bent on sweeping Victor off his feet as she did with the rest of the city’s fawning population. At least, that’s what the tabloids would have everyone believe.

Shaking your head free of useless thoughts, you refocused on the conversation at hand, hoping to catch Victor before he got impatient and hung up.

“No, Victor. I meant to apologize for misinterpreting your intentions this afternoon. I had no idea you asked me to get your lunch because...because you actually had a surprise gift planned for me.”

“...”

You were used to Victor’s awkward silences by now, on the phone and by text, waiting forever for the wave of ellipses to materialize into words that seemed far too simplistic to require that much forethought.

“If it’s any consolation, the pudding was delicious.”

“Did you already eat it all?”

“No, I only had one! What do you take me for? Wait, don’t answer that, I already know what you’re going to say.”

“Hm. Seems like there is something you do know after all.”

“Is this a retaliatory dig for that time I laughed at you for asking whether it was possible to delete a sent text? You know Mr Li, next time, don’t broadcast your sad lack of technological prowess on the internet if you don’t want to be made fun of.”

“Is this the real reason why you called me so early in the morning? To pick a fight?”

“What? No. I told you, I...I misunderstood your intentions and I’m sorry for reacting the way I did. I also wanted to thank you. I can’t believe you remembered me complimenting your pudding! That was months ago!”

“Well, you wouldn’t shut up about it. Instead of letting one’s heart rule their head, I guess it’s your stomach that reigns supreme. But you’re welcome. Is there anything else?”

Normally, you couldn’t wait to be free of Victor, whether it was from the intensity of his gaze as you pitched ideas his way, or the scrutiny he subjected you to over the phone, asking twenty-one questions to which you only knew the answers to two.

So why did his asking “is there anything else” rankle you now?

“Um, just one more thing. The bowls — they’re so interesting. You wouldn’t happened to know the artist who painted them, would you?”

Silence again. You strained to make out that twinkling laughter you heard earlier in the background as you waited for the LFG CEO to speak. But the airwaves were silent save for the rise and fall of Victor’s breath telling you he hadn’t hung up yet.

“I painted the bowls. If you don’t like them, feel free to throw them out. And next time, don’t call me Mr Li. Victor is fine.”

Click. Beep, beep, beep.

It took a moment in your flabbergasted state to realize you still held the phone to your ear, the screen having gone dark long ago.

Victor just never struck you as the arts and crafts type. The dogs with the lopsided faces told you the same.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Thank you for reading and stay tuned for more! Check out the rest of my work here! 📚

#mlqc #mr love queen's choice #love and producer #mlqc victor #mlqc li zeyan #li zeyan #mlqc fanfic #mlqc fic #fanfiction #my writing #elex

376 notes · View notes

askthewitchlady · 4 years

Text

Ajin: Demi-human (season 1) Review

THIS REVIEW WILL CONTAIN SPOILERS

Oh my goodness was this a slog to get through, Three days people, it took me three days to get through 13 episodes Because OMG Setting aside the fact this is some of the ugliest 2d to 3d rig work I have ever seen, I have never seen a show have some much going on with out achieving anything. Ok ok ok let me start this properly.

In the world there are being known as Ajin, these Demi-human beings are rare with only three known cases in Japan, the Ajin are capable of resurrecting from fatal wounds making them Semi-immortal, they also have the ability to summon being known as ‘black ghosts’ which can be used for all sorts of things. There is unfortunately no way of knowing if a person is an Aijin until they suffer some for of mortal injury at that point their body will regenerate and they will live this is the case for Kei Nagai, a high school student studying to be a doctor. While the government of Japan have led people to believe that Ajin are kept in protective custody it is learned that not only are they but most other countries use Aijin as test subjects for medicines and weapons, including life fire testing, because of their regenerative abilities.

Story time

17 years ago during a war in an unnamed African nation the first Ajin was discovered. Reffered to as a soldier of god because he could not be killed the soldier was immobilized and claimed as property of the US government.

Now Kei Nagai is an apathetic highschool student studying to be a doctor on his mothers demand. While to his ‘friends’ he seems like a cheerful if easily taken advantage of boy the truth is he is apathetic and cut off from the people around him seeing only the value they have to him personally. While walking to school he and his friends note another boy their age Kaito sitting outside a convenience store they comment on how weird he is and question if Kei is his friend after Kaito waves to him, Kei denies this and they walk on.

At school the subject of Ajins is brought up because of their value in the medical feild, one of Keis friends shows another classmate a video of Inhumane testing on an Ajin subject. The boy also asks his teacher if the truth about the high reward for an Ajins capture is true. For some reason this startles Kei and his reaction draws attention so he asks if Ajin aren’t really human. His teacher says they are not.

Reminiscing he vaguely remembered the death of a childhood pet, after burying it while trying to console his sister he wonders about death and witness’ something strange. curious about the memory he decides to visit his sister in the hospital and tries to ask her about what she remebers but she refuses to discuss it being outright hostile to him.

still lost in thought and wondering about Ajin as well as flicking through Study cards Kei misses the stop light and begins to cross the street before being hit full on by a truck. the truck drags his body quiet a ways as it skids to a halt and his friends are horrified by what they’ve witnessed, the driver is shaken and climbs out desperate to say that it was Keis fault when to their shock Kei crawls out from under the truck dazed t first he is confused about what happened before quickly realizing and becoming upset he insists he’s human and begs for his friends to believe him however he realizes they only see him as a way to make money by turning him in. in terror Kei screams unintentinally releasing his voice, another unique trait of Ajin that causes a temporary paralasis in those who hear it, before fleeing the scene.

a little later Yu Tosaki and his body guard and assistant Izumi Shimomura of the Ajin control branch of the government arrive to question Keis friends and his mother. As this is going on it is revealed that Kei has fled to a local Shrine and then into the woods beyond, desperatly thinking who might help him he remebers Kaito who had been a childhood friend but whome he’d been told not to be around anymore by his mother. Desperate and worried Kai Might also want to turn him in but feeling alone Kei calls Kaito and the other boy is ready to help his friend filling a duffle bag with supplies and heading out, knocking out a poliece officer who had found Kei Kaito offers his old friend a hand up and they flee the area on a motorcycle.

The Bad

Despite how much I’ve written that happened in the first episode. it not actually a lot. theres a lot of nothing in this show and thats a major problem. I a not against quiet moments, for example Hiyao Miyazaki is very well know for his long silent scenes, but even these scenes serve to tell story in one way or another, I get the feeling either the writer or director of this show wants to emulate that but the quiet scene in the show just don’t accomplish anything. theres also a sense of ‘artistic padding’ where things are added for the art of it, I don’t know if someone in the production team had higher aspirations or if they where just desperate to cover the ugly modles but it doesn’t work.

The episodes feel long but almost nothing happens. or a lot happens but none of it matters or is memorable. The motivations of the antagonist make no sense, and while I have a theory of who he truely is I won’t say untill I do my reviw on season 2 (Which won’t be for a while because this was so hard to sit through)

Kei himself is a terrible protagonist, there are moment whre you think he’ll get better, but he really doesn’t in fact I thought the show was going to pull some kind of switch and make the story focus on the friend Kaito who seems to really genuinely still care about Kei even though they hadn’t been friends for years and who insists even if Kei is an Ajin, he’s still Kaitos friend so that’s all that matters. But Kei leavs Kaito after only a couple episodes

It’s clear that there is something not right with kei from the get go, the first time we see his phone all his friend are listed not by name but number literally ‘friend 1′ ‘friend 2′ and so on, and as the show goes on theres an impression that the creators where trying to make Kei a Psychopath. I’m not talking Ax wielding movie psycho but a clinical psychopath, no empathy no connection to the people around him, a general callous nature and his willingness to use then abandon anyone who might have value. I’m not a fan of using mental illness as a way of making people ‘other’ mental illness is demonized enough, and frankly it’s hard to empathize with a protagonist who openly admits they don’t care about anyone.

There aren’t any real stand out characters either, they all feel like cut outs, you have you deceptively friendly antagonist, you have your to serious government agent, and his body guard who obviously has a crush on him, you have the best friend, you have the friendly granny.

It’s just all been done before and better.

Now about episode 8 a character name Ko Nakano is introduced and for a moment I thought Oh the shows just going to give us a new protagonist... NOPE! he get capture by Kei who keeps him locked in an old shipping truck for the rest of the season, Fuck that noise. honestly Kei gets less and less likeable as the show goes on. He abjectly refuses to get involved with trying to stop the antagonist, Sato’s, terrorist plot even saying openly he doesn’t care what happens to other because he’s found a nice place where he can live a quiet normal life. Kei had in fact been taken in by a kindly older woman who convinced the villagers kei was her grandson from tokyo who had gotten into trouble and was staying with her.

That being said.... There’s a couple good things

The elderly woman is quiet charming, she doesn’t care about the Ajin or what ever other trouble Kei seems to be in she just sees a young man who helped her after she fell and lets him stay. If not for another villager recognizing his picture on the news and reporting him to claim the rumoured reward Kei clearly would have been happy to stay in that little village forever and just live a quiet life.

The opening theme song is pretty good. the CG is frustrating in that in the opening they show shots of characters as they looked in the manga and those drawings are amazing, This would have looked so much better 2d Animated.

The black ghosts are kind of neat.

theres a couple interesting fights with the Ajin, since they recover almost instantly from death they’ll actually kill themselves in combat to resurrect with out their injuries or to even escape grapple or escape the effects of tranquillizers, so that’s neat

I haven’t got much here guys I’m sorry I’m trying but this just, I feel like there might have been something good under all the thick thick thick padding.

Final Thoughts?

I don’t recommend it, even for one watch it’s just a slog, it’s not enjoyable it’s not even a good time killer because it feels like it drags.

Everything from plot point to characters to scene have been done before in better shows, and the aesthetic is just Ugly, terrible CG modles with awkward round movements to avoid collision issues clearly, and the backgrounds look like someone took photos and then put them through the photoshop watercolor filter.

There’s nothing worth reccomending about it, I know Netflix has stuff way better then this so go watch that because this so Not worth your time.

#anime #anime review #Netflix #netflix review #Ajin #ajin demihuman #ajin demi-human #reveiw #So not worth it

5 notes · View notes

kessielrg · 4 years

Text

[Kingdom Hearts] I Won’t (Let Her) Be Forgotten

Summary: In which Xion, in fear of being forgotten again, becomes a writer. [Post KH3][oneshot]

Rating: K+

Word Count: 2,562 words

If you like the story, please buy me a coffee or reblog!

