deercountry | [semi-open] If you're trying hard to breathe in the dark

Entry tags:

[semi-open] If you're trying hard to breathe in the dark

Who: Allen & others, possibly Argonaut appearances
What: Event-log and other April-related prompts. Plotting prompt stuff!
When: Throughout April
Where: Various

Content Warnings: SAD THINGS, harm and death to NPC children, mutilation, nightmare fuel mindfuckery, high corruption and beasthood.

⛧ 1. if your screams don't make a sound (wonderkind/AKUMA) ★

[ You were probably just minded your own business doing something totally normal — and then you got caught in up in Allen Walker's vortex of bad luck. Sorry. It's just a thing that happens. He doesn't even have his unlucky rabbit's foot on him! He learned better really quickly...!!

Regardless of whether you might have been haggling with a bakery over the price of day-olds, sipping tea in some little shop, or maybe this is your house that he's... about to put a hole through. So sorry — but all of a sudden part of the nearby brickwork explodes as a slender figure is bodily slammed entirely through it.

Yeah. It's that kind of day.

It does not look comfortable. And it does not look like something anyone could have gotten away with without some broken ribs, but as the dust settles the boy that was indeed used as a wrecking ball of sorts starts coughing and trying to sit up. This is just -- ugghhh...

Coming to his senses quickly though, dressed in a black and red jacket underneath what seems to be a impossibly volumous feathered white cloak that seems to be made of moonlight itself he -- blinks. And then whirls around, realizing you're there.

His left eye has bled black throughout the sclera, and the iris has shifted to glowing red rings that shift in and out like a camera lens focusing. There's a dark, corrupted sort of smoke that seems to be pooling around it as well. His expression is wide with alarm, actual fear for a moment at seeing you there, before he stumbles back up to his feet. To square his shoulders, face the hole he just was thrown through—

And rip back, shouting at you over his shoulder as he spreads a single arm out in warning. ]

RUN!

[ Because, over the edge of the rubble... there's a faint sort of here-but-not dark glow. And the world seems to desaturate, fading from color into the black and white. It doesn't feel right. It doesn't feel like you're even looking through your own eyes.

And then you hear a faint sobbing. Distant, but far too close as well. Like it's there in your own skull. Faintly.

And a figure floats into view, cresting the stone. At first, it looks like... an extremely mummified corpse. Bone dry, curled up in a fetal position. It isn't even the thing crawling up and through the hole, but that seems deem and distant right now. It's attached to it.

Because the sobbing stops as soon as you look at it, and the specter stiffens suddenly. Socketless pits for eyes turning right towards you as it realizes you see it —

—and its jaw falls open as it screams. ]

⛧ 2. if your heart just cries too loud all the time (butterflies/beasthood) ★

[ He knew this worked like a game of Russian roulette, he really did. And he doesn't even want to have to destroy any of the butterflies that have flocked to the Trench. It's fine when they stay up and away from people, but when they choose to land near populated areas...

It's not even for misjudging his own ability to purge corruption from his own body! It has limits, he knows that... too much can still be too much if it's all at once. But he has to keep trying. Better him than someone else. Or at least, thinking about that...

...it's easy to forget the actual consequences.

Maybe you were there when he destroyed the butterfly, a boy who suddenly transformed into into a white harbinger wreathed in what looks like condensed moonlight taking the shape of a huge feathered cloak and wielding a great broadsword as long and broad as he is. Maybe you just see the consequences of that — or hear the sudden howling gale.

A whirling gale of feathers, light, and tattered wings made from moonlight themselves that rips upwards from a doubled over figure. A white and gold gigantic masquerade mask floats above as well, twisting to and fro from the feathered cloak like it's unsure how to hold its shape, like it's too angry to remember its shape and cares not for what it was, but is trying to contort itself into something new. But the winged sort of cloak looks almost angelic, glowing white-gold and ethereal. It's beautiful, and somewhat terrible as well. Especially as the figure, with his hands clutching his head like it wants to split in two, would not seem to have a normal left hand but a great white and gold monstrous sort of claw instead. But it too can't seem to hold its form, splitting into glowing feathers along his arm that twist in the air.

