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ahoonterisahoonter · 5 months

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Horror In The Hills, Chapter 1

I've never shared my writing publicly, but I just finished NaNoWriMo and I thought I'd give it a shot. So, here's the first chapter of my new novel.

Happy Hills is perhaps one of the most poorly named establishments in history. For one thing, it is built into a mountain over two miles above sea level, an elevation that no sane person would refer to as a hill. Secondly, no happy thing has ever occurred in, around, or in relation to Happy Hills. It is a sad and lonely place, where people come to drink deeply of their own sorrows and find no solace. Every small town has a heart: a building, institution, or family that typifies the place and around which it organizes. Happy Hills is that heart for Learston, Colorado. The rest of the town is just as sad, lonely, and booze-soaked, a true cesspit of despair. Despite its height, Learston seemed to be a deep pit into which the pathetic drained, never to be free again. This was the environment into which I was born.

Everyone I knew from my earliest memories was a drunk. My father went to Happy Hills every night, and eventually made it home about half of them. On those occasions when I did see him, he was nothing more than an empty husk of a man. He died in a car accident when I was ten, and it barely felt like I’d lost anything, so slight was his presence in my life. My mom was a much more functional alcoholic, who managed to maintain a veneer of sobriety during most of the day. Only as the sun went down did she truly indulge, washing away any thought or feeling and leaving me alone in the night. Just eight months after my father’s accident, she succumbed to cirrhosis of the liver. My uncle, two cousins, and several childhood friends have all been consumed by drink, each meeting some alcohol-related death.

I say all this, not to disparage my town, and certainly not to sully the memories of my deceased relations, but simply to give the reader an insight into the mindset of my youth. I saw nothing but a long slide into depression and drinking, ending in accident or overdose. The reader may, perhaps, then better understand my feelings when the Franklin party came to Learston. Here was a different vision for my future. Here were adults that were healthy, hopeful, athletic, accomplished, and most importantly to my young self, free. That is why I have been for so many long years obsessed with their case, their disappearances and deaths. For me, that group of hikers represented a new path in life, a different way forward. It opened my eyes to the possibilities of life, and ultimately set me on the path to leaving Learston for a better life than any that awaited me there. To contrast these beacons of hope and promise with the actuality of their grisly demise, it set my mind at odds with itself, leaving in me a rift that I’ve spent a lifetime trying to heal.

This book is the culmination of that journey, and I will warn the reader that it contains fewer answers than I would have liked. However, it does bring to light many things that were previously unknown, and it weaves together a more cohesive understanding of what happened. Ultimately, the truth cannot be fully known. The only ones who can tell the story are the hikers of the Franklin party themselves. Still, I am not entirely a stranger to the tale. I was wrapped up in it nearly from the beginning, and this book is in many ways the story of my journey to discovering the truth as much it is about the hikers themselves. This is the story of the Horror in the Hills.

As with any good story, it is important to begin with an understanding of our principal characters. Most treatments of this subject begin with the group’s eponymous leader, Adam Franklin. I, however, will diverge from tradition and start by introducing the town of Learston. At the time these events occurred, no reports paid much mind to the town, it’s only connection to the party being their brief stay there before heading deeper into the woods. This made some sense then, but any further investigation makes it obvious that Learston is key to understanding what happened.

Learston, Colorado was founded in 1899 by Timotheus Lear. Or, rather, it was founded in his name. Timotheus never actually stepped foot in Learston, nor is there any record that he even traveled west of the Mississippi. More accurately, the town was founded under the supervision of Roger Stevenson, the foreman of the T. Lear and Sons iron mill. The mill was the original heart of Learston, the original bait that trapped the ancestors of many of the town’s modern day prisoners. From the first, the TL&S was an attractor of misfortune and ill news. Less than a year after the mill began operations, two workers were killed in a molten spill. One of them, an unidentified man in his late 30s, was completely buried and burned away to nothing in an instant. The other was less fortunate: Wan Shi Long, a recent Chinese immigrant, had his legs caught in the flow. Others rushed to his aid and pulled him free, but everything below his mid-thighs had been consumed by the fiery metal. Another day and a half passed before he eventually succumbed to his injuries, a period in which he never ceased to rant and scream about a dark presence that caused the spill. Official investigations determined the spill had been caused by a malfunctioning hinge, which had broken and dropped a vat of iron. TL&S was found not to be at fault.

Although that incident had cast a pall over the new endeavor, it continued to grow. This development was rather shocking to many experts who had been consulted regarding the mill. It had been determined long before a single hammer ever struck rock that there wasn’t enough iron in this remote area to justify the mill’s placement. Their assessment seemed born out by the mill’s poor financial performance and pitiful output. Still, it grew. In 1899 there were 22 workers living in makeshift shacks scattered haphazardly around the central building. Just three years later, in 1902, the mill employed over 200 workers. An additional 400 people had moved into the area, including wives and children. In that time, four more workers were killed in three separate incidents, with TL&S being found not liable for any.

Timotheus died in the tail end of 1902, and his son Matthew took over. Matthew took a much more hands-on approach to managing the Learston mill than his father. Despite its position as the least productive of TL&S’s many ventures, Matthew moved to the remote town, where he lived out the rest of his life. Under his guidance, the mill’s, and by extension the town’s, prospects seemed to brighten. Nearly a decade passed without any major injuries. The town continued to grow in this period, albeit at a much slower rate than the first few years, peaking at a high of 1,237 citizens in 1910. If one were to stop studying the history of Learston in this year, they may predict its fortunes to follow a similar trajectory to countless other similar towns scattered across the American West. Perhaps it would continue as it had, amassing more business and citizens to patronize them, or perhaps it would falter and fade out of existence, with its inhabitants at the last leaving for somewhere that fell in the former category. Learston, however, was not like those other places.

1911 was an especially bad year. The winter seemed especially brutal, accompanied as it was by a wave of illness that claimed nearly one sixth of the population. During February of that year, an avalanche destroyed the only road leading down the mountain. This essentially cut the small town off from the outside the world, isolating an already suffering people. It was during this trying time that a strange aspect of the region was first noted: there seemed to be a great dearth of fauna. Hunters tried their best to provide for the starving town, but they were unable to catch much of anything beyond a few small rabbits and squirrels. Elk and deer, notably, were completely absent from the area. The hunters were, however, able to bring in an abundance of birds in a variety of species; a variety that was not only surprising for an alpine winter, but that was unexpected for that part of the country at any season. The road was repaired and reopened in May, which was the last good thing to happen to Learston. Not one month later, the TL&S mill exploded. The official story was that a large store of dynamite that had been purchased for mining but never used was stored safely underground, but flecks of molten iron had, over time, bored holes down to it. Something got through one of these holes and ignited the dynamite, claiming the entire mill and all 300 workers on duty at the time, including Matthew Lear.

With the town’s heart destroyed, this would be the normal time for the town to die off, as widows and the unemployed fled for safer harbors, starving off the businesses that had sprung up to support them. Learston persevered. 1911 saw the opening of the Happy Hills bar, which has limped along ever since. A few families did move out, but the vast majority remained. The historical record is unclear as to how the stalwart Learstonians made a living with no industry to speak of in the area, but they pushed on. In this way, Learston continued. A sad main street has a few rundown businesses, but most of the town’s inhabitants are unemployed. Only six people moved in over the next 60 years, and nine moved out. All the rest of the population’s fluctuation is attributed solely to the two portals through which we all must pass.

So it was that, in 1971 when the Franklin party arrived at Learston, the town looked nearly identical to its turn-of-the-century predecessor. It would, however, not remain that way for long.

#writing #writers #writers on tumblr #nanowrimo

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mypastself · 2 years

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There must be blue skies somewhere in this world… Lord let me see them please.

The darkness is choking me to death and I’m struggling to find reasons to still stay hanging on.

Where is my little corner of happiness? Where is my perfect ending? Why, just why must you wish suffering upon me, unrelentingly?

My soul shattered and numb. My heart fears to feel, because the grief would be too much to bear. My mind goes in silent shock, reeling and rewinding past horror with no end.

I want peace so badly, if I cannot find it in this lifetime I don’t think I will find it even in death.

The one promise I kept to myself is the only reason I hold off dying.

Once that promise is done, I have no reason to be around anymore.

No one wants to love a person as broken as I.

I have lost the essence of life and feel like an empty husk of a human; snuffed out of existence and confused as to why I still breathe.

I can’t do this anymore. I can’t handle this much betrayal, the lack of love, the absence of joy.

My tears run and run endlessly; I am so lonely in this world filled with so many people.

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shootingstarwritings · 3 years

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Eight Pleas on a Starry Night

Eight Cups a Day

Eight Memories a Minute

All that this creature knew from the moment of its "birth," was to consume. The moment it first began to understand "itself" and "the world," it absorbed whatever was in front of it. Just as babes from the womb yearn for their mother's womb, these slimes feast upon segments of their host's brains. There was no thought and no malice behind; instead, it was pure instinct. Consume and assimilate as much as the host's brain would allow until complete takeover.

The moment this creature, now male due to his host, opened his eyes, he saw the sight of another looking at him with emotion the creature couldn't quite understand just yet. However, through pure instinct and the slight connection they shared as a species, he knew that this was his brother. “Ah, hello,” he greeted with pure innocence.

“H-Hey,” his brother responded, sounding not unlike the people the creature saw in his host’s memories. How skillful was he at hiding amongst these humans? “D-Do you know who I am? Do you know who you are? What’s your name?” Now, he spoke aggressively, but alongside another set of emotions.

Not wanting to disappoint his brother, the creature said, “I do not recall,” with complete assurance. “I seem to be quite adept at assimilating my host’s memories, unfortunately. It looks as though I cannot be a unit that can infiltrate any of these people.”

His brother shut his eyes, as though he had swallowed something harsh, before saying, “You are Nolan. Your name is Nolan.”

“Nolan. Understood.”

“And I’m F-Forde. My name is Forde.” Forde took a deep breath, his hand brushing up against Nolan’s. Then, he intertwined their fingers together. “Do you really not remember me? When we looked at the stars together?"

Nolan shook his head. “Am I supposed to? I am sorry if I am not up to your standards, brother.” Squeezing Forde’s hand—was it his host’s natural response?—Nolan said, “I will do better in the future. Do not worry.”

Forde nodded as he drew his hand back to his chest. There was an emotion on Forde’s face that Nolan did not recognize, so he ignored it.

The creature inside of Alan stared up at the summer night. He had a fleeting thought of the few stars that shined despite the town's light pollution and wondered if that was where he and his kin came from. However, he quickly dismissed that line of thought. It was not important for their invasion, so it was unnecessary. He was reeling from these useless thoughts that continued to plague him ever since the day he emerged from the sea.

Most of his brothers had perished when he had managed to infect Forde. He could only convert one person and implant his sole offspring before his brothers, unable to speak to him and cry for help, dried up. All he could do now was ignore any sort of sentimentalism that burdened him and press on forward.

“I am an invader,” the invader said to himself, floating naked on the surface of the pool. “Then, why do I have these regrets?”

Regret was a sentiment that his host, Alan, was familiar with. Words left unsaid, arguments he couldn't take back, and a life that was snuffed due to a misunderstanding. The list was long but also faded. By now, the invader had engulfed most of Alan's memories, so there was very little he could recall with any clarity. All he could see was a series of faded images.

It mattered little, the invader decided. The lingering feelings didn’t matter. All that was important was to breed and infect. That was the final purpose they had.

“Alan, there’s someone at the door.”

Ah, that was unexpected. Alan swam to the edge of the pool and pulled himself out. “Do you know who it is, brother?”

He nodded. “It’s your friend—or rather, it’s your host’s friend,” said Forde. “He texted you, and I responded, and one thing left to another...” he said, nonchalantly while pointing his thumb to the front of the house. “And now he’s here. You gonna…?”

“I’ll have to infect him,” said the invader as he dried himself off. “There’s nothing else that can be done.”

“Right, well Nolan is by the door if you need any assistance.”

The invader raised an eyebrow. “Will you not help me?”

“I'm sorta tired if we're being honest. Maybe some other time?" Forde said with a shrug and a grin.

The invader narrowed his eyes but didn't say anything in response. He walked past Forde, but stopped right before crossing the doorway. “You are my offspring, and yet you are so different from your brother and myself. Why is that?” There was far too much personality, whether from the host or from the possessor itself. It was odd.

Forde’s gaze grew distant. “I wonder why myself,” he muttered. “But never mind that. Your friend’s in the front, and Nolan’s in position to help you infect him.”

“And your family? The ones who own this home?”

“Won’t be back until Monday. We’ve got plenty of time.”

The invader had suspicions rise, but he pushed them to the back of his mind. There were more pressing matters to attend to. “Please, watch over your siblings.” The invader didn’t wait for a response. He processed the information carefully and he dried off and dressed.

“Alan, hey!” Forde was right. A friend of Alan, a great deal younger—about middle-aged—stood in front of the doorway. The invader could not access much of Alan's memories, so the man was a stranger to him. However, he was knowledgeable enough to recognize the glint in the man's eyes.

“Thank you for coming.”

“Came as soon as I could,” the man said, smiling brightly as he spoke to Alan. “Said you needed my help? Say, what’s this place anyway? How come you’re here?” With narrowed eyes, the man leaned in and whispered, “Ain’t that kid a li’l too young for you? Seems kinda weird if you ask me.”

Alan shook his head. “He’s a family friend. Said he needed help moving a couch. Could you help me?”

The suspicion in the man’s eyes cleared, and he eagerly nodded. “Sure! I’ll give you hand. Lead the way.”

[LINE BREAK]

Forde was panting by the time he entered the house again. What he walked into didn’t surprise him, but he still had to fight the urge to gag.

“Hello, nngg, Forde!” Nolan greeted him as he fucked Alan’s convulsing friend. “This one has almost finished his conversion. Would you like to assist me?"

“I think I’ll pass,” Forde said, grimacing. His eyes lingered on the man before turning over to the sleeping Alan on the couch. “Alan’s asleep?”

“Yes, mmm. He-fuck—s-said creating so many offspring has left him exhausted. Will probably sleep until the party tomorrow.”

The party…

Forde took a deep breath, trying to calm his breathing. “Nolan, when you’re… finished, meet me in my room, all right?”

“Which—“

“The one closest to the bathroom. You can’t miss it.”

“Right."

Forde lied back on his bed, attempting to erase the image of Nolan happily plowing another man’s ass out of his head. There was no doubt that what he had seen was the truth, but it carried such wrongness to it that he couldn’t help to wind back to it. Nothing about Nolan seemed to have remained. The chipper friendliness and eagerness to please was something that would have disgusted Nolan and now it disgusted Forde. Not even the memories were there. At most, the one possessing Nolan could remember some family members, last name, and his street address.

Everything else, including that night under the stars, was gone.

“Is this my punishment?” asked Forde, unsure if God would answer the pleas of a parasite. “Is this what I deserve for killing Forde?" That sin would remain with him for the rest of his life. It didn't matter if he believed he was Forde and inherited the name, the body, and the memories, the original was gone. If Forde ever left this body, it would remain a hollow husk. The organs would function, but there would be no brain activity. It would be no different than a vegetable.

Yet, Forde could not deny his greedy nature—as a parasite and a man. I still want to be happy, he thought. God, Alan, and the world itself can shame and hate me for it, but I still want to live a happy life. He knew how shameless that desire was, but did not care. The pain and pleasure that he has known in his short time as a human only stroked the hungry flames that burned in his heart.

The door opened, and Nolan walked in, still naked. “I am here, brother,” he announced, as though it wasn’t obvious.

Forde drew the sheets back and scooted to the side of the bed. “Close the door, and lie with me.”

“Hmm? Will we be sleeping on the same bed?”

“Yeah. Keep me company for tonight, will ya?”

“I see no reason to decline.” Without any shame, Nolan lied right next Forde. Their bare shoulders were touching, but only one of them understood the implications,

“Nolan, do you remember what happened when we went camping that night?”

“I do not.”

“Yeah, I figured,” said Forde, preparing himself. His hand was trembling, and he was sweating all over. Why couldn’t he calm himself? “Could you… Could you do me a favor, br-brother…?” When Nolan said yes, Forde nearly sobbed. After a deep, uneven breath, he said, “Please, gather yourself in your host’s mouth. I have to show you something.”

