#SORRY FOR TAKING SO LONG AS WELL. I HAD DRAFTED THIS & PILED ART POSTS UPON IT AUHHH

[datastate]

YES WHY AREN'T PEOPLE TALKING ABOUT MR CHIDOUIN MANIPULATING KAI

Bro literally fooled him into thinking that he was finally part of a family again and that he was loved. I'm so sure Kai projected the family he couldn't have into the Chidouins... loving present parents (father especially) and a sibling he can now successfully protect. his second chance. and mr Chidouin fueled all of this and no one talks about it 💔

IT'S... HEARTBREAKING! i personally interpret a lot of kai's resignation toward gashu as something that was present years before he met the chidouins. the wake of the assassin's trial wore on both of them, and i'm sure the frustration only grew between them with kai's refusal to fulfill his role as an assassin - the best outcome is asunaro would switch his field of expertise; the most likely outcome is that kai will be executed. in his desperation, he's always pushed kai to his limits; by the point he weans off of this is the point at which gashu is accepting kai's as good as dead (and, from that, ends up surrounding himself in theoreticals, those what-ifs: what if kai weren't so compassionate? what if kai had no choice but to act upon resentment? what if sei survived? so on, so forth... all present within the ranger project, drawing from both of them.)

gashu and mr. chidouin both have an issue where their cruelty stems from how much they love those they're abusing.

however, gashu - at least, by the end of it - is clinging to the idea of kai more than kai as a person. gashu evidently cares for his (biological?) family and places priority on kai over sei for this reason. the disconnect only grows once kai is essentially... as good as dead, to the organization. and that's why gashu begins on the ranger project... he wants confirmation, any at all, that there was a possible outcome for either of his possible successors that didn't result in death. but, he's only left with the awful truth that there was nothing he could've done. even ridding them of their compassion, making them ruthless without abandon, wouldn't grant them anything but ire from the organization. asunaro may be a yakuza, but it's much more involved in its technical side than brute force, and when that inevitably clashes with its ideals (regardless of its reasoning), they will be duly executed.

(ultimately, as of the second main game, the only one who accepts that role is michiru - who has witnessed the death of all of the satous who were accepted by asunaro, due to their devotion. in a sense, michiru falls victim to that same complex of being all too devoted to one thing (her ambitions) and that being what asunaro intends to prey upon, making her the perfect successor. but i digress...)

unlike gashu''s fruitless attempts, kai's given his "second chance" as you've said! one that's possible only by mr. chidouin's grace.

though kai's status has significantly fallen, and he's been outcast from the organization with no intention of returning for such a menial task of data gathering. as i see it, kai shares a similar mindset to many asunaro agents in that he's... restless. beyond the fact he stands as an omen for the chidouins, proof that asunaro's going to seize them when the time comes, the work he's assigned is mind-numbingly repetitive and meant to break his resolve down. he's newly isolated from asunaro (which, for better and worse, was his only source of stability; a constant he could rely upon) and must keep up a lie before people who deserve much better than himself.

kai's initial phrasing of being "disgusted" with mr. chidouin for treating him as if he was family has always stood out to me. it's very upsetting! i believe this feeling brings about the point where kai ends up confessing the homemaker work is a facade, and begins laying out asunaro's intentions in sending him here. it's been confirmed through the ministory that kai will at least tell mr. chidouin of his past in asunaro, and mr. chidouin has always been implied to hold him to a certain standard/distance from sara because of the danger kai embodies - i believe part of the reason kai revealed this, other than to help prepare the chidouins for what they're up against, is to let them cast free judgement. no longer putting up that front of the polite caretaker allows them to see him as he 'truly is' and decide whether or not he's still worthy of that affection. with all the cards laid out, all the blood on these supposedly kind hands, their judgement now has unclouded basis.

...& yet, they decide he is worthy of love. for all the harm he's committed, the very fact he confessed this truth before asunaro could go any further means compassion still lays within him. this was the start of kai being allowed to live, rather than survive.

however, kai satou was never meant to 'live'. i've mentioned this before, but i see kai's first trial as not taking place within the death game, but in the seven years before he was sent to the death game. this was mr. chidouin's way of making sure kai was of use to the organization in one of two ways:

1) kai has had asunaro's purpose ingrained enough such that he will remain a neutral, compliant party to sara's capture for the ultimatum. meaning compassion is not his driving force, as many had thought, and they may start anew in testing his loyalty in another field that did not require being the one to lay the final blow (as has that has always been where he falters, though he'll stand by to another's death). or 2) as it happens in-game, mr. chidouin manages to take advantage of a moment's vulnerability from kai and build that bond. kai is now loyal to the family, and indirectly: asunaro. though his execution is inevitable, there will be far less struggle: kai will become a willing sacrifice for its purposes. with this life granted by the chidouins, he will give it up for their sakes without protest because he's learned to love and trust them.

however, for either of these outcomes, mr. chidouin took a large risk in accepting kai as a guard for his family at all. building that trust was crucial. if kai were to discover mr. chidouin's connections to asunaro, the likelihood he would be hurt (if not be the push for kai to finally kill; he's still an assassin, after all) was extremely high. the fact he took this risk at all was likely out of respect for the satous' work & kai's own supposed victory of the assassin's trial - as well as some curiosity to see what such a valuable piece was worth, were he able to get him back on his side.

of course, kai is not stupid by any means. he was raised in an environment where deceit is commonplace, and would've immediately recognized any false front mr. chidouin put up if he were only ever looking to use kai. instead, mr. chidouin began with cautiously learning about kai as an equal (a possible enemy), and held genuine respect for him as an individual. unlike gashu, he was never looking for how to force kai into fitting asunaro's orders - but instead, how to clearly identify kai's motivations and connect those to what asunaro needed. this sort of deliberation requires empathy and understanding on a very personal level.

