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theholycovenantrpg · 3 years

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In the beginning was DMITRI, a HORSEMAN loyal to the cause of the HORSEMEN. He is said to be IMMORTAL and uses HE/THEY pronouns. In this New Testament he serves as the HORSEMAN OF CONQUEST. Blessed be their name.

THE INDELIBLE MARK.

It is said that there can be no measure of suffering on earth without an equal measure of joy to swallow it, and it is from this longing for luminance and light that the Horseman of Conquest came to be. Where their kindred were plucked from hideous, crooked stars, they were forged to offset the destruction they would harrow. They would overcome it. Carved from a golden tear which had rolled down God’s cheek, they are the only of their kind to be pulled from a moment of euphoria; their birth was wrought from something beyond reproach. Brought forth by the fondness their creator bore His mortal descendants, they are comprised of all of His love—and all of His fear. Yet, they have never felt compelled to harness onslaught, as War might, nor to gouge out the world, as Famine would; they are sumptuous victory, golden mastery, the luxurious triumph over woe. Capable of curing sickness and rehabilitating wounds, Conquest brings solace where else there is only sorrow; he ravens on the pestilence his own kin unleash. A glow of magnificent gold clings to his body and, as if sheep to the shepherd’s crook, all creatures flock to hear him speak. Since emerging on the earth, Conquest has amassed a throng of admirers, yet one seems to forget that he, too, was cut for calamity. It is to them that the people typically turn when settling a contract: princely and amenable, one gladly smites themselves on their sword. He straddles above a horse pulled from the empty bowels of Purgatory: a creature so white it seems to have been cut from marble, its ribcage is encased in veins of solid gold. The steed’s mane appears to be made of pure sunlight, which looks at a distance like a crown—not unlike its rider.

THE HISTORY.

When God was at last finished with Creation, He held a knife in His hand. A sculpting knife, yes, a carving knife—but a knife all the same. Veiled in darkness, He stepped into sunlight, spinning the tool between His fingers, and then He slipped it into a disembodied pocket, disappearing as if it had never been. At last, He was finished slicing at the clay. At last, He was satisfied with what He had wrought. A glorious scene shifted on the earth below Him: a forest of radiant green sprouted from every mouth of the earth, golden fruit ripening on branches, and waterfalls spilled down cliff-sides, the night’s dark blanket pulling itself lazily over the horizon. And, at its centre, God’s first children. Adam, and his wife Eve. Though there was much beauty in all that God had coaxed into existence, it was them that He loved the most dearly. It was His children, as finite as sand on the shoreline, that He held most gently in His palm, rolling them over as if they might splinter at his touch. For them, He was willing to cut away slices of Himself, to forge magnificent structures from His own hammered rib, and that is precisely what He did, sculpting a kingdom from the ground up. He plucked them from the earth and took them in His palm, placing them in the palace He’d brought forth—not by His knife, this time, but by the delicate kneading of His hands—and He kept them there, locked away like a secret. Though He only watched over them like an expatriate ruler, God wouldn’t be parted from them. He began to weep; a tear rolled down his cheek and, when it reached the curve of his jaw, it annealed into gold.

God ran His finger along the trail, and when He looked deeply into the alloy, He saw the gaping capacity of His love. More importantly, He glimpsed the creatures that had earned it. His beloved mortals, shaped in His image: as they gormandised themselves on slices of knowledge and carvings of curiosity, God doted upon them at a distance. They will always have my love, He thought, as he watched them wander in the sacred garden, and I will always have theirs; I can bear nothing less. Though the threat of betrayal was a notion that eluded Him, God agonised over the possibility of them being stolen from him. He picked up the knife again, and He began to cut. From the pool of divinity sprouted something infinitely more sacred and impossibly more beautiful: the final Horseman, Conquest, swathed in the universe’s luxurious sunlight. What grew from the morsel of His devotion was much more magnificent, far more worthy of indulgence, than the Creator had ever really intended—indeed, they almost made Him foolish. And yet, He should have expected nothing less, no? Conquest was carved from pure, indomitable love. God took the child in His palm and, for a moment, He considered keeping them there—but He would not. Conquest had been created for something else. Hand-in-hand, He guided His design around the opalescent clouds of Heaven, sating them on gobbets of divinity and slivers of destruction. When God was finished, they could have no doubt in their mind that they had been forged for great, visionary brilliance. Finally pleased with His handiwork, God retrieved the knife once more and, feeling the weight of it in His palm, cut the final slice. He guided Conquest through the gap.

When he landed in Purgatory, however, Conquest saw nothing; he recognised no-one. He was entirely alone. Empty caverns yawned themselves open and the dales within felt hollow as bone; their only burgess was a strange orchid smoke which swept in its mouth. That ethereal shimmer he had once made a home of was nowhere to be found in the middling realm, and though Conquest clung to his brethren in a split second of recognition, he arrived in Purgatory without fellowship, without God, and was completely and utterly alone. Once, they might have eaten the sun raw, taking the stars in their jaw and chewing until they faded into gristle—but here there was nothing to satisfy them, there was nothing to fill them; their chest gouged itself, and Conquest felt like little more than brittle bone. After all, when you have gorged yourself on immortality, honey pooling at the back of your throat, what are bones; what is cartilage and pulp? Yet, for all his ravening, that fond halo of gold still clung to him; even as he wandered down lonely ravines and lost himself in forgotten caverns, a host of unanswered promises his only companions, Conquest shone. Indeed, it wasn’t until they emerged from the hollows, half-starved, that they finally stumbled upon a vestige of life: a duchy of spectres, who might have been mortals once, bowed at his glow. Their gravelly, coarse voices composed reverent songs for him, falling at his feet—and yet, the Horseman of Conquest was not worshipped, as God had predicted, but loved. For a moment, the pledge of ruination ebbed from his view. For centuries, aeons, eternities, he was their shiny prophet and beloved prince, and when that phosphorescent slice appeared once more, the purgatorial kingdoms of his kin pulled together as one, he paused. Yet where the Horsemen went, they too were condemned to follow.

As Conquest emerged from the split, he almost felt himself recoiling backward, as if he might slip again into Purgatory’s dusky depths. The New World was so bright and garish; the earth was so full of colour—certainly, the sight of it struck him, but still he stood fast. Everything he saw was what he’d unknowingly sacrificed in stepping through God’s tear, and he embraced it. As if feeding on the great light around them, their glow of gold only grew brighter; more sheer. They felt, in an insoluble way, strangely reborn. As if a crucial fragment had returned itself to them. When War bowled violently forwards, binding bloodshed like unshakeable chains around their wrists, the rest of their kind could only follow, for what else was there? Their purpose had been stolen from them; they were required to carve out another. Conquest was more than happy to tug behind them, yet the further they travelled the further their appetite widened; the more they hankered to dig their fingers into the earth and know it, the more they yearned to learn the name of every face concealing a soul. He felt himself curiously returned to that first plant of his creation. Certainly, he made himself into something far more than a mere killer for hire: as he passed through waves of admirers, seas of lovers, he became a healer, a gladiator, a mouthpiece to which all turned to listen; as if sheep to the shepherd’s crook, humankind embraced him eagerly. Crafted from God’s love, the mortals seemed resolved to return it to them tenfold. For as many people that loved him, however, there were just as many who forgot he, too, was a vessel of ancient power to be feared: though he shone brighter than the stars, moon, and sun, something hollow lingers in his chest, never far from infection. Like broken bone. But rebirth is a form of triumph, no? It is victory, conquest. The kingdom splayed before them seems to be contrived in their image, hungering hands reaching out to grasp them, yet something rotten threatens to scatter in their chest. Is one truly a Horseman once they renege on their promise of devastation?

THE CONNECTIONS.

NERISSA, RYUK & VIKTORIA: Fellowship. Though they are each as different as Heaven and Hell, it is impossible to part them. The same ghost of grief lingers between their ribs, a sorrow-stricken cord of God’s creation ensnaring them into belonging; such, they had learned long ago, was their fate. They bleed into each other. Dmitri, though, is not like the others—each Horseman is as ravenous as the next, but Dmitri hasn’t hungered in a long time; instead, he yearns. Nevertheless, even as he addresses a drove of listeners, a glorious halo of gold settling itself like a crown above his brow, his companions always remain within his periphery. Even as they press their triumphant palms to bruises and wounds, the flesh stitching itself back together, they are their familiars, their shadows, and they never wander far from their view. Where one Horseman walks, all Horsemen walk. And yet, Dmitri feels the bonds loosening at his wrists; he feels himself wandering freely, tunnelling his hands into the earth, going where no Horseman can follow. What, then, would occur if their fellowship dissolved? Embraced so fully by humankind, he begins to ruminate whether he was truly carved from calamity, or whether he is something else entirely. War is composed of murderous rage, while Ryuk communes with the shadows, yet there is something in Viktoria which Dmitri would lament most severely to leave behind. One the architect, the other the mediator, they are two woe-written souls that naturally lean into each other. Yet, he admires them all with equal regard. For now, he is satisfied with his place among them. Tearing themself from their kin is not something they should ever like to do, but one surely wonders: how does an angel find themselves in the company of monsters?

ABADDON: Flicker. Whispers had reached him long before she had. There is something awfully melancholy in this creature, something terribly tragic, and it whets his fascination—it had done so since the first whisper, and when their eyes had fallen upon each other in those dusky dungeons, something bright had sparked. Whether such an event should be accredited to the flames that flickered along the walls of her Black Cells, carving out shadows were else there was only the yawn of darkness, or whether it should else be recognised as a symbol of their connection—well, Dmitri couldn’t possibly say. He hasn’t unearthed enough of her yet. Since their first encounter, Abaddon’s dungeons have proved purposeful, their exploits typically guided by the ravening appetite of Nerissa and their architect’s steady hand; yet, as far as their deeds go, as far as the necessity lies, Dmitri often finds that his visits have none at all. He seeks out the calming mien which falls strangely above her, draping over her shoulders like a soft shawl. It is a summon that they cannot ignore. They must answer it. God had taught them to lean into their emotions, once, and thus he behaves accordingly—though Dmitri finds himself enamoured by her influence, Abaddon seems to shy away, merely dancing beneath his gaze rather than embracing it. He supposes that is her right. Nevertheless, they often find themself thinking: have they not earned a slice of peace?

JUDAS: Debtor. It is a sour taste, to be indebted to one so false; to feel the burden of a debt to one so purposefully dishonest. And yet, here he is, like prey caught in a trap, his neck placed hopelessly beneath Judas’s sword. Dmitri knows nothing of schemes, nothing of fraudulence or contrived designs, yet he knows well that he has been ensnared within a dark web—he knows just how it feels to be held captive, and that is precisely what he is. Judas’s captive. Their happening upon each other was what might have been a chance occurrence, though Dmitri knows it was anything but: one moment, they had been cutting down Heretics as effortlessly as breathing, and then they were swept under a sea of them—it was then that Judas had cut the assailant down. They owe him. And yet, Judas does not strike the venomed fang; he asks for nothing. Each time that they negotiate a new contract, Dmitri expects the demon to haggle, to strike a more lenient price, and yet—he does not. What, they think, is he waiting for? What does he want? But he says nothing. In fact, neither of them speak a word on the topic. Something in his chest, however, flips over in warning. Judas must be searching for something, must be hoping to reach into their ribs and coax out a prize of some sort, but what? Only time, they suppose, can tell.

EPHEMERA: Revelry. They are exactly alike, and yet they are also poles apart. Such is their dance. The creature presented before him is strange, he admits, and has become a mystery he hopes to unpick at the seams; something more must linger behind her fractured gaze, he’s convinced of it. The moments that they come together are full of permeable tension, the vibrations of revelry bouncing between one body and another: there is such violence in their interactions, and yet there is an indomitable recognition concealed between their half-glances; they share the intimacy of sincerity. One ought to feel honoured that such a dissatisfied creature as Ephemera might deign to offer a morsel of her attention to them, yet Dmitri refuses to bow his neck in falsified reverence. Indeed, they have committed to the opposite, circling above like a hawk—like an animal which has caught the rotting scent of offal, swooping down. As they circle around each other, they are beasts that sniff, bark, and bite. Theirs is a curiosity born from monsters. After all, how does such a stoic creature come to express interest in a prophet? And how, too, does the prince-like figure of the Holy Land, as admired as he is flocked toward, come to find himself ensnared by the curiously cold moments, the invincible icy gaze of a being such as Ephemera? In the wariness, however, an affinity has stemmed between them. Does not a predator first size up its prey before choosing to pounce?

