deercountry | and my heart went 'boom!'

and my heart went 'boom!'

FEBRUARY 2023 EVENT

Due to the cyclical nature of Trench, prompts from the PREVIOUS FEBRUARY are available for use again. Please note when you are using this years prompts vs last years prompts when plotting or writing top-levels to avoid confusion.

IMAGE DESCRIPTORS IN ORDER OF APPEARANCE
Prompt One
[Image One: A broken mirror with a woman looking into it, pressing her fingers against the glass. ]
[Image Two: A rose lit up like embers. ]

Prompt Two
[Image One: Neon hearts glowing on a wall. ]
[Image Two: A pocket watch on top of a book page. ]

Prompt Three
[Image One: A young woman with dark hair standing in the snow with red flowers. ]
[Image Two: Footprints in the snow. ]

[NAVIGATION]

Prompt 1 • Prompt 2 • Prompt 3 • Plotting • Newsletter

[JUMP TO COMMENTS]

BAD LUCK OF THE EARLY WORM

WHEN: February
WHERE: All around the city
CONTENT WARNINGS: Curses, violence, danger, misfortune

Everyone has their own streak of bad times. There are some days or weeks whre it feels like nothing is going right. Most people would try and tell say that it's just the tendency to focus on the negative. That it can be relieved by writing down all the good things that happen in our lives, because we have a tendency to only ever focus on the bad. And maybe most of the time, people are right! Maybe the idea of luck really is just perspective.

But not in Trench. Not this month.

No matter what way it's looked at, bad luck seems to be clinging to some people. It might start out small, with simple things like knocking over a favorite drink or snack, or ruining a project that had hours invested into it. Then it might become bigger. A person might start to trip over things and injuring themselves, they might get lost in a blizzard and nearly freeze before finding their way home or to someone they know. Eventually, it could even become undeniably dangerous. The person impacted by bad luck could start to notice corruption levels rising quickly, they could start to turn into a beast at random, they could start to attract violent beasts to them and put themselves or others at risk with heavy battles. The possibilities seem to be endless and none of them are good. Did someone break a mirror? Or twenty?

It will be easy to see that this isn't just impacting one person. Sleepers and Trenchies alike seem to be being plagued by streaks of bad luck across the board. Luckily, the locals seem to know what to do about it. Bad luck pops up from time to time, and of course there would be a ritual to help cleanse it.

Small vendors will start to pop up through the city selling wooden carvings that they promise will absorb all the bad luck that's been going around and dispell it with a simple ritual. A drop of blood from the person impacted and a drop of blood from someone they are close should be placed upon the carving. The blood types of the persons involved should not match (i.e. Coldblood/Coldblood would not work, but Coldblood/Warmblood would). It must be left to soak into the wood overnight, leaving behind deep red stains. The carving must then be placed with a fully bloomed rose and burned in the entrance doorway to the home of the inflicted. The ashes should then be placed into a container and kept somewhere in the home for the duration of February, to make sure that the bad luck stays away.

It seems like it really works! The tricky part is making sure that the bad luck following doesn't get in the way of the ritual while the blood is soaking over night. It may be best for both parties involved to hunker down together until morning, just in case. Time to break out the small talk. Or the deep, meaningful conversations that can sometimes happen in the middle of the night.

[JUMP TO TOP] • [JUMP TO COMMENTS]

GETTING TO KNOW ALL ABOUT YOU

WHEN: February
WHERE: A magic room in the city.
CONTENT WARNINGS: Reference to mild shocks. Forced honesty. Embarrassment. Lots and lots of embarrassment.

Honestly, after being in Trench for so long, people should be used to not ending up in the destination they initially intended for. This month, it seems like the city is trying to encourage people to social, to form new bonds, whether they're romantic, platonic, familial, or any other option one could think of. The bright idea this month for that sort of thing?

Speed dating.

It's not traditional speed dating, necessarily. No one is here to exclusively seek romantic partners, although there are certainly options for it. And it's not something people are signing up for out of their own free will. Instead, people seem to simply show up at the event, with no real recollection of how they got there. Maybe they just woke up on one of the comfy couches and found a "Hi, my name is..." sticker slapped on them. Or maybe they were wandering in the snow and got lost, ending up finding shelter in this strange place, and are now forced to participate until the blizzard passes. All in all, it's harmless fun, isn't it? Who doesn't need a few new friends.

Each person will have a small information blurb given about them that can't be seen by the naked eye, but will appear as soon as someone looks at the other party through their omni. What the blurb says is unique to each person, but it might become clear pretty quickly that they didn't write it themselves... Deerington survivors may find themselves having flashbacks to the days of DeerlyBeloved.

Pairings are completely random. People will be given a series of random questions they can ask one another or they can always feel free to make up their own. Anyone who tries to lie or avoid answering a question might feel a small shock from the chair they're sitting in, one that gets stronger with every lie they tell. The after effects of the shock seem to encourage the need to answer the question with full transparency. It's important to tell the truth when getting to know someone, after all.

After five minutes, both parties can either press a button beside their chair to continue talking to the person they're paired with, or they can move on to the next pairing. Both parties have to press the button in order to stay where they are.

Have fun and remember to always be honest!

