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nevertheless-moving · 5 years ago

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Unnamed Extremely Bad Plan to Defeat Darth Sideous AU - SW AU NO 9

Hopefully writing down this star wars au will help me exorcise the cringe demon that helped midwife it. Time travel au where obi-wan and Anakin come up with an extremely SPECIFIC and UNCOMFORTABLE plan to defeat Palpatine because it unfortunately, would actually work, as it capitalizes on one of Palpatine’s easiest to reach political vulnerabilities. This is not a unique plan- there are other au’s like this, but this one is mine. When searching for ways to explain exactly why this anti-sith strategy inspires such cringe and delight in myself I realized, with sinking dread, I have seen this in an Always Sunny episode...which yeah. I might be over reacting but hey, cringe is a personal phenomenon, everyone’s different.

Anyway! Uh here’s a bunch of plot that will eventually culminate in the plan.

*Too much plot, aaaah*. **All plot actually.** ***Its 1 am and this is still a draft*** ****It’s 2am**** *****This post will be just be background I guess.*****

*******STAR WARS AU NO 9 LAZILY OUTLINED CHAPTER ONE*********

Force ghosts Darth Vader and Ben Kenobi have had time to yell at one another without need for breath, and have more-or-less come to terms with the trainwreck that was their shared life. I wouldn’t call them well adjusted, but they’re more stable then they were the last decade or so of their living existence.

In haunting Luke, they end up encountering an artifact in an ancient Willis temple that offers spirits the chance to fix the mistakes they made in life. It doesn’t truly unwrite what’s been done, but it lets you create an alternate timeline. So this galaxy will still be what it is, but some alternate galaxy somewhere could at least have it better. Its almost never been used, because becoming one with the force usually lets you accept the past, but viewed objectively, Vader and Ben’s lives involved an extreme amount of yikes. They say goodbye to Luke and are flung backwards and sideways.

Anakin is holding his mother as she dies. Obi-Wan is landing on Genosis.

Vader just barely manages to avoid slaughtering the tuskens. To be honest, he doesn’t really get why he shouldn’t- his moral compass is still pretty f-ed up. He’s fairly certain the force is just torturing him, but still he controls himself (for Padme for Luke for Leia).

I’m gonna say well-adjusted!Vader sees murder in general as more of a vice than a sin- on par with having a beer. And really well adjusted Vader is willing to admit to himself that he’s an alcoholic, he seriously cannot regulate, its a problem. He really can’t let himself go, because he’ll just end up spiraling. And so he restrains himself and only seriously maims a few of the adult raiders.

Vader figures he can always come back later and slowly torture them to death if this whole ‘save the future’ thing doesn’t pan out.

Obi-wan leaves his shuttle and hides under a rock for 30 minutes. He calculates thats just enough time for him to pretend he went on an extremely effective and sneaky fact finding mission- just in case anyone checks R4′s records. Gets back in shuttle and gets the fuck out of there, much to Dooku’s chagrin, who lost sight of him after the shuttle landed and is now going to have to switch to one of his alternate start-the-war plans.

On the flight back he reports everything to the council- fallen Dooku and the separatist leaders, the trade federation and the massive droid army, Jango Fett the clone template of the republic army (?) working for the separatists. He briefly comms Anakin, but anyone hacking into their conversations would hear only a nonsensical, rambling conversation. Later, a hacker might turn over the idea that they were speaking in elaborate code, but why would Jedi invent such a thing during peacetime?

The war still starts; at this point in the timeline it was inevitable; the artifact was only designed to give them the chance to correct their own failings, not the galaxy’s. Palpatine still gets his emergency powers.

The same day the armies are discovered, separatist war ships take off to engulf Ryloth. The Jedi are instructed by the senate to lead the clone army and provide immediate relief-this will not be a repeat of the republic’s inaction on Naboo. It’s both better and worse than the first Battle of Genosis. So many more civilians are caught in the crossfire. The first titanic battle is not contained to evacuated droid factories, but rages across an entire populated world. The battle lasts for weeks.

The main reason this fight is less deadly is solely due to the fact that General Kenobi manages to maneuver his way into high command of the entire army.

“I believe assumptions were made since I was the first point of contact with Kamino, Masters,” the Knight explained apologetically to the arriving high council members. “I realize its not quite appropriate, but for right now I am the Jedi most familiar with our forces and the enemies. I would, of course, prefer to cede the role to someone else.”

The assembled Jedi can feel the truth in that statement.

“For better or for worse, advance troops were directed by the senate to land planetside and have met heavy resistance. I managed to redirect them to a more defensible position, where they can provide surface based cover fire for incoming reinforcements. The battle has already begun.” He received a grim nod of approval from Master Windu.

“I feel the need to say now, that if there’s one thing I learned from my time as a general on Melida/Dann, or in working against Death Watch on Mandalore, its that having a clear chain of command is vital for a military to succeed. I don’t need to remind some of you that leadership breakdowns were what ultimately ended both the Stark Hyperspace War and the Yinchorri Crisis,” Masters Koon and Tiin exchanged looks before deliberately sending forth a small force wave of approval, understanding where this briefing was leading.

“I believe that unnecessarily restructuring command before the battle is won here could do far more harm than good.” The reminder of Obi-wan’s unusually militaristic apprenticeship put some of the assembled knights at ease even as it inspired a twinge of guilt in the older masters.

“In command you are, General Kenobi,” Master Yoda finally acknowledged. “A Jedi Master you will be, once done this battle is. Have us do, what would you?”

The battle lasts for weeks, and when its over, the commanding Jedi and Troopers involved will openly acknowledge that had anyone else been in command, it would’ve lasted months, if not years. Facing down logistical, strategic, and tactical problems on a scale unheard of for a thousand years, High General Kenobi does not falter.

Enemy reinforcements seem unending. For all their preparation, every single trooper is new to war, and secretly concerned that should they fall, they will be replaced with cadets who hadn’t even finished their training.

Obi-Wan is putting out fires before they can start. Much to their shock, clone commanders are informed that they will, for the time being, remain in charge of their troops. With a handful of exceptions, Jedi ‘Generals’ were in fact, to be treated as a cross between highly skilled commandoes and advisors with abnormally sourced field intelligence.

“All of you have spent your lives training to lead your brothers into combat. The Jedi Masters and knights who are being assigned to your divisions have not received such training.”

General Kenobi addressed the division commanders, some in person, some over holocomm. All focused in rapt attention as their General reordered the shape of their lives using language they could understand.

“The command structure I am issuing is designed to maximize our ability to utilize our respective strategic capabilities, while minimizing potential loss of your life. It will be our great privilege to serve alongside such an army, and while I fully expect a complementary exchange of knowledge in time, for now, focus on survival.”

The Jedi received similar briefings, tailored for their broader array of combat and military experience. Some, including Jedi Master Pong Krell and Grandmaster Yoda, were pulled aside and tasked with the essential mission of infiltrating and destroying the Droid factories on Genosis. If they were to have a chance of winning this war, they they would need to cut off the seemingly unceasing flow of droid reinforcements.

An elite squadron of Arctroopers and Jedi field operatives were covertly dispatched, Grandmaster Yoda himself in command. Considering Count Dooku had yet to appear anywhere near Ryloth...the grandmaster had the best chance of bringing in the fallen separatist leader alive for questioning.

Shortly after they left, Anakin arrived, having finally turned over Padme’s protection to her regular guard. With the military creation vote past, the assassination risk was considered minimal. The real delay in his arrival came from her repeated attempts to join the Grand Army of the Republic on Ryloth with the intent of coordinating humanitarian assistance. Eventually he managed to convince her that she could do more good in the senate.

After all, he pointed out, someone would need to followup the military creation act with a bill to grant clones equal citizen rights. Otherwise, the legal grey area that cloning fell under and their non-republic origin would inadvertently make the clones slaves.

His borrowed Nabooan cruiser entered the warzone with the grace and efficiency as a small neutron bomb.

Those close enough to see its flaming descent watched in horror, realizing that the high generals own padawan would likely be a war casualty before he ever engaged in combat.

The legion nearest to soon-to-be-ground-zero, under the command of Captain Rex of the 501st, were distracted by heated combat, as the temporary barricade they had put up to defend the civilian population gave way to droidika artillery.

While reloading, several dozen troopers happened to look up to see a speck detach itself from the hull as at spiraled in the lower atmosphere. Hope spread that the Jedi had managed to activate some sort of eject hatch. A skilled shocktrooper could probably control and and survive such a fall with luck, which mean a Jedi almost certainly could.

A few tactical scouts charged with watching the skies confirmed that the speck was indeed a humanoid. No chute was visible, but even 8 days into the war, rumors had already spread about how Master Windu had passed off his chute mid-air to a troopers who had been damaged by suppressing fire, cushioning his free fall solely with the tank he crushed upon landing.

Only one trooper, stationed in the town clock tower specifically to track the Padawan’s arrival and issued with a high-resolution farscope, saw the whole thing. Fortunately for his credibility later, in its current setting, the scope automatically logged photos every 5 seconds, ensuring that for years to come Obi-Wan would have a flipbook as evidence that he was not the crazy one.

CT-3609 or Blink (as he was named after winning the division wide staring contest on Kamino two year prior) forwarded the trajectory of the vehicle to command, who confirmed his analysis that it would impact two clicks out from their makeshift fort and not present a risk to civilian or trooper lives.

As it traversed the stratosphere a figure (desperate repair droid, Blink assumed) emerged from the cockpit to perch on the nose of the ship. As it entered the troposphere, it became painfully obvious that the figure jutting out from the hull of the ship was in fact not a humanoid droid, but an unarmored human. The Jedi stood on the prow of the ship, seemingly impervious to and oblivious of:

air resistance

centrifugal force

normal space gravity

Blink’s slack-jawed bewilderment

the flames engulfing the ship below him

At this range, the smirk on the man’s face was visible (man? boy? kriff is he even through puberty?). Several miles above the surface he leaped, diving towards the ground like a bird of prey.

To the west, the ship made impact with the ground, sending a shockwave that shook the tower just enough for Blink to lose visual in the final moments of descent. Cursing, as while he was confident the Jedi would inexplicably survive, he really wanted to see how. The trooper scanned the droid-engulfed farmland to the north for a crash site, to no avail. Lingering smoke from the burnt countryside negatively impacted visibility low to the ground.

Rather than trying to articulate his report into words, he sent the 50-odd frames the farscope had saved, as well as the coordinates for the jedi’s projected radius of touchdown. A quick radio over to long range electro-ballistics ensured that his landing wouldn’t be marred by friendly fire.

He awaited follow-up questions on the absurd entry method, which, when they came, mostly consisted of variations on “...Is this for real?” and eventually “Can you set the scope to video for a little while?” and finally “Do you think that’s how he got the name Skywalker?”

There was a temporarily lull in fire from the west, likely a ripple effect from the ship’s explosion. From his vantage point Blink could see his batchmates using the opportunity to try and plug the holes in their barricade with broken droid pieces. Regardless of the itch to join them, he knew he couldn’t leave his post until the Jedi actually arrived in camp. Finally, a distant explosion and thick pillar of smoke gave the Jedi’s position away.

He tried to make out details, but the scope had a difficult time focusing through the haze. Manually trying to fine tune the scope’s settings, Blink caught a glimpse of what looked like half a hover tank sailing through the air to impact with a trade federation troop carrier in a fiery explosion. Several more explosions, flying droid artillery, and plumes of smoke were caught on record before visual contact with the source was established. He was mostly visible as a blue blur, lightsaber mowing a meandering path towards their location.

It wasn’t until Skywalker braced himself in place to punch a droidaka into pieces that Blink caught actual sight of the man. Only his eyes were visible, nose and mouth covered by layers of cloth. He blurred, then reappeared on top a massive missile launcher attached to an absurdly heavily armored vehicle. A minute or so of rapid blue flashes passed, the longest he had seen concentrated in one area. Then Skywalker was gone, movement clearly visible as he for once he moved in a straight line, plowing a rapid path away from the launcher.

Less than 30 seconds later, Blink had to wince away from the scope, as a burning white explosion temporarily overwhelmed the direct light filter. The trooper panicked for a moment, thinking he had gone both deaf and blind, but the abrupt, sucking silence ended after a moment with a deafening sonic boom. The shockwave rattled the farscope, nearly knocking it over, but Blink managed to steady it and himself in time.

A cheer emerged from pleasantly surprised vod below. The entire droid legion that had been guarding the missile launcher and apparent ordinance bay was flattened.

It took a moment for the realization to set in that the background noise of missile and and anti-missile collisions directly overhead had slowed pace. With the northern flank gone, artillery were able to redouble efforts to the east, and a second white hot shockwave ensued, signaling that the tide of battle had shifted. It was almost too easy for the republics electro-ballistics to tactically devastate the surrounding forces.

Eventually some sort of win/loss programming must have set in and all forces outside of a certain radius began retreating southward, conceding the scorched land to the republic army. It was cadets work to clean up the final suicidal droid charge.

A commotion ensued as Skywalker leapt the barricade with a mid-air flip. The vod greeted him with cheers, as they correctly assumed his appearance had something to do with the skirmish’s decisive victory.

Blink sent the video of the battle to command and quickly packed up his scope and assorted equipment. Hurrying down the battered tower, Blink thought to himself that this Anakin Skywalker was the best sort of Jedi a trooper could ask for.

uh sorry i got really sidetracked there moving on

Kenobi and Skywalker quickly become the face of the war once again

they grit their teeth a bit, but when they finally have a moment to really plan they eventually agree that to take down Sideous they have to cut off his political power in addition to everything else, and taking advantage of their public personas was the most accessible way to do so (*evil laughter*)

While Dooku wasn’t captured, Yoda heard the truth in his old student’s cryptic warnings about a Sith in the Senate, and the council begins carefully editing their release of tactical plans to the Chancellor’s office in the hopes of ferreting out the spy in their midst.

Pong Krell looses two arms in his duel with Dooku. Obi-Wan successfully hides his smug pleasure at the news. Anakin enjoys makeing comparisons between him and Grievous.

Kenobi doesn’t allow the origin of the clones to go unexamined, although he agrees that if the public were informed that they don’t actually know who ordered them it would probably cause panic.

The ‘inhibitor chips’ are ‘discovered’ early on and Anakin leads the effort to ensure that they are phased out and removed immediately. This consists of reminding every Jedi who even hesitates about how how he as a child slave had some experience with control chips and unless you want to take a leaf out of the hutts books lets start doing brain surgery chop chop mmmkay?

(This isn’t to say that Vader doesn’t still a twinge of shame at acknowledging his slave roots. But it is eclipsed by the burning guilt that he knowingly acted as slave master to his troops for decades after Sideous wiped their minds. He tried to rationalize it to himself, after all he didn’t immediately understand what Order 66 had done to the troopers. But while the morality of murder was more of an intellectual concern than a personal one, treating people as things...)

The Kamonions are a little harder to budge, referencing contracts that they refuse to allow the Jedi to see

Finally Vader snuck into the Chief Medical Scientist’s home while she was sleeping and straight-up threatened to murder her and burn down her lab. At the risk of losing her life’s work, Nala Se complied.

Vader left with the final threat that in the event that Darth Tyranus caught wind and activated Order 66 prematurely, he would kill 100 Kamonians for every Jedi felled by troopers. Shaak Ti was pleased by the cloners sudden change of heart. Tyrannus, and by extension, Sideous, are in the dark.

Obi-Wan frequently publicly confronts Palpatine about the troops citizen status, urging him make use of his emergency powers to grant them citizenship and full pay, with the option to leave the army should they so wish.

Anakin manages to play off his avoidance of the Chancellor as disappointment in his perceived lack of dedication to anti-slavery efforts

Finally Palpatine gives in- regardless of what happens next, the troops will be looked after.

With 2/3rds of the troopers dechipped, Vaderkin is eager to kill Sideous again, but after several intense screaming matches and sparring sessions, the time travelers come to the agreement that even if they succeed in their duel, with things as they were, the perception of the Jedi military coop would cause mass civil unrest. The scattered sith apprentices, while individually weak, were more than capable of magnifying that fear and anger until the galaxy breaks. Darth Sideous wanted to ensure that if he couldn’t have the galaxy, no one would.

(Vader knows this. Sideous enjoyed monologuing, and much of his plotting couldn’t be safely bragged about until after he had decisively won, leaving Vader as the unwilling receptacle for years of pent-up rants and self-satisfied gloats about the inevitability of his victory)

Continued Here

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hostess-of-horror · 4 years ago

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Danse Macabre

Finally! After so many days of writing, I have finally finished my biggest fanfic yet! It's another Phantom x Peach fanfic and it is a bit of a sequel to my previous one "Encore at Midnight". I had this really cool story concept for a little while and I felt like I just could not do anything else unless I write it down. It was a bit of an experiment since I had to do a little bit of research just to pull some things off (however, it is far from perfect, so please forgive me). Also, I have officially made some OCs for this fanfic, yay! Anyways, I hope you guys enjoy what I have created!

Number of Pages: 17

Word Count: 9358

[Content includes: Themes of Death/Mortality and Some Suggestiveness (not smut though!), OC “Death”, Graphic Body Horror, and Slight Profanity]

For @salamifuposey, @kindpopstar, @jawaii-chan, and everyone else who wants to read this fanfic!

____________________________________________________________

My Dearest Princess,

Forgive my absence these past few days. I have been preparing the final touches in my newest masterpiece, and I have been dying to show you what I have created. It is something I have not done before; consider it an experiment of sorts. My excitement cannot be contained any longer! Tonight, I invite you to a performance unlike anything you have seen before. I have arranged a carriage to arrive at your castle at around midnight. It will take you to Spooky Trails, where I have made refuge, and you will be accompanied along the way. She will be your guide, and I assure you she will not lead you astray. I pray you receive this letter and that you accept the invitation.

Your Humble Host,

---

Princess Peach reads and rereads the letter. So many questions run through her mind. What does he mean by “experiment”? What kind of performance will this be? And who is this guide? She looks up from the letter, and across from her is an unfamiliar face. Sitting across from her is a woman looking out of the carriage window, admiring the night sky. Or, at least it seems like she is, for the bright reflection on her tea shades completely covered her eyes. Her guide is abnormally slender and taller than her, however she could not tell exactly how much. Her alabaster skin pops in contrast of her dark attire, which consists of a frilly ivory blouse and high-low trail skirt, a velvet violet corset, leather pants, and a long onyx black coat embellished with jewels. Her frizzy, unkept silver hair is pulled up into two buns with small strands of hair shimmering like a diamond. Peach had never seen anyone quite like her before; it’s like she came from another world entirely. The guide turns her attention from the view towards Peach and smiles. Peach averts her eyes and looks towards the window – it was rude to stare, especially at a stranger. “So, you must be the one my master has been interested in all this time? He has told me so much about you.”, the guide spoke. Peach brings her attention back towards the guide. “I am, miss.”, she responds, “And, he has?”

“Oh yes! He is simply infatuated with you! I dare say, obsessed, even. And now that I have a chance to see you up close, I can definitely see why.”

“Infatuated is a good word to describe him. He has shown his affection quite often since our first reunion.”

“Has he now?”

“Mm-hmm. He’s been nothing but a gentleman towards me, even if he does get pretty… excitable from time to time.”

“Consider yourself lucky, your highness. Having an enthusiastic partner makes the relationship a lot more interesting!”

“Well, yes, I agree… I- um…”

“Is there something wrong?”

“Phantom and I have only met a little while now; almost a month I believe. I’m not sure if I want to start referring to him as my partner.”

“Just yet, you mean?”

“Oh, please don’t get me wrong, I do like him! I just like to… take things a little slow.”

“Ah, I see. I completely understand. You want to get to know him a little bit more before you make any decisions. A rather smart move on your part.”

“Exactly.”

“Don’t tell anyone this, but my master isn’t one to do such a thing. That is not to say he’s completely reckless, but whenever there’s something – or someone – he’s interested in, he becomes determined. Stubborn even. And personally, it is not his best quality sometimes. It makes him look like a moron. A blind one at that.”

“I guess you can say he becomes inspired. Phantom is an artist, after all. Art is meant to invoke emotion, no matter the medium. It would make sense that he himself is the same way.”

“Insightful! And right you are.”

“Not to mention, Phantom is an opera singer. Opera, of course, is highly emotional and very dramatic, and so is he.”

“That too. I know this might be a personal question, but your first reunion with my master…”

“Yes?”

“What happened that night? I ask because I remember seeing him wallowing in shame after his trip over to the Mushroom Kingdom. When he returned, he threw himself onto his fainting couch, murmuring curses, almost about to cry.”

“Oh my! Well, Phantom was in the ballroom inside my castle that night. He was singing this beautiful melody. When I found him, we talked for a bit and discovered we both have something in common.”

“And what would that be?”

“Companionship.”

“Ah…”

“As we talked, he told me about his life after that battle at Spooky Trails a few years ago. He was so lonely, unable to find friends to call his own. Soon he became… anxious. I cannot describe exactly what came over him, but it was obvious he was in pain. Then, his eyes turned red, and suddenly darkness. I fainted.”

The guide stares at Peach, her mouth slightly agape. Although her tea shades cover her eyes, her expression is readable. It is a look of shock – that look of knowing exactly what had just happened with Phantom on that very night. She sighs, “I see. That is not the first time he has done that. My master can be terrifying when he has his moments.”

“Everything was just so overwhelming. I was scared, yes, but afterwards I was more concerned of his well-being. I cannot bear to see someone in pain; being alone can take a toll on anyone… Oh, that poor thing! He must’ve thought that he harmed me when I fainted!” Peach exclaimed. Silence takes over the conversation. Peach’s eyes wander towards the carriage floor while the guide’s attention never breaks. Her eyebrows furrowed, Peach fidgets with her gloves. The guide adjusts her position, leaning over towards the worried princess. She reaches out and holds her hand; Peach stops fidgeting. “I’m glad that you care about him, your highness. Very few do.” she gently smiles, “There have been many times I believed that the only people who care about him is me and the others.”

“The others?”, Peach asks.

“The rest of my master’s theatre troupe. Just like him, we are all one with music.”

“…may I ask what is your name?

“My name? Oh-! my name, how could I forget my manners? How rude of me! I am Dolores, your highness.”

“And if I may ask as well, if you don’t mind, where do you come from?”

Before Dolores has a chance to answer, a flash of shadows sped by the carriage. Dolores motions towards the window, her head peeking out, looking over the view. Her pearl white teeth shows as she grins from ear to ear. “We’re almost there! Ah, soon you will experience the greatest show yet, Princess Peach!”, she exclaims with glee. Peach takes a look at her window. Memories flooded her mind like a rushing river coursing through the barren earth. Spooky Trails.She remembers now; it was all coming back to her. This was all leading to the very location where her battle with Phantom took place. She, alongside Mario, Luigi, and a few Rabbids, witnessed Phantom’s creation and fought him as he flaunted about on the old, decrepit stage. To think, he was an almost entirely different person. Phantom wasn’t as gentlemanly as he is as of recently, but since their first reunion, he has been wanting things to change.

He wants her. Her heart. Her soul. Her beauty. Everything.

To think it has come to this. To think the princess, who has been known for being saved by her plumber in shining armor and being in love with him, would fall for such a character. But has she truly fallen for Phantom? Or is it all just nonsense? If it was just nonsense, then why would she accept the invitation? Peach takes in the environment as the carriage rolls across the cobblestone path, driving through the dead trees and the old, seemingly abandoned village. Despite having never returned after the battle, Peach regains her memories of Spooky Trails, almost to the point of knowing exactly where Phantom resides. Dolores returns to her position, her shining grin still on her face. Peach turns her attention back at Dolores and asks, “What was the inspiration behind this performance?”

“I would tell you, but it would ruin the surprise! My master has ordered all of us to never reveal his masterpiece until it is time.” Dolores answers.

“Oh…”

“All I can say is that this is no ordinary performance. My master is quite the visionary, you know!”

“Very well, then. I won’t ask any more questions, if it’s going to ruin the surprise.”

“Are you excited, your highness?”

“Of course! Why wouldn’t I be? It’s not often that I get invited to such events.”

“Really? But you’re royalty! I thought you would be invited to all sorts of performances.”

“I do, but it just doesn’t happen that often, and I honestly don’t know why. I adore the theater!”

“We all do too. Our lifestyle is nothing but the theater… quite literally!”

“Gosh, that must be so wonderful, to be part of a theatre troupe. To perform for all to see, to entertain others through amazing plays! I’ve always wished to join when I was a little girl.”

“Oh! Would you look at that! We’ve finally arrived!”

After what it seemed like more than an hour, the carriage, at long last, finally stops. Dolores gets up from her seat, slowly crawling her way out of the carriage. Her elongated body almost struggles through the small door, but she succeeds with grace. She then offers her hand to Peach with a softer smile, “Your midnight show awaits, Princess Peach…” Taking Dolores’ hand, Peach steps out of the carriage and immediately she is greeted by a massive silver gate. The very gate that stands guard the entrance to Phantom’s stage. It is beautifully sculpted, shaped into swirls and patterns holding up an illuminating full moon, with two music notes placed on each side as the borders. Yes, Peach remembers now. Dolores walks up to the gate and peers through it. She waves at something or something – Peach could not tell – and opens it, allowing themselves to enter. Peach follows behind. She didn’t know how tall Dolores was when they were in the carriage, but now she could get a good look at her stature. Dolores was tall – taller than any human she has ever seen before. If Peach could guess, her guide was three to four (maybe five!)feet taller than her and was practically towering over her. Ever since they met, she had this feeling of uneasiness. Who is this woman? What is this woman? Where did she come from? So many questions. There was something off about Dolores, and it wasn’t necessarily her abnormal physique. There was something, but Peach couldn’t put her finger on it. Whatever it was…. Perhaps she doesn’t need to worry too much about it.

Approaching the decrepit stage, the two ladies are met by a small man wielding a large, glowing lantern. This man is the opposite of Dolores in terms of height and physique. He is a short and stout dwarf, donning a regal yellow robe over his slightly mismatched clothes. The light emanating from the lantern reveals his nicely trimmed beard, his long, curly chocolate brown hair tied back into a ponytail, his fluorescent amber eyes giving them a warm welcome. His smile grew bigger once Dolores waves again; he waves back. “Dolores, there you are! And you brought our special guest! Wunderbar! It is a pleasure to meet you, eure hoheit.”, the dwarf greets them, bowing in courtesy. “Are the others ready, Stefan?”, Dolores asks.

“We’ve been ready for a while now. Just making sure everything is perfect for tonight.”

“And what about our master?”

“He will not show his face. In fact, he wants me to tell you that no one must see him until he has shown himself to us all.”

“Ah, well that makes things interesting.”

“I agree. Anyway, enough chit chat! Let us proceed! We must not keep our master’s little freundin waiting.”

“Por favor, Stefan! Don’t tease… that’s my job.”

