#and assumes there must be nefarious purposes behind everything | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

primrose-path-of-dalliance · 3 years

Text

on bren and feeblemind.

(cw: lots of caleb backstory. self-explanatory, i think?)

this isn’t something i’ve talked about on my blog yet, but since the campaign has begun drawing to a close, i want to make sure i say my piece on the popular theory that bren/caleb was institutionalized because trent ikithon feebleminded him to disable him.

my piece being that it’s exceptionally unlikely he did—at least as a premeditated plan. this kind of theory also falls prey to the exact beliefs ikithon has tried to exploit in caleb.

for our mutual reference, i’ll quote the spell description of feeblemind.

FEEBLEMIND (PHB) 8th level enchantment

Casting time: 1 action Range: 150 feet Components: VSM (a handful of clay, crystal, glass, or mineral spheres) Duration: Instantaneous

You blast the mind of a creature that you can see within range, attempting to shatter its intellect and personality. The target takes 4d6 psychic damage and must make an Intelligence saving throw.

On a failed save, the creature’s Intelligence and Charisma scores become 1. The creature can’t cast spells, activate magic items, understand language, or communicate in any intelligible way. The creature can, however, identify its friends, follow them, and even protect them.

At the end of every 30 days, the creature can repeat its saving throw against this spell. If it succeeds on its saving throw, the spell ends. The spell can also be ended by Greater Restoration, Heal, or Wish.

considering the characteristics described and implied by actors other than ikithon—caleb and astrid prominently—who are not motivated to deceive on ikithon’s behalf, feeblemind is not consistent with caleb’s mental break.

fact the first: when bren broke, he became violent and spellcasted.

when astrid describes the circumstances in which he was taken to the vergessen sanatorium (e89, 1:49:30), she refers to his lashing out as “creat[ing] a lot of sparks everywhere else” and rubs at burn scars across her neck. she says that they had to subdue him because he was too dangerous. all of these statements add up to a bren who was viciously spellcasting at his friends and mentor when he broke down.

this wouldn’t have been possible if he’d been feebleminded. feeblemind explicitly prevents the affected creature from casting spells or activating magic items. in that scenario, the only thing bren would’ve been capable of is throwing hands. from him? not very dangerous at all.

how do we know astrid wasn’t lying or intentionally deceptive? because she (and eadwulf) still cares so much for caleb that she risked her life multiple times to aid him. no one who would give caleb a map to a secret volstrucker vault with her own handwriting on it (e127, 29:29; and 30:57)—or intentionally fail to counterspell him when ikithon could’ve seen her do so—would lie to caleb about ikithon attempting to permanently feeblemind him if she knew.

to preempt the idea that astrid had set the m9 up: it’s very obvious she didn’t, since trent ikithon had clearly had no forewarning of a break-in. he would’ve at least been waiting in the vault, already prepared to subdue them quickly, if he’d known.

so it’s fair to determine that astrid would either be honest to the extent of her knowledge to caleb or make it clear that she couldn’t answer him. since she didn’t imply the latter, we can assume she was being honest. and because of astrid’s competence, it’s highly probable she would’ve noticed if his behavior was symptomatic of feeblemind over the years.

fact the second: bren’s mental condition repeatedly improved and regressed while he was institutionalized.

astrid states this in the same conversation about their subduing him after his breakdown (e89, 1:50:50). considering this with the context of their romantic relationship prior to his breakdown, her genuine care for him, and her rise to power that included accompanying ikithon frequently to the sanatorium (e127, 31:07)—astrid would’ve had the motivation and the opportunities to visit bren in person. she could’ve also kept well-abreast of his condition.

actual times of improvement and decline in the mental state that astrid first observed during his breakdown wouldn’t be consistent with feeblemind. although it reduces the victim’s intelligence score to 1, they still retain thought and their sense of identity without problems.

this is a maintenance of consistency and (relative) reason. feeblemind does not actually damage a person’s basic perception of reality. but the health of bren’s behavior throughout the years was instead very unstable.

fact the third: caleb doesn’t remember anything from the burning of his home up to his healing by the unknown cleric.

in the conversation with astrid in e89, he asks her what happened when he broke and explicitly says, “the last thing i remember is my home” (1:46:58). when he first tells beau and nott about his past, he explains that he doesn’t remember much of what happened to him there (e18, 2:51:54).

beyond the reduction to their intelligence, feeblemind doesn’t affect the victim’s ability to form memories. caleb’s keen mind feat and established narrative element of his eidetic memory would’ve still been present as well. therefore, feeblemind alone can’t explain such a significant, near-empty gap in his memory. he would still remember something.

even the possibility of trent ikithon altering them directly is precluded by the fact that the cleric’s healing removed the alterations to caleb’s memory. if all those years had been magically blocked away, they’d have returned when he was healed of everything else.

fact the fourth: sometimes, people really do just break.

nothing about caleb’s backstory is inconsistent with just... being a person living their life, even a terrible one. he was a young man that believed so zealously in his country and his purpose, abused by a powerful older man, that he did many horrible things and believed they were right. until finally he did something that he couldn’t process and broke down.

there’s two reoccurring, underlying assumptions i’ve noticed behind why this theory seems to be so compelling and popular:

caleb just seems so remorseful and traumatized by his double patricide. there’s no way he would’ve willingly murdered his parents. ikithon must have known and decided to preempt his inevitable betrayal.

everything we know about bren, especially from the horse’s own mouth, suggests that he had been willing (at least up until his mental break) to murder his parents. he was literally an extreme nationalist—a fascist, if you will. he was lawful evil (twitter source). he gratefully executed many “criminals” put in front of him, more than likely by burning them to death based on his ptsd. victims whom we now understand may not have been guilty of anything at all.

he was glad to do what he thought was best for the dwendalian empire, and he truly thought being volstrucker was the correct path. trent ikithon, his abuser, treated him as his favorite (e110, 3:30:58). because he believed.

that fervent faith, in fact, is the key to something like his breakdown in the first place. hearing the dying screams of his parents, bren was forced to confront a violent dissonance between his radical beliefs that condemned traitors (as he believed until the cleric’s healing) and the intuitive horror of murdering his parents that he couldn’t reconcile. this fathomless sense of betrayal is why caleb so deeply despised ikithon and himself.

a young evocation wizard who didn’t want his parents dead would’ve run into that burning house, feebleminded or not. someone magically compelled to set that fire would’ve understood what happened as soon as the charm left him and would definitely remember every detail once the cleric healed him.

caleb is remorseful and traumatized because he willingly murdered his parents. as well as many others.

it can’t be that simple. caleb was institutionalized for eleven years just because his abuser pushed him too far? there must be a more nefarious reason. ikithon even said he basically stored him for later.

putting aside the fact that bren having a breakdown in the way he did makes complete sense for his situation, ikithon’s “claim” that he orchestrated all of caleb’s subsequent years is not only something he never actually says (e110, 3:16:34)—it is a claim that’s patently absurd.

i’ve written meta that discusses this in the past (link here). essentially though, the number of moving pieces and assumptions that would be needed for such a series of events is ridiculously improbable. even assuming that ikithon feebleminded him—so that caleb’s mind would be intact when he ‘woke up’—even assuming that ikithon somehow procured the service of a cleric of the archeart—a banned deity in the empire that would oppose ikithon...

why in the world would he ever reasonably believe that caleb widogast, the man he viciously betrayed and lied to and abused, would do anything to benefit ikithon?

trent ikithon is a mortal man. he has power, yes; enchantment magic, authority, and a history of abuse and manipulation over caleb’s head, yes. but ikithon is a mortal man. not a puppeteer in the sky piloting people’s bodies.

he certainly wouldn’t have led caleb to a whole new family that would change everything about his life for the better. a family that would love him, truly—a family that would help him heal, bear the weight of his guilt, and find a real future waiting for him again instead of a self-destructive end. a family that would fight tooth and nail for caleb’s sake against ikithon.

abusers lie. their biggest lie, the one they always circle back to in the end, is that their victim is unique: that there is something which makes them deserving of abuse, and that their abuser is both right and inescapable.

ikithon is read as honest because he chooses his words carefully and has the self-confidence to believe it. everything he’s claimed about caleb and his past have either been implications that he encouraged others to reach for him or platitudes empty of everything except gaslighting intent.

caleb has escaped. and everything ikithon wants is to convince caleb and his friends that he continues to control caleb’s life, that caleb is special, so he can regain some influence over a man who’s come to command so much power.

the idea that caleb must’ve been feebleminded—that he couldn’t have just had a mental breakdown like so many other prospective volstrucker before miraculously, then strenuously, recovering to create a hopeful future for himself—falls into the trap of validating ikithon’s lies.

trent ikithon didn’t see and believe in caleb’s ‘full potential’ before anyone else did. he didn’t foresee a single ounce of the man’s struggle to put himself back together after what he suffered. caleb was not institutionalized to serve as a toy to one day pull back out of the closet. there was no feeblemind or other secretive plan that could only serve to obfuscate the brutal truth:

ikithon abused a boy until he shattered, and tried to hide the evidence. a crime that he’s committed against countless other children. plain and simple.

so that’s my piece.

caleb widogast—bren ermendrud—was not the victim of a premeditated feeblemind from ikithon, based on the mechanics of the spell. even more importantly, the narrative of his and ikithon’s stories would suffer if he was.

now,

A LOGICAL POSSIBILITY I WON’T DENY.

what if ikithon feebleminded him as a method to subdue him after the breakdown?

this is more or less an alternate theory that’s irrelevant to the points i actually wanted to make. but i want to talk about it anyway because it’s kind of fun.

fact the bonus: bren spent eleven years in the sanatorium.

eleven years is a long time. he would’ve been able to save every 30 days after the initial failed save. the exandrian calendar has about eleven 30-day periods every year. assuming a feeblemind spell cast on him just prior to his institutionalization, that’s somewhere around 121 possible save attempts, give or take a few.

what’s the likelihood of him actually saving? to go through the mechanics:

normally, feeblemind reduces a person’s intelligence score to 1, modifier -5. caleb, as a variant human, possessed the feat keen mind from the beginning both mechanically and story-wise. this would make his intelligence score 2, modifier -4, even after feeblemind.

as a level 1-2 wizard, he would’ve had proficiency in intelligence saves. this would be +2 to his save.

in total, the modifier to bren’s intelligence saves would be -2.

in order to cast feeblemind, trent ikithon would have to have been a minimum level 15 wizard. this leaves two possible proficiency bonuses to determine his spell save dc: +5 or +6.

it’s probably safe to assume that his intelligence score is at least 18–20, likely 20. this would be a modifier of +4 or +5. (his intelligence could be 22+ if matt wanted to be a real dick, but let’s assume otherwise.)

spell save dc = 8 + spellcasting score mod (for wizards, this is intelligence) + proficiency bonus.

this means trent ikithon’s possible spell save dc is somewhere from 17–19.

therefore:

at minimum—17 being ikithon as a level 15–16 wizard with an intelligence score of 18–19 at the time of casting—bren would have to roll a 19 or nat 20 to make the save with his -2 save modifier.

at a dc of 18—ikithon either being level 17–20 or having an intelligence score of 20, but not both—bren would have to roll a nat 20.

at a dc of 19(+), it would be impossible for bren to save without additional bonuses such as bless.

i don’t have the brainpower to calculate some real statistical probabilities, but depending on your opinion of trent ikithon’s probable capabilities at the time of bren’s mental break, he may have been able to save against feeblemind sometime during the eleven years he spent at the sanatorium.

naturally, this has the earlier-mentioned conundrum of remembering that return of clarity once he was healed by the cleric, should ikithon have been retrieved to recast the feeblemind and altered his memories. nevertheless, it may or may not be a fun thought to play around with.

#caleb widogast #trent ikithon #blumendrei #cr #cr meta #critical role #critical role meta #critrole #bren aldric ermendrud #bren ermendrud #abuse cw #mental institution cw #prim post #prim says some things #long post

79 notes · View notes

everythingsinred · 3 years

Text

Let's Talk About NatsuMikan: Natsume (pt. 4)

We are at the turning point so things are about to get super fun! Pretty much everything we've gone over until now has been exposition and set-up for this arc.

More than ever there's a trigger warning here: we'll be discussing mental illness, depression, child abuse, and a genuine suicide attempt here so it will get quite heavy and dark.

Chapter Thirteen

We are approaching a significant turning point. This arc is heavy with things to analyze and important revelations about Natsume. Pretty much all the stuff I analyzed before now was just extended exposition, to be entirely honest. We were setting things up, establishing Natsume in every way we could and it will all come to a head right here. This is the arc we've been waiting for.

The chapter opens with Natsume, and from the start we can tell that we are in for a treat. We’ve never seen his perspective like this, only little snippets like “I know I used my alice on her”, or remembering Aoi’s hair-clip. Here, we have much more to work with, and we don’t have to do as much guesswork to make conclusions!

He’s having a nightmare, which is also what he calls it, much like the one he had in the anime. He’s running in darkness and there’s too many people’s voices. Being called a murderer, being told to obey or else… and all the while he’s telling them to shut up already. It’s enough to make anybody feel crowded. He just wants relief, to get out of the darkness, for the nightmare to end.

Even when he's all alone, he's bogged down by noise and taunts.

He wonders if he'll ever get real reprieve from the constant hell he's in. All he ever does is run, his life entirely enshrouded by darkness. He wants it to stop, and later we'll see how exactly he'll attempt to do so.

The fact that the arc begins with this scene despite the fact that Natsume does not feature heavily in this chapter or the next is foreshadowing that something must change by the end of it. He's despairing and hopeless now, and these points will all be brought up later as things come to a head, so something must shift by the end of the arc.

We later find out Natsume’s in the hospital, and then inevitably he gets kidnapped by Reo. He spends about two chapters unconscious, so we’ll be moving on to two of the most important chapters for Natsume’s development.

Chapter Fifteen

Natsume wakes up in the warehouse, but the way he wakes up is very interesting. He knows he’s in a strange place, not in a hospital bed. He thinks so much like a soldier or spy here, using his senses to observe his scary new surroundings and clinically filing away information until he opens his eyes and sees his classmates gnawing at each other’s binds. It’s fascinating to see inside his head, to see the dangerous ability training in action, that he doesn’t think like his peers would, or how any ten year old should.

He's intaking information, filing it, analyzing his situation, all before his eyes even open.

He is understandably irritated by the presence of his classmates, considering he’s been kidnapped, drugged, sick, and has to deal with an alice barrier on top of all that. He gets that he’s screwed, and, with Mikan and Sumire in the mix, his chances aren’t looking too great.

If you want to make yourself sad, it’s worth noting that Natsume doesn’t think he’s going to make it out of this situation alive. He’s processing his options and considering the best thing to do going forward, but he’s well aware that there’s also a good chance he might die tonight.

They manage to get into contact with Narumi, who instructs them to stall and keep quiet, also telling Natsume to use his alice. He’s strong enough to overpower the barrier, so it shouldn’t be an issue, but Natsume is sick. In order to get a small flame, he exhausts himself, and is even less of a state to run away than he already was. Their kidnappers realize the kids are awake because of the disturbance in the barrier, so they confront them to try and figure out their alices. Reo wants this information for nefarious purposes, planning on selling them. It’s already been said earlier in the story that alice children are more valuable in the human trafficking trade, so it’s in his best interest to know what exactly he’s selling.

Mikan has nullification, so the voice pheromone doesn’t work on her, but Sumire is affected, and about to reveal her alice when Natsume interferes. He’s exhausted, but he might have more or less already given up on himself. The most he can do now is try and protect his classmates who came to save him, even if it’s all he can do. So Reo does move on to confront him, taunting him by telling him all the plans they have for him. He’s to be assimilated into the organization, joining Z and becoming a child soldier for their ranks.

Reo brings up an excellent point: “What difference does it make if you start working for Z instead? Everyone there hates the academy like you do.” It’s true. Natsume might even prefer it slightly because it’s an anti-alice organization and he is by no means pro-academy (unlike in the anime where he becomes a poster boy for abuse apologism). At the academy, he’s surrounded by abusers and those subservient to the abusers, by bullies and kids who whisper behind his back, accusing him of murder and arson. Maybe at Z he could be around like-minded people (albeit people who are supportive of child trafficking).

But no.

Natsume doesn’t even consider it.

Maybe Reo should consider that Natsume doesn't want to be a child soldier at all, hmm?? Maybe he'd be better off just being a normal kid? Did that occur to him at all or...?

He immediately smacks Reo’s hand away. Even sick, even heavily under the effects of Reo’s alice, even despite being weak and drugged, he still resists. There’s not even a temptation or hesitation. His choice has been made for him.

Interestingly, Reo was also used by the academy. He knows how twisted the school can be, but he’s still confused and surprised by Natsume’s refusal. I’m assuming based on this that perhaps Natsume is a special case. It would be reasonable to assume most of the kids used in the dangerous ability class are threatened and cowed into obedience, their physical and mental safety in jeopardy if they rebel in any way. Natsume is a child, and we’ve seen him run from his own teacher in abject terror. He’s obviously not a fan of putting himself in physical and mental jeopardy. But the way to get to Natsume is not by threatening him; it’s by threatening Ruka, or Aoi, or Youichi, because Natsume doesn’t care about anything as much as he cares about them--not even his own life.

And that’s why Reo is surprised and confused that Natsume would say no to him and choose the academy over Z.

And it’s because Natsume is not actually choosing the academy over Z. He’s choosing Ruka and Aoi over Z, like he chooses them over everything. Natsume knows that resisting Z here is tantamount to suicide, but he’ll choose that, because he’ll choose his loved ones over his own life.

And then something surprising happens: Mikan gets in between Natsume and Reo, protecting Natsume.

This is new; Natsume is used to being the one doing the protecting. He was more than willing to take all Reo’s wrath to distract him from using his pheromones on Mikan and Sumire. He’s being protected now though, a little, but it’s really just a taste of what’s to come. Mikan stepping in is unexpected… and unwise.

Now Reo can conclude that she has the nullification alice. This is bad news in general, but a great opportunity. Reo and his goons are distracted and there’s enough time for Sumire to use her own alice and see where they are and what’s around.

Turns out there’s dynamite and other explosives a couple warehouses away. This instantly gets Natsume’s attention and he’s already formulating a plan.

He tells them to run for it, reassuring them that he can take care of himself. He says he’s only helping because he’d feel guilty otherwise, not because he actually cares much for what happens to them, because it’s their own fault they followed him.

We know this isn’t the truth. Since he woke up, Natsume has been prioritizing the girls over himself.

He can hardly stand up so the idea that he can escape on his own is a little ridiculous... but he knows that too and he's known it from the start.

The escape begins and the girls run for it, with Natsume distracting Reo and his goons by threatening to blow up the dynamite two warehouses away.

This is a genuine suicide attempt. Natsume has no intention to save himself. He considers himself a lost cause. He’s sick, exhausted, in no condition to run. He can stall long enough to let the girls escape, but he’s gonna blow up the dynamite, taking Reo and part of Z down with him. Reo’s kidnapping whim will prove fatal and catastrophic, and the Black Cat will be eliminated.

Chapter Sixteen

This arc turns so much darker.

Yes, Natsume seems to have no choice but to kill himself to protect his classmates and eliminate the Reo threat. The first page of Chapter Sixteen also establishes that this isn’t just Natsume’s own plan. He’s been commanded to commit suicide in this kind of situation by Persona. If he’s ever trapped and can’t escape, he’s to kill himself, so that he can’t be used against the academy. He’s too powerful. The academy would rather this child die than fall into Z’s hands. In fact, if Natsume were to rebel, in any way, even by not killing himself in such a situation, the academy will hurt the people he cares about.

This is a grown ass man telling a child that his life is only important if he can be a tool for the school and as soon as he can't be anymore, he ceases to have value and is better off dead.

I will once again mention that Natsume is ten years old. The academy is not just an abusive institution, it’s also a human rights violator, since child soldiers are prohibited by international law. A child soldier is any child under the age of 18 who is compelled to fight or otherwise service any state or non-state armed group (the academy counts as an armed group because it has a division of child soldiers with magical powers ready to kill and maim on command as well as teachers with magical powers willing to threaten these children into submission). Natsume is a child soldier and the fact that the dangerous ability class was never fully dissolved is an actual human rights violation.

Anyway, this arc is where we see Natsume clearly for the first time. Compared to all the fun and mischief of previous chapters, these chapters are dark and scary. There’s no exciting dodgeball game or howalon-related antics. This is life-or-death, suicide attempts, threats.

This marks the difference between the life the rest of the kids at the academy are living and the life Natsume has been struggling through. How do you live through missions like this, watching your life whittle away, being threatened on a regular basis, and then go back to school and pretend to care about math or about sports or friends? It makes perfect sense that Natsume would feel so isolated from everyone. His experiences are too different.

