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Violet Evergarden Ever After: Chapter 2

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The Night and the Auto-Memories Doll

Everything went around.

From past to present and from present to future. The dead bodies that decayed within the soil would dissolve into the earth, and from the earth, too, would new living creatures be born. Within a few hours’ time, curtains made of stars and nightly shades would be covered over by curtains in the colors of dawn.

People went around as well.

Children would be born, muster out their voices, start walking and, once they became aware of their own selves, their stories would begin. A cycle of discovering passion, coming to know love, stopping to be children and, upon sympathizing with other families, birthing offspring just as their parents had done. A cycle of learning about the world, spreading information, teaching their knowledge to younglings without sparing any of it away and generating more such younglings. A cycle in which someone’s story was someone else’s encouragement, and those who were encouraged would conceive stories of their own.

Everything went around.

There was one cycle here. It was the story of a meager cycle that likely could happen anywhere in the world.

A man picked up a wild beast from a small island to which he had drifted. It was a beautiful beast, but it had been stocked with skills long before coming to his hands. Skills for slaughtering people with ease and seeking submission.

Their first meeting was terrible. His underling had attempted to lay his hands on the beast’s beauty. As if it were a given, the beast had killed his many subordinates, leaving only one person. That was him. Granting him both disaster and salvation at the same time, the beast had sought subservience in regards to the man.

The man fled around the island where all but himself had been murdered, but gave in and accepted the beast. The beast was useful, but also an existence that he could not handle. Be it morning, noon or night, his head was troubled with the beast, his heart unable to calm down.

Essentially, he was a man who did not want to be shackled by anything. After all, he had a past of being forced into submission by his household and parents. He had escaped from his responsibilities and his home, jumping off into the sea. The man, who had been born in a family that bore the name of a flower, had run away and gained freedom.

He yearned for it – for a freedom that no one could steal from him – more than anything. Even if he had to cast away his little brother for it. Therefore, the man had done the same in the beast’s case. The one who mattered most to him was himself. He wanted to break free from that horror. Most likely, he had cut off from himself a child in need of salvation.

Everything went around.

——O God, I want to .

Everything.

A voice that sounded like bells echoed.

“Captain,” it whispered, as if to tickle the man’s ears. “Captain Dietfried Bougainvillea.”

It was evening. A time when people were returning to their homes.

“What would you like to do?”

An orange light shone from the window inlaid with stained glass. With the sunset reflected on the elaborately designed interior decoration, the place itself looked like a single work of art.

“Could it be that, because of the impact earlier, your hearing has...”

It was supposed to be. The place where the person who called out so insistently and the person who intentionally ignored her were in was an art gallery that just recently had its interior and exterior finished.

“As if.”

“I am relieved. Then, I would like to ask if you have a plan.”

In a place they were not supposed to be at, the two who were not supposed to be together were kneeling on the floor in resignation.

“Captain.”

��.............................”

“The civilians are in a predicament.”

“................................”

“Captain Dietfried Bougainvillea.”

“............”

“What would you like to do?”

“..................”

“I would like to ask if you have a plan, by any chance.”

“.....................”

“The civilians are in a predicament.”

“........................”

“If I may offer my opinion, firstly, I could act as a decoy—”

“Be quiet, monster. Don’t keep repeating the same thing over and over. Don’t breathe either. I’m thinking right now.”

Dietfried Bougainvillea, a naval captain of Leidenschaftlich, eldest son of the Bougainvillea – a household of patriotic national heroes – and the man who had picked up Violet Evergarden in the past and brought her to this country, was covering his eyes with his hands due to having too much on his plate. The little bit of silence and darkness had brought him relief, but someone’s sobbing, the voice of a man reproaching it and the sound of a person being brutally kicked and tumbling down dragged him back to reality.

He had a severe headache. Whether it was caused by his anxiety or his injury, he had no idea. He put a hand on the back of his head and examined it, but only a bit of blood had come out.

In order to somehow spit such awful mood out of his body, he took deep breaths. He felt that he had become a little better, but the unpleasant sensation returned once he opened his eyes and cast his gaze at the woman next to him. A spoon of discomfort, rejection and fear each was thrown into Dietfried’s emotional vessels, set on fire and boiled up. However, the most prominent feeling was something else.

The woman who had been talking to him so insistently until a moment ago was now quiet just and not letting out a single breath as he had told her. Violet Evergarden.

Dietfried looked fixatedly at his former servant. The woman, whose appearance had transfigured considerably in comparison to when they had first met, bore a radiantly shining cold beauty, which was even more conspicuous under such tense circumstances. She was almost like an ice sculpture, Dietfried thought.

——Even though you used to stink like a wild beast...

She now smelled of nothing but flowers.

——...you turned out just as I’d imagined.

“You’re a siren.”

Silence.

“My little brother destroyed a train station just to keep you alive; you’re a siren through and through. I’m not into you, but my mental stability is wrecked right now, and I’m sensing the harmfulness and influence that your existence brings about in that. You’re unmatched when it comes to breaking things and causing problems.”

Dietfried had once told his brother that the beast could become a siren. He had meant to say so including all sorts of matters. This young woman named Violet was a creature that God had created by mistake and had not been born under a good star. When one was by her side, there were many of them.

“Damn troublemaker.”

Many problems. Even though she had not wished for it, she had been born this way. Under a star that attracted disasters.

——It goes round. All of it.

He ran and ran from her, yet they would end up meeting, thus Dietfried had started to think that it might be some sort of divine revelation at this point. Telling him to face the girl that he had thrown away.

Violet was still, hand on her brooch. He someway guessed that it was given to her by his younger brother. He felt like clicking his tongue. This girl might become the worst-ever wife whose hand his most beloved little brother was going to take.

——We can leave that for later; gotta overthrow this situation first.

Determined to fight this reality, Dietfried then turned his gaze towards the sight that spread out before his eyes. Women, men, elderly people – everyone was crouching on the floor with guns pointed at them regardless of anything. Obviously, the same applied to Dietfried and Violet.

Unexpected situations – situations in which they could not make a false move even if they were on their own, let alone in the presence of so many civilians – were responsible for this. On top of it, Dietfried was also saddled with someone that he had to protect despite not wanting to. Of course he would feel like clicking his tongue at it.

Perhaps they were thought to be lovers, as no one said anything even while they stayed close to each other.

“Hey, did you really stop breathing?”

She did not seem to be in agony, but her figure as she diligently obeyed made Dietfried feel uneasy.

“I was joking; breathe.”

Violet’s blue eyes blinked with a snap.

“Yes.”

And then, she finally let out a breath. Dietfried hated himself for being remotely relieved that she had safely started breathing again, was what he thought.

“Hey, you.”

“Yes.”

“From now on, follow my orders. Don’t act on your own accord.”

“All right.”

“I’m gonna save the civilians. It’s my duty. There’s no helping it, so I’m counting you in that math too... No idea what my little brother would do if he found out I’d let you die. Even if it weren’t on purpose, if anything that could kill you happened under these circumstances, I really have no way of knowing what he’d do. He’d probably hate me.”

“No, Captain, he—”

“Have some self-awareness, Monster. My foolish younger brother blew up a train station to let you live. This fact did turn into a subject of teasing towards Gil for no matter how much time passes from now, but if you think about it on normal terms, it’s out of the ordinary. That’s the way you’ve changed him. Damn witch...”

She was the tool that he had found and that used to exist for his sake. A woman who used to be a dog with no name. An orphan whom he had picked up from a solitary island, brought back with him, attempted to get the most out of yet was unable to, and then threw away.

Asset. Girl soldier. Automatic assassination doll. Witch.

——Even if I don’t want to, for now, I gotta protect this thing and take it home.

“I’ll save you, so you save me too, Witch.”

Fate went around, adding a chance meeting as the best seasoning for a finishing touch. After all, at this very moment, Violet Evergarden and Dietfried Bougainvillea were being attacked by robbers and had weapons thrust at them.

“That’s awfully unpleasant for me, but I’ll take action by considering your life to be the top priority. Not for you. For my little brother.”

Understanding that she had received permission to talk once she had received permission to breathe, Violet gave her own opinion, “No.” She did it directly, without any restraint. “No, that is my job, Captain. Major... Lord Gilbert loves you.”

Dietfried’s eyes blinked. Those green orbs were staring fixatedly at Violet since earlier, enough to seem like they would suck her in. They were green jewels in a different shade from his younger brother’s. Those green gems, enveloped in shock, reflected Violet’s serious gaze.

“I shall guard you, no matter what happens,” Violet declared with resolution, like a knight. “I will obey your orders to the best of my abilities, but if I judge it to be dangerous, I shall take action with your safeguarding as the maximum priority.”

“Hey.”

“I will definitely protect you and bring you to Major safely. Please do not leave my side, Captain.”

“That’s my line,” Dietfried said while nonetheless wanting to kill Violet.

For the exchange between the two to reach this stage, things had first begun when morning visited Leidenschaftlich. This might be going back much too far in time for a clarification, but it all had indeed started since daybreak.

The morning weather was overflowing with sunlight on that day – typical of Leidenschaftlich in early summer. Early rising ladies formed queues in the bakeries that opened at dawn and little birds flew about the shops’ surroundings to receive breadcrumbs. There was a café three stores away from one of the popular bakeries, famous for serving floral teas, its signboard girl preparing to open it. If one went further ahead, there was a bank, and round said bank, there was a main street lined with large-scale shops.

An art gallery arranged to open the next day had been erected on the main street. Its name was Artemisia. It bore the name of its owner, who was an artist.

The gallery Artemisia displayed the works of its proprietor, of course, but it also had works of artists from within and abroad Leidenschaftlich. There were rows of works from unknown young artists that the owner had taken interest in as well, devoted as she was to the cultivation of new talents.

The Artemisia Gallery, which was to become a place where novel forms of Leidenschaftlich’s art would be born, was scheduled to hold a pre-opening party today, attended only by the people concerned. The gallery’s staff had started cleaning its interior and the sidewalk in front of it from morning.

Around noon, a restaurant employee hired for the sake of that day had visited, bringing in wine, snacks and table sets. As for the dishes, there were two types: the ones that had already been prepared and the ones that would be made by borrowing the kitchen of the owner’s residence, which had been built on the gallery’s top floor. Since eating was not the main focus, the preparations were merely enough for the upcoming guests not to feel hungry.

As evening came, the inside of Artemisia began to speed up with haste. If there were anyone in command of such a scenery, they would likely be asserting with a baton: “hurry”, “faster”, “elegantly”.

An envelope closed with a wax seal bearing the establishment’s crest. Customers arrived one after another with the invitation taken from inside of it at hand. For a pre-opening party with a limited number of invitees, there was a large amount of people. The elect few of Artemisia’s employees were in a flurry of activity.

“Bring me a coat” here, “not enough drinks” there, a plate breaking somewhere. “Where’s the owner?”, “Got caught by the guests”. “There’s no one to give us instructions”, “Oh, well” – just like this, things descended into chaos behind the scenes.

Normally, their job was to calmly recommend artistic goods. Therefore, they were unable to hide their bewilderment at handling so many visitors at first. Nevertheless, if one looked at the guests being entertained, how were they? Appreciating the artworks, looking like they were having a blast. Upon seeing this, the employees were able to understand deep down. That “what, so things are the same as usual”. By the time that the customers were completely familiar with the gallery’s interior, the employees were able to show smiles with a little bit of ease.

Among the guests invited to Artemisia, a foreign body completely unrelated to this world was mixed in.

It was a woman. A beautiful one at that. From an appreciative viewpoint, there would be nothing to complain about if she were one of the artworks. She was clad in a ribbon-tie one-piece dress, snow-white as a flower in full bloom on a summer day. Her long, softly curved golden hair extended to her waist. Perhaps she had come straight from work, as she held a heavy-looking trolley bag on one hand. “Click, click,” knocked her cocoa-brown boots against the marble flooring each time she took a step.

She walked while observing every artwork one by one. Idyllic landscape paintings, abstract paintings that looked like silver ink spilled on pure-white paper, oil paintings in which the people seemed as if they would move at any moment. Glassworks and ceramics that one would be very afraid even to look at from nearby. At first, the exhibition was of works from artists renowned within the country, but the small hall of its latter half integrated displays from artists who were still nameless. The woman stopped in front of one such work.

A painting of whimsical fantasy. Was it a winter sea? It depicted various things falling and sinking into dark and cold water. A pocket watch, a feather, a bed, a knife, a white flower and a chair. All were worn-out and had damaged parts. At first glance, one would not know what it was expressing. Only the boy painted in the center seemed to pierce through the viewer.

He was still a teenager and his appearance could also be considered that of a girl. After staring at him for a while, the feeling that he was supposed to be saved would surface. Because the boy had a facial expression that almost looked like he was making eye contact with the viewer as he fell. But this could not come true. He was sinking in the picture. No one on this side could do anything. One would not know what to do with themselves after looking at it – it was that kind of picture.

“Excuse me; I was the one who painted this. Is there anything wrong with this painti...”

Suddenly, a voice called to the woman from behind. A rock thrown into the quiet atmosphere. A low tone that cut through the dimness of the room.

People were mostly heading towards the famous artists, so the woman had been all by herself on that spot until just now. The man who had showed up a bit late was coincidentally the creator of that fantastical painting, and found himself talking to the woman who had stopped in front of his art. That was an extremely natural encounter for a pair. If their positions, circumstances and everything else were different, something might have been born between them. It did not have to be romantic love, just something – something else that “the two of them originally had”.

“Captain Dietfried Bougainvillea.”

The moment the woman turned around, the space resounded with a loud squeak. It actually had not resounded, but at the very least, Dietfried heard the thump of his own heartbeat, which gave his whole body goosebumps. He was enveloped in a strange sensation, as if the blood inside him were flowing backwards. One of the things he had once evaded in his life was standing there.

“What’re you doing, Monster?”

Violet Evergarden.

Before the emerald eyes that Dietfried possessed, of a hue different from his younger brother’s, there was a young female Auto-Memories Doll. The reason why he had not recognized her from the back was likely that her golden hair was slovenly loose.

He had not had a chance to see her after she had become a grown-up ever since the incident during the Flying Letters. Only people who had great amount of interaction with each other would be able to tell such a thing just by looking at someone’s back.

“I was looking at the paintings, Captain.”

Violet was expressionless. However, her hand alone promptly searched for her emerald brooch and squeezed it.

“You, paintings? Can you understand them?”

First, a scornful laugh, and then a head start with a verbal attack. She needed to put up a defense line. After all, this girl was formerly a weapon. An automatic assassination doll.

“I cannot. It is just that... my eyes and legs stopped.”

She was the one and only woman that Dietfried feared. If he had run into anyone else, his emotions would not be so disrupted.

Dietfried was scared. This girl was terrifying.

“I caused you trouble last time.”

He knew the things she had done. He knew whom she had killed. And he also recalled how he used to treat her, telling himself that it was all right.

“By asking about Major.”

Because she was a monster.

——O God, I want to .

These words wandered about in his head. They were words that he had prayed in his childhood to the one that he would meet at some point – probably in his dying moments. Thinking back on it now, it had been a foolish, immature and helpless wish, but he was serious about it at the time.

Looking at this girl made him remember his embarrassing past self.

“I shall see myself out. Captain, please take your time.”

“Hey.”

Violet had decided to retreat from the place, putting it to action. She concluded that this would be a peaceful solution for both sides and that it would secure each other’s survival.

“Hey, wait.”

However, Dietfried still had something that he wanted to say.

At the call of restraint, Violet’s feet halted mid-step. She then gazed at Dietfried. “Why?” her eyes were asking.

Choosing to leave must have been her own way of showing respect. Considering the current and the previous relationship between two of them, it was a sound judgement. Hence, she stared at him presumptuous and mutely.

Even now, it pierced Dietfried. That quiet “why” perforated him.

Despite being the one who had told her to wait, Dietfried lost sight of his next words. He had tons of complaints. Rather, complaints were the only thing that ever came out of his mouth. Most likely, he had never presented any warm words or attitude to her. No, he had at least patted her head when they parted. But what about it? That was all he had done. Which perhaps was the reason why.

——What did you think of that painting?

Just a question like this was exceptionally challenging for him. If it were anyone else, he would surely be able to ask as easily as breathing. He could also boast that he was the one who had painted it. However, only with this woman was it so difficult.

A long silence drifted between the two. A truly long, long silence.

The mood was almost like two beasts had come across each other in the wilderness and were estimating which would attack first. Both were underdeveloped and, not matching their insides, only their appearances were actually full-fledged. Seen from the sidelines, they were a beautiful adult man and woman looking at each other, but the air flowing between them was that of a battlefield.

Dietfried was starting to sweat. As for Violet, even her breathing was becoming shallower.

Violet seemed to be thinking about something. She opened and closed her mouth, repeating it several times. What should she do in that situation? What was best? She was probably unable to decide. This was something that not just Violet but also Dietfried was thinking about, yet the degree of seriousness in behavior was surprisingly higher on Violet’s side.

She would normally not be like this.

He was the person that even Violet Evergarden, who had written so many letters, was at loss as to how to act around. That was the man called Dietfried.

Perhaps her thinking had eventually arrived to a conclusion, Violet left her baggage on the floor and put her hands behind her back. “Feel free to.”

At first, Dietfried had no idea what she was doing. Violet looked like she was offering her body.

“Ha...?”

Without hesitation, almost as if she were a tool.

“I am still. Feel free to.”

“Feel free to feast on my life,” she seemed to say. Her current self overlapped with the beast of the past.

“To do what, is what I’m asking...” Dietfried’s mouth felt sticky, giving him a hard time mustering words out. His head had been occupied mostly with how to mend the blunder that he had exposed to her, so he could not respond to Violet’s surprise attack immediately.

“Do you not remember? I used to do this whenever I had to receive reprimand or punishment.”

He could not. All of the information that had been fluttering about in Dietfried’s head until now disappeared. It vanished.

“You, what the...”

The owner of the blue eyes that stared at Dietfried as if to shoot through him always did unexpected things, tossing him about.

“I did not know how to speak back then, so in order to show that I had no intention to attack you, Captain, I would do this.”

Those eyes.

“No matter what I say, surely... there is no atonement for me. With time, I have come to understand the things I... did. And how much terror I made you go through. Nevertheless, I am grateful for the kindliness of placing me under Lord Gilbert. I wish to pay you back somehow. If you say that it is unnecessary, at the very least, do as you please.”

For whatever reason, when those eyes asked him “why”...

“Be it with fists or with reproach, as much as you want.”

...his chest ached as if it had been stabbed.

“Feel free to.”

If that place were not a quiet art gallery, Dietfried would have yelled furiously at her, without caring about shame or his reputation. He managed to ball his fists hard enough for it to hurt and swallow down his angry voice due to his high level of self-respect.

“I hate that about you...”

This girl always made him aware that she would never act as he expected.

“...to death.”

At the words spoken by Dietfried’s quivering tone, Violet took a step back. Her stance of offering herself did not change, but her instincts were on-guard, wondering if she was not going to be killed by this man. Seeing that, Dietfried sneered at her figure.

“You’re the one who could choke the life out of me anytime,” he seemed to say.

Dietfried suddenly felt the heat that had gone up his head cooling down. Violet had taken a step back. That became the trigger for him to regain his composure. Because he was able to reconfirm that she was but a child in the end. This innocent aspect and action that were much like what a child would show to an adult exerted a great influence on the other party. Dietfried loathed that.

For he, who despised interventions from anyone, had so much aversion to it that it make him want to vomit.

Those who were accustomed to oppression from others would very easily choose to hurt people. She was inwardly frightened of that tendency. Yet albeit frightened, she prioritized others over herself. That creature was like a mass of contradictions.

——Disgusting. Stop. Die. Don’t look at me.

He did not want to get involved with her. But he had a mountain of things to say. However, when it came to whether or not he could properly do it, even if he managed to squeeze them out, they would turn into nothing but abusive language.

There was a large lake between the two of them and all they could do was gaze at the opposite shore, unable to tell how deep it was. Their first meeting was to blame for that. It was the cause of everything.

His underlings had attacked her and she had killed all of them. She then chased and chased after him, making him into her master. Despite there being a hierarchy, Violet was the one who had a grip over his life.

One would understand, after spending time with the girl, that this was a necessity for her. She was always like that, ever since the island only the two of them knew. Whenever anything happened, she would prioritize Dietfried. After all, even as he handed her over to Gilbert, she had not resisted.

If anything could be changed, that was the moment.

The two who never mingled with each other met again countless times in a parallel line. On such occasions, they would become unable to make a move due to shouldering the truth of rejection and of the things they had done, thus running away.

——Gilbert.

What did the person who brought the two together, whom they loved most, thought of that?

“You... I...”

——If I could change for Gilbert...

“Captain...?”

——If I could change, right here and now, for your sake...

Would it be easier for him to breathe?

Just as Dietfried was about to make a bitter decision...

“GYAAAAAAAAAH—AAAAAAH—AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!”

...an incident occurred.

It was clearly not a hasty crime. The scream of Artemisia, the owner, echoed, and by the time that Dietfried and Violet had bolted from the quiet hall where there was just the two of them, robbers were already thrusting their weapons mostly at vulnerable women and children, having them on their knees. The course of action was far too swift.