Unquestionably, Nolan did so. He opened his mouth, the blue slime lying on top of his tongue. Even in that form, he looked completely innocent.

Forde ripped over the packet of salt and poured it on his own tongue, cringing from the taste. Then, he leaned over and kissed Nolan’s lips before swiftly drawing back, the aftertaste of the salt lingering in his now empty mouth. The effect was immediate.

Nolan’s body began to violently convulse. “Wh-What did you d-do?!” Nolan cried out, spitting out the salt and now bits of foam. “Br-Brother?!” His eyes rolled to the back of his head and spat out more and more foam—the remains of his desiccated body. Forde shut his eyes and covered his ears.

Just like snails and slugs, their species would dry out when their real forms were exposed to concentrated amounts of salt due to osmosis. Even though they originated from the ocean, the intense amount of salt would still kill them. It only due to Forde’s biology degree that he could figure that out. And because of that, he knew that there was a chance Alan didn’t know that, either. This was his only weapon… the only thing he had to stop the invasion.

And yet…

Forde jumped as Nolan grabbed his arm in desperation. He opened his eyes and the image burned itself into his memory. He was dying. Nolan, the slime, whatever, was dying. Because of him. Because of what Forde did. He’s just a parasite, a murderer, Forde kept thinking as the convulsing began to cease. “I had to, I had to...” he kept muttering to himself, even as tears trailed down his cheeks.

He was a murderer just like me.

Now, he was staring at Nolan’s still-breathing body. There was no life in his eyes, but his chest still rose and fell, and his mouth was still agape. The slime, his brother, was gone. And Nolan was gone too. Two more lives that Forde had snuffed out, and tomorrow he would have to do it again.

He tried to smile. “Nolan...” he said, embracing the brain-dead husk. “Nolan, Nolan… Nolan… I love you,” he said, caressing Nolan’s unmoving face. “I saved you, I did it… you’re okay now.” Forde pressed his face on Nolan’s left pectoral. His heart continued to beat despite how empty it was. “You’re free, you’re okay. I k-killed the parasite, I did it for you…! So, you’ll forgive me, right?” There was no response, no matter how much Forde pleaded. However, he continued. "Please, please tell me you'll forgive me. You and Forde will forgive me, right? Please, please, for the love of God, please help me...”

Neither God nor Nolan answered him that night.

#male possession #slime possession #DILF possession #eight cups a day #eight memories a minute

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the-witches-you-couldnt-burn · 3 years

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When it all falls down

Hi guys! I was meant to post this earlier but life happens :(

I have so many fic ideas but not enough time to write & post them. The completion of this fic will be my priority tho!

(Edit) previously named ‘Life as a pawn within the Devil’s deal’

Ao3

Story Masterlist

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CHAPTER THREE: Buried alive

Warnings: injuries, sexism, pre-panic attack symptoms, torture (not explicit) and mentions of child birth (and death caused from it), forced pregnancy & imprisonment.

The haunting voice of the king cut through the foreboding silence that coated the room. It bounced off of the decrepit stone pillars, and the ceiling crumpled under the reverberation.

Lady Talia dragged her towards the throne, her body screaming to get far away from this man. Marinette was pushed forward, forced to kneel before ‘her King’. His throne was made out of a rusted iron and withered thorns peaked through its cracks. The king, although hidden from the world, was adorned in every finery known to man. A deep emerald green tunic and pants were joined by a solid gold belt. Gemstones lined the clasps of his cape, connected by three gold chains of differing lengths. The crown that graced his salt & pepper coloured hair consisted of polished obsidian jewels embedded into the golden spires.

Mari’s eyebrows furrowed. She was taught that each of the royal family were only garbed in opals & obsidian (as they were the family’s signature gems) plus their birth jewel. But his majesty seemed to be wearing more jewels then she could name, none seemed more important than the rest.

“So this is the one you chose as Damian’s promised?” He glared down at her. The girl kneeling before him had nothing special about her in appearance other than expensive clothing. What enraged him was that she kept her head high, but her eyes never met his, they were locked on the wall behind him. His frown deepened, his wrinkled skin pulled and folded; suggesting that a frown was a popular expression he wore. “She doesn’t look like much.” His toxic green eyes shifted to his daughter, “Are you sure you got the correct girl?”

“Yes father I have not failed you. This is Marinette Dupain-Cheng, future head of the Miraculous Order. She is their best warrior and will be an asset to the continuation of our bloodline.”

The Mistress’ nails dug into the girl’s shoulder, the pinpricking pain caused her to grimace. She stifled any thought of correcting the hag. It had been years since she took guardian ship of the Order, or in their terms; that she actually the current head. Some of her friends even had dubbed her as their ‘princess’ and that spread around the camp like a wildfire.

His burning gaze scanned every inch of her face before his eyes traveled down her body. Under his stare she felt violated, his contempt and lechery felt like hands running over her skin. “Her only duty is to produce strong heirs, don’t let her be deluded into becoming a hero.”

He waited for either woman to challenge him, it would be a fruitless venture but some still tried. If only his wife had produced a suitable heir, but Melisande had given him a daughter instead. That wretched woman had died during Talia’s birth, escaping her duty of giving him a son. As he reminisced on her, he was only plagued by the thought of how he could have married someone so weak.

He refused to marry again after her, he didn’t want his legacy to be tainted further. And although his daughter was born from weakness she had redeemed herself by birthing a son. Her spouse, Lord Wayne, wouldn’t have been his first pick, but their affair bore a strong prince. His daughter learnt from her mother’s failures and (under his guidance) had become one of his few trusted associates.

“Well?” He boomed, Marinette flinched away. Another sign of weakness. He raised an eyebrow at her, enticing her to comment. “What do you have to say about all this?”

‘What do I have to say?’ She repeated, this surely was a trap, a test. One wrong word and she would be done for. She wanted to scream that she was a warrior not an incubator, and yell at him for deceiving the world.

But she didn’t. Damian’s words from earlier that morning caused her to metaphorically bleed like an open wound.

Her eyes met his, and she is reminded of Damian’s eyes, a stunning evergreen forest comes to mind. But Ra’s eyes weren’t like Damian’s or even Talia’s, his eyes held so much scorn that made them worse then toxic. His eyes held a nuclear explosion behind them and memories of the suffering that came after.

“If the last empire failed,” She paused, taking a breath to conceal her malice. “Why do you think your’s won’t?”

“Because whilst the previous empire thought they were immortal—“ he leaned forward, his face inches away from hers. “I know I am.”

‘Is that how he lived? That is to say if he died in the first place.’ Her body subconsciously moved away but Talia held her in place, his breath was hot and suffocating. She sent a silent prayer to Damian that she was sorry, but the only way she could hold her tongue was if she stitched her lips shut.

-x-

A figure stumbled into the young couple’s room, leaning against the now closed door gasping for breath. Their entry was preceded by rushed footsteps and proceeded by the slam of the dark oak door. Damian watched from the smaller room, the expanse of the appartments was coated by darkness. The shadowed individual walked closer to the lit lantern sat atop the bedside table. The flickering incandescent, cast an orange light upon the person, revealing Damian’s first assumption; his bride, Marinette.

A sob escaped her quivering lips, and the prince noticed her gleaming tears creating trails down her pale cheeks. She collapsed on her bed, crying. He internally debated about whether to invade her space when she was in such a vulnerable state or give her the illusion of privacy.

Looking down at his hands, he remembered the grit of dried blood that once collected underneath his nails. His childhood (if you could call it that) was one of bloodshed and pain. The room looked bigger now and his breathing became infrequent. The bassinet by the window was stripped bare and now became a microcosm of the imprisonment and restriction he faced within the palace walls.

Hands clenched tightly into fists, his nails tempting with the idea of breaking the skin of his palms. He desperately grasped an invisible rope, willing it to ground him. Tremors shook Damian’s body as her cries returned to muffled sobs. ‘Grandfather would be disgusted,’ when had he become so weak?

She had cast a spell over him, projected her despair onto him. What was she crying about anyways? Being sad was being feeble, and being feeble lead to disloyalty.

He stood up, the internal debate was over, all the mental diplomats were slaughtered by the strongest; pride. Rubbing his eyes he broke out of her theurgy. He walked to the bedside, picking up a blanket along the way. When he reached her, body still racking whilst she blubbered, he wrapped the large grey blanket around her shoulders.

Marinette flinched on contact. A cloud could touch her and she still would’ve shied away. Her hair was a mess and stuck to her sweat coated skin. Craning her neck she looked up at her offender, only to find her groom.

Damian’s eyes. They were so similar to... His Highness’s eyes were the last this she saw before the pain penetrated her skull. Her throat was rubbed raw from her screaming which had melted into cries. Is she not even safe in the place she was meant to sleep?

“Take this as a warning—“ pain all she felt was pain, her ears rung from the sound of flesh beating flesh. “Next time you’ll know not to question things above your position.”

CRACK

She screamed.

Damian scanned her face, her eyes were puffy and red. But that wasn’t it. Her left lid looked darker than it should and her bottom lip was busted.

“Who did this to you.” He struggled to keep his tone neutral as she stared into his wide eyes. His mothers statement from several years ago flashed into his mind, “Her position is determined by this marriage Damian, and through you, the Order has a secure future. This union gives us more power and provides them with protection.”

Protection. What use was this marriage if it couldn’t supply the one thing her kin wanted for her; safety.

He looked down upon her beaten face, her skin was tender as blackish-blue bruises waged war. All of a sudden it didn’t matter who committed this atrocity, nor did his thirst for revenge. A pit formed deep within his chest, he had a feeling he knew the answer to his own question.

He turned, rushing over to the closet, Marinette’s arm burned at the removal of his hand. She tilted her head, wiping her eyes as she peered over, watching what he was doing. He had grabbed multiple sets of dark clothes before hastily walking into the bathroom, he returned with the empty linen laundry hamper.

He stuff the items into the hamper before turning back to her, the prince looked almost frantic. He marched back up to her, kneeling, he held her hand between his. Locking eyes with her, her jaggedly cut hair falling similar to that of a curtain as she tilted her head down.

“We have to leave.”

“What?” As if it was a reflex she responded before she could process what he said. ‘Leave?’ This was his home, his kingdom. Why would he want to leave. Her head hung as self-deprecating comments caused her to spiral, ‘I have caused him so much trouble that he feels the need to leave, so that he’s legacy isn’t disgraced further.’

“I cannot ask you to do that.” All of the snark and jest was torn from her leaving her as a husk. “Please,” Her hoarse voice cracked. “I do not wish to cause any more havoc.”

“And I cannot allow for anyone to harm you,” he paused, her eyes shimmered underneath the glow of the lantern light. “You are my wife.”

She softly smiled at the acknowledgment of their status, he had never called her anything other than her name. The ‘my wife’ comment didn’t mean much due to the nature of their arrangement but it still meant something, no matter how minuscule.

“We can’t leave, bad things will happen if we do.”

"There is never going to be a perfect answer." He squeezed her hand, an act of reassurance to give her some form of comfort. “Sometimes the choices we must make have cons alongside their pros."

Taglist:

@thesunniestdays @jayjayspixiepop @toodaloo-kangaroo

#maribat #mlb x dc #dc x mlb #marinette x damian #damian x marinette #damian wayne x marinette dupain cheng #daminette #when it all falls down #arranged marriage au #royal au

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overkill-max · 3 years

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Wedding mini-fic

A mini-fic of what happens during and after the wedding. From the perspective of Maya’s mom.

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Looking back at the wedding pictures, she thinks she looks out of place. She sees herself without makeup, in a plaid shirt. Having left her husband that same day. He was on a rant about Maya and her “lifestyle choices.” Katherine was cowering, just as her daughter described her. Feeling suffocated. She looked at Lane, all the anger directed towards her daughter, that would soon turn to her, and she felt herself turn into the husk she was before she left.

For an instant, she thought about Maya.

“I have to go pick up ice.” Katherine whispered. Lane did not hear her. He never heard her. Or Maya. Or Mason. Or anyone else.

She grabbed her purse and her mask and left.

She did not pick up ice.

Maya’s house was empty.

Katherine didn’t know where to go. The only other place familiar to her was the fire station.

She walked in not knowing her daughter would be admitting she forgot to write her vows. Carina mentioned that it did not matter, that it was sweet and perfect that Maya, someone who was overprepared and had lists and clipboards, had forgotten to write down a list. She was too excited to start their lives together.

“I love you, and I choose you. Forever.” Hearing her daughter say that with such joy, made her cry. Interrupting their vows. She apologized but the way that her daughter and her soon to be bride looked at her, both lighting up, let her know she made the right choice.

Maya and Carina were happy for most of their wedding.

Then they realized that another firefighter had taken her job. Or cost her the job. Katherine was still confused about how a person can get fired so casually.

She thought she would need to hold her breath. Whenever Lane was upset, she would walk on eggshells to avoid setting him off.

Maya looked betrayed and sad. But not devastated. She was not angry. Her wife excused them with a polite smile, then took her outside.

Katherine did not know if she was allowed to follow or not. She wanted to comfort her daughter. Yet it had always been hard. Maya was so much like Lane. Hiding everything away until it exploded in unhealthy ways. Lashing out. Wanting to keep everyone from seeing her in pain.

She worried about Carina.

It was a lovely wedding.

She should not have followed them, but she did.

“Maya, it’s okay.” It was soft. “Bambina, you are a fighter and so smart and strong. If this captain job is what you want, you can get it back or get another captain.”

Maya said something too soft for her to hear through the door.

“No, you are an amazing good captain. This is just them punishing you for supporting your fire fighters and not the administration… remember what you told me? Why they were afraid to do what you did?”

Katherine went back to the party.

She does not remember the rest of the party. Only what the pictures tell her.

The thing she does remember is how her daughter interrupted her own wedding to ask her friends to help her move in with them.

Even fire fighters from the other shifts helped. Five men stayed outside with Lane. The rest carried things she pointed to from inside the home she used to call hers. Packed her bags. “Mama B, you need your passport.” Carina… her new daughter in-law said.

It made the room feel smaller. Lane controlled that. He had all of that in his gun safe. In the office he kept locked up.

“Maya.” Her daughter nodded.

They were alone in the room where before she had always been too scared to move. Constantly drowning. No wonder her daughter chose to be a fire fighter. She was used to the feeling of having to work hard to breathe.

Carina talked at her. Katherine did not have the mental capacity to forms sentences or words. Still feeling on edge. Never safe. Never safe in this house.

She appreciated how at ease the other woman was. How kindly she smiled. Not in that ugly way others did. Where they pitied her. Seeing her as both a victim but also deserving of Lane’s anger for not standing up for herself. For going back.

Carina was just as she remembered her at the spaghetti dinner. Genuinely excited to spend time with her.

It made her feel uncomfortable and happy at the same time.

Even Maya’s patience with her ran thin. Often lashing out in anger. Raising her voice. Narrowing her eyes the way her father did. She was so much like him. It broke her heart to see it.

Yet, Katherine understood that. She was comfortable in that. Had lived with that.

Carina was unexpected.

Maya returned with a stack of folders and a gun.

Katherine flinched.

“Maya, no.” Her daughter-in-law commanded.

“But…” Maya tried to argue. “No. Bambina, look at your mother… look at this country… Look at what happens when you have so many guns in the house and so many fears… I don’t want that in my house.”

Maya mentioned her father. It struck a new type of fear in Katherine.

“What makes you think he cannot buy another gun if you take this one? How much angrier is he going to be if that happens?”

Katherine swallows. She hated that Lane had a gun. Feared that he would use it against her. Or worse, the kids. Maya knew that. If he was angry, he might.

Carina understood anger. Escalation. Violence. She saw blood and death. The result of things like this.

“You take your papa’s gun and you have to be ready to shoot him with it. This thing, it will not end well. Leave the gun… this is only about your mama… you take that thing into our lives and you make it about something he thinks is his. You make it into a fight.”

Maya leaves in a huff.

“You are not his. You are yours.” Carina tells her. Firm voice. Needing to be heard. Soft hands. Wanting to comfort.

She nods.

They leave.

Everyone that helps set up her room stays at their house.

“It’s the after party.” Carina shouts happily. She puts on music and begins making pasta in her wedding dress.

Warren and Bailey come from the fire station with the men and women that stayed behind to clean up.