Of course, this whole thing is about to get a whole lot worse.

Reo asks why Natsume would even bother with this. Is there even a reason? He even gives a pretty good deal: If Natsume backs down, Sumire and Mikan will be spared.

But Natsume doesn’t bite. He’s ready to die, because the academy told him to, because he wants to protect his loved ones, because he wants to help Sumire and Mikan escape, and--most heart-breakingly--because he genuinely wants to die.

Now that Sumire and Mikan are gone, he doesn't have to lie about his plans anymore.

Natsume has been appearing in the last sixteen chapters, showing up to offer a sarcastic quip, set something on fire, and be generally unpleasant. But more than that, we’ve seen glimpses into what appears to be a horrible, miserable life. Natsume hates the academy, only has one friend, goes on life-threatening missions, frequently visits the hospital, despises his own alice, and he never smiles. All his appearances up to this point have been an explanation: this is why Natsume wants to kill himself.

Natsume isn’t just forced into a suicide attempt. There’s a reason he submits so easily to the idea of dying here. He’s ready. He’s been ready for a long time. He might have even been waiting for it; to get it over with because it’s bound to happen sooner or later.

He says he feels like he’s living his life cowering on his knees, like his head is constantly under a pool of shame. “I’m sick of the academy. I’m sick of you all. I’m sick of everything!”

Natsume is going to die in a few moments and he’s okay with it. He’s even happy about it, because there is really nothing worth living for. He doesn’t have a future, or hopes and dreams. This whole time he has been living for Ruka and his family, doing everything he can to keep them safe. Nothing he’s done in the past two years has been for himself. This may be the very first selfish thing he has done in all this time. He’s ready to die.

It’s not like he had something to look forward to anyway.

Natsume is about to die, until the wind is knocked out of him and he’s suddenly on the ground, with Mikan grabbing his shirt and screaming into his face that he’s an idiot. He’s lying on the floor because one of his stupid classmates--the one he hates the most, the stupid girl with the nullification alice and her head so full of rainbows and butterflies and happiness he could barf just thinking about her, the one that walked right into the worst thing that ever happened to him and smiled about it--tackled him and stopped his suicide attempt.

Just one split second changes everything and there's nothing he can do about it.

Yes, the previous chapters leading up to this explained why Natsume wants to die, and how miserable his life is, but they also mark another thing: the only fifteen and a half chapters where Natsume isn’t in love with Mikan.

In this moment, she saves his life. She risks her own safety on a whim to protect him, and she does. She didn’t come all this way for nothing! She’s willing to fight Reo and any henchmen to protect Natsume, who can’t even walk without help. Natsume was not expecting this.

He asks why she even came back, but she makes it clear it wasn’t a choice--they’re partners, after all! It’s her job to look after him.

The next few scenes are Mikan protecting Natsume, and it’s important to point out that nobody has ever done that before. Natsume is always the one doing the sacrificing and protecting, and he’s okay with that. He doesn’t want Ruka to be burdened by his hardships, or for Aoi to be held responsible for something she did under a dangerous fever. He will do the hard thing, will be the caretaker, because that’s who he’s always been.

It might be uncomfortable and strange for him, but Natsume is being taken care of here, led to hiding spots and being protected. When he tries again to convince her to leave him behind, he’s using all the insults he can think of. This is another way of protecting people: hurting them so that he can further distance himself from them and keep them safe.

But Mikan fights back, saying, “Who do you think I came back for?”

Here Natsume finally understands something. The girl he has hated ever since she voluntarily enrolled into the school that uses him as a human weapon is more than a bumbling idiot. Her sickening optimism and determination are the reason he’s still alive now. He gave up on himself, but she refuses to. She’s the kind of person who would risk her own life to save a boy who has caused her nothing but grief, because she can see value in his existence that he can’t.

Natsume's never thought of himself as even having a future before, let alone a happy one.

And she says, “Everyone is waiting for you.” Natsume used to look down on her optimism and rose-colored lenses, because how naive is it to think things will just work themselves out? That the future will be better? That there’s something worth working for, even if you aren’t sure what it is? It’s stupid. Natsume knows better: life sucks and then you die because you get kidnapped and you have to commit suicide or else your loved ones will get hurt. Relying on stupid things like positivity or hope is just a waste of time.

But not this time. This girl is saving him because there’s a bright future awaiting her, but more than that: she sees a bright future for him too. She thinks things will work out for him too, that he has moments to look forward to where he will laugh and cry and live--moments he hasn’t seen yet. There’s still so much life left for him to live, and he’s never thought of it that way.

For the first time in a long time, Natsume is thinking about his own future.

He doesn’t argue when Mikan stands up to protect him, or when she grabs his hand to try and lead him from danger. He trusts her now and even more, he wants to live.

And then Mikan gets overpowered by a goon, who slams her into the wall in order to get to Natsume.

And that pushes Natsume’s berserk button, because now he cares about Mikan, and he goes absolutely unhinged whenever someone he cares about is hurt.

Mikan has become precious to Natsume only a few minutes ago, but he's kinda ride-or-die so it's like going from 0 to 100.

Just a few chapters ago, a middle-schooler grabbed Mikan and threatened to hurt her if Natsume didn’t back down and Natsume just laughed. Now he’s detonating a whole shipyard because somebody shoved her.

Yes, he does set off the dynamite, because he’s no longer thinking rationally and how dare someone hurt Mikan?

We’re not really sure what consequences this had, if he ended up inadvertently hurting himself or Mikan in the process of getting revenge against this man for hurting a girl who he just started having feelings for like five minutes ago, but both of them end up hospitalized.

Conclusion

This whole arc is a fucking MASTERPIECE. We’ve met Natsume before, but that was the old Natsume. That Natsume was miserable and didn’t have anything to look forward to. We’ve just met a new Natsume; a Natsume who has hopes and desires and will do selfish things because of them. His life is still dark and dreary and miserable, but there’s a light coming in now, and he’s content now just to be in the sun for a little bit until his life comes to a complete end, which will still be sooner than later.

<- Previous Next ->

29 notes · View notes

procrastinatorproject · 3 years

Link

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Star Trek: Picard Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Agnes Jurati/Cristóbal Rios Characters: Agnes Jurati, Cristóbal Rios Additional Tags: Meta, Developing Relationship, my take on Agnes and Cris's relationship, and why i think it works, Minor Character Death (Mentioned), Psychological Trauma

Title Inspired by @regionalpancake‘s glorious Downtime Drabble “You’re Light On Me”

A while ago, a friend confessed to me that they didn’t really understand what Agnes Jurati and Cris Rios see in each other. They felt the relationship seemed unmotivated and forced, and they didn’t really see why other people thought it worked.

I’ve seen this sentiment a few times since the show came out, and I’m not here to tell anyone they have to agree with the show-writers’ choices or like a relationship if it doesn’t work for them. But I recently reread the little essay I sent that friend in reply (after making sure they’d want to read it ;9 ), and I really liked it, so I thought I’d share it here.

When people say that the kiss between Agnes Jurati and Cristobal Rios at the end of Star Trek: Picard season 1 blindsided them, I understand where they're coming from. I think the showrunners could have done more to make the developing relationship between these characters truly obvious, but for me, it didn't feel like the mutual attraction between Cris and Agnes came completely out of nowhere. Let me explain.

One of the big things about Rios’s character I find striking is that he wants to be stoic and cynical and misanthropic, but he just... can't do it. He tries! He's short, he hides behind his books, and he pretends he doesn't care about politeness. But the only people he ever swears at are Raffi, a very good friend, and the holos (which are a whole other matter, because there is all this self-loathing tied up in Cris's relationship with them). Over the course of season 1, it's pretty clear that Rios is rather good at reading people, and he wants to do right by them. He defers to Picard pretty much immediately and Soji looks at him pleadingly once and he decides to put his ship at risk for her.

Rios doesn't want to like people, he just can't help himself. He wants to be annoyed by Agnes interrupting his reading, but I think he finds her quirkiness disarming and charming. It's already visible in the way he looks at her on the bridge, when they talk about paper books. And then they go to the holodeck to discuss Picard's detour to Vashti. Since Agnes is the audience stand-in, she asks a bunch of questions, and instead of being annoyed or short, Cris patiently explains everything to her (after offering her a seat). Later, when Cris asks Agnes what she thinks about his outfit for the Stardust City caper and she says he's killing it, there's a beat there. He seems almost a little taken aback, either by her sincerity, or maybe by realizing he values her opinion. It's yet another thing they connect over it. (Also robot boxing. That scene is adorable)

With regards to Agnes… I think partially, she's leaning into her natural humour and quirkiness to appear non-threatening and not give herself away, but I also have another read on her behaviour. (This may partially be me projecting WAY TOO HARD, or, to put it more generously, applying some lived experience to what we see of Agnes's character, so your take on this might be very different. But this is what I see.)

When Agnes and Cris talk before they go off to have sex, Agnes is making jokes and smiling. To me, that doesn’t read as fake or a ploy to manipulate Rios, it seems real. And then when he asks, really asks, how she's feeling, suddenly there is this chasm of pain right under the surface. For me, the idea that Agnes has this intense psychological trauma and is dealing with it by finding joy in little things, like watering the plants, and reading papers, and flirting with the hot captain by completely wrong-footing him with a comment about her dad... it feels very authentic. And I can see how this guy, who pretends to be all uncaring and edgy but is actually a big softie not very far under the surface, and who smiles at her jokes and takes the time to explain stuff to her and listens to her babble, that's a nice distraction from the horrible things happening in her mind. Not in the sense that she's manipulatively using him, but in the sense that this kind of human connection gives her moments of light and gives her reasons to keep going, even through so much pain.

After Agnes kills Maddox, she is deeply, deeply conflicted over what she's done. To the point where when they’re leaving the Artefact, she basically says "I don't care if the world ends if I don't kill Soji. Let it all burn. I just can't do this anymore". And then here is this man, who's kind and caring and, yes, hot, and at first it's "I just want to feel something, anything, and he's here, he's half-naked, he's gorgeous". And Rios isn't necessarily opposed to a no-strings-attached fling. Because he keeps telling himself he doesn't get attached and he hates people and he's only ferrying them around because they're paying him. So it's a distraction with a woman who is quirky and witty and pretty, but it won't mean anything, and that's okay.

And then Agnes changes her mind, because she realizes having sex with Rios will make things more complicated. Or maybe because she thinks Rios deserves better. Or that she shouldn't have sex to distract herself from horrible emotional pain because that's kinda unhealthy.

So she pulls back.

And Rios, instead of being annoyed at missing out or feeling like she led him on, or any number of things, asks her how she's feeling. In a way that makes it clear (at least to me) that he really cares about the answer. And for a moment, Agnes lets him see the true darkness inside her. Because she can pretend it's about Maddox dying, she can pretend it's just about being a lonely nerd. She doesn't have to tell him how bad it really is, but she lets herself feel all of the bad emotions for just a moment.

And then she kisses him again, maybe to shut herself up or to distract herself, or because she needs the connection. And he doesn't have any illusion about what it is they're doing. He knows she's trying to feel better, he essentially tells her he knows it's a way for her to deal with her devastation, and he's okay with it. Maybe because he knows what it's like to feel hollow and terrified and need something, anything to cling to.

And at this point, I think they're both still telling themselves that they don't actually care about each other. Cris because he doesn't want to care about anyone ever again so he won't get hurt. (Which, again, he fails miserably at, but I think that's how he wants to see himself and why he treats his holos with so much disdain that Emil tells Picard "He doesn't get any nicer", even though we see Rios being kind to all the people on board.) And Agnes doesn't really have the brain space to allow herself to fall for anyone. She's just taking little moments of light and human connection where she can get them. And they both decide to have sex as a one-night-stand, just to make Agnes feel better for the night, just because they're both lonely and in pain. No deeper meaning behind it.

And then the whole tracker debacle happens. It takes three days to get to Nepenthe and by the time Agnes goes into a coma, they're still a couple days away at least. She doesn't wake up until Picard is back on board, which means she's out for a long time. Even though we don’t see much of the medical drama, we can assume she was very much at death's door. So, now Rios is faced with once again losing someone he feels somewhat responsible for. Someone he has actually gotten close to. And I think that moment and the fear it causes him might make him start to realize how much he actually cares about her.

And then when Picard and Soji are on board, they all sit down together and figure out the big mystery at the heart of season 1. And here is another thing Cris and Agnes find out they have in common: Both of their lives and minds got destroyed by Oh's machinations. Cris went against everything he believed in when he covered up what Vandermeer had done. He didn't actively kill anyone, but he feels like Vandermeer's death is his fault. His belief in the fundamental goodness of Starfleet was shattered when they threatened to blow up his ship. For Agnes, this kind of shattering of a truth she had clung to comes when she realizes she wasn't acting on the directive of the Head of Starfleet Security in a black-ops mission sanctioned by one of the most important institutions of the Federation. Instead, she was nothing but a pawn, used by Oh for nefarious purposes that had nothing to do with the greater good. The exact circumstances of their traumas are different, but they were both caught up in the same catastrophe and cover-up and it has marked them in similar ways.

I think this is one of the reasons Rios doesn't blame Agnes for killing Maddox. If anything, he gets more protective of her, e.g. by trying to stop Sutra from forcing another mind-meld on Agnes. You can see this in a more subtle scene, too: when Cris says goodbye to Agnes at Coppelius station, he reaches out to touch her face, but then he hesitates and proceeds with extreme gentleness and care. To me, that reads like someone very, very aware of the other person's trauma and possible triggers (forced mind-meld) and caring deeply about making sure she feels safe and has something good to counterbalance the horrible memories.

And finally, we clearly jump quite a bit in time at the very end of season 1. When our motley crew sets out from Coppelius, the Synth Ban has been lifted. Just imagine the bureaucracy that must have taken! That’s not something that can be overturned in a day. Also, Raffi and Seven have had time to connect, so I imagine in that time, Cris and Agnes, too, will have slowly figured out whether they're compatible and whether this relationship is something they might, very carefully and gently, endeavour together.

Because they have a compatible kind of humour, because they understand what it's like to feel deeply broken but to keep going regardless, because she's witty and quirky and he's caring and kind and they went through a very specific hell together, and they might be able to hold each other's hands as they slowly make their ways towards healing.

I’m going to do a metatextual thing here and quote an absolutely gorgeous drabble by @regionalpancake that, to me, encapsulates one very important aspect of the relationship between Cris and Agnes.

Your Light On Me

You’d forgotten just how it felt. To feel like you. A stranger, Last seen aboard the Ibn Majid. Proud, red trimmed shoulders, Bright pips, a polished combadge. You signed aboard, And found A different man signed off. You’re old enough to know, She cannot fix you. You wouldn’t want her to. That’s between Pops and you. That’s your work to do, Not hers. But Agnes? Preciosa. Something in her, Shines a light. Reminds you who you are. You have to find, Your own way home. But god, It’s nice, At last, To find, A gentle soul, To hold the lamp.

Chapter 74 of Downtime

That. Right there. A gentle soul to hold the lamp. I think for me, that's what the relationship between Cris and Agnes boils down to.

They are broken people in a broken world, but by the end of season 1, they have found that they can hold each other while they try to put themselves back together. And what starts out as a fun, distracting flirtation, then turns into "meaningless" sex to stop feeling lonely and sad, finally becomes the beginning of a relationship built on shared trauma, but more importantly on kindness and charm.

I have no idea whether these two can make it work long-term, but I am very much on board for what we've seen so far, and I hope this can help a bit in explaining why.

NB: After I finished writing this a few weeks back, I remembered that there was a fic that came to very similar conclusions. Upon reread, I realized it essentially hits the exact same points I do here and does so absolutely beautifully. So if you want a truly touching in-universe perspective on this relationship, go and read Love Comes Softly by Be_Right_Back (@smhalltheurlsaretaken, or listen to the Podfic recorded by Thimblerig. I cannot recommend this fic highly enough!

21 notes · View notes

snowdice · 4 years

Text

Big Bang (Sort of) Editing Story [Day 58]

I started writing this fic while editing my Big Bang story, but am going to continue doing it for other things now that Kill Dear is out. I will write and publish 100 words of the story every time I finish doing whatever task I’m doing. If you’d like to block these proceedings, please feel free to block the tag proofread stories. I will reblog this post with the parts of the story I do today. Edited chapters are linked; everything else I’ve done so far is under the cut.

My Master Post Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Part 12 Part 13 Part 14 Part 15 Part 16 Part 17 Part 18 Part 19 Part 20 Part 21 Part 22 Part 23 Part 24 Part 25 Part 26

Wow I am tired and have a headache, but also I have to get my grading in by tomorrow so...

If I get too miserable, I may stop abruptly and get up early to finish it in the morning.

Chapter 27

After an, honestly quite aggravating, breakfast full of Virgil’s cognitive distortions about the likelihood of being poisoned, Logan was relieved to finally be able to leave the dining area. In consideration to those serving breakfast, Patton did not lead them through the door in the back of the dining room that went directly to the kitchen, and instead took them out of the room and down the hall to a different entrance. This one had a guard stationed across from it as, despite what Virgil may believe, the castle workers did consider the possibility that someone would want to sneak into the kitchen for nefarious purposes.

Said guard, of course, saw nothing wrong with the prince and the head chef’s son entering the side door even with the bonus stranger. In fact, he may even have known Virgil could be coming through this door if Ms. Heart had mentioned him.

Though Virgil hadn’t managed to catch it, Logan knew enough about Patton’s mother that he’d surmised that she had insisted Patton bring the boy to meet her. It was bound to happen at some point anyway, Logan knew, and he wasn’t particularly worried. After all, this was Patton’s mother. Virgil himself didn’t even seem particularly concerned.

Logan had seen him panic and, while he tugged a bit at the sweater he was wearing, the motion was not particularly fervent, so he was likely just slightly nervous.

Of course, that may be because he did not know Patton’s mother specifically wanted to meet him and just assumed that they were starting the necessary process of introducing him to castle residents with a low risk person.

When they entered the hallway, Logan could already hear the usual noises of the kitchen: the clattering of plates, the bubble of conversation, and the sound of Ms. Heart’s voice calling out instructions.

He did see Virgil hesitate, but Logan couldn’t sus out why and Patton was already ahead of them and opening the door into the kitchen. It was fairly calm for the kitchen considering it was meal hours. Logan imagined that Patton had chosen the time between when the day guards ate breakfast before their shifts and the night guards after their shifts on purpose. There was still a bit of chaos as dishwashers attempted to catch up during the lull and a few orders were still being made, but overall the mood seemed, to Logan at least, to be light as Ms. Heart ordered her kitchen around.

Yet, Virgil clearly did not see the situation the same way that Logan did. He froze when the kitchen door swung open and some of the workers turned to look at them. He took a step back, bumped into Logan, startled violently, realized it was Logan, and then side stepped to hide behind him. Logan looked back at him in confusion, but Virgil said nothing, proceeding to mutely peer over Logan’s shoulder.

Patton had moved over to greet his mother as she wiped her hands off on a rag. She glanced over at Virgil and Logan and Logan saw Virgil shrink back a bit.

Logan could see Ms. Heart’s eyes soften as she tracked his movement. She turned to the woman next to her and said something before moving to remove her apron and hang it up in its designated area. Virgil’s hands clenched in the fabric of Logan’s shirt when she turned back to him.

“It’s fine, Virgil,” Logan told him, but Virgil didn’t seem to believe him. Luckily, Patton had turned back and seemed to realize something was amiss.

He stepped back over to them. “Hey, honey,” he said. A plate clattered in the kitchen and Virgil just about ripped Logan’s shirt.

Patton frowned sympathetically. “Too loud?”

“Virgil,” Logan said. “You are digging your fingernails into my skin.” Patton shot Logan a glare. “What?”

“How about,” Patton’s mom suggested. Virgil’s fingernails dug more into Logan’s skin. “We go to my office.”

“I think that’s a good idea, Mama,” Patton said. “Come here, Virgil.” He reached over to touch one of Virgil’s hands and had to pull a bit to get him to release Logan. “It’s back that way, away from the kitchen,” he said when he managed to twine their fingers. He stepped around Logan, probably so there was still a buffer between Virgil and the kitchen and tugged him in the correct direction.

Ms. Heart shot a glance at Logan and Logan felt irrationally like she was trying to read his thoughts. Logan smoothed his features out and turned to follow Patton and Virgil towards her office.