Wide-eyed, Violet swung back her trolley bag and was about to throw it at them, yet Dietfried stopped her.

“Are you stupid?! Those aren’t all adults that can run...!”

Among the hostages, there was also a little girl held under someone’s arms, looking like she did not understand the situation.

“I will save them as fast as possible and take control of the rest.”

“They’ve got guns; what’re you gonna do if they hit someone else with a warning shot?! There’s the other artworks too... This ain’t a stage for a tactless bastard like you to brawl! Just stay put for now!”

“But, Captain—”

“Stay put!”

While the two were trying to push past each other, the robbers took notice of them.

In the main hall, perhaps in order to bind people up through fear, the men were being beaten without exception, being put on their knees over the floor. Seeing that, the women naturally sat down, trembling, and began to cry.

While screams were resounding like music, one of the robbers headed towards the duo. “So there were still weeds growing here?” was the look in his eyes as he swung his firearm emotionlessly.

Dietfried would have managed to avoid it. He had done it several times until now. He could do it as easily as floating on water. If he could catch the man’s gun with one hand and pulled it just like that, he was able to picture the opponent falling over as a reaction. Once he stole the gun, he could shoot each member of the robber gang one by one in the head. And then, there would be a gunfight. He would have done that if he were alone. Yes, if he were alone.

——Why now of all times?

There was nothing more humiliating than a punch that one had to resign oneself into receiving. But he had things he had to protect above his own dignity. Thus, he accepted the attack without dodging. If he were to start a scuffle amidst the current situation, he did not think that all of the people who had become hostages would remain unharmed. He would aim for a chance. That was what he should do. He made such decision not only for his own welfare but also for that of other people.

However, the automatic assassination doll made a completely different one. When her eyes glinted like that, she quite literally moved on automatic. She came forward to take his place. In that instant, the face of Dietfried’s younger brother was the only thing crossing his mind.

——Gil.

It was almost as if he had readied himself to do it. That was how quickly his arm reached out. He forcefully embraced Violet and turned his back towards the robber. A violent hit struck him from head to back. He could hear Violet’s breath quietly catching while holding her in his arms.

And such was how they had arrived to the present.

Dietfried did not think that his decision to suppress Violet was a mistake. He was aware that she was the woman who had fought by herself against terrorists inside an exploding train, but it would be a problem if she did something of the sort in the Artemisia Gallery.

Right now, he felt like a pet owner containing the rampage of his mad dog.

As for the mad dog herself, she had grown quiet ever since Dietfried had been hit, as if her functions were gone. Dietfried had pushed away the hands that had attempted to give him first aid. Any false moves and the robbers might beat him again.

She, who always took upon herself to protect, wound up being protected. On top of that, she had let the other be injured. This must have caused her to fall into despondency, enough to result in service outage. However, with time, she had rebooted and was rousing herself up once more to get through this situation.

“I understand that I should refrain from the use of force in an art gallery. But should we not place human lives above the artworks?”

——Whose fault do you think it is that I got hit on the back of my head?

Because she was saying the most obvious thing with the most serious face, Dietfried grabbed the collar where her brooch resided, taking the brooch along, without thinking. The thread that fastened the ribbon-tie dress’s button let out a screech. It was not the kind of deed that a gentleman would do to a lady. But Dietfried did not loosen the strength that he put into his grip.

“You... Do you still need disciplining from me?” he said, voice filled with rage, close enough for their faces to touch. “Think of this as a place that can hardly compare to any other... This thing’s pretty important for you, isn’t it?”

After blinking with a snap, she opened her mouth once, then closed it.

Once Dietfried’s hand let go of her, she grasped the brooch as if to protect it. She was more concerned about the brooch than the crumpled bust of her dress. She stroked it over and over, making sure that it had not been damaged.

Finally, she whispered in a dazed state, “I understand.”

“As if an idiot could,” Dietfried said with a snort, yet the other was a poker-faced Auto-Memories Doll. No matter how much he hurt her, it would have no effect. That was what Dietfried had thought.

“I understood completely. I will avoid combat here as much as possible.” Alas, her voice sounded a little faint.

Dietfried stared at Violet from the corners of his eyes. The brooch was indeed important to her. She was holding it down with both hands. She did not want anyone to touch it – that was what she was indicating. The two of them were speaking in an awfully low tone, but her timbre just now was as thin as the cry of a mosquito.

Dietfried said with a somewhat softer voice, “Good that you get it. I’m indebted to the owner of this gallery. I’m gonna choose the best I can for her sake too.”

“All right.”

“Human lives are the priority, of course. But we’re not gonna fight in a stupid way.”

Like a child, Violet nodded repeatedly.

“You’ve only ever been doing body guarding, murders and military action, and that’s why you don’t understand. In the sea... In fleet battles, we fight to protect. Our way of thinking is different from those who fight to conquer.”

“To protect...”

“If you can’t put brakes on them at sea, the enemies go to land. The reason why Leidenschaftlich is called a military nation ain’t just the army’s achievement. I’ve... never taught you how to fight at sea, huh... For now, forget the method of destroying and taking control of everything. Learn from my ways.”

“Understood.”

Dietfried was inwardly surprised at the obedient reply. Rather, even more than this, he was surprised that he and the “beast” were able to have mutual comprehension.

When she was in his hands, this beautiful Auto-Memories Doll was a “wild beast” that did not know how to speak, as well as a tool. An incontrollable beast, to boot.

“Still, if that is how it is, please do not forget that your wellbeing is my top priority all the more. I shall fight to protect you, Captain. Please do not think of protecting me for Lord Gilbert’s sake. If necessity arises, I will not might if you use me as a shield. I can be replaced, but there is no substitute for you.”

If, at that time...

“This is also linked to protecting Lord Gilbert.”

...in that place...

“Bye, Monster. This guy’s your next master.”

...he had educated and guided her instead of letting her go, would she have grown up the same way?

“Shut up.”

Would she have thought like that?

“Shut up, Monster.”

He had never even thought about it.

Another side of him immediately answered “no” to the self-questioning. Surely, a Violet Evergarden raised by Dietfried Bougainvillea would not have turned out like this. He might have at least taught her how to talk. They would have trouble communicating otherwise. He would have probably given her clothes and personal belongings for daily life. Bringing her along when walking around would look bad for him.

However, when it came to whether or not he would have bestowed this girl with something that would be enveloped in her hands with utmost zeal...

——I see; so it’s the same color as Gilbert’s eyes. That brooch.

...he would undeniably have not.

——Come to think of it, she was always following me around from behind ‘cause she hated being alone.

If there was anything he could have done for her, it was to at least fill up a coffin with flowers and leave it available for her. He did not intend for anything to happen, but he might have done that much. After all, if Violet had stayed beside Dietfried Bougainvillea, she would have surely died before him, for his sake.

“We’re gonna do an act.”

——Aah, Gilbert.

“An act?”

——I’m always late to realize how great you are.

“That’s right. You’re the one who suggested it, so I’m gonna make you into a decoy.”

——You’ve made that filthy beast into this.

“Understood.”

——You were able to change her like this.

“First, take this... It’s late for that, but... you got any questions about a joint struggle with me?”

As Dietfried asked, Violet responded with her neck tilted, “Why...? I do not.”

For whatever reason, his former weapon would show scraps of emotion only at times like these. Just innocently, unaware that it was merciless of her.

“Please use me correctly, Captain.” She smiled.

Why had robbers attacked the Artemisia Gallery?

There was a certain amount of history that led to such violence unfolding amidst everyday life. Firstly, it would be preferable to start with the time when a turning point happened in the life of the robbery’s main offender, but that would be rewinding too far. On to a brief explanation.

This case was a crime committed by a habitual criminal.

There were various reasons for people to rob, yet the advantage was but one. Earning compensation within a short period. Good citizens would be paid for their work, but thieves did not share this mentality. People received rewards through serving others. In order to gather a large sum, a long time and effort were necessary. Thieves abdicated from this. To achieve success, no matter in what land, a person had to be equipped with skills as a rule of thumb.

If one could stop after doing it once, why did they do it countless times? There were people here and there who thought this about criminals. It was because, if they had succeeded once, they could do it again. They were instantly able to attain things that they would have to spend a long time out of their lives to earn. This was the arrival of an opportunity to do that.

Once one got used to it, identifying opportunities was surprisingly easy.

Supposing that there was someone who excelled at predicting people’s thoughts. The other person’s personality would be determined by the movements of their eyes, the way they breathed, their voice tone, the relationships of power in their background, their social position and other such things, so one would be able to deduce what kind of conduct should be taken in order to derive the “correct answer”. It seemed like magic at first glance, but it was no more than the result of someone continuously keeping watch on another person for many years.

Since this was a strategy against individual matches, the robbers needed a slightly better ability to grasp the environment. As they were walking around the city, they incidentally found out that a new gallery was going to open. The opening date was also announced. It appeared that there would be an event only for those concerned on the day before.

No matter the establishment, dealing flawlessly with the inauguration of a new shop was difficult. Even if there were people in it who already had experience working in a gallery, but the use of their abilities to have control over such a situation and proceed with it smoothly was different. Employees would be in quite a panic on the day. If it was a members-only celebration day, there was no mistaking that the original state of the security that should be guarding the gallery would be insufficient.

And so, the robbers had thought, “Aah, if you poke this place, it’ll surely crumble down.”

They did not have any grudges in particular. They had simply judged that they could do it, thus undergoing the assault. The truth was merely that the Artemisia Gallery had been unlucky.

How many hardships the owner had gone through until she was able to open the gallery, had she lived her life bowing her head to other people? How many artists were looking forward to seeing their work exhibited in the gallery? The feelings of such people could be trampled miserably at times.

Not that many people paid any mind to weeds when walking. That was all. Except, this time, the Artemisia Gallery had been lucky about just one thing.

“No good... Hum, excuse me...! She suddenly...!”

A naval captain who loved art...

“Ugh...”

...and the woman who used to be called Leidenschaftlich’s War Maiden were amongst the hostages.

The man who had caused a commotion and pleaded to one of the robbers in a panic raised both of his hands as a display of no resistance. He was a long-haired a man. His slightly curvy dark hair went past his shoulders. Right next to him was a woman holding her stomach and trembling.

“What?”

A few armed men gathered around them.

“It seems her stomach hurts.”

“Just a stomach ache? Leave it alone.”

“You’re telling us to let her go to the bathroom? We still gotta watch these people. Besides, she’s a woman. If someone takes her to the toilet... Well, how much stuff did we get?”

“We’ve piled most of the paintings in the carrier, but there’s still the ornaments. It’s still gonna take a while.”

The robbers had a choice. The option to either silently let her suffer or kindly take her to the restroom. Beating only the men was likely one of their policies. They did not hesitate to make use of violence when needed, but when it was not, it was best to have as least animosity as possible in order to get through with things unobtrusively and quickly take the treasure. It seemed gentlemanly but was a self-righteous thinking.

“What do we do? The Head is...”

“The Head got in the car first. As if we can ask him stuff like this every single time it happens.”

“Head” probably referred to the member worthy of being their chief.

As the quiet exchanges continued in front of the agonizing woman, she finally lay down on the floor while still holding onto her stomach. The man who had appealed about her bad condition shook her shoulders, telling her to “hang in there”.

As if she had received a signal, the woman raised her face slowly. Her gemstone-like blue eyes were visible through the gaps between her disheveled golden hair. She was covering her mouth, perhaps trying not to vomit. Even so, it was easy to tell that the woman’s looks were remarkably good.

“It’s gonna take a while, huh. Besides, we’re gonna need the women later.”

Her eyes locked with one of robber’s as though sucking him in. One would not understand the destructive power that having this woman look up at them from their feet with her eyes wet had, unless they witnessed it themselves.

“Then, I guess it’s okay.”

From the vulgar smile of the man who had said so, one could presume what his intentions were. As the woman was covering her mouth, the robber instructed her to stand up, pointing his gun at her, and then took her to the restroom.

After that, the woman and the robber did not return for a while. Since there were no other people who mustered out the courage to say that they wanted to use the toilet, the period of their absence passed as if it were natural. In the meantime, the gallery’s exhibits were being carried one after another to cars with roof racks parked outside the establishment. The robbers were dressed as employees who worked with the transportation of goods, so even those walking down the street did not think there was anything strange about that work scene.

Once they had finished relocating most of the merchandises, one of the cars left the gallery. The other one that remained parked was meant for the getaway of those who were keeping watch. With the artworks that had been collected for the sake of this day snatched away down to the last one, the gallery was bare. The owner, Artemisia, had all the while been suppressing her cries and shedding tears.

Apparently, those thieves were quite the habitual criminals. They had threatened everyone with armed force upon entering the establishment, robbing people of any resistance, but after that, as long as everyone stayed still, they would do nothing but coldly keep control of the hostages, not even raising their voices. If people did as told, they would not lose their lives. That hope made the hostages obedient. Even though they were robbers, this seamless way of dealing with people was like that of artisans. They did not think of humans as humans.

“Excuse me; I just... want to lend her a handkerchief. That’s all. The sleeves of her clothes are already soaked with tears. Can’t you allow just this much?”

Hearing a voice from the back, Artemisia turned around. It came from one of the artists that she had invited over for today, whom she had known for quite some time. She was shaken by a sense of guilt that she had done something terrible to him as well.

Their first meeting had started at a certain recreational facility, when she peeked from behind while he was painting a landscape. She did not know his occupation, but they kept in touch and she had him show her his art. It seemed he had always been drawing as a hobby. He told her that even most of the people who were close to him did not know he painted, and that he had truly only been doing it for himself.

The busy man had weaved his way through spare time and the work he brought had swayed Artemisia’s senses. At first, he had hesitated at her request to put it on display, but then smiled like a boy and gave her his ready consent, looking happy.

——Aah, God. Please give it back. Please give that fun time back to everyone.

Artemisia was upset and vexed at the fact that the artworks were being stolen, but more than anything, it felt like the regret towards everyone who had been looking forward to this day would split her chest open.

“Hey, he told you to use this.”

He had lent a handkerchief to Artemisia through one of the robbers. Artemisia wiped her tears and managed to lock eyes with him somehow. She then mouthed a “thank you” to him without letting out her voice.

The man smiled. But it was not the smile that Artemisia knew. He was different when he talked about art. She had shivers before she could think. His eyes were not smiling.

“ .”

The man said something to Artemisia. As he had only moved his lips, Artemisia could not tell whether she had been able to read what he tried to convey. She could not, but most likely, he had said:

“It’ll be over soon.”

Eventually, the robbers started to create an atmosphere of evacuation at last.

“Let’s take one person with us until we leave the harbor. Can be a woman or kid. Which do we choose?”

“Woman it is.”

“That guy was playing around with the woman we were planning to use for that, wasn’t he? What happened to him?”

Assuming that they would finally be freed, the hostages started fidgeting. They had faced a disaster and the artworks that they had dedicated their lives to making had been stolen. This joyful day had been repainted into despair. But they were alive. That was the one and only bright side of today. They would not be able to maintain their rationality unless they comforted themselves with that. At any rate, they wanted to hurry and be liberated.

Amongst them, there was a man who merely observed the robbers’ movements in silence all the while. It was the man who had been caring for a woman that had a stomachache, looking worried. Once the woman had been taken to the restroom, he became expressionless, as if he had lost interest in everything. Occasionally, there were moments when he even yawned in secret, as if he had grown sleepy.

“Go call him. We could use that woman as hostage. She’s young, so she can come back walking if we throw her away on the street.”

Hearing these words, the man let out his voice and laughed. By the looks of it, he had not intended to laugh, but wound up doing so. He put a hand to his mouth, but then shrugged and let the robbers see it. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to make fun of you. But trying to rape that thing, huh? No matter how many lives you have, it wouldn’t be enough.”

“Hey, what’s with you...? Got a complaint or something...?”

The man kept laughing, as though to say that the robbers’ threatening figures were even more comical. With her eyes, the owner, Artemisia, begged the man provoking the robbers to restrain himself, for she could not afford to lose not only the artworks that she had collected but also a guest that she had invited, yet the man closed one eye at that and replied, “Artemisia, it’s okay.”

No one in this place knew his social status. Or his history.

In the past, Dietfried Bougainvillea used to wield a weapon that could become the world’s best. It was now away from his grasp, but it was not as if their master-servant connection had been completely severed. The beast had a high level of loyalty, so although they had met by chance after a long time, her heart recognized it. That he was the one she had been following in the past – someone worth being served by her. Therefore, the beast would attend him to exhaustion.

Only a limited number of people could handle the beast. The feeling that she had returned to his hands for now was somewhat strange.

“She runs quick.”

“Ha?”

“That’s why it’s the end for you guys. My bad.”

“Hey, shut this dude up.”

As Dietfried had suddenly started talking, the robbers naturally had a doubtful reaction.

“She’s as fast as a deer. And this is the city’s main street, so there are hotels nearby.”

“So, what’re you saying?”

“I left my bodyguards behind to come here today. They’re probably drinking at their room’s bar. There’re also guys among them who know that thing from the time when she was still by my side. I left my hair tie with her, so she should be able to convince them with that. I could predict that you’d take the things you stole to the port. It’s pretty difficult to get away from pursuers on land when you make such a mess in the center of this city. It’s harder to be tracked using the sea route than the land route, right? But the sea route doesn’t work against me. It looks like one vehicle left a while ago, but it’s over by the point they reach the port. You’ll probably go outside now, but if you’re thinking about taking someone along as a hostage, you’d better drop it. Many of my subordinates are hot-blooded. If you rouse them up like that, they’ll probably get too excited. If that happens, you’re the ones who’ll be getting the short end of the stick. No matter how many dead bodies fall down, we can deal with it all we want in the aftermath. We’ll need to get the stories straight, but today’s hostages will surely choose to cooperate with me. Having people trample on the proof of a life that you’ve lived with all your might is painful for anyone.”

The eloquent man did not run out of breath even when speaking nonstop in such a situation. However, this majestic aspect of him was reflected in others’ eyes as dreadful and similar to madness.

The robbers abruptly realized that all the hostages were looking far behind them. They felt that there was something behind them. It was like a ghost, hiding even its flame of life, simply waiting for the orders of its lord.

Outside the windows of the gallery, they could hear the sounds of someone fighting from around the area where the car was parked. Simultaneously, they could hear a faint breathing just behind them.

The respiration of a woman who was out of breath from running loomed over their ears.

“Do it, Violet.” Dietfried raised his thumb and made a swift throat-cutting gesture.

While watching his doll render the robbers unconscious with a strength as overwhelming as a monster eating people, Dietfried reminisced to the past.

——Everything goes around.

He recalled the time when the two of them were stuck in that isolated island.

The beast had been scared when the rescue fleet arrived. So had Dietfried. He would not be able to bear it if more of his comrades were murdered. Hence, he had taken the beast’s hand and guided her to the outside world. In his perception, it was the same as taking the reins.

There were no reins anymore now. No need for him to pull her by the hand when walking, either. There was nothing between them.

Not love, passion, attachment, desire, anything.

“Captain.”

There was nothing, but one thing was for certain.

“Captain Bougainvillea.”

If he called for her, this Auto-Memories Doll would most likely go to the ends of the world to save him. That was her nature.

“I have just returned. Are you unharmed?”

At that moment, the beast was well aware that he had called her name for the very first time. Her eyes were crinkling.

“Yeah.”

Just this much compensation was enough to make the beast smile.

After a little while passed, Leidenschaftlich was embraced by the gentleness of the night.

Summer constellations were decorating the jet-black sky. Just as sunny as it was during daytime, the night sky was twinkling so brightly this evening that it could be called a banquet of stars. The day was about to end in Leidenschaftlich. Today was filled with chaos ever since morning.

While being observed by gathered-up onlookers, the arrest drama that had unfolded in front of the Artemisia Gallery was already coming to a conclusion, its many procedures and processing passed over to the military police. Seeing the stolen artworks safely re-delivered to Artemisia, Dietfried took a breather. His gaze then fleetingly drifted to the side. A dirtied ceramic doll was standing there. A woman beautiful enough to look like such, who shone amidst the night, was standing there. He had to say something to her. As one would expect, he should do that at least now. But he could not think of anything.

——“You did well”. “That wasn’t too bad”. “Good work”. “I commend you”... Which one?

Inside his head, words were being conceived and then disappearing. Just like the dreams that the sleeping children all around Leidenschaftlich were surely seeing right now. They were born and then vanished.

At last, he attempted to open his mouth, “Aren’t you cold?”

“It is summer, after all.”

And ended up talking to her like a man who was unused to inviting women out.

Violet Evergarden, who had been fighting reasonably and in order to protect, was still by Dietfried’s side. It was fitting to say that she had been today’s most meritorious person. The one who had come up with the idea of the arrest operation was Dietfried, but the one who had done all the work for it was Violet.

First, she had put up the woman-with-a-stomachache act and gone with one of the robbers to the restroom. She had then quietly strangled the neck of the man who had reached a hand to her shoulder with her mechanical prosthetic arms, making him pass out.

