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deercountry2023-08-08 05:02 pm
terriblepurpose) wrote in deercountry2023-08-08 05:02 pm
Player Epilogue: August
AUGUST 2023
PROMPT 0: THE CALL
PROMPT 1: THE STAIRS
PROMPT 2: THE CHASM
PROMPT 3: THE TEMPLE
CODING
With the Reckoning's gift, Sleepers can now explore far past their previous bounds. August rolls in hot and humid, and as more Sleepers begin to travel, many - both within Trench and far beyond its walls - are struck by a new unease. Some Palebloods wake from fragmented, unfamiliar dreams of a stone staircase that rises into the sky until it is swallowed by clouds. Darkbloods may glimpse a looming shape which blots out the stars, there one moment and gone the next. And all Sleepers may feel a strange gravity, as though something is trying to draw them in two directions: up into the sky, or down into the earth.
It isn't difficult to follow the call. The actual location seems to change on a whim. One day, the call may come from just past the edge of town; on others, it is distant, out in the untamed wilds.
It isn't difficult to follow the call. The actual location seems to change on a whim. One day, the call may come from just past the edge of town; on others, it is distant, out in the untamed wilds.
CONTENT WARNINGS:
extreme heights
Somewhere in the land, different every day, is a spiral staircase. Rather, it used to be a spiral staircase; the visions were far more pristine than the reality. Shards of pale, crumbling stone hang suspended in the mist. They lead up into the sky, chunks of ruined staircase hovering like stepping stones. Be careful: pieces may give way beneath your feet and send you into freefall.
As you go higher, the steps become blanketed with glowing flowers, stirred by the wind into rhythmic, eerie whispering. Around these flowers, Sleeper powers fail - enough to drop a flying Sleeper out of the sky.
At the top of the staircase, way up among the clouds, is a floating temple. The structure is ancient, crumbling, built of the same pale stone. Its grand doorway stands open, choked with the same glowing flowers. Thick bands of mist shroud its foot and its spires; the top of it can't be seen.
If a Sleeper reaches the doorway alone, the mist whips into a sudden maelstrom, powerful enough to drag an unlucky Sleeper back into the sky. But if they come with a companion, the mist boils up into a new shape. It's a sky Pthumerian: a dragon of wind and vapor, with a voice like moaning wind.
None may pass without a witness. Who stands at your side?
If it does not like your answer, the raging winds begin to rise. To earn passage, you must truthfully define your companion: are they your beloved mentor? Your dearest friend? A disappointment? When it senses truth, the dragon disperses into mist, and the doorway stands clear.
TL;DR:
- There's a floating temple in the sky! It rejects solo travelers with a powerful blast of wind.
- To reach the temple, you can fly or climb the crumbling spiral staircase. Beware of the power-nerfing flowers.
- To enter the temple, you must confess who your companion is to you.
Somewhere in the land, different every day, is a spiral staircase. Rather, it used to be a spiral staircase; the visions were far more pristine than the reality. Shards of pale, crumbling stone hang suspended in the mist. They lead up into the sky, chunks of ruined staircase hovering like stepping stones. Be careful: pieces may give way beneath your feet and send you into freefall.
As you go higher, the steps become blanketed with glowing flowers, stirred by the wind into rhythmic, eerie whispering. Around these flowers, Sleeper powers fail - enough to drop a flying Sleeper out of the sky.
At the top of the staircase, way up among the clouds, is a floating temple. The structure is ancient, crumbling, built of the same pale stone. Its grand doorway stands open, choked with the same glowing flowers. Thick bands of mist shroud its foot and its spires; the top of it can't be seen.
If a Sleeper reaches the doorway alone, the mist whips into a sudden maelstrom, powerful enough to drag an unlucky Sleeper back into the sky. But if they come with a companion, the mist boils up into a new shape. It's a sky Pthumerian: a dragon of wind and vapor, with a voice like moaning wind.
None may pass without a witness. Who stands at your side?