Dmitri is portrayed by Kim Woo-bin and was written by CAS. He is currently TAKEN by EMS.

#literate rp #lsrpg #original rp #new rp #nb #h #dmitri #c #cnb

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nadziejastar · 5 years

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They really do humanize Lea in the manga and books

They really do. I picked up a TON of additional info about Lea’s character and his original arc thanks to the novels. They are a goldmine of characterization. I developed a whole new level of appreciation for Lea after reading them. It’s why I am so mad about the way his relationship with Isa was handled in KH3. Isa was the foundation of his character arc. He was the main source of Axel’s emotional depth and complexity. He was the building block of his tragic backstory and inner pain.

For me, it was his relationship with Isa that took Axel from a cool and likable character…into a truly fascinating one. Axel’s relationship with Roxas and Xion was built off of his relationship with Isa. Axel’s attachment to Roxas and his sacrifice for Sora in KH2 became so much more compelling when I learned how Axel lost his childhood best friend. If you take Isa away, you destroy Lea’s character arc.

Lea: “Never Had a Friend Like Me”

Maybe she had been sent away somewhere on a long-term mission, like Axel at Castle Oblivion.

But…asking about Axel seemed to put Saïx in such a foul mood, Roxas couldn’t bring himself to inquire after Xion. Every day, he carried his slender ray of hope to the clock tower in Twilight Town, and every day he sat there alone.

I couldn’t help but notice a recurring theme in Axel and Saïx’s relationship. The concept of worrying. It came up over and over again. It was VERY important, especially in the novels. Saïx was always in a “foul” mood when he was asked about Axel.

“Then what about Nobodies? We don’t have hearts. Does some part of us remain?”

“As if. We’re not even supposed to ‘exist’ in the first place. What’s there to leave behind?”

“Then whoever it was at Castle Oblivion—”

“Gone,” Xigbar emphasized. “Without a trace.”

Roxas hung his head. “So…I’ll never see them again?”

“Nope.”

When word came in that the entire Castle Oblivion team was terminated, Roxas was extremely worried about Axel.

He felt his fists clench. So maybe I’ll never see Axel again…?

“You coming?”

“Oh…” When Roxas raised his head, Xigbar had already started walking. “Yeah.”

He moved to catch up, but before he could—the world around him blurred.

All the sounds of Agrabah fell silent. It felt like he was falling… And then darkness swallowed his mind.

He actually passed out after he heard this. It utterly terrified him to think he’d never see Axel again. And all this happened in Agrabah, which I think is important. It relates to what the Genie said in Days. Lea is basically the Genie. The best friend anyone could ever hope for. I’ll get to that.

Xemnas stared down at the boy. “So sleep has taken you yet again…”

If the words had reached Roxas in his dreams, the boy gave no indication.

Xemnas and Saïx stood over Roxas’ bedside after he passed out. Xemnas made a vague remark which we now know was associating Ven with Roxas. This connection to BBS is important, as I’ll get to later. Roxas has a dream of Xemnas touching him on the shoulder, and when I replayed the game recently the first thing that came to mind were the scenes where Terra touches Ven’s shoulder. And since Xemnas has Terra’s memories, I think this was significant.

“Better hurry, Ventus…or you’ll never see Terra again,” said a sudden voice.

Ven turned around. He should have been the only one here—but someone else was standing there. It was a youth about the same height as him, wearing a black bodysuit and a menacing featureless mask.

“What? Get real. I can see Terra anytime I want,” Ven snapped back at him.

The young man, Vanitas, leaned against the shelf and replied, “Like right now? He’s leaving you behind. And by the time you catch up…he’ll be a different person.” He sounded completely confident.

This was Ven’s worst fear. Never seeing Terra again. It’s why he set off on his journey to begin with.

“The three of us can never be torn apart, all right? I’ll always find a way.”

Ven felt Terra’s hand squeeze his shoulder. Aqua bent over and looked into his face with concern, then brushed his face with her fingertips.

They had it wrong. That wasn’t it.

Ven placed his hand on Aqua’s and gently lowered it, then brushed Terra’s off his shoulder.

His eyes bored into them.

“I’m asking you, as a friend…Just…put an end to me.”

It’s why he took Terra’s hand off of his shoulder and told his friends to put an end to him. Terra said he’d find a way and that they’d never be torn apart. But Ventus didn’t believe that was possible. So, he was willing to sacrifice himself to protect them. This idea connects heavily into Axel’s arc.

“I came to stop you from talking too much…by eliminating your existence, that is.” Axel smirked and took a step closer to him.

“No… Don’t do it…”

“We’re Nobodies. We have no one to be—we just are. But now you don’t have to be at all. No more existence, no more memories. You’re off the hook.”

Axel didn’t seem to be paying attention to Sora and the others. He only looked at Vexen.

While all of that was going on, Axel was at Castle Oblivion.

“No one to be?” What could that even mean…?

“Don’t… No, please don’t…! I don’t want to—”

“Bye, now.” Axel shot a bright light from his hand again. Vexen’s scream echoed through the strange landscape—and then he was gone, not a trace remaining.

“What are you— What are you people?!” Sora demanded.

“Hm. Not sure. I wonder about that myself.” With that, Axel stepped into thin air and vanished.

He eliminates Vexen and the novel delves into his emotional state a lot more.

Axel walked through the long corridors of the castle. Normally, he wouldn’t bother walking places like this. But he needed time to himself.

I don’t have a single friend in this place. All these people on my side—and his and the organization’s… But I don’t know if I can say that we’re really on the same side.

I’m alone here.

He’s nobody—no one at all—and yet he is somebody.

Shards of emotion, fragments of memory. So alike…but they’re completely different things.

Even if we can hold on to a few fragments of memory, we can’t have the smallest shard of emotion.

Nostalgia… And memory.

We are the ones who lost their hearts—the ones who are no one. Nobodies. Not light nor darkness—we live in the twilight.

Taking out Vexen was very personal for him. He has no one to be. He told Vexen that having no more memories means he’s off the hook. Memories are a burden to him. Being in Castle Oblivion, and meeting Sora has brought back a lot of memories, though. It’s important to note that in Days, Xion’s theme is actually called “Who Am I?” I think that’s because it’s not really just Xion’s theme. It’s the theme song of all three main characters. Roxas wanted to know who he was. It’s why he left. Well, Axel wanted to know who he was, as well. He used to be someone who picked up any stray puppy he saw. But who is he now? He really doesn’t know.

Axel stopped outside the crystal ball room and took a deep breath.

Why are we here? What are we doing?

No—why am I here?

Still asking himself that question, he opened the door.

He asks himself why he is there. He does this a lot in the novels. And it’s always about Saïx. He also frequently asks himself who he’s doing it all for. Axel had a strong need to feel like he was doing things for the sake of another. It was his memories of the past that caused him to change so much when he returned.

“Is that your shield? Won’t do you much good. I don’t mind eliminating her as well,” Axel told him, chakrams blazing. “Ready for real oblivion, Marluxia?”

It shouldn’t make any difference to him or to the Organization whether Naminé lived or not. He would destroy anyone in his way.

“Hmph… We’ll see about that,” said Marluxia. “Are you listening, Sora?”

And in fact, Sora came rushing in, ready for another battle.

“Oh?” Axel lowered his weapons.

“Axel says he’s willing to harm Naminé to get to me,” Marluxia shouted. “But you won’t let that happen, will you?!”

Naminé didn’t mean anything to Axel at this point. He was willing to destroy her if she got in his way.

“…Axel!” Clutching the Keyblade, Sora glared at him.

Still? Axel thought. Facing Sora like this reminded him of Roxas, which made him uneasy. The memory of a feeling welled up within, something that had never come over him when he confronted Marluxia or Larxene or Vexen.

But those connections were no more than memories of the past—Axel had never cared about anyone since becoming a Nobody.

What was happening? Why was Roxas so important to him? Why was Sora?

So long as he understood what the stakes were, he should have no reason to recoil from terminating someone. After all, he was a Nobody with no heart.

And yet…he didn’t want to do this.

But Axel remembered a feeling while he was facing Sora. I think it was because he saw Naminé as just a helpless girl at that point. Too afraid to stand up to the Organization, so she complied with their schemes. But Sora was fighting to protect the people he cared about.

“Oh, come on,” he said, feigning indifference. “You’re Marluxia’s puppet already?”

“You think so?” Sora retorted. “After I finish you, he’s next!”

“Heh… Look, Sora…” Axel stared hard at him.

None of that mattered; he couldn’t eliminate the kid at this point. He would just pretend to lose. Go out with a real bang.

“We’ve got more of a connection than you might think. I’d rather not fight you, but…I can’t let myself look bad here!”

Axel sprang into the air to attack.

Axel could see himself in Sora. He could identify with him in a way he couldn’t with Naminé, at least not yet. Lea had someone he wanted to fight for and protect, like Sora does. But Lea wanted to protect Isa. He’s the one he was doing it all for. Saïx is nothing like Isa now. It makes him question everything. But it makes him fascinated by Sora.

“You had me worried,” he admitted.

“Worried?” Axel laughed. “That’s a feat, considering you haven’t got a heart to feel with.”

Roxas had to laugh, too—a little bit.

He really was glad that Axel wasn’t gone. Now that they were both here, they could hang out at their usual spot, and…

“I’ll go get us some ice cream!” Roxas took off at a run.

Axel gets back on ~Day 71 Reunion~. The day after is ~Day 72 Change~. Everyone’s changed. Roxas is more upbeat, especially after befriending Xion. Axel changed after Castle Oblivion.

I wasn’t away for all that long, but it feels like ages, he thought.

“Then why’d you come here?” Roxas wondered.

Because before reporting at the castle, before seeing anybody else, I wanted to have ice cream here with you.

Because I wanted to see if you really are Sora’s Nobody.

Axel wasn’t sure which reason he had been focused on. But he hesitated to name either one aloud. “Guess I needed some time to sort out my feelings first.”

The main reason he changed is because his sleeping memories awakened. And it truly hit him just how much Saïx has changed. Roxas worried about Axel while he was away and this drives the point home even further.

“Hmm.” Saïx sniffed. “All I did was find a place to send everyone who was getting in the way.”

Maybe he was telling the truth. The other members were only obstacles to Saïx— No. To both of them.

Axel half-jokingly asked if Saïx intended to eliminate him. He genuinely wasn’t sure about his intentions.

And yet, Axel couldn’t keep the sarcasm out of his response. “Well, nice to know where I stand.”

He said it with a grin, but the hint of a frown tugged at the scar between Saïx’s brows. Apparently, the joke wasn’t very funny. “You made it back in one piece, didn’t you?”

Were you worried I wouldn’t? Axel almost said, but he didn’t want to deal with putting him in an even fouler mood. Disgust and rage seemed to linger closest to the surface of Saïx’s memories.

All Axel wanted was to know if Saïx was worried about him. But asking would have put him in an even fouler mood. Disgust and rage come to mind when that subject is brought up. It made me wonder if Saïx had memories of Isa worrying about and trying to protect Lea, and that’s why it makes him so angry. Like he resents Axel. And I think that is exactly the case, which I will explain.

“They…they’ll find out they don’t need me…and they’ll turn me into a Dusk…”

Xion’s voice was shaking more noticeably now. Dealing with girls who were about to cry was way above his pay grade.

“C’mon, Axel, think of something!” Roxas insisted.

Why can’t you think of something? The retort nearly left Axel’s mouth, but he gulped it back down.

Next day is ~Day 74 Trio~. Axel is put on the spot to come up with a solution to Xion’s problem.

“Hey, friends get to lean on each other now and then,” said Axel. “Roxas gets it.” Affirming his words, Roxas turned to her with a warm smile.

“So…does that mean…you and I are friends, too, Axel?” Xion asked timidly.

Axel hesitated, staring into the sunset instead of at her. What do I say to that?

This is officially the day all three of them become friends. It was because Xion felt like she could lean on Axel for support.

This was the second time Ven had watched him go.

He left me again…

“When I really need you, Ven, I know you’ll be there.”

He repeated what Terra had said. It was natural to help a friend in need. Obviously, Ven would do what he could for Terra—but what was that business about “needing” him?

Roxas is reminding Axel about all of these things. Friendship, support. All things he’d forgotten. And I think it was all to prepare Ven to do the same for Terra. He also needed to be reminded that he could lean of his friends.