[JUMP TO TOP] • [JUMP TO COMMENTS]

LONELY HEARTS CLUB

WHEN: February
WHERE: Trenchwood and throughout the city.
CONTENT WARNINGS: Violence, abuse of power, jealousy, possession, supernatural events, possible death from elemental exposure

There's a tale that comes up around this time of year, one that seems to be an old favorite in Trench. Long ago, in the heart of a blizzard, a young woman was found wandering in Trenchwood. She wore only thin fabrics to keep herself warm and had no shoes. Her skin felt cold as ice. The Hunters who found her quickly brought her into town, giving her shelter in a local in to try and get her warm. She stayed for many nights and it didn't take long for the inn keeper to fall in love with her. But she did not seem to return to his feelings and so he was heartbroken and jealous of all the other men who gave her attention. He demanded she offer him something in trade for her stay and when she could offer nothing, he threw her back out into the snow. The woman went back to the woods and some could hear her howling in anguish, carried through on the strong winds of the blizzard. The Hunters tried to find her, following her cries, but they were unable to, and had to return home before they too might freeze to death. The innkeeper was shunned from the town and forced to leave the city for his cruelty, but nothing stopped the howls of the snow woman.

Throughout the month of February, people will start to hear that the sound of the wind blowing strongly through the streets is starting to sound a little more human-like. The woman's cries will be heard in empty alleys, will be loudest near the edge of the woods, and can even penetrate into dreams. The cries might sometimes sound like cries for help, begging for someone to help save her from the cold. There will be a compulsion that sets deep into the bones of some and many will find it hard to resist her call. Eventually, they may even go looking for her in the woods, trying to brave the winter storms to help the lost snow woman.

Those who give in to that temptation will eventually find the snow woman, but she will not be friendly when found. Her skin has turned a pale white, her lips blue, her eyes glowing a bright red, her long hair blowing every which way in the wind. She will rush at whoever she sees, but instead of giving a physical blow to guard against, she will go through any solid objects and latch on to the soul of her target, possessing their bodies. Male or female, it doesn't seem to matter, she simply wants a chance at life again.

Those who are possessed by the snow woman will not realize they are possessed. They will forget why it was they came out into the woods looking for and will return to the city in a daze. As time passes, they will find that they become irritated by any signs of affection, will become physically aggressive towards couples they see around them, and will attack those who care about them most. The spirit does not necessarily hate love: instead, they see affection as a possible risk for all those who love others. Jealousy kills and she wants to save everyone around her from it, as well as keeping herself safe from losing this new chance at life.

Signs of possession outside of the aggression can be noticed by others. The possessed person will have: ice cold skin, blue-tinged lips, they might shiver even when inside where it's warm, and an aversion to fire or warm/hot water.

Information on how to banish the snow woman from another's body can be found in a book of local legends. This book is sold in stores or can be found in the Archives. To save someone from the snow woman, people must tell the possessed person the things they love most about them. It will cause the possessed person to react violently, so it is suggested that they be restrained during the process. The longer they are forced to hear the positive messages about love, the feelings that they can stir up in another (whether platonic or romantic), and the safety that can be found in that love, the more weakened the hold from the snow woman will be. When the possessed person eventually stops struggling, a cut must be made on the back of their neck, before a cloth soaked in warm rose water must be placed on top of the wound. Their skin will begin to steam before a large gust of snow will pour from their mouth, swirling around the room, and smash through the window. It's suggested to leave it open if you'd like to save the glass.

[JUMP TO TOP]

CODING

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

The Archives are almost desolate today, hardly anyone else to be seen wandering among the endless lines of bookshelves. Peter would be grateful for the solitude, but this place creeps him out a little. Like he'd told Nara'a, it's safe, but it's just... a bit intimidating, with eyes of various sizes and shapes everywhere, etched into the decor.

Peter keeps himself busy while he waits, decides to go ahead and peruse the aisles for anything helpful. He does manage to locate a few psychology books from Earth, the kind of thing he'd recognise from home. ...The kind of thing that might be sitting on his dad's shelf in his office. Peter tries to ignore the lump in his throat at the thought, pulls out a few of the texts and tucks them under his arm.

By the time Nara'a arrives, the younger man has found a little sitting nook near a window, letting some sunlight in. Outside it's cold and snowy, but there's a small fireplace nearby, and it's made the space comfortable. Peter has some books placed on a table, and there's also a thermos of something hot, along with two cups. He's texted Nara'a to let him know where he is, giving directions as best as he can in this rather labyrinthian place.

He has no idea what his new companion looks like, so when Peter catches movement, he's looking up with wide eyes, not wanting to stare at the stranger, but... also needing to catch his attention if this is Nara'a. So Peter's just kind of awkwardly looking his way, shifting nervously. Of course, his perpetual mannerism is always unsettled anyway, seeming like he's never very comfortable in his own body, dark circles blooming beneath his eyes like bruises. Peter looks like he doesn't sleep well.

Nara'a doesn't find the desolate stacks so intimidating - the eyes are a bit much, but he keeps his composure well enough most of the time. He enters the Archives, nodding to one of the locals he knows who staffs the place. He doesn't want to speak too loudly - not in front of them, anyway. It seems... ill-advised.