which... is where i disagree with the idea that mr. chidouin was only ever leading kai on with false ideas/promises. kai didn't catch onto any ulterior motives because there were no ulterior motives to find - though he's been prepared for years to be hypervigilant of such things. kai is smarter than that, and mr. chidouin wouldn't take the risk of himself/his family being killed if he didn't respect kai in some regard. he could've let kai die as is, but remained confident he could connect with & lead kai to a more satisfactory execution - one he felt kai deserved.

mr. chidouin invited him to the chidouin home because he wanted to examine what future kai should follow - none of that is a lie. he wanted to know kai's perspectives on the orders asunaro has given him in the past, on how kai sees the world after having been raised by asunaro, or even - kai's feelings toward the chidouins... and there's no way to falsify his hesitance when he tries asking if kai intends to give them up to asunaro. the anger, as a father, if kai would still put sara in harm's way (as far as kai knows of asunaro's intentions, it'd reflect poorly upon kai himself to do so). none of this is falsified and seems fitting of a normal civilian who's been forced to balance this target on their back. beyond asunaro, too, he manages to slip into kai's life in small ways - remind him that he's here in messages, calls, or with physical touch. he'll encourage kai and praise him for improving upon his homemaker work or cooking, and he'll share in any joy kai offers. if kai asks about him, he'll say what he can... and kai rarely questions the few times he leaves anything out, because of how he's been raised & reminded to not impose due to his position in darkness.

over time, mr. chidouin preys upon that subtle fear and inferiority kai feels: believing himself to be less deserving (or... human) than civilians are. kai's been stained by darkness, cursed to be no more than a shadow such that he'll never destroy sara's light, so on, so forth... and it only reinforces how strong and forgiving mr. chidouin is by contrast. despite what mr. chidouin says, kai's left with the feeling that anyone else would rightfully condemn him or be afraid of him. mr. chidouin's hope that kai can improve and find something for himself is something that's... so important to kai, because he emphasizes the idea that kai can eventually forge his own path - something asunaro repeatedly denied, so intent on bending him until he broke.

anyway, just. with all of this, and mr. chidouin's personal balance of light/darkness & understanding of what social situations ask of him -- kai was blinded by it. mr. chidouin's scary because he's all too genuine, most of the time. he genuinely wanted to give kai another chance to prove himself to asunaro before he died because he was such a strong contender - and from that, he eventually wanted kai to have a life he felt fulfilled in. seeing how much kai learned and how much more. open he became as time went on was something that made him feel... proud. and i'm of the belief that there were some moments he wouldn't document for asunaro because he felt they were too personal. things he felt special for being able to learn about kai, where even his father couldn't pry any of that from him.

mr. chidouin learned what kai wanted, and, as you said, fueled that desire to have the chance to protect people this time. gashu was long-gone. sei was sacrificed. kai wasn't going to allow the chidouin parents to be ill-prepared for asunaro's manipulation, nor let sara be sacrificed to the ultimatum to bolster whichever victor rose upon the ashes. mr. chidouin listened close and agreed to kai's plans to save them, only to relay every part of that to asunaro. that preparation is exactly why they were so prepared when kai's betrayal finally came and were able to organize it so quickly.

kai's attempted betrayal of the organization that raised him was met with betrayal of his own family. mr. chidouin fostered their bond to the point that... i honestly don't think kai could stop caring about him, even if he finally broke that trust. the love he granted was genuine, and it's difficult to discard that when it's the very reason for him doing... everything to prove kai wasn't yet useless (to asunaro).

i've gone on far too long, but. gestures. i'm shaking your hand so much... i really like talking abt kai's different feelings toward gashu v. mr. chidouin's treatment and how each paternal figure had envisualized kai's future. gashu was stalwart in the idea kai couldn't die (and leave him alone; he even made up that absence with ranger...), whereas mr. chidouin accepted that as necessary and wanted to have kai thrive & reach his potential until that inevitable point in fate. it's very interesting seeing how that slight change of acceptance can affect their treatment of those around them and affect their perceptions so heavily.

[goosewhisker]

russetfur vs. the entirety of skyclan || ch. 3

read this on ao3 || read this on fanfiction.net

chapter one

chapter two

summary:  After enduring months of Turtlekit and Kitekit’s abuse, Rootkit finally snaps and accidentally awakens his powers. This has the unfortunate side effect of reviving the ghost of an angry Shadowclan warrior who: 1) is personally offended by Skyclan’s existence, and 2) has magnanimously taken it upon herself to relieve the world of that burden. Or something

okay so its been a minute since i posted. a lot of things happened, i got a kitten, a job, a new fandom, and i speedran a full semester of calculus in like the past four weeks. im sorry about how late this is and i cant promise when the next one will be up but its half written already so uh hope springs eternal. anyway thanks for coming to my ted talk

also shoutout to @turquoise-tulip for reminding me that ive had this chapter in my drafts for half a year now this ones for you im sorry its so stupid

Chapter Three: In Which Rootkit Practices the Art of Blackmail 

The morning after is quiet.

...is what Rootkit would like to say. Actually, he gets woken up by Tree at what his mom likes to call 'the butt-crack of dawn' to go talk to Leafstar, thereby ruining his chances of being a normal warrior forever.

When they get to the leader's den, Violetshine is already there. Rootkit discovers this by walking into her while his eyes are closed in the middle of a yawn.

"See, he's about to fall asleep on his paws," his mom points out, sounding pretty close to yawning herself. "It's too early for this. Morning, kid."

Rootkit mumbles something that's unintelligible even to himself and falls asleep on his mother's paws. A few minutes later, he's woken by gentle paws on his back.

"Hey, kid. Kiddo. You gotta get up."

Rootkit hums absently, still mostly asleep, before realizing abruptly where he is. Mouse dung! Suddenly, he's completely awake. He jerks his head up, almost colliding with Tree's jaw before he pulls out of the way. Rootkit, too busy panicking, doesn't notice. He just fell asleep in Leafstar's den! After she'd brought him over to talk specifically to him! After seeing this humiliating display of incompetence, she'll really never make him a warrior, and Kitekit and Turtlekit will-

"Rootkit." The single word cuts through the panic. Rootkit looks up to see Leafstar, looking very serious with only a hint of amusement seeping through. "Are you feeling alright?"