'A little talent is a good thing to have if you want to be a writer. But the real requirement is the ability to remember every scar.' -Stephen King

. . .

Xion was bored. Axel (Lea? She wasn't sure which name he wanted to keep yet) sat next to her on the couch, mindlessly flipping through some trashy gossip magazine without a hint of interest. Roxas had gone out with Hayner to a new Grandstander game. She wasn't sure, but she believed Olette had dragged Pence to the mall for some shopping. And no one but Axel knew what Siax (Isa?) did when no one was keeping track of him.

“Something on your mind, Xion?” Axel asked, surprising Xion for a moment.

Embarrassed for some reason, Xion looked down at the ground. “There's nothing to do.” she admitted. “I'm bored.”

Axel gave a small snort as he put down his magazine. “Sounds like you need a hobby.” he gently admonished, shaking a finger at her.

Xion looked up at him, tilting her head in curiosity as she repeated, “A… what?”

“Oh boy.” Axel then sheepishly mumbled. “Forgot you're still kinda new at this whole 'free will' thing.” Shaking his head, Axel tried to explain, “Hobbies are something you do when you've got the free time to do 'em. It's usually something you like doing, like painting or sewing. You used to collect seashells back in the Organization- that could be considered a hobby. Collecting stuff, that is.”

She hadn't considered that before. And while it was true that Twilight Town had its own beach, she still needed to money to go. She admitted as much to him not long after. Axel gave a small shrug.

“Then find something else to do.” he said. “Go ask Naminé for drawing lessons, or maybe write a novel or something, I don't know. We all need our hobbies, you know?”

Xion only continued to look at Axel. He hated it when she and Roxas would just look at him with big doe eyes, barely blinking as they waited for him to spit more of his made up wisdom. It made him incredibly uncomfortable (possibly even more so, now that he had his heart back) and there was no stopping them either.

“How about you go for a walk?” he asked, trying hard to not sound too hasty. “Clear your head a bit.”

Another unnerving blink, and Xion gave a small nod as she started to get up. Axel sighed in relief the moment she shut the door behind her.

. . .

Xion wandered the streets of Twilight Town with a faint hint of scrutiny. She didn't mean it maliciously- she was only trying to wrap her mind around the idea of a hobby. Absently, Xion tracked her way up to Sunset Hill; she noticed for the first time just how many painters were set up here. She sat down on one of the hill's benches, and watched as the painters did their best to recreate the sunset.

“Hey Xion!”

Xion turned her head to see Olette coming up to her. The girl put on a wide smile as stood up again, while waving back.

“Hello Olette!” she greeted.

“What'cha doing all the way up here?” Olette questioned, still smiling. “I happened to see you walk by while I was putting my new clothes away.”

“I was bored.” Xion admitted. She frowned for a moment before adding, “Axel says I need a hobby.”

“You could start a diary!” her friend happily suggested. “It's a book where you right down all your ideas and memories so they won't be forgotten. I have one- I like adding photos and small mementos like pressed flowers in it!”

“A diary...” Xion absently repeated. But it wasn't the idea of the diary that sent her into a quiet, contemplative state. It was that word -forgotten- that made Xion's mind reel. Isa had once admitted that the reason why she remembered her was because of Even's research notes. Everyone's memory of her faded when her heart returned to Sora, but the written words about her existence had remained.

A sudden, fearful thought crossed Xion's mind then; what if she was forgotten again?

“I don't have anything to write with.” she admitted, speaking more to herself than to Olette.

“I have a few spare composition books from school.” Olette offered. “I can give you one if you want it.”

Xion's heart leaped into her throat. How did she get so lucky to know so many generous people? In a small, almost needy voice, she asked, “Would you?”

“Sure!” came the happy affirmation. “Wait here, I'll be back in a sec.”

Before Xion could stop her, Olette was already running back to her house. It took more than a second for Olette to come back- more like three minutes, really. But she did good on her promise, presenting Xion with a black composition notebook in a small florish.

“T-thank you.” Xion humbly thanked as she took the notebook from her friend.

“No problem!” Olette grinned. “Just remember, you don't have to share your diary with anyone. It's just about you, your thoughts, and all your favorite memories!”

Xion gave Olette a curious tilt of her head before looking down at the notebook. In a small, thoughtful voice, she murmured to herself, “All my favorite memories...”

. . .

Olette failed to mention that starting to write would be the hardest part. Xion had been staring at the first page for the past five minutes. How did you start a book all about yourself? How do you start a book of all your favorite memories when so many were actually quite sad? The pencil in Xion's hand hovered over the page in anticipation. Slowly, unsure of herself, Xion let the pencil tip touch the paper as she wrote the first sentence.

Hello, I am Xion.

Xion looked at that first sentence and immediately grimaced. She quickly scratched out the sentence- it sounded like she was writing a letter Isa style. How boring. She wasn't like that. Tilting her head to the side -while making a rather disgusted face- Xion tried to start over.

My name is

Nope, that opening was dumb too. It was dumb the moment it was written. Again, Xion scratched out the sentence and started to rack her brain for ideas.

Why was this so hard? They were just words, not some high level Heartless that was terrorizing the town. Jiminy didn't have any trouble writing in his journal. Of course, it was always about Sora and not Jiminy himself, but…

A small jolt shot through Xion in realization. She looked back down at her notebook and bit her lip in thought. With a certain curiosity coming over her now, Xion allowed her heart to write the words for her. Her hand followed without any conscious effort otherwise.

Ebba's mind was blank. If you had seen her, you would have mistaken her for a doll, or a puppet. It is hard to describe Ebba in full- her appearance tended to change. To a stranger, she was a nobody. To her friends? Well, she didn't have any friends at that point. Her mind was still blank. She needed to see the world.

Xion blinked at the words for a moment- slowly realizing that her hand was now faintly in pain from writing so quickly. But something inside of her filled with glee. Not five minutes before, this 'Ebba' girl didn't exist. And now? Now she did. Smiling, Xion continued to write, her hand guided by the words placed in her heart.

Ebba's first memories are filled with a cold, bright light. She was guided, shuffled, around like a mannequin in a department store. She could nod when spoken to and even focus on certain people in an uncanny gaze. It scared her first friend, when they first locked eyes in a circular throne room, but she would not have known that until years after. For now, she was still blank, like a page ready to be written onto.

. . .

Admittedly, Roxas had not seen Xion for a good part of the day. When Axel told him that Xion had found a hobby, a part of the teen could understand. He was the same way when he first discovered skateboarding- although he was really bad at it then. But still, Roxas missed talking to Xion when he came home, so he started his way up to her room.

“Hey Xion,” he called as he knocked on her door. “You in there?”

“Yeah.” came the immediate answer.

“Can I come in?”

There was a small pause before Xion said, “Sure.”

Roxas grinned, opening Xion's door enough so he could slink in. He found her sitting on her bed- nose buried in a composition notebook with her hand writing on its pages in a blind fury.

“I brought you some hot chocolate.” Roxas offered. He held up said drink a bit so she could see it. Too bad Xion didn't even bother to look up.

“That's nice.” she absently told him. She made a vague motion to her nightstand before adding, “You can put in on my nightstand.”

A bit taken aback by her attitude, Roxas did as he was told. He turned to see what she was doing when he heard the sound of a page turn. Curiosity had always been his strongest suit.

“What'cha writin' there, Xion?” Roxas innocently asked, trying to peek over her shoulder. Jumping a few inches in surprise, Xion immediately closed her notebook and gave Roxas a rather ugly glare.

“You can't read it!” she demanded, now hugging the notebook close to her chest.

The teen blinked in surprise. “Huh? Why not?”

“Because...” Xion started but found she couldn't finish. She tried to rack her brain for any answer that could make up for her sudden outburst. “Because it's my private diary that I don't want to share with you. Or anyone. That's just how diaries work.”

“Oh… okay.” he replied. Xion refused to look at his small pout.

“Please Roxas,” she then softly told him, “I just want to be left alone for awhile. Thank you for the hot chocolate.”

Still disappointed, Roxas nodded his head in agreement before heading back out of her room. Xion felt bad, but she couldn't stop her writing groove. The iron was hot and she wasn't going to miss it.

. . .

“Lucas, that's a stick.” Ebba told her friend. Her voice was flat and low. It was still flattering that he was willing to lose his own blade so they could finish the mission, but she didn't imagine he'd do it like this.

Xion snickered to herself. She had been serious when she told Roxas that. In hindsight, it had been pretty funny too, especially with the way she remembered saying it. With a smile, Xion reached for the hot chocolate mug and took a long, peaceful sip. Once she had let her heart do the writing, every word Xion wrote came out easily and with a purpose. To think that Hayner once complained about how hard it was to write an essay for one of his classes. Writing was super easy once you got the hang of it.

The hot chocolate had gone cold now, but Xion didn't exactly like it piping hot anyway. She absently swirled the cup as she read over her last written words. Her handwriting was either getting neater or sloppier- she couldn't decide which right now.

But then a sudden train horn made Xion jump- she immediately lost her grip on the cup, leading it to spill all over her notebook. For a moment, Xion didn't quite register what had happened until she looked at the now ruined pages.

“No!” she immediately screamed before letting out even more frenzied, “No, no, no, no, no, no-no-no-NO!”

Logic would dictate that she should have gotten a towel. But, in her horrified mind, she only thought to try to rub the cooled drink on the notebook. It only made things worse. Xion had been sent into such a panic that she didn't even notice when Axel poked his head into her room.

“Hey Xion, are you o-” he started to say before seeing the mess. As Xion started to dissolve into angered tears, the young man cautiously entered her room a bit more as he sheepishly scratched the back of his head. Feeling a bit awkward now, he wondered out loud, “So… Would you like to talk about it now, or do you need some time to cool off?”

But Xion only shook her head. “I can't let her be forgotten!” she told him as she worked to shake the hot chocolate off the book.

Stepping a bit further to help Xion out a bit, Axel ventured to question, “Who?”

“Ebba!” Xion immediately shouted. “I mean, me. I mean… I… I…!” and with that, the girl buried her face in her hands and started to weep. Axl let out a soft groan.

Why did he always get stuck with the icky jobs?

