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atendersun-archived · 3 years

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𝐛𝐚𝐬𝐢𝐜𝐬

FULL NAME. Mason Uri Thompson

NICKNAME. Muu

GENDER. Male.

HEIGHT. 5′9″

AGE. 25

ZODIAC. Pisces

SPOKEN LANGUAGES. English is his primary language. Japan is secondary and verse dependent.

𝐩𝐡𝐲𝐬𝐢𝐜𝐚𝐥 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐜𝐬

HAIR COLOR. Blond

EYE COLOR. Brown-Green hazel

SKIN TONE. Fair, but with a pink, rosy undertone.

BODY TYPE. Mesomorph. His legs, back, and chest are the most muscular, while his arms trail behind as the leanest parts of his body.

VOICE. Is of average deepness at his normal speaking level, but raises when he’s nervous, or sad. His defense mechanism in stressful situations is to make himself appear smaller for safety purposes, but he’s working on being more aware of it.

DOMINANT HAND. Left

POSTURE. Somewhat arched. Having spent a lengthy amount of his time hunched over in an effort to take up less space as a person has had some life term effects on his posture. He does wear a bright blue brace for about thirty minutes a couple times a week to train his back to stay more upright, but he still finds himself slouching in the presence of people that unknowingly intimated him.

SCARS. He has a round shaped scar on his left arm from an incident with a colleague nearly from about five years earlier, so it has a lot time to heal to the point of being far less noticeable than it was when he first acquired it. There are also some very, very faded scars along his lower back from being unintentionally attacked by a dog as a child. He’d startled it when trying to retrieve a toy from a neighbor’s yard, and instigated a chase when he ran away. It was a small poodle.

TATTOOS. On the inside of his right arm is a tattoo is of very cartoony version of the character Oh from the movie Home. When he was very lonely, and down on himself, it became it his comfort film. He related a lot to the alien character of the film. When on a whim, he decided to get a tattoo, he knew he wanted it to be of something with a lot of meaning to him, but also something that would strike a sense of familiarity to those who also felt like they were an Oh in the world too.

BIRTHMARKS. On the side of his upper left leg, quite close to his butt in fact, is a small, circular mark with tiny, darker colored dots within it. If looked at the right angle, it almost appears to a smiley face. As kind of odd as it is, he really likes his birthmark, and the location it resides on. For a very long time, he held a lot hatred for his lower body for things that took a lot of counseling to come to terms with. Nowadays, he’s far too comfortable pulling down the back of pants just enough to flash his birthmark to people.

MOST NOTICEABLE FEATURE(S). In the sunny, warm seasons of the year, he tends to get freckles that scatter primarily across his nose and his arms. They cease to be noticeable come late fall only to reappear after the rainy parts of spring.

𝐜𝐡𝐢𝐥𝐝𝐡𝐨𝐨𝐝

PLACE OF BIRTH. From what he’d been told by his grandparents, he had been born while his father and mother still resided on a military base somewhere within the outskirts of Phoenix, Arizona. After circumstances leading to the questioning of his mother’s parenting abilities, both him and his brother were relocated states away to live with their paternal grandparents once their father released custody to them in order for him to join the Navy.

HOMETOWN. Verse Dependent

SIBLINGS. An older brother named Matthew who is about two years older than himself.

PARENTS. His mother is entirely absent from his life after a string of broken promises that she’d gotten her life together enough to be a good mom to him, while his father and him are just distant from having very little in common with another. They can hold civil conversations with one another when they interact for brief moments at family get togethers, but he still is far closer to his grandmother than he is with any other parental figure in his life.

𝐚𝐝𝐮𝐥𝐭 𝐥𝐢𝐟𝐞

OCCUPATION. Preschool teacher at a daycare center for children between the ages of 6 weeks old to 6 years old. He never imagined himself as ever working with children, because quite frankly they kind of scared him at one point, but he loves his job more than he would have ever expected.

CURRENT RESIDENCE. He lives alone in a very spacious home that was actually leased to him when the man knew the younger was seeking out a place to live after an end to a relationship. His favorite thing in all of his home is the very large bath tub. It is far more comparable to a pool than a tub, but he has not yet had anything occur where he questioned downsizing it.

CLOSE FRIENDS. All of ‘em. Every last one of them. He has been especially grateful for the opportunities to reconnect with Hisao @angstiism, Hannah @kannojo, Alex @dis--parity, Pchan @nvrcmplt, and Yukio @silvxcs. Someday, when he grows the guts to meet with and check up on some old, familiar faces, such as Archer at @sonderrow, and Nicole @gamenu, he’d like to just listen intently in regards to where life has led them. He also is blossoming in the new friendships he is forming with new people.

RELATIONSHIP STATUS. Verse Dependent.

FINANCIAL STATUS. He falls somewhere on the back end of middle class, yet he doesn’t really mind. It is familiar for him enough that he has learned how to make do without having a lot of money left over. It is for the best, really, because he still remembers very much so the ridiculous amount of money he’d spent only on pudding and snacks many years ago.

DRIVER’S LICENSE. No. He’s terrified to learn how to drive, so he just makes do with either walking, riding the bus, and sometimes even riding his bike if he has the energy to do so.

CRIMINAL RECORD. Clean. He’d like to say he’s done some wild things that have gone untraced, but the most adventurous he’s ever gotten was the time he stole a Winnie the Pooh stuffed animal from a store in the mall. He later went back to pay for it out of guilt, so even that one doesn’t particularly count.

VICES. The constant need to be busy doing something to give his brain far less of a chance to dwell on things he is not satisfied with dwelling on. Maintaining an active and creative lifestyle are very important to him. Otherwise, in the event he does sink to an unexpected low, he tends to build himself back up by indulging in activities that brought him peace as a child. Doodling, watching cartoons, buying random things online from things he watched a kid to boost serotonin. His latest thing is to actually read poetry. He finds it really enjoyable to see something on a page that artistically expresses thoughts he can relate to, and has since started to collect an abundance of poetry books.

𝐬𝐞𝐱 & 𝐫𝐨𝐦𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞

SEXUAL ORIENTATION. He identifies under the queer label. He doesn’t really know for certain where he falls in terms of sexual attraction, since frankly he went years without even getting close to it, but he does know that he has deep feelings for all kinds of people underneath other categories of attraction. A more descriptive way of describing himself would be to say demisexual panromantic, but he prefers to use queer.

PREFERRED EMOTIONAL ROLE. Honestly, he really just thrives on fulfilling whatever role his partners request. He loves to care for people to immeasurable bounds, while shifting to a relaxed, or sometimes needier side of himself when the roles are reversed.

PREFERRED SEXUAL ROLE. He’ll tell you he’s a switch with a preference for topping, but in reality he is a switch with a preference for literally doing whatever the person he feels comfort and admiration for enough to get to that level with them in the first place. He does get a tad bitter when people make suggestions that he doesn’t have the assertiveness to be the dominant partner in those types of relations, and is therefore trying to education himself as much as he can on the overall process before he can even consider taking the reigns like that in real time.

LIBIDO. For the most part, very low. In his main timelines, he has gone seven years without going completely all the way with another person out of a fear of what could follow after that level of intimacy. He doesn’t necessarily have those same fears, but he does feel completely out of the loop in comparison to peers of his who have far more experience than he does. He is at least putting a lot of effort and thoughtfulness into being a more sex positive person, so in time he believes he will reach a point where he will have an average adult male libido.

TURN ON’S. Words of encouragement and affirmation, undivided attention, and playfulness are the primarily ones. Even if it doesn’t always sound exciting in its application, Mason actually finds it really helpful when a partner either verbally describes why and where they are touching him, or how they want him to touch them instead, because it gives a complete sense of clarity and consent. He’s admittedly very inexperienced and clueless, so being shown AND told are clearer in his mind than just being left to try and plan out his next move with limited reference.

TURN OFF’S. Dirty talk. Being called things like whore, slut, or other demeaning names while having sex not only turns him off, but it also really hurts his feelings even when it is jokingly implied that he is being labeled something bad. He also does not really like being referred to things such as little boy, bitch, baby boy. He doesn’t mind being called Baby when it is used to be an affectionate pet name, and he is so much of a sucker for being complimented on, that he’d probably not even bat an eye if someone playfully called him Princess. Just not around other people, because he takes his pride in being a top-man very seriously.

IMPORTANT RELATIONSHIP TENDENCIES. His main two love languages are words of affirmation and physical touch, while the others typically fall not too far behind. He also really just loves the ability to spend time with another person where both people are doing their own thing together. Those moments when he can just glance over to see the twitch of his partner’s lips, or the squinting of their eyes when they get seriously invested in their passion are very meaningful to him. He is also aware that he comes with things that are not always the easiest to love, such as heavy subjects spoken only about in serious conversations, and in the days that are harder to get out of bed than others, so he tries to actively make up for it in the ways he knows how. He’ll often take over the bulk of the work around the house and yard. As a man with a little bit of knowledge about a lot of topics, and a lot of love to give around to make up the difference, he seeks to love and be loved unconditionally by putting in all of his effort to doing whatever he knows will bring the people he is dating complete happiness.

𝐦𝐢𝐬𝐜𝐞𝐥𝐥𝐚𝐧𝐞𝐨𝐮𝐬

CHARACTER’S THEME SONG. Here I am Alive, by Yellowcard and Way Less Sad, by AJR.

HOBBIES TO PASS TIME. Learning how to play the ukulele, drawing, listening to music, playing videogames from time to time, and texting his friends.

LEFT OR RIGHT BRAINED. Right.

PHOBIAS. He really doesn’t have any of the same intense, yet irrational fears as he did as a young man, so it is a lot more difficult for him to pinpoint whether or not he has any remaining phobias. In some ways, the fears of rejection and abandonment still linger at the back of his mind from time to time. Otherwise, he would likely only become of just how terrifyingly ingrained something was to him at the exact moment he was face to face with it. Additionally, he does not hold any trust towards demons, and would scream profusely if he was locked in a room with one, but he refuses to admit that he finds them scary out of spite.

SELF CONFIDENCE LEVEL. For the most part, it is pretty comparable to the self confidence level he had as an innocent, wildly curious teenager, and is a thousand percent better than when he was experiencing the complete lack of self esteem that came with the depression of his very early twenties. He still wrangles with moments of issues of self worth and blaming himself for things that he is slowly becoming to terms with being the result of other people’s problems instead of his own, but they are at least only on very few occasions. Saying he necessarily loves himself would really likely come down to who he is present with at the time, because in some circumstances he believes saying such a thing would lead to him being punished for reasons he might not be able to explain.

VULNERABILITIES. Expressing his feelings to people. He spends a lot of energy dreading the possibilities that can occur by him being anything but kind and happy around the people in his life. He takes no pride in thinking that he’d some way be passing on his troubles onto another person, thus making them take on part of his low as they go about their own day. Logically, he knows that the likelihood of someone physically striking him for expressing his emotions are low, but internally he knows why that sense of fear is there in the first place. He’d rather be a person who is openly loved and feels internally than be someone who feels openly and is not loved at all. It is very telling of his complete trust in another person when he cries around them.

#hisheadcanons #im a bum so im not gonna tag anyone but i really welcome anyone to also do it for their muse #i for one used my grubby hands to take it as an opportunity to ramble on about muu for forever so

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regrettablewritings · 4 years

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Can I please request B, F, and O for Benoit Blanc? I’m simping for this gentleman sleuth so hard.

I’m surprised you didn’t put DNUT just for the sake of reference 😂 Stuff is below the cut!

B = Baby (Do they want a family? Why/Why not?): While he isn’t against the idea to the point of fighting it, Benoit doesn’t strike me as someone actively looking to start a family, either. At least, not in the most traditional sense of what a family could be. He knows he’s not ancient, but he’s certainly not the very picture of youth, either. There’s plenty of things he’s not afraid to do in fear of appearing odd, but he can’t help but wonder if, perhaps, becoming a father at his age would appear peculiar.

Technically speaking, there’s nothing wrong with it, of course: He’s sure enough men his age have become fathers, and he knows plenty celebrities had at much older stages of life. But no matter what The New Yorker may think, Benoit knows he’s not exactly a celebrity; becoming a father at his age might appear less glamorous. And as flattering as the theory might be, he’s not so sure he’d be comfortable with the world knowing his virility in practice.

But, of course, things don’t always go the way we plan for them to. Just because he’s not actively looking to grow the family doesn’t mean it won’t somehow happen. It’ll catch him by surprise, no doubt, especially given how he’s so used to being able to predict things by calculation and logic, but it’s nothing he’s necessarily going to fight, either. If the great Benoit Blanc is to become a father to an actual baby instead of just a fur baby, then he’s going to accept that position with pride and zeal. (And much confusion, but that’s nothing a lot of research and a handful of classes and Youtube tutorials couldn’t fix.)

Benoit knows the impact a loving parent can have on a child, and he wants to assure any progeny of his is granted that chance. He won’t be a perfect father, he knows that, but he most certainly would want to make an effort to be one that they wouldn’t hate. He’s encountered way too many patricide cases to go lax on it all.

More to the point, however, he’s honestly just content with his family as it currently appears to be. He may come from more traditional and decidedly old-fashion means, but this doesn’t exclude the sleuth from possessing an open-mindedness toward the ever-changing image of what a family could be decreed and recognized to be. And sometimes, a family is just a peacockish gentleman with a thick drawl, his more grounded and snarky partner, and their handsome pet cat who is either plotting their deaths or actually enjoys it when they sing show tunes to him.

There are times when he looks back on his life so far and feels ribbons of regret, however. How might things have turned out if he’d settled down before? Would things have been better? Worse? More or less the same?

Well, whatever the case, he doesn’t intend to dwell on it too often or for too long; you’re here now, and if that’s all there was meant to be, then he’d take it without a moment’s hesitation.

F = Feelings (When did they know they were in love?):

He’s not sure, if truth be told. There wasn’t really a precise moment or even necessarily one singular action that offered him any confirmation. The sting of Cupid’s arrow never actually radiated through him, so much as the realization flitted into his mind as a random memory might. It was simply a matter of fact to him one day: He absolutely adored you.

Part of him wanted to go into detective mode, to use that brain of his and search for a specific date that might have triggered the sensation, or to pester Elliot and Marta by using them as soundboards for his monologues and conclusion. Benoit Blanc is a self-aware man, he’s too old to be caught off guard by his own feelings like a schoolboy. But thankfully for all, he stops himself from doing so when he considers the stance that perhaps the feelings had already been present for months now, that there wasn’t any suddenness to the realization. A sense of jamais vu, but of the emotion. Jamais réalisé. Still, the ever-inquisitive spirit in him thirsted for an answer. He tried to satiate it.

Maybe it had something to do with the fact that unlike most, you appeared to enjoy his monologuing. Most people would normally just sit there, the only feedback offered being blank expressions or ones that displayed how thrown off they were about his strange analogies. You, on the other hand, were always listening even when your eyes weren’t directly on him or if you appeared to be busy with something else. Sometimes, if you deemed it necessary, you would even throw in your own input. When he joked about how invested you were, you reasoned that you tended to do the same when you infodumped.

Going off that, he liked when you infodumped: Your entire person would gain a sprightliness to it, particularly in your eyes. The detective truly believed in the value of all sorts of knowledge, and he genuinely did appreciate whatever you had to offer, even when it only appeared to be trivia. The only downside to this was that you almost always would catch yourself and, casting your sights elsewhere, all that vibrancy from before would snuff out like a light. It would darn near break his heart to hear you apologize for “babbling on about such silly things.” He would always insist that it was quite alright, that you needn’t apologize, but you always assumed deep down that he was simply being courteous as all others in his position would be. The truth always was that he was being genuine, you deserved that much.

Maybe he thought you deserved that much because you were relatively patient with him. He didn’t think of himself as a nuisance but Benoit knew that to many, he was more of an acquired taste. He always tried to be polite and considerate but sometimes, his more abrasive traits would come to the foreground, especially when he was on the case. But you never seemed to get especially testy with him as Elliot would. If anything, you were quick to put him in his place with a gently-worded but sternly-spoken reminder that he needed to mind himself.

