#But as Death she now has a responsibility not to directly interfere. At the same time she doesn’t want her old friend to kill himself | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

missingmywing · 5 months

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So as per usual for me and fics, this will be long. Ryomina is fun and has a lot to play with. (Ao3 link)

Day 1: First Meeting/Childhood Friends

I’m playing fast and loose with canon and the actual lore behind Nyx, because as much as I like FFVII I don’t want to just write Jenova 2.0. So my lore is that she is a being of the collective unconscious like the other “gods” in Persona, she’s just much, much more powerful because death is an inescapable, tangible thing that happens rather than an intangible concept.

Also Erebus isn’t… a thing. I understand and respect what the team was going for with how they did Nyx and Erebus with The Answer, but it makes things more convoluted than necessary for my preferences. Humanity’s despair and wish for death doesn’t need a tangible form - Nyx can sense it directly and her radar lights up red when she’s called for directly (thanks Kandori, thanks Kirijo) and that’s what makes her active. Minato’s seal acts like a buffer or a muffler - an interference so she can’t hear herself being called (unless it’s particularly direct). Because you can’t kill death - and even if you could you shouldn’t because unconditional immortality is a very bad idea- and I’m getting off track. Point is I’m making P3 consistent with the lore of the rest of the series rather than “it was aliens, actually”. P2 subverted that, P3 can’t just turn around and play it straight while hiding it under a mountain of conditional lore.

Also exploring Minato as a freshly traumatized child is a fascinating exercise. Newly nihilistic six year old has not realized he’s nihilistic yet because everyone is still assuming the apathy towards everything is a normal trauma response. He and Death have such an interesting dynamic as they both learn.

FINDING OUT HALFWAY THROUGH THIS THAT IT WAS APPARENTLY RECENTLY CONFIRMED THAT TATSUMI PORT ISLAND IS SUPPOSED TO BE BASICALLY ODAIBA WAS INFURIATING. What do you MEAN Gekkoukan is in Tokyo, no it is not I’ve had the hc that Minato spent his junior high years in Tokyo for YEARS do not do this to me Persona. Anyway, I moved it so that I can keep my hcs the same, it’s still in the same general area it’s just outside of Tokyo Bay rather than inside it now. I was so tempted to keep the long-standing guess the fandom has had and put Tatsumi Island in Kobe you have NO IDEA. Fucking Odaiba man. Maruki says hello Nyx.

~ ᙙᙖ ~

In one world, they wouldn’t have met or known each other until Minato was sixteen. Minato would have been not-so-blissfully ignorant of the truth of the events that happened that night of the explosion. Nothing but vague memories of a bright light and broken cars and fire all around.

But in another, Minato remembered.

Unbuckling his seatbelt to look at the ocean far below, the explosion that threw him out of the car, his mother’s teary pleading for him to live, the collision of a robot and monster on the bridge that threw everything else back, the flashes of a chaotic fight, the guilt and devastation in the robot girl’s eyes as she pressed the blue fire containing the monster to his chest and apologized for turning him into its seal-

That was technically the first time he met Death.

But it wasn’t until a month later that they met properly, face to face, and Minato could acknowledge him directly.

It had been… a rough month. The aftermath of the accident had destroyed and consumed his life - left him thrown about from hospital to police station to a different and more elaborate and creepy hospital where he stayed for nearly two weeks while people in lab coats ran tests and poked at the new giant scar on his chest and men in suits tried to get in contact with a family member they could force to willing to take him, and then he was given to his aunt and uncle who weren’t expecting to suddenly have a child to take care of and were upset and scrambling to adjust. And they weren’t cruel or dismissive but he knew they weren’t happy to have him here suddenly and his aunt was devastated about her sister’s death and their smiles were so fake and he couldn’t even cry which made them uneasy and more upset and-

Minato had heard the words “trauma reaction” and “emotional suppression” more in the past month than his entire short life beforehand and he wished he could understand what that even meant but it felt like everything was a blur and just floating past his head.

He knew there was something wrong with him, though. That had been obvious at his parent’s funeral where he didn’t even feel anything and couldn’t bring himself to react or say anything to the parade of people coming over to talk to him.

The doctors who they kept trying to make him talk to acted like it was normal. His aunt and uncle acted like he was broken. Everyone else acted like he was a ghost.

He was pretty sure the ghost comparison was the one that was closest. He had a monster inside of him now, after all. The same monster who was probably responsible for his parents dying and midnight turning weird.

But maybe he was a little broken too because of it. Because he didn’t hate that monster even knowing all that. He didn’t really even miss his parents even though he’d always loved them so much before. He didn’t… care. About anything.

And he wasn’t scared, on the full moon a month after the accident, when the midnight hour hit and there was a sharp, tearing pain in his chest, and the monster appeared in a blaze of blue fire. It hovered over his bed like the evil creature from every scary bedtime story and stared down at him with its chain and torn brown cloak and a sword in its hand.

It looked evil but it didn’t feel evil. He’d always been good at telling what people around him felt - a gentle soul with an empathetic heart his mother had called him - and the monster felt… empty. Empty like he always felt now. There wasn’t any anger or hate like he’d expected from a monster.

He sat up and looked at it blankly, waiting for it to do something. Try to kill him like it had been trying to kill the robot, maybe. When it didn’t do anything he tilted his head and asked, “What’s your name?”

Might as well know what monster he was supposed to be “sealing”.

The creature stared down at him for a moment of silence, then spoke in a raspy, echoing voice - like two pieces of metal screeching against each other in the undertones. “I am Death.”

“Oh. Okay. I guess that’s why you killed people.” He frowned. “If you’re trapped inside of me then are people going to stop dying then?”

“No,” the monster said. “I embody the concept but I am not its entirety. I am merely the harbinger for she who calls the end.”

“What do you mean? What’s a harbinger?”

“An omen. I am a sign that the end has come - that humanity has forsaken its will to live and wishes for the world to end. I am the call to the goddess of death, Nyx, to bring death to all.”

“But that’s… not true. Most people don’t want to die. You can’t say that humans don’t want to live when most people do,” Minato tilted his head to the side. “I don’t know anyone who really wants to die. It’s usually an accident, or because someone else did it on purpose.”

“My very existence is proof that humanity has succumbed to despair and wishes for death. Your sole experiences are meaningless.”

Minato stared at him for a long moment then shrugged. “You’re wrong, but okay. Are you going to kill me, then? I think the robot girl made it so you can’t leave, that’s why she sealed you inside me.”

Death was silent for a moment, then said “My very essence has been sealed within you, bound and entwined to your soul. Your death would mean an end to my existence as well, vanishing into the Sea of Souls alongside you, unable to accomplish my goal.”

“So… no?”

“No. So long as the seal is intact I am incapable of killing you.”

“Okay, so you can’t leave and you can’t kill me. I’m going to sleep then.” Minato fell back and tugged the covers back up, rolling onto his side so his back was turned to the mon- to Death. “Night.”

The Shadow stared incredulously at him for several long minutes until his breath evened out and it became apparent that he truly was asleep.

It seemed the Anti-Shadow Unit had indeed known what she was doing to best undermine him. He was truly and solidly trapped.

… time would tell how this would play out, he supposed. After all, time came for all in the end and death was the most patient of mistresses. Nyx would wait.

~ ᙙᙖ ~

Minato quickly got used to Death showing up. First once a month on the full moon, then as time went on he began showing up in his dreams, and then speaking into his head while conscious outside the extra midnight hour.

It was almost surprising how quickly Minato got used to him - by the time a year had passed Death had become a normal presence in his life. Not a comforting presence, perhaps, but normal. The Shadow, as Minato now knew he was, still disbelieved Minato when he said that humanity really didn’t seem to be calling to Nyx. He remained adamant that it was simply Minato’s small range of existence that hid the truth.

And maybe that was true - maybe the small city he lived in didn’t show how many people were wish for the end. But if there were actually that many surely he would have met at least a few here.

Death did slowly become more curious about the day to day lives of people as time passed though, asking questions first during meetings in his dreams and then directly in his head once he’d figured out how to break through the seal enough to do so.

Minato probably should have been more worried that he was doing that, but most emotions were muted and distant these days so he just learned to ignored the burn and stinging pain in his chest that indicated Death taking an active interest in something going on. Sometimes it was a history lesson or science assignment, sometimes it was a conversation with a classmate or an overheard argument between adults.

He gained an active presence in Minato’s head just in time for the christmas season, actually, so Minato got very used to tuning out the pain of it very quickly because Death seemed fascinated and bewildered by… just about everything about the holiday. Things Minato had taken for granted were now subject to question and he had to ask about quite a few of them himself.

Granted he and Death both realized pretty quickly that the adults around them were simplifying explanations to make him understand it, because Death asked a lot more complicated and confusing questions about humans and traditions and… something about transferral of religion? Things Minato didn’t understand and couldn’t figure out how to ask about because he wasn’t sure what Death was actually asking.

What did someone dying for everyone else a long time ago have to do with christmas trees?

Once Minato asked Death that question in return the Shadow seemed to realize that Minato didn’t understand a lot about what he was trying to figure out and returned to asking more simplified questions.

Some of them still went over Minato’s head - why did it matter about the weird necklace the student helping at the shrine was wearing? The shrines never decorated for christmas, everyone knew that - but at least he could answer why the teenage boy was sneaking the bracelet he’d bought into his pocket so the girl with him wouldn’t see it.

The true shift in their relationship happened around the year mark of the accident.

Death could still only manifest physically on the full moon, but he did so each month without fail. Perhaps to ensure that he still could. But this time was… different.

Because when he did Minato felt something like satisfaction or triumph flicker through his chest as the Shadow appeared - and the fire vanished to reveal a boy the same age as Minato. He looked similar, but had darker and shorter hair, and his eyes were a bright blue. He was also wearing a striped prisoner outfit like out of a movie, but that was obvious enough why.

He looked down, examining himself, and nodded in satisfaction. “It worked.”

Minato tilted his head at him. “You were trying to turn yourself into a human?”

“I’m still not actually human, I’m merely taking this form. But yes. I thought it might better help me understand humans if I could imitate their form. So I tried to copy yours. It’s not exact, but I suppose that’s the influence of my inherent nature.” He hopped up onto the bed beside Minato. “If nothing else, it should be less disorienting to speak with me during this hour in this form.”

He wasn’t disorienting to talk to in his other form either, but he seemed unusually pleased with himself about this so Minato didn’t see a reason to contradict him. “I won’t have to look up at you anymore, I guess.”

“Exactly. I still know that humanity is calling out for the end, but it is strange how much attachment to life the people around you have in general.” The Shadow turned cocked his head with a thoughtful look. “If I imitate and understand humans, perhaps I can understand why that is.”

Minato really didn’t see what was hard to understand about people generally not wanting to die, but he supposed it was a fault of Death being a Shadow. And, well, Death.

“If you want,” he shrugged. “I don’t see what’s so hard to understand about it, but if it’ll help you understand then I think it’s fine.” Death still hadn’t shown any indication that he was about to break out of the seal, after all, so he couldn’t muster any real worry about it.

Not that he’d probably be able to stop him if he did, but… well, the robot girl had entrusted Death to him when she failed so the least he could do was make the attempt.

~ ᙙᙖ ~

He wasn’t quite sure when he’d crossed the line in the minds of adults around him from “recovering from the accident” to “creepy”. But he began noticing it over time as one year crept towards two towards three and his aunt and uncle - rather than adjusting and becoming comfortable in his presence - went from uncertain to uneasy around him.

At first they’d looked at him like they weren’t sure what to do with him, like he was one wrong word from breaking down crying. But now they looked at him like they thought something was wrong with him - like they didn’t want to figure out what to do with him.

He blamed Death, honestly. The Shadow was rubbing off on him as much as he was on the Shadow.

The whispers behind his back that they thought he wasn’t listening to - unnatural, too quiet, emotionless, never cries, never throws a tantrum, never gets happy or upset, doesn’t have friends, looks right through you - definitely made it sound like there was something wrong with him.

He didn’t really feel wrong. He just didn’t feel strong emotions - was more tired than anything a lot of the time.

But maybe that was the proof that something was wrong, because he remembered feeling more strongly about things, remembered feeling excited or scared or sad or happy so strongly he thought it’d overwhelm him. His parents had gently chastised him more than once about an excessive reaction to something.

So maybe they were right and there was something wrong with him. That “something wrong” just happened to be the personification of Death sealed in his chest, and there was nothing he could do about that.

Not… that he really minded. He liked having Death in his mind, asking questions and making him wonder about the world around him in ways he wouldn’t have otherwise. He liked being able to guess what the people around him were thinking and feeling based on their expressions and body language. And it came in handy on tests when he couldn’t remember the answer to something and Death was willing to remind him.

It just meant that Death stayed his only friend because everyone around him found his presence off-putting and unnerving. Even his teachers didn’t really like him if they spent any time outside of class with him. And his aunt and uncle only became more distant and unnerved as the years passed and he didn’t become more open or how he had been before the accident.

So it wasn’t really a surprise when he turned ten and they told him that he’d be moving in with a cousin. Their excuse was that they were trying for a child, and didn’t want to divide their attention between two children who both needed it so he’d be sent to someone who could continue to devote attention to him.

It would have been a lot more convincing if they had been devoting attention to him rather than avoiding him or becoming very strained when they did interact with him.

Minato… didn’t really care, he’d been expecting it, but there was a keen edge of resentment from Death at both the lie and the disregard.

(There was something else there in the undertones that Minato couldn’t quite read. A bitter, sharp edge of emotion that Death tried to hide from him, and Minato didn’t ask. If Death wanted him to know then he would tell him.)

There had been no expectations on Minato’s behalf on his way to Inagawa in Hyōgo - it was a relatively small town comparatively, fairly rural, and he knew nothing about the cousin taking him in. He wondered how they’d been convinced.

The town was… nice enough. Surrounded by mountainous area, forest on all sides, lakes and rice patties in the distance…

Altogether different than the cities he’d grown up in.

His cousin, as it turned out, was a middle-aged no-nonsense man clearly far more focused on whatever his career was than any sort of familial relationship. Given how quickly the man had gruffly brushed through introductions and a tour of the apartment - relatively small and sparsely decorated, the man clearly spent almost no time here - and essentially told him he was on his own and to stay out of trouble, Minato assumed he’d been promised that Minato was low-effort and he’d be able to effectively ignore him.

Which wasn’t inaccurate so he couldn’t complain too much.

(Death seemed to take it the wrong way and got very annoyed, though, which was almost funny.)

It did mean that he had to learn to cook. He got an allowance, enough to cover any food he needed, but unless he wanted to live off of prepackaged food he did need to learn the basics at least.

… although after his terrible start of burned rice and an uneven omelette the man did at least teach him those basics, so he clearly wasn’t entirely uncaring. Or he just didn’t want to risk a fire.

Death was relieved about that, though he did seem to derive some amusement from Minato’s inept attempts at learning to cook. Not that he was any help. Any number of historical or philosophical questions he’d be more than happy to lecture about, but anything practical and he was useless.

It wasn’t a bad two years. Just as lonely, but not bad. Less side-eyes and unease at least.

His cousin was very rarely home, and when he was he was usually working on either paperwork or a laptop. The man didn’t seem to care about friends or social circles, or at least not enough to invite anyone over, and he and Minato largely ignored each other when they were home at the same time. He didn’t ask about Minato’s grades or social interactions either, which his aunt and uncle had still done, which made it harder to really care about them either.

Minato continued to be off-putting to everyone around him, it seemed, but he still wasn’t sure what exactly he was doing to drive them away and make the kids call him scary and the teachers murmur that he was unnerving. It wasn’t just lack of emotional reactions, he didn’t think, because there were a couple of other kids that were like that and they were called “cool” and “admirable”.

But something about him made people shy away and refuse to meet his eyes.

Maybe it was the same thing that made animals nervous around him.

The same thing that made the other Shadows leave him alone during the midnight hour, even though they would attack anyone else able to move around. That ability didn’t seem to happen here, at least - he never encountered anyone else out the few times he wandered around town in the green light.

Which was more than he could say of the city he had lived in - after the first time he’d been out and encountered both a person and the Shadows around, and his presence had whipped the Shadows into a frenzy and made them more aggressive than usual towards any one else around, he’d avoided going out during that hour.

Death made them more dangerous, and Minato didn’t want to be responsible for anyone dying.

But it wasn’t a problem here, and there was something fascinating about walking around an empty town covered in blood and coffins beneath a green moon. It was eerie.

It made him feel the most alive that he had been since the accident.

Still, it was just one more thing that set him apart from everyone around him and he continued to spend most of his time alone. Often with a book. And while animals were more nervous around him than other people they did warm up to him relatively quickly once assured he wouldn’t hurt them. Once he realized that it wasn’t quite as lonely, and he became a friendly face to several of the strays around.

And Death was always there. He never really left anymore, and the pain of his presence had long since vanished. Minato chose not to think about what that meant for the seal. He was a friend, always at Minato’s side, and the years passed had made his comments about being the harbinger existing only to usher in humanity’s death fade into only the occasional thoughtful consideration about one situation or another. His absolute certainty that humanity at large wished for death had diminished significantly in the face of so much constant drive forward from everyone around Minato. Instead, he seemed to be searching for what humans did want - what it was that drove each one forwards to the future, each person chasing after their own goals in life.

Minato certainly didn’t have the answer, and people didn’t like him enough to be willing to tell him, so they contented themselves watching and listening and speculating.

So the two years he spent in Inagawa were peaceful enough, with various animals and Death (both in his mind and in child form) keeping him company.

~ ᙙᙖ ~

And then that peace was summarily shattered when his cousin announced that he was getting engaged and moving in with his fiancee to Osaka, and Minato would be moving in with another relative, a different cousin, in Tokyo.

When it happened Minato felt nothing more than a twinge of disappointment. He’d hoped to keep this peace for a while longer before his presence became a nuisance again.

Death was significantly more displeased, irritated that Minato’s cousin was displacing him rather than adapting around him, concerned about being sent to Tokyo - and there was that something more to that thought that Minato was sensing from him more and more often these days - and handed off to another relative they knew nothing about, a frustration on Minato’s behalf that they’d long since acknowledged he probably couldn’t feel. But there was nothing they could do about it, so Minato packed his few belongings again and was gone.

Had they known what was waiting for them - had he realized the abrupt downward spiral his life was about to take - perhaps he would have mustered the care to ask to stay.

But they had no way to know.

The first sign that something was… off… was on the way to the address he’d been given. Shinjuku had residential areas, of course - nice ones, even. But the address didn’t lead him to a nice one. It was a ragged, run-down area, with dirty alleyways and narrowed glances sent out covered windows.

The fact that it was just outside Kabukicho didn’t help.

It set him on-edge despite himself, and for the first time in years Death pushed against the seal hard enough for it to burn.

“It’s not the midnight hour, not for a couple more hours,” he thought to the Shadow, watching a group of shady looking men muttering in an alleyway from the corner of his eye. “Even if you broke through the seal you couldn’t manifest.”

“It’s possible that I could,” the Shadow shot back. “We’ve never attempted it.”

“We’ve never seen any Shadows out in the daylight, only during the midnight hour,” Minato pointed out, taking a step to the side as a ragged cat hissed at him from under a dumpster.

“I’m not a normal Shadow.”

Minato didn’t respond.

They didn’t know what would happen if Death broke fully through the seal, but it probably wouldn’t be anything good. So Minato would just have to try and avoid being put into a position where it was necessary.

Easier said than done as he quickly found out. His… aunt? cousin? he wasn’t quite sure and she didn’t clarify so whatever- apparently worked in Kabukicho as supposedly a hostess, and had only agreed to take him in because she was hoping he would be a second source of income. Which, given the kinds of places in this area that would be willing to hire a junior high student, did not bode well for his likelihood for staying out of danger.

Death was irritated on his behalf, but it wasn’t as though they could really do anything about it. Any authority figures would just turn a blind eye - that became apparent the moment he arrived at school and met his homeroom teacher, and then the rest of the teachers were no better - and she hadn’t done anything to him yet so he couldn’t use anything against her.

She’d just made it clear that if he wanted to eat he’d bring home enough money to make it worth feeding him.

So he quietly asked around. Several of the other students in his class also had jobs, though whether it was for a similar reason he didn’t know and didn’t bother asking, so he had a few options. Not many, and none of them particularly appealing, but unless he wanted to either starve to death or learn to steal he’d just have to accept it.

Minato settled on the job that seemed like the least effort and one of the ones less likely to be directly tied to any potential host club scams or yakuza operations.

Washing dishes at the back of a host club wasn’t exactly fun, but it avoided the risk of being caught by any police or getting caught up in any drug trafficking. And the midnight hour meant he could grab an hour long nap in the middle so… it wasn’t as bad as it could have been. His sleep and grades both suffered for it, but no one was expecting him to have good grades anyway and none of the teachers cared to check why it was happening, so… he supposed it was convenient.

It was… fine.

It was fine. It was tolerable, no matter how frustrated Death got, and he could deal with the constant smell of cigarettes and alcohol all around him, could wrinkle his nose and turn away to his book or homework when she came back smelling of alcohol and sex, could tune out the chatter and flirtations from the room over at the club, could ignore the rumbled clothes and bruises peeking out on skin from the hosts and hostesses around the area.

Minato kept his head down, didn’t talk to anyone unless he had to, and no one really approached him. People in Tokyo - or at least this district of it - didn’t seem as bothered by whatever off-putting aura that had always scared everyone else, but they weren’t really inclined to bother with him either. Which suited him just fine.

Months passed easily enough, his cousin (as he eventually did find out) was satisfied for a while with the money that he did bring home and seemed happy enough that he wasn’t going to bother her or get in her way that she didn’t really bug him either unless she wanted one chore or another done while she was out.

She did kick him out a few nights a month to bring men home - though whether they were clients or boyfriends he didn’t know or care - but those were passed studying or doing homework in a cafe nearby that didn’t mind some kids in his situation hanging around all night provided they bought something every now and then. It wasn’t uncommon to see a few others around, sometimes he even studied with a couple of classmates or helped an elementary schooler out with their homework (except one who rebuffed him with a flash of red eyes and a snap that he could handle it himself), but largely he remained in his corner and tried to ignore the rest of the world as Death muttered and complained in his head.

He was equally pouty in his child form on those nights he joined Minato during the midnight hour, perching on the edge of his futon and casting annoyed glances across the room at his cousin on the other futon. Minato rolled his eyes and ignored him, until he flopped backwards and sprawled across Minato in a way that clearly demanded attention and Minato just patted his head and let him keep complaining about the people and world around them.

Minato hadn’t been expecting a christmas gift from her, but she seemed to be in a particularly good mood around that time so he didn’t question it. He supposed she’d caught the eye of a particularly affluent client or something because she suddenly had new clothes and jewelry. Plus decent takeout rather than Big Bang Burger or some other fast food chain.

But on christmas morning she cheerfully handed him a wrapped box with a comment that he’d earned something for his efforts this past year, and when he opened it with a quiet thank you he found an mp3 player and pair of headphones inside. It was the first present he’d gotten in years and quickly turned into the best he’d ever gotten.

It was something to drown out the tedium of the world, to filter out all the static and noise of the world around him into a steady, predictable, stable beat. Whenever it got too much he could simply put the headphones on and turn on the mp3 player and everything would fade away. A lifeline.

A necessary one, because things rapidly got worse after that. The giddiness that had clung to her throughout December began fading rapidly throughout February and into March. She got defensive and quiet, snappish, almost always on her phone, scrolling away as though looking for something. Biting her lip until it nearly bled - an unusual habit for someone so careful with her appearance.

It all came to a head around mid-April, just after the new school year had started, in the afternoon before Minato left for work. He was sitting at the low table, working on homework, when she suddenly made a snarling sound and started a phone call.

He quickly put on his headphones and turned on his music, tuning out whatever angry argument she was picking over the phone. It wasn’t his business, it wasn’t his problem.

It quickly became something near his problem when a bottle shattered against the wall dividing the kitchenette less than a meter away from his head and his gaze snapped up to find her glaring in his direction with eyes blazing and lips pulled into a snarl. Minato froze, unmoving even as Death reared up protectively in his soul and the seal burned beneath the weight of his presence. But a few moments passed of her glaring, chest heaving, before her mouth began moving again as she yelled something and he took note of her glassy eyes and distant gaze and he relaxed as she jerked her gaze away from him to continue shouting. She hadn’t been looking at him or aiming at him, he’d just been in an unfortunate direction. Death reluctantly faded back, but didn’t pull away entirely just yet.

He watched her shake her head desperately and fall to her knees on the floor as tears began streaming down her face and her other hand reached up to clutch at the desk of empty beer bottles she hadn’t gotten around to throwing out yet.

Or just throwing yet, apparently.

With a soft sigh Minato closed his workbook and leaned over to begin picking up the glass shards before one of them stepped on them. The bottle had at least been empty, so they wouldn’t have to deal with stains on the wood floor. The star of Sapporo sat wholly intact, almost mockingly, as he collected the glass in his hand.

By the time he’d finished picking up the glass and throwing it away, it seemed the call had ended and she was staring unseeing at the wall as tears streamed down her face. Minato stared at her for a moment before going back into the kitchen to fill a glass with water and pick up a cloth.

He knelt to set the water down in front of her and held out the cloth.

It took her a few moments to reach for it, but she did. She buried her face in it and sobbed.

Minato shrugged and returned to his spot at the table to continue his homework.

Things did not improve from there.

She became… unstable, switching between listless and desperate in the span of hours. If she was home without a client she was either drunk or drugged, and she either ignored him entirely or demanded he help out more. He quickly became the only one doing chores - if only to avoid being yelled at or risk having something thrown again - and after several months of her unable to bring home as much money as was satisfying to her he became the target of her ire for how little he was also bring back.

Comparatively, anyway.

He ignored it for several months hoping she’d get over whatever rich guy had gotten bored of her and leave him alone again, but it quickly became apparent that it wasn’t likely. It was only a matter of time before she began making threats again, and at Death’s urging Minato began considering his options.

A second part time job wasn’t particularly feasible given how much time the one he already had was taking. He could avoid being at the apartment as much as possible, but he still had to sleep sometime and the last thing he wanted was for her to decide she needed to hunt him down. He could use the midnight hour to shoplift, but that wouldn’t necessarily satisfy her if she wanted actual yen to use.

Well, he could try to start breaking into registers he supposed, but he didn’t know if he wanted to start dealing with the risks of that. Just because there weren’t people or camera didn’t mean there wouldn’t be evidence and just because Kabukicho had an underbelly didn’t mean it was actually illegal. He didn’t need the police to track him down using dna evidence or something. Besides, he had to set the standard somewhere.

He could take a different risk and get a more lucrative job elsewhere he supposed (Death didn’t like that option). He refused to work at the front-facing side of a club, but one of his classmates had talked about a package sorting job that paid well and was looking for a couple more people.

Minato had avoided it before - like most of his classmates did - because he didn’t really want to deal with drug smuggling. But it was a significantly higher pay, and his classmate had assured him that he’d been working there for three years and it really was just organizing packages into the correct address delivery bins. It really was just an ordinary job.

(So long as he didn’t open anything went unspoken.)

So with a heavy sigh and Death stewing angrily in the back of his soul, Minato followed his classmate to get recommended for the job. He was hired instantly, given a brief tour of the small warehouse, given an overview of how to organize the packages properly, warned not to open any of the packages for any reason, and then pointed at a stack that needed to go out the next morning.

The job wasn’t as bad as they’d both been concerned about. It really did seem like a normal sorting job. And it paid well.

None of which put Death at ease as he hovered almost painfully close to the seal constantly these days. It was getting to the point that Minato could almost feel the seal slowly dissolving as the nigh-painful tingling of it rapidly faded and Death came closer and closer to the forefront of his mind as the weeks passed.

Minato didn’t bother fighting him on it - the Shadow would worry regardless and if he did manage to break through the seal and manifest at least Minato wouldn’t have to deal with a fight himself.

(When had the worry of the consequences of the seal breaking faded? He could barely remember the robot girl who had sealed the Shadow inside him now, even if the guilt and grief in her eyes still haunted his dreams anytime he inhaled a lungful of smoke from somewhere. What did he care about the world? If Death broke free and destroyed it - well it wouldn’t be his problem for long.)

The uptick in money satisfied his cousin for the time being at least, so she went back to mostly ignoring him in favor of whatever poison she’d chosen for the day. He spent more time in the cafe than the apartment just for the smell alone, even when she hadn’t brought someone back.

The world faded more and more into the grey of exhausted numbness from there. An endless routine - get up, silently get ready for school, go to school, try not to sleep through his classes, leave for work, work until the daily quota was filled, go to the cafe to study until the midnight hour, leave once the hour was up and the cafe closed, return to the apartment and sleep, then get up again.

It was easy to lose track of the days when he didn’t talk to anyone and spent most of his time drowning out the world with his music. The date on the board and subjects of the lessons were really the only ties to reality that he had between the monochromatic repetition of everything else. The sudden uptick of pressure in the middle of the year to study hard and improve their grades in order to do well on high school entrance exams and get into a good school was a sudden shock to them all, and it did a little to break things up.

But even that quickly dulled back into routine - it was all just memorizing dates and facts and kanji and equations, and with Death in his head to help he wasn’t likely to do badly even if he didn’t bother trying.

Though even if he got accepted there was no guarantee he’d be able to attend. Given his cousin’s increasingly empty eyes and unstable attitude and inability to maintain her grip on money he highly doubted she’d be willing or able to pay for him to attend. Which was one more thing for Death to become angry over, but Minato didn’t really care much.

Even if he did attend, what then? It was just a continued routine. How likely was it that he’d make it to graduation and find somewhere decent to work?

Really, what was the point of it all?

Not that Death let him get away with that. As Minato had less and less motivation or will to bother even trying with anything, Death pushed harder and harder to make him. Pushing him to study, to do well on tests, to remember to eat lunch or dinner even if he continued to skip breakfast. Nudging him to stop by and try that restaurant, or get that soda from the machine with a weird name.

He was less enthused by Minato’s willingness to accept the can of Asahi beer from some of his classmates during one of their study sessions on the roof, but the taste alone meant that Minato wasn’t in any hurry to try it again. Not to mention the way it made the numb disassociation from the world even worse.

The sensation of a near-complete break from reality didn’t quite scare Minato, but it did unnerve him and the alarm it raised from Death only made it worse. So that wouldn’t be any sort of habit he would fall into.

Unlike some people he had to clean up after.

The high school issue was resolved when he got within the top ten marks in the school and was offered a scholarship to the closest high school. It was not what everyone had meant when they talked about a “good” high school, but anything was better than nothing so with a bit of prodding from Death he accepted.

Not that it really changed anything - other than the location, it was simply exchanging one routine for another and he quickly sank back into the grey numbness.

Nothing really broke through it for a while. He was distantly aware of his cousin getting paler and thinner, the desperation towards something rising, until a bit before summer she stumbled into the apartment and cornered him against the wall.

“I need you to get money,” she said, gripping his arm tightly.

Minato tilted his head, feeling Death rearing up close to the seal warily. “How much?”

“A million yen.”

“A million yen?” Death repeated incredulously.

Minato sent her a blank look. “That’s impossible.” How in the world could she possibly expect him to be able to get that much?

“What?” she asked dangerously, leaning close. “Do you even realize the situation we’re in?!”

“No. You never told me.”

Her face twisted into an expression of such frustration he thought she was about to start screaming. She didn’t, instead snapping, “That damn club is demanding a million yen from me for ‘services rendered’ - which is bullshit they’re a shitty club anyway - but now I have to pay it or my reputation and ability to get clients is ruined!”

That club? Had she- “How does a hostess fall for a host club scam?”

“I did not get scammed!” She shoved him against the wall and spun around to storm towards the desk against the opposite wall. “Just get the money.”

He considered for a moment. “No.”

Everything froze, before she slowly turned to stare at him with a darkness brewing in her eyes. “What?”

Minato stared at her blankly. “No. I told you that’s impossible. You got scammed, deal with it yourself. It’s not my problem.” He wasn’t going to get any homework done here. Picking up his bag, he turned to leave.

“Now wait just a damn minute you brat-”

He turned to look at her as she lunged for him and felt the seal burn, stretched so thin it was on the verge of snapping as Death lunged back with his presence, and she stumbled to a stop as the blood drained from her face. Minato waited for a moment before leaving.

He’d have to hope she wouldn’t retaliate.

Apparently Death had scared her enough in that moment to avoid him entirely, because she would barely even look at him other than the occasional glare if they happened to be home at the same time. So he tuned her out as well, putting his headphones on and ignoring her.

Trying to ignore the fact that she was looking more sick and exhausted by the month. It wasn’t like he could do anything about her irresponsibility - he was already giving her the money he was making, and unless he wanted to get actively involved with the yakuza he wasn’t going magically get a job that payed more.

Maybe if she stopped spending her money on ways to forget the problem she’d be able to deal with the issue. Minato had already caved and started shoplifting food during the midnight hour when she stopped bringing groceries home.

Death was getting more worried and frustrated as time passed, and was curling up next to Minato in human form nearly every night for the midnight hour. Sometimes they talked, but most of the time they just leaned against each other to derive what comfort they could. Death clung to him like he was afraid he was going to disappear, which was funny given that of the two of them Death was the one only tangible for an hour.

Death and the mp3 player were really Minato’s only lifelines by this point.

He probably should have been paying more attention. Should have accounted for human vulnerability and desperation and realized what she would end up turning to. Though he really didn’t know what he could have done about it even if he had known - she wouldn’t have listened to him if he told her not to anyway.

December was cold.

It always was, but it somehow felt colder standing in the back alleys a few blocks from Kabukicho’s streets under a flickering street light with a dozen men from a local street gang staring down Minato and his cousin. That explained why she’d rushed in and grabbed him, told him to come with her and hurry and be quiet.

What had she expected to happen if she ran from her debt after borrowing money?

At least it wasn’t the yakuza, he guessed, but this wasn’t really much better. She was shaking with terror next to him, tears welling in her eyes.

“P-Please-” she stuttered, “Give me a little more time! I’m working on it, I promise, we both are, so-”

“It’s been over six months, the hell much more time do ya need?” The man in front snapped, pulling his jacket back to rest his hand on his gun. “I don’t appreciate games, girlie, we got our own expenses. You said you’d have it paid back by now, and I’m holdin’ ya to your word.”

“I-I’m trying,” she protested, hugging herself. “I swear I am, I thought I’d have it by now but the club across the street keeps bribing people to help them steal our business! I’m doing everything I can, if I can get another couple of months-”

“That’s what you said three months ago!” Another one snarled, pulling out his own gun to aim at them. “We’re not gonna keep buying into the lies of a drug-addicted whore!”

“N-No, please-”

What was Minato supposed to do here? There were a dozen of them with guns, and even with Death straining as hard as he could against the seal - to the point where Minato could barely stand from the pain and was very sure that it was about to shatter completely - there wasn’t anything he could do outside the midnight hour. An aura of death didn’t do much good when the men were both used to death and very much armed.

Could he buy time? Even if he did, there wouldn’t be anywhere for them to run. He didn’t think he could defuse the situation when they were this angry over broken promises. He wasn’t going to make stupid promises he couldn’t keep either.

Minato didn’t really care about dying. If he died here… it was fine. He didn’t care. But Death did, and Death was one of the only things that Minato could bring himself to care about anymore, so he should at least put some effort into not dying. And he didn’t really want her to die either. She wasn’t exactly good, he didn’t really like her and she’d made too many mistakes, but that didn’t mean she deserved to die for it.

Not that deserving it had ever saved anyone.

Minato sighed. “Is killing us really going to solve anything?”

The man in front narrowed his eyes at him. “I don’t like being lied to, brat.”

“Not saying you should. But she is still paying you back, even if it’s not as quickly as she promised.” He shrugged, shoving his hands into his pockets. “If you kill us you can’t get any money from us. I’m not defending her, just pointing it out.”

“You offering to take her place?” One of the men in the back sneered.

Minato sent them a flat look. “I’m already giving her all the money I make, so I kind of already have.”