“Xion,” he sighed, taking a spot on her bed that wasn't ruined from the hot chocolate. “You're not going to be forgotten again. We won't let it happen.” He then put a hand to his heart, and the other up in the air. “Scout's honor.”

“That's what you said last time.”

Axel's blood turned to ice. Without saying more than five sentences to him, he already knew why the notebook's loss was making Xion so upset. Even though he knew it wasn't going to help, Axel tried to assure her with a small, “You can write another.”

“It won't be the same.”

Axel absently rubbed his temples in thought. He was starting to get a headache now. Geez, how was he going to phrase this?

“Xion…” he sighed, “Look… No story is told the same way twice. It's impossible. You can write another story about this… Ebba girl- you might not want to hear it, but I think you'll have to. Some times life is just like that; we get started on something great, something bad happens, and then we chose to either redo it or give up. I don't know this Ebba girl very well, but I do know you. Are you really going to let one hang up stop you from writing Ebba's story? Your story?”

Xion did not look Axel in the eye. As much as she didn't want Axel to be right, she knew he had a point.

“No.” she quietly mumbled. “It won't.”

“Good.” Axel nodded. “Now, let me get you some towels so we can clean up this mess.”

Xion only gave a small nod as she turned her attention back to her ruined notebook. Upon closer inspection, a lot of the words were still legible, if only hidden behind a light brown stain. She'd have to separate several pages and use something to make sure they didn't stick together as the paper dried. In all luck, maybe she could rewrite the story almost by verbatim. Besides, there were some parts that she wanted to reword or make clearer to begin with.

Now in a clearer state of mind, Xion smiled as she let out a comforted sigh. Ebba's story would live on, and so would she.

11 notes · View notes

maisstories · 5 years

Text

Like the great idiot that I am, I made a mistake when attempting to schedule the answer to this prompt and now I have to post it separately because I accidentally deleted the ask.

An anon asked me to write 102, “I promise I’ll come back for you”, for Marco.

…This happened.

First of all, a warning: there are references to non-explicit violence and hints of a few disturbing themes.

While there are no direct spoilers here, the idea for this piece came from very recent manga chapters. If you haven’t read chapter 957, read at your own discretion. I’ve done my best to keep any possible spoilers vague, though.

102 “I promise I’ll come back for you”

“I promise I’ll come back for you.”

Dad’s words run through Marco’s head as he crawls into one of the highest kitchen cupboards. He already went through it yesterday, but maybe he missed something amongst the old pots and pans in here.

Even if there is nothing, dad shouldn’t take long to come back now.

It’s been long, longer than Marco is comfortable with. Surely the ship has already reached their new home and the people have built what they need before anyone can move in. Marco wanted to go, he wanted to help dad build their new home, but dad said a city in construction is no place for a little boy.

Marco isn’t little. But dad has been very worried since the attack. He hasn’t been himself since they found mom. And so Marco stayed, because he doesn’t want to give dad more reasons to worry.

Dad will be worried when he comes back.

He told Marco to ask Mrs. Evans for anything he needed, but Marco saw Mrs. Evan rationing her family’s food last week, and no merchants have come to the island.

Marco can’t ask Mrs. Evans for food when she has trouble feeding her family.

But dad won’t take long to come back now. So Marco will wait, and he’ll keep searching the house in case he missed something. He has plenty of water from the well to last him, and he read somewhere a person can last a very long time without eating, even if he’s hungry.

Marco can be hungry for a little longer. Dad said there are plenty of fields at their new home. They’ll have lots of food.

Then Marco has a brilliant idea.

Mrs. Evans may have little food, but perhaps someone else has some to spare! There is still money in the emergency box mom used to keep, so Marco can use it to buy the food from them. That way they won’t be giving it away for nothing. He knows dad won’t be angry, he always says money is good to buy the things they need.

Marco has to push a chair against the dresser to reach the top drawer where the box is. He is not sure how much food will cost now —he knows it won’t be usual market price— so he takes the box and all its contents with him.

Their house is a little ways from town, and that spared it the worst of the attack. One of the fires reached their door, though, and mom’s orchards are gone. Black ash on blackened ground. Marco doesn’t look at it. It reminds him of how they found mom, and he doesn’t want to think about her.

He needs food. He can’t cry now. He’s cried a lot already.

Marco is walking through one of the rundown alleys at the town’s outskirts when he hears laughter. He stops. Not many people laugh here lately, not even little kids. And that laughter… there is something off about it.

“Man, can’t believe we made the trip for this crap!” someone exclaims. They sound amused.

“Should’ve guessed. Those farmers had nothing with them,” someone else answers. There is a crash, followed by a weird low noise, and more laughter.

Marco doesn’t know those voices.

He stops and moves carefully to press himself against the wall.

Did someone get drunk? Wouldn’t be the first time someone does that and starts breaking stuff. Even more so lately.

“Hey, no one’s told you to stop!” the first person yells. There is a loud smacking sound, followed by a sob.

Marco freezes.

He hasn’t heard these sounds before, no, but he’s heard stories. Many people talked, in hushed tones and when they didn’t realize he was listening, of the things that happened during the attack.

Marco’s breath is coming faster, and he grabs his left forearm and digs the nails of his right hand into it as hard as he can to keep himself grounded. He can’t panic, not now. He needs to get out. Away from the city and as far from the houses as possible. That’s what they did in school, last time. There isn’t a forest to hide in anymore, but if he can make it to the hills, then perhaps…

Marco nods to himself. Now with a plan, he turns and starts to backtrack his path. He tries to move as fast as he can while being quiet. He wants to run, but he knows it’s a bad idea. If he runs, he won’t be able to hear anyone approaching, and he needs to be able to hear them if he is to hide.

His strategy pays off when he hears the steps. They are loud in the silence of the alley, and they sound heavy. Whoever’s walking, it’s not a tiny person. Marco looks around, spots one of the many piles of rubble that have been moved out of the way, and dives to hide behind it. He can cover himself entirely in its shadow.

Keeping even breaths is harder, but Marco has had practice at controlling his breathing lately. Being quiet was the only way to avoid making dad feel even worse. If he’d known Marco still cried every night, he wouldn’t have left on the ship. They needed dad to go, Marco knows: he’s the only navigator left in town. So Marco learned to control his breathing and keep quiet, and now that could save his life.

The steps have come closer, and a massive shadow blocks most of what little sun enters the alley.

The steps stop right on the other side of the rubble.

“You should come out,” comes the voice.

Marco freezes again.

Maybe this person just thinks someone could be hiding around here. Maybe this person only stopped there by chance.

So Marco holds his breath, closes both hands around fallen pieces of bricks, and waits.

The shadow moves, but at the same time the person remains at the same spot. There is more sun, though, so whoever is there must have sat or crouched down.

“It doesn’t matter how well you hide; most people in this crew would find you anyway. So step out of there, son. I won’t hurt you.”

Marco bristles. Won’t hurt him?! He’s pretty sure he knows exactly what’s happening in town. Those words do nothing but confirm it.

Before he can think better of it, Marco darts around the rubble and hurls the two bricks up and forward. They bounce off an arm. A massive, muscular arm that’s resting on the knee of the largest man Marco has ever seen. Even crouching down, he towers over Marco and everything around them, and the large blade he carries and his clothes scream pirate.

The man looks down at Marco. Marco narrows his eyes and stays put, because this man is blocking his way and he’s too large to dodge around him to escape in any direction in this tiny alley.

There is a drawn out silence. Marco glances around, looking for another way out. Perhaps there is a hole in one of the many damaged houses he can escape through.

“That’s not a good idea,” the man says. He sounds calm, awfully calm, and Marco wants to yell at him.

So he does.

“And why not?!” he demands, clenching his fists.

He’s sick of pirates. They come into town, destroy and hurt all they want, and think they can get away with anything.

“Because nowhere in this island is safe.”

“You don’t know that,” Marco says, voice sharp. Inside, he’s gone cold. What does that mean? They’re not just here for their valuables and then will leave? That’s what pirates do, isn’t it? If he can stay out of the way, he should be safe.

But he’s not out of the way anymore, is he?

There is something weird about this pirate’s eyes. They don’t look like an evil pirate’s eyes should. To Marco, they appear sad. It makes no sense.

“This island is going to be destroyed. Everything in it taken down, and the remnants burned.”

Marco stumbles. It’s as though this man has hit him. But he hasn’t. He has spoken quiet and calmly. Not mocking, not amused like those other two. Just… stating a fact.

Marco wants to be sick.

“Why’re you telling me?” he asks, and is surprised his voice comes out at all.

The man stays silent again, looking at Marco so intensely he wants to squirm. He refuses to do it and instead straightens up.

“You resemble your father a lot.”

Marco can’t breathe.

What…?

The words he overheard earlier slam into him like a fist.

“Those farmers had nothing with them.”

Farmers.

Most of the people on the ship that left town last month were farmers, leaving to start working on the lands as they built.

“How…?” Marco attempts to ask, but he chokes on the words. How do you know my father?

The pirate is giving him an unmistakable sad look. Marco wants to beat it out of his face.

“We reached a small colony last week. They had just started to build,” the man begins.

Marco may have screamed. He isn’t sure. All he knows is that he launches himself at the man. He doesn’t care that he’s a giant, he doesn’t care that he’s armed, that he’s a pirate. He wants him to stop. To shut up and admit he’s lying, to say he and his horrid crew have never been to the colony.

The man doesn’t move, but Marco might as well be punching rocks for all the effect his attempt has on the man’s leg.

A hand descends on Marco’s. It’s so large in engulfs his whole body and keeps him immobile against the man’s leg.

“He asked— no, he begged me to spare his son when the captain announced we’d come here next. But very few are ever spared. Your best chance is to come with me.”

Marco isn’t listening. He doesn’t want to listen. He can’t listen.

This man, this monster—

He twists around and slams his head against the man’s hand. His arms and his legs are blocked, but his head is free enough. So Marco slams and slams, and when a giant finger stops him from moving, he bites what skin he can reach.

The man doesn’t react, not even when Marco draws blood.

The man moves his other arm, and Marco finds himself with another hand on him. This one isn’t holding him still though. No, the man’s rubbing circles into Marco’s back.

“There was no saving your father,” the man continues. Marco hates him. He hates him even more for daring to sound sorry as he speaks. “But you have a chance. If you’ll take it.”

Marco’s jaw has gone slack. He releases the man’s skin. His mouth is sour and bitter with blood and tears, and he can’t stop sobbing long enough to even glare up at the man, much less tell himself where to shove his offer.