The directions help a bit, because the Archives are so vast - but he doesn't take too long after entering, having recognized the sunny nook's directions from the times he'd curled up in a chair to read there. Of course, he'd usually read until the sun started to sink, but... well. At least he'd have sun for a bit.

His ears twitch a bit and his tail flicks as he enters the area of the nook, catching sight of a young man and some books. The titles check out, and so does the location, so - "Ah. Peter, I presume?" He'd ask if the other is all right, given how he looks... but he doesn't want to be rude on a first meeting.

Peter's eyes are widening just slightly as he takes in the sight of the other — though by this point, he's encountered more than one person with animal attributes in this place, so the reaction isn't very severe. Mostly just a curious lift, brows rising.

"Oh— yeah, that's me." It's exhaled, like it came from a pent-up breath. Peter's nearly always anxious, but especially when around someone new. But there's still a smile that appears, friendly even if shy, and he lifts his hand in a little wave. He's also taking the other in, getting to put a face to the person he'd spoken with online. He looks young, maybe a few years older than Peter.

"I went ahead and started looking at books just to narrow it down... oh and uh, I brought some hot cocoa." He gives another shy, slightly nervous smile, and gestures to the thermos. "Luna made it. Figured a pick-me-up wouldn't hurt on a cold day like this."

He's used to the reactions by now, having been here a good while. It's strange how many people have never seen a miqo'te, but he supposes that most worlds only seem to have hyur from what he's seen and read. He smiles at the other and sits down, tail curling up on the arm of the chair.

"Oh? That was kind of both of you. Thank you." He's not as much of a chocolate fiend as some, having grown up away from such luxuries, but he can still appreciate a warm drink as much as the next person. Especially in a place like this, where it sometimes feels like the weather will never warm up again. He's suddenly struck by the thought of a loved one making a hot drink for someone and his smile falters, but only for a moment. And... well. He'd normally be very nervous about someone new bringing him a drink... but he has to trust, right?

He fishes a cup out of the pack he has and pours himself some, setting it aside for a moment. "So where should we start? I admit I'm a novice at this 'psychology' business - I know some from experience, but I've had no formal training in this sort of thing."

Peter goes ahead and pours himself a cup too, after the other does. Raising it to his mouth, he takes a slow, cautious sip — it's hot, but pleasantly so, warming up the insides. After setting it back down, he looks back up to Nara'a with another shy little smile.

"I picked up a couple of basic textbook kind of things... with some general terms and stuff like that." He leans forwards to pull a book into his lap, opening it up and leafing through the pages.

"I'm definitely no expert, but a lot of this stuff, my dad did used to talk about. Especially the more uh, common stuff, like anxiety, depression.... Do they have those terms, where you're from?" He doesn't want to assume, given that the other guy clearly comes from somewhere completely different.

"Oh, good. I do like textbooks - they tend to be straightforward if they've got their facts correct." He's encountered a few in the Archives - more than just the instructional texts that he's used to. They're definitely different than the books he was given at the guild. "A general foundation is definitely something good to have."

He pauses and sighs. "I know what 'anxious' means, and I know the feeling of being depressed. But I suspect they might mean different things, from what you're saying?" At least he thinks so - he knows words to describe someone's mental state but not as a disorder, per se.

Peter can't help giving a little smile at that. "Sounds like something Luna would say." His academic girlfriend is very much about books and facts, and even though he's just met Nara'a, he's already realising that he seems like one of the intellectual types.

Peter... isn't, so much, but he can still try to offer some insight here. It does help that it involves a topic he's pretty familiar with, even if actually Talking About It is new for him. He doesn't... voice these kinds of words aloud, even if they pertain to him.

But trying to help someone else.... and put it into words that make sense... he can try. He will try. And maybe he can actually do some good. He gives a nod at the other's words; it's a good start.

"Yeah, that's exactly it. It's like... anyone can be anxious, or depressed. But then for some people, it's an actual... illness. Something that doesn't go away, and it affects how they... interact with the world? Like long-term. It's chemical, physiological."

He pauses, nervous, but... it probably helps to use examples.

"Like, um.... I have both? I think I've had them most of my whole life. And like with anxiety... it's not rational, but I can't turn it off. I feel like I'm in danger, even when I know I'm not. My heart races, I feel light-headed... It makes doing normal stuff really hard. Um... every day."

That is... the most he's talked about his own anxiety in probably ever! Peter gives one of his typical self-deprecatory smiles, fingers nervously fiddling against themselves.

"Sorry to ramble on about it. I really... I've never talked about this kind of stuff before. Not like this."

"Is it? Well, I'm glad." After all, it must mean he likes it if it's something his girlfriend would say. But he looks at Peter seriously as he starts to talk. Chemicals he's aware of - as much as aether flows through the body the physical aether of the body is made up by many things. He's not well-versed in that aspect, but he's a poor healer at best and he knows that.

But those examples... oh. Oh, dear. He frowns slightly and leans forward a little bit - not to get into Peter's space, but just to close the distance a little bit. "You're not the only one who has had that sort of reaction. It's... like your body is getting ready to fight, even when there's no need for it." Gods, he's had that kind of reaction himself - ever since the slaughter at the Waking Sands he's been afraid to leave people he cares about, and other events have made him afraid of taking them with him. He's aware that he can't have it both ways, but he never thought of it as some kind of sickness.