There were snorts and scoffs from several of them and the man in front smirked. “Sounds like you’re not in the right business then, boy. How about I cut you a deal - I’ll get you a job that you can pay us back in no time, and we’ll let you both walk away from this alive. Do a good enough job and we’ll even let you keep the extra.”

Well that wasn’t an obvious hook or anything. It was probably some sort of smuggling, and they needed someone as unsuspicious as possible to the police. He wasn’t really interested in getting dragged into that because people who got involved rarely left, but they didn’t really have many options either.

“Stall them until midnight and we’ll have plenty of options,” Death growled, clawing at the seal. “I hoped I’d be able to break out before then, but it’s more difficult than I anticipated.”

Ah. Killing them during the midnight hour was probably the easiest solution to the problem, yeah. Almost everyone turned into coffins, so letting Death break through the seal and then dealing with them one by one would be simple enough.

So Minato tilted his head at them. “What kind of job? I need details before I promise anything.”

“Do you really have room to negotiate here?” the man asked, pulling his own gun out and flipping the safety. Minato’s cousin gasped, stepping behind him and grabbing his arm.

Minato shrugged. “Not negotiating. Just making sure I can actually keep my promise before I make it.” He flicked a glance down at his mp3 player - ten minutes to midnight. He could keep them talking for ten minutes.

“Well I guess you’re smarter than that girl hiding behind you then. You don’t really get much of a choice in this if you want to live, though.”

That was assuming quite a bit that he cared about living, but whatever. “So? What do you want me to do?”

The man scoffed. “Well you’ve got spine and an attitude, I’ll give you that. It’s simple - we get packages goin’ to and comin’ from all sorts of places around Tokyo. You’ll be our little delivery boy. Nice, simple, and easy, yeah?”

Minato didn’t bother reacting. “Drugs or weapons? That will change how it needs to be handled.”

A nasty grin broke out across his face. “Oho, got ourself a bold one here, huh? Not even a flinch. Keep that attitude and you might do just fine. Bit o’ column A, bit o’ column B. Depends on the day, and our buyer or seller.”

Helpful. “That’s not much to go off of if you want me to start planning how to get them past the police. I didn’t grow up in Tokyo so I’m not as familiar with it’s blind spots as a native would be.” He wasn’t going to look at his mp3 player, he wasn’t going to try to count the minutes passing. Midnight would get here when it got here.

“Heh, I applaud the initiative but we won’t just leave ya flailin’ around blindly. We’ll pair you off with a couple of our other runners to start, let them teach you the ropes. We ain’t heartless, kid, just don’t like bein’ lied to.”

“Not heartless, merely willing to blackmail teenagers into smuggling illegal items for you,” Death hissed. “Be ready, Minato. It’s going to hurt when I break through the seal.”

“It always does. I’ll be fine; I’m used to it,” Minato thought back, watching the gang mutter amongst themselves. “So you say. I suppose if I get caught I’ll be left to fend for myself?”

The man shrugged lightly. “We gotta take care of ourselves first. Consider it motivation not to get caught, yeah?”

He’d figured.

“No. No, not again, not like this.” The smallest whisper came from behind him, and he had a moment of confusion followed by an unexpected bolt of dread as his cousin suddenly straightened with teary eyes and stepped out from behind him.

“Don’t-” he began- but she didn’t listen.

Why? Why did she choose now to grow a conscience?

“Enough! He’s got nothing to do with this - I’ll clear the debt myself, I promise! There’s no reason to drag him into this even more and I won’t let you-!”

A shot rang out. It echoed around the empty alleyway and rang loudly in his ears. Pain burned burned burned more fiercely than it ever had before in his chest and he was frozen, eyes wide as his breath struggled to come. He almost expected to feel blood on his chest, wished that he could feel blood on his chest, but it wasn’t him who’d been shot.

She let out a shuddering little choked gasp, and Minato turned to see her reaching up to clutch at the wound with wide, horrified eyes. He couldn’t- he couldn’t breathe as she staggered and fell- blood pooling around her as the light above them flickered-

-fire flickered and flashed off the metal, shimmering in the pooling blood, and he saw his mother burned and broken as she smiled hopelessly at him and begged him to live as she and his father and his twin sister wouldn’t and- he couldn’t move- couldn’t help- he was completely helpless-

The men jeering and bickering lightly was distant in his ears as the world faded into a distant grey and the pain burned and the world suddenly shuddered and shifted around them as the moon flashed green-

-and the men’s laughter turned into something startled and alarmed but he could barely hear them and he wasn’t listening-

-and a scream of pain suddenly echoed and bounced off the alleyway as the ground rose up to meet him and his knees hit the blood-covered pavement and his chest felt like it tore itself open and another more monstrous scream joined his own and he distant heard the gang’s voices rise as well-

The blood on his chest and staining his shirt was his own from where the seal had been torn open and Death emerged. The blood on his hands and on his knees were hers. Hers where she was lying on her front surrounded by the pool of her own blood, and he struggled to balance as he leaned forward and rolled her over onto her back. She was still just barely breathing, eyes glazed and distant through her tears.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, staring up at the green-tinged moon. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry for everything. I’m sorry Minoru-kun, I messed up again. I didn’t mean to, I didn’t want this. Please forgive me, please I’m sorry, I didn’t want you to die. I don’t want to die. I don’t want to, I wanted to live and go see Paris and New York and London like we promised we would-” she choked and coughed, blood streaking her lips as her hand shakingly reached up. Minato reached out and took it, holding it between his as she struggled to breathe. “Please help me. Please don’t let me die, I have so many more things I want to do.” Tears streaked down her face to mix with the blood. “Please, Minoru-kun I’m not ready to follow you yet…”

Minato just distantly watched her and held her hand as she slowly went still and cold and even the echoing screams of the gang members eventually stopped. Everything felt distant and painful and he couldn’t bring himself to move even once Death returned to his side with bloody swords.

He wondered if he was supposed to cry here. If he was supposed to feel grief and loss the way everyone had said he should for his parents and sister. If he was supposed to feel anything beyond the disconnected exhaustion and pain of the shattered seal.

“What am I supposed to do?” he wondered aloud, staring down at his cousin’s body blankly.

A soft sigh came from above him, and suddenly Death had discarded his swords and knelt down to wrap his arms around Minato. “I think we both know that normal rules do not apply to you.” A pause, and his grip tightened. “I am sorry for that. It is my presence that has stolen pieces of your humanity and suppressed your emotions.”

Well they hadn’t talked about it, but it made sense.

Minato let go of her hand and twisted around to lean against Death. “Maybe. I don’t blame you for it though.”

“… I know. Perhaps it would be easier if you did.”

“I doubt it. I waste enough energy on just staying alive. Hating you or the robot on top of it just sounds exhausting.”

Death let out a noise somewhere between a sigh and a laugh. “I would say that I don’t understand you, but I unfortunately do after spending nearly ten years in your soul.”

Minato hummed tiredly, closing his eyes and trying to tune out the pain still stinging his chest and blood still seeping through his shirt. “Whatever consequences it may have,” he said quietly, “I’m glad you did. I wouldn’t have wanted to go through this without you.” His lifeline. One of the two things that kept him sane and grounded in the static haze of this life.

The Shadow let out a shuddering breath and hugged him tighter. “I am glad that my presence has brought you something other than pain, at least.”

“Death, you’ve been my best friend for most of my life now. I’ve been with you longer than I’ve been without you.” He reached up rest a hand on his shoulder. “You should know by now that you’ve given me plenty more than pain.”

Death went still for a long, long moment, and Minato waited for him to process and accept that before responding. When he did, he caught Minato off-guard. “I suppose I can’t deny that. But… Death is not accurate for who I am anymore. For whatever I may have given you, you’ve given me far, far more.” Minato blinked his eyes opened and craned his neck to look up at him. “I am Thanatos - and you have given me so much of yourself, shared so much of your soul with me even beyond the nature of the seal, that I have become a Persona.”

“A Persona?” There was psychology terminology in the back of his mind that he couldn’t quite remember through the exhaustion of the night’s events.

“An aspect or manifestation of your soul. It’s-” he paused, amending, “-likely a bit too complex to explain in your current state. In normal cases a Shadow is the parts of yourself you deny, a Persona is the part of yourself you accept and project unto yourself. I’m a special case, for obvious reasons. Consider me an extension of your soul who wants to protect you, for now.”

“That’s what you’ve been for years,” Minato muttered, closing his eyes again. “So even thought the seal is broken now, you’re staying?”

“Yes. I’m not leaving you alone. I’ll remain at your side for as long as I can.”

“Saying it like that makes it sound like you’ll leave eventually.”

Dea-Thanatos was silent for a moment, and Minato felt his bone chin brush his head. “… eventually I may have no choice, and I’m sorry for that. If I had my way I would remain by your side forever.”

“But?”

“But I have a feeling the events from nine years ago are going to come back and haunt us soon. Death was separated into many parts that were scattered, and I was sealed within you. If those parts are rejoined, Death will come again and usher in Nyx. I will have no choice.”

“We can’t just prevent the pieces from being rejoined?”

“I doubt it. Nyx, even incomplete, is the source of the midnight hour and the Shadows. So long as we exist, so to will they and so too will the Shadows. I suspect things will come to a head very soon.”

“And we’ll be in the center of it,” Minato sighed, tipping his head against him. “Okay. I still want you to stay with me. As long as you can.” He wasn’t sure what his life would be like without Thanatos, but given how much the Shadow had been a constant companion and push forward he doubted it would be better.

“I will. You should sleep - my breaking through the seal exhausted you thoroughly. I’ll keep watch and prevent any Shadows from coming near until the hour is over. From there, though…”

“Someone will see the bodies and call the police,” Minato murmured as he finally began giving in to sleep. “Since I’m injured too I probably won’t get in trouble.” Hopefully. Whatever Thanatos had done to the gang members, it definitely wasn’t something he could be blamed for.

“Then rest - you’ll need it.”

~ ᙙᙖ ~

Minato woke up in the hospital a week later.

It was incredibly disorienting to experience - the neutral tones of the room, the beeping of the monitor, the IV in his arm, the fuzziness in his head - but Death- Thanatos- rose up to press against the back of his mind with a familiar reassuring coolness that helped chase away the worst of the confusion.

As long as he was still here, it was fine.

It took several long minutes of just thinking and reorienting himself to remember what had happened. While he didn’t feel the grief or pain everyone seemed to expect from these things, there was at least a twinge of regret that things had turned out as they had.

But what was done was done - there was nothing he could do about it. No one could change the past. Time moved forward regardless of wishes.

So he move forward with it. When the police questioned him what had happened he was mostly honest - until the events of the midnight hour happened when he feigned confusion. His cousin had been shot by the gang, and yeah he looked like he’d been stabbed but he was pretty sure it had been from behind, and he had no idea what happened to the gang because he’d passed out after being stabbed with a knife.

He was pretty sure the police came to the conclusion that his cousin had been involved with a yakuza or something, but she clearly hadn’t told him anything about her job so he somehow wasn’t held responsible for any of her actions and was simply handed off to his uncle - a high ranking and very wealthy businessman also in Tokyo - although in the Shimbashi district instead of Shinjuku.

Sure. Whatever.

His uncle was… distant, at best. Much like his other cousin had been, the man was busy with his work and wasn’t interested in interacting with him beyond the necessities. That was more than fine with Minato - it was nice to be invisible and self-sufficient without expectation again. He even got an allowance without needing to get a job again. It was a minor relief he hadn’t expected to feel, but it was there.

He still went to the same high school for the final three months but his uncle explained that he’d be leaving for an overseas business trip around March so Minato would be transferring to a different high school with dorms for the next year.

Minato was incredulous for… several reasons. The fact that his uncle was going out of his way to ensure he’d be… safe? successful? not left completely alone? for the year was surprising enough. The fact that it was an incredibly expensive private high school was even more so.

At least until he was told the name.

Iwatodai High School, on Tatsumi Port Island just outside Tokyo Bay.

It sent Thanatos on immediate high alert, and Minato understood a few moments later. The Moonlight Bridge leading to the island was where his parents had died and Death had been sealed inside him.

The the island itself was where everything began.

Thanatos had been right - the events of nine, nearly ten, years past were coming back to haunt them.

He didn’t show any of the realizations on his face, but he had a feeling that this wasn’t a coincidence. The man gained custody of him and immediately went on a business trip oversees and sent him to the island where this had all begun nearly ten years ago?

Especially now that Thanatos had broken through the seal.

His uncle may not know anything about what had happened, but someone did and this was no coincidence.

And so, come April, Minato left Tokyo proper and got on the train heading to Tatsumi Port Island for the year. Even with his headphones on and music blaring in his ears it couldn’t quite drown out the world around him this time. The buzzing beneath his skin from Thanatos was agitating, stirring up his own feelings of apprehension.

Whatever was waiting for them - scientists and laboratories and Shadows and Personas and at the end of it all the personification of death itself, and maybe, just maybe, a robot girl who had looked at him with such sorrow ten years past - most of it probably wouldn’t be good.

He probably wouldn’t even survive it.

But at the very least, he thought as he stepped from the station and into the coffin-strewn street to the dorms, he wouldn’t be alone through it. Thanatos would stay with him.

Although getting to the dorms and finding him smiling cheerfully behind the check-in desk with a quip that he was here awfully late made him suspect that the Shadow- Persona, would likely be stepping up his obnoxiousness and pushiness towards socializing and trying things.

… the contract was unexpected, but Thanatos likely had his reasons - even if he was pointedly keeping them to himself for the moment - so Minato just sighed and signed the book. As he handed it over he asked, “Are you planning to tell me what that’s about?”

Thanatos just smiled enigmatically at him, folding the contract close to his chest as though it was something precious. “All in due time, my dear Minato. All questions will be answered and all secrets revealed soon enough.” He closed his eyes thoughtfully for a moment. “No one can escape time. It delivers all equally to the same end.” He focused back on Minato and the fold vanished with a twist of his wrist. “You can’t plug your ears or cover your eyes to escape.”

The lights of the dorm began fading around them, shadows creeping up the walls and across the floor, and Thanatos smiled and reached out to Minato as they wrapped around him.

“And so it begins.”

And then he was gone, returning back to Minato’s soul with something mischievous about him that Minato didn’t feel like figuring out, and Minato was left standing along in the dark entranceway.

No one could escape the end. He’d known that.

They both knew that whatever happened in this place, during this year, would be an ending of sorts. It was just a matter of what kind of end. He placed a hand on his chest, where the scar from the seal still lay. But whatever it was - they couldn’t escape it. They knew that.

So they would just have to take what happened as it was, no matter what it brought.

He was at the beginning of the end.

“Who’s there?!”

~ ᙙᙖ ~

This was fun! It was also twice as long as it was supposed to be, but such is my curse with writing these days. The Ryomina was more implied than explicitly stated, admittedly, but I got caught up in the childhood friends part of it.

Also blink and you miss it Akechi cameo lol

#ryominaweek2023 #ryomina #persona 3 #ryoji mochizuki #minato arisato #makoto yuki #I had a lot of fun writing this #heavy on headcanons but it's fic #I'd apologize for the extreme length but I'm not sorry actually #I've given up fighting my nature

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aquaticsoul · 11 months

Text

Default Verse Health: Mental

This is one of two posts on this topic. Most anyone interacting with Sielu is going to be interacting with him after he escapes from Herba, so here's a chunk of relevant mental health info. For more info on his physical state, check this post (which should be read FIRST).

Please be aware that I do have to talk about some pretty nasty things that Herba did while he was being held in her possession, so here's a trigger warning for violence, death, grief, abuse, religion, and discussion of their effects.

To get into the effects of what she did, I have to first run through the basics of what happened after Misterica fell.

First, Misterica was his home world and it being destroyed was already enough to cause him tremendous grief and sorrow.

Sielu lost his twin sister Sydän prior to Herba's attack on the village the two had been living in the first few years after the fall of their home.

Herba was hellbent on killing every single occupant, and in a last-ditch effort to save everyone, Sielu tried to buy them time by means of using his Mist to slow Herba down. Unfortunately, this did not go as expected and instead (due to him misjudging the weather) slowed everyone else down, making them all too easy to murder. She killed every last villager there save for Sielu, who she injured to the point of near-death as a show of force to the held-captive Makenshi (also causing Makenshi to believe Sielu was dead), and took him with her.

Due to this event, he had already started to feel guilty. His home had already been destroyed once, and now he was directly responsible for the deaths of everyone in this second home as well. His strict religious beliefs instruct him not to kill unless absolutely necessary, and he unfortunately sees what he did as breaking that tenet on a technicality.

Therefore, Sielu was already in rough mental shape when Herba got him. She used drugs, magic, and various abuse tactics to manipulate him further throughout the near-decade he was stuck there. It was effective enough to twist his mind and make it keep twisting itself.

By the time he gets out, he is suffering from paranoia, hallucinations, grief, feelings of worthlessness and hopelessness, and pervasive self-hatred. He believes himself to be no better than an animal, believes that he has been rejected by the goddess of his people and betrayed by his former student, and believes it's him up against the rest of the world.

There are some days when he believes he's dying due to his terrible physical condition, though this is not quite true.

At the same time, he has been conditioned into strict obedience and a state of ignoring what he wants and needs. It's easy to get him to listen to most instructions regardless of where they come from unless they break one of his religious tenets or some other factor interferes.

Sielu is constantly afraid, constantly degrading himself, and constantly trying to avoid being punished by whoever is around him. He believes himself to no longer be deserving of his soul or his name, and believes his Mist is inherently corrupted or unclean in some way because of everything that's happened. He sometimes worries that it's still loaded with toxins from Herba or otherwise contaminated no matter how often he clears his lungs out, though this belief comes and goes.

When it's present, though, he firmly believes his own soul's essence is foul at its very core, ruined down to the molecular level, and because of this he can and will refuse to release his lungs or remove his mask until he deems it safe for everyone else around for him to do so.

In addition to all of these beliefs, he's suffering severe PTSD (as is evident in his learned 'fawn' response). He cannot stand to even be reminded of Herba in any way, so much so that he finds it hard to look at anything that's the color green. He does not ask for anything he wants or needs without tremendous difficulty.

Sielu is extremely on edge at all times and in constant pain both mentally and physically. He has frequent nightmares, flashbacks, and panic attacks, which most often appear as crying fits though sometimes manifest in total blankness as if he is frozen. Typically, if triggered, he will remain in a rough state until he becomes unconscious due to the physical pain spikes caused by crying or deep breathing that both irritate his already-damaged lungs. There are some times when he manages to calm down before this happens, but those are not very frequent.

One last effect to discuss is his forced retirement from music. The pain he's in due to respiratory system damage does not allow him to sing, nor does it allow him the opportunity to play his Mist for any long period of time, and he has no instruments to his name when he escapes. Music is the essence of who Sielu is as a person, so having it taken from him in such a cruel manner sends him into an intense depression. The very thing he loves more than anything else causes him pain, and he does not know how to cope with it when this realization hits him completely.

Just as his physical health has a long way to go before he's recovered, so does his mental state.

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ginkgomoon · 3 years

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Victor and the Time Observers- Analysis

It’s finally here! This post is based on a question asked about the Time Observers and what their relations with Victor was! I deeply apologise to the anon for this response taking too long. I wanted each of my posts to be able to reach a standard where it’s adequate enough to satisfy me and most importantly the readers. Contains lots of spoilers, please do not read if you would not like to be exposed to future content! Here we go! ⏱

The Observer Effect definition-

"The observer effect is the disturbance of an observed system by the act of observation."

Who are the Time Observers?

“What is “intervention”, “correction”, “destiny”? Can we really figure out the mystery behind it?”

The Time Observers is an independent third party under the Space and Time Administration. They can travel through time and even tap can even tap into multiple universes/dimensions, such as when seeing MC in Behind the Curtain and when she travels to another universe in the Winter World. They are seen to be using pocket watches as their transportation tickets to other worlds in each timeline.

They were there in the 1908 White House explosion- where Evol was created, where to which Lucien states, “from then on, many futures have already been decided”. This was due to a comet hitting Earth which created a mini-black hole at the same time from the attack of an American hacker who could transmit data through laser pulses. Grandpa Chuck, the original Helios, and the Time Observers were all there. Soft piano music can be heard when they appear.

“Please stop spreading information about the explosion. Your actions have already affected the progress of this world. Someone has become aware of our presence.”

Victor: “Your people aren’t the only ones who can alter the future, Time Observer.”

“You misunderstand. We never alter, we are correctors of history. We want you to join us, your power’s scope of influence has already surpassed the dimension of this current world. Before you are rejected by it…”

Victor: “I will not leave this world.”

“Even if you’ve seen the future of what is all to pass?”

Victor: “No matter what happens, the person I’m seeking for is right here.” -Chapter 6 Black Curtain

Space and Time Administration

“You’re becoming more like the Victor I am familiar with.”

"Really, what’s he like?”

“Powerful enough to control anything… including time.”

The Space and Time Administration is an observation agency independent of all forces. They are noted for not having a guide or workbook- they just know what to do through their observations day by day. Their work is to observe and note statistics of time changes in the timelines, and the butterfly effect that each one produces. (Apparently more than 90% are negative.) Ultimately, their goal to stable the operations of the different worlds on all timelines.

Since Victor’s Evol is strong and has the capability to do more than the Time Observers, he is the one who is deemed the most suitable and more responsible for “grasping the time in the past and the future”. Ever since STF found out about Victor’s Evol, they wanted him to cooperate with them too, because every time he stops time, certain surrounding energy and space changes.

The organisation also entertains the idea of fate, and how things should be refused to be changed. Since they have “seen the future of how the world ends”, they want Victor in cooperating with them in making it stop. Nobody can rewrite the ending among them, except him. Victor refuses to joining because he doesn’t adhere to this idea.

“QUEEN’s return has brought unexpected consequences; the entire collapse of the world is ahead of schedule. The world’s line has come to an end, no matter through time or space, we can no longer interfere in this world.” Was there a difference in letting each world go to the end alone to close all the world lines in the future directly?

Victor: "But since the responsibility of the Space and Time Administration is to prevent the person who rewrites the world ending, don’t you think I am this kind of person? Moreover, the existence of time is objective, but the negative effects are subjective. I doubt 90% of your statistical results.”

"Nobody can maintain the critical value of the stable operation that each world line has reached. Everyone thinks they have done it. In the end, destruction is coming. We are not looking for anything, we are just waiting, waiting for what should happen when it comes to happen.”

ZERO

“In 1908, there was an explosion at the White House in the United States. There were no casualties, but the people there testified that there was no explosion.”

Amongst them, there was a man who looked familiar, but Victor couldn’t remember whether he had met him somewhere or not. He was gripping a pocket watch. Then, the young man left the spot.

The Time Observer Zero in the organisation is one most familiar with Victor, and had observed Victor travel through multiple timelines, consoling with him about his “failures”. He sympathises with him as he believes that the fate of the world cannot be changed, even if Victor tires himself to try otherwise.

“Now the world line is collapsing one by one, we’re running out of time. We can tell you where she is now.”

Time Observers can seemingly also allow others to see into different worlds too, almost how Grandpa Chuck can create and travel into different pocket glass dimensions, but not permanently enter inside. Zero personally lets Victor in.

“You should be aware of the consequences for doing this.”

“I said, my purpose is only one.”

Victor’s tone revealed unquestionable certainty. Zero willingly approached him with his hands stretched out to him.

“However, other matters are my own decision.” -Chapter 18 Rumours and Secrets

Chapter 33-34 Rumours and Secrets

"I’m wondering what happened in the in between- is it the decision of time or is someone interfering?”

He had told me that there was a group of people in the world waiting on various timelines to revise history.

“But amending the fact that has been changed, is it a course of “correction”, or just another “change?”

“But in any case, the end point of all timelines points all the same -this has not changed from the beginning.”

“Her destiny is tied to all timelines and she must walk into the only ending with this world.”

"You are also different.”

Although we found a breakthrough, this situation really caused us a lot of headaches: she who should not have survived and she should not have been sent to other worlds. As a result, it would seriously interfere and disrupt the timeline. No one had done it before, and no one except Victor could do it.

In disbelief, we weighed it and threw the olive branch- as long as he is willing to cooperate, we will help him find her. As decisive as he was to refuse a few times before, this time he had promised me without thinking. And for a moment, I didn’t know if his decisiveness was good or bad.

Once they had seen that MC was able to defy all odds in coming back alive and en route to becoming QUEEN, they were willing to fully accept Victor's decisions and perseverance on MC and why she was so important to saving their world, instead of him.

Chapter 35-36 Rumours and Secrets

Occasionally, Victor would visit the organisation and observe his hometown world, before Judgement Day. They watch as other worlds collapse and fade away.

Time is best at consuming people’s patience. He will understand that in accordance to the next decade, a century, a thousand years, that the world is just one of our many observation objects. At the end of limitless time- the only thing we can’t do is to change the past that doesn’t belong to us.

Victor doesn’t care about this price- he is more concerned with whether he can prevent the death of the girl in every unpredictable future.

"At least only in the Space and Time Administration can you repair your abilities. This, you know better than me.”

“But you can be rest assured that even if you still intend to return to that world after the deadline, the time flow rate there is a month. But if you stay here, you can continue to look for that ending.”

At that moment, full of hope and courage, I crossed the timeline again without hesitation. This time, he accepted Zero’s invitation.

The white crown slowly fell on the girl’s head, and the thin shadow almost turned into a phantom in the white light.

“The person who can save the world… is not me, but her. As for myself, I know my ending line and how much pain I can bear better than anyone. I would rather take such a risk.”

Zero looked at him without a word, and sighed heavily for a long time.

“Time is up.”

Judgement day arrives- to trigger the beginning of Season 2.

#恋与制作人 #love and producer #mlqc #mr love queens choice #mlqc translation #mlqc analysis #mlqc cn #mlqc en #mlqc spoilers #mlqc victor #victor #li zeyan

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nikakistos · 3 years

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Mikasa will kill Eren

With the series ending in only three chapters at the time of writing this meta/prediction post, i want to share my thoughts about how the battle between the Alliance and Eren will conclude. More specifically, i will analyze all the reasons that make me believe that Mikasa will kill Eren and put an end to this battle.

Mikasa’s character arc

The first important reason that made me reach to that conclusion is non other than Mikasa’s phenomenal and, in my opinion, underrated character arc. So, let’s get to know Mikasa.

Mikasa starts the story as a sheltered kid. She lives in the mountains, far away from any other kids, with her mom and dad being her only company. Her mom and dad were her entire world. She was a naive, innocent little girl who used to overlook the cruel nature of the world, focusing entirely on it’s beauty. She was content living like that with the people she loved the most, without having any grandiose dreams of her own.

And then, reality ensues. Three human traffickers kill her family and try to sell her as a sex slave. Mikasa, being only a child and alone was about to surrender. Without her family she didn’t have a place in the world. She didn’t know how to live without them.

Until Eren comes to save her. Out of the blue he kills the first two of the traffickers and unties her. However, the third one appears and disarms Eren. Before blacking out, the young boy tells Mikasa the words that later became her mantra “Fight! If you don’t win, you die. If you win, you live. If you can’t fight, you can’t win!”

That is the moment that Mikasa’s survival instincts awaken her Ackerman powers. The moment that she accepts that this world is kill or be killed and realizes it’s true nature. And the moment she learns the truth of the world she finds the strngth to kill her assailant. Mikasa kills so that she won’t be killed. And the moment her enemy falls, the old Mikasa dies.

Broken and homeless, Mikasa asks Dr.Yeager what she should do now that she had no one. How could she live on her own? She never learned how to do that. Mikasa, from the very beginning of her life, is a codependent person. She thinks that she can’t go on alone. And at this moment of sadness comes Eren and wraps a muffler around her neck to protect her from the cold. Both from the physical cold, but also from the cold, hard world that took her happiness away. He offers her a home. Their home.

From that moment onwards Eren became Mikasa’s world. He replaced her parents as her new family, alongside with his mom and dad. Mikasa, realizing that Eren was no more than a troublesome kid with a knack for getting into troubles, decides to be by his side forever and protect him. Partly out of gratitude for saving her and giving her a home, parly because it was his mom’s wish, partly because she is in love with him, but also in order to protect herself and her own peace of mind Mikasa latches onto Eren. And she makes the same mistake as before. She starts viewing Eren as a wholly good person. She keeps the image of the scarf and forgets the violence that came before. She projects onto Eren all of the beauty in the world.

After Carla’s death, Mikasa’s overprotective attitude only worsens. She resolves to follow Eren at all times and be there for him, without considering his feelings. She actually had a habit of misinterpreting his sentiments about her clingy nature quite often. Whoever threatens her life with Eren becomes an enemy. So, Mikasa, who never got over her trauma, thinks that Eren is the most important part of the world and that without him she can’t go own. To that end she joins the military, when in reality she never cared about humanity’s struggle against the titans. Mikasa was fine living an uneventful life with Eren and Armin.

However, those sentiments are not fit for a soldier. As a person who dedicated her heart for humanity’s survival, her first priority being Eren becomes a hindrance. A soldier should always put his feelings second. Fulfilling the mission should always be first. While Mikasa proves herself to be extremely effective in the Battle of Trost initially, with her stoic and direct nature saving hundreds of lives, when news of Eren’s death reach her she breaks down completely. She convinces the rest of the cadets to fight, while not being prepared to do her duty. She gives up and she is ready to die, until Eren’s memory and her desire to not forget him help her pull through and fight for her life. This marks the first instance of Mikasa’s growing maturity. She finds a reason to keep moving forward even without her family.

Mikasa is a survivor. Keep carrying on and living even after the deaths of her beloved people has always been a part of her. And this is not something that comes directly from Eren, but from her own self and love of life. Her Ackerman powers only activated due to her own survival instincts. Not from Eren’s orders. While she hasn’t realized it yet, Mikasa takes pride in being alive. In a world where only the strong survive, she feels proud of counting herself amongst them.

Of course, the revelation of Eren being alive makes Mikasa regress. She continues with her overprotective behavior and with her reckless, emotional behavior. Her desire to exact vengeance on Annie causes her to jeopardize the mission to retrieve Eren and sideline Levi. Mikasa was hurt by Annie, becaue Annie exposed her again. She showed her that she is not entirely capable of protecting Eren. She also showed her once more that fighting impulsively and allowing feelings to interfere when in a mission puts her life at risk. The first time, she was saved by Eren. The second, by Levi. So, Mikasa resolves to do better next time. She resolves to become a better soldier. Her sense of responsibility over Levi’s injury pains her and she tries to make up for it. She scolds Eren for not fighting her, despite her having killed numerous Survey Corps members. Her effots pay off and this eventually leads to Annie getting captured.

Unfortunately, Mikasa’s feelings have continued to resurface in critical moments. And those feelings did not concern Eren entirely. Despite Mikasa claiming that she only cares about a small amount of lives, specifically Armin and Eren, perhaps she hadn’t realize that she cares for far more people than she initially believed. Even after promising Levi to not make any more blunders, the only reason that Reiner and Bertholt escaped from her was the bonds she had created with them. She saw them as her comradres. She later tries to make up for her failure by trying to make the rest of her comrades see Reiner and Bertholt as enemies of humanity and prevent them from hesitating like she did and putting a tough front against Ymir, but again, the damage had already been done.

Mikasa had grown to care for more people than Eren and Armin. Mikasa during the Battle of Trost threatened Dimo Reeves who was delaying the evacuation process, because he was getting more of her comrades killed. She saved innocents and civilians. She was angry at the Female Titan for killing so many of her comrades. She created strong bonds within the 104th unit. She even showed consideration for Levi, even though she disliked him for beating up Eren. More importantly, as the series progress, Mikasa starts caring more about the world in general. The little girl who only cared about herself and her family members has now become a soldier who fights for the entire world. She even develops a sense of belonging to Paradis, viewing it as her homeland, when she wasn’t even willing to fight for the island 4 years ago. Her cold exterior starts to crumble and she opens up. She protects a child who killed one of her best friends, a stark contrast to the earlier version of Mikasa who nearly ruined a mission by trying to have her vengeance against Annie. The Mikasa who simply cared for her small world and had no ambitions of exploring the outside world easily embraces the volunteers from Marley and becomes optimistic about their intergration to Paradis. The exact opposite of Eren.

This gradual “defrosting” of Mikasa and her repeated failures, along with the realization of the inferiority feelings she was causing him to have, force Mikasa to alter her treatment of Eren. While she was constantly nagging and smothering him, she starts to become more supportive of him, encouraging him and helping him believe in himself, just like she did with Armin. Not only that, this enables her to become a better soldier as well. While the Mikasa of the first few chapters was willing to disobey orders if that meant being close to Eren, she starts trusting the leadership of Levi, whom she resented, and entrusts Eren to Armin in the Battle of Shiganshina. She understands that she has a role to play as a soldier and that Eren can take care of himself either alone or with the help of other people, without her being near. This results in a huge victory in Shiganshina.

Of course, that doesn’t mean that she has changed completely. Mikasa still refused to obey Levi’s orders and attacked him when he tried to revive Erwin instead of Armin, Despite all, her feelings for the people who are closer to her, Eren and Armin are still too strong sometimes and overpower her better judgement. However, it was at this point exactly, that Mikasa received her second warning. She has to keep moving forward with the knowledge that all the people she knows will eventually die. And she did. Mikasa did give up in the end during the Serumbowl. She has matured.

Unfortunately, Mikasa’s love for Eren is still hindering her. Even now, after all that, Mikasa’s sole dream is living with him forever. She is in love with him, even though he has commited horrible crimes that go against her values. Her introverted, shy nature plus her fear of losing him do not allow her to express her true feelings, but she does have them.

And here comes Mikasa’s greatest flaw. Despite all of her development, she still thinks that without Eren she is lost. She has no goal left. She never learned how to live as an individual and as an independent person. That’s why she believes his lies so easily. She doesn’t recognize her sense of self without him. She still ties her identity to Eren. She has all of the foundations for living as a complete and healthy human being, but her inability to separate herself from Eren is destroying her and clouding her judgement. That’s why she asks Armin what to do in chapter 125, that’s why she tries to stop Pieck from killing Eren in chapter 135, that’s why she says she won’t kill him. And most importantly for her, that’s why she couldn’t admit that she is in love with him in chapter 123. Mikasa simply cannot handle rejection from Eren. She can’t think of a future for her without him by her side. She almost reconsiles herself to loving him from afar.

It is very evident and telling from her reaction to Louise and her first talk to Annie that Mikasa is actually ashamed for prioritizing Eren over anything else and simply following his footsteps. In reality, Mikasa doesn’t want that. She wants to be her own person. She wants to be Eren’s equal, not his follower. That’s why she doesn’t wear the scarf anymore.

Well all these need to and will change. Mikasa has to put her feelings aside one more time and act as a soldier and finish off the threat to humanity. She needs to stop tying so much of herself to Eren and realize for good that she can live without him, despite wanting to be by his side forever. And in order to do all that, she has to stop lying to herself for good. She has to admit her feelings, her true feelings not solely to her, but to him as well. And judging by her own regrets, she will.

Mikasa’s character arc has her going from a happy, naive little girl, to a broken, gloomy, stoic person who only cares about a couple of people to a proper soldier who cares and fights for the entire world, friends and foes included. She opens up, makes friendships, develops a more pacifistic worldview compared to her survival mindset of old. But most importantly, she will become a normal, functioning human being.

Nature of the conflict

Moving on from Mikasa’s characters arc, i believe that the nature of the conflict of the series in and of itself points out towars Mikasa killing Eren. The first and primary conflict in the series is the fight between Humans and Titans. The world has expanded since the first chapter. The series has become more complex. And yet, in the final battle we see some people fighting to protect humanity from the hordes of titans that want to trample the remaining human race outside the walls of Paradis.

In this exact setting we have the Survey Corps, the group of people that from day one fights for humanity’s survival and liberation from the terror of the titans fughting against the biggest symbol of oppression and enslavement in the entire series. The Wall Titans.

The Scouts dreamt of an idealized world when fighting against the titans. And still, even after this world was revealed to be quiet different than they imagined, more disappointing, they still don’t give up. Because they understand that the world is a cruel place, but it also very beautiful. The person who best represents this theme in the series is none other than Mikasa Ackerman. And she is fighting for the Scouting Legion against the person who showed her both sides of the world in the same day. That person has renounced all the beauty in this world and focused only on the ugly side. And he fights for the Titans.