The man moves one hand away and brings it back with something held between two fingers. He has to hold it really close to Marco for him to notice it at all.

“You have potential, kid. If you eat this, the captain will allow you to stay on board.”

Marco isn’t stupid. When the blurry blue thing comes into focus, he realizes the swirly patterns on it mean it’s a devil fruit. One of these, he knows, would make even a kid like him valuable to pirates.

It makes no sense that this guy’s giving it to him.

Somehow, Marco manages to choke the question out.

“I’m already a fruit user,” the man says. “I’d rather have this one help you now than sell it later.”

Marco doesn’t understand. He doesn’t understand this man at all. He has seen his father die without doing anything —if he didn’t kill him himself, and then Marco would…— has let Marco attack and even hurt him, has offered to let him live, and now is giving him the most expensive thing Marco has ever seen.

A thing that is also food.

A part of Marco wants to die. To leave this horrible world here and now, to go with his parents. But another part of him, a larger one, doesn’t want to. That part, the one that used to dream about seeing the world, now wants to see this crew destroyed. Wants to know what happened, why it happened, and wants to make sure it won’t happen again.

So Marco takes the fruit. He lunges for it, just now realizing he is no longer immobilized, and bites into it before the man can change his mind.

It’s disgusting, the worst thing Marco has ever eaten. He wolfs it down as quickly as he can. He doesn’t know when he’ll be able to eat again. If he will.

He’s wiping his face on his sleeve, having managed to stop crying as he ate, when he hears a voice.

“Oi, Newgate!” It’s one of the men from before, the ones who were… Marco doesn’t want to think about it. “What’s with that kid?”

The man, Newgate, doesn’t move from where he’s crouching, but he looks over Marco’s shoulder to where the voice came. Marco refuses to turn, not wanting to see any more of these pirates.

“He’s coming with us,” Newgate calls back.

There’s a guffaw.

“You think the captain’ll let you keep a stray?” It’s the other one this time, sounding both mocking and amused.

“Kid’s a fruit user,” Newgate says, as though that should be enough.

There is a short silence.

“Really?” the second man asks. He sounds skeptical, but also curious. “Well, I guess the captain’ll let you keep him, them. First step into that dream of yours, eh?”

And the two men burst out laughing, as though they’ve told the best joke in the world.

“Get lost, both of you,” Newgate tells them. He sounds tired and annoyed, as though the joke is an old one.

He stands up, and takes Marco with him and up on his hand. Without another word to his crewmembers, he starts walking away, and it doesn’t take long for them to reach another alley that’s empty and away from any noise. It’s as though most of the city is silent now. Marco doesn’t want to think about it.

“Listen,” Newgate says. He crouches down again, and sets Marco on his feet. Marco has lost all energy by now, and falls on his ass on the ground. “Being in this crew won’t be easy. It’s an awful place, and you’ll have to keep quiet about many horrible things, but it’s temporary, do you understand?”

Marco swallows.

“…Yeah.” Of course he does, he intends to destroy them.

Newgate moves so he’s kneeling properly on the ground instead of crouching. He’s so big it makes no difference to Marco.

“What’s your name?”

“…Marco.” He omits the surname. It’s irrelevant now, and he doesn’t want to associate his parents to this. What he’s doing, what he wants to do, would horrify them. It’s best if he doesn’t become a pirate as their son, no matter how temporary becoming a pirate will be.

So, he’s just Marco from now on.

“I’m Edward Newgate,” Newgate introduces himself. “Now, I’ll tell you what I know about that fruit of yours before we have to meet the captain. It’s a very special power, you know?”

#writing prompts #Marco the Phoenix #edward newgate #whitebeard #opfanfic #op fanfic #one piece #this was supposed to be a drabble #I have no idea what the hell I wrote #there's got to be a very good reason for WB to have been part of the Rocks pirates #given what we know so far #opspoilers #sorta #writing prompt

36 notes · View notes

mittensmorgul · 4 years

Note

So I have a question about 9x14. Bart talks to Cas about leading "an incursion against Raphael and his loyalists." So we can assume he's talking about season 6 stuff. But later, Bart also talks about how Cas was called back to the battlefield because "our leaders wanted those captives killed, and they knew you'd stand in the way of their order." I thought Cas was the main commander in season 6, since he led the rebellion. Why were there other "leaders" that acted against Cas's wishes?

(9x14 Anon here, I know these kind of questions are kind of inconsequential to the overall story but I still like to understand these small things, especially when it comes to Cas. Sorry if that’s not your thing, you don’t have to answer if you don’t want to 🙃)

Hi there! I’ll start by saying that this is EXACTLY the sort of detail I LOVE TALKING ABOUT THE MOST. :’D I love picking at things like this and attempting to find the truth, as much as we can in a work of fiction.

I’ll start by saying I have already asked myself this question, even if I didn’t give myself a fully satisfying answer, back the week before 13.03 first aired, in October 2017.

https://mittensmorgul.tumblr.com/post/166754538920/rewatching-914-i-love-this-episode-so-much

The series of thoughts I posed in this rewatch are:

Who ordered Bartholomew to kill those captives, if Castiel had been the one to leave them in his care? Who other than Castiel had the right to give that order? Just like the demon Crowley left in charge of his own captives, who tortured and killed Crowley’s captives without Crowley’s orders to do so.

It is sort of hand-wavey of s6 as a whole, isn’t it? Then again, s6 sort of handwaved itself in 6.20… Or at least dropped the curtain on all the secrecy surrounding the war in heaven that we’d only heard hints and whispers of until that point. But it also leaves out the entire previous year of events between 5.22 and 6.01, which we only saw in a few occasional flashbacks.

6.20 does kind of give us a vague timeline for events post 5.22, but not really. We don’t know how much time passed between Dean showing up at Lisa’s and Cas watching him rake leaves, for example. Cas only describes the time span as “those first weeks back in Heaven,” so it could be two weeks, or it could be twelve weeks, or more, before Raphael pulled him over and gave him his ultimatum.

We know Cas was building alliances with other angels at that time. They sort of hastily tried to show us the extent of that with Rachel, that Cas had other trusted angels working with him, but we also have been shown since s4 that… angels are difficult to keep in line. Uriel, Balthazar, and of course Cas himself. And a lot of others. We’re left to wonder just how “in charge” of the “rebel faction” Cas actually was in s6, especially when TWO of his closest generals? Commanders? Whatever, the terminology isn’t important here, but their PERCEIVED position of power is. But Cas was BETRAYED TWICE in s6 by angels he was supposedly “in charge” of– Rachel and Balthazar.

But what was the perception of all the other angels that were being told they needed to choose a side in this war? The angels who didn’t WANT to choose a side? Maybe they were fine with the status quo. Maybe they just didn’t want to fight. Maybe they wanted nothing to do with an apocalypse, but Raphael was demanding it, and Cas and his cohorts were trying to stop it. But when Raphael began laying down ultimatums, like the one he issued Cas to basically fall in line or die, I think Cas and a LOT of his cohorts were likely able to win the loyalty of angels who’d otherwise have had nothing to do with Cas, you know?

How many of Cas’s legions were converted to his side, to his cause, by angels loyal to Rachel, or to Balthazar, or to any of the other angels Cas had gathered to his cause? How many of them thought Rachel’s ideas were more compelling that Cas’s? How many of them actually knew about Cas’s ACTUAL plans to take down Raphael, and how many thought this was really a fight between the “foot soldiers” in each faction?

We know, for example, that Rachel was supposed to be one of his closest Lieutenants (THAT’S the word I was looking for earlier… >.>). Rachel… had no real idea what Cas was up to until she began to uncover his larger schemes in 6.18 (i.e. the episode we both meet her for the first time, and Cas kills her for challenging his plan once she begins to understand the reality of it).

But Carver era spent a LOT of time showing us just how little we actually understood s6. I mean, three episodes before 9.14, we hear it from Cas’s own mouth:

SAM [slaps his hand away]: You’re a terrible liar.CASTIEL: That is not true. I once deceived and betrayed both you and your brother.

He’s talking about s6. That season where he spent very little time in Heaven, despite constantly telling the Winchesters that it was Heaven and his troubles there that had been keeping him away from them all season. It sounds very much like his strategy in Purgatory, you know? At least on the surface, how he ran away from Dean to draw off the Leviathan… because that’s what he was doing in the Raking Leaves scene in 6.20, too… everything to keep Dean safe, to keep him out of it.

(meanwhile he’d unleashed soulless!Sam on the world, and didn’t seem to have any qualms getting Sam tangentially involved in his side quest with Crowley… which was his ACTUAL mission during s6.)

Back to the point, which was that Cas was deceiving BOTH his angel comrades in Heaven AND the Winchesters throughout s6. He wasn’t spending most of his time in the nitty-gritty fights in Heaven. In fact, we know very little about what those fights entailed, and really DIDN’T know there were “prisoners” involved on either side of that battle until s9. Well, we knew Cas-as-Godstiel intended to destroy Raphael’s followers, who refused to side with him during the war, but that’s ALL we knew until Bart told us about “prisoners” that had been taken, and apparently executed.

Because what Bartholomew’s little comments to Cas tell me is that Bart… really didn’t know what Cas’s real mission, his real plan, had been all along. The little scrums in heaven were a distraction for him, that he left to play out while he raced to find the power to kill Raphael and end the war himself.

But he apparently did occasionally peek in and lead a “mission,” or a “fight” or a “skirmish” in heaven, but then was sent away– or possibly not SENT away, but went back to his main quest for the Purgatory souls. Perception is everything here, and if Cas just.. left the fight, might Bart PERCEIVE him as having been sent away, right before “alternate orders” to kill the prisoners came from someone else?

Either that, or Cas did take himself out of the direct leadership of the rebel army in Heaven, and DID take orders from someone else while on that battlefield? We honestly do not know, and I don’t know if it’s even relevant now, because it’s all a game of perception.

Now that we know the full extent of Chuck’s involvement in arranging troubles all over creation, could Bart’s description and “recollection” of those events have even been “edited” after the fact? Heck, we don’t even need Chuck to explain this one… how about Naomi? The narrative has honestly never fully addressed it, and I don’t think it will be. Which is part of what makes it so interesting to think about, to me anyway.