Ven watched Lea walk over to Isa.

“Friends, huh…” he muttered, then turned away from the other two.

He may not have been able to go with Terra and Aqua, but he could go after them.

He had to get moving.

Ven set off again.

After Terra leaves, Ven meets Lea and Isa. He looked up at the sky after they left. He thought it must be nice to actually know who your friends are. And I definitely think that scene was important. Because by the time Roxas meets Axel, it’s totally the opposite. Isa has become a different person, just like Ven feared Terra would become. He doesn’t know who his friends are.

“Anyway, matter of fact, carpet and me were on a well-deserved vacation. A little world tour, if you will. But then I got to worrying about how Al was doing…” A gloomy note crept into Genie’s outlandishly ebullient voice. “So we figured we’d pop back in to check on him.”

“Why were you worried? Is there something to worry about?”

The Genie pulled a white handkerchief out of nowhere and dabbed at his eyes. “Well, sure! It’s only natural to worry about your friends. I worried about how it’s going with Jasmine, how the city is doing…and once I get something in my head, I can’t get it back out. Tried everything—chainsaws, sledgehammers, tweezers…”

Next is ~Day 75 Inseparable~. When I first played Days I remember finding it weird how Aladdin didn’t wanna rely on magic to get rid of the sandstorms. Just use the damn magic! It’s not like it has any penalties! Quit being so stubborn and let him help you!

“Al said he wouldn’t rely on magic, right? I want to fix it for him, but you gotta respect your friend’s wishes.”

“Your friend’s… wishes…” So, even if you mean for something to be for your friend’s sake, their wishes are still more important?

Now I think that it was because Agrabah was supposed to tell us something important. Like the Beast’s Castle, Agrabah also was deliberately drawing parallels with Axel’s story. And it involved the idea of worrying about a friend, but respecting their wishes not to help them.

Xigbar: Another storm is brewing. These people will never be able to repair the city fast enough. Heh heh, glad I don’t live here.

Roxas: Plus they have to deal with all the Heartless.

Xigbar: Aha! You picked up on a juicy bit there, Roxas.

Roxas: Why?

Xigbar: The storm and the Heartless… It’s possible they’re not completely unrelated.

Roxas: You think there’s a connection?

Xigbar: All right, I think that’s all we’re getting for one day. Let’s RTC.

Aladdin didn’t want to ask for help because he didn’t want to burden Genie. His wish was for him to be free. And being free means that he shouldn’t have to solve his problems. Of course, this outlook is hinted to be misguided. The city is in dire condition thanks to the Heartless. Xigbar hints that the constant barrage of sandstorms is causing the Heartless problem. Aladdin’s refusal to ask for help is creating darkness, and attracting them.

After Roxas and Xion leave, Genie helps out anyway. In KH2, he helps out even more. It’s not a burden if your friend wants to help you. They’ll just worry even more if they can’t. Your problems ARE their problems. The two are inseparable. Aladdin was being too selfless, and Genie had to help him even though he said not to. That’s what Axel’s character is all about. And it’s what Terra and Ven’s relationship was all about, too.

“Genie sounded really worried about his friend–some guy named Al. But, I guess you can’t always jump in and do everything for your friends–even if you want to. And then he said that you have to respect your friend’s wishes.” Xion bit her ice cream, swinging her feet. Axel leaned his head to one side.

“Your friend’s wishes, huh…” It feels like I have heard that before, a long time ago, when I was human.

And stuff like this is why I love the novels so much. Axel says he feels like he’s heard that before.

Roxas peered at him curiously. “So then why did the Genie say he and Al were ‘inseparable’?”

“It’s not like they’re actually joined at the hip. What’s it mean?” Xion was staring at Axel, too, as if he had all the answers.

“Well, I think you can be inseparable, even if you’re apart,” said Axel.

Roxas and Xion shared a look. “…Even if you’re apart,” Roxas murmured.

They trailed off, and this time Axel finished his ice cream. So he started talking again. “It’s like, if you feel really close to each other. Like best friends.”

“Is that different?” Roxas still had questions. “What’s it like having a best friend?”

Stumped by that one, Axel turned to the sunset. Even if Nobodies could go around playacting friendship, Axel felt like pretending to be best friends was something else altogether. It just wasn’t in them. And he didn’t have a better answer.

He squinted in the blazing glow and finally said, “Couldn’t tell you. I haven’t got one.”

If best friends worry about each other, then Axel feels like he definitely doesn’t have one. Castle Oblivion made that clear. But he remembers what having a best friend was like, and feeling inseparable from them. It’s heavily implied that this whole concept related to Lea’s past with Isa. I think this was supposed to be a MAJOR theme in their relationship. Worrying about a friend, and wanting to jump in and do everything for their sake, but being told to respect their wishes. And it’s not referring to Axel and Saïx, but Lea and Isa. As humans.

Silence fell over the room. He paused in his munching to stare hard at Riku, then finally asked, “What is Sora to you?”

The question caught Riku off guard. He groped for words.

On the sofa opposite him, Naminé spoke up instead. “Sora and Riku are best friends.” Axel’s eyes crinkled as he remembered his own best friend—the only friend he’d ever had, in fact.

“If your best friend goes away, you’re sad, and if you get to be with them, you’re happy,” Naminé added. “Isn’t that how it is, Axel?”

“…That’s about the size of it.” Axel nodded and sat down on the remaining empty sofa, staring at the sea-salt ice cream he held.

“So you are capable of sincerity,” said Riku.

Axel only shrugged at the jab and finished his ice cream pop.

A similar conversation about best friends happens in the KH2 novels. The subject makes Axel extremely sad, just like it did before.

Riku had followed Sora to Disney Castle, and he was still there.

“He worries too much. Thinks he has to help Sora do everything…” Axel grimaced in irritation.

“But, Axel, aren’t you the one worrying about Riku and Sora?” Naminé giggled softly.

“Me, worry? You think I need to be worried about those two?” He stretched backward and rocked the chair back and forth, like a restless child. Naminé returned to her sketchbook.

And this idea of worrying is brought up yet again, in relation to best friends. It provides even more evidence that the story was going somewhere with this whole concept. Axel is irritated (though pleased) by the thought of Riku worrying too much about Sora. And he’s really worried about them himself, but denies it.

“Say, Naminé… Are you still going to try to meet Kairi?” Her head snapped up at the unexpected question. Across from her, Axel met her gaze, grave and earnest.

“I have to help her,” she said with a sad smile.

He scowled. “Is that really the best thing?”

“The best thing…?” Naminé set her crayons down on the table, her gaze dropping as she thought for a moment, and then she smiled at him again. “It’s the right thing.”

In response, Axel only leaned back and rocked in the chair again. She took up her crayons.

No one could know what was right or wrong.

The picture she was drawing depicted herself and Riku and Axel, too, smiling brightly.

Immediately afterwards, he asks Naminé about Kairi. Axel knows she wants to meet her, even if she disappears. He now cares about Naminé in the same way he does about Sora and Roxas. She’s worth caring about since she puts others ahead of herself. And Axel hates this idea. He can’t stand the thought of a friend sacrificing themself, no matter if it’s for a higher good.

I think Isa WAS worried about Lea. But. I think Isa was actually the one who told Lea to stop worrying about him, stop trying to jump in and do everything for his sake, and to respect his wishes. And it was because Isa was trying to protect him. I think Isa knew they were all going to be turned into Heartless and Nobodies that day in the lab. Lea wasn’t. Only Isa was a vessel. The other apprentices chose to participate in that experiment. Isa didn’t want Lea to get involved.

He knew Lea would do anything to save him, regardless of the consequences. So he told him to respect his wishes, and to stop worrying about him. Lea didn’t listen and came anyways. They all lost their hearts. And I think this is why Lea woke up next to the computer terminal. He was trying to save Isa. After Lea lost his heart, I think Isa felt the same as Roxas. The thought that he may never see Lea again traumatized him so much that he went to sleep. It was his worst fear happening right in front of him, and was exactly what he was trying to prevent. I think that’s why Roxas passed out in Agrabah, where all the talk of inseparable best friends, and respecting their wishes took place. It tied into Lea and Isa’s story well.

When they were turned into Nobodies, Isa was no longer there anymore. Another Xehanort with Isa’s memories was all that was left in his body. I think this was why Axel had such a complicated relationship with Saïx. How is he supposed to feel? He knew was that Isa was trying to protect him. Then after losing his heart, he was no longer the same person. He became cold and uncaring. He has no affection for Axel. He doesn’t like Saïx, but he still loves Isa. He only became that way because he wanted to protect him. They both wanted revenge. But I think Saïx resented Axel due to the effect Isa’s memories had on him. He only got into his situation by protecting him. By caring. Which to him, was a weakness. Whether he ever verbalized it or not, he blames Axel for his condition. Axel lost all of his faith in humanity due to this.

As he watched Ven go on his way, Isa commented to Lea in a frosty tone, “What is it with you and picking up stray puppies?”

Lea just shrugged. “I want everybody I meet to remember me. Inside people’s memories, I can live forever.”

“I know I won’t forget you. Believe me, I try all the time,” Isa replied with a bit of humor in his tone.

“See? I’m immortal!”

“You’re obnoxious.”

Lea and Isa looked up at the castle looming over this world. Lea’s mouth curled into a grin. Responding to his expression, Isa said, “You ready?”

“Well, I can tell you are.”

“Yeah.” Isa nodded at Lea’s question, and then the two of them set off.

I think this is what messed him up so badly. He was just trying to protect his friend, and then his entire world was taken away from him. Isa doesn’t even care about him anymore now. Isa represented Lea’s old self—his innocence and hope. Lea put others first, and was optimistic about life. Isa loved the person Lea used to be and they were inseparable. He said he’d never forget him, and tried to protect him. He lost his heart in the process.

When Isa changed, Lea lost his faith in everything he used to believe in. His innocence was completely destroyed. He became filled with hatred and despair. He no longer cared about hurting others. The total opposite of everything Lea was. This is why Isa was so important to Lea’s character arc. Lea needed to see that Isa never changed to truly restore his faith in humanity as a whole.

I think that’s exactly why Lea couldn’t summon his Keyblade until after he realized Isa was a vessel, and after Riku saved Sora from the Realm of Sleep. Because he finally understood that Isa had never really changed. He just got turned into a Xehanort, like Sora nearly did. Riku became a master by braving the darkness to save his friend. Lea thought he’d catch up in no time, then successfully summoned his Keyblade without an issue. His heart was finally strong enough to truly believe again. Like Aladdin, he wished for his friend’s freedom, and his heart awakened the Flame Liberator in response.

After sending off Xion and Roxas, Saïx spun around to face Axel behind him. “What are you playing at?”

“What do you mean? Just trying to help out a budding friendship.” Axel grinned, bright and innocent.

Roxas and Xion had to be literally inseparable for a while, and Axel did his best to protect their secret.

Atop the clock tower, Axel absently watched the sunset.

He let out a long sigh. Being sent to Agrabah alone was all well and good, except for the part when he’d been slammed into the ground.

Looking out for other people when I can’t even take care of myself—this isn’t like me at all.

A dark portal yawned open behind him. “Hey, Axel!”

“Whoa! Don’t scare me like that.”

On the day where Xion gets her Keybalde back, Axel thinks to himself how uncharacteristic it is for him to help others at his own expense like this. They show up to thank him, and it made him even more uncomfortable.

“Yeah. As long as we remember one another, we’ll never be apart. Got it memorized?”

I think if my theory is correct, it would adequately explain why Axel valued his memories of the past so much. He’s very cynical, but very sentimental at the same time.

Xion laughed. Roxas found it funny too, and he started to laugh.

Those words were meant to make them feel better, but… if I went into that, I’d look weak.

“Is it that funny?!” Axel asked almost unconsciously. Roxas and Xion stopped laughing for a moment, but when they looked at each other, they burst out laughing again.

Xion burst into giggles, and then, as if it was contagious, Roxas started laughing, too.

“Oh, c’mon, it’s not that funny!” Axel scolded.

They paused, looked at each other, and giggled again.

“I don’t know why I put up with this…”

“But, I mean…it just didn’t sound like you, Axel.” Xion could barely hold in laughter long enough to get the words out.

Just like on Day 75, he talks about never being apart. Inseparable. Saïx wishes for Axel to leave him alone, except if he has any info about the Chamber of Waking. He doesn’t want to be close. Axel respects his wish, although it kills him inside. When some of his genuine feelings come out, Roxas thinks it’s unlike him. Because he learned to stop showing his feelings a long time ago. It makes him weak. That’s what the tear marks mean, too.