If it does not like your answer, the raging winds begin to rise. To earn passage, you must truthfully define your companion: are they your beloved mentor? Your dearest friend? A disappointment? When it senses truth, the dragon disperses into mist, and the doorway stands clear.
TL;DR:
- There's a floating temple in the sky! It rejects solo travelers with a powerful blast of wind.
- To reach the temple, you can fly or climb the crumbling spiral staircase. Beware of the power-nerfing flowers.
- To enter the temple, you must confess who your companion is to you.
CONTENT WARNINGS:
extreme heights
Those who venture down, into the land's many tunnels and caverns, might find something new - and this one is more reliable than the staircase. It is a vast chasm, impossibly deep, with the gleaming spires of a great temple in its depths.
Woven of shimmering blue-green light, a hundred slim hanging bridges lead down to those spires. Down in the depths, the temple's balconies are woven of the same shimmering aurora-light. If a Sleeper arrives alone, they can fall directly through that light - but if they arrive in pairs or more, the light turns solid as glass beneath their feet. As they draw close to the temple, the light rises up into new shapes and speaks with a low, ringing voice:
None may pass without a cause.
If you've ever pledged yourself to a person, an organization, or an ideal - even in the privacy of your own mind - the light takes that shape. You may find yourself staring down aurora-visions of your old mentors, old allegiances, old loves.
Name your masters.
You must name these visions aloud. Worse, you may have to explain them, because the temple's guardian takes more interest in a meaning than a name. It takes its cues from your traveling companions: only when they seem to understand and acknowledge your loyalties does it dissipate, and the doorway stands open.
TL;DR:
- There's a deep, spooky crevasse underground. The same temple seems to reach up from its depths.
- To reach the temple, you can fly or traverse thin bridges made of light.
- The temple will create mirages of every person, organization, or ideal you've ever dedicated yourself to - formally or otherwise. To enter, you must confess those loyalties aloud.
Those who venture down, into the land's many tunnels and caverns, might find something new - and this one is more reliable than the staircase. It is a vast chasm, impossibly deep, with the gleaming spires of a great temple in its depths.
Woven of shimmering blue-green light, a hundred slim hanging bridges lead down to those spires. Down in the depths, the temple's balconies are woven of the same shimmering aurora-light. If a Sleeper arrives alone, they can fall directly through that light - but if they arrive in pairs or more, the light turns solid as glass beneath their feet. As they draw close to the temple, the light rises up into new shapes and speaks with a low, ringing voice:
None may pass without a cause.
If you've ever pledged yourself to a person, an organization, or an ideal - even in the privacy of your own mind - the light takes that shape. You may find yourself staring down aurora-visions of your old mentors, old allegiances, old loves.
Name your masters.
You must name these visions aloud. Worse, you may have to explain them, because the temple's guardian takes more interest in a meaning than a name. It takes its cues from your traveling companions: only when they seem to understand and acknowledge your loyalties does it dissipate, and the doorway stands open.
TL;DR:
- There's a deep, spooky crevasse underground. The same temple seems to reach up from its depths.
- To reach the temple, you can fly or traverse thin bridges made of light.
- The temple will create mirages of every person, organization, or ideal you've ever dedicated yourself to - formally or otherwise. To enter, you must confess those loyalties aloud.
CONTENT WARNINGS:
plant monsters (including parasitic options)
The Temple is ancient. Its halls are round, smooth, and winding; most are deathly quiet. Communication from characters outside the Temple (such as via Bonds) feels distant, as though you're now in a space beyond Trench.
There are no windows, and yet many levels are choked with the glowing, power-negating flowers. Unfortunately, there is also an overgrowth of greenery that wants to kill you. Watch out for shambling mushrooms, tentacle-like plants, and burrowing roots.
On other levels, you won't find any flowers: instead, the air is thick with Blood Pollution. Here, Sleeper powers are stronger but more volatile. Gemstones have been inlaid into the walls and floor in beautiful geometric patterns-- and if you pass near them, you'll trigger the traps. Coldbloodstone hallways erupt with fire or ice; vilebloodstone traps burst into a choking gas; darkbloodstone traps reverse gravity and throw you to the ceiling.