Cases of alcohol get brought into the house and people keep drinking and dancing. Victoria sings. Maya comes out in a sleeveless shirt and sweatpants. She kisses Carina and takes the knife from her. Telling her to get comfortable.

“Please don’t angry chop my pasta.” Her daughter-in-law begs. Maya shrugs. Pretending she’s not listening. Mimicking angry chopping.

“Mama B, make sure she separates the pasta and hang it to dry.” Carina shouts, laughing as she leaves the kitchen and bumps into Andy.

The whole night was chaotic and filled with laughter and love.

Katherine wakes up early the next day. Not knowing what to do without Lane dictating every minute of her life, she lays there. Unsure of what she is allowed here. This place has her things, but it doesn’t feel like hers. It feels borrowed. Like last time.

She gets up and heads for the kitchen. Tip toeing around the place. Unsure of how quiet Maya and Carina need her to be. She is a guest.

“Suocera!” Carina enthusiastically greets her from the stove. Katherine nods. Confused. “Buongiorno.” She tries. It’s the only word she knows in Italian.

Carina laughs as she shakes her head. “Right... It… it is… you are the mother of the wife?” She asks. Not knowing the word.

“Oh. Mother-in-law” Katherine quickly fills in.

“Yes, suocera.” Carina repeats and smiles. Flipping over the French toast in the pan. Katherine stands there and Carina waves the spatula around. “I made espresso, but if it’s not your thing, you can add the water. Cups are there. Explore.”

“Can you grab me the thing?” Carina asks. Pointing vaguely behind her.

Katherine smiles. Uncomfortable. She likes the house. It is lovely. But Lane liked things to be a certain way. To stay there. For cabinets not to be opened unnecessarily.

“Uh.” Katherine stops. Looking at the counter.

“Maya, the thing! You know, the thing.” Carina says louder. Katherine freezes. Carina turns around, smiling and her face drops. She turns pale. Katherine waits for the explosion.

“I’m sorry.” Carina tells her. Voice softer. Hands moving wildly as she tries to find the words. “I’m sorry, suocera. I know when I get excited it seems like I am yelling. But I am not yelling at you. Or at Maya. I… I am not yelling.”

Katherine feels the tension in herself. In the other woman. As Carina wants to comfort her but does not step closer. She waits. Looking torn. “Boundaries.” Her therapist’s voice says inside her.

Katherine tilts her head down. Looking at the floor. She barely nods.

A small invitation is all it takes to be swept up in a tight hug. Carina pats down her hair and kisses it. “I’m sorry, suocera. I’m learning too.” Is all she says.

She cries and she is held.

The French toast burns, and Maya runs in to witness her wife running with a flaming pan, heading outside. Her mother is coughing. The water is on in the sink. Putting nothing out.

“Carina!” Maya shouts as she stares at her mom. Instead of finding the cold, angry blue she is used to, she finds worry. There is no blame. It feels like no time has passed but her daughter is different. This is not the same woman that told her she needed therapy for thinking what they went through together was abuse. For knowing it was wrong.

She runs out and takes command of the situation. Taking the hose from her wife and making sure there are no flames before heading back inside with a waterlogged piece of bread. Black from the flames. The kitchen is filled with smoke but there is no fire or damage.

Maya hugs her mother and Katherine feels like she can breathe. Even with the smoke. She cries. Her daughter had never been soft. But she changed for love. Katherine never felt strong. But she learned from her daughter. For her daughter.

She wonders what will happen if she stays. If this place becomes her home.

Katherine thinks she looks out of place. When the pictures come back.

She does not feel out of place.

Not then. Not now.

Carina is laughing beside her. Pointing out all the pictures that make her smile.

Three months feel a world away.

Katherine was worried about Maya. The offer came from Carina.

She did not want to overstay her invitation. But finding a job as a home maker that was scared of men shouting or froze at every loud noise, meant her prospects were limited. Especially in a pandemic.

She wanted to find her own place. Or even a shelter. To let her daughter build a new life without the old once holding her back. But Carina was so nice. So welcoming. She was so soft and safe that it was hard to feel bad about not trying hard enough.

Maya was different too. She was still reserved. But she was brighter. In a way she never thought Maya could be. The last time she visited there was so much anger. Denial. She was closed off and lashed out when people got too close to the core of who she was. So much like Lane that it hurt to look at her and see nothing but steel staring back. Cold. Lifeless.

Now she was nothing but awe and love.

Katherine liked it. She liked knowing who her daughter had become without all that pain. Without the constant pressure to achieve. To make Lane proud.

She asked, once. When Maya was not home.

Carina was direct. She never made them guess. She never hid her feelings or what she wanted. She was stubborn. And she always answered. Even when she could not find the words. She would answer. Because Carina liked clarity.

Katherine understood.

Walking on eggshells while not knowing what would set Lane off made her appreciate Carina’s openness. Even when it made her uncomfortable. Or mad at herself for not being able to reciprocate. She still liked who Carina was.

“I get to have a family again.” Carina shrugged. Passing the sheet of pasta through the metal press.

Katherine waited. Carina was the daughter that she always imagined other parents had. She giggled easily and gossiped. Filled the silences with laughter and words.

“I did have a family. But it was before. Then mama left and I stayed so Andrea could go. And it was just papa and me. He was so angry, and their marriage was so terrible that I hated the idea of family… but then…” She smiled softly.

“Then Maya became my home and family was something I missed… I… in Italy… you are expected to move with your husband’s family. To have your suocera and their nonna and all these people constantly in your life… I wanted to have that…” Katherine nods.

“I know it’s selfish to want you to stay. Americans, you like your life to be individual and separate and borders and very yourselves. But… I feel like a momma chicken. I like all of the people I love in my house. In my roof. Happy and in each other’s life… it feels… warm. Like a home.” Carina shrugs. Cutting the pasta into small sheets.

Katherine smiles. Liking the idea that family, home, could be something other than what both her and her daughter have known. What her daughter-in-law has known. That it could be built on new traditions. Starting with a wedding she was underdressed for but still belonged in.

#station 19 #carina x maya #carina deluca #maya bishop #katherine bishop #my fanfic #my drabbles #short character study #I am excited for mama b living with carina and maya #marina #yes the firehouse is taking place of the restaurant #just go with it

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stephdaninja · 3 years

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To the One I Loved...

So, it's been a while since I've been on Tumblr. Like, almost a year or two? But I know this place is a safe space to get this off my chest so I'm just gonna do that because I have to force myself to move on. And I'm not sure why, but maybe I'm hoping that I am not alone in feeling this way? It's kind of silly, but I guess for anyone that's reading this, either the heartbreaker or the heartbroken, I hope you can understand this and for the former really reflect on your actions, and the latter be stronger than me and get back out there eventually.

Edit: Too tired to edit this, but new developments. Maybe I'll post tomorrow. For now, let's see if I can sleep...

My heart has finally shattered enough that I don't think I can put it back together anymore.

I haven't felt this heartbroken since maybe High School? Probably when my first ex-boyfriend screwed me over when I was in college.

But I definitely remember the fluttering drop of your heart, the random breaking down and bawling your eyes out no matter where you are (please, I HATE crying in public and at work 🥲), and the roller coaster feeling your gut goes through when you've been faced with the realization that the person you love doesn't love you the way you loved them.

It hurts so fucking bad.

Someone I bore my entire soul to, shared my deepest, darkest thoughts and secrets, someone I had completely put all my trust and faith in, someone I had thought about almost every single day, could not go a day without saying either good morning or good night to for the past 3 years. Someone that I wanted to make happy and thought my love and affection would make them happy, maybe even possibly share a life together, that someone wanted someone else instead. Pined for someone else while I pined for them, longed for their touch, for their warmth, to hear their voice say my name softly while raking their fingers through my hair. I longed to hug them, hold them in my arms, give them all the love I have in me and more because that was what they deserve, all of that was gone in the instant of a conversation.

While I don't regret making them tell me the truth and it hurts, I'm happy that I know and I can finally get it through my head, this lesson that has been hanging over my head that I have not been able to understand all this time.

No one will love me the way I want them to.

It's a tough pill to swallow, makes a horse pill look like Flintstones vitamins imo.

But a lesson that should have registered in my head a long time ago, if I hadn't kept holding out for hope that my one true person was out there for me.

The hopeless romantic of sorts, I guess. Now look at where it got me. AGAIN. I wasn't expecting it from them out of all people, but it's usually the ones closest to you that can do the most damage. And now I am left an empty husk of what I once was, feeling betrayed and confused.

And the worst part of all of this is that now I question everything, did they really mean it when they told me they loved me? Did I really think an online, long-distance relationship was going to work? Did I really think I could stop a person from finding someone within their vicinity to connect with?

They had shared a story with me once before about them being turned down by a guy, and the guy told them, "you think you're fucking special?" Guess that's the real lesson learned here. I am special to no one. And NO ONE can change my mind on this.

This started off as a friendship and blossomed into something more, a deeper connection with romantic interests, maybe I was looking at it the wrong way? Maybe (EDIT: Definitely was) that was just something casual for them? Maybe I'm too romantic?

I guess this is just going to be my way of getting closure. I don't think I can bring myself to say these things to the one I used to love, but being able to let it out and for someone to read it makes me feel better. (Edit: I decided to message them and tell them how I felt, and the edits are the updates of what was said to me lol)

For anyone reading and feeling the same way I do, know that you are not alone. I'm sure there is someone out there for you, please be stronger than I am and get back out there and try. I'm not strong enough, I don't want to try anymore. I honestly just want to disappear, never to be seen or heard from again. It sounds dramatic I know, but when you love as hard as I do and constantly get hurt by people who either genuinely love you or not is just... tiring. I cannot put my heart back together any longer.

EDIT: So, they "didn't know I felt that way about them..."

Lol fuck this eloquent shit now, TLDR I ain't dating a goddamn body anymore and I hope the "fling" was worth losing your "best friend" over. I am enraged.

-Ninja out.

#heartbroken #now enraged #betrayal #fuck love #fuck romance #its all bullshit #no one gives a fuck

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stxrmfxrged · 2 years

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( chris hemsworth. 35 [but it’s complicated]. he/him cis man. ) are you a HERO? something tells me that the smell of rain on the air, honey mead and roasted meat, and hair standing on end make you who you are, THOR ODINSON. with the powers of THUNDER, you’re sure to have a courageous, overconfident personality— and you definitely belong to UNAFFILIATED. were you listening to EYE OF THE STORM by GARRETT GARFIELD on your way to the subway? it suits you. we can’t wait to see what you do next! ( airri. 28. any [she/he/they]. gmt+10.5. )

character name: Thor Odinson age: 35 physically, but really unknown. faceclaim: Chris Hemsworth voiceclaim: See above skill set: Can create, control, and dissipate storms. Summons thunder and lightning. Flight, super strength, enhanced healing, stamina, and the like. Minor magical abilities (the ability to summon and dissipate his armor at will, summon Mjolnir, conceal his identity to most mortals, etc.). affiliations: The Avengers family: Odin (father, deceased), Frigga (mother, deceased), Loki (adopted brother, ??? [assumed deceased]) zodiac: Leo (August 10) wiki link: [Comic Wiki] | [Movie Wiki]

Please note: while I am pulling from the movies, I am playing a bit with canon, here. Especially pre-movie canon, and obviously what happened post-movies. Otherwise Thor’d be in space, still.

was your character “blipped” out? If so, what did they return to and how is it affecting them? if not, who important to them was blipped out, and what has it felt like after those five years have passed?

While Thor himself wasn’t blipped out, the event left him deeply effected. His home, destroyed, almost his entire people wiped out. And then Loki, killed by that monster. It more than broke him- it left him a husk. He fell apart. It was only being pushed by the ragtag team of surviving heroes that he managed to push on, to defeat Thanos.

After all was said and done, Thor walked away from New Asgard, from Earth, for a while. To try and give himself space to heal. Space was vast, empty. It gave him room to examine himself, to sit with being worthy, still. To what he could offer Earth, and his friends. He had been gone two years, when he returned- maybe not completely healed, but ready to start working towards his role as protector of Earth.

The loss is still heavy in his heart. So many people he cared for perished. But he cannot give up fighting. Not again. That would be an insult to their memory. So he will be among them- and watch. Fight the fight when no one else can.

And maybe one day... he will find the strength to be King once more.

where are they living? are they living with anyone?

Currently, Thor wanders the city of New York. As much as he misses his people, he’s not ready to go back there- there’s still too much expectation. But he helps keep an eye on things. And he is too proud to ask for help- he wouldn’t be a burden on old friends, not like this.

why is your character affiliated with who they’re affiliated with?

While Thor would trust his friends with his life, he doesn’t feel qualified to meddle in the affairs of Midgard- not on the kind of level SHIELD and SWORD do. He is, after all, not Midgardian, and it would be wrong. He fights instead for all of Midgard, when threats arise that no one else could stand against.

who are their major friends, allies, and foes?

Any Avenger- former or current, Thor would consider a friend and ally; and he would call them all shield brothers. Furthermore, the Guardians of the Galaxy have found an ally in him.

Foes are trickier- by most records, his major enemies have all already perished, but there is time yet to find more.

Loki... is a wildcard. And even Thor’s not sure where he stands with his brother. Would stand, rather.

whose hands do they believe the country should be in?

It would be untoward for him to have a strong opinion on Midgard matters of state- Thor would instead prefer that to be left to Midgardians. He will ensure that their world remains safe enough that they may do so.

what’s their current mental state at? their physical state?

Mentally, he’s better than he was. There’s still damage to confront, loss to mourn. But healing is a journey, and he is prepared to walk. Physically, Thor is much better- he dropped the extra weight, tidied up a bit, and addressed his drinking habit. He’s much more the man he was before the snap, and fighting fit.

@reshieldedintro

#reshielded:intro #;ooc #;headcanon

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bladekindeyewear · 4 years

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HS^2 bloggin’ mainline 2020-10-31

THE SPOOKTOBER SPOOKD8 IS HERE! Time to blog it and hope to the lord of bones that it heavily features the 12-foot Home Depot Skeleton! Continuing from last time.

Will John remember that he should be off protecting the other kids from running off? Or will he search for Vrissy finally, now that he’s spent a literal DAY staring at his house burning down?

> (==>)

This is the last Blood tie with your childhood and the past you were clinging to like a man-child, finally cut. Your psyche is no longer allowed to be....

....Housetrapped.

Now get your Breathy ass over to your more adult responsibilities. Or do something as irresponsible as usual, but more forward focused and thus singularly impressive.

> (==>)

I LITERALLY GASPED

I knew I was a fatally addicted Homestuck fanboy despite the trauma but I didn’t know I was THAT much of a just-over-thirty-year-old fanboy, I literally GASPED out loud. To finally have the joy and confidence for the future that comes with JOHN and KARKAT together IN PERSON and interacting with a common goal.

What a dramatic, perfect shot. This IS Karkat right? That’s what the visuals and my heart and soul said

> (==>)

THEY’RE CLOSE FRIENDS

CLOSE ENOUGH FOR THAT

KARKAT HAS COME SO FAR

Karkat and John conversations are some of the strongest in Homestuck, I ship them as FRIENDS so hard

It brings to mind something I mentioned in the Breath, Blood, and the Flow of Reality explanation/theorypost, which was holy shit SEVEN YEARS AGO wow

I didn’t always understand the appeal of John as a character, ranking him in the middle of my liked characters list. But after a while, I suddenly noticed how enjoyable he was for the things his conversations did to others, making his pesterlogs some of the most enjoyable to read. I wrote the following two years ago, in a character rankings thread, back when we knew jack shit about the import of classes and roles:

“I didn’t really see why I should think John was such an amazing character until I realized his consistent effect on the other party. He’s goofy and doesn’t really understand anything, but he understands just enough about his friends and others to make cutting, hilarious, almost unintentional insights that can change people for the better, even if he’s off the mark. It’s not what he says himself, but what he brings about in others that makes him so great to read. I mean, if you wall him off from everyone else… he kind of fails.

That’s why I take issue with the complaint of protagonist syndrome, here. John is very little by himself, but enhances all the characters around him immensely. Imagine if John were doomed to stay the least powerful and/or game-advancing of the kids and trolls combined; notice how little that would do to the story, or his beneficial role in it.”