A wish that they could always be together—was longing for the impossible. But at least they could always remember one another.

And yet…if that wasn’t to be, either, what could they do?

You can tell how cynical he is on this day. He only said that for their sake. But he really thinks that if they can’t be together…well, what can you do? That’s life. It’d be nice, sure. But it’s impossible. He’s not gonna get all broken up when things eventually change and they can’t be together every day. He’s not sentimental towards Roxas and Xion yet. That comes later. This was 100% about Isa.

“Xion!” Roxas came running to them and peered at her anxiously.

“It’s okay. She’s not hurt,” said Axel.

“But, Axel—”

Roxas was only going to fret more. Axel stood up with her in is arms. “Let’s just get back.”

He didn’t give Roxas a moment to argue before he set off.

They returned to the silent halls of the vast castle. Axel was carrying Xion with Roxas glued to his side. Her face was so pale it seemed translucent—not a comforting sight.

The scene from earlier with Roxas is paralleled later when Xion passes out. Roxas and Axel are very worried, and Saïx is quick to show how much he doesn’t care. Just like always.

“Did it break again? That didn’t take long.”

Only Saïx would make such a callous remark. Rage surged up in Roxas, and he spun around. “Don’t call her an ‘it’!”

He was on the verge of throwing a punch, but Axel stepped in between them, still holding the unconscious Xion. He didn’t look at Saïx, but he did have one thing to say.

“Keep your mouth shut.”

Roxas had never heard him speak so coldly to anyone before. Saïx made no reply.

This is the first time Axel reacts like this to Saïx. I think Axel was so mad because he remembered how much he was worried about Isa and wanted to protect him, in the past. Axel only became a Nobody by trying to save him. Hearing him speak so coldly while he is worried over another friend was like reliving that day, and having all of those feelings spit on. It hurt him very deeply. He’s nothing like Isa anymore.

“Are you worried about her, too, Axel?”

The question slipped out before he could stop it.

Axel eyed him in mild surprise. “Of course I am.”

But his voice was still oddly low. Running into Saïx had brought out a different side of him—and that side was a little scary.

“This just doesn’t seem like you,” said Roxas.

“What do you mean?”

Roxas found he couldn’t quite put the answer into words. What can I say…? “You don’t like things to be complicated.”

That was the best he could do. It wasn’t quite right, either…but he didn’t know how to describe this.

This is just like the day Xion got her Keyblade ability back. Axel has successfully hidden from everyone how much he cares. Roxas truly thinks Axel worrying about them is uncharacteristic of him. Axel is taken aback by this.

As he was trying to find the words for another attempt, Axel spoke instead. “Look, Roxas… Why do you think the three of us meet up to have ice cream every day in the same spot?”

“Huh…?” Roxas couldn’t tell where this was going.

“It’s not like I have to. If you think about it, it’s just one more chore on the pile, right?” From that angle, it did seem like a chore. Except it wasn’t a chore—it was fun, having ice cream together after work. That was why they went to meet up. What made it so much fun, though?

“You wanna know?” Roxas quietly waited for the answer.

“It’s because you two are my best friends.”

Axel had said before that he didn’t have a best friend, Roxas remembered. But now it’s us…?

“Got it memorized?” A smile played at the corners of Axel’s mouth. “The three of us, we’re inseparable. You’re my best friends.”

Roxas felt a grin come to his face. “Yeah… I guess we are.”

It’s right after this that Axel tells them they’re best friends and inseparable. There’s definitely a connection between all these scenes. They’re standing over Xion’s bedside exactly like Xemnas and Saïx were before. Axel stands in Xemnas’ (Terra’s) place and Roxas stands in Saïx’s (Isa’s) place. Axel believes all of his genuine concern for Saïx has been thrown in his face at this point. He cares about Xion and Roxas, but it did feel to me like he was trying to cope with his pain by trying to replace Isa with them, at least in that moment, and albeit unconsciously.

The Organization wanted to have either Roxas or Xion eliminated. But what could he do about it? That was what Axel had to figure out.

Roxas grabbed his collar and shouted, “How could you do that to her?!”

“Do what?”

Axel’s stubborn calm took the wind from his sails, and Roxas went slack. His voice came out small and defeated. “You didn’t have to use force…”

Axel sighed theatrically and circled his shoulders. “Didn’t I?” Still gripping Axel’s collar, Roxas shook his head with the emphatic refusal of a little kid.

“No, you didn’t…” But he sounded uncertain as he said it, and his voice shrank even more. “We’re supposed to be best friends.”

Axel brushed Roxas’s hands from his collar. “This isn’t about friendship.”

Axel was trying to protect Roxas, but keeping the reasons from him. He was willing to deal with his anger if it meant he would remain unharmed.

Roxas raised his head. The glare in his blue eyes was sharp as a knife.

Axel had never seen that from him before. His chest twinged, just a bit. He let out another sigh. “Listen, if that’s all, I gotta go.”

Roxas wilted again, and something in his expression weakened Axel’s resolve slightly.

I just did what I thought was the best thing at the time. For Roxas, for Xion, for the Organization—and for Isa. But most of all for me.

He turned away from Roxas and made himself walk away.

He was trying to find a solution that could work for everyone. He was trying to do things for the sake of others, and trying to respect everyone’s wishes. But he admits that he’s doing it for himself, too. He’s happy if his friends are. Dealing with the fallout from Roxas was painful for him.

Leaning against the wall with folded arms was his once-upon-a-time best friend—Saïx—probably waiting for him. But Saïx was keeping his gaze fixed on an imaginary point below the floor.

“You’re sure things are better this way?” Axel wondered aloud.

Finally, Saïx looked up. “I never expected you to question it.”

Question it? Well, that was one way of referring to the buzzing doubt in his chest.

Saïx left his perch by the wall and came closer. “Which one is more dear to you? Roxas or the puppet?”

Axel looked away. “Dear” to him? What would he know about that as a Nobody?

And he was also dealing with fallout from Saïx as well.

“Or put it this way,” Saïx said, as if he’d heard himself. “Which one would you rather suffer the loss of? Some idiotic charade of friendship or Roxas himself?”

The answer to that was obvious. If it came down to Roxas or a puppet, Axel knew perfectly well which one he would save.

“Things are finally right again,” Saïx went on. “Of course, we’re better off this way.”

Axel had no retort for that. Maybe because he didn’t want to alienate Saïx anymore.

He doesn’t want to alienate him anymore, either. He was being pulled in so many different directions, and it was impossible for him to know what to do.

“Xemnas is exasperated from all the ‘fixing’ we’ve had to do. We have to set things right. There is too much on the line…Lea.”

Hearing his old name, Axel glanced up to see Saïx watching him intently. He remembered being human. Memories surged inside him, crowding the space in his chest. For Nobodies, memory had all the weight of a heart.

I remember. I won’t forget. But those sunsets with Roxas and Xion were part of his memory. Axel broke away again from Saïx’s gaze, looking down at nothing.

Saïx was just manipulating him, but Axel genuinely did want to do what was best for Isa, along with Roxas and Xion.

“Can’t you just let things run their course?” Saïx complained.

“What course? Whose plans am I ruining, exactly?” Axel retorted, still staring at the empty space where Roxas’s portal swirled into nothing.

“The Organization’s. I trust you.”

Axel let out a low chuckle. “Yeah? Because your heart tells you to?”

“Just the memory of it. But if you continue to interfere, I’ll have to overwrite that memory with everything I’ve learned as a Nobody.”

“…Should I take that as a threat?”

“More or less. Keep it in mind.” Finished with the conversation, Saïx walked away.

Axel didn’t move for a while.

I thought it was interesting that Saïx would say things like “keep that in mind” or “think about that”. It seemed intentionally similar to “got it memorized?”

He wanted to find a way to save both of them, to respect both of their feelings. He’d spent most of the night poring over the possibilities, but of course he hadn’t found the answer.

“You’ve meddled again,” said a voice behind him.

Axel stopped short. He hadn’t even noticed Saïx’s presence.

“Sorry, did you say something?” He turned with a slight smirk.

“We don’t need them both. Just one. And pretending won’t change it.”

We, who? Axel wanted to ask, but he held it in, along with a bitter laugh. He wasn’t sure if that “we” meant Organization XIII or just Saïx and himself.

The novel stresses again that he’s trying to find a solution that respects both of their feelings. None of the others know how hard he is working on their behalf, or how much he worries about them. He hides it all.

“Think about that.”

Oh, I am. And I’m sick of it. I’m even desperate enough to ask you if there’s another way.

The words nearly escaped him, but Saïx was already walking toward the Grey Area. The set of his shoulders told him plainly what the answer would be.

Axel realized how great the rift was between how he remembered their past and what he saw now.

Why am I even here? I don’t know anymore. What am I trying to do?

Eventually, Axel trailed after Saïx to the lobby.

Just like at Castle Oblivion, Axel questions why he’s there. Saïx acts so cold. Hes not the Isa he remembers. The person he worried over and the person whose sake he was doing it all for.

I promised Xion. I have to keep my word, don’t I?

What Xion really wants—and what Roxas wants, too—is for the three of us to stay together. But there’s nothing I can do now to make that happen. So if I can at least keep my promise to her…that’s what I’ll do.

Axel didn’t let any of it show as he waited for Roxas to continue.

“You’re not really gonna do what Xemnas says…are you?” Roxas asked, still staring at the floor.

A tiny sigh escaped Axel. “I have to. Or else I won’t be safe, either.”

That was the harsh truth. And if he was gone, too, who would keep Roxas safe?

“Well…can you at least try not to hurt her this time?” Roxas pleaded.

“That’s up to her.” Axel breathed an even bigger sigh.

Axel is doing everything for Roxas’ sake, but he doesn’t let any of it show. He’s sacrificing his own—and Roxas and Xion’s—wishes to fulfill his promise to Xion. He was willing to deal with Roxas being angry at him, in order to keep him safe. I think this is exactly what Isa did with Lea. He protected him, regardless of the effect it had on their friendship. He acted cold and kept his real feelings a secret. He’d rather have Lea think ill of him than have him get destroyed. So he told him to stop worrying about him and to stop trying to jump in and help him, which must have hurt Lea at the time. Axel has a hard time expressing his feelings because of the past trauma he went through.

“You knew all this time, and you didn’t tell me?!” Roxas cried.

Axel couldn’t bear to answer him. But even if this did end their friendship, he would still find a way to protect Roxas—he wanted to. After all, he’d promised Xion.

No matter what it does to Xion, I’ll take care of Roxas. Even if my way and her way don’t mix.

Axel turned his back on Roxas and walked away.

Axel is starting to feel like it’s more important to protect his friend than respecting the way Xion asked him to do it. He always tried to respect others’ wishes. He tried to stop letting people know how much he worried about them, since it was a sign of weakness.

She answered plainly. “I’m going back to where I belong. That’s all.”

“You know, I always thought that’d be for the best. But it still bugs me. Something about this is just wrong.”

“It’s the best thing for everyone,” said Xion.

Everyone? Everyone, who? For us? Or…for someone else?

“How do you know that?” Axel demanded. “Everyone thinks they’re right…”

“This is right,” Xion said firmly. “It’s better this way.”

Axel hated that argument. Nothing was better any which way. All it came down to was what you wanted to do and what you didn’t. He’d learned that lesson back when he had a heart.

He hates Xion’s rationale that she’s doing what’s best. He hates the way he’s been living, too. His heart desires to protect his friends, regardless of whether they would prefer to sacrifice themself for the greater good. There’s just something about that way of thinking that he inherently rejects. He learned that back when he had a heart.

“So it’s better for you to disappear?” he protested.

Because she would—they both knew it. No more Xion.

But she raised the Keyblade against him. “Please don’t hold back, Axel. Promise.”

“What’s your problem?!” Axel roared.

She thinks I’m gonna hold back? Now, after all that’s happened?

“You both think you can do whatever you want!” He summoned his flame-wreathed chakrams to his hands. “I’m sick of it. Go on, you just keep running. But I’ll always be there to bring you back!”

It was a plea, a cry, a bitter lament, and a vow.

No matter how many times you leave, I’ll bring you back. Every time. Both of you. For my sake and for yours.

Xion might well be more powerful than he remembered. But he wouldn’t lose. He was stronger.