Through every level, Beasts are prowling: the twisted forms of rodents, birds, insects... even long-overcome former humans. Venture deep enough and you will uncover storerooms, gardens, and alchemical workshops. For some reason, it all stands abandoned.
TL;DR:
- The temple is a ruin overgrown with violent plants and riddled with bloodstone-based traps!
- Ambient Corruption can vary heavily, and you can come up with minor Beasts of all shapes and sizes to fight or flee from.
- Feel free to scavenge stores of food, water, and bloodstone-crafting supplies.
The Temple is ancient. Its halls are round, smooth, and winding; most are deathly quiet. Communication from characters outside the Temple (such as via Bonds) feels distant, as though you're now in a space beyond Trench.
There are no windows, and yet many levels are choked with the glowing, power-negating flowers. Unfortunately, there is also an overgrowth of greenery that wants to kill you. Watch out for shambling mushrooms, tentacle-like plants, and burrowing roots.
On other levels, you won't find any flowers: instead, the air is thick with Blood Pollution. Here, Sleeper powers are stronger but more volatile. Gemstones have been inlaid into the walls and floor in beautiful geometric patterns-- and if you pass near them, you'll trigger the traps. Coldbloodstone hallways erupt with fire or ice; vilebloodstone traps burst into a choking gas; darkbloodstone traps reverse gravity and throw you to the ceiling.
Through every level, Beasts are prowling: the twisted forms of rodents, birds, insects... even long-overcome former humans. Venture deep enough and you will uncover storerooms, gardens, and alchemical workshops. For some reason, it all stands abandoned.
TL;DR:
- The temple is a ruin overgrown with violent plants and riddled with bloodstone-based traps!
- Ambient Corruption can vary heavily, and you can come up with minor Beasts of all shapes and sizes to fight or flee from.
- Feel free to scavenge stores of food, water, and bloodstone-crafting supplies.
no subject
It holds. Paul breathes out softly through his nose and grins, slipping closed to Midoriya to bump companionably against his side.
"My hero," he half-teases, "Saving me from certain doom once again. I suppose I'm only allowed to fall for you, is that it?"
He knows full well that's not the case. Midoriya would never insist Paul not be allowed to be anything of the sort. The only things he ever puts his foot down about are those that might harm (or distress, or sometimes even lightly inconvenience) Paul or others. But flirting doesn't always have to make sense, or even be consistent.
"I think we should follow the logic of this place as much as we can, unless it becomes dangerous," he switches tack seamlessly back to the practical, "If there are bridges, it's likely safer to stick to them. Not that I'm letting go of you until we're back on rock, mind you."
no subject
"That makes me feel so much better," he mutters mildly in his subtle flavor of sarcasm. Get wrecked, Paul.
But there is something to all the old stories of not straying from the path. The bridges provide beautiful scintillating light, even if it is accompanied with the imminent threat of gravity should the two young men separate. The dissonant Tartarus swallows them step by step into its chthonic belly, and Midoriya shows zero signs of letting Paul go.
no subject
The rest of the walk goes smoothly. Paul takes in their surroundings with interest, balancing his disciplined impulse to scout sight lines and hazards with admiring the eerie, ethereal glow of this jewel buried so deep in the earth.
The world is a different place when taken for what it is, not what purpose it might serve you. Paul wouldn't have marvelled at the depth of the shadows here so much if all he could think of was what dangers might be hidden within them.
But this slight wandering of attention isn't the same thing as going forward without care. As soon as the lights ahead begin to take shape, he stops short, slightly tightening his grip on Midoriya's arm. Judging by how his partner doesn't immediately fling himself into protective action, Paul knows that the presences in front of them aren't necessarily an immediate danger, but caution is a habit.
"None may pass without a cause," the figures say, a chorus in perfect unison, "Name your masters."
Paul recognizes them. His father and mother, as the world so loves to dangle in front of him (and he'd think it would ache less, one day, but not this one). The stooped, slender figure of Lazarus, who Paul would prefer to focus on. And, at the back, a mild, unremarkable man, with eyes of punched out black in the otherwise gleaming planes of his face.