As head chef, Ms. Heart had a small office where she could plan menus without the hustle and bustle of the kitchen and have meeting with people who needed to discuss dietary needs and restrictions. It was very well organized, but still looked fairly messy because of the numbers of decorations she had in it. She had a tendency to keep everything that Patton made her, thus she had his childhood drawings on the wall and little projects stacked on her desk and on the shelves. A lumpy cat statue acted as a paperweight on a stack of papers on her desk and there was a vase of fake flowers (as it could not actually hold water) sat near the window.

By the time Logan entered the room, Patton was trying to coax Virgil into sitting down on one of the two mismatched chairs, but Virgil was having none of it. He had turned to face the door and was yanking at his sweater in nervousness.

Logan noticed that Ms. Heart did not come far into the room, instead pausing near the door. She did, however close the door to give them privacy, and that seemed to distress Virgil more.

She seemed to contemplate him for a moment. “Hello,” she said, her voice softer than Logan was used to hearing. “You must be Virgil.”

It seemed as though he were willing himself to magically shrink, but he still replied. “Yes, ma’am,” he said quietly.

“It’s nice to meet you,” she said. “I’m Patton’s mom.”

“I know, ma’am.”

“There’s no need to be formal, Virgil.”

He hesitated. “Okay,” he said somehow quieter.

Her eyebrows drew together in concern, and it seemed that she decided to result to her default way of making people more comfortable. “Would you kids like some candy?”

Logan saw Patton’s hand squeeze Virgil’s lightly. “That would be great, Mama.”

She nodded and walked forward towards her desk. Virgil turned so his back was never to her. If she noticed, she didn’t react. She just grabbed a small tin off one of her shelves and took the top off. “How about a peppermint candy?” she asked.

She offered the tin out to them. Virgil stared at it like it was a venomous snake. Logan decided to act, stepping forward and taking three of the pieces of peppermint candy from the dish. He stepped over to Virgil and Patton and held out his hand, offering Virgil first choice out of all three.

He hesitated before glancing between Patton and his mother. He must have decided that Patton’s mom wouldn’t risk poisoning Patton and took one of the pieces. Patton took another one of them and popped it into his mouth. Logan ate the last piece.

“Thanks,” Virgil said to Ms. Heart before placing his piece in his mouth.

Logan watched Virgil’s eyes light up a bit when the flavor registered. His posture didn’t completely relax, but he seemed at least a bit less like he was contemplating jumping through the window. His trust was almost worryingly easy to buy sometimes. All it took was a not poisoned peppermint.

Ms. Heart seemed pleased by his reaction. “I’m actually going to be making some new ones soon and I’m trying to get rid of these. Would you like to take another one for later?” she asked, holding out the tin.

He looked at it warily again, but he still stepped closer slowly and took another piece. “Thank you.”

“Anytime,” Ms. Heart said, eyes looking over him intensely. “You look like you could do to with a few more sweets every so often.”

Virgil tilted his head in that way he did when he was particularly perplexed.

Patton giggled a bit. “She means your skinny.”

“Oh,” Virgil said. “Logan already gave me a malnutrition potion for that.”

“Did he now?” she asked, her eyes flickering to Logan. Logan winced. He was definitely in trouble for not bringing him directly to her. He was sure he’d hear all about it as soon as she caught him without Virgil in the room.

She turned back to Virgil with a smile, and Logan imagined Virgil had no idea how dead Logan was. “Well, that’s a very good start, but if there was need for a nutrition potion, we should be careful to make sure you get enough calories and nutrients every day going forward.” She sat down at her desk. “Why don’t you and I talk for a bit about making sure you get some good food.”

He still looked cautious but was predictably enticed by the promise of food. He did not sit still, but he did put his hands on the back of one of the chairs and slightly lean on it. “Yes, ma’am,” he agreed.

“Okay,” she said. “Well, I’m going to have a few more specific questions, but let’s just start with what are your favorite foods?”

“I’ll eat anything,” Virgil replied immediately.

“He really likes chicken alfredo,” Patton contributed.

Virgil perked up at the name of the food. “I did like that,” he agreed.

“Alright,” Ms. Heart replied. That’s a start.

Chapter 28

Thomas did not have to be told that something had gotten Helen Heart in a tizzy. He could tell just by the amount of food she had sent up on his dinner tray. She always made and pushed more food when she was stressed, and he couldn’t help but chuckle when he found both a hearty serving of roast beef and a mini chicken pot pie on his plate along with three vegetable side dishes and a side of macaroni and cheese.

He could also guess what had happened to illicit such a response. Thomas had caught up to Jeffers Deknis in his garden and they’d spoken at length about Logan and Patton’s new friend.

There was no way that after said discussion, Jeff had not mentioned Virgil (and more importantly his friendship with Patton) to Helen during their daily gossip sessions. There was also no way that Helen had heard the words “child” and “too small” in a sentence and hadn’t flipped. From there the inevitable sequence of events was clear: Patton went home, Helen talked his ear off until he agreed to bring Virgil to meet her, Helen met him and immediately committed herself to making sure he ate three square meals a day as well as multiple snacks.

Thomas had sussed all of that out before the kitchen worker bringing him his dinner had mentioned what had happened that day.

That in mind, he decided to wait until after dinner should have been cleaned up before walking his own dinner leftovers down to the kitchens.

Thomas was unsurprised to see Jeff already in the kitchen. He was sat at a small table off to the side where kitchen workers usually took their breaks. The only person other than Jeff and Helen left in the kitchen was a dishwasher who was finishing up. Helen usually spent a couple of hours after dinner in her kitchen or her office organizing for the next day and in case anyone needed food on an off hour, and then there was a night cook who would take over so she could go back to her set of rooms.

Helen took the tray of leftovers from Thomas herself and shooed the dishwasher out of the way. “I’ll handle the rest myself,” she told the girl. “You can leave.”

She nodded and started to take her apron off. Helen dumped the tray on the counter without care and turned back around to usher Thomas into one of the kitchen chairs. Thomas went willingly and she turned to fill the tea kettle with water and set it on the stove.

“It take it she met Virgil,” Thomas said to Jeff.

“She’s adopted Virgil,” Jeff replied, taking a bite out of a cookie.

“And what of it?” she asked. “Someone obviously needs to feed the boy. Speaking of, you’re grounding your son by the way.”

Thomas took one of the cookies for himself. “Why am I grounding Logan?” he asked.

“He was worried enough about his health to make him a nutrition potion, but still did not bring him to me,” she harrumphed.

“I see,” Thomas replied.

“In Logan’s defense,” Jeff interrupted. “the boy seems rather timid. He may have worried about you scaring him off.”

Helen slapped him with a dishtowel.

“Actually,” Jeff continued. “From what I’ve gathered he didn’t have contact with anyone since the time I saw him a couple of weeks ago until now.”

“Any adults,” Thomas corrected with a frown. “I’m pretty sure he, Patton, and Logan must have been around each other considering how close they already seem to be.” He paused, “Logan implied he wasn’t particularly… comfortable around adults.”

“I did get that impression, yes,” Helen said, pouring the hot water from the kettle into a tea pot and carrying it and some cups over to the table.

“He was incredibly jumpy,” Jeff confirmed. “I imagine he does not have good experiences with many people, but he seems to have grown attached to Logan and Patton. He defers to them in most things and seemed a bit protective.

“Where did he come from?” Thomas asked.

“I’m not sure,” Jeff said. “I found him hiding in the garden shed a couple of weeks ago.”

“Did he sneak in?” Thomas asked.

“That’s what I would have thought,” Jeff replied, “but when I asked, he said he wasn’t trying to steal anything and that he was supposed to be in the castle. So, I’d assumed that meant he was the child of someone living in the caste.”

“But neither of us could find anyone who knew him,” Helen said. “Of course, we didn’t even know his name until now.” She seemed to decide the tea leaves had sat long enough because she started to pour them each a cup of tea.

Thomas took a sip. “Earl Grey,” he commented. “I guess I’m not sleeping much tonight.” It was her ‘planning tea.’

“We need a plan,” she said, “but we’re going to have to be gentle.”

“At least with Virgil,” Jeff said.

Thomas laughed lightly, “and what do you plan to do with the other two?”

“I have my ways.”

Helen rolled her eyes. “You say that,” she said, “but you’re too soft. The two of them learned to run circles around you and your powers years ago.”

“We should talk to them though,” Thomas said. “Separately from Virgil.”

“We should,” Helen agreed. “I already spoke to Patton a bit yesterday, but I will again. We should see if we can ask around and find out why he’s in the castle. We don’t even know how long he’s lived here. Or who brought him here.” The look on her face told Thomas she wanted to have a talk with his guardians whoever and wherever they were.

Helen took a drink of tea, it seemed to calm herself. “We need to make sure whatever has been happening to him is not happening in these walls,” she said.

Thomas had honestly… not thought about that. He’d assumed whatever made Virgil so skittish was in the past, but it was possible that it was ongoing. The thought made him sick.

“Perhaps you should try to talk to him, Thomas,” Helen suggested.

Thomas winced. “I am not sure that is a good idea...”

“Why not?”

“We don’t have the best track record… I don’t think me being around him would be a good idea.”

“Oh, please, Thomas,” Helen said disbelievingly.

“No, you don’t understand,” Thomas said. “He seems disproportionately afraid of me. I think it’s a mix of me being king and how we met.”

“How did you meet?” Helen asked.

“I… gave him a bit of a fright,” Thomas admitted. “Logan and Patton weren’t in the room and I didn’t know who he was. He… ended up under the bed. Then… the second time I saw him he accidently ran into me. He freaked out again.” The memory still made Thomas feel gross. It also made him think there was a lot more to his backstory than the three of them understood.

43410

“Perhaps Jeff can try to talk to him then,” Helen said. “It sounds like he was calmest around you. I’ll push Patton towards taking him to the garden more often. I bet fresh air would do him some good anyway.”

Jeff nodded. “I will try to talk to him a bit more.”

“Great,” Helen said, but Thomas already knew the conversation wasn’t over. “Now we need to talk about strategic events to throw over the next few months that Patton and Logan to invite Virgil to. We’ll start slow, but we need to make sure he feels welcome in the castle.”

Thomas met Jeff’s eyes. Yeah, it was going to be a long night.

Chapter 29

Virgil finished eating the breakfast Patton’s mom had sent for him. It had been going on a week since she’d made the menu for him. She sent up little cards with each meal and he was supposed to rate each thing she sent on a scale from 1-5. Logan would read it to him before he ate, and Virgil mark the little box on the card. Usually, he would put a 4 for everything (he had tried to do 5, but Logan had told him 5 was reserved for things like chicken alfredo). Three was for things that he was neutral on, 2 was for things he didn’t like but could tolerate, and 1 was for things he didn’t like. So far, the only 3 was the unseasoned porridge she’d sent one day.

“Finished?” Logan asked.

“Yeah,” Virgil said.

“What would you like to do today?” Logan asked. “Patton is busy until after lunch, and then we thought you might like to go back to the garden again. It’s supposed to drop in temperature over the next few days, so it will be the last good day for it.”

“Sounds good,” Virgil said. “I don’t care what we do today though.”

“Well, there are a few options,” Logan said.

“What do you want to do?” Virgil asked.

Logan made an expression, and Virgil titled his head. “I’m don’t have anything in particular I want to do,” he said.

“You’re lying,” Virgil said immediately.

“You would not be interested in the activity I wish to partake in,” Logan said.

Virgil squinted at him. “I’d be interested in laying on the ground and staring at the ceiling.”

Logan chuckled. “No, truly. The activity I would do if you were not present would involve reading.”

“You can read to me,” Virgil suggested.

“…In Sanskrit.”

Virgil frowned at him. “Isn’t that, like, some sort of dead language?”

“It is,” Logan said. “I taught myself to read it to read a specific book called the Pragilium Text. It’s an encoded book that leads to a magical location that I have been trying to decode for years.”

“That’s fine,” Virgil said. “You can do that.”

“It would be in the library,” Logan said.

“Okay.”

“But…” Logan said. “It would in no way be interesting to you.”

Virgil shrugged. “Like I said. I’m content to lie on the floor for a few hours.”

Logan frowned. “I can’t make you do that.”

“You wouldn’t be making me,” Virgil said. “I want to go. Maybe you can find me an easy book I could try to read?”

“Are you certain?” he asked.

Virgil nodded, decisively.

“Very well, get dressed and I will show you the library.”

Virgil stood to do so and a few minutes later, Logan was leading him out of the royal wing.

Both of the guards greeted him kindly, and Virgil hunched his shoulders in a bit, but said a soft “hi.”

The library didn’t end up being too far away. It was through the small dining hall and to the left where the staircase to the kitchen was to the right.

“This is not the main library,” Logan said. “It is just a smaller one. The royal librarian comes here only about once a week to organize. Some other castle residents might come in too, but it is usually mostly empty.” Virgil could tell just by listening for a few seconds that the place was likely empty (unless someone was lying in wait).

“I’ll look and see if there is something simple for you in case you’d like to read. You can explore a bit if you’d like,” Logan said.

Virgil nodded and stalked off into the shelves to secure the area. There were many books, not that he could quite read any of the spines. The bookcases were mostly cramped into the space. There was the open area where they’d come in with a few comfy chairs and Virgil found a desk near one of the windows. It had stacks of books including one pretty large and old one. He looked at it curiously.

Virgil heard Logan’s footsteps approach from down an aisle. “That’s the Pragilium text,” he said.

“It’s pretty,” Virgil said, looking at the design etched into the cover.

“Yes,” Logan agreed. He reached forward to touch it and opened it carefully. The print was small and didn’t look like the letters Logan had taught him so far. There was a small map on the side that Virgil could at least guess at the meaning of.

“You can read that?” Virgil asked.

“I can,” Logan said. “Very few people can though.”

“Wow, you’re really smart.”

“Thank you,” Logan said with a smile.

“Now,” Logan continued. “I found you a book. I apologize as its subject matter is for younger children, but it has many pictures that can help give you context when you don’t know something. You don’t have to read it if you do not wish to, especially as we haven’t gotten very far in our lessons, but I thought you might like the challenge.

He handed him the book and Virgil took it with a smile. “I’ll try to read it,” he said.

“Well, you have free reign of the library. Feel free to continue to explore and to interrupt me if you need to.”

Virgil nodded and took the book before deciding to finish his sweep of the library. It turned out that appearances were not deceiving, and the library truly was empty. Once he was certain about that, he looked around for a comfortable place to settle down and try to read the book Logan had handed him. He found a sturdy looking bookshelf near where Logan was reading at his desk. He scaled it quickly. It was a little bit dusty at the top, but it wasn’t a bad place. It was close to the ceiling and kept him hidden pretty well, but still gave him enough room to pop up onto his elbows. If he looked left, he could see Logan down bellow with his head in the book, but if he looked right, he could see the entrance to the library.

He pulled the book in front of him and looked at the cover. It was covered in drawings of different colored flowers. One simple white flower was in the center and there were three words on the cover. He squinted at it and silently tried to sound it out based on what Logan had taught him so far. He could guess that the larger word was ‘flowers’ based on context. So, he was pretty sure it read How Flowers Grow.

He flipped open the book. Logan was right, there were many hand drawn beautiful pictures. He could pretty much understand what was happening just from them even if he couldn’t read all of the words.

It was an interesting book even if he couldn’t read it and it was obviously made for small children. Judging by the pictures it seemed to be detailing how plants, or at least, flowers grew through some kid planting and caring for a flower over the course of some amount of time.

Virgil had, of course, known flowers grew from seeds, but it was interesting to see things about how the stem would pop out of the seed in the ground and things about the roots growing.

He more looked through the pictures than read it the first time but had flipped back to the front to try to read the words when he heard the library door open.

Virgil perked up in awareness, but then settled when he recognized Patton’s footsteps. Virgil tilted his head to watch as he walk directly to Logan’s hideaway.

“Hi,” he said, gaining Logan’s attention.

“Hello, Patton,” Logan replied. He glanced at the window and must have seen that time had passed because he closed his book and shuffled his papers.

“The guards said you came here,” Patton said, glancing around. “Where’s Virgil?”

Instead of letting Logan answer that question, Virgil pulled himself forward, with the book in one hand and slid off the bookshelf to land lightly on his feet next to Patton.

Patton screamed before slapping a hand over his mouth.

Logan had placed his hand over his heart. “Where on Earth did you come from?” he asked.

Virgil blinked at him and then pointed to the bookshelf he’d been on top of.

“How long were you up there?” Logan asked.

“Pretty much the whole time,” Virgil answered.

“I…” Logan said. “I didn’t even know.”

Virgil squinted at him. “You need to learn to look up.”

Patton giggled.

Virgil turned on him. “You need to learn to case the area.”

“Oh honey, your shirt is all covered in dust,” Patton said instead of responding to his very valid criticism. Virgil frowned. “Let’s get you changed and then go grab some lunch.”

“Lunch?” Virgil asked.

Patton chuckled and grabbed his hand. “Yes, sweetie, lunch. Then garden.”

“Fine,” Virgil said. “But you do need to learn to be more observant.

“Yes, yes, whatever you say,” Patton said.

Logan just rolled his eyes.

Chapter 30

After lunch, Patton and Logan took Virgil out into the garden to walk around. They let Virgil lead them around wherever he wanted to in the garden. A bunch more flowers had died since the last time they’d been out here, and Patton felt sad despite having never felt very sad about that sort of thing before. But, Virgil seemed to really like the flower he’d found last time, so Patton thought he was probably sad on the boy’s behalf.

Of course, Patton thought, perking up, eventually it would be spring, and Virgil could get to not only see flowers but see all of the flowers grow. Patton couldn’t wait to see him amongst the garden then.

Virgil took them wandering through the orchard for a while, but most of the trees had been stripped of their fruits. They ended up in the food garden after a bit, and Virgil finally seemed to decide on the direction instead of just ambling about.

A few seconds after Patton noticed Virgil seemingly decide on a destination, Patton noticed Mr. Deknis kneeling on the ground a few feet away. Had… had Virgil been looking for him? Patton wondered. That was adorable.

Mr. Deknis looked up as they approached and smiled at them.

“Hello, Mr. Deknis,” Patton said as they came closer.

“Hello you three,” Mr. Deknis said. “Getting into trouble?”

“No,” Virgil said, shaking his head.

Mr. Deknis gave him a flash of a smile. “I know, I’m joking,” he said. “Especially since there isn’t much left in my gardens for certain princes to destroy with experiments.”

“Oh, okay,” Virgil said. He tilted his head. “What are you doing?”

“I’m getting the last of the acorn squash out,” Mr. Deknis replied. “It’s the last crop to get finished. Good thing too, it’s supposed to start snowing soon.”

Virgil looked down curiously at the dark green squash.

“Would you like to help me pick a couple?” Mr. Deknis asked.

“Sure,” Virgil said, sounding interested. Mr. Deknis patted the ground beside him and Virgil knelt down to watch him.

“They’re not too difficult to harvest,” he said. “You just cut the fruit off the stem. You want to leave about a hand’s width of the stem left over which will help preserve moisture. The earlier harvests, I left in the field to cure in the sun for a couple weeks, but the frost’ll ruin them so we’ll take them inside the green house and let them sit in the sun for a bit there. We also want to keep the leaves. You’ll probably be eating those for dinner tonight since they have to be cooked up within about 24 hours after they’re picked. Patton’s mom makes a good side dish with them and she’ll be making some curry tomorrow, probably. Maybe some stew if there are some leftover.”

“Put the squash in this wheelbarrow and the leaves into this pile, okay?” Virgil nodded and Mr. Deknis handed him the extra pair of gloves and shears he carried with him in case one set broke. “These might be a bit big on your, but they should work for now.”

Mr. Deknis looked up at Patton and Logan. “Would the two of you like to help?” he asked. “I can get some more equipment.”

“I can help out if you want, but you don’t need to stop and get more equipment just for me,” Patton said.

“The same for me,” Logan said.

“Well, if you’d like to help still, you can sort the leave. Give your mother a head start.”

“Sure,” Patton said. He and Logan went to do that while Mr. Deknis and Virgil worked on cutting the squashes from the vine.

“What do you do during the winter?” Virgil asked curiously. “If this is your last crop.”

“Well, at the beginning, I mostly will be working on making sure things are stored correctly along with some of the kitchen staff. There’s some drying to do and some canning. After that’s done, I’ll spend some time organizing and planning. Then, before the spring comes, I’ll start preparing seedlings in the green house.”

“Seedlings?” he asked.

“I let seeds start to grow in the greenhouse that I replant once it gets warm enough.”

“Why don’t you just plant them where they’re going?”

“I do for some,” he said, “but giving some a head start is good for them.”

Patton watched as Virgil continued to ask questions about gardening while working on harvesting the squash. Mr. Deknis continued to answer them in a calm, soft tone that Patton didn’t think he’d ever heard from the often gruff man before.