She had broken out and escaped through the restroom’s window. Rather than going to the military police, she had gone to the hotel that Dietfried instructed her to and notified the naval soldiers, who were enjoying cigarettes and drinks in a room on the top floor, of the circumstances. One of the soldiers, who happened to know her, had been frightened at first, but upon seeing that she had been entrusted with Dietfried’s ribbon, his facial expression changed and he contacted the military police, then informed the port’s security to reinforce their inspections.

Without waiting for them to get ready, she had immediately run back to the Artemisia Gallery and infiltrated it through the same route. A few of the robbers, who had the bad luck of spotting her, fell to the ground with one kick or punch to the abdomen, and so, she had finally returned. As Violet stood behind the remaining robbers while catching her breath, the hostages stared as if she were their safety, but Dietfried was sneering as he looked at her.

Just as ordered, she had saved Dietfried without damaging a single artwork.

“About what happened...”

“It will probably be best not to tell Lord Gilbert. He would worry.”

Upon seeing the last artwork be brought in, Violet took the trolley bag that lay by her feet. She likely intended to go home by herself.

After making her do so much, something similar to guilt was now sprouting within Dietfried. He wound up acknowledging that she, too, was important to someone. That was what he thought after the battle, when he saw Violet stroking her emerald brooch as if to confirm that it was there.

Even though she used to be a wild beast whom no one would mourn if she died.

——Aah, that’s an excuse. It’ll be nothing but an excuse. If so, then I don’t wanna say it.

Back then, when she was by Dietfried’s side, every single day was filled with madness on all accounts. They used to roam around battlefields, fighting from dawn to dusk, growing too accustomed to violence. The war then ended, peace had returned, and he realized that an era in which he could even make art was arriving. That those times were abnormal and the way he felt now was the default.

“I’ll take you home.”

“No need. Your escorts must be waiting, so please, feel free to take your leave, Captain.”

“It’s fine; just this time. I’ll take you home.”

“No need.”

“I’ll take you. Listen up, this is an order.”

“I cannot accept your command.”

“You little... You were taking action like I instructed you to just a while ago.”

“Because it was a state of emergency... Besides, Captain Dietfried, it would be reasonable if I were to take you home, but the opposite is illogical.”

“What’re you talking about? You’re a woman, aren’t you?”

“A woman”. Finding himself asserting this with his own mouth, Dietfried regretted it even more.

The corner of Violet’s lips had a cut and blood was coming out of it. Her ribbon-tie dress was drenched in sweat. Even those who did not sweat much would be like this after such a huge scuffle during summertime.

“I’m calling a carriage. It’s all right; just wait right there. I’ll see you off until you get inside the Evergarden house. And then it’s goodbye. We’ll never see each other again. No matter what you and Gil become, we’ll never see each other again.”

What he had done today to this woman, who had become fully able to accept someone’s love, was not something that a son of the Bougainvillea should ever do to a lady.

After they had hopped into the carriage, a moment of silence went on for a while.

——Is it okay for her to keep such an open secret even though those two are a couple?

Dietfried found himself accidentally concerned about his younger brother’s love life. After all, this situation might be a betrayal to his dearest brother. Gilbert had completely forgiven Dietfried. For pushing the headship succession onto him. For not having any consideration for their family. For forcing an indescribable wild beast onto him. He had forgiven everything.

Thinking back, the only time that he attempted to push Dietfried away, saying he would not forgive him, had been when Dietfried offered Violet to him. He had called it “human trafficking”. Told Dietfried not to be violent with a child.

Most likely, those two were each other’s only exception from the very beginning. There was probably no pardoning what Dietfried had done to Violet today. Gilbert would forgive most things. Save for matters related to the one and only thing that was most important to him. Being hated by a loved one. This could cast a shadow over anyone’s heart, regardless of how old they were.

“It is all right.” The voice that cut through the silence was thrown at him as if to soothe him down. The words sounded almost as if she had perceived Dietfried’s uneasiness. “If, by any chance... word ends up reaching him through someone else about this case, I will definitely defend you, Captain Dietfried.”

“‘Defend’, you say?”

“To tell the truth, I often get involved in large-scale incidents without Major knowing. But I return without fail. To Leidenschaftlich. I will return today as well. Therefore, we are all right.”

“What do you do out there?”

“We were separated for much too long. Therefore, we have many moments that the other does not know about in the first place. Perhaps even now, too. I have work to do and so does he. We have limited time to see each other. However, I will definitely always return to Major. He knows this as well. Even when we are apart, that person is the only one who occupies my mind. I am not sure if I convey it to him properly, but that is how it is.”

Her statements were something that would normally make him burst into laughter, but Dietfried was unable to do so.

——When did you become like that?

Dietfried hated Violet. Several factors had induced his emotions to it.

——Now you can correspond to someone’s love.

He saw himself overlap with her. Her subservience to adults and the way that she herself wanted it disgusted him. He despised the wild beast that did not yearn for freedom. Despised the fact that she had been trained by someone to be this way. Despised everything. To begin with, Dietfried did not have many things that he liked.

Even the number of people who could become kind had a limit.

The truth was that, even if he wanted to be kind, it was no longer possible. He had prayed to God for it countless times in the past. However, unable to achieve this, a man named Dietfried Bougainvillea existed.

——O God, I want to, he begged a certain Someone in his mind for the first in a long time. Perhaps since his childhood.

Still, this sort of being did not give any reply to calls. Even now, he had no idea if his plea had reached Him. It was certainly impossible. His and Violet’s stars were in a position that would not radically change.

Nevertheless, for some reason, he had the overwhelming desire to ask someone for forgiveness today.

——I wanna go back.

Not even he knew where to.

——Hurry and be over, this day, today and the time I have to spend with her.

He was not annoyed.

——O God, I want to...

But painfully miserable.

“Captain.”

The carriage ran amongst trees dyed in the darkness of the night. A cool voice echoed amidst them.

Violet was looking at the scenery outside. She was observing the moon, which chased after them, no matter how far, far apart they were.

The moon was something that would continue to exist forever. Unlike stories. Regardless of whether Dietfried concerned himself with it, everything about his story would come to a closing one day as well. Demise would arrive even to the things that he did not wish to ever be over. Even the feelings he had now would end.

“How was I today?”

“What?”

“Did my work earn your satisfaction today?”

Dietfried could not read the intentions behind Violet’s question at all. She was someone whose emotions he could not read in the first place, but it was even harder to understand the meaning of that sentence.

“What do you want to say?”

Silence.

“Hey, just say it straight. Don’t be dodgy with me.”

“All right,” the cool voice entered his ears once more. Such coldness resembled the night, but it never left his ears, easy as it was to catch.

Violet turned her neck and cast her gaze at him. Slowly, blue and green eyes blended with each other.

“I...”

Bathed in moonlight, she was simply, purely beautiful, enough to take Dietfried’s breath away.

“When I was with you, Lord Dietfried, my work was never satisfactory. Now that I became an adult, have I finally been able to repay my debt... with my work?”

“What d’you mean by ‘debt’?”

His voice was hoarse. He suddenly felt as if this icy woman had robbed his entire body of its heat. The inside of his mouth was extremely dry.

“I mean everything. It all started when you brought me from that island. I am the way I am now because you entrusted me to Ma... to Lord Gilbert.”

“If you’d stayed with me, probably nothing good would’ve happened.”

“How would I be if I had continued to serve you?”

These words became a bullet and pierced Dietfried’s heart. He felt as if his breathing would stop at the unexpected question. Things had been like that since the distant past. Dietfried would reconfirm time and time again that she was a woman who could have become a lethal weapon for him.

“So you also imagine a hypothesis... of ‘what if’,” her exquisitely cold voice rang within the darkness. Upon being asked, “You too?”, Violet nodded.

That was his line, Dietfried thought, but Violet then sent his gemstone eyes a dream-like gaze. His existence might be devoid of realism to her.

Violet began to whisper. If only she had disobeyed that order back then. If only she had rushed to him a step faster at that time.

“Back then, if”. “Back then, if”. “Back then, if”.

She could not bring myself not to think that, if only she had had this extra step, he would not have lost that emerald eye.

“Besides, I wonder... if I had managed to protect him back then...”

She had to let go of her most beloved lord’s hand and was entrusted to someone else as if she had been thrown away.

“...I would not have had to spend that time away from Major.”

Thinking back, she had always been abandoned and then picked up by somebody. She should have been used to it. That was the star she had been born under.

She was originally a foreign body to this world and was supposed to have been eliminated. Her destiny had also flowed in this way. The reason why Violet had rebelled against her sectioned path, despite having been tamely submitting herself to it, was that the other was special.

——I also threw her away.

He had thrown his home away. Thrown away his little brother, who cried in protest. And thrown away this beast.

“I also wonder what would have happened if you had not left me with Major.”

This woman.

“But all of these are akin to dreams, crossing my mind and fading away. After passing through countless ‘if’s, I...”

He had pushed this woman onto his brother and forsaken her. Looking at her made him sick. He was also scared of her. Most importantly, he would have stopped being himself. This terrified him.

“And now, I have become an Auto-Memories Doll and am spending a night with you.”

This woman possessed an element that transmuted people.

“Y’know, you’ll be alone one day. You’re the one who’s got the longer lifespan, aren’t you?”

Violet closed her eyes at those words. If she had pictured numerous “if”s, this would obviously come to mind as well.

“I do not know.”

“If that happens, what’re you gonna do?”

“I do not know. But are you not the same as me when it comes to this? You love him, right?”

“I’m... I’m the older one. I’ll be gone sooner.”

“No one knows about that. But... if, one day... I do become alone... if I am left living by myself... my order will still be valid. I will probably live on.”

If she ended up living by herself, this supposition was the cruelest of things to the beast. Just what did he want to do by making her say this now?

Thinking back, ever since they had first met, he had not known how to deal with her. Should he have protected her? Killed her? Protected? Killed? Or perhaps...

“That is why I write letters every day. Even if they do not reach him, I write letters to Major every single day.”

Silence.

“Captain, what will you do?”

“Me, huh? I... let’s see. Paint, I guess.”

“A painting or Major?”

“That’s right.”

“May I go see it?”

To Dietfried Bougainvillea, this wild beast was both a woman and a monster from the very beginning. She was now as far-off as a dream.

“You’re the only one of my relatives who knows I paint. Do whatever you want.”

——O God, I want to be a good person.

#violet evergarden #fyeahvioletevergarden #veedit #dietfried bougainvillea #kyoani #kyoto animation #akatsuki kana #takase akiko #my translation

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vegetarian-macan · 3 years

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Macan’s Birthday 2021

As a lot of you know from following me or just watching me go completely off the rails, you’ll know that I’m very fond of Macan as a character. Unfortunately, he’s one of many characters that Lifewonders has introduced with an intriguing characterization that is shelved for the same joke over an over again. You know the one.

This post is going to be exploring that concept, and the ramifications it has on his character and how these beliefs affect him in his Date Quest. All information presented will be from his appearances that are lore-heavy, as well as some of my own inferences. Everything will be under the cut because this is going to be a little long.

And fair warning, I will be getting mentioning topics such as suicide and human trafficking as it is a part of his character, keep this in mind as you read.

First, let’s start with the lore that appears in his character quest (the first one, hoping for a second at some point), as that came first. The beginning starts with Macan speaking about how he woke up one day in a jungle with no memory besides the knowledge to find water, food and shelter, and the belief that if one consumes another, they will live on within you. He soon saw that he was a weretiger, with no recollection of how this transformation happened in the first place. In the scene in Chapter 3 where Macan and the MC are discussing himself, he brings up a theory of how this happened, saying that a tiger may have become human, or a human became a tiger. Either way, two beings were killed, and one was reborn from them.

He was unique in the world of Shangri-La, no one else was like him, as strong as him. He was unlike anything there, which made him truly and utterly alone. He hated what little time he spent as a weretiger in Shangri-La, being unable to speak to others as they were afraid of him, and with no one to talk to, he soon began to go mad. When the past Macan appears in his character quest, and the protagonist and the Macan from Tokyo have to fight him, he has a few lines of dialogue about how there’s no one around to answer his calls anymore, no one to listen to him. How he hates being alone.

After he is defeated, this past Macan cries about how he’s going to die alone, that he isn’t just another beast, he’s Someone. It is implied subtly in this scene that had he not been Summoned to Tokyo Macan would have either gone completely mad or committed suicide. Thankfully, this was avoided, although the result to being Summoned was less than ideal, which I will talk about later.

There is a scene in his character quest, right before Past Macan appears, that is explored in his date quest. While bathing in a lake together in the jungle, Macan brings up that with the protagonist there, being in Shangri-La is different. He’s more comfortable, he has someone to talk with now. He mentions that if he could, he’d want to go back to Shangri-La and live there forever with the MC, before stating that if he dies first, he’d want you to eat him.

As for his date quest, let’s set the scene with some lore provided in-game. It opens up with this:

A world where the horizon is lost. This is the homeworld of Macan, Shangri-La. It is said that it is at the end of the mountain called Hourai "the end of Kunlun" and "behind Deva Loka". That is, it is "on the opposite side of the never-ending road" where people believe in "Reverse Reincarnation". In a world dominated by this faith, death does not mean the end of existence. They believed that even if the physical body was destroyed, the astral body and the spirit would continue living on in a separate state. They could continue living as long as the body, astral body and spirit were not all destroyed at the same time, which is the eternity that Shangri-La promised.

Macan brings this fact up when he is introduced; those that he consume live on within him, and whoever shall consume him he will live on in them. This is the faith by which he lives his life. No living being is exempt from this rule in Shangri-La, which is most likely part of the reason that Macan has hangups over consuming animals like fish and livestock. They have no choice in how they die, and he cannot be comfortable eating them like that.

As you may remember, Macan states, or rather implies, that he has eaten people that have lost in a duel against him before. He is completely comfortable with this aspect, seeing it as a natural result to things because, in his homeworld, it is. This is not shared by the residents of Tokyo and other worlds, however, with characters such as Suzuka and Nomad being put off by this. But there is a reason for why he fights the way he does.

Within Shangri-La there was a cycle that persisted up until the creation of the Macan we know, one that was completely broken by the actions of a single human. This cycle was the creation of the Weretiger King, and is explained in his Date Quest as follows:

The weretiger known as Macan Gadungan is also a believer of this faith [see above]. When a creature like him is created, a human is consumed by a beast. The human's spirit is then reborn in the body of this beast. The name of the magangadungan is known throughout Shangri-La as the king of the jungle where many monsters are said to roam. However, it is the opposite that is true. It is not the strongest magan becomes king, it is that the strongest king becomes a magan. Even the toughest bodies will eventually decay, and so even the strongest man will rise from his chair. But there was still a way in this world to make one's faith eternal. The way to accomplish this is to be eaten by a King and to become their flesh and blood. Even if one's body is consumed, as long as the rest lives on, so too will you. Therefore, it is the former king's fate to be eaten by a new king, and live on.* They will be reborn into a new body. The king of the jungle must then remain the best as well as fascinating target that everyone will want to eat. Until the day they too are consumed, no one can defeat them.

*(I’m aware of the contradiction here, but I will not know the correct translation of this section until it is translated officially)

Macan, or the human he once was, managed to stop this cycle, this loop, in its tracks by turning it on it’s head. The challenger is never supposed to defeat the King, and yet, he did. And so, every past King, every instance of this Weretiger King and the human Macan used to be were fused together, and became a new Weretiger King. One that hadn’t been seen before in that world.

Soon after, he was Summoned to Tokyo, and sold on the black market run by Daikoku. His date quest explores as well, stating that his time as a prisoner was spent in a cage, shuffled between owners and trying to take pieces of him to use for medicine, leather, meat, anything they could take from him. And yet, he continued to live on, his immortality coming from the jungle of Shangri-La, and the former kings that now made up his existence.

He escaped by mauling one of his captors, and presumably picked up by Claude while he was on the run. Those captors of his wanted his flesh and blood, and it was something he would never give them willingly.

The same cannot be said for the protagonist, or whoever he is paired with in his Date Quest.

During this quest, Macan’s beliefs are tested when he goes to finally consume the protagonist while they lay on the private beach, and he can’t go through with it. Even with his jaws around their throat, he cannot make the final push. Why?

You see, up until this point, Macan had lived by, essentially, the law of equivalent exchange. Give and take, in equal amounts. The bare minimum was given to him whenever someone interacted with him, and Macan gave the same back. So what happens when someone gives him more than that? What happens when he wants more than just the bare minimum? This part addresses that; his beliefs crumble under him.

Macan believes that he can’t ask for more than the bare minimum from others, their flesh and blood, because it would be going against the nature of the weretiger kings, to want nothing from others and also embracing your own personal desires to the fullest. This was what he learned in Shangri-La, the way to prove that he was alive and existed. It was simple, it was an easy world to live in with this belief. But it wasn’t enough for him, not when it came to the person he loved.

Macan wanted more from them; their flesh, blood, soul, everything. He wanted their time, their friendship, their love and adoration. But something deep in his being told him he didn’t deserve it, that they won’t reciprocate this need. The parts of himself, the human, the tiger, and the one that is neither and both, all want different things, and it confused him. Startled him. Scared him.

In the end, he realizes that if he were to kill and eat them, he would lose them. They would be apart of his existence from there on, but they wouldn’t be there. He would no longer be able to see them smile, sit with them on the beach, fight together with them. Which is a loss he couldn’t take, and was prepared to throw away his entire way of life to preserve that bliss. Were they to ask the same of him, he would give them everything he was without hesitation.

His date quest ends ambiguously, which is fitting. The player gets to decide how Macan and the one he has fallen for continue with their life. To follow one’s beliefs, or stop and reconsider when the price to pay is the one you love.

#macan #macan housamo #tokyo afterschool summoners #housamo #i love character analysis but this one wrings me out

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irresistiibles · 3 years

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so uh, this is a whole monstrosity, but beneath the cut is a plotting call for the event! i have included all of my characters, sorted by location, with blurbs about what they will be doing and possible plots for them. they are just some ideas i came up with and are absolutely not limited to what i put down! anyway, toss this a like and i will hit you up to plot!

washington dc

asami sato / legend of korra / aware

recently aware and lowkey thankful cause she has more fighting memories from her real life. not actively running out and looking for a fight against these ridiculous creatures but she’s got a taser, real decent martial arts training, and a history of handling herself against much stronger enemies. she’ll be fine, probably looking for a place to bunker down and grabbing anyone who seems like they’re in danger as she goes. worried about korra cause she doesn’t have her memories so she doesn’t know if she can defend herself

plots: could help people. could bunker down with people. could fight monsters with people. could try and build some quick tnt to throw at monsters with people. could try and steal and hotwire a car to get away from monsters with people. lots of opportunities here it’s a party.

blue sargent / the raven cycle / aware

trying to keep out of the way. she doesn’t know if her powers will make the monsters more powerful, but she knows there’s a pretty solid chance and though she is feral enough to fight she doesn’t want to risk it. has a pocket knife and spite for defense but she is under five feet tall and absolutely should not try to take anything on. probably using the chaos as an excuse to steal convenience store tea

plots: someone trying to keep her out of fights. someone she’s bunkered down with. maybe someone with powers she can enhance who’s fighting or something that she helps.

ciel phantomhive / black butler / aware

he’s tiny and has asthma this is not an ideal situation for him. he does also have a gun but ciel isn’t stupid (most of the time) and definitely knows how to pick his battles. intelligence battles he can handle on his own but strength? absolutely not. will be trying to run and bunker down and potentially find someone who looks bigger and stronger than him to play the pity card of ‘i’m young and tiny and only have one eye’ to try and get some protection.

plots: we aren’t built for fighting so we’re running and bunkering down crew. ciel will be faking some kindness in this event because there’s powers in numbers and if it comes down to it he can trip someone else while running from a monster. someone protecting him like mentioned above. maybe someone who comes and saves his ungrateful ass. legit anything

donna benviento / resident evil / aware

girl is not a fighter. in the game she relies on illusions to fight ethan, which she will be using with any of the monsters possible in order to create escape routes for herself. will be searching for someone familiar since all the people she knows here can be fighters and she hopes like her enough to help her out.

plots: not the type to necessarily help anyone since she’s focused on helping herself, but could give some encouragement to someone else struggling. maybe someone who gets caught in a hallucination she intended for a monster just cause that would be wild.

entrapta / she-ra / unaware

she’s doing fine. this is the sort of woman who can make explosives on the go. not actively trying to fight monsters but not actively hiding either. she’s curious to an extreme fault and will be interested in all the weird things running around washington. though she knows it isn’t safe she desperately wants a sample and will be trying to find monster corpses or even something she can sneak up on to get one.

plots: someone trying to get her away from danger. someone hanging around her because even though she isn’t hiding she can blow up the monsters and seem safe. someone fighting monsters she’s latched onto planning to get a sample after they kill something

jaskier / the witcher / unaware

lmao he is not doing fine. even if he had his memories mans was a bard and though i think jaskier has a feral side that’s more for like bar fights than monsters. he’ll be working on hiding though he’s a little shit and won’t be able to stop himself from peaking out to try and get a story for a song from all of this. lowkey think he’ll run into a monster from the witcher and trigger some memories because i am ready to know some stuff if not everything.