"Yes!" The answer bursts out of him before he really thinks it through. And, well, it's not entirely true, but it's not entirely untrue either. Either way, he's up for answering any questions, which is probably what she's asking.

Leafstar looks at him just long enough for him to start fidgeting before she begins. "I've already spoken to your parents, Rootkit, so I know most of the story. I just need to know your side. What happened yesterday with the ghost?"

Rootkit looks at his paws, then back to Leafstar's calming gaze. "It started when I was at the grave. I was just- just talking, and then Kitekit found me..."

He tells her the whole, stupid story. How he'd lost it at Kitekit and Turtlekit and turned around to find a ghost looming over him; how he'd asked Tree for help, only for her to disappear; how she'd attacked him and Tree, announced her intentions, and vanished. At last, the story runs dry and he falls silent to watch her expression change.

Leafstar hums thoughtfully. She turns to Tree. "Do you think she's likely to hurt someone?"

Tree shrugs, looking uncomfortable. "If she's serious, yes. Most ghosts can't touch the living. Those who can - like this one - usually died violently or thinking they were wronged. And angry ghosts tend to be... volatile."

"Ah." Leafstar considers this.

"If it comes to that, what'll you do?" Violetshine asks. "Will you be able to stop her?"

Rootkit watches Tree watch his mom, and something in his dad's eyes soften. He leans over to swipe a tongue over her ear. "You want to help her, don't you?" he says quietly. "Because she's Shadowclan?"

Violetshine flushes, but she doesn't back down. "Many of them weren't kind to me," she says, "But Shadowclan was still my home once. I can't just forget that."

Tree purrs and winds his tail with hers. "That's why I love you," he whispers.

Rootkit sticks his tongue out in disgust. Bleh. Grownups!

"To answer your question," Tree adds, "I don't know what I'll do. I suppose-" he pauses, eyes tight with worry. "I've never exorcised a ghost who didn't want to move on before. I don't know if I even can. This may be something of an experiment."

The grownups look at each other for a long moment. "I will do whatever it takes to keep my clan safe," Leafstar says. There's something like a warning in her voice that makes Rootkit shiver.

"What should I do?" he asks. All three adults look at him like they've forgotten he's there.

After a moment, Leafstar's face breaks into a smile. "Tell you what. You can help by keeping an eye out for this Russetfur and letting one of us know when she's nearby. But listen, Rootkit," and her voice goes stern. "You must stay away from her. Russetfur is dangerous, and she may hurt you to get what she wants. Do you understand me, Rootkit?"

Rootkit looks into Leafstar's amber eyes - warm and worried and burning with a fierce, protective fire - and knows what he has to do. "I understand, Leafstar," he says, and just like that, his mission clicks into place.

From somewhere else in the camp - probably the warriors' den - someone screams, followed by Russetfur's haunting cackles.

Rootkit ignores it.

As he double checks his supplies, Rootkit runs through a mental checklist. He's talked to the ghost - check. He's figured out what she wants - check. He's given her what she wants - well... no. Tree's three-step-plan hadn't exactly accounted for what happened if what the ghost wanted was unobtainable.

Well, it doesn't really matter now. This plan is sure to work.

"Are you sure this is gonna work," Needlekit says again.

"Yes, I am, Starclan above will you stop nagging me," Rootkit says.

His sister makes a disgruntled noise and hauls the next bramble into place with a particularly vicious tug. "I'm just concerned you have no idea what you're doing, is all."

"I know exactly what I'm doing."

Rootkit doesn't have any idea what he's doing.

"Hmm." Needlekit seems thoroughly unconvinced, but she gets on with the task anyway. The trailing brambles she's weaving into place will form a turtle-shell-shaped cage laced with warding herbs over the grave when they're done. The plan is more or less to summon Russetfur into a cage she can't phase through, leaving her unable to escape. In Rootkit's opinion, it's a pretty solid plan for someone who has no idea what he's doing. "Why're you so set on doing this, anyway? Didn't Leafstar tell you not to mess with Gingerpelt?"

"Russetfur," Rootkit corrects her automatically. "And, well, yes, but..." he hesitates. "It's just... you know. I was the one who set her free in the first place, and..."

"Yes?" Needlekit prompts him. She's given up on the brambles and moved to stuffing moss and bracken into the gaps.

Rootkit fidgets uncomfortably for a second before the truth bursts out of him. "And now Russetfur's running wild everywhere and it's all my fault, and what if Leafstar decides not to make me an apprentice? If I don't become an apprentice, I can't be a warrior! And if I can't be a warrior-" he cuts himself off. He can't repeat what Kitekit and Turtlekit had said; even saying the words aloud seems like tempting fate... and he can't burden Needlekit with that, anyway.

Needlekit looks at him, though, and her gaze goes soft. "And being a warrior is your dream," she says, and starts stuffing the gaps with renewed vigor. "Well, come on, then! If we can trap Scarletfuzz then Leafstar will have to make us both apprentices! I can't be an apprentice without you; then I'd have to share the den with just Kitekit and Turtlekit. Can you imagine?" She pulls a disgusted face that has Rootkit giggling despite himself.

"Alright, alright," he says. "While you're doing that..." He shoves aside the piles of bracken they'd collected and settles down on the dirt. In his stories, Tree had never really talked about summoning ghosts - his work had been more about getting them to leave - but Rootkit is pretty confident about his ability to summon her again if necessary. More importantly, one or two of his stories had been about things the average, non-ghost-seeing cat could do to ward off spirits.

Rootkit spreads out his supplies, most of which had been scavenged from the medicine cats through a combination of tag-teaming and white lies. The herbs really are going to help his mom, just not in the way Fidgetflake thinks.

Thistledown. Rosemary. Lavender. Thyme. All plants that either attract or repel spirits, according to Tree (from what Rootkit can remember, anyway). Plus a lot of spiderweb.

"Hey, are you sure that's right?" Needlekit asks, leaning over his shoulder. "I thought we were gonna get some sage. And why'd you pick up the thistle?"