“The truth can only soothe you so much when you got a foot up your ass,” as you put it once. It got a smile out of him. Of course, he always knew you had some kind of wit about you; one that, while a bit more blunt than his, never failed to make him laugh yet force him to acknowledge the truth. He might’ve been known for his rich vocabulary, but he couldn’t help but admire your own, more direct means of getting the point across. He knew damn well that you understood everything he said, and sometimes he questioned if maybe your responses to him were so straightforward as a means of taunting him over his perceived verboseness.

Even if this were true, he found himself amused every time you opened your mouth. In fact, you were quickly becoming his favorite person to speak to. And he even dared to consider the possibility that, based on how you lit up every time he came to the office, perhaps the same could be said on your part . . .

Well, whatever the case, Benoit never got as far as he’d wanted to whenever he pondered the cause of his feelings for you. Much to his dismay, every effort was thwarted by himself: Every time he came to a theory, he would quickly become sidetracked by other thoughts of you. Eventually he became distracted to the point where every consideration he made could be counted on to be accompanied by some appraisal of your character. In short, he was simultaneously coming up fruitless and fruitful.

But then maybe those were the answers he was looking for. Of course, they weren’t in the usual format he was familiar with but he supposed it was for the best: Feelings weren’t the same breed of mystery as, say, a murder investigation. He didn’t count it as a failure on his part, however (given that Benoit Blanc wasn’t one to quit). No, he decided that perhaps it might’ve been better to keep his work and his play separate. He’d spent enough of his life revolved around solving mysteries, after all; this one, he concluded, was best enjoyed just being experienced as it was.

O = Orange (What colour reminds them of their other half?):

It’s hard for you to choose, really: Benoit is a rather colorful man, after all, with his bright blue eyes and lack of fear regarding certain male accessories. But you do tend to veer towards shades of green. Specifically, peacock green because not only does he own a suit of similar shading, but also because frankly, due to his dandy-like nature, you couldn’t help but compare him to a peacock in your head. Sure, he lacked the arrogance associated with the bird, but what else could you compare a man with an assortment of floral ties and pretty-patterned pocket squares to?

Similarly, Benoit associates you with the color cranberry because of something in your wardrobe: Specifically, the red cardigan you were wearing the day you both met. Admittedly, he’s a twinge embarrassed that he couldn’t associate you with something more overtly romantic: He remembers that you like pink Starbursts but still give him half of yours; he remembers how you argue that black Converses are “the only valid converses” next to glittery ones; and he has no choice but to remember that godawful brown scarf you refuse to discard because “it’s still a good scarf and you’d already had it for this long.”

But you don’t mind. In fact, you’re elated and nearly swept off your feet at the fact: He remembers all the little things from the moment you two became acquainted, even though at the time he was under no awareness or intention that you would become so important to him. You know that, technically, it’s a part of his job to just commit things to detail, but you’ve seen this man forget website passwords and his own keys. Yet, if anyone were to demand that he recall three things from that fateful day, he would immediately recite about how you had a frog Beanie Baby resting on your computer monitor; that you were stabbing your Chinese takeout lunch with one hand and typing up a report with the other; and that you were wearing a cranberry-colored cardigan.

Sometimes, the first two bits were swapped with different things he remembered (all being true), but the one consistent memory that he would always bring up with be the cranberry cardigan. And frankly, you're satisfied with that bit alone.

Thanks for your patience!

#benoit blanc #benoit blanc x reader #benoit blanc imagine #benoit blanc imagines #knives out #knives out imagine #knives out imagines #regrettablewritings #fluff alphabet #fluff headcanons

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smashskate · 4 years

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Honey Newcomb - For @eeriesims‘s “The Many Suitors of One Clary Wiggins”

Honey Newcomb is your resident nymph-next door; A bubbly personality surrounded by unearthly beauty, she’s a staple character in the Glimmerbrook community. Having lived there since she was a child, Honey is well integrated with the residents who inhabit the sweet little sea town. Although she was urged by her mother and father to go to a specialty school to develop her inherited powers, Honey decided she would rather settle down with a normal job, taking up the position as Head Waitress at Dino’s Diner. Since then, she’s developed a strong foundation within the community, often letting people confide in her over a morning cup of coffee. If you need help with a problem, need to vent, or just want to talk, you go to Honey. She also bakes a mean apple pie; you’ll always come back for another slice.

General Information

Name: Honey Erytheia Newcomb

Birthday/Age: October 7th, 1994 (Age 25)

Astrological Info: Libra Sun, Cancer Moon, Pisces rising

Species: Hesperides Nymph

Height: 5’5

Sexual Orientation: Pansexual

Gender/Pronouns: Female, she/her pronouns

Nicknames: Honey (her name is a nickname in of itself), Bee + Honey Bun by friends and family, Betty by many of the townsfolk for her similarities to a stereotypical 50s blonde

Occupation: The Head Waitress at Dino’s Diner; everyone knows her, everyone loves her.

Fun Facts

“You know, back when I did roller derby…” - The key factor that drew Honey to the waitress application at Dino’s was the inclusion of rollerskates in the uniform. Honey competed in professional roller derby during her early twenties, and never quite gave up her love for it. However, she soon found out she was much more coordinated on the track than in the diner when she fell flat on her arse the first day. She’ll bring her past up at random points, but mostly to convince people that she’s not a complete mess on wheels.

“How are y’all doin’ today?” - Somehow, over the years, Honey developed a slight southern drawl. This was peculiar, since no one in her family has a southern accent and Glimmerbrook is nowhere near the deep south. However, customers find it quite charming. Honey chalks this quirk up to her being incredibly impressionable, assuming she picked it up from some passing tourists.

“He’s not weird, he’s adorable!” - Being a nymph, Honey has always had a connection to nature and animals. This has brought her to collect an interesting array of pets over the years. Her most beloved pet is her tarantula, Alberto. People never seem to want to get to know him, and just think he’s strange. It wounds her deeply, he’s a lovely fellow once you warm up to him!

“Oh my gosh, I’m not even goin’ that fast, stop screaming!” - Honey is a horrible driver. She’ll never admit it, and always offers to give people rides or be the designated driver. Don’t let her. Please, it’s for your own good. She drives a buggy that looks like its been through a hurricane.

“See, watch!” *fuse bursts* - Honey’s overarching classification is a Light/Star nymph, although specifically her species is a Hesperides. This means that she cannot create light, but she can manipulate it. Or rather, she would be able to, if she went to school to hone her skills. As it stands, all she can do is make lights shine a little brighter, although it usually comes with a few busted fuses. She can light candles without matches though, which is pretty cool.

“A second chance can’t hurt, right?” - In her younger years, Honey was incredibly trusting, almost to a fault. She often put others before herself, and some took advantage of that. While she’s learned from her mistakes, there's still a part of her that always wants to see the best in people. She doesn’t like to use the term naive, but she knows that it’s an accurate descriptor sometimes.

“... Sorry, what was I saying?” - Honey tends to ramble a lot, and often loses her train of thought. You’ll get her started on one topic, and in a few seconds you’ll be miles away. You might have to tap her on the shoulder to reel her back into the present.

Fun Little Quirks

Her favorite fruit is peaches, and she has to have some at least once a day. It brings her life a little more consistency.

Her handwriting is incredibly neat. The cooks who read the orders at the diner appreciate this immensely.

She’s played the violin since she was a child. While she hasn’t played ensemble in years, she still picks it up for a tune now and then.

There's a tally board in the kitchen at the diner counting how many plates she’s broken. They’ve already had to move to a second page.

She loves to embroider, and often gives her latest projects to her friends for free. Most of the shops in town have one hanging in their window.

Important Questions

How did you meet Clary?

“Well, it’s the funniest thing! I actually heard about her before I met her. I was pouring a morning cup of green tea for Guillermo Reyes, you know, the librarian? And you know how much that man loves a little gossip. Well, he told me that he had heard from Layla who heard from Jack who heard from Mabel that Ronnie had seen a mysterious woman pull up to Etheline’s house late the afternoon before, and that apparently it was her granddaughter! So, of course, I’m intrigued. And then, as luck has it, right when Mr.Reyes walked out the door, she walked in! She sat down at a booth, and I was so nervous that I forgot to take off my skates when I went to take her order! So, of course, I fell. Oh gosh, I’m embarrassed even thinking about it! Thankfully, she didn’t make fun of me, just gave a little chuckle and helped me to my feet. I took her order in pretty much a daze. I almost fell over again when she waved at me on her way out.”

What was your first impression of Clary?

“Honestly? Well, of course I thought she was absolutely gorgeous. Dark hair, dark eyes, ugh! I could go on all day! I also noticed her ears. While elves and nymphs aren’t exactly uncommon ‘round here, their ears haven’t really been passed down. So seeing a dame with those ears? Shocking, but amazing! I haven’t seen someone with ears like mine in many moons. Her hands were also incredibly soft. Literally, I don’t think I’ve ever felt something so soft in my life! Well, that’s probably not true... but that’s how it felt!”

What is your ideal date?

“Oh gosh, I haven’t been on a real date in so long! Well, from my experience, it’s always best to get to know someone a little bit before going on a date. I would invite them over to the diner a few times, just to form a bond. They also get to see me in my natural habitat, at my happiest and my most stressed. Then, once that’s done, I’d love a picnic at the wharf! Sure, the area’s a bit grimey and cluttered, but it’s just so peaceful there, you wouldn’t believe it! One of my other favorite past times is stargazing in the fields just outside of town. There’s this hidden nook in the trees there that my parents used to take me to for training. It gets the most beautiful lighting, day or night. I’ve always wanted to take someone there!”

What is your ideal relationship?

“I really just want someone who’s as invested in the relationship as I am. Some people only want to date for the sake of dating, not actually caring for the other person as they should. If I get into a relationship, I want to feel everything. The highs, lows, and in-betweens. Obviously no relationship is perfect, but I am a firm believer in clear communication. I need to know how you’re feeling.”

“I’m also super touchy-feely. Doesn’t matter when or why, I’ll probably be draping myself over you in some way. Physical contact doesn’t have to lead to something more; Sometimes the best thing is just knowing that the other person is there with you.”

“I want a relationship where we listen to each other. Even if I don’t understand your emotions regarding something, I want to validate them and be there for you. But I want that from the other person too. I tend to be pretty insecure at times, and it would be nice to have someone to snap me out of those thoughts every now and then. I believe that in a relationship you grow together.”

“I never really know what to expect out of a relationship, because everyone’s different. I’m not gonna lie, there's been a few people who have taken me through the ringer, and I haven’t come out undamaged. I want someone who can show me how beautiful love can be, even with its faults.”

What is Honey’s personality like?

Like her name, Honey is sweetness personified. She dislikes the stereotype of nymphs being air-headed and easily manipulated. She is kind and caring, but she doesn’t want to let people walk over her. Sadly, she is often one to walk over herself. She tends to be very self-critical, always wondering if she could have ever amounted to something more. Although she never craved a life beyond her current status, her mother’s powerful reputation as a healer looms over her. She’s also probably the clumsiest person you will ever meet, often taking off her roller-skates to deliver orders to tables out of fear of falling over. Big “i’m baby” energy.

Even though she’s young, Honey is definitely the mom type. Everyone who walks through the door has a story, and she wants to make them feel welcome and wanted no matter what, rain or shine. If someone’s feeling down, she’ll make the sun shine a little brighter. She also has a knack for guessing just what people want to eat on any given day. If you think you don’t know what you want, no problem. Honey’s great at reading people, but there have been times where she’s let the glasses stay on a bit too long.

Honey lives in a cottage in the suburbs of Glimmerbrook. The atmosphere is warm and welcoming, but don’t come in without being invited. She’s got about fifteen guard animals waiting.

Honey’s hobbies mostly revolve around baking, cooking, and general upkeep of the diner. After hours, you’ll most likely find her bundled up on the back steps of the diner, sharing a hot chocolate with one of Glimmerbrook’s interesting residents, or giving tourists tips on the hidden gems around town. Honey is perfectly amicable with the townsfolk, and loves them dearly, but she’s never been able to find that special someone. She hopes that one day someone will come to sweep her off her feet and make her feel the things she’s heard about from the local lovebirds.

In-Game Information

Traits:

Cheerful

Outgoing

Clumsy

Aspiration: Friend of the World

Outfits (L to R: Work ~ Everyday ~ Date)

#the many suitors #the many suitors of one clary wiggins #themanysuitors #eeriesims #ts4 #sims 4 #the sims #sims4 #ts4 challenge #this took way longer to put together than I thought it would lol

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spiiderwiick · 4 years

Text

Another night, another round of questions that they’d been reflecting on. Thanks to Benrey’s little sweet voice songs, the two of them had managed to convince Patches that magic wasn’t entirely evil and something to fear. While Wick wasn’t sure they wanted this kid to start using her full magical potential, they couldn’t help but wonder how much of it she was even aware of. How much of it was instinct versus something she would’ve been taught or figured out the hard way? They imagine all of the healing, automatic as it may be, was something she learned the hard way.

Between the two of them, they’d managed to tire her out some by taking turns using worms on a string as baby clown cat toys. Patches wasn’t interested in going to sleep yet and it was getting late. Maybe winding her up like that wasn’t the best way to get her to chill out. It took ages to get her to sleep the previous night. They have no babysitting or parenting experience, they know pet care better than people care, and as feral cat as Patches tended to be, it had seemed like a good idea at the time.

“hey patches, you okay if i ask you some stuff again?”

While she doesn’t regard them with the same suspicion as the previous night, she still doesn’t look thrilled to be put on the spot like this again, “Why?”

Why was a tough one. Because they’re nosy? Because they want to know thy enemy? “cause i’ve never met a monster like you and you’re neat.” Is what they go with, and that answer seems to satisfy her because she gives them the okay without any fuss.

“you told me the other night that you can heal whatever bad stuff happens to you. do you have any other cool special tricks up your sleeve?” They purposefully avoid calling it magic, just in case that’s part of her hangup with it.

“I dunno...” She stares at the ground, thinking hard. “I’m good at climbing stuff. I can squeeze through really small spaces...”

Hm.. Does she not know or..? Wait a minute, “how small you talking?”

In response, Patches holds up her arms to form a circle. It’s not very wide at all.

That’s definitely too small for her to squeeze through without shapeshifting, “dang really? i bet you could sneak into anywhere like that. can i see?” The clown looks around the room, but doesn’t seem to find anything to try and squeeze herself through. She gives Wick a shrug. “hah, i’ve got some spare vivariums without any bugs in ‘em, but i don’t think i wanna risk you breaking ‘em trying to get in or out.” What could they use... Maybe crack a door that wide? Or a little less wide, “what about a door? think you could squeeze through one of those?”

At the suggestion, Patches perks up, “Yes! I can squeeze under doors really good! You wanna see?” This feels like something they’ll regret reminding her she can do but they can’t double back on it now, “that’ll work!” Wick hops up and closes the nearest door. Most of them have a small gap underneath, probably intended to account for carpet height. They’re sure a normal size ferret could squeeze through, but a child sized ferret out to have trouble unless they were made of jelly, “this good? or do i need to make it bigger?”

Patches wanders over, inspecting the door with dramatic tilts of the head. Without a word she sticks her hands into the small gap, pawing at the other side. Just like a kitten, Wick thinks.

What happens next is almost cartoonish looking. Patches struggles with it at first, seemingly trying to squeeze herself as she is through a gap she would never fit through. As she makes her herculean efforts though, she does start to distort, just a bit, and is able to squeeze her head under, then her torso, then the rest of the goddamn clown.

There’s a muffled scrabble from the other side of the door as she stands up and triumphantly announces, “I told you I could!!”

Wick knows that was absolutely a hundred percent shapeshifting, but isn’t sure how to tell that to the very magic clown, “now here i thought you were just exaggerating, but you sure showed me! that was super cool! is there any other cool stuff you can think of?”

Patches looks unsure this time, like she has a secret she isn’t sure she should share. Which, Wick would guess, is exactly what she’s feeling. She fidgets with her ruffled collar, “There is another thing... I’m not very good at it... But sometimes when I take food and need to hold more stuff. I use my tail.”

“...like a hand?” Wick figures playing dumb is better than her wondering why they know all her secrets already, ‘i know monkeys can do that cause their tails are so good at gripping.”