He’s finally sick of it. He can’t take it anymore. He doesn’t care what Xion wants anymore. He cant stand letting his friend sacrifice herself. I think this concept was what Axel’s character arc was supposed to be ALL about. It’s a constantly recurring theme. It’s why I think Isa was intending to sacrifice himself, because he wanted to protect Lea. It fits perfectly with his Mystery Gear, too. Roxas and Xion’s relationship with him entirely revolved around this idea. They teach Axel to reconnect with how he used to feel. About Isa. He told Lea that he worries too much, and to respect his wishes to not do everything for him.

He’d been overthinking the do’s and don’ts so much that he lost sight of what he wanted. And he couldn’t gather the courage to follow Roxas. Was he afraid of rebelling against the Organization? No—it was just that he wanted things to stay the way they were, even more than Xion or Roxas did.

Axel didn’t care anymore about what the Organization needed, what Xion or Roxas wanted, or even what was supposed to be good for the worlds.

He had been using the Organization for his own ends from the start. The only thing that had changed in the meantime was who it was all for. Maybe Saïx would call that a betrayal. But his world had changed.

I wanted us to stay together. All I wanted was to hold on to our happiness as a trio in the Organization. But I told myself to grow up and stop wishing for the impossible. Well, I’m done with that. That’s not the answer I want.

“…Axel?” Once more, Xion dragged herself upright. And they clashed again…

The main takeaway that Axel got from Days is that he doesn’t care about respecting everyone else’s wishes any more if it means losing friends. Not Roxas, Xion, the Organization, or the worlds. He wants to listen to his heart. Even if Saïx calls that a betrayal. He isn’t doing it for his sake anymore. Saïx doesn’t care about him and he can’t change that. But I think all that insistence that Roxas was the only friend he’s ever had was STILL Axel trying to convince himself to grow up and stop wishing for the impossible.

Roxas: Hey, Axel. You haven’t forgotten?

Axel: Hm? What?

Roxas: You made us a promise.

Axel: I did?

Roxas: That you’d always be there…to bring us back.

Axel: Yeah…

Roxas: Got it memorized?

Axel: Best friends forever.

But his whole relationship with Roxas and Xion was to teach him to CHANGE that type of thinking. He learned how to listen to his heart and to not give up on his wish. And that wish is to always bring his friends back. During his dream of Roxas, the positioning is just like in Days, on the first day Axel took Roxas out for ice cream. He didn’t like the taste anymore. It’s too salty. He eats it for emotional reasons. To feel connected to his past. And I think that was the message that dream was intended to have. Axel was always clinging so hard to his memories of the past. Well, it’s time to make that a reality. Roxas is there to remind him of the promise he made. He’d always bring them back, even if they didn’t want to be.

Lea: What a drag. Could they not have been recompleted at all?

Ienzo: Well you see–

Lea: Ah! Forget it. You know what? I’ll bring ‘em back myself.

Ienzo: Huh? How, exactly?

Lea: Why do I always get stuck with the icky jobs?

And that’s why he used the exact same words in this scene that he did with Xion. He doesn’t want to stop caring or worrying. He prefers to do things for his friend’s sake, regardless of what they wish. Now that he’s recompleted, he expects Isa to be, too. And he wants to bring him back. I think this idea is what inspired the theme song “Don’t Think Twice”. Overthinking is the problem. Like Mickey says in KH3, protecting the things that matter is about caring so much about someone else, there’s no room for doubt.

Axel acted with purely selfless intentions, but hiding his true feelings had a terrible effect on his friendship with Roxas. Isa was being selfless, but his sacrifice had a horrible impact on Lea. Sacrificing yourself is not the right way to go. I think a better resolution for Axel and Roxas would be for him to learn just how much Axel cared about him. He was hiding things from him because he wanted to protect him. The same as Terra. He didn’t let Ven come with him because it was dangerous—not because he didn’t want him around. Ventus wanted to sacrifice himself for his friends. Lea would be totally against that. Both Lea and Ven would learn the necessary lessons from each other to use the power of waking on their friends.

#kh meta #kh theories #kh lea #kh axel #kh isa #kh isalea #kh leaisa #kh akusai #kingdom hearts

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omgkatsudonplease · 6 years

Note

church by fall out boy for victuuri pls

Yuuri is quiet most of the way back to the spaceport.

They’d missed their crew’s hovercraft, so Viktor decides to take them in his own transport. The sleek royal vehicle cuts through traffic like a dream, screens all around the city blaring the news of the Armistice Ball attack and pointing fingers everywhere in a desperate bid to find the perpetrator.

Viktor clutches the fragments of metal in the bag. He’ll give them to the guards to turn in to law enforcement later, but in the meantime he tries to figure out what he can from the metal. Sometimes, if he concentrates just right, he’s able to garner the emotions of the last person who had held the object.

It’s not really helpful investigatively, but it makes him feel like he’s doing something, and that’s important, too.

Anger. Panic. Confusion. It could be from a victim, it could be from the perpetrator. Viktor examines the carvings on some of the scraps, tries to discern their make, their style. It’s nothing he’s ever seen before – but then he’s never made it a point in his career as Crown Prince to see a lot of bomb sites and pieces.

The hovercraft reaches the launchpoint to the spaceport, where clusters of sleek hotels and budget pods lurk at the periphery of the launchpoint buildings. Most hovercraft must deposit their passengers here so they can embark on shuttles that will take them out to the spaceport, but the royal crafts can withstand the pressures of escape velocity just fine. They only have to get in line behind the commercial shuttles, one of which Yuuri’s crew may be on now – if they haven’t stayed behind for the Mandalan.

Would they have? They were separated back in the ballroom. But the other Terran – probably the future murder victim Phichit – had seemed insistent on staying with him. Even the Alpha Allegrian, Christophe, managed to resist Viktor’s emotional prodding for a bit out of some Terran-inspired stubborn loyalty.

Stubborn loyalty. Viktor looks over at Yuuri, who has emerged from the craft’s onboard refresher. They’re dressed in more modest garments now – a simple blue tunic and slate grey leggings, and Viktor would be lying if he said he didn’t stop to appreciate the way the gauzy material clings to the Terran’s form. Now that they’re away from danger, the urge to touch the Terran resurfaces again.

“I’m sorry,” he manages after a moment. “I wanted you to be safe.”

Yuuri closes their eyes. Viktor tries to feel the atmosphere around them, but doesn’t get much more than stubborn static. It seems that once they’d realised the true extent of Viktor’s powers, they’d thrown up defenses almost as impenetrable as a Mandalan’s. Viktor’s honestly impressed.

“I didn’t know a Terran could be so good at resisting… you know.”

“Is that how you do it?” asks Yuuri suddenly.

“Do what?”

Yuuri’s about to answer, but then a warning chime comes on, telling them to buckle in for liftoff. The harnesses comes down, and Viktor braces himself for escape velocity.

It’s only when they’ve cleared Neva’s atmosphere when Yuuri speaks up again, looking a little more green than pink. “Convince people to… fraternise with you.”

Viktor raises an eyebrow. “You think I emotionally… make them do it?” he asks.

“You are able to compel people,” Yuuri points out drily. “How do I know you weren’t doing that back out on the balcony?”

Viktor knows that by all means he should be deeply offended at such an accusation, and yet… nothing. The frustration that rolls through the static, though, he soaks in that a little. “I don’t usually project,” he says after a moment. “I’m a lot better at simply absorbing and redirecting. Emotions that run through me I simply rechannel into better ones. Anger into joy, sadness into warmth, things like that. Projection requires you to be able to regularly generate feelings to project, and I haven’t felt anything completely by myself for a long time.”

Yuuri’s gaze falls to their hands, fiddling with the hem of their tunic. “I don’t know if I trust that, no offense,” they say after a moment.

“None taken,” says Viktor. “Again, I’ve never seen a Terran be able to resist the projection so easily.”

Yuuri chuckles darkly. “You’d be surprised. If I could do it, a lot of Terrans could do it.”

“Not necessarily,” Viktor points out. “It takes mental fortitude.”

“I have dealt with enough monsters in my own head,” replies Yuuri. “I don’t need you poking around in there, too.”

“But would you want me on your mind?” Viktor asks, with a wink, because he clearly has no sense of self preservation. That causes Yuuri’s defences to slip a little, beaming over some flustered embarrassment. On Viktor’s behalf.

“I’d like the record to state that my translator said ‘on your brain’,” Yuuri says, smirking. “Not quite the same.”

“No, I’d imagine not.” Viktor shakes his head. “Translators are so terrible sometimes.”

“But they’re so necessary,” Yuuri says, sighing. “I wish I had the patience to properly learn every language out there, but it’d take me centuries just to master all the Terran ones alone.”

“Does Terra not have a standard tongue?” wonders Viktor.

“Terran Standard,” says Yuuri, though their expression twists a little. “Controversial renaming, though; it used to be something called ‘English’, which took over the entire globe through wars of conquest and economic domination. Basic Terran history, blah blah.”

“And you’re speaking that to me, right now?” Viktor knows that’s how it fundamentally works, but it’s interesting to hear it confirmed anyway. Yuuri nods.

“And you’re speaking Nevan, I know. I’d like to hear it for itself, though, sometime.”

“You could turn your translator off for a moment,” Viktor says. Yuuri considers it, before nodding and tapping at the side of their head. A flesh-coloured earpiece falls off.

“Go ahead,” they say. Viktor swallows.

“Are you sure?” he asks. Yuuri nods.

“I don’t know what you’re saying right now.”

Viktor takes a breath. “Okay.” He smiles, looking down at the translator in Yuuri’s hands. “The moment I first saw you, the world became still. So quiet. Like we were made to exist in one another’s space. You drowned everything out, and nothing else mattered. Even now, I am strangely at peace, and I finally have the quiet I need to be able to figure out my own heart.”

Yuuri’s eyes are wide, their mouth slightly agape. Viktor turns towards them, earnestness seeping through him in a tide he cannot control. It snaps out of him; Yuuri flinches; Viktor shakes his head.

“I’m so sorry about that,” he pleads, pressing his hands together in what he hopes is a good approximation of apology. Yuuri nods. “I didn’t mean to, I just – you make me feel something, you know, and I’ve never really experienced this before, not at this level. I just wish I knew how to find it in me to tell you in a way you understand, instead of just talking and hoping you don’t.”

A moment passes, quiet, strangely tender. Yuuri’s cheeks are pink; his fingers tremble a little as they reach up and puts their translator back in. “Am I allowed to know what you said?” they ask.

Viktor smiles. “I just told you a story about my old pet, Makkachin. Have you ever met a Bergian?”

“Bergian?” echoes Yuuri.

“They look kind of like… what’s the word… dogs, from Terra. Makkachin is very fluffy and brown.” Viktor presses a hand to the armrest, pulls up a picture of the Bergian. His fluffy brown fur shines even in the holo projection.

Yuuri gasps. “He looks like a poodle!”

“Is that a kind of Terran dog?” asks Viktor. Yuuri nods.

“Yeah, I used to have a small version. I named her Venus, but we all called her Vicchan. She died of old age a while back.” They pause for a moment. “I couldn’t make it back to Earth in time to see her off. I’ve been running from there ever since.”

“Bergians are long-lived,” replies Viktor. “Makkachin has been with me since I was very young. He helped me with my training, actually.”

Yuuri’s expression falls again. “Right.” They look down at their fingers, flexes them against the armrest of the chair. Viktor feels their defenses rising back up again, and mourns at the loss.

“You know exactly how a projection feels like now,” he says after a moment. “Did you feel anything like that when we were on the balcony?”

Yuuri purses their lips. “No,” they admit.

“There you have it.” Viktor sighs. “I wish I could say I never use it for frivolous things, but I certainly don’t use it for my… connections. It taints the exchange.”

“The exchange,” echoes Yuuri.

“I don’t usually feel much of anything myself,” replies Viktor. A chime on the screen announces the arrival of the spaceport in less than five minutes. “I know I should, but I just – it’s easier to mimic the feelings of the people around me and pretend those are mine, too.”

“Is that why you end up with all sorts of non-Nevan beings?” asks Yuuri, tilting their head and looking at him curiously. Their topaz eyes shine with that same curiosity from earlier. “You want to ride their emotions for a bit?”

“Basically,” agrees Viktor. “It does do terrible things for my public image, though.” He laughs drily, remembering the latest tabloid gossip surrounding him and an intensely flamboyant Gilletese. “But I’d rather they think that instead of, you know. The idea that there’s a black hole where my heart should be, or something.”