Stefan chuckles as he ushers them to go into the stage. Dolores follows Stefan, and Peach follows Dolores. They all walk deeper through the torn platform and dusty curtains. Damaged props, broken wires, hanging ropes, and mangy fabrics scatter the place. The further deeper they went, the larger the backstage seems to be. Peach looks in awe as she continues to follow her guides. Who knew that this abandoned stage held such secrets? After a few minutes of walking, Stefan places his lantern on the floor, lighting up the entire floor, and begins to crawl on his hands and knees. His fingers trace the nooks and crannies of the floorboards, mumbling to himself. He searches until he finds a small hole and grabs it. The hole turns out to be a handle, and Stefan pulls and lifts up the floorboards. He reveals a decent sized door leading to a much darker pathway – a long stone stairway stretching far into a secret tunnel. Stefan’s lantern gave light to the darkness, making the trip down into the underground refuge much less intimidating. Dolores holds Peach’s hand as they go down the stairs. This was such an odd way of attending a performance. Peach could not imagine what kind of performance involves having to venture underground in order to see it. What could she possibly expect from all of this? Part of her mind began screaming for help, pleading to go back to the Mushroom Kingdom. Part of her mind wanted normalcy, no surprises. It wanted her to stop and return to her chamber, to her castle, to Mario and her friends. However, the other part was curious. It was that familiar curiosity – the same curiosity she had when first reunited with Phantom. She could never forget that night. Never in a lifetime. Everything about him, whether it be music or shadow, is just so…. Alluring.

Alluring… Beguiling… Captivating… Enchanting…

Her mind finally gives in. She goes for the latter. How could she not? She has ventured too deep into this tunnel to start leaving. For once, she is able to take a break from her royal duties. To forget her troubles. To finally experience something new. For once. As for curiosity, she was more concerned about Phantom. Why would he not allow anyone to see him? Of course, it must be for the performance, but what exactly does Phantom have in store? The more Peach thought about him, the more impatient she became. Phantom. Oh, where are you, Phantom? Her mind falls into that familiar trance. She wants to see him again. She wants to hear him again. Perhaps Peach has become just as obsessed as he is with her. This must be an addiction. It must be. If it wasn’t, then she would never be where she is right now. Whether it be curiosity, obsession, or madness, Peach will continue to walk into shadow if it meant she will meet her friend again. Stefan, Dolores, and Peach finally reach the end of the tunnel, finding a wooden door decorated with gold etchings, which looked out of place amongst the cobweb-shrouded stone walls. With a strong push, Stefan enters through, allowing the door to creak wide open. Behind the door is a humongous hallway, adorned from wall to wall with a vast multitude of paintings, flyers and posters of plays and musicals, candles, and curtains. To think a dusty tunnel would lead to a beautiful makeshift palace! It’s like discovering a treasure chest inside of a dank, murky swamp. Is this where Phantom was residing all these years? Peach gasps. Dolores turns around and smiles, “Welcome to our humble abode, your highness. In this place, music is our lifeforce. We eat, we drink, we breathe, we sleep in music. Just like our master, we are not only creators of art – we are art itself. And tonight, we shall once again breathe life into another masterpiece. I cannot describe how immensely happy we all are. We are so glad that you accepted our master’s invitation, you will not regret it! Now, come along with me, let us go into the Ladies’ Dressing Room. Natasha has designed a wonderful costume for you to wear, and Ophelia will help you with your hair and makeup. I assure you they will make you absolutely gorgeous. Of course, that is not to say you’re not already beautiful.”

Stefan leaves the two ladies and heads towards the Gentlemen’s Dressing Room, which is across from the Ladies’ Dressing Room to the left, placing the lantern onto an iron hook built into the wall. “Well, I’m going to get myself ready and meet up with the others. I’ll see you all at the Gallery! Bis bald!”, he says as he closes the door. Dolores enters through the door to the right and holds it open for Peach to walk into the room. There sitting inside are twin sisters, both garbed in fine, flowy silk and chiffon gowns, working on their latest projects. To the left is a somber young lady sitting near a vanity, dressed all in Aegean and periwinkle blue, her pale pink hair intertwined into exquisite dreadlocks that reaches down to her shoulders. Wrapped around her head is a flower crown composed of lavender, Baby’s Breath, Fairy Foxgloves, and Forget-Me-Nots. To the right is a cheery young lady wearing a similar gown but in shades of fuchsia and rose, checking over the details of an extravagant costume, which is porcelain and peach in color. Her pale blue hair is also made of dreadlocks, as well as composed with the same flowers with the addition of small vines, but is pinned up into a lovely cornrow braided bun. The twin in pink looks up from her work and gasps, “Dolores, you’re back! And the princess is here! Ophelia, look! They’re here!” Ophelia turns around, her saddened expression softening into a weak smile, “Oh, hello again. And it’s nice to finally meet you, your highness.”

Dolores greets them back, turning her attention back to Natasha’s project, “Is the costume ready?”

“Yes, it is! I was just making sure everything’s perfect!”

“It looks amazing! Buen Trabajo!”

“Aww, thank you!”

“Alright, now we must hurry. I need to be in costume. I’ll meet you all in the Gallery, and don’t dottle please.”

“Don’t worry, Dolores, we’ll be ready as soon as possible.”

Dolores leaves Peach with Natasha and Ophelia, entering through a darkened room to get ready for the performance. Once she leaves, Peach witnesses what is perhaps the most amazing thing she has ever seen. The speed in which Natasha and Ophelia got her ready for the performance was astounding. What should have lasted for about a few hours or so ended up lasted for a few mere minutes! No human possesses this level of speed, especially with makeup. Any makeup artist would take their time getting every detail right. There would be no possible way anyone could apply eyeshadow, eyeliner, blush, concealer, lipstick, and every other detail really fast without messing up. But Ophelia proved that such an ability was possible. Natasha was no different. She helped Peach get into the extravagant costume without any struggle at all, as it fit perfectly onto her frame. How did she get her size just right? And it’s so comfortable too! “And… done! Oh, look at you! You are just beautiful, your highness! Don’t you think so, Ophelia?”, Natasha exclaims happily, proud of her job well done. “Oh yes, I agree…”, Ophelia smiles weakly again. Peach looks over to a nearby mirror. They were right; she is beautiful. Perhaps even more so, she thinks to herself, for she had never worn anything like this before. It is true that, being of royal blood, she is accustomed to an extremely elaborate (and expensive) wardrobe. But this… this is different from any other dress. It is a ballroom gown, completely encrusted with diamonds and pearls, with lovely black roses making a long trail from her waist down to the skirt. The white skirt is massive, flowing down towards the floor like a mass of billowing fog. Her shoulders and bosom are exposed completely, giving room for a glistening choker made of the same jewels. Her hair is done up in a high bun, lightly sprinkled with silver glitter, and tied together with another black rose.

She looks heavenly. Like an angel.

With everything all set and done, Natasha and Dolores begin preparing themselves. As they do, Ophelia pauses for a moment. “Oh, your highness! I almost forgot something. Before we go, our master wanted me to give you this.”, Ophelia says, handing her a small card. It reads: For the Princess. Before heading back to primp herself, her expression slowly turns gloomy, barely keeping up with her smile, “You are so lucky to be chosen…” Peach turns over the card as she waits for the twins to get ready and continues to read:

Tonight’s performance is a one-of-a-kind experience. You, my dear, will not only be the audience, but also part of the story! Everything and everyone around you will be interactive, so please do not be shy. Converse with your newly found friends! Eat, drink, dance with your heart’s content! And please, do not wait for me. I hope you enjoy my masterpiece.

- P

Ah ha! So, this is what Phantom’s performance is! It is a role-playing experience, and based on what the card says, it must be a party he’s hosting. What delightful news! Although, Peach must admit that she has never role-played before, especially in something like this. But wait – didn’t she say to Dolores earlier that being part of the theatre was her childhood dream? Perhaps this is the perfect opportunity to try out her acting skills! Peach beams. She could not believe Phantom would make something like this. Whatever this role-playing party entails, she thinks to herself, she’s going to do the best she can. “We’re ready!” Natasha exclaims in a sing-song tone, “Are you ready, Ophelia?” Ophelia nods. Natasha excitedly takes both her and Peach’s hands, leading them out of the Ladies’ Dressing Room and into the Gallery. Peach almost could not keep up with the twins, for they have remarkable speed, as shown by their natural talents on makeup and costuming. How fast can could they possible go? If this is how fast they can walk, then how fast can they run? Natasha’s ecstatic giggling echoes through the hallway, and with every step they take, the upbeat tempo of music could be heard from behind the Gallery doors. The closer they went, the louder it became. The melody drifts in the air like a calm perfume for the ears, capturing Peach’s attention with its harmonious essence. A delicious delicacy for the senses. Just like Phantom’s voice. He must have composed this melody, for there is no way Peach could have been so immersed and entranced by its sound if it wasn’t. The three ladies approach the Gallery doors, the music muffled behind them. Natasha takes a glance back at Peach and Ophelia, unable to contain her excitement anymore.

She pushes the doors wide open.

What words could possibly describe the sheer extravagance of the Gallery? To think that all of this is completely underground! To think Phantom created this gargantuan chamber, big enough for him and perhaps one hundred guests! Maybe even more than that. Peach could tell, just by admiring the Gallery, Phantom is quite the fan of marble, silver, and velvet. Marble floors and pillars framing the chamber and silver-framed mirrors and portraits decorate the walls. Deep black velvet curtains cascade from the middle of the ceiling and down towards the floor, giving the appearance of one massive Bohemian tent. In the middle hangs a glamourous jeweled chandelier, giving a dim light to the darkness. Looking around, Peach notices there are seven rooms divided by the curtains, each one color-coded, with three rooms on both towards the left and right. To the left are the colors blue, purple, and green, and to the right are orange, white, and violet. The seventh room is located right in front of the ladies, right across from the Gallery entrance. Inside is completely shrouded in shades of red – wine, scarlet, crimson, garnet – and there sits in a shiny throne a crowned gentleman – a prince – with a glass of Amontillado in his hand. His wavy, champagne blonde hair falls delicately around his party mask and square facial structure. His rosy lips gently purse as he raises his glass to drink. He is accompanied by two other women, who are garbed to the nines in the richest finery, blushing and laughing amongst themselves. Every now and then, the prince would turn to one of them and whisper in their ear, making their faces turn into deeper shades of red. As Peach follows Natasha and Ophelia, she finds more guests, all conversing amongst one another in the color-coded rooms. The costumes they wear are vibrant in color and theme, ranging from jesters, to creatures, to knights, to fairies and pixies. These guests, including the prince himself, must all be part of Phantom’s theatre troupe. Peach begins to count: one… two… four… six… nine… eleven. Eleven members of the troupe. She wonders if there are any more, considering how large the Gallery is.

The prince turns his attention suddenly towards Peach, and so do the two women. Soon, almost everyone begins to stop for a moment and do the same. Simultaneously, Natasha and Ophelia bow, gesturing to Peach, “My Lord, we have brought you your special guest, Princess Morrigan of the Stygian Border.” The prince sets down his glass on a nearby silver platter, and stands right up from his throne, adjusting his vest and coat. “C’est magnifique, my loyal subjects! Now the masquerade can truly begin! Come, come! The night is young, gather around everyone! Let us celebrate all of our blessings and forget our grievances!” he declared, “May we prosper in these trying times, and may we never run out of wine to drink.” The crowd laughs and cheers, some of them raising their own glasses. He turns to Peach, his eyes wandering up and down, and smirks, “My, my… Enchantee, your highness. I must say, you look… ravishing tonight. I am Prince Fortunato, at your service. Why don’t you join me, my dear, in the Red Room? Surely, we can have some… fun together, what do you say?” Greeting her, Prince Fortunato places a soft kiss on her hand, his emerald eyes admiring her beauty. Or perhaps something else. Although Peach has to be polite, she immediately had no interest in him. Too cocky, she thinks to herself, too full of himself. It reminds her too much of Bowser. Then again, Phantom was that way, too, at least in the past. But she learned that he was not licentious. He never looked anywhere else but into her eyes. He never searched for anything other than her eyes. He ever seemed like he was after a particular goal other than seeing her whenever they meet. That is the one thing Peach was sure about. Ah, but remember! This is only roleplay; nothing is real. Prince Fortunato, as well as everyone else, is only pretending. In that case, this gentleman is an excellent actor!

Prince Fortunato leads Peach back to his throne, the two women still standing to accompany him. Envy fills the air. Their expressions turn sour as they watch Peach get even more attention than them. Peach could already tell that this is no ordinary masquerade. She has been to many royal revelries throughout her life, and all of them were filled to the brim with sophistication. Every guest, staff member, and host had class – anything that was considered less than classy wasn’t allowed. This masquerade is different in terms of the usual standards of hosting such parties. It was as eccentric as its Gothic décor, consisting of tables filled with silver platters of fruits, meats, bread, and desserts, goblets of beverages, and candles. Every once and a while, a few guests would stuff themselves and each other with this feast, disregarding etiquette for sheer pleasure. Peach isn’t used to the cacophony of this kind of merrymaking. All of this was nothing but pure, unadulterated debauchery – something she was taught never to delve into. She is a princess, after all, and princesses never do those sorts of things. However, did she not accept the invitation to let herself loose? Did she not agree to join this performance – this masquerade – to experience something new for once? For once? Feeling out of place just standing idle amongst Prince Fortunato and the guests, Peach goes over to one of the tables and picks at a plate of grapes. She watches as the guests gather around Natasha and Ophelia in one huge circle, clapping to the music’s rhythm as they frolic together. The fabrics of their dresses fly with their movements as if they were colorful wings dancing in the darkness. As she plops the grapes delicately into her mouth, her eyes continue to wander over the décor. Suddenly, she stops at a grim sight. There as the centerpiece sits three skulls, two of them from a different species, ones Peach isn’t familiar with. The skull placed in the middle, however, is human. She could not tell if these skulls were real. She hopes they aren’t real. Taking a closer look, an engraving is found on its forehead: Ars longa, vita brevis.

Without warning, the Gallery doors burst open! The music stops – the crowd jumps in surprise! Prince Fortunato rises to his feet, alarmed by this sudden interruption. Peach turns around. There standing in the doorway is an aged peasant woman in old, torn rags, her hair glowing bright red like a burning inferno. Her complexion is dirtied, her makeup is smudged, her eyes red-hot with fury. She scowls as she approaches the partygoers, her hands clenched as if she is about to attack. “For shame!Have you no shame?!” the peasant chants, flailing her arms with rage, “Have you no compassion for your people?! The plague lays waste throughout the land! And yet, here you are, surrounding yourself with wealth and whores! They are suffering! They are dying! There is no hope for us! For shame! For shame! Have you no shame?!” Peach watches as everyone else steps back, avoiding her filthy presence. Twelve. Twelve members in Phantom’s theatre troupe. Prince Fortunato steps forward, confronting her, “Who dares… who dares interrupts us?! Who dares trespass Fort Fortunato and speak against the Crown?!”

“It is your undoing that dares enter your home! This, all of this, will be your downfall!” she responds back angerly, gesturing to the masquerade.

“Leave this instant, or else I’ll have your head for this!”

“I have seen it, Prince Fortunato! I have seen your fate in the deepest of dreams! Doom is upon you all!”

“Ah, it’s one of those so-called soothsayers my people love so much… how lovely. They love having their fortunes told, don’t they? Superstitions and all that. Hmmm. Well, in that case, go on. Amuse us with your… dreams and visions, fortune teller. We do love to be entertained.”

“It will come, Prince Fortunato, in retribution of your indulgences. You and your party may hide all you want; it will still find you! Mortals cannot escape from what is inevitable. In the end, it shall visit us when our time comes… and your time is nigh.”

“Qu’est-ce que tu racontes? What is this ‘it’ you’re talking about? Whatever ‘it’ is, I am sure it will not ruin this masquerade. Princess, do you hear all this? She’s simply mad!”

“Our time is nigh!”

“Tu es timbre!”

“For shame! For shame!”

“Quitter cet endroit!”

“Have you no shame?!”

The peasant stops. Her eyes shift towards Peach. A look of horror falls upon her face. “You…”, she whispers, slowly raising a pointed finger at her. Peach watches as she approaches her, still pointing, terrified. Her expression contorts as if she is studying, searching for something. “You… are to be Death’s Bride… Yes! You are Death’s Bride!” she exclaims, falling to her knees, clutching Peach’s skirt, “Oh, you poor soul! So young… innocent… all to be swept by its dark embrace! I beg of you, your highness, leave this place! Forget these fools! Forget all of this! Save yourself!” With a swift grab, Prince Fortunato pulls the peasant away by the shoulder and pushes her aside. “Unhand her this instant! You trespass my fortress, you waste our time with your superstitions, and now you insult me and my guests?” he yells, “Everyone! Let us show this insolent wretch what it means to insult those higher than her! Bring me a chair! Bring me some rope! Let’s play a game with her, shall we?” Peach could not believe it. A prince sacrificing the well-being of his people for an elaborate masquerade! And now, he and the other guests have decided to torture this poor woman! She cannot stay silent any longer – she must act! “Wait!” Peach cries, making everyone stop in unison, “Have mercy on her! Please!” Prince Fortunato scoffs in amusement, “Why, and for what? She insulted us, you heard her!”

“Yes, but none of that would have happened if you attended to your royal duties as Prince and took care of your people!”

“E-excusez-moi?”

“This poor woman is in dire need of assistance, and you have all the wealth to help her! Maybe you should consider.”

“Ha! My dear, you jest! I have no need for peasants! Why should I dabble in their affairs?”

“Because their affairs are yours as well. They have relied on you for so long, and you rely on them. Without your people, you’re done for!”

“Do you not see the extravagance of this masquerade? The bountiful feasts presented on the tables? Our costumes? The wine in our glasses? I am rich, Princess Morrigan! Wealthy beyond imagination!”

“Wealth that came from people like her! Please, my Lord, have mercy.”

“Are you mad? Ha, you must be! Just as mad as the fortune teller!”

“If I am as mad as her, then I must be! Yes, that’s it! Perhaps your foolishness is just another wild hallucination, for what respectable royalty spoils themselves to the point of gluttony and greed?”

A crowd of gasps shatter the silence. The crowd glance at Peach, then at the prince, then back at her, awaiting another response. Prince Fortunato stands silent, completely stunned by her audacity. His face becomes flushed, his teeth gritting, his emerald eyes bright with anger. His fists clench. “Oh…. I’m a fool, am I? Am I a fool?! I am not a fool! I am Prince Fortunato, the next in line! Heir to the throne! I am as respectable as royalty can be!” he furiously shouts, “I will not be insulted like this! I will not be degraded like this! I need not your judgment, or hers, or anyone else’s! I am no fool, do you hear me? I am not a fool! I am a Prince, full of riches and beauty! I am perfect! I am powerful! I am untouchable! You think I’m a fool? You call me a fool, eh? Ha ha! Well then, let me entertain you all! Come, gather around, my lovely guests! Let me show you what a true fool really is!” With a whip of his cape, Prince Fortunato rushes from the crowd and goes behind the throne. Everyone watches as he switches his coat and cape with another coat and removes his crown with another accessory. In a matter of seconds, he reappears, this time donning a shiny blue coat and a mask in the shape of a rabbit’s face. Raising his arms, he presents his new costume to the crowd, “Here! Here! I am now a fool! But Prince Fortunato? Oh no, no, no! He is no fool! You imbeciles! He is a national treasure!” Has Prince Fortunato finally lost his sanity? What could he possibly gain from this? Peach is stunned, as much as the rest of the others. However, she is not as terrified as everyone else. She sees Natasha and Ophelia cradling each other, comforting one another despite both being in distress. She sees Stefan in costume backing away, almost seeming to run away and hide somewhere safe. She sees Dolores frozen in utter fear.

Peach remembers what she had said: “My master can be terrifying when he has his moments.”

No one could help but watch as Prince Fortunato danced along the ballroom floor, singing random songs in a mocking fashion. He flails his arms, waving his hands wildly as if no one is watching him. Is this even part of the roleplay? This moment feels too spontaneous to even be scripted. Peach could not imagine Phantom having his own theatre troupe mock him, regardless of whether or not it would be intentional. Whoever is playing Prince Fortunato must truly be a fool. Prince Fortunato sings in a sardonic tone:

🎶“Look at me!

Watch me float and gloat and show off my coat!

Watch me as I sing about plumbers – oh, how I hate them!

I hate them so much, oh what a bummer!

Watch me as I make sweet, sweet love to my precious spotlight

Under the moonlight!”🎶

Although the song is less than perfect, Peach admits to herself: he has an amazing singing voice! And he sings opera, just like his master! She wonders if all of the members of the theatre troupe can sing as well. Ah, no! Enough of that! Don’t get distracted now! As he sings, Prince Fortunato runs and leaps onto a nearby table, knocking over huge plates of food, skulls, and candles on the floor. Everyone else watches as he spins and taps his feet on the table, his arms still flailing around. No one in the theatre troupe tries to stop him – they’re all too shocked and afraid to even do so. They did not want to get involved in such mockery. Peach could. However, what would happen if she did? As much as she would like to stop him, she just couldn’t. For whatever reason, whether it be out of shock, or out of fear, or out of curiosity, she did not move at all. Still, the Prince continues:

🎶“Imbecile, imbecile, imbecile!

Everyone’s an imbecile but me!

Listen to me, listen to me!

My ego is as big as it can be!

Come, my Princess, marry me please

Or else I’ll cry, cry, cry!”🎶

Then, the sudden drone of a large bell rings! It brings everyone into a hush, sending an immense chill down their spine. No one moves. The drone continues. And continues. And continues. Is this what the peasant woman was talking about? The impending doom that is to fall upon this masquerade? The fate of everyone who stands here on this very night? This inevitability that will claim those who still walk on this earth? Whatever is coming for them… has arrived to make its debut.

The Gallery doors creak open. Seeping through the entrance is a cloud of fog, billowing across the floor like a massive white sheet. It surrounds everyone, almost rising up to their knees, and soon the entire chamber is filled to the brim with gloom. Prince Fortunato finally steps down, his eyes staring in fear at the entrance, and retreats behind Peach. As fate approaches them, soft murmurs of terror arise from the crowd. One by one, each and every actor and actress trembles in anticipation. Peach awaits as well, but more out of curiosity than the shock of terror. This feeling; she remembers it all too well. She has to know what happens next. She has to know what kind of resolution this entire roleplay performance is coming to. Although the resolution is frightening, it was the satisfaction of discovery that keeps her within the Gallery. She will not leave. Fear will not take over. Only curiosity. Only awe and wonder. Only fascination.

And lo and behold, there stands the face of Death in his newest and blackest masterpiece.

He stands tall, bejeweled and shrouded in crimson, emerging from behind the murky darkness. The sheer size of him is intimidating enough, but the opulence in which he had adorned himself gives him an almost divine presence in the masquerade. Out of all the costumes Peach has seen, this one is more magnificent – more vibrant and elaborate – than the rest. Blood red veils cascade down from his large cavalier hat and alongside his cape. His vest a skeletal ribcage, patterns of bones scatter his scarlet greatcoat, and in his paws is a colossal gold cane. Hidden underneath the shadow of his hat is a golden mask, formed into the shape of a skull. Everyone slowly backs away as this masked red-clad stranger approaches them. But not Peach. Instead, she stays, completely in awe. She has become too enamored by his Gothic glamour to even be remotely scared. Finally. After so many days, they finally meet once again. She could see his sapphire eyes peering through and meeting hers with a sign of notice. He stops for a moment. That look… that tender gaze! Although they had only met for a little while before this moment, Peach confesses to herself: she could never have enough of those bright eyes. Those gleaming sapphire eyes. Even through that skull mask of his, she could stare into them all night long.

Alluring… Beguiling… Captivating… Enchanting…

Phantom shifts his attention to Prince Fortunato, his eyes wide with fury. The partygoers cower as he floats over to the foolish prince, towering over him as he looks down. Prince Fortunato scrambles, quickly taking off his blue coat and rabbit mask, full of sweat, almost hyperventilating. His face is revealed with a terrified expression. His eyes look up at Phantom, awaiting whatever fate – whatever punishment – shall bestow upon him. Phantom twists his cane and slowly he pulls it apart, revealing it to be a scabbard with a long, sharp sword inside it. Peach gasps as he unsheathes his weapon, raises it up in the air, and points it down at a quivering Prince Fortunato. “Please, monsieur!” Prince Fortunato gasps and swallows, “Spare me! It was only a mere jest! I was only having some fun entertaining my guests! I-I am the host, after all! Monsieur, please… Have mercy…!” Everyone watches in horror as he pleads for forgiveness. Phantom takes in a deep breathe; music begins to play again. It is in minor key, deep and dramatic – the orchestral equivalent to an imposing force. Peach holds her breath. Finally. With a smooth, baritone voice, Phantom sings his haunting solo:

🎶“Fortunato!

Surrender to me,

Look upon the face of Death!

It is meant to be,

Now savor your last breath!

Fortunato!

Your time has come at last,

Take your final drink of wine!

For your sins in the past,

Oh Prince, your soul will be mine!”🎶

“No!” the prince cries out, “You cannot take me! I will not let you! My guests need me! My people need me!” What hypocrisy! What foolishness! Peach watches intently. What is going to happen next? Will this masked presence spare Prince Fortunato? Will Prince Fortunato’s mockery be forgiven? She anticipates what comes next, whatever that may be. But although she tries to expect the unexpected, there is one thing she is certain about: the masquerade was doomed from the very beginning. Phantom lowers his sword, just by an inch, almost as if in contemplation. A few moments of silence passes. Everyone watches him in anticipation. Peach. Prince Fortunato. Dolores, Stefan, Natasha and Ophelia. Everyone. Anticipating. Anticipating. Anticipating.

Phantom smirks, letting out a soft chuckle. His sword lowers even more, and finally inserts it back into the scabbard. A sigh of relief fills the Gallery…

Then sudden horror! It happened so swiftly. So much so that if one were to blink at that moment, they would miss it completely. A scream pierces the silence! It was Prince Fortunato, now on the floor collapsed to his knees! He screams in agony as his covers his face! Phantom had made a sharp wave of his hand, almost as if he were to slap him across the face. But no! It was much, much worse. A terrible fate had fell upon the prince.

Blood…!