It's like a howling monster clinging to the figure even as it also tries to rip away.

And if you're caught staring, an edge of that tattered, feathery wing-cloak rips out towards you and slashes into—and through the brickwork by your head. And that's when you might realize that even though it looks like a cloak and feathers, it cuts as sharply as any sword. ]

Stay— [ It's a boy beneath all that. A teenager, pale and ethereal himself as the feathers around him, with a dark red scar cutting through the left side of his face. And he pants and rasps it out, gritting his teeth audibly and fixing a surprisingly sharp and hard dark eye on you. A window of raw clarity in a maelstrom.

Anguished clarity, his face twisted in tragedy.

But that eye is blood red and black, and the scar surrounding it twists itself restlessly across his face like an angry, living thing. Black smoke bleeds from that left side of his face, mixing in with the white. ]

—back...

More closed prompts below! I'm trying to do more closed/planned things since I have a lot going on this month and a bunch that are sequential, but please feel free to hit me up on my plotting prompt and I'm happy to plan something and do a private prompt for us! He will be generally collecting the hope orbs, mostly for Viktor, getting fucked up with his restored memories/tether and hiding from people later in the month, and trying to purify and reverse the corruption/beasthood of any turned, especially as a result of the butterflies. So, especially if you want to get your character in on realizing even full beasthood can be reversed by exorcists and other sorts of purification abilities and you want them to be able to see the human souls still in them... 👉👈 hit me up.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[ Thought he was the one who was supposed to be good with sleight of hand. ]

[ He is a product of a childhood built on commodities. Where those he loved were bought and paid for like livestock. Quality monitored. Constantly evaluated and ultimately discarded, resetting the cycle. As the fourth child, he made the cut. The golden child, genetically gifted. Hated by the eldest, separated from inferior stock despite his every protest. It scarred him, making him far too troublesome a minefield for anyone to navigate when certain subjects are brought up. Allen escaped the first mine by sheer luck, the second, not so much.

He sees his reasoning. It's the same one he discovered on his own journey after his fight with Midoriya helped open his eyes to the truth. Too bad for Allen, that's not what he finds fault with. Frozen over, the tundra of his emotions chill in a deep frost. Calm, collected, but not warm. ]

I don't hate you.

[ He sets the ointment down between them, his skin cold to the touch. ]

And I don't consider myself a villain.

[ He's covered that ground already, crossed that hurdle. ]

But calling what happened an unfortunate mistake is not right either.

Edited 2022-05-02 06:14 (UTC)

[ Sleight of hand! Sleight! woowww

don't make him shave those centimeters off his boots ]

[ He's speaking in short, clipped sentences that make Allen watch him carefully, lips still pressed together in a thinly worried sort of way. He isn't saying many words, but there's a lot there. Lines he needs to try to read between, and it's hard to.

His eyes dip down to the ointment when he places it down, and then back up to Todoroki. He doesn't move to pick it up. ]

...alright. Okay then, I won't. [ Still soft-spoken, but with a certain kind of certainty and clear eyes. Then he really won't. It isn't even really the point he was trying to make, and he agrees with everything Shouto is saying. It seems like a poor choice of words that set off something that runs terribly deep and into very dark places.

"He's broken too." That's what Kizu had said. ]

But if you wouldn't hate me, then I don't think you'd want me to hate myself for it either. Right? [ It's quiet, but also earnest. This he does believe. ]

Likewise I don't hate you and don't want you to hate yourself. Even if I can understand how that feels and that it isn't so easy to just... not. [ He laces his fingers together, pressing down on them. ] A good person who does something bad -- it doesn't mean they're inherently bad.