Rootkit frowns. "Well, Fidgetflake was coming back too soon and I panicked, alright? If you've got a problem you can get some more yourself."

Needlekit snickers and prods the massive pile of spiderwebs. "No thanks. I think you could've gotten a little more spiderweb, Frecklewish might still have some left over... yeesh, alright, I'll leave off the sarcasm. You don't have to glare at me."

Rootkit rolls his eyes. The immaturity of some cats. "Maybe I went a little overboard, but we need it. Frecklewish can just send the 'paws out to find some more. Now help me apply it; we need to cover the entire cage so there's no chance of getting out."

It's the work of a few minutes to paste it over with cobwebs, and the work of a few more to weave in all the protecting herbs. With luck, they'll prevent her from just phasing through. By the time they're done, it's so dense that a living cat would find it impossible to escape; Rootkit can only hope that the same goes for a dead one.

"Alright, fire 'er up!" Needlekit commands.

Rootkit closes his eyes to focus, trying to recall the feeling of power rushing through his being. Once, Tree had told them of a time when he'd jumped onto a wire fence and been struck by something he'd called electricity- what lightning is made of, apparently. Rootkit imagines it feels something like that.

The power lying dormant in his veins leaps forth eagerly at his call. It swells like a crescendo of sound, rushing out through his paws into the ground.

Rootkit focuses on the grave with every fiber of his being and wills it to summon its spirit. "Russetfur!" he cries out.

For a moment, nothing happens.

Then, something shifts.

It's like a hole is briefly torn through space; instinctively, Rootkit reaches in, grabs something, and drags it through.

Beside him, Needlekit gasps. "What the heck was that?"

But her voice is wavy, distorted. Rootkit opens an eye and finds his world is tilted sideways. Needlekit makes a high pitched noise that scrapes its claws across the most inner parts of Rootkit's ears.

"M'fine," Rootkit mumbles. His words are slurred, he realizes distantly, because half his face is pressed into the dirt.

Needlekit jabs him. "This is no time for sleeping, Rootkit. Did it work?"

Rootkit blinks. For a moment, he has absolutely no idea what she's talking about; then, the memories start to flood back. He narrows his eyes, remembering the feeling of hooking a soul on his clawtips like a fish. "I think-"

He's interrupted by an infuriated caterwaul that drowns out whatever he was going to say.

"What is this?"

The cage shakes as its captive throws her entire weight against the wall, but it holds steady. The herbs have done their job; even a ghost can't pass through.

Needlekit laughs triumphantly. "It's bad kitty jail for bad kitties!"

Russetfur snarls back something absolutely obscene and proceeds to attack the inside of the cage with a ferocious determination. At least, Rootkit thinks she is; it's kind of hard to tell since they can't actually see her.

"Can she get out?" Rootkit wonders.

"No," Needlekit says at the same time Russetfur snaps, "You bet your kittypet hide I will."

Rootkit blinks.

"Literally," Russetfur adds. "Because I'll strip it off your back to line my nest."

"Oh." Rootkit drops his head back on the ground. The dirt here is very comfy, he realizes. Maybe he should just sleep here from now on. "Yeah. That was kind of unclear."

"It'll become very clear in a few minutes, runt. I'll even give you a demonstration."

Needlekit leans against the cage with a smirk that probably would have been infuriating, if Russetfur could actually see it. "Don't worry, Redpelt, you're clear as crystal."

Rootkit freezes. Even the scraping sounds coming from inside the cage cut off. "What was that," Russetfur says suspiciously. "Did you just-"

"Keep your spirits up," Needlekit says. "I'm sure you'll be back to your old haunting grounds in no time."

Rootkit tries to slam his head into the ground and discovers that it's really much harder to do when you're already lying on it.

Russetfur doesn't say anything.

"What's wrong, ghostie? You're as silent as the dead in there."

Then a translucent ear rises out of the ground right next to Rootkit's face and he screams loud enough to be heard halfway to Riverclan, probably, and scrambles out of the way. Needlekit screams, too, and then Russetfur is climbing out of the ground like a corpse emerging from its grave.

She shakes herself off and grins down at them with more teeth than a cat should rightfully have. "You forgot to ward the bottom," she says. Rootkit makes a very small sound that definitely qualifies as a whimper. "What's wrong? You look like you've seen a ghost."

All the fur on Needlekit's body has bushed out so she looks twice her size - which, compared to the full-grown warrior before them, is almost nothing. She's shaking like a leaf, but undaunted, she spits at Russetfur's feet. "Drop dead!"

Rootkit could kill her.

In a blur of movement, Russetfur pins Needlekit to the cage wall with one paw. "I admire your spirit, kit," she hisses. "But if you want to sass me, you're digging your own grave."

That's it. Rootkit has had enough. That is the final stars-damned straw. "Shut up with the stupid ghost puns, I swear to Starclan," Rootkit screams.

The wind rustles gently in the treetops as the two she-cats stare at him.

"The next person to make a single stars-cursed ghost pun, I am going to snap your fleabitten neck. Is that clear?"

Needlekit makes a stifled noise muted by the heavy paw slowly crushing her windpipe.

"Ah." Russetfur looks to be considering it. "Would you say we're dead m-"

Rootkit makes a very aggressive series of throat-slitting gestures.

"...you've got your father's spirit in you, I see."

"I brought you into this world and I can take you out of it," Rootkit snarls.

That gets her attention. Russetfur's eyes widen, then narrow. "Oh?" Her voice is considerably less friendly.

This is where it gets tricky. Rootkit's at a disadvantage - he's just seriously ticked off a relatively powerful ghost with a grudge against his relatively powerless clan, she's got his sister by the throat, and his only bargaining chip is a bluff. But there's an opportunity somewhere here; he just has to navigate a very prickly, very dangerous minefield and pray he doesn't blow them all up.

Time to channel his inner Tree. "Look," Rootkit says, in his best diplomat voice. "Clearly, we both want something here, something that we can provide for each other. What do you say we make a deal?"