“I doubt that,” Yuuri says immediately. Viktor raises an eyebrow.

“Doubt what?”

“That your heart is a black hole,” replies Yuuri. “You’re honestly quite Terran, I think.”

Viktor realises then, with a start, that Yuuri had moved a little closer during that, their gaze darting to Viktor’s chest with undeniable curiosity. Viktor reaches out, placing Yuuri’s hand lightly over where his heart currently flutters wildly.

“You don’t need –” Yuuri begins, and then bows their head, flushing. Viktor raises an eyebrow, before slipping off a glove and pressing his fingers lightly to the back of Yuuri’s hand.

Almost immediately, Yuuri swoons.

#yoi #viktuuri #victuuri #yoiroyaltyweek #lily's dabbles #rewrite the stars #day 2 #anonymous #ask

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happydcath · 4 years

Text

in case i don’t come back. (4/12)

part four of twelve.

an au self-para for josh kiszka.

after my last attempt, i vowed to not enter a cave again. if these things are dangerous, then I will stay away from them and not endanger others. besides, it is remarkably hard to find accessible caves that aren’t locked down to commercial endeavors. or at least, it is for someone like me, that has no experience with this sort of thing. i did look. briefly. i don’t want to leave my cellphone on for long. it was a half-hearted search, as i have no desire to go down into that darkness again. not after last time.

i bought a cheap fashion scarf to cover the bruises on my neck. the cashier stared at me the entire time she rung me out. the purple lines across my throat are obviously a handprint, but the fingers stretch too long, almost back past my ears. it hurts to turn my head. it hurts to lift anything or even to keep my arms up and on the steering wheel for hours on end.

they didn’t mean to hurt me. i know this now. they didn’t realize.

i finally checked the news. the cave tour group is believed missing. they’re speculating that they went into an unexplored part of the caverns and got lost. they didn’t find any bodies. i guess they never will. they haven’t released the names of the people missing yet. if they do, i’ll be safe at least. i used a fake name and paid with cash.

i feel guilty thinking this way. about how their deaths will affect me when i at least got to survive.

i started to hear the whispers yesterday morning. this is unusual, for i’d only heard them in the dark prior to now. they echoed in the back of my head like a low hum whose origin can’t be pinpointed. it chewed at my waking thoughts and when my mind slipped into an idle state i thought of the darkness; of walking through a vast space and my body felt cold. at one point i realized i’d taken an exit i hadn’t intended to take. i turned around and returned to the highway.

they’re calling to me. i know that’s what this is. i felt it like a barb inside my chest, the line pulling ever tighter the longer i tried to ignore it. i think they set it when they fixed my eyes. affixed it inside me, wrapped around my sternum, and now i am caught and can only twist helplessly.

i thought it was fine. that I could fight the call, that i was strong enough to. i’m not.

i returned to awareness after i was in the hollow space. i didn’t know how i got there. i have no recollection of what happened between when i went to bed in my hotel room last night and when i woke under the earth. when i next opened my eyes i was someplace vast and cold, barefoot and dressed in my pajamas. this was not a dream, nor was i somehow transported there directly from my bed. my legs ached as if i’d been walking and there was grit on my feet. eli was at my feet.

their whispers surrounded me. discordant, uneven, as if multiple lines of thought were swirling about me, each distinct and none of them demanding to be heard over the other. i couldn’t hold on to any of them and it all sounded like noise in my head. i fell to my knees and covered my hands with my ears.

one of them touched my arm, lightly, where the bruises were spreading up towards my bicep. then it shifted, fingertips against the tendon in my neck. something in my chest caught at that, the memory of being held, being dragged away against my will, of trying to scream and fight and being helpless.

i slapped its hand away. and i felt a shift, a sudden awareness that had not been there before fixed on my person. i felt their surprise - and their displeasure.

they would not hurt me. this i understood. was made to understand from the whispering that forced their intention into my very mind. they had before, obviously, but that was not their intention. a mistake.

sam, after all, never fought back. we are more fragile than they realized.

but neither would they tolerate my rebuke.

i lay this out for you so easily but that masks what this process was actually like. everything moved too fast, like images flickering in and out of my eyesight so fast that I could only register the impression. i filled in the gaps myself and even then, i couldn’t do it at the time. i only half-understood what was happening. it was only later that i could sit still and silent and reflect that i began to piece it all together. i wonder how much of what i wrote above is my own conjecture.

i wonder how much of me they understand. they did not seem to care what i was, but rather why i was. like they were skimming the top of my emotions and trying to comprehend what formed them without understanding the emotions themselves.

they understood, at least, that i was not sam. that i was different, that i had a will and desires of my own and that they no longer matched what they wanted of me.

and i understood their intention to remedy this.

i fought them. i felt like a child throwing a tantrum but i knew no other way to express that i didn’t want to be here, that i was scared and confused. they held me, but with the flat of their hands, pressing against my back and pinning me to the ground. just enough that my struggling to rise was futile, my feet sliding uselessly against the stone beneath me. and there was a touch, a single finger against my spine, just between my shoulderblades.

something tightened in my chest. strings encircling my ribcage, squeezing tight until it felt my ribs would crack. i whimpered in the back of my throat.

my memories falter again at this point. i snatched fragments here and there. of being pulled to my feet, fingers encircling each of my wrists. another hand against my back, steadying me as i stood.

of being taken through the cave (i don’t know which, i don’t think i can ever find it again). they were all around me, a tiny knot of those things escorting me back to the surface. despite everything, i felt safe. they would see to it. and i drifted back into the darkness in my mind.

when i was fully myself again, i found myself on a muddy road, half overgrown and encased by the forest. i didn’t know what else to do (my cellphone was not with me) so i continued walking along with it. there was barely any light from the moon filtering through the trees, but the darkness wasn’t an issue. i couldn’t see, but i knew where everything was. that there was glass from broken bottles littering the road, that there were sharp stones, and i avoided them all.

i wasn’t afraid. not of the night. just… annoyed. i was very lost as to where i was.

i don’t know how long i walked. it felt like hours. i never realized how much shoes do for us - my feet ached in a way i didn’t think possible, such that every step was agony. the full weight of my body bearing down on muscles that were unused to the strain. i kept moving only because i feared if i stopped i’d not get up again.

finally, i reached a gas station. it was still before dawn. i had to talk to someone. there was no other way to get directions back to the hotel. i told the clerk a story about sleepwalking. on a trip with a friend, i explained. i didn’t have their phone number memorized, i relied on my cellphone’s address book… which was back in the hotel room. i didn’t have to feign embarrassment for my lie.

he called a taxi for me. paid for it himself. he seemed confused, uncertain of what to do other than overwhelmingly help in whatever way he could. people are like that, i’m finding. we want to help.

i wanted to help when i saw sam at the mailbox. i think this instinct is a curse on humanity.

i still feel those strings in my chest. they dig in when i twist my body too far or bend over. it is uncomfortable, but it doesn’t hurt. not yet.

i know why they’re there. sam went to the cave every day if he could. they called to him and he went. they’re calling to me, but i did not go, and so they left something behind to compel me.

they want something. there’s a reason for all this. perhaps those things aren’t dangerous for me, but i know they are dangerous and i’m terrified that they’ll get whatever it is they’re after.

i deleted all the scheduled emails. i'm sorry. i felt i must. i don’t want anyone else to become trapped as i have been. this is no longer about saving one child or even saving one person such as myself. it’s about saving everyone else that might stumble across the hollow space in the world.

this is the only proof now and it can be dismissed or written off as a clever prank. if - when - i vanish (for i'm beginning to believe this is the only outcome) i'll have nothing left of me but these words. i will continue to update for as long as I can, but at some point, i fear that one of these posts will be my last.

please read them. please remember them. but do not go down into the earth after me.

#ch: josh kiszka #au: josh kiszka #self.para

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thedovahcat · 7 years

Text

Lucidity

What were they exactly?

Dreams that made his head pound for one… Odd dreams. Ones full of whispers and dark shadows and the feeling of eyes. The feeling of something watching…

Rev stirred but held his eyes shut. He was still half asleep. He knew better than that. Whatever these were, they were just nightmares shuffling through his head yet again. They happened every so often, when the shadows dared come close during the evening hours. He couldn’t quite explain it, but there was always a sort of evil crawling under the earth. One he could feel. One he knew many others could as well. The taint of the Old Ones.

At first he’d felt parchment in his hands. And while Rev could not see any words much less the actual parchment itself, he knew what they read.

“It begins with a sign.”

His head sailed and it suddenly felt cold. The smell of oil hit his nose and he felt electricity in the air. Another familiar place he had a hard time remembering. But it was somewhere to the far north. Very few places had a chill as bitter as this.

A rusted creaking noise sounded in the distance, like gears turning…

“A thousand years imprisoned. Surely, it weighs on the mind…”

The air was now foul. Sickly, dark, evil. And while there was no other sound, Rev felt himself being stared at again, this time by something far larger than himself, and most things. Something staring at him, something staring right THROUGH him.

He felt his body turn and immediately he was assaulted by a gigantic yellow-slitted eyeball. It blinked once, causing him to recoil, before it shimmered out of sight, the lights falling like jewels being dumped onto the floor.

“Deeper than deep, awaits your seat,”

The gems rolled down into a hole he hadn’t seen prior, and Rev couldn’t help but kneel to see where they’d gone. Into the earth he went, far below the surface in a flash… and even lower still. Into dark tunnels with burrowing life forms, more soft glowing gems… Another fissure in the ground.

The background twirled and was sucked into the darkness, leaving him in a small cavern with a singular chair and a skull resting upon it.

Just the sight of it unnerved him, but he approached, stretching out his hand to touch it. He felt compelled to.

“Where the shaded delegate may appear…”

Again the already dark cavern twisted and tore into fragments, reassembling itself into a place of machinery. Cold metal floors and walls, the whirring of engines and the hissing of steam.

Machines with levers stood in front of him. Rev tilted his head, cringing slightly. What kind of dream was this? He’d never been to a place like this before.

He stood still for a moment, before hesitantly approaching the levers. They had numbers on them, and he couldn’t understand what they were for.

“…One, two, two… What is this?” There was no making sense of it. Then his head pounded again, this time harder than before.

“Games and toys are left behind,”

“What are- what’s going on- What are you talking about- who ARE you?”

“When you awaken screaming.”

His feet suddenly felt as though they had no ground to stand on, and he plummeted into the abyss, only to be spat out in a house. A ruined house with red veins and corrupt seeping into the wooden floors… Quickly he stood up and kept away from the dripping walls.

A pulsating tumor caught his attention on the other side of the room. It was swollen and wet and all sorts of disgusting, but as soon as his eye laid on the eye? it also had, the flesh twisted and pulled itself free, spinning in the air and indeed, it did have an eye of its own.

“What the fuck-”

The demon, or was it a demon really? danced around him before lines upon lines appeared beside it like a sticky, tangled up web. Orbs were attached to each string, all crisscrossing each other in various ways.

What was he supposed to do, touch it?

They almost beckoned him to. So he did.

“Is this real, or an illusion? You are going mad.”

Rev snorted. “You’re telling me.”

Once untangled, the red beams began to glow a soft blue, very much like he would whenever he would…change. And he heard the dark voice whisper again in his ears.

“What you seek is buried within…”

Cold air returned, but it smelled different this time. It smelled like pines… like fresh mountain air, even the slightest hints of tea leaves. Scents he was very familiar with. But that all went away, and a hollow ringing filled his ears as the smells turned musty and dank, like moss, and a place that hadn’t been walked in in a very long time.

In his hands he felt something.

It was a pouch. He could see it. He could see his own hands, and he was most certainly holding onto it. As he squeezed it with his fingers however, he could hardly tell what it was, so he pulled it open. Dust scattered into the air and was blown ahead of him. No, not dust. Ashes.

The particles scattered, eventually forming a hallway, and then a large chamber in which he now stood. Everything refused to move after that, and he was left alone, standing there in the midst of purple torch light.

Only then did he feel absolutely alone. Abandoned almost.

With a single step forward, Rev turned his head. One of the passages was blocked with stones. Two other entryways loomed ahead and to the side of himself…

“Which way?” He asked aloud, practically expecting an answer. But none came.

The longer he waited, the more dread he started to feel. He wasn’t REALLY here was he? No, he couldn’t be. He was just lucid-dreaming again. …Or lucid-nightmaring he liked to call it.

“Well I’m sure I’ll wake up eventually…” He wandered forward, choosing to go straight, and as he passed through the archway, smoke enveloped everything briefly before fading away.