That's all I'm trying to say.

Edited 2022-05-02 06:34 (UTC)

[ What a slight. ]

[ Even if it's not taken, he leaves the peace offering behind and stands. Screws the lid back onto the metal canister, and clips it back into place. He'll replace the ointment later. For now, he checks his wrist guard for damage making an assessment of his costume before heading out.

The concession, when it's made, receives no response. Not a look from him or a word of acceptance because it doesn't matter. He made his point and that was all he meant to do from the start. Not convince him, but state his thoughts now that they weren't warped by anger.

For that same reason, the latter part of his words catches his attention. Looking up from his wrist guards, heterochromic eyes settle on Allen. There's a deep calmness there with none of the warmth he normally displayed. Perfectly neutral like a frozen heart, even Kizu is strangely quiet, swallowed up by the whiteout. ]

You think I hate myself.

[ A calm statement. Before he makes something perfectly clear: ]

I don't.

[ He doesn't feel anything right now. ]

Edited 2022-05-02 07:19 (UTC)

[ Eyyyyy (☞ﾟヮﾟ)☞ ]

[ There really aren't words to say how much that hurts. Worse than every ache in his body, worse than getting shot. And he swallows, finding it a little hard to control his expression.

Hurts so much worse than getting shot. ]

I said I wouldn't want you to. [ Don't twist his words. There's a big difference there. But if Allen hurt a friend? Yeah. Yeah he'd hate himself a little. And then he'd do everything he could to make sure it didn't happen again.

He meets his gaze, holding it, because even if it does hurt and he feels terrible for inadvertently causing him to feel this way, his ultimate point stands moreso now. And he says it so very softly, with genuine care, but also steadfast. ]

For the same reason I wish you weren't hurting so much right now.

[ Or, more precisely... that there was something he could do about it.

You can say you're not and you can say you don't feel hurt right now, but he can recognize the difference between this and his normal, caring sort of calmness. More than that, he recognizes that kind of walling off of yourself. That's a mask to bury your own emotions somewhere you can't feel them and he knows it.

He knows it, because he wore one himself for so long. Still does, if not quite to harshly, and that his is with a smile. ]

Edited 2022-05-02 07:58 (UTC)

[ Surveying him for signs of the virus, Todoroki misses the change of expression, more concerned with his physical well-being than the bombs he inadvertently set off inside. Despite what his demeanor might belie, his aim is still to help him. Hurting him is the last thing on his mind.

Perhaps... it's a little easier to understand how he kept people at bay for so long while being admired from afar. Strong but not boastful. Intelligent. Honest. His manner of speech to the point. Helpful, but not kind. He gave them nothing to latch onto. Nothing to use against him because he had nothing left to give. Not when he'd already given every part of himself and was found lacking. Scarred by his father by his mother's hand, locked away from his siblings in a gilded cage. He raged and screamed himself hoarse, but nothing ever changed. He was still alone. All his father ever taught him was how to lose himself to his passions, so he stopped using his fire. Buried himself in his mother's ice, his last remnant of her. The cold did not hurt, and it didn't hurt others, unlike his father's oppressive flames. ]

I think you're the one who's hurting right now.

[ Teal and grey meet his eyes, unwavering and detached. ]

You should use the ointment on your burns.

Edited 2022-05-02 15:01 (UTC)

[ He'd get mad and yell at him for it if he knew him a little better. As it is, it doesn't feel like his place and he knows he's missing too much of the picture to react like that and probably just make things worse. He's not someone who ever shoots off his mouth without trying to really understand a situation first, where someone is actually coming from. Not unless he's provoked. Especially with someone he knows is kind and likes, even if he's really frustrated. Especially at that, "you're the one who's hurting now"...

He swallows, unable to control his expression for a moment at that. Twisting in frustrated anguish, and he looks away abruptly. Yes, he's hurting. And that isn't the point, you ass.