She shakes her head furiously, “I can do that! But that’s not.. I can do it better.” Patches lifts up the tip of her tail, concentrating hard. It looks like it takes a lot of effort for anything to happen, but the tail soon splits. It’s a far cry from the well defined tail mouth Wick is used to seeing her sport. If anything it’s more like a three pronged pincer, like a crane game claw. It appears to be made of fur still, but as it opens and closes a couple times, the soft snap reveals the true nature of the claw. “wow! i bet that gives you a huge advantage with all sorts of acrobatic stunts!” Nothing but positive encouragement for this baby. Honestly though, Wick does think this is cool. If it were literally anyone else, they wouldn’t feel as though every word they say was secretly hollow, even when it’s genuine.

Patches can’t tell the difference at least, and seems happy to keep earning positive praise. It’s such a stark difference from what she’s used to. It’s still weird to her, and she loathes to be picked up unless it’s on her own terms, but she’s learning to accept the positivity.

“I think... I think I can do other cool stuff too!” Oh? Was she starting to come out of her shell a bit more? “yeah? well let’s see it!” Wick gives her two thumbs up in encouragement. Nodding, Patches darts off, as if shy to have an audience all of a sudden. Wick waits in place, letting her do whatever it is that she has planned on her own time. They can hear some quiet sounds of frustration, clearly she isn’t as practiced in this as she is in squeezing under doors. After a few minutes, she turns back around, she’s grinning and lifts up four hands in a ta-da gesture. It’s not perfect, the additional limbs are split off from her existing ones at the elbow and are a little smaller than intended.

They’re in no place to judge, let’s see Wick try to instantly grow two extra limbs. No, instead they applaud and continue to wonder what chaos they’re unleashing unto their home, “you’re right! that is really cool!!”

Turns out she knows about her magic after all. Now the question is, would she use it for good or evil now that she’s apparently decided it’s okay? Wick is sure they’ll find out soon enough and they’re not looking forward to it.

#drabble #f2f #jpstandsforjustpatches #freeneoscienceteam

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chicagocityfclanspromoblog · 3 years

Photo

Eric Lasiter → Tom Hardy → Warlock

→ Basic Information

Age: 952

Gender: Male

Sexuality: Straight

Powers: Transmutation (Fire Elemental Transmutation)

Birthday: August 11th

Zodiac Sign: Leo

Religion: Pantheism

Mark: Lasiter

Generation: 1st

→ His Personality

Eric is known for being uncompromisingly honest. He is the ultimate devil’s advocate. He enjoys the mental sparring and the fun of bringing worlds down around him. Eric is quick witted, knowledgeable and keeps his fellow warlocks and witches on their toes. Eric has never been a particularly functional or benevolent man, though he has frequently made efforts to better himself. He is obsessed, nearly desperate, for success. He’s willing to steal and lie in order to get the knowledge he desperately craves and to get further in the supernatural world. Despite excelling in transmutation and becoming a successful mentor, Eric finds himself feeling stagnant.

Eric is insightful, strong-willed, tough and if he sets his mind to it, erudite. Unfortunately he is also a tad psychotic. Giving his outward personality, it’s unknown to many people that Eric possesses a great deal of intense rage because of the various traumatic and humiliating experiences he has endured over the course of his life. Although, that rage and anger is rarely directed towards those in his inner circle. He is also possessive of those in his inner circle, willing to violently lash out and sometimes going as far as killing those he perceived as threatening to his friends and family.

→ His Personal Facts

Occupation: Package Handler at Shutter Magic International Imports & Export

Scars: Multiple

Tattoos: Multiple

Two Likes: Meat Lovers Pizza and The Irish Culture

Two Dislikes: Unnatural Hair Colors and Valentine’s Day

Two Fears: Being Lost At Sea and Unknowns Of The Afterlife

Two Hobbies: Transmuting and Sean-nós Dance

Three Positive Traits: Cultured, Observant and Creative

Three Negative Traits: Kleptomaniac, Haughty and Self-Destructive

→ His Connections

Parent Names:

Lauren (Mother): Eric only remembers her first name and that she was Irish. When she learned he wasn’t a normal human, she faked his death and gave him away at the age of 6, for his own protection.

Sam (Step-Father): Sam was a graying old man when Eric’s mother was given to him by their village for having a child out of wedlock. He doesn’t remember anything about Sam besides his name.

Sibling Names:

Unknown Amount of Step-Siblings (Sam’s Daughters and Sons): His step siblings varied from infants to adults by time Eric was given away. He doesn’t remember any of their names or faces.

Children Names:

Unnamed (Daughter): Stillborn. Eric was 16 years old when he lost his first daughter.

Shella Lurena Lasiter (Daughter): Shella was born prematurely and died 8 days later. Eric did not have full control of his powers then at the age of 17 and did not yet know of the Supernatural community to save her life.

Romantic Connections:

Eve Lasiter (Dead Wife): He doesn’t have many clear memories of his wife, outside of her death, though he believes he loved her.

Kaylor Cleirigh (Interest): Kaylor is one of the few female warlocks that is around his age. Eric thinks that she’s beautiful, smart, funny, powerful and way above his league. Sadly, she is married and Eric would never stand between her relationship.

Platonic Connections:

Ronan Cleirigh (Former Mentor): Ronan was Eric’s mentor for nearly six hundred years. Ronan brought him six mentees and asked him to choose one; officially signalling the end of his training nearly three hundred years ago. Eric has stuck close to his mentor and regards him as a good friend.

Ashley Malone (Mentee): Ashley is his newest and youngest mentee. He fought to have her, in order to test the abilities of a creator and animator together. Ashley loves to tutor him in his studies as the person most recently in school.

Belle Cunningham (Mentee): Eric has been watching over and mentoring Belle since she was in her early teens. Their powers are similar enough that training Belle is second nature to him. They have a close personal relationship too.

Chai Gates (Mentee): Chai parents sought him out and asked him to train their daughter. He refused at first but changed his mind once he and Chai sat down and talked about what she wanted out of her powers and life.

Audo Wilhelm (Co-Workers): They both work for Ronan Cleirigh at the warehouse. They’re friendly and hold pleasant conversations together. They’ve recently started hanging out outside of the workplace together.

Catherine Barr (Private Employer): Cat has employed Eric to transmute a secret house for her. She teleports him to an anonymous location, he works for an agreed amount of hours and then she brings him back. Eric sympathizes with her over the loss of her daughter and she pays him well, so her secret is safe with him.

Skylar Beckham (Possible Family): Skylar was found by Audo Wilhelm. She had no idea she was a witch. Eric is thrilled at the possibility that someone else out there shares his mark but he is unsure if Skylar is his daughter or niece.

Minsky Edison (Best Friend): It’s hard for Eric to make and keep friends but Minsky has always been there for him. Minsky is one of the few people he would trust with his life and would have trust with the life of his daughters.

Brighton Genesis (Best Friend): Bee and Eric have been friends for the same amount of time that he has been friends with Ronan since his former mentor made their introductions. Bee knows his attraction to Kaylor, his wife, and is constantly offering to make a polyamorous relationship together.

Hostile Connections:

Garrett Cleirigh (Indifferent/Distant): Eric and Garrett are always bumping heads. They would probably be best friends if they weren’t so much alike.

Imani Anderson (Conflicted): Eric and Imani worked together on many occission until one day all communication stopped. Weeks later an important shipment of Erics’ went missing. He refuses to believe it was a set up but all clues point to the Andersons family.

Sarah Harris (Hostile): Sarah is a thorn in his side. He confessed once that her daughter, Zelda, eyes reminded him of one of his daughters and Sarah lost her cool. She has been purposely making his life hell since. Out of respect to Zack, Zelda, and Ellis, he has yet to retaliate. Key word being yet.

Pets:

Fern: Fern is Eric’s third fern plant this year. He was tempted to take Flower as a mentee in order to keep Fern alive but was denied the request.

Aloe: Aloe is Eric’s two year old aloe plant. She still is alive and well, thank you.

→ History

Eric’s village and stepfather told him multiple times that he was the product of rape but his mother always ensured him that she loved his real father and that everything between them was consensual. His mother, Shella, was young and unmarried when their village found out she was carrying him. Soiled. That’s what they called her. His mother was sold off during her first trimester to the first person that their village could hand her off to for two pigs and a rooster. Sam was an old geezer that prayed on younger women and took the opportunity to take Eric’s mother in. She was forced to not only care for herself and Eric but also Sam and his kids. When Eric was born, Shella automatically suspected something was wrong with her boy. It wasn’t until Eric was 6 and having a crying fit that she realized her suspicions were correct. Eric transmuted a whole area of wooden toys into red apples; his favorite snack. In fear for his life she faked his death and gave him to a English couple passing through town.

As he grew, Eric forgot about his past life in Ireland, ran away from the old couple watching over him and lived his life on the streets of England and Scotland. That’s where he started to notice he wasn’t like the other boys on the block. He was stronger, faster, and luckier, always finding exactly what he needed right around the corner. Eric found himself taken in by the local butcher as an apprentice at the age of 15 and began his first career there. He met a nice girl and got married. They’d lived happily, and Eric was ecstatic at the news of his wife’s pregnancy, which made it all the more distressing when their baby was a still born. The next year his wife fell pregnant again, and he lost both her and his other daughter in the premature birth. Anger and heartbreak filled Eric and a darkness began bubbling inside of him.

The jadedness grew over the years, and he began to notice small things about himself. He’d barely aged and looked years younger than his childhood friends, being near the local church seemed to take all the energy and power from him, and everyone he loved died. Eric was sure he’d been possessed by evil, and found a Devil’s mark along his back. After months of contemplating what to do next, Eric had decided to go to the Church to have the evil expelled from him. As he explained his symptoms to two Bishops, he began to realize he sounded mad, however the younger Bishop asked him to show the mark. The two men spoke quietly in a language he didn’t understand, before explaining what he was. It was a mark of evil, but it had always been in him, poisoning and darkening his world.

He’d been sent away by the Bishops to another magic user, this time a warlock rather than witches. William Weyden showed him how to access his powers and how to create from the evil within him. He practiced religiously honing his power until he mastered every level from beginning to advanced. Eric blocked out all other things from his life and poured himself into his work, it was this that caught the eye of Ronan Cleirigh. He offered to mentor Eric in his final years of training, to push him to become more than he was before. Eric accepted and was well on his way to excellence. It was with the Cleirigh family that Eric discovered he wasn’t evil, nor were his powers. They all had different sources of magic, and it was no indication of who they were. He and Ronan formed a strong bond, and after his training had ended, the older warlock offered his name to Eric. A symbolic way of cementing him into the family. He declined, desiring instead to make his own mark known. → The Present

Eric is completely satisfied with where he is at in life right now. In his free time he is helping Cat with her secret house, teaching Ashley to use her powers to make charms, assisting Chai and Belle with potions and craftsmanship. Eric usually fills up his days but also finds time for his friends. Finding time is getting hard since Eric has enrolled into the local University. Eric has never attended school in his near one thousand years on Earth. He was self taught until he found his mentor, Ronan, and continued to learn from him. Wanting to challenge himself and genuinely accomplish something people his age usually do not, Eric is in pursuit of his Interdisciplinary Studies with 3 different concentrations and a minor.

Eric is unsure who Skylar is to him. He has pulled all of his resources to find out if she is his own daughter or niece without alerting her that he might be her father and not her uncle. Eric is over the moon with the possibility that there might be another first generation Lasiter out there but is sick that they would give up their own child. He has contacted all of the women he’s been with that are still alive and they’ve all denied giving birth to a baby girl. The possibility that she is indeed his niece are getting higher and higher. He has enrolled the help of a few Mark Finders to help expedite the process. Recently, he has offered Skylar to stay with him and recommended her to Jace Cicero to help her with her developing mental powers.

→ Available Gif Hunts (we do not own these)

Tom Hardy [1][2][3]

#Tom Hardy #Warlock rp #Witch rp #Magic RPG #Supernatural RP

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chicagocityofclans · 4 years

Photo

Eric Lasiter → Tom Hardy → Warlock

→ Basic Information

Age: 952

Gender: Male

Sexuality: Straight

Powers: Transmutation (Fire Elemental Transmutation)

Birthday: August 11th

Zodiac Sign: Leo

Religion: Pantheism

Mark: Lasiter

Generation: 1st

→ His Personality

Eric is insightful, strong-willed, tough and if he sets his mind to it, erudite. Unfortunately he is also a tad psychotic. Giving his outward personality, it's unknown to many people that Eric possesses a great deal of intense rage because of the various traumatic and humiliating experiences he has endured over the course of his life. Although, that rage and anger is rarely directed towards those in his inner circle. He is also possessive of those in his inner circle, willing to violently lash out and sometimes going as far as killing those he perceived as threatening to his friends and family.

→ His Personal Facts

Occupation: Package Handler at Shutter Magic International Imports & Export

Scars: Multiple

Tattoos: Multiple

Two Likes: Meat Lovers Pizza and The Irish Culture

Two Dislikes: Unnatural Hair Colors and Valentine’s Day

Two Fears: Being Lost At Sea and Unknowns Of The Afterlife

Two Hobbies: Transmuting and Sean-nós Dance

Three Positive Traits: Cultured, Observant and Creative

Three Negative Traits: Kleptomaniac, Haughty and Self-Destructive

→ His Connections

Parent Names:

Lauren (Mother): Eric only remembers her first name and that she was Irish. When she learned he wasn’t a normal human, she faked his death and gave him away at the age of 6, for his own protection.

Sam (Step-Father): Sam was a graying old man when Eric’s mother was given to him by their village for having a child out of wedlock. He doesn’t remember anything about Sam besides his name.

Sibling Names:

Unknown Amount of Step-Siblings (Sam’s Daughters and Sons): His step siblings varied from infants to adults by time Eric was given away. He doesn’t remember any of their names or faces.

Children Names:

Unnamed (Daughter): Stillborn. Eric was 16 years old when he lost his first daughter.

Romantic Connections:

Eve Lasiter (Dead Wife): He doesn’t have many clear memories of his wife, outside of her death, though he believes he loved her.

Platonic Connections:

Hostile Connections:

Garrett Cleirigh (Indifferent/Distant): Eric and Garrett are always bumping heads. They would probably be best friends if they weren’t so much alike.

Pets:

Fern: Fern is Eric’s third fern plant this year. He was tempted to take Flower as a mentee in order to keep Fern alive but was denied the request.

Aloe: Aloe is Eric’s two year old aloe plant. She still is alive and well, thank you.

→ History

→ Available Gif Hunts (we do not own these)

Tom Hardy [1][2][3]

#Tom Hardy #Eric Lasiter #Open #OM #OMWR #OWR

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departeddestiny · 5 years

Text

Pronunciation: Coo-Ra-Sa Or-L

Nickname: Has None.

Age: 31.

Nameday: 4th Sun of the 2nd Umbral Moon.

Race: Au Ra, Xaela.

Gender: Male.

Sexuality: Pansexual.

Marital: Single.

Alignment: Chaotic Neutral

Hair: Medium in length and Umber, it is parted in a way so that the thick of it falls to the right. Strands stick up here and there, it might be considered disheveled; this is done purposefully, as time is precious. It is silken to the touch.

Eyes: Burnt Orange optics with slitted pupils, much reminiscent of the dragon’s from which he is descended. Black stains the sclera where white would typically be seen.

Height: 7 Fulm, 2 Ilm ( 7′ 2″ )

Physique: Large biceps, chiseled pecs and abs. The Xaela is built from his constant efforts to remain in top shape, especially so since most of his Gil is gained protecting others or from chasing after bounties.

Dominant Hand: Right.

Posture: He tends to stand up straight and rigid, some would consider him to have a ‘stick up his ass’.

Scars: They litter his body, telling a story of a warrior. The largest one is jagged and runs along his left pectoral, stops just above his abdominal muscles.

Distinguishing Features: Unlike most Xaela, where obsidian scales would normally be present, his are cracked and flowing with lava. They are hot to the touch, though not enough where they will burn.

Profession: Formerly a Dragoon for the Ishgardian Forces || Bounty Hunter and Sell Sword

Affiliation: None at present.