His fingers dig into Midoriya's arm as his nostrils flare. He stills himself and wills them to loosen. Another test, like so many others that have come before and the many surely still in his future.
He doesn't answer right away. First, he looks to Midoriya, his tongue kept still until he sees how the young Hero is taking the sight in front of them.
no subject
Midoriya halts suddenly when the balcony of light they were heading towards sprouts new shapes. He slowly edges a shoulder in front of Paul. An aurora hardly looks like the sort of thing that can attack them, but if the light can turn to glass, anything is possible. Danger Sense isn't picking up anything--
Midoriya jumps at the voice even as he spreads a bolstering hand against Paul's back. These people are Paul's. So few... His parents were his first people, as so many children's are, so it makes sense they would fall into a category that holds sway over him. Then there is his mentor from Trench, and Midoriya resists the urge to hail him. The phantoms do not seem to look and respond to the world. He can't miss the figure in the back, but he is a second or third read, truly "just a guy" if not for his oil-slick eyes.
He covers Paul's digging fingers with his own, gently, ready to spring away or grasp should anything attack them. Why does Paul look at him when Paul knows best what makes these people his "masters"? Midoriya knows why, and he doesn't like seeing him forced into vulnerabilities, eyes wide and bare. It's not as though emotional resilience is an infinite resource. He reluctantly tears his eyes away from the specters to meet Paul's.
"We don't have to continue," he says softly to the young man still haunted by Teacher.
no subject
"I know." Paul half-smiles, tension still written lightly across his face. He strokes his thumb over Midoriya's arm underneath the shield of his fingers, a tiny, constrained gesture of comfort for both of them.
"Duke Leto Atreides, and the Lady Jessica," Paul says, turning back to the illusions, "My parents. Lazarus Sauveterre, my teacher."
The fourth spectre waits. Paul looks at it for a long, steady moment.
"Mariana, my patron," he continues, and the fourth spectre flickers and flows, spinning itself into sinuous tendrils of undulating light, "These are my masters."
The figures are unmoved, except that those which have eyes seem to turn and settle their gaze on Midoriya. Paul wants to pull him closer, step in front of him, but he doesn't know if that's what he ought to do yet. There's more expectation than intent in them, or so he thinks - but he only thinks, and doesn't know. He can't split his attention between them and Midoriya's reaction effectively, so for now he keeps his eyes on the things here he can't trust.
no subject
"Is it--my turn?" Now, it's your turn, All Might once said. But nothing happens yet. Midoriya wilts a little; he hates being stared at by a bunch of people. It would be comforting to bury his face into Paul's shoulder, but he doesn't.
"What does it mean by 'masters'?" he near-whispers. Midoriya won't know until he steps forward to replicate the results of the experiment, but Paul's feelings about the people in front of him should provide a clue. (Midoriya is slightly nervous about seeing his own. He may be in for quite the crowd.)
no subject
They could have gone back. They still could.
"I don't- " Paul starts to say, halfway prepared to pitch leaving and trying from the top.
"Are these his masters?" The Mariana-shape asks Midoriya, voices rippling like her light. Paul narrows his eyes at her, or her approximation, because he's never had quite the relationship of religious obedience he should have.
no subject
Master and sensei are the same word. Midoriya flounders with his usual penchant for overthinking it before speaking directly to the phantoms for the first time. He gently extricates his arm before bowing politely, but the firm set of his face is less than polite. He doesn't understand why he is being interrogated and Paul is being interrupted.
"They've... taught him things. But they're not everything. No teacher is."
A flower grows by the window in the home shared by Paul and Kaworu and frequented by Midoriya. The flower belongs to his beloveds, as caretakers of the person Paul wants to be. Midoriya promised he'd watch over him. If there's anything that can make Midoriya put aside his own fear, it's coming to the rescue of another. He slips his fingers between Paul's and smiles gently at him.
"Everything will be all right. Remember your promise."
no subject
"Midoriya Izuku," he says, quietly, "Nagisa Kaworu."