Don't misjudge him though. He's way too stubborn to give up just because your coping mechanism makes you act like a dick. Bullshit that the cold doesn't hurt.

He stares down at the ointment for a moment before answering, and his hands ball up. Fingers pressing hard into his palms. ]

They don't bother me. [ It's calm, but stubborn. _{And true.} Rougher-sounding that usual. And he stands, a little unsteadily because what rest he got was not great and one of those grazes caught his thigh, and starts to make his way over to where he saw Viktor keep the first aid kit from when he used it before on him. ]

I should take care of the blood first anyway.

[ You know. Gunshots. ]

Edited 2022-05-02 15:35 (UTC)

[ He sets a hand on his shoulder, physically impeding his way.

Stay. ]

You'll make it worse by moving. I have a first aid kit.

[ Allen can probably understand now how easily Todoroki managed to rile up some of his more hot-headed classmates without even trying. Practical. Blunt. Offering support in that cold manner. ]

You should sit before you open up your wounds.

[ It comes out like a command, but it's a suggestion. ]

Edited 2022-05-02 15:41 (UTC)

[ He can stop him easily without even needing to try, the gesture is enough on its own and Allen turns to look at him with clear, harder to read eyes than normal. Bright, but more sharply so. As they are when he sets his mind to something.

He holds his gaze with a long, even stare, like some small contest of wills. Even if it's more that he's warring with himself; is he mad enough to hazard a guess and call him out, or does he relent and try to find a different way to crack that ice.

There are only certain situations where he looks stern, but this is one. ]

...will you stop looking at me like that if I do?

[ He wouldn't stop him. Even in this state, he's not the type to impose his will on others. If he was, Endeavor would've had an easier time molding him to his image. It's a suggestion given substance by the physical weight of his hand on his shoulder. Not heavy or exerting force; easily pushed aside. You need to care enough to force an issue and right now, that urgent need inside him to lend aid no longer drives him at full force.

It's slowed but not forgotten. He's focused on that blood. He's been a Hunter long enough to know what kind of corruption open wounds can cause. It would've been the first thing he addressed if he were in a normal state. He overreacted when Allen coughed up blood in the catacombs, creating a platform of ice to catch it before crystallizing it to keep it from corrupting him. He's too numb for that kind of reaction now, but he still cares. A fundamental part of him that neither side of him could ever smother. It's why even in this state, he's not cruel. ]

...

[ His expression remains the same but there's a flicker of doubt in his eyes. Puzzlement. ]

... I don't know what you mean.

Edited 2022-05-02 16:23 (UTC)

[ There.

He breathes, having made up his mind even before there was finally a flicker of something in Todoroki's eyes again. And, gently, he brings up a hand to rest quite lightly over that one on his shoulder. Very lightly, with only the press of his fingertips. ]

...I mean like someone who's locked my friend who's precious to me away somewhere deep because he's stopped being honest enough with himself to face his own feelings. [ The words might seem harsh, but he says it softly. With clear, unwaveringly steady eyes like someone used to trying to stare straight into one's soul, but much more softly. ]

I miss him.

Edited 2022-05-02 16:30 (UTC)

[ The arctic starts to subside with the added human connection, yet his expression remains the same. Not a single muscle shifts out of place as the thermal gradient starts to tick up in a gradual fashion. Subtle. Slow. It's hard to spot unless you're looking for it and close enough to see. ]

I don't understand what you mean. [ Nor is their time to contemplate it. Not with his open wounds. ] We need to clean up the blood and dress your wounds.

[ It's a statement delivered in his neutral tone, not cold or warm, but practical. Unclipping several of his metal canisters from his belt, Todoroki starts to set them out on the nightstand. ]

You'll open your wounds if you keep moving.

[ His words carry the same consenses as before, delivered in the same practical manner but with none of the coldness just simple neutrality. ]

Edited 2022-05-02 16:58 (UTC)

[ Fuck.