"... You don't have to tell me, but did... something happen? To cause this change? Or is this something... you speak of it as if you've had it since birth. I realize this is all a lot to tell a near-stranger, and I want you to know you are very brave for doing so." His tone is gentle, and he goes to take a sip of the hot chocolate, only hesitating for what feels like forever but is actually only a few moments before actually drinking it and setting the cup down. Part of his mind is telling him that he's just made a huge mistake, but... there's no reason anyone here would want to hurt him, much less poison him.

He's fine. He's got to be fine. He takes a deep breath and focuses his attention on the boy in front of him. "I... suppose I may have some of those issues myself. I was teased as a child, but I... did not really start having those sorts of symptoms myself until after I started adventuring. After... I started to make a name for myself." To put it mildly.

Peter's looking up at the other man, eyes widening slightly as Nara'a describes the reaction. There's a nod, soft but sure. "Yeah, that's— that's exactly how it is. And my fight mode tends to be more of... flight mode, so I just... feel scared, a lot." He gives a soft laugh, something that's once again laced in self-deprecation. It's... true, though, and Peter's self-aware about it all, realises it exactly when it's happening. He even knows when that anxiety is tipping dangerously close to panic, to attacks. He's lost count of how many he's had.

The question catches him in place and he's staring, visibly startled. But not in a way where he's running away, flinching away. No, Peter just sits there staring, listening.

I want you to know you are very brave for doing so.

It's not the first time this stranger said something similar to that to him. On his network post, those kinds of words were there too, and Peter felt them then and feels them now, with a weird pinch at the corners of his eyes and a hitch up under his sternum. He continues to listen to Nara'a open up a little bit about his own experiences, and.... it matters, that he does. Peter feels the weight of it, of that door opening, that hand being extended.

He swallows again, glances down to his own mug, before taking a slow sip.

"I, um. It was maybe always there since I was little, but I think it started getting.... really bad when I was around fourteen." The words come slow and soft. Discussing this with a near-stranger is weird, but... they met to talk about things like this, and using himself as an example, trying to look at it objectively, is maybe... something he can do?

"I think I told you before, my family were all really... messed up. Um. For a long time." There are things Peter knows, terms that are in those books, the more severe types of disorders. Schizophrenia, dissociative identity disorder, psychotic depression.... He grew up knowing those terms and which family member they applied to.

"My mom... was especially bad off. Just like her mom before her, and probably her mom before her. I think it was always there, but when I was fourteen—" His words cut off for a moment, and he gives a soft sound, almost a gasp. It hurts so much to think about. He never stops having nightmares. Not ever. He can't smell fire or paint thinner without feeling like he's dying, can't sleep in a room unless the door is locked. Peter learned how to be afraid long before the literal demon.

"—I think that's when she really... snapped. And from then on, I couldn't.... I think I could never be the same. That's when I got really bad."

He pauses, runs a hand over his face. He's left the gory details pretty vague, but he hopes that at least explains some things, falling silent for a few long moments before he rounds back to the information Nara'a had shared. "Adventuring?" And making a name for himself, that's when things started getting worse for him? Peter's also careful as he asks, not wanting to be pushy or nosy. "Did something... bad happen?"

He listens intently, watching Peter with a look that's both kind and understanding. His eyes don't leave the other, careful not to stare too severely. 'Really messed up' can mean a lot of things. He's met plenty of people who qualify as that, but in different varieties. He moves to reach forward at the gasp, but just rests his hand on the table when Peter continues. "... You don't have to go into details. I can see that this is painful for you, and I don't want to distress you. I think I understand."

Something horrible happened. Something horrible happened to a child, and he can't help but feel his anger rising - but he pushes it down. There's nothing he can do about that now. He can offer Peter a safe place to speak, but he can't change what happened to the other. He wants to know but he doesn't want to hurt the other, so this is enough for now. His shoulders slump a bit as Peter asks about him, and he tries to decide how to explain.

"Being an adventurer is a legitimate profession in my world. You can earn plenty of coin doing it - protecting caravans from monsters, running messages through dangerous territory, doing whatever tasks need doing. There was a Calamity a number of years ago that wiped out a lot of people and changed the landscape and climate of various places. It also exacerbated many of the current crises - but that's... a different discussion." Peter didn't ask for the history of Ala Mhigo, he asked about his own experiences.

"I'm... some would say 'blessed' with an ability called the Echo. It has a number of uses and abilities, but the one relevant to the discussion is immunity to what's essentially mind control by godlike monsters called primals. I started slaying them, as there are few people who have the ability to be near them without bending to their will. Obviously this was cause for people to celebrate, but it also drew attention to the organization I was a part of." He grimaces, revealing his fangs, but tries to compose himself. "After the second of such beings was felled, we returned to our headquarters. ... And there we found a bloody mess, many of our number slaughtered or kidnapped. The few that survived died soon after we returned."

He grits his teeth and turns his head away from Peter, letting out a long breath. "Many of them were young, with potential. We had those of many different walks of life there... and Livia sas Junius decided none of them mattered, only the core group of us were worthy of kidnapping rather than murdering." It's... difficult to talk about that event - the one that started the nightmares in earnest. It only got worse as he kept saving the world.