A pair of echoes flow out of the bridge in front of Mariana, their hands entwined like Paul and Midoriya's are now. Both of them are smiling, dressed in light summer clothes, and even out of the corner of his eye Paul can imagine bright cherry red sugar clinging to their lips. That had been a good day. One of the best.
"I remember my promise to them." He pulses his fingers around Midoriya's, reassuring and certain. "And I remember my promises to everyone else."
The bridge begins to crowd. A tall, broad-shouldered swordswoman, sunglasses propped at a jaunty angle on her nose. A weathered man with a headband wrapped over his forehead. A smiling young boy with a bird perched on his shoulder. And, at last, a slender, graceful young man, auroral and gleaming, puts his arms around his beloved's shoulders and draws their foreheads to touch his.
"Thank you." The Paul of flesh and blood leans in and echoes the gesture, ease returned to the set of his spine.
no subject
He looks at the new House Atreides and wishes they were here to see this--though he knows Kaworu in particular would chide them for having to delve into the earth to remember that he is indeed their master, now bring him back a red slushie. Red as his eyes, red as the poppy in the window, red as Midoriya's sneakers. A lucky color.
"Everyone..."
Midoriya shouldn't be off guard in a strange place, but he's cried in danger before, tears streaming so fast they hardly lingered long enough to blur his vision as he took care of business. He's cried in front of Paul many times in many different ways, so Paul should know the signs that herald the hitch in Midoriya's throat. He lightly bumps Paul's forehead with his as he begins to weep, two rivers flowing around his smile.
no subject
The figures begin to dissipate, coming apart in clouds of glowing motes as light as pollen. The swordswoman makes a rude gesture with splayed fingers and gleaming tongue, then springs up and back from the bridge to disperse completely, and Paul laughs with a bruised heart as the rest of them wave their less ostentatious goodbyes - except for the headbanded man, who attempts to follow after the swordswoman in the same style, with less grace.
Mariana's tendrils linger longest, curling gently in the air until even she becomes inchoate.
Then new figures begin to form, spiralling up from the remnants of the last. Paul rubs the tip of his nose against Midoriya's encouragingly before he shifts aside to give him a clearer view of whoever has been conjured to serve as his test.
"I'm right here," he assures, as their features clarify into recognizable faces, "We'll be through it soon."
no subject
"Don't you want to say anything to--" he starts speaking to Paul, and then to the figures woven of light, "Wait, don't go--"
He stops himself as he silently and loosely rests his hands on Paul's encircling arms. If they want to say anything, all they have to do is say it, anytime, anywhere; to the faces of the ones still here; in the comfort of their own homes, even.
So he lets them slip away as he gently slips away from Paul. He's a different person than he used to be. He knows part of it means standing alone, even if someone is standing right behind him. Being a bearer of One For All is to be never alone and always alone. He takes one step forward, Iron Soles ringing on the light-glass.
A gaggle of eight adults from Midoriya's world stare solemnly at him. Well--one burly bald man isn't solemn; he raises an arm in casual greeting. Some are wearing tactical gear; others are wearing what are unmistakably Hero costumes. There is the huge hulking figure of All Might, recognizable from the replica merchandise Midoriya and Bakugou have commissioned for each other as gifts in Trench. They cluster loosely around a muscular caped woman.
"W-What are you doing out--here?" Midoriya blurts out, thoroughly disarmed. Even as more as-yet unidentifiable figures begin to coalesce behind the group, Midoriya's gaze jerks around like he's caught something else out of the corner of his eye. He looks ready for anything, but he also looks slightly insane as he looks at the nothing distracting him from the light.
no subject
But Midoriya believes in kinder things than Paul does. Paul can hope that means he's believed in kinder people, too.
The sight of All Might is reassuring. The appearance of other heroes and apparent professionals is as well, or it ought to be. Midoriya's reaction dispels that notion instantly. Paul doesn't try to track the invisible things his Hero seems to look to. He stays intent on what's within his sight, if not his power.