If he had more energy he'd be a brat and go get Viktor's kit to do it himself anyway, but it isn't like Shouto is actually arguing with him. It just... missed. And somehow that's just more tiring than anything. A little depressing, and tiring. ]

Alright. [ It is an unfortunately valid point the other boy has, too. He'll sit back down, next to Timcanpy who's been watching the both of them with in almost oddly silent, reticent way from sitting on the cot's pillow. But somehow, though...

...he does sound a little more like himself. Maybe that's something. ]

Viktor has a first aid kit too, though. Over by the sink.

[ He nods at the information and goes to retrieve it unaware of the other boy's internal turmoil, nor his part in it. It takes him a few moments to locate it, and he's on the move again once in hand. ]

Take off your shirt.

[ Setting it on the nightstand he starts to unpack it, setting out what he'll need to clean and dress the injuries. ]

[ There's a tiny huff at that, but otherwise no protest. He takes his coat off, taking the time to fold it neatly before putting it by Timcanpy while noting with an inward wince the tears in it. Ah. Sansa was going to be mad...

The outfit he has underneath is sleeveless and he kind of wishes that was enough, but only one bullet struck outside of his vest. Off comes the tie; waistcoat, then shirt. Reluctantly. They're set with far less meticulousness with his coat.

While the bleeding had stopped and everything clotted while he was asleep, they're oozing again like Shouto had predicted. Red blood as opposed to the pale white still lingering from earlier, as they're inside now and away from the moon, so it's blatantly easy to spot.

He's wiry but with very bony shoulders -- willowy, for his height -- and there are myriads of other small scars that would be easy enough to guess are the result of similar bullet hits. At least a dozen or more that are visible, in addition to other miscellaneous cuts and gouges. They seem to have healed relatively well, aged from what must be well over five years old all the way up to fresher ones less than a year. Nothing else of note though. Just a lot of small old wounds that stack up.

He watches as Todoroki unpacks the kit methodically, a little detached. ]

Have you had to do this a lot? [ He told him about basic first aid in emergency situations, but -- ]

Patching someone up after a fight.

Edited 2022-05-02 17:56 (UTC)

No, the medics take care of the injured after a fight.

[ And he's no medic. Just a provisional hero with basic medical training. ]

I've patched people up on the front lines.

[ Mid-battle with fighting still taking place all around him. With his strong offensive and defensive quirk, he's suited for a variety of roles whether that's fighting the enemy head-on, keeping an escape route protected, natural disaster relief, or providing emergency first aid to the fallen while keeping them safe.

He starts with the blood oozing out of the wounds. Any trails of it get frozen and turned into tiny rubies through delicate manipulation that takes up all his focus. These he drops into a glass beaker for collection. The blood left behind clots easier due to the targeted drop in temperature which he administers to every open wound as he takes in the state of his form.

Old scars catch his eye, as he works. Growing up in a world of heroes, Todoroki knows the collection of wounds a Pro collects over time. Still... these scars speak of a multitude of encounters with the virus. Probably why he felt so confident he could deal with the after-effects. It lends him a glimpse into his world and its grim reality. Empathy stirs, melting the permafrost enough to have Kizu resurface. A quiet affair that comes in a gentle touch of his mind, offering warmth amid the cold. ]

You've been shot a lot.

[ Uaa, cold... He squirms a little each time, although more for it being a surprising thing he isn't used to. It isn't bad, the brief contact of blood-ice against his skin. It actually feels better against how hot and irritated the open wounds are. It's ground zero for the virus, and neutralizing aspects of his blood or not it's still feels like having a nasty infection.

His eyes flick from watching Shouto's work back up to his face when he asks that, studying his expression for a moment. ]

Mm.. [ It's an absent-minded sound, considering that for a moment. It isn't something he really dwells on a lot. ] I guess so.

I've been an exorcist for about seven years now.