Because what really was Cas’s role in the war in Heaven? Was he merely a figurehead who dared to challenge Raphael and then left most of the day-to-day running of the war to his lieutenants? Because that’s how his conversations with Rachel made it seem. And how s6 seems to make the most sense to me overall. Almost as if the war in heaven and those battles that had consumed Bartholomew’s entire perspective of that time… were barely even on Cas’s radar at all. He had so many other more important things to think about.

This is one reason why I found the whole “Cas as Commander” toward the end of s9 so fascinating. Because that was a role he was FORCED into by Metatron, and not something he was comfortable with. He took the responsibility seriously though, but I had seen it at least partly as more of his eternal penance for s6, and a chance to get a do-over on a lot of the things he always felt he screwed up during that time. And Heaven is near the top of that list– not because he directed the wars there, but because he’d neglected them.

The image of Cas as some great Leader Of Heaven’s Armies is just… not and never has been the reality of his character, despite being an incredibly popular fanon interpretation of his character. Even back in early s4, when he seemed to have Authority, he seemed so confident in the Plans of Heaven, seemed so in charge, the reality of that began to crack through by 4.07, and had completely shaken apart by the end of the season. I’ve applied that thematic to essentially everything having to do with Heaven and the organizational system up there ever since.

We like to think of Heaven as a military organization, and angels as soldiers with well-defined ranks and positions within a hierarchy. I think the reality is far more like Heaven is a bureaucracy, and half the people in the organization are scheming to overthrow the other half at any given time, there’s no clear leadership level by level and no clearly delineated pecking order or chain of command. More like a conglomerate of different divisions who each think their group is the one in charge, while getting very little input or guidance from the supposed leadership of the whole organization. A bunch of petty middle-managers scrambling for as much power and control as they could amass.

Heaven was made up of Zachariahs and Metatrons and Naomis, after all.

eta: after I read the whole thing again :’D

Bart was just another low-level bureaucrat attempting to seize power for himself where he saw an opportunity. And like the vast majority of other angels, he died for it. And there’s now so few of them left and they’re STILL behaving this same exact way-- with Dumah having schemed her way into getting Naomi locked up in s14. I mean, nothing ever changes, right? Even when there’s only a handful of angels left, they can’t let go and work together. They’ll be the death of themselves.

(Except the few that seem to have realized there’s a better way-- like Cas, like Naomi who was at least trying to learn a better way, like Anael who would rather live a sham life on Earth helping people than return to Heaven even after seeing more sides of the bureaucracy than most other angels, and like Metatron who only learned better after he lost his grace and still ended up dying for trying to do the right thing... Chuck really is a jerk, you know?)

#spn 9.14 #spn 6.20 #spn 6.18 #spn 9.11 #spn 14.20 #spn 9.18 #spn 9.21 #spn 9.22 #castiel winchester #heaven hell purgatory and the empty #spn cosmology #heck this probably needs other tags but i haven't even reread it...#it's probably just a disaster :'D #Anonymous

13 notes · View notes

weaverlings · 5 years

Text

(so this is super long and mainly about WTNV because that’s the part I understand, or... at least have spent a lot of time thinking about, but there’s definitely a heavy component of comparison between the two series in this)

@vildflower said: I’ve been thinking how wtnv and tma approach similar concepts of vaguely otherworldly entities who are only somewhat connected to the universe that they seem to operate in vs. the universe that they seem to exist in

so this is all super interesting stuff thank u!!!! I just needed to get to the computer to go over it properly bc tbh it deserves it

vildflower said: like,, tma has the whole concept of rituals and avatars whereas wtnv could arguably have. a hierarchy? like when you think about it;; huntokar, the distant prince, the woman from italy, even the great golden hand, are ancient and possibly the closest to ‘gods,’ who dont interact w nightvale often but either have vested interest in it or are able to interact w it more easily due to number of reasons as compared to, like, the rest of the world?

Part of the reason I listened to The Magnus Archives in the first place was because I’d heard hints of the connection between belief (fear specifically, as it happened) and reality, and the tangible effects that this connection has. I have pretty much always interpreted Night Vale along similar lines, but now having listened to TMA... I don’t feel like the execution is all that similar?

While the lines are super fun to draw, WTNV doesn’t have such clear divisions or, well... I guess TMA didn’t, either, but I don’t think WTNV does have such clear organizational structure?

I think the/a key difference between WTNV and TMA is that not all of the entities of Night Vale necessarily tie back into an overarching force, or at least... the same overarching force. Which you go into, but that’s just such a core aspect of TMA that it at least feels pretty distinct.

And the gods of Night Vale, I think, all have a much clearer and even more “relatable” sentience than the Powers. The gods have trouble communicating with other people, in various ways, but they also, say, express regret or ask for coffee when they do communicate.

vildflower said: and then theres the smiling god who could be said to be in a category of his own, or even perhaps in the same category as cecil- the way the smiling god’s existence seems to be in direct connection to desert bluffs/the joyous congregation and cecil seems to ‘depend’ on nightvale and its residents. or maybe it would be more accurate to equate station management and the smiling god, both finding ways to communicate w their respective towns through 'avatars’: cecil & kevin.

Yeah! If being a “Voice” means anything, I do think it would be related to these gods... I guess it would’ve been Huntokar, once, for Cecil. (And now, well... I don’t know. But if bloodstone worship is just happening, that’s a lot of undirected faith, and I feel like it needs to go somewhere... or to something.) And yup, for Kevin, it would be the Smiling God.

However, one thing I’m hoping we’ll see from this arc is addressing the fact that what the Joyous Congregation THINKS is the Smiling God is apparently really different from what it actually is. Even some of the church elders - the actual pastor - believed that it was the centipede, and this would seem to indicate that’s not true.

I mean, if nothing else It Devours! was pretty clear about the fact that the centipede was just an animal, so I don’t see it or anything like it having plotted or directed someone to exploit people’s brains for labor in the future

So I wouldn’t put the Smiling God in the same category as Cecil, or even Kevin, but I think Cecil and Kevin occupy the same category like you said...

For what it’s worth, I’ve always thought of Cecil more like an “oracle” (even before Alice Isn’t Dead!!) - giving advice or answering questions, kind of a guide, if in a sort of opaque or enigmatic way, whether he wants to be or not. And then Kevin is more like a prophet - offering a vision of how things should be, giving commandments, etc, regardless of what people might ask for or what would help them.

vildflower said: continuing this heirarchy the next lower tier would perhaps be city council and the librarians which have pretty fixed, smaller areas of direct interaction w nightvalians. there’s also the spire! which sounds quite similar to the spiral, i think….

I think that’s a good example of how it’s different... “Barks” sounded like the kind of thing that could have been related to the Spiral, that sort of distortion. But the purpose was different - the Spire wanted to bargain, and from the sound of it it’s a lot more open about its demands (iirc: Night Valian “Thanksgiving” involves going out to thank the Spire for its “mercy”). It’s also a known destination.

People in Night Vale know what it is to them. They may not know what it is exactly, but they do know the role it plays in their community. So while it absolutely fits into the structure of Night Vale, I don’t think it’s that similar beyond some (admittedly major) aesthetic elements?

All of those forces in Night Vale, the librarians and the council etc, while indeed forces and while they definitely relate to the human citizens in weird ways... they’re still citizens.

The Powers are TIED to the world of TMA, but an explicit part of it is that they’re fundamentally alien to it, too, and basically need to be forced in.

vildflower said: but yeah,, hope you don’t mind the long rant rip aksk but at this point I’m pretty sure one could draw up a list of some 15 nightvale entities too lmao

(fdsdgh no you don’t need to apologize, I loved it and I’ve been thinking about this kind of thing a lot anyway too!!)

vildflower said: HOW COULD I FORGET! the glow cloud interacts w an even smaller group of people (the PTA) than the city council + angels!! I’d say they’re actually at the lowest rung cause they seemed to only be interested in josie; maybe their attachment to them in turn lead to be attached to nightvale even after she died?

actually the Glow Cloud works w/ the school board and seems to end up in conflict w/ the PTA and I only remember this because I was checking on it for something recently oops.

ALSO THE ANGELS... YEAH THAT’S NEAT because!! they’re the only part of this that has an explicit connection to belief in canon!!

“They are all named Erika with a K. All angels are equal to all other angels. They share all memories and all physical sensations. They experience everything simultaneously. Their minds are overwhelmed with enlightenment and pain.

“They have no centralized leadership, but they do have committees, lots of committees. These committees do not have titles nor objectives. The committees simply emerge as needed...

“Angels have no bodies, only visual projections of winged, barely humanoid forms. These forms are dreamed up by those who see and acknowledge them, and may vary based on the viewer.

“The secret hierarchy of angels is an ethereal mass of feelings and thoughts made manifest by necessity. They’re only individual beings because we imagine them so, but they are collectively beings.”

But I think, yeah... Night Vale is, at its core, a community. And the worldbuilding of WTNV reflects that, even to the extent that belief is involved. I mean, really, the world does run on “belief” it’s just not a supernatural thing... We believe in the necessity of our social structures, so we create and act on them.

And that’s what happens in Night Vale, it’s just that in Night Vale, a divine Glow Cloud runs the school board and the librarians will eat you. All the “forces” that we expect are there. Even though they’re strange (to us, at least), it’s all centered around the maintenance of a community. TMA has a much larger scope.

theres that whispering forest too and omg the desert otherworld, and the black star in ‘a story about you’ & other episodes; entities that manifest more as locations than sentient beings?

So yes!! Night Vale as a place is definitely a gathering point for the weird. I think of Hiram’s favorite memory in this context, too - Hiram was happy in Night Vale because he could just live, for a while, anyway. Or at least, when people were upset, they weren’t upset by his nature as a five-headed dragon (who cares, right?) but because of what he did)

It does have a clear structure, but it’s not the same kind that the Powers operate under - WTNV (depending on interpretation, and none of it is canon tbh, as much as I love it) and TMA are both very different explorations of the connection between belief and reality.

Like the Whispering Forest is... well, apparently it’s its own town now. But it was sort of the local weird forest; it was... a citizen, maybe. In the way, indeed, that the Glow Cloud still is! It just wants to live (and grow. and expand) and Night Vale is a place it can do that.