Languages: Eorzean, Doman, Xaelic.

Residence: Taverns strewn throughout Eorzea, predominantly in Ul’Dah

Birthplace: Doma, before it was razed by Garlean Forces.

Religion: None.

Parents: Tsuki Orl ( Mother, Deceased ) || Ryoma Orl ( Father, Deceased )

Siblings: Chiharu Orl ( Older Sister, Alive )

Pets: Draught Chocobo named Isaac

Hidden Amoung Shadows: There might have been a time when Kurasa wished to be seen, when he made a point to show his scales off and revel in the attention. Now, he tends to stick to the shadows or remains in his own company, oft wearing a hood to hide his features.

Flawed Moral Compass: While he may seem like any other person, Kurasa is quite capable of committing heinous acts; an example would be how he became a Dravanian Spy during the Dragonsong War. How many innocents died due to his actions? A thought that would haunt normal people, but Kurasa sleeps just fine.

Short Trigger: Perhaps it is the dragon blood that runs through his veins, perhaps he was simply borne that way, but Kurasa has an extremely short trigger when it comes to his temper. As he’s gotten older, he’s done his best to reign it in, but he will still beat heads if provoked enough.

Mistrusting to a Fault: Due to all that he has been through, Kurasa trusts none but himself. He has seen how quickly people turn on one another, how easily they come to assumptions. The man has seen the absolute worst of people and would rather not trust another to save his hide.

Are You Really That Smug?: Once his barriers have been breached, his smug attitude and belief in his own capabilities come to the surface. Kurasa knows that he is good looking, that he is good in battle and in bed, and he won’t let another tell him otherwise.

Frisky Under the Influence: Though not an every day occurrence, the man can often be seen in the corner of a tavern, pounding back the drinks...which probably garners more attention than it should. But with drink in his system, he becomes much more open and social, which leads to a new bed partner. But upon waking, he is his normal self, extremely ticked and grumpy despite just having got laid.

Sexual Orientation: Pansexual

Romantic Orientation: Panromantic ( monogamous ).

Preferred Emotional Role: submissive | dominant | switch | unsure

Preferred Sexual Role: submissive | dominant | switch | sex repulsed

Libido: Over-Active.

Turn On’s: Thoughtful || Witty || Good with a Sword || Sarcastic || Hard to Get

Turn Off’s: Clingy || Selfish || Overly Cruel ( there is a line ) || Debauchee ( he’s not into romancing someone who is all too willing to sleep with him )

Love Language: Time Spent Alone || Physical Touches || Protective

Relationship Tendencies: Due to his mistrust, Kurasa would do his best to avoid the person all together; they would have to be stubborn and continually come around in order for him to open up. Eventually, the Xaela will begin to open up, once he sees they are not there to cause him harm and they accept him for who he has become. Will become a protector, a shadow that looks over them and ensures their safety. Once he loves, he will love them alone.

Hobbies: Sword Play, Training, Climbing Waterfalls, Reading, Drinking ( Tea and Alcohol ), Eating, Listening to Music, Wandering.

Likes: Cold climates, Animals, Waterfalls, Teas, Rain, Various Shades of Black, Cooking, Fighting, Flowers, Mountains, Fire, Gil.

Dislikes: Small Spaces, Long Conversations, Threats, Blood Stained Clothes, Garleans and Ishgardians.

Fears: His Sister Dying, Being Vulnerable, Drowning.

Positive Personality Traits: Loyal, Passionate and Battle Hardened.

Negative Personality Traits: Cynical, Sarcastic and Violent.

Sword for Hire: Or more specifically, a glaive. Kurasa will do just about anything to put Gil into his pocket; in regards to killing or protecting, that is. But unless the person has won his loyalty, there is a chance he’ll turn on them in favor of a higher counter offer.

Blood of the Dragon: The Orl Clan was persecuted and primarily killed off because the Ishgardians believed them to be in line with their dragon ancestors: one look at Kurasa and, although not proven, one might think he truly did descend from the creatures. Cracked obsidian scales that flow with lava, slitted eyes, and fanged teeth. He portrays an intimidating picture.

Battle Hardened Warrior: Kurasa is the epitome of a person that has been hardened by battle, and by fate. There could be no better person to fight at your side, as he is skilled in not only his glaive but a multitude of other weapons. He’s one of the first to rush into the fray and it’s quite hard to take him down.

Lover of Tea: When the Xaela is able, he enjoys being able to sit down with a steaming cup of tea and let the days troubles wash from his person. It’s strange to see him do so and often, he’ll get looks of confusion when ordering, but who gives a shit?

A Slight Alcoholic: Then there is the opposite of the tea love, which is his need to drown his emotions in alcohol. Unfortunately when Kurasa drinks enough, he becomes a very open and affectionate person, which oft leads to him waking up with another in his bed.

Nature Lover: The best way he found to keep his body in shape, is to test his strength against what nature has to offer. Climbing cliffs and waterfalls gives the Xaela a full body work out and when he is done, he can sit amoungst the flowers and animals, and relax. There is nothing quite like feeling the sun beat down and the cool breeze against sweat stained skin.

Please be advised, this blog contains mature content that is not suitable for those under the age of 21.

I Roleplay: Pretty much anything! Subjects such as kidnappings, torture ( there is a fine line to tread ), and romance are acceptable but only when previously discussed and both parties are willing to participate.

I do not roleplay: Permanent character death, rape plots, polygamous relationships, god-modding, power-playing, and ERP. I am simply not interested in any of these, it is not meant as a personal insult.

Please feel free to approach! I love to create stories. That is what roleplay is about, no? If you can somehow see your character fit into Kurasa’s life in some fashion, I am all ears. You’re welcome to message me, even if I do not follow you, and I will do my best to respond!

Please don’t take information from me. While I did not write the events that his story is heavily based upon, Kurasa is of my own creation and I have worked very hard on him.

I am a shy bean who is just starting out with this character - he demanded I tell his story and that is the purpose of all this.

I am not my character. Kurasa does things of his own volition and although I might say something, that does not dictate his actions in the slightest.

In Game: Kurasa Orl

World: Mateus ( Crystal Data Center )

Discord: Given upon request.

Style: I’m a multi-paragraph writer, though sometimes I will write more or less depending on what I am going to work with.

#|| -- Letter Written in Blood: Roleplay #|| -- The Truth Revealed: Headcanon #( Looking For Roleplay )#( Character Profile )#FFXIV #LFRP CRYSTAL #LFRP BALMUNG #Mateus #Mateus rp

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diepower · 4 years

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THE BIG BLEACH HC MEME centering around politics, repost & fill out! For anyone who wanted to explore those aspects more, considering it played a big role in the story. Some things may be unknown to your Muse, just think in WHAT IF then & well, have fun and take your time!

BASICS

Name: Meninas McAllon / / / Age: 1000+ years / / / Gender: nonbinary woman Race: Shinigami / Quincy / Hollow / Fullbringer / Visored / Human / Other Currently lives: (verse dependent) Soul Society / Hueco Mundo / Silbern / Living World / Hell Exact Location: again, verse dependent, but Silbern in general and then Squad 12th’s basement in her CFYOW verse... haven’t quite ironed out all the details of her post-canon AU beyond that it’s set in the Living World, though Group(s): Wandenreich, Shinigami (specifically Squad 12 and not by choice)

QUESTIONS

- Would your muse consider themselves more: GOOD / BAD / NEUTRAL ? - Would your muse consider their group more: GOOD / BAD / NEUTRAL ? - How does your muse think others see them: GOOD / EVIL / NEUTRAL ? - How does your muse think others see their race: GOOD / EVIL / NEUTRAL ? - How does your muse think others see their group: GOOD / EVIL / NEUTRAL ?

- Is your muse considered a threat: YES / NO ? By whom?: Soul Society - Is your muse powerful: YES / NO ? Could they be considered OP: YES / NO ? - Did your muse any crimes: YES / NO ? - Does your muse think they are doing mostly the right thing: YES / NO ? - Would society think the same: YES / NO / MIXED OPINIONS ?

- Does your muse think they are treated unfairly: YES / NO ? - Does your muse feel understood from others: YES / NO ? - Is it important for them what others think of them as a person: YES / NO ? - Would they welcome death: YES / NO ? - Will they ever find peace: YES / NO ?

01.0. Do they fully stand behind the group they are part of? YES / NO. Why is that? Explain: To Meninas, the Wandenreich are a means to an end; a way for her to be placed in a position where she might exact her revenge on Soul Society for the deaths of her parents during the original Quincy genocide 1000 years prior. In addition, being recruited into the Wandenreich also puts her in a closer position to Yhwach himself, whom she firmly believes is equally responsible for the deaths of her parents due to his ineptitude as a leader and “god”. She has no loyalty to Quincy as a race, and only greater purpose is to become the Strongest of all Quincy (not even particularly the “Strongest Quincy”, as she prefers her fists over traditional Quincy techniques). She is exclusively motivated by her own personal sense of justice, and will do whatever she must to attain it.

02.0. Do they like as things are in Soul Society? YES / NO. 02.1. Is there anything they would change? Explain here: Soul Society is a corrupt government body that uses methods of fear, torture, and suppression to uphold their very self-serving ideals of justice. Already armed with this perception, Meninas also sees this firsthand while captive to Mayuri Kurotsuchi and must personally carry out such tactics firsthand. While she doesn’t in the fullest capacity know how to change Soul Society because the root of evil is much deeper than anyone would think, she believes that a number of practices and traditions and captains ought to be destroyed; torn out, root and stem. She also hates the nobility that control many of the policies and buy their way into the Gotei ranks. Those who fight and do the work have earned their place at the top, those who do nothing and hoard their wealth while watching those at the bottom suffer have no place in policy making, regulation, or enforcement.

03.0. Would they ever actively try to bring change (in general)? YES / NO. 03.1. Is your muse more: passive / active ? Introverted / Extroverted ? 03.2. Does your muse care more about: others / themselves ? 03.3. Do they trouble their mind over a lot of problems, others? YES / NO. 03.4. Do they mostly involve: the world / everyone / themselves / comrades / friends / family / elderly / kids / teenagers / home / workplace / strangers / souls / humans / quincy / shinigami / nobles / fullbringer / visored / hollows / espada / arrancar / (former) boss(es) / pets / animals / zanpakuto spirit / enemies / partner / lover(s) / soul king / god / other…(add more) 03.5. Name (up to) three which are the most on their mind (optional, adding names): - her parents in that her original goal was to get revenge against yhwach and soul society for their roles in the Quincy genocide; she cannot remember their faces anymore, but its her memory that they existed at all that drives her actions - bazz-b in that she and him have an established partnership and plot to commit deicide together, and have been keeping this partnership going for the better part of the last 1000 years under the guise that they’re a very messy and very stupid pair of lovers with a loud and destructive relationship. a long time ago, she swore to help bring about the future of the world he envisioned, and her loyalty has not shaken. - the other femritters- giselle in particular being as young as she is, and meninas harbors a strong guilt for recruiting her into the wandenreich (despite being under orders from yhwach). though on the surface their relationship is rife with bickering and light-hearted contempt, she specifically tries to watch out for giselle. - the nobility (not for any particular race, just in general) as she despises those who claim dominion over the others due to circumstances of wealth or fortunate circumstance without actually doing anything to aid the suffering of those below

04.0. Do they think frequently about politics? YES / NO / SOMETIMES. Why is that? Explain: Most of Meninas’ thoughts are politic-focused, although this perhaps isn’t something she herself is aware of, if that makes sense. Most of her thoughts are “it seems to me that this is the way the world is, where it ought to be this other way and I will help to shape it in that image with my own two hands”.

05.0. How do they feel in their current location, more: POSITIVE / NEGATIVE / NEUTRAL ? 05.1. Why is that?: This goes for pretty much all locations/bases in her life after leaving her childhood home at the age of 12- she doesn’t regard anywhere as home as much as shelter. She doesn’t like Silbern, but grows used to it over time (hence the neutrality), but is miserable while trapped in Soul Society.

06.0. Does your muse have any goal: YES / NO ? BIG / SMALL ? 06.1. Does it involve anything world-changing: YES / NO ? 06.2. If goal or not, any future plans? Share here: She despises the class differences between the weird racist blood purity and nobility schemes of the Quincy to Nobility in any of its forms and greatly begrudges those of high noble status. While she does a good job at hiding this disdain while residing in Silbern and around large numbers of Quincy elite (in wealth and breeding), she resents most of them for what they are. Her young life was shaped by the perception of a person’s worth in the world ruled by pedigree and wealth, and she as a result that a person’s worth is dependent on how useful they are as a tool or object to others. She wants to live in a world where those currently at the bottom stand at the top, and those in power are beneath their feet. As far as plans, she’s spent her entire life living with the purpose of revenge, and acting as a tool or an object. Meninas struggles to reconcile this way of life with any dreams for living in any normal capacity.

07.0. Does your muse know about the original sin of soul society*: YES / NO ? * curious? Read about it here. 07.1. If they knew, would it change their views on Soul Society: YES / NO ? 07.2. More: POSITIVE / NEGATIVE / NEUTRAL ?

08.0. Who is the worst person in their eyes?: Yhwach, Yamamoto, all of Soul Society 08.1. What should happen to them? Execution (quick / slow death) / Imprisonment / Stripped of their powers / Torture / Repay for their sins / Pay a Fine / Social Work / lose their loved ones / Exile / other… (add more). 08.2. Explanation: Frustrating as it is that she can’t force Yhwach to watch his loved ones die because she believes he lacks the capacity for feeling in that regard, she wants him to die quickly and without much thought. No power-stripping, no long drawn out torture, just something to end it all. Soul Society should be stripped of its powers to recognize the cruelty of their dominion and ideals imposed upon all realms.

09.0. Thoughts on the Quincy Massacre if they knew: POSITIVE / NEGATIVE / NEUTRAL ? 09.1. Would they be alright with such thing happening again: YES / NO / INDIFFERENT ? 09.2. Would they try to prevent it: YES / NO / DEPENDS ? 09.3. Explanation: Regardless of how self-focused her goals may appear, she doesn’t want to create a world where more children have to go through what she did.

10.0. Would they ever switch sides: YES / NO ? 10.1. If yes, What could bring them to do so?: - 10.2. Would they create a new one: YES / NO ? or join a current one? If so, which: Meninas is now and forever on Meninas’ side.

11.0. Does your muse follow a certain moral code*?: YES / NO / GRAY AREA ? * (ethics) A written, formal, and consistent set of rules prescribing righteous behavior, accepted by a person or by a group of people. 11.1. What does it involve?: discrimination based on real world (not manga world) issues like racism, homophobia, transphobia, etc shes not a good person but shes not a piece of shit 11.2. What does it NOT involve?: shes cool with murder, torture, manipulation, plotting to kill god. very much “the end justifies the means” for the sake of her ideals

YOUR MUSE’S VIEWS / OPINIONS ON THESE GROUPS ?

Central 46: positive / negative / neutral. ━ because: corrupt government that doesnt actually go out on the front lines and have no fucking idea what theyre talking about

Four Great Noble Clans: positive / negative / neutral. ━ because: she hates rich people and also its their fault the world is the way it is

Royal Guards / Gotei 13: positive / negative / neutral . ━ because: corrupt military upholding their own self serving ideals of justice and righteousness. its hubris that makes them call themselves “shinigami- death gods”. theyre not gods, theyre pathetic people in places of power

Fullbringer: positive / negative / neutral. ━ because: truly doesnt care

Visored: positive / negative / neutral. ━ because: theyre shinigami AND hollows so extra disgusting

Espada: positive / negative / neutral. ━ because: hollows are poisonous. she is not a fan

Quincy: positive / negative / neutral. ━ because: the mission is cool, the culture and weird blood purity bullshit with noble lineage is fucked up. she only isn’t completely spiteful because being a quincy herself affords her more power to become stronger, and she loves her parents. overall, she doesnt feel the same loyalty to her kind that others do

YOUR MUSE’S VIEWS / OPINIONS ON THESE (IMPORTANT) PEOPLE ?

Aizen: positive / negative / neutral. ━ because: cool that he wanted to revolutionize SS, lame that he relied on hollow power, lamer still that he lost. also, she doesnt like men who talk too much.

