beware

WATCH ME CRY 

ALL MY TEARS

UWU UWU UWU UWU UWU UWU UWU UWU UWU UWU UWU

UWU UWU UWU UWU UWU UWU UWU UWU UWU UWU UWU

WATCH ME CRY 

ALL MY TEARS

but he certainly had a heart during that confrontation with lea. he might deny its existence up and down and swear that he’s above having such a weighty burden, but it was there. and that heart and his burgeoning emotions that he’d yet to realize were actually emotions were what made his actions during that scene seem so personal. for a man who’s so utilitarian, a lot of his actions there were so unnecessarily brutal, like stomping on lea’s hand seems like such a waste of energy and effort. and how he went out of his way to make the final blow hurt even more for axel and xion by having her be the one to deliver the killing blow.

Puppet. Oh, yes, that was right. That was what they called her. It was such an odd word, it wasn’t what she would call herself. There was a shop in Traverse town that sold toys. Sometimes in the window they had little marionettes slumped against the display case with dead eyes and bright smiles. Their strings laid out to avoid tangling. When an unseen hand lifted them, they danced. Maybe, for a time, that was what she was, doing work for Orginization 13 but now was different. Now she was something else.  

She was certain though, that who she was back then is who she was now. Why would she be different? Sure she didn’t remember some things and she may look a little different. When she looked in a mirror she saw Xion not anyone else, not anything else. There were parts of her that were not human still and parts of her that were so obviously human. They weren’t dividable parts or lines. Her chest stretched with fear or swelled with joy. Her arms were strong and immutable as any marble.

There was, and always had been, Xion. Except when there hadn’t been and what was, or who, was there before that she didn’t know. Or even when Xion came into being. 

“Well, even if I’m different now,” Xion said. “Then that just means we can introduce ourselves to each other again! My name is Xion! I don’t think I really remember you, but I think you were you…” 

Think Xion, figure it out, there are only so many options. Thirteen in fact, thirteen names, one of them had to be this guy. Just pick one and throw it out. One-out-of-thirteen were pretty good odds right?!

“Demyx?”

Such a name falling from any other mouth and he might take insult in being so horrendously mislabeled. Of all people. The witless boy with not a merit to his name, who was only allowed within their ranks for an ancient legacy that Xemnas still wonders at any claim Demyx might have to it. Ah to finally feel the poisonous claws of pride tunnel their way into his heart that such a feeble blow should render him immobile. 

But Xion is no Marluxia or Saix, men who take pride in their ability to turn their words into weapons as sharp as the blades they wield. Her strength has always been more blunt, with all the subtlety of fist to the chest than a dagger to the side. Even if she were seeking to wound, she might have chosen a better method, one that would have more than temporarily and mildly irritating sting. 

"My name has never mattered for I never had a name to truly call my own, but if you are so set in knowing what others have chosen to hail me then Xemnas will do." It'd been an idle thought of his now and then: a new moniker. Something to call his own when his is a variant of a fabrication. It seems pointless now. He will forever be known to Xemnas to those who do remember him and he's gone too long as such that to change his name would hardly be worth the inconvenience. 

    It’s a rare and fascinating sensation to walk through a place that cares nothing for him. To stride through Lordaeron is to stride through home, every face and facet of it worn and familiar in a way that, even in a pit such as Blackmoore’s camp, Arthas is known and knowing. Even Stormwind is always glancing in his direction in her goal to look upon his usual companion, her dear king, but Dalaran. She sweeps her gaze past royalty, caring little for martial skill and devotion to the Light made manifest, has nothing but dull idle interest for a name as weighty as Menethil. Workers of magic, the possessors of arcane power and esoteric knowledge, these are her most beloved children. Arthas doesn’t blame her; they’ve made of her such a glory, in knowledge and power and beauty.

    For instance.

    His decision to meet Jaina here was chosen twofold: he’s not been here so long that he can competently navigate much of the city, and this particular thirty-foot statue of a mage is an easy landmark to find even in a city full to bursting with thirty-foot statues of mages; and, he wanted to see if a theory he’d been holding for a few days was correct or not.

    The plaque labels the depiction as a Magna Scavell, the Guardian prior to Magna Aegwynn. White marble has been shaped by expert hands to resemble the soft fluidity of robes, and the same material serves as a simulacrum of rough staff wood and centuries-worn flesh. Opalescent crystals, as massive as a man, hang in the air, swaying gently on a nonexistent breeze like very strange wind chimes. Arthas has been here long enough now to be proven right: they move with the sun, rising and setting alongside it, to cast the Guardian in gorgeously-colored light. 

     He hadn’t lied to her, that day - the history and knowledge of the city weren’t his only reasons for coming here, but they had absolutely contributed -

     - and like the first robin at spring comes the element which had tipped the scales. 

    The grin that crosses his face when he sees her could put the crystals to shame. There’s an easy confidence to the way she carries herself, born of familiarity and an intrinsically Jaina aspect that he thinks would allow her to walk through any city as though she belongs as one of its beloved own. 

     “Actually, you’re early.” The deception might have inspired a little guilt if not for how well it’d worked. “I’m free for the next hour - or two. Hungry? We can compare notes on what we’ve learned about crystals. These, for instance -” he swings up his arm to indicate around Scavell’s head - “move a lot.”