John cut himself off from EVERYONE for YEARS in the Candy timeline. He tried to be close to people and just ended up distancing himself from it. He tried to keep himself tied down by his old home and memories of the version of Dad he lost, and all sorts of childish stuff. But that tie is cut, and the bonds he’s forged need to be grasped to bring him out to exercise his maturity, because Breath is futile without real BLOOD.

> (==>)

Awesome shot.

KARKAT: ROUGH DAY, HUH.

youtube

(that was supposed to skip to 2:26 when you click but I couldnt embed it that way -- I haven’t metal geared i just seen clips and super best friends & know some memes)

So many scars. I used to even ship Jane and Karkat a little so they could just be aghast together at everyone’s shenanigans and level criticism at them together, but to think Jane’s fought and hurt Karkat THIS much...

(And yeah, his blood color is shown through his eyes now at this age, that’s correct.)

> (==>)

Oh my fucking god, going from that to Sprite mode that abruptly. XD

This is great.

JOHN: karkat? JOHN: what are you doing here? KARKAT: IT'S NICE TO SEE YOU TOO.

Hah, SO close that Karkat’s immediately critical of NOT being greeted warmly. :)

JOHN: this isn't a battlefield, it's just... KARKAT: THE OBLITERATED, SMOLDERING HUSK OF YOUR FORMER HOME. JOHN: well, yeah. KARKAT: WHICH WAS DESTROYED AS COLLATERAL IN AN ONGOING MILITARY CONFLICT. JOHN: oh all right, fine. JOHN: it just feels weird to call it that. JOHN: i guess i'm used to thinking of home as somewhere far away from all that war stuff.

Yeah John, the burning down from a bomb that was meant for you and ALL of your friends’ children is supposed to shatter you out of that illusion.

I’d continue criticizing, but Karkat’s about to do it for me:

KARKAT: JESUS *CHRIST* JOHN. KARKAT: I CANNOT EVEN BEGIN TO LIST ALL THE WAYS IN WHICH THAT CONSTITUTES A SHORT-SIGHTED AND PUKE-WORTHILY IGNORANT THING TO SAY TO ME, PERSONALLY. KARKAT: AND FRANKLY I DON'T HAVE TIME TO BOTHER, THANKS TO THE COUNTLESS FIRES I HAVE BEEN PUTTING OUT ALL DAY, THE ONE PRESENTLY CONSUMING YOUR HIVE NOTWITHSTANDING. KARKAT: YOU KNOW WHAT WOULD HAVE MADE THINGS GO A BIT MORE SMOOTHLY? JUST A FRACTION? KARKAT: IF YOU HADN'T JUST DECIDED TO WANDER OFF THE INSTANT SHIT STARTED HAPPENING. JOHN: jeez, i'm sorry karkat. JOHN: i had no idea how much time had passed. JOHN: i must have gotten a bit distracted by my house being blown up.

A BIT DISTRACTED. You empty-headed irresponsible guardian.

KARKAT: NOT WANTING TO POINT OUT THE OBVIOUS, BUT I FEEL LIKE THIS WAS A PROBLEM THAT YOU OF ALL PEOPLE WERE UNIQUELY AND MAGICALLY EQUIPPED TO DEAL WITH. JOHN: huh? KARKAT: YOU KNOW. KARKAT: WITH YOUR SHOOSH THING. JOHN: my shoosh thing. KARKAT: YOUR SHOOSH THING. KARKAT: THE GUSTY NONSENSE? THE GIFT OF GAS?? KARKAT: YOUR SBURB ALLOCATED BLOW JOB??? JOHN: uh. KARKAT: THE SUPERNATURAL COMMUNION YOU HAVE WITH ALL THINGS WINDY, YOU ASS!! JOHN: oh right, that. JOHN: that would have let me put the fire out, maybe. JOHN: i don't think there's anything in my skillset that would have unexploded my house though. KARKAT: THAT'S FAIR.

Mhmm. Many of the characters in Candy AND Meat are currently in a situation where due to either years of unpractice in a worshipful society that discourages it by fueling their insecurities or inability to due to confinement in a years-long space trip has caused them to AVOID using their powers for the main beginning stretch of our new story. People have complained about them outright “forgetting” to use their powers, and they’re right, to an extent, but it’s story-justified. They’re almost all physically or psychologically prevented from doing so! But those walls are coming down, starting now. They’re going to come back into their own. And we’re bound to see a LOT MORE of these literal Gods using their abilities to shape the fabric of reality as the story progresses.

JOHN: i suppose i'll add one more notch to the daily tally of crazy stuff that happened which i just have to accept as my life now.

It was all already happening, you just refused TO accept it until now.

JOHN: so... JOHN: what else happened while i was caught up watching the symbolic representation of my former life get consumed in a giant fire ball? KARKAT: OH BOY. WHERE TO START. KARKAT: SO FIRST OFF, IN HINDSIGHT, TODAY WAS PRETTY OBVIOUSLY JUST ONE HUGE BAITED TRAP. KARKAT: I SAY "IN HINDSIGHT", BUT FORTUNATELY IT WAS ALSO EXTREMELY APPARENT EVEN IN FORESIGHT TO THOSE OF US WHO SPENT A FEW SECONDS THINKING ABOUT IT. JOHN: ...right. KARKAT: OH COME ON EGBERT, SERIOUSLY? KARKAT: KIDNAPPING A PERSON OF IMPORTANCE, ONLY TO LET US KNOW PRECISELY WHERE AND ON WHAT OCCASION THEY WOULD BE MOST ACCESSIBLE FOR A RESCUE ATTEMPT? KARKAT: HAVING THAT OCCASION BE NONE OTHER THAN THE CORPSE PARTY OF A HIGHLY NOTEWORTHY POLITICAL FIGURE, WHOSE CASKET MIGHT AS WELL HAVE HAD A GIANT "KICK ME" SIGN DAUBED ON IT? KARKAT: THERE WAS BASICALLY NO WAY IT WASN'T A FRONT FOR SOMETHING HUGE. AND IT WAS! KARKAT: WE HAPPEN TO BE SITTING IN FRONT OF ONE FACET OF THAT HUGENESS AT THIS VERY MOMENT.

Wait. Oh, God.

Someone brought up the possibility that Gamzee might still be revivable by Jane, and I speculated that she’s deliberately CHOOSING not to because she actually doesn’t like him that much or has some semblance of fucking sense left in her.

But what if she PLANNED to have a public funeral for him, and then revive him SOON AFTER to turn him into a Christ-like resurrecting figure? D:

JOHN: well, when you put it like that... JOHN: i guess we all got pranked pretty hard, huh. KARKAT: THIS IS NO TIME FOR YOUR SHITTY NERD PRANKS JOHN. KARKAT: FRANKLY I'M INSULTED THAT YOU THINK SUCH A WORD IS EVEN REMOTELY APPOSITE TO THE PRESENT SITUATION. KARKAT: OTHER THAN TO DESCRIBE THE WAY I AM PERSONALLY BEING "PRANKED" BY REALITY IN HAVING TO EXPLAIN ALL THIS TO YOU.

Pretty much. Get serious, John, actual people are dying by the--

--oh right, he was like this through the apocalypse and death of everyone on Earth.

I guess this is in character. Paradox Space made sure to choose someone empty-headed and disconnected from reality enough to withstand this shit easily. He really is a Breath player.

KARKAT: IT TURNS OUT THAT WE DIDN'T NEED TO PUT SO MUCH EFFORT INTO THE RESCUING YIFFY PART OF THE OPERATION. KARKAT: SHE BASICALLY RESCUED HERSELF WHEN ALL WAS SAID AND DONE. KARKAT: AND TOOK CARE OF KICKING GAMZEE'S CORPSEBOX OVER WHILE SHE WAS AT IT, IN A STUNNING DISPLAY OF EFFICIENCY WHICH THE REST OF US CAN ONLY ASPIRE TO.

Excellent, yeah.

JOHN: it sounds like she'd be a pretty welcome addition to your ranks then. KARKAT: SHE'S A CHILD, YOU MORON.

Yeah, you’re fucking grown up now, John. Stop thinking of the kids as the ones who have to rise up when the adults aren’t all doomed or dead.

KARKAT: THE VRISKAS, PLURAL. JOHN: shit. KARKAT: THEY'VE BOTH BEEN CAPTURED. JOHN: shiiiiiiiit. KARKAT: YEAH. KARKAT: GREAT WORK KEEPING AN EYE ON THEM, BY THE WAY! KARKAT: YOU LITERALLY HAD ONLY ONE JOB, AND YOU MESSED IT UP IN THE EQUALLY SINGULAR WAY IT WAS POSSIBLE TO DO. JOHN: urgh, i know, i know. ):

At least he messed that part up while he was TRYING to watch them, and not when he wandered off and watched his house burn for a whole day instead of protecting the remaining kids.

KARKAT: JANE'S PLAN FOR THIS CONFLICT HAS THUS FAR CONSISTED ALMOST ENTIRELY OF KIDNAPPING VARIOUS HIGH PROFILE CHILDREN. KARKAT: IT'S BIZARRE. KARKAT: AS THOUGH WE ARE FIGHTING A WAR OF ATTRITION, WHERE THE MAIN RESOURCE BEING UTILIZED IS THE OFFSPRING OF THE MOST POWERFUL PEOPLE ON THE PLANET. KARKAT: IF IT WASN'T ONE OF THE CORE TENETS OF HER FASCISTIC PHILOSOPHY, I'D BE TEMPTED TO SAY THAT CURBING REPRODUCTION MIGHT HAVE BEEN A GOOD IDEA, IF ONLY TO PREVENT THIS KIND OF FUCKSHIT NONSENSE FROM HAPPENING.

Leave it to Karkat to point out the blatant absurdity of Homestuck’s nonsense in any given situation.

JOHN: wait. JOHN: wait a minute. JOHN: you said that both vriskas have been captured, right? KARKAT: EXCUSE ME WHILE I WEEP FOR JOY AT THE REVELATION THAT YOU HAVE BEEN PAYING ATTENTION FOR ONCE. JOHN: okay, well putting that emotional outburst aside for a moment. JOHN: how is that even possible? JOHN: doesn't vriska, the original vriska, still have her magic alien mind control powers? JOHN: it seems like it should be basically impossible for anyone to kidnap her. KARKAT: YOU'VE STUMBLED ASS BACKWARDS ACROSS THE MOST IMPORTANT POINT OF THIS UNFORTUNATE DEVELOPMENT.

...Is Karkat going to put two and two together and realize that Vriska must have been intentionally captured of her own free will for some sort of ploy?

KARKAT: YOU ARE CORRECT, IN THAT WITH HER CASTE-TYPICAL, *COMPLETELY SCIENTIFIC AND NOT EVEN A LITTLE BIT MAGICAL* PSYCHOMANIPULATIVE ABILITIES, STAYING OUT OF CROCKER'S REACH SHOULD HAVE BEEN COMPLETELY TRIVIAL FOR SERKET PRIME. KARKAT: EVEN ACCOUNTING FOR THE FACT THAT SAID ABILITIES ARE NOT NEARLY AS POTENT ON HUMANS AS THEY ARE ON FELLOW TROLLS, THEY STILL OUGHT TO HAVE TIPPED ANY ALTERCATION SQUARELY IN HER FAVOR. KARKAT: BUT SOMEHOW, IT DIDN'T! KARKAT: INSTEAD, THINGS APPEAR TO HAVE GONE GLOBES UP IN CLASSIC VRISKITE FASHION, AND NOW ONE OF THE MOST UNEXPECTED AND UNWANTED BUT NEVERTHELESS USEFUL WEAPONS IN OUR ARSENAL IS DOING TIME IN CROCKERJAIL. KARKAT: THAT'S ABOUT ALL WE'VE BEEN ABLE TO GLEAN FROM TAPPING INTO THE BATTERBITCH AIRWAVES, WHICH IS A FANCY TERM FOR EAVESDROPPING ON THOSE OF HER AGENTS WHO TALK A LITTLE TOO LOUDLY IN SEMI-PUBLIC SPACES. JOHN: jeez. JOHN: i really screwed that up, didn't i.

Guh. I guess Karkat is underestimating Vriska a bit or just assuming the worst out of a habit of assuming the worst of everything. (Or, if he has his suspicions, he’s not telling John.)

KARKAT: HAVING SAID ALL OF THAT, AND WITH THE RECOGNITION THAT I AM CHOOSING TO NURSE YOUR BRUISED FEELINGS DURING A PLANET WIDE CONFLICT FOR THE FATE OF MY SPECIES, KARKAT: IS THERE ANYTHING I CAN DO TO EXPEDITE YOUR GETTING THE FUCK OVER IT? JOHN: i... hm.

Yeah, use your shoosh-paps from Karkat wisely, John. You needed them.

JOHN: i don't really know? JOHN: this all feels wrong, karkat. JOHN: no offense, but when you're around, it's usually a lot... KARKAT: A LOT WHAT? JOHN: a lot funnier. KARKAT: FUNNIER. JOHN: how to put this. JOHN: normally listening to you go on and on about how much we've fucked everything up is just very funny! JOHN: but now it's just not the same. JOHN: maybe it's part of what's going on with this entire reality? i don't know. JOHN: once upon a time i would have put down your ability to pull a silly rant out of your butt as a fundamental law of physics or something. JOHN: remember back when we first knew each other? JOHN: it felt like all you ever said to me was how much you thought i was screwing up and being a useless asshole. JOHN: and once i realized that you were also just a dumb kid who didn't know what was going on, i started to kind of enjoy it. JOHN: but now it's like... the only one who's still a dumb kid is me, and everyone else has something big and important going on that i just don't understand.

Mhmm, Karkat has every reason to be mad. And everything really, REALLY close to you that you care about is in danger from the very things he’s mad about. Karkat is RIGHT for once with every angry seemingly-exaggerated-but-not word, and that’s throwing you.

JOHN: i thought that i finally got what was going on with this whole war and everything. i wanted to be useful! JOHN: i guess i got a little too wrapped up in the feeling of something finally happening again. JOHN: and then watching it all blow up in my face, kind of literally now that i think about it...

...you think maybe something that happens to be A WAR is actually a big farking deal that you should be serious about??

JOHN: it's hard not to feel even more dejected about the situation than i was before. JOHN: and now even the patented karkat vant rant has lost all its sparkle.

IT’S NOT SUPPOSED TO BE FUN.

JOHN: maybe if you had like, painstakingly itemized a list of all the things wrong with my plan in a comically overdone fashion or something. KARKAT: I CONSIDERED IT, BUT HONESTLY THERE WAS SO MUCH WRONG THAT I CONCLUDED THAT THE BEST THING FOR EVERYONE WOULD BE TO NEVER SPEAK OF IT AGAIN. JOHN: oh. okay.

Heheh.

KARKAT: IF WE'RE BEING HONEST, YOU DIDN'T EVEN HAVE A PLAN, JOHN. KARKAT: CALLING IT A PLAN WOULD IMPLY THAT IT WAS A STRUCTURED SEQUENCE OF STEPS DESIGNED TO ACHIEVE A GOAL. KARKAT: WHAT YOU CAME UP WITH WAS A CONVOLUTED MESS WHICH STILL SOMEHOW INVOLVED DOING FUCKALL. KARKAT: AND I USE CONVOLUTED HERE IN THE SAME WAY THAT I WOULD TO DESCRIBE THE FRENZIED DRAWSTICK SCRIBBLES OF A SQUALLING HUMAN INFANT.

All Breath and no Blood? All concept and influence and ephemeral accomplishments and no physical impact or results?

Karkat has been fighting this whole time with physical results in mind. He NEEDS to tie that ephemeral shit down, and once added to his plan, once Breath sweeps the tide of actual sentiment of people, inspires them, you have an actual victory in reach instead of just more attrition.

KARKAT: I APPRECIATE THAT YOU SEEM TO HAVE DUG YOUR PAN OUT OF YOUR OWN CHUTE THE FEW MICROMETERS NECESSARY TO NOTICE THE PRECISE DEGREE TO WHICH THE WORLD IS BEING JUDICIOUSLY BATFUCKED RIGHT NOW.

Really need to dig yourself out more than that, John, yeah.

KARKAT: AS HARD AS IT IS TO BELIEVE, THAT'S A FEAT WHICH NO SMALL NUMBER OF PEOPLE ARE COMPLETELY INCAPABLE OF DOING!