Yhwach: positive / negative / neutral. ━ because: she sees his ineptitude as a leader and failed god figure just as responsible for her parents’ deaths as soul society. his hubris as a god is just as deplorable as soul society’s itself, it just so happens hes the one who gave her more ability to get her revenge

Mayuri: positive / negative / neutral. ━ because: the daten already described him as disgusting, esp detailing his torture on subjects he found to be particularly interesting. Meninas especially hates him after becoming his prisoner in CFYOW following the war. he performed surgery on both her and candice, claiming to have filled their bodies with bombs in order to force them to comply. he took a special interest in the unique state of meninas’ body and muscle density, and as such, there are a number of other “experiments” she underwent at his hands. on top of her being forced to execute soul society’s “dirty work” at his behest in exchange for her life... she hates mayuri

Kurosaki: positive / negative / neutral. ━ because: she thinks its disgusting that soul society relies so heavily on a child’s power to be a strong military force, even worse that the wandenreich and yhwach himself sought to take control of that power. despite this, she doesnt hesitate to attack him with the intent to kill for the sake of acheiving her own ideals, and shes also bothered by ichigos apparent blind faith in soul society (from her pov)

Soul King: positive / negative / neutral. ━ because: she thinks the soul king is a testament to soul society and the nobility being disgusting and cruel. and thats all i got bc i still have to do 3 more of these for wildly different viewpoints and my brain is running low on juice

CONGRATS, you managed till to the end, now tag your fellow bleach partners!

TAGGED BY: @zombiequincy thank u hela TAGGING: idk anyone whos wearing socks i tag u

#MEME / ANSWERED #HANDS OF THE DIVINE ; A SELF MADE CREATION / HEADCANON

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rebellect-writes · 4 years

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[SIZE=1][b]Name:[/b] Jess. [b]Age:[/b] 21. [b]How did you find us?:[/b] In the TARDIS’s swimming pool.

[b]Name:[/b] Drew Shamis. [b]Nicknames & Aliases:[/b] Drew works as best as anything. Dew at a push. [b]Age:[/b] 27. [b]Date of Birth:[/b] May 11th 1984 [b]Gender:[/b] Male. [b]Sexual Orientation:[/b] Homosexual. [b]Occupation:[/b] Works at and owns Creature Comforts. [b]Powers:[/b] None.

[b]Face Claim:[/b] Ryan Kwanten. [b]Description:[/b] [IMG]http://www.blogher.com/files/Jason-sized.jpg[/IMG] [i]Height:[/i] 5’10 [i]Weight:[/i] 150lbs. [i]Eyes:[/i] Brown. [i]Hair:[/i] Dirty blond. [i]Build:[/i] Average. [i]Visible marks:[/i] He has a nasty looking scar circling his right wrist from where wire cut to the bone. Also, Drew has a tribal wolf [URL=http://th09.deviantart.net/fs15/150/f/2007/073/6/9/Tribal_Wolf_Bust_and_Paw_by_KMoongangSR.png]tattoo[/URL] on his right shoulder. [i]Style:[/i] Drew’s not the type to spend money on lots of clothes he’d wear once. So he gets and wears what he’s comfortable in. So jeans, t-shirts, boots. If he has to dress up, he will do but he always feels like a clown when he does. Jewellery isn't something he'd normally wear either. The exception to that rule is a gold crucifix that he's had since he was a kid.

[b]Special Skills:[/b] He's good at working on the fly, if that counts. He’s also pretty handy when it comes to slinging out drunks at the bar. [b]Personality:[/b] At first glance, Drew’s the type that smiles and tries to be the friendly type of guy. He may not look it or come off it at times but he’s actually a smart one. He just hides it behind his sometimes dumb looks and useless comments. Drew wants people to be comfortable around him so if he can make people laugh and also laugh at himself, he counts that as win. Now he’s not exactly smart-alecky either, Drew knows when to hold his tongue and stop talking. It’s probably something that he’s picked up and harnessed while working at the bar, who knows.

He’s loyal, stubborn and persistent, and not always in that order. Drew will back friends no matter what because that bond means a lot to him. Former friends fall into his loyalty zone, even if they drag him into some kind of trouble. That’s not to say that he’ll let people walk right over him. He’s more than willing to give a little as long as he receives and if someone’s run out their fourth, fifth and sixth second chance with him, he knows when to call it a day and just walk away. While he may go out of his way to help people and be friendly, Drew’s not an attention seeker and won’t willingly search for it and he’s not exactly great when dragged into the spot light either.

Drew’s known love once, and he’s still in love despite having no idea if Eric is alive or dead. He’s held out hope since he was sixteen that Eric is alive though, and where most people would have moved on and found someone else, Drew hasn’t done so. One night stands don’t appeal to him; women at the pub get turned down or distracted by Ja-Mal while Drew can escape into the office out the back. It’s been over ten years, you’d think that he would have done the sensible thing and let things lie, but he hasn’t. Did I mention that stubborn streak?

On matters regarding the supernatural, Drew’s pretty loud. He doesn’t care if a person has fangs, fur, scales or feathers. They’re still human. He’s not about to go out and cause trouble just because he’s breakable. Drew knows for a fact that a lot of things could end his life, and he’s more than likely to end up in a deadly bar fight than eaten by a ‘monster’. And that’s another thing! He hates the word “monster” being used when referring to preternatural people. The only thing that Drew doesn’t tolerate is when someone kicks off in Creature Comforts, he does have human clients to and his ‘baby’ doesn’t need to be seeing none of that nasty Hollywood monster mojo.

Because people see him as a nice guy, they generally get a shock when he snaps. Drew’s not an angry person by nature and it takes a lot to make him so but when he gets angry, he also gets a little angsty and may slightly paranoid. He’s locked himself away in his office for hours before today and had to be dragged out by his best friend because a delivery had been messed up. He doesn’t like being angry, or scared, or any of those pesky negative emotions because then he can’t help but wonder why he tries so hard. [b]Likes:[/b] [LIST] [*] Cherry coke. [*] Playing video games. [*] Canines. Shush your faces. [*] Working so he doesn't have to think. [*] His baby, Creature Comforts. [*] Cooking. [/LIST][b]Dislikes:[/b] [LIST] [*] Thunderstorms and rain. [*] Dealing with drunks at the pub. [*] People demanding he does something. [*] Being stuck indoors. [*] The catholic religion. [*] Doctors, hospitals, anything medical. [/LIST][b]Strengths:[/b] [LIST] [*] Understanding and accepting of the supernatural. [*] Knows when to back down in a situation. [*] His stubborn streak. That’s saved his life. [*] Isn’t opposed to listening to others ideas. [/LIST][b]Weaknesses:[/b] [LIST] [*] Clowns, borderline fear. [*] Eric. [*] Sometimes he forgets to look after himself. [*] Smokes when he’s stressed. That’ll kill him one day no doubt. [/LIST][b]History:[/b]

Back in the early summer of 1984, a young mum named Cheyenne gave birth to a bouncing baby boy. There wasn’t much room to celebrate though. Cheyenne had a ‘white boy’ according to her boyfriend at the time, Louis. He was Hispanic in origin; Cheyenne was only half Native American from her mother’s Hopi blood. The boy that she named Drew didn’t look like it at all; in fact he looked more like the beast that had taken her virginity in a brutal attack. Still, she didn’t hold that against her son and even though the colour of skin drove Louis away and left the small family broken, she did her best for almost two years before finally giving up and signing Drew away into the child protections services. She left no trail for Drew to pick up should he ever want to contact her, only a scribbled tribe name on a book store receipt and her cross.

Since he was too little to remember his real parents, Drew grew up in a small town house in the central business district of New Orleans. He hated it with a passion, his sister Anna made his life hell and Amanda and Nickolas his foster parents didn’t even notice, they were so wrapped up in their own respective work lives the majority of the time they barely even noticed their own biological daughter, their foster son was beyond them. It was basically a time where he brought himself up, if he fell down then he picked himself up, if he was hungry, then he made himself something to eat and avoided the family as much as possible by staying out as late as possible or locking himself away. It wasn’t like the bruises from Anna’s ‘lessons’ would have bothered his mom or his dad even if they had seen them when he was around.

By the age of thirteen, nearly fourteen, he’d more or less dropped out of school and spent a lot of his time on the streets avoiding things. He met another kid, just a little older than him called Eric and they started hanging out more and more. By the time he was sixteen, he’d developed a major crush on Eric but he was always scared that the other male would turn him away. He’d seen Eric’s parents once, and they in a roundabout way made Drew glad that he had foster parents even if he did want to deck Eric’s deadbeat dad. It was only a few weeks after getting a glimpse of what Eric’s parents were like that he finally admitted that he had feelings for Eric and got the shock of his life when Eric admitted the same thing.

They had a year together and it was great. Drew would always come up with something new for Eric and Eric would retaliate and surprise him. It was one of the happiest times in Drew’s life and not even his bitchy sister couldn’t ruin for him. Even his foster mom was a little more approachable, especially after she’d stumbled across him and Eric making out. The happiness was short lived though. Eric’s Ulfric caught them out one day along with the pack Bolverk. Ulfric Shane believed that wolves should stay with their own kind and wanted to deal with the ‘embarrassment’ that the boys had become before anyone within Eric’s pack got any bright ideas and tried something funny, so he set the evil doer on Eric to teach him a lesson.

While the wolves fought and tore into each, Drew was held back by Shane. He struggled, it was only natural, and the guy snapped Drew’s arm in two like a twig without even blinking. He was hauled away when Shane thought that he’d got what he wanted. Drew all the while thought that he’d end up as Gator bait or something worse, dinner for Shane. It was perhaps a stroke of luck that a rival pack decided to take over the territory because Shane wasn’t doing what he should’ve been doing. Drew never saw his boyfriend come mate again after that day, the only thing he remembers seeing was his Eric pinned by some shaggy Hollywood monster that smelt of wet dog.

Shane handed Drew off to the Geri and Hati, loyalists that believed in what Shane did. These pair weren’t none too gentle with the teenager either. The Geri threw Drew in the back of a car after clocking him upside the head and that was it. Bye bye Eric, bye bye New Orleans and hello Chicago. He fought against the two wolves, Julian and Warrick. If they thought that he was going to sit back and let them just walk all over him then they had another thing coming. Of course every time he resisted something that they said or did, they hurt him. After awhile it was like he became their pet, he stayed with them for almost three years before they finally let him wander around on his own. The first chance he got, Drew ran as fast as he could and didn’t stop until he collapsed and when he got up he ran some more.

Drew bounced around a lot after that, finding work when and where he could. Sure, he could’ve gone back to New Orleans and tried to find out what had happened. Instead something kept him away from his home. He tried getting a life for himself, and by the time he was twenty five he’d made his way across the pond and settled in the UK, Jackford actually. Instead of sitting on his thumb though, Drew hunted for a purpose and found a rundown family pub that was up for sale because the owner’s wife had passed on because of cancer after pouring her life into the business. Drew snapped the offer up with a promise there’d be a memorial for her. He’s made a good go at things at Creature Comforts since then and still stays somewhat under the radar. Just in case.[/SIZE]

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aliceslantern · 4 years

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Beyond this Existence: Atonement, chapter 3

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

Read it on FF.net/on AO3

---

It takes three days for the young man to wake from his slumber--Even doesn’t know what to call it. It doesn’t qualify as a true coma, according to his tests; and when he pokes into one of the tomes the mouse king left behind, he finds an abstractly worded passage regarding darkness and sleep, that it can threaten the mind. It’s more puzzling than anything.

It seems he divides his attention between Ansem’s two strays--Ienzo, reticent, not quite himself since the night in the lab, and Xehanort. He and Aeleus try to figure out what happened, asking questions as gently as they can, but now the boy’s insisting he can’t remember. Even isn’t so sure, but he’s also afraid to push, less it destabilize him more.

Aeleus and Dilan examine the molten lump of the gummi block. It still hasn’t hardened after all these hours, and its temperature isn’t even high. From the lead-encased fume hood they watch the tendrils of darkness swirl against the display. They placed a mouse inside, to see how it reacted; it panicked, squealing for hours, trying to outrun the tendrils before--and Dilan recounts this with horror--the darkness ate it whole, leaving behind nothing but one stump of a leg.

They aren’t sure if the block is doing it on its own, or if it’s due to the darkness, but it produces small amounts of electricity, enough to light a ten watt bulb for a few seconds. Even itches to see what it does to cells--if it truly does eat away at them, or if it has a transmutative property as well--but rather than pursue this, he must tend to the young man.

Ansem is with him, much like he was with Ienzo in those early days; Even has a feeling he knows where this is going. At least if Ansem takes in this stray too, this one is old enough to feed and clothe and educate himself.

Xehanort wakes with a gasp. “Who--?” he asks.

“Easy, young man,” Ansem says kindly. “You’ve suffered a trauma.”

He blinks, his strange gold eyes taking everything in. “Where am I?”

“A city called Radiant Garden. We found you by the castle gates, during a horrible storm.”

“A… storm?” he echoes. His voice, while hoarse, is very deep for a boy that age.

“Do you remember what it is that led you here?” Ansem asks kindly. Even pulls the IV from the young man’s hand, bandages it.

“No, I…” He tries to focus, squinting. “It’s all… a blur.”

“It may come back to you,” Ansem says. “No need to worry. Where did you come from?”

The young man stares blankly. “I don’t know.”

“You don’t--” Ansem’s thrown. “Is there anything you do remember?”

“I’m Xehanort.”

“Other than that.”

The boy seems horrorstruck. “It’s all--I can’t--” He touches his forehead.

Even’s mind spins back to his reading. “...Retrograde amnesia,” he says gently. “Possibly as a response to an injury. But every test I ran showed no injuries…”

“We needn’t worry our guest,” Ansem says. His voice is polite, but Even senses the warning. “Not while he is recovering.”

The young man meets Even’s eyes. “No,” he says. “Tell me.”

Very quickly he finds that Xehanort is insatiably curious--about them, their work, this world he’s ended up in. He wants answers. As he’s physically well, he’s soon moved into an empty room on their floor. Ansem presents him with the clothing and armor they’d found with him. “Very strange,” Xehanort mutters, running his fingers over the material. “Nobody around here wears anything like this.” He’s gone out on his own, to explore the city and get his bearings. He’s an adult; Even has no real interest in what he decides to pursue. “You say I arrived with the storm… Is that more than just poetic? Could I have possibly been brought here by darkness?”

Even wishes not to care about him, but the curiosity nags, itching, almost more than the darkness. It’s clear the two are tied.

“How? And… why?” Xehanort presses a hand to his brow. “It’s so strange, what I do and don’t remember. I can’t remember my hometown, but I know to read, to tie my shoes. This loss of memory can’t be merely neurological.”

He has a point; all of the boy’s tests were normal. “Then what do you believe it is?” Even asks.

He thinks. “Perhaps… my heart?” He lays a hand on his chest. “If I were truly exposed to darkness, and my body wasn’t impacted, that’s all that could be left. Right?”

Even has to hide his shocked expression. It’s beginning to click, the pieces coming together. The darkness--Ienzo’s claim to have lost memory. “Your… heart,” he repeats slowly. “Xehanort… perhaps you were a scientist in your previous life.”

The boy smiles. “Well. Anything’s possible.”

This just emphasizes their need to be able to test and examine’s people’s hearts, and Ansem agrees. It isn’t just feeling, or bonds, it can clearly be so much more. Memory! He’s almost dizzy thinking about it.

Though Ienzo is temporarily banned from their research, Xehanort quickly assists; in some ways, it feels like he’s always been there. It’s clear he doesn’t have the education, but he picks up the studies with an unnatural speed, faster even that precocious Ienzo. “It could be my memories,” he says, returning a medical text to Even. “Maybe they’re coming back. It just feels… right.”

“You certainly are extremely bright,” Even says, with a smile. “Who knows--perhaps it is fate, that brought you here.”

“Perhaps…” He smiles, but then it fades. “But… then how did I get here? If I’ve learned anything, it’s that it takes so much power and effort to harness the darkness. And why would I have done it in the first place?”

“I can’t answer those questions,” Even says.

He nods. “Might I examine that block?”