Paul wishes he'd been more insistent about keeping Midoriya in his arms. He takes a half-step forward, his feet soundless where Midoriya's shadow would fall if the light allowed for it to fall at all. If he looked up, he'd see the elongated broken silhouettes of them both, and nothing of the crowd assembled before them.
The weave of time is soft around his fingertips. Not yet. Not unless he has to. But it's there, there like the nearest pathways of the future his vision sifts through an inner eye only half-closed.
no subject
"Name your masters," they say.
Midoriya's eyes slide familiarly to All Might, and he gazes at him before finally ducking his head with mouth pressed in a line. The light shrinks from sculpted god-like man to a very thin man in baggy clothes. Still blond, but his hair has rather less perfecting gel in it. He looks like one good gust of wind would do him in.
"Are these his masters?" the blurry shapes behind them ask Paul.
no subject
"No," he says, softly. "These are his teachers."
If there's anyone who helped Paul understand the difference between a teacher and a master, it's the young man in front of him. Midoriya is shaped by the people who have come before him, but he's not beholden to their traditions. He's more than that. His rebellion against those burdens is a quiet one, until it isn't.
Midoriya standing alone against the other Hunters, against the demands of the world that Beasts fall to blade and spell, against the calls to violent ends for the irredeemable. Midoriya against every injustice and cruelty this world, and any other, has to offer. If he has a master of any kind, Paul imagines-
But it's not his place to name it. It's his place to answer what he's asked.
no subject
"All Might retired from Hero work due to injuries. He looks like this now," he reveals quietly, staring at the specter. "He can't use his Quirk anymore."
Then he looks over his shoulder at Paul. Paul trusts him, and yet Midoriya is still afraid to show everything hidden in his heart. He could still walk away. There is no penalty for leaving. But he's come close to telling Paul in his heart so many times, and now he is faced with an image of the very secret.
He turns and slips close to Paul as if he were afraid of eavesdroppers on this bridge filled with nothing but shapes of light.
"He gave it to me," he whispers with a tight throat. "These aren't my teachers at UA. They're my predecessors who passed down a Quirk, and their Quirks with it, to me. That's why my Quirk is weird. I'm sorry I didn't tell you and Kaworu-kun. I didn't want you to worry or have to carry this secret."
He bows his head.
no subject
He drops his forehead to touch the top of Midoriya's and squeezes his hands.
"I understand," he says, quietly, "I forgive you."
The revelation is a surprise, but a surprise in the way the pattern of an embroidered rug is a surprise when it's flipped from its reverse. The rough knots of the back cohere into the intricate design of the surface.
Midoriya's panic and distraction all the way back at Paul's birthday party. His reluctance to show all the diversity of his Quirk, which never quite fit with the Quirks of his fellows, and its unusual late onset. The hints of perpetual anxiety he had around the subject, and the great weight of purpose he labours under to prove himself worthy as a Hero.
Paul knows he can't grasp the full extent of what this means to Midoriya, however hard he might try. He'd have to had grown up as Midoriya grew up, immersed in a world of Quirks, Heroes, and villains. But he still knows what it is to labour under the demands and expectations of the past. To have a legacy, terrible and grand, set on your shoulders.
He brings a hand up to Midoriya's chin and coaxes him up to meet Paul's eyes, if he'll heed it.
"I do understand," he repeats, slightly more firmly, "I didn't tell you everything from the start, did I? I know what it's like. I would have kept waiting, if you needed me to. It's all right."
no subject
His shoulders hitch slightly then go slack as if someone unexpectedly took a heavy weight off them. When bid to look at Paul, how can he not? A person he loves and who loves him back, who trusts and forgives him, deserves the full gaze of his heart. Tears slip down his freckled cheeks.
"Kaworu-kun is the only one who did." Midoriya sputters a small broken laugh that is not a laugh. Scooting too close to him in a hot spring, Kaworu laid out his situation with frankness and asked bold questions about humans and loneliness. Midoriya presses their foreheads with a shaky sigh.