Oozing from his face is a gush of crimson blood! His eye sockets, his nostrils, his mouth, his pores – all drenched in blood! Horrid blemishes begin appearing on his flesh, leaving opened, pus-filled wounds as they pop one by one! Tears and yellow fluids mix with the blood, staining the floor with a pool of secretions! And the screams! Oh, the screams! Prince Fortunato tries to hide his face once more, only to find that it hurts too much! His hands pull away from his face – and, oh God! His flesh, his flesh – it is rotting away! What was once the pristine beauty of a spoiled, gluttonous prince is now the face of nightmares. He coughs and chokes; he cannot scream anymore – blood has filled his throat! He falls onto the floor, panicking, suffering! To think that this is what his people had to endure while no one was there to save their lives. With eyes stained with tears and blood, he rushes over to his guests and reaches for help, but in vain, for who could ever touch a diseased man? With a final cry of fear, Prince Fortunato falls. There lays on the floor is a twitching corpse, the face mutilated by the worst of illnesses…

This display of gore puts the guests into a state of frenzied panic! More screams and sobs fill the Gallery, as well as the sound of footsteps running and chairs and tables knocked over. If they don’t do something, Phantom will come after them next! Anything to get away from this face of Death. Chaos ensues! All except for Peach. Peach stands still amongst the disorder of the partygoers. Her widened eyes are fixated on Phantom. Is it shock? Is it fear? Is it something else entirely? Of course, anybody would be frightened by the sheer grotesqueness of the prince’s death and the possibility of meeting the same fate. But strangely, it seems to not bother Peach at all, almost as if she isn’t aware of the situation. Perhaps she is still mesmerized by Phantom’s extravagant appearance? Perhaps she is somehow desensitized? Whatever is going on, Peach still remains, as well as the peasant woman. The two ladies stare as Phantom slowly turns to watch over the terrified crowd. He observes the scene quietly. All in unison, the panicked guests rush toward the Gallery doors. With a wave of his hand, he blocks the entrance, slamming it tightly shut. Ophelia throws herself on the doors, slamming her fists frantically, “Open the doors! Open the doors! Oh please, open the doors!” Everyone begins to do the same. But alas, their attempts of escape are futile, for their master – the Red Death – had already claimed their souls. Once again, Phantom sings:

🎶“Crowned with privilege and villainous

Bathe in the blood of your wickedness

Tonight, retribution is at hand

For this masquerade shall be damned

Mask yourselves to hide your shame

But in the end, they know your name

Into the earth, your corpses will sink

May your blood be the wine they drink…”🎶

And one by one, each guest fell, forming a massive pile of bloodied bodies in front of the entrance. Peach takes in what had just happened. She had never seen something so macabre before. Roleplay, she thinks to herself, this is all just roleplay. This is all just pretend. No one is hurt. They are all just acting. This is all just roleplay. But by the stars, it looks so… real! There is blood everywhere. Not just the red pool on the floor, but also smeared handprints on the doors too. How did Phantom do all of this? This must have taken so much effort and hard work to even pull off such a remarkably gory scene! Peach couldn’t help but wonder what exactly went through Phantom’s mind when making this performance. This was something she never expected, let alone how absolutely graphic it was going to be. But regardless, the entirety of the roleplay screamed Phantom. It was bold. Dramatic. A complete subversion from a usual masterpiece. There was grandeur, there was beauty, there was mystery, there was tension. Then finally the payoff – an act of karma against the avaricious Prince Fortunato and his hedonistic friends. Now only she and the peasant woman are left. Peach cannot imagine what this powerful reaper is going to do next. Ah, no – she suddenly remembers!

Death’s Bride. She is to be Death’s Bride…

Her thoughts are interrupted by another cry, this time from the peasant woman. She turns to find Phantom approaching her, his hand lifting up to claim another soul. But why must the good die? Death is inevitable, it is true. Life is short. Peach knew this. But what did this poor woman do to deserve such a fate? Why do bad things happen to good people? Perhaps it is meant to be, just like what Phantom said. Roleplay. It is all just roleplay. Should she stand by and let things take its course? Or maybe… what could she do? Roleplay…. Ah, of course! Peach dashes over and stands in between them. “Wait!” she says, defending the peasant woman, “Have mercy on her!” Phantom pauses, taken by surprise for a moment, but then resumes in character. “Young or old, poor or rich… Death waits for no one. Her time has come.” Phantom calmly responds, his voice low. “Can you at least give her enough time to live another day? Can you see she has suffered enough? Please, I beg of you.” Peach pleads.

“You stand in front of the face of Death… and yet you are not frightened. Are you… not afraid of me?”

“I do not fear what is inevitable. I just want to give her another chance.”

“Such compassion… and all of this for a stranger. However, as painful as it may be, you cannot persuade me to spare her.”

“If that is not enough, then I will offer a gift to you.”

“And what is this gift you speak of?”

“For this woman’s life, I offer you myself. You can have my soul. You can have everything, all of me, and I will not refuse you.”

Phantom is rendered speechless, despite staying in character. Do his ears deceive him? No, it couldn’t be. It couldn’t possibly be! Deep down inside, he could not believe what Peach had just said. He watches as Peach ushers the peasant woman to flee the masquerade, and so she does, retreating to a small secret entrance hidden by the large curtains. Silence. As much as he tries, Phantom seems to be unable to speak. Now only he and the princess are alone. Together. Just like that one night. “I believe that is enough to persuade you?” Peach says with a soft smile. That smile. Oh, that sweet smile! He could stare at it forever! “I can be yours, and yours only. I will not leave. I will be not be frightened.” she continues, “It must be lonely, going around the world and reaping souls for those who’s time has passed. You don’t have to be lonely. You can have a companion! Someone who will join you by you side. Don’t you want that?” Companionship. Is Peach talking to Death or to Phantom himself? The lines between roleplay and real life begin to blur before his very eyes. He could not differentiate which is just acting or an actual confession. She must be playing a trick – she must be! This could not possibly be real! This is just too good to be true! Taking in a deep breath, staring deep into Peach’s pretty eyes, Phantom sings one last solo:

🎶“Oh, Sweet Maiden!

Surrender to me,

Look upon your paramour!

It is meant to be,

Together forevermore!

Oh, Sweet Maiden!

Your time has come at last

Take your final drink of wine

For this spell I shall cast

My Bride, your heart will be mine!”🎶

With a wave of his hand, two shiny, black feathered wings sprout from Peach’s back! Peach glances over in surprise, admiring her new wings. They sparkled under the light of the chandelier with iridescent glitter. Natasha must have added these in while making her costume. Once again, she continues to be impressed be Natasha’s work. Then her eyes glance over towards the Gallery entrance. Peach stops. Something has changed. Her eyes squints as she tries to make out what she is seeing. Confusion floods her mind until realization hits her.

The bodies… are those…. Mannequins?

Phantom places his paw on her cheek, delicately turning her face towards him. The softness of his caress fills her senses, and she is greeted by his tender gaze. What a tender gaze he has! As her eyes are locked in his gaze, Peach feels herself being gently embraced around her waist and leaning back into a dip. Her heart begins to race. Beat after beat it quickens its pace, her breathing becomes more and more shaky. It must be adrenaline – all of this is so new to her. Peach finds herself reaching out towards Phantom and, ever so gently, she takes off his skull mask, revealing his face. At long last, she finally sees him. Oh, how she missed him! “Did you enjoy the show, your highness?” Phantom grins, “I must admit, there were some things that weren’t… intended to happen, but as long a—” He is stopped, as Peach catches him off guard. Locked in a tight hug around his neck, he feels his lips being locked with hers. It was passionate yet gentle and warm. Peach, the princess he has adored for so many years, is giving him a kiss. A kiss! Is this a dream? Is this actually happening? So many thoughts went through Phantom’s mind. He could not process all of them at once; his head could possibly burst from excitement! His eyes flutter and close, letting himself melt into Peach’s embrace. If they could pull each closer than they already are, they could. But no matter how much closer they can be, it just wasn’t enough. They wanted each other. They craved each other. The unbridled desire for connection and companionship broke loose, and immediately they find themselves losing all control of their yearning. Their lips break apart, their hot breaths mingling with each other. They open their eyes; Peach grins and so does Phantom. They kiss again, neither of them wanting to stop. “Ah…!” Phantom gasps in between her soft lips, “Mon ange de la mort…!”

Overwhelmed, Peach swoons as Phantom dips her even further and surrenders herself to his kiss of death.

---

She woke up the next morning. The first thought that would have come to her mind was how she even managed to return to her castle without any notice. But no, the very first thought that came to her mind was what happened last night. She laid in her bed and, as stares up at the ceiling, touched her lips softly with her fingertips. Then up her rosy cheek, then down to her neck, and across her bare shoulders. She could still feel his touch. She sighs deeply – what a performance that was! Peach stretched her whole body and curled up, sinking back into sleep. A love stricken grin appeared on her face as she whispered to herself, “Until we meet again.”

#my writing #OTP #fanfiction #shipping fanfic #Phantom x Peach #phantom of the bwahpera #OCs #princess peach #mario rabbids #mario rabbids kingdom battle #tom phan

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s-creations · 4 years ago

Text

The Caring from Others

Gyro has never been good with emotions or understanding people. His younger years not helpful in those categories as he grew up. Good thing life wasn't ready to let him throw in the towel just yet.

Fandom: Ducktales ‘17 Rating: General Audience Relationships/Pairings: Gyro Gearloose/Fenton Crackshell-Cabrera, Fenro Warnings/Tags: Other characters are mentioned, How do emotions work? We’re learning today!, A little OOC.

The Father

Gyro doesn’t recall his childhood fondly.

Growing up in a small, back water farming town. A place where advancements, anything ‘new’, was labeled as dangerous. Deemed bad for everyone involved. His parents were less than thrilled when Gyro announced he wanted to become a scientist.

It wasn’t ‘honest work’.

A profession of false tests to make the common folk fearful of everything.

To make them more dependent on the government.

Even if Gyro suggested creating improved tools. Better way to help the farmers in making their jobs easier. Even safer. Every suggestion was just shot down. His parents claimed if their way had worked so well for so long, why change anything?

For 15 year Gyro had to work in secrecy. Knowing if any glimmer of creativity was found, it would be destroyed. Stomped out before it could reach their full potential. Salvation came when, after turning in so many applications, he was accepted into a high level university. Full scholarship and all. Everything was paid for, there was nothing to worry about.

Gyro should have felt some sting when his parents put up no fuss as he left. Happily letting their misfit son go off on his own journey. But Gyro honestly felt nothing but relief as he left that farmhouse behind for good.

While he now had the freedom to create in the open, university had its own issues to contend with. Like being mocked by his peers. Gyro was young and already set up with terrible social skills. It wasn’t better when fellow students deemed it a high priority to ostracize the chicken. The other students weren’t thrilled that someone younger than them had accomplished so much in their early years. The chicken’s ideas being scoffed at when he presented or attempted to make some connection. Gyro was sure he would have dropped out long ago if not for the continuous support and offered safety from his professors.

It was during Gyro’s last year of university that he was introduced to Dr. Akita. Properly introduced anyway. Gyro was well aware of the other long before this meeting. Having studied the scientist’s work extensively. It was almost like a dream come true when Gyro was offered an internship. A way to work with his idol directly.

How quickly it all turned into a nightmare.

2-BO was Gyro’s biggest accomplishment and regret. The chicken labeled as a mad scientist and abandoned by Akita when the chicken’s creation went rogue. Gyro was thrusted into a world he had no idea how to traverse. He was turned away from every opportunity. All knowing his history, fearful of what damage he was still capable of.

Gyro couldn’t blame them for being so concerned. He was honestly fearful of his own inventions at this point.

It was a surprise when Scrooge McDuck of all people reached out to him. Wanting Gyro to present his ideas to the billionaire and his board members. It was a mounting pile of nerves that was continuously being added to as the day drew closer. The chicken was honestly shocked that he didn’t pass out while presenting. Or from the unnerving quiet when Gyro finished. The buzzards looked unimpressed. Which did not help Gyro’s as yellow eyes stared him down.

“Mr. McDuck, this was a complete waste of time,” the buzzard from the middle spoke, “We are not in need of new hires for the production line. Especially not one with such a...dangerous past.”

Gyro swallowed weakly.

“Nonsense. Who ever said about having Dr. Gearloose here to be part of our regular R&D team.” Scrooge commented casually. He stood from his large, cushioned chair. Making his way over to the quietly panicking scientist. “I’ve been in the market for a personal inventor for awhile now.”

“Please do not tell me this is for your wild excursions sir.”

“Bradford, you’re too worried about keeping finances. Personal and monetary gain cannot be achieved at the same time. I have enough monetary value...for the moment. Now is the time for personal gain.”

“If you are so determined to do this. Could you at least get someone less dangerous.”

Scrooge slammed his cane down. Causing all in the room to flinch. “How can we expect growth if we cling to the past. Dr. Gearloose cannot be given redemption with no opportunity. I’ve seen his work. Both the bad and the good. I want him working with me.”

“Then I request a trial period. I would like to see a working, safe invention from the doctor here. If he does that, I won’t bring this up again.”

With a smirk, Scrooge gave a nod before facing Gyro. Who’d been honestly confused through the entire ordeal. Who just argues so freely with their boss?

“What do you say Dr. Gearloose? Think you’re up for the task?”

Steeling himself, Gyro gave a short nod. “Yes. Absolutely.”

He could do this. He knew he could. How many ideas had he sketched out when he was younger? Surely there were a number of inventions he could use to impress the board.

The good news was he was right. He was able to dig up multiple sketchbooks he had filled out from his college days that had yet to be used. Now came the trying task of deciding which invention he was going to use. One that was impressive enough to blow those buzzards away. But he could easily make it within the offered window of time. And that it was safe.

He wished Mr. McDuck would have been more forward with what he was looking for. The chicken would at least have a starting point.

Gyro really thought he had a winner when the month was up. More than a little confident when he entered the boardroom, all eyes on him. Giving his presentation with as much vibrato as he could. It was all going, in his mind, quite well. Even Mr. McDuck looked a little smug for Gyro’s success.

Then the machine was turned on.

It gave a warning whine, Gyro actually leaning in to see what the issue was. Letting out a choking sound as he was pulled back by Scrooge’s cane. All taking cover when the invention exploded. Leaving the pedestal it had been resting on and the wall behind it with dark scorch marks.

Gyro felt absolutely sick. Wide eyes staring at the spot where his achievement once sat. Only looking away when Bradford slammed his hands down.

“Unacceptable! Even a simple request created something so dangerous. I am putting my foot down on this Mr. McDuck.” The buzzard huffed as he stared Gyro down.

Scrooge, on his part, merely seemed unfazed by it all. Taking the time dust himself off. Pulling Gyro up and straightening him out as well before speaking. “Dr. Gearloose. Would you mind waiting for me in the labs. I need to have a quick discussion with the board.”

Gyro merely nodded. His voice stuck in his throat as he made his way to the elevator. Arms and stomach heavy with his failure. He knew he was fired. His one opportunity was gone. Gyro realized this was his best and only chance at getting any sort of job. A scientist who’s inventions caused more damage and cut off by Scrooge McDuck? Gyro would be lucky if he got a job at Radio Hut after all of this.

He collapses into the first chair he could find in the lab. Laying his glasses on a nearby flat surface and rubbing his temples. At this point in his life, Gyro wasn’t as emotionally blocked as he would later become. But he was learning that breakdowns were seen as weaknesses.

By his parents.

By his classmates.

By Dr. Akita.

So while he wanted nothing more than to hide away. Let this moment of emotional sorrow pass naturally and move on. Gyro had been conditioned to hold it in. Because what scientist falls apart?

He let out a slow breath as the elevator announced it’s arrival. Glasses on and standing as Scrooge made a direct line for him. While showing emotions weren’t allowed, Gyro learned that groveling was acceptable. Something Dr. Akita was quick to teach.

“I am sorry,” Gyro said quickly, “It wasn’t my intention for it to explode.”

“I had assumed so.”

“If given another chance-”

“Lad, you’re not fired.”

Gyro swallowed weakly. Stunned by the name and the announcement. “But...I almost killed everyone.”

“That’s a tad extreme. We would have been maimed. But kill? Doubtful.”

“It exploded!”

“I’ve experienced worse.”

“Mr. McDuck, with all due respect, you’re insane.”

Scrooge waved his hand. “No matter. Why don’t you take a seat.”

Doing as asked, Gyro looked up nervously, hands clenched together as he waited.

“As stated before, you’re not fired. Even after your explosive debut. I know Bradford is a stickler for keeping things ‘safe’. It’s one of the reasons I hired him onto the team. But he doesn’t understand that needed balance of risk and reward. I’m aware of your past. Which I’m sure you’re tired of hearing about at this point. We are our own worst critics. But I also know of your successes, your numerous successes.”

“I want to see you succeed. You deserve to see yourself succeed. I want to give you that opportunity. We’ll need to make sure you can give something to Bradford on occasion to keep him placated. But, other than that, you will have full creative freedom. How does that sound?”

Gyro swallowed hard, trying to keep himself stable. No longer fearful. Now extremely happy. However, he kept himself in check to remain professional. “Honestly, it’s too good to be true.”

Scrooge merely laughed. Clapping a hand on Gyro’s shoulder. “Well, get over that starstruck feeling quick lad. You have a lot of work ahead of you. I trust you can manage from here.”

As he watched Scrooge head back towards the elevator, Gyro realized something. “Um, sir?”

“Yes?”

“Your bet, with Bradford, you didn’t technically win.”

“Technically yes.”

“So...shouldn’t I be fired?”

A smirk appeared on the billionaire’s face, eyes seeming to shine. “Bradford needs to use his words better. He said if he wasn’t impressed, he wouldn’t discuss not keeping you. He never out right said I had to fire you. So, unfortunately, we’ll still need to hear his complaints. But he can’t fire you unless he gives me a good reason. Which I doubt he’ll be able to give.”

“I...thank you, Mr. McDuck.” Gyro weakly answered in disbelief.

“Don’t thank me. Just be the scientist I know you can be.”

“I will sir!”

Turning in the elevator to face Gyro, Scrooge gave a nod and smile. “I know lad. I trust you.”

_____________________________

The Brother

Gyro has always been a loner. He worked best this way. He was able to focus and didn’t have to constantly worry if his partner was doing their work properly. Plus, no one had really tried to include him in anything during his younger years. So he learned that working alone was better for him.

He was very much against the idea of having an intern working in his lab. Which Scrooge flat out refused to take Gyro’s refusal. Meaning the chicken couldn’t deny the hired help no matter how loudly he complained. With the unfortunate addition of the possible literal rendition of sunshine named Fenton Crackshell-Cabrera being hired a few weeks later. Which also meant an increased number of ‘visitors’ to this dangerous lab to see the brown duck. Doing nothing to help Gyro’s frantic state of keeping everything safe and making sure nothing became evil.

Scrooge was a common person to see there. After all, he owned the lab and it was attached to his place of work. Why wouldn’t he arrive to check on progress. To be shown what Gyro was working on. Now, however, the billionaire invited himself in to also check on Fenton. To make sure the intern was actually doing scientific research and not just cleaning the floors.

Launchpad had become friends with Fenton after that B.U.D.D.Y incident. The idiotic driver deciding that wasting time discussing some childhood show was perfectly fine. Gyro honestly tried to not become infuriated. But did he have to waste the interns' time! Even if the chicken didn’t want help from the other. It was the principle of the matter.

This also caused the blue nephew (Dew- something, whatever) to join Launchpad in the lab. Two children or beings with childlike personalities running around in the lab. A place filled with dangerous equipment. It was the perfect place to socialize in, Gyro sarcastically muttered to himself. And Scrooge actually encouraged it! Saying social engagement was good for both Fenton and Gyro. As if the chicken wanted to talk to someone who didn’t know what NaCl was.

So even he was surprised when he started to form a connection with Huey Duck. The red cladded nephew first started showing up to visit Fenton originally. The duckling particularly enamored with the scientist/superhero. Both talking for hours about new upgrades they could possibly make to the suit.

“With you permission, of course! D-Dr. Gearloose.” Fenton would assure with a sheepish smile. Which Gyro would respond with a mere rolling of his eyes.

As time went on and Fenton started to leave more and more due to hero calls, Huey started following Gyro around. The duckling deciding he wouldn't want to leave the labs quiet yet. And Huey wanted to pick the head scientist’s brain with his own ideas. At first, Gyro assumed his ‘wonderful’ personality would drive the other away. Huey, however, didn’t seem to care.

“You don’t have any siblings, do you.”

Gyro raised a brow at that. “Uh, no. At least I didn’t when I was actually living at home. At this point in my life, who knows. What’s your point.”

“My point being that your sullen attitude will have no effect on me. I’m the oldest of three. So, I have to deal with younger brothers. Sour attitudes are an old trick.”

“There really is no getting rid of you.”

“Nope.”

Gyro won’t lie, it was aggravating at first. He already had a shadow in the form of Fenton. Now the chicken was settled with another one that liked to constantly talk and didn’t fear him. Gyro only gave proper notice to the duckling when Fenton came to him with an upgrade for the Gizmosuit. One that sounded good.

“I thought you were busy with your toothbrush idea. When did you have time to think of this?”

“Actually, Huey came up with this.” Fenton answered.

“The red triplet?”

The duck smiled softly. “He’s been around here enough times. I think you can refer to him by his name.”

The chicken wasn’t overly fond of this idea. In his mind, the use of a name means Gyro cared enough to remember. And caring meant he wasn’t truly focused on his work. Something Akita was very adamant that Gyro learned.

But look where Gyro was now. Abandoned by his mentor.

Maybe Fenton was onto something. That felt strange to say.

“Very well. Perhaps I’ll have to try it your way.” Gyro was hit with a wave of confusion by the sudden sweeping sensation that went through his stomach. Fenton’s smile seeming to hit differently that day. But the head scientist filed that sensation away under ‘a later problem’.

Gyro should not have felt a sense of accomplishment seeing Huey’s eyes light up upon hearing his name. The chicken should have cut ties when the triplet sheepishly asked if Gyro could review Huey’s science project. And there should have been no sickening, worry feeling entering his veins when Huey arrived to the labs one day with a black eye.

Fenton, being the caring overbearing person he was, instantly panicked. “Huey! What happened to you? Are you alright?”

Gyro scoffed. “Of course he isn’t. He’s injured.”

“Do we have ice packs?”

“Freezer in the break room. I’ll get the first aid.” The chicken gestured for Huey to follow him. The duckling doing so without complaint. “Come on, take a seat. I need to see where else you’ve been hurt.”

Huey gave no response. Which was starting to become worrisome. The duckling was covered with small cuts and bruises. Gyro thankful it wasn’t worse… Because he didn’t want to waste the resources! Of course. What else would he be talking about.

Fenton came rushing back in. An ice pack wrapped in a hand towel was pressed against the black eyes. “Leave that there for a while. Do you need some pain medicine?”

“Already taken care of,” Gyro answered once again, “Now that all of that’s been taken care of. I think we’re owed an explanation.”

“Dr. Gearloose, just give him a moment.”

“I would like a reason for why Huey,” darn it Gyro said the name, “came to us instead to one of his uncle’s or other family members.”

“He can tell us when he’s ready. Give him a chance to relax.”

“And he can when he tells us- me what’s going on right now.”

“Dr. Gearloose-”

“I was able to skip a level in science.” The adult fell quiet hearing Huey’s whispered response.

“What?”

Huey gestured to his discarded bag. To which Fenton grabs it, handing it over. The duckling opened it and pulled out a familiar notebook that had been shoved into Gyro’s face numerous times. One that held Huey’s numerous sketches and ideas. Except it was destroyed. Practically torn to shreds, almost unrecognizable from what the head scientist had seen before.

“I showed my teachers my notebook. They were really impressed and talked to the principal about me skipping a level. It’s so I could enter the science fair that the upper level students can participate in. They said I had a lot of potential. Uncle Donald was happy, I was happy. My brothers teased me, but I know they were happy for me. I was kind of...blinded by my eagerness, I was under the assumption everyone would just be...okay with this.”

“Your classmates…” Gyro meant to have it sound like a statement. It instead sounded like a sickening realization.

But Huey merely nodded before continuing. “They’ve been writing things on my desk. Throwing things at me. I’ve been ignoring it…”

“Have they...hurt you before?” Fenton asked.

“No. I think they were tired that they hadn’t been getting a response from me like they wanted.”

“Have you told your uncle about this?”

“No… He’s already having a hard time finding a job and fixing the boathouse. I was hoping if I just ignored them, they’d leave me alone. ...I think I’m going to just drop back down to my grade level.”

“You are not going to let those punks win,” Gyro was surprised that he didn’t flinch as two sets of eyes snapped to him, “If you just go running back to your previous classes, you let them win. You’ll give them more fuel to think their actions are right. Especially if you haven’t told anyone about this. There will be no repercussions and they’ll continue to be terrible little creatures.”

“What do I do then?” Huey asked.

“You’re going to tell your uncle, your teachers, your principal, everyone you can. You’re going to come back with even better ideas. And This is a fight you can win because you have support. People who care about you...or something mushy like that.”

Huey gave a nod, rubbing his good eye and giving a blinding smile. “Okay...thank you, Dr. Gearloose.”

Gyro didn’t squirm weakly under the adoring look being sent his way. Or feel any sort of warmth blossoming in his chest knowing he’d helped in some way. Or become flustered at the smile aimed at him by Fenton, who’s eyes seemed to shine with happiness.

“I also know a side step that can break a femur. Very useful to know.”

“Dr. Gearloose!”

A few days later, Huey returned to the labs. Bright eyed and eager to show off his idea. No longer supporting injuries or secrets.

Gyro felt another save of fluster when Huey hugged his legs while Fenton laughed softly as he watched.

_____________________________

The Son

Gyro was surprised so much could change in one day. Well...one day-ish. It was more like three. Point being it felt as if all events had transpired in one day.

2-BO, now named Boyd, entered his life once more. The real boy having befriended Huey. Because of course that’s who would meet Gyro’s used-to-be biggest regret. Then he returned to Tokyolk after 10 years with Fenton, Huey, and Boyd in tow. The original intention was to destroy (Selene above he felt sick thinking about it now) Boyd. Get rid of his past.

Only for his entire perspective to be flipped. The mentor he thought was on his side had corrupted Gyro’s creation. Boyd was never given an option in his original purpose. Turned into a war machine that the chicken never wanted. And Gyro himself realized he was not the mad scientist so many had labeled him as.

He will admit, it was by sheer dumb luck and tapping into emotions he was sure had shriveled up long ago that it all ended so well. Akita was arrested. Going to be put to trial and allowing Gyro a chance to properly clear his name. Boyd overrode all corrupted coding, both Akita’s and Mark’s. Becoming the real little boy he was meant to be. All surviving and heading back home to Duckberg. As he rested in the cushioned plane seat, Boyd resting on his lap, Gyro was hit with two realizations.

The first topic (one which he honestly wanted to focus on much, much later) was an understanding of what Fenton meant to him. Between the fear of possible death and the burn of betrayal, Gyro had felt a deep distress watching the duck fight for his life. Fenton had given his all to protect the city and the citizens. And it almost cost him his life. Something Gyro never wanted to see again. The reason why was something that the chicken was not fully ready to review. Not yet. Possibly in the future, at some point. But he had another problem he needed to worry about now.