The Desert Otherworld seems to be connected to the Smiling God, although we don’t know much about how or why or if it’s always been that way. Dana saw some things, though, like when she almost forgot herself in the image of a triangle (iirc), not to mention the rumbling and whatever’s up with the Mudstone Abyss... And then it does have its connection to Night Vale, too, through the Dog Park... There’s a LOT going on w/ the Otherworld; that’s basically its own post dsfdgfdg

And the dark planet lit by no sun is like. I admit I’ve never thought of it in the same light as the other things before! So I’d want to do that before going into it but that raises some SUPER interesting possibilities and if you have more thoughts I’d love to hear them! It definitely merits that further consideration.

So in summary: TMA has rituals and avatars, and WTNV has community. I think.

#welcome to night vale #wtnv #the magnus archives #wtnv spoilers #tma spoilers #spoilers #kevin //#smiling god //

11 notes · View notes

thirdmagic · 5 years

Text

giant rambly walls of text post of headcanons and theories and general thoughts on david, roman and solomon ft lots of extrapolation

first of all, i basically think of archer david as like... if 'lazy cheerful mcdonlads loving manchild in a yukata dad' kerry got summoned into the body of his child self and went 'oh wow this is before Everything in my life went horribly wrong it almost feels like all that never happened!!' and got into it enough to try to recreate what he was like as a child. which i realize is a hilariously weird mental image but a close enough comparison. it's just in this case the difference isn't '30 year old and 10 year old (at most)' but '60-70 something very old man and late teens/early twenties'. on the surface level this david is much more David The Humble Nobody Shepherd Boy Who Beat A Giant then David The Anointed Powerful King, because most of the stuff this version draws on in his NP and skills are from this aspect of him. but it's also clearly very much not the same case as other younger/child servants. most younger versions are aware of their older selves and what happens to them in the future but aren't those people and haven't personally experienced these futures. but nearly everything david does talk about, experiences he calls back to, people he talks about, is stuff from his time on the throne. he talks about this time as something that happened to him personally. so this isn't really baby shepherd david even though his servant container draws on these aspects of him, it's David The King in the body of baby shepherd david.

but what i find most interesting, is that he seems to really play into this image/role... like it's a deliberate choice/preference on his part or something consciously cultivated. there's what he says is tamacat's interlude, but also his my room line that outright has him saying 'sure i used to be a king, but don't worry about it, it's whatever, i'm just a shepherd now and i want to take this chance as a servant to be just that'. the impression is that he's very much trying to distance himself from his king-self and that entire part of his life which is... in its own way a lost cause and he probably does this knowing it's a lost cause, given that's what he spent the majority of his life doing and how everything he calls back to is from that life. that shepherd boy is just not the person he is anymore and hasn't been for a long time, but i think that's why he prefers to be summoned in this specific physical form and in this specific class that draws on this part of his life- the servant container/class makes it easier to act the part, to put that undesirable aspect of himself aside. so long as he's not summoned as a king he doesn't need to act like one nor feel like he has the responsibilities of one. and being a king clearly kind of sucked as far as he’s concerned.

now i mentioned before that biblical david is super kerrycore so while i don't know how much fate would even want to incorporate this side of the original version... idk, i'm really into the idea and think it's just potentially super interesting to take this parallel full circle and for david the king to be the figurative equivalent to cold blooded assassin magus killer kerry. it gives extra weight to why he'd want to just put aside this part of his life and lean in fully into a whole other role/identity that has nothing to do with kingship and why he acts Extra carefree and frivolous: because he spent most of his life as everything but that. because he couldn't be this way so long as he acted as king, because the responsibility and the role demanded that he had to suppress this aspect of himself and also that he act in ways he might not have really wanted to even as he understood that it was needed. he was good at doing the dirty and unpleasant stuff and he understood the necessity of it; he had a talent for it, in a sense, even if it wasn't a talent for something he liked or enjoyed. it goes well with him talking about how he dislikes battle in conjunction to how he was a very military focused leader-- something he never wanted to engage in or do, but that the role of the king demanded of him.

because his biblical depiction is from the very start, from the first goliath story, more of a cunning politician and warrior than anything else. he's subtle, sly and calculating, not afraid to get his hands dirty and do undignified things to get where he needs to, and very conscious and aware of all that goes around him, including how he's seen by other people and how he needs to act as if he were in front of an audience. he finds creative and subtle ways to get around most problems, but he also knows when a problem is best solved violently and doesn't hesitate to commit to that solution. (most unlike fate david though, he's also super hot-tempered and fairly quick to Stabbity Stab if someone pissed him off lmao and has to be talked down at least once from Doing A Murder)

this is compounded by how, in general, the narrative very very often leaves us in the dark about what he's really feeling or thinking in a lot of pivotal moments and leaves us often to wonder about his sincerity and true motivations. his story in the bible is essentially the unraveling of this kind of hyper competent and skilled person as he gets more and more exposed to the reader emotionally and personally, as we see more and more of his weakness and vulnerability and his real flawed and imperfect core is revealed. the narrative is at once both critical of him while still remaining firmly on his side and sympathetic towards him, and the main thing that keeps him sympathetic as a character in this way, through his darkest moments and most questionable behavior, is that he's 1) unquestionably devoted to God and nearly flawlessly pious, which is for obvious reasons a significant virtue for both the original writer and the original audience the narrative was meant for, and 2) very good at handling criticism, accepting that he made mistakes, and making amends/fixing things when he needs to. which he does a lot of.

so basically, yeah: ruthless stabby killer who's a clever and sly pragmatist, but also a Sad and vulnerable dad. that's what i meant lmao that's the exact same aesthetic as kerry.

and something you'll find pointed out very, very often by any literary analysis or any analysis at all, is his humanity; it's something that can be ascribed to many, many biblical characters but is applied to him as a defining trait in particular. and that's.... even better and gets even more interesting for fate david specifically when pitted against solomon, the perfect, flawless inhuman king. there's a consistent thematic thread in fate of being an ideal vs being a human being, especially for kings and other types of leaders, and in this context i think you can do a lot with david as someone who, instead of giving in/fully committing to one at the expense of the other, went for a balance between the two-- and struggled with that balance. he succeeded in many ways as a king and was good at it, but in some ways he lost that struggle because he failed to find that balance and gave in to humanity at the worst of times, and it's those moments which led to both his biggest mistakes and his biggest tragedies. it's interesting to me because it's different from the patterns that characters like kerry and saber establish, and it offers a perspective on this dilemma that also explains why people like them commit to this all-or-nothing approach to it.

and it's also interesting to me to compare to solomon, but especially the fact that when put in context-- that god sees david and decides to make solomon the way he is seemingly in response-- the implication is one of a background 'story' that's very consistent to an interesting pattern about god in genesis: that he's always trying out new ways to interact with this world he created through humanity and having to retry after each one attempt doesn’t quite go well. he started with adam and eve and they disobeyed him, when he tried to with all of humanity and when they turned away from him and degenerated morally he had to destroy them all with the flood. then he tried to create this connection/interaction through just one person and then just one nation from this person, and that's how he came to form the covenant with us. humans are constantly ruining his plans and he's constantly having to adjust and try or test new things. and i like the idea that he's also trying to do something similar with the kings and leaders he appointed to this chosen nation; he tried with the judges who were all scattered leaders that couldn't unite the tribes, then tried with saul who was just kind of a weak leader and king in general and couldn't handle it, tried with david, and then looked at him and went, okay, i did pretty well with this one, he's served me well but it's still not what i need. so, god reasons, if his problem is that his humanity was what got in the way then clearly the problem is that i look to humans as my representatives in the world. so clearly i need someone who can interact with humans and the human world as one of them but won't have their flaws. and so that gives us some background to and explains solomon's circumstances.

now in fgo itself the exact circumstances of solomon's birth and why he was born as he was are kind of vague, and i haven't seen anything in materials or other canon sources to elaborate (Dark Nasu, Show Me The Forbidden Solomon Backstory) but the one, somewhat cryptic line we're given to explain is that he was offered by david to god to make him into a greater king than he was. that's not exactly what happened in the original story but not really wrong either. it's a fairly legit and logical take on what happened there imo. what we're told is that god looked at baby solomon and went 'oh yeah, this kid seems pretty legit, i like this one' (when he was already born, not before that), and through a prophet, gives him a second name that literally means 'friend to god'. then, many, many chapters later, when david is old as balls and senile and slowly dying and there's a succession crisis blooming, nathan (who was the one that gave solomon his second name, as this part of the story’s acting prophet) has bathsheba resolve it by, ahem, 'reminding' him that he promised her that solomon will succeed him. and it's kind of Highly Conspicuous that we have never seen nor been told that this promise happened in the one part of the narration where it would have been most relevant to include so it's not out of the question that nathan had her persuade him of something that never happened because he was kind of very malleable at that point and with shit going down in court they needed a fast solution.

with that in mind i think fate goes under the assumption that this promise was actually real, and that the only major difference here outside of the magic/nasuverse specific elements is that solomon being chosen this way was something that happened before he was actually born, so it connected the two and combined them with how he's characterized in the chapters afterwards as the Good Flawless King and then with all sort of external sources that i can't really speak of since they’re not my area. the other main difference is the implication that david actually played a part in solomon's divine kingly destiny and planned on him being king from the start and specifically offered for god to raise him as such. and there's precedent for something like that with samuel who basically got offered by his mother to be raised as a divine prophet/judge, and the circumstances are more or less similar. samuel was offered by his mother to be in service to god and was raised by priests, which is close enough to being raised by god i guess? but he was totally separated from his parents, and he was definitely absolutely not inhumanly flawless lmao. so i think what david offered is roughly to the extent of 'i will give you my son to raise as his father instead of me, so you could raise him into the kind of king i couldn't be, while i'll stay out of his life so you can do your thing with him as you need'. and with samuel as an example for a similair offer/deal, i think he was expecting a normal human child, just one who'd grow up into a very skilled, competent king and without david's own flaws. and i imagine he was not planning on how it actually turned out for everyone involved.