In a series about humans fighting against titans, Mikasa is a character associated with human strength.

While Mikasa (and the Survey Corps in general) is associated with human strength, Eren on the other hand has been constantly referred to as a monster. A devil. Something inhuman. Now of course, technically speaking Mikasa is also part titan and Eren is also part human, however this symbolism still exists.

Judging by the narrative and the themes of the series, an Eren victory is downright impossible. It just doesn’t fit for the titans to defeat humanity. The story has put so much emphasis on the creation of a better world, free of curses and hate. Eren, being the physical manifestation of both can’t win. He has to die. And in such a story, is there a better way to topple the biggest titan of all time, using the trademark weapon of humanity? That it the ODMG.

Foreshadowing

In this part, i will let the pictures do the talking. It is evident from all of them and from my previous analysis of Mikasa’s arc that a full blown conflict between her and Eren is bound to happen. And Mikasa killing Eren has been referenced way too many times for that to be a coincidence.

Every single time in this latest arc that Eren being killed is mentioned, Mikasa is at the forefront. Isayama focuses on her too much in these scenes. Considering the fact that now that Gabi has realized what the true nature of the titans is, the fact that they have wrapped the explosives around Eren’s neck, Armin going Colossal being foreshadowed over a billion times, Eren seems to be in huge danger. Killing the Source of the Titans would likely kill Eren, seeing as how he is nothing but a head without a body. And it doesn’t look like he can regenerate. Stopping the Colossals might only be possible by killing the centipede that is tied to Eren’s survival. And for all the reasons i have mentioned, i believe that Mikasa will be the one to kill it.

#snk #aot #attack on titan #shingeki no kyojin #mikasa #mikasa ackerman #eren #eren yeager #eremika #snk meta #aot meta #attack on titan final season #attack on titan season 4 #character analysis #character development #snk spoilers #attack on titan manga #attack on titan predictions #shingeki no kyojin analysis

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piracytheorist · 3 years

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Since the first thing that strikes me about re8, story-wise, is that it seems to be all over the place? Again, I’ve no idea how it ties to previous games but it feels like this parental/mother-child theme is just hanging there with no resolution at all? I mean yes, Ethan saved his daughter, presumably breaking some sort of abuse cycle, yay, congrats, but what about his wife/gf? Isn’t she supposed to be like the main protagonist of the story of a mother bereaved to the point of tyrannical madness

Or rather, this specific story is not the right choice for his character since there’s SO many ethical and philosophical issues and questions implied but never properly explored because of Ethan’s ‘fuck you, idc’ attitude (which is completely understandable in those circumstances but adds virtually nothing to the plot and arguably even ruins it a bit). Heisenberg could’ve been an excellent ally with fascinating grey morality (provided the writers wouldn’t push him to the point of absolute insanity and let freedom, not power-hunger be his main goal and motivation for rebellion).And again, aren’t the lords supposed to represent child development stages? In which case Ethan what? Kills the possibility of some evil version of Rose? Or his own chance to experience fatherhood throughout all of those stages? Either way, it seems a bit… weird to have a Parent destroy multiple people whose main relevance to the plot is that they’re children of an abusive antagonist in a storyline so extremely focused on parent/kid relationships.

I feel like the main theme of re8 is not just parenthood/motherhood, but the relationship itself of the parent to the child. There's a lot of mentions to "children being used". Miranda kidnapping people, experimenting on them and mutating them and then treating them like they're her kids; Miranda kidnapping and practically killing Rose; Dimitrescu making daughters out of reanimated corpses she experimented on; Heisenberg wanting to use Rose's powers, etc etc.

And it's important that Miranda is at the center of this. There's something very interesting she says to Ethan in her boss fight:

"Why do you interfere? Surely you have no need of Rose now, so close to death?"

And that's where her mistake was. Ethan wasn't doing all that because he needed Rose herself. He was doing it to save her, fully aware that he wasn't going to be a part of her life cause he knew he was dying. Miranda was way too dependent on her love for Eva - and like, I honestly get it that losing your child can devastate you (if anything my fear of that is one of the reasons I don't want to have kids) - so much that her life literally revolved around her child. Once Eva died, Miranda wanted to die. Once she found the Megamycete and discovered she maybe had a chance to bring Eva back, she dedicated her entire life and ruined multiple others to do just that. Her one and biggest need was to get Eva back. It wasn't a simple want or wish. It was a need. She'd get her child back, damn everyone else - including other people's children.

Miranda had no-one to blame directly; Eva had died from the influenza, it wasn't like she had any chance to change things. Ethan's case was different; he had people to blame, particularly, the one who kidnapped Rose and dismembered her, and her lackeys who kept said parts and fought him for trying to take them back.

So on one end, you have a parent who lost her child due to a tragedy, and ended up destroying other - innocent - lives in order to get her back. On the other, you have a parent who lost his child due to a crime, and ended up going after the criminals responsible in order to get the child back. Like, it wasn't even revenge, and it wasn't that he "needed" Rose in his life. He simply wanted to save her and ensure she'll be alright.

I fully agree it could have been Mia as the protagonist in re8, and that it was a wasted opportunity to simply fridge her and have her in the sidelines angsting over her husband. But whether it was Mia or Ethan as the protagonist, I feel like the theme that I explained above does offer a resolution, showing the opposites of Miranda and Ethan, and ending Miranda's tyrrany of her "need" to have her child back through Ethan's determination to ensure his child's safety and happiness - even if he doesn't get to be a part of any of that later on. Miranda showed obsession; Ethan showed dedication.

And this is how I see the abuse cycle breaking and the resolution is reached; an obsessed parent hurt a good parent's child to bring their own child back - the good parent's dedication stopped the former, allowing the former's tyrrany to end and their child to grow up safe.

Seeing as this is a horror game, I don't tend to focus on the morality issues (if I'm interpreting your second message correctly). Like, the developers are making a grant effort to put us in Ethan's shoes, first-person POV, plain character protagonist and all; our child got kidnapped and practically murdered, and we have the chance to bring her back. We'll absolutely raise hell to the people who are responsible for it and we will get our child back, fuck any moral dilemmas we might have. When someone is threatening your life, you have the ability to kill them to defend yourself. In the case of a caring parent, that ability may multiply by a lot when the threat is towards their child. And I feel that this is what the game explored in the end. Though the whole survival issue is taxing on Ethan, he doesn't give a damn about who he has to kill if it means saving his daughter - but again, it's only the responsible parties. We see how watching all the people at Luisa's house die affected him, and even before Elena died, he wanted to ensure her safety before he went searching for Rose; he is sympathetic and morally rational, but also capable of cold-blooded murder if someone is threatening his child. To a lesser extent, we saw that in re7 too. With his life on the line, he killed Jack (multiple times) and Marguerite, and at the end he recognized how they were actually victims of Eveline. But they were still actively trying to murder him so he wasn't given the chance to help them. With Zoe, he promised to send help, and he did, even wanting to talk to her once she'd been rescued by her uncle and Chris. The same applies to re8, but as I said, it's multiplied since it's his daughter who's in danger, and the end of re8 proves he cares for her safety more than his own.

Now, all that said, I think it's important to note how it's stil a Resident Evil game. I haven't actually played or watched any playthroughs of other games, but the basic concept in these games, from what I understand, is that the player shoots zombies; ex-human beings who have lost any human mentality and will just come for your throat if you don't kill them first. They're not humans anymore, they can't be reasoned or sympathized with. It's not really an issue of morality, ethics or philosophy. Your life, and the life of your child in the case of re8, are in danger. You don't give a shit. You just start shooting and hope for the best. Again, I don't know if the morality issue is explored in other RE games, but to be honest... Resident Evil doesn't sound like the kind of franchise that's thematically into going super deep into the morality of shooting zombies to save your life.

I have to admit I haven't thought of the Lords being representative of child development stages. I think they could be put as Moreau being a toddler, fully dependent on their parent - funnily enough, the Greek word for baby is "moro", pronounced almost exactly the way "Moreau" is pronounced in the game - Donna as a child, Heisenberg as a (rebellious?) teenager, and Dimitrescu as a late teen/young adult (if anything, Dimitrescu seems to behave like the eldest child of the bunch). But I'm not sure the connection that has to Ethan as a father, if anything because the bosses are fought in complete random order of age, if my analysis is correct. Like, I understand the symbolism behind the Lords' behaviours, maybe as you said they represent the obstacles Ethan had to overcome. In one single day and with his life on the line, instead of in the course of Rose's entire childhood and adolescence, but that's exactly why he hated being a protagonist of a horror game, lol.

Anyway, yeah. All in all, I don't think Resident Evil is a franchise where we should expect to sit down afterwards and ponder whether we were right to shoot the zombies that were trying to kill us. Again, I'm not the right person to ask this, since I don't know anything about other RE games, but that's the conclusion I'm making in a meta-thinking way.

#Resident Evil #Resident Evil Village #Resident Evil 8 #Ethan Winters #Mother Miranda #re meta #anonymous #ask and ye shall receive

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dadsbongos · 3 years

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Insert Coin - Chapter 2.d / Series Masterlist

A/N: okay i figured something out, so uploads should deffo be a lot faster than they used to be. sorry about that, everyone!!

Knocking on the door awoke the pair, (Y/n)’s eyes drifting open with the sunlight streaming in through the cracks of the old building’s wood. She stood as quietly as possible to avoid waking Nagito, popping her back as she headed towards another rattle of knocks.

She was met with, once again, Hajime on the other side of the door. Rubbing the bleariness from her eyes, (Y/n) exited to the hall, silently shutting the door behind her as she did so.

Hajime examined the girl for any possible injuries, in total shock she’d just slept in the same room as the boy currently accountable for two deaths, “Are you hurt? Did anything happen?”

“Hajime,” she spoke sternly, but not without heart, “everything’s fine. Nagito’s doing really well, he listens. There’s no need to worry about us,” her eyes caught an error in the brunette’s attire, squinting at it before reaching up to fix his tie, “But apparently the same cannot be said for you. Did you just fight Monokuma on your way here?”

They both knew he didn’t - he’d be dead if he even tried it.

“I wanted to make sure you were safe,” he reasoned before gesturing down to his clothing, “Hence improper tie.”

“You’re sweet,” (Y/n) mockingly cooed, pulling back from her classmate and settling against the wall once she was finished, “Anything else you wanted to tell me, or did you just want to be my knight for a day?”

“Har, har, very funny,” Hajime shook his head before relenting, “but yeah, Ibuki was looking for you earlier. She needs to tell you something.”

“Oh? Okay, I��ll head over, just let me finish up with Nagito.”

After Hajime had left the building, (Y/n) turned back inside the room and approached Nagito as he slept on the floor. His eyelashes fanned over pale, rosy, cheeks and messy hair framed around his head and flushed over the makeshift pillow underneath him. She knelt beside his sleeping figure and gently shook him awake.

“Can you keep that promise you made to me last night?”

There was a beat of silence as Nagito rang around his brain to figure out what promise he’d made. Realization snuck through his expression and suddenly he was nodding tiredly.

“Okay, good,” she brushed some hair from Nagito’s forehead as he laid on his side, “I have to go, but I need you to stay here.”

“Then I will,” he affirmed, sitting up to shrug on his jacket, “Trash like me should never interfere with an Ultimate’s day.”

“You’re not trash,” (Y/n) weakly protested, already at the door, “I’ll try to be back soon.”

“Please, don’t rush,” Nagito waved off, “I can wait all day.”

Hesitance settled in her bones before washing away - Nagito was the same age as her, he could take care of himself. Besides, he didn’t come off as the type to break a promise - and as much as she hated to admit it, her status as an Ultimate probably increased his desire to keep their promise. Ibuki needed her anyway.

Before she could get too far, Ibuki herself had rushed up to the peacekeeper, slapping her hands against the girl’s shoulders and shaking her around, “There you are! Ibuki has some news for you,” the musician tossed her hands in the air, jazz-handsing it, “You’re invited to a girl’s-only beach day!”

“Aww, you’re sweet, thanks, Ibuki,” she managed to get out after stabilizing herself. (Y/n) thought it over - again, Nagito was the same age as her and seemed to have significantly calmed down from the first trial. Eventually, she nodded slowly, “Yeah, sounds fun, I’ll be there.”

Cheering to herself, Ibuki hopped in place before suddenly freezing up, “Do you know where the new diner is?”

“The second island, yes,” (Y/n) hid exactly how she knew that information.

“Great! Then come down there in an hour!” as the girl dashed off, she turned, running backward to call out, “Bring a bathing suit!”

As (Y/n) arrived at the diner, she spotted Ibuki - a little early but hey, who wouldn’t want the chance to get closer to the resident rocker? “This was a great idea; lovely weather and friends.”

“Ibuki thought so,” she beamed proudly, crossing her arms under her chest, “Being on a beach with a bunch of cute girls, nothing better than that!”

“(Y/n)?!”

Turning at the sudden call, (Y/n) quirked a brow at Hajime and Kazuichi’s unannounced appearance, putting her hands on her hips, “What’re you two doing?”

Hajime avoided staring directly at the Ultimate Peacekeeper, feeling a bright crimson splatter across his cheeks at her in her swimsuit, fumbling for any words, “Kazuichi, well, he figured that- "

“Miss Sonia’s gonna be here, right?” the mechanic himself interrupted.

“Far as I know, yes,” (Y/n) shook her head once she realized what he truly meant by that, “Kazuichi, you shouldn’t intrude like this. Wanting to spend time with people is fine but- "

The princess herself came into the diner, taking focus from everyone in the room. A wetsuit covering her body from neck-to-toe, modest and fashionable - Sonia made it work well. Shortly before was Chiaki bearing only her swimsuit - also rocking her attire. Hajime and Kazuichi, for definitely unrelated reasons, were tossed into rambling, fidgeting, blushing morons as soon as the girls made themselves known. Even Akane’s bloodied form had them distracted - definitely making the girls question their peers' sense of priority between bloody and half-naked.

“You’d think they never saw a woman before.”

(Y/n) let out a small giggle, nodding along to Peko’s words - while trying to pretend the girl popping out of nowhere didn’t frighten her, “I almost feel bad for them,” upon closer inspection, she noticed something… off, “Early start on the beach?”

Peko Pekoyama was absolutely soaked.

The easy-going air around Peko faded, eyes narrowing only so much to be intense without outright convicting, just enough to warn you to not ask more questions as she reasoned, “I was on a long swim today trying to see if there was a way out via the water. However, that doesn’t appear to be true.”

“Right, sorry,” (Y/n) wasn’t sure what she was apologizing for exactly, but the swordswoman was quite intimidating when she wanted to be.

There was a soft thump against the glass, a finger pressed against the large window peeking out at the so-called parking lot outside the diner, Kazuichi responsible for it. His brows furrowed as he spoke to the rest of the group, “What’s up with her?”

Everyone was at the window now, bodies packed together to see what Kazuichi was referring to.

Hiyoko Saionji - the Ultimate Traditional Dancer - dashing towards the diner with tears and snot rippling down her face, eyes wide and chest sporadically rising and falling with her breaths as she ran.

Pushing away from the group, (Y/n) headed out to hopefully comfort the girl when her questions as to why were answered. Not with words. Not with a show. But with a sound that was telling enough.

DING DONG! BING BONG!

#insert coin #sdr2 x reader #sdr2 reader insert #danganronpa x reader #nagito komaeda x reader #komaeda x reader

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mamamittens · 3 years

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Long Awaited LoZ Thoughts

I’d like to start this off by explaining my background. I have a BA in English with a minor in Humanities. I have lived all my life in the Bible Belt of America, so my PoV of this series is inevitably going to be, at least in part, from the perspective of a Western-centric, Christianity-influenced woman. I have grown up with a deep interest in folk tales and mythology though, and took several classes on ancient cultures, so my base knowledge of religion all over the world is broader than what you’d probably expect. I am not religious myself, I’m actually agnostic. And this is just an in-universe look at the very strange religion of Hyrule. So, to make things easier, let’s just put aside the obvious meta issues with this world. The wonky timeline, complex lore changes between said timelines, and the fact that the whole series has clearly grown wildly over the course of its development without an overarching plot. The game mechanics being game mechanics. All of it. This whole thing will just be me trying to make sense of the world without the ‘it’s just a game, bro’ crutch. I will be drawing on what I know from the many games I’ve played myself, so if I don’t mention a big piece of lore from a specific game, it’s because I didn’t play it. Go ahead and rule out the early games before Ocarina of Time, as that’s the first game in the series I can remember playing. I was legitimately too young to have ever played anything prior to that, having been born in 1996. Now let’s get started, shall we?

So, obviously everyone knows that the LoZ world is said to begin with the three goddesses. Din, Nayru, and Farore came together to create the world and before they yote themselves out of the narrative as direct players, they created the Triforce. A powerful artifact capable of granting a wish and giving their respective bearers undefined power. This is directly from Ocarina of Time and we see their symbol, the Triforce, all over the many games with very few exceptions. Now, to be clear, having a polytheistic religion with three main gods is hardly new. Hinduism has three main gods after all (Brahma, Vishnu, and Shiva), and depending on your flavor of Christianity, you have the holy trinity (God, Jesus, and the Holy Spirit). There’s even the Celtic goddesses that come specifically in threes (collectively called The Morrigan; Eriu, Fodla, and Banba). This isn’t an exhaustive list of three divine beings, by the way, just know that three is a weird trend in western-centric stories, including religion. But what’s different about the three Hyrule Goddesses? Well, they’re weirdly small for big shot gods. Let me explain.

So, the three Hindu gods I mentioned earlier each handle a specific aspect. Creation, destruction, and preservation, not necessarily in that order though (which god does what isn’t the point, so just roll with me here). These are very broad and powerful subjects. Christianity is much the same, even though it’s a monotheistic religion. God is literally an all-powerful, omniscient, omnipotent deity. Jesus is his son who gave his life to basically forgive all sin. And I’m not totally clear on the Holy Spirit, but these three are clearly Big Deals with Big Ideas behind them. A good rule of thumb for old religion is that the older the deity, the wider the scope of their job or what they represent. Which makes sense. If you had to personify the forces of the universe, you’d probably start with the sun instead of like… whatever god is responsible for the creation of rice specifically. The bigger and scarier the natural force, the bigger deal that god usually is, putting aside politics and cultural trends. Egypt is a good example of this, as their roster of gods tended to change a lot depending on who was Pharaoh at the time and wherever the city center was. Horus is the god of the sun, or at least one of them, and is generally considered king of the gods. Which makes perfect sense for a land largely made up of a desert.

But what are the three goddesses’ rulers of? Power, Wisdom, and Courage. Each with clear elemental associations and people that are obviously affiliated with them. Nayru, Goddess of Wisdom, is clearly associated with water and likely has a close connection with the Zora. Din, Goddess of Power, is associated with fire and has clear connection with the Gerudo (unclear if the same goddess as the one present in the desert temple in Ocarina of Time). Farore, Goddess of Courage, is associated with all things green and of the earth, including the child-like race of Kokiri who perpetually inhabit the forest. Sure, these are broad topics, but not really… the first thing you’d think of for creators of the universe, are they? And it raises the question about the Hyrule people, who are said to be able to hear the gods due to their pointed ears… let’s put a pin in that and move on.

So, we know there are many gods in this universe, primarily because we meet them. For example, Zephos, God of Winds, in Wind Waker. But he’s clearly a fairly forgotten god, as he shares a shrine with Cylcos, God of Cyclones, which is about as bare as it can be. Just what appears to be a Tori gate with two stone monuments with the simple notes to summon them, almost completely out of the way. Which… I mean, I don’t know many gods with their extension number written on their monuments. That would kind of like going to church on Sunday and seeing “Hit me up if you need me, J-Boy 555-TAKE THE WHEEL” written on the podium. And remember, this is a world and game where the gods actively flooded the world and would therefore hold or have held enough power to directly interfere with Hyrule.

And Skyward Sword clearly has divine beings, one of which even flooded a whole area, though they’re subservient to Hylia. Who we will get back to later, I promise. The three dragons (again, that magic number), capable of divine power, though where that power comes from in unclear. The dragons are of a high status though, as evident by their servants and clear reference to high-class dress of their clothes. These dragons are revered, but clearly not worshipped, much like nobles in that regard. A curious note is the parallels to the three goddesses, and how the symbols are muddled and mixed for these dragons.

Lanayru clearly has the symbols associated with the Zora, and by extension Nayru, but is yellow. He also is saved by time travel used to grow a magic fruit, which Link often uses (time travel) in many games to advance the plot himself (and wouldn’t you know it, but mixing blue with yellow does produce green. Weird). Faron is the water dragon who flooded an area, and she is almost entirely blue (as well as unsettling to look at), surrounded by a species clearly related to the Zora though closer to octopi. But her name is Faron, which is weirdly close to Farore’s name, not Nayru. I mean, they are close to locations that resemble their names of course, but it’s still an interesting note. Finally, there’s Eldin, clearly bearing a symbol associated with the Gerudo without any strange mixes of symbols for the series. Oddly, he’s also the most open of the three dragons, especially considering the Gerudo’s traditional stance of being a ‘no-sausage’ club. Not terribly relevant, but I just thought it was interesting to point out. You can consider the Giants in Majora’s Mask on the same level as them, though their status is unclear (Since they’re summoned by a song and can stop the moon from falling, they probably straddle the line between mortal and divine).

Now, spirits also exist in this world, both as the ghostly variety and the more pseudo-divine. Not to be confused with actual divinity. Divine being can be spirits, but not all spirits are divine. In this context, spirits can be defined more as being of power capable of granting aid in return for something. Zephos can change the winds if called upon, but you don’t need to feed him, for example. But the spirits in Twilight Princess need aid before they can help you. And they’re also not very independent and are able to be fooled easily, which isn’t usually a god-like quality. While more physically present than the three goddesses, they’re also not strictly tangible, and seem to be extremely limited to their location. At best, these spirits could be classified as minor deities below the gods we see in Wind Waker. They also share the same abilities in keeping the realm of Twilight from falling over the land of Hyrule, as well as their weakness to parasites of undetermined origin. An interesting note is that they all seem to live in bodies of water. Let’s put a pin in that one too.

Someone that also counts as a spirit would be Fi and her counterpart, Ghirahim. Literally two halves of the same coin, these two are both very limited in power and function. They don’t represent anything on their own and are very dependent on others to achieve results. How or why they were made is unclear, but it is obvious that both were forged at some point, and clearly gained sentience. Even their personalities and allegiances are a bit odd. Fi for her sci-fi appearance and calculating personality in a fantasy land, and Ghirahim for his… well, everything. I don’t know why the root of all evil would make his weapon a full-tilt diva, let alone on purpose. Ghirahim always struck me as odd since his bombastic personality seemed to clash with his ultimate fate of just being a weapon for Demise.

Okay, so the Great Fairies are weird, okay?! Like, really weird. They act as spirits (I can’t think of any that aren’t restricted to a body of water in some form), but are very independent. They also don’t necessarily need anything from Link to offer assistance. Sometimes, just opening the fairy fountain is enough to gain items needed to progress. And there’s also the fact that fairies heal you upon ‘death’, though with a limited heart capacity. Sometimes they need you to do something though, like the Breath of the Wild fairies need rupees to function or items to upgrade equipment. They also usually look human, like Majora’s Mask Great Fairies are clearly just… giant women with color coded accessories. But like, they float. Where Great Faires come from, or even just regular fairies, is unclear. Until Wind Waker, Great Faires were adults. But when you finally meet the real Great Fairy in Wind Waker it’s… a child. With a doll that looks just like the ‘Great Fairies’ you’ve seen along the way. This sort of implies that Great Fairies age and die, though clearly with a different lifetime than most races in Hyrule (the child Great Fairy also only looks somewhat human compared to other Great Fairies, so make of that what you will). And it also implies that all the adult Great Fairies are dead (you’re welcome for that depressing thought), with the last one trapped in a hollow tree only accessible by the power of a God.

In Breath of the Wild, the Great Fairies are both diminished but more powerful. They literally are stuck in a giant flower with water in it, with few fairies around them, and require riches to get stronger. The connection to their new restrictions to this need for material wealth is unclear. It’s also interesting to note that their fountains are no longer places that appear to be man-made holy temples and they seem to be out of the way… well, for a given value of ‘out of the way’ (looking at you ninja village). These fairies can accomplish more tasks, but certainly won’t be doing it for free or with minimal effort. A far cry from their first appearances (no, I don’t consider using explosives a difficult task).

But Fairies are also companions with nebulous tasks, such as in Ocarina of Time, where Tatl follows Link until the end of the game. And Kokiri have their own fairy as a sign of whatever accounts for adulthood in their race. The Skull Kid in Majora’s Mask has two fairy friends who seemed to have been either lost or abandoned. Who or what gives them purpose and life is unclear, though the Great Deku Tree from Ocarina of Time can give commands, it doesn’t seem to be something he does normally? As a side note, it’s really not clear what, if anything he can actually do. Though the relative safety of the surrounding area is clearly tied with his wellbeing in all iterations, he doesn’t seem to directly influence it, or be capable of self-defense.

Now, onto the elephant in the room! Hylia! Who the hell is this?! A more recent entry to the series, her divine roll is unclear (though she clearly guards the Triforce in some capacity). It can be assumed that she’s somehow a goddess tied directly to the Hylian people, but when she appeared is up for debate. Timeline wise, it’s almost like knowledge of her was suppressed for some reason, giving rise to the Triforce mythos we all know and love without hide or hair of her seen. We know that she favored the original Link greatly, enough to shed her divinity to be reborn as a mortal and assist him. How or why is also unclear, though it wouldn’t be unfair to assume she loved him, as divine ladies holding an affair with a mortal isn’t uncommon in mythology (or even male gods doing the same, before anyone brings up Zeus). But she makes a resurgence in Breath of the Wild, with statues and everything, with the three goddesses left to only vague references in the background. Which is super weird, though not uncommon for places like Ancient Egypt. The fact that the ruling family was literally descendant from a goddess is what makes it weird though, since any monarchy worth their salt would milk that until the peasant folk revolted and made a new religion to justify killing a god.

Zelda in every incarnation is literally descendant from the original and still held at least a fraction of that divine power. So much so that a cornerstone of a powerful religious artifact inevitably ends up in her hands (or on the back of her right hand, as it were). But what is Hylia a Goddess of? We don’t know. It’s never said. Anywhere. And that’s super weird, even for a ubiquitous deity. Sure she’s a Goddess of Hyrule but… what does that mean? That can’t be all she is? Her reincarnation is literally locked in a generational struggle against the forces of darkness! What can she do as a Goddess? Well, she makes Link stronger in return for items, but that seems to be it. In Ocarina of Time, Zelda was capable of sending Link back to the past, but that was with a magic item. And we know Hylia isn’t the Goddess of Time, because Zelda references her in Majora’s Mask (sequel to Ocarina of Time, therefore implying that there are more gods unmentioned at that time), when Hylia should be mortal or at least fragmented (because Zelda exists at the time with powers and a Triforce piece). The Guardian of Time in Hyrule Warriors also fell in love with Link before splitting into Cia and Lana (and was unable to fuse back together again), so it’s unlikely that she’s the Goddess of Time Zelda was referring to, though that detail is interesting to note. No, I will not discuss if Hyrule Warriors is canon (either game), as this is already long enough as it is.

So, that brings us to Ganon, or in his original form, Demise. Which… what’s up with that? Who is this guy? He directly opposes the gods and just… gets away with it! Repeatedly! Sure, he loses most of the time, but still. It’s unclear where Demise came from, or even what he is, though judging by Ghirahim’s ‘Demon Lord’ title, it can be assumed that he is some type of demon himself. And that the many monsters we see are also considered demons, which makes sense with how they always work for Demise (or his many iterations) in some form or another. Considering how much it takes to simply seal him away, he can’t be just a demon though.

Demise obviously pulled the same trick Hylia did, which directly sets him up as a counterpart to her, but what does it mean? Why would he do that? What is Demise that he can’t be beat with the power of a Goddess alone and needs not only a brave knight but a blade literally made to counter him? Within the context of religion, the best guess I can make is that he’s some form of a God of Darkness, possibly also Temptation, Greed, and Pigs Corruption. It fits within the narrative since power is often the strongest form of temptation and we know that demons capable of opposing the gods exist. The Horned Statue literally takes Hylia’s blessings in exchange for wealth, and was turned into a statue for it. What it stands to gain from any of it is unclear, but interestingly enough, Hylia doesn’t mind that it closely resembles her own statues. So, this raises the question… why isn’t Demise a forgotten statue somewhere along a dusty road? How did he curse(?) both a reborn goddess and a human in an eternal struggle for the fate of Hyrule?

Being a god is about the only explanation for why he can do the things that he does. It explains why, in every incarnation, he ends up a rule (like Zelda). How he controls so many different species with ease. He corrupts the conflicted as easily as breathing. An interesting note is how Demise in his many forms usually ends up corrupting once good forces in some way, typically with parasites or evil spirits. And with this context, Hylia must be a Goddess of Light, and possibly some form of Will and Purity to oppose Demise’s power. It would also make her a good candidate for looking after the Triforce in that case. And yet we don’t know any of this for sure either, which is, again, very strange considering their presence from the very beginning. Literally.

Now, I want to mention the temples as a last point before wrapping this up, because it has bothered me since I was a wee little whipper snapper. For a place of worship, they sure are hard to navigate, even when they’re empty of monsters. And it’s not like Hyrule doesn’t get this, because the Temple of Time in Ocarina of Time is straight up a church. Just… without pews, so clearly not perfect, but it is possible for people to come in and… worship time, I guess. And no, not the Goddess of Time, because there’s no statue for that. I mean, I know it’s secretly hiding the Master Sword, but it is definitely a church otherwise. What a normal service looks like I can’t say for sure, but it’s definitely not like literally any other temples we see.

Now, I know it’s a little hard to remember, but temples are usually places where one goes to worship the gods (or even just a god). And we know gods exist in a very real way in Hyrule! They still manage to name Zelda the same thing despite having seemingly buried their divine origins, so some knowledge of gods walking the mortal realm exists. But the temples/dungeons we see usually don’t have much in the way of religious iconography, with a few exceptions (interestingly it’s typically the desert area that actually has statues and could feasibly have had a real capacity for worship). You want to be a devout follower of a god anywhere else? Well, fuck you. Hope you brought a sword and a good pair of boots. If you’re allowed inside at all, since it’s usually the local leaders that are only allowed inside for some reason. And most games don’t seem to have very religious people, despite all the references to divinity. Not like we’d expect them to, at least. And I personally can’t blame them. If I tried to join a religion but found only a wall as an entrance, I’d be pretty disheartened too. Then I’d be pretty pissed to find out I needed not only a royal instrument handed down the monarchy, but their freaking lullaby to even get in to the place of worship. But we know they pray to the gods at least semi-often, since that’s one of the inciting incidences in Wind Waker. And they have offering to statues of Hylia.

The temples suggest the bar to impress the gods is pretty high, and not in a ‘sacrifice your eldest child’ kind of way. To even get the chance to reach the inner chambers you better hope it’s been kept well and that you didn’t skip leg day recently. Something I didn’t really mention before is that usually, the less involved the gods are, the more independent the people are from worship. If you worry that your local deity will flood your fields, you’re probably leaving regular offerings at their nearby shrine or temple. But if you know that the gods don’t care about literally anything you do, why worship them at all? Why make statues, art, or temples? Why bother with any of it? The answer is you don’t. So these highly selective temples are pretty weird unless you go with the idea the gods are just really done with people and never want to talk to them unless absolutely necessary.

So, I’ve rambled for over twelve pages now. What’s the point? What does any of this mean? I’m honestly not sure, but I have a sinking feeling that there’s some serious shit going on in the Hyrule pantheon. Mortals have been mostly abandoned to their doom. Gods cast out and forgotten entirely. And somehow advanced civilizations keep forming and getting destroyed with only remnants left behind with zero explanation. Assuming the original gods are even alive at this point, which I’m not entirely certain of. Their death certainly explains how Demise/Ganon keeps getting stronger, looking less and less Hylian as time goes on, if he looks humanoid to begin with.

I wouldn’t even assume it’s entirely voluntary at this point either, as Ganon clearly doesn’t have the same motivations in every incarnation (see my previous post about Wind Waker). I’m rather excited about Breath of the Wild 2, as the implications of dehydrated husk Ganon is compelling. Particularly in light of the character development Link and Zelda have received in the first Breath of the Wild. I wouldn’t be surprised if Ganon/Demise turns out to be a fallen god trying to get back home (a nice parallel to Wind Waker, actually), cast out as a scape goat. Blamed for every form of corruption and greed that naturally follows in his wake. I think I said this before, but it is interesting that he is always reborn among the Gerudo, a race famously all females. Sometimes thieves, but nearly always in a position that would naturally crave power to take control of their lives compared to Hylians. Regardless of the consequences.

Is it true? I don’t know. Probably not, but the fact that I can draw these conclusions in three hours of writing is pretty neat. I have a lot of feelings about this franchise, having grown up with it, but I eagerly await what comes next. And I should probably go to bed. Make of all this what you will.

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sometipsygnostalgic · 3 years

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Steven Universe - How the show fails to handle emotion, irrationality, and trauma

I have a better understanding of why SU is the way it is now. Why it is very dramatic, and why the characters often act in ways that are entirely out of proportion

When making a critical post about the handling of Flame Princess in Adventure Time, /u/samhadj01 attributed part of the problem to be that Rebecca Sugar was responsible for Flame Princess’s conceptualizing, and wrote her and Finn the same way that she writes SU characters - in a heightened emotional state, where they are feeling the EXTREMES of their emotions at all times, yelling at the top of their voice when angry, crying their eyes out when sad, and hurting each other. The reddit user said this made it difficult for the writers to figure out where to take Flame Princess next.

I challenged this reddit post’s claim that Rebecca writing FP’s first episodes meant that the crew didn’t know what to do with her. There is a lot of oversight in the AT crew, and Rebecca was just one cog in the wheel, even if she was full of ideas that ended up getting used. If she came up with a bad idea it would be the responsibility of her colleagues to put it back on track, and I don’t even think FP’s initial portrayal is the problem - the issue is she was completely marginalized after the fact, and bizarrely rewritten to lose her early immaturity without there being enough progression into that new stage. Following this she was basically written out of the show, with the exception of when she’d be useful to show off another character’s development (Finn, PB, even Cinnamon Bun).

WITH THAT BEING SAID, I thought Samhadj made a good point about SU.

Rebecca Sugar always loved writing music into her stories because it was the purest form of expression. You can hear how much love she puts into her music. She wanted to create a show where she could really sell emotions, where she could fill it up with songs that the characters would sing to express themselves and their troubled feelings. She wanted all the characters to be expressive, emotional, angry. She wanted Steven to be a character that helps everyone else learn to deal with their emotions, much like how her brother Steven helped her, as she’s said before.

The issue is that, in order to facilitate this, she would need to write characters who would BE in these conflicts, feel heightened emotions at all times.

So Rebecca conceptualized the gem species.

Even though they take the form of adults, the gems are incredibly stunted. They remain the same for thousands of years. They are not equipped to process emotional trauma, having lived in a society where you have to cover up all your flaws and feelings at the risk of being shattered. The show follows several Crystal Gems who rebelled against this system, but still haven’t figured out what it means to be free from this systematic oppression. They’re trying to live peacefully, but they’re prisoners still, in their hearts.

Steven is the catalyst for change that points out the things that upset them, and forces them to deal with their emotions. He acts as emotional support and encourages the crystal gems to grow. Steven also has much growing up to do himself. He has to confront the truth about what it means to BE a crystal gem, to have inherited the gem of the person who started the revolution, and Steven over time learns how messed up everything is. He is overcome with the desire to fix it, while still learning about himself.

Why is this sort of storytelling a problem?

For the characters to have heightened emotions all the time, it means they have to keep getting in conflicts that reveal these emotions. It is these conflicts that make the show feel overdramatic and edgy - how characters will lash out and hurt each other, all the time, because they had a bad day, or something reminded them of something that hurt them.