Russetfur narrows her eyes and tightens her grip on Needlekit. "I don't think you're in a position to bargain, here," she says.

"On the contrary." Rootkit raises a paw. "I am in every position to offer a deal... as you just experienced yourself."

Russetfur scoffs. "What could you possibly have to offer me?"

"Your life."

That gives her pause. "If you could exorcise me, you'd have done it already."

Rootkit gives his best imitation of her knife-sharp smile and proceeds to lie through his teeth. "What do you think we were doing just now?"

The ghost narrows her eyes and says nothing.

Rootkit seizes his opportunity and plows onward. "You don't want to be exorcised, and we don't want you in our camp. So here's the deal - you leave and we don't follow." The last few words are growled out, like Leafstar whenever someone threatens the clan.

It's very intimidating, in his opinion, but it doesn't seem to have an effect in Russetfur. If anything, it only seems to make her angrier. "I won't sacrifice my honor as a Shadowclan cat to run from a bunch of kittypets," Russetfur snarls, leaning closer. "Even if you kill me again, I'd sooner die fighting for my clan than kowtow to some coddled housepets."

Rootkit grits his teeth. She hasn't called his bluff, but they can't have her running loose and hurting people. Think, Rootkit! "Another deal, then," he says. "If you won't leave the camp, then you just can't hurt anybody."

"No deal," Russetfur snaps.

"That's the final offer," Rootkit says coldly. "Under no circumstances are you allowed to hurt or injure any Skyclan cats. I'm not going to compromise on that point. And you can't really afford to bargain, anyway," he adds with a shrug. His heart is pounding so loudly he's almost sure Russetfur can hear it. "If you don't, I'll just summon you into the cage again and exorcise you for good. Or who knows? Maybe we'll leave you in there for a while. And this time we'll cover the bottom." He finishes with the nastiest, most hateful smile he can muster - which isn't particularly difficult, right now.

Russetfur goes silent. He can practically hear the gears in her brain ticking as she weighs her options. There's clearly only one real option here; he just hopes she isn't too prideful to take it.

"Fine," Russetfur growls, voice so low he has to strain to hear it. "Fine. I agree to your terms." The hatred seeping from her voice is almost palpable.

Well, the feeling is absolutely mutual. Rootkit dips into a little bow and bares his fangs in a farce of a smile. "Pleasure doing business with you."

Russetfur disappears into the air, leaving Needlekit to slump to the ground, wheezing. Rootkit waits until he's certain the ghost is gone before sinking onto the ground himself, body shaking with all the fear he couldn't allow himself to show before. Holy crap.

"Are you," Needlekit begins, then cuts herself off with a raucous bout of coughs that makes him wince. "Are you... okay?" she whispers hoarsely.

Rootkit makes a high-pitched, keening noise before breaking into nervous laughter. "No, no, not even a little bit. Oh, Starclan, I can't believe I'm alive, I thought she was going to kill us both. Oh stars..." he trails off with a giggle and buries his face in the dirt.

They lie there for a couple minutes, the silence broken only by Needlekit's wheezing and Rootkit's trembling.

"I want Mom and Dad," Needlekit whispers.

Rootkit couldn't agree more.

[rum-and-shattered-dreams]

Chapter 14: The Cure for a Bad Day

Summary:

Stan's having a bad day thanks to Gideon's antics but it's not going to stop him from bringing a couple of sandwiches downstairs to share with his brother. Ford apologizes for some things, Stan has a revelation, and Ford unwittingly cures Stan's bad day.

Notes: Another lighter chapter with a little fluff/comfort. Also, Ford secretly loves the southern accent and doesn't want to admit it. ;)

Warnings: Nothing really. Belching, I guess? And heavier cursing than usual but mostly in a satisfying and triumphant way.

And woo! Here's some chillingly wonderful art from @cthulhu-of-the-night

As mentioned on this post, there's some stuff coming up that's more intense than I imagined it would be. Still nothing that would change any ratings or content warnings on this but definitely more action and such than I thought would show up yet. But, also as mentioned, I wasn't sure if it would be broken into multiple parts... And it was so this is kind of an in between bit, something to get us from point A to point B and fill in a few blanks and details along the way. Hoping to have the next part posted either tomorrow or Monday since it's mostly drafted already.