"I killed her myself. Watched her die, roasting in her armor from my flames. It... didn't help any. If anything, it just made me feel worse. And that's... only the start of things I've seen. It was the first time I saw people butchered, but it wasn't the last. And..." He laughs, but there's no humor in it. "And it's not even the worst thing I've seen or experienced." He doesn't want the other to feel sorry for him, but... they're being honest here, aren't they?

He's barely scratched the surface of things, but it's still surreal to be sitting here opening up even this much to someone, when it's all things that Peter keeps so carefully tucked away. And yet, the person he's speaking to makes it... easy to talk. It's there in all the subtle things, the way Nara'a looks at Peter — attentive but not pressing. Quiet and gentle but it genuinely seems like he cares...? Even says that it's okay if Peter doesn't go into details. It feels... like a safe place to talk. Peter's a little stunned, gives a soft nod.

And then he's listening just as attentively in response, dark-eyed focus on the older man as he speaks. The world that Nara'a comes from is clearly very different from his own, one that involves things like monsters and so much destruction.... and powerful abilities. Peter's wide-eyed as he listens — mind control....? It's all so much, feels so vast.

Then comes the part about the... slaughter. And while Peter's known that term — slaughter — on a much smaller scale than a headquarters-full of people..... the concept is familiar enough to have his breathing feeling a little strange again. Like a kick up under his sternum, a hitch of breath that makes his lungs ache. The horror in him slowly blossoms as he continues to listen, and he feels far away from himself for a few long moments.

He remembers that final night, the details too clear. Forever too clear. You never forget the way a charred thing looks and smells. His father was unrecognisable as a person anymore. And his mother—

Peter's eyes are wide, glazy, as he listens to that part about Nara'a killing the one responsible. Killed by fire — roasting, is the word used. Peter's pulse is quickening, and he closes his eyes for a moment, tries to will himself to stay calm. My name is Peter, he reminds himself like a mantra, the phrase he's been taught can help him stay connected to himself. There's no fire here, he's not in danger. Slowly, his fingers uncurl from where they'd been pressed tight into his palms. He realises his eyes are wet, and it's something different than just his own fear. He's listening to someone else describe something horrific they've been through... What they've lost, what they've done. It... hurts, all of it does.

".....I'm sorry," he says, voice hoarse and frown deep. "That's... horrible. It's all horrible." He blinks, reaches up to run the back of his knuckles against an eye. It's too easy for him to break, to leak. He'd be embarrassed about it, but he mostly lost the capacity to feel that way a long time ago.

"Yeah. Yeah, me too." A beat, the confession weighted, but one of solidarity. It's not even the worst thing I've seen or experienced. He knows how that is.

"At some point you look back and it just... it just all seems like a nightmare. Sometimes it feels like a nightmare I've never really woken up from."

He hesitates, not wanting to dig into this person's hurts, not wanting to pry. It's asked very gently, carefully, eyes still wide and wet. "How long ago did it... happen?" Was it just before he came here? Has he had any time to... process it? Or was it years ago, a hurt that's had time to dig in and make house.

He hesitates as Peter seems to go unfocused and rough. "I... I'm sorry if I upset you. Maybe I should have used gentler language..." Though there's not much that's gentle about his memory of that day. He'd expected maybe some food and rest, a chance to recharge... not to have to run.

"It... sometimes does. The last six or so years feels like a long nightmare. It... happened about five and a half years ago. And then... I don't know." He lets out a long breath, ears pinning back to his head. "That was the start - of most of the nightmares, at least. I had my own nightmares of being burnt or crushed by the things I was fighting before that." He hesitates, unsure of how much he should reveal, but...

Well. Peter seems a kindred soul in some ways.

"And then... there was a bad betrayal, and we were on the run again. Ended up in a war that we didn't intend on getting involved in. Lost... lost someone precious to me..." Gods, it hurts every time. "Saw a friend be possessed by the spirit of a furious dragon... and nearly had to kill him myself. I've had to turn the tide of wars and watch people die in them and kill a lot of people myself." His tone keeps getting flatter and flatter as he goes on.

"And then I got dragged to another world and told of another future where I was killed - not even in combat, but dishonorably." Not that he cares so much for honor, but chemical warfare is... well. It feels like cheating. "Had to save that world... not that I mind saving people where I can, but... I almost lost control of myself and turned into a horrific monster, stronger than any Beast you might find here. Someone sacrificed themselves for me - again." The word twists like a knife, angry and hurt and bleeding like an open wound.

"And... and then I got dragged into preventing the Final Days in my world. Shunted around the world, shut out by some and helped by others and watching people become twisted into horrible monsters... going into the past and protecting the future and diving into saving another world... and all of this..." He lifts a hand to wipe his face. "... All of this on someone not even thirty summers old. I might have saved worlds, uncovered truths about the universe no one else had known, and it's not that I... it's not that I regret being what I am. It's not."

Now his own voice is strangled and hoarse. "... But I just wish it didn't hurt so much, carrying all of these burdens and expectations and the... the horrible memories. Yes, there's been joy. Yes, there's been light. And yes, my journey has been good. ... But that doesn't mean that there's not pain there. There's things that bards don't sing about, and it's... the messy, complicated stuff that haunts you at night." His ears and tail both droop as his posture hunches over, suddenly feeling scared and vulnerable.