More urgently, who they are lashing out against. While the Crystal Gems hurting each other in season 1 makes sense, it is when they start taking things out on Steven himself that things become straight up toxic.

Steven has to bear the brunt of EVERYONE’s problems, AND his own. He chases after Pearl in “Rose’s Scabbard” and nearly falls to his death while she ignores him, he fights with Amethyst when she is insecure about Jasper, he has to deal with Ruby and Sapphire’s fighting. He has to deal with all the townies and their stupid conflicts as well, Lars and Sadie’s fighting, so on. And ON TOP OF ALL THIS, people are trying to kill him all the time!!!!! But he is getting absolutely no meaningful support, and this is obvious, because the show itself acknowledges this later on.

You start to ask the question, is this even worth doing? The characters around Steven display incredible immaturity, and after a certain point, they stop feeling like heroes. They feel like leeches who are taking advantage of a young boy.

Things get RIDICULOUS in the final season. Even after the episodes where Amethyst acknowledged the shitty status quo of everyone leaning on him, Steven then has to deal with the emotional problems of the Diamonds themselves, who it turns out lashed out the entire GALAXY because they didn’t know how to talk about their feelings?! For millions of years?!?! To be turned around by one teenage boy, even after a revolution where many of their gems expressed why they were wrong???!!!

I think it was these final episodes of Steven Universe that completely shattered any remaining suspension of disbelief about the diamonds.

I’m no alien to ancient, immortal characters in charge of millions demonstrating incredible immaturity. Look at Princess Bubblegum and Marceline. Marceline would lean closer to the Amethyst side of the spectrum where she lashes out against everyone, while PB would be on the Pearl or Diamonds side where she’d pretend to act all rational and coolheaded and then do something insanely bad like crash a wedding or manipulate children. Pretty yikes, even up to the finale. However, the difference is that AT is a more lighthearted wacky show where immaturity can slide for jokes, and most of the issues these characters have are inward facing. They identify and work on their problems themselves, with some support but not much interference from outside. They also do NOT act crazy all the damn time, and have plenty of moments before, during, and after their development where they are fully supportive friends. I enjoyed learning more about these characters and their pasts, because the immaturity never broke my suspension of disbelief.

The DIAMONDS, on the other hand, never get any sort of character development. I was excited to learn more about their creation, and how they came to be these insanely powerful beings that controlled a fascist society where emotion is not allowed. Why is it this way? Why do they want to keep it like this?

We never find out. We just see Steven embarrassing White Diamond after she attempts to murder him, and then she immediately goes full 180 redemption. It makes no damn sense!

Steven Universe Future attempts to address the issues with everyone Steven knows being emotionally dependent on him, but Future forgoes genuine themes about healing in favour of its edgy focus on how Steven has become “damaged”.

I was shocked watching SU Future’s first few episodes. I was astounded that the show would deconstruct itself so thoroughly, and have Steven address the exact things that were on MY mind. He realised that he’d been used.

How ballsy is that for the show to have the protagonist literally tear it to pieces in the final few episodes?

However, any hopes for Steven directly addressing these issues, communicating with his friends and HEALING were dashed about half way through, when he only kept escalating. Steven got so outraged that he shattered Jasper, and attempted to kill White Diamond while also injuring himself. He started to see himself as a monster. He becomes a murderer. He turns into a kaiju at the end since that’s how his perception of himself is different.

I was really disappointed that the show had wasted its entire runtime to build this up.

The emotion that Rebecca Sugar was trying to capture was Steven’s pain, anger, the disconnect he had with his friends.

Future did not spend ANY time in demonstrating that Steven’s friends were acknowledging his pain. In fact, quite the opposite - they kept dismissing all of his feelings about Ruby and Aquamarine, and Greg was revealed as The Literal Worst when he thought his perfectly normal conservative upbringing was way worse than Steven literally getting tortured by aliens every other day and having no friends or education. When Steven has his breakdown, they all cROWD him and start yelling at him. They have absolutely no regard for Steven’s boundaries at all. It’s almost like Steven’s friends are P-zombies at this stage.

I did not like how Steven was portrayed as a dangerous, out-of-control killer. It’s not just that he SAW himself as this - it’s literally what he was. You can do bad things because of your trauma, but it won’t turn you into a monster. If you act like a monster, that is your responsibility.

And then the series ends with the hug, but we do not see Steven’s actual healing process or reconnecting with his friends. We only get a brief goodbye episode.

After watching Obsidian, I cannot help but compare these scenarios. Obsidian was about Marceline healing from her emotional trauma. It was still very much a part of her, but she was learning to recognise when it was damaging her life, and communicate with others about it. It’s about learning to accept your cracks.

If SU Future had been about dealing with trauma properly and healing, it could have been the best series on Cartoon Network, and fully redeemed the weaknesses of the original show.

However, Rebecca and the SU crew decided to focus too much on Steven’s pain, and Future ended up exacerbating the issues of the show.

#steven universe #steven universe future #adventure time

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katehuntington · 3 years

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Title: Black Dog - part eight Word count: 1900± words Episode summary: When Sam gets an anonymous phone call with information about his father, Dean receives a text message with coordinates to different location. The brothers clash and split up, one following orders, the other trusting his instincts. Meanwhile, in the wilderness of Cascade Range, Washington State, Zoë loses grip on a personal case and is forced to confront her demons. Without back up, this might very well turn out to be her final hunt. Part eight summary: Sam finally arrives in Nashville and is about to begin the search for his father, when an unexpected call comes in. Episode warnings: Dark! NSFW, 18+ only! Angst, gore, violence, character death. Description of blood, injury and medical procedures. Supernatural creatures/entities, mentions of demon possession. Swearing, smoking, weaponry. Descriptions of torture and murder. Illegal/criminal practices. Mentions of nightmares and flashbacks. Descriptions of suicidal thoughts and tendencies, depression, panic attacks, hallucinations. Author’s note: Beta’d by @winchest09 & @deanwanddamons. Thanks, girls!

Supernatural: The Sullivan Series Masterlist

S1E03 “Black Dog” Masterlist

Nashville, Tennessee December 3rd, 2005 - Present Day

With a sigh, Sam gets off the bus. The rain beats down on him straight away, but instead of being annoyed by it, he finds it refreshing. Finally, he’s in Nashville. It’s taken him three days to get here. Three days of torture - which included waiting for his damn transport to arrive in the first place, being forced in a seat made for someone who is 4’8, and having to change twice to get to his final destination - but he’s in Nashville.

Of course, he could have hopped on a plane for a journey of only several hours, but he had a hunch he would have a bit of trouble getting through customs, carrying a duffel loaded with blades, guns, and ammunition. He might always be complaining about his brother’s driving skills or his collection of Metallica, Motorhead, and Black Sabbath tapes which he plays over and over again while he sings along, but seventy-six hours of traveling to get from Texas to Tennessee wasn’t a joy either.

He watches the touring car take off into the night, continuing its trip, the droplets that run down the side catching the light of the overhanging streetlights. The sound of the engine fades as the carrier merges into traffic again. Suddenly, he feels alone, left behind, and not just by the bus. It’s not the first time he experiences this uneasiness, because Sam has pondered about the fight he had with his older sibling more than once. Truth be told; he never expected Dean to leave him on the side of the road. He called his bluff, and when his brother didn’t give him an inch, he himself refused to surrender as well. If he’s completely honest with himself, he started regretting this impulsive act the minute he saw the Impala drive away, but he couldn’t let it show, he couldn’t let Dean win. He is so tired of being bossed around and being treated like a little kid. Stubborn? Maybe. Guess it runs in the family.

Sam can take care of himself, but tracking his father will not be an easy task without Dean. When it comes to Dad, the oldest son knows him best and Sam realizes he’s going to be missing him on this search. He hopes the woman who set him on this path will call him again, because he could use a lead.

So, what now? He decides it will probably be best to settle down in a motel and get online, see if he can find some information, then he will start asking questions. There’s not much he can do right at this moment, considering it’s 2.30 AM. It’s going to be quite a task, finding a man in a city covering 550 square miles with over 600.000 citizens. And all he has is the word of a girl he has never met, of which he didn’t even catch her name. “This is insane,” he mutters, looking around.

A voice of reason whispers in his ear again: go back. Dean’s words had some truth to them. What if this is a trap? What if he’s walking straight into it? Sam’s doubts will not make him turn around, though. He is here and he is not going to stop searching until he finds Dad.

Sam keeps his head low and buries his hand in his pockets, protecting himself from the rain as he shivers. It’s not particularly cold for this time of the year, but 39 °F isn’t anything near Texas. Raindrops bring down the temperature as well and continue to fall down on the hunter as clouds block out the moon.

He starts to walk in the direction of what seems to be a hotel. The interstate, which lays directly next to the parking lot, crosses Highway 70. Lines of cars travel by, their white headlights and red tail lights lighting the road like it’s Christmas already.

Through the curtains of water, the young Winchester spots a neon sign at the entrance of the building he’s approaching. He was right; it is a hotel, funnily enough one from the same chain where Zoë spent the night in Paragould. The Hampton Inn Bellevue looks like a fancy place from the outside, and remembering the luxurious room of the huntress, he reckons this hotel will not be any different. Sam doesn’t like to waste money, but he will do anything for a decent bed after being crammed into that touring car like a canned sardine. Not that he’s planning to sleep much; he has better things to do. He has to find Dad, it’s all he can think of.

Right when he’s about to enter the establishment, he hears his cell phone ringing. Hastily, he takes his Blackberry from his pocket, hoping it to be the anonymous caller who tipped him off three days ago. The display announces the caller as ‘unidentified’, it might not be so far fetched. Sam picks up immediately. “Hello?” A relieved sigh sounds from the other side. “Hey, Sam.”

It’s a feminine voice alright, but it’s not the ‘mysterious lady’, as Dean called the woman who passed him the information about their Dad. He does recognize the person on the other end, though. She is the last human being on earth he expected a call from. “Zoë,” he concludes, stunned. “Yeah… hey, listen,” she cuts to the chase. “I’m in deep shit.”

Sam stops dead in his tracks. He thought she might be after she left so abruptly back in Arkansas, but the fact that she’s admitting that she’s in trouble means that this is serious.

“Where the hell are you?” he asks. “I’m just outside Darrington, Washington State.” “Are you hurt?” Sam asks worriedly. “Yeah, but that’s not the point.” She pauses for a moment, knowing what she is about to say might come as an unpleasant surprise. “Your brother’s here.”

Completely staggered, Sam stares ahead with his phone still close to his ear. What did she just say? Dean is there? With her?! A million questions pop up in his head, but he finds it difficult to choose the first one to ask.

“What?!” is the only thing he can cry out. “Yeah, I thought you might say that.” “But, how the…? He went out to do Dad’s dirty laundry!” he recalls, stunned. “Are you calling me dirty laundry?” Sam’s eyebrows reach his hairline, remembering the coordinates John sent his brother. “You are Dad’s dirty laundry?” “Apparently, but it doesn’t matter.” She interferes before the receiver of the call has the chance to ramble on. “Listen, Dean’s life is in danger. If he stays here with me, he’ll die. You have to get him out bef--”

Now, it’s Zo who gets interrupted. Puzzled, Sam stares at his phone for a moment, assuming the connection might be bad. When the display shows three bars in the right upper corner, he presses the Blackberry against his ear again and listens carefully, trying to identify the sounds he hears. It seems like Zoë is fighting someone over the phone, then he hears Dean in the background. “Give me the damn phone! Give it!” “No! Let go!” “Zoë!” “Don’t Zoë me, you son of a--” “Hand me the fucking phone!”

The line cracks, but then the noise of static stabilizes. Dean has apparently won the fight over the device, because he can hear his voice loud and clear. “Sam?” “What?” he replies coldly. “Whatever you do, don’t hang up,” Dean pleads before Sam does something he will regret later. “I thought you were on Dad’s job?” the younger brother confronts, still angry with his brother. “I am, this is the job. The coordinates led me to Zo,” he explains. “This is not some ghost hunt, Sam. This is unlike anything I’ve ever faced before.”

The hunter hears the concern in his sibling’s voice and he immediately swallows back the smart response he had waiting for him. “I need you to get over here, and while you’re at it look up everything you can find about hellhounds,” Dean demands, calm but stern. “Hellhounds?” Sam repeats, perplexed. “As in the actual soul claimers of the crossroad demons?” “Yep, and we’re on the menu.” “How did that happen? You have to make a deal before they claim your soul at the arranged time,” Sam remembers from one of the lore he studied. “They were let off the hook,” Dean claims. “Sam, you have to find out a way to kill them.” “You can’t kill hellhounds, Dean,” Sam replies. “No, you don’t understand. You have to find a way to kill them,” Dean repeats slowly, making sure the words sink in.

The youngest gulps, realizing how much trouble Zoë and his brother are in. He has read some books that mentioned these creatures, but he never found anything about killing them. He turns around and stares up, letting the rain fall down on him, the water clumping his brown hair together in strands. The hunter scoffs; and he thought he made it to his final destination. He just traveled half the country to get east, now he has to travel all the way up north?

“This better not be some excuse to get me away from Dad, Dean,” he warns. “I wish it was, Sam,” Dean says, concerned. “Hurry it up, will ya?” “Will do.” “And - uh, about what happened down in Texas…” “That’s not important now. We’ll talk about it later,” Sam replies to Dean’s unspoken words.

Knowing they both can bury their pride and work this out, the younger brother closes his eyes as a burden falls off his shoulders. It must, for him to be able to carry a much heavier weight on them. Zoë’s and Dean’s life will depend on him.

“One more thing,” Sam states, before hanging up. “You do know what happens when these things catch you. You don’t just die…” “I know. You go to hell,” Dean finishes. The young Winchester nods his head, although his sibling can’t see that. A short silence follows, after which Dean ends their conversation. “See you soon, Sammy.”

The line disconnects and a tone beeps in his ear, but it takes a few seconds before the young hunter actually lowers the phone and puts it away. Well, that changes things. There is no time to lose; he needs to get to Washington State and fast.

Determined, he stalks back onto the parking lot, observing his surroundings. No bus ride this time, he needs faster transportation. His gaze glides over the parking lot. Then he spots a silver 2005 Chrysler Crossfire Roadster amongst them. He nods, approving, knowing that the vehicle would make good time, but his conscience kicks in soon enough. He can not just connect some wires and steal a car like that! Or any car! But the thought of his brother and Zoë ending up dog food because he was too civilized to go grand theft auto isn’t something he could live with either. He’s left with no other option.

Reluctantly, Sam groans and eyes the vehicle, but then steps towards it while shaking his head and mumbling to himself, “I am so gonna regret this.”

Thank you so much for reading. I appreciate every single one of you, but if you do want to give me some extra love, you are free to reblog my work or buy me coffee. Link in bio at the top of the page.

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ms-interpretation · 4 years

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Lee Gon’s and Jeong Tae-eul’s choice of each other (fate and future) (Part 2)

The question of ‘imbalance’

Lady Noh being from the Republic is an important reveal, as other’s have pointed out, as it shows that there is nothing wrong with living in another universe. There are no actual instances of imbalance being an issue during the show. Expect when your doppelganger is killed by someone from the other world. The show heavily implies that it is Fate and/or the Flute which is marking the people responsible for such a trespass with the lightning scars. I.e the lightning scars are the marks of someone trespassing on Fate’s domain and/or abusing the Flute’s power. It is a physical manifestation/reminder to Lee Gon that Lee Lim must be stopped and his actions ‘undone’. Alternatively it simply means that the death of Lee Ji-hun is wrong and must be remedied, LG’s scar (and in that case the others’) being the physical manifestation of this ‘wrong’. There is importantly no scars or signs of cosmic imbalance implying there being anything wrong with Jeong Tae-eul during either of her two visits to the Kingdom. During her first visit she inhabits the Kingdom at the same time as Luna and during the second they have switched places. There are no signs of anything being wrong or imbalanced at either time (or even when Tae-eul and Luna are in the Republic at the same time). In addition if imbalance and simply using the Manpasikjeok was wrong then Prince Buyeong would have been brought back after the reset. He however stays dead, why? Because he was destined to die (i.e his death was not a trespass on Fate’s domain). Lee Lim’s lightning mark probably comes from him murdering his own doppelganger, which is a trespass on Fate’s domain. How do I know that? Because Lee Lim’s doppelganger is back and alive in episode 16. We also have a scene showing that Lee Lim gets his underlings to kill their own doppelgangers, which explains why so many of them have scars. However, as in the case of Lee Gon, Lee Lim’s second in command man also suffers from lightning scars despite not being the one to kill his own doppelganger. This is because the doppelganger was killed ‘wrongly’ and not when he should have as according to Fate and his doppelganger gets to (as Lee Gon) carry the sign of this wrong. Lee Lim’s interference and abuse of the Manpasikjeok has messed up the worlds so much that the timeline needs to be canceled. All of this is actually important because if the drama had wanted to show that things have to be balanced it would’ve had to actually show it in some way. The writer does a lot of ‘showing not telling’ and plants red herrings (the fear of imbalance is one) regarding the obstacles facing the characters. The characters being worried about it is not evidence in itself, especially not in light of the Lady Noh reveal. There’s also no reason to believe that her counterpart wasn’t alive when she moved to the Kingdom. Lee Gon and Jeong Tae-eul are also shown as not being worried about imbalance anymore in the last episode. In episode 13 we even have Lady Noh asking Jeong Tae-eul to take care of Lee Gon, knowing that there is no potential issue of imbalance.

(A side note: I am again marking other meta I’m referencing with * and **. You can find them both linked at the end of this post. It’s a great blog, would recommend)

So what might Tae-eul be contemplating in this picture? As noted by others she is adamant in episode 16 about visiting the Joseon period. This because so she can wear the Binyeo (which I’ve been told is an hairpin worn exclusively by married women). She asks Lee Gon to pass it to her during their scene in the ‘in-between’. Lee Gon even asks her about her focus on it, a question she deflects which indicates to the viewer that there is an underlying real reason (a hint that Tae-eul wants to marry him eventually). Link with info about the Binyeo and its meaning at the end of this post***.

The ‘flash-forward’ and the ‘flash-back’ to their current selves

As someone who was a little confounded at first by the ending, because it builds up to them dating as a way of catching up (Lee Gon even describes it as so), implies Tae-eul becoming Queen and there being an heir (Lady Noh talking about the Ancient Shrine), have Lee Gon truly embrace his identity as the King to then have them do a flash-forward seemingly implying them dating forever. This was incredibly weird to me because the secondary “plot problem” of the show is the question of Lee Gon’s marriage. It is brought up a lot. Way too much to be resolved by having his cousin inherit the position of monarch. It would also be very out of character of Lee Gon since his cousin is (purposefully as to disabuse us of the notion) implied to be happy with her current life. It is only when Lee Gon believes he must sacrifice himself that he makes her his heir (which shocks everyone since they know that Lee Gon is a responsible monarch who knows of his duty to have his own ‘proper’ heir). It was as I already mentioned something Lee Gon seeks to solve during the drama, as evident in his discussion with Prince Buyeong and by him proposing to Jeong Tae-eul. So leaving it seemingly unresolved was to me strange. The direction of the last scene seemed to speak directly against the writing. I even wondered for a second if the director decided last minute to have a more open ending somewhat similar to CLOY (it would still be more open than CLOY’s though, since otherwise they would have cut the reference to the Ancient Shrine and Lady Noh making Lee Gon take a talisman with him). Re-watching the episode however I did realize that the dating was (as I mentioned above and previously) literally explained as them ‘catching up’ on what they’ve missed. *It is a call-back to Tae-eul expressing the wish to do so in that heartbreaking episode 15 scene by the bench. They are even on their way to watch a film in that last scene, one of the things Tae-eul mentioned she wanted to do with Lee Gon when ‘doing everything that they had skipped’. It does make a fair amount of sense to have the show end with them ‘catching up’ and having all of the time in the world. This because they have earlier had to ‘skip’ a lot of things and be fearful of the uncertain future (fearing that they have only so much time). Tae-eul worries about this early on and Lee Gon is devastated about it during episodes 12-15.

Lee Gon telling the secretary about his relationship status as he knows it is his duty to marry one day (episode 13). This being before Tae-eul finally takes the leap, putting on his necklace and later accepting his flowers.

More importantly however is that the direction doesn’t actually speak against the writing. I don’t believe it seeks to determine that they never get married. Why do I think so? As I’ve written before, because after the flash-forward to their old selves the drama flashes back to their current selves, leaving them as they are in the present about to write their own future. This is a deliberate choice and is something which is narratively important since Lee Gon has finally fulfilled his life-long duty. He is now free to make his own fate with Jeong Tae-eul, which he asked for advice as to how to do in his conversation with his uncle the Prince and in his conversation with her at the hospital (seeking to resolve the ‘marriage plot’). Jeong Tae-eul has overcome her fears (her ‘trial’ of the drama - she was pushed on her decision to be brave and to have faith**) and has bravely embraced and chosen him as her fate. Embracing that this will probably mean, as Jo Yeong suggested, becoming Queen, traveling between worlds and keeping quiet about the other world. How they do it is not spelled out and is probably something the director/writer wanted to skip.

Enjoying having time i.e. enjoying today i.e. dating

I have a guess as to why actually. The couple is purposefully left enjoying the present, which they have earned after all the time they have had to worry about the future believing that they are running out of time. Enjoying the present at this moment to them means enjoying dating (as I said earlier - them going to watch a film should be understood as them ‘doing what they’ve skipped’ because it references Tae-eul’s earlier wish to do so, not as them dating forever). Them enjoying today could be argued would have been emotionally undermined if they themselves were shown thinking about/planning the future. This is why Lady Noh instead is there hinting about it with the talisman and the talk of the Ancient Shrine. (There’s a link below with meta which has some great suggestions based on the what we’ve seen so far in the show on how and when Lee Gon and Jeong Tae-eul might get married). The flash-forward simply shows us their promise visually (and confirms) that they will love each other forever tirelessly. In ‘the Heirs’ (written by the same writer) there is also a ‘flash-forward’ which is the main character imagining a possible (but implied certain) future before the drama flashes ‘back’ to the present leaving the main characters about to embrace the rest of their lives. I don’t believe that either ‘flash-forward’ is meant to do anything else than to imply that the characters will be happy together in the future.

Perhaps the drama ran out of time and this is why the drama goes out of its way to almost literally say “Everything will be fine”/”They will be happy forever and face everything together” + hinting with another reference to the Ancient Shrine. Doing so knowing that they had built up to them marrying/getting engaged without actually having time to show it and to show how to fix the doppelganger situation. Or they simply didn’t believe it necessary to do so and thought it better to leave them as enjoying finally having time. The books which were published after the show do have Lee Gon proposing by asking Jeong Tae-eul: “Can I be the one who fills your days?”/“Can I be part of your everyday?” (she accepts) which to me seems to mean that they will be part of each others’ everyday i.e. the opposite of only having weekend rendezvous (which would entail being only part of each others’ days - quite literally). It somewhat seems to me also to be the writer deciding to make some of the emotional subtext of the second flower scene into text as well (according to my reading of that scene at least). It could simply be the writer deciding to make it more clear that they will eventually marry.

Are you telling me that these two clingly love-sick idiots (I adore them) will be able to keep themselves apart when they look this sad after only a couple of weeks? (To be slightly more serious: They are acting like a ‘new’ couple dating, which is no coincidence because it is at that stage in their relationship we leave them. You can find similar scenes to this in other kdramas which is no coincidence as it is (I believe) meant to evoke them).

+ There is also a scene in episode seven which implies that Jeong Tae-eul feels stuck in her job. As @ambitious-witch pointed out during the drama she doesn’t seem to care too much about being promoted. In this episode seven scene when asked why she is adamant about trying for a promotion (despite seemingly not adequately preparing for it which KSJ asks her about, implying, that her heart is not in it) she replies:

Not a very meaningful reason, which is no coincidence. If the show wanted Jeong Tae-eul to continue being a cop forever it would have built it up and it wouldn’t have had a storyline of her feeling restless in her job. Jeong Tae-eul’s drive is being brave and doing what’s right when others cannot. She has a very strong sense of right and wrong (as Lee Gon does). This entails being someone who fights for justice, which is why she is adamant to stop Lee Lim and call out PM Koo. I believe if she can do these things in another way she could very well choose to do so. The Royal Family is portrayed as the people who protect the Kingdom and through the responsibilities of the Manpasikjeok and the Four Tiger Sword we know that the monarch is tasked with standing up against evil. So is it a big leap that Tae-eul would eventually become Queen aiding Lee Gon and taking part in his responsibilities? I don’t think so. Sure, perhaps she remains a cop for awhile and is a very low-key behind-the-scenes Queen (*as not to disturb Luna’s life - though she could be a more official Queen if she wants), but I don’t see why they eventually wouldn’t decide to live together and have a kid/an heir. *Who importantly would be the next monarch and protector, and who would need just and good parents to bring them up and prepare them.

(The question of doppelgangers and Luna is a non-issue, as explained in the meta below*. The scene with the wiping of fingerprints is a PPL scene as I mentioned in my last meta and shouldn’t be taken too seriously. It is even deliberately undermined by Lee Gon struggling with erasing the CCTV footage in the next scene. Given the clues and the foreshadowing going on in episode 16 I can personally only conclude that they will get married one day. Below is a TL;DR though I have added some new details as well)

TL;DR: The drama hints during the last episode that Lee Gon and Jeong Tae-eul will eventually marry. It leaves them however as enjoying the present and ‘catching up’ on everything they have missed. Simply focusing and enjoying dating at the moment no longer fearing that their time together will be short. During the drama Lee Gon seeks to solve his and Tae-eul’s problem (of being from different worlds since he must eventually marry and produce an heir) by asking Prince Buyeong for advice. The Prince indicates that even though they are from different worlds things will be fine. That fate is not something Lee Gon must fight and that he hopes that Lee Gon’s fate is a woman since he really should get married soon. The Lady Noh reveal indicates that there is no problem with moving into another world. During the drama Jeong Tae-eul refers to Lee Gon as her fate (in episode eight) and in the last episode after having gone through hardships they state that they have chosen each other as their fate. The fate that chose them is not the fate of being from different worlds but each other, which is consistent with how they have spoken about fate during the drama. They also state that they will love each other tirelessly no matter what the future might bring. In the background Lady Noh and the FluteKid/FateKid are plotting to get them married soon and perhaps even have an heir by next year. Lady Noh’s talismans clearly work and Lee Gon is chided into accepting one (which is about getting the Kingdom a Queen) which results in him bringing Jeong Tae-eul back later. Honestly we should all be kinda scared of Lady Noh, cause everything she wants to happen does. Perhaps Jeong Tae-eul will be a somewhat private Queen (*not unheard of in the real world) or they will solve the issue with Luna in another way (since she still doesn’t have parents a ‘surprise twin’ is not impossible). The drama perhaps didn’t have time to show all of that though (a lot of things were already being tied up in episode 16) which is why the episode merely indicates them getting married in the future rather than showing it. It could also be as to not emotionally undermine the couple enjoying the present. The important conclusion of TKEM is that Lee Gon and Jeong Tae-eul are reunited, that they remember each other and that they don’t have to be worried anymore of time running out. The future is theirs to shape and they can make it into what they will.

Or more accurately into what Lady Noh wills. Remember how Lee Gon made Lady Noh throw the talismans away in episode one? Here he has changed his tune and is now accepting it, putting it back into his pocket (Someone wanna guess why?)

*This blog has written brilliantly about the ending and LG’s and JTE’s future, it also explains the Ancient Shrine, which I’ve referenced in this meta and I would highly recommend people to read it: https://bitchesoverdramas.com/2020/06/16/the-king-ep-16-the-happy-ending/

**Blog post from the same blog which explains how Jeong Tae-eul’s faith was challenged in her scene with Lee Lim: https://bitchesoverdramas.com/2020/06/14/the-king-eps-15-16-qas-on-mackerel-embracing-fate-and-palm-leaves/

***About the Binyeo: https://www.korea.net/TalkTalkKorea/English/community/community/CMN0000003426

Would love some comments on this two-part meta or just asks about anything TKEM, dramas or stories in general (or other stuff) so please feel free to get in touch. Should I write shorter posts and break them down into several instead of posting long ones? I do have a list of headcanons about TKEM I might finish and share soon.

#the king eternal monarch #lee gon #jeong tae eul #hope you all liked it #let's not talk about my misuse of tl;dr #tkem meta

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batfamscreaming · 4 years

Link

Dick’s first day of school snuck up on them.

Bruce drove him down in a rusty small blue honda civic from the 1990s. They’d picked it up off the lot for under 3,000 and were using it as a way to ferry themselves to the junkyard to pick up parts for their special car--but for now, they were using it to drop Dick off at school.

Drop Richard Malone off at school.

On paper, Alfred paid for Dick to attend Gotham academy. A private school. It had both boarders and day students. Dick would be a day student, so long as it was feasible.

...on the first day of school, Bruce drove Dick down to his alma mater (which translated to ‘place you never wanted to visit again,’) and dropped him off outside the gates.

“Want me to walk you in, Chum?” he asked, despite it not being any Malone’s alma mater yet, and Dick glanced back at him and shook his head sharply, mumbling a quiet “see you later,” before going off towards the gates.

Bruce turned to drive home and realized, belatedly, that Dick had never not been homeschooled.

He waited for afternoon to pick Dick up again, and resolved to remember to pick up milkshakes on the way back, so he can ask how the day was with a backup plan.

“It is not the right time of year to prune,” Alfred told him. It was far too close to school starting. Far too close to fall. “But, I suppose, it isn’t impossible . It will just be a good bit trickier to know which branches need it.”

Bruce obligingly bought a new plant from a chain store--a nursery would’ve properly pruned it weeks ago, but chain stores didn’t have that same attention. Alfred brought it home in a little green planter: a tiny bush cut into a lopsided circle.

“This isn’t, in fact, how to do it,” Alfred said, setting it beside Bruce on the patio table. “Can you tell me why?”

“..it doesn’t target the dead branches,” Bruce said, and Alfred gave a nod.

“It’s indiscriminate. And quite sloppy.”

He handed Bruce a pair of pruning shears.

“With it cut like this, it’s a little difficult to find the dead branches, but you’ll manage.”

...after a moment, Bruce shoved his hand inside the bush and just… gripped one of the little branches that didn’t have any leaves on it between his fingers. He glanced at Alfred, who nodded obligingly and gave a smile that felt far too much like it was meant for a child.

“How far back do I cut?”

“As far back as you can.”

Bruce nodded and pushed the shears in. And snipped.

The metahuman had power over plants, the paper the day before had said. She argued she’d been acting in self-defense. Her children were crying out for help. And so she helped.

(“‘ I is hearing the scream of a flower as its stem is twisted from the ground,’” Dick read aloud by Bruce’s bedside, trying to work through the recommended reading list for his level. One year behind his age level wasn’t bad for three years on the road, but it was a lot to catch up on all the same. “‘ I is hearing the soft moan of the old oak, like an old man dying, weeping, when it is felled.’ ”)

As the state of New Jersey did not recognize plants as people or her as the property owner, her appeal was denied. She would spend several years above minimum in Belle Reve for aggravated assault.

(even though the one she assaulted wasn’t there. Bruce hadn’t stepped into court. Bruce hadn’t said a thing. There was one phone call, and a woman, naked, trapped outside on a Gotham street, and then five other people stepped forward, claiming to be someone she’d attacked.

And he didn’t know what to think about that. If what everyone said was true was true, or if it was just falling into the fallacy of mob mentality. If it was easier to accept what was said as true. Even if he'd seen the violence first hand, it was him being attacked, that was different--)

He kept his mouth shut, and reached for the next dead branch, and clipped.

“...and how would I trim something that’s not dead, but it might… be overgrown? Or the wrong height?”

“Hmm,” Alfred said, still watching him. “Well, first we will need to get you a proper ladder.”

Justly imprisoned or not, the metahuman--a former botanist called Pamela Isley--would be in Belle Reve for several years.

Maybe he could change something in this town while she was gone.

Therefore, Mr. Malone came to the Gotham Parks and Recreation office, asking if when he got this 501c3 approved that he be allowed to enter Robinson Park and clean up the place.

And the budget-starved Parks office said fuckin’ do it if you’re brave enough, man , and sent him on his way.

It was… much easier than he expected, really. But perhaps the Parks department carried so little influence no one had even bothered to bribe them to keep people out. All the same, he’d listen to that backwards warning.

He drafted the papers in two days. He worked over it at dinner, trying to fill the gap that had once been occupied by discussing with Dick where to travel next and how to best avoid a million impending dooms. He had a free consultation with an attorney in the morning who looked up at Bruce over his glasses, eyebrows up, and reminded Bruce that the park was where mob deals went down and that grassy lady attacked a fella the other day.

Bruce said that was fine. He knew. He wasn’t here to cause a ruckus.

Legal documents. Articles of Affiliation. Mission Statement. It was helpful to have a second pair of eyes that actually expected the little bureaucracies innate in law, things that Dick and Alfred preferred to grumble at rather than knot through. Not that Bruce had been trained in law himself, but his school friend, Harvey Dent--

(was still in the hospital. Burn ward. He’d stabilized, but wasn’t often conscious--)

...Bruce submitted the paperwork after the Parks commission met with him, and then all he had to do was draw up a budget and wait. Alfred ‘lent’ Mr. Malone the startup money to establish a paper trail. After the initial donation, Bruce could make periodic donations to himself in various names; have miraculous windfalls whenever cash grew thin. Even without any backing or campaigns, he could make this startup impossible to fail.

...the problem is, Bruce has long proven his judgement is impaired.

When Dick returns from school not sniffling but vibrating with stress all the same, Bruce’s first thought is to run and start over somewhere else.

He thinks it might be an averted suicide response. The need to pack up and leave the current problems behind. With a hardline against being able to die, his mind latches onto another option. A fight-or-flight response that only hits flight when the problem isn’t something that can’t be physically fought off, like a tween coming into the car and sitting down in the passenger seat with a deep sigh.

...Bruce asks how his day was.

Dick says it was fine.

Bruce doesn’t ask if he wants a milkshake. He goes through the drive-through and buys some anyway. They go home and work how to install tail fins on the car frame slowly coming together in their garage.

...the ‘suicide’ response isn’t the only thing that lingers. Bruce isn’t really sure ‘lingering’ is the right term, actually. The flight response only arises when things can’t be handled directly in front of himself anymore, but the fight response--

Bruce has impaired judgment.

He proved it as soon as his first ‘suicide’ response sent him to the League of Assassins, and he decided to not flee the moment they made it clear nothing would continue until he took a life. He proved it when he wasn’t able to avoid dragging a literal child in the middle of a personal crisis into his mess, rather than leaving him somewhere safe and far, far away from him. He proved it with each near-death experience from Deathstroke in Metropolis to Isley in Gotham.

And yet, here he was again, finding himself cleaning up the Batman suit long after Dick was put to bed, adjusting it with better material to withstand a bullet’s penetration.

The people at the parks department weren’t wrong. It would be dangerous to work the area while the mob still operated widely inside it, and he would not cooperate alongside the mobs for protection. The alternative was therefore relatively obvious: get rid of the mobs.

Mobs weren’t exactly like a snake, but they did function well enough like one. Cut off the head. And like a hydra, if new heads sprouted--smother them.

...that, at least, he knew how to do. Kidnapping and recon, and finding information. Find proof of a mob boss’ wrongdoing and get a prosecutor not so cowardly to be bribed. Hand the information over. Don’t let them fail the charges. High profile dangerous people wouldn’t be kept in a local jail, but would likely be transferred to a higher-security prison, circumnavigating the cluttering, and with a focus on high-priority prisoners rather than most random people out on the street, they would be moved through the system more quickly, hopefully at least stalling out their operations in the meantime, if not shattering the whole system beneath them with the sudden departure.

This was the best plan he had, and it relied far, far too much on too many external variables--finding a clean court, getting a jury that felt safe enough to actually put their foot down, finding witnesses willing to testify, a prosecutor who wouldn't be bribed--

(fuck)

--and dealing with a Commissioner whose good graces he might’ve worn out.