The second worry was equally confusing. Possibly because Gyro was still emotionally backed up. He wasn’t quite sure what was going to happen to Boyd. Gyro was made aware by Huey that the other real boy had been living with the Drake’s. A pompous rich family with an arrogant and rather disturbing child. A setting Gyro didn’t want Boyd growing up in. But what was the other option? Gyro himself? Someone who’s never known a stable family life and is not even close to the person Boyd once knew.

He could barely care for himself if Gyro was honest. Living off of multiple cups of coffee and cheap instant noodles. His sleep schedule was non-existent. Social skills were laughable. Gyro had honestly nothing to offer. It was terrible that there was not a better solution to all of this. Boyd deserved so much better than whatever his current care taking options could offer.

Gyro was shocked when, only a few days later, Boyd announced he wanted to live with the scientist.

“I- why?” Gyro winced at how harsh he sounded. But Boyd merely smiled back.

“I just found you. I don’t want to lose you again.”

Well, how was he supposed to say no to that? Gyro’s second bedroom, which once housed numerous boxes, was turned into a proper living space. He lived by a schedule that revolved around Boyd’s activities. Researching meals that both could enjoy and even learning how to properly cook. It was strange, but very rewarding. Gyro didn’t think it would affect him so much.

Until Fenton pointed it out.

“You’re really happy.”

It was a casual comment. But it gave Gyro pause. “What?”

Fenton stalled at that, flushing softly. “Sorry, I mean… I just noticed you seemed to be smiling more. And you’re more relaxed. You’re eating better and well rested. You just look really happy.”

Gyro leaned back in his chair. Tapping his pen as he thought the statement over. “I...suppose I am. Boyd really had changed me for the better, I think. Isn’t it strange...he was once my biggest regret. Now, I can’t see him not being in my life. I do worry that I’m not doing enough. Or that I won’t be what Boyd needs.”

Gyro flushed softly feeling a hand benign placed on his shoulder. Looking up at the beaming face Fenton. “You’re doing a wonderful job Gyro. Don’t doubt yourself.”

The scientist did all he could to not melt into the floor. He takes Fenton’s words to heart. Gyro had worked with Fenton long enough to know the duck wasn’t one to just give false praise. So, if Fenton thought the chicken was doing well, who was Gyro to question the given conclusion.

Gyro’s resolve was truly tested when he received a call from the school Boyd was attending. Apparently the real boy had been in a fight. A fight fight with another student.

Hearing this caused Gyro to panic. Worrying that possibly, maybe, the corrupted programming had returned. Wondering what could have happened for Boyd to act like this. Had Gyro said something sarcastic that the real boy had taken to heart? Was Boyd going to be taken away? Was this a sign that Gyro was not fit to be a caretaker?

The chicken was brought out of his spinning thoughts when someone grabbed his shoulders. Eyes connected to Fenton’s, who’s looking was concerning.

“Dr. Gearloose, you need to calm down. You’re drawing a conclusion with so little context. Just go to the school and hear what happened. Then you can react appropriately.”

“Right… Right, I need to get there.” The chicken mumbled weakly, eyes now frantically scanning the lab for his car keys. Fenton came to the rescue again when said items suddenly appeared in his hands.

“How about I drive.”

“...Yeah. That’s probably for the best.”

The drive was quiet. Fenton focused on the road while Gyro internally panicked. All too soon they were pulling into the school’s parking lot. The area was relatively empty as they walked up to the front entrance. Fenton made a quiet comment about the teachers having to park behind the building. It was a bit of a shock to run into Donald. The duck looked close to an angry snap.

“Hello Mr. Duck.” Fenton offered a smile.

“Fenton,” Donald’s eyes went to Gyro, “Boyd?”

Gyro nodded. “He was apparently in a fight. What about you?”

“Huey.”

What was going on?

The three walked in together, being directed by the secretary to where the principal’s office was. Dewey and Louie were waiting outside. The triplets wearing concerned looks when they looked over to the approaching adults. Donald gave them each a hug with a few words of encouragement before knocking on the imposing door. Gyro’s hand instantly shot out and grabbed onto Fenton’s as his heart raced. The duck gave no complaint. Even giving an encouraging squeeze as they walked in.

The large desk was the first thing to note. Large and imposing, telling all that the person sitting behind it to be respected. Even if the principal himself was a frail little bird. To the right sat a large bulldog boy supporting an arm with fabric wrapped around it. Gyro assumed there was a scrap of some kind underneath the fabric. A wiry female was dotting over the child while a brick wall of a man standing behind them both with his arms crossed.

To the left sat Huey and Boyd. The real boy seemed unharmed. Just appearing extremely nervous and worried. Huey, on the other hand, was supporting a black eye. A bag of ice already pressed on the injury. Gyro needed to research if there were long term effects of multiple black eyes.

Donald instantly broke away from the three, bending down to check on Huey. Gyro walked over to Boyd. Still having a hold on Fenton’s hand.

“Are you okay?” Gyro frantically asked. To which Boyd gave a sharp nod and fell still again. Deciding that was enough of an answer for now, the scientist moved himself and Fenton to behind the seats.

“Thank you all for coming,” the principal began, “I realize this was all on short notice. But we do not tolerate fighting. According to numerous student witnesses, there was a verbal dispute that turned violent during recess. One that resulted in Dennis benign pushed and Huey receiving a black eye. Before I continue, I will ask that you hold all comments and questions until the end. Is this agreeable?”

All adults nodded.

“Very well.” Reaching for something in his drawer, the principal pulled out a cell phone protected by a faded green case. “Louie Duck was able to record the incident and it lines up with the events the other students have provided. Dennis here was apparently using verbal harassment and inappropriate language against Boyd. To which Huey attempted to defuse the situation by walking away. Dennis has responded by throwing a punch. To what ends, I’m unsure, and Dennis has not provided an answer for his actions.”

The chair Huey was sitting in let out a loud noise of protest. Donald gripping the back of it tightly.

“And you well to continue, Mr. Duck?”

Donald nodded.

“Very well. Boyd here reacted to this by pushing Dennis away. The scrap on his arm caused by his fall. Mr. and Mrs. Morris, I’m unsure as to where your son has learned such language and actions. I would advise you to seriously monitor the media and outside influence your son consumes.”

“Oh absolutely,” Mrs. Morris answered readily, “Don’t you fret. We will have a stern talking to Dennis when we get home.”

“That is good to hear. Now, does anyone have any questions about this matter.”

“What exactly did young Dennis here say to Boyd. If I may ask.” Gyro’s voice was even. But, if Fenton squeezing his hand was any indication, his tone was dripping with venom.

“I won’t say specifics as I don’t wish to repeat them. Dennis was making comments about Boyd’s...past. Something about him being dangerous. As well as some...homophobic comments.”

Fenton squeezed Gyro’s hand again, the chicken shaking now. With fear or rage, he couldn’t tell. His own attention had snapped over to Mr. Morris. The father still having his arms crossed and imposing. But Gyro noticed the other’s eyes flitted down to Gyro’s and Fenton’s joined hands. The scowl seemed to become deeper once the father was caught in the action.

“I see. I’m very concerned as to where Dennis would have picked up language like that.” Gyro held eye contact with Mr. Morris until the principal cleared his throat.

“If there are no more questions… Mr. and Mrs. Morris, the actions, both verbal and physical, cannot go unpunished. We do not tolerate this kind of behavior. Dennis will be given one weeks suspension. As well as a written apology letter to both Huey and Boyd. I would also recommend setting up some meetings with the school counselor.”

“Understandable, very reasonable.” Mrs. Morris nodded while Mr. Morris was shaking with, no doubt, rage.

“Very well. Mr. Gearloose-”

“Dr. Gearloose.”

“Ah, apologizes. Dr. Gearloose, I’m aware Boyd was merely defending Huey. However-”

“You’re going to give him detention because he pushed Dennis. Defending himself in a violent way.”

“Ah...yes. Huey will receive no punishment. I hope we’re all understanding of this course of action?” Another round of sharp nods, “Very well, I won’t keep you all any longer. Mr. Duck, here is Louie’s phone. Thank him for providing me with his phone. All are excused for the rest of the day.”

It was tense walking out. The Morris’ were leading the way. But Gyro kept a tight grip on Fenton as Mr. Morris kept glancing back with a dark scowl. Something Gyro was not a fan of. It didn’t reach a head until they entered the parking lot. Away from the front doors and the cameras.

Mr. Morris turned and stalked over to the mismatched group. Gyro more than ready for the awaiting confrontation.

“I know you, Gearloose. I’ve seen your name in the paper before. You’re an absolute menace in every possible way.” Eyes darted back down to the still clasped hands.

“Yet I’ve accomplished more than you could ever hope for in your miserable life. Your need for constant approval has clearly made you bitter. Because you’d rather stomp out any spark of joy than attempt to change yourself or your family. If this incident was any indication.”

Mr. Morris let out a low growl. Gyro fully expecting to be decked as well. Only to be shocked when Fenton stepped between the two. The larger looking down with a raised brow.

“And who are you.”

“He’s my emotional support duck.” Gyro answered.

“Do you really think a confrontation on school grounds will reflect well in any way,” Fenton said, “I would suggest you step away from this now.”

Mr. Morris popped his shoulder, his scowl set. From behind, Mrs. Morris gave a clear and harsh cough. Her husband benign sent a hard stare of his own when he turned to look back. It was a silent, but brief conversation between the two of them that ended with the husband shuffling back over to his family. No one from the group relaxed until the pink mini-van drove away from the parking lot.

“So what exactly was your plan here?” Gyro frowned at Fenton, “I don’t see the Gizmoduck armor on you.”

“My body reacted before I could really...think.” The duck laughed sheepishly.

The head scientist merely rolled his eyes before turning to Boyd. Who looked back with worried eyes. “You okay?”

The real boy shifted nervously. “He called me a weapon and...I really tried not to fight. I tried to ignore him. But he...he pushed Huey and I got really mad… What if he was right?”

“He absolutely is not right.”

“Gyro.” Fenton whispers, in the same tone that told the chicken he was sounding harsh. The head scientist was thrown off for a moment hearing his name and not his normal title. Tuck that moment of broken mind away for later.

Gyro let out a slow breath before kneeling down and placing a hand on Boyd’s shoulder. “Boyd, you know who you are. I know who you are. You are not a weapon or a mindless machine. You are a real little boy. And you need to remember that, because you are going to meet a lot of people like Dennis. Closed minded and very ignorant. Saying anything they can to make you feel miserable and make them feel better.”

“However...you have people in your life who know you. Truly know you. Those are the people you need to listen to. Because they are going to make sure you believe in yourself. Understand?”

Boyd blinked as he thought the statement over. Eyes darting over to Huey, the triplets watching as Donald shouted at someone over the phone. No doubt having called up the principal or someone higher up in the schooling system to complain about the interaction in the parking lot. The red cladded triplet looked over to Boyd, giving a small smile and a wave. Which the real boy returned happily.

“I understand, Dad.”

Gyro swallowed weakly, pulling the small form closer while trying to keep his emotions in check. A weight on his shoulder drew his attention back to Fenton. Who had bent down as well with a smile on his face. The chicken smiled back in appreciation.

_____________________________

The Lover

Gyro knew this realization was a long time coming. No matter how many times he tried to deny it. Tell himself emotions were useless weights. He reached the point where he couldn’t hide the fact any longer.

Gyro had fallen in love with Fenton.

Which is not something he really wanted to focus on.

Gyro was sure he was becoming addicted to Fenton’s laugh. The head scientist had a mental category that each laugh fell into. A hard exhale through the nose was a sarcastic laugh if Fenton found something ridiculous but didn’t want to say anything. Hiding behind his clipboard with shoulders shaking meant he found something online but didn’t want to disturb the quiet. Small chortles seemed reserved for Gyro, the duck finding the head scientist’s dry humor funny. His full laugh was used with abandonment when he knew he wouldn’t be reprimanded for being so loud. Which was honestly more often than not anymore. Gyro found he loved how the sound would echo in the labs. It was almost like music.

There was also a list of body ticks that always caught Gyro’s eyes. Gently tapping the eraser of his pencil against his bill as he thought through a new problem. Tilting his head to the side with his hip occasionally cocked to the side as he looked over a blueprint. His brow would furrow when he concentrated hard on a situation. The top of his tongue would poke out when he reached ‘Gyro level’ of focus. His nose would crinkle when he silently found something amusing or disgusting. Which could only be determined by how brightly his eyes would shine.

Gyro could privately say, to himself, in his head, that Fenton honestly kept him grounded. The number of insults he would have hurled at the media dwindled when he thought of how disappointed the duck would be. The chicken had substantially cut back on the cups of coffee he would consume in one day when Fenton made a comment about being worried about his heart. He was surprised when he went to the duck to look over a new design, wanting feedback. Fenton beaming with each new time he was included in something. Gyro would counter saying Scrooge had warned the chicken he wasn’t utilizing Fenton to his fullest ability. Which was partially true. But he would be lying if Gyro wasn’t also looking for that blinding smile of adoration to be sent his way.

So, yes. After all the mental and physical lists he created. The pros and cons to having a relationship with anyone. Countless nights where he would lie awake knowing he was nowhere near worthy enough to have Fenton. Gyro knew he was in love with the duck.

The problem was moving forward with this revelation.

In all honesty, admitting it just made it all more bothersome. When Gyro still had his walls up, he could blame the rapid heartbeat as some symptoms of an onset illness. Just push the problem away to keep working. But having Boyd back in his life made him realize how bottling his emotions had become so damaging. Making Gyro more aware of what he was missing.

So now he was left to tread water. Wondering who he trusted well enough to ask for help.

There weren’t that many options with the Duck family. He and Donald had never really gotten along before the Spear of Selene incident. And Gyro was sure the duck still held some hostility towards him about the incident. While Gyro would consider Della the closest person to be a ‘childhood’ friend, she was dealing with her own issues. The kids were far too young to be considered as an option. Launchpad only had two rocks rolling around in that empty head, so any advice from him was not worth the headache. M’ma Cabrera? ...Selene above no. Even Gyro wasn’t that insane.

So that only left...Scrooge McDuck. This could not be considered a work appropriate topic. But the chicken was honestly at his wits end and needed help. The billionaire was his last and only option. It was with a heavy stone in his stomach that Gyro approached the familiar office doors. Knocking on them and only entering when he heard the familiar call out to do so.

“Ah, Gyro! What can I do for you?” Scrooge asked as the chicken sat across from him.

“I...need some advice.”

Scrooge paused in his writing, raising a brow as his full attention went to Gyro. “Advice on what?”

The chicken swallowed weakly. “Uh...romantic advice?”

“I see…” The billionaire placed his pend down. Clearing his throat, Scrooge sat up a little straighter in his chair. “Well, I will admit that I have not been very successful in my own love life. But I can offer help in any way I can. So, who’s the lucky person?”

Gyro swallowed again, feeling his face become flushed at the question. Doing all he could not to groan, he answered, “It’s Fenton.”

“The Gizmoboy? Really?”

Gyro nodded, not looking at Scrooge. His face on fire. “I just don’t know what to do. I’m aware that things have been going well and I don’t want to ruin it. But I feel like I’m going crazy! My heart is always going so fast when he’s near. I want to tell him, I really do. But...I also don’t think I’m the kind of person he deserves…”

Scrooge let out a heavy sigh as Gyro’s shoulders slumped. “I won’t act as if I’ve known you for your entire life. We both know I haven’t. But I have seen you at your lowest point and every triumph you’ve accomplished along the way. I’ve seen you slowly close in on yourself. It pained me to watch because I wasn’t sure how to help…”

“Let’s be honest sir. We both have not been in great positions emotionally for a while.” Gyro commented weakly. One that got a laugh out of Scrooge.

“This is true. But, the point is you have made a change in the past few months. I know you’ve built walls around yourself. I also know...bringing those walls down can be a terrifying idea. You’ve already started thanks to that boy of yours. Even if it was unintentional.”

“But what if he says no? I don’t know… There are too many variables that could offer a negative outcome.”

“That’s the risk of life. The good and the bad.”

“So what if he says no.”

“Then you move forward.”

“...I don’t know if I will recover.”

“Gyro, you’re putting the horse before the cart. And we’re still building the cart.”

Letting out a small groan, Gyro rubbed his forehead before looking back up. “Okay. So I’m taking a risk. We’ve determined that. But what do I say to him?”

“You just ask him.”

“Could you please not make it sound so easy.”

“It sounds easy because it is. You’re asking Fenton out on a date. Not defusing a bomb.”

“Yet the latter seems easier to accomplish.”

“Take the risk Gyro. Don’t waste your life wallowing on the ‘what-ifs’. You’ll regret it.”

Gyro left the office with not many answers and a pounding headache. But with determination to try and make this work in some way.

The bottom drawer of his desk was now filled with blueprints. Not for machines, but the best plan to ask Fenton out. The perfect places to go. All ranging from the cliche to the outlandish. What day would work best. His feathers became further ruffled as he worked. After a week of no progress, Gyro knew this wasn’t going to work. No reliable variables or knowledgeable outcomes. He just needed to do this. Because Gyro couldn’t stay in this mindset anymore.

Gyro’s first move was to wait for the lab to be empty. If he was going to crash and burn, he didn’t want an audience. Once that was achieved, he took a deep breath to settle his heart (didn’t work) and walked over to Fenton’s desk. The duck breaking from his thoughts hearing Gyro clear his throat.

“Hello Dr. Gearloose. What can I help you with?”

Gyro’s heart seemed to pick up it’s pace. Between the smile and wide eyes, the chicken felt like he was melting. In a good way. If that makes sense. None of this did.

Emotions were just so messy.

Darn it Gyro, focus!

“I...was wondering if you would be interested in conducting a...social experiment with me.”

“Oh, uh, sure! Of course. What’s the experiment?”

Another deep breath. “There is a new cafe that’s opened up recently near where I live. I am curious if you would like to join me in trying the products they offer. Sometime this weekend, possibly Saturday? Possibly trade some stories?”

Fenton’s head tilted to the side as Gyro spoke. A small smile forming as the other finished. “Dr. Gearloose-”

“Gyro. You...you can call me Gyro.”

“Okay, Gyro. Would it be safe to assume that this is an ask for a date?”

“That...would be a safe assumption.”

“Then I accept.”

Gyron was honestly shocked he was able to remain standing. Relief hitting him quickly upon hearing the answer. “Good, good.”

“How about I drop by your apartment around 8? Have breakfast at this cafe?”

“That’s acceptable.”

“Good. I look forward to this Saturday.”

“I am as well.”

One date turned to two. Which turned into three. Which became having dinner at the Crackshell-Cabrera household. Gyro was shocked when he received M’ma Cabrera’s blessing in dating her son. But not before getting a stern warning of what would happen if Fenton was hurt in any way.

“I think that was successful.” Fenton commented as they were sharing their good-byes for the evening on the front porch.

“Yeah. Nothing says accepting like a talk that ends in the threat of my kneecaps.” Gyro smiled softly hearing the other chuckle.

“Well, she may or may not be upset still about your MoonVasion comment. You know. About throwing Gizmoduck into the masses as a sacrifice.”

“I may now also regret that comment…”

Another laugh from Fenton, the duck reaching down to gently take Gyro’s hand. Placing a kiss on the back of it before holding it close. “I’m glad you came. I think M’ma really appreciates it as well.”

“I’m happy I came as well… You know...I don’t say or do things that intentionally hurt you. I did at first but-”

“Gyro.”

“Yes?”

“I know you better now than I did before.”

And the matter was dropped.

The first kiss milestone occurred at the park around the holidays. Both bundled up against the cold and falling snow as they admired the strung holiday lights hanging from the numerous trees. Arms hooked, Fenton led the way with wide eyes. Giving small comments about the lights and how lovely the park was decorated. Gyro was admiring the duck himself. Loving how the lights fell over the brown plumage. Fenton eventually caught on that the chicken wasn’t looking at the light as he was. Flushing softly seeing eyes on him.

“W-What?” The duck laughed, a small smile forming.

“You’re beautiful.” Gyro responded softly. Fenton’s eyes widened at the comment before softening into another smile. Gyro put up no restraint as he was gently pulled down. Fenton leaning up and meeting the chicken in a gentle kiss. It was only a few seconds, but Gyro loved every moment of it.

The utterance of the three words came a few months into them dating. Fenton had arrived back to the labs after an intense battle to find a worried chicken. Arms crossed and first aid kit in his hands. There was a sharp point set to the couch and Fenton understood the silent command. Stepping out of the suit and plopping onto the cushioned furniture. Gyro made it clear he was less than pleased at the moment.

“What were you thinking.” The chicken snapped. Hand shaking as he attempted to gently clean the cuts.

“People needed help.”

“Why is that your answer for everything and why do you think it’s a reasonable one.”

“Because it’s true. I have to defend Duckberg.”

“Even against crazies coming from St. Canard? Can’t that purple caped idiot keep them in his neck of the woods.”

Fenton smiled softly. “Villains are people too. You can’t control everything.”

“Don’t tell me that. You know the first thing I’m going to do is make something that controls people to make them leave this place.”

“Gyro, that’s unethical.”

“Well, maybe if you would stop being your heroic self and making me worry.”

“I understood the risks when I took this position. As did you. As long as I have you to come back to, I’ll be okay.”

Gyro huffed as he finished up. Turning to start packing up the supplies. “I love you, but you can be such an idiot sometimes.”

He didn’t catch it until Fenton grabbed his hand suddenly. The chicken looked up to find eyes filled with shock staring at him. “What...did you say?”

Gyro frowned, thinking back to his previous words. Face becoming full blown red when he realized what he’d just uttered. “I… Is it too soon to say that? I’m sorry, I just- I’ve been thinking it a lot and every time you go to your superheroing, I think how I’m not going to get to say it. But I know we haven’t dated for a year and-”

“I love you too.”

Swallowing his words down, Gyro’s head snapped back up to look Fenton in the eyes. They sat, staring at each other in disbelief before Fenton chuckled. Gyro shares his own sheepish grin before leaning forward to claim a kiss from Fenton.

It was close to a year of them dating that Fenton moved in with Gyro and Boyd. The real boy thrilled to have the other doctor living with them. The once small, cold apartment was now teeming with life. Mornings were a rush to get ready for the day and to be out the door before they were all late. The kitchen filled with warmth and wonderful smells as Fenton makes dinner with Gyro helping where he could. Meals being shared at the small dining table before watching a few shows until bedtime. Gyro and Fenton taking turns reading to Boyd before he powered down for the night.

It was a comfortable routine. Something Gyro thought he would’ve hated. But with each day ending with him and Fenton in their shared bed. The younger laying his head on Gyro’s chest and long arms wrapped around him. The chicken realized he wouldn’t want it any other way.

“I think we should buy a house.” Gyro suddenly commented into the darkness. Hearing Fenton hum softly as he was pulled from sleep.

“Where’d this come from?” The duck mumbled weakly.

“I’m not really sure. The boring suburban life seems pleasant after the craziness of...everything. What do you think?”

“I like the idea,” Fenton yawned widely before pressing closer, “We could get a big yard for Boyd and Lil Blub to play in. Neighborhood kids to become friends with. I think Della mentioned about getting a house in a quiet suburb. We could ask her.”

“That place won’t be quiet once that family moves in.”

“Oh hush. Wouldn’t it be nice to have Huey as a neighbor? Boyd would like it.”

“I suppose so…”

Fenton gave another hum, Gyro noticing the other’s breathing was slowing down again. He leaned down to place a kiss on Fenton’s forehead. “I love you.”

The duck laughed softly. Placing his own weak kiss on Gyro’s neck. “Love you too…”

Gyro let out a slow breath, a smile forming on his face. Eyes on the ceiling as he listened to Fenton fall asleep. A hand reached up to preen a few feathers as he pulled the other closer. Heart beating happily as he settled down further into the bed. A smile still on his face as he fell asleep as well.

#ducktales #gyro gearloose #fenton crackshell-cabrera #fenro #s-creations #fanfiction

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spectrumed · 4 years ago

Text

2. voice

As a child I could not pronounce the letter R. I once complained to my mother for being so careless as to give me a name that had two R’s in it. Fredrik. Or as I pronounced it back then, “Fledlik.” Cute, right? I was a cute child, all blonde and with big blue eyes. At one point, I got surrounded by a group of older girls who forced me to pronounce my name, even though I really couldn’t. They laughed and laughed, teasing me for my inability to pronounce even my own name correctly. If I ever had a reason to develop a fetish for femdom, I think this would have been it.

Like it or not, in speech, there is no room for individual quirks. No, we’ve all got to learn how to speak properly. Historically, that has led to some pretty heinous attitudes towards regional accents, any tongue that was the standard was seen by default as being less or developed and intelligent. Regional accents were seen as practically unhygienic, the worry being that if people just got to speak as they wished, they might end up potentially thinking dangerous thoughts. While I understand the importance of being understood, it’s clear that the stigma that exists around speech difficulties stems from a place of prejudice. If a person has a lisp, do you really struggle to understand them? And while stammering can be quite debilitating, it should be blatantly obvious that shaming people who stammer, suggesting that they are bereft of intelligence, is not the way to help them. Humans are social animals, and language may be the one thing that distinguishes us as a species, it is natural that proper elocution should be treasured. But some people do struggle with their speech, and that should not cost them any respect or kindness.

As a child, I didn’t speak nearly enough. As an adult I am speaking too much. That’s the problem with you, Fredrik, you’ve never understood that there is a middle ground between two extremes. There is a way you can speak that is neither too quiet, nor too loud. It is how normal people speak. Why can’t you be normal, Fredrik? Are you going to spend this whole blog post talking about how difficult it is for you to simply learn to be like everyone else? Self-pitying yourself, much? Back in my day people pulled themselves up by their bootstraps, if they had something they struggled with, they learned to sort it all out, and they didn’t start complaining about society being all mean to them. You’re just spending too much time inside your own head, go take a swim, take up a hobby that requires you to step outdoors, it will serve you well. Don’t be a freak, Fredrik. Be normal, for once.

On a side note, “pulling yourself up by your bootstraps” is meant to be understood as an impossible feat. You can’t possibly pull yourself up by your bootstraps, it’s ludicrous to even suggest that such a thing may be feasible. While, yes, there are many things you can do to help yourself, ultimately, you can’t profoundly escape from a sorry situation you’ve found yourself in without some outside help. There is no shame in requiring help. To guilt someone into thinking that if they can’t do it alone, they are weak, is frankly sociopathic. Humans need each other, we take care of each other, we are there for each other. Self-sufficiency is great, but let’s not take it to levels of absurdity by suggesting that needing help from others is anything but normal. No-one succeeds in life without others there to prop them up. Instead of telling someone to pull themselves up by their bootstraps, you might as well tell them to go and swallow the sun, which is clearly another impossible task.