[ So, since he was 10. If he knew exactly how old he was. ]

Edited 2022-05-02 19:00 (UTC)

[ A touch of frost followed by disinfectant which he administers with the same care, working around the initial squirming. It's a natural response, one he's used to dealing with so he's patient as he works, searching for any bullets that may still be lodged inside his skin. Finding signs of none, he suspects the bullets like the virus they carry are neutralized by his natural immunity.

His mouth pulls down, trying to make sense of that statement through his limited lens. ]

They let you get shot with those bullets at that age?

[ Was it to build immunity slowly? His brows crease at the image. ]

[ Despite his occasional squirming -- ow, stings -- he does hold his actual shoulder still pretty well. He's very used to having to be patched up. Very, very... very used to it. Moreso than even the scars can tell. ]

It isn't so much "let"... [ His own mouth pulls a little thin, trying to think of how to explain that. ]

I was apprenticed to my master, but we traveled all the time and you never knew when fighting would happen. When something would track us down. You can't predict what'll happen on the battlefield, and that was what out purpose was for.

To fight akuma. Like the one you saw. [ Even him, at that age. Albeit against much, much weaker ones. ]

Sometimes he'd train me to avoid getting shot, but that usually involved him shooting at me with his own gun... [ The last part is said a bit dryly, his gaze sliding aside somewhat woodenly. But beyond that, he talks like it's an entirely normal thing. With a neutral, even tone himself that's hard to get a read on.

Because while once wholly accepted as Life, he doesn't know anymore, about a lot of that, how he feels. Because he just doesn't know what he thought he once did. His memories creeping back in are actually making it worse. ]

But we start fighting from the first time our ability chooses us and wakes up. One of my friends -- I think she was six.

Edited 2022-05-02 19:36 (UTC)

[ When he's done with the disinfectant, he sets it aside along with his collection of used cotton smeared with blood. These he sets aside to burn later. ]

Your master sounds like the equivalent of a Pro-Hero from where I'm from.

[ Which makes him an intern. The bullet wounds make sense once he's got the terminology right in his head. Internships were dangerous. There was always the possibility of getting injured or, rarer, killed. ]

Except, [ and here is where their worlds differ ] Heroes exist to protect the public from people who decide to use their quirks to break the law. A villain is just a moniker for someone who willingly endangers people. There's no 'Akuma' equivalent. [ Aside from One-For-All, but that's an entirely different matter. ]

People dying en-masse...

[ He starts laying down the gauze, methodical in his movements, while he tries to convey this last thought into words. ]

... that doesn't happen where I come from.

[ Which only confirms what Allen probably suspected from his reaction to seeing all those dead bodies piled high. Death isn't common where he's from. He's not used to it, probably never will be. ]

[ Once he's said his due, he continues to press small strips against the open wound. One on top of the other until the blood stops seeping through. He listens to Allen's while he works, trying to make sense of the world he comes from these small anecdotes. For some time, he even thinks they're not that dissimilar, though when he starts talking about his training - getting shot! - his movements cease. ]

He... shot you...

[ It his too close to him. Endeavor knocking him down with enough force to make him vomit, then telling him to get up. This somehow manages to be the minor blow compared to what comes next. ]

--Six?!

[ Stop it, please! He's only five years old!

Yes, he's already five! So get out of my way!!

Private training, behind closed doors where there was no one around to condemn it was one thing, but as a policy?! ]

... They forced children to fight those things?!

[ On their own?! He looks utterly appalled at the news and has stopped treating him entirely. ]

Edited 2022-05-02 20:24 (UTC)

[ Allen's eyes track his movements as he says that, "People dying en-masse... that doesn't happen where I come from...." and his expression flickers slightly. Sympathetic as yes, that does confirm what he had already been expecting. It's sad--

It means this is also such a terrible world for him to be in now.

But he set off an unintentional cascade effect, and he startles lightly at Todoroki's reaction.