Part One Part Two Part Three Part Four Part Five Part Six Part Seven (with illustration) Part Eight Part Nine (With link to more art!) Part Ten Part Eleven Part Twelve (with link to more art!) Part Thirteen More fics An illustration (from part one) The Mystery Shack was silent aside from the creak of old boards under Stan's slippers and the scrape of a knife against toast.  A couple of turkey sandwiches wasn't much of a meal but, at this point, Stan figured he'd probably wind up burning down the house if he touched the stove.  He'd already burned the first batch of toast and had the mustard squirt nothing but juice onto a piece from the second batch.  When he'd reached for a tomato, he'd found the last one had turned soggy and was dripping through the wire basket onto the counter. He snatched a bag of sliced turkey and package of cheese from the fridge, slamming the door behind him.  The cheese package zipped open with a tug of a tab and he pulled out slices covered in green and black.  "UGH!" he fumed, his fingers institutionally flinging the pieces away and onto the floor.  Upon examination, the package’s plastic had been torn open on the backside.  "Figures," he grunted.  With a pair of tongs pulled from the pile of dishes soaking in the sink, he picked up the moldy slices and dropped them into the trash.  To compensate for the lack of ingredients, he piled the whole pound of turkey onto two sandwiches, crumpled the bag and threw it at the trash can only to have it bounce back out as if it felt the same way about the cheese as he did.  "Fine.  Stay there," he spat. With a dinner tray set up for Ford and himself to share, and two tote bags filled with snacks hanging from his shoulders he headed down to the basement.  "Don't you dare," he grumbled to the elevator as it creaked and moaned, threatening to stall.  He puffed a sigh of relief when it obeyed and clunked into place on the basement level.  His eyes squinted in the blue dimness of the former control room as the door rambled closed behind him.  Beyond the wooden wall and door, he could hear his brother repeating "Channel up" over and over in a monotonous tone.  He sighed and stepped forward...  Right into a panel from a supercomputer that had apparently decided that leaning against the wall wasn't good enough for it and sprawling across the floor was more comfortable. "Ah!  Son of a bitch!" Stan yelped, a string of curses following.  His toe throbbed and he couldn't even bend down to see if it was bleeding through his slipper thanks to the tray he'd nearly dumped onto the floor and the bags bulging under his arms.  He hobbled to the door and let himself in, his curses trailing off as warm light and the smell of rosemary and mint washed over him. Ford looked up to him from what appeared to be a partly built pillow fort and asked, "Bad day?" "That ain't the half of it," he snipped, setting the tray down on the storage chest and kicking off his slipper to check his toe.  Thankfully, it wasn't bleeding but he wouldn't be surprised if bruises showed up under multiple toenails later. "TV off," Ford commanded.  He shifted among the nest of pillows to face his brother and pried, " should I ask?" "Actually, yeah," Stan huffed, plopping the tote bags on the floor.  "You mind if I vent a bit?" he said, toeing at the matted faux fur of his slipper until it slid partially back on. Ford shrugged, about to make a joke about how he was too busy but bit it back as Stan tried to step the rest of the way into his slipper and tripped instead.  "Uh...  Go for it," he said, gritting his teeth in sympathy as his brother snarled and swore. Stan bent down and picked up his slipper, squeezing and twisting it between both hands as he explained, "It's that Gideon kid!" "Oh.  That." "Yeah.  That.  He tried to steal the shack again today.  He thought I'd fall for some sweepstakes thing and sign over the deed," he rambled, throwing his slipper at the door with a pathetic pelting sound. "Pfft..."  Ford's laugh started as a sputter and escalated to a howl. "What?  What's so funny?" he asked, hands on his hips, voice grating over his throat in annoyance. "The fact that a, what is he, nine?  Ten?  Year old kid thought he could out-con a man who's been at it for six times as long." "Well, I'm glad it's so hilarious to you," Stan said, reaching for his mangled slipper.  He straightened the sole, more as a fidgeting activity than a restorative one as his worries spilled out, "I mean, yeah, I saw through it this time but am I always going to be able to?" "Don't doubt yourself," Ford said, unsure if the attempt to boost confidence was aimed at Stan, himself, or both of them. "You know what I mean," he said, propping his hand against the door to steady himself while he lifted his foot to replace his slipper properly. "Yeah.  I do," Ford replied with a grim inflection, one hand rubbing at the intertwined cable knit of his sweater sleeve.  "Guess that's why I can only laugh at this point." "Well, anyway, that idiot kid ruined my mirror maze," he continued, testing his footing against the now lumpy sole of his slipper.  "Broke every one of 'em then started laughing 'til he fell over for some reason.  Still can't figure out why.  I ended up having to roll him back outside." "Aw, not the mirror maze.  You and Soos just got it all set up." "Yeah!  So much for the money that would have brought in."  Stan ranted about how he'd acquired all of those mirrors, something about thrift stores and dumpsters and hard work that likely meant "theft" but Ford couldn't make out much of it through the guilt that seemed to erode his heart like acid.  His head tipped down, eye closed and hands clenched over his folded legs until the second call of his name broke through the fog. "Ford?!  Are you even listening to me?" "Stanley, I'm sorry!" he blurted, eye clenched closed, shoulders drawn up to his ears. Stan blinked, tense posture sagging as he approached the bars between them.  "Sorry?  What for?" he asked. "For bringing up money at the surgery center," he answered, turning his head away.  "I must have sounded just like...  Dad." "Huh," Stan hummed as if trying to fill out a quiz in his mind.  His arms draped over the horizontal bar and he gave a dry laugh.  "Leave it to you to be so oversensitive that you're oversensitive for other people, ya nerd." "What?"  Ford asked, finally turning to look at him, bewildered. "I didn't take it that way," Stan said with a shrug.  "Maybe that means I'm gettin' over all that bullshit or something but I took it as 'we're out of money, I should go make us more of it.'" Stan paused as the revelation hit him, washing over him as he spoke slow words that sped into an excited frenzy, "Because that's a thing I can do now...  Because, ha!  Fuck you, pops.  Fuck you!  I-," he looked to Ford who blinked at him, resembling a confused owl with one giant eye.  He corrected, more for his own sake than Ford's, "We.  We own a business that's actually successful enough that it can generate that kind of cash.  Fuck you, old man!  I hope you're rolling in your grave knowing how much this place can make us and that you're not getting a dime of it!" Ford smiled, his shoulders lowering.  "Yes," he said with an airy laugh, "I hope so, too."  But I'm sure if any rolling is happening, it's equally because of how his precious money-maker son ended up...  His thoughts trailed off.  This was Stan's moment, a sorely needed moment of triumph.  Not his moment to feel sorry for himself.  "Fuck him," he whispered instead. "Ford?  You okay?" "Yeah," he said, steeling himself and looking up to his brother, "I'm just sorry I was so difficult at the surgery center." "Pfft," Stan waved it off, "Geez, Ford.  You lost an eye.  You lost your damn eye and handled it better than I would have," he breathed, easing his intensity before continuing, "It's alright.  I've said it before and I mean it.  I get it.  Okay?" "Mmm," he answered with a nod. "Well, now that that's all cleared up, let's eat," Stan said, backing away from the bars.  