Patton wasn’t surprised when, after finishing getting most of the squash off of the vine, Mr. Deknis asked if Virgil wanted to help him with canning some pears in a couple of days. Virgil immediately looked over at Logan and Patton as though asking permission.

“Say yes if you want to Virgil,” Logan said.

“Yes,” Virgil said as soon as he was given permission. Mr. Deknis smiled at him softly and started loading the last of the squash into the wheelbarrow. Patton offered to run the squash leaves to the kitchen while Logan and Virgil helped Mr. Deknis take the actual squash to the green house.

He dropped the leaves off to a kitchen worker since Mama was busy and headed back out to the garden. By the time he returned, Logan was already back from the green house and sitting by one of the more decorative trees near the castle.

“He’s exploring,” Logan said, nodding at the large patch of bushes.

Patton chuckled. “I see.” He sat next to Logan. Every so often he’d hear the bushes rustle, but he couldn’t tell if it was actually Virgil or an animal.

“He’s adorable,” Patton commented, keeping an ear out.

Logan hummed.

“I’m glad we kept him.”

“He isn’t a pet, Patton.”

Patton rolled his eyes. “I know, but I’m still glad. I’m glad he’s making friends with Mr. Deknis. Once he knows how to read better, we should get him a book about gardening. He seems interested.”

Logan nodded. “Having a hobby would be good for him. Clearly he has a fascination with the garden.” He nodded to the blur of dark hair that could be seen through the bushes. It seemed Virgil had stopped his exploration and was now laying down in the bushes a few feet away.

“I’m going to go see what he’s doing,” Patton said. “I’ll be right back.”

Logan nodded and Patton got to his feet. The bushes were part of a small maze that was filled with flowers during the spring and summer months but were mostly just green and brown bushes for now. Despite the fact that Patton had been able to see him only a few feet away, it took him a while to wind through the path to where he was. When he finally turned the last corner and he came into view, Patton gasped softly.

“Ghost kitty!” he said, making sure to make his voice as quiet as possible.

Despite how soft he made his voice, two pairs of eyes shot over to him. The completely black kitten was perched on Virgil’s lap like she belonged there. Ghost Kitty hissed slightly, but Virgil reached forward to pet her head gently.

“This is Ghost Kitty?” Virgil asked. “I thought you said she was hard to pet.”

“She is,” Patton said. He lowered himself onto the ground from a few feet away from them. “How did you get her to come to you?”

Virgil glanced down at the cat and shrugged, scratching one of her ears. “She just came over to me and let me pet her.”

“Wow,” Patton said softly. He looked at the cat. “Could I pet you sweetie?” he asked, holding out a hand in her direction. She hissed again.

Virgil frowned down at her. “It’s Patton,” he said as though he expected to understand his words and the exasperation in the tone he said them in.

He pet the cat’s head to soothe her and then reached over to grab Patton’s hand. He pulled and Patton carefully leaned a bit closer until his hand was within sniffing distance. Ghost Kitty sniffed his fingers contemplatively and then bumped her head against it. He barely restrained a squeal, knowing that probably wouldn’t be taken well.

He carefully turned his hand over so he could stroke the top of her head. He gently scratched her ear, not daring to go for under her chin yet since she didn’t know him well. “Hi,” he said softly. After a moment, she started to purr softly. Virgil reached over and scratched under her chin and she purred louder. “Oh, you’re a good girl,” Patton breathed, letting a hand trail gently down her back once and then again. Patton settled himself carefully into a seating position continuing to pet her. After a few more moments of soft petting, she hesitantly stepped her front paws onto Patton’s thigh so she was sitting in both of their laps. Patton laughed softly. “Hi sweetie.” He glanced over at Virgil who had a wide smile on his face as he pet the cat. This. This was adorable. They continued to pet the cat for a very long time.

Chapter 31

Logan waited for a while after Patton left to check on Virgil, but the two never resurfaced. It was odd, Patton would usually remember to come back and get Logan or at least tell them where they were. With a sigh, Logan climbed to his feet to go find them. It took him a while to weave his way through the maze of bushes to them especially because they were suspiciously quiet (Well, suspicious for Patton. Virgil was often unnervingly quiet when alone.) Luckily, he knew the bushes enough after all of these years not to get lost and managed to find the two after a few minutes.

“Ah,” he said, immediately identifying the reason for Patton disappearing.

“Logan!” Patton said, his voice excited, but also quieter than normal. “We found a kitty!”

“I can see that,” Logan responded, taking a step closer. The cat hissed at him in response. The hissing was so intense and wild that he’d suspect the thing was feral if it wasn’t happily on Virgil’s lap having had it’s head in Patton’s lap before Logan had approached.

“No,” Virgil told the animal as though it could understand words. “That’s Logan. Be nice.”

The cat still glared at him and swished it’s tail back and forth threateningly. Virgil pet the top of it’s head and it broke eye contact with Logan to purr.

Patton seemed delighted by the purring, reaching to stroke under the thing’s chin carefully. “We should give her a name!” Patton said.

Virgil frowned. “I thought her name was Ghost Kitty.”

“That is ‘Ghost Kitty’?” Logan asked skeptically. From what Patton had said about that cat, it was terrified of people and no one could ever get near it, even him. Now it was in Virgil’s lap?

“But that was a temporary name,” Patton said, “for before we officially met her. Now we have to give her a real name.”

“Do not give it a name,” Logan said. “You will get attached.”

“How do you name a cat?” Virgil asked.

“Do not name it,” Logan said.

“You give them names based on their personalities, how they look, or even just because it’s a cute name,” Patton explained. “Like, remember Mittens? I named her Mittens because she has white fur and black paws!”

Virgil looked at the cat. “She’s completely black,” he said.

Patton hummed. “So, we could give her a name based on that like Midnight or Shadow.”

“Those are fine,” Virgil said.

“No, no,” Patton said. “I’m just giving you examples. You get to name her yourself.”

“This is a bad idea,” Logan said.

“Just throw out some names,” Patton said. “Anything you can think of.”

“Uh,” Virgil said. “Knife.”

“…Just Knife?” Patton asked.

“Nightmare.” Virgil seemed to think about it. “No, that’s mean.”

“How about things you like?” Patton suggested.

“Alfredo?”

Oh no, Logan thought, he was worse than Patton at cat naming.

“Good start,” Patton said. “Logan, do you have any suggestions.”

“Cat,” Logan said.

“Real suggestions,” Patton scolded.

Logan sighed and thought for a moment. “Aphrodite.”

“Catphrodite!”

Logan glared at him. “Helena.”

“Helenpaw.”

“Claudia.”

“Clawdia.”

“Persephone.”

Patton smiled at him, cheerfully.

“…Damnit!”

Patton turned to Virgil again. “Like that! They don’t even have to be serious. Like, uh, you could name her Madam Fluffywuffykins the Great!”

“Do not name her that,” Logan said, scrunching up his nose.

Logan sat on the ground, the cat eyeing him, but no longer hissing. Logan gently guided them towards more sensible names despite Patton trying his hardest to drag them into stupidity.

Virgil still didn’t quite get it. He mostly tried to name it after foodstuff, and often not even appropriate foodstuff such as “Corn” and “Acorn Squash” and “Sandwich” and occasionally would drop in semi violent ones such as “Razor,” “Nightshade” and “Void.” Patton suggested names like “Fluffers,” “Bobette” and “Darling” as well as some that were puns. Logan tried to direct them towards more sensible ones like “Salem” and even went so low as to suggest the contrary “Snowball.”

It quickly seemed to become less about actually naming the cat and more of a game. Patton had taught Virgil about playing with cats and had even gotten out a ball of yarn he cared around for his crafts. Both Virgil and the cat seemed to find endless entertainment with that. Logan hoped Patton had another ball of yarn that color because, he was never going to get that ball back.

The barrage of names fizzled out into naming things around them like “Leaf” and “Bush” until they stopped suggesting names altogether. Patton and Logan sat back and watched Virgil play with the cat.

Logan watched as they stopped playing suddenly and Virgil and the cat squinted at each other. “Marisol,” Virgil said, pulling the name out of nowhere. “That’s her name.” He said it with a certainty that was surprising considering how he’d treated the naming process with confusion and caution earlier. If Logan did not know better, his tone of voice would indicate that the cat, or Marisol he guessed, had gotten bored of them coming up with stupid names and decided to tell him her actual name herself.

The cat made a sound and batted at Virgil’s face without claws to grab back his attention.

He turned back to it and bopped its face with a finger in kind. It attacked his finger, but in a clearly playful matter as it still did not extend it’s claws and its teeth did not draw blood.

“That’s a great name, Virgil,” Patton said.

“Much more pleasant than any that Patton suggested all afternoon,” Logan said. He received an elbow to the side for his quip.

“A pretty name for a pretty kitty,” Patton said, scooting over to where Virgil was sat and attempting to pet Marisol’s head. Marisol, however, was too keyed up and batted at the hand.

“I love you too!” Patton said.

Logan rolled his eyes, but he had long since resigned himself to watching the two of them play with and coo over the cat for the rest of the day.

Eventually, though, it started to get darker. Even after Logan pointed this out, it still took over an hour for them to relent and leave the bush maze to go to the door. The problem was of course, that the cat had managed to grow very attached to Virgil in the last few hours and she followed them all the way to the door with manipulatively heart breaking mews.

“You’ve got to stay out here,” Virgil said, when they got to the castle door. He pet her ear softly and she shoved her head into his hand. “I’m sorry. I don’t have anywhere to put you.” He sounded horribly sad about that fact and Logan felt himself shift uncomfortably. “I basically live in a closet and Logan doesn’t like cats in his room anyway.”

Logan immediately felt unreasonably guilty, probably more so because Logan did not think Virgil was trying to make him feel guilty. “…Bring the dammed thing inside.”

Virgil blinked up at him. “What?”

“It will get cold soon anyway,” Logan said.

He frowned at Logan from where he was crouched. “But you don’t like fur in your room…”

“I will have to find a potion that works,” he said with a sigh, “and we’ll have to say it’s mine to the guards and Father since it will be staying in my room, but it is yours in every other way. That means you are going to feed it, clean it, and clean up after it.”

Virgil nodded immediately and swooped Marisol up in his arms. The cat went without complaint. “Thank you!” he said. “I love her.”

“I know you do,” Logan said, already regretting it already. Yet, he couldn’t bring himself to even consider recanting the offer considering how happy Virgil seemed to be. They had a cat now, he guessed.

Chapter 32

“What are you doing?” Helen asked a few minutes after her son walked into the kitchen and started looking around as though he were trying to find something. It was a few hours into the afternoon, and she and a few workers were already prepping for dinner.

“Uh,” Patton said. “Have you seen Virgil?”

“No,” Helen said. “Why.”

“Er… Logan and I sorta, lost him,” Patton said. He was wringing his hands anxiously. Helen put down the knife in her hand.

“What do you mean you lost him?” she asked.

“Well, see, we were trying to teach him how to play hide and seek, um, but then we didn’t think to tell him that he eventually had to come out if we didn’t find him, and now we haven’t seen him since breakfast.”

“He didn’t know what tag is?” she asked. That was just one more thing to add to the list of why Helen worried about Virgil and where he came from. Every morsel of information she’d managed to wring from Patton despite his evasions made her lists of concerns grow larger, even little things like him not knowing about simple childhood games. Actually, thinking of concerning things having to do with Virgil. “Wait, so he hasn’t eaten lunch.”

“Um, we don’t know that,” Patton’s mouth said while his eyes said ‘no.’

“He needs to be on a consistent diet, especially when he’s still taking the malnutrition potion,” she scolded.

“I know, Mama, I know,” Patton said. “I’m trying to find him. I’d kinda hoped he’d gotten hungry and snuck down here. He probably wouldn’t want to risk being caught stealing food though.”

Helen grimaced. Yet another concerning thing.

“Wait! I have an idea, I’ll be right back.” Patton turned and ran out of the room. Helen frowned at the space he’d been and finished chopping the carrot on the cutting board in front of her. If it had been any other person in the castle missing, Helen wouldn’t have worried, but she had literally never seen Virgil without Patton and/or Logan by his side. Even when he’d gone to help Jeff can some fruit, Logan had reportedly hung around to read a book.

Considering that Logan had never exactly been clingy even with Patton, she imagined that either Virgil asked, or Logan thought he should stay with him for his comfort. So, she was surprised that he was apparently hidden away somewhere in the castle where neither of the other kids could find him.

Still thinking about this, she walked over to the entrance to the cellar below the kitchen where they stored most of the vegetables, planning to grab some more carrots. She was confused for a moment when she heard movement from deeper in the pantry. She reached over and touched the panel near the door that controlled the magic lights.

The newly illuminated figure startled as the lights came on, whipping around to stare at her with wide eyes.

“Virgil?” she asked.

“Sorry,” he said immediately, taking a step back.

“It’s fine,” she said immediately, “but what are you doing here?”

He considered her for a long moment, but apparently, she passed some sort of mental test, because he relaxed, at least as much as he’d ever relaxed in her presence. “Where are we?” he asked.

Her brow knit together. “The cellar under the kitchen,” she said, “You don’t know that?”

He shook his head.

“The only entrance is from the kitchen.” Now that she thought about it, she hadn’t seen him go through the kitchen at any point.

“No, it’s not,” Virgil said. “There’s a tunnel.”

“A-a tunnel?” she asked. Actually, taking a closer look at him, he seemed a bit grimy. He had dust all over his front and dirt on his nose. She thought he might even have a couple of cobwebs in his hair.

“Yep,” he said.

“Where’s the tunnel?” she asked.

“It’s right over here,” he said. He took a couple of steps and pointed to the ground. There was an open square hole there that clearly had been made a long time ago but which she had never noticed in all of her time working here.

“How did you find this?” she asked.

“We were playing hide and seek,” Virgil explained. “Logan said I could hide anywhere inside the castle. I hid on top of a dresser upstairs in some unused sitting room. There was a hole in the wall above it, so I climbed into it. Then, I crawled a little bit and it let out into a hidden passage in the walls. I wandered around in it until I found another hole in one of the walls. I thought it was a way out, so I squeezed into it, but it took me to a different hallway where I found an old room. There was a different hole in that room that had probably been covered by something because it was in the floor but whatever it was had rotted away. I crawled though it into a tunnel and came out here.”

She couldn’t help but laugh a bit at his explanation. “Well, it sounds like you went on an adventure,” she said, “but Patton and Logan have been trying to find you. You missed lunch.”

He tilted his head at her. “I know. I was supposed to hide.”

“Yes,” she explained, “but you are supposed to come out at some point if they can’t find you for things like food.”

“Oh,” he said.

“They probably should have explained,” she said. “For now, why don’t we get you something to eat? You must be hungry.”

Virgil frowned. “But I missed lunch.”

“You can still eat even though it’s not in normal hours,” she said. “You could even if you had made it to lunch.”

“Really?” he asked, he looked tragically confused by this offer.

“Of course, sweetie,” she said. “In fact, I insist you get something good to eat right now. How about I made you a grilled ham and cheese sandwich? Maybe some cookies too!”

Virgil titled his head. “You are Patton’s mother,” he stated.

Helen laughed softly. “He gets its all from me,” she said. “We should probably go find him and tell him you’re okay. He was worried.”

“I didn’t mean to worry him,” Virgil said with a frown.

“I know,” Helen said. “It’s okay. He’ll probably laugh when he figures out where you’ve been, and Logan will interrogate you all about the secret passageways.” He seemed happy about the prospect of seeing his friends. “Come on, let’s go upstairs for a bit,” she said.

Chapter 33

Patton’s mom had already made Virgil sit down at the small table in the corner of the kitchen and had handed him a sandwich by the time Patton barreled into the kitchen, Logan coming after him at a more sedate pace.

“Virgil!” he said, sounding surprised and relieved.

“Patton,” Patton’s mom scolded. “No cats in the kitchen.” Patton had brought Marisol in with him and had let her go as soon as he’d seen Virgil. She immediately plodded over to him and hoped onto the table to sniff at his face in greeting.

“But she’s the princess!” Patton argued.

“No,” Logan said.

“Yes, she is!” Patton said.

“The stupid cat is not a princess.”

“Don’t be mean to your little sister, Logan.”

“I regret every life decision that has led me to this point.”

While Logan and Patton were distracted squabbling and Patton’s mom was distracted watching them squabble, Virgil tore off a bit of the ham in his sandwich and offered it to Marisol. Marisol gracefully took it from his grip and ate it.

“So, this is Logan’s new cat I’ve been hearing about?” Patton’s mom asked.

“Indeed,” Logan said, his lips thinned. He and Marisol were mostly amicable when alone with just them and Virgil, but Patton had a habit of cooing over the kitten and needling Logan into being irritated.

“Mmm, yeah,” Patton’s mom said. She glanced over at Virgil right as Marisol basically slammed her face into his chin in a bid to get pets. “Your cat.” She shook her head. “But Princess Kitten or not, I do not want fur in dinner,” she said.

“Sorry,” Patton said, honestly not sounding sorry at all. Virgil was always a bit surprised when the insolent shrug garnered nothing more that a scowl that did not reach Patton’s mom’s eyes. “I thought she could help me find Virgil, but you already found him.” He turned to Virgil. “Where have you been all day?”

“Found a tunnel,” Virgil said. He had to use one hand to hold Marisol back from his sandwich as he took another bite, but then gave her a bite of cheese.

“You found what?” Logan asked.

“There’s a tunnel under the cellar,” Virgil said. “It goes to an old closed up room and also to a set of secret passageways.” It was a bit of a security risk honestly, though clearly no one had used it in years by how dirty it was. He did plan to go back into it and make sure the sprawling tunnels didn’t go to anywhere more dangerous like the royal wing.

“A closed-up room?” Logan said. He could see a bit of curiosity already building in his eyes.

“Yeah,” Virgil said. “Where the door used to be seemed like it had been bricked over.”

“Really? Can you show me.”

“Sure,” Virgil answered.

“Ah, perhaps we should be a bit more cautious about climbing through random tunnels we don’t know the stability of,” Patton’s mom said.

Logan’s frown edged on a pout.

“Talk to your father,” she said. “I’m sure he can get someone who understands these things so you can safely investigate.”

“It was safe enough for Virgil,” Logan pointed out.

“No, Logan.”

He sighed but seemed to concede. That was another strange thing about living here. By all rights Logan didn’t have to obey anyone except the king, but he often listened to those around him, not just the adults but Patton as well. It was interesting though it sometimes made the hierarchy hard to figure out. Virgil did sometimes stress out about the hypothetical situation where he got conflicting orders from two people, and he wouldn’t know which one to obey. So far it hadn’t been a problem luckily. They always seemed to work it out amongst themselves in some give and take social interaction that was a bit too complex for him to understand.

#not writing #proofread stories

42 notes · View notes

makeste · 4 years

Text

just another long rambling post trying to explain why I, a Bakugou fan, would treasonously want him to lose his quirk

this is something I had originally intended to post about later down the line, after we actually know for sure whether or not Bakugou is going to lose his quirk. but seeing as parts of this post (see: point #5) also indirectly address some issues that people had with the latest chapter (283) as well, I decided I might as well jump the gun.

this is a topic I’ve gotten a lot of asks about, and so I’ve tried to gather all of those various arguments into one single post with my own comments and rebuttals. however, the purpose of this post isn’t really to convince anyone or change anyone’s mind. it’s pretty much just an explanation of why I am so sold on the idea. I think it’s a little defensive at times, and I definitely feel like one of the side effects of getting asks like this...

...is that I feel compelled to explain that yes, as the veritable mountain of Bakuessays on this blog can attest to, I am in fact a Bakugou fan, and have not been standing here this whole time just waiting for the perfect moment to rip off my disguise revealing my secret “#1 Deku Stan!! BAKUGOU CAN SUCK IT” shirt underneath while cackling nefariously. like. just so we’re clear on that here.

I know I’ve said this repeatedly, but it’s precisely because I’m such an adamant fan of Bakugou that I’m excited over the story potential of him possibly becoming quirkless. as for why I keep bringing it up, honestly it’s mostly just because I keep getting the asks, lol. and so my options are basically to either say “ah you know what, you’ve convinced me,” or to keep trying to explain my reasoning at the risk of making everyone increasingly mad and/or bored.

anyway, so there are five arguments which I want to address, and they are as follows:

it’s repetitive/boring/we’ve already had the plotline of a prodigy student losing their quirk.

it cheapens Bakugou’s character development by directly “forcing” him to learn something, instead of him arriving at the conclusion on his own.

losing his quirk would put him on the back-burner, story-wise, and exclude him from further fights and story development.