“If you like. Please be exceedingly careful. You don’t want it to injure you… not like those poor mice.” He knows they are just lab rats, lesser beings, but they still feel physical pain.

“I will, sir. Thank you.”

It’s the politeness, more than anything, that makes him smile. “My pleasure.”

---

In all this, something in Ienzo begins to change. He’s still learning as much, as quickly, still occasionally nightmares aloud. But he becomes again reticent--not mute, but speaking as little as possible. He withdraws from the others, often spends his time hiding in the library (according to Braig). Even doesn’t pretend to understand it.

Xehanort chuckles. “Is it not obvious?”

Even looks up from the diagrams spread in front of him. “Say what you mean,” he says, a bit snappishly.

“He’s jealous ,” Xehanort says. He shakes his head. “We’re all down here, making these exciting discoveries--and then talking about them in and around him, over dinner, what have you.” Ansem has recently formalized Xehanort’s apprenticeship--not point not to. The young man is their inciting incident. “And he’s smart enough that not being involved must hurt. How would you feel, Even, if someone was working on your passion project instead of you?”

He looks up. “You are… right. But it’s not safe for him here.”

Xehanort considers this. “I’ll talk to him,” he says. “Let’s see if we can’t ease the tension.”

---

The good news comes in a pair. Seeing the cataclysmic storm the night of Xehanort’s arrival made the board of ethics more amenable to studying the heart. They approve Even’s plan to speak with human subjects and examine their hearts. This requires the construction of tiny conference rooms, to protect the privacy of their volunteers; it goes fairly quickly. Secondly, Ienzo is allowed to be present in the room again--on one condition.

“It could be worse,” Braig says. “Babysitting duty? Hell of a lot easier than trying to keep kids out of the castle.”

“I’ve no idea what you said to Master Ansem to allow him back,” Dilan says, with a shake of his head.

“I’m his pet project,” Xehanort says simply. “Ienzo’s his son. Together, we’re unstoppable.”

The boy certainly does seem a lot happier; it helps that Xehanort puts the fear of god in him when it came to safety procedures. This makes Ienzo’s seventh birthday a happy one, as they do have a lot to be thankful for.

They put notices in the papers, in community spaces, to find subjects for their study involving hearts. Initially, there’s not much response; a few people, here and there. They take scrupulous amounts of notes on these people--their lives, if they’ve suffered traumas, their physical makeups. Ienzo believes that the balance within the hearts is tied to the bonds of people; so they interview friends, married couples, siblings, parents and children.

“Ienzo’s right,” Ansem says. “It makes a difference in the samples.”

But how to truly determine light and darkness, all without hurting their subjects? It’s a sticky situation. The pods Dilan built all those weeks ago can still divine the difference in matter, with some few tweaks by Xehanort. He can’t deny that the machines look terrifying to step into, especially to an outsider. So while all the others bicker and waffle over the best way to do this, Even experiments again with his cells, his embryos. Things that are alive, but unfeeling. He holds the petri dish over the raw darkness extracted from the gummi block. Ienzo, bored of the arguing, watches as well from the other side of the glass. It gives Even a thrill, to only have gloves and some glass separating him from the darkness. Once exposed, he takes the cells back to his microscope. The darkness seems to have caused spontaneous division. This must’ve been what was missing all along, this power. Breathing a bit hard, he places the cells in an incubator, to see how it affects their functioning.

Xehanort is displeased with what they’ve done so far, momentous as it is. On one of the days Ansem isn’t there, he says, “We need to go farther.”

Aeleus squints. “How so?”

“Aeleus, we’re so close. We… we’ve discovered so much, but we still haven’t gotten close to how it all affects memory.” He smooths a flyaway hair. “I’ve been doing some… reading. Master Ansem lent me some of the books that King Mickey brought and I…” His hands are trembling. Ienzo stares up at him. “I’ve managed to create darkness. It’s great we still have that gummi block, but who knows how long it will be until it degrades?”

Even nearly spits out his coffee. “You created darkness? How is that even possible?”

“It’s magic too, not just science.” He closes his eyes, focusing hard; they see something like smoke in his palm. “Look,” he says with difficulty. “I… tried it on the mice… it causes a sort of frisson, in their balances. I’m afraid I have no samples left.” The darkness disappears. “If we could do it in people, maybe we can feel their bonds, see what it has to do with memory--”

“How do you propose doing this without killing people?” Dilan asks.

“I mean, I… I can try my best--” He swallows. “I would like to speak with Master Ansem. To see if we can get greater permission. We can… inform, the people. That way they know what they might risk. The people here love science, sirs. Some of them must be willing to make sacrifices.”

In his chair in the corner, Braig is smirking just the slightest.

---

Another amnesiac ends up on their radar, though she does not appear during a storm. She’s younger than Xehanort, about fifteen; unlike him, she doesn’t even remember her name.

“She’s the perfect opportunity,” Xehanort says. “With this darkness, maybe I can help her. Heal her. Let her remember.”

Even’s seen him practicing, in the courtyards. He can manifest it with ease, now. “I don’t know how Master Ansem will approve that.” Apparently, Xehanort’s idea made him fly into a rage. Even has no idea how that happened; he’s seen Ansem angry, but not like this. He’s ordered them to put a stop to the human side of the experiments, and so far they’ve listened.

Xehanort’s gold eyes bear into his. “He doesn’t need to know.”

“But Xeha--”

“Aren’t you curious?” he asks in a low voice. “Sir, I know you’ve been thinking about it. And I wasn’t going to say anything, but I know what you’re trying to achieve, with those embryos. I think that’s amazing--it could change the world. Maybe the worlds! I know the darkness is the only way you’ve made progress, the only way you’ve been able to start giving them their own hearts.” A pause. “Not to mention… if I can control memory… don’t you all have a thing or two you wouldn’t mind letting go of?”

He feels like he can’t breathe. “How did you find out about that?”

Xehanort doesn’t answer. “And Ienzo,” he says. “I know how hard things have been for him, how much pain he’s in, how little help there is--I can purify his mind of those memories. He can have the strength to be a fantastic researcher, instead of a sufferer.”

“I am not sure,” he says, reeling. “I--”

“Besides,” he says. “If no one knows the girl’s here, and there’s… an accident, nobody will ever know. No ethics board. No Master Ansem.” He stands back up, smoothing down his ascot. “Think about it,” he adds, at a normal volume. “Sir, don’t you deserve to be more than Master Ansem’s errand boy, his babysitter? Wouldn’t you rather this be your legacy, rather than a… a meaningless title?”

Even can feel his heart racing. “You won’t hurt her?”

Xehanort squeezes his hand. “I shall try my very best.”

---

They make one of the small rooms into a makeshift bedroom for the girl. They’ve already had subjects A through W, so it seems natural to label her as the next in line. She doesn’t seem quite as lucid as Xehanort was, like her mind is half in a dream. Xehanort soon loops in the others, and while they too are hesitant, they are only doing this for the greater good. And who knows? Maybe they can give this girl her life back.

They begin with a psychological assessment, of sorts; most surprising is that Ienzo wants to be the one to do it. “I’m little,” he says with a shrug. “I’m non-threatening.” He gets her to talk about dreams. Most of the dreams are not interesting, or of note--teeth falling out, realizing one is naked in public--but there are a few Ienzo suspects are memories “because mine hide in my dreams too.” She mentions something about a desert, about hoards of people; after she admits this, she falls into a deep sleep for nearly a week.

“Ienzo, this is excellent,” Xehanort says. “Her heart must be damaged--making her mind remember those dreams made her body shut it down.”

Ienzo doesn’t smile, the way he normally does receiving such a compliment. “Then why doesn’t mine?” he asks.

Xehanort kneels to his level. “Because your heart is strong,” he says. “So is your mind. You can handle the stress; she can’t.”

“So I’m special,” he says dryly.

There’s a gleam in Xehanort’s eye--curious. “Yes,” he says. “You are.”

---

When they come back the next morning the place has been ransacked. There are papers everywhere; one of Aeleus’s plant pots has been smashed, leaving dirt all over the white floor.

“Braig,” Dilan hisses. “Isn’t this your purview?”

“Dude! I can’t be here twenty-four hours a day. You forget I’m union?” He shrugs. “It must’ve been the night guy who let in our little friend--or maybe one of you forgot to lock the door.”

They padlocked it recently, in case Ansem were to try and get in. Even maintains they are merely working with the darkness, with the gummi block; this airtight door was a precaution should it get out. It should be harder to lie to him after all these years.

Braig walks over to the girl’s room. They don’t lock it--she never goes anywhere either way, almost catatonic--and she sits on the mattress, on her hands. He snaps. “You, girl. You see anything?”

She shrugs, her long dark hair falling over one shoulder.

“You messing around in here?”

She shakes her head.

“Well then, who was it?”

“I must’ve been asleep,” she says.

“There’s some fishy business going on,” Braig says. “Better keep a tighter lock in here, in case something falls into unsavory hands.”

That night they lock the door of the girl’s room for the first time. She doesn’t react at all. They are ransacked two more times over the following month; they begin locking their papers in file cabinets in the offices. Xehanort is convinced that they’ve done all they can with the girl without further intervention. He goes to her one cold winter morning, to examine her heart; the rest of them, including Braig, watch. Ienzo, in particular, seems fascinated; Even has to put a hand on his shoulder to hold him back.

Even feels his own pulse hammering as he watches the boy hold his hands over the girl’s chest, probing gently with the grayish strings of darkness. “I can feel her heart beating,” he says. Her eyes are wide, staring, darting back and forth in fear. “Does that hurt, friend?”

“No,” she says, with difficulty.

“I’m trying to find your memory. Your heart’s strong, I can feel it. You should be proud of that.” He probes more; she flinches.

“Careful,” Even says without meaning to.

There’s a faraway look in Xehanort’s eyes. “I can feel it,” he says. “The memory… it’s like chains, like a heart’s DNA--”

Dilan scribbles eager notes.

“There’s darkness inside of her, too, already. And light. So much light. So beautiful.”

“Do you see anything?” Aeleus asks.

“I can feel it. The memories are… severed. Choppy. I wonder if I can--”

She screams, a blood-curdling sound that causes Ienzo to cover his ears.

“Xehanort, that’s enough for now,” Even says.

---

They try it several more times on the girl. She complies, never fights, never asks questions; but it’s more of a sort of exhaustion, Even figures, than a lack of will. He wonders if it’s the darkness tiring her out, or else she’s sick.

So they know memories are in chains, and they’re in the heart; and that within the heart exists darkness as well as light. Stuff their studies all implied; now there’s proof. Even’s checking the girl when he sees it; a slight, almost imperceptible curl of darkness, mistakable for her dark hair. The fogginess and vacancy are gone from her eyes. He almost wonders if Xehanort’s been able to heal her. “You don’t know what you’re messing with,” she says urgently. “You have to stop this now.”

“Did you remember something?” he asks gently.

She screams and clutches at her chest. The room smells like smoke. “You can’t--you can’t--”

He isn’t sure how he knows; he jumps back and slams the door. She’s still wailing, pounding on the window, the sound barely muffled by Plexiglas.

“What’s going on?” Dilan asks. Ienzo’s eyes are wide, and Aeleus is frozen in horror.

“I was merely checking her vitals,” Even says breathlessly. “I don’t know what--”

“Oh,” Xehanort says softly, almost as if in a trance. He walks slowly towards them, pushing past Even and Ienzo numbly. He rests his palm on the window, his gold eyes vacant. “I--”

“Boy, what did you do?” Even asks.

“I thought the darkness was making her stronger, but it’s…” He covers his mouth. “It’s devouring her--”

Aside from the keening, the room is deathly silent until they hear Braig’s “...The hell ?”

Xehanort’s head snaps up, and for a long, long moment the two held eye contact. Braig approaches slowly, tentatively, and reaches for the crossbow at his waist.

“No,” Xehanort says. “We must study this.”

“Really? Cause I’m not sure I want to find out what that’s becoming.”

In an instant, “she” became a “that.”

“It won’t last long,” Xehanort says. “This is for… we have to know. Can’t you see what this is saying about human nature?”

It isn’t quick, in fact; she screams for hours, wordless, agonized shrieks. At first, Ienzo sits with his hands over his ears, but once it becomes clear the screaming isn’t going to end, he lets go. There’s something cold in his eyes, something Even hasn’t noticed before. If the boy truly is sensitive to darkness, he must be feeling something.

The screaming stops. They all approach the door warily, sure the girl’s dead; but this is not what’s facing them. She no longer looks human; her body is the color of ink, her hands and feet elongated into claws, her eyes a glowing sort of gold.

Wordlessly, Ienzo presses his forehead against the girl’s door. “...Heartless,” he whispers. “It’s gone.”

“He’s right,” Xehanort mutters. “The darkness has taken her heart.” And so it begins.

---

They spend most of their days in that lab, examining the new being, the Heartless; though Even is not here always. Two new pupils are accepted as Ansem’s junior apprentices. It’s not an uncommon process--the king has done it several times over the years--but Even figured with both Ienzo and Xehanort, there would be no need. It’s not like either of these boys join them, anyway; they have a bit of ladder-climbing to do. As he is still technically the one in charge of their training (though it feels increasingly ersatz), Even spends time with the boys. The quieter one, Isa, does have quite a bit of promise; intelligent, ingenious, and creative. As for the other, he can make the grade, but Even can’t figure out what on earth the boy is here for. He’s obnoxious; he interrupts constantly; he’s found poking around where he shouldn’t (perilously close to their lab); he’s often out of uniform and refers to Even by his first name.

Though he has hoped Ienzo would perhaps take with them, particularly Isa, the boy has no interest in socializing. He’s focused instead wholly on the Heartless, the girl, studying it (her?). They try to take samples from the Heartless, but it has no matter, and feels strangely intangible to the touch.

Between caring for Ienzo and educating the new apprentices, Even, again, finds himself increasingly pulled away from the lab. When he finally returns, he notes with horror that the divided cells he placed aside have died, becoming nothing more than black smoke in a petri dish. A heart is more than darkness. But how do they harness light? Is it the same?

There are also more subjects; volunteers, ones without amnesia. They are being quietly interviewed by Ienzo and Aeleus. The boy seems to have a natural aptitude for guiding the conversation, something Even’s never witnessed; women, in particular, tend to be tickled by this. “Aren’t you adorable?” more than one asks. At first, this seems to make Ienzo bristle, but soon, Even observes (and it makes him feel something cold and hard, something upsetting), the boy leans into this angle; using his stature as a way to get the answers he wants.

He never thought Ienzo could be manipulative.

Some of them are kept overnight, for “extended testing” and “sleep studies”, but Even sees Xehanort disappear inside each roomette, with any of the others (even Braig?). This goes on for several days; one woman asks to see her daughters (a set of twins) in the next room, wants to go home.

“I’m sorry,” Xehanort says. “But not quite yet.”

Even can feel this is getting out of hand. Once was enough, the one creature horrifying. Yes, all people have darkness, did they really need more Heartless? Yet, the scientist in him, growing louder than the rest of him, is intrigued, almost intoxicated; after all, one is not a decent sample size. Nothing can be proven with one. They’d need at least a hundred, if not more, to come to a universal conclusion--what is wrong with him?

“Sir?” It’s Isa speaking to him now, in the classroom space where he meets the two juniors twice a week. He hands him the test Even gave them. “Are you okay?”

He forces a smile. “Kind of you to ask. I’m merely tired, that’s all.”

The boy draws his hands behind his back, but doesn’t return to his desk. The other, Lea, seems to be hard at work, one hand in his hair, his eyes full of confusion. “Do you… smell that?” Isa asks.

Even cants his head slightly. “What?”

“It smells like something’s burning,” Isa says gently. “Lea thinks so too.”

“It stinks,” the redhead agrees.

Even sniffs; try as he might, he has no idea what they speak of. “I’m not sure I know what you’re talking about.”

“Might be electrical,” Isa remarks. “Thank you for the lesson. I’m going to go to the library for a little while.”

---

He tries clearing his nose with coffee beans, rubbing alcohol; he smells nothing other than the scents of the two substances. For about an hour he wanders around like a lunatic, sniffing various hallways. It all just smells normal; dust, food preparation, old books, laundry.