Peter's giving a shake of his head at the apology, mouth tugged into a frown. "No, it's— it's okay. It's not you, it's.... me." He's painfully aware how fucking easy it is for him to get affected by certain words, what they invoke within him. It's too often that something brings Peter to horror, panic, or sometimes shutting down completely.

But... he's not falling into those things right now. Not enough to lose himself to them, anyway. No, there's something to concentrate on, something grounding him. It's Nara'a, and his words, his... story. His past. It's hearing someone else's horrors and upsets and not wanting to leave that person alone with them.

So Peter keeps listening. Attentive, not flinching back from it. He won't let himself. Every time the other man hesitates, Peter's giving a soft nod, the most subtle gesture, but one that he hopes conveys some kind of assurance. It's okay, to keep going. It's okay.

And even more horrors are revealed — betrayals, wars, loss.... Peter swallows hard against the lump in his throat. A possession. And so much more. So much, so many nightmares, things that shouldn't be real, but they are. One after the other. It's so much that it almost doesn't feel that it could possibly have happened to one person. Especially someone so young; not even thirty years old, he says.

The hoarse sound to his voice has Peter swallowing again, eyes wider, wetter. The horror blossoming up under his sternum suddenly freezes, clenches up tight and aching.

'I just wish it didn't hurt so much'

He's staring, watching Nara'a droop down the way he does, like he's... crumbling. Crumbling inwards. Like the weight of saying it all is too much, and Peter knows he'd be the same if he were to lay out everything like this. It feels like looking at another version of himself, maybe. It hurts.

He's getting up before he can even think about it. Peter's not one to approach people's personal spaces without a certain permission, or to touch, but— he can't... he can't stay back. He can't. Not when someone's hurting like this. He's leaning closer, reaching out — tentatively, slowly, not wanting to force his way closer. But his fingertips find Nara'a's hand, and then.... takes it, gently. The grasp is light, almost shy, but there's a soft squeeze to come. His words tremble, the upset clear in his voice.

"Nara'a..... You've been through so much. Fuck, I'm— I'm so, so sorry. You didn't deserve any of that."

He recalls Nara'a telling him something. That it was brave of him to do what he was able to do. To be here now. Those words haven't left Peter, even if it was difficult for him to believe that of himself. But this guy....? Talk about brave?? Here he is after being thoroughly traumatised, enough to drive anyone absolutely crazy, and he's... trying to help someone else. Even trying to help Peter, too.

"Have you ever... talked to anyone else about all this? About what you've been through? Carrying all that... No wonder you have nightmares."

He leans against Peter gently, taking a few deep breaths. "I took on the responsibility. I'm... I know I was supposed to do all of that. If I hadn't... I don't know who would have. But..."

It's hard, to think about his own burdens. It feels selfish - sure, he's seen awful things. But there's people who have suffered, really suffered... he doesn't feel worthy of care or of concern. He's just so used to being the person others confide in, that others go to.

"I'm... usually the quiet one. People talk to me, not the other way around."

Peter's quiet for a few long moments, listening, swallowing a couple of times against that lump pressing in his throat. It's strange, how you can meet someone new and end up sharing hearts with that person. In this place, like back in Deerington, it's actually a weirdly frequent occurrence; how many times has Peter found himself forced into honesty because of some effect of the town, or having to rely on a stranger in a deeply personal way in order to just survive some bizarre, nightmarish situation?

But this..... is different. It's so different. Nobody's forced him to meet this person, or to listen to him, or to be listened to by him. And it's... it's important, it means something. Even if this is all uncomfortable and upsetting and strange — he's not at all regretting meeting Nara'a today. No, he's... glad, and he's glad that someone who's been carrying so much for so long... was able to open up about some of it.

"I'm glad you told me. I— I know it isn't easy. When you've been carrying so much shit for so long, and maybe in a lot of ways it's... easier to just keep it to yourself. But... it's too much for one person to carry all the time. I don't mind if you ever need someone to talk to. About those nightmares."

He knows Nara'a doesn't know him, but.... there's something about hearing someone's hurts and traumas, it.... it's something deep. Peter won't forget any of this, will take care of what he's been told, gently. And just as gently, continuing a little further, because.... he doesn't want him to feel alone.

"I understand a lot of what you've said. Um... maybe in different ways, and you've clearly been through enough for several fucking lifetimes, but.... I understand what it's like to just... to wish things didn't have to hurt so much. To always wish that." Peter swallows again, glances down. There's still a lot he's still not sure he's ready to say aloud, and some things he doesn't think he'll ever be able to. But....

"Something.... really bad happened to my family. I think maybe some of it was my fault. No— I know some was. It's all really... weird, and complicated—" Peter grimaces, flinches like he's been hit.

"—and now there's something.... bad inside of me. Really bad, something with its own.... mind, something fucking alive. And I'm— I'm never going to be the same me, anymore. I think one day it might take over me completely. And I don't know what to do about it. I just... feel the nightmares, and I don't know how to stop them. I don't know how to make things stop hurting."