Bakugou doesn’t need to learn anything more/there isn’t anything important Bakugou could learn by losing his quirk that he couldn’t learn in some other manner.

losing his quirk would mean him falling hopelessly behind Deku, and playing second fiddle to him when he should be Deku’s equal. it would render his whole story and all of his development meaningless.

before I get started, please be advised that this is a very long post. like, tragically long. idk I did my best to rein it in but it just got ramblier and ramblier sob anyways so here’s a cut.

okay!

1. it’s repetitive/boring/we’ve already had the plotline of a prodigy student losing their quirk.

have you ever heard people pose the argument that all of the good stories have already been told? the idea is basically that there’s no such thing as a truly original story anymore, because humankind has been telling stories for thousands of years and we’ve exhausted any and all original ideas by this point. the problem with this, though, is that it assumes that (1) stories must always be 100% completely original in order to be good, and (2) if the basic building blocks of two stories are the same, then those stories must basically be identical. which is very much not the case. classic story structures are classic for a reason. the best stories are based around themes and conflicts and story beats which have been reimagined in a million different ways, and which work precisely because they’re familiar, and because they still resonate with people each and every time. and each and every time, it’s still a different story, because even if the ideas and themes and even some of the emotions are the same, the people are different, and no two people’s stories will ever be exactly the same.

all of which is to say that firstly, just because someone has already lost their quirk doesn’t mean it’s not an interesting enough concept to explore again. but more importantly, Bakugou and Mirio are not the same person. Bakugou is a completely different character than Mirio, with a completely different personality and history, and completely different relationships with the other principal characters. in other words it is absolutely not the same story at all. Bakugou won’t react the same way as Mirio. he’s not a character who can be faded into the background like Mirio unfortunately was. and most importantly, he’s a character whose own personal history with the formerly quirkless main character makes this an extremely personal and compelling character arc which would hit in a vastly different way than Mirio’s. I don’t think it’s repetitive at all, any more than “the heroes fight the villains” is a repetitive plotline. basically this argument, which is subjective to begin with, just doesn’t hold any water to me, I’m sorry.

2. it cheapens Bakugou’s character development by directly “forcing” him to learn something instead of him arriving at the conclusion on his own.

okay there are two counterarguments that I want to make here. the first is that this has always been Bakugou’s character development process since day one. he has never simply just arrived at a zenlike conclusion on his own through stern self-reflection or anything like that. his entire story has been him learning and growing from one humbling experience after another. examples:

he stops bullying Deku after Deku saves his life.

he undergoes a huge shift in attitude after Deku beats him in their training fight on the second day of school. he eats a healthy serving of humble pie and listens to the constructive criticisms that Momo, Aizawa and the rest pile onto him afterwards, and the result is that he becomes less cocky and starts taking his training much more seriously.

he wins-but-loses to Todoroki in the school festival and it serves as a reminder that simply winning isn’t everything. being the best is meaningless if it’s handed to you. as a result his determination is fueled even more.

he is LITERALLY FORCED POINT-BLANK to work together with Deku in order to pass his final exam. he is dragged kicking and screaming. I can’t stress enough how completely unwilling he was to learn this lesson otherwise lmao. it’s abundantly clear that he would never have done this on his own had the lesson not been almost literally beaten into his own head.

his experience at Kamino -- being targeted because he was perceived as villainous, and feeling responsible for All Might’s retirement afterwards -- is perhaps the best example of how Katsuki takes a terrible experience and uses it to grow leaps and bounds as a person. he develops a new awareness of how his actions can potentially be perceived by others (a vital lesson if he ever hopes to make it to the top). and he’s profoundly humbled (I keep using that word, so I just want to pause a sec to clarify that I mean it not in a “humiliated and crushed” way, but in a “freedom from pride and arrogance” way; in other words this is ultimately a positive thing, even if it comes about in an unpleasant way) by the experience, enough so that he finally lets his walls of pride crumble enough to have his weirdly violent heart-to-heart with Deku. and as a result the two of them grow closer, and All Might sets him down the path of Win To Save and Save To Win. something which I feel compelled to note that he still had ABSOLUTELY NO CLUE ABOUT beforehand. this is another thing that literally had to be spelled out for him before he could grasp it. it’s very hard for me to conceive a way of somehow spinning this particular development, which is by far the most important in his arc to date, as being something he just “learned on his own.”

and I forgot to mention it, but him failing the provisional license exam also directly contributed to the character development mentioned above! that was what finally tipped him over the edge. even though he was reeling from everything that had happened at Kamino, he still had too much pride to actually open up to anyone about it until this second “loss” of sorts finally convinced him that he really was doing something terribly wrong, and pushed him to talk to Deku about it.

and that brings us to where we’re at currently! there are a few other things I didn’t mention, like Jeanist lecturing him on the meaning behind choosing a hero name, and his internship with Endeavor teaching him... something. tbd lol. but anyways my point here is that Bakugou has always been a character who learns chiefly through his mistakes and painful experiences. it’s extremely rare for him to just arrive at some new tidbit of enlightenment all on his own, and if it does, it often still originally stems from a past -- often painful -- experience. that’s just how he is. his stubbornness is one of my favorite things about him, but it’s also always hindered his growth to some extent, and has made it harder for him to change his viewpoint all on his own, even though he is to his credit very open to change once something finally does sink in. he’s someone who’s always trying to be better. it’s just that a lot of times he needs to be nudged and pushed in the right direction, particularly on those few occasions where the thing he has to learn is something that runs counter to his current viewpoint to such a degree that he’s resistant to learning it (see, again, working together with Deku in the final exam).

and that finally brings me to my second counterargument to this point, which is that I very strongly feel that having to learn something “directly” in this very blunt manner does not make it cheap. that actually comes off as a bit insulting to all of Bakugou’s previous character development if I’m being honest. his development isn’t cheapened just because something was harder for him to learn. he’s not less of a good person just because he had a harder struggle to learn those things, and needed help and guidance, and made mistakes along the way. I feel very strongly that people shouldn’t be judged on how they grow, or their reasons for that growth. that to me feels like gatekeeping the concept of being a good person. “Bakugou isn’t as good of a character because he only started saving others and caring about people after he got kidnapped.” like, come on. people grow through their experiences! that’s literally where all growth stems from, even growth that on the surface appears to be self-fueled and motivated. every single action, every single motivation, happens because at some point or other, that person experienced something that led to them thinking and feeling that way, and deciding to do that thing. we are the sum total of our experiences, I believe is how the saying goes. and that goes double for characters in a story, because watching them go through those experiences is how we the audience discover who these characters are.

anyway so this argument is also a miss from where I stand. if it takes losing his quirk for Bakugou to have an epiphany about true strength, and what truly makes a hero on the inside, then goddammit, good for him. that’s nothing to be ashamed of. in the end that’s still his hard-earned growth, and he’s not any lesser for having learned it through adversity instead of just stumbling upon the answer somewhere along the way.

3. losing his quirk would put him on the back-burner, story-wise, and exclude him from further fights and story development.

hard disagree here as well. losing his quirk would be the single biggest thing that ever happened to Bakugou. a development like that would almost demand we focus on it. perhaps not right away (just like we didn’t immediately focus on him right after Kamino), but it would be inevitable. in fact, I’d argue that Bakugou losing his quirk is one of the only ways to guarantee that the story puts his character development back at the forefront again at some point, and doesn’t just drop the plotline entirely in an “eh, good enough” manner. it’s a development that basically makes his character development the focus of the plot, instead of us only ever getting little side anecdote scenes of “slowly becoming less of an asshole” for the rest of the series. it’s character development on hard mode, to be sure, but the fact of the matter is that Bakugou is not the main character, and so his personal character journey is only going to make it back to the forefront of the story if and when something significant enough occurs so as to make it worthy of being a focus.

as for the other half of this argument, the thing to understand here is that “Kacchan loses his quirk” is NOT the beginning, middle, and end of that storyline all in one. it absolutely won’t be “welp too bad, guess you can’t be a hero after all” and that’s that. “Kacchan loses his quirk” is only the first act of a story arc that continues with “Kacchan struggles with the aftermath of losing his quirk”, and concludes with “Kacchan regains his quirk and reemerges stronger than ever.” how that will ultimately play out, I don’t know! Vestiges; Eri; OFA; the quirk-restoring bullets which the villains also had at some point unless I’m misremembering things; whatever! the key thing here is that I have faith that it will play out. every single argument you see here is in the context of me believing that the endgame here is not a loss for him, but a win. it’s actually the win, because if all goes well, he comes back stronger than ever because he’s finally done away with the one remaining thing that was holding him back -- that lingering unnecessary fear, insecurity, and pride that’s still at the root of so many of his actions even now.

which brings me to my next point.

4. Bakugou doesn’t need to learn anything more/there isn’t anything important Bakugou could learn by losing his quirk that he couldn’t learn in some other manner.

you’ve no doubt guessed it, but I once again disagree here lol. he definitely still has more to learn. Bakugou’s character development thus far has been extraordinary, but all the same, I still want more for him. I don’t think this is the best he’s capable of. his ceiling is much, much higher, and to say that this is as good as he gets is to underestimate him imo.

here’s an incomplete list of things that Bakugou, at present, is still clearly struggling with, numbered alphabetically so that I can explain afterwards how losing his quirk would address each one.

a.) he still obsessively compares his progress to Deku’s at every turn. we got a little bit of insight into his thought processes just recently in chapter 275, and it was extremely revealing. his rivalry with Deku has been a good thing thus far, but this is primarily because up until this point he has been able to keep pace with Deku. so much of his confidence and self-worth seems to hinge on this one specific thing which is notably outside his control, and that’s troubling to me. but more on that further down in a bit.

b.) he’s still incapable of admitting that he cares about people (which is endearing to be fair, but nonetheless indicates that he still views caring as a weakness, and is uncomfortable acknowledging or expressing it).

c.) he has not yet sorted out the problem of coming off as hostile, vulgar, and aggressive even when a situation necessitates him to be more cooperative. to put it plainly, he’s incapable of dialing back his personality even the slightest degree and as a result gets edited out of interviews and has his friends constantly scrambling to apologize and/or interpret for him. I know that a lot of people -- myself included -- actually adore this feral side of him and even consider it one of his most endearing traits, but still, the fact of the matter is that it’s not a good thing that he’s entirely incapable of even the slightest bit of emotional regulation. at some point he’s going to have to sort his shit out at least a little bit; even Endeavor and Mirko are capable of reining it in when it comes to dealing with the public at large and with the press. if he wants to reach the top ranks he still has a lot of growing to do here.

d.) he still thinks of his own worth purely in terms of physical strength. this is a big one. Katsuki has always defined his own world in terms of strength and weakness. “strong” is good; “weak” is bad. people who win are strong. people with quirks are strong. he has a good quirk so he’s strong. Deku doesn’t have a quirk so he shouldn’t be strong (which becomes a paradox and a source of great fear and confusion to him when he realizes on a deep subconscious level that Deku somehow is strong in spite of lacking a quirk). All Might is the best hero because he’s strong and never loses. he’s going to be even better than All Might, and he’ll do it by being strong and never losing.

except that these ideas are all limited, and limiting. physical strength is not the only kind of strength. All Might wasn’t the number one hero and the Symbol of Peace only because he was strong. Katsuki isn’t strong only because he has a good quirk. but he’s still stuck on this idea regardless, and everything he does, everything he is is defined by this idea. even now, with everything he’s learned, he’s still stuck in this limited perspective. and the very obvious problem with that is that it places him in a precarious emotional position where if he ever actually loses, or something happens to strip that physical strength of his away, his entire core of self-worth stands to fall apart as a result. he’s put all his eggs in that basket. and it’s the source of all of his insecurity, and it’s a weakness that’s just waiting to be exploited, and which is holding him back from discovering and acknowledging so many other good things about himself.

e.) and last but not least we’ve got what is by far his biggest current failing (and I say not to put him down, but rather in that same spirit of “learning to acknowledge your own weaknesses” which he himself has so readily embraced), which is that he is still only focused on himself. mind you, I’m not saying that he’s a bad person, or that he doesn’t care about other people! but I am saying that he is self-centered, and that’s just a fact, and I would defy anyone to try and argue otherwise tbh. he is constantly and completely focused only on his own goals. and on top of that he also has great difficulty seeing things from any perspective other than his own, which has been the cause of numerous clashes and misunderstandings with other people, some more disastrous than others (see: that one time he thought Deku must be looking down on him because he couldn’t conceive of a situation where anyone would actually want to accept help from someone else, rather than being self-sufficient, and thus assumed that Deku’s attempt to help him was in fact an insult). he casts himself in the role of the main character, and dismisses most everyone else as “extras.” and it took him an extraordinarily long time to learn the importance of learning from and helping other people (and again, this was something which had to be explicitly spelled out for him. I’ll say it again and again if I have to, because it’s so important in understanding where Bakugou is coming from and what his mindset is in all of this. he had to have it spelled out, because it was genuinely something which wouldn’t have occurred to him otherwise, because it’s so alien to everything he grew up believing up till that point, and because he has so much difficulty seeing other perspectives).

and again, I’m not saying this to dump on him or imply that he doesn’t care! because he does; we’ve seen that demonstrated on multiple occasions. he has compassion for others. he wants to do the right thing and he wants to be a good person, and he tries very hard in his own way. but he is nonetheless still stuck in his own perspective. he struggles with empathy and being able to see from other people’s points of view. and that is a huge barrier to his becoming the greatest hero of all time, and it’s probably the most difficult barrier to overcome. the behavior is something he can and has been chipping away at little by little, but the root causes of the behavior are still there.

anyway. so now that I’ve said all of that, which probably could have been its own essay in and of itself, how would losing his quirk do anything to address these issues? so let’s now break that down point by point as well, using the same alphabetical numbering system as before. I’m skipping the first one because I’ll address it further down, so we’ll start with b.

b.) it makes him more vulnerable in that it’s a huge blow to his pride. how is that a good thing you ask? because pride is always a double-edged sword. the downside is that losing it hurts his self-esteem (but more on that in a sec), but the upside is it opens him up more to accepting kindness from other people, and allowing himself to express kindness and caring himself in return. pride is almost always the biggest obstacle in doing that. so the short of this is that it could lead to us seeing a more open, willingly vulnerable side to him that would strengthen his relationships and serve him well in the long run.

c.) in a similar vein, the ego check would probably help to address some of his emotional instability as well. a not-insignificant chunk of his tactless exterior is basically just a projection; a tough guy persona he’s constructed over the years as part of his neverending quest to be strong. there’s also a fair amount of insecurity (interpreting everything other people say in the worst way possible and reacting with defensive hostility), arrogance/boastfulness, and fear of vulnerability (aka weakness) mixed in as well. so I could see the whole experience leading to a softening of his personality. in my ideal world this would mostly be just temporary, with his usual Bakuattitude gradually being restored piece by piece as his soul searching adventures wear on and he starts acting like his old self more and more. but I do think that in the end, the loss of that insecurity in particular would go a long way towards helping him gain the ability to chill out just a little bit more when the situation calls for it.

d.) it strips him of that physical strength he’s depended on and defined himself by his whole life. sometimes we need to lose something in order to see and appreciate the other things we take for granted or don’t even realize that we have. Katsuki has so many other qualities that make him a good person and a great hero. he’s intelligent, perceptive, brave, resourceful, and extraordinarily determined. he’s strategic and analytical and quick-thinking. he inspires devotion in others and is a natural leader. and he is honest and sticks to his principles and stands up for his beliefs. there is so much more to admire about him than just strength. so many other kinds of strength that he has. and stripping his quirk away would force him to see that at long last. he’s not just a nobody without his power. the things that make him a worthy hero at his core have very little to do with his quirk.

e.) and then the big one -- learning to see past himself. the truth is that Bakugou has always led a relatively privileged life. he was good at everything, the things he wanted came very easily to him, and he’s basically been at the top of the food chain since he was very young. but the downside of this is that it led to a deep-seeded fear of losing all of that, or failing to live up to it. and because he feared weakness so much, he’s spent his entire life looking down on weaker people. his fear of weakness led to him despising anyone with those “weak” qualities that he secretly feared, rather than having compassion for them. add to that the fact that he just has a hard time seeing outside of his own perspective, and we’ve got a situation in which perhaps the only way for him to really gain that kind of compassion and empathy is to experience some of these things for himself.

becoming quirkless is a way of presenting new challenges to him that he would have never faced otherwise. it forces him to answer questions he’s always been too afraid to ask. it forces him to look at himself in a way he never has before, to take a good long look at his own fears and desires. what if you can’t become the number one hero? do you just give up? do you stop trying? do you stubbornly push back against the inevitable? what happens if you do become weak? do you just accept that for the rest of your life? just sit back and watch as everyone else moves on without you? how can you fight without a quirk? what can you do without a quirk? why did you want to become a hero in the first place? why did you seek out strength? what was it for? why do you struggle with everything you have to reach the very top??

and I’d like to think that some of the answers to those questions are, yes, I am still strong. and, no, I can’t give up. and, no, I won’t accept defeat, no matter what. and, I’m not sure, but no matter what happens I’ll keep on fighting. and, because the person I admired taught me to never, ever give up. and, because I wanted to surpass my limits. and, because I want to be the best version of myself.

and that is growth. and it’s precisely the kind of growth you can’t achieve until you’ve searched deep within yourself and laid your soul out bare. and it will make him a better character, and a better hero in the end. and that’s what we’re all here for isn’t it? that’s literally what this story is about. the journey of these kids growing up to become spectacular heroes. so, just, I don’t know. is it really such a great surprise that I want to see it?

anyways, this was by far the longest of these answers and this post is really starting to wear on, so let’s just get to the last one and wrap this up.

5. losing his quirk would mean him falling hopelessly behind Deku, and playing second fiddle to him when he should be Deku’s equal. it would render his whole story and all of his development meaningless.

okay, listen. first of all, this argument often comes bundled with a whole host of other arguments about Bakugou’s relationship with Deku, and how the narrative has already given him numerous other “losses” to Deku, and how this would just be the latest and greatest loss of all. and I’m just going to say it straight up: this argument is ridiculous to me. actually, what it reminds me of is the very same flawed mindset that Bakugou himself has which I mentioned earlier (the forgotten point 4.a), where he is obsessed with comparing his progress to Deku’s at all times, and only considers himself a success if he beats out Deku. the idea here is basically that Bakugou and Deku are running along parallel tracks with the same end goal/finish line of becoming a hero. and so if Deku gets too far ahead and starts lapping Bakugou or something, then it’s like a slap in the face with regard to all of Bakugou’s hard work, and it makes Bakugou’s whole journey pointless because no matter what, he’ll never be able to catch up, especially if he loses his quirk, which is like the metaphorical equivalent of him spraining his ankle.

the thing is, this entire analogy is flawed. first of all, if Bakugou doesn’t sprain his ankle at some point, he'll miss out on discovering and healing a separate underlying injury that’s been unknowingly hampering his progress this entire time. and second, the race isn’t timed. it’s more like an infinite series of races where the finish line is never actually set in stone, because the finish line isn’t actually “beat the other person”; the finish line is “run as fast and as far as you possibly can, and do it in a better way than anyone has ever done before, and while you’re at it maybe stop and save a few million people, because being the best runner isn’t actually about being faster than each other, even though that admittedly makes this a pretty crappy analogy.” anyways though, so what this means is that the sheer magnitude and scale of this race is such that little victories and losses here and there are ultimately meaningless in the big picture. maybe Bakugou sprains his ankle. maybe Deku breaks an arm or two or three or four. maybe someone shows up at some point and starts uprooting the entire track all around them and they have to put the whole race aside for the time being, because what the fuck. and maybe after spraining his ankle, Bakugou eventually comes zooming back ahead on a segway. and maybe Deku stops running for a while without Bakugou there, because he loses sight of his goal without his rival there to keep him on pace.

but anyway! the point is that declaring a winner and loser in this race before we reach the end is kind of absurd in that it ignores the whole nature of the race and how long-term it is. you see the beauty of the race is that it’s actually the opposite of footraces in real life. in this race, the longer the two of them run, the faster and stronger they become. and this same logic applies to any hurdles which are placed in their lanes along the way. the goal of these hurdles isn’t to trick or punish or humiliate them; it’s to help them get even faster and stronger and ultimately closer to their goal. and also, tbh? it’s a long, long race you guys. and so sometimes, as a fan, you almost start to want to see those hurdles. because otherwise it’s just a lot of endless running and running and running. so yeah, go ahead and throw in a damn hurdle or two and some traffic cones and maybe even a long jump here and there. because that’s part of what makes the thing great to watch in the first place.

and I don’t care whether or not Deku is ahead right now, because I also love Deku too by the way, and because I’m not invested in prematurely declaring a winner. and if Bakugou himself gets upset that Deku is ahead? if Deku pulling ahead of him is enough to send him spiraling into despair, and questioning everything about his life, and losing hope and purpose? well then honestly I would say that’s all the more reason for him to go on and get that new character development, because I don’t want him to always be hindered by those kind of toxic thoughts his entire life. their rivalry should serve to make each other better, not bring each other down. so if Bakugou’s ego is still so fragile that he can’t handle a loss to Deku -- a loss, mind you, not the loss, because ultimately these are all just little battles, and not the actual war -- then I want him to grow the fuck up and get the fuck over that, goddammit. he’s a bigger person than that. I want him to grow beyond that. I want him to develop the real, actual confidence that allows him to bounce back from something like that, and to move on better and wiser and stronger, instead of getting dragged down by the pettiness of it all.

in short, if losing to Deku would really be enough to render his story meaningless, then maybe it’s time for Bakugou to find some meaning in his story that’s not dependent on him winning or losing to Deku. because I for one am not actually in this thing just to see which character “wins.” I couldn’t care less who actually wins. I just want to see my boy grow up big and strong and self-actualized, the better to kick ass without anything holding him back. that’s it.

so this brings me at last to the end of this seemingly neverending post. I have no doubt this won’t be the last of my quirkless!Bakugou debate posts in spite of me trying to comprehensively address every single point I could think of lol. but for now it’s my best attempt. and by the way, if it doesn’t actually happen, that’s fine! I love the idea, but I’m not gonna go full on “oh happy dagger” with it if it doesn’t actually pan out lol. the downside is it will mean that I’ve posted this entire 5600-word dissertation for nothing, but you know what, sometimes that’s just how fandom goes.