plots: if anyone wants to offer this man any defense that would be cool. anyone he bunkers down with. someone stuck hearing his song ideas because he’ll probably be composing as he goes like an absolute fool. anyone who witnesses him get caught by a monster and have to stick with the defense of attempting to punch it in the face and run lol. i’m cool with whatever

karolina dean / marvel’s runaways / unaware

though she is unaware karolina is luckily aware of her powers and will be using them to get herself through this. her powers aren’t reallysomething she uses often and they do cause her to become exhausted after extended use so that’s definitely a possible problem.

plots: asdfaldsfkj

lavender brown / harry potter / aware

just thinking about the last time monsters came to life in the city and is very unhappy about it. mostly trying to hide she did not fuck with this the last time it happened and she does not fuck with it now. knows a little bit of fighting magic if it really comes down to it. will follow people to where they bunker down

plots: someone she gets stuck fighting a monster with despite wanting to dip (could develop into reluctant fighting pals). hiding buddies. someone who helps her if she panics and just trying to hide in a dark street. legit whatever

lily evans / harry potter / unaware

she is without magic or a wand or memories and doing her best with pepper spray and a decent chunk of anger. will be trying to help people despite her lack of defenses cause she’s foolish. very well may be dying in this because i want her memories back and this feels like an opportunity (considering the other ideas i have had are all awful)

plots: anyone she helps. anyone who helps her/drags her away from danger when she attempts to run right in. if anyone wants something big she could die trying to protect someone i’m open to options

river song / doctor who / semi-aware

let’s be real this is not the most dangerous situation river has ever been in. i would love to say she’s using her competence to help people but unfortunately she’s probably using the chaos as an excuse to rob high end stores. may help someone in a real casual aloof way where she’s passing by and shoots and monster but it’s not really a moral obligation thing rip. a little worried about where her mom is cause she just found out she definitely has a mom, so she can’t just lose her.

plots: someone she casually helps and then tries to dip from immediately. anyone interested in theft. may go to some fighting for the fun of it so if anyone wants to join she will be down

michiru kaioh / sailor moon / aware

very unhappy about the situation. mostly wants to find haruka considering the last real bad situation in washington had her seeing her dead body so. may provide a little protection along the way but she’s definitely on the colder side and is not meant to be a full time protector for anyone. will probably be transformed in her sailor neptune form to be able to handle the situation as best as possible

plots: someone she helps but tries to ditch. someone who asks her for help who she refuses. maybe someone who sees her fighting and comes by to join only for her to be like ‘oh you got this? i’m out then thanks for handling it.’

pansy parkinson / harry potter / aware

planning on following her successful plan that she carried out during jumanji, raiding a liquor store and finding a place to hide. will not be as easy as it was during the storm of course, but i think she’ll still kinda manage it. may get in a fight or two on the way there but that’s about it. maybe she could get injured or something lol whatever works

plots: drinking assholes buddies baby! if she does get a little injured someone for that thread (where she would probably be stupid enough to try and clean out an injury with her drinks). could save someone by accident. someone who witnesses theft lmao and has whatever reaction you want.

quinn fabray / glee / aware

uuuh quinn has many skills but none of them are made for this situation. i guess she can run kinda fast from cheerleading so that’s her best hope. it’s her one and only plan and she will be attempting to just run and hide. is not making an attempt to fight because she’s not stupid and knows anything out there could snap her in half.

plots: someone who offers some protection/saves her from a monster. bunker buddies. some regular human she’s camping out hiding with where they’re both like ‘what the actual fuck is going on in this city???’

tessa gray / the infernal devices / unaware

so she technically has magic but does she know how to use it? absolutely the fuck not. might use a tiny bit in self defense because she’s understandably very freaked out by all of this. like she knows there’s some supernatural stuff but she’s never prepared for this level of things. kinda stuck between wanting to save herself and feeling like she should help people but not knowing how so she does neither as a result. her main plan of defense is stabbing someone despite having no idea how to do so

plots: some sort of help for this victorian woman trying to survive. someone around if she accidentally uses magic to defend herself with no idea how. someone she helps get to safety.

toph beifong / avatar the last airbender / aware

lets be real she’s having a blast. loves to fight and loves fighting in a situation where she doesn’t have to worry about morals and wow should you hurt this person?? obviously monsters can be hurt so she’s in the clear and will be throwing boulders without any hesitation. lowkey thriving and running into chaos headfirst.

plots: though it wouldn’t be out of kindness she could help people or shield them or whatever. fighting buddies. someone who decides to stick by her cause she can clearly take out monsters. anything.

zagreus / hades / aware

honestly has spent the most recent part of his life fighting his way out of the underworld so this is not too crazy for him. he’s also died a lot so his concern for his own life is minimum. will be fighting and trying to help because he is a well meaning boy who doesn’t think people should be involved in this stuff if they don’t want to be. though earth was supposed to be better than this and is kinda thrown off and maybe a little sad.

plots: anyone he helps by saving from a monster or leading to safety. could steal a weapon off of someone lol. someone he starts questioning mid battle about whether or not this a common thing on earth

zhongli / genshin impact / aware

this man is very difficult to kill. he can summon meteors and shield himself from damage lmao. probably trying to take out as many monsters as possible but like in a for the greater good to save the people sort of way. reasons killing things is more helpful in the long term than slowly saving on person after another.

plots: could shield someone from an attack last minute. battle buddies. someone he accidentally frightens by calling down a whole ass meteor and handling that. will save people if they get stuck in combat just not helping people to safety or anything, so there’s options.

the island

albedo / genshin impact / aware

not gonna lie albedo is not nearly as worried as he should be. the man is bad at having emotional reactions to anything. if anything he’s really intrigued to be on a new location and will be trying to get plant and soil samples despite everything else going on.

plots: someone trying to get him to safety would be funny since it would be a very difficult task. maybe someone also just vibing with him. a research partner who he just pulls in by accident because he’s like ‘hey get me some of those flowers over there’ and they’re thrown off or whatever to the point where they just do it.

alec lightwood / shadowhunters / aware

a nervous man trying not to come off as nervous. will mostly be looking for magnus/issy, and turn out to subsequently be very unhappy when he realizes they aren’t there/are in washington (if one of them texts him). from there it’ll be about helping people and trying to keep people safe. this isn’t the sort of dangerous situation he’s used to dealing with (turns out you can’t fight the weather with a bow and arrow) but he’s heavily trained and will manage well enough himself and feels semi obligated to help regular humans survive

plots: any people he’s helping try to keep out of danger. someone aware of his concerns about his people back in washington. uuh literally anything he will be working real hard to play it cool but it’s hard when the people you care about are who knows how far aware and cell service is hard to get in a monsoon or lightning storm (he may try and find the tallest areas to scale just to try and get a text out so if anyone wants to join him they’re welcome to)

esther mckinnon / harry potter / aware

mentally cursing magic and all of the nonsense that comes with it that refuses to leave her alone so she can chill. luckily, though she’s not amazing with much magic she was always slightly better with defensive stuff or charms rather than straight up attack battle magic. luckily she’s been keeping her wand on her more often than usual cause dying will do that to a person. trying to find/contact her family and survive

plots: sort of survival crew sort of deal. she’s probably half tempted to see if she can swim back to washington so someone should talk her down

gerry keay / the magnus archives / aware

similar to esther is real tired of magic stuff or cult stuff or whatever it is and is kinda pissed to still be a part of it. he’s kinda concerned this has something to do with the entities and will be running around a bit looking for answers at the start before deciding that isn’t happening and just being tired of it. also pretty sure he’s survived worse so don’t be surprised to see him smoking a cigarette through a storm somehow acting like things are chill. is nice and wants to help people even if he doesn’t seem like it so will probably move into action the second he sees anyone struggling.

plots: if your character is tired of this shit and wants to share a cigarette they are more than welcome. he will help people in whatever way he can. someone needs to tell him you can’t fight the weather with arson because that’s the only move he’s got.

glinda upland / wicked / aware

lowkey a little pissed she was not given a warning about all of this so she could at least show up in a proper beach outfit. real tempted to just hide in her bubble and float in that until this is over but isn’t sure if that would actually help. also has bad memories when it comes to extreme weather conditions. can use some magic to try and help herself with but glinda is not built for thinking under pressure so big rip

plots: someone offering her some help she needs it. someone who witnesses her attempting to keep her hair styled throughout all of this. literally whatever.

haruhi fujioka / ouran high school host club / aware

a little too confident and bad at accepting help. will be doing their best to get through this on their own, and probably semi managing but not as good as they could with some help, especially considering they are human and so many others are not. will offer others help even though their biggest and best plan is to hide however possible

plots: reluctantly accepted help. maybe the opposite of someone trying to offer help and haruhi adamantly refusing. a hiding crew of sort, where haruhi would stick with someone else under the assumption that more eyes in better and she’s still mostly handling herself.

jin ling / the untamed / unaware

stubborn like haruhi, but will recognize his limits much faster. kinda overconfident with a habbit of running headfirst into things and them directly going to shit. lowkey thinking he could get injured and get some flashes of his memories back but not become completely aware, just a sense of things. hoping his dog is safe back home

plots: please someone help this boy dear god. if i do go with an injury maybe someone pulling him out of whatever shit he gets himself into. any sort of group safety or help that can deal with him being a little mean because that’s just how he is unfortunately.

kyoshi / avatar the last airbender / unaware

‘let kyoshi bend a meteor’ an admin said to me as a joke but you know what? she could so why not! will be attempting to utilize the bending she barely understands to get through the weather and will probably be semi successful considering she’s best at bending giant amounts of elements rather than precise bending. will be keeping herself safe but nervous about anyone being near her due to not feeling in control

plots: someone she saves with her bending. someone that could get hurt from her bending something into them accidentally (though probably not too seriously). someone hanging around her to stay safe but it’s just making her nervous but she doesn’t want to tell them to leave her alone so it’s a struggle all around

namaari / and the last dragon / aware

is used to surviving in difficult weather situations. not this bad but like, it’s not so far out of her comfort zone that she’s absolutely screwed. probably has a good instinct for it. doesn’t trust super easily so will not be super jazzed about joining a group but could go with a person or two.

plots: someone she impulsively helps. someone who helps her and she gets stuck feeling like she has to thank them and hangs around till she gets a chance to repay them (or she ditches them to save her own skin). working together but she’s clearly hesitant with them

pearl / steven universe / aware

she’ll be good. i mean very confused and concerned about how she got out of the city, but interested in finding out how it all works. will be trying to do some research around the horrible weather. is also a very fast builder and could probably manage some shelter. if she decides there’s nothing to find may try and establish a place to just stay at and deal with the weather. does have a moral compass and will attempt to help people.

plots: someone she helps/saves. any people interested in looking for answers with her that don’t have enough concern about the weather situation. can try and build some protection structures for people.

rita skeeter / harry potter / aware

real tempted to turn into a bug and just bury in the dirt until this is all over. may start that way even until earthquake kicks in and that doesn’t feel safe either. will be a beetle for some of it though. luckily most of her magic skill is in defense (she has always prepared for the day someone snaps and tries to punch her) so she’ll kinda manage, but is a selfish bitch only out for herself so do not expect much from her in terms of help. will try and start doing interviews on the island despite the craziness to prep for the article she’s gonna write after

plots: someone she starts trying to interview mid chaos. someone who pulls her out of danger while she’s filming something. lmao if someone wants to see her turn out of a bug for the laughs (or discovering she’s an illegal animagus) that could happen i’m down for whatever

victor nikiforov / yuri on ice / aware

sir is absolutely not built for this. nothing in his career has built him for this, it’s just made him a charismatic egomaniac with bad knees and ankles. probably makes a snapchat story along the lines of ‘someone come save me i’m a national treasure.’

plots: will cling onto people for help so anyone stuck with him. could offer money in return for people with any form of protection/support. making unfortunate snapchat stories/instagram posts as it goes. let him pull some people into the wildest selfies ever.

#gun tw #knife tw #death tw #hw: plot call #hwevent12 #what was i thinking with this truly #i feel like i owe a public apology for it #will probably wait a day or two to work on plotting and then put out a starter call

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jackidy · 3 years

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Promise me a Place

Rating: General Pairings: Eren Jaeger/Jean Kirstein Characters: Eren Jaeger, Jean Kirstein, others mentioned/referenced Universe: Reincarnation AU

Summary: Jean never remembered him.

No matter how many times they met; it would play out the same. A smart comment. A retaliation. A fight that results in a bloodied lip and broken nose, a budding friendship that almost always bloomed into something deep and meaningful until Eren would ultimately destroy it, with a taste of ash in his mouth and the look of utter betrayal.

AO3 Link Song inspiration

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Through all his lives, Jean Kirstein had been the one constant.

Whether fleeting or permanent, the other had been a prevailing anchor in each time line. It’s almost comforting, Eren thinks, that no matter what happens, their fates always align to creature a story of a picture-perfect tragedy, hesitating outside of the venue with a level of anxiety all his previous selves would have scoffed at.

Jean never remembered him.

He longs to break the wheel, to break every spoke, to break the circle that fate had so politely laid out for him if only to free Jean from their curse. It’s mindless sentiment, he thinks, finally gaining the courage to push open the door and enter, senses immediately flooded with the smell of cheap drinks and sweat, the glare of the lights that illuminated the small stage and the thrumming of music so loud he’s almost certain he’d have vibrated across the floor sticky from years of spilt alcohol.

Maybe he shouldn’t have come, maybe he should have. Maybe he should swallow down his nerves with liquor and cigarettes, maybe he should avoid those crutch-like vices and face his fate once again because he’s more or less signed the contract once more just by stepping foot in the building. They meet. They fight. They become friends. They make whispered promises too each other that he knows they won’t keep. They part ways when Eren inadvertently causes Jean’s death.

Eren doesn’t have to be a genocidal horror to do that anymore, it just happens so the gods can remind him of the monster he once was.

Titans. The stake. A knife to the gut and the metallic stench of blood and gunpowder. He sees every death in his dreams, the nightmares that sneak upon him and serve to tighten the vice grip of regret and guilt all the more tighter on his heart and throat, fingernails always tearing into skin in a foolish bid to remove the iron tight grip. His fantasies are his legacy, the positive ones featuring a plethora of colours and friends, filled with laughter and memories of skin on skin, whispered nothings and fond insults.

His legacy is also a broken body and a look of betrayal.

Jean can always be found in arts, painters, musicians, crafting and carpentry. Talented hands that held the duality of being able to creature works of art yet also destroy with the slightest touch, they always ran cold and nails always rough from years of biting them whenever self-doubt stirred within his stomach. He knows Jean, maybe even more than Jean knows himself because Jean was consistent. Jean was the one thing that never changed.

A singer this time, a singer with a band that held faces both familiar and strange to him, a shaky recognition of Marco who only graced the life cycles on occasion. Much like Mikasa, much like Armin and the rest of the survey corps and those his first self had condemned to death, even the…his cult, none of them aware and all reminders of his sins.

He’d hoped someone had remembered, the fear of someone less important than the singer remembering more comforting than Jean remembering. In every time line, during every turn of the wheel, Jean was important and as much as Eren wanted to break the wheel he’d prefer the tawny haired man to remain ignorant of his crimes against him.

“Those thoughts of past lovers, they’ll always haunt me.” The words catch him off guard, Eren putting it at first down to coincidence, to his guilty conscience craving something he both did and didn’t deserve. He looks to the stage at last, finally focusing on the singer instead of the band around him, focusing on the fingers playing the keyboard as opposed to Jean’s face. “I wish I could believe you’d never wrong me.”

He needs to leave, needs to escape, only his feet are rooted into the sticky wood, ever the deer in the headlights as the intensity in Jean’s voice increased. The emotion is too real, a level of hurt in it that Eren could only hope he hadn’t caused, hope it was an ugly, unfortunate coincident. Heart break and betrayal playing on vocal cords as that all too familiar sensation of choking crept around his neck, squeezing his windpipe painfully closed.

“Then will you remember me in the same way…”

Hazel meets green from across the crowd, not the blank look of a stranger but rather a flash of enraged recognition before simmering down to something strange, something foreign that Eren didn’t quite recognise. Bile swells from his stomach, a hasty swallowing of it back down and clenched hands as Jean holds the look, as is daring Eren to look away and declare himself a coward.

Under the sheer scrutiny of his gaze, Eren wishes he was capable of declaring himself one, wishes he had turned and ran with his tail between his legs before the singer, before his fated partner or every lifetime confirmed his worst fear.

“As I remember you.”

#eren jaeger #jean kirschstein #erejean #SNK #attack on titan #shingeki no kyoujin #AOT #SNK chapter 138 spoilers #snk reincarnation au #2015 called wes it wants you to write a ship you've not thought about in 6 years lmao #Rating: G #this is so fucking self indulgent jfc

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easily-infatuated23 · 4 years

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The Mark of the Angel Part Two: Emergence

Part One

a/n: i’m totally creating my own lore so sorry about that lol also this is in third person now bc it felt better to write so sorry for the grammar change from part one

pairing: 11th Doctor x Reader Angel OC x Amy and Rory

word count: 1.6k

warnings: none

summary: The Doctor is ecstatic to have found the Angel but, have they always known each other?

The group of friends stared in amazement, but for different reasons. Amy and Rory couldn’t believe the transformation that had occurred right in front of them. This seemingly ordinary girl had suddenly levitated and her skin glowed a brilliant orange color. Now, she still looked slightly ordinary but her aura and attitude had changed completely. The Doctor, on the other hand, was amazed at the discovery of the creature that stood before him. As a boy, he had been told many stories about the Angel. Some came from his family which described a noble being that had saved and practically created the Time Lords, others came from his mates at the academy who told stories of a terrifying creature who would steal your soul. He buzzed with excitement. Even as his hundreds of years of life had passed, he never found a story that rang true or made sense. Now he could know. This is why the TARDIS had brought him here, to learn the secretes of this legendary creature.

Even though thoughts raced wildly through each of the friends heads, none seemed to be able to speak. The Angel surveyed her surroundings. “You know I actually quite fancied this little flat, it might’ve been fun to stick around a bit longer but no matter, there are things to be done”. She looked directly at the Doctor who realized that he was, for the first time in his life, truly at a loss for words. “Doctor, it is very good to see you again, and…. I forgive you”. Amy and Rory turned their heads sharply toward the Doctor, awaiting an explanation. But, none came. Amy grew impatient. “I thought you said you had never met or even seen the Angel before” Amy said, somewhat accusingly. The Doctor barely heard her voice, a darkness swimming in his head as he knew exactly why the Angel said she forgave him. “I suppose there is no harm in sharing now” the Angel began, looking at Amy. “A long time ago I decided I wanted to watch over the Time Lords more closely. That would be easier to do from the inside, not from above. I am very gifted in changing my form, you see, so I would cycle through a new form every couple hundred years or so. Living the life of a Time Lord on Gallifrey, never revealing my true identity. The Doctor and I were friends for a very long time but he still hasn’t figured out who I was then, have you Doctor?” the Angel said, her gaze fixed on the man who was adjusting his bowtie nervously.

His eyes darted from side to side, scanning his brain for all of the faces and names of his friends on Gallifrey, before it was lost. “I will give you a clue” the Angel said. The Doctor looked up at her. She held up her hand, it was balled into a fist with only her pinky finger sticking straight up. “Do you trust me?” she asked. He was stunned and confused. The Doctor had lived for so long that sometimes he was convinced that some things from his childhood were made up. This being one of those things. A memory flashed into his mind of himself as a boy, running around and playing with a little girl. The two would go on “adventures” together. Whenever one of them was hesitant to do something, they would hold up their pinkies and ask the question. He knew the words he had to say next. He stepped forward and interlaced his pinky with hers. “To the ends of the universe” he replied. Another gust of wind blew through the room. This time, the Angel’s appearance changed completely. She looked as if she had become a few years younger, looking more like a teenager now. Her long blonde hair replaced by short curly red hair with light brown freckles peppering her face. Her eyes glowed a fantastic green. She was now wearing red robes instead of the jeans and t-shirt she had previously donned.

“Cora?” the Doctor asked. The Angel smiled and nodded. “Yes. It has been a very long time my friend” she replied in a smooth voice. The Doctor felt his eyes welling up with tears as he pulled the girl into the tightest hug he could manage. Amy and Rory, feeling very left out, simply stood there. Unsure if they should wait in the TARDIS for this odd reunion to conclude or remain standing and watching. “We should probably leave them alone for a minute” Rory said as he opened the doors to the TARDIS. He pulled Amy inside and shut the doors.

The Doctor released her from the hug. He cupped her face. “I thought you were lost or even dead. What happened?” He said, somewhat breathlessly. “There will be plenty of time for you to get the answers you desire but for now, we have more pressing matters” the Angel said. She shook her head back and the physical appearance of ‘Cora’ disappeared and she returned to the form the Doctor had found her in. He tried to hide the awe struck expression on his face but he was unsuccessful. “I like my form as Cora, but I figure this is less distracting for the moment” she said. He nodded. She walked past him and, snapping her fingers, opened the door to the TARDIS. Amy and Rory looked up, expecting to see the Doctor entering. “Can she really do that? I thought only he could” Rory whispered to Amy. She shrugged. As much as she loved Rory, and she really really really loved Rory, she couldn’t help but feel a little jealous toward the Angel. Amy had always felt like the Doctor’s special girl, and she wasn’t keen on the idea of sharing that.