Most people will never in their lives experience what it is like to go through a neuropsychological evaluation. Turns out that it is not always such a pleasant experience. Though, considering the popularity of pseudo-scientific nonsense like the Myers-Briggs test, I am sure some folks would lie and pretend to love it. Certainly, there is a charm to being there and talking about yourself for several hours near-uninterrupted, but the exhaustion that you will feel at the end of it cannot be understated. Naturally, it does vary between who does it, and why they’re doing it. But if the stated goal is to find out whether you’ve had a neurodevelopmental disorder since you were but a young babe, then of course, there are going to be some pretty long conversations happening about those early days. Lots of stuff you may not have considered or thought about in a very long time will suddenly become very relevant to your current situation. And at the end of it all, you get some papers detailing your fashionable new diagnosis. Your entire life, all written down. Can make you feel rather wistful. And there’s really quite a surprising amount of typos included in the text, and barely any jokes.

Still, as part of my official diagnosis, there is a reference to my speech at being at times “stilted.” Though, the diagnosis does take very good care to mention that I appear intelligent and thoughtful, exhibiting a wide vocabulary and a good sense of the right words to use at the right moment. It’s flattering, for the most part. Yet, it does irk me that I could be perceived as being stilted. I know that at this point, I am being petty, because who cares if I sometimes come across as maybe a little robotic. I’ve got Asperger’s. Of course I am a robot. The closest role model we folks with Asperger’s ever had for the longest time was Star Trek: The Next Generation’s android named Data. God forbid anyone like me ever turned out to be the protagonist of a series, we’re all doomed to play the part of the robot, the alien, or the socially awkward geek. I should just be delighted that I am high-functioning. I know how much worse some have it. I should be grateful and pleased that I come across as mostly normal, mostly neurotypical. But… I really just don’t want anyone to think my speech is stilted. I don’t want to be Data. I want to be Riker.

It is never enough, you’ll never be good enough. If you fake it, they’ll see through it. If you struggle and if you work honestly to appear more normal, they won’t recognise it. As soon as they get an inkling you may be an imposter, looking like them, but having a neurologically deviant brain, they’ll single you out. For you, normalcy is an illusion. To attempt to be normal is to remake yourself only to receive nothing. Sure, you can be disingenuous, pretend you're not yourself, but it’ll never fool them. In the end, you’ll only lose yourself. Maybe I should just own the fact that my speech sometimes comes across as being stilted. Maybe I should own it. Be proud of who I am. But… sometimes I just don’t want to be me.

I want to be ignored. Sometimes, not always. But that goes for everyone. But most of all, I’d like to be able to go unseen whenever I’m not trying to impress anyone. When I’m just off to buy some milk. When I’m sitting on the bus. When I’m walking through the park. I know it is partly paranoia, but I can’t help but feel like I stick out. It’s always been like that with my friends growing up. The metaphor I used with my therapist is that I felt like a thumb. That they, my friends, were the fingers and I was the thumb. Sure, we’re similar. In many ways we’re the same. You could even say that I was crucial to making the social dynamics work. Who doesn’t like the thumb? What would you do without your thumb? But still, I was different. Some people would do anything to be different like that, to feel special. Some folks feel all invisible and forgotten in the crowd, and I’d lie if I told them that I didn’t envy them sometimes. The ability to go all invisible? That seems swell! There’s this question people like to ask as a sort of personality test. If you could choose a superpower, would you rather be able to fly, or would you rather be able to go invisible? The answer is obvious, as far as I’m concerned. Of course I’d love to be able to go invisible. To be able to exist without anyone seeing me. Without anyone judging me. Without ever having to worry if someone is going to treat me as different. For a moment to feel what it is like not to be some big, dumb, stupid, thumb.

Don’t get me wrong, I am not too anguished. Nowadays, I feel like I am in a relatively good place. But I would be lying if I told you that I still don’t get frustrated at the plethora of difficulties I face just trying to blend in. Even with family members, people who are supposed to know you the best, even then I have to go out of my way to behave a certain way, to exist a certain way, because fundamentally, they just don’t seem to get you. Not in that way. They have an image of you that you need to try and match. It doesn’t matter how many times I tell them that sometimes you need to be more direct in your communication to truly reach me, I don’t pick up on the many smaller little social cues they may throw my way, it’s still just me being silly and looking for excuses for why I didn’t understand them the first time around. And I am deathly afraid of hurting anyone’s feelings. A very prevalent misconception about autistic individuals is that we don’t care if we’re being rude. That if we are rude, our rudeness can simply be overlooked because, y’know, we’re autistic. While this sort of thing is commonly represented in media that is supposed to depict autistic characters, in real life, things don't quite work like this. Believe it or not, readers, being autistic is not a free pass to act like a dick. Autistic individuals still very much have to modulate our behaviour if we wish to fit in and be accepted. No-one will ever excuse you for being autistic. To be autistic is living with extra hurdles in your way, thinking that it’s anything but a social handicap is romanticising a diagnosis you clearly know very little about.

When I was a kid, I didn’t speak much. As far as I was concerned, I merely spoke whenever I needed to speak. It took until adulthood for me to learn that my parents and teachers were actually concerned about that. I was made to see a specialist, under the guise of learning elocution, but I’ve later come to realise that those meetings were about more than just learning to pronounce the letter R. Like, what does testing my memory have to do with diction? Yes, her job was partly to help my speech develop more in line with the other kids, but she was also there to evaluate whether or not I was intellectually disabled. I have come to learn that I had teachers at the time that were adamant about me going to a different school, more equipped to handle kids like me, but my mother vehemently defended my right to stay in the school I was in. After all, I did have friends, and to anyone who really knew me, they knew that I was a bright child. Sure, I wasn’t as communicative as the other children, but I clearly had no issues processing information, and it’s not like I was disruptive in some other way. But that was also part of the problem. The teachers that thought that I may need specialist schooling were concerned about the fact that I was too placid and too agreeable. They wanted me to express frustration at my lacking pronunciation, to see me get mad at others for not fully understanding me. That amazes me, if anything. The fact that I was a happy kid they took as some indication that I wasn’t quite right.

My mother delights in a memory of me as a kid once slamming my fist on the table and declaring that “now, I am speaking!” May I remind you that I was a cute kid. Sure, it is the sort of behaviour that parents of the old times would have spanked their kids for. Kids in the past were supposed to be quiet. To be seen, but not heard. I wonder if there’d be any kind of hubbub about my early development if I lived back then. I’d probably be seen as the ideal child, all pretty and docile and never too loud. Still, it was a moment my mother cherished, because for once, I really proved that I did have the capacity to speak. Though, I still couldn’t pronounce my R’s. But it was time for Fledlik to speak.

#neurodiversity #neurodivergent #autism spectrum disorder #autism #aspergers #mental health

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prrplwtch · 5 years ago

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Can we please get headcannons of the brothers reacting to an MC who is trying to tease them in public, maybe at the the dinner table or in meetings etc. ❤

Ok nonnie 💜

Lucifer

When Lucifer gets a text from MC during the student council meeting, he is a little surprised - after all, MC is sitting right across from him, why would they need to send him a text?

He glances at the screen to see what the message was about, and, suddenly feels hot blush rise in his face.

The message is pure filth. Not that he minds, but he’d rather MC say that to him in a more private setting.

Quickly turns the phone over to make sure that no one sitting next to him can read it.

Looks at MC, who smiles shamelessly and gives him the look full of promise.

It’s really hard to wait until the end of the meeting.

Tries his best to hide the fact just how distracted the message made him.

As soon as the meeting is over, approaches MC and asks to have a word with them.

Once they are alone, pulls MC close and says, “You know there are consequences for distracting me like this?”

“That’s what I was hoping for,” MC tells him with a smirk.

Mammon

Mammon was sitting next to MC in the dining hall of the academy, when suddenly, he could feel her hand on his knee. At first he did not react, but then he felt their hand creep higher and higher up his leg.

Immediately he found himself blushing quite profusely.

“MC,” he whispered as their hand reached his upper thigh, “What are you doing?”

“As if you don’t know,” MC smirked as they looked at him, “Now then try to play along - we wouldn’t want anyone to know about our little game, would we?”

Mammon did not know he could blush that deeply - it was so embarrassing that they chose the dining hall of all places to do this - but he also did not want them to stop.

MC’s hand snaked even higher up his thigh, when, suddenly, Beel who was sitting across from them, looked at him and said, “Mammon are you alright? You look very red.”

“F-fine,” Mammon stuttered, trying to contain a gasp, as MC brushed their fingers ever so slightly over his arousal.

Luckily, his brother seemed to be satisfied with his answer, so he got back to his lunch.

MC continued touching him, making Mammon’s head spin with desire. Then, suddenly, they moved away their hand.

“Why’d ya stop?” he whimpered into MC’s ear.

“Well, it’s not like we could go any further here,” MC laughed, “So you’ll have to wait till we are back home.”

He could not - luckily he knew there was an empty classroom on the way from the dining hall to their next class.

Leviathan

Levi was sitting in class, when suddenly, his phone buzzed. As he looked at it, he saw that the message was from MC. “I was having a difficult time deciding which outfit is better to wear for the cosplay. I hope you can help me.”

Levi shook his head - did they really need cosplay advice in the middle of the Demonology class? Still, when he looked over to MC they just smiled at him, and he sighed. Fine.

As soon as he opened attached photos, Levi’s face felt as though it was on fire.

The cosplay MC was doing was quite revealing, and in every picture they were wearing less clothes than in the previous one. He quickly looked up from the phone, as he felt his heart pound in his chest.

What are they thinking?

Suddenly, his phone buzzed again. Levi knew he should not look at it, and he didn’t - at least for the first few minutes. But then, curiosity got the better of him, and he decided to see the new message.

Blood rushed to his face as his head spun - in the last picture MC was laying on bed in all of their very naked glory.

Before he had a chance to do anything however, another message appeared on his screen.

“Oops,” it read, “Sent that last one by accident.”

Levi could not wait for the class to be over - he really needed some alone time after what he just saw - but as soon as the bell rang, MC approached him.

“You can’t just send me things like this without warning,” Levi told them, “That’s unfair.”

“Sorry about that,” MC responded in the tone that showed they were not sorry at all, “But did you decide which one is better? Or would you rather see everything in person?”

Satan

Satan had noticed MC acting differently since the early morning. They’d made sure to brush up against him more times than they usually did, and every time they reached out to touch him their hand lingered a few moments.

It was getting quite distracting, but Satan resolved to not say anything. After all, he had no intention of admitting just what kind of effect they’d seemed to have on him.

It was getting quite difficult to ignore, however, and became even more so when they were in the library after school, working on a group project for history of the Devildom with Simeon and Solomon

Satan was sitting right next to MC, when suddenly, he felt their hand on his upper thigh. Immediately, he felt blush rise to his face.

What do they think they are doing?

He was not sure how to react, as he felt their hand move higher. It wasn’t like he’d found their touching unpleasant in any way, but not in the library.

He glared at MC, who only smiled at him and continued doing what they were.

Mercifully, there was a book that Satan needed to get from the shelves for the assignment, and, as he got up, MC removed their hand.

“MC do you mind coming with me to help me find the book?”

As soon as they were outside of the earshot of Simeon and Solomon, Satan turned to MC.

“What do you think you were doing?” he asked, angrily.

“Trying to get your attention, of course,” MC pouted, “You’ve been ignoring me since the morning.” “But, it appears it worked,” they added with a smile, making Satan sigh. What was he going to do with them?

“Let’s finish with this project quickly then,” he said, “So that I can give you my undivided attention.”

Asmodeus

Asmo was sitting next to MC in class, when suddenly, MC quietly whispered, “Hey, Asmo.”

“Yes, my dear,” Asmo replied, moving closer to them - anything was better than listening to this most boring lecture on the history of Devildom.

When MC leaned in closer, Asmo’d expected them to whisper something mean about their teacher - or one of their classmates. After all, that’s how the two of them usually entertained themselves in the class.

Instead, what passed MC’s lips was absolute, pure filth - about the things they wanted to do to him.

Asmo could hardly stop himself from squealing in delight - he’d heard them speak dirty before, of course, but never this explicitly. This was so exciting.

To demonstrate just how excited he got upon hearing those words, Asmo leaned close to MC’s ear and told them in great detail, just what he wanted to do to them.

As he moved away, he reveled in the bright blush that bloomed on MC’s face. Sure, they were quite brazen in their descriptions, but no one could compare to the avatar of lust himself, when it came to talking about sex.

He could hardly wait for the class to be over.

As soon as the bell rang, and everyone started gathering their stuff, Asmo put his hand on MC’s arm.

“Let’s wait a while - this classroom will be empty during the next period,” he said with a smile. “Wh-” MC started then stopped as realization dawned on their face, “I thought we’d wait till we return back home.”

“Ah, dear, you cannot tell me things like that then keep me waiting for that long.”

Beelzebub

Beel does not realize it at first what MC is doing - he usually does not pay attention to much when he’s eating. But, when they are sitting in the dining room of the House of Lamentation, having dinner with the rest of the family, suddenly, Beel finds himself watching how MC’s eating.

They are sitting right across from him, and he notices that they are very thorough about cleaning off all the pudding from her spoon. He does not pay it much attention, at first. That is, until they meet his gaze and proceed to lick the spoon.

He finds himself blushing - suddenly, his mind is conjuring up the images of the previous night, when they’d looked at him just the same way as they were…

What am I thinking about?

Knows he should look away to calm down his racing heart, but he cannot he’s utterly mesmerized by how thorough MC is with making sure the spoon is clean.

They are not doing this on purpose, he tries telling himself, Why am I reacting like this?

It takes an effort, but he succeeds, at making himself look away from MC and focus on his food. Beel thinks the incident is over - that is, until his phone buzzes.

He looks on the screen and notices that the message is from MC.

“There’s a taste of something else I’d like to have after dinner, if you are up for it,” the message reads.

Beel had never before in his life blushed this profusely.

Belphegor

As Belphie’ sitting at dinner, he cannot help but sigh. He’d much rather be in his room, but it’s not like he has choice - the brothers had agreed to sit down family dinners at least three times a week.

MC, who is sitting next to him, turns to him and whispers, “Is something wrong?”

“I’d much rather be in my room sleeping, than here,” Belphie tells them.

“Oh?” there’s amusement in MC’s eyes, “Well, I can related - there are definitely things I’d rather be doing than sitting here.” “Like what?” Belphie asks, curious.

When MC leans close to his ear and whispers what they’d rather be doing, Belphie’s breath catches in his throat and his cheeks feel as though they are on fire. He’d never expect such unadulterated filth would come from their mouth.

He glances around to make sure no one else heard. But, luckily, it appears the rest of the brothers are quite taken with the conversation and are not paying attention to them.

“Must you be like that?” Belphie whispers to MC.

“What? It’s not like you minded when yesterday I…” MC’s words bring even brighter blush to Belphie’s face as his mind conjures up the images of the previous night.

Heat spreads through his body and he can hardly wait for the dinner to be over.

As soon as dinner is over, he’s dragging MC up to the attic, to show them what happens when they tease him so.

#obey me #obey me shall we date #obey me lucifer #obey me mammon #obey me leviathan #obey me satan #obey me asmodeus #obey me beelzebub #obey me belphegor

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thatnamelessbutler · 4 years ago

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(OoC: So, what's the AU thing about?)

((ooc: Okay so basically I got an idea form a song completely unrelated to the fandom and long story short, Bi n Bu are no longer able to escape from the Egg except through a very specific method, and then Karl comes back along and bippity boppity your body is now our property!

So, yeah. Body-swap AU except Karl kinda dies because to get the swap to work everyone's body had to die. Karl's gets healed afterwards through magical time shenanigans-

So Billiam and Rune(Bu's new name in this AU) wake up in the library, in our current DSMP present, in the weird body of this weird guy who's apparently a weird color-shapeshifter.(yeah, i'm going with the cryptid creature Karl for this one because. it's cool as heck and I never see this anywhere)

a little while after they wake up in the present, karl wakes up after being dormant because he literally died and it's like "HEY WAIT WHAT THE HECK YOU STOLE MY BODY" and everyone else goes "shit shit shit shit"

p.s if you're wondering where hubert is he's dead. the egg killed nearly everyone except billiam and butler because bi is its main caretaker and bu will never leave his side

(more under the cut please there's so much and i actually love this au so much)

Now I'm not a system but I imagine these four(yes, four; Billiam, Rune, Piam(Billiam's Piglin side), and Tune(Bu's Other) operate kind of like one. They have an innerworld and everything, they aren't just all constantly crammed into the front. That would get confusing, stressful and difficult to manage overall. Bu's usually the one fronting because no one else wants to; Billiam doesn't wanna do it because he doesn't wanna mingle with the "poor", Tune doesn't wanna do it because it always gets tripped up with literally everything about the body, it's not even dangerous enough to protect now, and Piam doesn't wanna do it because he's kind of scared of the Overworld someone that doesn't know how to be a Human Person

Oh yeah and I've also talked about all this and more with my bestie so here's a copy-paste of that conversation-

I think an encounter with Sapnap and/or Quackity would go terribly too, until they sit down and explain things as best they can wait no actually "So basically, we killed your fiancée so we could inhabit his body and escape from a really bad situation. sorry" Acid Sapanap would go feral and I can't even begin to conceive what extremely destructive thoughts Quackoty would start having Me MHM Sapnap probably pulls a sword on them and they automatically reach for their own before remembering "Oh shit, we don't have it. OH SHIT-" and then they just gotta r u n Butler's trying desperately to teleport but without a pearl, eeeeeh that's not gonna do anything buddy I'm not sure if Karl has armor in his inventory or not but either way they wouldn't have the time or coordination to equip it Acid they just immediately die it'd be so funny Me "NOT AGAIN, WE JUST GOT FREE- death" Now lets hope either Karl has some extra canon lives, or those lives Billiam bought carry over Acid PFFFFT, BILLIAM'S LIVES GET CARRIED WITH THEM AND IT'S JUST revives ok listen we don't gotta dies revives please let's just dies revives why do you do t dies revives this is just gonna last forever isn't it? dies rev- Me wheeze YEAH "GET OUT OF KARL'S BODY!" "We can't!! It's already been done!! dies" "WHY WON'T YOU DIE!!?" "We are!!??" ohhh, bonus angst points if every time they die, Butler goes a little more dormant- Butler was only meant to have one life, he never got any Totems and his soul cannot take this in the way Billiam's can After about 15 deaths, Billiam gets Sapnap to stop for about five seconds, and in those five seconds he realizes that he can no longer hear or feel Butler Acid oh god Me If he manages to get far enough away and find someplace to hide(perhaps the library again), he dips into the headspace and finds Butler just gone. He looks around for a while and finds them far away from where they were, collapsed on the ground, flickering slightly, and entirely unresponsive. And no matter how much he tries, they just won't wake up, and their Ender half has disappeared completely. He can't do anything except wait for them. Acid fjsjdj oh my god imagine Billiam just goes feral after that he's like "what did you do to m y B u t l e r" and just jumps on Sapnap with his bare hands Me Oh absolutely, he will Murder Sapnap without a second thought and he doesn't care how many deaths he has to go through to do it even though dying more will make it take longer for butler to wake up, and then afterwards he'll be pacing around random areas stress-stimming intensely and waiting for his child to wake up Acid yeap Me Somehow he finds his way to Kinoko Kingdom and is like "oh, this looks like a good place for a walk" and then spends the entire time not actually looking at anything and drowned in anxiety

AND THEN THESE WERE LAST NIGHT'S THOUGHTS, SOMEHOW LATER ON THEY END UP AT SAPNAP'S PLACE CAUSE THEY TECHNICALLY DON'T HAVE A PLACE TO STAY Unless you count the library but I don't think that would be very comfortable-

Anyway, Rune was fronting when they fell asleep and then their chronic nightmares came back. Sapnap wakes up(or was he ever really sleeping?) to some almost animalistic gasping in the other room and runs in to find Karl Karl's body curled on the bed, barely humanoid and random flashes of color spiking over him in waves and clawlike hands digging into his head

So he tries to wake him up, and when he does Bu's first reaction is to scramble away in pure terror because he's not fully out of the nightmare yet, there are even tears running down his face that just get absorbed back into the mass of color. Sapnap tries to calm him down, and eventually succeeds enough to ask him what the hell happened, and who's fronting once he remembers that that is a thing-

Thing is, Bu's gone nonverbal, but hey at least Karl was some sort of shapeshifter so they can just shift blobs of color into the air to answer Sapnap's questions

He very quickly learns only to ask yes/no ones because he can't read Galactic which is the only thing Bu can respond in, but that whole night ends on a pretty good note :3

Acid IS KARL IN THE SYSTEM CANON? HE'D BE THE MAIN FRONTER IF IT IS I THINK Me After that nightmare Rune finds himself trusting Sapnap a little more but also not as able to front, he's just so tired of it. No one else wants to front, he always has to stay there and he never gets a break. At least before, Tune had control during the night and he got to rest some. Now his sleep schedule is just as abhorred as before and no one else even comes near the front. He tries as long as he can, for everyone else's sake, but after weeks of fronting alone he just can't anymore. So he finally leaves the front and just collapses face-first into idk a patch of grass in the innerworld or something, and he's so exhausted of being a person that he can't even think straight, He doesn't want consolation, he doesn't want promises, he doesn't even want cuddles he just wants someone else to take over for a bit. Me OOH MAYBE He wakes up and wanders around the innerworld figuring out what the heck is going on and wondering why he can't see the outside anymore and oh god is he dead, are they all dead maybe they're all dead and none of them know it, and then Rune comes out of front and practically begs to not have to be a person anymore, he tells Karl "please i just want a break, just go out there or get someone else to go out there for a while please" and, well, Karl takes a chance and goes out to front and holy shit is this the real world, holy shit are those his fiancées, holy s h i t Acid THAT'S THE BESR OUTCOME ACTUALLY Me YESSSSSSSSS MASQUERADE SYSTEM + KARL THE MAN HIMSELF JACOBS Acid YESSS Me Karl and Rune are now host and co-host, because. no one else wants to front Acid Karl tricking Billiam into fronting.mp4 Me GSHDFGBSGDHFBSF Rune and Karl lock him into front and Rune proceeds to lean against the nearest flat surface, slide down and then dissociate for the next couple/several hours Karl makes sure no one disturbs him, even if Tune and Piam are Very Worried about their exhausted Human hybrid Acid them taking care of Rune (affectionate)

Acid OK WAIT I WAS THINKING AND IN SYSTEMS PEOPLE USUALLY MANIFEST SO I WAS THINKING HOW THAT'D WORK IN THE MASQUERADE SYS AND I REALIZED THAT EVERYONE IN THERE IS TECHNICALLY DEAD IN A WAY WHAT IF THAT'S THIS AU'S LIMBO? ONE DAY WILBUR POPS UP AND COMMITS MULTIPLE CRIMES AGAINST HUMANITY Me HOLY SHIT OH SHIT EVERYONE THAT PERMA-DIES JUST ENDS UP AS AN ALTER IN KARL'S WEIRD COLOR-SHAPESHIFTING BODY XDDD You can always tell who's fronting by the colors, as long as you actually know them enough to know their colors- Acid Wilbur: hello Quackity, I am BAC- Karl: oh my GOD Wilbur shut the FUCK UP we understand it you're gay now please get out of front I have a date in 10 minutes Acid OOOOO YES Me Like Rune is purple/pink(mainly pink) gray-red/dark purple/orange/green eyes(right/right/left/left, respectively), and then he has some other colors sifting through, like a dark indigo-blue and a yellow the color of Endstone Tune is all of that but some of it is darker(the pinks/purples and Endstone color), some of it's the same(the eyes, except they have a light pink shine over them) and some of it is inverted. Clouds will waft around the body when it's fronting and whenever you look through the clouds you'll see the colors inverted Billiam is solidly pale pink except for his eyes(maroon) and his hands and feet(gold, with veins streaking out and tapering off at about the elbow) Piam is a slightly redder pink, with spots of a Netherrack color here and there, and his gold is more orangey, like there's fire reflecting off of it karl is just. karl. Of course he's got the signature swirls in bright violent and teal but other than that he's just a smorgasbord of color, usually bright and neon. When he's near/thinking about Sapnap and/or Quackity, little hearts start popping off him

#Relyn Records #infodump #ask to tag #i don't know if there are any systems following me but if i got anything wrong please tell me i do not want to slander your name-#anyway i may have accidentally made them a system found-family

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boomcomplains · 5 years ago

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It's typical. A loud noise sends a character back into a hostage situation, a war, or a gunfight. When faced with the majority of reporting on PTSD centers around combat-related PTSD (source), it makes sense that it's the shellshocked veteran we often see in books, TV, film and comics. However, the civilian population that experiences PTSD is 13 times larger than its military counterpart. Of course, there are more civilians than those in the military, so naturally, that population is bigger. This article is not meant to dismiss those in the military who deal with very real and terrible side-effects from their time serving.

However, it does beg the question, what does a character with PTSD look like when their trauma is outside combat?

I think a very good study of this sort of character is Dr. Nicholas Rush from Stargate: Universe. There are many other characters out there that I could use, but I'm in a SGU mood today, so I hope you'll forgive me.

At the beginning of the show, Dr. Nicholas Rush is a difficult man. Unable to deal with his wife's terminal cancer, he drowns himself in work so he can avoid the pain of losing her. When she dies while he is off-world, this complicated grief drives him to focus on the mission of the ninth chevron because he has to make his absence from her deathbed mean something. After all, if he didn't succeed, he would not have an excuse. Without the excuse, he would confront the nasty truth that he didn't support his wife in her dying days because he couldn't handle the grief.

The ninth chevron leads him to the Destiny, a ship far beyond the reaches humanity could ever dream to go, with a singular but ultimately mysterious mission. His doggedness to stay on the ship, and follow the mission is likely a reaction to his own inability to come to terms with the trauma of losing his wife.

Because of this, he approaches situations from an ultra-logical world that doesn't exactly coincide with the emotional gray side of the human experience. That's why when he felt that Colonel Young was repeatedly putting lives and the mysterious mission of Destiny in danger, he decided to... frame him for murder... and when that didn't work, stage a coup.

I promise, within the confines of the show, those were actually both very rational decisions.

The coup was the last straw for Colonel Young, so he abandons Rush to die on a desert planet that has no stargate and therefore no possibility for escape. So, metaphorically, Young essentially commits the murder that Rush tried to frame him for.

It is there, on a sandy planet without food or water, that the narrative of Nicholas Rush's PTSD starts.

While attempting to escape, Rush alerts an alien race called the Nakai to his presence as tries to fix a crashed alien spaceship. For the Nakai, it's a lucky find because they are hell-bent on boarding Destiny. Why do they want to get on Destiny? I don't know. They're aliens. Sometimes you don't get to know the why when it comes to aliens.

On their ship, Rush is tortured and imprisoned in a water tank (this is important later). So for the PTSD counter, we have both abandonment and abuse to contend with. His feelings about Young essentially murdering him for doing what he thought was right for the ship are compounded with being mentally torn apart by the Nakai.

Flash forward, Rush is accidentally rescued from the Nakai's clutches due to a lot of plot points I'm not going to go into. Frankly, it's very likely most of you haven't seen the series—or have forgotten more about it than you remember—and the last thing I want to do is turn this article into a Stargate: Universe season recap.