#bnha #boku no hero academia #bakugou katsuki #quirkless!bakugou #bakugou meta #bnha spoilers #mha spoilers #bnha manga spoilers #makeste reads bnha #asks #anon asks

121 notes · View notes

petri808 · 4 years

Text

Art link to @ayumichi-me w/permission. Also, a link to her Instagram where’s she more active now, go check her out there along with her latest goodies! 😏💜 fic inspired by art

Happy Pocky Day!

Lucy POV

Lucy walked over to her friends who were huddled in a tight circle. “What are you guys giggling about?” Their hushed squeals were borderline nefarious yet too intriguing not to dig into. All the hairs on the back of her neck tingled with intrigue and fear the moment they turned towards her, grinning, with sinister smiles on their faces.

Cana puts her arm around Lucy’s shoulders, guiding her into their folds like a spider leading a fly into their web. “Just the girl we were hoping to see.”

Suddenly, coming to the guild that afternoon didn’t seem like a good idea! “I-Is something wrong?”

“Wrong?” Levy answered, her voice dripping with sugary sweetness. “No, nothing’s wrong. Actually, today’s a special day, and you have been chosen for a very special role!”

Lucy narrowed her eyes at the women, five in all, these conspirators. Cana, Levy, Mira, Juvia, and Lisanna. What new scheme were they cooking up this time? “Something tells me I’m not gonna like it.”

“Oh, we think you will,” Mira smiled. “A little birdy said you both would.”

‘Both?’ Pfft, a little blue cat-birdy, yeah, sure, as if she would fall for that. “No.” Lucy stepped back. “No, way, whatever you’re all thinking.” She waved her hands in defiance. “No.”

That’s when the water mage coyly pulled out a box of the notorious Pocky sticks from behind her back and everything became clear. “Juvia thinks Lucy will enjoy this game too.”

The spirit mage groaned. “They got you too, huh?”

“This morning, so if Juvia can do it, Lucy can too.” She held out the box. “Take one Lucy.” She looked in the males direction. “Natsu’s right over there.”

“What’s the worst that could happen?” Cana chimed in, putting her hand on Lucy’s shoulder. “He’ll probably just assume it’s the normal Pocky game, nothing more.”

“You know how much Natsu likes games,” Lisanna added in. “There’s nothing to worry about.”

Levy placed her hand on her friend’s other shoulder. “You can do this Lu.”

“Ugh,” Lucy took a stick from the box. “I hate you all.”

“No, you don’t,” Cana winked, “now go get um girl!”

Why did she cave into them? ‘I must have brain damage from the last mission.’ This was such a childish game, ‘seriously, ridiculous... that I was dumb enough to agree to.’ Yet there Lucy was, walking to the other side of the hall, where Natsu was talking to Gray. ‘Okay, okay,’ she physically shook off the nerves. ‘Just take the leap.’

Lucy held the cracker end on her pursed lips, then cleared her throat, closed her eyes, and tapped him on the shoulder all at the same time. She could feel her flushed cheeks and the pounding of her heart, but couldn’t look at him directly. Oh man, she was so nervous! She couldn’t tell if the heat was from the proximity or her own temperature rising.

Switch Natsu POV

“Yeah,” Gray told his buddy, “Juvia got me to play that pocky game earlier. And look,” he side-eyed towards the group of girls, “they’re about to coax Lucy into it next.”

Natsu glanced over, Lucy sure didn’t look copacetic with the plot and he didn’t know if that made him nervous or saddened. He’d been waiting for a chance to reveal his true feelings for her, but his nerves always got in his way. It was obvious she cared deeply for him, but was it as friends or did she harbor romantic feelings for him as well.

“So, what are you gonna do if she comes over here?” Gray questioned the man. “Oh, well you better think fast,” he chuckled, “cause here she comes.”

Once Lucy got to them, Natsu didn’t turn around until she tapped on his shoulder. But what he found did annoy him and the look on his face showed it clearly. Was she really that scared of him that she had to close her eyes?! He had to admit though, her rosy cheeks were a sign she was nervous too.

Instead of playing along, he pulled the stick out of her mouth, so Lucy instantly opened her eyes in surprise. Evidently, she hadn’t planned on him doing that. Without giving her a chance to say anything, he switched to his own plan, pouncing and kissing her smack dab on the lips. She squeaked and lost her balance, but Natsu easily caught her in a 45 degree tilted angle. He supported her back, placing pressure into the kiss. This was his moment now, and he was determined to show Lucy just what he thought of her.

When he released her, Lucy blinked in shock, staring into his eyes. “Y-You kissed me?! That’s not how the game goes.”

“Since when do I play by rules?” He grined down at her. “I took the opportunity and went for it.”

Such a confirmation caused her face to turn a deeper rouge color. “You stole a kiss on purpose?”

“Isn’t it obvious, you’re more than just a friend to me Lucy.” He stood her upright, but kept one arm locked around her waist, as he cradled her face in his hand and swept his thumb over her heated cheek. “I’ve wanted to tell you that for a long time. This game just gave me an excuse to do it.”

“Oh... my...” Lucy gasped lightly when Natsu kissed her a second time, gentle, yet communicated so much behind it. “I feel the same about you,” she whispered back through stifled happy tears.

All of a sudden, the guild erupted in cheer. Before that moment, they hadn’t noticed how silent the room had become. Lucy sniffled and chuckled in her surprise, while Natsu kept his focus solely on her. Nothing could have pulled it away in that moment. “So what do you say, Lucy? Shall we take this friendship to the next level?”

Lucy smiled back, “that is so much better than any Pocky.”

#nalu #natsu dragneel #lucy heartfilia #pocky day #nalu ficlet #nalu art #inspired by art #ayumichi-me art #nalu fan fic #nalu fan fiction #fairy tail

66 notes · View notes

ollieofthebeholder · 4 years

Text

leaves too high to touch (roots too strong to fall): a TMA fanfic

Tumblr tag || Also on AO3

Chapter 26: Jon

When Jon’s grandmother passed away peacefully in her sleep, not long after his twenty-fourth birthday, he quickly discovered that her life insurance and savings weren’t enough to cover all the bills that needed to be covered and put the house he’d grown up in on the market. He only vaguely remembers the whole procedure, as he was in something of a state of shock at the time, but he does remember accepting the first offer presented to him despite the realtor’s comments that he could “probably hold out for a bit more” if he wanted. Thus, he’s the only one not really startled at the speed with which he, Martin, and Tim find out that they’ve got the house.

To be clear: He’s not startled at the speed. He is, however, startled that they got it. Surely someone must have been willing to pay more for it, been better qualified. But no. They learn their offer has been accepted less than a week after the Primes’ disastrous encounter with Basira’s partner and the closing is scheduled for the following Friday. Martin theorizes that their position at the Magnus Institute gave them some extra clout. Tim jokes that it’s his charismatic personality. Jon frets that Elias might have had something to do with it for nefarious purposes.

Sasha finally does some research and tells them that it’s being sold by a pair of siblings barely out of their teens whose parents died unexpectedly and probably just need the money fast.

Martin doesn’t have much, just the little he managed to bring with him to the Institute when first escaping Jane Prentiss and the few things he’s re-acquired since then, and Jon’s things are still packed up from when he declined to renew the lease on his flat in August, so it’s mostly just Tim who needs to decide what he’s keeping and what he’s ready to part with or needs to replace. It takes them the better part of two Saturdays, but they manage to get everything boxed and sorted in time to move out the last full weekend of September.

The moving-in process is surprisingly fun. Sasha and the Primes even come to help (Tim suggests the latter so that Martin Prime knows his way around the house from the get-go, which is actually really sensible) and they make a party of it. Tim insists on setting up the sound system first, then gets everyone to contribute a certain number of songs to a playlist on some app he has on his phone. He puts it on shuffle and lets it play while they work together on the various rooms.

“Oh, my God,” Sasha moans after the eighth song that she evidently didn’t pick comes on. “Do any of you listen to a single band that’s put out an album since 1984?”

“Yes,” Martin says indignantly, his cheeks coloring slightly.

“Remasters don’t count.”

Martin Prime grins. “None of mine have come up, either.”

“What did you put on?” Sasha asks suspiciously.

She gets her answer a few minutes later when, after shuffle coughs up a Spice Girls song they all tease her mercilessly about, an honest to God sea shanty comes on. Tim and Jon laugh at Sasha’s dramatic, despairing groan, but it’s hard not to respond to the Martins’ enthusiasm as they—surprisingly—harmonize along with the recording while they set up the living room.

They’re almost done assembling the new bed Tim bullied Jon into buying (“You’re not in uni anymore, you don’t need to be sleeping on a futon, and anyway, when was this made, the Thatcher premiership?” “Brown, and shut up, Tim.”), which is the last piece of furniture they need to put together, when there’s a sound from the front door—two firm, solid knocks, audible all the way upstairs. Jon nearly drops the screwdriver as his heart kicks against his ribs. It’s stupid, and he knows it’s stupid, but two knocks like that always makes him think of that book.

Tim makes a noise in the back of his throat. “God, hope the music isn’t too loud.”

“I don’t think that’s it,” Martin says, but he sounds uncertain. “I-I mean, it’s been ages.”

Jon pushes himself to his feet. “I’ll check.”

He hurries out of the bedroom before anyone can comment on the clear break in his voice. He is, and there is no way to deny it to himself, legitimately afraid of what might be outside. The likelihood of it being a being of another entity is slim, but…well, there was Mr. Spider, and Jane Prentiss knocked on Martin’s door more than a few times to keep him off-balance, so there’s always the chance. It’s something he feels he can deal with, though, so he heads out to face it.

He does not, however, expect to open the door and be faced with what is either a small child or a casserole dish with tennis shoes.

“Hello,” a tiny voice says brightly from behind the dish. There’s a bit of shifting, and then two big brown eyes and a mass of curls appear over the rim. “I’ve brought you a cake.”

Jon will deny to his dying day that those words freeze his blood in his veins and make his heart stutter to a stop, but since this might actually be his dying day, he’ll be lying if he tries. His lips part, but no sound comes out.

“And a casserole, too,” the child continues, completely oblivious to Jon’s unwarranted panic attack. “That’s not as much fun, though, but Nan says it’s important to eat good, hearty food when you’ve been doing lots of work and that cake shouldn’t be a whole meal. I think there’s no point in being a grown-up if you can’t eat whatever you want, but…” The child heaves an enormous, dramatic sigh that seems too large for such a small body. “My Nan’s very, very old, and you don’t get to be old if you don’t do something right, so she must know what she’s talking about. Anyway, we made the casserole with lots and lots of cheese and she said that was okay, so at least it’s a little better.”

“Ah—thank you?” Jon manages. “H-here, let me…take that.”

He manages to extract the casserole dish, which certainly feels as if it’s laden with cheese; it weighs the proverbial ton. Quite possibly a literal one. It’s solid enough to anchor Jon to reality, though, and he studies his benefactor. The child can’t be more than seven or eight, at the most, with a round face and limbs hidden in an oversized, threadbare sweater that looks like it’s been handed down through more than a few generations. Dangling from one arm is a wicker basket that does indeed appear to contain a cake.

“It’s a chocolate cake with marshmallow frosting,” the child says. “I tried to write ‘Welcome to the neighborhood’ on it, but I didn’t put the tip on the piping bag right and it came off, so now it’s just a mess, but it’ll taste just as good, I promise. My Nan makes the best cakes.”

Jon smiles in spite of himself. “I don’t think I have enough hands to take it from you now. Would you mind bringing it into the kitchen for me?”

“Oh, sure!” The child practically hops over the threshold. “I always wanted to see what this house was like on the inside. Tibby used to babysit for me sometimes, but she always came over to our house, never me coming over here. Nan says it’s better that way, and Tibby always said it was laid out exactly like all the other houses, but it’s not the same as seeing it for yourself. Firsthand knowledge is best, that’s what I think. What do you think?”

“I—I think I agree with you,” Jon says. He also feels a bit like he’s staring at his younger self. “I assume you live in one of the other houses on the row?”

“Two doors down,” the child agrees cheerfully. “With the window boxes. My Nan likes to garden a bit, but she can’t bend over so much anymore, so Toby set up the window boxes for her a couple years ago.”

“And, uh, who is…Toby?”

“Oh, sorry, I thought you knew. Toby McGill. He and Tibby—that’s his sister Tabitha, but everyone calls her Tibby—they were the ones selling this house after their parents died. He’s at Surrey University now and he says he’s going to stay out there when it’s all said and done, and Tibby got a job on a boat.” The child sounds deeply impressed. “I want to be a sailor someday, too. Can you imagine getting to see the whole wide world by water and getting paid for it, too? I’d never want to leave. I told Tibby she has to save a spot on the crew for me and she laughed and promised, so I can’t wait. I’m going as soon as I grow up. I’m not going to university. You don’t need to go to university for everything, you know. I know Nan really wants me to go ‘cause Mum didn’t and neither did Dad and she doesn’t want me turning out like them, but you can turn out well even if you don’t go to university, can’t you?”

“Absolutely,” Jon says gravely. He casts an involuntary glance in the direction of the stairs, thinking of Martin. “One of my housemates didn’t go to university, and he’s one of the most brilliant people I know.”

“How many of you live here, anyway?”

“Just three of us.” Jon has no idea how much this child has seen and how many people he knows are in the house at the moment.

“Oh. There used to be three of us in my house, too.” The child scuffs a toe against the carpet just before they step into the kitchen. “And then there was going to be four, but Mum died and the baby did, too.”

“I’m sorry,” Jon says softly, feeling a pang. “I grew up with my grandmother, too.”

The child looks up at Jon and smiles, in such a way that Jon can’t help but smile back. “And you turned out okay.”

“Debatable,” Jon says. He sets the casserole dish on the counter. “I’m Jon, by the way. Jonathan Sims.”

“I’m Charlie. Charlie Cane.” The child smiles up at him and hands over the basket. “It’s nice to meet you.”

“Likewise. Tell your grandmother we said thank you. I don’t know that any of us will have the energy to cook tonight. We’ll bring back the dishes tomorrow.”

“There’s no hurry. Nan doesn’t go anywhere.” Charlie flashes Jon a grin that’s missing two teeth, then turns and waves to the doorway. Jon glances up to see Martin, looking somewhere between worried and amused. “Hi! I’m Charlie Cane. Welcome to the neighborhood. Do you live here, too?”

“Um…yes. I’m Martin Blackwood. It’s…nice to meet you?” Martin raises an eyebrow at Jon.

“Charlie and his grandmother made us a casserole,” Jon says, gesturing at the counter. “And a cake.”

“That’s very nice of you. Thank you.” Martin smiles at Charlie and winks, although Jon doesn’t quite understand why.

“Welcome.” Charlie’s beaming smile could probably light the house for a week. “I’d best go before Nan thinks I’m doing something stupid again. See you later!”

He’s out the front door before Jon can respond, or even blink. He looks back to Martin, who isn’t even trying to hide his amusement. “Is everything okay?”

“Everything’s fine, Jon. We were just wondering if you were okay. You were gone for a while.”

Jon gestures vaguely at the front door. “I don’t think that child has many people to talk to. Or at least not many people who will listen to him.”

Martin snorts. “I think you’ve got yourself a new best friend.”

Jon almost wants to say something flippant like Just what I need, but thinking on it, he actually doesn’t mind all that much. “Considering how much I would have given to have an adult pay that kind of attention to me when I was his age, I think I can handle that.”

Martin reaches over and pulls Jon into a hug. Jon lets himself be comforted for a moment, then extricates himself gently and smiles. “Come on. Let’s see if the others are ready to eat.”

As it turns out, the others finished putting together the bed and even made it while Jon talked to Charlie, so they’re all too happy to come into the kitchen for a hearty meal. It’s exactly as cheese-laden as Charlie promised. Jon recounts his conversation, to general amusement, although something flickers briefly across Martin Prime’s face and Jon Prime shoots Jon an understanding and slightly frightened look when he repeats Charlie’s opening words. If anyone else notices, they give no sign of it.

Tim lets the music keep playing while they eat. Jon mostly tunes it out, no pun intended, and he rather suspects the others do too. But just as they’re scraping their plates clean—the food is delicious, and Tim declares he’s going to try and charm Charlie’s grandmother out of the recipe—Martin Prime suddenly tilts his head to one side, as if trying to catch a sound. A smile twitches at his lips, and he stands up and holds out a hand to Jon Prime. “May I?”

Jon Prime looks startled for a split-second, then smiles—no, grins—and places his hand in Martin Prime’s. He lets Martin Prime pull him away from the table and into his arms, and the two of them start slow-dancing.

Jon pauses, fork suspended over his plate, and watches them. Jon Prime lets Martin Prime lead him in a simple box step, one arm draped casually over Martin Prime’s shoulder, while Martin Prime’s hand rests firmly at his waist; their other fingers are laced together in a way that would make it difficult to telegraph intended moves if they didn’t—probably—know each other so well. The space between them is so little it’s a wonder they don’t constantly trip over each other’s feet, and before long their foreheads touch. The song is gentle and plaintive, encouragement from one partner to the other to trust and relax and allow the first to take care of the second, a promise that the second person won’t be considered weak or lesser if they allow themselves to be comforted.

I promise you’ll be safe here in my arms…

Martin Prime lifts his arm and spins Jon Prime around gently, and when Jon Prime comes back into the closed frame, he leans his head against the shoulder where his hand isn’t resting and closes his eyes. Martin Prime pulls him closer and rests his cheek alongside Jon Prime’s as they continue dancing. It’s one of the most intimate and romantic things Jon has ever seen, and he almost has to look away from it.

Almost. Not quite. Something keeps him drawn, and there’s a tiny part of Jon’s brain that suggests it probably isn’t just the pleasure at seeing someone who’s basically him safe and happy and in love mixed with the vague sense of longing for something like that—maybe not that exactly, but something like it. It may also be that watching the Primes slow dancing means he doesn’t have to look at anyone else.

The song plays itself out. Martin Prime turns his head slightly; Jon Prime turns his at the same time, and their lips meet gently in the middle. This time Jon does look away. He’s never quite been able to figure out how he feels about kissing, to be honest; it’s one of the things that sent his and Georgie’s relationship down in flames, was the fact that he always acted like you think I’ve got poison in my lip gloss, according to her. But he finds himself wondering for a moment what Martin’s lips would feel like against his, if they’d be as soft and warm as the rest of him. If it might make a difference to kiss Martin instead of Georgie, or Meredith, or Kelly. And that’s not a question he’s comfortable asking himself just then, let alone trying to answer.

The scrape of a chair breaks his attention, and he looks up to see the Primes sitting down like nothing happened, although they’re still holding hands. Tim clears his throat. “Who wants cake?”

The cake is, as promised, a bit of a mess—it looks like someone tried to tease out the blob created by the icing tip popping off with a toothpick or something, but the resultant design looks like the pictures someone showed Jon once of a web woven by a spider that had been fed caffeine, and the fact that the icing is bright red doesn’t help—but it is absolutely delicious.