The Angel entered the TARDIS and took a deep breath. She traced her hand on the center console. “Hello darling” she said. Amy and Rory looked at each other again. The only person they had seen act like that toward the TARDIS was the Doctor, who at this point looked like he was going to jump out of his skin with excitement. “Is the story about the TARDIS and you true?” he asked, walking closer to the Angel. She chuckled. “Yes, I did give some of my body to create the first TARDIS. After that, they grew all on their own but they are all connected back to me in some way.” The Doctor smiled, his hands on the brink of waving wildly.

“So, how did you find me after all this time? I know you have been on and off of Earth for a long time now. What took so long?” she asked. “Yes, well, I punched in that the TARDIS should take us somewhere I have always wanted to go but never knew I wanted.” “Interesting” the Angel said. “Seeking an unknown destination can be quite dangerous. You two are aware of those risks aren’t you?” She looked up at Amy and Rory. “Oh yeah, we’re aware” Rory said. “Once, the Doctor took us to Venice for a ‘date’ and we ended up having to defeat vampire fish from space” Amy added. The Angel turned to the Doctor. “I like these two” she said. Amy smiled, she was beginning to warm up to the Angel.

“Would you mind if I held your hands for a moment” the Angel said. She walked over to Amy and Rory and held her hands out. They each placed one of their hands into hers. The Angel closed her eyes, her head moving slightly from side to side, as if she was viewing something only she could see, and it was in fast motion. The Doctor moved in, eyes widening. “Doctor what’s she doing?” Amy asked. He walked closer the Angel then pulled out a magnifying glass. He surveyed the Angel’s face and then followed the line of her neck, down to her shoulder, and all the way down her arm. He focused on the top of Amy’s hand then ducked underneath to look at the top of the Angel’s hand. As he did this Amy gasped. The Doctor popped back up and saw what caused Amy to gasp. On the top of her and Rory’s hands was a small spiraling shape resembling a drawing of a sun. The design was glowing with the same hue as the Angel’s regeneration light. The shape was constantly spiraling, never remaining static. “Oh!” the Doctor said slapping his forehead. “She’s gathering all the information she needs about you and the world and the universe through your life experiences. Past, present, and future! This is incredible!” As the Doctor finished speaking, the spirals transformed into the shape of a pair of wings flying before the light poofed in a small cloud of smoke and disappeared from their hands.

“Thank you for that” the Angel said, letting go and opening her eyes. She fixed her gaze on Amy. A small tear dropped from the Angel’s eye as she took a step closer to Amy. “You my dear, are going to have some wonderful adventures.” There was a small awkward silence before the Angel stepped back and looked at the Doctor. “Now, we have an issue to discuss. When I escaped from Gallifrey, an echo went across the universe exposing my actual existence. I came to Earth and became human to avoid detection. I have a feeling that now the echo just repeated itself” “Is that a bad thing?” Amy asked. The Doctor’s face was suddenly pale. He looked at Amy. “We’ve just told the universe that there is an actual god on Earth…” “And people will want me for themselves and to use my powers the way the Time Lords could…” the Angel added. Rory rubbed his face anxiously. “Basically, the biggest bounty in the universe just became active, and people will be coming to collect” the Angel said. This was going to be trouble.

#11th doctor #doctor who #11th doctor x reader #doctor x reader #doctor who au #amy pond #rory williams #doctor who fanfic #tardis #gallifrey #matt smith #david tennant #amelia pond #doctor who oc #doctor who series

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150289city · 3 years

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ILLUSION - SURREALISM

Analyse creative manipulation images.

1. Zdzislaw Beksinski

The canvas, known as "Creeping Death", evokes a lot of emotions and remains relevant all the time. The leitmotif is death, which creeps silently like a spider. This is how he appeared in the eyes of the painter - death comes unexpectedly and destroys everything on its way.

Beksiński's paintings were about loneliness and the inevitability of death. The painter also often presented a vision of Armageddon. This is also the case of "Creeping Death". The end of the world appears in dark, brown and bloody colors. And death takes its toll and disappears unnoticed from the battlefield. The city burning in the background means that death has won again. Nobody survived. Death can take many shapes, it can resemble a human, an animal or a spider. In the painting by Zdzisław Beksiński, he is a terrifying creature that leaves the ruined area on its cramped limbs. Instead of the face, you can see a bandage through which a blood stain pierces. Instead of a torso, there is a hairy abdomen, similar to that of deadly spiders, and they will always flee from impending danger. Just like death, which also has time to hide from fire.

Beksiński's painting is one of the most terrifying contemporary works of Polish painting. Suffering, anger and resignation permeate them. The artist knows that he is unable to change his fate. He only has pain and the awareness that death will come for him. "Creeping Death" can be a universal picture, presenting the world after war, apocalypse or catastrophe. They can also be the darkest thoughts of every human being that circulate through the mind looking for an outlet. Because everyone is struggling with their own demons, which may appear completely different. It is certain that they cause fear, but they are essential in the fight against the suffering that is part of human life.

2. SALVADOR DALI

There are four clocks in the picture. One hangs from a dry tree, the other, with a blue shield and golden edging, flows down from a brown plinth. There is a fly on it, which can symbolize the "flying" and passing time. The orange watch lying next to it seems to be less soft and melting than the others. Ants crawled over him. The orange clock looks like it's about to be eaten by insects. Ants are here a symbol of rotting, decay. The fourth clock is in the center of the painting. It flows down from a deformed, beige-colored form. Only after looking closely you can see something like a nose, eyelid, long eyelashes. The distorted form resembles skin pulled from the face. According to some, it is a self-portrait of Salvador himself.

"Soft clocks" is nothing but a delicate, extravagant and lonely, paranoid-critical camembert of time and space.’’ Salvador Dali

Persistence of memory is perhaps one of the artist's most recognizable works. It was established in 1931. The idea was born when Dali, eating a melting French Camembert cheese, saw clock faces in it.

Dali created works that were supposed to amaze or shock. He did not represent anything directly, but through a vision. Therefore, he is included in the group of surrealists. Obraz Persistence of memory is a dream about time deformed by memories and dreams. Gala - Dali's muse and wife - said about this painting that the viewer's memory would only be the "softness" of the watches, because anyone who saw this work at least once would never forget it. The rocks of Cape Creus are an element of the landscape that appears in many of Dali's works. They have become an example of "hard" forms. The artist, who has a well-prepared drawing and knows the perspective, creates in a surprising way. An example is theoretically correctly painted clocks, but why is one of them hung over a branch, and the other running off the counter? It was this astonishment that the artist wanted to combine various objects in any way. The elements of the painting are arranged on the canvas in such a way that we have the impression of a large space and emptiness. Thanks to vivid imagination, all details have been divided into soft and hard. Clocks are among the soft ones.

3. RENÉ MAGRITTE

With my popular sympathy for the Belgian painter René Magritte, I have allowed myself to be introduced to you by opening the whole series "Art for Tuesday" with his "Lovers". Together with the blog returning to the expanses of the Internet, let Magritte be the patron of the reactivation of this cycle, this time with her "Son of Man".

The very title "Son of Man" (French: "Le fils de l'homme") is a bit puzzling when confronted with this picture presents itself.

After all, we see an elegant man in a suit and a bowler hat against the background of the wall separating him from the sea, above him there are clouds that announce a storm or storm. And what is very important - it is a self-portrait.

Oh yes, I would ... Before the face of forgotten people (levitating?) A green apple that makes his face invisible, revealing part of the eye and eyebrow in fact. We have to remind ourselves that the Belgian was definitely a surrealist who grew out of the impressionist school. However, he used his symbolic linguistic voice, which was shaped by such tragic experiences as the mother's suicide - hence the motive of the shroud. The motif of a veiled face, or the lack of it, is constantly present in Magritte's painting. Maybe it allows you to stay safe? For both the "covered" and those looking at him? Or maybe these masks and covers allow for proper perception of things (I refer to the author's painting "Rape")?

As for the "Son of Man", a stretched (as always), original interpretation appeared in my head.

The apple ripens with its apple tree represented by the man. He is well dressed, which can mean high social status. Or maybe an apple covering a man's face makes him anonymous? is it just a tree from which society grows? And when he dies, will someone eat the forbidden fruit that he has grown, and will continue this process? Another "Son of Man" ..?

4. Max Ernst

"Day and Night" is a work that Max Ernst painted in the years 1941-1942. It presents a gloomy rocky landscape in dark colors. The image of the night is dominant here - the dark blue sky and the outlines of boulders. On the dark background, however, there are traces of the day, resembling daytime photographs of the same space. In these pictures these places appear completely different - they are sunny and full of bright colors. They do not resemble a barren night landscape.

Ernst's work follows surrealist poetics. Its meaning becomes understandable above all in the historical context in which it was created. It is about the tragedy of World War II, which left its mark on the artist's own biography. He miraculously managed to escape from the hands of the Gestapo and emigrate from France to the United States.

The night landscape is a barren land devoid of color and optimism. One gets the impression that we are dealing with a world completely destroyed by some cataclysm. His memories are only optimistic photographs from the past, which show the old face of the landscape. These optimistic incrustations in combination with the dominant gray and sterility not only do not cheer up the whole, but make it even more repulsive. We are dealing here with a world that will never return to its former glory.

The colorful pictures bring to mind illustrations from children's books. Thus, the artist refers to the myth of childhood as a lost paradise. Children's dreams are triggered here, in which reality seems to be a magical and wonderful being. At the same time, the juxtaposition of colored fragments with a gloomy background is also associated with the biblical Eden, where innocence and beauty are destroyed by sin and evil.

You can also understand "Night and Day" as a kind of puzzle. The picture resembles a puzzle that needs to be matched in an appropriate way so that they form a whole together. In this sense, one should see in Ernst's work traces of hope for rebuilding what was destroyed during the war. It is, in a way, a proposal to organize the world once again so that it becomes a place where a person feels safe again.

5. Pablo Picasso

"Guernica" is a famous painting by Pablo Picasso, painted in 1937 in reaction to the Spanish Civil War. The work is an act of protest against violence and at the same time a great manifestation of pacifism.

The title of the painting comes from the name of a Spanish city bombed by the German Luftwaffe air force in response to resistance to General Franco's group.

"Guernica" shows deformed human and animal figures, forming a chaotic swirl. You can see the bodies in pieces, especially the heads and limbs. The severed hands tighten tightly on the objects they hold: a candle or a sword. The mouths of the characters are usually open in a silent scream, and terror is visible in their eyes. People seem to squirm in deathly groans. Human figures blend with animals.

The whole thing looks like a huge, dynamic swirl. The depressing impression is deepened by the colors of the painting, in shades of black and gray. The central part of the painting is lit by a light bulb in the upper edge of the work. It seems that the situation depicted in the picture takes place in a narrow room, intensifying the impression of being surrounded and threatened.

The painting was painted in cubist aesthetics, which in the case of such a dramatic topic emphasizes the cruelty and tragedy of war. The fragmentation of the solid is here not only an act of artistic deformation, but also emphasizes the essence of any armed conflict, which is the total destruction of the world.

The war appears on Picasso's canvas as unbridled chaos and suffering. People dehumanize, they are reduced to the level of terrified animals, driven by the survival instinct. Human remains are clearly deformed, they resemble meat. Human and animal bodies are fragmented as if after a bomb had exploded.

The symbol of destruction is the Spanish bull emerging from the gloom, which covers the unfolding events with an unshakable gaze. Broken hands clutch at useless objects, among which stand out a candle and a broken sword. The former may symbolize the desire to illuminate the escape route, but it is also a sign of mourning for those who died. A broken sword and a torn horse indicate the uselessness of conventional weapons in a modern war that brings mass death and destruction.

Picasso's painting exudes an atmosphere of fear and terror, the image of a mother lamenting over a child's corpse is particularly poignant. The claustrophobic narrowness of the room in which the characters find themselves emphasizes the non-exit character of their situation.

#preproduction #illusion

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heart-eye-harrington · 4 years

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the last midnight ~ chapter three

(gif by @harringtown, thank you for letting me steal it <3)

Summary: Every aspect of Prince Steve’s life is mapped out with one objective in mind: become king when the time comes. The day of the ball has arrived, and everyone from the castle and village are making preparations. You and Steve find help from very different places.

Word Count: 3.2k

Warnings: brief mentions of grief

Author’s Note: Hi! I hope you’re doing well! I’m very excited for this chapter and for the rest of the series as a whole! Thank you for your continued support! ♡

read the last part here

⋆★⋆★⋆★⋆★⋆★⋆★⋆★⋆★⋆★⋆★⋆★⋆★

The day of the ball had arrived, and the castle’s inhabitants were in a fussing frenzy. The servant’s usual buzzing seemed to be amplified to rumbling thunder. Their words roll in through the open door of Steve’s bed chamber and begin bombarding his ears. Things such as the astronomical size of the guest list, the work being done in the ballroom, and the preparations on the royal family’s outfits only amplify the booming cacophony of dread.

Steve does his best to ignore how it goes straight to his pounding heart, hastily throwing on his lounging clothes and combing his fingers through his hair, enjoying the time he has to not be a perfect polished prince. He knows the stylists will come around later in the day to mold him in that image, but for now, he can get away with wild hair and loose flowy blouses.

He looks at himself in the mirror and for a moment, things are okay. He’s just a boy. He’s not a future king, no royal title attached to his name. The weight of the world is lifted from his shoulders, because why should it be there? He’s just a boy.

The anxious cloud slowly rolls in once again, the muffled conversation between guards stationed outside his door dashing the mirage.

“Hard to imagine the prince will choose a bride tonight. Part of me feels bad for the boy. Sure, a princess may grow to like him, but never love. How could they, when their love life is a bargaining chip? He may never know real love.”

Their words were the lightning strike. A menacing storm had been gradually collecting discomfort provoked by talks of this evening, but life could continue despite it. This was the danger that could not be ignored. The pounding heartbeat in Steve’s ears fizzled away, only leaving him with the realization he’d been pushing down for years.

Love was never in the cards for him. It never fit into his parents’ plan. Kings don’t need love, they need power. The only time they need a person beside them is to strengthen that power. To his parents, a queen was nothing more than another piece in the puzzle. They would make the kingdom look more secure, gain allies and resources, and produce an heir, and the vicious cycle continues.

“He may never know real love”

It bounces around his head before eventually sinking to his heart, dragging it down to his stomach. His huge room seems to shrink around him, his feet dragging him out into the corridor before the walls suffocate him. Steve only gets a moment of relief before he meets the guard’s worried eyes emphasized with raised eyebrows. The act of being seen, not merely looked at, is so alarmingly out of place he feels the bile in his stomach turn. He needs to go, and there’s only one place where he feels safe in the castle.

The familiar sounds of clinking metal and hearty laughter lets him know the room’s usual inhabitants are inside. Peaking through the cracked door he sees Robin and her father, both in full practice uniforms, chasing one another around with blunt practice swords at the ready. The sounds of padded running echos throughout the large gymnasium.

The sight before Steve is a break in the downpour, a ray of light through the dark clouds. They were what made this room safe, for in these walls he was just a boy with a friend, a teacher, and a sword. Part of him doesn’t want to disturb them, but any chance of that is dashed when Robin spots the gleam in his eyes through the cracked door.

“Father, I think we may have an intruder” her tone airy and playful. The captain quickly catches on, joining in on her fun. “Oh, well, we can’t have that, now can we? They’ll have to fight there way out of this”

In one fell swoop, he pulls open the door to reveal a giddy Steve and throws him his sword. Steve’s surprised he reflexes are quick enough to catch it before it hits the marble floor. The celebration doesn’t linger, Robin already taking her stance for their battle. Once Steve folds an arm behind his back and extends his sword, mirroring Robin, the fight is on. Robin’s father ducks out fo the room with a sweet goodbye, knowing they don’t need supervision and that this would not be ending soon.

The teens go back and forth, lunging and dodging with expert timing, only fitting for the hours they’ve spent in these walls. As relentless as the fight is, Steve can’t keep his mind from wandering. Dodging Robin’s blade dislodged his guard’s words from the hiding place his mind shoved then into.

As much as he’s come to terms with never finding love, he can’t help but imagine it. Someone laughing at his jokes because they find him funny, not out of courtesy or because they want to impress him. Someone that would look for him first in a crowded room, no matter the crowd’s wealth, power, or charm.

Someone that would reach for his hand instinctively, whether for comfort, out of overwhelming joy, or anywhere in between. With their hand in his everything in the world would be okay, because the person standing beside him is the world now, and they’re so good.

He wanted someone he would miss deeply even if it were just the first day they had been apart since meeting.

Steve keeps finding himself back in the village, kids weaving around him to sit by the fountain. His mind replays the first moment he saw you. The way the sun caught your eyes like they were precious jewels deserving nothing less than to be shown off. Your smile was contagious, not being able to be contained on your face, spilling to everyone who laid eyes on you. The rising sun behind you softened any edges, as if your personality weren’t inviting enough.

One part of your story sticks out.

Before fear grips the prince, the princess holds his hand. In that moment, he knows she’s his true love, and that he would fight any creature to keep her safe, for the touch of a hand cannot be altered by magic. No magic spell can mask or mimic the way a person’s hand makes you feel.

He’s pulled abruptly from his thoughts when he feels Robin’s blade resting against his collar. She’s clearly won the fight, laughing in his face in celebration. Steve pouts, head nodding back and pursuing his lips.

“Wake up your royal highness, you’re in a daze” Robin made sure to emphasize his title, knowing he hates it.

“I’m sorry” his response breathy, almost dream-like. She knows he was distracted, he never let her win this easily. She traces back to the last time they fought last time, and realizes it was before their escape to the town. A mischievous grin pulls her lips as her mind makes the correlation.

“You’ve been off since our adventure” a smug suggestive smile on her lips. Suddenly her gaze is too much for Steve, who turns to the table stationed at the opposite end of the room, stacked with towels for sweat. After hearing her footsteps behind him, he knows there’s no escape, so he gushes.

“It’s the person we saw at the fountain, the one who was telling the stories to the children. I can’t stop thinking about them.”

“Well, there are plenty of people out there.” Robin winks, but Steve is having none of it

“Ah, but their spirit, their goodness.” He can feel the smile creep on to his face just thinking about them.

“You don’t suppose they have a sister, do they?” Robin raises a brow, and Steve can’t help but chuckle, “I don’t know. I don’t know anything about them.”

“Well, hopefully, your mystery stranger may come to the ball. That is why you threw the doors open, is it not?” They both laugh at the memory of his portrait painting and confrontation with his parents.

“Robin, it was for the benefit of the people.”

She raises her hands defensively “Oh, of course. How shallow of me”

After a beat, Steve thinks aloud “And if they come, then what?” Robin mulls it over for a moment, “then you tell them that you’re a prince, and a prince may take whatever partner he wishes.”

“Ha” sarcasm drips from the single syllable.

“Ha?” Robin questions,

“Yes, ha. You know my parents will only have me marry a princess.” Steve groans.

Robin hums, fully aware of their royal highness’s stupid rules, but caring more about her friend. “Well if this stranger from the village is as charming as you say, they may change your parents’ minds. They are a fairy godmother in training. A flick of their wand and boom, problem solved.”

“Hm, problem solved.” A sad smile tugs his lips. If only it were that easy.

“You never know. You know what my father says, words are your greatest weapon. You saw what they can do to those kids in the village, I’m sure they can charm your parents.” She gives a playful nudge but instead of pushing back, he succumbs to it, allowing the soft push to move him. A smile still plays his lips, but he feels numb, as if shielding himself from what’s to come. Hope, he’s learned, is a strong gift. It’s one he’s barely received, ripped from his hands as soon as he’s united the ribbon.

Robin’s quick to wrap her arms around him in an awkward side hug, resting her head on his arm. Neither of them are good at showing affection, their platonic love language shown in jokes and jabs, but how could she not hug him? Steve leans down a bit to rest his head on top of hers, his hands coming up to clutch her arm.

They stay like that, two people who have been thrown into extraordinary circumstances who were able to find one another. They each thanked their lucky stars every night that they had found each other.

A knock comes to the door, and a messenger peeks through. “Sorry to disturb you, your highness, but the style team is ready for you.”

With one last squeeze to Robin’s arm, he nods to the messenger, acknowledging it’s time to go. As he begins to walk away, Robin runs behind him and rustles his hair, “good luck Prince Charming.”

“Thanks, Robin. Can’t wait to see what they put you into.” He jokes, knowing how much Robin hates formal events and the guard’s formal uniforms.

“Oh, it won’t be half as beautiful as yours. I’m sure you’ll knock’em dead.” She sends him off with a wink and a wave. Steve shakes his head, returning the gesture. As he finds himself being passed from hairstylist to seamstress, he thinks of Robin. Not only has she given him friendship, but the gift of hope, and he can practically feel the silk ribbon it’s tied in. With each stitch of a button and comb of his hair, he can’t help but smile, for with each step he’s one step closer to you.

He hoped to see you again soon.