So, back on the ship, Rush isn't sleeping, which you find out after he commiserates with fellow torture victim Chloe. It's assumed that it is for the same reasons as Chloe, which are vivid nightmares. For those of you keeping track, that is a classic sign of PTSD. The subsequent not sleeping because you're afraid of having more nightmares is also a very strong indicator.

Unfortunately, insomnia leads to emotional decision-making, usually based on your experiences in that trauma. But let's put a pin in that for just a moment, and we'll fast forward to a later episode entitled "Pain."

In "Pain", the crew accidentally bring a tick onboard that causes vivid hallucinations, some of which are paranoid delusions. For everyone who experiences this, there is little rhyme or reason why the hallucination starts, and they go with it unquestioningly.

Rush, however, is different. His hallucinations are all triggered. When under the influence of the tick, Sergeant Greer (a proponent for Young's leadership) threatens Rush. Because of this, Rush experiences flashbacks to the Nakai ship and sees everyone as a potential Nakai threat. Paranoid ideation is a symptom of PTSD. When I say "paranoid" though, I fear that this may be read dismissively. PTSD, in many ways, is a survival mechanism. It's a set of prefab reactions because you have already experienced something similar. Essentially, it's not paranoid ideation to you, because it's happened before.

It is unclear if Rush himself was affected by the alien organism, but it seems very likely that his reaction was hinged on the perceived/very real threat to his survival. The fact that it has been established that he has not been sleeping for episodes now, and his hallucinations are of past experiences—such as the room flooding with water, or seeing other members of the crew as Nakai —it seems more than likely that Rush's experiences in this episode are PTSD-related and not due to the tick.

This, however, is not our only brush with PTSD. Let's move forward to the next season, where he finds the bridge of Destiny and hides that discovery from the rest of the crew.

One of the cool things about Stargate: Universe in the first season is that they never find the bridge of the ship. They don't even know there is one because Destiny is so massive and broken, they haven't found it yet... or perhaps the Ancients were so culturally different at the time they didn't design the ship with a bridge in mind. Even if they did, there would be a fair chance the crew would have no idea how to use it.

So, Rush—who is established to still not be sleeping after an incursion with the Lucian Alliance—finds the bridge of the Destiny. Until now, he and the Science Team had been interfacing with the ship in what I think is probably a janitor's closet, so this is an incredibly important find because it is vital for the survival of the ship and the crew. Naturally, that means Rush should want to share it, knowing what we know of him from before he was abandoned on the planet and then tortured by the Nakai. Before, it was the greater good. Now, it's survival is first and foremost.

But no. Rush, instead, reasons that Young cannot be trusted with this find, and starts to lead a double life of surreptitiously guiding the ship (to disastrous results) and pretending like he's still doing things from the Control Interface Room/Janitor's closet.

But what led him to do this? After all, keeping this find under wraps leads to dire situations that compromise the survival of the crew, and indeed causes the death of one member. It is not a rational decision.

Except that it is. If there is one thing I want to make very plainly clear in this article, PTSD-sufferers reactions are rational, even if they don't seem that way to an outsider. I think oftentimes we nitpick plots in fiction because characters make decisions that seem illogical to us. Sometimes this is deserved because an author did not sufficiently help us empathize with a character, other times I think it is because we don't understand what it means to have PTSD.

You don't have to be triggered to have PTSD affect your decision-making process. You see, unmanaged, PTSD gets you stuck in survival mode. It's an undertow that drags you down with things that were true but aren't necessarily true now.

So in Rush's sleep-deprived, and exhausted state-of-my-mind, he reverts back to Young being the threat despite all the work they had done to repair the relationship. While some may be frustrated with this backstep, I can't tell you how much I appreciate that about his character. It explains the rationale for doing something irrational, and makes his character so much deeper.

The beauty of Stargate Universe is that it shows PTSD as it is. Even better, no one is excusing Rush's actions because of it, and/or invalidating his experience. It simply is.

PTSD is so misunderstood, it deserves logical, rational representation, and it gets that with logical, rational Dr. Rush. I mean, let's face it, there is logic to what goes on in a PTSD-sufferers brain, but it's logic from a different time period. Dismissing it as irrational is insulting, and I love that Stargate: Universe never does that, and I think it is exactly why Rush is such a deep and meaningful character.

In the end, I think there is a lesson writers can draw from this: don't be afraid to explore this within some of your characters. Understand their viewpoint, and what drives them to make their choices. If you do that, you will never have a boring story.

#nicholas rush #stargate universe

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bubonickitten · 5 years ago

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Summary: Jon goes back to before the world ended and tries to forge a different path.

Previous chapter: AO3 // tumblr

Chapter 13 full text & content warnings below the cut.

CWs for Chapter 13: all the usual Buried-related warnings apply (claustrophobia, inability to breathe, etc.); panic/anxiety symptoms; just a smidgen of internalized aphobia; brief mention of past passive suicidal ideation; internalized victim blaming; canon-typical trauma (including discussion of victims targeted by the Fears as children).SPOILERS through S5.

Chapter 13: Center

The darkness and overwhelming pressure of the Buried make it nigh impossible to orient oneself. The only conceivable directions are forward, down, into, deeper. Jon’s only choice, when he has one at all, is to keep moving – and so he does, digging and clawing his way through the muck, making a transient pathway for himself as best he can.

“Daisy?” It comes out as a rasp. He tries to swallow, but succeeds only in upsetting his already-sore throat. It feels as though the dirt and debris have taken up permanent residence there, clogging his airway just enough to leave him chronically short of breath without cutting off his oxygen supply entirely. “Daisy, can you reach me?”

“Jon,” comes the weak reply, “I’m – I don’t know where – I c-can’t – can’t see –”

“I hear you,” Jon says. “I’m here, I’m coming to you. Just – keep talking, and –”

As he talks, he inhales a cloud of dust, dissolving into wracking coughs.

“Jon? Jon, are you still there?” For a long moment, Jon cannot speak. Daisy’s next words are steeped in panic. “Where are you? I can’t… p-please be there, please –”

“I’m still here,” Jon forces out hoarsely, stretching his arm forward as far as it will go. “I’m not going anywhere. Follow my voice, I – I think I’m almost –”

Chill fingertips brush against his, and he throws his weight forward as much as possible. He hooks her fingers in his and pulls, and with a burst of energy he manages to clasp her clammy hand in his.

“There you are,” he says, smiling weakly.

“You’re real,” Daisy says in disbelief, crushing his hand in a bruising grip. “You’re real.”

“I am.” He intertwines their fingers, as grateful as she is for a hand to hold. “I’m here, Daisy.”

“Daisy,” she says dreamily. “Yeah. Daisy. That’s me.” A pause. “Just – just me.”

Jon closes his eyes with a relieved sigh. There are no signs that the Hunt still has its claws in her. He had no reason to think that reaching her a couple weeks earlier than before would change anything, but there was still that nagging doubt.

“J-just me,” she says again, but this time there’s a waver in her voice. “Just – alone –”

“No,” Jon says hurriedly, squeezing her hand several times in quick succession, “not – not alone. Not anymore.”

“Yeah.” She grasps his hand even more tightly, as if to reassure herself.

“I’m here.”

“Yeah,” she says again, and this time it sounds like she’s starting to believe it.

“How – how are you?” Jon cringes. It’s as stupid a question now as it was the last time. Moreso, seeing as he’s already heard the answer. “S-sorry. That’s – probably obvious.”

Daisy answers anyway, likely glad of the chance to talk to someone else after so long in isolation.

“I – I can’t move, can’t breathe, can’t…” She trails off, hesitating. “But it’s… it’s quiet here? I can’t…”

She seems to be struggling to find the words.

“You can’t feel the blood,” he supplies.

“Y-yeah. How did you…”

“I can’t feel the Eye, either. It’s… it’s just me. All me.”

“Where are we?”

“In the Coffin. The Buried. It’s… the powers don’t have much sway within one another’s domains. The Hunt, the Eye – they can’t reach us here.”

“The Hunt,” she echoes.

“Yes. You’re a Hunter.”

“I… I guess I was. But – not here.”

No, not here. But once they leave here…

Stop, he tells himself. One thing at a time. Escape the Buried, then worry about the Hunt.

“Come on.” He tugs on her hand. “Let’s get you out of here.”

“Can’t – can’t move, and – and even if I could, there’s no way out –”

“No, I – I can get us out. I have a plan.”

“Is this like all your other plans?”

Jon chuckles, but it comes out as a wheeze.

“Yes and no. But – but don’t worry, it’s – I can do this. I just – need to – to find it.”

But when he closes his eyes and concentrates, there’s… nothing there.

“Come on,” he says under his breath, keeping his voice deliberately calm. “Come on, where are you?”

There’s nothing there. Why is there nothing there?

“Just need to… need to focus. Just – focus, think of…”

Think of Martin. Martin is your anchor. Clever, brave, loyal, compassionate Martin.

He was kind to you even when you didn’t deserve it; he cared for you even though you did everything you could to push him away. He reached out to you through the Lonely when you were at your most monstrous to remind you of the humanity you’d thought you lost. He made you want to do better, to be the person that he saw when he looked at you.

You followed him into the Lonely because you love him and because he deserved to know it. You need to return to him now, because this version of him doesn’t yet know that he is loved. If you don’t get back to him, if you don’t reach out to him – he’ll get lost, and he –

Jon’s breath hitches. The fear is starting to move in as inexorably as the earth surrounding them, settling cold and heavy in his gut.

Stop that, he tells himself. Just think about Martin, not the worst case scenario.

Everyone underestimates him, because he spent his entire life striving for the perfect balance between useful and unobtrusive. But he’s not helpless; he’s not a pushover. He took master manipulator Jonah Magnus by surprise; he fooled Peter Lukas for months. Sometimes, you think that Martin Blackwood could outmaneuver the Web if he cared to. If anyone could, it would be him. You don’t think you’ll ever fully forgive yourself for taking so long to notice.

No, Jon tells himself once more, recognizing the warning signs of a guilt spiral. That won’t help. Redirect.

In those early days after the ritual, you briefly defaulted to your old habits, withdrawing and shutting him out. He stood up to your brooding, gave your self-loathing no refuge in which to thrive, because he saw right through your sharp tongue to the vulnerable parts of you that it was meant to hide.

He is intuitive, stubborn, and patient in the best of ways.

You have a tendency to stare. You always have; you typically don’t notice you’re doing it. After you became the Archivist, it went from being an awkward habit to evidence of your inhumanity: all eyes, always watching, always demanding more, more, more until every secret is exposed and any semblance of privacy has been demolished.

But it was never just the Eye urging you to record things. You know from experience that nothing lasts forever, that anyone and anything can disappear without a moment’s notice – sometimes leaving no trace, no memory that they ever existed. It only makes sense that you would develop a compulsion to document everything for posterity. The tape recorders were only the most recent manifestation of that preexisting obsession. Before that, you made lists, you took pictures, you wrote on your hands – and, of course, you stared.

During your first few days together at the safehouse, Martin called attention to the staring. You were mortified, launched into a rambling apology – but he shut it down, reassured you that he was only teasing, that he didn’t mind it, that it was… endearing, in a way. And once you were given permission, you began to consciously catalog every little detail.

He has thirty-six freckles on his face, seventeen on his hands, and constellations of them besides: on his back, on his shoulders, on his arms, on his belly. He blushes easily, and you love it, because you’ve never been good at reading body language, and you can always use a hint. His hair is soft, and the way he leans into it when you run your fingers through it – you think he would purr if he could. You were hesitant, at first, to spend too long looking at his eyes – but unlike most people, he showed no signs that he found eye contact with you unsettling.

You gave him permission to stare, too. And he did. He never shied away from your scars. He liked looking at you – and you knew he was genuine when he said so, even though you didn’t understand it.

Martin is self-conscious about his size, painfully aware of how others see him. He rarely stands to his full height, tending to curl his shoulders in, maintain a curve to his spine, keep his arms pulled tight to his body: anything to avoid towering over others, anything to take up as little space as possible. He saw his stretch marks as flaws to be tolerated; spent most of his life assuming that his weight and soft edges made him unattractive.

There are so many things he hates about himself. It broke your heart a little, to see how difficult it was for him to believe that you like looking at him, that your boundaries regarding physical intimacy weren’t a comment on his desirability. (Though he never voiced that last concern, never wanted his own insecurities to make you feel self-conscious about that part of you. Never made you feel guilty or lacking or… or broken.)

You regularly stole his jumpers; the first time you did it, he went speechless and flustered at the casual domesticity of it all. You took turns ambushing one another with affirmations and small acts of affection like that. It became something of a challenge, a game: springing a pet name on one another here, placing a soft kiss on a hand there, delighting in the reactions it got. It’s strange how easily you settled into that routine, how natural it felt to let down your guard.

At night, he would curl around you like he belonged there, like there was no place he’d rather be – and it made you feel like you belong, too. The first time he held you in his arms, you realized that you’d never truly known what it was to feel safe until that moment – and isn’t that its own special kind of vulnerability, isn’t it such a cliché? You still had nightmares, still jolted awake several times throughout the night frantic and disoriented – as did he – but it felt so much more endurable with someone to coax you back to reality.

When you first led him out of the Lonely, it was still clinging to him. He couldn’t understand what you saw in him, any more than you could understand what he saw in you. You made it your mission to make him understand. And eventually, he did. It wasn’t the first time you told him you loved him, but one morning when you said it, he looked at you and his lips parted ever so slightly, and you could practically see the epiphany dawn in his eyes, and he whispered that he believed you.

You still haven’t found a word that accurately describes what you felt then. You kissed him, and hoped that it would say what words could not.

You never gave up on each other, even when you’d given up on your own selves. He never stopped caring for you, even when you were at your most fearsome and fearful. Despite everything, you communicated, you compromised, you comforted one another. You never stopped loving one another.

You lost him once before. You cannot lose him again. You need to find him. Why – why can’t you find him? Why can’t you feel him?

Jon feels his breath quickening, terror needling at the edges of his mind. He jumps slightly when Daisy speaks.

“Jon?”

“It’s – it’s okay,” he says, his voice shaky. “I’ve – I’ve done this once before. I can do this.”

There’s no rule saying he can only have one anchor, right?

He thinks of Georgie.

She took you in when you had nowhere else to go, even though you hadn’t spoken in years, even though you hadn’t parted on the best of terms. Staying with her felt more like home than you’d experienced in… you don’t know how long. It made you realize how much you missed her – her humor, her ingenuity, her confidence, her tenacity, her generosity, and, yes, even her perceptiveness, daunting though it may be at times. She speaks her mind and you can take her at her word. You can appreciate that, as someone who has always had trouble parsing the implicit and unspoken aspects of social life.

You trust her judgment, and she believes in you, and it makes you want to believe in yourself. You want to be there for her in the same way that she’s chosen to be there for you.

He thinks of Melanie.

You disliked one another at first meeting, even though – or perhaps because – you have so much in common. Over the years, you saw more sides to her. She’s brave and resolute, not just when it comes to fighting back, but when it comes to making the conscious decision to heal. She’s capable of kindness to those who are receptive to it. You’ve seen how she is with Georgie, how her hard edges relax, how her devotion is as fierce as her anger can be – perhaps moreso.

You know that she never deserved to suffer like she has. You know she deserves a happy ending. You want to try to reconcile with her. In your future, she went so far as to suggest that you could be friends. You think you would like that.

He thinks of Basira.

She’s had no one but herself to rely on for months. She feels trapped and alone; she hasn’t had a moment to grieve; she’s forced herself to compartmentalize and detach because if she breaks down, she doesn’t know if she’ll be able to put herself back together again. She’s told herself that her own comfort and wellbeing don’t matter. She has a job to do and she’s the only one left who is willing and able to do it. The only solid thing left in her life, the only thing giving her purpose is the mission. The mission is her anchor, because she’s lost everything else.

When she found out that Daisy was alive, she was almost angry with you for making her dare to hope. You promised that you would bring Daisy home to her, and you mean to keep that promise.

And Jon has a job to do, too, doesn’t he?

You need to stop Jonah Magnus, you need to –

His stomach clenches as the dread grips him.

Okay, no. Don’t – don’t think of Jonah. Not helpful, not helpful, not –

He reaches further. He tries to think of Naomi, of the Admiral, of –

The faraway rumbling starts up again.

“Jon,” Daisy says again, urgently, perched on the edge of panic right along with him.

This is forever deep below creation, some self-sabotaging part of his brain reminds him. Where the weight of existence bears down. This is the Buried, and we are alive. There isn’t even an up –

“I just – I just – I just need to calm down,” he stammers. He can feel his pulse beating in his throat; would be hyperventilating if he could breathe at all. “I – I can’t think straight, and I just need to…”

He thinks back to the physical details of the world just outside the Coffin.

The arrangement of the tapes –

…CASE #0160919 sits 34.2 centimeters west of the Coffin, turned at a 45-degree angle. Approximately 20.6 centimeters south-southwest is CASE #0172904; the casing of its recorder is slightly cracked at the lower left corner. 2.4 centimeters to its right is CASE #0171302; the rewind button on the recorder housing it tends to stick…

– on the floor of his office –

…where fingernail scratches are still visible in the northwest corner of the room, left there by Enrique MacMillan on 4 November, 2003, after he gave his statement regarding his encounter with a Buried-touched Leitner…

– and the tape he left on his desk –

…on top of a softcover Moleskine notebook – black, 12.7 by 21 centimeters, ruled – belonging to Martin Blackwood; the Archivist knows every word written thus far on the 68 used out of 192 total pages within…

– and on that tape are pleas that went unanswered for far too long, laced with desperation and grief and rapidly dwindling hope –

…We really need you, Jon. We – I need you …

– but Jon cannot hear it anymore.

His mind wanders to the single folded sheet of paper tucked away in the top drawer of his desk. A second message for Martin, to be read only in the event that Jon doesn’t return. A transcript, to be precise.

On their way to the Panopticon, they had been separated when they traversed the Lonely’s domain. Jon had searched frantically, resisting the urge to simply Know because he had promised. As much as he wanted to, he didn’t feel right forcing Martin to See him the way he did before. It was Martin’s domain, and he had the right to decide for himself whether to leave it behind. Even if Jon had wanted to, though, he suspected that he wouldn’t have been able to actually find Martin this time unless he wanted to be found. And in the end, he did.

Just before Jon found him, he managed to catch the tail end of Martin’s statement. Naturally, the Archive memorized every word and dutifully filed it away without any conscious effort or consent on Jon’s part.

…I am Martin Blackwood, and I am not Lonely anymore; I am not Lonely anymore. I want to have friends. I – no, I have friends. I’m in love. I am in love, and I will not forget that; I will not forget…

Before he entered the Coffin, Jon copied it down and left it behind. Just in case. Just in case something goes wrong. If he goes missing in action for too long, he trusts that eventually someone will clear out his desk, find it, and hopefully pass it along to its intended recipient.

It was a last-ditch effort to impart the truth: that a future exists wherein Martin isn’t Lonely; that he can be and is and deserves to be cared for; that it isn’t just an unattainable fantasy. And, most importantly, Jon is not the only one who can provide that, nor is Jon alone enough to fulfill that need. In the end, Martin chose to turn his back on the Lonely. He can do it again.

There’s every chance that it was a meaningless gesture, but Jon doesn’t think he could live with himself if he didn’t at least try – and if he does get lost down here, he’ll be forced to live with himself for as long as the Buried itself exists.

But Jon doesn’t want to leave Martin alone with that inexplicable scrap of statement, hoping that it’s enough to get the point across. Jon has to get home. He has to; there’s no other choice –

“Jon?” Daisy says again. “You sound like you’re… what – what’s wrong?”

“Sorry, I’m – I’m just… I can’t – I can’t feel my anchor.”

“Anchor?”

“Y-yeah. Something to ground me, help me feel the way out. It’s – there’s a void where it should be, and…” His short exhale shudders on the way out. “I think – I think we might be here for awhile longer.”

“N-not alone, though,” Daisy says, almost questioningly.

“No. No, not alone. And – and I can still get us out, I think,” he adds hurriedly. “I just – I need to… I need to come down from the panic, and it’s hard to do that when I can’t – I can’t breathe –“

His breath catches and he closes his eyes. Stop, he tells himself, you’re – you’re spiraling, talking yourself into a panic. Just… listen – listen to the quiet.

“Jon?”

“Still – still here,” he says, squeezing her hand again. “I’m not going anywhere without you, I promise.”

“Do you – if you need a break from – from whatever you’re doing…” She falters for a moment before blurting out: “C-can we… can we talk? I haven’t – I just want someone to hear me.”

“Of course. I’m listening.” When Daisy doesn’t reply, he offers a gentle prompting. “Daisy?”

“I’m – it’s difficult. I can’t find the words.”

“Would it help if I… ask?” The last time, it did help her get her thoughts out.

“Y-yeah,” she says with only a slight delay. “Do your… thing.”

“Right,” he says. For a moment, he worries that he’ll have difficulty concentrating long enough to compel an answer, but his mind clears almost as soon as he opens his mouth. Of course. “How are you feeling?”

The question buzzes like static on his tongue on its way out.

“S-scared. I – I’m – I’m s-scared…”

Daisy’s words do not deviate from the last time he was here, but he does not interrupt her as she speaks. He latches onto her voice, focuses all of his attention on her story, and tries to ground himself in the present.

“Y-you know what I thought, when I woke up here? I thought this was hell. I – I was dead, and I was in hell. And I - I knew I deserved it.” Daisy stifles a sob as she nears the end of her statement. “I don’t want t-to b-be a s-sadistic predator again. I – I don’t want to hobble around like some – pathetic wounded prey here. I don’t know which would be worse. But I’m scared now – that I won’t ever get the choice.”

One thing I’ve learned, Daisy, is that we all get a choice, he told her last time. Even if it doesn’t feel like one.

Now, though, he’s not so sure. Or, rather, now he thinks it isn’t quite that simple.

“It’s… complicated,” Jon starts slowly. “Choice, I mean. We all have choices, but – but when all the alternatives are unendurable, or impossible to achieve, or – or even conceptualize, then… well, it’s not a fair choice, is it? Sometimes because that’s just – how it is, and sometimes by design. There – there are people, and – and things out there that will abuse their power to deceive you, keep you ignorant about things that would affect your decisions. Or – or convince you that you have no options, no autonomy – or even that you can’t trust your own judgment, your own senses. Some choices can hardly be called choices at all.”

He begins to grind his teeth as he considers his next words, but stops as soon as he feels the grit between his molars when he bites down. There are a lot of things to hate about the Buried, but its refusal to allow him to engage in any of his usual nervous habits definitely adds insult to injury.

“You say you deserve to be here, but – do you think you deserved to be marked by the Hunt in the first place? Because one thing I’ve learned is… most people who become Avatars – we don't necessarily do anything to deserve the attention of the things that take notice of us. To be put in these positions, to be given impossible choices about – about things we have no right to decide in the first place.”

“What do you mean?”

“It seems that a common thread is… well, um, I think Tim hit the nail on the head, actually? In his testament before the Unknowing, he – he said, ‘The only thing you need to have your life destroyed by this stuff is just bad luck. Talk to the wrong person, take the wrong train, open the wrong door, and that’s it.’”

“You remember that verbatim?”

“It’s – it’s an Archivist thing.” Well, technically. Jon can’t access the Archive right now, but some statements have looped so many times in his head that he has every word memorized by now. “But the point is that our transgressions, they… the punishment often doesn’t seem to fit the crime.”

Daisy is quiet, so Jon continues.

“Uh, Jane Prentiss, for instance – stumbled upon a wasps’ nest in her attic, and then the Corruption infested her. In her original statement, she was afraid of what was happening to her, she was asking for help, but it… it was slowly hollowing her out. Appealed to her insecurities, whispered to her that it was the only thing that could love her, that wouldn’t abandon her. Maybe eventually she embraced it on her own, but at that point, how much of her was left to make that choice?

“And – and Michael Crew. He was struck by lightning when he was eight. The Spiral never stopped stalking him after that. He spent his childhood in fear, obsessively sought out information about – lightning, and fractals, because understanding it felt like the only way to resist a thing that feeds on uncertainty.”

Jon can relate to that, can’t he? He was always curious, but his desire to know and understand things became more obsessive after he encountered his first monster – as if he could solve any problem if only he learned enough about it. But it was never enough, and that impulse never actually kept him safe. It only offered him a flimsy illusion of control, which was something he desperately needed after the Web showed him what it was like to have none. Still, an ineffective coping mechanism was better than not coping at all – or so he told himself then.

“When Mike realized that there was no escape from the supernatural once he’d been marked by it,” Jon continues, “he decided that the next best thing was choosing which Fear to submit to – to serve. Obsessively sought out Leitners until he found the Vast, and… it offered him safety. The most basic of human needs, something he hadn’t known since he was a child. The things he did to feed his patron were – indefensible, but I can’t help thinking about the person he might have been, if the Spiral hadn’t come into his life. He… he was only eight. How is a child supposed to process something that even an adult would have trouble coping with? I’m sure many children don’t even physically survive an encounter with one of the Fears, but even those that do… they never actually escape, do they?”

Daisy makes an indistinct little noise in her throat. Jon can’t Know for certain, but he imagines she’s thinking of her own first encounter with the Hunt. When enough time has passed that she doesn’t seem ready to say as much, Jon continues.

“And there’s – there’s Oliver Banks, he’s an Avatar of the End. He just started having dreams one day, became a death prophet. As far as I can tell, nothing provoked it. It just… happened. And early on, he tried to use that ability to help people, but… the powers granted us as Avatars, they aren’t for helping or saving anyone. When you realize that, after a long string of failures, you start to become… despondent – numb, even. Maybe some misstep along the way piqued the End’s interest in him, or maybe it was completely arbitrary. I don’t know. I don’t know that Oliver does, either.”

It’s difficult to speak at length here, and Jon’s speech is punctuated by frequent gasps and stops and starts, but he plows ahead. Granted, he’s always had a tendency toward intense, rapidfire speech whenever he gets invested in a topic of interest, but it’s also that he needs to cover as much ground as he can as quickly as possible. There’s no telling when the Buried will constrict again. Sometimes there are long intervals of relative peace; other times, the bouts of crushing pressure come one after the other in a barrage. The inconsistency makes the dread all the more potent: you can never predict when the walls will close in.

“And Helen,” he says, moving right along, “before she became the Distortion, she opened a door. That’s all. Most people would have probably done the same. A door that wasn’t there before, that can’t be there – of course the human mind wants to test its perceptions, make sense of the discrepancy. Which is exactly what the Distortion preys on. It let her escape its corridors, because it would make the fear that much more potent when it came for her again, when she realized that it had never actually let her go, that there was never any way to escape. It was… it was just playing with its food.”

Like with Benjamin Hatendi, Jon thinks. ‘The blanket never did anything.’