Afterward, Tim and Jon store the leftovers while Martin and Sasha start on the dishes. Jon Prime glances at the kitchen clock and touches Martin Prime on the shoulder. “We should probably go. The later it gets, the more likely that…someone might cruise by the Institute, and I’d rather not risk that.”

Martin Prime squeezes Jon Prime’s hand gently, and Jon swallows on the sudden surge of nausea. They haven’t seen anything of Detective Tonner, and Basira didn’t say anything about her when she showed up last week to switch out the tapes, but the memory of the Primes’ faces when they stumbled back to Tim’s place to change and return his car is a hard one to shake. Even though Jon Prime swears he and Daisy eventually became friends, it’s the eventually that sticks out, and Jon isn’t sure what he’ll do if Daisy turns up at the Institute. It’s also obvious that the Primes are more afraid of her than they’re letting on.

Tim opens his mouth, probably to invite them to spend the night or something, but Sasha beats him to it. “Can you wait a few minutes? I’d rather not walk to the tube station by myself, if it comes to that, and I think you said there’s an entrance to the tunnels near there.”

Jon Prime frowns slightly. “I…don’t think I did, but there is.”

“We’ll walk with you, Sasha,” Martin Prime assures her.

Tim sighs theatrically. “I feel a little better, which is a relative statement not to be taken as approval.”

“Your objection is duly noted.” Sasha hands Martin a plate to dry.

All too soon, everything is cleaned up, just as the playlist comes to an end, and there’s really no way of stalling them further. There’s a round of hugs and see-you-Mondays, and then Sasha and the Primes head out the door, leaving Jon, Martin, and Tim alone in their new house.

It’s not that late, comparatively, so Jon suggests a card game. They’ve played most nights since Sasha went back to sleeping in her own flat; they’ve played a couple of games of Rummy or Go Fish, and Tim once tried to teach Jon and Martin a game he learned from his grandparents that uses a forty-card deck (Martin picked it up quickly, Jon did not), but most of the time they play Crazy Eights. Tim declares that they’re going to keep playing until either he or Jon or both manage to overtake Martin’s score, which is clearly going to be an impossible task, as he’s up by nearly a thousand points and consistently wins at least three or four games a night. Still, they give it a valiant effort. After Martin manages to go out while both Tim and Jon still have an eight each in their hand, though, they decide to call it quits for one night.

“Someday I’ll figure out how you keep doing that,” Jon says, shuffling the deck lightly before putting it back in the box.

Martin shrugs. “Practice, I guess? I used to play with my granddad a lot when I was younger. We kept a running total, too, and I think I was up three thousand points or so when he died.”

Tim gives a low whistle. “How old were you?”

“Nine. We’d been playing pretty regularly since I was five. At least one game every time I went to visit.”

Jon thinks back to the conversation he and Martin had in Tim’s kitchen the morning after Prentiss’s attack. “Is this the grandfather who had the cherry trees?”

“You remembered.” Martin looks pleased. “Yeah, he was my mum’s dad. I never met my dad’s family, that I remember anyway.” He pauses. “You, uh, you told Charlie you were raised by your grandmother. Was that…?”

Jon didn’t know Martin was there, but he’s kind of glad he doesn’t have to figure out how to bring it up. “My father’s mother. She was…formidable. My father died when I was two, from an accidental fall, and my mother died a couple years later. Surgery complications.”

“I’m sorry,” Martin says softly. “That must have been hard on you.”

“Harder on my grandmother, I think. I was barely old enough to remember them.” All Jon remembers of his father is his laugh, and he’s fairly certain that most of his memories of his mother come from his aunt.

Tim leans forward, resting his arms on the table. “Is she still around? Your grandmother?”

Jon shakes his head. “She died just before I started working at the Institute. What about yours, Tim?”

“My dad’s dad is the only grandparent still around. I think.” Tim worries at his lower lip with his teeth for a moment. “I’d like to think someone would call me if something happened, but I don’t know.”

Martin hums sympathetically. “Is he…in a home?”

“Not as far as I know. Last I heard, he was still living with my parents. Moved in when Granny died, just after I left for university.” Tim sighs. “We’re not…close. After Danny…”

Jon reaches over and touches Tim’s arm gently. “It must be hard on them, losing a son. No parent expects to outlive their child.”

“That’s just it. Mum refuses to believe he’s dead.” Tim smiles weakly. “No body, you know? Dad isn’t sure, but he also thinks I know more than I’ve told them. Grandfather all but accused me of having a hand in Danny’s disappearance.”

“What?” Jon blinks, shocked. “How could anyone think you’d—you would never.”

“I know, but…well, Dad’s family was always a bit conservative, blue collar and all that, and I’m…well, me. I think that’s why Dad encouraged my hiking and camping and all that. Hoped it would knock some ‘sense’ into me,” Tim says with a wry twist of his lips. “Once I came out as bi, though, I think they decided there was no hope left for me. It just got worse after Danny died.”

Martin’s expressive face closes down, and Jon’s stomach lurches. This is the most they’ve talked about their families in…ever, he thinks, but from the little bits of information Martin—and Martin Prime, for that matter—have let slip, Jon has formed a very unfavorable impression of Martin’s mother. He’s always kind of had a hazy idea that Tim’s family situation was better, especially after he heard the pride in his voice when he talked about Danny when giving his statement, and finding out that it wasn’t much better than theirs…

“How old were you?” he asks, not sure why. “When you—told them.”

“Seventeen. There was a guy I’d been seeing—nothing serious, really, but we had fun together—and we went out for Valentine’s Day. My parents were confused because they knew my girlfriend and I had just broken up before Christmas and I hadn’t mentioned another girl, so I told them about Steve.” Tim gets quiet for a second. “Mum cried. Dad just…told me to stop upsetting my mother and never brought it up again. Not until Grandfather started in on me.”

Jon swallows. “You’ve a great deal more courage than I have. I—I never admitted to my grandmother that I ever had any interest in boys, let alone dated one.”

“Only one? You’re missing out.” Tim’s grin is a pale echo of his usual one, but it is at least genuine. “How ‘bout you, Martin?”

“A few.” Martin relaxes with a visible effort that makes Jon’s heart ache. “Been out since I was fourteen. Mum reacted…about as well as she reacted any other time I told her something she didn’t like or did something she wasn’t expecting. I never brought anyone home to meet her or…really talked to her about my dating, and she only ever brought it up in relation to herself. Like saying it was a good thing there wasn’t any risk of me passing on any of my numerous undesirable traits to a helpless child.”

“I don’t think your mum understands what ‘bisexual’ means,” Tim points out.

“Probably not, but it doesn’t matter. I’m gay.” Martin grimaces. “I’m also ace, so no risk there anyway, but…”

Jon wants to say any child would be fortunate to count you as a father or I can’t think of a single undesirable trait about you, but what actually comes out is, “Ace?”

“Uh, asexual. It’s—I don’t…get attracted like that. Romance, sure, aesthetic stuff and all that, but not…” Martin gestures vaguely. “Tried it anyway, for a couple of guys I was with, but i-it didn’t go well.”

Jon’s world view shifts abruptly on its axis. Tim, though, looks suddenly worried. “Are you okay? They didn’t—”

“No, no,” Martin says quickly. “It wasn’t—I just don’t like it. That’s all.” He sighs and runs a hand through his hair. “Never bothered telling Mum that part. She wouldn’t…I’ve done enough damage.”

Tim pulls Martin into a quick one-armed hug, and Jon reaches across the table to squeeze his hand as gently as he can, but they change the subject after that.

They end up sitting up for a while in their new living room, relaxing. Tim props his feet up in the recliner and works on a crossword; Jon curls up at one end of the sofa with a book he’s been meaning to read for years that Jon Prime assures him he’ll love; Martin sits at the other end and knits. It about bowled Jon over completely when he learned that Martin made most of the sweaters he wears, but the sight and sound of him working away has become increasingly familiar in the last few weeks, especially after the Primes and the rest of the crew collaborated to get him an array of needles and knitting wool in all colors of the rainbow for his birthday. Jon usually finds the gentle clicking of the needles soothing, but tonight it’s just a hair distracting, and he keeps glancing up from the page to watch Martin’s fingers as they expertly manipulate the yarn or Tim tap the eraser of his pencil thoughtfully against his jaw while he contemplates an answer. He’s not even quite sure what he’s looking at.

Finally, Tim lays down his puzzle with a sigh. “I think I’m gonna turn in,” he says, sounding oddly reluctant. “Long day and all that.”

“Yeah, I’m just gonna—” Martin works a couple more stitches and folds up his project. “Probably a good stopping place for tonight.”

Jon considers saying he’s going to stay in the living room and finish the chapter he’s on, but if he’s being completely honest, he’s been on the same page for however long it’s been and hasn’t taken in a single word. Silently, he slides the scrap of paper he’s currently using as a bookmark back between the pages and closes the book. “Well. Good night, then.”

“’Night, Jon.”

The bedrooms are all upstairs, two on one side and one on the other with the bathroom handy, and the three of them wish each other goodnight again before disappearing into their rooms. Jon closes the door and looks around the room, his room.

There’s not much to it, to be honest. A nightstand, a dresser, a battered desk he’s had since he was a child, a lamp and the bed. He sets the book on top of the desk and changes into his comfortable sleep clothes, then crawls into the bed and pulls the covers up over his shoulders.

It’s…odd. No, not odd. Jon can’t quite think of the right word for it. But the sheets feel unfamiliar against his skin, and they don’t smell right, either, probably because they’re new. The mattress that felt perfectly comfortable when he tested it out in the store doesn’t seem to afford the same comfort now, and he wonders if the floor model has simply had much of the stiffness tested out of it over time. Even the pillows, which he did retain from his old bedroom setup, seem determined to thwart his attempts to find a comfortable position.

He rolls onto his back and stares up at the ceiling, arm draped over his midsection. He won’t fall asleep like this, he’s always been a side-sleeper, but his mind is a seething roil of emotions and he needs to get his thoughts under control before he can even have a hope of getting comfortable enough to sleep, he guesses.

Asexual. Jon probes at the word, at what it describes. I don’t get attracted like that. I just don’t like it. Honestly, until meeting Georgie, Jon had no idea that sort of attraction really existed; he thought it was just something out of the lurid romance novels his grandmother favored and he’d read once or twice in sheer desperation. It was something she’d wanted, though, so he’d tried a few times, but his efforts hadn’t satisfied her and he never really saw what all the fuss was about. He can take it or leave it, preferably the latter.

He never knew there was a word for it.

Suddenly, he wants to talk to Martin about it, about how he realized, how he knew. Where he found the word. If there are many more like—well, like them, he supposes. If that’s one of the reasons he was reluctant to tell Jon how he felt. He wants to ask about Martin’s experiences, if they were bad just because his body didn’t want them or for some other reason. A part of him also wants to cry from sheer relief. He isn’t broken. There’s nothing wrong with him. Well, not in that respect, anyway.

He sighs heavily and rolls onto his side again, plumping the pillows and curling one arm around them. They’re too flat, he thinks idly, too soft and yielding. Which is odd, because that’s never bothered him before. He can’t seem to get warm, either, which is also bizarre because it’s been an unusually mild day for late September and he’s under the duvet he’s had for years, which suddenly seems too light and insubstantial. The room is too quiet and still. It all feels…wrong, somehow.

Jon closes his eyes and stubbornly tries to force sleep, to no avail. The sense of wrongness pervades his being, curling through him and keeping him tethered to consciousness. He runs through the list of problems he seems to be having and tries to come up with which one might be keeping him awake. The only thing he can think of is the unfamiliar mattress. Everything else is exactly the way it was in his old flat.

And when was the last time you slept there? The thought hits him all of a sudden, and his eyes snap open. He forgot. The last time he slept in his apartment was the night before Jane Prentiss attacked the Institute. Ever since then, he’s been sleeping in Tim’s living room…or in Tim’s bed. With the others.

That’s all it is. He isn’t used to the silence of being alone. He’s not used to not knowing, right away, exactly where Tim and Martin are and if they’re safe. He’ll just go and check on them, see that they’re safe, and he’ll be able to get to sleep just fine.

He throws back the covers, slides his glasses back on, and heads into the hallway. Jon somehow ended up in the room by the bathroom, while Tim and Martin are on the other side of the hallway. Martin’s room is first, though, so Jon heads there. He’s as careful as he can be. Martin is probably asleep by now. He definitely seemed tired while they were still in the living room, and Jon wonders if he lingered because the other two were still sitting down there. It makes him feel slightly guilty, like he should have called it a night earlier so Martin can get some sleep. And after all, they did have a very emotionally draining conversation, which probably exhausted him as well. All that runs through Jon’s mind as he slowly, slowly eases the door open and peers around it to see into Martin’s room.

It’s sparsely furnished; nothing but a bed and one of those flimsy pop-up cloth jobs bisected into cubes, which is serving as his dresser. Martin’s laptop and phone sit on the floor, both connected to their chargers. The bed is mussed slightly and shows signs of having been occupied, but Jon’s heart rate accelerates when he looks at it. It’s empty.

There’s no sign of a struggle, he tells himself, and he heard nothing, so surely everything is fine. Martin’s probably just in the bathroom, or downstairs getting a glass of water or something. It’s fine. Everything’s fine. Jon will just…go check on Tim and Tim will be fine and then he’ll go find Martin and make sure he’s fine and it…will…be…fine. He pulls the door closed and turns to Tim’s room.

The door is slightly ajar, and there’s a faint glow coming from the room. Jon hesitates, then taps lightly on the door three times before easing it open. Tim is sitting up on the bed, cross-legged and leaning forward slightly. And—Jon’s shoulders slump in relief—Martin is there, too, on the edge of the bed, one leg hanging off the side and the other tucked underneath him. They’re talking quietly, but both obviously exhausted. They look up at the sound of the door opening and watch Jon stand in the doorway. He opens his mouth, then realizes he doesn’t know what to say and closes it again.

“Couldn’t sleep either?” Martin asks gently. The circles under his eyes are almost black.

“No,” Jon admits. “I—I just wanted to—” He breaks off, still not sure what to say.

Wordlessly, Tim holds out a hand. Jon lets the bedroom door shut behind him as he comes forward and takes it. Martin wraps an arm around him from behind, and the two of them pull Jon onto the bed and into a lying-down position. Tim rolls over and snaps off the lamp by his bed, then pulls the covers up over all three of them. Jon manages to reach down and snag the middle to help.

“Better,” Tim murmurs.

It’s not a question, but Jon hums in agreement anyway. Trying for levity, he says, “Shame to waste money on new beds, though.”

“We’ll be able to sleep there eventually,” Martin says. Jon only realizes how much stress was in his voice when it’s drastically lessened. “At some point we’ll probably want the space. But for now, there’s this.”

“For now, there’s this,” Jon agrees. He tilts his head back briefly to rest it against Martin’s shoulder, and Martin scoots in closer.

Tim does, too, the two of them sandwiching Jon securely between them. “Get some sleep,” he says. “It’ll be all right tomorrow.”

Jon yawns and closes his eyes, and it doesn’t really surprise him when he falls asleep straightaway. The nightmares are as present as ever, but in the morning, he can almost fool himself into believing they weren’t so bad.

Almost.

#ollie writes fanfic #leaves too high to touch (roots too strong to fall)#tma #the magnus archives #jonmartin #referenced homophobia cw #internalized aphobia cw #panic attacks cw #please click that link and listen to the song #it'll make that bit so much better

14 notes · View notes

bccrsk · 5 years

Text

#protectAdora2020

Felt cute, thought I'd post this analysis I wrote a while ago, but I held off because of screenshots, but now I'm too busy to do that soooo.......have fun reading :D -----

The tragedies of Adora's character are rooted in the concepts of identity and choice and what it means to love and accept yourself. You can even say Adora's identity crisis closely parallels that of say, a young queer person from an oppressive background struggling to embrace their sexuality and who they are.

One of the first facets of Adora's identity is chipped away when she realizes the Horde is evil. She has a rude awakening that the people she knew, the people she looked up to, her family, have all been lying to her. Everything she'd known in her life up to this point was a lie. Because she loves Catra so profoundly, she assumes when she tells Catra the 'truth' that she will turn tail and run away with Adora. When Catra does not and reveals that she knew all along what the Horde was doing, it rips another piece of her identity away. In her mind, her best friend isn't who she thought, and it hurts. In Promise, she gets a glimmer of hope, but their trauma and memories tear them apart because Light Hope wanted Adora to let go of Catra. To activate the Heart, you can't have a heart. Even then, Adora's never fully let go. Note that Adora had no choice but to grow up in the Horde— it's all she's ever known yet her dedication to morals and ideals are so powerful she's able to defect without thinking of the person she loves the most. "I had no choice— I couldn't go back," she says. Ironically, this is one of the few times Adora actually did make a choice, and in her mind, later on, it blew up in her face.

Another piece of Adora's identity is broken away when she learns the truth about her origins: she is not of Etheria; Adora had a family, and she was taken from them without choice. Learning this devastates her for two reasons: 1) people have lied to her again, and 2) she feels robbed of a life that could have been because she never wanted to be a hero. We see this in how she tries intimidating Shadow Weaver— "Tell me the truth, for once." One thing that sticks out in this scene is when SW says, "or perhaps you would have preferred the comfort of lies." SW raised Adora, and she knows how dedicated Adora was to the Horde when she did not see the truth. Adora saw how Catra was treated and yet did not believe the Horde was evil again because, in the Horde, you don't get to form an opinion or identity— you are a soldier and nothing more. The only foundation to build herself on was a higher purpose/goal, which was to free Etheria from the Princesses. So yea, when Shadow Weaver tells her the truth and when Light Hope confirms that SW was, for once, not lying, she's at a loss. The few times people actually tell her the truth are plagued with drastic consequences. She's so demoralized that she chooses to venture to the Crimson Waste, a place known for being barren, deadly and somewhere no one visits willingly. When Huntara betrayed her, Adora was so devastated because it was finally her chance to get answers for herself— to not have to rely on others to reveal her destiny. Then she gets kidnapped, it all goes to shit, and everyone is sad (aka me).

Adora learning she had been robbed of a chance for a happy life devastates her. You can see this clearly when she screams at Light Hope, "Don't I get a choice?" to which Light Hope responds— "You do not get to choose. You are chosen." Recall when Mara says, "I never wanted to be a hero,"—Adora, at this point, is in the exact same boat. She never wanted to be a hero; she was living up to expectations thrust upon her. She was doing what people thought she should be doing. None of this was her choice. She never wanted to leave Catra. She never asked for this. Catra describes Adora as "earnest, naive, ridiculously easy to manipulate," and the fact that Catra herself pointed this out shows just how well anyone who really knows Adora can work her. Adora's impulsive nature is also positively reinforced throughout the series— she finds the sword, defects and is rewarded with new friends, a new home, and a life she never dreamed she could have.

Adora's abuse had such lasting impact because it preyed on her naivety and dedication to her morals and ideals; she must do this to serve the greater good, she must be useful or else what good is she? It damaged her psyche so negatively that even Razz comments, "You ran into the woods and asked the first old lady you saw what you should do." Ironically enough, when she punches Catra in the portal, she says, "You made your choice— now live with it!" When you really think about it, though, did they really get to make any choices based on what they wanted? Yes, Adora chose to defect, yes Catra pulled the lever. But is that what they wanted? Earlier on in the portal episode, she comments, "Catra, this can't be what you wanted!" The thing is, even Adora doesn't know what she wants at this point; Adora is doing what she thinks she should be doing because Light Hope bent the truth. Which brings me to...

The final piece of her identity that's chipped away is when she learns the truth about the Heart of Etheria— that she was not chosen to be a savior but to be the key to a superweapon whose sole purpose is destroying worlds in the name of 'peace.' This piece shattering comes to a head when she, for the first time, defies her predetermined destiny. She essentially breaks her sense of duty because, in Mara's words, "you can save the world we love." This is intentional; Mara could have said, "you can save Etheria!" but she instead chose to go for the heart. It's because of this love, not factions, or artificial ideals that she's able to overpower all the magic on Etheria.

While this may seem extreme given that she's lost in the past against less threatening enemies, it actually makes perfect sense. When Mara tells Adora the truth about the Heart, she says Adora "will be more powerful than they ever planned." We get the first hint of this on Beast Island when she overpowers her fears and insecurities to save her friends, who she loves. The second glimpse we get of this is when she overwhelms Light Hope and even gives Light Hope enough strength to defy her own programming— all because Light Hope loved Mara. And when she awakens the She-Ra within, it will be because she loves you-know-who (NOT VOLDEMORT).