⋆★⋆★⋆★⋆★⋆★⋆★⋆★⋆★⋆★⋆★⋆★⋆★

Your shoes click against the cobblestone streets as you rush back to the bakery. With the prince’s open invitation to the village to attend the ball came a glimmer of hope that you would see Steve the apprentice again. To say you were enormously excited would be an understatement.

You rush through the door, practically skipping as you tell your father the news. He dusts the flour from his hands, placing them on his hips as you ramble on and on.

“Do we have any of mother’s old clothes? I know she had the most beautiful dresses and fabrics, I could easily make something for tonight. It wouldn’t cost much, you know how expensive Esmerelda the seamstress is, especially with such little notice. Oh, father, I can just picture it! I’d have sleeves like this-” as you begin ghosting your fingers over your arms, imagining what you’d look like this evening, your father stops you.

“Sweet pea, we don’t have any of that.” he looks to you with sad eyes, that if you look hard enough you could see his heart breaking behind them.

“W-what?” you don’t want to believe him.

“I know it was wrong, but I couldn’t bear to look at them. I sold all your mother’s dresses and fabrics years ago, right after she passed. Sweet pea, I am so sorry.” his voice a fragile glass, moments away from breaking.

Your first instinct is anger. How could he? She was his wife, but she was your mother. He may have had no use for the clothes and fabrics, but how could he know you wouldn’t? You could grow into them, wear them to keep her close to you. Then you realize what that would do to your father. Seeing his child, the spitting image of his lost wife wearing her clothes. It’d be like seeing her ghost, haunting him. You could never understand his pain or why he did it, as he could never understand yours, but you could try.

“I know father, it’s ok.” you sniffle, quickly trying to hide it with a wipe of your nose. You smile through the stinging in your eyes.

Not another word is exchanged the rest of the day, your father too filled with regret, leaving you to mourn. You mourn your mother and the dream of seeing Steve again. You owned nothing nearly nice enough to attend the ball and would never be able to scramble up enough money to buy something new. So you were left to work the bakery, conversing with excited customers and gazing out the window. You look for any hooded figures with wild hair and curious eyes, but your apprentice friend is nowhere to be found.

With dusk quickly approaching, you know you can’t keep putting off the trip to the waterfall. The thought of walking the same path you had with Steve, but this time without him here, hurt more than you could imagine. You miss deeply, despite having just met him yesterday. It was only the first day you’d been apart since meeting, but it felt like a lifetime.

The forest is beautiful at this time of day. Birds sing love songs, your footsteps on the soft grass adding muffled percussion. Golden orange light breaks through the tree canopy, dancing on the rich green of the forest floor. Soon you hear the distance padding of water upon the rocks, reassuring that you weren’t far from your destination.

Through the trees, you hear a muted cry for help. The voice is weak, urging your feet to run to it faster.

“Hello? Is anyone there?” you yell as you run, equal parts hoping that they’ll answer so you can better find them and alerting them that someone is coming to help.

“Right here, sweetpea.” The use of the nickname makes your stomach twist, but still allowing you to find whoever needs help. You’re able to spot them, at the base of a nearby tree sits an elderly woman. You’re quickly kneeling by her side and asking if she needs any help.

“You wouldn’t happen to have any spare food, would you?” without hesitation you reach into the pocket of your apron where you’d stuffed a blueberry scone for your dinner. You offer it to her with a smile.

“Oh, but my dear, this is your dinner.”

“Please, I hope you’ll take it. You need it more than me.” You fold it into her hand and within seconds she’s gnawing on the pastry. Through the crumbs in her mouth, she laughs.

“Hope, hm. What a powerful word.” You give her a perplexed but kind nod, not expecting such an ominous statement. The scone is quickly devoured, the only signs it was here are the crumbs on the woman’s dress and a burp.

“Now, sweet pea, we don’t have much time.” There’s the nickname again.

“Only my father calls me that. My apologies, but do I know you?” your question innocent.

“Who am I? I’d have thought you’d have worked that one out, seeing as the town considers you my apprentice.” A wicked smile pulls her lips thin. You’re left utterly lost. “I’m your fairy godmother, sweet pea.”

“You can’t be.” You laugh lightly to yourself. “They don’t exist. They’re just made up for children.”

“Didn’t your own mother believe in them?” her words take the breath from your lungs. How did she know your mother? As your mind begins racing, the woman stands and pulls a wand from her sleeve. With a simple wave, she’s transformed into a beautiful young woman in an enormous ballgown. Stacked ruffles cascade down the sides of the full skirt, each layer a shade darker than the one above.

“Now, my dear, you can’t go to the ball in that” she gestures to your clothes with her wand. “Let’s get you into something more suitable.”

With a flick of her wrist, a poof of blue dust flicks from the end of her wand and dances toward you. It covers your clothes and begins to glow, expanding, stretching, and fluffing the worn cotton on your body. You can’t help but twirl, laughing as the magic transforms you. When the dust settles, you’re left in a beautiful blue fabric that shines in the glow of the setting sun. The icing on the cake comes when you look at your feet, finding your shoes are made of glass.

“Oh, it’s wonderful. Thank you, thank you.” You know your voice could never convey just how thankful you were. When you meet her eyes you swear you see a bit a sadness, possibly regret, but it’s gone in a flash.

“Now, I just need to whip up a coach and you’ll be on your way.” Another flick of her wrist and a golden coach sits in the meadow. “Now sweet pea, this is a magic coach that doesn’t require horses or footmen. A spell from my spell-book…” She stops herself, catching the slip, “trick I’ve learned in my lovely, beautiful cottage.” All you can do is nod, and follow her as she leads you to the coach.

“Now, sweet pea, all magic comes with a price.” A sudden coldness fills her words and expression. “With the last echo of the last bell of the last stroke of midnight, the spell will be broken and all will return to what it was before.”

“That’s more than enough time. Thank you.” With a final flick of her wand, the coach is moving. You sit back and gaze out the window. With each roll of the wheels and bridge that you’ve crossed, you can’t help but smile, for with each step you’re one step closer to Steve.

You hoped to see him again soon.

#steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x you #steve harrington fluff #steve harrington agnst #the last midnight au

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kainenmarlowe · 4 years

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Deprived

It was close to midnight by the time Kainen reached his destination: a placid and tucked-away beach a few malms out from Costa del Sol. He was quick to unsling his pack from one shoulder and his polearm from the other. The former was allowed to fall where it may, the latter was thrust butt-end into the soft La Noscean sand, where it stood upright for only a second before tipping and falling unceremoniously to the ground. The display garnered only a glance over the shoulder and a roll of the eyes. At the end of a day as arduous as this, the only thing occupying his mind was the quiet swim ahead. If this didn’t clear his head, nothing would.

With a series of clicks and snaps, the buckles and fasteners of the hunter’s leather armor were released and it, too, sloughed lazily to the earth to cover his footprints. The sand could be swept off easily enough; it was the mud and dried blood from earlier which would be a chore. But that was a problem for tomorrow.

Only a few fulms out from the current reach of the tide, Kainen rolled back on his heels and fell in reverse with abandon, letting the soft sand cushion his rear. He brought his leg up with a groan to pull a filthy boot off his right foot, then again for his left. One hand then reached up to grab the collar of his undershirt and - in a swift, singular motion - he whipped the whole thing off and over his head before tossing it in the vague direction of where his armor lay. A protesting sigh followed as he lifted himself back to a standing position. The buckle at his waist was released with a ‘click’ and his pants collapsed around his ankles. The underpants, however, were staying on. Anonymity was hardly cause to abandon dignity. Besides, Halone was still watching.

At least, he hoped she was.

Kainen took a moment to enjoy the feeling of the warm air on his skin and the light coastal breeze which fluttered about the tips of his hair. The scent of salt on the wind instantly sparked his memory, triggering a poignant recollection of a better time - and for the briefest moment, his worries gave way to sweet nostalgia. The feeling was instantly fleeting, of course, but it did give him enough cause to consider the hike out a worthwhile one. He could feel his tension unwinding already.

A series of strides brought him waist-deep in the surf, and he dove forward into the first wave that greeted him. The cooler temperature, the washed-out sound, the weightlessness - it all proved to be instantly therapeutic. With a powerful stroke, he shot forward against the flow. Then again and again until the sea floor retreated below him. He curled into a ball before kicking his feet toward the surface to propel himself deeper. The water offered little resistance, for he was well-acquainted with its nature and knew precisely how to bend himself to best comply with its immutable laws. With each stroke, he sought to swim further and further out from the shore.

As soon as the changing pressure in his ears became noticeable, Kainen oriented himself skyward and had breached the surface with only a few minimal motions. The raven locks now covering his face like a mop were flung back with a swift jerk of the head, allowing him to observe the scene a significant distance from shore.

Stillness surrounded - the stars both hanging static above and dancing along the water’s surface below. A glance cast about revealed neither spoken nor creature in the visible vicinity. The only sounds were that of the water: the distant lapping of waves against the shore, Kainen’s own arms treading delicately back and forth, and the arc of droplets he had sent soaring overhead now pattering back to the sea. Significantly more relaxed, he took a lengthy breath in and rolled to float idly on his back - his gaze left to search the tapestry of stars above.

“This is not so bad,” he thought, well aware that it was only a feeble attempt to convince himself that a day slogging through muck to slay scalekin because some wine patrician wanted a unique flavor of handbag was anything but a far cry from the halcyon dream made real he had lived in Ishgard. He searched the sky, as if it would hold some sort of validation for him. The stars simply twinkled back, indifferent.

“This is...for the best,” was the justification he settled on, then. Out here, those around him weren’t susceptible to the danger which followed him. And they weren’t susceptible to his evidently harmful brand of social incompetence. Or his abject impotence in carrying out his vocation. They wouldn’t suffer for his failure any more.

“At least the populace at large knows not of my misdeeds. Not even the rest of the Order, it would seem. Only those present at the hearing know. And perhaps a handful of other individuals… Still, out here I cannot bring such hurt to the good folk of Eorzea. Or the people I considered my friends. I can simply disappear into obscurity. Indeed, this is a fate befitting a Sinner.”

Brow furrowed and jaw clenched as he allowed his introspection to run unchecked.

“But what of the impacted and afflicted in the Brume? Surely they will continue to sling their ire undeservedly at the Pillars, or worse - the Dravanians. Was it really best for the Order to have erred on the side of leniency for the sake of clandestinity?”

As the dissonance mounted, Kainen let out a heavy exhale through his nostrils - until no breath remained in his lungs. Having relinquished his buoyancy, he allowed himself to slip beneath the water’s surface and drift slowly downward. His train of thought followed.

“At the time, I was willing to let my dearest friends beg for Halone’s mercy on my behalf. For what? My inadequacy saw them punished for it. Objectively, the greater good would have been to hang me up in the central square at noon. They could place a signpost on my grave: ‘This man allowed your families to die. Sleep well knowing the Fury has wrought her justice.’ At least tensions would have eased and the people could more easily work toward the peace they deserve.”

One minute passed. Then another. The shimmering sky from before was naught but the faintest glow down here, and before long, the inky blackness had become so thick, the outline of the wispy raven hair in his periphery could no longer be discerned against the encroaching void.

Five minutes. He should have touched bottom by now. Perhaps the movement of the tide was enough to keep him suspended indefinitely, or perhaps the current had sucked him out further than expected...

Regardless, he was content to savor the sensations, or lack thereof. Heightened though they were, all of his senses had now become almost completely muted - and not just the five primary ones. His body temperature could be ice cold or feverishly hot for all he could tell. His limbs could be anywhere, or they could have simply vanished alongside his track of time. He had not drawn or released breath in some time, and his pulse had slowed to a crawl.

His inner monologue followed suit - receding into restful silence, save for a last, lingering thought:

“At least mother did not live to be disappointed. She only knew me at my best. For as inadequate as I have become, at least she could claim to have been proud until the end.”

The small comfort afforded by this reassurance was enough to tip Kainen’s mind into balance upon the fragile fulcrum that held him at the point between consciousness and lack thereof. It was this sustained twilight which he had been trained for years to achieve and maintain, even amidst the chaos of battle. Though it had been well over two cycles now since he had last slipped into this state, the deprivatory environment into which he had unwittingly allowed his own distractions to lead him ended up providing the perfect conditions for an unplanned recurrence.

In maintaining this state with no temporal articulation - allowing himself to fall neither to unconsciousness nor waking - all distinctions between now, earlier, and later had drifted away; all perception had dissolved into a nebulous, fuzzy ether; and, perhaps most importantly, his troubles, fears, and preoccupations retreated like waves from a rocky shoreline. It was in this neutral, timeless dreamscape - free of waking life’s miresome web of anxieties and pursuits - that stillness was at its most absolute. And it was at the peak of this stillness where Kainen felt a presence. It was one which had not appeared or made itself known; rather, it seemed to have been uncovered upon the washing away of corporeal sensation. The imperceptible static of his current consciousness began to coalesce into discarnate echoes; and eventually, into a synchronous, discernible notion:

“O what great cowardice is on display, with thy writhing and thy self-dismay!”

It was a ‘voice’ of the same formless quality as one’s own inner monologue, yet the thought was not his. The language wasn’t even his native and singular Eorzean, but the message was clearly understood, having come from within. The cadence was achingly slow, and its tone wholly derisive.

“Canst thou feel my ire, o knight of men? Tis not a death in service of my kin which I rue. Nay, tis my afterlife which I resent - here as part of thee, who hath since proven wholly unfit to carry my essence.”

Kainen could feel himself teetering at the brink of that familiar moment when one can feel their dream collapsing around them, yielding to a swift and inevitable awakening. But something was holding him there in that liminal space - and he couldn’t tell if it was his own force of will, or something else entirely.

“Art thou a man? Art thou a mouse? Or art thou but a foolish child, resigned to cast thy litany of laments into night after dispassionate night? Didst thou not think the warrior’s path to be fraught with the trials of thy hopes and fears laid bare upon the rocks?”

Though formless and voiceless, the presence certainly emanated a sort of hostility - one which Kainen was eager to escape from. Any attempt to open his eyes, thrash his body about, or otherwise awaken, though, was utterly futile. He was paralyzed. Senseless and unable to control himself in any manner, he felt completely subject to the will of this indeterminate entity.

“Still, thy temples stand amidst the smoulders, do they not? Art thou not capable of this selfsame resilience? Or dost thou revel in thine self-imposed exile? Tell me, knight of man, what is it that thou seek? For all which now lies in the grave of thy pride is a deplorable heap of misery.”

Kainen made a conscious attempt to speak or even to give a thoughtform reply, but it was for naught. He was completely helpless. A tightening sensation began to permeate the space and at that point, a dire realization emerged: he was still underwater.

“If thou art so resigned to withdrawal in the face of adversity, so be it. Thus is my directive, then: retreat not to thy tenuous climes of finite security. Retreat instead...inward. As thou hast done in times past. For while thy mettle hath faltered, mine burns fiercer than ever!”

“Abandon thy perceptions and surrender thyself to me!”

“Forsake thine eyes!!”

Though entirely existing within Kainen’s subconscious, the voice was thundering. Its echoes reflected infinitely off of distant, nonexistent walls, gradually morphing into a cacophonous, booming dissonance which only served to intensify the heightening sensations of pressure and exponentially increasing panic. The chorus decayed, finally, leaving in its wake an acute, high-pitched ringing that intensified in equal measure with the suffocating weight of his now-collapsing consciousness.

So this was to be it, then. This was how he was going to die. Not in defense of country or comrade; nor fulfilled and surrounded by love. It was to occur unseen and unceremoniously; an accident of absent-minded caprice and nothing more.

Indeed, this is a fate befitting a Sinner.

A cooling air could be felt caressing his skin, then. A concrete sensation, at last. Reflexively, a sharp breath was drawn in, triggering a harsh cough in turn as a mix of salty water and mucus washed back in his throat. Kainen could feel himself expelling, but into what was beyond him - at least until the small bursts of light behind his eyelids coalesced into colors, then shapes. Focus eventually came to reeling mind and body, both, and his eyesight aligned to take in the scene.

He was on the beach again; and standing, curiously enough. It was still nighttime, that much was clear - though he caught no indication of how much time had passed. A wave brushed against his heel and enveloped his foot to ankle-depth, prompting the sand to gently give way beneath. Beleaguered by stimuli, he groaned as he took a few weary steps out of the surf and onto dry sand - casting a sidelong glance to find his clothes, pack, and weapon a good distance down the shoreline. As he began the slog to rejoin his personal effects, he breathed a heavy sigh - behind it, as much relief as was exhaustion.

Though quite content to simply breathe air again, Kainen couldn’t help but entertain the thoughts and implications emerging in the back of his mind: how much of what had occurred was real, or was it entirely imagined? A hallucination, perhaps, or simply an overactive imagination?

He hearkened back to the training he had undergone eight-or-so years prior, in preparation to join the Dragonsong War. Aside from the plentiful physical honing were the mental exercises imparted by his instructors: interstitial meditation, focal release, sensory deprivation... The results were undeniable, especially when aided and amplified by the equipment and slowed physiology they had granted him. But nothing like this had ever occurred. No hallucinations. No voices. No loss of memory or consciousness. He had always been in control.

...Right?

#ffxiv #balmung #kainen #slicethecake

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ichor-hunter · 4 years

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Hades

Hades Blood Code Study- Gregorio Silva

"A blood code received from Silva. It holds his determined will to give up everything and endure total isolation to save humanity's future. This code boasts high attack power taken from both strength and dexterity, and is ideal for using heavy equipment."

Introduction to Blood Codes and Silva

Blood Codes are the abilities imbued within a Revenant's Blood. Each Blood Code is unique to each Revenant that resides within the Gaol of the Mist. Once a Revenant has awakened from their slumber after the BOR parasite has been placed in them, the blood takes on a Code which I believe derives from the characteristics of that Revenant.

We see Silva in the Player's Memories, leading the Revenants into battle from Operation Queenslayer. From the knowledge he knows, he could be a First Generation Revenant. Like Mido, he's also aware of the Horrors and the terror they brought after the Great Collapse. From our perspective, he has a very twisted way of protecting Revenants and the people beyond the Red Mist.

Greek Mythology

Silva's Blood Code is based on the Greek God Hades.

After the Olympians were victorious in the war of Titanomachy: Zeus, Poseidon, and Hades cast lots to determine who would rule which domain of the world. Hades received the Underworld.

Hades barely leaves his realm of the underworld. The only time he did was when he was smitten by the goddess Persephone. Seeing how she was hard to get, Hades thought up a plan by causing a gorgeous flower to bloom in front of her when she was picking flowers with her maidens. When Persephone reached for the flower, the ground opened beneath her and swallowed her into the Underworld, where she was greeted by Hades.

Persephone's mother Demeter became frantic of her daughter's whereabouts. Without Persephone's presence in the human realm, the world became barren, people were going through famines and dying after a year passed. As Persephone is the goddess of Fertility, with her trapped in the underworld means that humanity is in danger of extinction.

Demeter was finally told what happened to her daughter after nine days of worrying. Enraged, she left Olympus due to injustice. All the Gods begged her to come back and were willing to give everything and anything but all she wanted was her daughter back.

In the end, Zeus sent Hermes to retrieve Persephone. Hades agreed to give Persephone to Demeter, but on the condition that she eats a pomegranate seed before leaving the underworld. Since she ate the seed, she was forever tied to the Underworld. In the aftermath, Persephone is able to go back to the Underworld but only for one-third of the year and then she spends two-thirds of the rest of the year with her mother. This is how the seasons came to be.

Similarities between Silva and Hades

Hades is the Greek God of the dead, he rules over the Underworld where all the dead human souls lie. The same goes for Silva, he rests on the throne with the Relic of the Brain in his possession. He utilizes the Relic to create his own realm of the undead, which are the Revenants. No one can leave the Red Mist and no one can enter.

Karen holds the Blood Code of Demeter and Demeter is Hades' sister in Greek Mythology. We don't see them interact, however, based on the Greek lore, I can imagine they get along for professional appearances only or they don't get along. Recalling Gustav's and Dominic's reports on Silva, those attributing facts they had could also make Karen view him with slight disdain. Especially during the Player’s memories. She was adamant about finding her own way to resolve the issue. Karen’s approach to her research mirrors Sophie’s, when she was trying to learn more about the Successors.

While the two haven't interacted with each other, Davis and Silva do have a connection. Davis who holds the blood code of Hermes works under Silva's provisional Government. He takes commands from Silva. Hermes is also the Greek God that delivers humans souls to Hades in his underworld. Just like in the Greek lore, Davis and Silva's relationship would be purely professional.

"It holds his determined will to give up everything and endure total isolation to save humanity's future." This refers to the part of Greek Lore where Hades remains solely on his own in the Underworld. The Gaol of the Mists is akin to Hades Underworld where he rules over the realm of the dead. Silva sacrificed himself to maintain the Red Mist and he rules over the Vein. Hades rarely leaves the realm (until he fell for Persephone) but Silva doesn't have the luxury of leaving his throne.

Everything that's in the Underworld must remain in the underworld. If someone eats the fruit from the underworld, they will be bounded to the realm for eternity. Just like Persephone ate the pomegranate seed.