The Fears are never merciful. For an earthly predatory animal, the pain and fear of the prey are only relevant insofar as their utility in capturing it. Granted, the majority of animals may have no qualms about eating their prey alive so long as it’s incapacitated, no concept of putting their food out of its misery – but still, sustenance isn’t derived from the experience of the prey, only from its organic matter.

For the Powers, though… terror is the food source. If anything, the misery is deliberately drawn out. The suffering is primary to the meal.

“I still don’t know how much of Helen Richardson was left by the time she embraced her new existence and began feeding” – by the time she chose to stop feeling guilty, Jon notes privately – “but she never asked to be in that position to begin with. She just… opened a door.

“And you… all you did was trespass on a childhood dare, right? You and Calvin Benchley. I did hear the tape – of your interrogation with Elias. Maybe the Hunt chose the both of you, was deliberately waiting for you there. Or maybe you were in the wrong place at the wrong time. Either way, you… you did something that most children do at one point or another, exploring out bounds – I did plenty of that myself. And – and you’d done the same thing many times in the past, there was no reason to think that things would go any differently. But that time, that time you stumbled into something that most children – most people never do.”

Jon debates whether or not to share his own initiation into this world. He never told Daisy about it last time, but he knows – and Knows – about her childhood encounter. It seems only fair to include his own.

“Actually, I… I had a similar experience, when I was eight,” he admits, pushing through his habitual reservations. “Unlike Michael Crew, though, I was an active participant in my own fate. There’s no dodging a lightning strike, but me – I… I opened a book I shouldn’t have, knocked on a door I shouldn’t have. I could’ve just… not.”

“That’s a funny double standard,” Daisy says flatly.

“P-pardon?”

“Couldn’t you just as easily say that Crew could have chosen to not stand outside during a lightning storm?”

“He – he actually wanted to go inside, but his friend pressured him to keep playing,” Jon says, almost defensively. “By the time they decided to go in, it was too late.”

“Like I pressured Calvin.”

“That’s –” Jon gives an agitated little exhale. “It’s still different.”

“How?”

“Did you have a bad feeling about the dare, or was it just like any other day? You had no reason to think that things would go wrong. I… I knew that book was wrong, and I opened it anyway.” Daisy scoffs. “What?”

“Has anyone ever pointed out to you that you’re capable of some truly infuriating mental gymnastics?”

Jon puffs out another exasperated breath before muttering, “Yes.”

In fact, she said almost the exact same thing to him the last time around. And Georgie – she used to say so all the time, especially when they were dating.

“You always do this,” she’d pointed out once during an argument, hands on her hips and a shrewd look in her eye. “Any time a conversation gets a little too uncomfortable for you, you just – throw your hands up, say it’s your fault and shut down, and nothing ever gets resolved. Why are you so eager to take the blame for things? Is it that it’s better than admitting there are some things you can’t control, or is it just easier than actually talking about your feelings?”

The answer was yes on both counts, and he had been angry with her for putting it into words. He’d already known on some level, but he studiously avoided that sort of introspection. Now that it had been verbalized, the knowledge would always be there, floating around in his mind – yet another thing to overanalyze, to obsess over, to ambush him in moments of doubt.

Since then he’s gotten better at communicating in healthy ways, but the self-blame thing… well, Martin still had to periodically call him out on it, right up until the end. It became a common refrain: “It’s still victim blaming even if you’re the victim, Jon.” The reminder did help – at least some of the time – but it wasn’t enough to undo a worldview that he’d spent his entire life internalizing.

“Y-yes,” he says again, less sullenly now, “I – I see your point.”

“Good. So – evil book?”

“A Leitner, yes. The Web.” Jon has no desire to go into all the gruesome details, not when he’s – when they’re both already being suffocated by fear. “And I only escaped through… I don’t know, some combination of mundane human cruelty and luck – or… or someone else’s misfortune, more like.” He gives a tired sigh. “Or it could have been deliberate interference by the Web, taking someone else in my place because it had other plans for me. I’ll never know the exact reason why. If there even is a reason.”

He pauses, expecting the Beholding’s characteristic objection to the idea that he should accept not knowing anything, before remembering with grim satisfaction that the Eye can’t reach him here. Nor can the Web, for that matter. A small mercy, but he’ll take it.

“But the experience led to an obsession with the supernatural. I suppose I thought that if – if I could just understand it, I could conquer the fear. It didn’t work, but an obsession like that – it persists regardless of whether it’s successful or productive or – or healthy. Eventually it led me to the Institute. Which led me… here, ultimately.” He bites his lower lip as he considers his next words. “I’m sure many of my choices along the way were mine alone, and – and I’m responsible for my actions regardless. But that first domino… it was just a restless child ignoring gut instinct, all because he needed to know.”

“Jon,” Daisy says, the hint of a warning growl underlying her tone.

“I – okay, yes, I know, I know. Double standards.” He takes a shallow breath before continuing. “My point is, most of us are just… unlucky isn’t the right word, but it’s as close as I can get. Sometimes the Fears seem to seek out victims who are already uniquely susceptible to them – people with phobias, or specific traumas. Other times it seems… arbitrary. And sometimes it seems like the difference between an average victim and those who eventually become Avatars is… compatibility, or – or in some cases, a sense of kinship, even.

“I’ve always been too curious for my own good, a natural fit for the Beholding. Jane talked about being seen as toxic, and it was the Corruption that found her. Annabelle Cane said she was well-versed in manipulation as a young child, the sort of gift that the Web favors. Jared Hopworth always had a sadistic streak, but the difference between him and any other bully is that he found The Boneturner's Tale. I… don’t really know what to make of Jude Perry. The way she told it, she always had the disposition for the Desolation. She would likely have been a nightmare with or without supernatural help, but there are plenty of people like that in the world. She just happened to be one of the few who caught the attention of the Lightless Flame.

“But – but I also don’t think preexisting compatibility is a requirement to be an Avatar. Some people really do just – stumble into it, probably. Grow into it, maybe, after enough exposure. Especially if the same Power keeps coming back.”

Jon can’t help thinking of the Distortion and its tendency to dog its victims for years. Helen said once that she couldn’t just force her victims into her corridors, that they had to open the door on their own. But that was a lie, wasn’t it? Marcus MacKenzie refused to open the door every single time it appeared throughout his childhood and young adulthood. It started to take increasingly drastic measures: disguising itself as other things, at one point even opening up in the ground in front of him, hoping he wouldn’t notice until he already stepped over the ledge and gravity did its work. When that didn’t work, it took his father. And then, even after evading it for decades, Helen eventually took Marcus anyway. Choice didn’t come into it. It didn't matter how many times he walked away – it followed him wherever he went.

“Either way,” Jon continues, “whether it’s part of some grand plan or just happenstance, the Avatars… we catch the attention of something predatory, and it sinks its hooks into the vulnerabilities it finds. There are plenty of other people in the world who may have the same… flaws, or inclinations, or experiences, but most are lucky enough not to be drawn into this world. I’m not sure exactly what determines who is, but I don’t think it comes down to fairness, or deservedness, or – or some sort of cosmic punishment. I – I don’t think the universe works that way.

“And – and after we’ve been marked, maybe we can make choices along the way. But as far as I can tell, none of those choices ever lead to complete freedom from the Powers that lay claim to us. We’re still accountable for our actions; we can fight back, we can resist – but we’ll always be struggling against our natures. Sometimes it seems like there’s… there’s really no choice we can make where things actually turn out okay. Doesn’t mean we stop trying, or give up hope, but…” He pauses to gnaw on the inside of his cheek for a few seconds. “It can be hard to ignore the fear when it’s become such an intrinsic part of you, is all. When it makes its hunger your own, and hollows you out if you don’t feed it. It can make the concept of choice seem… empty.”

When he trails off, Daisy blows out a forceful exhale.

“That was… a lot.”

“Surprised the Buried let me get it all out,” Jon says, a bit sheepishly. “Sorry, I’ve… had a lot of time alone to ruminate.”

“I think I can rela-”

Daisy’s words are cut short when all at once the earth crashes down around them with a vengeance, as if exacting payment for the courtesy of staying its hand for so long. An indeterminate amount of time passes, weight pressing down on them from all sides, leaving no room for breath or words or thought. Jon focuses on their hands, still linked tightly together, the only anchor to be found here in the dark.

Eventually, the walls begin to withdraw in tiny increments. The sinister, sibilant shifting of soil is a constant, unknown variable – it sounds the same whether the earth is compacting or moving away, and often there is no way to tell until it’s already too close and pressing down. Jon can feel his pulse hammering in his throat, can hear Daisy’s gasping breaths overlapping his own.

“I was gonna kill you,” she blurts out eventually, breathless and rushed. “You know that?”

“Yes.”

“I – I don’t just mean that day in the woods,” she clarifies. “Af-after the mission, I was planning on killing you.”

“I know. You – you realized I wasn’t human. That I needed to die.”

“H-how did you –”

“I’ve been here once before. And – and I should apologize for the dreams, I –”

“Jon –”

“I know it’s not an excuse, but I never meant to compel you that time – didn’t even realize at the time that that was something I could do, and –”

“Jon –”

“I didn’t realize then that the dreams were real, and – and when I finally did, I still didn’t have any control over them, but I –”

“Jon! Shut up a minute.”

His mouth snaps shut a little too quickly and he winces as he bites down on the tip of his tongue. The metallic taste of blood just barely registers on his tongue in the few seconds it takes for the cut to heal.

“Just – back up,” Daisy says, toning down the intensity this time. “That thing you said about… you’ve ‘been here once before’? What is that supposed to mean?”

“It’s… a long story. And difficult to believe.”

“Well, it’s –” Daisy huffs. “It’s not like we don’t have the time?”

“I suppose,” Jon sighs. He’s already told this story to the tape recorder at length, but… the idea of telling it to another person, in his own words this time, feels both terrifying and cathartic at the same time. It’s just – difficult to talk about, no matter how many times he recaps it. “Where to begin… oh, I should probably preface this with ‘time travel is real.’”

Daisy sounds far too nonchalant when she says, “Okay.”

“O-okay? That’s… that’s it?”

“Sorry if it’s not the dramatic response you expected. Encounter enough – vampires, and people made of sawdust, and – and this, here, and… I don’t know that anything would surprise me anymore.”

“R-right,” Jon replies, still a bit incredulous. “Well, I’m – I’m from the future.” He pauses again, but she doesn’t interject. “And… and I came back to stop the apocalypse.”

His inflection pitches up into a near-question on the last word, certain that this will be the point at which Daisy calls bullshit. Instead, she just gives a dry chuckle.

“And how’s that going for you?”

“Well, uh, actually…” Jon’s laugh manages to sound slightly hysterical despite its brevity. “Being stuck here actually does – put it on hold indefinitely?”

“H-how’s that?”

“Because – because it can’t go forward without the Archivist.” He takes a shallow breath. “Just like the Stranger has the Unknowing, the Eye has its own Ritual. I was – I am a part of it. I – I didn’t want to, Elias – he orchestrated the whole thing, f-forced me to –” He nearly bites his tongue again when he cuts himself off. “But that – that doesn’t change anything,” he continues, almost viciously. “I’m the one who opened the door. It wouldn’t have happened if not for me, s-so it’s as good as my fault.”

“Don’t know about that,” Daisy says.

“What?”

“Don’t think I can see you making a choice to end the world, if you had any say. Doesn’t sound like you. You – Jon, you just went on about having choices taken away.” Jon is silent, teeth clenched; Daisy jostles his hand insistently. “So – so how’d it actually happen?”

“I, ah…” Why is this still so hard to talk about? “So you know how I – I… need the statements?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, I – it – my appetite only got worse as time went on. Started craving live statements, and – and hunted for them. The others intervened eventually, and I stopped, but I still needed – need – statements, or else I’d… starve, for lack of a better word. So I made do with the old statements like before, but they were – less and less filling as time went on, and – and I needed more of them, and more frequently, even though I tried to – to spread them out, ration myself. And, uh, some things happened, and Martin and I went into hiding – used your safehouse, actually –”

“Which one?”

“Scotland.”

“Ah,” Daisy says softly. “I like that one.”

“So did we,” Jon says, smiling fondly. “I – we only had a couple weeks, before… b-but the time we did have, it was…”

He clears his throat.

“An-anyway, I went – hungry, for a bit, until a box of statements could be sent to us. And the first one I read, it was – a trap, by J- Elias.” He can explain about Jonah Magnus later. If he takes that detour now, he’ll never get through the rest of this. “The heading looked – just like any other statement. Statement giver’s name, date – but as soon as I started reading, it was Elias’ words. It was a, uh, statement about – about me. About what I am. I’m not just the Archivist, Daisy, I’m the Archive.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I – when I take or – or consume a statement, I, ah – experience it like I’m there, and it – it becomes a part of me. I’m like a – like a living record, a library of – of people’s worst fears, nightmares, moments that I have no right to witness, and – doesn’t matter. Elias needed a fully realized Archive for his ritual to work, so he – he created one, and he fed it a statement. And I – I tried to stop reading, but I couldn’t, even though I – I tried, I really did, I –” He laughs nervously. “Even tried to – to blind myself, but it just – healed. Then, at the end, there was an – an incantation. To open a door that could let all the Fears into the world. And when I read it… it did.”

“Wait – all of them?”

“Yes,” Jon says quietly. “Just before she died, Gertrude figured out that a ritual to bring one of the Fears into the world could never succeed on its own. The Powers can’t exist without minds to experience them, and our minds – they’re highly associative. The experience of fear is just… far more convoluted and subjective than any artificial taxonomy can capture. The Fears have overlap, and – and some of them are defined by their opposition to the others.

“A Vast ritual would collapse without the existence of the Buried, for instance. Or – the Stranger and the Spiral, they’re both tied to unreality, to not being able to trust your perceptions – which can feed into paranoia, which the Eye and the Web also thrive on. The Hunt and the Slaughter run together, and the Flesh can tag alongside. Both the Corruption and the Desolation are equally efficient and thorough in ravaging a home or a body or – or even the general concept of safety.

“Even here – we’re too far deep below creation for the Eye or the Hunt to reach us, but there’s still more than the Buried to fear. The Dark, for instance, or being Forsaken. Even the Vast can be found down here, if you start obsessing over your own insignificance in the grand scheme of the universe. The Powers are just – too interconnected, and their rituals never accounted for that.”

“So the Unknowing…”

“Would have failed even without our intervention,” Jon says bitterly. “Same goes for all of the rituals that Gertrude stopped, and all the others that have been sabotaged throughout the centuries. All of that sacrifice, and for nothing. Michael Shelley, and Jan Kilbride, and – and Tim, and you ending up here –”

“Tim?”

“He… he died during the mission,” Jon says quietly. He hears a sharp intake of breath from Daisy.

“And Basira?”

“Alive. She got out before the explosion.” He can just barely make out Daisy’s sigh of relief. “She… she told me to tell you that she’s waiting for you.”

“Oh,” Daisy says softly. “I’m s-”

Before she can say more, the Buried begins to writhe around them again, this time closing in molasses-slow. They both instinctively tighten their handhold on one another. As horrid as the crushing force is, this time it at least has the decency to press them closer together. Daisy’s free hand tentatively brushes against Jon’s free wrist. Understanding the unspoken request, Jon interlocks their fingers, and they wait.

“S-so,” Daisy wheezes when the earth finally relaxes and settles again, “about – about the rituals?”

“R-right.” Jon coughs lightly, still catching his breath. “Well, ah, Elias found out about Gertrude’s theory. Came up with a – ritual that would bring all the Powers through at once, but with the Eye ruling over the rest. It required an Archivist – Archive – directly marked by all the Powers. Elias – chose me. Made sure I’d encounter each of them, and… when I was ready, he laid one last trap and waited for me to wander in, because he knew from experience that I would.”

And it could happen again, Jon’s brain helpfully supplies.

“Huh.”

“Yeah. S-so it probably goes without saying, but if you thought I wasn’t human before, I, ah…” He gives an exhausted, humorless chuckle. “I’m definitely not now.”

Daisy is silent for a long moment before saying: “I take it you – you didn’t come here the first time.”

That wasn’t the comment that Jon had been expecting.

“No, I did.”

“Then… how –”

“I told you, there’s a way out. I just – I just have to find it. Last time I found you, and we escaped together. We can do it again.” She doesn’t respond to that, and he kneads the tops of her hands with his thumbs. “Daisy?”

“You’ve been here once before, and you escaped, and… and you came back?” She says it in such a small voice, it almost doesn’t even sound like her. “After – after seeing what it’s like, you still came back for me?”

“Yes…?”

“Why?” she whispers. “Why do that for me? I – I had a knife to your throat, I would’ve killed you if Basira hadn’t found us first, I saw the fear in your eyes and I enjoyed it – and you knew that I’d still planned on killing you the moment I got a chance, so – so why?”

“We’re –” Jon stops himself, rephrases. “In my future, we became friends.”

“What?”

“W-well, we – we were both Avatars trying to resist our darker natures. We went through this together. We just – we had a lot in common.”

Daisy offers no comment.

“I… don’t know what I would have done without you, honestly,” Jon continues, jiggling one foot nervously as best he can in the confined space. “You were… you were the only one I had, most days. The only one who knew what it was like, having the hunger consume you because you refuse to feed it. And – and you had Basira, but she… there were things she didn’t fully understand, couldn’t relate to. So you would come to me. We, uh… we helped each other. Trusted each other.” He adds, a bit timidly: “I… I’ve missed you.”

Still, Daisy says nothing. Jon is about to start rambling again – about what, he doesn’t know; he just needs to fill the awkward silence somehow – but Daisy speaks first.

“But – but what about before all that? Why did you come down here the first time around?”

“I was… in a bad place,” Jon admits. “Tim was dead, Sasha was dead, Melanie hated me, Basira saw me as a monster, Georgie wanted nothing to do with me, and Martin was… gone. I had no one, I wasn’t human anymore, I was afraid and ashamed and guilty and tired, and I… I was starting to doubt my decision to live. Not wanting to die had started to feel selfish, and I – I needed some way to justify living, some way to make myself useful.

“When we found out that you were alive, I – I just didn’t want to lose anyone else. If there was a chance of bringing you home, I had to try. And… there was nothing to lose. If I got stuck down here, it – it would be no great loss. The world would have even been safer for it – moreso than I even imagined at the time. I… honestly didn’t think that anyone would care if I didn’t come back.”

“That’s messed up,” Daisy says, a hint of wry amusement in her voice.

“Yeah,” Jon says with a self-deprecating laugh. “That’s what you said last time. Like I said, I was in a bad place. But – but in the end, we got out. I know I can get us out of here again. I promised Basira I would bring you home, and I – I – I will. I just… I need some time to find the way.”

“No pressure,” she deadpans.

Jon makes a strangled, exasperated noise in his throat.

“Seriously?”

If he could gesture at the tons of dirt pressing down on them, he would – but he can’t, because of the tons of dirt pressing down on them.

“Just trying to lighten the mood,” Daisy says, just the slightest hint of a self-satisfied smirk in her voice. Jon feels one corner of his mouth quirk in spite of himself.

God, he really had missed her.

The concept of time has no meaning within the Buried. Without any real way to observe or calculate its passing, things tend to feel stagnant. One long note of boredom and desperation and restriction. If not for the unpredictable tides of the soil around them, it might even feel as if time is at a standstill. In a way, it is: there is only one time here, and it is forever – or until the End of everything, at least. To make things worse, true sleep is impossible in the Buried. Sometimes, though, there is a lull in the movements of the earth, and within that liminal space, the mind may be allowed to drift.

Jon isn’t sure how long he’s been drifting when Daisy tugs on his hand.

“Jon.”

“Hm?”

“You’re muttering again.”

“Oh.” Jon clears his throat when he realizes how groggy he sounds. “Was I?”

“Care to share?”

“I’m just – I keep thinking about how Basira escaped the Unknowing,” he says, rousing himself. Out of habit, he tries to stretch, only to remember that he can barely move at all – which, of course, only intensifies the urge to fidget.

“Oh?” Daisy shakes both his hands in hers, prompting him to continue. Judging by the waver in her voice, the silence must be getting to her again. “How – how’s that?”

“She… thought her way out. Like a – an ‘I think therefore I am’ thought experiment.” Jon smiles to himself and shakes his head slightly. “She put Descartes to shame.”

“Not even a fair comparison,” Daisy scoffs.

“Agreed.”

“Were you thinking of trying that here?”

“I… don’t think it would work.”

“Yeah, I guess you’re not that level-headed.”

“That’s –” Jon’s indignation fizzles out just as quickly as it emerged. “That’s… okay, yes, that’s fair.”

Daisy snickers; Jon can’t help a small grin in return.

“But what I was actually trying to say is that it was a strategy uniquely tailored to the Stranger. The Unknowing was all about – unreality, about not being able to trust your senses, even your own identity. Basira figured out that the best way to anchor herself in that situation was to boil her entire reality down to simple logical premises: She existed. She existed in a place and time. The place was dangerous at that time, so she had to not exist in that place at that time. Places have ends, and if she kept moving, she could reach a different place.”

“Huh.”

“Straightforward. Elegant, even.”

“It’s Basira,” Daisy says, unmistakable fondness creeping into her tone. Jon snorts. “Shut up, Sims. You were saying?”

“The Buried doesn’t operate in the same way. Basira reasoned her way out of the Stranger’s domain by denying unreality. If we tried to do the same thing, we’d just be denying… well, reality. The earth, the pressure, the – the ‘too close I cannot breathe,’ it’s all real.”

“Good pep talk.”

“Sorry, that’s not what I –” Jon sighs. “I didn’t mean to sound… morose. I was just thinking about different kinds of anchors. Basira managed to center herself and use her own mind as an anchor, and I – I find that impressive, is all.”

“That’s one way to describe her,” Daisy says. “She’s… always been like that. Practical, reliable… centered.”

Wait, Jon thinks to himself, brow furrowed. What if…

“Daisy, tell me about Basira.”

“What?”

“I – she’s your anchor, right? And – and you’re hers.”

“I don’t know about –”

“She called you solid, a – a – a fixed point,” Jon says excitedly. “When you’re there, things make sense to her. You ground her. And now, without you, she’s… she has trouble knowing where she stands. She has no backup, no one to orient her. What she did during the Unknowing – it was impressive, but it isn’t sustainable over a long period of time. You can only go it alone for so long before you lose your bearings. She – she needs you. And you need her. Right?”

“She’s the fixed point,” Daisy murmurs, as if that explains everything �� and maybe it does.

“Exactly, s-so – tell me about Basira. From your perspective.”

“Why?”

“Because this is the Buried, where we’re at the center and everything is weighing down on us,” Jon says, mind racing five steps ahead of him. “The dirt, the pressure, it’s all real, but – but the Fears are also about state of mind.”

Jon can feel his heart rate pick up, the way it does whenever he’s talking his way through a puzzle. If he could, he would be pacing right now, burning off that restless energy. Instead, he finds himself tapping his fingers rapidly against Daisy’s hands. She doesn’t stop him, though.

“I’m not saying that we can solve this with ‘mind over matter’ thinking, but it might – help, if we can both focus on an anchor – a different center point, that is, one outside of this place. Move from this center to that center. There’s a better chance of figuring out which way is up if we’re both feeling for the way out. We can orient each other. If we both feel a tug from the same direction, we know we’re going the right way.”

“I can’t feel anything, though,” Daisy says. “Or – I can, but it’s – it’s everywhere, pushing in one direction – pushing down –”

Jon grips her hands more tightly when he hears her breathing start to grow ragged.

“That’s why you need to tell me about Basira – until you do feel a pull. I could be way off, but it’s worth a try. And – and if nothing else, it might help clear my mind, so I can give finding the way out another shot.”

“A statement, then?” Daisy asks sardonically. “Recharge your battery?”

“I wish,” Jon says with a grim smile. “The Eye only likes horror stories. If any story would sate my appetite, I could just watch biopics any time I was feeling a bit peaky. Hell, imagine if a fictional story was enough. An episode of the Archers would be like an afternoon snack.”

“You like the Archers?” He doesn’t have to see her to know that her eyebrows are raised as high as they’ll go.

“You know, I said the exact same thing to you once. And no, I don’t, but you do, and you used to make me listen with you. We didn’t even make a dent in the back catalogue, but I’m an Avatar of terrible knowledge and the Beholding loves spoilers, so guess who Knows every episode now?” Daisy barks a laugh at that. “There are over nineteen thousand episodes, Daisy!”

“That sounds like a you problem.”

“Anyway,” Jon says, squeezing both of her hands in lieu of nudging her shoulder, “a story just… helps take me out of my own head sometimes. Always has. You’re humoring me, not the Eye. Besides, do you have anything better to do?”

“S’pose not.”

“I mean – you don’t have to, of course, if you’re uncomfortable. I don’t want to pressure you –” Jon cringes. “Bad choice of words. I –”

“Stop babbling, Sims.” He knows that tone of voice, knows that she’s rolling her eyes right now. “We only have so long before the walls close in again –”

Daisy cuts herself off with a strangled noise, which she tries to cover by clearing her throat. She was likely trying to lighten the mood again, but the inevitability of the Buried’s ebb and flow is still too real, too close.

“Do you, uh… do you want to hear a story or not?”

“Please.”

“Back again?”

Martin jolts at the sound of Georgie’s voice. He tosses a brief glare over his shoulder at her where she stands just outside the doorway to the office, a safe distance from the Coffin. Martin discovered quickly that the Coffin’s compulsion has no impact on him, likely muffled by his allegiance to the Lonely. Georgie, though, has no such protection.

Coincidentally, it also means that as long as Martin keeps close to the Coffin, Georgie has to keep her distance from him as well.

“It’s been a week,” Martin says in a quiet monotone, tearing his gaze away from her.

“Yeah.”

“He should have been back by now.”

“Well, he didn’t really give a timeframe –”

“But you said he implied that it wouldn’t take more than a week,” Martin says impatiently. “And knowing Jon, he exaggerated how long it would take, just so no one would worry if he was late.”

“I… yeah, I know,” Georgie sighs. “I was expecting him to be back by now, too.”

Martin nods in a clear ‘I told you so’ gesture – then immediately feels childish. Why is he acting vindicated by her admission?

“Does Peter know you’ve been coming down here?”

“Don’t care.”

“Oh?” Georgie says, her voice suspiciously bland – and only then does Martin register the significance of what he just said.

“I just meant – it’s –” Martin huffs. “It’s none of your business.”

“Of course.” Martin can hear the smirk in her tone.

“Why are you here?” he snaps, swiveling to look at her again.

“Same reason you are, I expect.”

Martin says nothing to that, simply turns his back on her. For a few minutes, the only sound is the low, indistinct chatter of the tape recorders, still spooling out their horror stories on a loop.

“Have you tried calling to him?” Georgie asks. Martin continues to ignore her, teeth clenched until they ache. “It could be worth a shot. He left all those tapes running – don’t know if he can hear them exactly, but they’re meant to call to him.”