Odd. Perhaps the two were playing a prank on him. He won’t put it past Lea. And the two are awfully buddy-buddy. No matter.

When he returns to the lab, he can tell immediately that something’s changed. The lights seem dim; it’s almost gloomy. He notes, with something approaching horror (and, oddly, jubilation, a sensation only getting stronger the longer he stands here), that all of the doors are closed. Occupied.

“...That’s twenty-six,” Dilan murmurs, scribbling something on a clipboard.

“Twenty-seven,” Ienzo corrects. “The one in 4-B just went up.”

Even approaches them, perturbed. “Twenty-seven?” he asks.

Dilan raises an eyebrow. “Heartless,” he says, as though it’s obvious. “We had to release the Miller twins and their mother, but don’t worry, I doubt they’ll say anything unseemly. Xehanort made sure of that.”

“Twenty- seven ?” He hasn’t been gone that long; before there was just the one.

Xehanort emerges from one of the rooms, slamming shut its pocket door. The occupant screams, the sound muffled quickly. “We’ve made some changes, since you’ve been gone. We appreciate you continuing to give us a good face, Even. It’s very valuable.”

Even notes the absence of the “sir.” He turns slowly. The doors are different, heavier; the windows have a reinforced inlay.

Xehanort smiles pleasantly. Ienzo’s next to him, holding a clipboard. “Shall I catch you up on what’s happened?” They do not need to tell him, not really. Xehanort’s seeking to replicate what happened with the girl, with X-- “Oh, we’re using numbers now”--in order to prove the universality of darkness in the heart. “My thoughts next are to look into a scale of age. Are we born pure? Are children pure, as thought in the myths?” (At this, Ienzo’s head snaps up, and Even’s heart gives a weird twitch.) “Are we at some point changed, transformed?”

“Biting from the apple of knowledge?” Even asks sourly.

Xehanort shrugs. “Perhaps.” Braig just so happens to be toying with an apple. Cheekily, he takes a bite. “But my biggest discovery--perhaps the most important--is that we’ve found the realm of darkness.”

“You found it,” he repeats. “Just like that.”

“Not quite.” He stands up. “It’s easy for me to find the darkness now. I know wizards and magicians use their magic to teleport--I figured, the theory might be the same.” He holds out his palm. An oblong of darkness appears with a faint hiss and, Even realizes, the smell of smoke. “I’ve gone into it myself. There’s a whole world in there, one not bound by physics! And there are more, so many more, Heartless. I think--I think we can use it to travel. To leave this world behind.”

“...That so.” He feels numb.

“You don’t seem very pleased, Even.”

He forces a smile. “On the contrary. It’s merely a lot to wrap one’s head around.”

He bobs his head once. “Of course. Just think--we can apply what we learn here to whoever-- whatever --is out there. This is--the building blocks of the very universe.”

“Yes…” He feels it now, the pull of the thrill, his mind racing with the possibilities, a pull that makes him feel the most himself since-- And of course, if they can understand life itself , that would make his creation all the easier to realize. “Yes.”

Xehanort smiles. “I’m glad we’re on the same page.”

---

It feels like a million years since his last touchpoint with Ansem. So much has changed. Fifty-one brand new beings--his own brief, overwhelmed journey into the realm of darkness with Xehanort--the fact that his newest attempt with the embryos is still alive in its incubator. In reality it’s only been a few weeks.

“Don’t you look awfully pleased with yourself,” Ansem says. Even isn’t sure what to read into the tone, but Ansem smiles. “I take it things are going well?”

“Oh, extremely,” he admits. “Both Ienzo and Xehanort are invaluable assets.” Ienzo is technically too young to be considered a true apprentice, but it's all just paperwork at this point. The boy has thrown himself wholeheartedly into the project, is just as productive as the rest of them.

“I do wish I had more time to spend with you, but I’m afraid things are… intensely complicated at the moment. Between the city… Ienzo… the new junior apprentices… Well, you know I’d rather prioritize their learning than my personal pursuits. But I would like to see it.”

His heart about stops. “You would?”

Ansem raises an eyebrow. “Why wouldn’t I? I was there in the beginning. I should at the very least like to be a witness.”

Even nods, his heart pounding. “Of course, Master. We’d be very pleased to have you.”

“Excellent. I’ll make sure to set aside the time… say next week?”

“We’ll be ready.” He swallows. “I should go. It’s nearly dinnertime. It helps to keep Ienzo on a schedule.”

“Certainly.” He’s tapping the tips of his fingers together, an anxious gesture. Is this calculated? Does he feel Even’s paranoia? Or is he simply preoccupied with other matters? “Even?”

He turns. “Yes, Master?”

“There is one small thing.” His grin becomes more affable. “I’m positive it’s just a rumor--every now and again some hooligan or another will circulate them--but they say they can hear screaming, at night.”

He forces his expression into one of bored contempt; but yet, haven’t Braig and Dilan been saying the same thing? “A silly ghost story,” he asserts.

“Yes,” Ansem says, though something’s closed off in his eyes. “I’m sure. And I’m certain this has nothing to do with those missing persons cases?”

Even blinks; this is news to him, so he knows his surprise is genuine. “The what?”

“There are over seventy-five people missing. Once the number grows high enough, the authorities are required to report it to me. Funnily, it started shortly after I forbade young Xehanort from carrying out his manic experiments.”

Even truly feels the creep of panic now.

All affability has drained out of Ansem’s face now. He leans forward, across the desk. “Even, do you know anything about this?”

“You know I don’t.” He tries to make his indignation obvious. “As if I would ever do such an ugly, despicable thing. I took an oath, Master.”

He settles back in his chair, but the glint in his eye is still there. “You know I trust you,” he says. “But it never hurts to be too careful.”

Even nods. “Of course. I can only imagine how much infighting you must deal with. Now I must go.”

He nods, once. “...Be well.”

He leaves the office with his mask in tact, but he can feel the panic taking over. Ansem knows. He knows . Once he comprehends it all, Even would no doubt be taken in--all of them--worse, he can’t even remember what the consequences for something like this would be. He all but runs downstairs to the others. He feels faint, numb.

“Even?” Aeleus asks. “You look--”

“He knows,” he says through his teeth. “Ansem. He’s figured it out. You idiots. Did you think nobody would notice the people missing?”

Dilan guides him gently over to a chair. He’s gasping for breath now. Ienzo approaches Even. “What will happen to us?” he asks softly.

“Nothing will happen to you, child. I promise.”

Xehanort’s eyes are closed. “I know what we can do.” Over Ienzo’s shoulder, he mouths, “Let’s meet after dark.”

---

Once the boy is in bed, they reconvene.

“I’m afraid you won’t be happy with what I have to say,” Xehanort says. “But I’ve been weighing the options--our work is so much more important than the small fry. So to speak.” He’s asked them to meet in a courtyard, of all places, and his back is to them. The spring wind is cold. “Ansem will never allow us to do this work. It does not matter to him that the subjects have consented. He’s up on his moral high horse--despite the fact that this was basically his idea in the first place. After all, nobody’s died . They’re just… different. Why is our progress being stopped by a bunch of silly laws?”

Dilan squints at him. “So what do you propose? A coup? What then? You know nothing about how this city functions.”

“No, no, not a coup. Rather… Ansem’s going to go on a trip.”

Even feels shaky, nauseous now. “Is that a euphemism?”

Xehanort smiles. “Not at all. I think he’d find the realm of darkness fascinating. He’ll learn--he’ll understand why we’re doing all this. And he can no doubt learn to return whenever he so wishes.”

Even’s heart beats heavily. “What will we tell Ienzo?”

He thinks. “...That he’s gone mad,” he says softly. “Isn’t it true? Drunk on silly, bureaucratic power? He thinks he can control what we can and cannot learn? The boy’s better off without his mind blunted by such… petty matters.”

Again Even feels himself acting. “That’s fairly well reasoned, I suppose,” he says.

“So next week, when he comes… that’s what we’ll do. And Ienzo will conveniently be away. You can be with him, if you so wish.”

A plan comes to mind. “He may find that a comfort.”

Xehanort smiles. “Does that work for everyone?”

Aeleus’s face is unreadable; Dilan looks shaken, but it’s quickly replaced with steely resolve. “Of course,” he says. “Whatever you say is best.”

“...Quite. Well. I hope you have a good night, gentlemen. Sleep well.”

Even bobs his head and turns to leave the corridor.

“Wait,” he hears Xehanort says.

Blast. “What is it?” he asks, politely.

“Even.” He comes a bit closer. “I know you and Ansem have been affiliated for so many years. Doing this will not be difficult for you, will it?”

He shakes his head. Ienzo is way more important than Ansem; and much more vulnerable. The choice, he notes, is almost effortless. “We’ve been at odds for some time, as I’m sure you well know.”

“I just… want to make sure.”

“As you said. He will find it… enlightening. He may very well thank us.”

In the dim light, his eyes almost seem to glow. “I’m sure. As long as you’re on the right side. After all, considering you’re legally in charge of research and development, should you not be able to go through with it, this will all be on you. You know I don’t want that, right?”

It’s a threat if Even’s ever heard one. “Of course, Xehanort. You’re always so considerate.”

He holds out his hand. “I’m looking forward to our continued partnership.”

Even takes it, noting how cold, how papery, it feels. “...The feeling is mutual.”

---

Even bides his time.

He’s shocked, but relieved, when Ansem doesn’t show sooner. He isn’t sure why the king is allowing them this much time. Maybe to dispose of the evidence? Maybe he’s building a case against them, pooling resources? Either way, Even’s strung out and anxious.

It’s time to go.

Maybe it’s a cowardly, foolhardy move, but he’s taking Ienzo and leaving. Xehanort is obviously twisted, the darkness no doubt only helping. They’ll go into hiding, leave this city.

And go where?

Another world? Even has no power over darkness like Xehanort does; he doesn’t know if he wants to expose himself any more, or Ienzo, for that matter. But beyond the city limits there’s just stone, and crystal, and empty barren wilderness. He’s positive if they try to hide somewhere in this city they’ll be found.

He has to try something. This clearly isn’t going to end well. What if they should fall to darkness themselves? (But, the clinical part of his mind, growing louder and stronger, wouldn’t that be fascinating? To cast aside what it means to be human, to rise above ?) No, he’s becoming a lunatic.

He packs some things for them, hides them among the frippery in his closet. He tries to be pleasant, subservient, towards Xehanort, putting up just enough of a fight so that he seems himself. But truly Even feels as if he’s been backed into a corner; because he has been.

I’m such a fool.

He no longer cares if punishment befalls him; it’s Ienzo he’s worried about. Should Ansem disappear, should he himself become… compromised, what should stop Xehanort from molding the small genius into another sharp tool for him to use? Breaking down the boy’s conscience before it’s even fully formed, allowing him to do--goodness knows what?

What if that’s what he’s wanted all along?

He considers telling Ansem. Confessing, baring his soul, taking whatever came his way. Maybe so long as it all stopped, should Xehanort and his colleagues be contained. But Xehanort has the power of darkness. He can merely escape, and try again, elsewhere.

The night before their plan is meant to be enacted, he waits until the others are asleep, until it’s so late as to be early. He dresses and approaches Ienzo’s bedroom door slowly.

The door’s already open. And Even knows what’s about to meet him.

The boy’s nowhere to be found. On his bed, reading the storybook Ienzo must have left behind, is Xehanort. “Oh, hello,” he says pleasantly, setting the book aside.

“Where’s the boy?” He keeps his tone neutral.

“No need to worry. He’s quite safe. Sound asleep." He crosses his legs. "You weren't about to do something reckless, were you?"

Even takes a quick breath; caught. He tries to remain composed.

"See, I need him," Xehanort explains slowly. "Your boy is not as innocent or as purehearted as you think, Even. He likes this work. He's good at it. He knows exactly the right ways to break a person down, how to make the darkness spread faster. He's incredible. I will not have you waste him."

"He's only doing this to please you. Because he's a child. "

"Are you certain? Even, not everyone's born good. Some people have more darkness than others." He sighs. "But I digress. I didn't realize how soft you were… how weak. I thought you cared."

He says nothing.

"I believe in your replicas, Even. They can change the world… light a path to immortality. Place a heart in a new body… one can live infinitely."

"I see you went through my things."

"It was too tempting. You truly are a brilliant researcher."

"Where's the boy?"

"What's it matter? He's not yours. " A pause. “He's being freed. And you could be too, Even. Why do you hold so priggishly to such ties? All it's done is hurt you. Ansem's used you, manipulated you. He wants you all for himself. You could have the world."

He inhales shakily.

"...Besides. I'd hate for your record to be two for two, you know?"

Even blinks. "You'd joss him to keep me in line?"

Xehanort shrugs. "The choice is yours, Even. Or you could just leave. But either way the boy stays."

Even laughs; he can't help it. "You're so green, Xehanort," he says. "You understand nothing, you know nothing. A little power and you lose your head. No. That will not do."

"I've seen more than you know."

He's shaken the boy. Good. "You're so paranoid. You believe I'd leave now, when things are just getting exciting?"

Xehanort frowns. "I thought--"

"You thought what? Ienzo is prone to night terrors, and you remove him from his bed because you believe I'll--what? Take him? Disappear into the wilderness?" He clucks his tongue. “Only to die of starvation, or worse?”

"Why were you coming for him?"

"I check on him every night. Ask the others if you don't believe me."

"And the packs in your closet?"

"Supplies for a bad storm--they've gotten worse since you're arrived." He's infinitely glad he did not add clothing to them. "Xehanort. So quickly you feel so threatened. I'm on your side." Even can see him wavering. "Do you realize how long I've waited for an opportunity like this? As if Ansem would ever let me. I'm his babysitter--little more."

Xehanort grins. An intelligent child--but a naive one. "I must admit I'm relieved, Even."

"As long as I can assure you." He squeezes his hand, gently, trying not to shudder at the feel of it. "Now if you would please put Ienzo back in his bed."

"...Of course."

He turns to leave, his heart hammering. "So, is all in place for Ansem's… trip?"

He nods. On his way out, his shoulder brushes Even's. "Not to worry. It's already been done."

It feels like getting stabbed. "...Even better. Get some rest, Xehanort. You've earned it." He doesn't breathe until Braig brings the boy back. He's unharmed, deeply asleep; Even is sure they've sedated him. He smiles at Braig, and once they're in the hall, "I pray things went well?"

He chuckles darkly. "Put up a hell of a fight, the old codger. But he’s an academic. Soft.” He smirks. “No offense.”

Even tries to return the smirk. It takes all the rest of his energy. “None taken. I’m stronger than you think. Well. I will see you tomorrow, Braig.”

He goes over to the door. “Nighty-night.”

Even waits until Braig’s footsteps retreat; he can’t be entirely sure, the man has such a soft tread. He checks Ienzo’s arms for the pinprick of a hypodermic needle. He finds none, but they could have slipped it into a glass of juice, a snack. His breathing is much too deep and even; Ienzo hardly ever sleeps like this. “Oh, little one,” he says softly. “What have we ever gotten into?”

His heart is racing, nausea and dread pumping through his body, making him shake. He settles into the chair at Ienzo’s bedside, trying to compose himself.

Ansem in the realm of darkness.

There’s no way to stop Xehanort now. Not without risking Ienzo's life, or his own.

My old friend. I’m so sorry.

---

Ienzo doesn’t rouse until mid-morning; normally he’s up at dawn. He stumbles into the kitchen blearily, rubbing his eyes. He flops into a chair.

“Good morning, sleepyhead,” Even says. “You seemed exhausted last night, so I didn’t wake you.” He places a bowl of warm cereal in front of him. “Perhaps today you should work on your studies? It’s been a little while.”

He turns a bit green around the gills. “I’m not hungry,” he mumbles.

“You need to eat. Keep your blood sugar up.”

He shakes his head.

“Well, then at least have some juice.”

“I don’t feel well.” He admits this painfully. “I feel sick…”

What on earth have they given him?

“Why don’t you go back to bed? I’ll bring you something to settle your stomach. Must’ve caught a bug, that’s all. No wonder you were so tired.”

He groans a little, but complies.