…

But the alternatives were to allow this to continue growing, complicit by his own inaction.

(he was already complicit enough in too many crimes.)

(How did you clean up a world that you yourself aided in the destruction of?)

Prosecutors that couldn't be bribed?

They ended up like Harvey Dent.

Batman appears without Robin that evening, because it is a school night and Dick needs to sleep. He stops what crimes in progress he comes across and starts watching Robinson Park more closely.

He doesn't interfere inside it. He just watches. Plants cameras in the bushes and on the branches of trees, and zips his way out, to watch the footage and get to know the day and nighttime patterns of the area.

It… will take time. That's something he's not used to. Dick and he worked fast on the road, and even before that he was either handed his information by the ones lower down the chain or only spent a handful of days doing legwork to verify things that'd been missed. Instant gratification, he guessed he could call it. Just… dealing out a death and being done with it.

(And somehow, he'd drawn the line at known violent mobsters and Deathstroke.)

...he had to do a lot of meditation to get through the park video feeds. He had a lot of work stacking up between tracking down faces from the feeds. Police database of mugshots helped more than he expected. He started a tally of how many people in the mugshots were brought in bloodied and who brought them in to look into later.

After all, if Gotham was going to get rid of its mob problem, the police force would need some pruning, too.

Gotham recidivism was above 80%. Bruce gargled his coffee and tried very hard to not spit it out somewhere, because somehow, he was more tired by this statistic than shocked. A bit of, ‘oh, I knew it would be high, but really?’

No fucking wonder there weren’t enough cells in the world.

(What do you do when you can’t put anymore garbage in a landfill?

Learning what a fucking recycling program is might be a good first step.)

It's okay, though. He's totally got a handle on this. He's already been looking into what makes recidivism lower, and the difficulty of access to jobs for felons seems like a big one. Lack of change to living situations that caused pettier crimes like reselling material or shoplifting. The inside prison situation has an effect, according to Norway, which has a prison system Bruce isn't even hoping to replicate, even if he were a living millionaire with a clear conscience.

Reading other people's’ writings on recidivism has… definitely helped clarify things for him, even if all he can think of for the worst of criminals is still to lock them in a cell far away from everyone or until the death penalty finally takes it out of his hands.

But it is one thing to lock up a murderer who sabotaged a family performance and killed in front of an audience, and children, and child … versus locking up the child who killed trying to protect their family from an abusive partner.

They’re different. They have to be.

If Bruce has any right to be alive, he has to be able to believe in gray areas.

Bruce drops the first of several Maroni forerunners on Gordon's desk in the northern precinct. When he finds the precinct desk vacant, he pays a visit to the commissioner’s house instead.

The thought process is that it would probably be best to clarify that the dropoff isn’t an attack on the commissioner's authority. It’s an opening for compromise. Bruce will be mindful of the incarceration rates, but he won’t be leaving Gotham and he’d like cooperation from the police when it came to prosecution.

Unfortunately, he proposes it in the form of a paper note (written in his off-hand) slipped onto Gordon’s bedroom table where the man will notice it as soon as he returns for bed, which is much more threatening than he fully realizes.

(He doesn’t imagine Gordon’s daughter will find the note first and replace it just as she found it after reading. Then again, he doesn’t ever find out it happened, either.)

The county’s defense office wants to cut a plea deal with the gangster brought in, because no one wants to be the next Harvey Dent. The Assistant DA, a woman named Rachel Dawes, seems willing to try, but the department is extremely reluctant to support her, even as she steps up to take Dent’s place until another election can be held.

In the precinct, Bruce’s audiobugs catch officers he’s tracking placing bets on how long until someone finishes Dent off in his hospital bed.

Bruce decides he needs to be more aggressive.

Twenty-seven aggressive anonymous tipoffs and two synchronized FBI raids half a month later, and Bruce is startled when the door to his bedroom opens and Dick walks in. Bruce doesn't really jump in surprise anymore-- it’s more of… half reaching a position to fight, and stopping in a split second as he realizes the threat doesn't exist.

“Ah,” he says, “do you need--?”

“I was at school,” Dick says, answering the question in an odd way. He didn't need anything, he'd just come back from school--

Bruce’s neck snaps up to look at the clock, while the other part of his brain realizes that it’s nearly dark outside.

“Did Alfred--” he says, a panicky shame he’s not used to rising up within him.

“No,” Dick says, shrugging his backpack off and slumping onto bed. “When I realized you weren't coming I walked home.”

Bruce's throat feels tight. “You should've called.”

“Figured you were busy,” Dick says, watching the ceiling, “you've got more important stuff than school.”

Bruce remembers, the pain less raw with years, the slow agony of a school day, knowing there must be more he could do than sit through the farce.

He remembers that agony of adolescent uselessness clearly, pain dulled or not, but he’s also wisened to its falsehood over the years. There was little he could manage at the time.

“...I’ll set an alarm next time, but school isn't unimportant,” he says, keeping calm and controlled for an extra moment, before doing a double-take on the thought he’d had just a moment before.

Adolescence?!

School is over a month in. Dick’s anniversary is coming up soon. Bruce has gotten the Feds back in Gotham and an internal investigation into the police force for corruption. His nonprofit is finalizing some paperwork and looking into how to hire nonviolent offenders and start training them for small-time landscaping and cleanup by contracting with a local pre-established landscape crew that mostly does the outer and northern Gotham estates. Harvey Dent is conscious but minimally verbal in the hospital. And Dick is thirteen, officially a teenager.

Bruce does not know how teenagers are different from younger children. He does not recall being any different than he is now at either age. Only morose haze interspersed by flashes of overwhelming tension and temper.

Harvey once knew him at that age. Not that Bruce could talk to Harvey--not… as himself. The man Harvey knew was long, long dead, (or, it would be simpler if that man was dead, and Bruce as he was now was a new man entirely--) and it’s not as though Bruce could ask advice anyway.

Still. Maybe he will send Harvey some flowers they’ve started in the backyard...

Once the Justice League gets out of his living room.

Aside from Superman calling over the phone whenever he seems to please, once a month Martian Manhunter seems to show up, posing as just another social worker or lawyer or family friend, here to check in on how things are going with adoption, or the 501C3, or the… latest cookies out of the oven.

And if it’s not Martian Manhunter helping Dick sneak cookies off the cooling rack, then it’s Wonder Woman, which is somehow even worse.

There are not a lot of situations when Bruce would rather a mind reader with incredible telekinetic powers who could mentally and emotionally cripple him with a thought be in his presence, versus just a very strong lady who could rip him in two by breathing.

Diana Prince has made that situation a monthly occurrence.

She came this time while they were in the garage, putting together a much-overdue car engine. Alfred had insisted on dinner before business. Diana Prince stands in his house for over an hour by the time the rope finally came out and they got down to business. It is an hour too long. Bruce doesn’t think he’s had more than a few words of conversation with her since they moved into Alfred’s townhouse late summer, but he has heard the same questions out of her mouth far too many times.

“Have you been hurt lately?”

“No,” Dick says, because he only patrols on weekends, and Bruce makes sure he’s kept well away from anything that looks like it will have guns.

“Are you being treated well?”

“Yes.”

“Are you happy?”

“Y…”

...Bruce blinks for a second, before he realizes that Dick’s teeth are clenched tight and his face is turning faintly to another color.

“Dick…?” Diana says, before Dick gives into the rope, and says the truth.

“No.”

He’s not sure if anyone else can hear the air leave the room, but it does, and Bruce feels his lungs collapse in the vacuum left behind. His stomach shrivels into a ball.

He wants to run from the room, but his feet are too heavy and slow to move, so he just crosses his arms even tighter, and digs his fingers into his ribs.

“...why is that?” Diana asks. She doesn’t even glance back at Bruce when she does it. She doesn’t even glance away in the first place, even as Dick is screwing his eyes shut. The color his face has settled on is red, and blotchy, and fast.

Dick drops the rope from his hand and hiccups.

Bruce can’t move to comfort him.

...Diana looks between Dick, and the dropped rope, and pulls it back into the lasso loop. She stands.

“...I’m going to head outside for a bit and give you two some privacy.”

She turns and walks out to the garden, where Alfred is still watering the flowers.

Dick hiccups again, and Bruce is a stranger in his own body as he sits on the floor cross legged, and pulls Dick into his arms.

...he’s a lot bigger than he was when he was eight and curled into Bruce’s side, just minutes after his parents fell. Bruce puts his hand on the kid’s head, fingers running through the cropped dark hair.

“...Dick?” Bruce says. “Dick?”

He doesn’t get a response. He sits there, uncomfortably rubbing Dick’s hair, until Diana returns some long minutes later, announcing it’s about time she headed out.

“I’ll see you next month,” she says, mostly to Dick, who still hasn’t looked up.

Even as Bruce wonders if it’s a threat, something in his chest loosens when Diana leaves and Dick stays behind.

Eventually, they get up, and try to get ready for bed.

—

Harvey Dent wakes up again.

The last thing he remembers is a gun being pulled on him; a court case that he had to win, no matter what—

The nurses are alerted to his consciousness by the sound of his screaming.

Bruce Malone has no reason to visit him. No clearance. No nothing. All he does is run a small nonprofit startup, currently sending out applications to the very criminals Harvey put behind bars.

He doubts Batman would be welcome.

—

Gotham elects temp-head Rachel Dawes to permanent DA to finish out Harvey’s term by seventeen votes. Bruce doesn’t rig the election, though he thinks of doing so. Instead, he spends the week beforehand trying to disrupt the bribery network connecting the ballot counters to the remaining mob and asking Robin to go make sure the paperless polls aren’t hacked the night before.

...Robin isn’t happy with Bruce going out on his own still. But they compromise, some.

They send Harvey flowers.

They leave a note on Dawes’ desk. An offer, if she needs anything. They don’t want her to end up like her predecessor.

—

In the morning, at the first hint of workable weather, Bruce has some on-parole inmates and recent-releases standing in the middle of the park, shivering, holding shovels and rakes.

This is the first day they’ll be working together and training on the job. There will be a stipend associated with the work. Tools are provided. There’s just—they haven’t done this before. And neither has Bruce Malone, who failed to shake off his kid, Richard, who is sitting off on a picnic table not far away, arms wrapped around his snow pants and pouting furiously.

...He stays quiet as Bruce starts showing the group what they’re supposed to be doing— first snipping the large bushes down to size, raking the sticks and leaves into piles, and then coming up the back with shovels to help define areas for mulch beds around the bushes. Generally they would not be pruning this early into fall, but… the bushes have to go.

It’s step one (ignoring Bruce’s personal twenty-step plan midway through execution) to help keep the park safe and free-er of illegal activities: just being able to see into the damn park.

Once they actually start working, Richard gets up from his perch and glumly takes a rake, helping follow along and pulling the old foliage and branches into a set of neat piles a couple feet out of the way.

It would be one thing if Dick seemed to be having fun, but… he doesn’t really. He’s tolerant enough with the car (whose construction has largely stalled) but he’s never really had the kind of brain like Bruce’s which likes the simple, repetitive patterns of gardening, or kata, or math.

(“I don’t want to stay home,” Dick had said that morning.

“Then wouldn’t going out with a friend be better?” Bruce said over breakfast.

“I don’t have any friends!”

Bruce did not respond to that, and had escorted Dick to the park.)

...they pack up in the later afternoon, when the sun is still high but before banks close-- Bruce gathering up all the direct deposit information for the ones who sound interested in coming back, and paying the rest with checks. Dick waits in the car.

When they drive back home, something big, and blue, and midwestern is already in their kitchen, and is talking to Alfred about pie crust technique.

( Hell. )

Superman is wearing his full goddamn uniform as they enter. He turns and smiles when they come into the living room, raising up one big hand to greet them.

“Hey there! Decided I’d stop by.”

“....You did,” Bruce agrees, while Dick seems to perk up, eyes widening at the very large and blue man leaning on the counter.

Dick had met Superman already. Spent a week at least on the same spaceship as him. Stared him down over Bruce’s unconscious body. Somehow, it wasn’t stopping him from having that bright excitement in his eyes, now.

Maybe Superman was more exciting when he presumably wasn’t here to arrest anyone.

Presumably.

“Uh-huh,” said Superman. “And Mr. Pennyworth was telling me some about how things have been going for you here! Community service work. Sounds good.”

Sounded innocent was more like it. Sounded like prisoners in bright orange vests on the roadsides picking up litter for fifty cents an hour. Doing time, paying back society for all he’d done to it— yeah, he figured it would sound good to Superman.

“It is,” said Bruce.

Dick, maybe in a better mood now that they were out of the Gotham smog, saves him again.

“Are you here for dinner?” Dick asked, not quite on his tiptoes—not on his tiptoes at all, actually.

He’d grown again, Bruce realized. Now he stood almost to Bruce’s ribs, where once he’d had to stretch to reach.

“No, I didn’t think I’d be that welcome,” Superman said, smiling sheepishly, and good. At least he knew. “I’m just the messenger this time. Because we are going to have to start cashing in on that deal we made.”

For a moment, Bruce’s heart stills, and he feels Dick tense just a little bit beside him.

(Is it wrong, for a moment, that he’s still glad that Dick tenses when they both know it won’t be him attacked?)

“Woah, woah, no scary faces—“ Bruce’s face had not changed. “We just need your input. Information sharing, remember? Flash has had some weird things going on in his neighborhood and we thought maybe it’d be something you’d recognize.”

...Right.

Right.

He was getting protection from This League in exchange for cooperation, not just his dignity.

Before he could pull himself back into his body, Superman added, “and Robin too, of course.”

“Robin doesn’t need to—“ Bruce began.

“—Robin would be delighted ,” Dick said, raising his voice unnecessarily high and drowning out Bruce’s own.

Bruce looked down at Dick, mouth flat. Dick stared back up at him, scowling and arms crossed.

“You hate busywork,” said Bruce.

“It’ll be fine!” Said Superman, suddenly in his face , arms moving between him and Dick, pushing them apart, like they were dangerous to each other— “Flash was just going to bring his kid, uh, flash along with him, and thought it would be good for them to meet. Should’ve led with that. Just, giving kids friends in their own age bracket.”

Bruce had stood rock still, staring at the same spot Dick had been, now blocked by Superman’s arms. He did not look away.

“Yes,” Bruce said. “You should’ve led with that.”

—

...the next evening, his attempts at trimming his hair were interrupted by Alfred, who was quick to steal the scissors away and finish things himself. Soon, it was short enough he could slick it back for the first time in… a while. He pulled on one of his better dark turtlenecks. Business slacks. Dark shoes. Dark. Maybe too obviously a hide-away-in-the-background type dark.

They met Flash… on the other side of a zeta beam. Bruce hadn’t ridden one since first being escorted from the Watchtower to Gotham.

He hadn’t forgotten how uncomfortable it was, but it was one thing to remember in the mind and another to be given a reminder in the body.

Neither he nor Dick were in costume. There was no reason for Batman and Robin to suddenly be in Central. There would hopefully be no reason for anyone to suspect Bruce Wayne and Dick Grayson to travel so far away from their little safe haven and attack.

Flash, however, did have some things to protect still, and so he waited on the other side of the zeta with his bright red costume made darker in the night, and an unfortunately bright smudge of yellow standing beside him.

“Hey, Bats,” Flash said, holding out a hand. “Nice to meet you nicely this time.”

Bruce was really glad he hadn’t given in to breaking this guy’s legs. That would have made this reintroduction unbearably uncomfortable. As it was, he met the hand slowly, and enough of a sound for acknowledgement.

Flash didn’t say anything about it, turning instead to Dick. “And you! Also glad to see you’re doing fine; hooow’s the ankle. This is my sidekick, Kid Flash.”

There was no time to answer to the ankle before Flash had introduced and thumped the yellow teen him on the back, getting the very encouraging response, “I’m not a kid I’m a teenager, ” which was too obvious to have needed pointing out, considering the cracks in his voice and the speckles acne surrounding his lips. “Don’t embarrass me!”

“I would never do that.”

(While Bruce remained cold in his skin despite the warm night, beside him, Dick let out a little bit of a laugh. Almost a few huffs of one, really. It was softening. It was enough to unfreeze Bruce some and get him going again.)

“You needed help with identification?” said Bruce, stepping forward to end the introductions.

Flash’s expression changed back to serious in a… flash. At least he didn’t look disappointed. Or surprised. “Yeah. Follow me, there’s a place a little more private down the street.”

That place ended up being a deli bakery. One that had very much closed for the evening, and had shuttered its windows for good measure. This made very little difference to Flash, who pulled out a key from a very discreet pocket, and opened the staff door in the back.

“They donate the day-old stuff to me,” Flash said, grinning, like that explained much at all. “Why don’t you kids go see if there’s anything set on top of the counters in the back?”

The little yellow flash made a sound that wasn’t quite a whoop, but wasn’t quite quiet, either.

And then the little hand reached out, grabbed Robin’s wrist, and pulled him through the door behind the counter.

“Woah, easy, chief.”

Flash’s hand wasn’t touching Bruce, no, but it was in front of him, ready to block and restrain in a movement as Bruce took a step forward to follow.

He turned to look at Flash, and met his same hard eyes looking back through Flash’s mask.

“They’re just gonna look around and see if they can find some food. It’s fine.”

Bruce knew that was just what they were doing, of course. He just wanted to— check. Just to make sure. It was a closed up shop of people they didn’t know in a city that was too dark and empty at night, save for a few well-maintained streetlamps and a pair of teenage girls walking down the sidewalk to the seven-eleven, sticking close together in the Midwest fall—-

“Let’s just get a seat and wait for them, and we can get started. How’s that?”

Flash had removed his hand, and was gesturing now to one of the booth seats near the bar. Not by the windows. Maybe far enough from the windows that anyone who looked in and saw a book light on would just assume management was doing the books late.

(Bruce’s jaw was not tight , it was just his teeth kept pressing down together. He sat down across from the seat Flash gestured to. It was better to get through work quickly, and head home.)

“Okay,” said Flash, suddenly in the booth with him. Bruce almost still felt the breeze of the movement as a book-clipped green folder was produced and laid out on the table. “So, this is a case that’s been going on a little while. Take your time and let me know what you think of it.”

The file was pushed over to Bruce’s side of the table, and he took it quietly, removing the clip and flipping it open.

He disregarded the notes and bios and instead turned first to the photos.

...he did not like looking through other people’s photos. All he could think of was that he would have liked a bit closer look at the doorframe, or just a little bit out of angle, or frustration at someone’s focus being a little bit out. That was why you took lots of photos of course, but it was still a gnawing anxiety in him that they were going to just miss something. All he had were his eyes through someone else’s lense and someone else’s word to take for it.

Which he was very bad at liking.

….but that was just what this was, he guessed. The case was from five years prior. A body of an older woman on the floor of an enclosed porch. Broken glass. Gunshot wound to the left shoulder, close enough to the heart she’d probably been dead within a minute or two, long before the first police officers had arrived. A bullet hole in the wall behind her. Fallen out of her chair. Glass window of the porch had shattered. A bullet had been extracted from the wall, looking like a .22– moderately furnished house with plastic sheeting over the couches. Wicker chairs. An expensive security system had captured what were rendered as stills of the moment the bullets entered the cameras view, and a man a minute or so later on the front door at the other side of the house, running inside, presumably to inspect.

There were other things. They seemed comfortably middle to upper-middle class, from the photos, and finally turning to look at the profiles confirmed it. 68. White. Retired with a moderate stipend. Married thirty years. No priors or connections that Bruce might consider linking to any of the people he knew. Just things like public intoxication, driving violations, a few fines—

Her husband was found with her, and owned the same caliber gun that had broken the glass encasement, shot the woman, and knocked her out of her chair before lodging in the wall. He’d run in from across the street to investigate the gunshot, he said. He denied doing the deed, and circumstantial evidence was not enough to make a conviction on—

...Bruce flipped through the folder again, frowning.

Flash, who had pulled out his phone, looked up. “Something?”

“...what is it you want me to say about this?” It was a neatly put together file. Very neatly. No real loose ends, if everything in it was true. What was he supposed to be catching, here?

“Just, I guess, your thoughts. Anything stand out?” He took the moment to arch his back and stretch his arms out a bit, one hand still holding the phone. Smiled a bit. Friendly.

Bruce frowned while looking at Flash this time.

“This is a test,” he stated, “and I doubt just to see if I’d throw out a name just to be ‘useful.’”

Flash blinked innocently at him, but he was still smiling. “I mean, haha, can’t blame us too much…? You found a lot of trafficking chains, but, I mean—“

“The case has already been closed, and you’re certain of who did it,” said Bruce flatly. He flipped the folder shut and shoved it back across the table. “I’d rather see the scene myself, but if the numbers are right, the bullet hole is too steep an angle for a flat lawn if the husband shot from shoulder height. Someone half his height, or someone kneeling or lying in the grass. He’s old enough to have trouble getting up from that position, much less from the edge of the yard, to run around to the front of the house and avoid grass stains from a new cut lawn. There’s not enough other information to know who might’ve had a motive to make it professional or not.”

…

Flash blinked at him, leaning his elbows on the table to watch. He wasn’t smiling or laughing anymore. Good.

“Yeah,” Flash said. Moved the folder off the table, to the booth seat, out of view. “Some kids were playing with their new .22 in the yard across from the house and accidentally shot her through the window. They confessed a few months ago.”

It was a small enough crime that news wouldn’t have made it to Gotham. Or been widely publicized at all, if ‘kids’ meant they were still minors. That would make them thirteen at most at the time of the shooting—

Bruce wasn’t sure if his throat was full of acid or metal as he said, “Is there anything else for me to look over?”

Flash hesitated a moment (an eternity for him, surely) and said, “Well…”

Bruce stood and made a straight fucking line to the door Dick had been pulled in and not yet emerged. Flash called out, “Hey—!”

….even as the hand fell on his shoulder and tried to pull him back, Bruce had frozen in the doorway.

On the other side, he could only see a bit— the doorframe was too narrow and he dared not step closer—but he could see enough.

He’d wondered, a little bit, why Robin hadn’t emerged when he’d begun speaking. Surely he was loud enough to be heard from the back room. They were only meant to be separated minutes. Just a quick mission. Now, he could see, though—

Dick, sitting on an industrial chest freezer, his legs kicking, not near touching the floor.

He was holding a popsicle. One of the fudge ones. Partly eaten and the top of the stick beginning to show, and Robin didn’t see how it was beginning to drip down over the crinkled plastic wrap, and would soon run over his fingers.

He was busy, looking at Kid Fash. Kid Flash squatting on the floor with a creamsicle, holding it up to the color of his suit, and visibly whining with an orange tongue, a pouting face—

And Robin ignored his own melting ice cream to laugh.

...Flash’s hand tugged on his shoulder again, this time gentle enough that Bruce felt it. He turned with the pressure, and headed back for the booth.

He sat down in it, across from Flash and his already-solved case folder.

“...this was not for case files, was it,” Bruce said, staring at the table between them, feeling very stupid and small.

“I mean,” Flash said, looking almost as embarrassed as Bruce was shamed. “...we did want to know. But… we thought maybe my uh, my cousin could use someone who could relate to him.”

Ah yes. For Kid Flash’s sake. For the boy who they’d never seen publicized before, who was complaining about his outfit color as if he hadn’t chosen it, who didn’t know that in Flash’s ‘occasional empty diner hideout’ he was allowed to run off and eat before being told.

Not for the boy that for the past month Diana’s pitying face had hung over, the boy who had eagerly asked to Superman to stay for dinner, and who Martian Manhunter would deliver sleeves of choco cookies to, even though they had more than enough money to purchase a box for themselves.

...perhaps Bruce should be glad Flash wasn’t the best at lying. Perhaps Bruce was too used to looking for tells, and mistook super speed masking for the truth.

“I see,” was all he said.

When he’d been a child, there had been plenty of others who knew death, and who had never moved him an inch for all their crying. He’d done his best to make that untrue for Dick the past few years, and now they knew each other’s grief inside and out.

Bruce did not know what else to do from there.

It was grief all the way down.

“He’ll need to learn how to counter people who might actually know how to fight speedsters,” he said, watching the table. “There’s pads in the basement, if he’d like to improve sparring with Dick sometimes.”

Flash blinked at him again. Flash sat up straighter, grinning. “Oh?”

“Oh,” Bruce agreed, looking up to scowl. “But for fuck’s sake, bring more than one casefile next time.”

—

On Robin’s anniversary, a gang fight breaks out in the Diamond District.

Something gone wrong. A shootout.

Bruce isn’t sure if it could’ve been called a shootout before the police arrive. By the end of the night, the building is on fire, and a gas vein has blown. Heavy smoke drifting down the street causes a panic, and then a stampede—

He doesn’t want to let Robin out tonight.

On the news, it looks like there are fights breaking out in the stampede. There are people lying down, specks of color on the ground as the helicopter news anchor tries to describe the scene. She’s pure professional. Cold eyes. Clear eyes.

The smoke momentarily engulfs the helicopter, and she begins crying.

He does not want to let Robin out tonight.

He will deal with the outrage in the morning.

—

(On Robin’s anniversary, Harvey Dent sees the fires and hears gunshots from his hospital room. He drags himself and his IV stand away from the bed, towards the window, and fumbles with the latch with ineffective hands. The nurses come with the heart monitor alert. When they sedate him, Harvey is still screaming “Burn it down, burn it down.” )

—

...as often as it happens, Bruce doesn’t think Gotham knows how to deal with tragedy. Wasn’t it common by now? Weren’t they used to it? But as much as the flags should’ve flown half mast and statues been erected, the world stood still— the next morning, school busses take the children to school, and their parents march out to work.

Bruce has a distinct face, but with enough makeup and a red wig, he can seem to be a different person for a while. He can dress himself up as officer and with enough confidence and disdain walk right passed the caution tape and into the crime scene the next morning.

Is it still accurate to call several city blocks a crime scene? Is it a crime scene at all?

There’s caution tape around it. He knows what the words mean in his head. A shape, more than a real definition, with real letters attached— a block of space that has crumbled differently from the world around him. A depression of buildings, some with more tarps laid down than others.

Most of the bodies have been taken to the morgue by now. Not all of them. But most.

Is he going to sneak into the morgue tonight? Is he going to cut open an innocent person who gave no consent to him? To do more than what their family may have agreed to? Will he just steal the coroner’s report and assume they did their jobs properly?

….it is Gotham. He will assume nothing until proven otherwise. Even now it feels like the police are more rattled than usual, like something has actually gone and bitten them and made them pay a bit more attention.

Inside the building where the shootout started, he starts to look for the bullet holes and take pictures. He looks for scorch marks to track towards the origins of the blaze.

He doesn’t find a blown gas vein, no matter how hard he looks.

There was a difference between a storage building and a warehouse. This was a storage building. It had perhaps had a secretary and some organizers. Someone in charge of keeping track of records. There had been unused parts of the building. Bare rooms without much beyond stripped light switches and unpainted walls. One or two empty office spaces, for meetings perhaps. For presentations.

It was on the second floor where he found the lab. What appeared to be the remains of a lab, in any case. It had been shot up through the floors, and the papers had burnt up in the fire. Police hadn’t officially come up this high yet. The stairs didn’t seem stable. Bruce had not specifically used the stairs. As long as no one saw him slip back down, it would be fine.

It seemed as if the lab had not been in use at the time of the shootout. Fortunate. The beakers were broken, but they were all clustered together near the sink, clean, and so presumably had all been put away after any use. There was nothing sitting out that seemed to have been mid-use. He would’ve believed a Bunsen burner might’ve started part of the fire, but there was none of that, either.

...there was one thing. A broken tankard in the corner that had caused most of the damage, to be certain. A high caliber round seemed to have punctured it, either from the floor below or fired from the hall outside. Otherwise, there would’ve been another body up here, or at least the remnants of one. But the sudden decompression seemed to have mostly left just… a badly scattered room and shrapnel damage on the opposing wall.

He was about to move to the next room when he noticed the faint texture inside the tank and a matching sort of stain on the ceiling above.

...he moved closer to the tank, holding his breath and not daring to hope (should he be hoping for something?) and investigated.

A thin layer of green-ish white powder layered the insides of the tankard. An explosive cloud of the stuff must have also flown towards the ceiling and stained it during decompression. He’d assumed it was an oxygen tank. Assumed wrong.

Taking out a few q-tips, he picked up a few wipes and sealed them away in an evidence bag, did another once-over of the room, now trying to double check everything and ignore his ‘assumptions’, but the burnt papers remained largely illegible, and the cleaned lab materials yielded nothing new.

He moved on to the next room, and slipped out quietly from there to check the rest of the street.

—

He arrived back home in different clothes just about the time that Dick (picked up by Alfred) returned home from school.

The kid looks at Bruce as Bruce enters the front room, and a silent but perceptible drone passes between them.

For a moment, Bruce simply looked back, wondering what it was he was supposed to say here.

Eventually, he fumbles in his pockets and pulled out dust-covered q-tips. They’d done this lots of times on the road, hadn’t they? And it had been fun, then. “Want to help identify oddly colored dust?”

Dick lets his head drop back with an open-mouthed groan at the ceiling, but he does come to the garage lab without… any other response than that sound and movement.

...Bruce was not sure what that meant.

—

Who the fuck was rigging exploding nitrous oxide cans to deliver green-dyed powdered LSD?

—

Monday, at the park, he tells the ones who show up they can stay and work in the park as they’ve been doing the last two weeks, or they can come with him to help clean up the areas damaged by the fire.

Most of them, eight out of the ten, peel off to go help with the fire damage. He can’t say he expected that. But they wander out of the park, keeping together in a group, and spend the day with magnet sticks picking up nails and crooked metal and stacking bricks up out of the walkway. They hose down the ashes to stop dust and at Bruce’s insistence, scoop the ashes into garbage bags instead of just washing it all into the sewer.

It gets him some weird looks, but no one is ready to argue with him after only working for two weeks, because these are the ones who stayed for that daily stipend-- there’s not a contract here; these ten are the ones who hate this work less than anything else they might’ve had available, so they break out two flat shovels and bag things up, wearing cotton masks to avoid inhalation. Bruce trots back to the park to get the truck and pick up all those bags for disposal.

He’s prepared for the ones they left behind to have skipped out early, unsupervised, but as he rounds the (now lower) hedges to look at their base of operations he finds… they actually have acquired an extra person.

No, the shovels aren’t moving and the hedges don’t look that different from what they’d been like this morning, but that’s still not abandoning a position. And instead they have some soda cans from the nearby vending machine, and are leaning on a termite-eaten picnic table, talking with rapt interest to Dick Grayson.

Bruce paused to take it in a second time. Dick certainly clocked him coming into view even though the kid didn’t turn to look his direction. Dick was still there, though, sitting on the other side of the picnic table with a fizzy orange juice and his legs crossed under himself. It wasn’t Bruce’s day to pick him up, Bruce was certain, and yet he had a moment where he had to think of it again to make sure, and checked his phone, and his pocket schedule. But his instinct was right, and it was indeed Alfred’s day to pick Dick up from school while Bruce worked here in the park--

He started to walk over just as Dick turned and raised a hand in greeting, letting the recruits cue into his presence before he was close enough to startle them. And yet, they were still startled enough to look at their shovels and very obviously say “shit,” even when Bruce was still too far away to actually hear it. Then, one seemed to realize they had cursed in front of a tween, said “shit” again, and smacked themselves on the forehead.

Dick’s nose wrinkled up as he smiled. Bruce couldn’t hear it, but he knew it was a laughter snort.

(He did not acknowledge his jaw untensing as he walked up to Dick who was smiling and sociable again.)

He came over intending to smile and say words and have a nice conversation, and… then he was close enough and realized he didn’t know what to say. Did he tell them not to corrupt Dick? Would they take that as him implying they were poisonous to others? Would Dick take that as him being protective and spoil the mild good mood? If he told them to take the rest of the day off since clearly things weren’t going to happen, was that dismissal? Or was that chasing them off? Would it be a threat to their paycheck, even though he intended to pay the day’s wages fair as always?

Things seemed to be going almost well lately. The park was slowly being cleaned and Dick was in better spirits than he’d been for two days since the anniversary--

“Oh, he stalled out, don’t worry about it.”

It is not embarrassment, but Bruce does snap out of his train of thought and back into the present. “Sorry,” he says, and looks to the two grown men in their baggy jackets and laced up work boots and secondhand hats. “We’re just finishing cleaning up some of the ash. If you come help move the last bit, we’ll all call it a day.”

As they got up and started shuffling away from the picnic table, Bruce did glance at Dick, and after a moment of still confusion, say, “Coming?”

...the expression Dick gives him was not a smile. But he did come.

They throw the garbage bags in the back of the trunk, and pack it largely to the brim. Surreptitiously, before Dick can climb into the passenger seat, Bruce digs out a simple dust mask and hands it to him. With barely a second look, Dick puts it on and rolls down the window before settling in. It’s smooth, and no one asks questions or looks much askance, because he and Dick are good by now at not announcing something is happening that is different than normal to the world at large.

(And Dick has become very good at seeing through that with Bruce, but Bruce is… starting to wonder if perhaps, he has taught Dick too well to hide anything that would draw attention that something was wrong. Like a wounded animal could run on a broken leg, or a predator bleed from the mouth, and neither would ever make a peep.)

They drove the bags of ashes home to hide behind the house’s perimeter walls, and Bruce tried to explain. The dust, and the huge plume of heat and smoke that could’ve blown even heavy particles down the street, and the sort of cues that psychedelics took from the state you were in. How most people probably wouldn’t exactly get a good trip, surrounded by gunfire and smoke. And maybe there was something else he missed, in the ash, unsafe for casual disposal, how he wasn’t certain he hadn’t missed something--

Dick laid his head back on the car seat, sighing through his mask, and Bruce stopped his mumbling.

Glanced over.

“...maybe I can… arrange for Flash to take a look, if you want to come along,” he offered as they pulled onto their street.

Dick sat up a little straighter, a little light in his eyes.

...he wondered, maybe unkindly (but mostly tiredly), if Dick would rather move in with the Flash and his sidekick. He didn’t have any real evidence for this. Kids did tend to be fairly excited to see friends around their own age, and just because someone might enjoy a trip to a festival didn’t mean they wanted to live in one.

...yet, Dick probably would’ve been quite happy, adopted into a renaissance fair circuit.

Maybe it wasn’t that Dick needed more friends. Maybe the issue was Bruce.

But it’s too late to change that now, isn’t it? Dick drew his line in the sand in front of the Justice League, and Bruce had given him too many secrets to have to keep, and there was nowhere else to go.

—

Bruce goes to Gotham Academy early. Very early. Two hours before pickup is meant to be.

Dick has gotten into a fight.

The parents of the other kid are already there when Bruce arrives and is shown to the principal’s office (it is in the same place it has been since Bruce went here) and ushered inside to the sound of anger and snapping threats.

The office is wood, with a centered carpet and a large mahogany desk at the center, and surrounded by three adults and two children, one of them his.

Dick doesn’t have a scratch on him, unless you count a faint bruise starting to show on his knuckles. The other boy, who is bigger and taller in every way, has a tissue up to his nose and an ice pack on his ear, and is simultaneously shielded and towered over by his two parents, neither of whom have stopped arguing with the principal since Bruce arrived.

He barely gets a chance to get to Dick’s chair by the wall when he is also pulled into the argument by a “Is this little heathen yours, Mister Malone?” from the mother.

Things are not going to improve from there, he’s pretty sure.

“What’s going on?” he asks the principal instead, who is a balding white man with age spots on his face and horn-rimmed glasses on his nose.

“ Master Richard here has assaulted Master Reynolds--” the principal begins.

“--and we will be pressing charges if adequate disciplinary action is not taken,” says the father.

“But what actually happened,” Bruce says, and somehow the noise gets louder in the room. Not the physical noise of three or four people talking at once, but also the hot dissent from Dick in his corner, the hidden bloodied fear of the boy he attacked, the principal patting the desk with his hands over and over, trying to call attention back to himself. Fluorescent lights bright as static. Itchy polyester fake turkish carpets even though his shoes. The room is small and red-orange with wood stained to look like cherry, yellow copper accents on the studs of cushions and trophies and the frames of portraits and certificates hung on the clustered walls--

Dick is suspended three weeks.