(Which is why your plan of attack needs more Breath!)

KARKAT: BUT NOTICING THE PROBLEM AND MAKING MEANINGFUL PROGRESS TOWARDS SOLVING IT ARE TWO COMPLETELY DIFFERENT THINGS. KARKAT: THE NEXT TIME YOU GET THE IMPULSE TO "LEND A HAND", YOU'D BE BETTER OFF CANNING IT FOR FIVE MINUTES AND LISTENING TO THOSE OF US WHO'VE BEEN TRYING TO SOLVE IT A LOT LONGER THAN YOU HAVE. KARKAT: THIS ISN'T AN EXERCISE BEING CONDUCTED IN ORDER FOR YOU TO PROVE YOUR PERSONAL DEGREE OF MORAL RECTITUDE. KARKAT: AND IF IT WAS, YOU WOULD HAVE ALREADY FAILED MISERABLY! SO DO YOURSELF AND EVERYONE ELSE A FAVOR AND STOP TREATING IT LIKE ONE. JOHN: well... all right. if you say so karkat.

Phew. Let’s hope he takes Karkat’s gift of a worldbound, arms-in-the-dirt sense of responsibility (Blood) and runs with it.

KARKAT: I DO SAY SO, EMPHATICALLY AND AT GREAT VOLUME. KARKAT: AND NOW THAT MY OBLIGATION TO CATECHIZE YOU ON THE SUBJECT OF YOUR OWN LIFE IS FULFILLED, I HAVE A WAR TO GET BACK TO. JOHN: wait, hold on. KARKAT: OH MY GOD WHAT NOW.

--is it gonna be a hug?

> (==>)

JOHN. Put it together.

JOHN: you can't be leaving already. JOHN: there's... so much we still need to talk about!

No, not that!!

...well, yes, I’m all for more of you two talking but. This ain’t just about you two.

KARKAT: WHAT MORE COULD THERE POSSIBLY BE FOR US TO DISCUSS?? KARKAT: PLEASE DO NOT TELL ME YOU JUST HAD ANOTHER EMOTION THAT WE NEED TO DROP EVERYTHING IN ORDER TO DISSECT. JOHN: no, that's not what i'm talking about at all. JOHN: karkat, we still haven't spoken about *you*! KARKAT: ABOUT ME? JOHN: yes. KARKAT: ABOUT *ME*? JOHN: about you. KARKAT: WHAT THE FUCK ABOUT ME. JOHN: well... JOHN: you know, how you feel! KARKAT: HOW I FEEL. JOHN: or just... JOHN: argh, i don't know!

This was more of an intervention than a feelings jam, John. I’m not sure John’s in the condition right now to Breathily inspire Karkat somehow and help his war with an idea and drive he didn’t have before -- like he SHOULD eventually -- but I suppose we’re about to see.

JOHN: it's just been so long since we've seen each other. JOHN: all sorts of things have happened in that time, and it doesn't feel right to just not even mention any of it! KARKAT: LIKE WHAT?? JOHN: oh, i don't know karkat, literally anything! JOHN: i mean, look at you. JOHN: you are decked out in a tight body suit and have an eyepatch and everything. there is simply no way there isn't something to discuss there.

You talked with him plenty while NOT in person, though.

> (==>)

Such MOOD. What a good image.

JOHN: or like, forget the eyepatch, we don't have to talk about the eyepatch. JOHN: i feel as though my point still stands? JOHN: there is basically a bottomless well full of stuff to go through. JOHN: i mean we kind of glossed over it when you brought her up earlier, but what about yiffy? JOHN: this might not come across so easily due to human troll cultural boundaries, but her existing is kind of a big deal?? JOHN: i feel like somehow i missed the part where we all sit around and talk about how strange it is that two of our friends went off and had a secret child without any of us knowing! JOHN: is it too much to ask that we have that part now, karkat?

That’s fair. And they DO need to talk about it! But this is sort of like in the Game -- there’s important shit to do, and not a whole lot of time to do it. You’re going to do a lot of talking, but you won’t be able to do all you want with certain people separated from you by the circumstances of how this war is dividing your responsibilities.

JOHN: i mean, maybe it just doesn't mean that much to you. KARKAT: JOHN. JOHN: which is a little strange, given that it ties in to the whole conflict that you had with jade and dave. JOHN: oh god we have to talk about dave. KARKAT: JOHN. KARKAT: FUCKING HELL! KARKAT: I DON'T WANT TO TALK ABOUT DAVE. JOHN: no, this is what i mean, karkat. JOHN: we need to talk about dave! KARKAT: HAHA! LIKE SHIT WE DO!! KARKAT: I HAVE NO FUCKING CLUE HOW THIS IS EVEN A RELEVANT TOPIC OF CONVERSATION. JOHN: oh come on. JOHN: there's no way you aren't feeling kind of messed up about him, right?

THIS is fair. Karkat does need to talk about this with somebody. Whether John is the right somebody... I guess he is where Dave is concerned. And he has to talk to Jade eventually, too.

JOHN: i know i am. JOHN: whenever i think about how things ended between you two... JOHN: especially now that he's... JOHN: ugh, i'm sorry. i'm SO sorry karkat. sorry doesn't even begin to cover it. JOHN: this whole thing feels so impossibly sad. JOHN: all i'm trying to say is... JOHN: it's not healthy to bottle these feelings up and not acknowledge them. JOHN: even if you aren't feeling anything right now, and i don't for a moment believe that's true, *i* need to talk about dave! JOHN: so can we please just talk about dave for a moment. KARKAT: NNNNGNGNGGGGGGGUUUUUUGUUGHHHHHHHH FINE.

It’s difficult to live in a Daveless world.

KARKAT: IF IT WILL GET YOU TO SHUT UP ABOUT THIS TOPIC FOR EVEN A BRIEF MOMENT, THEN FINE. KARKAT: REGARDLESS OF HOW POINTLESS AN EXERCISE I CONSIDER IT TO BE, I WILL DISCUSS WITH YOU MY "FEELINGS" ABOUT DAVE. JOHN: okay. JOHN: thank you. KARKAT: ARE YOU PREPARED TO BE INUNDATED WITH NONE OTHER THAN AN UNINTERRUPTED SPATE OF HARD, UNEMBELLISHED DATA VIS A VIS MY SWEEPS-SUPPRESSED, BISCUITFELT EMOTIONS ON THE DAVE SITUATION?? KARKAT: WELL HERE GOES.

--it’s not gonna be short, or cut away, is it? --actually it could just switch to a very sad sunset-like vista of the two sitting there, and one poignant line from him followed by a long, hanging pause.

> (==>)

KARKAT: *DEEP BREATH*

A giant expletive isn’t it.

The best sendoff you could give him.

> (==>)

Holy shit. It really IS a rant!

KARKAT: YOU WANT TO KNOW HOW I REALLY FEEL ABOUT DAVE? KARKAT: HOW I FEEL IS THAT I WISH THAT EVERYONE WOULD STOP FUCKING BOTHERING ME ABOUT HIM!!! KARKAT: ALRIGHT, SO HE AND JADE GOT HUMAN MARRIED!! BIG DEAL!!! KARKAT: DO PEOPLE FORGET THAT I WAS THERE?? I FEEL LIKE EVERYONE IS FORGETTING THAT I WAS LITERALLY INVITED TO THE OCCASION. KARKAT: I'VE EVEN COME TO EXPECT THIS KIND OF AMNESIAC BEHAVIOR FROM EVERYONE ELSE, SINCE I ADMIT THAT I DIDN'T EXACTLY STICK AROUND OR ACTUALLY SHOW MY FACE FOR MOST OF THE ORDEAL, BUT YOU EGBERT SHOULD HAVE NO FUCKING EXCUSE! JOHN: wait, karkat, that's not what i KARKAT: SO YEAH! THAT WHOLE THING HAPPENED, AND I CAME TO TERMS WITH WHATEVER THERE WAS TO COME TO TERMS WITH, WHICH WAS FUCKING *NOTHING*, AND THEN I GOT ON WITH THE ACTUAL IMPORTANT BUSINESS OF TRYING TO PREVENT THE WORLD FROM CRUMBLING! KARKAT: WHICH, NOW THAT WE'RE ON THE SUBJECT, IS *STILL FUCKING HAPPENING*! KARKAT: I AM UTTERLY APPALLED THAT THIS IS AN INFO MORSEL I KEEP HAVING TO SPOONFEED DOWN YOUR WINDCHUTE EVERY FIVE SECONDS, JOHN, I REALLY AM. KARKAT: I MEAN HOLY SHIT, NOW IS NOT THE TIME FOR THIS! KARKAT: AND ONE THING I CAN SAY WITH ABSOLUTE IRONCLAD CERTAINTY IS THAT IF DAVE WERE HERE, HE WOULD SAY THE SAME THING!!

Okay he dealt with it by keeping his hands in the dirt working on hard-fighting responsibilities, yeah, as a Blood player might. But the way he’s ranting about it seems a little-

KARKAT: SPEAKING OF WHICH, WHERE *IS* DAVE?? JOHN: um. KARKAT: I FEEL LIKE IF ANYONE COULD HAVE PREVENTED TODAY FROM DEVOLVING INTO A HEADLESS CLUSTERFUCK, IT WOULD HAVE BEEN... OKAY, MAYBE NOT HIM, BUT AT LEAST HE MIGHT HAVE HELPED DRAG YOU OUT OF YOUR DEPRESSIVE FUGUE A LITTLE SOONER! JOHN: (oh shit.)

Oh SHIT

> (==>)

Oh no... oh no, they’re BOTH about to let it out together.

They’re gonna have to cry it out. Finally, onscreen. THIS is why they weren’t showing us, why they were saving it. It felt so awkward at the time but it’s because it has to culminate in these two, some of the closest to Dave since CHILDHOOD, get to show us the effect on everyone in a microcosm.

KARKAT: NOT ONLY THAT, BUT MAYBE WITH BOTH OF US HERE WE COULD HAVE DISPENSED WITH THIS ENTIRE SORRY TOPIC ONCE AND FOR ALL, IF ONLY FOR YOUR BENEFIT! KARKAT: OH HI DAVE, JOHN SEEMS TO BE UNDER THE IMPRESSION THAT THE UNSPOKEN HISTORY BETWEEN US IS OF SUFFICIENT IMPORT THAT WE NEED TO HASH IT OUT THIS VERY SECOND IN FRONT OF THE BLASTED REMAINS OF HIS HOME! KARKAT: yo karkat that does seem to be a strange thing for my best friend john to be concerned about given that he has spent the past five years wallowing in the depths of deepest divorce fever KARKAT: and especially since jade and i have meanwhile been working as part of your resistance with no complaints, but sure, we can brofist each other and arrange our limbs in an unambiguously platonic way KARKAT: a way which is also flawlessly calculated to communicate to everyone present that here are two guys who are totally and unequivocally over each other JOHN: (oh god. you don't...)

Talk about John’s comment about Karkat’s rants not being hilarious in a situation. THIS situation really tugs it out of them. :(

KARKAT: THAT SOUNDS LIKE A GREAT IDEA DAVE, AND WITH THAT MAYBE THAT WAY WE CAN WASH OUR TOUCH STUMPS OF THIS WHOLE ORDEAL AND NEVER HAVE TO SPEAK OF IT AGAIN! KARKAT: WOULD YOU LIKE THAT, JOHN? KARKAT: WOULD THAT SATISFY YOUR CRAVING FOR CATHARSIS ON THE SUBJECT OF DAVE?? KARKAT: WELL WHY DON'T WE TRY IT THEN. KARKAT: IN FACT, WHY DON'T YOU CALL DAVE AND GET HIM OVER HERE RIGHT NOW! JOHN: (oh my god...)

> (==>)

These visuals are ON POINT. This entire sequence since Karkat showed up is masterfully done.

KARKAT: MAYBE WE SHOULD GET JADE TO COME AS WELL! JOHN: ): KARKAT: FUCK, WHY NOT INVITE FUCKING EVERYONE!!! KARKAT: WHY NOT PRESS "PAUSE" ON THE RACE WAR FOR A MOMENT AND HAVE ONE HUGE FEELINGS JAM LAWNMEAL WHERE WE ALL PUBLICLY EXPATIATE OUR VARIOUS CONVOLUTED EMOTIONS. KARKAT: FORGET PEACE TALKS, GET FUCKING *CROCKER* TO COME! KARKAT: MAYBE THE SIGHT OF A DAVEKAT RECONCILIATION IS THE SECRET KEY TO UNLOCKING THE PART OF HER BRAIN THAT STOPS HER FROM BEING A GENOCIDAL RACIST BITCH!!! KARKAT: HOW COULD WE HAVE POSSIBLY BEEN SO BLIND!!!!!! KARKAT: IF GAMZEE WASN'T DEAD, YOU COULD HAVE INVITED HIM AS WELL! KARKAT: HAHAHA, THAT'S OKAY, WE STILL HAVE A VERITABLE MENAGERIE OF PEOPLE WE KNOW WHO AREN'T DEAD. JOHN: ))))): KARKAT: ALL OF WHOM I AM SURE WILL BE SIMPLY DELIGHTED TO ATTEND WHAT WILL UNDOUBTEDLY BE THE SINGLE MOST IMPORTANT EVENT IN EARTH C'S BULLSHIT HISTORY. KARKAT: IF THIS IS WHAT IT TAKES, EGBERT, THEN I AM PREPARED TO DO IT! KARKAT: DON'T THINK THAT I WON'T!! KARKAT: IF JUST FOR AN *INSTANT* IT WILL GET EVERYONE OFF MY CASE ABOUT THIS, I WILL STAND UP WITH DAVE IN FRONT OF THE ENTIRE ***FUCKING WORLD*** AND SOLEMNLY VOW THAT I DO NOT GIVE A SHIT!!!! JOHN: KARKAT!!!!

That last bit with John. I can HEAR the rawness in his voice as he shouts that last bit... he’s about to burst into tears. And Karkat is going to have to with him. And they’ll cry it out together, as they should.

> (==>)

JOHN: ugh, fuck, this is just too much! JOHN: i thought you KNEW! KARKAT: KNEW WHAT??? JOHN: dave's GONE, karkat! JOHN: he's... JOHN: he's dead.

Let’s see it happen.

> (==>)

Just body language, the blow of the words...

JOHN: i didn't mean for you to find out like this at all, i thought... JOHN: i mean, i only heard about it yesterday, but i was convinced someone would have told you already! JOHN: apparently one minute he was there, and the next... JOHN: none of us even know how it happened, and it doesn't make any sense that he's dead, but he is. JOHN: he is dead and he's not coming back. KARKAT: JOHN: talk to me karkat, please. JOHN: please talk to me karkat. KARKAT: KARKAT: HE...

Jade and Rose were on a different part of this battlefield, they didn’t have the ability, time, and/or heart to break the news--

> (==>)

KARKAT: HE DIDN'T EVEN SAY GOODBYE?

aaaaAAAA

What a fucking expression, wow.

And what a regret RoboDave has to have for abandoning everyone without so much as a farewell letter. To think that ditching them like that was IN his Ultimate Soul is going to eat away at him. He may be linked to all of his self of selves, but he’s still an individual with individual regrets.

This was a damned good update. See y’all next time.

(It may be the new meds I’m on, but between this and the thorough love I see put into the unofficial archive, I’m suddenly reminded that despite all the drama, I fucking LOVE Homestuck. Even its current incarnation.)

#Homestuck #hs2 #Homestuck Liveblog #upd8 #Homestuck^2 #spoiler #spoilers #John Egbert #Karkat #Dave Strider #Jane Crocker

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omnitf · 4 years

Text

Death’s Soliloquy

You know, I’ve been around for a very long time.

My purpose was and is a simple one. I exist to guide what once was into the great beyond, the what will be, if you will.

Every day of your mortal lives, I am working, watching, travelling silently among you.

Sometimes, I linger. Other times, I do not.

I don’t decide my timetable. I am neither cruel nor hateful. I do not steal life, nor do I feast upon it like some glutted animal. I am not the source of ailments or hunger or conflict. You can attribute those things to the other horsemen, and more importantly to Man. We do not sow that which we embody. Man calls us. And we come, because we must. It is our Duty.