He returned with the tray in hand and eased himself down onto the floor pillow.  Ford shifted forward, pushing pillows aside to edge closer to the padded bars while Stan uncovered the tray.  "How are the kids?" he asked, reaching out for half of his sandwich.  "Is Dipper feeling any better after that fight with Robbie?" "Yeah, he's on the mend," Stan said, lifting a sandwich half shaped like a wedge and waging it as if accenting his hand gestures, "I'm still not sure how that lanky kid made such a mess out of him.  I figure he had some kind of, I don't know, body builder Karate master do the fighting for him.  But, Dipper insists it wasn't anything like that.  I gotta say, though, I'm pretty proud of him for actually tryin' to stand up to a kid who's older and bigger than him, even if he did get demolished.  That took a lot of guts." Ford worked through his first bite, the motion resembling Gompers when he chewed on a wad of grass, and asked, "What about his crush?" "Eh," Stan said, words garbled by a mouthful, "he still hasn't actually told me about it but it's pretty obvious.  Hope he's not taking things too hard.  I mean, honestly, I know Wendy ain't gonna go for a kid younger than her but I think I hate the idea of her being with that Robbie guy as much as Dipper does.  Seems like a real creeper, ya know?" Ford chugged from his soda cup and swallowed hard.  "Like the guys you used to beat up because they messed with Carla?" he asked. "Yeah, like them," Stan answered, following Ford's lead and downing at least half his drink then letting out a belch that smelled like a deli doused in cola. Ford waved his hand in a joking gesture, as if trying to disperse the smell.  Too bad he couldn't control the timing of his own belches.  With their unpredictable nature, he usually wound up suppressing them rather than trying to compete with anyone.  With no ammo to return the bodily function, he instead asked, "What about Mabel?"  How has she been?" "She's good.  Absolutely loves that pig of hers.  I don't really get it," he said with a shrug, "but if it makes her happy, then eh, whatever." "I'm glad she's happy." "You sure you don't mind that she's keeping Waddles in the house after what you said the other day?" Stan asked, pointing an untouched corner of his sandwich wedge at Ford. Ford paused mid-bite and lowered his sandwich to answer, "I suppose I don't mind.  Why?  What did I say?" Stan's chewing stalled, his eyes wide and body frozen.  They'd thought Bill had been keeping his distance, but Ford may as well have had the words "Bill was here" written on his forehead rather than scrawled in faded scars across his arm.  "Um..." he started, wondering if he should drag the apparently painful memory back up.  But, if Bill wanted it gone, then no matter how painful it was, he needed to try to help Ford get it back.  "That thing," he explained, "about how you told someone that you'd send him back south if you ever saw a pig in the house?" "Oh.  Oh!  Yes.  I remember!  I..."  he paused.  Shreds of the memory fluttered through his mind as if caught up in a breeze, mostly out of reach but he clambered for what he could.  His heart broke all over again, and he still didn't know exactly why.  He bowed his head and muttered, "I must have really hurt whoever that was.  And have probably continued to do so by never remembering enough to reach out to him.  But...  It seems it's been thirty years and he's never reached out to me, either," his eye widened as he looked up to Stan, panic edging his words, "I hope nothing bad happened to him." "Me too," Stan agreed, less because of actually caring about this mystery friend and more because, if he was still around somewhere, maybe he could help them.  "But, he continued, trying to give his brother any shred of hope, "There could be lots of reasons friends lose touch, though.  Even just plain being busy.  It could even be 'cause he thinks he hurt you." Ford chomped off another bite of his sandwich and pondered aloud, "South..."  He chewed and smacked over toast and turkey as he sorted through the scraps of memory, then swallowed and repeated, "South.  South.  Southern...  He had an accent!  A southern accent.  I'm not sure if that's what south meant but I remember a drawl and words that drove me crazy like y'all'd've.  Ugh, that feels terrible on my tongue.  What an abomination to the English language." "So, some guy with a southern accent who was like...  your best friend or something?" "I wish I could remember him," he groaned, massaging his forehead as if it might help.  "I can almost see his-" Ford's eye closed as he struggled to search his own mind, an image almost surfacing. His eye opened, glowing yellow.  "Ha ha," Bill laughed, "Nothing to see here.  Oh, sandwiches," he added as if he hadn't just set fire to the tapestry of memories they were so meticulously trying to stitch back together.  He took a bite, contorting Ford's brows as he gnawed.  "Bleh," he bleated and stuck out ford's tongue, coated in partly chewed mush.  "Needs gravy or something," he griped, "It's so dry it's stuck to the roof of Fordsy's mouth.  I'm outta here." Stan blinked, staring at Ford. Ford swallowed hard and said, "Your sandwiches are fine, Stanley," before taking another bite.  Even if it wasn't true, anything to fill his stomach's grumbling void was fine by him at the moment. "Liar," Stan snorted, his tongue trying to dislodge bits of turkey from the roof of his own mouth.  "'S, okay, though.  Par for the course for today.  Guess I'm glad my pseudo-cooking is so bad it drove him away, though," he said with a shrug. "Well," Ford's words muffled through his mouthful, "They're normally good anyway." "I guess.  But uh, speaking of food, I brought a bunch of fresh snack stuff for you," Stan said, nodding toward the tote bags emblazoned with Jack-o'-mellons and slumping against the door. "Oh that's right!  Tomorrow is Summerween, isn't it?" "Yeah.  I wanted to make sure you have lots of stuff here in case it gets to be too late before I can get down here tomorrow night," Stan explained, "I mean, I'll still bring something for breakfast but it might be earlier than usual." "That's fine." "And you're sure you're okay with-" "Of course!  I know how much you enjoy scaring the trick-or-treaters.  Have fun with it," Ford encouraged, honestly happy for his brother.  He honestly didn't enjoy showmanship as much his brother did, though, he did wish he could dress up, even if he'd been too preoccupied to do so in the days when he was free and able.  Staying aboard that train of thought, he asked, "What's your costume this time?" "Eh, recycling the vampire one again," Stan said, drowning a bite of his sandwich in soda. "Classic.  Any good scare tactics?"  Ford asked, pushing the last bite of his half sandwich into his mouth. "Yeah, I got a few ideas," Stan answered, rubbing a hand across the overgrown stubble on his chin.  "I'll set up your security monitor so it gets the feed from the back porch if you want to watch the master of fright at work." "That sounds good," he said and gulped half of what remained of his soda.  He opened his mouth to say thanks but the word drew out into a wall-shaking belch. Stan sputtered and laughed.  "Good one, Poindexter.  Glad to hear you still got it in you without having a most of a six pack in you!" "Pardon me," he squeaked, cheeks reddened as he wiped his mouth. Stan's laughter surged again.  He had to heave in a few breaths before finding enough of a pause to answer, "I will pardon nothing!  I just hope that didn't register on the Richter Scale!" "Or wake the kids," he added meekly. "Welp, that's it," Stan said, wiping tears from below his fogged glasses. "That's what?" Ford asked, fanning himself like it would extinguish the burning in his cheeks, wondering how weird it would be to pull his sweater's collar up over his head and disappear inside. "Hearing you let one rip like we're kids again is the cure for a bad day."