The seed, in this case, is the BOR parasites. Once a BOR parasite is placed in the heart of a corpse, they end up reviving as a Revenant. Then the Revenant is forever trapped within the cycle of death, frenzying, thirst, turning into the lost and they can never leave the Gaol of the Mist. Silva was the one who suggested that they start creating immortal soldiers to fight back against the Queen. It's similar to how Hades trapped Persephone but instead, imagine it as Hades trapping human souls in his realm forever with no escape.

The flower that Hades bloomed in front of Persephone could also relate to the mistles in the game. When approaching the mistle, it cleanses the miasma for Revenants. It also aids in healing, reviving from dispersal and many other things. All Revenants are attracted to the flower looking mistle just like Persephone was amazed at the flower Hades bloomed for her. While in Operation Queenslayer, Silva was the one who urged for Revenants to be born to help slay the Queen so you can say Revenants are mesmerized by mistles in general because of his decision to turning them all into Revenants.

Both Hades and Silva don't want to let the human souls/revenants escape their realm for several reasons. Once a human soul has passed on, they can't return to the surface. The human soul maintains its former form when the soul left their body, and they continue to behave the same way they did in life without physically or mentally changing in the underworld. The Revenants are the same in the sense that after they become one, they still try to live their lives the same way except for the additional fact of intaking blood every once in a while. Revenants can no longer grow. Appearances could be changed (but those special cases would be Revenants like Jack, who took on the Relic of the eye) but not to the extreme where the Revenant is completely unrecognizable.

Revenants are trapped to protect humanity from them, but they are also protected from the horrors because of the Red Mist. Hades protect human souls as well since they are unable to return to the living. The concept of time doesn't apply to either Hades nor Silva and everyone else in the Underworld/Gaol of the Mist.

Hades’ Gifts

Regenerative Drain-Causes Drain attacks to restore HP. Survival Instinct-Boosts gift abilities, weapon & drain attack power when your HP is below a certain amount.

Since Hades is meant to thrive in the underworld, these two gifts could be synonymous with Hades' innate powers while ruling the underworld. As a god, he isn't meant to die and with his survival instinct, it's more of him bearing the responsibility of the underworld after his other brothers took responsibility for their realms. - Argent Wolf Cross-Fires a cross-shaped blade of blood at the target.

The subject of "wolf" could relate to Cerberus, the guardian of the underworld. With its ferocious three heads, they could easily attack anyone who trespasses. The attack is probably a homage to the mythical creature that resides with Hades in the underworld. - Execution-Creates a giant sword that falls like a guillotine upon the enemy.

While Hades wasn't a judge of the dead souls in the underworld, he did supervise the trials of them. The real judges would be Minos, Rhadamanthus, and Aeacus. Since Hades already rules the realm of the dead, the guillotine attack must be a representation of it.

Concluding Thoughts

Silva is downright terrifying.

You see him being portrayed in a very mixed light. On one hand, he's seen as the savior for the Revenants in the Vein but dark things are going on behind the scenes. I was just simply refreshing myself on Hades' lore since I knew I was coming around to this post. The more I read all of the little hints and his role in the story, the more I see how scary Silva really is for perfectly playing the same role as Hades.

#code vein #code vein theory #blood code study #code vein lore #code vein silva #gregorio silva #code vein gregorio silva #blood code hades

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kitsoa · 4 years

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KHuX- Three Prong Speculation

I am gonna like level so hard into speculation it’s not even gonna be funny. Because I have three interlocking theories on KHuX that I have speculated about before but never gone over the interconnected nature. A lot of this is re-summarizing the speculation posts but it runs on THREE MAIN IDEAS.

Kingdom Hearts is a self-aware story and MoM is the creator of that story. He is not seeing into the future more so as dictating it.

Ava, understanding some level of malicious manipulation in her master kills Strelitzia and plants an impostor (to be determined who) to thwart the carefully laid plans of MoM.

Ventus, a victim of the system, grows an immensely suppressed darkness that manifests as a split personality that would later be christened Vanitas. This darkness is a Darkling hybrid that then serves to create discord in the Union Leaders and is the intended spark of the rebirth cycle.

Okay that’s a lot. Let’s dive in.

This story all about traveling around Disney movies and connecting with characters isn’t all that deep. The face value of the plot kinda explains what I see as it’s underlying plot twist. That it seeks to discuss the merits of stories and characters in our lives. Making friends seems to be the premise but it’s not so much making friends as it is understanding and feeling the impact of fictional entities (all of Sora’s friends are characters we’ve met in other fictional contexts)-- but we are observing it through an inside lens: through fictional denizen Sora and his subsidiaries.

The rising conflict within this shadow premise of Kingdom Hearts then ends up being about the regard of fiction and the impact stories have. Their nature. What they are capable of doing and the reason we should or shouldn’t value their creation.

Enter. The Master of Masters.

The Author

The theory goes like this. The Book of Prophecies, depicting the story of the entire KH franchise is written by the Master of Masters. A true claim. The Master of Masters is able to do this through a stable time loop device he plants into the narrative known as the Gazing Eye. Everything that keyblade baring the eye witnesses is view by him temporally jam-packed into his understanding to allow him to write the book in his time.

...A harder claim to verify.

See we kinda have to take MoM’s word for it here. Sure eyeballs are used for witnessing things and the breadth of his abilities could very well enchant some eye to transmit that view back into the past but… knowing the limitations of the universe with time travel and how seemingly limited an arbitrary eye in a key view would give him… this plot doesn’t actually make any sense. He either is powerful enough not to need an elaborate proxy, or the proxy isn’t expansive enough to warrant the knowledge he knows.

So let’s call MoM on his bluff. Let’s say he told a half-truth to Luxu. The Gazing Eye is his eye. But it’s simply a live-feed security camera. It’s his viewpoint of events of kingdom hearts outside of the written word.

Leaving us with the question: How did MoM write the Book of Prophecies?

The short answer: The world they live in is fictional and MoM is the actual author. The Book of Prophecies is a book of predictions but a roadmap, a plan. It is the story of the entire multi-verse. It doesn’t happen because MoM saw it happen. It happened because MoM willed it to happen.

Alright cool. What’s he trying to do?

Well, let’s do a quick personality analysis of MoM. Quirky and eccentric. He likes to have fun. He pokes fun at serious people and taunts them. He’s a planner, scheming together elaborate roles and procedures for his Foretellers. And he’s inquisitive. He creates the dream eaters and the keyblades. His study is full of notes and beakers and scientific paraphernalia suggesting that there’s a hunger for knowledge and understanding.

And he dwells in a fictitious world of his creation?

I turn to the flashbacks from the Cornerstones of Rebirth to re-contextualize this scenario. He paints the Keyblade War as a continuous, endless, conflict that cycles-- but I’m convinced he’s speaking figuratively. What he describes in that scene is the premise of all conflict. What he does, is explain his origin story. A boy surrounded by monsters in human guise. Real evil. The real world. And when he realized that evil he ‘created’ the Keyblade War. He saw it and all conflict as this great battle between good and evil. He formed a lens of understanding through this story. The world of Kingdom Hearts was created to rationalize the existence of real evil.

Of course, as he matures he grows more aware of this process but the disdain for that real evil still exists. He still wants to stop the cycle he’s perceived as evil’s destruction and good’s unrelenting return. He wants to do this… by emulating the process in his own story. He wants to see if it can be done. It’s his curiosity, and perhaps a sick sense of cynicism that it’s even possible. I get serious, jaded-by-humanity evil god vibes.

So he creates this story and it’s doomed to fall to darkness. It’s fated to fall to darkness not because he saw its fate but because he said so. And he’s gonna rig the resurrection process perhaps to inspire enough gumption in his creations to fight the inevitable fate that he is putting them in, to see if it can be done at all. He wants to learn from them or have his point proven.

The plan: make the war happen over and over and over again in this little world he created. Set it up so that all the players in-fight and turn to darkness and betray and lose their way and then make it so there are always designated survivors to repeat the process over again. Then sit back and watch. See if they can defy him. See if their actions can change their fate.

The Pawn

Ava is his pawn. As I state in this speculation post, Ava goes through the motions following the Master’s orders to orchestrate his designated survivors-- the Dandelions. But it’s in her encounter with Luxu that he tells her ‘there is no traitor.’ He reveals that the conflict between the Foretellers is by the Master’s very design meant to sow the tensions of war and trigger the inevitable destruction they so want to avoid. Her denial causes her to strike and ring the bell, therefore becoming the fictitious traitor and making real the inciting lost page. The Master of Master’s point is proven. Ava, performs her role and brings about the destruction.

But knowing that the Master has orchestrated the Dandelions, she foresees the cycles repeat. The tension sowed in the very structure of the separate unions, in the recreational battles, in the wiped memories. She sees that if there is nothing done, the union leaders will grow wary of each other, the presence of the Book of Prophecy will behave like the lost page, competition and resentment will form and darkness will grow in the hearts of the Dandelions resulting in the same fate. So Ava sets to change this.

She grants the Book of Prophecies to someone other than the Master’s intended recipient. But it doesn’t stop there. Changing the BoP recipient wouldn’t change the fact that the presence of the imbalance of knowledge would incite tension between unions.

No, she plants an impostor as well. And she does this by killing Strelitzia for the greater good.

She then hides as Darkness and orchestrates their escape from the dataworld.

Now we must ask. Is this enough to change the fate of this story?

Short answer: No.

Long answer: It doesn’t actually matter because it is human nature to destroy. The Darkness will always exist.

The Plot-device

Because I think there was always going to be a planted element of discourse in the leaders. Something intended to destroy the peace of the Dandelion’s world in a different way. And that-- is the Darklings. The creatures of Darkness behave in a 3rd party way when they are symptoms of the story’s context. Keykids falling to their dark jealousy and rage. The competition and fear of their situation. Darkness is inherent. And the darkness of a powerful chosen (keyblade wielders) is an even greater threat. It is the darkness of humanity that drove MoM to this experiment and ultimately the thing that will keep rearing its head should he not meddle.

And that is why he chose Ventus as a Union Leader.

As I stated in this post, I think there is circumstantial evidence to suggest that Ven’s personality and the hardships of Daybreak Town’s system have caused him to suppress his Darkness and create what is essentially a split personality. Schrodinger's Darkling. I believe Ven was chosen by MoM to ensure the destruction of the Dandelion’s world.

His capacity for darkness is foreshadowed and eventually spawns a later series antagonist. Ven is used to talk about that duality and the exclusive factors of both natures so it is fitting that he is capitalizes on that poetic message. Darkness is in every heart, even the kindest. The situation and context of the Daybreak town story created him so he is an unavoidable force. The Darklings serve as a plot device to serve in conflict with the key bearers and play the role of fodder in the Master’s grand experiment.

Conclusion

So Ava’s actions continue to make her a pawn to fate as her killing of Strelitzia drives a wedge in the Union Leaders. With his darkness suppressed to the point of bursting, the tension will send Ven over the edge and cause him to incite the Keyblade war with his Darkling split personality. This war will reflect the dark versus light fables of old that we hear the Keyblade War described as. Vanitas-- through Ven will toll the bell to start the war again. Fate will be unavoidable. In that struggle, Ava’s actions will have prompted Brain to seek out the next world. The cycle of rebirth will once again happen because of her plot. It was all orchestrated and the Master of Master’s experiment yields no new results. This god will from this have lost hope in the power of fiction to overcome the constant cycle.

That is until Sora comes to meet him.

#kingdom hearts #khux speculation #kh speculation #I got a little tired at the end #i still believe in ava as the traitor i will just willfully ignore who is here impostor #i am so nervous for re:mind

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kayuripax · 4 years

Text

Mutatink 2

My plot bunny from the Ink Demonth decided to breed. And it spat out over 6000 words. Thanks go to @lost-seal for being a wonderful beta-reader and putting up with my at times horrendous reasoning for some plotholes.

Once again, trigger warnings apply:

TW: Cannibalism, Body Horror, Gore, identity loss, murder, violence

It’s rare that he's actually lucid enough to think over what he is doing. Usually the rage clouds his mind now, and the gaping void in his chest hurts too much to let the rage disappear. Every once in a while, however, the ache lessens and he’s able to actually think. Most often it happens when he gets near the Duplicate of his human form. Oh, how he loathes it. It took his soul, his memories, and his place. But unlike how he used to be, it’s pure ink. And it doesn’t even know.

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Loop chases after loop, the days blur together. How long has it been since he was last lucid? At least five loops ago. This time it comes when he sees the double approaching the boarded off room of the ink machine. He screeches, mid lunge and almost touches it, the ache of being soulless intensifying for a second before leaving in favour of ice-cold awareness when he crashes into the boards. He howls in fury when the duplicate runs.

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He sees the Duplicate again when it runs from Sammy. It runs the second he jumps out of the ink. He gives chase on his malformed legs, doing his best to insure he finally gets his soul back. He almost reaches the Double, but then the door slams close right in front of him. He slams his gloved fist onto the door, and growls loudly. All he hears are ragged breathing and words mumbled in panic. After a final knock, he turns around, the webs trailing along.

The Duplicate is touching him. He had chased it after he discovered it running errands for the Angel, and in its panic it slammed its palm into his face. He lurches to a halt, his arms fall to his sides limply. His breath is ragged, but for the first time in what surely must’ve been years, he had ran normally. He felt whole. It’s… it’s a feeling that almost makes him cry. The only indication however is the intensifying tremble of his grin, that his limbs have a slight tremor, and the ink on his face is running faster. A peculiar sound escapes his throat and the double trembles. The contact breaks suddenly when Boris slowly plods into the area. A lurching feeling, and then he feels empty again. Before anything can happen, Boris inches closer, and pulls him into a hug, pinning his arms to the side. Then, achingly slow, he taps out something in Morse.

H-E-N-R-Y

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Boris remembers. He saw when Henry stopped being Henry and the Double had taken his place. It wasn’t that obvious at first, but it definitely showed when Henry stopped talking about his family. When he is hurt, he partially dissolves into ink. Boris noticed. And now that he sees the Demon and the Double, the latter’s hand on the forehead of the former. He knows what happened to Henry after he was sent into the ink machine during the loop where the ink laid it’s claim. He remembers since that loop. His desire to help Henry overcame whatever stuck them here. When he taps out the name, he feels the skeletal form slump against him, shoulders jerking up in mute sobs. He gently pats the Demon's back.

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He isn’t alone. Boris remembers. Boris remembers. Even without a soul he finally feels something: pure, unadulterated relief. When the Double attempts to take Boris away, the axe raised in trembling hands, he gives off a keening hiss, watching in morbid satisfaction when it jerks back. Now he only needs to get his soul and memories back from it, and then… then he’d finally be whole again.

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He trails after them for hours, the shadow they knew was there. His webs still dance across the walls, positively lethal to the Butchers and the Searchers. Once they fall asleep however, he goes his own way and to her level. He could go there. Usually he didn’t, her twisted but still holy energy managing to make it more difficult than he’d like. Now though? Now it doesn’t matter. Boris remembers. And he’d be damned to an eternity as a soul- and-mindless beast before he’d let her get her hands on Boris. When he approaches, several alarms start blaring, a few searchers jumping up but promptly dissolving under his webs. A roar sounds throughout level nine when she decides to use the metal door to hinder him. Teeth break apart, limbs elongate, becoming more muscled, and it doesn’t stand a chance anymore. Her screams echo throughout the level. When they fall silent, the entire room is coated in ink and no trace of her and him are in sight. The only thing remaining is a piece of a miracle station, the halo on it prominent.

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When he re-joins Boris and the Double not one speck of ink is out of its place, but despite that Boris looks at him with a knowing eye. He decides not to pay attention to it, instead he viciously tears apart the lone searcher that they encounter. His hollow chest aches more today. He doesn’t trust himself, keeps his distance from Boris. That he is lucid for as long as he is is a wonder all of itself. When the Double inches closer to him, fear on its face, he pushes Boris away, screeches and slams the double into a wall. Cracks appear, his webs writhe. It’s too much, too much too soon. He wants to tear it apart, but he knows he can’t. Not yet. He opens a portal and nearly runs through it. His mind is fading.

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Boris watches in worry when Henry throws the Double into a wall and disappears. He isn’t sure how much of Henry still is there under the ink and it’s influence. It does bring out the darkest tendencies a human has. And Henry was in it for so long now... he grunts as he picks the Double up, carrying it to the stairwell to stuff it in a Miracle Station. The other inhabitants of the studio know to stay away from him, he is under the protection of Henry. The Double wasn’t graced with that mercy. The only person in this place who hasn’t listened to Henry’s declaration (it wasn’t a verbal one, but the fact that his webs don’t hurt Boris are a clear sign) was Alice. And she re-joined the ink. Boris felt when her twisted energy disappeared, and he could breathe a bit easier. He isn’t faulting Henry for lashing out like that against her. He is... unstable.

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Every creature inside the studio cowers when the ire of the Ink Demon swamps the studio. The webs are everywhere, the ink is full of agonized voices that have just lost their physical form and the stream of them is not ebbing the least. He is angry and not himself, the agony and overwhelming anger back in full force, worse than ever before. Nobody is safe. His mindless slaughter continues for quite some time, the miracle stations are crammed, creatures stacking on top of each other to escape him. Then a deafening scream cuts through the dusty air, a harsh and blinding light robbing him of what little remains of his sight. A fist with monstrous strength hits his face, and he can feel his teeth break apart from the force. The back of his skull hits wood, and he feels the inky mass cave in, the feeling strangely clearing his mind from the haze of agony. A second scream shrills, thin but strong hands closing in on his neck, suspending him mid-air. Norman always was strong, even when the studio was still running. Surprisingly so for a man of that age, but that came back to bite him now. He forgot the Projectionist sometimes abandons Level 14 to roam. The harsh light shines directly into his face now, and he hears the projector whirring. Bits and pieces of the inky remains of his skull clatter to the ground, the strange clarity not disappearing, the agony of soulless-ness ebbing in favor of the pain of broken bones. A pain he honestly likes more, because it reminds him that he used to be human. Then, his shrivelled and black husk of a heart stops, when a horribly crackling word escapes the speaker in the Projectionist’s chest.

S͏̞̝̯̤̰̖̙̱͙̬̮̭̲̺̖̖̞͠ͅͅT̶̢̻̰̺̦̞̳͖͎̖̠̹̫͔͉̻͜͟O̢̕͘͏̞̣̜̱P͍̘̹̞͟͠ͅ

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Norman is lucid. It’s rare, but it happens. How, he has no idea. His head was replaced by a projector, for God’s sake. It isn’t a feeling he likes. Even the aches of old age are something he prefers to this. And then there is the speaker lodged in his chest. It hurts. Hurts too much for him to be conscious still, but somehow, he can’t fall asleep and become unconscious. Norman resents the ink for making him go through this endless cycle of mindless beast and horrified man. And then there was Henry. Poor, old Henry. Nice bloke when he still worked with them. And now just as trapped as them. Trapped and tainted. He remembers his last lucid moments. Henry had been mid-transformation, and at that point Norman had stopped attacking. He couldn’t attack his former co-worker, not with the knowledge that it would only speed it up and turn it even more pain filled. The small bout of being lucid had disappeared fast, and then he could only remember small bouts. ‘Bendy’ attacking him, beheading him. Blessed rest in the ink. And then, suddenly, it was as if someone rewound the reel. He could feel how everything went backwards, and suddenly he was back to being mindless. However, he comes to his senses more often now. Small moments, ones he uses to rest outside the ink. And then the Ink Demon started rampaging. The webs are everywhere, creatures, former co-workers, scream and disappear back into the ink, some souls snuffing out permanently. Norman encounters the Demon on Level 11, the ink on it even more runny than usual. And for the first time, the always quivering grin is showing something else than malice. There’s panic there, anger and despair. And then Norman punches it, and suddenly a volley of emotions and a sense of being crashes in on him. That thing was Henry. That thing was Henry. He gathers his strength and bellows out a word.

S͏̞̝̯̤̰̖̙̱͙̬̮̭̲̺̖̖̞͠ͅͅT̶̢̻̰̺̦̞̳͖͎̖̠̹̫͔͉̻͜͟O̢̕͘͏̞̣̜̱P͍̘̹̞͟͠ͅ

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Deafening silence in the halls. The webs are frozen on the walls, and no one moves an inch. Only the soft pat of the ink dripping out from the fractured skull are audible, and it’s unbelievably loud. He slowly moves his head, the fingers still around his neck still holding him in place. The trembling of his grin lessens, then it goes still. The broken teeth don’t fit together anymore, not like they do when he becomes even more of a beast. This time they’re truly broken and shattered, small pieces missing and on the ground. The harsh light of Norman’s lens comes closer, the heat from it giving his cold, mangled frame a bit of sorely needed comfort. Then the fingers around his neck disappear, instead grasping under his arms, and he is pulled up. Staticy crackling escapes Norman’s speaker as the Projectionist shoves him to the elevator, almost punching in the call button and jamming it. As if the surprises weren’t enough this day and loop, his former co-worker’s speaker crackled again, the word escaping it almost... soft. It was his name. His shriveled heart stops again. Then they hear the hum of the elevator, and Norman slinks away in the dark, flickering light disappearing. A second later the elevator dings, and both Boris and the Double are greeted by the sight of an even more mangled form. The Double starts retching at the sight of him. Boris howls.