"It's not easy. And... I appreciate it." He's not so good at contacting people about his nightmares - he just deals with them and tries to go to sleep again. Often, he can't. It doesn't help his mental health much and it doesn't help his corruption, either.

He listens attentively as Peter speaks, tilting his head back to look at the younger man. Something really bad... he frowns and turns to look at the other more fully, taking his hands in his own, gently. "I'm sure you did the best that you could under whatever circumstances you were dealing with."

Something inside of him, though? Like... "A possession? That does sound worrisome. And... you really have been dealing with a lot yourself." He squeezes Peter's hands carefully, reassuringly. "I have a little experience with that myself, though I..." He looks to the side for a moment, glancing at his bag. "I entered that contract willingly."

He knows how that sounds, but... "It's a mutually beneficial pact, in my case. It sounds like it's less mutually beneficial and willing in your case, however. ... If you want to talk about it, I'm willing to listen. But you don't have to. I know such matters can be... both very private and very misunderstood."

Peter's quiet for a long moment as Nara'a takes his hands, letting the older man gently grasp them. His heart skips a beat at the words — at his own quiet shame, expression pinching inwards for a moment, something painful. That's the thing, isn't it. On one hand, Peter did try to do the best he could with the ways he could survive his home situation, but.... for him, than meant numbing himself down and giving into his mother and just doing what she wanted to keep the peace. He didn't fight back, that night when he should have. And someone else suffered because of him (the nightmare comes almost every single night, the image of his little sister, torn into two pieces).

He swallows those thoughts, though his hands tremble a little. But he's blinking up at Nara'a with eyes slowly widening, surprised — a... contract with something like that? A willing one?

There's a quiet horror at the idea, but a curiosity that presses forward in him, and Peter's mouth parts. "There's... something inside of you?" A beat. Using the word will probably betray what he's talking about regarding his own situation, but at this point.... there's really no use trying to hide it. Not when he's talking to someone who can relate, in whatever ways that might be.

"Is it... a demon?"

"there's... many things inside of me." He doesn't mean to say it, and there's a moment of surprise as he realizes that he did. His ears and tail both go straight up before relaxing down again. "It's... complicated. Parts of me, and a version of me from another world... both long stories."

Focus, Nara'a. He blinks and nods slowly. "A voidsent. Which... seems to be roughly equivalent to a 'demon'. They're from a world swallowed by elemental Darkness, forced to exist in a constant search for aether. They devour each other and try to conquer each other's territory. They can't die - if they do they just re-form unless they're consumed. It's... a horrible place to have to live."

"Reapers are a... sect from a place called Garlemald, far away from where I was born. A few of them came to a city on my continent to hide. One of them offered me the soul stone of a former Reaper, and it came with the voidsent that had been their partner. It offered... a pact. I would give it some of my aether and find things to slay for it to consume, and it would give me more speed and strength. I can... temporarily host it, letting it take over and unleash more of its power."

He pauses for a moment, trying to find the words. "It's not... 'safe'. But even before I knew more about the Void I felt... bad for it. It just wanted to survive. It didn't do anything wrong - it was people who pulled it through the cracks between worlds and bound it in a pact. We have an... understanding. But I know that's not possible for everyone."

Peter blinks at that phrasing, once again finding himself taken aback. It was fairly recently that he said something very similar to someone — sometimes a person is just haunted by so many weird, conceptual things.....!

There's more to wonder about, but for the moment Peter's focusing on the specific word that he's given. Voidsent. Even the name alone sounds.... frightening, much less the description that Nara'a gives. Parts of that do seem similar to whatever the fuck Paimon is — and there are certainly some differences too, but there's one part to it that makes him give a soft, surprised exhale.

It was... people, who pulled this thing through. Bound it somehow.

"It's.... Something like that actually kind of happened to my... thing, too. People— witches, back in my world, this.... cult. They worshipped him, wanted to bring him into my world so he could grant their wishes, give them wealth and... secrets of the universe and... all kinds of things."

Peter swallows, staring into space for a moment, eyes a little glazed. All of it still feels so surreal to voice aloud. Even now, it feels like somebody else saying the words. Like he's detached from himself.

"I was...... sacrificed to him. They needed the right host to put him in. I think they were planning it for a really long time."

...Maybe since he was born. Maybe since before then. The horror of it still contains many unknowns.

That... sounds like voidsent worshipers to him, but he lets Peter continue. Sacrificed... he knows that sacrifices of living people is sometimes a thing, though more often it's dead bodies that are inhabited by the voidsent if it's not a statue or something similar.

"I'm so sorry, Peter." He reaches up and puts a hand on the back of the other's head, stroking his hair gently, mindful of his slight claws. "That's awful. That's awful, and I can't imagine how horrible it would be. You didn't deserve that. You deserve so much more."

He moves to carefully give the other a hug. "You weren't given a choice. That's not fair in the slightest. You're very strong, for having survived like that for.. however long it's been."

Peter feels a hand at the back of his head, eyes widening slowly with those soft strokes. But he isn't pulling away from the touch, not like he usually might, because sometimes there are moments he can't. ...Doesn't want to. There have been other strangers over time to hold him, and Peter's fallen into them like a child. He still feels so small, some days. Most days. He misses his mother, no matter how much he may have also feared her. He wishes his father would've held him this way.