"When you told me that day, I cried because I understood." He doesn't say it, because it's just salt in the wound, but he had a choice in the matter of receiving his power. Paul didn't.
"They give me my privacy, but if I ask them to come forward, or if I'm in battle, I hear them. But they're not my masters."
He looks over his shoulder at the facsimiles again. The blurry ones behind the eight wielders shift expectantly. He cannot be at ease until his task is complete; he knows they're not done.
no subject
Paul leans into the contact of their foreheads before Midoriya turns back to the waiting figures, one last press of grounding contact. When he wishes he could entangle them more perfectly this time, it's out of the wish that he could take on some of Midoriya's pain in a tangible sense.
But this is the best they can do, mortal beings that they are. Even the spirits or minds that apparently share Midoriya's thoughts (and he has questions about that for later, but not yet) aren't indivisible from him. Even in the midst of all of this, he can't help but wonder at the mechanisms at work - and if they're anything like the mechanisms that work inside of him, too.
"They may not be your teachers at school," he says, slowly, as the weave of connections becomes even clearer, "But they've still taught you. And that's a different thing."
He links the fingers of their hands still touching, a hold loose enough for Midoriya to slip away again to stand alone if he wants to. Paul only wants the contact a moment longer. He's greedy like that.
"So if not them, then...?" Paul coaxes. Midoriya has the answer inside of him. He trusted Paul to find his own, and Paul will do the same.
no subject
Midoriya blinks, returning to the reason they're here. "Th-thank you." For reminding him. "Thank you, Paul-kun." For being so kind. Midoriya feels a little childish with his urge to turn back to Paul and clutch his hands and the rest of him. Beyond the entrance of the temple after scouting out a hiding spot, they can rest and process the visions they have seen, both light-woven and inherited.
Now his fingers close on Paul's as he steps forward, back straight, face limned with wet light. It's no longer out of a wish to hide next to him. He's introducing him to the people who helped him along the way. Another person forms out of the light. He looks vaguely threatening--it's the grumpy expression and spiky Hero costume.
"Teachers, huh?" he murmurs softly, but he doesn't sound surprised to see Bakugou there. Midoriya is still stuck on teachers until Bakugou is engulfed in light and shrinks down to a small child. Another child with voluminous green hair and freckles appears next to him and takes his hand, and the one he calls Kacchan lets him.
Very quickly, his other classmates appear, whether they're ones who have been in Trench or not. And all his schoolteachers, and--
"...Mom?" he blurts out in a small voice. But he has no time to weep again before the light quickly sprouts too many people to count, allies and enemies alike. There is Shigaraki with a disdainful expression, Sir Nighteye inscrutable behind his glasses, little Eri and Kota, and even some Heroes and bystanders he only knows by acquaintance... He's promised to protect the ones he still can, the yet-to-be-saved.
Two well-defined figures appear in front. They are a Duke and an Angel, one clad in darkling black, the other almost blindingly pale. The real Midoriya's hand tightens on the real Paul's. It occurs to him that he has to speak.
"Everyone... Everyone I ever made a promise to."
no subject
But it's one thing to know, and another to see. Midoriya's compassion is such a vast thing that even this great cavern barely seems able to hold it. Paul would swear the bridge manages to become wider, or somehow deeper, an optical illusion no less real than the rest of the illusions.
He should call them visions. It would be more true. A map is not the territory, but that isn't to say it has nothing to do with the land. A map is a thing in relation, and a thing itself.
All of this is Midoriya, drawn out and reflected back. It's his connections, the ties he's formed, every person who's left a mark on him. Teachers, friends, enemies, family. The rescued and the lost, the gentle and the harsh, the near and the distant. Paul holds Midoriya's hand so closely that he has to remind him to be careful of how his so-often broken fingers ache under the wrong angle of pressure. He has to be especially careful of this when he sees himself, his breath catching in an undefinable soft way at the top of his throat.
"These are his masters," Paul affirms quietly to the air. In the moments before the visions begin to fade, Paul sweeps his gaze over the crowd, capturing each face and tucking it away next to his own gallery of memories. Anyone and everyone who's ever mattered to Midoriya matters to him. Then he settles, as he always does, on Midoriya.