Honestly, it was a sore point for him even before realizing certain other things. When Timothy was identified as being an Accomodator... he screamed and thrashed and resisted, wanting nothing to do with them. He'd called them out point blank on them not seeming like any kind of "good guys". And the Order didn't listen to him. Didn't care it was ripping him from the only home he'd ever known just to fight in a war he'd never heard of. He was an exorcist. He was going to fight for them.

He had been 9. And Allen had had doubts about there being anything "right" about the whole thing even then.

Holding Shouto's appalled stare for a moment, that spark and suddenly a lot more feeling obvious there again, the outrage, he swallows a bit uneasily for a moment, hesitating, before his gaze slips aside. ]

...It wasn't the worst thing done in the name of trying to win a war.

[ He says it more uneasily still and in a manner where he isn't making light of that sort of thing at all. Which means yes, they did. And it was honestly just the tip of the iceberg. ]

Edited 2022-05-02 23:56 (UTC)

[ He tries to imagine what kind of terror would lead sanction the use of child soldiers and comes out blank. He can't imagine a child that young being to face off against the creature they did. Didn't Allen say he'd never fought one on his own before? He called it a Level 4. Maybe the other levels were much weaker? Not that it matters, anyone that young couldn't possibly be more than canon fodder. But hadn't Allen said, he's been an Exorcist for seven years?

His eyes shift to him, and for the first, he wonders how old he is. He looks around his age which means... He was still a kid when he fought one...

His eyes shift to some of his older wounds, ignores the urge to touch them, and starts taping the gauze. His movements are slow at first while he tries to digest all he's learned. ]

... Was it worth it?

[ Did something good come out of it, something to justify it? ]

[ -- and that's one of his strong triggers.

He tenses up, before he twists back around to face the other boy. A hand comes up, grabbing the wrist that's closest to him. Not harshly, but to face him more directly as he leans in, nose almost to nose and he really doesn't care. Eyes sharp, fierce and the kind that could hold captive and bore straight through you -- but not angry.

Just no, and this is important. Flashing with a deeper emotional fire than even Allen usually shows, one hardened into diamond certainty. ]

Nothing can justify all the things they did. [ It's a strong tone, not even a shred of doubt, and yet still not unlike his normally soft-spoken self. Not unkind. ] Trying to win a war by sacrificing all of that --

Edited 2022-05-03 02:20 (UTC)

[ But he swallows, faltering a little then. And he'll release Shouto and give him his space, relenting and letting his hands cross in his lap where he stares a little moodily down at them.

Ah, he overstepped... Crap. ]

... I don't know what ultimately happened anyway. [ It's a bit quieter. ] It backfired, some of their attempted experiments. A lot more people died. A lot of people suffered... but it didn't change anything. Nothing ended. Everyone was still fighting. It just felt like...

...we kept losing. [ He blinks, although his expression doesn't change. Aa, that's the first time he's ever actually said that aloud. Even if he had thought it sometimes.

He clasps his own hands, pressing one thumb tight against the other. ]

I left, anyway.

Edited 2022-05-03 02:21 (UTC)

[ He steps on a landmine.

Captured, his wrist goes slack in his hold and he stays in place even as those sharp eyes fill his vision. The last time someone looked at him like that they left bruises on his throat. But this is Allen, he's not afraid of him.

Meeting that intensity with a solemn look, he lets him speak without interruption. Watches him as his train of thought falters. Realization dawns behind grey eyes and Allen lets go of his wrist, turning in on himself. ]

...I'm sorry. It was an unfair question to ask.

[ Impossible to answer. Having glimpsed into his world, he can't even begin to imagine the cruel reality that could leave him in this state. ]

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we inadvertently made the death thread 19475 times worse and I have no idea how but(º̩̩́⌣º̩

That wasn't my intent!!! It just snowballed into this mess!

LMAO it wasn't mine either!! I thought it would continue for like 2-3 more tags!!

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