He closes his eyes, letting himself be small, and held. The arms are moving around him into a hug, and he lets himself go a little limp, tilting against the man. Nara'a says all the things Peter wants to hear, needs to hear, wishes he could hear. Wishes he could sink into the way he physically sinks into the other man. But something bubbles up in him, small and ashamed.

"I think... I think maybe I did deserve it. I— did something horrible, something.... evil. My soul— I think my soul's bad."

His voice trembles, wet around the edges. It's the thought that haunts him constantly, and why, even now, he doesn't really resist Paimon the way others might have tried to. He deserves this. And he isn't strong, or brave, or good.

Whispered with a soft sound— "I'm not a good person."

"No, Peter, no." He shakes his head and smiles a bit shakily. How dare people treat this sweet boy so horribly? He can feel anger rising, anger at the people who had to have hurt him so much to make him feel this way. Sure, Nara'a was teased, but not tormented enough to think that his soul is bad.

"It's not. Believe me, it's not. I've known people who are truly awful, and even then... it's not their souls but their actions, their lives and decisions that have become bad. Things happen to people and people react, and they can make many choices. That doesn't mean there's not some spark of goodness at their core."

Even Fandaniel was once Hermes, a gentle soul with a love of life - and it was only in facing existential dread that he turned to despair. Even Zenos, someone who he still considers to be far beyond any redemption possible... even he pulled through and did something good. Even if he did it for his own ends, there was a spark of hope there.

"And you? You're far better than many people I've met. You care about people. That's a sign of goodness, if nothing else. You didn't deserve what happened. You deserve better than you were given. And I know that's hard to believe from a stranger but... I believe in you. Even if you can't believe in yourself."

Peter listens, his heart thumping hard, but his upset kept quietly, soft exhales. Again, he wishes he could lean into the words, but..... he can't. What he'd done... ruined.... how he'd ruined it. It's unforgiveable. What he'd done to his family. To— Charlie.

Of course his mother would hate him. Fucking hate him. At the core of himself, Peter knows he deserves that hatred.

So he sits there unmoving, listening to the man's words, the softness, kindness of them, but knowing he doesn't deserve that much generosity. Someone who would tell a stranger they believe in him.... it speaks to this man's character. Peter feels the familiar beast that lives within him, deep in the pit of his stomach, the guilt — tighten itself, so much it hurts and he gives a soft sound. He didn't mean for this person to care about him, to believe in him — it isn't fair to Nara'a.

Something tenses in him suddenly, an odd shudder that slips down his spine. Hating himself is usually a numb detachment, but sometimes he feels it like a knife cutting inwards. Peter feels himself withdrawing a little, wanting to shrink away. He opened up too much, and now someone's worried about him, cares about him, someone who has enough to fucking worry about. He hates how easy it is for him to crumble. It's fucking pathetic.

"I'm— sorry. Sitting here like some dumb.... kid, about to cry on you.... fuck." Peter gives his head a slight, rigid shake. "You shouldn't— have to. But thank you. For.... listening. I'm sorry."

He feels the other twitch and - oh. Did he say something wrong? He hopes not... he frowns and lets the other pull back if he wants, even if that's not what Nara'a wants. "No, it's okay. I don't mind. Really, I don't." Maybe it's a way to hide from his own problems, when he focuses on others - but that's something to unpack another day.

"There's no reason for you to apologize. It's okay, Peter. ... I hope you know that you can always come talk to me if you need someone to listen to you." His voice is calm, patient - probably a little British to Peter's ear, though not very distinct. "You're always welcome to come to me." He takes a step away and just... sort of hovers there awkwardly, unsure of what to do.

"You're a good person. Even if you can't believe that." He has to believe in other people, he has to. He has no other way of living - of existing -B other than that.

It's definitely not anything the other man has done, but rather Peter's own... wounds. It's.... strange, hard, aches to hear someone think so nicely of him, be so kind to him when he doesn't deserve it. Something in Peter can't help shying away from that, shirking like it hurts: a thumb pressed into a bruise.

But he can see that Nara'a is affected by his tension, and the younger boy offers a little smile, sincere even if it's soft.

"No, I— I really appreciate that. Um..... everything you've done today, you've— just to have someone there to listen to? And talk to. I know it can't have been easy to talk about everything, but... it means a lot."

'You're a good person. Even if you can't believe that.'

Peter's eyelids give another soft flutter, and his mouth parts slightly, glancing downwards. It.... reminds him of Luna, again; this man reminds him of her, with some of the things he says and... how he says them. She's always done that — believed in him when he couldn't do it for himself.

"Thank you. I'm....... I want to try to be.... better. A better person." His smile wavers, another lump in his throat that he swallows against. He doesn't think he can ever be a good person, but maybe he can be... better than this. Maybe.

"Maybe we can help each other. Try to stay sane in this fucking place." He manages a little echo of a laugh.

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aetherweaver - 2023-04-14 19:33 (UTC) - Expand

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

and my heart went 'boom!'

wildcard!

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cw: mass murder, death by fire

cw: more murder / familial death, more fiery death things.... a fun time

cw: war crimes, spoilers for like... the entire game up to 6.2

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cw: brief mention of child death

6.2 spoilers

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Heavy Endwalker spoilers

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