Go away, Martin thinks, his hands curling into fists on his knees.

“Your voice might be better than a recording.”

Why is she so persistent?

“Just – think about it, okay?”

When Martin doesn’t respond, Georgie sighs, knocks twice on the door frame, and takes her leave. He doesn’t look back around until the sound of her footsteps fade away.

“Sure, just leave the door wide open,” he grumbles irritably, rising to his feet to remedy the issue.

He pulls the office door shut with more force than intended, practically slamming it. The lone tape recorder on Jon’s desk, previously standing on end, topples over with a light clatter. Martin exhales heavily and pinches the bridge of his nose, trying to suppress the static buzz of nervous energy simmering inside him.

“But we need you, Jon,” the tape recorder grinds out. “Jon, please, just – please.”

“Fuck,” Martin says, voice thick and strained. He takes several deep breaths – in through his nose, out through his mouth – trying to clear his thoughts. Eventually, his shoulders slump and he sighs. “Fine. You win.”

He settles himself on the floor in front of the Coffin again, closer this time.

“Jon,” he says, then falters, unsure of what to say. “I –” He lets out an agitated breath, then follows it up with a bitter chuckle. “This is stupid. You probably can’t even hear this, can you?”

There is an uncomfortable, stinging pressure in his eyes and he reflexively tries to swallow back the tears, only to realize how dry his mouth has become. He rubs his eyes instead, digging the heels of his palms into the sockets and applying pressure.

“I – if you – if you can hear me, I… I already lost you once. I can’t do this all over again, I just – I can’t. I’m – everyone is waiting for you, and I still…” Martin sniffles and clears his throat. “Just – come home, Jon. Please.”

“I think I’d forgotten what it was like to just be… present in the moment? A – a quiet moment, anyway.” Daisy sighs. “On a hunt, you always have to think a few steps ahead, anticipate the prey’s movements so you can get out in front of it. Even when you’re present-thinking, like during a fight, it’s – it’s instinct and reflex, quick movements and jagged edges. You can never just… be.”

“I think I understand,” Jon says. “Not the Hunt aspect, but – but the intolerance of stillness.”

“But in that moment – laying back in the grass, Basira going on about the stars – I was… I was just me. I was focused on her – she gets so excited, so animated whenever she has a chance to talk about something new she’s learned, and I – I let her go on for” – Daisy laughs – “going on forty minutes, probably, about – about the Wow! signal before she looked over and saw me staring. Got all embarrassed that I let her talk so long.”

Jon can feel himself grinning.

“In her defense, the Wow! signal is a fascinating topic.”

“I thought so,” Daisy says warmly. “I mean, I must’ve, right? The whole time she was talking, I never felt the blood calling to me. Afterwards, it felt wrong, somehow – unnatural – that I’d been ignoring it. Not even resisting it, just – tuning it out altogether. I didn’t notice until then how loud it was – like for my whole life there had been teeth at my throat and I just never noticed until that moment.” She pauses. “It’s strange, but I – I think I liked it. The quiet.”

“I don’t think it’s strange at all,” Jon says softly. “I think –”

Suddenly, there’s a distinct wrenching sensation within him – like having a hook yank upwards, painless but abrupt enough to make his breath catch in his throat.

“Jon?” Daisy says warily. “What’s wrong?”

There’s something there.

“Do – do you feel that?”

“No? What – what is it?”

“It’s – wait, just let me…”

Jon concentrates, holding his breath as he waits, and –

There. Another pull, like a fish tugging at a line. And another, gentler but just as insistent.

“Daisy, I –” Jon lets out a breathless little laugh. “I think I know the way. C-come on, follow me.”

End Notes:

tbh I was tempted to split this into two chapters but it felt like it wanted to be all one thing, and also I didn't want to end on an angsty cliffhanger because:

I know I was managing a loose every-7-to-10-days-ish update schedule for awhile there, but it miiiight start looking more like an every-two-weeks schedule going forward. I've been on split shifts at work but we're supposedly going back full time soon, so that might effect how much writing time I have each day. Just wanted to give a heads up in case it takes longer than usual before the next chapter is ready.

There are several snippets of dialogue borrowed/reworked from Jon & Daisy's conversation in the Buried in MAG 132 - they're scattered throughout the chapter. (The "This is forever deep below creation..." and "One thing I've learned..." internal dialogue bits are from 132 also.) Probably goes without saying, but Martin's Lonely statement is from MAG 170 and there's also a previously cited usage of his dialogue from the S4 trailer. The Tim quote is from MAG 117. "The blanket never did anything" (still one of the creepiest lines in the podcast i s2g) is from MAG 086.

#tma #tma fic #the magnus archives #tma spoilers #long post

35 notes · View notes

komatsunana · 5 years ago

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My Reincarnation Isekai Villainess Rec List

So. I’ve gone and found myself in Isekai/Reincarnation/Villainess hell. For those who don’t know Isekai is a genre in which character(s) are transported to a different world. Initially you might be thinking “oh, she’s gonna share a both a series like Sword Art Online.” Oh no. You have underestimated the amount of taste I have. By which I mean I have none but that SOA is a taste I’m not here for.

Now a very specific sub-genre of that is the reincarnation one, particularly in which a character is reborn as a character from one of their favorite books or games from their previous, modern life. An even more specific sub-genre of that one is in which the MC is reborn as a villainess from that book or game, thus creating a bit of a challenge as villainesses usually are destined to die in the source material.

So! Here are my favorites, many of which are all 3 but some combine one or two of the above tropes. It’s my list so I do what I want. And most of my faves have a shojo genre tag, or at least a romance tag, because that’s where all the good stuff is:

Survive as the Hero’s Wife by Nokki

Canaria is reincarnated as the villainess of a popular cliche novel. Based on the novel, she is destined to be executed but can she prevent this from happening before it’s too late?

Why *I* like it: So this one was the one that really got me into the villainess reincarnation isekai genre! And it remains the top of my list. The huge draw for me in this one is that I actually really like the main couple! Like not even just lukewarm, I really like it! I’d read fic for it, if that existed. A lot of the villainess genre tend to portray the original heroine as vapid, unworthy of their status of heroine, or the actual villainess but in this case Gracie just turns out to be just an amazing strong woman who doesn’t actually need a man. (In fact I ship the three together full stop tbh lol). In fact, it’s a subplot that Gracie realizes (because of MC’s words) that if she wants to inherit her father’s title even though the law says a woman cannot... That she just should strive to change the law rather than be a tool with no use outside of marriage. And not to spoil anything, but she will definitely do just that.

And since I’m mainly finishing the rough draft of this list out of absolute RAGE at being made fun of for being into this genre.... A compilation of the main love interest, Cesar, because he’s absolutely beautiful. Look at those eyes! He’s such a great example of the sullen, dark love interest because he’s not those things when he’s with his wife, the MC!!! He’s so soft for her. And the whole point is that the love interest shows a different side to their lover right??

And like the great thing is Canaria, the MC, totally doesn’t notice for the longest time. She read the novel in her previous life so she’s *convinced* that one day Cesar will fall for the novel’s original leading woman, and she makes plans accordingly throughout their early days of their marriage. She completely hadn’t thought about the fact that since she’s not being a villainess this time around and not abusing him and everyone around her, and makes friends with Cesar... Like of course the course of events change. It utterly baffles Cesar when his wife keeps bringing up divorce because he’s so completely in love with her and you just gotta eat that shit up with a spoon because it’s so good and perfect drama but also funny.

There’s even a Halloween chapter where everyone wears costumes and basically I believe I was pandered to specifically.

Tbh, the arc going atm is sorta losing my interest but that’s because there’s political intrigue and I’m like just here for the romance lmao. So someone looking for substance and not just fluff might be more pleased than I. But it’s still on-going so. It’s just all in all a fun and great introduction to the genre imo.

I Reincarnated into an Otome Game as a Villainess With Only Destruction Flags by Hidaka Nami (Art) and Yamaguchi Satoru (Story)

Eight-year-old Katarina Claes is the only daughter of a duke, living her life peacefully and without incident until she hits her head on a rock... and then remembers that she is not actually the duke's daughter. She used to be an otaku who died on her way to school after spending the entire previous night playing Fortune Lover, her favorite otome game. After noticing that her current surroundings seem oddly familiar, she is shocked to discover that she has been reincarnated into the world of Fortune Lover as the villainess.

The villainess in the game usually winds up dead or exiled, so Katarina decides to use her knowledge of the game and its routes to avoid any bad situations. But is it even possible for the villainess to reach a good ending?

Why *I* like it: Ok ok ok, lol. So this one is probably one of the most well-known of the villainess reincarnation isekai genre atm! Particularly because of the anime currently running. And for good reason... the MC is so brilliantly stupid in the best of ways. While she plots on how to escape her fate of being killed or exiled by learning to sword fight and how to garden, she’s more or less seduced every capture target in this dating game... AND all the female rivals to boot AND heroine. The thing is that she is completely unaware and continues training for the day she is inevitably killed or exiled, as per the game’s original ending.

It’s just a silly, fun series and all the women’s feelings for her are taken about as seriously as all the guys’... Which isn’t much because absolutely no one really has a chance of getting this woman to understand they are all madly in love with her. Not a series to take seriously which is part of it’s charm, but it retains a lot of heart especially when it comes to the MC Katarina (affectionally called Bakarina by fandom) remembering her friend and family from her past life.

This series also has a manga spin-off about what if she’d been reincarnated while already in high school and bullying the heroine instead of a child... So basically she’s in hard mode, and yet she still succeeds in getting even more people into her little harem she has for herself.

Whether you chose to watch the anime or the manga (or the LN, which I haven’t got to) you can’t go wrong.

It Seems Like I Got Reincarnated Into The World of a Yandere Otome Game by Hanaki, Momiji (Story) and Setsuri (Art)

As a precocious child, Lycoris suffers from a strange sense of deja vu. On the day her father told her about her fiancé, she realizes that her fiancé was a character from an otome game she once played in a previous life.

“I am the heroine’s rival from the game?

And in the bad ending, I get stabbed to death?

What a joke.”

A story in which the protagonist is determined to avoid a yandere situation.

Why *I* like it: Hear me out! I know what you’re thinking... Yanderes??? But here’s the thing... Just by the MC being kind and getting 2 of the “yandere” characters out of abusive environments, they no longer end up as yanderes as they grow up. They aren’t those tropes any more! While the characters remain protective, they aren’t possessive and are happy to see MC branch out, if a little lonely. And the yandere that remain aren’t treated as hot, but annoying. So like sorry to disappoint if you think yanderes are hot but this isn’t the series for you.

Additionally, unlike other series of this trope, the MC is pretty quick to realize she just needs to trust her lover, that he will not turn on her and kill her as he did in the game nor will he fall for the heroine instead of her. It’s somewhat refreshing, as a huge part of the trope is the MC typically doesn’t realize until it’s spelled out that by not acting as a villain.... the rest of the characters don’t want to harm them... And might even have fallen in love with them.

Another fun aspect is how MC doesn’t remember things immediately, but only remembers things from her past life (and of how the game went) until it comes up. Additionally, she wonders some interesting things that aren’t even mentioned in other series like... What if she’s destined to be exactly like the game character? Will she be forced to be exactly like her? It’s a fun exploration of some common reincarnation isekai villainess tropes if you have experience with the genre!

Ascendance of a Bookworm by Shiina You (Art) and Kazuki Miya (Story)

A book-loving student and soon to be librarian ends up crushed to death by the pile of books during an earthquakes and wakes up as a five year old girl named Main in another world where books are scarce only available to the elite. Main, retaining her memories of her past life, decides to create and print her own books so she can read again.

Why *I* like it: So here is we depart from solely the villainess sub-genre (but only briefly!) Because there is another sub-genre of reincarnation isekai and that’s in which the MC uses the things they learned on our planet earth to re-invent things like shampoo and the printing press. And no other isekai does it better than Ascendance of a Bookworm imo. Main’s love for books leads her to recreating things she took for granted on Earth and starts selling them from a young age... Which might just end up saving her life as she ends up having a terminal disease that ordinarily she’d only be able to survive by being a slave to a noble... But by selling her products she has a chance to save herself!!! And the products she creates are available to commoners, not just the nobles who of course make it impossible for the poor to have nice things.

Additionally, a majority of this trope centers around nobles and royalty (and all the best ones are historical settings)... The fun thing about this one is that it actually centers around a povert stricken family. It’s a good break from the noble hierarchy within most isekai.

Finally, this series is the one that hits most closely to my feelings if I were to be reincarnated in another world... Which is to cry at the realization that I will never finish any of the on-going books and manga I had going on. That’s absolute hell, I don’t know how any of these MCs deal!! ;_;

btw there is an anime and manga both. Also LN but tbh almost all of these have LN.

Isekai Omotenashi Gohan by Shinobumaru (Story) and Medamayaki (Art)

Akane, an ordinary office lady, gets summoned to a different world along with her younger sister and pet dog. There, she ends up treating rare guests one after another with hospitality through meals!! Can she satisfy the citizens of a different world with home cooking...?!

Why *I* like it: Continuing our brief deviation from the villainess trope, Isekai Omotenashi Gohan is my favorite example of another subgenre of isekai - one without reincarnation - but one in which a “hero” is transmigrated to another world to save it... The problem? Oppsie, 2 people were taken. Sometimes in this sub-genre there is a question who the true savior is but in Isekai Omotenashi Gohan’s case they figure that out pretty quickly. They quickly figure out the MC’s younger sister is the savior. At first the older sister (Akane) is set aside as unimportant... But her sister only wants to eat the food her sister makes and it quickly becomes obvious that Akane’s role is important.

Akane makes lots of allies and friends by sharing the food from Japan and of course has a very subtle romance going on with her guard. But honestly I just enjoy this series as a person that likes food manga, like that’s it lmao, so much so that don’t be surprised when I make a best food manga list and yeah sorry Food Wars won’t be on it.

But fr, even if you don’t love the food manga genre try it!! It’s a sweet series and mixes domestic with fantasy in a great way. Plus only a few series are complete, with the rest being on-going, so if you want a complete and finished series try this one!

The Duke's Fiancee, Why She Had to Go to the Duke by Milcha (Story) and Golae (Art)

When Park Eunha dies in modern-day Korea, she awakens in the body of Raeliana McMillan, the eldest daughter of a nouveaux riche baron. However, this is no ordinary world; it's the exact same one as a novel she once read. Beloved by her family, it would seem as though she is in a fairy tale. But Raeliana is far from the main character—she is a mere plot device, whose murder at the hands of her fiancé instigates the entire story.

Raeliana has no intention to accept her fate quietly. She sets her eyes on someone in a position of great power—the vieux riche male protagonist Duke Noah Volstaire Wynknight—aiming to completely change the original story. Using her knowledge of future events, Raeliana offers information to Noah on the condition that he acts as her fake fiancé, but the Duke's two-faced nature throws a wrench in her plans!

Why *I* like it: This one is a fun one!! It really plays with different concepts that don’t often get explored in reincarnation isekai like where did the original consciousness of the character the MC became go??? Because MC only remembers her life on earth and is otherwise treated as though she has amnesia.... But is it amnesia? Is she another person entirely?

Also the humor is... great. Listen I refuse to give the best joke in the series just to make you read it but... the series is worth it just for this running joke.

Of course the romance is good too. The dude is kinda an asshole but she gives as good as he dishes out and it quickly becomes flirting anyway. I don’t want to say too much and give any thing away... but s’good!

Who Made Me a Princess? by Plutus (Story) and Spoon (Art)

The beautiful Athanasia was killed at the hands of her own biological father, Claude de Alger Obelia, the cold-blooded emperor! It’s just a silly bedtime story… until one woman wakes up to suddenly find she’s become that unfortunate princess! She needs a plan to survive her doomed fate, and time is running out. Will she go with Plan A, live as quietly as possible without being noticed by the infamous emperor? Plan B, collect enough money to escape the palace? Or will she be stuck with Plan C, sweet-talking her way into her father’s good graces?!

Why *I* like it: Ok, big sigh. How do I explain the pull ‘Who Made Me A Princess?’ has on me? Now a lot of the pull for many people is how cute the budding father daughter relationship the MC (Athy) has with her dad. But like, her dad is the worst and I want to fight him. On the other hand, most of the fandom hates Jeanette, the MC’s sister who has done literally nothing wrong except make everyone around her miserable but it’s not her fault ok, and I’ll fight the entire fandom in her honor. So it pains me to rec this series knowing that more than likely anyone who picks up this series because of me might have Wrong Opinions and I invite you to tell me just so I can shake my head about another wrong person existing in this world.

Never the less, this series is very cute! All the other series I have recced had the MC remember their past life at early childhood at the earliest, if not as a teenager. Athy? She has the misfortune to remember as a *baby* and it’s exactly as hellish as it sounds for an adult to be stuck growing up as a baby and suffer through the absolute embarrassment of having people feed and wipe her ass.

The MC was an orphan in her previous life and the book that she wakes up in is a shitty book even by her standards but then she really only skimmed it it sounds like that’s what interests me. As Athy makes changes to the original events of the novel and depth is added to the world, I start to wonder if the added depth was in the original novel or if the world had to add its own depth to stand as an actual lived in world?

Additionally, since I made the cover image Athy and her dad you might as well see her with her 2 love interests (and Jeanette!). People need to know who to ship, I get it.

Also I need a moment to appreciate, up close, the beauty of Athy’s eyes. So gorgeous.

Living as the Tyrant’s Older Sister by Aperta (Story) and Chyobab (Art)

When I opened my eyes, I was inside a fantasy novel world! The beauty I see in front of the mirror is the future tyrant’s older sister, Alicia! She’s not even a protagonist or an antagonist, but a character that doesn’t appear much and gets beheaded by the (upcoming) tyrant little brother. My life is all about escaping that fate from the novel. In the end, I seduced the male lead’s merchant friend who also doesn’t appear much and was about to leave the country with him. How-e-ver. The face of the man who spent the night with me was extraordinary, and was the male lead himself!

Why *I* like it: ……………...keke. Ok so this one is one I like just for the laughs. The love interest is an arrogant asshole, but see… The important detail the summary leaves out is that the MC’s… cousin (?) wrote the book that she woke up in! Moreover she’s the one that told her cousin to change the MC of her novel and make him good at everything and also make him a freak in the sack. Like who is really at fault here??? Lmao. Especially when she goes out intending to seduce a character she remembers being rich from the novel and accidentally bags the MC from the novel, aka the dude who kills her and her brother in the original novel.

In seriousness though, it really is funny. The facial expressions of the MC is just… chefs kiss. She’s got a pretty face but then she makes all these goof ass faces and I love it. If you need any more reason to at least give it a go, just know that at one point the male lead comes to check on her, expecting to find her crying and instead…. Walks in just as she screams FUCK at the top of her lungs and then begins a tirade of very creative curses including "Bitch oompa loompa ass bitch" which how can you not love her? Anyway the face the male lead makes after that has me maintaining that’s the moment he fell in love with her lmao.. but this is not Confirmed so it’s not a spoiler!!

EDIT: as of August 2020, I’ve since dropped this series. It remains on the list since I’d still rec it to people looking for a laugh.

Seduce the Villain’s Father by bia and dalseul

Upon opening my eyes after a bus accident, I found myself in the fantasy world of a webnovel I enjoyed reading... the only catch is, I reincarnated 20 years before the novel begins! Reborn as Princess Yerenica of the small Lebovny kingdom, I'm determined to change the future in order to prevent the series of unfortunate events that will soon occur!

Why *I* like it: How many times have you yourself had a suuuuuper side character be your favorite in a series and be depressed to see them done dirty? Well MC has a chance to fix that, to save a character that basically one appeared in prologue and basically prevent the birth of the villain character that later kills his own father… by seducing his dad, before he can marry the villainess!!

Yerenica is just adorable in her attempts to thwart the original novel. And like, I have to give her lots of respect for seeing the villainess character and having herself a good moment where she had to consider seducing her instead lmao. She knows when to let well enough alone though so she immediately boards back on the dad train, much to his chagrin because she keeps calling him father……………….. Even though he’s like…. Not a dad yet.

The characters are still relatively early on in their romance, but I have high hopes for it yet!

Edit: As of August 2020, I’ve dropped this series. It remains on this list because I think it’s a cute series and I think anyone who feels really strongly about the main couple will enjoy it.

Death Is the Only Ending For The Villainess by Gwon Gyeoeul and SUOL

Penelope Eckart reincarnated as the adopted daughter of Duke Eckart and the villainess of a reverse harem dating sim. The problem is, she entered the game at its hardest difficulty, and no matter what she does, death awaits her at every ending! Before the "real daughter" of Duke Eckart appears, she must choose one of the male leads and reach a happy ending in order to survive. But the two brothers always pick a fight with her over every little thing, as well as a crazy crown prince, whose routes all lead to death. There's even a magician who's enamoured with the female lead, and a loyal slave knight! But somehow, the favourability meters of the male leads increase the more she crosses the line with them!

Why *I* like it: So this one is another relatively new one added to my list, but it’s shot high up rather quickly!! The other otome game isekai’s that I have on my list are just like the real world, but the interesting thing about this one, is that it also retains otome game mechanics such as she can see the love interests love meter and also she can chose to use the video game script choices to reply to the characters, in the hopes of raising their love meter. This adds challenge, since she knows that if she gets any of the dudes to -10 she’ll be killed even as she sort of wonders if she truly would die or wake back up in reality.

What’s interesting also is that while she is the villainess character in the game… It ends up that the character was actually abused for years and that her title as a villain is unfair and that the game can be played as the villainess as even a player as a ‘hard’ mode compared to the heroine character. It’s up to her to turn things around and it’s actually a fun take on the villainess genre. I’m really looking forward to how things proceed even as my fears about which dude she’ll end up with continue to increase.

Finally, another layer I enjoy is that the MC lead a similar life in her previous life. She’d only just escape her own abusive family before she’d ended up here and MC just desperately wants to escape once again… using any means necessary.

The Villainess Reverses the Hourglass by SanSobe (story) and Ant Studio (art)

With the marriage of her prostitute mother to the Count, Aria’s status in society skyrocketed immediately. After leading a life of luxury, Aria unfairly meets death because of her sister Mielle’s schemes. And right before she dies, she sees an hourglass fall as if it were a fantasy. And just like that, she was miraculously brought back to the past.

“I want to become a very elegant person, just like my sister, Mielle.”

In order to face the villainess, she must become an even more wicked villainess. This was the new path Aria chose to take revenge on Mielle who murdered both her and her mother.

Why *I* like it: If you thought that this list might be in descending order, guess again! This one is one of my favorites. Now this one lacks isekai, but is a reincarnation of a villainess!! Rather the MC was an absolute horrible person in her past life, but finds out at the last minute that her ~pure~ sister had been leading her by nose into acting like a brat just seconds before she is executed. Now that she has a second chance, she’ll be a proper villainess and turn the tables on her sister.

In her last life, Aria never bothered educating herself so now that she’s a teenager again she actually has to learn things again (it’s not just like she gets to act like she’s a genius and good at everything) but she works hard at maintaining a sweet image and making everyone love her, even as she snickers behind their backs, all the while subtly setting her sister up for failure.

This is a proper revenge story, I’m promised by those who read the LN!! Revenge stories about women are rare to come back, especially one that doesn’t make revenge look like a total evil thing lol. What can I say, I have my interests. Anyway, it’s super cathartic to watch Aria slowly unfold her masterplan to foil her sister’s plans and take everything that her sister had cherished in her previous life. And all that not to mention the certain powers that Aria later discovers she has at her disposal... :3c

Beware of the Villainess by Bbongdda Mask (story) and Pureunkanna (art)

I became the villainess of a novel! Do I hate it? No! I find it rather nice. A duke’s daughter equals a jobless rich person. How can I miss out on a chance like this?! This is the best chance to just enjoy life. I should throw out the main plot and just live life how I want to! Not long after waking up as the villainess, I witnessed my fiancé, the crown prince and the novel’s male lead, cheating. I saw him embrace a lady other than I and he was smiling so bright. I was brought to tears… Just kidding, I didn’t cry! My tears are worth too much to be wasted on that garbage. Instead of tears, I yelled out, “Your highness, are you trash?”

Why *I* like it: Listen there are 2 ways to react to waking up as a villain of a series you once read… Either you turn the tables and become a good guy OR you can embrace it! The world the novel is based on has the basic premise of the pure and good heroine winning the affection of 4 bratty, horrible men. MC is the fiance of one of them and says fuck that. She also has some thoughts that none of these dudes deserve the heroine of the novel but this one is still pretty early on so the jury still out on if she’s going to save this poor girl from her fate of ending up with any of these absolute assholes.

This one is along the veins of the previously mentioned Living As the Tyrant’s Older Sister, in that the pull for this series is even less of the romance and more about the comedy aspect… Also MC’s facial expressions are…. Choice. Just so good. Enough with pretty girls making pretty faces!! We need more girls being ugly. It’s what we deserve. Yell at cheaters!!!!!! Tell them to fuck off!! Yes please.

Accomplishments of the Duke’s Daughter by Reia (Story), Umemiya Suki (Art)

Although she had reincarnated as the daughter of a Duke's house, by the time she regained her memories, the Ending was already here.

"After he cancels my engagement, the story would have me confined to a church. Where can I find my happy ending?"

Why *I* like it: I never read or watched Wolf and Spice but I imagine this is isekai Wolf and Spice… Well it’s got a lot about the economy at least lmao. That’s literally the only thing I know about Wolf and Spice. Anyway!! The twist in this one is that the MC remembers her past life just as she’s about to be exiled, the end of the original game. What the series focuses on is her life afterwards, as she scrambles to grab at any semblance of a good life… And she does so pretty quickly!

Her past life comes in handy as she sets to work managing a dukedom and fixes the economy!! Moreover, even though it pains my heart whenever two women are pitted against each other… It does a great job of putting into question the original heroine’s pure shtick as she spends extravagantly on dresses and would rather just donate to the poor one day, instead of Iris the MC who sets to work on fixing the economy and creating jobs for the poor and putting money into bettering their lives in the long run, rather than throwing money at them and running. Also, she’s grabbed the attraction of a mysterious man who takes a job helping her even though he is a prince aka the brother of her ex-fiance who he is fighting for the crown for.

And that’s it!! My list for now!! Tbh by next month there’ll likely be even more faves as I continue to add more and more series to my read list lol. Because this isn’t even a fraction of all the reincarnation isekai series I’m into, just the best for certain reasons.

BTW, if you’re like... wow this list sure is straight then true unfortunately. I’m waiting for the day “I Favor The Villainess” gets adapted somehow. Also there are several isekai in which a straight girl reincarnates into a yaoi novel but I haven’t found a true gem among them yet.

#isekai #i scream #long post #recs #this post was sponsored by pure spite #but frankly yes i know i didn't have to go this far #but this is just who i am... which is too much

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