Dick is curled in the front seat of the car, furious that Bruce didn’t defend him enough and fight back, and get his sentence reduced or vetoed entirely. His body is balled up tight enough he’s no bigger than he was at eight, curled around the seatbelt in a haze of fury.

“He was picking on people ,” Dick says in a way Bruce knows means Dick had seen it before, but this time it had crossed a line. “ He should be suspended.”

‘He’ is getting two stitches and a formal apology written (ostensibly) by Dick. Dick will not be the one writing it, even if it’s his name at the bottom. ‘He’ will be in school, not in trouble for bullying but now with free reign to his targets without Dick to stand in the way. If Dick was even in the way before at all. If being in the way without being physical meant anything in this case.

“You’ll just have to be more subtle about it,” Bruce says, trying to be encouraging. Because Dick didn’t do anything wrong to step in. Maybe it didn’t deserve a bloody nose, maybe it could’ve been handled some other way, but he still hasn’t been able to wrangle the exact story out of anyone but he is certain that--

Dick goes “RRR” and kicks the windshield hard enough that Bruce startles and slams on the breaks.

Their seatbelts jerk tight and a car horn behind them blares.

...there is the faintest tap on their bumper, but Bruce is already speeding the car forward again, heart pounding too hard to stop.

There’s not even a scratch when they get out at their house later.

He goes to Dick’s bedside in the evening. Dick’s lying on top of his covers with the lights turned off in a darkening room, staring at the wall opposite the door. There was music playing before, but the CD player turned off as soon as Bruce turned the door handle.

He sits by Dick’s bedside and asks if he’d like to go out for the evening.

Dick agrees, but there isn’t much laughter that night, except the sort Robin scares people with.

The mood is still there the next morning.

It is Superman’s turn to check in. Apparently.

The visit is unscheduled (and probably because of Dick’s suspension) and today involves casserole, which Bruce is primed automatically to dislike.

"Yes?" Bruce says upon seeing big blue and buoyant in their kitchen, hovering over the kitchen island with a glass dish covered in aluminium and Alfred looking over a handwritten paper beside him.

"Oh, hey, good morning there," Superman says, as if he's surprised to see Bruce here when there was no other person for him to be there to see . "I was just dropping off the casserole recipe Alfred wanted to try."

…one of the only people for him to be here to see. But Bruce still doubted a casserole was a real reason for a whole visit. So Bruce tries again. "Did you need something?"

Alfred looks up from the paper with a frown and without a word starts shooing them out of the cooking space if they're going to be talking business. "I dunno. Was there something you needed to talk about?"

They make it to the couches of the living room, though neither of them sit down.

"No," says Bruce.

"Alright then," says Superman, who Bruce is learning is an asshole. "I heard some stuff happened with Dick at school?"

Which is entirely unsubtle and a very clear sign that Superman is not leaving until Bruce asks some sort of question or resolves whatever this is.

So fine. Bruce hasn't even had some fucking coffee yet. He'll ask a question. "What would you do if your child, who is aware that at nightime they can go out and punch abusers and rapists, during the daytime attempted to defend an underclassman, and as a result are threatened with criminal action or suspension while you are trying to lie low and causing a big fuss about it and fighting the decision will do the exact opposite of laying low, severely limiting their freedom regardless of if we win."

Like a coward, Superman's expression says he had been thinking of Dick as a kid who was not Dick , and sheepishly says, "I guess, what would your parents do?"

Bruce thinks he feels it this time. The expression on his face turning colder. He feels it the same way Dick can always see the change. "I wouldn't know that, now, would I?"

...this was why he left in the first place, wasn't it. This eternal loop of days upon days surrounded by people who just forgot or never could let him forget. It's been easier as an adult, almost-- it's normal now for people's parents to be dead. It's normal to not have people ask after them like limbs they can't see have detached. Even if Superman doesn't know his old name, doesn't know that stupid story about a boy billionaire and his rich family, its jarring to realize that even the most alien being on earth just assumes--

--well, of course. He would know all humans have parents.

But the bite in Bruce's voice is cold enough, and the way Alfred's slight shuffling in the kitchen goes quiet, it's enough to get through apparently-- Superman's head is ducked down embarrassed and he says, "right, sorry," because perhaps Bruce returning to Gotham to the fucking Wayne Butler's House should've been enough reason to realize he didn't have any family left of his own. "The person who raised you…"

"Nothing they said," Bruce interrupts, "has ever done anything about this."

…

Maybe he's angry. He hasn't had any coffee yet. But he turns to end this conversation and walk out to the garden, and hears Alfred's sigh from the kitchen.

But he's telling the truth.

Even if Alfred had found something new to say in the years since Bruce tried to bite his therapist's face off, if he's tried to say it to Dick, it clearly hasn't been working.

There is a thing like a piston beating up against his head. A hammering rhythmically at the front of his skull. One thing, then another, then another, then another, and when he wakes up the next morning to one more ring there will still be all the ones behind him, echoing through the halls still unresolved.

He wasn’t made to live like this. How was anyone made to live like this? One thing after another and another and when he wakes up in the morning there are still more banal, useless things to do in a world that eats up and eats up and eats up--

How does the grocery store clerk wake up each morning? How does she go to bed at night knowing the same thing will happen the next day, but worse, and more tired, and less pay, over and over, for eternity.

#batman #dick grayson #bruce wayne #robin #fanfic #roadtrip vigilantes

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eryiss · 4 years

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Summary: 'Freed The Dark, God of Death and ruler of the Netherworld. Followed by a reputation as rotten and stinking as the corpses he gives a home; he had been ostracized by gods and angels alike. And as the war between gods got closer, and those he cared for are dragged into the fight, his seclusion begins to twist his mind against him. But as his darkest day approached, he was forced to choose where his morals lie.' - Levy McGarden: A Examination and Retelling of the Fiorean Gods. [Fraxus One Shot]

Event: Fairy Tail Reverse Bang (Hosted by @ftguildevents)

This was made in partnership with the great @fairiesherefairiesthere, who made the beautiful artwork that made this fic possible. You should show them and their work a lot of love, and reblog it from here.

You can read it on Fanfiction, Archive of Our Own, or under the cut. Hope you enjoy.

Once Dead, Now Judged

The God of Death. The God of Judgment.

His is a story many people believe that they know, one that has been spoken of many times. In the telling and retelling of this story, many aspects of what made it so important have been lost. The Gods have been diluted into a single trait, and their significance in the tale is often misunderstood or disregarded entirely. The story has been condensed into a point where it can be explained in a single statement.

'The God of Death wanted the war to end, so he ended it.'

Of course this is not the truth of the matter. This mindset disregards both the personal and the political motivations which led to these decisions. It disregards the humanity behind the Gods, the fact that they were people and had flaws and loves, all of which led to that famous moment. The moment where corpses walked upon water, where souls were ready to kill souls. Where a disrespected God had the world at his feet, and chose to save it rather than destroy it as it perhaps deserved.

The moment where Freed Justine, God of both Death and Judgment, shaped the future.

Artists have often tried to capture the moment in their work. Countless renditions of the battlefield have been painted, each depicting the shadow of the death God looming over the fight to put an end to it. These depictions of the moment, while both beautiful and important, often hide away the humanity behind the story. This moment wasn't the God of Death's. It was Freed Justine's.

One such painting that recognises this is called the 'Knight of Judgment'.

Knight Of Judgement. Artist Unknown. Date Unknown.

Though its artist is uncredited, it is clear that they see the story in the same personal light that I do. It shows the moment that shapes our reality, but not from the perspective of the battlefield. From the perspective of the man who made it happen. That is the story that I will be telling you all today.

The untold story of the man behind the God.

Of the human behind the revolution.

Of Freed the Dark, God of Death, and ruler of the Netherworld. Followed by a reputation as rotten and stinking as the corpses he gave sanctuary; he had been ostracized by Gods and angels alike. And as the war between Gods got closer, and those he cared for are dragged into the fight, his seclusion began to twist his mind against him. But as his darkest day approached, he was forced to choose where his morals lie.

Levy McGarden; An Examination and Retelling of the Fiorean Gods

~~~

"Bastards!"

Freed's words echoed throughout the chamber as he stormed through it. Darkness covered almost everything, with light filtering in through the stained-glass windows that circled his throne room. His footsteps reverberated through the room as an accompaniment to his anger, the heels of his boots slamming against the black marble flooring.

On his face sneered a scowl, his fists were clenched at his sides, and he made a sharp gesture towards the large wooden doors before him. They opened with speed, slamming into the walls, and cracking slightly, sending a gust of wind towards the God which lifted his hair and the long black robe that hung behind him.

"Sanctimonious ego driven bastards!" He roared into the nothingness of his castle.

How dare they? How dare they!

He shouldn't have expected anything more. He should have gotten used to his treatment at that fucking table. He should have long since forgone any hope of being treated as an equal before them all, because they didn't see him as such. To them he was nothing but a utility, the person who cleaned up the messed that their ridiculous infighting was responsible for. That was the only reason why he had been called to service, and it was the only reason would ever be called to service, because people were going to die, and they needed him accommodate them.

The Netherworld was nothing but their dumping ground. They saw it as justification for allowing their stupidity to interfere with people. A way out of feeling guilt for the people their fancies killed. They delude themselves into thinking the Netherworld was just another part of life for humans, and refused to listen to anything that would break that illusion.

And Freed: he was nothing to them. He was just the person who kept the gates closed, stopping the corpses and the souls from returning to life with the anger of being wronged by the Gods.

"Bastards!" He yelled for a third time.

With a snarl, he slammed his hand on the wall at his side. The impact created an almost soft cracking sound, and a fissure-like tear ripped apart the wall of the corridor he was walking down. Bricks split apart, and windows shattered into shards on the floor.

The sensation of destruction was cathartic, but only slightly.

A moment later, he heard footsteps behind him, running to catch up with him. It was Evergreen, who he had placed outside of his throne room while he communed with the other Gods. Communication was though the mind, leaving his body essentially empty, so it needed to be guarded. Once, a man had made the mistake of attacking him in that state; now, the attacker endured the sensation of acid being secreted directly into his skin as penance.

Freed always made sure someone was on guard now, predominantly because changing someone's genetic makeup in such a way was a tedious process.

Though at that moment, it sounded delightful.

Everyone seemed to understand that Freed was not a man to target. Though, most people didn't have the opinion of him to do so. So long as you didn't break his trust, he would show a level of decency towards you. Most understood that his decency was a kindness, and they wouldn't risk losing it.

He didn't slow his place, and took a small amount of pleasure from the glass cracking under his feet as he walked. Pushing his arm forward, he slammed another set of doors open, the hinges cracking with the strain of such fast movement. By the time he had reached the threshold and walked into lobby of his castle, Evergreen had caught up to him.

"Freed," She said, and he glanced to his side to see Evergreen had sprouted wings and was hovering slightly to increase her speed. The wings had an odd look to them, and Evergreen had once stated they resembled fairy wings. Freed enjoyed her eccentricities, as odd as they were. It made her more human.

Something the bastards at the 'Table of the Gods' would do good to understand.

"They see us as nothing but a way to distance themselves from responsibility," Freed snapped at her, uncaring for the lack of context. He slowed down a little so Evergreen didn't have to fly to keep up with him, though.

Evergreen was a demon, technically. Freed disliked the term, as there was nothing separating his demons with any other God's angels, other than the fact she lived in the Netherworld rather than in the skies. It was another way that the so-called Higher Gods separated themselves from Freed. They were Gods of the world and they had their angels. He was a God of the Netherworld who had his demons. Ridiculous political bullshit.

She was one of the highest-ranking demons in the Netherworld. Freed had placed her in control of the corpses, or fairies as she called them. Her particular magic allowed her to revitalise the bodies of the dead, as their own genetics failed to do so. Rather than having limbs fall off, she kept them healthy and functional. For those who wanted it, she would change what they looked like slightly to the persons ideal form of beauty. Freed never particularly understood why people cared that much for what they looked like, but it seemed to make his subjects happy so he wouldn't intervene.

Evergreen made up one third of the triad named Raijinshuu. Freed and Bickslow completed it.

"What happened exactly?" Evergreen probed, dropping to the floor and letting her wings flitter away.

"What always happens," Freed growled. "They politely informed me that there would be an influx of dead coming and I'm to accept it without argument nor question. And of course they tried to imbue their politics into the situation, claiming certain dead should be treated better than others."

"Ah," Evergreen said in recognition before echoing Freed's own statement. "What always happens."

She placed a hand on the Gods back in a soft touch. Given his situation, Freed didn't have the chance to get close to people on a human level; an issue faced by all Gods no doubt. But his two top demons were what he considered friends, and he had made a great effort to show that he didn't see himself above them. That couldn't work with all demons, of course, as he needed to keep a level of authority over his land. But the two of them were allowed to see him without any of his facades or defences.

Some of the other Gods who knew this looked down on him for this. But he had spoken to more humans than they knew existed, and each of them had stated the importance of connections with other people. They were more knowledgeable than any God about what made life worth living.

That was why Freed wished to be involved in conversations about dead. He knew humans as more than just a premise. They weren't just hypothetically alive. They had thoughts just as much as any God, they were simply more breakable than them. As the thought struck him, another wave of anger creeped over him.

He leant his back against Evergreen's hand. Physical contact with other people grounded him.

"Come on," Evergreen said, apparently noticing Freed's return to rigid posture. "We thought this might happen."

Eventually, after walking through many of the hallways in his home, he was guided towards one of the many sitting rooms. It was his favourite, given its large fireplace, the fact it was at the back of the castle, and the view overlooking the garden. It was the most secluded place in the building, and therefore the most comfortable for him.

When they walked in, Bickslow was waiting for him. The fire was roaring and crackling, the wooden shutters had been closed to keep the light inside, and a china teapot was steaming out of the funnel with three teacups resting beside it.

It was nice to have connections with people. People did kind things for you.

"There's the big scary God of Death," Bickslow said with a taunt in his voice. "Did someone get angry and demolish a corridor again?"

"Do you really think it's wise to antagonise me, Bickslow?" Freed said, the amusement almost unnoticeably seeping into his tone. "I control this realm entirely; I can force you to eat a human heart and drown on the blood, should the mood take me."

"I prefer a liver, really. Less messy," Bickslow said with a cackle.

Freed smiled a little at that, relaxing into the easy-going environment Bickslow always projected. Making up the final part of Raijinshuu – or the tribe of hell – he was of equal power to Evergreen, and equally important to Freed.

Whereas Evergreen looked after the bodies of the deceased, Bickslow looked after the souls. This was an equally important job, as both the soul and the body made life. Just like an uncared-for body would fall apart and crumble without care, the soul would spiral into darkness and insanity, becoming self-destructive and dying out like a star. Bickslow both used his magic and his personality – so he claimed – to keep the souls both sane and content.

The two demons worked together well. They needed to. Death was the process of splitting up a soul from one's body. For an afterlife to begin, the soul and the body needed to be brought back together. Evergreen and Bickslow were responsible for merging them both when possible.

They were quite affective at their work.

The process was often a tedious one, it must be said. Bodies and souls could appear anywhere in the Netherworld, and could often go unfound for centuries. Sometimes a body would be destroyed to the point where Evergreen couldn't save it, sometimes a soul had gone mad before anyone could even find it. Thankfully, this usually only happened to those who were truly evil, perhaps as some form of karmic punishment, but both Evergreen and Bickslow were still respectful in how they dealt with those cases.

Evergreen had created a forest, fertilised with what remained of the corpses. Bickslow had created a spell where the remnants of souls could be merged together, making an entirely new soul. It had happened thousands of times, and Bickslow had crafted only five souls out of these remnants. They had been assigned to little dolls, which followed the man around constantly.

"Since I knew you'd be all icy," Bickslow continued, picking up a teacup and proffering it to Freed. "I thought you'd enjoy this. Masala tea, nice and hot."

Freed took the cup with a word of thanks. He tried to keep the culture of the living at arm's length for most of the time, but he had once drunk tea and found it rather spectacular, and decided he would allow certain parts of humanity into his own life. He was allowed to have a weakness, and a warm drink was a good one to have.

"What happened then?" Evergreen asked, sitting at one of the red sofas opposite the God. "Specifically."

"There's a war coming, so they think," Freed sighed, placing the teacup down. "Apparently they don't intend to be subtle if it does happen, and humans will be killed in thousands. We have been instructed to make plans to accommodate the dead."

"Instructed huh?" Bickslow said with a small grunt.

"Indeed," Freed nodded. "Apparently the ridiculous feud between Makarov and his idiot son has boiled over. They expect the first casualty within months. And once one person is killed, either man will willingly do anything in return to prove their point."

"And they have to drag the people into it?" Evergreen sighed.

"I doubt that they have to, but they will," Freed mused. "They don't see the people as being alive any more than an ocean, or a mountain. They're just little creatures to them, barely thinking in comparison to a God. Why would the bother with the effort of keeping them alive?"

"They didn't listen to ya when you told them that, huh?" Bickslow asked.

"Ivan's exact words to me were 'Keep your corpse fucker mouth shut,'" Freed shrugged.

"He hasn't gotten any smarter, then, if that's the best insult he could think of," Evergreen muttered, and Freed laughed. It was a clipped, cynical laugh, but better than nothing.

"If he ever ends up down here, I shall need one of your souls to possess that ridiculous suit of armour he insists on wearing," Freed said, looking to Bickslow. "It would be a nice level of irony that the thing he wears to protect him ends up ripping his bowels out and crushes them as he watches. I'd find that pleasant."

"I'll get em trained up ready," Bickslow said with a grin. "But you don't think they can be cooled off. Makarov and Ivan I mean. They've never gotten along, you said, but they've never gone to war."

"Laxus is trying to calm them both down, but I doubt he'll be of any help. He fights with Ivan as much as his grandfather does," Freed lifted the teacup to his lips again, sipping at the spicy liquid and allowing it to warm his cold blood. "And it seems like their millenniums worth of grievances has come to return all at once. Laxus would have to be a saint as well as a God to get them to even consider being diplomatic."

"So we gotta play clean-up because their pissing contest is gonna get violent," Bickslow surmised, and Freed nodded. "And they don't even have the fucking courtesy to talk to you like an equal."

"They consider themselves to be the most important beings in existence. Annoyingly, existence seems to agree," Freed said with a tired expression. "Why would they care about the ants they're crushing? Or the people who try to help them?"

"Should we be expecting Laxus here anytime soon?" Evergreen asked.

"Perhaps, though not in the next few days. Calming them both will be his priority," Freed stood up, placing his tea in its saucer again. "I suppose they're right, though. We need to prepare if half the world is going to be slaughtered."

Bickslow and Evergreen shared a look.

"Tomorrow," Bickslow said firmly. "We start tomorrow."

"There's hardly any reason to prolong-"

"Tomorrow," The demons said in unison, and Evergreen continued talking. "You've not slept in days, if nothing else allow yourself a night's rest."

"A few hours ain't gonna affect anything," Bickslow added. "And we both know that anything you do while pissed off ain't gonna be as good as if you're calm. So take the night off and sleep."

Freed took a moment to think, then sighed and nodded. He returned to the chair like they so clearly wanted and allowed Bickslow to pour him another cup of tea. He brought it to his lips and watched as his friends smiled in contentment of their actions. It was important that he had these people in his life, and he was glad that they were there.

As tedious as they may be.

~~~

Often disregarded in the story of Freed the Dark is the people close to him. His relationships with both his friends and those he ruled were imperative to his overall decision to enter the war. As leader of the Netherworld, he was shaped more by humanity than any other God, and without this influence it is unclear as to whether or not he would have walked into the fight or not.

The closeness he held to those not of his blood was anomalous for a God, and was part of the reason as to why he was disrespected and looked down upon by some of his fellow Gods. They saw him as impure, tainted by the lesser beings of the land.

It is important to state that not every God looked down upon him. He was not the victim of complete ostracization, and certain Gods looked to him as an ally, friend and, in the case of Laxus Dreyar, a lover.

Laxus was the youngest son of the Higher God's, known colloquially as the Dreyar's. The grandfather and patriarch of the family, Makarov, was known to be God of Expansion and Family. He sat at the head of the God's Table, and was seen by all as the ruler of the Gods. Makarov's son Ivan, the God of Persona, and later the God of Tricksters, showed great levels of jealousy towards his father and tried on many occasions to usurp him, both through manipulations and violence.

The family of Gods were all-powerful and volatile.

However, Laxus showed himself to be different. After being manipulated against Makarov, Laxus chose to leave the skies. It is stated that he was unsure where Ivan's manipulations ended, and his own personality began. His exile was so he could become his own man.

It was during this exile he found himself in the Netherworld, walking through the garden of the castle.

Meeting the God of death, they quickly found solace in each other's company. Laxus understood better than most the hardships of being a God, particularly one involved in the politics of others. They could relate to each other on a level nobody else could, and what started as a mutual fondness quickly developed into love.

Their relationship was kept secret from most, with only those closest to the men knowing in the days before the war. Despite the secretive nature of the romance, both men adored each other. It cannot be overstated how important this relationship was in proceeds that ended the war.

Levy McGarden; An Examination and Retelling of the Fiorean Gods

~~~

Having loved the man for so long, Freed knew what to look for when Laxus was approaching.

Being the God of both Thunder and Lightning, when Laxus was around there was a certain feeling in the air. The slight presence of static, a partial increase of humidity, and a tiny chill to the air. Freed would compare it to the feeling of standing in a cloud that was just about to bear lightning. Most people either didn't notice the feeling, or saw it as an imposition. Freed rather liked the sensation, it was as if he was being wrapped up in the long fur lined cloak that Laxus wore.

The feeling arrived before the man himself. Laxus' abilities allowed him to become one with the clouds and lightning, and to form a cloud wherever he saw fit. So when he wished to visit Freed, he would summon a cloud into the castle, and bring his consciousness into it, his body following soon after.

In the first few instances of his arrival, the cloud had struck lightning and Laxus had formed out of that. Laxus later revealed it was an unnecessary level of showmanship, and he was showing off.

Freed looked back on that confession with fondness.

When the smoke coming from the fireplace started to pool in the air, followed by the sensation of static, humidity and a chill, Freed knew that his lover would soon be with him. The God placed his wine glass at the table beside him with a soft smile, waiting patiently for the cloud to dissipate and for his lover to be by his side.

"Mr Dreyar," Freed said pleasantly, watching as the cloud burst and left Laxus in its place. "A pleasure to see you again."

Laxus didn't say anything at first, but instead stalked over towards Freed and wrapped his arms around the man tightly. Freed couldn't be sure what had spurred the action on, but hugged his lover back with an equally strong grasp. They stayed like this for a moment, tightly embracing one another as the fire crackled beside them.

"Sorry it took so long to get here," Laxus muttered into Freed's shoulder.

"You needn't be," Freed replied almost automatically. "They're your family, and you have a responsibility to them."

It had been just shy of a week since the meeting of the Gods, and where Freed had yet again been dismissed by the leaders. Laxus had been in attendance at the meeting, of course, and Freed hadn't seen him since he had walked out.

The time since then had been mainly spent preparing the Netherworld for the inevitable influx of dead. His demons had been told to be vigilant for new souls and corpses, as when they would come was unknown. The dead had been told to begin preparing buildings and homes for the newly dead, as Freed would not allow for overpopulation. And everyone had been informed that their ancestors and relatives might die soon, and they would need their families to help them adjust, so to prepare themselves for that. It had all been busywork for Freed, and partly because he wanted to distract himself from his lover's absence.

"I should have come to you sooner," Laxus said, burying his face into the crook of Freed's neck.

"You're here now," Freed whispered. "And that's enough. And anyway, Bickslow and Evergreen have been keeping me sane. As has the work."

"I'll thank 'em later," Laxus mumbled, pressing his lips into Freed's neck in a kiss. "You sure you're okay?"

"I believe I've calmed down," Freed said with a nod.

"Can't believe you stormed out like that," Laxus said, removing himself from Freed's arms. "Don't think either of the bastards ever had someone do anything like that to them before, you should have seen their faces after you left."

"I doubt it'll change anything," Freed shrugged, picking up his wine again.

"You pissed 'em both off, that's something," Laxus said with a hint of a laugh in his voice. "You know when they realise we've been together for centuries, they're gonna think that you're the reason I rebelled against them."

"Finally I'll be credited for something worthwhile," Freed chuckled a little at that.

Freed was unaware of it, but Laxus looked towards him with a hint of sadness in his eyes. He had long since been aware of the disrespect Freed faced from both the Dreyar's and many of the other Gods. He had tried what he could to change that, so far as to defend him both before and after Freed had left the meeting a week prior. But the Gods were stubborn, and set in their prejudices. Laxus just hoped that one day they would change their ways.

"I'm sorry they don't treat you right," Laxus apologised, speaking softly.

"Don't be," Freed instructed, standing up and walking to the window. He was in a study overlooking the Netherworld, and looked out over the dead before him. "I should have gotten over it by now."

"You shouldn't have to," Laxus insisted, standing up.

"Maybe it's for the best," Freed sighed, tapping his fingers against the windowsill. "I'm sure if they paid more attention to me then they'd look upon this world with distain. No doubt they'd have hundreds of issues with how I treat my subjects. With their logic they'd want me to torture the good and kneel before the bad."

"And they'd be wrong," Laxus assured him, wrapping his arms around the man. "You're a good man, Freed, and a damn good God, too."

"There's a certain level of irony in calling me a 'damn' good God," Freed chuckled, turning around in his lover's arms, grinning.

He pressed their lips together, Laxus leaning into the kiss softly. They had not kissed in a month and, even with their seemingly endless lives, that was far too long a time to go without it. Freed adored his Lightning God, the beautiful man who split open the skies with a wave of his hand, and created the most spectacular tapestries of light on the canvas of a cloudy night. He was a poet in actions, even if he refused the claim, and Freed was enamoured with the man and wished to show it with his kiss.

Love was something the humans had taught him. He liked it.

When they pulled apart, they stood in each other's arms with content expressions. Laxus looked spectacular like this, with a soft smile and no falseness on his face. He had once confessed that he truly only felt himself when with Freed. Though the sadness of the statement was not lost on him, Freed was thankful that he and his kingdom could offer the man sanctuary.

"You chose to come here through smoke, rather than your own cloud," Freed eventually spoke, and Laxus looked down on him with a quirk in his eyebrow. "May I assume that was so you could hide how you felt."

Laxus sighed. His ability to control the weather was slightly tethered to his emotions. The more emotional he felt, the stronger the impact of his abilities. If he was emotional, the lighting would be more ferocious, the thunder would echo louder, and the rain would be heavier. It also affected the clouds, and the darker his mood, the darker the clouds. Had he not used the smoke from Freed's fireplace, the cloud he summoned would have been blacker than the nights sky.

"I needed to prioritise you without you worrying," Laxus sighed. "You were upset, I wanted to make you feel better."

"I appreciate that," Freed nodded, bringing his hands up to stroke Laxus' cheeks. "But you need comfort too. So would you like to discuss what's wrong?"

Laxus took a moment, before deflating slightly.

"They're gonna fight, Freed," He whispered, almost not believing his own words. "I couldn't talk 'em down from it. I thought I could; Makarov at least would have listed to reason I thought. But neither of them even looked at me, they didn't care. Gramps said that Ivan would turn the world to darkness if left to his own devices, and Ivan said he should have killed him a millennia ago. There was nothing I could do."

"It wasn't your responsibility to stop them," Freed spoke softly. "Don't you dare start blaming this on yourself."

"They're both getting troops together. And nobody else can stop them because they're scared of 'em, so they're just gonna keep dragging everybody into the fight. I don't even think it's gonna be a fight, it's just gonna be the two of them pissed off and sending people to slaughter."

"It's unfortunate," Freed sighed. "But I'll do good by the dead, if that's any consolation."

"It ain't your job to clean up after them. And it shouldn't be the people's job to fight for them," Laxus argued with a growl. "They should just fucking fight between themselves if they need to. Why do they have to drag people into it?"

Freed didn't have an answer to that, so instead took his lovers hand in his own and held it. The man was shaking, and Freed felt that it wasn't entirely because of anger. He looked at the man's face and his heart almost broke. Laxus was portraying anger, but Freed had looked at enough humans faces to know fear when he saw it. He pressed their foreheads together in a gesture that hopefully calmed the man, before he spoke.

"I won't let them take you if you don't want to fight," He promised softly.

"You can't stop them," Laxus sighed, leaning against Freed. "They'll invade this place and rip apart everything you've done if they want to."

"Perhaps they won't want to."

"He called me a strategic advantage," Laxus sighed. "Ivan, my own father, said having me on his side would be a strategic advantage. I command the sky, so having me fight for them would ensue a victory. And gramps didn't say it, but he knows that it's true. They ain't gonna let me hide away. And I'm not gonna let them bring their fight here because of me."

Freed wanted to argue the point, but couldn't. The fight would take place in the skies. Having someone bring lightning down on any oncoming army would be invaluable. But Laxus didn't need to hear that.

"You can stay with me for as long as you please," Freed promised. "But you're right. You probably will be brought into the fight, so I want you to make me a promise."

"Anything," Laxus nodded.

"Pick the right side," Freed said firmly. "There is cruelty in them both, but we both know who the better leader will be. And so long as you have the choice in who you fight for, you must promise me that you pick the right one."

"I will," Laxus promised, and brought both of Freed's hands to his mouth to kiss, as if sealing the promise.

"How long do you expect we have until the war begins?" Freed asked.

"Months, at most," Laxus sighed. "I don't know when exactly, but everyone seems to know this is gonna be important, and neither side is gonna want to make a mistake early on. So they'll take time to build up their support and make their armies stronger. But they both wanna make the first hit, so they can't be building forever. In a year's time we'll be in deep."

"Perhaps we could do something," Freed offered. "Sabotage them in some way."

"They'll have more defences than we can imagine," Laxus rebutted. "Right now, I just wanna sleep."

"My bed chamber is always open for use for you," Freed assured him, unwrapping himself from his lover's arms. "Take all the time you need."

"Only if you join me," Laxus said, voice firm. "Ever and Bix already told me that you've been working yourself hard, and that you've been delaying sleep when you can get away with it. So if I sleep, then you have to too."

"If you insist," Freed said with a smile. "And I suppose it's appropriate."

"What d'you mean?"

"Well, given that we're in the Netherworld, sleeping seems appropriate," He looked to Laxus with a mischievous grin. "Where else is there to rest in peace?"

Laxus barked out a disbelieving laugh. "You've the most fucking morbid sense of humour, it's fucking great."

And, in spite of the situation, both men smiled as they retired to bed.

~~~

I believe that the 'Knight of Judgment' is a unique painting as it shows what was important to Freed in the days of the war.

Located in the lower regions of the painting, you can see both Laxus and the Raijinshuu. They are shown to be sitting at a table, which multiple artists and historians agree signifies how they influenced Freed in his actions. In many ways, this is a representation of Freed's own Table of the Gods, with those he held close holding his council.

The location of them in the painting is also significant. They are placed in his stomach: they are a part of him that he carried with him throughout the darkest days of his life.

It is a great sorrow that he needed to be secluded from them for the war to end.

The affect that the war had on the Netherworld was unique. Although the realm was secluded and the battle never neared the doors to the Netherworld, the impact of the fighting was said to have been felt in different ways. An overall atmosphere of unease is said to have filled the land, and there was an obvious influx of the dead. Both humans and angels were being slayed at an alarming rate.

The horrors of the war were unseen, but not unknown.

It is said that Freed often found himself at the doors of the Netherworld, contemplating seeing the fray first hand. He stopped himself each time, instead putting his focus on the new wave of deaths that came with each day. At this time, he relied on his friends and lover for support. As often told, this reliance could only last for so long.