and as for the reason why he even made the offer in the first place, i chose to look to the promise as the hint to the answer: at least part of it should likely be piousness and sincerely wanting to provide god with the kind of person he couldn't be, but it also means bathsheba, who became his wife under less then ideal circumstances and who lost both her husband and the first child she ever had and that should have been her husband's to his actions and his punishment, has guaranteed protection under her status as the king's mother and isn't thrown to the wolves when he dies, which is the issue she appeals to when she asks him to officially appoint solomon as his successor. being the king's mother gives her control and power in a world where she'd otherwise be in a very precarious position. theeeeeeeeennnn there's also some tradition-- i don’t remember much but i know it exists-- that claims she was his Favorite of his wives, probably for shallow reasons, though i don't think there's much internal textual evidence of that, but that's also A Thought. (i'm just saying, if they ended up developing an actually good connection and ended up loving each other for real that'd be a fascinating and very nasu twist but idk if i'm officially adopting that as my hc yet)

then there's the question of david's relationship to solomon.... there's different takes on it, from what i've seen in fancomics and stuff that does have transltions, and what i managed to understand from untranslated stuff. one interesting one is that david emotionally distanced himself as a result of the trauma of losing the baby from his initial affair with bathsheba, so he kept this distance from the second son he had with her so as to avoid something like that again-- -out of fear he'll lose him again if he allows himself to get emotionally attached. it's a trauma that would certainly be compounded after he lost tamar, amnon and then absalom and how that entire incident really broke him. i don't know if i totally subscribe to that but i think it's on to something.

in general i think of david as not a cruel or abusive father but definitely an emotionally distant one and not very actively present in his children's lives. the struggle of balancing being a king and being a human being had a wrench thrown in it when among all the roles he had to play came up the role of a father, which he just had zero understanding of how to approach or how it fits in with that balance-- the inhuman role of a king and the very human role of father are far more difficult to separate in the world of politics and the court, for him. drawing in from the source text, even in the bible you get the strong sense that he's not very attentive at the best of times, but the moment he loses any of his children, his grief is almost always overwhelming and unsubtle, even if it always manifests differently. in fgo materials their relationship is described as an indifferent one, which is to say, it's not a bad relationship because there's not much of a relationship at all to be good or bad, and i think it was sort of the case with most of his relationships with his children. of course, i also doubt there were absolutely no feelings or affection involved and that it was a totally apathetic one-- on david's part at least. solomon would have been given no room for human attachments such as family or the involved feelings, which means he'd also not feel the pain of the absence of such a thing or the need to have it. if he was given room to feel any sort of familial affection, it's likely a very shallow, vague one.

roman, i think, probably just has a lot of very complicated feelings on it that he's not sure what to do with and doesn't himself really understand. i also think this distance also means he never really understood david or was given the chance to, or, due to his own nature, been given any reason to want to. the absence of this relationship is something he feels in this new human life and understands that it was there and that it was not a good thing, but in a very vague way he's doesn't have the words for; he feels disconnected from it all because even as solomon he was very emotionally disconnected from his family and all that happened in it. and now there's the amount of time has passed and how long ago it would have been for him and how overall irrelevant it all ended up being for him... that david wasn't much of a father to him ends up not mattering much in practice because everything would have turned out the same even if he was, and it's hard to miss something he never felt he ever actually had. he knows there's an absence but doesn't feel it because solomon didn't feel it, and roman never got to experience any of it as roman.

and then he actually gets to meet david again thanks to chaldea. which is completely different as a human being with, like, Feelings, when you have all this knowledge in mind, and to look at a real breathing living human (figuratively speaking) right in front of you and for that person to register as Father in your head is a completely different experience then. it goes from a sort of vague, disconnected regret to a real, emotional understanding of what it is to have a father you never managed to connect to and who kept a distance from you for reasons you don’t understand, and then having the chance to form a connection, all while trying to figure out what the heck is going on with him because he's nothing like what you remember in life.

basically i think the first thing roman thought when he saw david was roughly something like 'whomst the fuckest is [waves hands vaguely] this guy because that is so not my dad', and it slowly segued into 'okay no now i see it, that's closer to the sort of things he'd say or do, but still, what the fuck'. he starts seeing david in an entirely new way on one hand after being exposed to this completely different side to him, but it's also confusing to re-contextualize with all his memories of him and how different he is. the last time they talked, david was on his deathbed giving him a list of people he wants him to murder the shit out of, and another list of people he absolutely does not want him to murder, and his last words were basically 'i leave it up to you how you'll do it legally but i need you to kill that motherfucker dead'. his last moments on the earth he still spent not as a father speaking to a son, but as a king to his successor. ... which suddenly he can also bring himself to feel actual strong feelings about when all of this begin to feel much more personal and much less distant, and also makes the absence of this relationship actually feel tangible, including the feelings of vague regret, maybe a desire to reconnect and to really develop this relationship now that he has the chance to actually know his dad, maybe even some kind of affection for the man-- and when it starts going there that's when he panics because he was not asking for this and does not want these feelings they're really bad and horribly inconvenient this is literally the worst time to be awakening to them!!!!!!

it's all a moot point, of course, because he can't even if he admitted to himself that he wanted to; he can't afford the risk of anyone that's not da vinci knowing, much less someone like this person who he doesn't really know or understand and wouldn't have his trust even under normal circumstances. but and in between all these considerations, he looks at david and wonders about him, wonders how to talk to him-- he knows how to talk, as solomon, to His Majesty The King or to his father the king, but he doesn't know how to talk as a human being to someone he knows to be his father, person to person. he's both familiar and a complete stranger, and talking to him is just a source of headaches not just because of his general personality but because of this particular dissonance. and it's worse because he's also completely undecipherable and he can't tell what he's thinking at least half the time. as easy it might be to dismiss him and think there's nothing beyond what's going on on the surface, he still knows his dad well enough to understand that this is just not the case. and there's a lot of hindsight reflection over his childhood memories and of everything he does remember and in some way putting these things in a new context.

in practice how this manifests is really mostly that he just sort of hovers just outside his orbit, wanting to approach but avoiding at the last second, thinking all these things but not really doing anything beyond that, at one avoiding him and still being unable to resist the urge to engage with him anyway.

.... anyway this post got way way too big and i'm not sure how to end it, but these are almost all the thoughts/hcs i’ve developed for the past year or so. maybe a few minor things i missed or forgot.

#fgo tag #what if we made the emiyas more tragic #thinky thoughts

128 notes · View notes

nadziejastar · 5 years

Note

I don't know about any previous drafts, but it seems clear to me that in KH3 Braig was the one who saved Subject X. Ansem certainly has no idea what happened to her. And with the Luxu reveal (which was probably planned for years) it makes sense that he'd have his own agenda regarding an amnesiac Skuld/Ava.

With this new power, I uncovered a “corridor of darkness” that connects the realm of nothingness to the outside world. While it is still difficult to come and go as I please, my banishment is now a thing of the past. To deceive Xehanort and my apprentices, I first used my power to change form before returning to the realm of light. As I had suspected, Xehanort had become a Heartless. Under my name, he commanded other Heartless in quests to snatch away the hearts of many different worlds. At the center of the heart Xehanort has stolen was “Kingdom Hearts,” which attracts tremendous darkness itself and attempts to send any and all matter back into its depths.

Yeah, I agree. I think Braig/Luxu is the one who knows where she is. Ansem the Wise was banished to the Realm of Darkness for like 10 years. By the time he came back to the Realm of Light the first time, Xehanort had already plunged many worlds to darkness and Sora was a Keyblade wielder. How would he even be able to personally keep track of that girl over such a long period of time? Unless she was kept in stasis or something.

Even now, years on, I feel no closer to understanding who or what I am. May my heart be my guiding key.

But in her writings she says that it’s been years and she still doesn’t remember who she is. So that wasn’t the case. Not to mention that Ansem the Wise was supposed to have lost all of his memories except those concerning Sora.

Ansem: Well…I can tell you this is my second time on these shores. But unfortunately, much like the first, I do not remember who I am or whence I came. Everything was washed away in whatever currents carried me here.

When Aqua spoke to him in Blank Points, he said he didn’t remember who he was or from whence he came. They clearly dropped that idea, but it shows just how little planning this whole “Subject X” girl had in the story. I can’t even really speculate much about her or Luxu because NONE of this stuff was consistent with what we learned in the previous games.

Xemnas: Students do take after their teachers. Only a fool would be your apprentice. After all, none of this would have happened without you. YOU are the source of all Heartless. It was your research that inspired me to go further than you ever dared.

Ansem the Wise: I admit…my disregard brought chaos to more worlds than one. But what were YOU seeking? You erased me from the world, only to take my name and continue research better left forgotten… Is this the answer you’ve been looking for?

Xemnas: All that and more. I’m carrying on what you yourself began, and I’m creating a brand new world, one heart at a time. I thought you’d praise me, but all you ever do is hold me back. I understand, though. Unlike me, you have a heart. And you’re powerless to control it. Consumed, by the jealousy you feel toward the student who surpassed you.

The story of Ansem and the apprentices made no sense to me in KH3. In KH2, Ansem was clearly someone who had no idea unethical research was taking place. He was devastated to find out that his apprentices were performing experiments on unwilling subjects. Xemnas was bragging that he went further than Ansem ever dared. And everything we saw was consistent with that.

Ansem: Please. I have created enough victims.

Xehanort’s Heartless: Yes, you have. All the children sacrificed in the name of your research…So make things right.

Ansem: I told you I did not taker her. Her disappearance is why I put a stop to the research.

Xehanort’s Heartless: And that makes you honorable? You used Roxas and Naminé and threw them away. I doubt there’s a merciful bone in your body.

Yet in KH3, Ansem is made out to be some child-sacrificing monster, and Xehanort is scolding HIM for how merciless he is? And Ansem said that he stopped the experiments because this girl disappeared? That doesn’t even make sense.

My pilot studies used a handful of subjects, but none possessed the fortitude to endure them. Ultimately, all suffered mental collapse. I knew it would be a heavy blow to lose a subject as unique as she. Upon discovering the tests I’ve been conducting, my master demanded that I cease my work immediately and destroy what research I have compiled. Worse still, he ordered the release of my remaining subjects. She is gone.

Even in KH3, Xehanort wrote that Ansem called off all the research because Xehanort was abusing people. THEN all of the subjects were released and Subject X was taken away. So Ansem would have stopped his experiments already, before she disappeared. I’m sure the implication is that Luxu took her.

I have made a grave mistake. My study of the “darkness of the heart” began with a simple psychological test and quickly snowballed. Spurred on by my youngest apprentice, Ienzo, I constructed a massive laboratory in the basement of my castle. Unbeknownst to me, my six apprentices then began collecting a large number of subjects on which to perform dangerous experiments into the “darkness of the heart." As soon as I found out, I called my apprentices together and ordered them not only to cease their studies, but to destroy the results of their research thus far.