Notes:

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Codes from past chapters

~With that many broken mirrors, you'd better hope the superstitions aren't true...

~I guess them sharing meals is kind of a theme. I guess instead of "monster of the week", it's "meal of the week." Though, I'm not actually sure how many more chapters will follow this format, if any.

I still have no idea how this is going to end. *dies*

[mattved]

On Living

I've been horrible in sticking up to anything lately. There is a massive pile of unpublished drafts on this blog, especially from the past six months. I haven't seen my friends in a while again and I even missed a dentist's appointment, because I overslept after a very exciting night of playing League of Legends and Torchlight 2 and soldering a project I've been working on since before the surgeries I had back in December.

Well, this obviously has to change, even though people around me say that I have to get myself together and sort things out so that I am comfortable and no longer torture myself with my thoughts. They are right, of course. And I'm looking for a way to get there, though there still are obstacles I have to pass. Like starting to love myself unconditionally, do the things I want, and build my surroundings the way I want them. Like becoming more selfish and pursue my own goals rather than helping others when the wetland cottage I live in is on the verge of collapse. Or sinking? Who knows. I have to move out of this shithole.

I have to move out of this shithole!

And it is wonderful, how I finally started realizing it myself. Maybe the endless pile of external sources I've taken in over the past years are actually starting to set in. And it is not just the personal coaching self-help crap you get to see commercials for on every corner. It's also beletry, story-based computer games, and in some cases even movies.

To the latter, it is far easier to make references, even in public, without looking like one of those enlightened sheep who stride our land and save their children from vaccination and stuff. But nevertheless, in the list I will append to this post, all the books I've read through that have anything to do with this matter are gonna be mentioned along with a brief note on whether they suck or not.

But back to my situation and minor details I may have not mentioned in the article on cancer. Thing is, I've caused all of that to myself. Living in the gloom of negative feelings taken from aspects of my surroundings. True that I'd been able to deal with some pretty well, like storming out of the house where I lived with a group of those heavily disrespectful individuals that are all around us. Mostly, though, I allowed my sensations to torture me. I humiliated myself, lowering my value in the eyes of my own and consequently in most of the eyes you get to see.

Now, I have to start gaining all the pieces of myself that I scattered here and there, everywhere. And because the love and enthusiasm I invested into releasing all the energy to others to dispose of, my karma should reward me with interest on that and allow me to take big lump-sum rewards from the environment I live in.

And while I intend to remain a highly thoughtful individual respectful to everyone else as well as the tiny wet dungball we all live on, I will no longer make sacrifices. If I am the kind of person to release positive energy into the outside world with hope of creating public greatness, I will allow myself to receive my reward. This ability of mine, a rare one among our society, is going to become my tool of trade. Whether I become a teacher, an economist, or a handyman. I am going to get paid for it. With money or love. With what I deserve from the others in return to being here for them.

I am going to take some relationships more selfishly and take what's good for me. Let them exist until the other person starts to see imbalance. Because that is the way it's meant to work, I suppose. If one relationship does not give me all that I want from it, I will look elsewhere. Sorry, but it's my time to be alive. And only those who truly deserve it will get to be alive near me.

Now for the impactful sources that may have left some influence on me. [Mind that this list is going to expand over time]

Waking The Tiger: Healing Trauma by Peter A Levine

The most academic one goes first. Obviously. Because it gives the most interesting account on therapeutic practice, which is heavily backed by reasonable theory. Peter Levine builds on ideas coming from psychosomatic (holistic) medicine and animal behavioral psychology in order to highlight immediate symptoms of trauma and potentially life-long consequences of interfering with the natural process of absorbing it. His main approach in aid to release such block in patients begins with observing and acknowledging internal feelings of one's body and transition of focus from one to another, which should eventually lead to identification of the disguised tremor. He recounts numerous dramatic sessions with his clients, highlights key differences between his method and sole meditation, and provides a complete set of recommendations for potential followers.

From this book, I gained the understanding that trauma is not only a matter of mind and found a potential new way to continue my therapy. I found a specialist knowledgeable of the method and cooperate with her on approaching release of my past momentary tensions, which do continue having impact. Sometimes, we talk about these specifically. Sometimes we don't talk much at all.

The Perks of Being a Wallflower by Stephen Chobsky

Of course you know the movie with Emma Watson, damnit. But the story comes from a book. A book composed of letters written by Charlie Kelmeckis, addressed to the reader. Letters in which he opens up to the non-existing individual you are, letting them know everything that needs to get out. And these describe in detail and with striking genuinity the process of absorbing a traumatic event from early childhood.

Anyway, no more spoilers here. This is my full reflection on both the book and the movie, if you're already familiar with the story. If not, go read the book!!! (Emma Watson is pretty, but the book is far better an experience, trust me.)

Dying To Be Me by Anita Moorjani

A story of almost dying after rescricting oneself to rules of society and subsequent self-perception as a failure. Explains the reasons why I may have called this whole thing upon me and tells me to stop questioning myself. While the message of the book is great and inspiring, it is not very well written, so I was stuck half way through the book.

Life is Strange: Before the Storm by Zak Garriss

It's too early to comment on this one. If the first title was strong and captivating, the prequel was insane. Maybe because it was more relatable.

The Four Agreements by Don Miguel Ruiz

This is one that I was recommended and while the key lesson makes sense, it might be hard to implement in our age. Take it into account, don't live by it (literally.)

The Subtle Art of Not Giving a F*cks by Mark Manson

TBA