Levy McGarden; An Examination and Retelling of the Fiorean Gods

~~~

"I'm glad that you're here again," Freed said softly.

The God was lying on his large bed, arm in arm with his lover. Draped in velvet sheets, Freed couldn't help the look of fondness that adorned his features, nor did he care to try. It had been months since he had last had Laxus in his arms, and the loss of his lover's presence was starting to take effect. When he had felt the familiar static, humidity, and chill, he had worn a smile that could almost be described as giddy.

He had needed something to make him happy. The war had brought wave after wave of dead, meaning Freed and his demons were worked to the bone in accommodating them. Every day, hundreds of scared people were brought to his door, traumatised from their murder.

Every day, his anger at the fighting Gods increased.

Freed had worked himself harder than he'd ever needed to. Not only did he go about his usual roles as leader, but he also tried to assist his demons. Sometimes he would search the plains of the Netherworld to find lost souls. Sometimes he would work with The Raijinshuu to merge a body with its owner. Sometimes he would go to the city and build homes for the newly deceased. Ivan and Makarov had already taken their lives away, Freed should do whatever he could to keep them safe in his domain.

He and Laxus had spoken often, but not once in person. Laxus had been doing whatever he could to calm the fighting, even in the smallest of ways. He worked mainly with his grandfather, trying to veer him away from more destructive ways of attack. He had been successful for a while, but Ivan's power was growing and apparently it was getting harder for Laxus to keep Makarov's destructive plans at bay.

The longer the war lasted, the harder it was for Laxus to do anything really.

It was why he had come to Freed's castle. They both knew it.

"Sorry it ain't with better news," Laxus sighed, placing a hand on Freed's cheek with adoration in his eyes. "They're not gonna stop until someone wins. And I think they're just gonna get worse."

"So there's no point in trying to mediate anymore," Freed concluded.

"I think I have to join in first hand," Laxus said in a defeated tone, and Freed stroked his cheek with his knuckle. "I'm not doing anything on the side-lines anymore, they're both too focused on the fight to listen anymore. At least if I join in now, I get to choose which side I'm on rather than being dragged into it against my will."

"And, for full clarity, who's side will you be fighting for?" Freed asked, cautiously.

He was almost certain as to who Laxus would side with, but couldn't be sure. Ivan was a master manipulator and had unfortunately groomed Laxus into being his ideal child before Laxus had left him. It was always a lingering worry of Freed's that Laxus might be manipulated again.

He trusted the man, though. He had to.

"Gramps," Laxus said, nodding slightly to affirm his choice. "The way he's fighting is fucking awful, and he's not acting like he used to. But he's definitely the better of two evils right now. If Ivan wins control, everything he wants is so twisted and cruel. And if we can't get them in a room to talk it out, or stop it some other way, then we have to stop him with force. And, like he said, whatever side has me on it has an advantage. Might as well use it for some good, I guess."

"It's not right that they use you as a weapon," Freed sighed, pressing their foreheads together.

"I'd rather be a weapon for good, than nothing," Laxus mumbled, but there was a level of defeat in his tone.

Freed hated hearing his lover in such a state. His relationship with his father had always been strained, but Laxus had looked up to his grandfather and loved the man dearly. But the way he spoke of Makarov as of late made Freed think he was a shell of his former self. His defence of his values had made him cruel. Makarov preached love and family more than most Gods, and yet he sent people to die to keep these values. He had become a hypocrite of the worst kind, and it seemed to be hurting Laxus more than he would admit.

Placing a hand on Laxus' cheek, Freed looked at him with a soft expression. Laxus closed his eyes and leant into his hand, and it was clear how much strain the man was putting on himself. Freed let his face turn sad for a moment.

"He's not as he used to be, is he?" He eventually asked, speaking about Makarov.

"He's so focused on winning the fight, he's not paying attention to what he's doing," Laxus admitted. "Sometimes, I worry what he'll be like when the war's over."

"You need to make sure he keeps his humanity then," Freed said as he nuzzled further into his lover's grasp. "If you're going to be fighting with him, then you can at least try and keep him sane and kind."

"I'll do what I can, but I might have lost him already."

Before Freed could try to argue the point, Laxus shifted so he was sitting up in the bed. He made a gesture with his hand, and a dark cloud crackled to life in front of them, with lighting shimmering all over it. Freed recognised it as the same spell they had been using to talk when away from each other. It was essentially a looking glass into another location; Laxus was showing him part of the war, something Freed hadn't yet been privy too.

It was abhorrent.

The fighting was taking place over the ocean, and it looked near cataclysmic. Huge waves were sloshing and forming, higher than any wave should be. They crashed into oncoming soldiers with thoughtless ferocity, and Ivan's fighters looked practically ant-like against the attacks from the sea. They were washed away, most probably drowning. Despite knowing what the world would be like if Ivan's troops won, Freed felt something like sympathy for them.

In the centre of the spyglass stood Juvia, Goddess of the Sea, who was clearly controlling the ocean. Her expression was stern and face without regret. Standing either side of her were Natsu, God of Fire, and Lucy, Goddess of the Stars.

Lucy's eyes glowed and she raised a hand into the air. Suddenly the nights sky was plunged into darkness, as if all of the stars had been extinguished within a moment. Even knowing that behind the darkness was a hellish fighting, it was almost a moment of calm. Just the darkness and the sound of the ocean.

And then there was screaming. Fire spread through the enemy forces, illuminating their pain and nothing else. The removal of light had been a distraction that allowed Natsu to climb aboard the ships of the opposing troops. Some of them jumped over the edge of the boats, and found themselves churned up in a whirlpool of Juvia's creation. It was only when he saw the angels battered against the rocks did Freed realise how close they were to the coast.

How close they were to the humans, who had nothing to do with the fight.

It was sickening to watch, made worse by the fact Freed knew the three Gods responsible. Natsu and Lucy were some of the most optimistic people he had met, and had never judged him. And although he didn't know Juvia well, she had always been kind to him. Everything he watched contrasted with what he knew of these people.

"Gramps orchestrated this," Laxus sighed, flicking his wrist, and removing the spyglass.

"Yes," Freed agreed, voice quiet. "I expect it isn't easy to see."

"I told him not to do it," Laxus said with a growl. "I told him that he shouldn't do it near the coast, that people are gonna die because of it. And not just because they get dragged into the whirlpool, but because it's gonna affect the landscape. Juvia can't make water, so she's getting it from the clouds. It won't rain for months so crops are gonna die. And the fish ain't gonna be where they should be, so who fucking knows when they're gonna eat."

"Don't hold yourself accountable for that," Freed said firmly.

"But when I join the fight, it'll be my fucking fault," Laxus exclaimed with equal parts annoyance and exasperation. "But I can't let that stop me, because if I stay out of the fight then I'll either be complacent in it or I'll be dragged into it and forced to do the same crap against my own will. It's just… it's just shit."

Rather than speaking – there was nothing he could say to make it better – Freed kissed his lover slowly. Laxus moved his lips with Freed's, and it was almost in a desperate way. It was awful to see Laxus with such fear in his soul. Freed wished he could do more.

"Even in this war, you are still your own man, Laxus," Freed said softly, pulling apart. "You have your own mind, your own opinions, and your own morality. If you don't want to change, then you don't have to. Hold onto yourself, that's all you can do."

"What if I can't?" Laxus asked weakly.

"You can," Freed assured him. "You have fought against the influences of your family constantly, and you have become the best of them because of it. It will be difficult from time to time, I'm sure, but I know you Laxus. I know you well enough to be sure you will never change your values for anyone, let alone your father and grandfather."

Laxus took a moment to think, and Freed pressed their foreheads together. It was a silent reminder that he was there for him.

"Thanks," Laxus eventually said. "For being here, and for saying all of that."

"I mean it," Freed reaffirmed, stroking Laxus' cheek again. "You have a stubborn side like no other, it's rather an attractive quality for me."

Laxus laughed slightly, appreciating Freed's attempt at lifting the mood slightly. He pressed their lips together in a soft and chaste kiss, wrapping his arm around Freed's waist and pulling their bodies closer to each other. Laxus often felt more comfortable under the protection of Freed's sheets than he did in his own home. Freed's castle felt so far detached from the reality of what was happening, it was like a safe haven for him. The irony wasn't lost on Laxus.

"I'll talk to Gramps about what I can do to help," Laxus eventually said. "While I still can. And like ya said, maybe if I'm fighting on his side then I can try and keep him kind."

"It's probably for the best," Freed agreed, but the worlds felt like acid.

Of course he didn't want Laxus in the fight, but he knew his personal opinion wasn't needed now. If he could have his way, Laxus would happily reside in his castle for the entirety of the war. But that wasn't possible, and Laxus would make a difference. Freed just had to hope that Laxus' inclusion could shorten the length of the war and stop the deaths.

It was an unlikely hope, but all Freed had.

"Can I stay here before I do it," Laxus asked softly, almost weakly. "I need to be with you."

"For as long as you need," Freed promised.

When they fell asleep, they both felt sick with what was to come.

~~~

Many people begin telling the story of how the war ended long after Laxus had become involved. As Freed and Laxus' relationship is often disregarded and forgotten, many people don't see the significance of Laxus' choice to join the fight and leave the Death God in his realm. Most people just see this as another God being forced to take a side and fight, but it was much more.

Laxus leaving to fight was a further hit to Freed. The added work and general disrespect from other God's had already taken affect, and to have these Gods take his lover from him, and to hurt his lover in the way they did, was something of a breaking point.

In retrospect, this is possibly the moment Freed's descent began.

Of course we can only conclude this with the advantage of history. The story of how Freed the Dark got his title is one often untold, and therefore unexplored. But there is a general consensus that it was due to the seclusion he enforced on himself after those he loved were dragged into the fight. This was the first example of this happening for the God, and is seen as the first real hit the man's sanity took.

The change was gradual, and often his own tendencies were the most self-destructive. In the ensuing days and weeks, Freed's temperament got worse and his actions became more thoughtless. It is said that this wasn't clear to most at the time, but with the benefit of hindsight those close to him could see the affect his lover's absence had on him.

To truly explore how Freed became the man who stopped the war, we must explain his descent into solitude. The next step in that process came on the day he sent away the Raijinshuu, and left his castle empty.

Levy McGarden; An Examination and Retelling of the Fiorean Gods

~~~

Humans could be quite antagonising, Freed was finding.

He had always done this. As part of being the lord of the Netherworld, he tried his best to make the realm as pleasant for his subjects as he could. Being in complete control of everything meant he had abilities beyond the regular king, and therefore could be a better server to his kingdom. Because of this, he had always allowed his subjects to talk to him, make requests of him in ways that could improve their afterlife.

Today was one such a day. When the dawn had arisen, a queue of the dead had spiralled around the walls of the castle. The majority of them were recently deceased, and Freed knew the moment he laid eyes on them that they didn't want anything of importance, but rather childish requests that Freed had no interest in granting.

He was in a foul mood before he saw the first person. It did not get better.

The requests were ridiculous. Two ex-lovers had their homes in the same street and spent five minutes arguing that the other should be moved to the far end of the city. An adult man had asked for the water in his home to be turned into wine, and claimed it was because of religious beliefs and denying him would be an affront to his faith; it would be an affront to his alcoholism if anything.

And now he was forced to endure an elderly woman ranting at him, claiming her neighbours had been stealing her food provisions and should be punished for it. Her suggestion was that he and his family be starved for a week and to have his food supplies lessened permanently. It was absurd. He was a God, not a mediator for ridiculous arguments. It was tempting to starve her out of spite.

Still, at least he could let his mind wonder and drown out the obsessive whining of the humans for a little while.

With the hordes of the dead coming to his world because of the war, he hadn't had time to relax. Even when he did have a few moments to himself, his mind usually went to Laxus and whatever he might be doing. That was never for good.

It had been months since they had even spoken to one another. After Laxus decided to join the fight, they had spent a few days together before the blonde had returned to the skies to take his grandfather's side and join the battle. After that, they hadn't so much as seen one another. Freed had no idea what his lover was doing, if he was safe, or if he was in danger. The absence of the man he loved was starting to affect him.

In the past, even on the long stretches where they couldn't see each other in person, they could at least talk. But not this time, and Freed missed him. Now he just had idiot humans to distract him.

The amusement was wearing thin.

Because these ridiculous creatures were not treating him like a God. They were not treating him as something to be feared or looked up to. They were treating him as some odd wish granter who is supposed to care about their damn stupid problems!

"May I interrupt you, ma'am," Freed snapped suddenly, hands gripping the side of the throne.

Apparently the woman was the breaking point for him. She stopped, and looked to him almost affronted.

"Because if I'm completely honest with you ma'am, I couldn't give less of a damn about your problems, ma'am. In fact, ma'am, you're such a tedious person that I'm considering granting your neighbour twice the food than he gets now out of spite of you. So, ma'am, I feel as though it's in your best interest to shut your damned mouth right now before my spite becomes something more sour."

The woman looked at him with a gape. Freed glared at her. Did she not understand that he was a God?

"I allow you my council because I wish to make this place good for you all," Freed continued. He stood up from his throne and started to pace. Those in the room all looked towards him. "I make changes to accommodate you all. And this is what you want from me? To act as a ridiculous mediator for all your petty bullshit."

"Petty?" The woman had the arrogance to actually scoff as if offended.

"Quiet!" He yelled, and the glass in the room cracked at the echoing sound. His jaw clenched and he glared at the woman. "I am a God. I am above you, yet nobody seems to understand that. I am not a fucking serviceman; I am your better!"

Freed's tempered flared, and his eyes pulsated with darkness. From the corner of the room, Bickslow winced a little at the rise in anger. He went to speak but Freed interrupted.

"All of you leave," He roared at the congregated humans in his throne room. "Get out. Now!"

"But we've been waiting since sunset last night," One of the men in the line protested, and Freed turned his glare to him.

"Then you'll learn that next time you should get here earlier, won't you," He spat, acid dripping into his tone and he stalked towards the man. He cowered below Freed, and the God would be lying if he said it wasn't satisfying. When he next spoke, his voice was a calm, threatening tone. "If you have any further objections, I would be delighted to hear them. But be warned of the consequences if I disagree with you."

Bickslow opened the door to the throne room and ushered the humans out before anybody could speak further, shutting the door when it was just him and the God. Freed stormed towards his throne and collapsed onto it, eyes still a shadowy purple glow.

Rather than speaking, the demon simply waited for the God to calm down. Freed was typically a calm man, only reserving his anger for when he had met with other Gods, so to see him acting in such a way as a result of speaking with humans was unusual and concerning. Bickslow knew, when Freed's rage had gotten the best of him, that it was best to allow the man to decompress and let his anger dissipate without interrupting him.

The silence lasted a short while, and was only interrupted when the door to the throne room opened. Bickslow let out a held breath when he saw that it was Evergreen, rather than someone who didn't know Freed and might further his anger. She, too, didn't say anything and waited for Freed to calm, giving him a concerned expression; she must have seen the humans retreating.

"Mindless cretins," Freed eventually said, his voice quieter now. "I am a God, for fucks sake. Does nobody understand that?"

"What actually happened?" Evergreen asked, walking towards Freed and speaking softly.

"The same thing that always happens," Freed growled, though it was aimed more at his lap than at the demon. "I attempt to show an ounce of kindness to people and they see it as weakness. I am their God and they disrespect me, treat me like one of their own. Perhaps the idiots at that intolerable table were correct and I should treat my subjects with cruelty. At least then I wouldn't be forced to endure their mindless whining about their ridiculous problems."

"You know you don't mean that," Bickslow sighed, placing a hand on Freed's shoulder. "She was fucking stupid. You know some people are just up their own asses. There're thousands of people who respect you because you ain't some dictator."

"Perhaps," Freed said, though his voice didn't portray confidence.

"He's right Freed," Evergreen encouraged, sitting on the arm of the throne, and smiling at the God. "Remember what you told Laxus before he left. He has to make sure he doesn't change who he is. You have to do the same thing, keep yourself kind."

Freed didn't say anything, and deflated at the sound of his lover's name. Bickslow and Evergreen shared a look at that.

Though the two of them had known Laxus was important to Freed, they hadn't known just how much the God cared for him until recently. Freed's mood had changed slightly, and he was both more forlorn and had a shorter temper. It was clear that Laxus had been some kind of a light in Freed's life, in some sense, and to have him ripped away from him and into a warzone was harming Freed more than he let on.

The influx of work probably wasn't helping either and the God was facing more stress than he probably ever had before. They did their best to keep him happy, of course, but Freed insisted on keeping himself busy and making more work for himself than needed.

"He'll come back eventually," Bickslow said, in a voice almost soft. He patted the man's shoulder gently.

"He hasn't yet," Freed snapped, looking up with a glare.

"We know he hasn't, Freed," Evergreen sighed, placing a hand on his thigh comfortingly. "But you had to know that it'd take a while for anything to give."

"I suppose," Freed let his gaze fall again.

"You just gotta make sure you're still the man he loves when he comes back," Bickslow grinned. "And that's why you've got the two of us, right? So we can keep you on the straight and narrow for your man. That way, when he comes back covered in scars and even hotter than he was before, the two of you can pick up where you left off and start kissing each other. And you won't have to do it with Ivan Fuckface in charge."

"I suppose not," Freed chuckled, and it was only slightly bitter. "I do understand that what he's doing is important. I just miss him."

"Of course you do," Evergreen smiled. "I don't know what it's like, but the way you smile at him shows how much you care. But you just need to be patient."

Freed agreed with the statement, but didn't say anything. Selfishly he would have rather Laxus not go to the war. He would have offered the man safe haven in his castle and fought off the forces who tried to take him, and he would do so with both tooth and claw. But his demons were right; Laxus needed to fight for the more moral side and Freed couldn't stop him. If Freed were any other God, he too would probably be fighting on Makarov's side at that moment. But he had to look after his people, and doing that meant he had to allow his lover some trust.

"Thank you for putting up with me," Freed eventually spoke again. "I understand that it might get annoying listening to me complain about not being treated well, I'm sorry."

"We agree with you, idiot," Bickslow laughed. "The Gods are dicks to you and some of the new guys down here don't know a good thing when they see it, and they complain about it. You're allowed to rant at us whenever you want."

"Whenever we meet another God's angel and they talk about how they're treated, we realise just how good we get it with you," Evergreen laughed. "And that's quite a claim, because you can be quite annoying when you want to be."

"Oh," Freed raised an eyebrow. He knew Evergreen was baiting him to another, more cheerful topic, and he allowed it to happen. "Give me an example."

"I know," Bickslow grinned, voice loud again to lift the mood. The demons were doing what they always did to get Freed out of a bad mood, wait until he was willing to talk and then be optimistic and loud. "When you saw her looking at the Strauss brother with moony eyes so got him to work in the castle and then you made the climate warmer, so he'd take his shirt off to make Ever implode."

"Yes," Ever muttered. "That was annoying."

Freed chuckled, and his shoulders relaxed, and jaw unclenched. He relaxed in his throne and glanced to the window that had shattered at his shout. He waved a hand towards it and it slowly started to melt back into place.

Just like Laxus' magic was connected to the weather; Freed's was connected to the structure of the Netherworld. He managed to keep his destructive tendencies to the castle, and when he was calm he would fix anything he had broken in his anger. He didn't miss the shared smile of his demons when the window was fixed. They clearly knew that, to an extent, his mental wellbeing was reflected by the structure of his home. Laxus had storm clouds, Freed had crumbling stone.

"The two of you are far too good for me," Freed claimed, cricking his neck.

"You're only saying that because you haven't seen how obedient some of the other angels are," Bickslow chuckled.

Obedience was much less appealing than having friends. Freed wasn't going to say that, though.

"You're fine as you are," Freed assured them.

"That's good. I doubt we'll change anytime soon," Evergreen chuckled, smiling. "But, you do know that if there's anything we can do for you, you just have to ask. We know that this isn't easy for you."

Freed thought for a moment. There was, of course, one thing that he wanted to ask of his demons, but he couldn't. It was a purely selfish request and could endanger their wellbeing. He dismissed the thought almost as it came to him, but apparently his demons had seen the momentary flicker of an idea strike him. They looked at him expectantly, and that didn't stop when he made a passive motion with his hand.

"You needn't do this if you don't want to," Freed began. "In fact it's probably better if you don't. It's a fanciful idea at best."

"Tell us," Evergreen requested.

"Laxus. I need to know that he's alive, and safe," Freed admitted, weakly. "It's killing me not knowing what's happening with him."

"You want us to find him and make sure he ain't injured?" Bickslow concluded, raising an eyebrow towards Freed.

The God nodded, though had no expectations that his demons would indulge his ideas. Bickslow and Evergreen looked to one another and seemed to have a silent conversation between themselves; Freed had often wondered if his demons could actually speak without their voice and they just hadn't told him. After a few seconds of silent communication, they looked back to Freed with a concerning amount of determination in their expressions.

"Will you be okay without us?" Evergreen asked, and her voice was serious.

"You're considering it?" Freed asked. They both nodded, and Freed felt a mixture of sickness and relief. "I-I can merge souls on my own. That's most of your responsibilities as of late."

"We meant if you could look after yourself while we're gone, Freed," Bickslow sighed.

"If I can look after a realm of millions, I can look after myself," Freed spoke with offence shaping his tone. He knew of their reason for asking though.

"We'll leave in the morning," Bickslow stated, and Evergreen nodded.

Freed looked at his demons with shock. He knew they had respect and fondness for him, but hadn't expected this. He was asking his friends to walk into the most vicious battlefield in history, and all because he couldn't bear to not know what was happening with his lover. It was an almost pathetic request and yet they were happy to risk their lives for it.

"Thank you," He whispered, bowing his head to them.

They both smiled, and it made Freed's stomach ache. He loved them both, and they were too good to him, despite their protests. Anyone willing to walk through hell for him was worth more than Freed could give them.

And tomorrow, they would be gone…

He would be alone in his castle.

And he would have to deal with that.

~~~

It is unclear as to how long Freed expected his demons to be gone from The Netherworld, looking for his lover. Many of the records claim it was only meant to be days, but that is heavily contested and criticised. But no matter what the expectations, the time taken to gather any information on Laxus' state was long enough to have a great effect on Freed.

Again, this is something reflected in the 'Knight of Judgement' art piece. The flowers located in both the death Gods eye and heart are reflective of his emotional state.

Art historians claim that the flower located in Freed's eye is reflective of the beauty he saw in the world, and the people. The encroaching purple effect is a show of how, without those he loved to influence his actions, that optimism and beauty he saw in existence was slowly being taken away in his solitude.

The flower in his chest is said to be orange and red as his heart is stained with blood. It acts as a mirror for the more violent side of the man after his loved ones left, something that gets more and more prominent as his seclusion continues.

This can be seen in his interaction with the angel known as Jackal.

Jackal is known to be a cursed angel, a criminal of the war and part of Ivan's Tartaros Nine. He is responsible for some of the most brutal deaths during the war, many of which were humans who he saw collateral damage. He is said to be one of the most sadistically cruel of the angels on Ivan's side, and has often been shown as the man who encouraged Ivan into his most aggressive and twisted attacks.

The death of the angel was seen as a large victory for Makarov's side, and the strike of lightning that sank his ship and led to his drowning is sometimes accredited for a shift in the war. Many people think Jackal's story ends there, but this is untrue.

Jackal's story truly ends in the afterlife, with Freed. And for those with a sensitive disposition, I advise caution into reading the details of this meeting.

Levy McGarden; An Examination and Retelling of the Fiorean Gods

~~~

At the back left of Freed's castle was a tower.

Inside the tower was a room that often went unused. A torture chamber of sorts.

Often, those who might have justifiably occupied such a room were never given an afterlife. Luck seemed determined to spawn their souls and bodies in places where they couldn't be found, meaning the truly cruel people usually had their bodies composted and their souls fizzled by insanity before they could even near an afterlife. Fate must determine that death being permanent a larger punishment than anything Freed could have done to them.

That apparently wasn't seen as true with a certain person. Both the body and the soul of Jackal had formed at the foot of Freed's door. It was practically an offering, and Freed understood what he had to do.

An angel's death was similar to a human's, in the Netherworld. Although they were considerably rarer, the process was the same. Death ripped apart the soul and the body, and if they were brought back then they would be indistinguishable from humans. Other than the demons and Freed himself, nobody in the underworld was different from the other. That meant, whereas previously an angel would have a higher tolerance for pain, they were now as breakable and damageable than any human would be.

This was convenient, given what Freed was going to do.

He knew who Jackal was. The murderer of countless, the angel who bathed in the ashes of his victims, the Demigod of destruction. The titles he gained were overly dramatic, but were not exaggerated. Jackal was a murderer, and even the presence of his soul and body had seemingly sent a shiver down the Netherworld.

And he had been given straight to Freed. As a gift almost. The idea that the leader of the Netherworld would punish sinners was something greatly exaggerated, but Freed felt he could conform to the stereotype for now. It might be rather therapeutic.

Fun, even.

A welcome distraction too. After sending his closest demons into the warzone, he had been alone in the castle. The only interactions he'd had were with the people whose souls and bodies he had merged together, and he had dismissed them without a word. Being alone in his castle was something he hadn't experiences in millennia's, and he wasn't dealing with the situation. He was allowing his anger to permeate, with nobody to use as an outlet.

But now he had someone. His anger at how cruel the war had become, and how it affected those he loved, could now be directed at someone who has responsible for it.

Maybe that was why Jackal had been delivered to him where no cruel man had been before. Freed was now a fate worse than death.

The doors to the tower creaked and groaned as they slowly opened, and the light flittering into the room from behind Freed illuminated the dusty chamber dimly. Cobwebs cluttered the room, the stonework lacked the usual polish of the rest of the castle, and the only things that had any level of care attributed to them were the shackles, manacles and chains that were keeping the man contained.

Jackal couldn't move. Metal bands wrapped around his wrists, ankles, biceps, thighs, stomach, neck, and chest. A large metal plate blocked his mouth and, although it couldn't be seen, Freed knew that there was a rusted shaft of metal holding down the man's tongue and resting in his throat.

Freed looked at the man with no sympathy. He knew what he had done.

"Typically, the devil is meant to confront a person with their sins in a situation like this," Freed began, and Jackal looked at him. His expression was hidden by his bounds. "But I expect you lack the morality to feel guilt."

Jackal made a choking, raspy sound. He was laughing.

Freed's didn't show any reaction other than a slight tensing of his posture. He had heard stories about how Jackal worked. His sadistic nature was prevalent in everything he did, and one way he entertained himself was by toying with people. Many of the dead had been forced to beg for mercy by the man, only to have him kill them a moment later. It would be in keeping with his reputation for him to try and antagonise Freed, and he wasn't going to give the man the satisfaction of getting under his skin.

"No," Freed continued. "You much prefer the hands-on approach, I expect."

Clenching his fist, he slammed it forward in a sharp punch to the man's gut. It was a simple enough movement, but the God's strength mixed with the angel's newfound vulnerability forced out a small choking sound. Jackal quickly manipulated it into another throaty laugh, but the pain the action had caused was obvious. Freed looked at him with almost curiosity.

He punched the man three more times, in quick succession, hitting the same part of his stomach each time. His only partially restored body bruised easier than a living person would, and a purple mound spread from where Freed had punched. Jackal was still laughing.

The reaction was interesting to Freed. That was perhaps not what Jackal wanted from it.

"I'm curious to see what your intention is, with the laughter," Freed said, stepping back and looking at the man plainly. "Because even if you succeed in antagonising me, I won't let you out. You'll be here for as long as I want, and I'll hurt you in whatever way I see fit no matter how much you laugh, or how angry you make me."

He just kept laughing.

"Furthermore, if this is some form of manipulation to make me do something I might regret, then I must inform you that my mortality is not as rigid and clear cut as you might think. And with a man such as yourself, regret is unlikely to take effect."

He was still laughing.

And Freed didn't find himself annoyed by it, for the moment. He knew what a manipulator looked like; he had met Ivan after all. All men like that were clearly after a certain reaction and the worst outcome for them was to be denied it. So Freed turned to the side, looked at the large wheel that was attached to the chains containing Jackal, and began to turn it. The shackles tightened around the man, the chains started to stretch him, and the skin bruised beneath the metal.

"I expect you thought yourself above death, so you probably didn't bother to learn the rules of the Netherworld," Freed continued, removing his hands from the crank and looking back to his capture, who was wincing with his eyes. "Your body won't heal, at all. We have people with the ability to heal it, but they work for me, and they will not help you. So anything I do to you, will be a permanent fixture."

Freed absently ran a sharp nail down the man's leg. It split open as if cut by a knife, and Freed noticed the slight widening of the man's eyes.

Good.

"Of course I might heal you eventually. The definition of your muscles, and the lack of any blemishes, shows you keep pride in what you look like," Freed mused aloud, looking him up and down as one might assess their prey. "Ruining it multiple times in multiple ways might be interesting."

Jackal didn't react to that, but Freed had a feeling he would have a comment if he could speak. He thought only for a moment before placing his hand on the large metal gag, pulling it forward and taking the man's head with it. The leather straps flicked open at the pressure, and Freed pulled the rusted iron out of his prisoners' mouth. He didn't miss the raspy cough that Jackal allowed, nor did he miss his dried lips.

He was more affected than he was letting on. Freed almost felt some sympathy.

But he knew what this man had done. The purposeful attacks on the shorelines just to kill humans and hurt them. The joyous laughter he had projected as the skies lit up with death and anguish. The disregard for anything other than his own twisted amusement. This man had lost his chance at sympathy more times than it was possible to count.

"So you're the corpse fucker Ivan's always talkin' about," Jackal rasped.

"He's yet to come up with a more creative insult, it seems," Freed brushed the comment off. "A pity."

Before Jackal could say anything again, he grabbed the man by his neck and lifted him up. The chains fought against it, and strained their grip on Jackal. Freed's claw like nails dug into the man's neck and a slight trail of blood slithered down one of Freed's fingers. Now without the obtrusive gag, Freed could see more how the man was shaking and gritting his teeth to stop some kind of exhalation of pain. Freed's grasp tightened just a little.

"I'm conflicted on how to treat you, Jackal," Freed stated, forcing eye contact with the bound man. "Given this is a form of punishment, it seems only right there to be some kind of irony involved. Perhaps for everyone you've made cry, I should make you cry. For everyone you've left to burn, I burn you. Perhaps I could invite your victims here, use you as a form of entertainment for them. Have them flog you and laugh as you weep, which you will. Although, selfishly, it might be more fun if I were to make you my personal… plaything."

Jackal laughed hoarsely. "Heard that you were a pacifist. This is a surprise."

"Who told you that," Freed chuckled, pushing his claws further into the man's neck. Something popped under the pressure; he didn't know what, but there was more blood now.

"Everyone," Jackal said, and he gargled. Blood was coming from his mouth. "They say you got corrupted by those fucking half-life's you let in here and those little bitch demons. Say that they made ya weak."

"Perhaps they did," Freed mused. "But do you know what else they did?" He leant close to Jackal, grinning. "They left me. And now it's just you and me."

Freed pushed the man forward, as if throwing him to the side, but the chains kept him where he was. Blood slid out of some of the wounds Freed gave him, but he was still laughing weakly. Freed looked at him with intrigue, but didn't say anything. He let the man laugh for a little while before he tired himself out, then he spoke again.

"You see, I've had a lot of time to think as of late," Freed mused, looking at the man as the amusement was settled. "And I've decided, the war doesn't make me sad. It doesn't make me feel bad. It makes me feel angry. Because an imbecilic man and his equally idiotic father decided to take out their anger on the world. Just to destroy it. Not because they need to fight, nor because anything needs to change. Because they're ridiculous little people with so much arrogance that they think they're problems are the world's problems.

"And then there's people like you. The enablers. The puppet masters, perhaps. The people whispering in their ears, telling them they need to act larger. Get angrier and more destructive. To go bigger and stronger because that's what power demands and that's what happens in wars. And all just to feed your evil wank fantasies. You saw an opportunity and you took it, and expected no consequences."

Freed slammed his fist forward and punched the man in his gut again, and Jackal visibly deflated at the action, coughing up blood. The bruise on the man's stomach got larger, and Jackal's laughter was weaker this time.

"Interesting," Jackal commented, voice gravely and quiet now.

"Speak up," Freed demanded with a sharp tone.

"I said it's interesting. Which of the Dreyar's you chose to mention," Jackal cackled, looking up at Freed with a manic grin. Freed's posture tightened at the statement. "You talk about Ivan and the decrepit bastard. But not little Laxus."

"The point being?" Freed demanded, the sound of Laxus' name on the angel's tongue sounding wrong. Evil.

"We all fucking know about what the two of you fuckers do when he's down here," Jackal laughed manically, and Freed tensed. "And daddy Ivan isn't happy. And when he wins he's gonna come down here and get ya. And I've heard what he's gonna do to ya. And you're not gonna like it. And he's gonna make little Laxus watch as he rips open his demonic little secret."

"Don't assume you have the right to say his name."

"What are ya gonna do to stop me," Jackal giggled, allowing himself to go limp in the chains. "Lock me up. Torture me. It ain't working yet. And that'd be ironic – since ya like irony – that you'd be hurting me because little Laxus is away. Because that's why you're acting like this, and not just letting me die. Because you miss him. Ain't that just fucking sweet."

"Don't say his name."

"Or maybe you just miss him shoving his dick in your ass," Jackal cackled again, eyes wide and unhinged as he looked at his torturer. "You'll might have to get used to it. Because if Ivan has his way, there won't be much left of your fuck toy when the war is done."

Freed paused at that, then his gaze sharpened.

"What do you mean?" He asked, voice cutting. "What does he intend to do."

"Oh, I don't think I want to tell you yet," Jackal laughed. "I just heard that Ivan needs a nice little powerhouse for the rest of the fight and has his eyes on little Laxus. But once he's won, he doesn't need him anymore. And he had a lot of plans for traitors, and your Lightning God is the most traitorous little fucker of all. I won't tell you all of what he'll go through. But I think that it will be spectacular, I just wished I could see it."

There was a moment of silence. Then Freed saw red.

Everything that had happened since the war began flashed into his mind. The endless slaughter of innocent people. The forced involvement of his lover. The decisions made to force his friends into the fray. The slow but persistent chipping away at his kindness. The cruelty shown by all who were involved. Everything was twisted and wrong.

And here, before him, was Jackal. An orchestrator of this hellish existence. A manipulator and abuser.

Someone who deserved agony.

He slammed his hand forward again, eyes glowing. Darkness swirled up his arm and manipulated his flesh, replacing his skin with fur and talons and his hand with a claw. He reached out with a snarl, his drumming heartbeat drowning out the sound of Jackal's laughter. His claw dug into the man's chest, ripping open his flesh as if it were nothing. He dug in further, cutting through the flesh, muscle, and bone before finding his target, and he grabbed it.

The man's heart.

He pulled.

Jackal screamed.

Blood dripped from both the wound and the organ, before Jackal slumped. The removed of a heart was a way of killing the undead. It would ensure that the body and soul were split apart again, and couldn't be returned. The rest of the soul's partial existence would be agony. An infinite hell preserved by the last flickers of consciousness.

Freed dropped the organ, letting it fall to the ground. He spun on his heel and allowed the body to slump and bruise in chains, not sparing the angel another glance.

After leaving the room, his boots clicked on the marble as he walked down a corridor. Either side was a stained-glass depiction of both Evergreen and Bickslow, decorations that hadn't been there before. The castle was trying to tell him something, apparently. Either a warning or a judgment on his morality. Freed spared them a glance but stormed through it without much care for his friend's depictions.

At the end of the corridor, he slammed the door shut. The corridor crumbled to nothing behind him, destroying the glass visages of his friends as it did. It was just wreckage in his wake.

~~~

The hand with which Freed removed Jackal's heart was his right. The 'Knight of Judgement' art piece portrays his right hand as being overtaken by thorn like chains, showing the affect the darkness had on him. It acts as judgment for what he did, and when he allowed his cruelty to overtake him and taint his actions.

After that day, Freed was changed. This art piece shows it.

Although it is argued as to whether Freed's actions were justified or not, it is almost unanimous that this was the only time Freed acted solely out of blind rage and anger. This was the only time in the war where he lost himself entirely to his emotions.

Also often disputed is why Freed had destroyed the corridor leading to the torture tower. Some claim he did so because he wished the block his path from the room off so that he could move on from what he had done and not repeat it. Others claim it was a clear objection to the judgment of Bickslow and Evergreen through their stained-glass visages. Either way, the corridor was one room that was never fixed after its destruction.

Despite the fact Freed never acted out of blind anger again, his mind did not heal immediately. The following weeks, he secluded himself in his castle. No demons nor humans were allowed in. The doors were replaced by walls, the windows bricked up, and moat surrounding it filled with melted stones and magma. He had finalised his own prison.

His self-destruction and seclusion continued for a while longer, the precise time is unknown. What is known is that the next time Freed would see any other creature is the return of his demons to the Netherworld, which is often where the story of the end of the war is said to begin.