But still. All of this is so different from the story we had before that I can’t even really make sense of it or contextualize it. It’s just a brand-new story that’s totally disconnected from the old one. How are you just going to blatantly change established so much established story at the drop of a hat like that? Are we just supposed to ignore all the atrocities Apprentice Xehanort committed now? Do the experiments on the darkness of the heart not exist in canon anymore? They seemed to have been replaced with these vague memory experiments. I can’t really speculate much on canon regarding Subject X, since everything about her story is so inconsistent with what we saw before. I can only speculate on what I think was originally planned.

Sora: What are you saying? That he knew everything that would happen?

Young Xehanort: No, not everything. But remember, Ansem possessed Riku and saw his experiences in real time.

Sora: So? That could only tell him so much. How did he know I would be here today?

Young Xehanort: Simple.

Sora: Kairi!

And it definitely involves another mysterious amnesiac girl who MAY have been able to time-travel. And that’s Kairi. There was so much left unexplained about her and and Naminé. I think the new Subject X mystery girl simply replaced and tweaked their original story, along with Isa’s backstory. Apparently Kairi was the reason Xehanort knew Sora would be there in KH3D. But this is never followed up on.

— The King seems to come in contact with Kairi, the heroine from Kingdom Hearts I.

Because the story takes place before Kingdom Hearts I, the part about Kairi couldn’t be ignored. However, the cause for her going to Destiny Island and her detailed history are not revealed. It draws on the mysterious special existence.

— Why did Kairi end up with Sora and Riku?It has to do with Aqua’s “magic”. Nine years before KH, Kairi was thrust into the outside world, and found herself on Sora and Riku’s world. Ansem Seeker of Darkness thought that she had been able to search for a keyblade wielder, but what actually saved her was the magic spell Aqua had put on her.

Kairi apparently went through the Door to Darkness in Radiant Garden and wound up on Destiny Islands. At first she retained her memories, but by the time she meets Sora and Riku, she has no memories of her original home world. And her body was intact. Aqua’s magic was involved somehow.

Riku: When we grow up, let’s get off this island. We’ll go on real adventures, not this kid stuff!

Sora: Sure. But isn’t there anything fun to do now? Hey, you know the new girl at the mayor’s house? She arrived on the night of the meteor shower!

Destiny Island’s Keyhole had opened, and there was a meteor shower the night Kairi arrived. It was just like when Xehanort opened Radiant Garden’s Keyhole. Riku definitely wasn’t the one who opened the door. And Kairi was standing at the Keyhole door when Destiny Islands fell.

Aeleus: But, that boy…

Even: Never you worry about him. He’s a special case.

There’s no evidence that Kairi was actually a princess. Yet she was allowed inside the castle along with her grandma. Even could sense Ven’s heart of pure light as soon as he encountered him. Well…he probably could with Kairi, too. She would have been a subject of interest to Ansem, who was obsessed with the darkness of the heart.

“What in the world were they talking about?” said Even, who had been trying to eavesdrop.

Xehanort ignored him and continued down the stairs to the basement laboratory. He flung open the door, and the others all turned to him at once.

“Aeleus, where is the girl?” Xehanort asked.

“She’s asleep…” Aeleus pointed to the capsule room in the back.

The girl was very particular—unique among people. They had not been able to create any Heartless using her heart. Perhaps because she was too young, or perhaps…Xehanort disappeared into the capsule room.

While eavesdropping, it’s revealed that the apprentices had Kairi in a pod. This is during Micky’s visit in KH2. So this is after Ansem found out about the experiments and released all the subjects.

It was too dim to make out her features. We spoke to her in hushed whispers. Who was she? Why was she imprisoned here? She had no answers for us. Had no memories at all. She was an enigma, but I knew I wanted to help her.

Xehanort tried to turn Kairi into a Heartless, but was unable to. I would guess that this is probably when Lea and Isa found her. She was imprisoned in an attempt to get her to succumb to darkness and become a Heartless.

Ansem’s Report 11

Opening the door to a world’s heart causes its walls to crumble. These fragments are seen as shooting stars. This explains why these “gummi blocks” can travel freely to other worlds. I know the catalyst of this collapse—the appearance of the Heartless. However, it will take time search out the worlds’ doors and to retrieve each heart. Furthermore, the doors can be locked using a Keyblade, making the heart forever unattainable. I must take action before the wielder of the key appears in this world.If the princesses and the Keyblade are connected, they should resonate. I’ve chosen a girl. I don’t know if she holds the princesses’ powers, but I will find out. She may lead me to the key bearer. I shall set her free and observe.

After he eavesdropped on Mickey and Ansem’s conversation, Xehanort wrote that he “set her free”. So he extracted her heart, I’m assuming?

Ansem’s Report 12

The body is gone; the heart should have returned to the Heartless. And yet, nothing. This one is unlike any other. Its memories remain and it has yet to take the form of a Heartless. A close eye must be kept on the situation. Much is still unknown. To get to the realm of Darkness, one must go through the doors of Kingdom Hearts, the place where the world’s hearts connect. Beyond this world is a place in which darkness reigns. (Details shall be archived in a separate report.) There are many worlds in existence, some of which we know nothing about. The world in which we live. The realm of Darkness. The realm of Light. And the world in between. Wherein lies true nirvana?

But she didn’t turn into a Heartless. Her body disappeared, though. She retained her memories. So…what exactly was she at that point? There was something really unusual going on with Kairi, that’s for sure. Maybe it was similar to the Robed Figure.

Ansem’s Report 13

Where does the body go when it separates from the heart? If the soul remains within the body, is it still considered to be deceased? When the heart returns to the Heartless, the physical form disappears. But that is merely true in this world. Perhaps the body exists in another form in another world. If that is the case, then it is possible for one to exist in two worlds. A being that is neither darkness nor light; belonging nowhere; abandoned by its heart; a mere shell of its former self. The relation between the heart and body is complex. However, I am certain that if your self exists here, then by definition, the other cannot truly “exist.“ The other, the one which does not exist, shall be dubbed, "Nobody.”

I think there was a very important connection between apprentice Xehanort and Kairi. He cast away his body, and could time travel. Something special must have happened with Kairi after she was “set free”.

Naminé is a Nobody, created when a young girl’s heart left her body. Yet she has no corresponding Heartless. This is because the "young girl” in this case was a princess. Kairi, a resident of Radiant Garden over which I had ruled, was one of the Seven Princesses that uphold the realm of light. With no darkness in her heart, Kairi produced no Heartless, and instead of vanishing, her body remained in the realm of light. In other words, both the Nobody called Naminé and the Heartless—proof of a lost heart—are extremely unstable beings who lack the bodies needed to produce a Nobody. Therefore, they also lack Kairi’s memories. One reason for this maybe that Kairi’s heart did not return to the darkness when separated from her body, but rather migrated to another vessel…deep within Sora’s heart.

Ansem knew Kairi was from Radiant Garden somehow in KH2.

Sora: Say, Kairi, what was your hometown like? You know, where you grew up.

Kairi: I’ve told you before, I don’t remember.

Sora: Nothing at all?

Kairi: Nothing.

Yet, Kairi was NOT aware that she was from Radiant Garden. So, she wouldn’t have been able to tell Ansem or anyone else. Mickey didn’t remember that the little girl he saved in BBS was Kairi. Aqua didn’t know about Kairi’s fate until she was rescued. So, I would imagine that the only way Ansem the Wise would have known about Kairi’s past is if he remembered her, due to how special she was.He described her as simply a resident—not related to him.

Ansem: If you do find the girl, what is it that you expect will happen?

Xehanort’s Heartless: The child’s memory holds a mystery to unravel—one concerning the battle we seek between light and darkness. You know something and that…is why you stopped the experiments.

Ansem: You are completely deluded, Xehanort.

Was the special mystery girl originally Kairi? Or Naminé? It could be why Ansem was taken to the mansion and stared at the curtain. Naminé was the ghost girl, after all.

But DiZ had hurt Roxas—even let him be destroyed—to wake Sora up.

Roxas had to disappear. I know that. I understand it, but something inside me makes me reject that.

Did he really have to disappear?

The heart probably had secrets unknown even to DiZ. The Heartless were an embodiment of the darkness in the heart. When a Heartless was born, it created a Nobody, too—an empty physical form.

Then…a Nobody is……

Sora had to be the one who held the key. By coming into contact with him, the heart would awaken.

And that means……

I’m sure there was a lot more we were supposed to learn about Naminé. She always knew more about the heart than the others did in the novels. And she did spend a lot of time with DiZ, who was researching the heart and emotions. The Organization had a special interest in her. In the novels, Axel even doubted if she was actually a Nobody.

“…It’s salty…but sweet,” Naminé murmured after taking a bite of the ice cream.

“Sea-salt ice cream and a photo…” With the ice pop in his hand, Riku eyed the transporter device in the center of the room. “Is he saying to give it to Sora…? As a hint pointing to this place?”

Naminé nodded. “That might be it. I think DiZ—I mean, Ansem the Wise—has some kind of plan.”

“Hey, Naminé… Is there something you haven’t told me—well, haven’t told us?”

She looked at the floor. “…I’m not sure of it yet. The secrets of the heart…aren’t something I can talk about, not yet,” she told him in a tiny voice and took another bite of ice cream.

She knew abut the heart’s ability to be nurtured. But for some reason she couldn’t talk about the “secrets”.

“I feel bad for you, too,” she told him.

“What are you talking about?” Saïx towered over Naminé.

“You haven’t even noticed yet…that you have a heart.” Several Nobodies emerged from a rift out of the corridors.

“A heart? I have a heart? No one wants your nonsense!” Saïx raised his sword over Naminé—but Riku was there with Soul Eater to intercept the blow.

“Hmph. I don’t have time for these games.” Darkness welled from a rift behind Saïx. “Run along and help your dear hero.” With that, he disappeared.

“Are you all right?” Riku helped Naminé to her feet.

“Now I understand…,” she murmured.

“Naminé…? You understand what?”

She was silent for a moment and quietly shook her head as she stood. “It’s nothing. We have to find Kairi.”

She somehow knew Nobodies had hearts. And she also could tell there was something unique about Saïx. In KH3, the scene about the mystery girl involves Hayner, Pence, and Olette. I think that the whole scenario was probably inspired by something involving Kairi/Naminé and was rewritten to involve the new girl much later.

#kh meta #kh theories #kh kairi #kh ansem

10 notes · View notes