;u;
The real Midoriya tightens his hand on Paul's, whose slender fingers are surprisingly strong. He knows this of him, from the first time they clasped hands and laid their fingerbones together. When they're close, their pulses thrum side by side. His heart swells when he hears Paul speak. Green eyes look at green. He rests his head on Paul's shoulder.
The figures sweep away like cottonwood in summer. Midoriya half expects the impossible light-made dust to carry on the air and settle in their curls. The temple door is open. He hesitates.
"I'm sure you have questions," he whispers, as if it might be rude to talk too loud here. "I don't... have all the answers. And I have questions of my own." He ducks his head, self-conscious about being so prying, but he has the warmth of Paul's hand and the softness of his eyes as they catch the last of the dissipating light.
"What cause is Mariana giving you?" To use the temple's words...
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Dangerous things can be kind. He knows that from his mother, and almost everything and everyone else he's ever loved, including the young man at his side. A sense of peace settles over Paul where the light does not, invisible and yet still shining. He exhales softly in the silence, stirring the cool abyssal air, and he accepts the feeling for what it is.
He's sure if this is the place for the questions he has even with the sense of calm that follows their acceptance. He's poised to say as much before Midoriya asks his own question first, and his mouth quirks in a slightly rueful smile. It's a shy one, if a person knows what shyness looks like on his face.
"She doesn't give out causes," he says, shaking his head, "I've learned that much. She gives...experiences. I thought they were puzzles, once. Something to solve, and then I'd understand it all. What she wanted from me. What I was meant to be, and do."
He goes briefly quiet, dropping his gaze to their linked hands, then lifts it back to Midoriya's eyes.
"I'll never understand all the things I want to understand," he admits, light as the shifting colours around them, "But it's the trying that makes sense of the world. Not holding myself apart from it, or above, but being in it. We're all sea creatures. It's not up to me to change the currents. It's up to me to choose how I swim them."
"Or something like that." He smiles wider, more crookedly. "I don't think any of us have all the answers. Not even her. So my question to you is...do you think there's any answer from you I should have, before we go forward?"
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"I can tell you what the more recently awakened Quirks can do, but that's not what's most important..." Midoriya hadn't planned on telling Paul these things, so he flounders and rambles a bit as he answers. It's a miracle he doesn't accidentally slip into one of his muttering spiels.
"With this secret comes the fact that it's transferable, but only if I will it. There's a problem there; I could be coerced into giving it away. All Might told me to keep it secret."
Paul knows by now what would cause Midoriya to make a great sacrifice. There are things in this world worth the risk. He squeezes Paul's hand and kisses his cheek. Paul is used to looking composed in front of others; even his shy smiles are charming.
"The god or gods here asked us about causes and masters. I don't think they quite understand what inspires us. And... we don't quite understand what's going on here. It'd be pretty rude of us to walk in assuming we know everything and are always right. Let's bow at the door."
This is how he conducts himself if he finds himself at Trench shrines of minor and major Pthumerians. Does a fish know the whole ocean? Or a squid?
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Paul nuzzles the side of Midoriya's head in passing when the shorter young man kisses his cheek, unable to pass up the opportunity for more solicitous contact. He'd wrap him up in a blanket and take him home on the spot if he could, and damn the door - but that would be even more disrespectful than not bowing at the threshold.
Which he does, as neatly and deeply as if greeting the ruler of a planet. He doesn't let go of Midoriya's hand to do it.
"We'll help you keep it safe," he promises, straightening his spine and stepping forward, "For all of you."
His past shards and present self, a concept Paul knows he'll be weighing for some time. He breathes in slowly, tasting the ancient dust of a sealed place.
"...do they talk to you often? Your predecessors?"
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joke's on deku, neither of them are normal
and it's additive weirdness too
oh he's getting such a good grade in weird
not beating the allegations
i'll always be here to ruin cute things with a steel chair
it's very effective...
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/wrap!
/wraparoni