Oh. How could one man be so infuriating and so charming at the same time? She'd rushed over here. Made a spectacle of herself, probably sent a few apprentices flying in her hurry to be on time or close enough to it. Now she's a mess, looking as though she'd been caught in some amateur's wind spell gone awry with her robes askew, her hair a mess and sweat still beading on her forehead. She gapes at Arthas as though she’s doing her best impression of a fish, all the while thinking of all the time she actually had. There's probably a gnomish mage dead somewhere, flattened by her flurry of steps. 

"Arthas Menethil!" 

She jabs a finger at him and then has to stumble backwards and out of the path of a giggling pair of children as they dart in front of her and then between Arthas' legs. A girl and her baby brother too engrossed in playing a game of catch to care for the drama that's unfolding around them. When they disappear out of the plaza leaving only a musical trail of laughter in their wake, Jaina finds herself smiling again. 

Then her attention slides back to the focus of her ire.

He's lucky, she thinks since it's impossible to stay angry at him for too long. But she's not letting him off the hook that easy either. Jaina plants both hands on her hips, an eyebrow raised, looking every bit like her mother during one of Daelin Proudmoore’s missteps.

"I can't believe you could be that sly... and smart. Really, I'm more impressed you were the first person to try that on me. Still, you're treating me to dessert. I know of a bakery not so far from here." Like darkened storm clouds passing over head, she's all sunshine and smiles again.

For the sake of remaining incognito, he has shed his usual coat to don new garb, still black as ever though that is where the resemblance ends. Travellers often come and go to Radiant Garden and he is yet another soul come to see what has been restored. With the freedom to move as he pleases for now, he finds himself wandering, his own path not so aimless as he'd imagined until he comes upon the old library, still bursting with musty tomes that he wonders what books must line the shelves of the newly constructed version.

But such thoughts are fleeting and dashed away when he realizes that he is no longer alone, for here he finds a man still haunting the stacks. 

either way trying to get his name out of him is like pulling teeth sometimes since he does this entire word game with them, culminating in that rather hilarious conversation with him and roxas on the dark margin before roxas decided to cut through the bullshit. 

his identity and what his memories mean to him. this is a man who has like, what? three sets of memories in him, not including his own. he’s not terra, he’s not xehanort, he’s certainly not terranort. he looks at all three of these people separately and disregards what connections that he has with them in an almost dismissive manner, but the memories are there and terra’s memories especially are probably what’s going to inform his actions post kh3. 

and of course, just terra in general. once xemnas finally frickin accepts that he has a heart and he does in fact has feelings and the one feeling that’s dominating all else is the fact that he’s lonely, he’s going to be soooooo jealous of terra. as it is, xemnas in what might be a brilliant bout of self-loathing, feels that terra threw away his friendships and took them all for granted. but then he sees terra reunited with aqua and ven again and he just wants that so badly. 

“huh?”

he heard that familiar voice calling out to him and laxus stopped walking to see a tired all might catching up to him. that dumbass. his condition shouldn’t be allowing him to do that and before he could say something he saw the other shove a box of chocolates on his hand. what the fuck? he can’t protest now since the other was far away, even the thought of throwing them away came to mind but somewhere deep down on him told him not to do so.

“you…” well at least he got some free candies to eat at home when he felt like eating something sweet. “can you walk back to the academy on your own?” he looks like he is almost going to die just from chasing him so he thought he could help him on his way back.

TRUTH be told, he almost heaves a sigh of relief when the box of chocolates isn't hurled away. It wouldn't be out of character for a man like Laxus to misconstrue his intentions with such a gift. Half of his anxiety about being so forward came down to the man's reaction and the fact that he still has them held in his hands is enough for Toshinori’s smile to brighten enough to rival even the sun in its radiance. 

"I'll be fine! Just because I'm not what I once was doesn't mean I'm one of those glass dolls either!" His arms are nearly flapping with placating gestures. He doubts the act is convincing though when every inch of him's already burning from over-exhaustion. How easily and quickly does he forget that he doesn't have All Might's stamina anymore. 

    “Hard to say for sure.”

    “I could tell you what you smell like, though.”

          ❛  I wanted to try out this power of mine,  ❜  xigbar chides back.  ❛  This is only going to be a nice little test to see if it really works as well as the old coot said it would.  You get what you want and so do I.  ❜  the exchange seemed to be successful enough,  and now that it’s in more capable hands… 

          with the question,  he angles his head before shrugging exaggeratedly.  ❛  He said he’d give it to me and I’ve got one.  It’s no secret now that I’ll be using it from now on.  Even Sora knows that much,  at least about that little tidbit.  ❜  there’s a grin that seems a mite sinister.  ❛  Don’t tell me you were so ignorant to think I’d be following around some old geezer for nothing more than a thrill ride.  As if.  ❜  there’s a reason for everyone to tail him around like a bunch of ducklings,  he was no different than the rest of them.  

           ❛  That’s a dare if I’ve ever heard one!!  I wouldn’t bank on the things you think I don’t know,  it’s a huge gamble!  ❜

"Gambling is the purview of Luxord, your specialty has always been that ranged weapon of yours. Until now it seems." There are REVELATIONS to untangle now, threaded and knotted within the shroud of confessions that Xigbar drapes about his person. There is nothing more disquieting than to know that a pawn he'd once moved across the board has now become something more, a piece far more important than Xigbar had ever let on. 

Had he ever been a pawn? The answer seems unlikely now when this man boasts of a weapon that he should have no right to claim. And what reason did he have for wanting a keyblade? Power. Control. Mastery over a fundamental part of the universe.

can we go shopping :/