And before you get any ideas, I don’t inflict myself on others. I come when I must, and I perform my Duty. That has always been my purpose, and for all I know, it always will be. Or perhaps the time will come when I can retire and pass this burden to another with the birth of a new world and a new creation. Who can say? It is one of those “great mysteries” that you mortals love to ponder so much.

I am content with my lot. I am seen every day, but so few of you mortals recognize me or even talk to me. It is both blessing and curse, I suppose. The Veil, I mean. You know, I honestly think humans are the reason the Veil exists in the first place. Not that it was placed as some punishment, but because man reached a point where he simply feared the spiritual. So many men think fear is essential in life. It pushes one to great acts that may seem otherwise impossible to achieve. And, indeed, in that way fear can be very useful. But like any tool or naturally occurring phenomenon, it can also be exploited. I suppose over time, it has also served as a necessary defense mechanism, but we can discuss that later.

You know, I honestly think that’s what comprises the veil most, exploitation. The idea that man must rely on himself alone, pushing their will over everything else. And like the sudden cough of a combustion engine, the smog of their will bursts from them to clog the ether.

It’s perfectly harmless on its own, but magnify that expulsion by billions upon billions and, well, you can barely see the hand in front of your face at that point. The only thing I’ve noticed that’s strong enough to cut through it is a pure, unwavering faith, the kind that’s not forced or thrust by the will of others, but born of devotion and love gained through personal experience and hard work. That, or a complete openness and acceptance that borders on the divine.

I had many wonderful conversations with the one you call Terry Pratchett before I came for that most important visit. He was such a one as I listed above. I like to believe he fell a little under both exceptions to the Veil. Much of our discussions wound their way into his work. I quite liked his portrayal of me. The idea of searching for meaning, a chance to experience joy and life as humans do. Yes, I very much approve of the world he crafted, a world where the ideas that mortals seem to cling to with such certainty and passion can be thrown on their heads in an instant and leave them to ponder, to wonder, and perhaps to think openly and clearly for the first time in their lives. Perhaps, one day, he will be able to do so in a reality that he forges in that great beyond, rather than in written word and the portals of his mind. Yes, I would not mind knowing such a Death, nor travelling such a world.

Ah, but of course, it would have to wait until my Duty is complete in this cycle of the Eternal Round.

Now, then, where was I?

Ah, yes. I was talking of Man and his perceptions. Many think me to be cruel. They beg me to send them back or allow them to remain. Some run. Occasionally, they are allowed to return, their time extended by the higher power that I serve. Others are allowed to linger, because their will is simply that strong. Among those, sadly, many grow angry at the living and lose their way. They forget who and what they are, so warped by that expulsion of certainty that others do not deserve the time they have been given in life. Those sensations of anger, jealousy, and rage fester and decay until their hosts are little more than husks driven and bound by these emotions’ whims. It is a sad fate, one that I wish to help as many as I can to avoid. But it is also why the Veil is there. It protects Man from these aberrations, and from those other forces that seek to manipulate or harm them directly. Ah, but that war is one in which I must remain neutral until the end. Until that time, I must attend to my Duty.

Which brings me to today.

Ah, yes. Today, I face a different challenge in the form of a, “Woke” generation, I believe they are called. A pale rider on a pale horse is not often welcome, and I have been called by many names as a result. Words that are untrue, born of grief, of regret, of countless losses in opportunities and actions that can no longer be performed or seized. I have faced this in many generations before. It, too, is a part of the Eternal Round. I cannot even begin to count the number of -ists and -obics that I have been called over the years as I helped these spirits to accept their ends. It is my hope to guide them to a new beginning, one that can be beyond such petty grievances and pains that Man has inflicted and accrued over the course of their existence.

For many, I succeed. For some few, I am ashamed to say that I fail, and I must leave these spirits to their fates and the hands and voices of others to sooth or manipulate as the spirit wills.

It brings me great joy when my Duty calls me to one of these after finally being led to accept what they would not before. And I am glad to have them ride with me. It is in this instance that my paleness no longer offends or inflicts fear. It is in this instance where I can experience for a few fleeting moments that joy of friendship, of brotherhood that Man both embodies and rejects so readily. Some apologize. Others are merely silent as they lean into my back and hold my waist. We both know the truth, and so there is no need for them to speak. I give them a final ride, and then usher them unto that great beyond.

But, as ever, it must be their choice to take that final step. I often wave and smile reassuringly to them, and that puts those who see my true nature at ease, a well wishing to bolster their courage in this final sendoff. I cannot pass beyond those portals myself. Not yet.

I have a unique memory. It allows me to see what my passengers were, who they were. But more importantly, it allows me to see who and what they can become. It is that sight, more than any other, that motivates me most. Indeed, I believe I can say, with absolute certainty, it is that very sight that motivates all the heavenly hosts you mortals have called upon and invoked and personified throughout your lives.

Man needs faith, because without it, miracles and wonders truly would cease, and that beautiful potential I see every day will become smaller, smaller, smaller still, until it withers away to dust scattered across the empty void from which their matter was first organized and formed.

I cannot judge. That is not my place.

But I do know, because I can read their lives, all lives. And whether they be sentenced to paradise or a hell of their own making, I will be there to help them onward to that next step.

I always have been from the day of Man’s fall, whether that be because of one God or many gods or one Devil or many devils or the will of Man himself.

And I await the day when I will no longer be needed, when my purpose ends and I can finally say, It is done.

And what will become of me after? Well, who among you can say? My vision, my memory, if you will, reveals their potential and their lives, but it does not necessarily apply to my own existence.

Still, I like to hope that those who went before me will be waiting to guide me as I did them, and to welcome me with open arms into that Eternity beyond those gates. Myself, and my fellow riders, to usher us into the end of the cycle and the beginning of something new.

Until then, I will fulfill my Duty. After all, I am Death. I can wait.

The End

#omnitf #fiction #fantasy #Death #embodiment #personification #4 horsemen #four horsemen #soliloquy #terry pratchett

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cookie-cutter-communications · 3 years

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“...Can we hide here? It’s dark enough…” “Your visor.” “Hm?” “Your visor is a beacon for them.” “Oh! Then maybe I can just-” They were nudged by Aloe, prompting them to look up. “What?” “Take one good look around us, genius.” They did so, and not only could they see the husks from before, but.. Apparently there were some already here! Well...That was unsettling. “S-So, we’re...stuck, huh?” “The ring around us only closes in, I’m afraid.” They folded their arms, but the way they did it… were they trying to make themself feel better from all of this fear? “If only I had told that thief to stay back…” “Don’t take all the bla-...ble….ame…..bad feelies for this! I...I was the one who opened the door to them.” They seemed to hold a little guilt in their eyes, as well...that surely was new. Such a feeling wouldn’t last long… to the dismay of them both. “I’m the reason Roguey is gonna be all alone soon…” “Th-They’ll get us back.” “They can’t!!! Aren’t they not strong enough to even hold us back physically?” “...I only wish to find some silver lining amid all of this.” They huffed, looking up from the robotic friend to faintly see the smiling faces of many within the inky appearance of their surroundings. They were all silent, making the empty space all the more stressful to remain in.

“I’m not fond of strangers with such horrific manners thinking they can make puppets of us.” The voice caught everybody in the room off guard, the husks in particular looking around the room in their happy confusion. The scientist noted an anomaly in that voice- yes, it was them, it was certainly Roguefort, but...The already tense air grew suffocating in their presence. The thief had found their way down from the roof of the building, landing in front of the mindless lot. They...admittedly, they had never felt a rage tearing through them quite like this instance. Yet, their demeanor remained calm. A bit too calm, but… it was hard to keep up the act. The fact that they were so rudely awakened to memories of this place… Oh, it was something that they wouldn’t wish upon anybody else. “Roguey…?” Cy’s voice was too quiet for the other to hear, and though they wished to move closer, Aloe held them back. “This isn’t like them at all… Perhaps it’s better to stay out of their way.” The husks were murmuring at the presence of the third, remarking that the trio was no more than a lost cause. Yet, they continued, “You all act as if you haven’t been fixed before, in this very building.” “Well, we haven’t-” “Quiet, you dolt. I suppose you all were made to forget the horrors that happen inside of here...what a coincidence.” “What are you going on about, Roguefort?” “Maybe we should just make quick work of them!” “But we need someone to explain why they’ve decided to think!” The crowd felt… hungry. Both for an explanation, yet more so to apprehend all of them. But, with all the attention focused on one person, Aloe and Cyborg unknowingly became just two other husks in the eyes of the crowd. "If you want someone to answer for acting differently than every other cretin in the room that thinks having the personality of a doorknob is some breakthrough of the century, I'll be your goddamn answer. Come along then!!! All of you! No matter what you think you are, you will always be the furthest from perfect in my eyes." Slowly, such a calm expression would be filled with scorn as they scanned their eyes over the crowd they could see. They were all weak. “All of you are nothing but failures.”

Aloe didn’t even notice Cyborg had decided to hold onto them, and they would keep the smaller one there. As the crowd began to rush by, the scientist seemed quite...baffled. “Such intensity…” The likes of which they hadn’t expressed prior- just what was this? Sure, there was a means for the husks to become hostile if met with someone of thought, but...that wouldn’t be possible here, would it…? “There’s no need to worry, Cyborg...I-It will be over soon.” At the first sight of movement, that scorn would meld into some sickly smile upon Roguefort’s, processing that...this indeed was going to be quite the messy altercation. The scientist heard a shink soon after, glancing up while keeping Cyborg’s gaze away from the situation. “...Where the hell did they get that from…?” A blade? That was never gifted to them… so where did they find it? And, not only that, but where did they muster up such courage to slaughter so many? Even so, the numbers dropped like flies, despite the fact there was such a massive amount of them...it wasn’t as if the thief was about to get out of this without any form of damage. “What is Roguey doing…?” The half-bot wanted to look up, yet once more was forced away by Aloe. “...Saving us, Cy. That is all you must know.” The thought of death being brought to light once more, it was disturbing to note that most of the husks didn’t even seem to care. If death couldn’t even bring them out of such a clouded mind...perhaps nothing would be able to do so. Or, perhaps it’s some oddity where only specific things could force their minds into thought? They didn’t know. They couldn’t exactly think straight with all of the murder taking place before them, anyhow. The glimpses of guts and gore strewn about were no exception to such, even if they could handle it better than the smaller one. That’s when they noticed Roguefort glancing back at them, and though they only had a moment to process that, it...really did seem that they did this for both of them. They found some worth in all of this, despite the wounds they were surely obtaining.

Amid the crowd of husks, none of them seemed to hold back- for all but one. Seeing the massacre before himself, he couldn’t help but be taken aback. What...was this? What was he supposed to do, if he saw others dying?? ...There were two others away from all of this...were they others who didn’t favor this sight? He stumbled a little as he tried to find his footing- both physically and mentally. “You appear to be quite lost…” Aloe addressed him, unknowingly causing Cyborg to finally be able to glance up. Though, their eyes were quick to drift off to the bloodied scene before them. “You both...aren’t fighting? And...I’m not, either. Just… Just what is happening? I don’t know what I’m supposed to do…!” The green-haired one was about to respond, but was forced to look down as they felt...rattling. “Cy, I-I...I told you not to look…” Oh, dear...they hoped this wouldn’t bring about another mind of carnage...they didn’t wish for two of those roaming so freely about- ...Oh, right. The newcomer. They had to address the newcomer, whoever this one was. “We cannot fight a mass of that many. And...I know this may be more than a little traumatic for you, even if I don’t know why you stopped, but… you could either stay with us, or...or suffer the same fate as the others.” They sighed, noticing the sounds of slaughter had stopped. Flicking their eyes to the scene for a moment, they realized the last of the husks had been slaughtered. Roguefort’s breathing was surely strained, given how heavy such breaths were. “What will it be, new one?” The question made him hesitate, along with the scientist reaching a hand out to him. He resisted the urge to go back, yet...it kept trying to force him back over to die with the rest. What...What a horrible frame of mind…! But...was it really okay to listen? He...wasn’t dying from doing that. Was it okay not to just run away? But...then he would be alone, wouldn’t he? “I never thought such a choice existed. I...I am happy you wish to keep me safe, I don’t really think I want to die right now.” He slowly took the hand of the taller, his eyes remaining quite timid and full of...nothing? Everything? It was hard to tell. “I feel like everything is coming undone… And what about that happiness I had before? We all were like that...” “It was nothing more than thinly tied fabric, which is now left to flow.” “...Oh...so I can get happiness back by sewing it all together?” “Th-That is not what I-” “I’m sorry for what you had to behold.” It seemed that the thief was making their way back over to the group. “I...Hah, I don’t quite know what came over me to induce such violence.” “It is fine, just-” The scientist couldn’t even get a proper sentence in before Cyborg initiated an emergency shutdown on themself, causing them to tumble to the floor. It was just as loud as one would expect. The held hand would be squeezed from the scientist’s side, looking at the half-bot in pity. “Well, I was going to say not to press Cy too heavily about this, but it appears I am a little late for that.”

“Forgive me, we….we should probably get going. I don’t want to linger here any longer than we must.” They huffed, picking up the one who had just been knocked out. It garnered a look of surprise from Aloe, given their physical state and all of the wounds littered about them. “...If you need to rest, don’t hesitate to tell me. We do not want them to take another tumble after being overloaded in this fashion.” There was a nod from Roguefort, who started to walk ahead. Aloe looked at the newcomer, finally releasing his hand. “What is your name, new soul?” “My name...oh! It is a pleasure to meet you, my name is Mint.” He instinctively bowed before them, though quickly tried to recollect, knowing it was a habit of his. And, even if they knew this, the scientist...was quite flattered by such a gesture. It was nearly enough to color their cheeks. Nearly. But, their expression didn’t seem to change at all. A-At least they could remain stoic with such an odd flare of emotion...right? “It is nice to meet you as well. I’m Aloe, the one who just passed out is Cyborg, and the other one is Roguefort. Perhaps….Perhaps we can make better introductions for ourselves when we’re at home- or...someplace safer than here… anyplace is safer than here, after all.”

#cookie run au #written by yours truly #Rogue.fort #A.loe #Cy.borg #Mint.choco #Well #There goes one of them...#In due time however he will be perfect! :>#playing right into our hands...how convenient! :>#It's like taking the corners in tic tac toe and the other player slowly realizing they can't win! hilarious

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glorious-blackout · 3 years

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Self-Indulgent Tranquility Base Hotel and Casino/Simulation Theory Crossover Part Six

@rock-n-roll-fantasy I should probably warn you that I am definitely back on my angst-junkie bullshit with this one, but I promise there’s more to come after this! 😅 Not sure when I’ll be able to post the next parts but hopefully you enjoy these two in the meantime 😊

Part One, Part Two, Part Three, Part Four, Part Five

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

There’s something wrong with the Earth.

This isn’t necessarily a surprise. In the week since the quake that never was, the entire world has felt off; tilted on its axis to such a degree that Alex can’t even begin to fix it. The details of the hotel feel muted, the life slowly draining from his surroundings as empty husks are left in the wake of an unseen angel of death. Once pristine white walls look faded and beige beneath flickering lights. The usual buzz of activity emanating throughout scattered hotel rooms has quietened, as though a volume dial has been turned all the way down. Portraits which once hung proudly along the reception walls have tilted, and if Alex studies them closely enough, he can see the colours smudging as the paint melts, removing all nuance in the process. At this point it wouldn’t surprise him to find cracks creeping along the marble columns or dying lilies curling over themselves in neglected pots, although he supposes it’ll only be a matter of time before that sight greets him as well.

It’s not just the hotel itself which has fallen prey to this lack of vitality. The guests have never been particularly fascinating company, but now they appear virtually soulless. Their numbers dwindle with each passing day despite no clear evidence of rockets carrying them towards home, and when scattered patrons do reveal themselves, Alex ends up eavesdropping on the same mundane conversations over and over again. Staff members offer the same monotonous greetings to him regardless of any attempts to lure them into conversation. Even Andrew, who can be quite amenable to a casual conversation over a pint, has little more to offer besides, “How are you enjoying your drink, sir?” when Alex forcibly drags himself to the bar.

On the one occasion where he agrees to play a show, he finds himself gazing at a placid, unmoving crowd who deign to make as little noise as possible. There are no cheers, no attempts to sing along, no murmurs of approval. Alex doesn’t even have the energy to be startled when he notes that several faces in the crowd have been replaced with expressionless masks, as though an artist has erased their features entirely, leaving only a discoloured smudge in their wake.