Level S. Silent, dusty, and yet oh so loud. Only for him and Boris, the Double horribly ignorant to the screams still haunting the accountants office, not just the one caught on tape. Grant is still there, barely coherent. Screaming, always screaming. He would almost pity the accountant, but he is barely capable of caring about Boris and there is no room left. He slinks closer to the desk when the Double gets the valve, and gazes down on the quivering puddle. His webs cover the writings on the wall, and a quick change of intent silences the screams. Boris shoots him a glance, one that holds no judgment. The accountant had been screaming for over fifteen years. He deserved to be brought into the puddles so he could rest.

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Lost ones. Helpful in one loop, enemy in so many others. He sees how they flinch when people near them move, how their skin glistens in the murky lights. He gets... hungry at the sight. He hungers for the humanity they still hold. For the ink they hold, ink that would repair the remainder of the damage Norman wrought. His ragged breathing gets louder, inky saliva building up behind his teeth. Before he starts to act on his urges however, Boris gloved hand clamps down on his arm, a miniscule shaking of the head accompanying the motion. He growls, but doesn’t yank his arm away. Instead he opens up an inky portal, just like he did on the chasm, and goes to the room the vent system opens to. He trusts the double to go to the correct exit and not the one he always blocks. The trust is justified, it appears twenty minutes afterwards.

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He stares down at the carnival games with a head tilt. The remaining fractures in his skull grate against each other with the motion. The mutterings of the Double, that you were supposed to throw the bottles over, is ignored. He know how it works. He wasn’t thinking about that. He worries more about the upcoming meeting with Allison and Tom. Anger builds up at the thought, the webs writhing a bit more. He grasps one of the balls, agonizingly slow, and stares at it. Then, with speed he shouldn’t have, he throws it at the bottles. They shatter and fall over. It doesn’t calm him down completely, but the sound is still music to his ears. He repeats it for the other stacks. The shooting game is taken care of by the Double. He grins wider, mockingly so, when he notices that it can’t shoot at all even though it has his memories on doing so. The door to the room with the costumes grates open, the metal shrieking. Then he and Boris hear the double shriek at the sight of the costumes. He gives off a raspy, grating laugh. Soon.

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The Butchers in this area huddle together when they feel the opressive ink webs. When the demon comes out of the wall, fingers lengthened to claws, they feel fear for the first time. The slightly cracked teeth break apart, sharpening and growing wider. Then they clamp down and garbled screams sound. The Demon is hungry, not for violence. He hungers for life. So he takes. When the warm, sluggish ink fills his maw, he feels the cracks mending, filling in with ink. The chattering of teeth fills his ears when he turns around and he sees the Striker huddling close to the barrel. It’s stitches are torn and it’s able to open its mouth, revealing toony fangs. He leans closer, his breathing slightly gurgling because of the fresh ink still coating his throat. The nearby Piper groans loudly, and tries to smack him with its wrench. He whirls around, spearing it on his claws. It still flails when he swallows, quickly dissolving and assimilating into his ink. It’s a perversely good feeling, his aches disappearing under the influx of life and ink. The only remaining Butcher is the Striker, who is close to climbing under the barrel out of fear. It shivers at the feeling of the hungry gaze and curls together. It doesn’t want to die. It just got out of the puddles! A croon reaches it ears, and it feels the ghosting of claws on its skin. Claws that become blunt fingers that seize it’s arm and pull it away from the barrel and up in the air. When it dares to look, the trembling grin is back to normal and right in front of it. It squeaks in fear. Then the metal doors grate open, and the demon looks at the intruders. Nothing happens for a second. Then the Demon holds it up like it was a teddy bear, and croons. Boris facepalms.

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The Striker becomes an addition to the group. It stays far away from him though. He doesn’t fault it. He just ate its siblings after all. However, he is intrigued by it. Never before have the stitches torn apart, never before has it produced anything other than the normal garbled sounds. He wants to know what will happen next. It’s new. And new can be helpful. Or dangerous beyond belief. He knows that. Still, he plants it by the corpse of its brethren when they get close to Bertrum. The ride was dangerous. And he wanted to watch his new plaything a bit longer. After the ride starts up, he screeches right in its face, raking the claws over dead, bloated flesh that comes out of the seams of the ride. How he never noticed before is beyond him, but he doesn’t care. This way he gets soul scraps. Little pieces of humanity he wouldn’t be able to feel otherwise. They will carry him over for a while. Just long enough until he can snatch his soul back. Before he will be able to do that, he has some things to do first though. He screeches once more, and the machine goes silent and limp. The Double sits in a corner, axe in front of it, fear, disgust and horror on its face when it takes some in the damage he wrought. His grin trembles a bit more, the agonizing ache slowly seeping in. He turns, slams down the lever, and opens a portal on the nearest wall. He can’t lose it now, when Boris is in the same room. The toon jerks its head, a small but sad smile on his face. He understood what was going on. After Boris ushers the Double and the Striker out, he strides troughs the portal, appearing in the Lobby. Time to destroy The End before the Double got to it and would be able to set him back.

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The Vault is eerie when he tears it apart in his search, his soulless state becoming more obvious, cold and pain creeping in his body. Anger already clouds his vision. After a while he finally rips the right box open and holds the reel in his claws. It burns, even when it isn’t in terms projector. He snarls. Joey coated it in holy water. Given what he is, it’s no surprise that he feels pain. He drops the reel after a second, then sinks down next to it. He is tired. So, so tired...

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He comes to a bit later. The reel has left burn marks in his ink, and he relishes in the pain for a bit. He feels alive for the barest second, then the feeling is swallowed up by the cold. A low whine escapes him as he stands up. He had a plaything to observe. He had to protect Boris. Even with the Angel out of the picture there were enough hazards. And the canid toon never knew how to stay away from trouble. The inky portal opens up, he limps through. When he arrives, he sees the Projectionist approach a Miracle Station. He spreads his webs, grins wider when the flickering light swivels to face him. That grating screech that was Norman’s signature in this inky hell sounds, and suddenly they are fighting. His ink pounds in his ears, the grin trembles even more. For the first time he isn’t experiencing this fight in a mindless rage but lucid. Adrenalin pumps through him, lets him ignore the pain in his leg, his ink filled lungs. When he hoists Norman up at the throat, he hisses in amusement. Norman is struggling against the grip, unable to free himself. A second screech fills the air, then the light starts to flicker more, as if it was dying. He lifts his five fingered hand, runs it over the side of the projector. Then he grips the machine and pulls. The light flickers once more, then goes out. The Projectionist is down for the count.

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Allison and Tom freeze when they see him, the latter unconsciously lifting his hackles. It’s so doglike that Henry wonders if the man is even there anymore, or if the instincts simply take over when face to face with the biggest predator the studio has to offer. He hopes it is the latter. The smell of fear is sharp and distinct, and it’s an almost perverse pleasure to see the man who tormented him and deprived him of food so often be so afraid. Logically he knew that Tom had had no reason to trust him all these loops ago, but it makes him angry every time he thinks about it. The man turned toon could’ve starved him to death. Three times in his whole prison sentence he was able to eat. And always only when Tom was away. He takes pleasure in the flinch and backwards stumble when he limps closer.

The duo refuses to go to their hideout with him near. He laughs, the sound almost like nails on a chalkboard. Everyone flinches, the Striker that still tags along huddles into a ball. At that motion he simply grins wider, picks the creature up by the scruff of its neck and thrusts it in the arms of the Double. He looms over it for a second, then turns around. His small nap from earlier wasn’t enough, he could feel the tiredness in his aching limbs. He limps through the wall, back to the vault. Once there, he sends his webs out once more, destroying the one searcher that thought of sleeping inside the cardboard boxes. With trembling limbs he opens one of them up, grinning genuinely when he finds the old radio. Oh so carefully he puts it on, then lies down. The music lulls him to sleep.

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Commotion above wakes him up. He grabs the reel, and promptly goes through a portal to see what is going on. Sammy. The man has pulled himself out of the puddles, madder than ever before. Accusations fly from his lips, ink coats the axe he holds, and Boris is missing one hand, the Double trying it’s best to shield both itself and the toon. The Striker lies between them, already halfway dissolved. It was the first one to be hit. Sammy always has been peculiar amongst the ink creatures. Just like him the musician can sense souls trapped by the ink. And the crazed man is the only one in the studio able to punt souls out of his reach. Not even the Angel could do it. And the man is trying his hardest to punt his soul out of reach. Anger overwhelms him as he claws his way out of the wall, his webs promptly flooding the entire area. He roars at the man, loud enough to rattle windows. Teeth break, legs shrivel, arms elongate, claws grow. A deadly dance, no one backing down. His soul was his to take. Not Sammy’s. Not the Angel’s. Nobody’s. Only his. Claws find inky flesh, sink in. The screams of the musician are music to his ears, more so than any tunes the man ever composed. When the body starts to go slack, he doesn’t let it fall, he knows the man is like a cockroach. Only when the ink making up the body starts to dissolve he allows it to slide of his claws. A horrified gasp reaches his ears and he turns. Tom and Allison stare at him and he bares his teeth even more. They flinch.

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Allison can barely bear to look at the giant Demon in front of them. She is too scared, way, way too scared of it and the power she knows it holds. When the thing turns around to look at the Boris, she grips her sword tighter, ready to jump in despite herself. But instead of skewering the toon, the Demon croons unhappily. It’s an unnatural thing, warbling and layered with sounds no throat should ever produce. Not even the throat of the Ink Demon. She inches closer to Tom.

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Boris is injured. Boris is injured. A hand is severed cleanly, the offending appendage already dissolved in the ink. The stump bleeds sluggish, congealing ink dripping to the cavern floor. They all watch how he becomes smaller, turns back into his usual state. The almost silent breathing of the Demon unsettles the others, more so than any other moves he makes. The breathing always sounds, you always know where the Demon is. That it goes silent now does not bode well for anyone. Allison starts fearing for her life.

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He is hyperaware of his surroundings, of Tom and Allison nearby. He’s aching, angry and hungry, always hungry, but he isn’t attacking. He knows the Congregation is moving. They felt their leader dying and they’re angry. But the anger won’t help them against his anger. His anger topples walls and kills in swathes. When the first of the puddles starts bubbling, he gets up, slouching and shuffling to the dead center of the cave. The second the Lost One leaves the puddles he tears into it with energy he hardly shows, tearing it open in a matter of seconds. Hot ink spills on the ground, the soul doesn’t even start to fade before he gobbles it up. It doesn’t help. It isn’t his soul. He needs his own. But he can’t get to it with the machine on. The next soul joins the ink again, the miners hat clattering on the ground noisily. He screeches and his webs dance. Screams sound out, audible to everyone but the Double, blissfully ignorant of everything but his rampage. Searcher after Searcher, Lost One after Lost One, they all fall to his webs. It’s a massacre and he doesn’t care; the ache is too much. He wants it to stop.

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Silence weighs heavily on them, the only sound his ragged breathing, the soft pittering of the ink on his claws splattering on the ground. He trembles, his claws twitch. He wants them to find their mark, to pull out his soul. He wants it desperately. He doesn’t want it. He… He doesn’t… He doesn’t know anymore. He wants to be whole again. He wants this miserable existence, an existence filled with aches and mindless rages to stop. And yet he… and yet he can’t. He’d have to murder himself for it. Even if it was a copy. A damn Duplicate. One that took his entire life, leaving him with the barest dredges of himself. He shivers, a lump in his throat builds up as a small sliver of warmth forms on his face. He lifts his head, stares directly in the small bit of sunlight shining through the cavern roof. He wants to cry at the little bit of warmth, so different from the one he feels when devouring shards of humanity. He wants to cry but can’t. He’s too inhuman. Too soulless. Too tired. He wants it to end.

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Allison stabs him. She stabs him to get at the reel he still clutches in his hand. He feels like simultaneously crying, laughing and tearing her apart for that insolence. He ruled the studio. How dare she? The webs writhe on the wall, he sees her expression become pained. A grim satisfaction grows in his stomach. She should be afraid. But instead of tearing her apart like he wants, he simply growls at her, takes in her shock when the wound simply closes before her eyes. He breathes louder, inches closer to her. Her hands shake, then the sword clatters to the ground. She can feel his breath on her cheek, shivers. It reeks of old ink and blood. A gurgling laugh, too quiet for the Double, Tom and Boris to hear. She starts to regret that move even more than she already does. He raises a claw, traces it over her face, stops at the left side. He could make her look like the Angel he already killed. It would take barely more than the touch he already initiated. It would be satisfying. But it would also remind Boris of how often he died at the hands of the Angel. He pulls back. The toon had become the sole reason that holds him back from these overly violent responses. It should concern him that he isn’t capable of doing so on his own.

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He clutches the reel tightly, ignores the burn of the Holy energy still clinging to it. He needs it. He won’t give it to the Double. He’d be set back to the beginning, mindless once more. He refuses. He won’t become that again. ( He already is, his oh so traitorous mind whispers ) They reach the board that breaks, the sound of the Double hitting the ground music to him. It’s pained groans even more so. Just for the slight thrill of it he jumps down as well, hitting the ground right next to the double. He sees it shiver when he breathes down its neck. It smells of paper, ink and bacon soup. A horrible smell, really. The bacon soup, that is. The stuff had already been there when he worked at the studio. That it’s still there, after 30 years, and is still eaten is... disconcerting. That he ate it himself when he still had his memories is something he expertly ignores.

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The Double shivers with every step he takes, every rattling breath. He would laugh at its fear, but he is occupied with stalking the resident Butcher’s that reappeared. His webs dance, the garbled cries sound through the maze. He takes great joy in ransacking Joey’s office, drowns it in the foul ink of the Butcher’s. The old man would never see it, but it still fills him with a vicious sense of righteousness. The audio log on the desk is another thing he destroys with vigor, this one to prevent the Double from making Joey’s voice ring out. It’s enough he has to hear it in a while, in the Machine. He hisses lowly when the Double gets near. It’s stench disgusts him.

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The vault is eerie as usual, but the remainders of his frenzied search for The End, the reel he still clutches to his chest, are still visible. Claw marks on the walls, the door ripped off its hinges. He almost laughs at the panicked expression of the Double when it sees the reel in his gloved hand. The realization that he controls this loop seems to horrify it. He finally relents and let’s out a long chuckle, the sound like sandpaper on glass shards. Tom and Allison, both just arriving, flinch at the sound. Boris just flattens his ears, not really intimidated. After the ensuing silence he shows them the reel, exaggerated motions making it clear he knows they can’t harm him. When Tom lashes out to get the reel, he screeches louder than ever, the sound turning into a blood-curdling roar, teeth becoming sharper already. The amputee wolf jowls in fright, jerks back. The axe clutters to the ground, the handle breaks. The urge to rip the pesky wolf apart gets stronger every second, and he leers down at Tom, inky saliva drips from the slowly separating teeth and onto the mechanical arm. It’s his turn to jerk when he suddenly feels Boris’ gloved hand on his bony shoulders. He swivels around, the keening growl dying in his throat at the disappointed look on the canines face. He hisses angrily, rage all over his mind, but turns around and opens a corridor to his lair. He snatches Boris’ arm, pulls him along. The panicked scream of the remaining three make him shiver in anticipation and glee. His soul was nearer than ever, it won’t be long now and he’d be finally whole again.

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He slumps on the throne a minute or so after closing the portal. Boris is looking around, both in awe and dread. This is the place where Henry died and turned into the Demon next to him, the soul snatched up by the Double. The look that currently lies on the Demons face however bodes well for him, and, in a way so unlike himself, a vicious grin that matches Henry’s grows on Boris’ face. The man deserves to become himself again, both in body and mind.

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The sound of steps on metal alert them both to the arrival of the Double. Boris anxiously looks at him, but he grins at him, the expression not nearly as stretched as usual. It seems to calm the toon down. When he gives him the reel, he gives a conspiring shush, then turns to the throne and shoves the toon in the seat. Assuming his beastly form is easier than ever, the few soul shards resting in his ink fueling the monstrous body beyond the usual limit. This time the legs bulk up too, leaving him semi-quadrupedal and even larger than usual. The change makes him more confident, and he prowls around the throne, finally lying down in front of Boris like an overgrown panther. When the Double comes in and seems them, it freezes and starts shivering. He grins even wider. The second it takes a step forward, he lashes out and pins it under his massive hand. One wrong move by it would cause it to bleed out or get crushed underneath the inky appendage. He growls as he leans in, inhales the scent of the Double. His saliva drops on the floor, the metal hisses from the slightly acidic fluid. The smell of fear is a sharp and welcome contrast to the ever present ink. He shifts his hand slightly to reveal the chest of the Double, and raises is other hand, then promptly plunges it down. The squelch of his claws sinking into the flesh is hypnotizing. Slowly he pulls the fingers apart, revealing the inky insides of the Double, a glowing and pulsing orb invisible to human eyes smack dab in the middle. He leans in some more, looks at the orb, his soul. It glows a soft blue, the ever present sepia not even attempting to mix in. Oh so gently he lifts it out, cradles it gingerly, as if it might break apart any second. He holds it close to his chest, releases the Double. A second of agonizingly hot pain laces through him. And then he can feel.

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Henry cries. It’s an ugly thing, but he still enjoys every second. He feels again. He still is an inky beast, but he can feel. He finally is himself again. He shivers and wills his ink back to his normal form, but instead of the lanky, misshapen form of the Ink Demon he looks down on his human hands. He howls again, tears of joy roll down his face. He... he really is Henry again. He slowly turns to Boris, pulls his friend into a hug, one that mirrors the one the toon gave him back when he was still the Demon. Boris slowly pats his shoulders, smiling widely. Henry is himself again, he even looks the part! After a while, Henry extracts himself from the hug and takes the reel.

“Let’s end this loop, once and for all. This time there is no Demon to destroy. The End won’t force me back to the ink.” Boris nods takes one end of the reel. They look at each other, and put the reel in. Henry grabs Boris’ hand. And then...

E v e r y t h i n g

G o e s

W h i t e

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Henry awakes to the familiar whistled tune. He growls at the sound, presses his eyelids tighter together. Then he notices the additional weight with him on the bed. He slowly cracks open one eye, and a wide grin overtakes his face when he sees Boris lying on the rickety old bed with him. The wolf grumbles when Henry moves, unwilling to wake up. They managed it. They got out of the studio. And probably broke the loop too, never before had anyone bedside him left the inky abyss of the studio. Gently prodding the wolf causes the toon to slowly open his eyes. After a minute of comically looking around, Henry is crushed in a bear hug and has a sobbing canine on his lap. Slowly, he pats his companions back, then gets off the bed. Boris follows, now smiling.

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The apartment is as ratty as usual, the half eaten omelette still lies on the table. Boris takes one look at it, and promptly swallows it whole. All Henry does in response to it is a headshake, a miniscule smirk playing on his lips. When Boris takes a closer look at all the letters and knickknacks on the corkboard, Henry turns to the storyboards. Had Joey known what the ink had done to him? If he did, had he planned it intentionally? That thought makes Henry growl quietly, a tremor runs troughs his limbs. His teeth ache. The trembling doesn’t lessen. The edges of his vision turn black. Boris looks at him in concern, the low hissing sound that comes out between Henry’s teeth reminds him of the studio. And then he sees it. The ink dripping from the man’s hairline. The slowly widening smile, a mad slash on the pale face. The way the shadows on the walls flicker and dance. You can take the man ( Demon, Boris’ mind whispers ) out of the studio, but you can’t take the studio out of the man.

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Joey flinches violently when he hears the hissing and sees the shadows flicker and dance. The plate he still holds slips out between his fingers and shatters on the floor. When he whirls around at the sound of splintering wood, he comes face to face with Henry looming over him, face a crude mockery of a human one. The smile was way too wide, looked more like the one the Demon he inadvertently created wears. The ink dripping from his old friends hairline adds to the similarities. And then he sees the way Henry’s skin slowly is overtaken by ink, how lanky he looks, how unnatural the angles of his body are. No sound escapes Joey Drew’s throat, but the old man’s heart hammers louder and louder, top fast for his body to handle. The last thing the old man sees when he slumps to the ground and feels the shards of the plate dig into his skin is a pale hand coated in ink shooting out and snatching something out of his chest.

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He swallows the old soul and gags at the taste of bacon soup coating it. He slumps down next to to the lifeless body of Joey, stares at the ink receding into his skin. He isn’t human anymore. He is whole, but he isn’t human. This episode proves it. And yet... he can’t feel sorry for Joey, t he man deserved it. A gloved hand invades Henry’s field of vision. Boris. He slowly grasps the hand and gets up, a small smile on his lips at the prospect of being free from the countless loops. When they reach the front door and it opens to the outside world, not the studio, Henry looks at Boris.

“Come on, Buddy. Let’s get outta here.”

#Bendy and the Ink Machine #BATIM #Henry Stein #boris the wolf #tom boris #Bendy #the ink demon #TW: Gore #TW:Murder #tw: violence #tw: cannibalism #tw. death #tw: mental health

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