His brows furrowed as he essentially walked out into the exact same hallway with absolutely no differences.

“…So, it’s going to be one of those nights isn’t it…”

He knew better than to start freaking out. He had no idea how long he was going to be there, but he knew it wouldn’t be forever. Still, there was always that tiny possibility that it just MIGHT…

Rather than dwell on it any further, he only focused on one thing. If he didn’t get out of here, who the hell was going to feed that dopey troll-husband of his? Exactly. Nobody else would. Well, nobody else would do it RIGHT anyway…

Clenching his fists, he proceeded towards whatever direction he felt was best, for quite some time.

Just as he was beginning to get frustrated, green light caught his attention as he entered another copy-cat hallway. The torches in here glowed green instead… How odd.

The firelight flickered ominously, before wafting into the air and over towards him, becoming round and soft looking. Rev reached out and grabbed a hold of it. He could touch it. It wasn’t hot, in fact it was almost soothing.

Slowly he brought it over to his chest, looking around again for anything else. There was nothing. So he kept walking.

Eventually he found other strangely colored fires, though he found he could only really have one at a time.

A maze…that’s what it was. This was a puzzle. How his mind was THIS capable of forming such a place was beyond him. Maybe it wasn’t his doing at all, he didn’t know. But it didn’t matter. He had to get out somehow.

As he continued along he ran into similarly colored runes. And on the off chance he had the same colored torchlight with him, he was able to dispel them rather easily.

He went on a while longer. It felt like hours, but it could have very well been only minutes. No light came into these tunnels, so there was no way to tell.

Along the way he tried to keep track of what he’d done and where he’d gone.

Green, red, yellow, purple… he held a blue light with him now. There weren’t any MORE colors were there? Like pink and orange? He hoped not.

Despite having an excellent memory in terms of remembering images and visual details, he couldn’t figure out this place. Not in the slightest.

A long time passed and his feet ached as though he really HAD been walking into endless, samey hallways. All dark and purple. Upon reaching the altar again, he sat on it and tried to catch his breath.

“Too old for this…” At least it was HIM stuck in there and not the troll. That would have been absolutely chaotic and he’d have probably keeled over by now from a heart attack or frustration alone.

Once he felt he’d caught his breath, he started again. And it was another long time before he finally stumbled upon the blue glowing rune etched onto the altar.

Quickly he dispelled it and waited for something to happen. Nothing did. How odd…

“…So, do I get to wake up now?”

No answer. Maybe he could simply walk outside. It was worth a try.

As he stepped into the black shroud again, this time he emerged elsewhere. Crows cawed noisily above him and he tilted his head back to look at the gray sky, and the massive tower before him.

“…Karazhan? Odd choice…”

“The way is now open. To the greatest secret never told.”

“Yeah over my dead body.”

Nearby he heard a metal gate being pulled open. “Might as well see this through I guess…” He listened and began to follow the noise against his better judgement. What he stumbled upon was a crypt leading down into the darkness once again. Unsurprisingly.

So down he went. His boots sloshed muddy and murky water around as he ventured deeper and deeper into the tomb, taking note of all the skeletal remains lying around and about. He wasn’t frightened though. It was just an empty series of rooms, nothing more.

Only when he reached the end, along with a massive pile of human bones, did he notice the world around him start to fade. Was he finally waking up?

“Hm?”

A box rested at the top of the bone pile. Shiny and tempting.

“…Geez…”

It was hard to get a foothold on a pile of rattling bones, especially since they kept sliding out from under him. But he managed to scurry up to the top and towards the sealed chest. A dark rune swirled around on the top of it until he had touched it. He pulled the lid off and looked inside- “A fitting end to your journey.”

“It’s a-” ________

Rev’s eyes shot open to the darkness. Rain was once again tapping the window directly across from him, and a flash of lightning illuminated the bedroom briefly.

He was back in their room in Hearthglen. There was the fireplace, and over there, the end table with the snuffed out candle and a book, and on the other side, a regular table with two chairs, the curtains draped in front of the window, clothes discarded on the floor… Everything was as it always was.

Even Hassour snored next to him, asleep (which in and of itself was a rarity usually.)

Carefully he laid back, staring upwards towards the ceiling, listening.

He heard no strange voices, saw no strange eyes or other shining, shimmering things. There was nothing here. And the sense of dread he had was gone.

The only thing that really bothered him was that he never DID get to see what was in the box.

What rotten luck, after all that trouble too…

Disappointed, he rolled over onto his side and faced the troll, scooting closer to him and shutting his eyes again.

Outside he heard a horse neighing rather loudly. Not terribly unusual, but they weren’t typically awake at this hour either. Maybe the lightning scared them.

With a sigh he let himself relax. Maybe NOW he could actually get some sleep.

#reverend browman #world of warcraft #i got mad enough at the maze to wanna write! just a lil bit #hes got a ponycorn now #no not really he never gets the prize its all for nothing no more pets

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wootensmith · 7 years

Text

Thirst

Cole hopped after a trio of nugs. They squeaked and tumbled over the cracked statue of a faceless paragon. Varric was half watching, half squinting at a book in the firelight. “Careful kid, they have a powerful kick if you corner them,” he said. “They aren’t scared,” called Cole. “They’re nugs. Their natural state is scared,” he muttered. He shook his head as Cole bounded past the fire. The Inquisitor emerged from the tomb’s dark archway, pushing her hood back from her forehead. A shower of sand slid from it. “It’s not letting up,” she said. Solas looked up from the staff he was rebinding. “It is not such a hardship, Vhenan. We’re sheltered and provisioned, the storm will blow itself out long before we become uncomfortable.” She wriggled uncomfortably, little flurries of sand bursting from her clothes as she shook them. “Grit everywhere,” she grumbled. “This is why I stay in the city,” said Varric, turning a page. “Oh?” asked Solas with a small laugh, “You’re claiming there’s no grit in Kirkwall? I’ve been to Kirkwall. The Hanged Man is probably dirtier than the Wastes.” “Sure, but at least it’s got ale. Never been so thirsty,” said Varric. The Inquisitor frowned and tossed the cloak onto a nearby statue. She crossed to her pack and pulled out a waterskin. “It is very dry here.” She handed it to Varric who shook his head.

“You need it too,” he said. “I need a bath,” she laughed, “but I doubt there’s sufficient water for that. Take it. We have enough for all of us tonight. We’ll get more in the morning.” Varric accepted it with a nod. She sat between them, sliding off her boots to dump them. Solas went back to wrapping hide onto the staff. The leather slipped and cut into his dry palm and he sucked in a surprised breath at the small burn. She pulled his hand away to see and then got up again without saying anything. Solas had forgotten it in the few moments it took her to return. “Let me see,” she said. “I’ve already healed it,” he answered, tightening a knot. “The dryness will make it happen again. I can help.” He looked up blankly, still distracted by the staff. She grabbed his hand and smeared a waxy lotion onto it. It melted against his skin and she rubbed it in, her fingers rippling over the bones of his knuckles, warm and softer than he’d expected. He put the staff down and turned toward her fully. She didn’t look up, concentrating on his palm. He wished that she would. “What is this?” he asked. “Just a balm. Sera gives me the wax from her bees.” She reached for his other hand. A small earthenware pot sat in her lap. She scooped out more and her fingers glided over his. The balm sank into small cracks he hadn’t noticed. Binding the staff had cramped his hands and they relaxed and loosened as she pressed them. “Thank you,” he said as she released him. He rubbed his fingers together experimentally. “Wait,” she said, “I’m not done yet.” She rose up on her knees. “Your face is chapped. The wind and the sand— your ears too.” She touched the edge of his right ear and winced at their redness. “Hold this.” She placed the pot into his palm and scraped a little more onto her fingers. He let out an involuntary sigh of relief as the balm seeped into the skin of his ears and he closed his eyes. “I know, emma lath, mine were sore too,” she said quietly, her breath soft on his face. Her touch was weightless, just a trail of slow warmth that crept along his ear. Then heavier, soothing circles pressing into his scalp. Her fingers brushed by his wrist as she reached for more, and her deep, smooth breath the only sound while she worked. He opened his eyes as her hands left him only to find her raising them again to his cheeks. He could almost remember the smell. Sweet and light like an idea of honey. He stared at her while she spread it over his face. The way she hesitated before her skin met his, afraid to hurt him. The way her gaze flickered up to his and then away, trying to concentrate and failing. The windblown hair that had escaped her braid and clung to the slight damp of her face. She was beautiful. She blushed and laughed. “What is it?” she asked. “Why are you looking at me?” He smiled. “Where else shall I look?” he asked. She shook her head and gently rubbed the wax over his lips. “There,” she said, sinking down again. “Better?” “Almost—” he pulled a dab of the stuff from the pot. “Did I miss a spot?” she asked. “Yes,” he said, lifting his fingers to her lips, feeling them soften under his touch. He was about to pull her into a kiss when Cole hopped back toward them. He stopped beside Solas. “Why this one?” he asked. “What makes this memory special?” The tomb evaporated along with the Inquisitor and Varric. He turned to the boy. “Nothing,” he said sadly. “There was nothing special about it. And that’s why I wanted it to be this one.” “I hurt, Solas,” he said. “I know. I’m sorry.” “And she hurts. And you hurt. You could come back.” “I can’t. The orb is gone. Mythal has helped, but it is not enough. She was not as strong as I remembered and I must find another way. Before the anchor consumes the Inquisitor.” Cole sat in front of him. “She said you would refuse. Let me come with you.” “No.” “She knows you need me more. She will let me go.” “You cannot help this, Cole. And traveling with me will not help your hurt. It will make it worse. This fate is mine alone. Indeed, I would not wish it on an enemy, much less someone I care for. I know you reached out in compassion, but this can only cause more pain. Do not seek me out again here. I must insist that you forget.” He pushed the boy gently from the Fade and followed after. There was no peace here. Not for him. He rose from the cold stone. He ignited the body beside him and watched the ash scatter before opening the eluvian and passing through. Dirthamen’s library was vast and cold and dark, no matter how many hearths he kept burning. Solas hated it. But what he needed would likely be here. The ravens, at least, made it feel like home. The tower, like his, had once been a living, massive tree. Blasted by lightning and burned to the stump, it had slowly ossified. Dirthamen had made his temple in the dark, twisting root system. It was difficult to reach, even with the eluvians and Solas’s people were frightened by it. He did not compel them to come, usually meeting them in the Crossroads instead. So he was surprised to look up from his notes one morning to see Loranil wandering through the spiral bookshelves with something in his hand. “Did she send you?” was all he asked. “No,” said Loranil, “not exactly. She doesn’t know I’m here or that I know of you. But— we traveled to Lothering. They requested the Inquisitor’s help to close a small rift that remained there. She found a ruin just after we arrived and activated an amplifier there. She left camp that night, alone, and returned to it. I— didn’t mean to follow her, I was only curious about the ruins. She placed this at the base of the amplifier and went away again. I think it’s meant for you.” He held out a scroll. Solas took it carefully. A tiny shard of his orb was tied to the seal, the whorled grooves instantly recognizable. “Thank you,” he said. Loranil bowed his head slightly in acknowledgment and turned to go. “Loranil—” The boy turned back. “If you see her do this again— it is not vital, but I would be deeply grateful for any others you bring me.” He nodded and walked quickly away. Solas sank down onto a nearby root. He could feel her magic lingering on the parchment, like the subtle charge in the air before a storm. It was sealed with a spell. It would only ever open for him. He appreciated the thought, though he no longer feared discovery. There were none now, who could match him, save those who slept. He gently pulled the fragment of stone from the scroll. A glimmer on the back caught his eye. A memory then. He placed it carefully on the desk for later and unrolled the paper to read. Fanor, We are near Lothering today, Dorian and I. The locals think we are here to close a rift, but Morrigan informs me this area was among the first hit by the last Blight. We are hoping to find something that will help. Lyrium, perhaps, or the spot where the darkspawn emerged. Something. Anything. Cassandra and Leliana departed yesterday. They go to Val Royeaux. One to become the next Divine, the other to guard and guide. I don’t know how you found the courage to tell the truth. I cannot seem to muster it. I am not even certain I wish to. I cannot tell them that everything they believe, everything they think they serve, is not as it seems. I cannot tell them that no one hears their prayers. So, my right and left hands are gone, to be someone else’s. And my heart. I dreamed the other night of that sandstorm in the Wastes. Do you remember? My thirst was so great. The river above Skyhold roars and swells with the snowmelt now. Spring has come to the Frostbacks. I hope to find a way to end this before the dawn lotus bloom. So that you may return to see them. Do not grieve, emma lath, for I know you will. The world renews and old wounds are swept away in the spring floods. Dagna and I discover more every day. We will find a way. I am uncertain how to find you, but Cole tells me that it is how you wish it to be. But I find my list has only grown since your departure, so I add this here and hope it will make its way to you at last. Ar lath ma. Solas picked up the shard of his orb again, his fingers tracing the grooves as hers no doubt had. He flicked his hand toward a nearby lamp and it sparked with veilfire. He held up the fragment to read what she had written. “Thirst” He found this one was different from her previous attempts. More removed. More controlled. More room. Room for his own version of the memory to color it. Room for himself. The sandstorm had lasted more than a day, still raging over the Wastes when morning came. He’d found her worrying at the door of the tomb, her face half shielded from the sand by her cloak. Only her eyes, staring intently into the dust. “It will do no good to watch it, Vhenan,” he said. She had turned toward him and he had seen the smile light up her eyes even while the rest of her was covered. He remembered how his heart had sped up, as it always did when she greeted him. “It’s a fascinating thing, how something so small, a grain of sand, can defeat us, scrape us into sand ourselves,” she said. “Beautiful and perilous,” he said reaching for her hand. “But I know you too well. You are not standing here marveling. You’re worrying. Why?” She sighed. “We are low on water,” she admitted. “I expected the storm to clear by now.” “You are thirsty?” he asked. “Parched. But it is no more than I am certain you are.” “Then it is fortunate you have an ice mage in tow,” he said. She shook her head in confusion. “I don’t see—” “Do you know how ice magic works, my love?” he glanced back toward the tomb’s interior. Varric was still snoring and Cole was absorbed in feeding a nug small bits of bread. Solas tugged the edge of her cloak, unraveling it from around her, sliding her hood away. “It sucks any moisture from the air,” he said. He held up his hand and his fingers already sparkled with frost. “Gathers it and cools it into ice.” He brushed his fingers over her forehead. The sand washed away under his touch. She closed her eyes in relief and he let more frost collect before gingerly sliding his fingertips over her eyelids, cleansing the grit away. “A little, like this,” he whispered, stepping closer as he trailed his hand down her chin and neck. He watched small droplets cling and then trickle in his wake, thinking of rain as they fell away, heated from her skin. “Or more, like this,” he continued, pulling more between his fingers until a small jagged crystal of ice formed. He let it slide over her lips and she opened her mouth to take it. She saw him watching her and laughed, kissing him. The ice crystal melted between them. The memory ended, though he tried to pull it out longer. He found himself lighter, hopeful. Foolish, he told himself, but did not push it away. He got up and looked for a long moment at the twisted root bookshelf beside the desk. He swept the books from them and reverently placed both the scroll and the stone atop it. Then he turned back to his work.