The world appears to be winding down, crumbling at the seams with no end in sight. And to top it all off, he’s the only person alive who seems to have noticed.

Even his weekly meetings with Murphy have halted without explanation. He’ll sit by the computer for hours on end, waiting for the dreaded ringing to invade his eardrums, but it never does. For the first time in his life, Alex would give anything to face that man and give him a piece of his mind, but God doesn’t appear to be answering his calls right now.

And then there’s Jamie.

“Are you coming down to rehearsals then?”

Alex doesn’t pay him any heed, choosing instead to keep his gaze fixed on the alluring form of Earth above him. He cannot bear to look at Jamie right now; not when doing so will only unveil a lifeless expression marring his friend’s once kind face. He only wishes the man would say something – anything – else. It appears to be lost on Jamie that he’s uttered the same sentence three times in the last fifteen minutes, having said little else since drawing up beside Alex on the balcony. The fact that he never receives an answer doesn’t register with him either. He simply keeps asking, like a children’s toy with only one voice-clip, not realising that every time he asks, he only succeeds in adding a further crack to Alex’s thoroughly abused heart.

Nick and Matt have fared little better. Playing a show with them the other night had been akin to playing with three ghosts who have yet to leave their bodies. All traces of humour and nuance and love have been stripped from them, leaving empty shells where his best friends once stood.

Or rather, where convincing replicas of his friends once stood. Alex can’t pretend to understand how this version of reality works, and he’s still struggling to separate the splintered fragments of Mark’s false memories from his own recollections. The Jamie, Matt and Nick he has been living with are certainly modelled after the people he’s known and loved all his life, but there are enough subtle differences to make him question if they were ever real in the first place. The most glaring marker of all being the fact that when he’d insisted they call him Alex, the only response had been a lack of recognition which had almost broken him.

The only person who has ever referred to him as Alex in all the time he’s been here is Matthew, but even as his mad theories have become more and more plausible, the man himself has remained infuriatingly elusive.

At least Alex knows why he seemed so familiar now. They’d only crossed paths occasionally in the past, exchanging pleasantries and compliments at various awards shows and festivals, but given their similar positions it would be impossible for him not to be familiar with a certain Matthew Bellamy. The man has always been more of a friend-of-a-friend to Alex than a proper acquaintance, but he likes him well enough to believe that Matt’s apparent fondness for him was also genuine. Granted, he doubts he’d ever have pictured the man as a planet-hopping outlaw, but then again, he imagines Matt must have been equally surprised to find him acting as the owner of a four-star establishment on the moon.

A disbelieving giggle erupts from him before he can stop it. He’s been doing that a lot lately. No doubt it’s an unconscious coping mechanism his brain has concocted while processing the impossible situation he’s stumbled into; he supposes his only options at this point are to laugh or sob like a child.

Pointedly ignoring Jamie’s lingering presence, Alex lets the Earth consume his attention once more. She’s as beautiful now as she always has been – her deep shades of greens and blues vibrant against a dense black sky – but that only adds to the sense of wrongness tugging at his heart. He shouldn’t even be capable of standing here, gazing towards home from this angle. Surely without proper protection and oxygen tanks, the air should have been sucked from his lungs and he should be gliding across the ground rather than standing still. Is there a force-field surrounding them, providing them with breathable air and simulated Earth-like gravity? If he concentrates hard enough, will he be able to spot the tell-tale shimmer of a shield embracing his tiny civilisation?

How odd that he’s never questioned such technicalities before.

As for the Earth itself, the more he studies it, the more it looks like someone has merely devised a painting of her against an endless black canvas, basing their work on ancient photographs from age-old Apollo missions. The image is too perfect. Too still and unaffected; a close approximation of how Earth must have appeared millions of years ago, before her surface was warped by humanity’s influence. The more he remembers of his final days on Earth, the less the image before him aligns with the truth. The clouds hovering beneath the atmosphere shouldn’t be a perfect white, they should be blackened by thick smoke. Those vibrant greens should have been burnt away to smouldering brown, as ash falls thick and heavy over once beautiful landscapes. No doubt even the oceans must have turned a grim, murky grey by now, rather than the striking blues he gazes upon now.

Alex gasps as a memory emerges unbidden, hands desperately grasping the balcony railing. These episodes have been coming thick and fast of late, and it takes all of his willpower not to collapse as faint echoes of screams pierce his ears and the foul taste of ash smothers his tastebuds.

He lets the memory carry him away, however, for he knows that stewing in his own ignorance is no longer an option he can indulge in.

The air is thick with acrid smoke as ash gathers on his tongue with every breath. His eyes draw upwards towards a tangerine sky; the sun obscured by thick smog which he can feel clogging his lungs, leaving him lightheaded and weak. Only hours ago the advice had been to stay inside, but the sirens now piercing his eardrums signal a change, and he knows with unexplainable certainty that if he’d stayed behind, he would have been consumed by the flames which lick their way across the landscape without mercy.

He doesn’t recall the events leading up to this moment, try as he might. Can’t recall if he’d been at home, or in the studio, or trapped within the confines of a hotel halfway around the world. The only instinctual memory he retains is that the catastrophe had crept up on them without warning, announcing itself with all the subtlety of an air-raid siren shooting panic into the veins of every human being on Earth. Only it hadn’t been sudden, had it? Not really. Humanity at large had known for years that the world was destined to burn unless something was done to stop it, but the warnings had been largely ignored, right up until the moment the fire was breathing down everyone’s necks.

The crowd surrounding him is desperate and he whimpers as countless bodies shove against him. No doubt he could remain perfectly rigid and yet still find himself pushed forwards by the sheer force of the human wave. The claustrophobia is suffocating, and breathing provides little relief when the air is as poisoned as it is. He can feel his chest heaving and the constant shouts and screams are momentarily drowned out by his pulse pounding a steady rhythm in his ears, and he clings tightly to the hand wrapped securely around his own as he’s guided along the wide street by a steady anchor. He doesn’t need to look to know instinctively whose hand it belongs to. The calming influence as his guide squeezes back and pulls him in closer is unmistakable. He presses himself against the other man’s body as the cacophony is quickly drowned out by gentle reassurances of, “We’re okay Al, just stay close yeah? We’re nearly there, just a little bit further, you’re doing great...”

He must look a state to warrant such a commentary, but he cannot bring himself to care. As he allows himself to narrow his focus entirely onto that soft voice, he can feel his heartrate slowing and his rapid breathing starting to ease. He feels - rather than sees - a worried face turning in his direction, ensuring that he’s still locked in the present rather than lost in the grasp of his panicked mind, and he gives a shaky nod to indicate that he’s okay. The world is burning and there’s no guarantee that safety is as close as his friend insists it is, but he’s not alone and the flames are still far behind him, so for now he’s okay. His hand is caught in another gentle squeeze - it occurs to him that the action might be for the other’s benefit as much as it is his - and they push onwards as best they can through the hulking mass of bodies surrounding them.

There’s a scuffle behind him as someone utters a sharp cry. Perhaps the constant shoving of bodies has finally erupted into a full-blown fight; either that or someone has merely lost their balance and fallen to the ground. Either way it spells the end for him. A desperate hand clings to Alex’s forearm for support and he feels himself being jerked backwards, struggling to maintain his grip on the precious fingers clutching his hand as faceless bodies try to pull him away. Panic seizes his throat, tightening his airway to the point where he cannot so much as scream. As the force of the disorganised crowd pulls him backwards, the people in front keep advancing, still trying to escape the flames and the thick, cloying smog. Concerned brown eyes turn to look at him, having sensed his distress in the crushing grip of his hand, and Alex can only watch those eyes widen with naked fear as their owner is pulled in the opposite direction.

Those pivotal seconds seem endless when replayed in Alex’s mind. The image repeats itself like a broken VHS tape - an unending loop of terror - but it must have taken no time at all for their connection to be severed with surgical precision. He remembers panicked, animalistic screams escaping his throat as he fought and clawed at the terrified masses surrounding him, his hand suddenly grasping nothing but air. He remembers the crowd in front pushing onwards, with one man among their ranks fighting tirelessly to stay behind, screaming Alex’s name over and over to the point where it must surely have torn his throat.

Neither of their efforts work. Their hands never meet again, and Alex can only watch as his salvation is carried off like a life-raft on the ocean, leaving him behind to drown on his sinking ship. And even above the distant sirens and the roar of nearby flames, the frantic, hopeless scream of “Alex!” continues to ring in his ears long after his would-be savior has vanished from sight.

“-ark?”

The crowded street blanketed in a thick, ashen haze vanishes from his mind’s eye and he blinks as Jamie’s voice pulls him back to the present. It takes a moment to fully reorientate himself, even as his eyes settle upon the pleasant mirage of Earth hanging above them. The air still feels unclean and the thick, cloying taste of ash still resides on his tongue. His throat still screams from the frantic cries that had been torn from it and his chest aches with the effort of breathing in filthy smog. His hand feels cold and empty, still grasping nothing but air in the place of warm flesh, and an overpowering sense of loss washes over him like a painful echo. If Jamie notices his distress, he makes no mention of it. His face is as blank and expressionless as it has been since his world became muted, and Alex thinks he would give his right hand in exchange for five minutes of his friend’s smothering concern.

“Where’s Miles?” he croaks out eventually, turning to face Jamie with a damning sense of dread. Part of him suspects that he already knows what the reaction will be and he longs to tear his eyes away in order to spare himself the pain, but he has to look. He needs this final grain of proof.

Jamie barely reacts to the words despite the fact that they’ve come out of nowhere. The only reason Alex even registers the minute furrow of his brow and downwards tug of his lips is because he knows that face better than he knows his own, and even then, the impassive blankness is back within mere seconds.

“Who’s Miles?”

Alex can’t look at him anymore. If he forces himself to look at that emotionless face then he knows his heart will crumble to dust and he’ll never be able to piece it back together. His eyes are drawn skyward and he keeps them there, unblinking, even when the growing sting becomes unbearable. His vision blurs with unshed tears and his chest shudders fitfully with the effort it takes not to break into animalistic sobs, but he forces himself to swallow down his grief before it can consume him. The pain is unbearable. It creeps over his mind like a specter, dragging its scythe wherever it goes without a care for the damage it leaves in its wake. The temptation to laugh as he realises that this has been the reason for his pervading sense of loneliness all along almost overwhelms him. Perhaps that would get a reaction out of the hollow shell that has taken Jamie’s place.

In the end, however, he doesn’t have the energy to make the slightest sound.

Because it’s not just Miles he’s grieving. The Jamie he knows and loves would never have let those two words leave his mouth. He would never stand idly by while Alex falls apart, visibly struggling to piece himself back together despite knowing that his efforts are completely worthless. The Jamie he knows would have pulled him in for a hug and let him sob his heart out without judgement, before gently telling him to tidy himself up so they can go out to thoroughly drown their sorrows. No doubt the Jamie standing beside him now has always been nothing more than a façade; expertly written code and little else. The same applies to Nick and Matt and every other human being he’s interacted with since stepping foot on this godforsaken rock, perhaps with the exception of Matthew. They’d been rather convincing replicas, he’s loath to admit, but that’s all they’ve ever been.

“Doesn’t matter,” he forces out in a choked whisper, in the full knowledge that that couldn’t be further from the truth.

He wonders if his real friends are still out there somewhere. Did they make it to safety while Alex was left behind and imprisoned within this lie? Have they been searching for him all this time, while he allowed his mind to be manipulated to the point where he forgot they existed? Are they mourning for him with the same all-consuming grief he finds himself overwhelmed by now?

Or are they simply ghosts, lost long ago to a world that has become uninhabitable? Perhaps they’re even trapped in the same boat he is; so wrapped up in the blissful ignorance of a beautiful lie that they cannot remember their own names.

“Is it better to exist within a terrible reality or a beautiful lie?”

He recalls Matthew’s burning question with a new sense of clarity. Because it hadn’t been hypothetical had it? Matthew had uncovered their circumstances long before Alex had. In his own infuriating way, Matt had been trying to prepare Alex for the conundrum he would be forced to contend with once the curtain rose. Their entire conversation had been a warning, planting seeds in his head that would eventually result in his world collapsing at the seams.

Had Matt also been crippled by an overwhelming sense of loss prior to stumbling into Alex’s makeshift life? Alex searches his mind for any random details he knows about Matthew Bellamy, but he cannot recall anything with great certainty. Miles had known him much better than Alex had; he vaguely remembers throw-away mentions of a wedding and a new baby, but nothing more concrete than that. For all he knows, Matthew is currently battling his way through an endless, synthetic maze to crawl back to the arms of the people he loves, or at the very least to be reunited with versions of his bandmates who haven’t been programmed to hunt him down and kill him.

“Are you coming down to rehearsals then?” Jamie asks once again, uncaring and toneless, as though trapped in an unending loop.

A huff of laughter escapes Alex’s mouth before he can stop it, and he bows his head as a tear finally slips from the corner of his eye. Rehearsals and playing live was once his only solace amongst the mundane goings-on of his daily life, but now the thought of facing the replicas of his friends and seeing them stripped of all personality is unbearable. Normality is nothing but a distant dream. There is no returning to the life that had been carefully carved out for him here regardless of what Jamie seems to think, and as the details of the hotel slowly fade around him, he doubts there’ll even be a crowd to play for by the time evening rolls around.

Jamie seems utterly unaffected when Alex finally turns to him, a thousand-yard-stare emanating from deep blue eyes as though Alex is a mere phantom standing in his way. A sense of finality takes hold as Alex stares at his friend, memorising the details of his face with a pang of grief, and he offers a small smile which he knows provides little benefit to either of them.

“You go,” he says, in a flat voice he no longer recognises as his own. “I’ll join you in a bit.”

The lie rolls surprisingly easily off his tongue, and despite giving no indication that he intends to follow-through on his promise, Jamie doesn’t question him for an instant. Instead, he simply shrugs before shoving himself away from the barrier and moving in the direction of the hotel. Alex watches his retreating back as he strolls along the cobbled balcony, and it takes all of his willpower not to yell at him to stop. To request a proper farewell, or a hug, or even to run up alongside him and enjoy one last hurrah with the band before everything fades to black.

However, as he watches Jamie vanish behind a set of automatic doors, he knows that running after him would be a mistake. There is no point in embracing the lie anymore. The avatars wearing his friends’ faces like intricate masks no longer have the power to replace the real thing in his heart, and having to reward them with false affection would surely destroy him.

Instead, he bids one final farewell to the Earth above him. For the first time he can remember, the clouds have cleared above the British Isles and he can see the tiny, shrunken form of England resting just above a narrow watery channel. Deep forest greens interspersed with tiny golden pinpricks amongst the well-lit cities are the only details he can make out, but yearning tugs at his heart regardless. He wonders what would happen if he took the initiative and made the trek to the space station now, requesting a ticket for the first flight back to Earth? Would the falsehood adapt around him and expand to include a detailed simulation of his home, from a time when everything was perfect and alive? Or would he simply hit a dead-end and be forever trapped within a tiny radius which encompasses the hotel and casino and little else? He has nothing left to lose by trying, but a nagging suspicion tugging at the back of his mind is enough to inform him what the outcome will be. Whoever designed his current reality didn’t deem Miles of all people to be a necessary addition - no doubt out of intentional cruelty - so the prospect of arriving home and throwing himself into the arms of his mum and dad is surely unthinkable.

It’s impossible to tell how long he spends gazing at the planet above, committing every single detail to memory with a bittersweet smile, but when he finally pulls his eyes away he’s momentarily overcome by a wave of contentment. The yearning for home vanishes and a renewed sense of finality tugs at his heart, only this time he lets himself bask in it. It’s over. The sky above is as much an illusion as everything else within reach, and while he knows he could lose himself staring longingly at the stars like a hopeful child, he finds that he no longer has any desire to do so.

After all, what’s the point in yearning for something that isn’t real?

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

Lilting piano notes resound through deserted, crumbling corridors; the echo bouncing off the ballroom walls, causing the delicate glass shards of the chandelier to tremble. All trace of life has vanished, with the exception of the lone musician on his humble stage, playing to a crowd of ghosts.