Even barely slept at all last night, full of knots. He thought he would feel worse; he feels not much of anything. Which may be for the best, if he has to deal with this. He gives Ienzo some medication, a wastebasket to be sick into.

“You don’t have to stay with me,” he says weakly. “You should go… work in the--”

“That’s quite alright.”

“I want you to. Please. They need you.”

“I think they’ll be fine for one day.”

“Where’s Master? Is he still going to come today?”

Even freezes. He hopes his face is placid. “He was called away, I’m afraid. He should be back soon.”

“Is that… good?”

“For the time being. Until we can convince him of what we’re doing.”

Ienzo heaves weakly, but nothing comes up. Even pats him on the back. “I can hear them,” he says softly. “Screaming. It has to stop--” Even’s blood runs cold. But yet, it is something of a relief to know Ienzo is not as callous as he acts around Xehanort. “All right. All right.”

“We’re hurting them.” He agrees, but struggles to console the boy. “They’re doing this for science, Ienzo. For the greater good.” “Make it stop!” He actually is sick this time, and Even holds the hair away from his eyes.

Once Ienzo’s through, Even wipes his face with a damp cloth. “When you’re down there,” he begins. “Do you do it because they asked you to? Or because you want to?”

“I…” He sniffles, trying not to cry. “The… it makes me feel… when I’m there…”

“Think about what you need to say. Take your time.”

He nods. After a moment, the boy seems to compose himself. “When I’m there it feels… good ,” he admits. “Making them this way… feels like we’re… changing the world. But when I’m away… I start to hear it. Even, am I… crazy?”

“Not at all, little one.” He’s starting to feel numb again. “Why don’t you get some rest? I’ll check on you in a little while.” He pats the boy on the head, tucks the covers around him a little more closely. He tries to smile, but he’s shaking a--not a good sign for his own physical condition. The stress he’s under is no doubt bad for him. But what is he to do? Even tightens his ponytail, slips on his lab coat.

It must be darkness, making them feel this way--Even has felt it too, that sense of euphoria, of power, of discovery--because they truly are discovering so much . It certainly must not be good to expose oneself to it for so long. They’ve been treating it like radiation, with all the same precautions, but he has a feeling something so simple as lead will not stop darkness. They need something else, if this is to continue.

If this is to continue…

Must it?

He needs to speak with Aeleus and Dilan--away from Xehanort’s prying eyes. He’s the most senior apprentice. In Ansem’s absence, he should have the most power, the most control. He tries to smooth his expression into one of indifference as he punches in the numbers.

The smell down here is stronger now, acrid and smoky, darkness rising from the cells (that’s what they are at this point) like vapor. He gags a little, but quickly straightens. “Good morning,” he says. “I hope all is well?”

“Where’s Ienzo?” Aeleus asks. There’s something like guilt in his stoic face--with his knowledge of botanicals, Even doesn’t doubt for a moment that he was the one to drug the boy. Such trust Ienzo has for him--and how quickly this gentle man abuses it. The darkness is changing him. Dare he voice his concerns?

“Oh, poor thing seems to have caught a stomach bug,” he says breezily. “He’s resting now. The vomiting tired him out.” He notes, with pleasure, Aeleus and Dilan both wince and won’t make eye contact. So they were both in on it. Very well.

“He is rather fragile, isn’t he?” Xehanort asks, with a shake of his head. “No matter. Perhaps we can find a way to make him stronger.”

“...Quite.” Something breaks through his numbness, an indignation. “Has anything changed?”

“We’re at something of a standstill,” Dilan admits, keeping his eyes stubbornly on the report in front of him. “The numbers seem to have stabilized. The initial levels of darkness in the subjects seems to vary, but within it there are standard deviations. It’s only a correlation at this point, but look--” He pushes a spreadsheet across the table towards Even. He sits and takes it.

Even takes it all in. Gender, occupation, age--he notes that men at or near their prime, in positions in or adjacent to authority, seem to be the most vulnerable to it all. “How funny,” he says. “According to this, we’re the most susceptible.”

“Indeed,” Xehanort says, with a smile.

“I figured we needed to devise more ways to protect ourselves--I don’t think the lead is cutting it.” He gestures to the cells in the hallway, the darkness curling from below. “Very well. I will work on it. The rest of you may proceed as you wish.”

And he does work on it; but something like this serves as a perfect excuse to examine their behaviors, how they were reacting. They are different. The subjects are less human beings and more numbers. Even notes with a strange distance how easily Dilan shrugs off a woman begging for mercy. Should he intervene?

(Should he intervene, would Xehanort make good on that threat?)

He weaves together several different metal alloys, finds that darkness seems repelled by them; he weaves them into a scrap of fabric, one he covers a mouse with. When exposed to darkness, the mouse survives.

This is a process that takes several weeks; in the meantime they have other things to worry about. The city is abuzz with news of Ansem’s disappearance; nobody seems to buy the “trip” route, especially since if Ansem wants vacation, the time needs to be approved. The city officials are concerned; they interview all of them, but return to Even several times. Each and every single time he pretends to be dumbfounded and as confused as they are; after all, why would he leave without saying something to any of them?

Even knows this is his chance to ask for help, to turn himself in, to stop them. And perhaps it’s the thrall of darkness, or Xehanort’s threat on Ienzo’s life, but he denies everything.

On the matter of Ienzo…

The boy’s not stupid. He’s no longer buying their excuses that Ansem is merely on a trip. He’s become surly, distrustful. Finally, they agree to sit him down and tell him Xehanort’s truth (really, wouldn’t the actual truth be far more damaging to the poor boy? Even can’t have him falling apart with the darkness so close, it’ll claim his heart--).

He approaches them, his teal eyes making him appear much older than merely eight. “Where’s Master Ansem?” he asks.

Even reaches out towards him, but Braig places a hand on his shoulder. Xehanort crouches down to Ienzo’s level. “He had to go away,” he says.

“Go… away?” He raises his eyebrow.

This breaks through Even’s numbness; he turns away and retreats to the window, unable to watch this play out.

“He wasn’t well,” Xehanort continues. “He’s… he’s gone mad. He’s abandoned us.”

Ienzo inhales; it’s a painful sound. Even shuts his eyes.

“You poor child,” he says. “You’ve already lost so much--but we couldn’t stand to lie to you.”

He gasps again, a sound on the verge of a sob; Even recognizes it immediately. He turns, his own heart racing. “He’s panicking.” He crosses over to the boy, seeing him tremble and struggle for breath. He draws him gently into his arms. “Deep breaths, little one. Count with me.”

It takes him a long time to calm down, far longer than any of his nightmares. Even finally agrees to give him a tranquilizer. After this, Even too must lie down for a while, guilt washing around the ache in his heart.

It’s too late to get out of this; maybe the best option is to go through? Give Xehanort what he wants? What does he want?

Ienzo is never quite the same afterwards. Like the beginning of his stay, he’s next to numb; there’s nothing behind his eyes. He does what he’s told no matter what it is--chores he hates, calculations the others have no time for. And anything Xehanort asks, up to and including speaking to their subjects. He’s gone cold.

If Even can perfect this protective fabric--if he, too, can learn to use darkness--they’ll go far away from here. He holds himself to this grimly, even as the darkness tempts him, calls to him, makes him want to push their subjects farther, past the threshold of inhumanity, even as he does so. This will end. Go through, not out.

It says a lot about the state of Radiant Garden’s affairs, that the officials never seem to connect them to the missing people the way Ansem did. Or perhaps they’re too terrified--not that Even can blame them. Braig, Aeleus, and Dilan take rounds, experimentally; they confirm that no one comes near the castle gates, when before visitors would come in and out for all sorts of different reasons. The staff, too, seem to be disappearing. It takes Even too long to realize this is where their remaining subjects are coming from.

A bastion of darkness settles over them all.

---

“I’m afraid it’s inelegant,” Even says at one of their roundtables; Ienzo sits with his eyes focused on the middle distance. “But it’s something.” He lays the bolt of fabric onto the table. It feels odd, not quite like any fabric he’s encountered, but like anything else it’s synthetic. It originally was white, but the chemicals seem to have reacted, and now it’s black.

Xehanort runs his hands along the fabric, a small smile lighting up his face. “Oh, yes. This will do perfectly.”

They fashion lab coats with it, clothing and shoes. Even hoped that the layer of protection would help with the thrall, especially with the rest of them, but he still feels it, pulling him deeper into a place he swore he’d never go, a place below ethics, below morals. He barely bats an eye when Xehanort suggests they examine children’s hearts. He wonders--hopes--that whatever Xehanort discovers can help Ienzo.

Which is why he shouldn’t be surprised when it actually begins happening with those kids, when-- “Dilan, I will not stand for this. He is too young to consent.” He’s trembling. The man’s violet eyes are cold, empty. “We’ve treated Ienzo with respect. I think he deserves a say. It’s only fair. He is different than the average child. I think it would make the data quite fascinating.” “I will not allow it.” He tries to hold to this feeling, to use it to dig himself out of the pull of darkness. He used to despise this paternal instinct, and now it’s all he has left. “...You’ve grown too soft for the boy.” Dilan sneers.

Even lowers his voice, all too certain that little pitchers have big ears; Ienzo, in the corner, gives no indication that he’s heard them, but that’s about meaningless. “It’s shocking that you have no respect for his wellbeing,” he spits. “After all this time.”

“Of course I respect it. That’s why we would get his consent. ”

Even shakes his head. “I will do everything in my power to prevent this.”

“I figured you of all people understand the work we’re doing,” he replies, with equal venom. “We must let go of such paltry bonds, to rise above. To do the work we’re meant to. Whatever tenderness you have for him is useless. I suggest you get rid of it.” He scoffs and leaves the room, the lab door sliding shut behind him.

They make another discovery, perhaps the most disturbing yet. (Is any of this disturbing anymore?) For the first time, one of the Heartless leaves behind a body. But instead of being wreathed in darkness, it’s wreathed in grayness, in silver, a sort of matter that’s physically difficult for the eye to perceive.

Braig shakes his head. “That’s no body,” he says.

And Xehanort laughs. “No. Indeed it isn’t.”

---

There are fewer Nobodies (Xehanort fancies himself a real poet) than Heartless; they soon come to the conclusion that one must be rather stronghearted for the body and will to exist after death. The others refuse to use that word, referring instead to it as “transformation,” but in the purest medical sense it’s true. None of these “Nobodies” have beating hearts, organs, or blood; like the Heartless, it’s impossible to take samples. They vary slightly in shape, some appearing more human than others, but all looking a bit off, a bit alien, all lacking lucidity. Without asking the rest of them, Xehanort has Braig calmly exterminate them. If there was any doubt before, now there’s none. They’ve out and out committed murder.

Even’s surprised he doesn’t feel anything. Then again, he feels so little these days other than anger and exhaustion, with pinpricks of concern for Ienzo now and again. Murder seems the least harmful thing they’ve done.

Something seems to be rising, to be changing. He isn’t sure what.

Xehanort again gathers them in the courtyard; minus, he notices, Braig and Ienzo. “The fresh air is so lovely, isn’t it,” he says. “It does get rather stale down there.” Even’s no longer accustomed to seeing him in his normal apprentice clothing after all the black. “I have a proposition for the three of you; one a touch more radical than my last.”

“It would take little to shock me anymore,” Dilan says tiredly. Aeleus just blinks.

“We know now it is possible to separate the heart from the body,” he says. “That our stronger subjects had stronger Nobodies… ones more human. We’re men of science, of reason; we’ve resisted the pull of darkness this long, so we’re strong. But if we’re to continue to work with it… it may make sense, to let go of such things. For our own wellbeing.”

“Our hearts,” Dilan says incredulously. “That is radical.”

Xehanort faces them. He looks, for the first time, utterly exhausted. “I don’t feel much of anything anymore anyway,” he admits. “And I’m not sure any of us do. What else do we need hearts for, anyway? They are merely things of pain… suffering… they hold us back from what we’re capable of.” He locks eyes with Even. “I’ve… figured out a way to do it. One which will not be nearly so painful or prolonged as those of our subjects. Without our hearts… we would be free to travel the realm of darkness safely. We could go anywhere… discover anything. There’s a whole World out there, waiting, that nobody knows about.”

“Do you believe this will help you with your memory?” Even asks. “Or did you forget this is where that all came from?”

The man smiles. “I no longer care about my memory. This is larger than me. Than us.” He pauses, to compose himself. “What do you think?”

Shocking Even, Aeleus murmurs, “I will volunteer myself.”

“I will too. I am also feeling numb,” Dilan says. “This may very well be… useful, regardless of the consequences.”

Xehanort turns to Even, a small smile on his face. “And you?”

“I…” He takes a breath. It would be good, to shed these chains; but is it natural? And how does he know it won’t kill him?

If he dies, who will look after the boy?

“What of Ienzo? He's a child, he's too young to make such a decision.”

Xehanort shakes his head. “We will not take Ienzo’s heart. If he decides, the boy can give it up in the future.”

Very well. “Yes… I shall…”

“Excellent.” His voice has gotten deeper as he’s gotten older. It’s almost like gravel. “I look forward to this new chapter in our lives.”

---

But nothing happens as expected.

The majority of that day is a blur to Even. They are examining their subjects’ hearts, pulled clean from their bodies and trapped in pods; Even watches Dilan’s fingers work across the keyboard in the computer room. Ienzo is next to him, standing on a chair, observing, along with Aeleus. Braig is polishing his crossbow, a look of boredom on his face.

All of a sudden there’s footsteps. “Were you expecting guests?” Even asks Xehanort.

The man’s gold eyes are deadly. “No.”

Two teenagers burst into the room; Isa and Lea, the neglected junior apprentices. “We know what you’re doing,” Lea yells. “We saw the lab, those people. We told the police. They’re going to get you.” Isa’s silent as he meets Even’s eyes, his green eyes positively smug.

Xehanort cocks his head. “That so. Very well.”

He sounds awfully calm. Too calm. He approaches the boys slowly.

Quickly, faster than Even can perceive, Xehanort moves, and all of a sudden the boys are on the ground, darkness slowly encroaching them. He grabs Ienzo’s hand, he’s not sure why. “That was not necessary,” he says slowly. “They’re apprentices, they could’ve seen reason.”

“They only became apprentices to expose us,” Xehanort says.

“They’re the ones who ransacked the lab,” Dilan says, with realization.

Braig looks up a moment from his polishing, sees the bodies, and resumes, numbly.

“Now is as good a time as any,” Xehanort says. “Don’t you agree?”

Dilan sighs, powers down the computer. “Quite.”

Even feels something for the first time in weeks; panic, and a deep, instinctual sensation that this isn’t right. He takes Ienzo’s hand; Ienzo’s gone still with fear, seeing Isa and Lea convulse in an odd silence. “The boy…” He says. “He shouldn’t have seen--” And then there’s a cold knowledge.

Xehanort has lied to him.

He draws Ienzo into his arms, tightly. The traumatized boy doesn’t fight him. Xehanort, so deftly, pierces Aeleus's chest with a Keyblade-- when did he get that? “You fools,” he says, and his voice is trembling. “What are you doing?”

Xehanort sneers. “Don’t act like you don’t know.”

He’s not sure why, but he tries to run; Ienzo’s gotten heavier over the years, making it more difficult than it used to be. Dilan trips him, sending them both tumbling to the ground. Even throws his body over the boy’s, like a shield; the boy’s gasping in shock. “Take me,” he yells. “But don’t hurt the boy!”

The three of them close in on him. Even braces himself, clinging to Ienzo.

Xehanort’s gaze is pitiless. “The boy should’ve known better than to play in darkness.”

The tendrils descend upon him, upon them . It’s not painless as he's said, but perhaps the most agonizing thing Even’s experienced, his cells changing on a molecular level, everything coming undone. He’s still somehow awake, somehow able to meet Ienzo’s horrified eyes; he can see the darkness crawling over the boy as well. If anything, trying to protect him made him Xehanort’s victim all the faster.

Ah.

In his last moments of consciousness, he feels the tears in his eyes, cold as ice.

#beyond this existence: atonement #even (kingdom hearts)#ienzo #ansem the wise #aeleus #dilan #xehanort #terranort #subject x (kingdom hearts)#body horror #human experimentation #beyond this existence

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