Levy McGarden; An Examination and Retelling of the Fiorean Gods

~~~

There was something wrong in the Netherworld.

It was the first thing that Bickslow and Evergreen noticed when they returned. There was a certain edge to the atmosphere that hadn't been present before. Whereas previously the Netherworld had been welcoming by design – death was jarring enough, why make the new environment hostile to the deceased – now it was darker and sharper almost. It was no longer the bustling city it had once been, but instead was a shell of itself, an endless expanse of buildings.

Two demons glanced at each other with concern. The people who should have populated the streets were nowhere to be seen, the ever-present sound of talking that came with humans had been lost, and the feeling of loneliness was practically palpable.

Their immediate concern was for their God.

As they flew through the streets, they could see the dead were in their homes. Some people were working the farms needed to keep food, but only the bare minimum. The Netherworld was a skeleton of what it once was, and everything the two demons saw were making them more worried for their friend. Freed had done whatever he could to make the place better than this, so to see what had happened in their absence was more than concerning.

"Maybe we should have stayed with him," Bickslow sighed. "At least one of us."

"There's no point in dwelling on that," Evergreen said, looking at the abandoned streets with a frown. "We should just get to him as soon as we can and try and help him."

"Guess we should."

The demons sped up their flight through the city, both wearing expressions of concern as they got nearer and nearer to the castle where their God resided. As the building became more than just a silhouette, they both looked at it with wide eyes.

Whereas previously it had been somewhat welcoming, it now stood both secluded and crumbling. The windows had been replaced by bricks, the moat had been expanded to the point where the castle was on its own island, and the drawbridge was lifted and bolted upright. The brickwork was cracked, and it was clear some of the more vulnerable pieces of stone had fallen to the ground below. Doors were removed and any form of entrance seemed blocked up or destroyed. It was entirely closed off, no doubt with Freed inside.

After flitting around the top of the castle in hopes of finding an entrance, their concern grew. Freed was secluding himself. Completely.

Of course, they couldn't allow this. Freed was a man more emotional than he would openly admit, and clearly the toll of the war was affecting him greatly. Worse, he was a powerful man, and it would be entirely possible that Freed's seclusion could lead to something more destructive. It would only take the wrong thing to happen before Freed's emotions contorted into anger, and he use it against his subjects.

It took a little while, but after flying around the walls of the castle, they managed to find a single unblocked door. It was at the back of the castle, and only allowed access to the private garden. The place where Freed and Laxus had met.

When they entered, they saw the state of disrepair was worse inside. Carpets were muddied, dusty and torn, curtains clumped on the floor having fallen form the walls, paintings were either destroyed or removed, light had been eradicated entirely and shards of brick and stone populated the ground. It was a wreck, and the fact that Freed seemed either unaware of it or simply didn't care sent a surge of fear through the demons.

The castle was a reflection of Freed. If he didn't care about the castle, he didn't care about his own wellbeing.

Guided by the light of Bickslow's glowing souls, they quietly navigated the silent castle. They checked Freed's chambers and the study that he preferred, but saw they were both unoccupied and equally as run down as the rest of the building. They then searched more of the rooms Freed could often be found in, before walking towards the throne room. They had hoped they wouldn't need to go there, that Freed would be elsewhere, but all signs pointed that this was where he was.

Freed was never in the throne room for a good reason. It was normally the source of his anger.

When they pushed open the door, they were greeted with the sight of their God. The room itself was more ruined than any other, with streams of light flitting in through the cracks in the walls, hitting Freed in various places. Every decoration was in tatters, burned away or non-existent. The only thing still in its former glory was the throne itself, and that made Evergreen and Bickslow look on in worry. Freed hated that throne, only used it when needed, and yet now it was the only thing he was bothering to keep immaculate.

Why he was doing that they didn't know, but it wasn't going to be for a good reason.

Freed himself looked different too. His face was emotionless, his right hand replaced with an obviously demonic claw, his clothing ripped and in the same state as the castle, and his right eye was pulsating in a dark purple glow.

"You've returned," He commented, looking at his demons enigmatically.

"What the hell happened here?" Bickslow demanded, looking around in almost disbelief.

"Progress," Freed shrugged, not moving from his throne. "I had something of a realisation. Call is an epiphany if you want to romanticise it."

"Okay," Evergreen said slowly, approaching Freed with something akin to caution. Freed raised an eyebrow at that. "And what did you realise."

"That humans brought this upon themselves," Freed said plainly. "They worship these Gods without care for the consequences. They build up their dammed egos to the point where they believe that their Gods can do no wrong, and the Gods believe them right back. They're complicit in their own destruction. They have a hunger for mistreatment, whether they're aware of it or not, and I have granted them their wish. I expect they're thrilled at what they've got."

"Freed, that ain't-" Bickslow began, but Evergreen put a hand on his arm to stop him. They needed the full story before they could help.

"Why did you let the castle get like this?" She asked.

"I didn't see the point in maintaining it," Freed stated, looking at his demons with almost curiosity. "Nobody but me is going to see it, and I don't particularly care for the frivolities of it all. Why waste the effort in making it look respectable if there's nobody to appreciate it?"

"And the moat?" Bickslow prompted.

"There were complaints about the way I was changing things, and people thought it wise to try and change my mind," Freed sighed, in annoyance most likely. "The moat acts as a deterrent. There's no way to approach me, and those who try will have their bodies boiled. It proved quite effective, after the first few attempts were unsuccessfully made."

"And why remove the windows?"

"Predominantly to further keep out anyone who wished to try their luck in speaking with me," Freed glanced at where a window had once been, then back to his demons. "And partly because the light seeping in was a bother. I can see without it; it was simply a functionality for the human's ease. Unneeded now."

The two demons shared a look. They had perhaps expected a blind rage from their God, but this calm, detached nature was a lot more concerning. It was as if all the emotion had been sapped out of him.

"What made you do this Freed?" Evergreen asked, stepping closer again. Bickslow did the same.

"I told you, I came to a greater understanding of the world," Freed shrugged. "Humans are addicted to pain and turmoil. They bring it upon themselves so it makes their short existences seem worthwhile; they force agony on themselves so that they can feel better when they get rid of it. I have been a crutch to them, and they haven't earned my help, so I have removed it from them. I have also removed their influence from me."

While Evergreen looked at their God with concern, Bickslow's eyes widened and he felt a rush of guilt wash over him. He had seen emotions of all type in humans, both repressed and volatile, and he knew what Freed was doing. He was a man of pride and duty, and he wouldn't allow his true feelings to be known to anyone. But it was plain to see that he was lonely.

Bickslow and Evergreen had left him alone when he was struggling. He was more alone than he had ever been, and he had closed himself off.

Perhaps he thought that emotions were the reason he was hurting so much on his own, and was trying to remove their influence from him. Perhaps he just wasn't thinking straight, and his self-inflicted seclusion from the world had led him to make stupid decisions. But it was very clear what was happening; Freed was angry and lonely and didn't know how to deal with it, so was lashing out at the world.

Walking up to Freed, he was met with an inquisitive eyebrow raise and nothing more. Before Freed could stop him, the demon wrapped his arms tightly around the man, pulling him into a tight hug.

Freed went rigid against Bickslow's chest and for a moment he was unmoving.

"I'm sorry we left you," Bickslow stated softly, and his voice quivered. "And I'm sorry you're having to go through all this shit with nobody to understand how hard it is for you. And I'm sorry that people constantly undermine you. I'm sorry we haven't been here for you and I promise we won't do that to you again. But we are here for you, and we love you."

A sob slipped through Freed's lips.

He wrapped his arms tightly around Bickslow, clinging to him as if he might disappear. Bickslow tightened his own grip, and allowed Freed to press his face into his torso for as long as he needed. He was probably crying, and most likely wouldn't end the hug until he stopped. That was fine, he could deal with that.

Evergreen had walked over and was gently stroking Freed's back, and the two demons shared a sympathetic look. They knew now that one of them should have stayed behind to look after him, they knew that Freed wasn't as in control as he liked to think and should have anticipated he might need help.

But like Evergreen had said earlier, they couldn't focus on that.

Eventually Freed did remove himself from the hug, and the dampness around his eyes told Bickslow that he had indeed cried. They didn't comment on anything as Freed rubbed the back of his left hand against his face, cleaning it slightly and making himself look more presentable. The glowing in his right eye diminished now, but the effect of his time alone was still obvious in both the castle and in his demonic right arm.

"I shouldn't need to rely on you," Freed whispered. "And I'm sorry that I do."

"Everyone needs people, Freed," Evergreen said softly. "And the people who think otherwise are the people who start wars and bring cruelty for no reason. You are not one of those people."

"But what I've done over the last-"

"Anything you've done can be fixed, Freed," Bickslow firmly stated, leaving no room for argument. "You're allowed mistakes, more than anyone. People can forgive you and move on, they're good at that."

Freed thought for a moment, before ducking his head in defeat. Evergreen patted his shoulder while Bickslow ruffled the top of his already messy head. Freed chuckled slightly at the action, though his heart was barely in it. The demons wished that they could do more to help their friend, but he could only heal himself. And, unfortunately, part of that healing process would involve the God's lover, something which Freed would soon find out about.

"We found Laxus," Evergreen said after Freed looked up again. The man's head snapped towards her. "And I'm going to need you to promise to keep calm."

"If he okay?" Freed demanded, regret replaced by a small mixture of fear and anger.

"He's alive," Bickslow said calmly, and the lack of affirmation of anything better made Freed tense. "A couple of weeks ago, he was captured by Ivan's forces. They're using him against Makarov, we're not exactly sure how, but they're managed to draw his lightning out of him against his will."

Freed's eyes went hollow as he thought back to what Jackal had said. If captured, they would use Laxus for as long as needed, before killing him.

"Are they hurting him?"

"Yes," Evergreen sighed, placing a hand on Freed in the hope of calming him. "We're not sure, but we think they're using some kind of torture to get him to use his lightning."

"We couldn't save him on our own, he's heavily guarded," Bickslow confessed, looking at the floor with an angered expression. "We did what we could, but we had to leave. We came here immediately because you needed to know. I'm sorry we couldn't save him."

"What exactly are they doing to him?" Freed said, standing up.

"They've got him in chains, and when we were there they were constantly beating him," Evergreen explained softly, watching as Freed moved. "There's these things, they look like crystals, which looked like they were coming from his back and his chest. Every time he was hit, and a spark of lighting came across him, the crystals picked it up and sent it into a metal structure. We think it's a weapon, a lightning canon of some kind."

"They're beating him," Freed echoed quietly. "They're torturing him."

Many things happened next.

The castle seemed to shift around them, stone cracking against stone, shards of glass and rubble lifting from the air and floating towards the walls, ruined tapestries and curtains reforming and returning to their previous places around the room. Light streamed into the room where the windows now reformed. The room was just as it once had been, in its perfected glory, and both demons felt the rumble of movement through the castle that told them the entire building was the same.

Freed himself changed too. Any signs of him being haggard or exhausted were removed, and replaced with perfection. He stood upright, tall, and proud. He was more regal and God-like in that moment than he had ever been.

Two sharp, curved horns twisted out of his head, parting his hair. His eye glowed bright as he looked back to his demons, an expression of barely restrained fury on his face. Air seemed to twist around him and darken, as if magically inclined to support his rage and passion. He was not just a God, at that moment. He was a warrior.

"I will speak to my people," Freed proclaimed, turning on his heal and started to move through his castle.

"And say what?" Evergreen asked, sprouting wings to keep up with him.

"To announce that we will no longer be passive in this war," Freed stated, motioning to the drawbridge which fell with a dramatic shutter, lava sloshing around it. "They have captured the man I love and are using his gifts to slaughter innocent people. His own father is responsible and will show no guilt nor compassion. This war has been happening for years and has twisted those who have been dragged into it. It is a blight on anyone who has seen it yet was born of the whim of two egotists. But it will continue no more."

"What are you gonna do?" Bickslow questioned as Freed walked out of his castle for the first time in months.

"I will bring hell to them," Freed proclaimed. "And anyone who dares try and stop me will do battle with the devil himself."

~~~

The day the doors to the Netherworld opened was the day the war ended. The day Freed ended it.

It was a momentous occasion, one which will forever be recognised in history. The day that the God of Death saw the war for the first time, and decided that he would end it. The day where the dead fought for the living. The day the leading Gods were shown for what they were; weak and uncaring to those below them.

On that day, Freed became a fighter. The horns he grew symbolised that, both as a reflection of the helmets worn by warriors as well as a clear declaration of his strength. The God was a weapon, something dangerous and to be feared. He had no weaknesses, no vulnerabilities. He was something that could not be destroyed by lesser beings, not could be looked down upon. Freed was often assumed to be an incompetent leader of the Netherworld by other Gods, but in that moment he was more devilish than any God could hope to be.

That day, everything Freed did struck fear into the hearts of Gods.

The day the doors to the Netherworld opened was often feared. In prophecy it claimed to be the day the dead rose to overtake the living, angered by their treatment and mortality. Even Gods were taught to fear the opening of hell.

And when it happened, a shiver went through the world.

And even a God as twisted as Ivan Dreyar felt fear.

Levy McGarden; An Examination and Retelling of the Fiorean Gods

~~~

Ivan was a bastard.

Laxus had always thought this, ever since he had realised just how much of his life had been manipulated by his father. The man was a cruel and vindictive person, doing whatever he wanted and hurting anyone he could just to get his own way. The only thing that he had ever thought of was the best way to achieve his own goals, all of which were only designed to increase his power and influence. He had never been a good person.

But now, he was more than just cruel. He was more than just a bastard. He was evil. There was no other term for what he was doing, no other way to describe him.

He had captured Laxus himself. He's set up a diversion, starting a battle on the land and murdering an entire town of humans just for the sake of it. Laxus had taken to the skies to stop the forces, but had apparently left himself open for attack, and Ivan had taken the chance. One of his angels had put Laxus to sleep, and the thunder God had awoken in his father's clutches.

When he had woken up, he was in chains. The room was small and filled with smoke, something of an engine room Laxus guessed. He didn't have time to dwell on that, as when he looked down to see a large, jagged blue crystal had been sewed into his skin. He had panicked instantly, lightning crackling across his skin. It flickered towards the crystal and was absorbed by it, skittering up a large metal column that he was wired up to. It wasn't hard to understand what was happening, this was some way for his father to steal his lighting and use it for whatever he pleased.

Bastard.

Over the next few days, Laxus had been forced to endure a lot. Ivan knew that his lightning was an instinctive thing, and that the easiest way to get it from him was to hurt him. Well, perhaps not the easiest, but Ivan didn't seem to care.

Beatings and threats came thick and fast, the intensity of them depending on how much lightning he needed. For one particularly large fight where the Lighting Dragon – the name he had given the weapon – was needed, Ivan had decided to take a knife to Laxus' face. No doubt a jagged scar would be there when Laxus next saw his reflection.

He tried not to think about it. He tried not to think much about anything that was happening, instead he was just focusing on trying not to show how his father was affecting him.

If nothing else, he would keep his damned dignity.

It was getting harder to do that, though.

Mostly, one of Ivan's angels had been beating Laxus, but Ivan himself sometimes did it. Today was one such day. The old man had rid himself of the metal armour he had constantly been wearing since the start of the war, and was holding something that Laxus had become all too familiar with. A two-pronged weapon that Ivan would have rested against an open flame. It was simple, vicious, and effective. So Ivan either wanted a lot of electricity today, or just wanted to hurt him.

"It really is a shame I have to do this," Ivan commented as he walked forward. "It would have been much easier if you had just followed logic and chosen to fight my side without objection. I wouldn't have had to kill you that way."

Laxus didn't speak. He wouldn't speak.

"Well, perhaps kill isn't the correct term," Ivan continued, gently running the sharp tool against Laxus' torso. "Because if I killed you, you'd go into the arms of that little harlot of yours. Rather, I'll force you into something akin to death."

Gritting his teeth, Laxus glared at his father. He didn't know how the man knew about his relationship with Freed, but it was now one of Ivan's favourite ways to torment him.

"I've a few ways in which I could do that," Ivan mused aloud. "There's burying you alive, of course. Drowning you then resuscitating you only to drown you again. I could do some experimentation on the ways in which a God can replenish their body after grievous injury. Or I could just keep you here and make an example out of you in case anybody had any thoughts about trying to usurp me. The possibilities are endless."

"Fuck yourself," Laxus growled, voice hoarse from lack of water.

"Oh, you're speaking today are you?" Ivan asked almost conversationally, pushing the prong against Laxus' new face scar. "What's got you so chatty?"

"You won't win," Laxus grunted.

"Oh I think that I will," Ivan chuckled, pushing the device further against Laxus' injury. "In fact, I think I'll win rather soon. My father is far too reliant on those angels of his. But I think by the end of the week, they'll be here with you. Think of it as a present, some company for you."

"He'll stop you."

"No. No I don't think he will," Ivan chuckled. "He's struggling already. It's why he hasn't tried to save you yet. Did you know that? There's not even been an attempt. Not even a single angel has been sent for you. Not one."

Laxus growled, and lightning flickered across his skin. The crystals hummed as they absorbed it, and Laxus winced at the fizzing sensation that he was forced to endure. Ivan laughed at the reaction, pushing the hot poker further against his sensitive skin. Laxus grit his teeth and did what he could to force back the shout of pain that was trying to fight its way out of him. His entire body was tensed up, but his father clearly saw the pain Laxus was in. He was almost revelling in it.

The sessions could last days. And with the sadistic glee that the man seemed to be taking in his pain told Laxus that today would be such a session.

He had a plethora of devices that he took delight in using. He had brought them all with him and looked through them, settling on one and raising it up.

Throughout his weeks in his father's clutches, Laxus had done whatever he could to distract himself from his pain. He focused on happier memories; those of his grandfather before he had started his war. His time in the underworld, laughing and relaxing with the Raijinshuu and his lover. It didn't stop Ivan's torture from hurting any more, but at least it was something of a distraction, as well as a comfort.

Even thinking about Freed was calming. Laxus could picture him perfectly. His sharp features, his long silky hair, his strong arms, his beautiful laughter, his ardent passion. Everything about him was perfect, and Laxus missed seeing him so damn much.

They should have spoken after Laxus had left for the war.

He might never see him again.

Shutting his eyes, he tried to let memories of his lover overtake him. The first time they had seen each other, in Freed's garden, where they had spoken about the difficulties of being a God that nobody seemed to talk about. The meals they shared together, where Freed was slowly introducing Laxus to more of the human's culture. Just lying in bed with him, side by side while relishing in the man's beauty. His everything.

He had such an overwhelming presence. When he walked into a room, Laxus could feel him there. Freed had once said that Laxus had an aura to him; something about humidity and a chill. Laxus thought Freed had one too; a level of coolness, like the feeling of running your hand through moss. There was also a smell of damp stone, which was slight and barely noticeable to anyone but Laxus.

It was almost like he could feel it now.

Then, after a moment, he realised he could feel it.

He opened his eyes to see that Ivan had stopped his torment, and was looking around with confusion. Laxus suddenly felt a familiar feeling of comfort overtaking him. The feeling he got whenever he had entered the Netherworld. It was like he was there, with Freed beside him. With his moss like coolness and his stone scent. It was as if the Netherworld was bleeding into the world of the land of the living.

Then, Laxus realised what was happening.

He couldn't help it. He laughed.

"What?" Ivan snapped, glaring at his bound son. "What is this?"

"You can feel it too," Laxus laughed again. "You wanna know what it is, huh? I don't think you'll like the answer."

"Tell me!" Ivan shouted, backhanding Laxus. The blonde kept laughing despite the hit.

"Guess you wouldn't recognise it, since you've not been down there. But that's what I feel like whenever I go down to the underworld," Laxus laughed at the look of panic that flicked onto Ivan's face. "And if we can both feel it all the way out here, I think you can guess what's happening."

"No," Ivan growled.

"The devil's coming out to claim the world," Laxus quoted from one of many prophesies about the Netherworld opening its doors. "I wonder how happy he'll be when he finds out what you've been doing to me."

Laxus continued laughing while Ivan slowly looked towards him, before flicking on his heel and walking out of Laxus' chamber. Laxus allowed his limbs to fall limp in his bounds, closing his eyes and allowing the sensation of Freed to overtake him. Even in the situation, with the residual pain from Ivan's attacks, this was the most comfortable he had felt in months.

Freed was coming. And, at least for Laxus, that meant hope.

~~~

Often, this is where people being telling the story of how the war ends.

The gates to the Netherworld open, the God of Darkness walks out of his domain and lays judgment on those who have caused slaughter. The suffering ends and the war is finished. In the retelling of the God's of Fiore, this is one of the most famous and important moments of history. This is reflected in poems, songs, artwork, and stories told about it.

Again, the 'Knight of Judgement' reflects this.

The dagger laden with an all-seeing eye is a reflection of the strength that he showed in these moments. It is often referred to as the Blade of Judgement. Both the way Freed saw the injustices in the world, and how he punished them. It encapsulates how, in that moment, he was both Judge, Jury and Executioner.

A role which ended the war and gifted him the title 'God of Judgement'.

Levy McGarden; An Examination and Retelling of the Fiorean Gods

~~~

The opening of the Netherworld was near apocalyptic.

From the depths of the ocean walked forward an endless army of corpses. They were all unkillable, without fear nor regret, and brandishing weapons that could kill angels and humans alike. Above them floated their souls, warping and swirling through the air as dark purple fire. The fire of a soul cannot touch a living creature, and thus acted further as weapons against the oncoming fight.

Waves sloshed and churned as the water was toyed with, the armada of bodies waling atop the surface. The boats of the already fighting fleets were taken on the whim of the seas, losing all control, and becoming useless. They creaked and moaned in protest, but the sound fell to nothing.

Instead, there was silence.

The shadow of the God of Death loomed over the entire battlefield. His size was monolithic, and he looked down upon the living with an expression of calm, quelling rage. He towered over both men and mountains alike, and the ferocious wind of battle hit him and flung back the endless green hair that seemed to merge with the cloak he wore. It plastered against the surface of the sea, and the Death God slowly walked forward, creating waves of tidal size with each movement.

The waves gained a purple sheen to them, both by the shade of the God and the aura he exuded. The sensation of death and the Netherworld was slowly tainting the land of the living.

In that moment, eclipsed by the sun behind him and looking on the living with a sneer, he was more of a God than he had ever been. And it seemed everyone who saw him wouldn't dare deny the fact, as they looked upon the man with fear.

With every step, the fighting stopped.

The Death God looked at the congregation before him. At Gods and angels and humans fighting a war that should have never happened. How they had been twisted by pointless agendas and how many of them had been turned to savages. How once good people now saw the removal of life as an everyday occurrence, or even pleasure, rather than the travesty that it was.

Life ending should not be seen as a possibility. It should not be seen as something required for the future. It should be seen as something that only nature and time should control. These Gods had removed fate's hand in death, and for that they must be punished.

"Stand before me, Gods," The Death God demanded, voice echoing through the ocean.

He waited a moment. Nobody came, it felt like nobody moved.

Lifting his hand, the Death God allowed swirls of magic to form around him. Runic lettering fluttered through the air, a language of the Gods often thought to be lost or dead, at his control. They shot off in two directions, hunting down the Gods responsible for the war. A moment later they returned to him, this time carrying two men in their grasps, who struggled against them. The bounds were tight around the ruling Gods, and the Death God looked to them with indignation.

The last time he had seen them in person was when he had stormed form their meeting. He had forgotten just how human they looked. How pathetic they looked. But they had caused such destruction and heartbreak, and all for nothing.

They were ants compared to him.

"Look upon your creation," Freed demanded, making a gesture which turned the two men around.

They were forced to look over the battlefield that they had made. A battlefield Freed had no doubt that neither man had stepped onto themselves. They saw the hordes of corpses Freed had at his disposal, the ocean of souls that had been ripped from their bodies because of the whims of the two men, the angels and Gods that would soon be dead as well, the blood that had stained both the hands of the fighters and the water itself.

"Do you deem your actions good?" He asked, voice loud enough for everyone fighting to hear.

"Not damn near enough," Ivan snarled struggling against the runes keeping him in place.

With a quick hand gesture, Ivan was flung forward. He was tiny in comparison to the Death God, and struggled under the intense gaze of the man who controlled him. He sent a defiant glare to the other man, who looked at him without pity nor fear. He showed no emotion at all.

"Repeat yourself," The Death God demanded.

"I said it ain't near enough," Ivan growled, and the runes tightened around him slightly. "This world needs to change, or it'll die, and I'm the man who's going to change it. And no corpse fucking Demi-God is going to stop me."

"Still with the same insult. You're a tiresome man, Ivan Dreyar," The Death God chuckled, but his face showed no humour.

"I will slaughter you like I have anyone who has gotten in my way," Ivan spat, wincing as the runic bounds got tighter still.

"Like you would your own son?" Makarov spoke up, voice gravely and a growl. "You're disgusting."

"You raised a deviant, old man," Ivan growled to his father. "How you can be proud of him is astonishing to me. You should have killed him at birth, for all the good he's done to either of us. I am proud I have done what is required of me, and once this imposition is dealt with I will finish my work and end his disrespect."

With closed eyes, the Death God sent another flurry of runes to find Laxus. It might take longer, Ivan no doubt kept him hidden, but they would find him.

"He is the only good thing you've done," Makarov continued. "And when I found out whatever you've done to him you will be beaten for each scratch you're responsible for; you can be sure of that."

"It's a shame that you will not live to see that opportunity," Ivan retorted.

"Silence!" The Death God yelled. "You are both unimportant, inconsequential in this war from this point on. Neither of you will make an order, demand, or bring further death. You are both to be silent. Unless you wish to fight me, your war is over."

"You couldn't begin to fight me," Ivan spat, looking to the Death God again.

"Yes, I could," The God snarled back, and Ivan flinched at the sudden emotion. "You, Ivan Dreyar, are nothing but a bug that I could crush beneath me. I have an infinite army of souls and corpses, all rotten by your manipulation. They feel rage and anger towards you that is unrivalled, and that fury will drive them to be more vicious and cruel than your most twisted of dreams.

"My soldiers are unkillable, and immovable. They cannot be reasons with nor can they be stopped. And with every life my soldiers take, we recruit another. And endless spiral of people who can and will put an end to your power, Mr Dreyar."

As the Death God spoke, the bounds around both Makarov and Ivan got tighter. The latter seemed to struggle with breathing now.

"I am more a God than you could ever wish to be, and I will do whatever is needed to end your tyranny on this land," The death God growled, lowing his gaze on the man with sadistic calm. "So help me I will bring rule on it myself if that is what's required of me."

And it would be easy, oh so easy to do it.

He could shape the world in his image, remove those who would cause harm and destruction onto it in the same way that Ivan had to him. He would remove the judgement and prejudices that had plagued his own life, and preach better ideals to his subjects. He could be both the king of the Netherworld and the living.

A flutter of runes suddenly appeared before him, and there stood Laxus.

The God was naked, revealing the extent of his injuries. Scars and bruises and cuts and burns populated his skin where previously there had been none. Marks that connoted restraints were still visible around his arms and legs, and his exhaustion told the Death God that Laxus had not slept nor rested since his capture. He looked more vulnerable than he had ever been, and something inside the God of Death's heart broke at the sight.

He couldn't be the ruler of the living.

Because wanting that might twist him into someone who could hurt another in the way Ivan had hurt Laxus.

All he could be was himself.

Freed made a motion with his hand, his body twisting to its normal size as he stepped through the air. He brought Laxus into his arms and grasped him tight, the two Gods holding one another as if their lives depended on it. They buried their faces into the other's neck, not speaking nor sobbing. But they both felt a rush of exhaustion, relief, and joy flood through them as they were brought together again.

Laxus shook in his arms slightly, and Freed made a quiet promise to him that he would do whatever he could to help the God. Laxus nodded into Freed's neck and pressed his lips against it, feeling a sense of safety that he hadn't in months. A sense of home.

"Fucking disgusting," Ivan rasped.

Pulling away, Freed removed his cloak and wrapped it around Laxus, who took in the warmth of the clothing readily. Freed looked towards the two elder Dreyar's with anger on his face again. Ivan had a sneer which he was trying to maintain despite losing his breath, and Makarov was looking at the display between Laxus and Freed with an expression of confusion and disbelief. Freed ignored it as best he could as he walked towards the two bound men.

"Ivan Dreyar," He began, walking to the struggling man first. Ivan stared directly at him in some ridiculous display of ego. "You are made of cruelty and nothing more. Your actions are done without repent nor regret. Your goals are selfish and the way you attempt to realise them are evil. You have shown no guilt nor understanding of what you have done. What do you say to this?"

"Fuck you," Ivan grunted, the bounds getting tighter and tighter.

"Very well," Freed sighed, raising his left hand. "You cannot be changed. You cannot be fixed. You cannot be trusted. Therefore, you will be killed."

"You can't kill a God," Ivan laughed, and Freed shook his head.

"No. You can't kill a God," He took a step forward. "I can."

The runes around the God started to glow, burning into him. They spiralled around him, their lettering blurring into purple bands that tore into his skin. The sound of their humming could only do so much as to mute out his screaming as his flesh was torn open and scolded. The process was soon covered by a blurring purple halo of runes, which died away a moment later and left Ivan's body desecrated, cut apart and scolding. His soul started to rise from his body, but Freed ripped it open with a flick of his wrist, dismissing it entirely. He would get no afterlife, nor did he deserve one.

Freed turned slowly towards Makarov, who was looking on the body of his son with a look more disappointed than grieving. He looked towards Freed and his expression seemed to be one of acceptance. At least he had some morality left.

"Makarov Dreyar," Freed continued. "In this war, you chose to fight for the freedom of the people you govern. But by doing so, you forgot the value of life. It became unimportant, and people just tools for your victory. Furthermore, you dragged other Gods into this fight and infected them with your violent mindset. You were both complicit and responsible for the deaths of many, and you will be punished accordingly."

"I understand," Makarov hung his head.

"Wait," Laxus said, voice slightly hoarse. "You don't need t'–"

"Let me finish," Freed put a gentle hand up to quell his lover, still looking at Makarov. "This world needs a ruler, and you were once a good one. Throughout the war you have been changed from who you once were, and you need to become that man again. You must relearn the value of a human life, and how important kindness and respect are. Furthermore, you must learn that you are not above the humans, rather their servant and protector. Do you agree?"

"I do."

"Then your punishment will be this," Freed continued. "You will walk this land, and see every inch of it. You will see every human that walks upon it. You will see heartbreak and joy and birth and death and understand it as every human does. No living creature will see you, and you will walk alone. You will use this time to reflect on your actions, and how better you will serve these people. Once you have seen every corner of the land, we will meet again, and I will determine if you're ready to rule. In the time before that happens, your grandson will take the place as Leader of the Gods temporarily, and I will act as his advisor."

Makarov nodded with his head bowed. He seemed to understand that this was a kindness. A mercy. Nothing more.

"Before you leave, I'm sure that your grandson will wish to speak with you. Take the opportunity while you still have it."

He released the runes that were holding Makarov in place, and the two Dreyar's walked through the air and towards one another. Freed watched as they pulled each other into their arms and hugged, Makarov whispering what Freed could only assume was an apology. Laxus seemed to have forgiven him, so long as he accepted what Freed was suggesting was the right thing to do. When Makarov assured him that he would come back a better man, Freed felt a sense of relief. He had mainly offered Makarov the chance at redemption for Laxus' sake.

After the two men had said their goodbyes, Freed made a gesture with his hand and the older God was swirled in runes, taken somewhere on the land that hadn't been completely destroyed by the war, so his punishment could begin.

Laxus and Freed walked towards each other, and rested their foreheads together. They stood in silence for a moment, relishing in each other's presence in such a way that they hadn't been able to do for months. To be together again, in one another's arms, was such a strong relief neither had expected, but both needed so damn much. Neither man was willing to let go, and Freed slowly leant up and pressed his lips against Laxus', uncaring of who saw it.

Kissing his lover was euphoria.

Evergreen and Bickslow, who had watched Freed's proclamations from the side-lines, slowly flew towards both men. When they broke their kiss and pulled the other close, both demons were dragged into the embrace with them. Freed felt tears prickle at his eyes because of it.

The three people he loved more than anything were here with him again. At his side.

"I love you all," He whispered into someone's head. "So much."

They stayed in each other's arms for a time, before eventually pulling apart and looking at the battlefield before them. The fighting had stopped – it felt like the world itself had stopped – and everyone was looking at them. Looking at Freed in particular.

He took a step forward from his loved ones, and made the proclamation to everyone involved in the fight.

The war, finally, was over.

~~~

It was in those moments that Freed gained the title of the God of Judgment. Where he looked at the actions of the two Gods and sentenced them for their crimes. He looked into their souls and saw darkness in one, and potential for good in the other. He used this judgment to change the course of history for the better, and for that the world should be thankful.

His judgment did not end there. In the ensuing days he had every major fighter of the war take council with him, from both sides of the fight. He judged them both on their ability to be good and the possibility for reformation. He devised punishments suited for them all.

Thus, he became the God of Judgement. This is reflected in the 'Knight of Judgment' art piece by the reflection of the scales of justice. The two skulls represent the value someone puts on a life, something pivotal for Freed's own judgment.

This is where some might end the story.

However, this is not an appropriate stopping point for the life of Freed Justine. As established, his actions were heavily influenced by those he loved. It is, in my view, important to explore how these relationships evolved and changed after he had ended the war. Thus, the story continues and ends more happier than some historians may tell you.

Levy McGarden; An Examination and Retelling of the Fiorean Gods

~~~

"At last, you're here!"

At Evergreen's exclamation, Freed chuckled. He walked into the garden of his castle, where a small table had been set up on the patio beside the pond. Both of his demons were already sitting there, and most likely had been waiting for a little while for both him and his lover to leave the castle to meet with them.

They did this once a week. They put aside an afternoon to meet up, talk, and share a drink.

Freed had been the one to suggest it. His time alone in the castle had made him realise a lot of things, and one was just how important his loved ones were. His castle was large, and felt larger when he was alone. He had relied on their support more often that he would have previously admitted, and wanted to treat them better than he had in the past. This was his solution.

There were rules for the meetings. No talking about their various duties. They couldn't bring a bad attitude with them. They had to try something new from human culture each time.

The reason both Freed and Laxus were late was, as the God's in charge of a post-war earth, they always had a lot of work to do. Today was no exception; they had spoken to two of Makarov's high-ranking angels about what they had done during the war and what they should do next to become better. It had taken longer than they had expected, but thankfully for no other reason than one of the angel's had arrived late. Laxus and Freed had done their job and walked from the throne room to the garden quickly, side by side.

"Apologies for the lateness," Freed spoke. "Apparently timekeeping isn't something Mr Fullbuster excels at."

"You know the rules. No work talk," Bickslow chastised, though he grinned.

"Yeah Freed," Laxus chuckled into Freed's ear. "You know the rules."

Freed shook his head, half tempted to point out their short walk to the patio had been dominated by Laxus muttering about the angel in question not arriving on time. Instead, he took his seat close to the pond and absent flicked his eyes over the table. It had been Bickslow's job to decide what part of living culture they would be exploring today, and he usually went for something that could be eaten. Today was no different.

Seemingly picking up on Freed curiosity, Bickslow handed him an empty glass and plate. He poured fresh lemonade into the glass from a pitcher, and then cut a slice of chocolate cake and placed it on the plate. Freed quirked an eyebrow at the cake.

"We're meant to try something new, with the intention of expanding our knowledge of their culture," Freed commented. "The last three times you've been in charge, we've had cake."

"Different recipes," Bickslow grinned. "And if you say it doesn't count, then you're disregarding the time and effort put into this recipe in particular. Which is a real dick mood if you ask me."

"You really are intolerable sometimes, aren't you," Freed chuckled, shaking his head.

After that, they fell into the normal routine of these meetings. They talked, joked, teased fun at each other and enjoyed an afternoon without responsibility. It was a welcome break for them all, and each of them were glad when Freed had proposed they do it. Particularly Evergreen and Bickslow, who had been taking on the slack that Freed's occasional absences had left in the Netherworld.

Although there was no setting sun in Freed's realm, it was clear that the evening was turning to night by the gradual quieting of the world outside the castle. People were returning to their homes to sleep, as their bodies demanded.

Returning the netherworld to its old state had been a large undertaking after the war had ended. First, Freed had been forced to merge the souls back together with their bodies after they had been split for his army, which had taken weeks of literal endless work. Then he had to get back to bringing the culture of the Netherworld to its lively state. The first thing he had done was to make a general apology to everyone for his angered and dismissive behaviour as of late. He then made personal apologies to those in particular he had wronged.

He did so reluctantly to the woman who complained about her neighbour stealing her food.

It was slow and somewhat arduous, but it was working. Slowly he was regaining their respect and improving the Netherworld from what it had once been. There were now more decorations lining the streets, as well as more placed to gather and be social. The open-air marketplace and cafés were particularly popular, and had been very helpful in making the Netherworld feel more human. They had been Laxus' idea.

"Okay," Laxus said, stretching his arms as he stood up. "It's getting late, and we all know that if we don't leave soon Bix'll start teasing Ever about the big guy she likes, and I don't wanna pull them apart again. So I think I'm gonna call it a night."

"I do not like him," Evergreen exclaimed.

"And teasing her about him is my favourite part of the evening!" Bickslow whined.

"Well, perhaps we'll allow you to do it when you don't decide to get us a chocolate cake for us to eat again," Freed said with a smirk, and Bickslow pouted at him. "I think I might be done for the night too."

The Death God stood up also, and moved beside Laxus. The Thunder God grinned and wrapped an arm around his lover, giving a curt wave to Freed's demons after they bid the two Gods farewell. Freed also wished them both a pleasant night as a pure white cloud appeared above the perfect garden, a stream of lighting slamming down and hitting them both, absorbing them inside of it and transporting them to Laxus' own home.

A moment later, they walked through to Laxus' bedroom. The entire place was open and airy, modelled after the architecture of the buildings from the Greek islands. It was a pleasant place, and Freed wouldn't deny he enjoyed the view from above the clouds.

Glancing down, Freed's eyes landed on a large map of the earth placed upon a plinth. It was partly coloured black, signifying where Makarov had walked as part of his punishment. He was making his way across the land, slowly but certainly. When he caught him looking at it, Laxus wrapped an arm around Freed's waist from behind.

"How long d'you think it'll take?" The Thunder God asked.

"About a year, at this rate," Freed said, turning in Laxus' arms and resting against his lover. "Do you miss him?"

"A bit, but he's gonna be better for doing it," Laxus shrugged.

"I hope so," Freed smiled, leaning up and placing his lips against Laxus' in a chaste kiss.

Both smiling with expressions bordering on lovesick, they pulled apart, slid out of their outfits, and climbed into the sun-warmed sheets of Laxus' bed. Laxus pulled Freed into his arms softly, pressing their lips together in another soft kiss before they both closed their eyes. Freed shifted closer to him, letting out a quiet yawn and allowed sleep to overtake him.

And, in the arms of his lover, filled with the warm love of his friends, the God of Death and Judgement found rest.

Again, the amazing artwork in this was made by @fairiesherefairiesthere and you should reblog it and show them so much love.

#fairy tail reverse bang #Ftrbb2020 #fraxus #freed justine #Laxus Dreyar #Bickslow #evergreen #freed x laxus #fanfic #fairy tail #writing #one shot #gods and goddesses #fariesherefariesthere #art #event #Morally questionable actions #descriptions of torture #happy ending

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