Alex doesn’t mind. He’d expected to find the hotel empty upon his return – no doubt his mental embrace of that finality had banished all remnants of humanity from its walls – and the uninterrupted stroll to the stage had been an oddly calming one. For the first time in years, a song had popped into his head with little fanfare. There’d been no need to agonise over chords or second-guess lyrics; instead the music had come to him fully formed as though obtained through a dream, and the need to perform it had become his sole objective.

A guitar would have been preferable. He has never felt entirely comfortable on the piano, but the choice seems to have been snatched away from him as all of his stringed instruments have vanished in his absence. Similarly, the lone drumkit and various brass instruments which once rested upon the stage are now missing. Only the piano remains. Each note sounds dissonant beneath his fingers, reverberating through the hall in all directions, and he gets the distinct impression that the instrument hasn’t been turned in years despite it sounding perfect only one week prior. His voice also sounds raw to his ears, but that doesn’t stop him from baring his heart anyway.

It’s a bittersweet song with an emphasis on the sweet, and he latches onto the topics of lost loves and friendships tied up with nostalgia for a golden age that no longer exists. No doubt he would have been proud of this one had he gotten the chance to write and record it on Earth, but at this rate he doubts anyone will hear it besides the ghosts haunting the fractured walls.

That’s okay though. This understated piece of music feels like the only genuine creation he’s produced in all the time he’s lived here, and for that reason alone he’d rather not be singing anything else.

While he refuses to give his surroundings much in the way of scrutiny, it isn’t lost on him that the ballroom is fading away with each passing second. Pristine white walls appear to be melting and cracks trail along the granite columns like lightning bolts stretching to the ceiling. The light from the chandelier is muted, emitting only the faintest golden glow through shards of glass which no longer shimmer, and the deserted dancefloor below has been swallowed whole by drab red carpet. The circular dining tables and bar are cloaked in shadow, their surfaces smothered by a thick layer of dust, and adorning the walls are empty frames where elegant portraits once gazed proudly upon the room.

Only one image remains. A small wooden frame sits on the wall directly within Alex’s eyeline, and though the photograph it displays sends an ache lancing through his heart, he finds it to be a pleasant ache. Captured for eternity is a shot of four young boys, barely out of primary school, with hair cropped short and arms wrapped lazily around each other. One curly-haired lad is looking away from the camera, eyes closed in a mistimed blink, while two others gape at the lens with deliberately widened eyes, baring all of their teeth in exaggerated grins. Only the smallest of the group is smiling in a fashion which can be considered normal, though the crinkling of his large brown eyes implies that he too is mere seconds away from bursting into uncontrollable giggles at his friends’ antics.

Alex can’t remember the photo being taken. The unremarkable brick wall behind them suggests it was taken at his childhood home, but it would not surprise him if the photo itself is yet another falsehood on top of the myriad of illusions he has spent years of his life sleepwalking through. And yet, he cannot bring himself to mind. The photograph may not be real, but the memories of a happy childhood surrounded by friends certainly are, and the sweet nostalgia that warms has heart can never be taken away from him. His real friends may have been lost to him long ago and even the replicas have deserted him now, but so long as he focuses on that image and dedicates this song to them, they can never truly be gone.

A shiver creeps up the back of his neck and he has the distinct impression that a pair of eyes have landed upon him, but he banishes that suspicion before it can take hold. This song is not intended for anyone’s ears but his own. The melody is quickly approaching its coda as he recites the final verse. The piano has grown so soft he barely registers the sound of it, but he carries on with a sense of obligation he doesn’t entirely understand. Perhaps it’s the sense of approaching finality which has made him so determined. His world is fragmenting piece by piece and he cannot comprehend what will happen to him once it fades completely, but he imagines there will be no coming back from it. He should be terrified and desperate, battling with every breath in his lungs to remain solid and whole, but he no longer has the energy to fight. Besides, he has always found contentment in music and performing, even in this godforsaken place. Why fight the inevitable when he can embrace it in peace instead?

The final note sounds abruptly as the last word escapes his lips, but before he can figure out a proper ending, the piano dissolves into atoms beneath his fingertips and the world explodes in a flash of brilliant white, carrying him along with it as his mind goes blank.

#Tranquility Base Hotel and Casino #Simulation Theory #Arctic Monkeys #Muse #my fic #writing

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sol-korolevas · 4 years

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—BLACKGOLD.

pairing: higgs monaghan x reader

words: 1.3k+

note: im p sure he’s characterized Alright. but uh emo troy baker is definitely a worthy bastard on my list of favorite characters. (for @the-darklings merry early xmas :’D )

what is death but a man in a mask?

you recalled a story your mother told you, about a god who only knew how to take what life gave. and so, from a very young age, you were wary of topics that dealt with death.

it wasn’t the cause that scared you, but what happens after.

“and so the daughter of spring closed her eyes, she sees no one but the lord of the dead.”

that silence bleeding into time, the lingering cries that chime like unanswered bells. the darkness which breaches the hazy sunlight, or the feeling of loneliness and guilt.

the overwhelming senses forces you onto your knees before the crater that was your home.

your hands cover your ears as you sit among destruction. of every living person in central knot city, you were the one who lived. what can you do now? what can you do?

“looks like i struck gold.”

you open your eyes and see someone walking towards you. fear grips your heart as you notice its face; the image of a skull peaks out from under the hood, its surface glinting sleek gold.

despite the terror, you tell yourself that there’s someone in there, hidden beneath all of those armor and clothing. there’s nothing to be afraid, there’s—

he’s all of a sudden holding your wrist in his gloved hands. his emotionless mask settling on you, but you know he’s watching your expression. it’s fear and something tells you that he’s drinking all of this in.

“it’s a shame that you survived all this,” he said, clutching your wrist tighter in his grasp, enough that you can feel your bones groaning in pain. the air starts thickening, curling and hissing around your body. “but now comes the guilt, right? the inevitability that you of all people survived this attack.” your lungs couldn’t pull any oxygen in and you feel your body falling down.

instead of feeling the scorched earth beneath you, the man above catches you, placing one open hand on your chest, leveraging you from falling. he tsks, shaking his head as he leans closer. you quickly look away, tiredness clawing at your mind and shock holding you awake.

“i may have caught the wrong luck,” you said, slowly, regaining what little fortitude you own by pretending he’s not there. you even let out a dry laugh, hoping that it will lessen the pain in your heart and mind.

“honey, you’re always one bad day away from the end.” there was a dry tone in his voice as the edge of his hood brushes against your face. you try to navigate yourself away from his hold but he tugs you forward with enough force that you almost hit your face upon the container before his chest.

“l-let me go,” you said softly, “please.” there’s not a single part in you that wants to fight him despite your body’s instinctive protests. the suddenness of his appearance and the destruction of the city that was once your home left nothing but a half-empty husk in you. “or at least-at least let me die somewhere in peace.”

“hey now, don’t be so pessimistic,” he chuckled and drops your wrist. but before you can move again, the man grabs your face, forcing you to look into his mask. you freeze as you stare into the blank abyss; there’re no eyes beneath the sockets, only the darkness. he lightly shakes your face while his thumbs dig ino the flesh of your cheeks. “i could find something useful for you to do, you know.”

there’s a teasing promise in his words and an unsettling sensation creeps into your heart. but you couldn’t think for yourself right now. the air is still constricted and your mind is too hazy to work right.

suddenly your attention is shifted by a shake from the man before you. the mask he wears lacks the capability of showing emotions so you can’t tell what he’s thinking. instead, you try your first attempt to steel your gaze and look, hoping that beneath the darkness there’s some semblance of a human.

“oh good, you’re back with me again!” he sounded relieved as he uses one hand to comb through your hair, before stopping to reach down to cup your cheek again. then, he leans back and stands, opening his arms wide while pointing his mask at you. “come with me and i’ll make sure you don’t experience despair and pain again.” he said, confidence dripping off of each syllable.

“why do i have to join you?” you said in a small voice, carefully brushing your fingers over your cheek. but deep down, you know you don’t have any other choice. you speak of dying but you’re scared of facing death. so living is the only option despite there being nothing to live for.

the man doesn’t respond, but the next moment you see him, he’s standing over you. so close that you can smell the faint musk of his scent and feel the fabric of his trouser scraping against your flesh. you freeze, hands clutching the ground as coldness seeps down your spine.

you feel the tip of his shoes nudge at your arm. there’s an absentmindedness to it, as if he’s trying to be playful and not-and not being domineering in any way. despite the simmering feeling of dread boiling underneath your bones, you reluctantly look up.

his fingers twitch and he gives a half-hearted shrug. “because i’m a particle of god.” he said it so nonchalantly that you couldn’t mark him as mad. there are certainly a fair share of people like him in this hellscape, but you are not convinced he’s one of them. before you can answer, he’s grabbing you by your arm and tugging you up. “and when the last stranding comes, i want someone to watch it with me and tell me that i am a savior of this wretched land.” there’s an exertion in his tone, but not from dragging you forward, but from an aggression that sends the hair on the back of your neck standing stiff.

pain pricks and bones creak beneath your skin. the force of his hold is sure to leave undying bruises where he touched you. though you’re mostly tempted to pull away, another voice is thwarting the thought into submission. so you stay quiet—for truly that’s the only defense you have.

but you couldn’t help but take a guess at what he’s hinting to. “you want me to be there when that time comes?” you said, feeling sweat cling onto your skin.

“consider yourself lucky, my dear,” the man replied, with a low purr coming out of his throat. your brows knit in surprise at the sudden change in his tone while he glances back at you. suddenly, a visible sign of realization dawns in his voice as he says, “oh right, i forgot to give you my name-it’s higgs.” he brings a hand to his mask and carefully lifts it off of him. slowly, the face of a human appears from underneath.

just as soon as he sheds the mask, higgs’ mouth curls into a grin.

higgs reminds you of the depiction of death in your mother’s picture book. pale, with strange markings, and clothing that hides his face. your gaze stays on his face far too long, because in the next moment, you see his grin twists into a smirk.

“like what you see? i’m not that scary.”

you finally look away, still torn between wondering if he’s human or some kind of monster made from the various calamities this land has seen. “i-i’m fine with this—all of this,” you said, now reluctantly looking back at him. “i have no one else so—” you stop yourself, voice catching in your throat. before long, you’re dropping your gaze down, mind now shaking with a growing embarrassment and defeat.

you hear a thud and see higgs’ mask on the ground. suddenly he’s touching your face again, bringing himself close to you, nose barely brushing against your cheek as he inhales.

you don’t want to move away. disgust coils in the pit of your stomach as your gaze wanders to higgs’ face. his pale eyes are exceptionally entrancing, despite the lack of emotions in them. it dawns upon you that higgs himself looks no more human than the mask he wore.

yet, his body feels otherwise.

the warmth he gives is just a crude comfort, but you reap it all the same. and though you know higgs isn’t a hero—no, he’s the complete opposite—you still cannot force yourself to leave him.

he wouldn’t let you.

because the next moment, he’s hooking his a finger underneath your chin, making sure this time you’re looking at him in the eyes. amusement dances in his gaze as he leers down at you.

“let’s test out this new relationship of ours out now,” he muttered, briefly pinching the skin on your cheeks between his fingers. “say ‘thank you, higgs’”

#higgs x reader #higgs monaghan #higgs monaghan x reader #death stranding #death stranding higgs #he likes to get his dicc sucked

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maddenedsanctity · 4 years

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To live and die by the sword (Felix HCs)

✦ I love this idea Anon, and I’m so sorry that I took so long to write this! IN this one, I opted to do it headcanon style, because there’s just so many things I want to say... Thank YOU for suggesting this! <3 I may rework it to a fanfic in the future.

✦ There’s quite a bit of headcanons in here, all by yours truly. But I hope you don’t mind.

✦ Hopefully I nailed his personality well, he’s a very complex character and goes beyond the uwu tsundere trope in my opinion. It turned a bit deep somewhere in the middle for some reason - Ahaha...Enjoy!

≡≡≡≡≡ ≡≡≡≡≡ ≡≡≡≡≡ ≡≡≡≡≡ ≡≡≡≡≡

✦ To a stranger, Felix Hugo Fraldarius and the concept of love - or relationships, in general - might be two terms that would never meet. To a friend, the words would be long forgotten due to their lack of use; and to Felix himself, yearning is a painful process to go through. Extremely painful.

✦ He is not the most emotional person in the world. But still, when he falls, he falls deep. So deep, even, that he has never experienced such an explosion of feelings within himself - it overwhelms him to the point where he becomes erratic, anxious, angrier, even.

✦ And he despises it.

✦ He thrives in his strength. He hates weak people. So why, Goddess, why does s/o reel him in so mercilessly? They’re weaker. They’re useless. Why must he protect them? Knowing he would die by the sword he was born on, hacked by the enemy’s forces like his brother. Why must she make him fall in love? Why make s/o mourn his inevitable demise? Has he done so much bad that his divine punishment is not only for him, but also for his love?

✦ A bittersweet romance, and a rocky one at that. Felix has devoted his life to the blade and battle, and he knows nothing of anything else. His feelings are as unknown to him as they are to you/o, and that can and will lead to complications.

✦ You’re weak. And you’re boring. And that is his premise to pull away from your spell. He avoids all contact, and his words seem even more venomous when directed at you in the beginning. It’s not out of spite, mind you, merely himself directing his hate to someone else.

✦ He can’t help but bottle his feelings up. His words become softer, less harmful. He begins to actively seek your company in the monastery.

✦ As the bond develops, Felix’ coarse exterior falls apart to reveal some sort of mother hen, always hovering over you in an overprotective manner - though the maternal feelings had never been there, lending you a hand in basic issues was simply a way for him to be around you without making it obvious that he fancied you. (In his eyes, of course. Everyone else was certainly not blind to his antics.)

⇾ “s/o, that axe is way too big for you. Have a head, won’t you? Just ask me to carry it next time.”

⇾ “s/o, are you an idiot? What are you doing, holding the sword like that? You can injure your arm very easily.

⇾ “I’ll tell you how to hold it ONCE, but after that you’re on your own. I’m not saving your ass in battle.”

✦ And, truly, he does not kid when he says that, he knows that he would never be able to protect you in war. He’s too reckless, too harsh, too devoted to dying for his cause to truly care for you and cherish you as you deserve. He goes to all battles as if it were his last, and everyone knows it. As much as it brings tears to his citrine-tinted eyes, the boar or Sylvain, would be a much better fit for someone like you.

✦ That is why, you’re as poisonous to him as you are an antidote to his troubles. In you and him, he sees Glenn and Ingrid, and the inevitable fate of drifting apart because of the slash of a blade. He is terrified of deep bonds, and equally terrified of losing them. Losing you. And though your budding romance was inevitable, he still wishes he could forget you - so that you could have found someone better to place your trust in.

⇾ “s/o, I can’t...I can’t love you like everyone else. I have battles to die on.”

⇾ “Felix, why do you always say that? Can’t you reconsider?”

⇾ “That’s all I am, s/o. I’m an empty husk of a swordsman. Were you really as stupid as to love someone like me?”

✦ Glenn’s death had changed him. He cannot see through himself - all he can think of is the shadow that looms over him menacingly, even if the source of the shade is long gone, the man cannot help but refer to himself as a barren shell of a could-be swordsman, a cheaper Glenn - a replaceable pawn in the game of war. That is why, when he sees you, he falters. He doesn’t deserve to love. What could you see in him, other than a prickly asshole with an inferiority complex?

⇾ “s/o…”

✦ Sometimes, he delves in too deep into his mind. Pulling him out is hard, though not impossible...His almost kamikaze mindset is embedded into his mind strongly, but it is a mix between your concern and affection that makes him even consider the fact that...maybe he’s not made just to kill.

✦ You can reach an agreement. Because his undying love for you is stronger than the desire to fulfill his quota of greatness and surpass Glenn’s. But it won’t be easy, not for you, not for him. Learn how to protect yourself, spar with him, share his struggles as you two grow closer and stronger. The battlefield will only be a test to see if love truly overcomes all.

⇾ “You have my back, and I have yours...Maybe when this is over, we could take some stray cats in…”

⇾ “I’ll fight. Not to die, but to live for you, s/o.”

#felix fe16 #feth #fe3h #Fire Emblem Three Houses #Fire Emblem: 3 Houses #felix hugo fraldarius #felix fire emblem #fe3h felix #felix fe3h #fire emblem #fe #fe:3h #x reader #hcs

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