#solas #lavellan #solas x lavellan #dragon age inquisition

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imspardagus · 7 years

Text

Not you, Sunshine

It is still dark but I drag myself out of bed. I have work to do. I pull on my dressing-gown and slippers and totter downstairs. I am heading for my favourite room, my study. It’s the place where I read, where I write, and where I do most of my thinking. More than that, it is my refuge, my sanctum.

But today, when I reach the door, I am blocked. There is a bouncer standing there. As I approach he raises his hand, level with my face.

“Not you, Sunshine.”

The words are spoken with an evenness that is commanding. It is a statement, not a challenge. The voice, deep and raw, is not raised beyond the point of bare audibility and yet it conveys menace, the implication of obedience or else pain, your choice. Just as the bulk of the man, contained within the long black overcoat, exudes a power that requires no active aggression. It is palpable though you would not wish to it to touch you.

I can only make out fragments of his face because of the hand before my eyes but have an impression of a bullet head and an expression of cold indifference. This inexplicable presence barring my way defines implacable. I am barred, there can be no argument.

Waves of feeling surge through me. Anger, indignation, impotence, fear, humiliation, loss. I stand there, dumbstruck from the impossibility of what has happened. A moment ago, I was on my way into my study – my study. My study – it is my study - lies in wait behind the door, just as it has each morning. I never thought about the door before except as the gateway to a haven, and as a comforting defence against the rest of the world once I was inside the room. But now, without warning or explanation, I may not enter. I am denied, excluded, bereft.

Of course, this Kafka-esque episode is not real. It is the best way I can find to explain, to you and to me, what it has felt like to be in my head for the past months as my mind, whose co-operation I hitherto took for granted, has repeatedly dropped the shutters when called upon. I have gone from an avid reader to one barely able to read, for work or for pleasure. My mind allows me to get through a few sentences, maybe a paragraph or two, and then the hand goes up. All my life I have been able to put my thoughts down on paper. My job has been to give advice and to draft words into contracts and instructions and regulations. I had a facility for the turning of words, the engineering of precise meaning. Now, as I reach for them, again the hand goes up and I am shut out of the ability to express myself. I enjoyed pursuing paths of thought, self-analysis, reflections on the world. Now the paths are impenetrable, and as I try to make progress barbed tentacles of bracken snag my legs and hold them fast, topple me. They serve the man in the black overcoat.

And as the fear spreads through me, fear that I may never be able to do these things again, even the simple act of turning on my laptop is now stopped in its tracks by the hand. “You want to turn it on? Then, no.” Phone calls, the same.

I am, of course, depressed, deeply, and anxious, very. The toxic twins are chasing each other round my head like two hyperactive children playing a mad game of tag in a museum of precious artifacts. I can get little peace from them, night or day. Such sleep as I can grab is filled with scenarios of anxiety so compelling that I have repeatedly carried them into my waking life as shadows of something real. But that is nothing new. I have lived with all of this for fifty years. I have learned, more or less, to manage them and to make my life work around them and in spite of them. This is new. This blocking. This sense that I, rather than they, am now the outsider, am excluded from the kingdom of my own mind like Lear by his callous brood.

I am terrified, not simply by what is happening but because I am, or feel I am, under threat at work. I am an old boy and in their eyes, though not in mine, a dinosaur, the uncomfortable embodiment of past values that expediency and cuts have obliged them to compromise. I feel their patience with me is exhausted and they want me gone. And in my head I have worked out that my best hope is to provide them with no room to criticise my performance. I must be exemplary. You want it by Friday? How about tomorrow instead?

A foolish game but one that has worked before. By sheer effort of will, I have until now, been able to take the knife of duty to the sites of my pain, sever the nerves and carry on for a while. And it has been, to a degree, a self-fulfilling success. I don’t suppose I am alone. The nature of depression is such that it can, in the short term, and sometimes for sustained periods, be held at bay by your sense of obligation to others. It is, after all, that deepset fear that you are not good enough and that you are failing everyone that drives both depression and anxiety. Truly selfish and self-regarding people do not tend to be depressed. I had my family to attend to. I must not let them down. And that fed into my job, which kept them sheltered and fed. But my job was itself the beneficiary of a powerful work ethic instilled in me as a child. Not to work, not to do a good job, was a secular sin.

But depression says you can never be good enough. It is the unbeatable alpha in your head, the one that keeps reminding you that you will only ever be a contender and forcing you into submission mode, over and over. And anxiety reminds you that it is only a matter of time before your fraud is exposed. And every act of suppression is banked; until the vault is full and bursts its doors.

You cannot defeat clinical depression, only learn to manage it. Whether you use drugs to alter reality and feed the pharmaceutical companies or the diminishing returns of CBT, if you were born with the genes of a beta driven to aspire to alpha-hood, they will run you for the whole of your life. Like huskies in an arctic wasteland, they will pull and pull and you can only influence their direction and speed. But they are also the means by which you strive and make progress and if you were to cut them loose, stranded in the bitter cold, you would surely die.

I had thought I understood my depression by this stage. I had thought I knew the signs of its stirring and could keep it in check. It was exhausting but we could co-exist. Without the numbing effect of anti-depressants, my mind was generally clear enough that I could do my job even when I was very low and if I could not feel joy I could now manage a fair representation of an amiable social creature. The bouncer changed the game and I felt, more powerfully and more certainly than I had felt for many years that I could not go on like this. I felt utter dejection. I felt defeated, abject. I wanted to die.

I do not know how many days went by like this. It was like I imagine being becalmed and fogbound in a wide ocean must feel. Then one night, not know what was prompting me beyond a sense that it was time, I sat up, cross-legged on my bed, and tried to clear my head of everything. I had learned over a long time that the temptation to challenge your feelings, turning so easily into an angry berating of the kind you would find unkind coming from others – “What have you got to be depressed about? Pull yourself together. Can’t you see how lucky you are? You are NOT a failure.” – gets you nowhere, sets up barriers and, most importantly, drowns out the voice you need to hear. Call it meditation, mindfulness or what you will, the urgent need is to listen. Seek first to understand, then to be understood, as Stephen Covey says.

That was when the vision of the bouncer at the door came to me. And with him came the realisation of the obvious. He had been put there by me. This was my mind. Everything in it was my construct. He was my construct. And with that, now that I had a representation in my head and the awareness of what it was, I felt a shift of the dynamic. I raised my own hand and placed it on his outstretched wrist. I pressed down gently, saying quietly but firmly “This is my room, I am entitled to enter.” And I lowered his arm to his side. And opened the door.

For two or three days it worked. Each time I felt the block re-asserting itself, I pictured the bouncer, his hand in my face, and I gently lowered it. “This is my room. I am entitled to enter it.” I was once more able to read and to write and to think.

But then an e-mail from work unsettled me and suddenly the block was back in place and I no longer had the power to set it aside. I quickly plunged into despair. Time drained away as I sat unable to find anything inside. But the will to survive is not easy to defeat.

Getting up early on a cool spring morning, before I could talk myself out of it I dressed, put on my walking boots and headed out. For the first mile, I fretted, reinforcing a view that this was it, that I had lost not just the battle but the whole war. I had nothing left. If only I could die. But walking is so much more than a physical activity. It releases and energises the mind. My mental babbling subsided in the face of that calm that I have only ever known when striding across a landscape. And then, again, came the realisation of the obvious. The block had returned, that was clear. But I was the only one who could have reinstated it. Why?

Why, if being able to function meant so much to me, why would I disable myself? Why, if being unable to take care of my family so concerned me, why would I increase its likelihood?

And the answer was there waiting to be recognised and allowed into the circle: because in a part of my mind, a part that, for all that it was substantial, I couldn’t admit to, I wanted to fail. I wanted, more than the means to carry on, the excuse to step down from my task. This unacknowledged part of my mind knew that as long as I could keep going I would not be able to stop. So it had to create the conditions in which I could not keep going. With my trick with the bouncer, I had briefly circumvented it. But it needed more than a mental trick to avoid the long-suppressed desire to be done with all that was keeping me in misery.

Why now? Why after all these years? Because almost unconsciously I had subverted reality. Through all those years, there had been a truth behind my belief that my family needed me to provide and that I could not let them down. That had been real (even though what constituted “not letting them down” was both subjective and, as a product of my depression, doomed to fail. In my eyes, I always would fail because I only could fail).

Work had ceased to be a pleasure several years ago because I had been systematically deprived of the chance to put my skills to use. But I had continued because it paid for everything we needed. The wish to retire, and to take up the things of my choosing that I hoped would bring me satisfaction in my final years, had therefore been placed on a shelf out of reach; but it was always in the corner of my vision and the awareness of how unattainable I had dutifully made it aroused in me feelings of regret and resentment. Trying to deny them only embedded them. And how I had tried.

But my children were grown now. They still needed me, but in a very different way. That was the new reality (and it should have held the promise of freedom). But because I was so geared up to being the unflagging provider - because that was the awful measure I had accepted of my utility and my right to exist - I still needed to feel needed in the old way. Without it, according to my depression, I was worthless. So I had clung on to the belief that their need was as it had always been and that I had to carry on appeasing my way through a living. I was at war with my own hopes of happiness and was the principal casualty in the fight but I could not entertain the need to end it. And if I could not I had to be stopped.

I think I know now what I must do. It is Spring, a time for renewal. I need to open the doors and the windows and let the clean air of fresh thinking in; and dispose of those thoughts and pre-occupations that are cluttering up the place. And I need to tell the bouncer that his services are no longer required. Not you, Sunshine.

Wish me luck.

#depression #anxiety #blocks

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