I'm going to take a brief tangent, now—think about where Adora was raised: the Horde. Now think about how she left everything behind because she realizes the Horde is evil and found the Sword of Protection— aka a First One's artifact. Now think about how she left everything behind to become She-Ra for the 'greater good.' Think about Adora's reaction when she found out she was a First One. Now think about how the First Ones turned out to be not such good people after all. Next, go ahead and think about how Adora is going to grapple with the fact that the ideologies of the place she was born and the place she was raised in completely clash with her own. Though we know She-Ra isn't actually a nefarious being, Adora does not. In Adora's mind, if the First Ones made the Sword and the Sword is She-Ra, then that means She-Ra, Adora, was the villain all along. To top it off, in the Horde, she was always in the spotlight, a centerpiece made for greatness, just like when she was She-Ra. You'll bring peace and order to Etheria, Adora— you are Etheria's champion, Adora, but by the way, when we mean peace, we totally mean destroying everything. That's not gonna ruin anything, right?

Does this hurt yet? Cause it's about to get worse! Now combine everything you just read with Adora's hero complex— everything is my fault. She needs to feel useful to feel like she's worth existing, but what happens when two core parts of her identity are the reasons why there's so much turmoil on Etheria? What happens when, though obviously untrue, she feels like she does make everything worse? Remember when Light Hope told her that her friends get hurt whenever she's around? Remember when Glimmer first called her a heartless destroyer in the pilot? Remember how that came full circle, and Glimmer later blamed Adora for Angella's death? Yea, it's not going to be good, chief. And she sacrificed everything and everyone for the Sword— in a way, the Sword represents Adora, and she willingly destroys it to save everyone else. Adora breaks herself to save the world. Mara, Adora—it all ends the same. Hurts, doesn't it?

So now that the sword is broken, her relationship with Catra seems irreparable, and Glimmer's been taken by an ominous alien warlord, what should she do? You can tell her spirit is at its lowest point by the composition of the scene: she's alone and small in a dark void, with nothing but broken pieces at her feet. She stares at these broken pieces with heartbreak; this is all a metaphor for her current state of mind and how she is processing everything. She is also realizing, or will realize, that all of this heartache that she's suffered in the name of the 'greater good' was for a lie; she sacrificed everything, gave up her heart, for a lie.

When she sees Bow afterward, she seemingly hardens her resolve. At this point, however, this resolve is a facade— Adora is terrified, she no longer has a purpose, She-Ra is gone. How is she going to be useful without the sword? She's going to save the universe, but how? In S1E9, when she had to rescue Bow and Glimmer from the Horde, Angella asks her, "How are you going to do that?" In the season four finale, Bow expresses the same doubt— 'what are we gonna do?' When Angella asked her, the first thing Adora did was put on a brave face. Then, however, we see the beginnings of a breakdown; she buries her face in her hands and begins sobbing silently. Of course, the other princesses unite, and they save the day.

Adora's identity is completely shattered at this point except for one thing: her attachments. Her love. And while Adora herself thinks some of these attachments are broken, the truth is that they aren't. Glimmer obviously still cares. Catra has always cared— it's why she went to such extremes. Her attachments, her heart will become her new compass— not her ideals. When she tries leaving everyone for the greater good, Swift Wind reminds Adora that her friends need her, that they've always needed her. Then she has a moment— she says, "I didn't choose to become She-Ra to fulfill some destiny. My attachments, my friends, are a part of who I am." This will come full circle, especially because of her fight with Glimmer, a fresh wound. Adora's self-worth is tied to what she can do for others, their expectations and Glimmer blaming Adora for her mother's death takes a significant toll on her self-esteem. At this point, Adora (and her hero complex) is probably thinking that this is all her fault and she needs to fix it, which is what she tries doing in Hero, only to learn that Etheria is a weapon, etc.

There's good news, though; the only way now is up. Adora will only pick herself back up, will only awaken her She-Ra powers within when she chooses to believe in herself and when she chooses what she fights for. Razz will have a big part in this since she always seems to come to Adora at some of her lowest points. S1E3 will come full circle because Razz tells Adora that she must decide for herself what is right. And an essential piece of Adora coming to believe in herself and deciding what she fights for will be Catra. In essence, she's the only person that truly knew Adora before she became She-Ra, and Adora, no matter how messed up their relationship grew, loves Catra with all her heart. The tragedy behind their relationship is that their love is so strong— but the actual thread holding it together was (hehe)...shadow weaved. They were torn apart by lies and misunderstandings and the tragic Scapegoat vs. Golden Child dynamic.

To conclude, Adora's character arc is so tragic because it deals with the fallout and consequences of a life-altering identity crisis. For many people in the LGBT+ community, that is a very relatable thing. I'd also like to add that Catra's journey parallels Adora's in how facets of her identity heavily influenced by the Horde are chipped away piece by piece until, again, Catra makes a choice of her own to save Glimmer. In the past, Adora and Catra were always brought back to each other, not by free will, but external influences. They were torn apart by deception, manipulation, misunderstandings. Now that their hearts are broken in such a way that each half finally fits with the other, now that the infected pieces of the past are gone, they'll learn the truth. Adora and Catra will find their way home when they both choose each other because of love and trust, and when they acknowledge that love. This new bond, this promise, won't be out of survival; this promise will be out of true love, out of two halves of a heart finding their way home and becoming whole again.

It's beautiful and compelling storytelling not just for individual characters on parallel journeys to self-actualization and finally believing in themselves and their own choices, but for showing two young women on the cusp of adulthood—both who were abused in different ways that molded their worldview, who have different skill sets, who complement each other like light and darkness—learning to love themselves and recognize their love for one another. Like fire and ice, night and day, good and evil, neither can exist without the other. They are a core part of each other's identity. And the fact that the finale episode is most likely called "Heart"? Can it get any more obvious?

Also, fuck Shadow Weaver.

#spop #leave my dumb jock alone #adora protection squad #catradora #protect these dumb gays #protect adora 2020 #shera #adora #meta #DEPRESSION #ANXIETY #SADNESS #catra #yeetshadowweaver2020 #character analysis

282 notes · View notes

chaospectre · 4 years

Text

Any Port in a Carbonated Storm

[This is a cheeky title for an untitled piece, written essentially as a prelude for a character in an Edwardian Vampire: The Masquerade setting. That setting hasn’t met as a fully realized table game yet, but I wrote this as a gift for the storyteller who is planning and writing it. As such, the piece assumes some basic knowledge of how VtM works. Hopefully, I’ve done enough with the contour of these broad strokes that you’d be able to enjoy a brief story about some chance meetings in the dark of night in New York City.]

The cold streets lay still at this hour of the evening. Lanterns glowed softly to provide some small aid to any waywards who found themselves outside at this hour; for which virtuous souls in this era would not have completed their business before sundown?

Patrick stumbled up the western avenue of Central Park with dissatisfied grunts. Shuffling along in the dark, he kept his eyes forward while not truly seeing ahead; so empty was his mind, drowned in drudgery, drowsy thoughts of his bed, and a dollop of drink. Some small parcel of his spirit recognized that he was north of 70, and after some more trudging he turned west, allowing the parcel to sink back beneath the bubbles of his mind.

Patrick continued in this way for some time, awake and not, upright and not. It could be said the smallest part of him was driving his turbulent frame homeward, as a coachman drives a clattering carriage over cobbles. In his state, any who bore witness would not blame him for falling over when he heard a rosy voice call out from the shadows.

A figure in a long street coat and newsy cap emerged from an alley between tenements. Patrick fought off bleary weariness and stared, focusing on a hand extended towards him as he heard, “Sorry to spook ya so, gov’, but I were asking if you was in fair form and now it seems that’s a ways aside the truth, yea?”

While Patrick’s mind was grinding back to life, he could not yet make anything of this velvet voice he was hearing. It sounded young, but whether lass or lad he could not say, and although smooth, it spoke in the coarse tongue of the street. He clasped the outstretched hand with his, grunted as he hoisted himself up, nodded as he righted himself, and responded, “Aye. Thank you. I’ve had much to drink and have much yet to walk.” Patrick glanced aside, trying to identify the block, “Much at this gait, at least.” Turning around to look, he stumbled once more.

The indeterminate youth reached out to steady the man, offering, “Come this way. Lean to here in the alley fer a spell afore ya tumble the rest o’ the way home.” Despite the curiousness of the request, Patrick found the contact comforting, and followed suit to lean against the cool brick of the alley, which lightened his bones and tempered his flushed cheeks. The two stood in dark and silence for a few moments as Patrick tried to will himself back to alertness, or at least to whatever modicum would be necessary to make it home while on his feet. “What’s got you so coiled up and taking liquid comfort to come to this sorry state?”

Leaning further into the wall, as though the resistance of the wall would push him back to sobriety, and without opening his eyes or turning to face the question, Patrick replied, “It’s hardly your place to ask a stranger his business.” Without pause, he heard a small, sweet chuckle, which almost provoked a low rumbling laugh of his own, but he did not at all understand why.

“May be right, there, gov’, but this side of the street is hardly any place at all. There don’t need to be any rules here in the dark.”

Patrick cracked his eyes open to regard the shrouded youth and their queer questions. They leaned on the wall opposite him, and naught of their form could be made out beneath the cap and coat. He knew nothing of them, and yet Patrick found them positively disarming. It was almost charming, and he couldn’t say what kept it from being so. “My story ain’t an uncommon thing you wouldn’t hear from any other working man. Just hit it hard today and then harder tonight.” And then, with a smirk, Patrick dismissively glanced away and parried, “I doubt you’ve the same excuse for being out here past bedtime, young’un.”

A louder, brighter laugh came from the opposite wall, and as Patrick’s gaze was drawn back over, he saw faint lamplight bouncing off what must have been a cascade of dark hair, which the youth was now running one hand through, cap held in the other. “Wherever we find ourselves, it can be important to take a moment to breathe, and allow our own creature comforts to set us aright again.” Patrick was transfixed by the glint of light in her (he was certain it was ‘her’, now) eyes, which he had not yet seen but now could not ignore. “Wouldn’t you say?”

A moment. Another.

“What?” Patrick grasped at brick as a parcel of his bubbled up to deliver the thought that her voice sounded different than it did a second ago, but he wasn’t receiving such messages at the moment. “What?”

“If you’re worried, it only has to be a moment, but what a moment it would be, wouldn’t it?”

Patrick felt warm. Everything felt warm. His blood flooding through his veins felt warmer beneath his skin. The night air went from crisp to sharp and scalding for a moment. Her scent tickled his mouth, his nose, his eyes, his- when did he get close enough to feel her breath?

“Wouldn’t it?”

An eternity in a moment. He was already leaning over her, hands splayed on the brick beside her head. She placed her cap on his head and pulled the brim closer to her, bringing his face with it.

“You seem to be tasting the idea, sir.” She opened her coat, revealing reasonable men’s garments, a buttoned shirt, a waistcoat, trousers, but also releasing the air that had been trapped within, and that air subsumed Patrick’s senses. She traced his collar for a moment before gripping it in one hand. “If you care to dine, I trust you’ll find the meal fare quite reasonable.”

Patrick’s tantalized mind found a bubble of clarity as it became achingly clear what this woman was propositioning.

And when it popped, it exploded.

-----

Heartbeat pounding in the temples. Bleary moonlight and crooked shadows. A dirty patch of ground, cool to the touch.

Elaine finally pushed herself upright. What had taken only moments felt like hours, as the gravity of the situation dripped along the ground.

Her cap was ruined. All of her clothes too, frankly. Stripped buttons lay scattered all over this alleyway, beside the man. She never learned his name.

Even if she took the entire contents of his wallet, it would not have been worth this. She wouldn’t be able to get home, get anywhere in this state. She stood contemplating the sight, and what it would take to clean any of this up.

“You’ll also catch your own death in the night like this, hardly covered and wet with red.”

Elaine jerked to a low stance, looking around for this voice that suddenly pooled around her. It certainly wasn’t the man’s, though a man’s voice it was.

“What exactly was your plan after all this? Bleeding up and down Western Central Park couldn’t have been how you expected to spend a Friday evening.”

The voice didn’t echo. It sounded as though it were coming from directly behind her, and yet as she turned and turned Elaine found nothing. Nothing until the moon drew directly overhead, and she finally made out the form of a proper tailcoat at the other end of the alley, coiffed in neat blonde hair. She remained in her low stance, still gripping a pocketknife in her right hand, coated in gleaming crimson. “Some men jump, some men limp, some men whine, but most men pay. I’ve never had a man so… instantly… entitled to what wasn’t his. Anger and entitlement must have driven him to drink. I suppose I’d have to watch out for that next time, were I ever to have another after tonight. I doubt I’ll ever have another free night after this.”

The man peered down at the body, then regarded her crouching form, tapping his walking stick on the ground. Elaine did not feel as though he glanced overlong at her exposed vulnerability. In fact, she had almost no read on how he read her, a rare thing for her. “What cause have you to say such a thing? You’re a plenty clever girl. You were doing quite well before the man decided upon what was his.”

Elaine did not know why she was compelled to say anything to this man who appeared out of moonlight. Perhaps some nihilistic resignation to the fact that she had no exit strategy for this. Perhaps something about the man who remained entirely composed when confronted with a highly indecorous cadaver and the woman who made it in an alleyway at night. She looked down at the body, and then at her knife, “I carry this knife in case of tempers like his, but it’s never… never supposed to come to this.”

“And yet you wielded it so well!” Elaine looked up to hear the blonde’s voice come from right in front of her. She struck with her left hand as she drew back her dagger in her right to follow up, but found that the man had already stopped both her left punch and right stab with outstretched index fingers. “If only you could have seen the arcs, the curves, the splashes! I dare say you were quite ready to do so, as you were ready even just now.”

She didn’t hear the man approach. In fact, as she registered his last words, she heard his walking stick topple and clatter over at the other end of the alley. This wasn’t a trick of the light, or her nerves failing her in her final hours before she’d be subject to the law. This man was unflappable, faster than shadows, and still staring directly at her, his face inches from her face. “And yet I’m no match for you, so let’s cease the theatrics. Are you here to commandeer a doomed woman for some rich pervert’s purpose? You’ve been watching this whole time and you didn’t stop any of it, so I can only assume your ends are nefarious at best.”

“You’re not entirely wrong, but you wound me so to tell me to dispense with theatre. Theatre is the whole point, you see. And I’d merely hate to lose such a skilled player as you, whose words remain so incisive before a man whom she cannot strike.”

“I’d rather leave my body with his for the police to find in the morning than to be subject to whatever demented will you’re intending.”

“Such spirited words for someone threatening their own demise! You continue to surprise. Delight, even.” They had remained frozen in this awkwardly combative pose, index finger to fist, index finger to wrist, as though they were striking the pose for a dance, all this time, but the man finally stood upright, righting Elaine along with himself. He took her hands and folded them in front of her, dagger still clutched, but being careful enough not to have her cut herself. “What would it take for you to believe that I intend something… nefarious, sure, but something different, a different role for you?”

Elaine could not move her hands. His frigid grip ensured that, and so he saw fit to continue. “A different role than toiling day in and day out, thrifting, grifting, stealing, and selling even yourself to feed all those adorable little mouths back at the orphanage?” She chilled to think of how he could possibly know any of these things. Could this madman read her mind, or has he been watching her for longer than just tonight?

“You seek to protect and provide for yours. I would do the same, and I would empower you to do so as well.” He relented, releasing her hands to quizzically shrug at her. “I don’t have to call you ‘mine’ if that’s more to your taste, but it would be true to at least some degree, there’s no getting around that.”

He shrugged and she stared, uncomprehending. He continued, “If that’s so abhorrent to you, go ahead and do what you’re going to do. Kill yourself, I imagine, after making a few arrangements for one of your little scoundrels to find this poor man’s paltry salary. You’re determined to die here, for fear of what comes with the d-”

“Why is it so important to you that I agree to whatever this is? Whoever you are, you could have had your way with me already. Several times, even. Assuming you have a way out of this mess, which you must, or you wouldn’t have wasted your time.”

“Wits sharper than your blade, even in the face of the truly unknown. Remarkable. What a remarkable performance. What magnificent theater, to be arguing for your fate, as your meal cools down below. Pretty soon, he’s going to be useless to you, and then what will you do?”

“Wh-”

“It’s important to me that you agree simply because...” He took her head in both his hands, adoringly, and in the instant before the moonlight overhead vanished behind the rooftops, he flashed the sharpest smile Elaine had ever seen. “...even with such noble motives, having you agree to give up the dawn just makes for better theatre!”

Fear already filled her being, but now understanding was swelling to match. He saw both swirling in her eyes as she raised her chin while keeping his gaze. She nodded once, and tilted her head. He fed quickly, and soon after, so did she.

#vtm #fiction #prelude #cs writes #toreador #presence

3 notes · View notes

umbrahighpriestofgiratina · 5 years

Text

Pokemon Mystery Dungeon: Tales Of Arrival Prologue + Chapter 1

This fic is rated Teen for blood, mild gore, adults doing adult things like drinking and swearing, and some dirty jokes and such.

About time I had another B fic huh? (Greenhorn Prometheus doesn't count, it was a three-parter that was written out ahead of time, shhhhhhhh)

So, this is a fic that took me some come convincing to write, (I was never really that fond of the actual PMD games, though I generally like the fics better) but in the end I got attached to an idea and was like "hell, let's go."

I will be up front in saying this is a Tales Of Symphonia/Pokemon Mystery Dungeon crossover, and that you should note three things about that:

1.There will be some massive fucking spoilers for Tales Of Symphonia, especially around the character Kratos Aurion, so if you're particularly concerned about that then I recommend playing the game or watching an LP before reading this fic.

A. That said... If you have not played Tales Of Symphonia, do not care about spoilers relating to it, and are just here because you saw "Pokemon Mystery Dungeon" in the title, you should be fine - this fic is like at least 70% PMD, albeit a celebration of what I like about the genre and a satire of what I don't.

%. This is set in a PMD version of the Yangverse. It's fundamentally the same world, just with no humans and a lot of PMD elements added to compensate.

But anyway I should go ahead and get into this. But before I do big thanks to @masaeanela and her Tales of Symphonia LP, without which this fic wouldn't have been possible. Here we go:

Pokemon Mystery Dungeon: Tales Of Arrival

(Banner by Shinywolf!)

Prologue: New Life

Kratos could see the vast darkness of space staring out before him.

Derris-Kharlan had been drifting for a long while. It'd be a while before it'd establish itself as a proper living planet. His communications with Yuan had ceased just the other day. He had already scattered Cruxis' Exspheres into space. He could barely see where he left in the sky anymore.

Normally he'd pretend it didn't hurt. But leaving everything behind-

No. He had to.

He looked in the direction in the sky Derris-Kharlan had drifted from. Lloyd. He was back there. Kratos wondered, hoped, that he and his gaggle of friends were doing alright.

He looked to where Derris-Kharlan was drifting in the cold void of space. This was the only place for him. He realized now the blood on his hands. The countless people Cruxis had killed he was complicit with.

He didn't deserve to stay home. He didn't deserve redemption. He didn't deserve a happy life with his son, the only family he had left.

As he thought this, however, he noticed a strange light in the dark, starry sky. Looking at it, he thought at first it was a comet or meteor shooting through the sky.

But then he realized it was heading through Derris-Kharlan's atmosphere at incredible speed.

Heading straight toward him.

He tried to get out of the way. But it was too late. The light consumed him.

-----------------

Kratos woke up in a colorful, pulsating, void. He couldn't feel his body. Almost like he was part of the void.

Then he heard a voice.

"Hello? Hello? Kratos, you there?"

"How do you know my name?" said Kratos.

"Oh, goody, it is you!" said the voice. "Listen, I know this is kind of sudden, but something's coming to my world and I need your help with it."

"...Why me?"

"You're... uniquely qualified. For multiple reasons. But before I bring you over I need to ask you some questions."

"I-"

"First question! Do you like groan-inducing puns?"

"...Spare me."

"You're lucky I can't think of one. Second question! Do you get bothered by noise and ruckus around you?"

"I try not to let it get to me."

"Hmmmm... Third question! Your friend is crying right in front of you! What made that happen?"

Kratos thought back to Mithos. To Yuan. To Lloyd.

"...It's probably my fault."

"Ouch. Not much of the self-esteem type. Question four! Do you occasionally consider yourself to be dull and overly cautious?"

"Of course not."

"Sure you aren't. Anyway, final question! Have you ever wanted to communicate with aliens from another planet?"

"I'm assuming you're one?"

"I will neither confirm nor deny."

"Hmmm... Some beings from my world came from the stars, but other than you, Derris-Kharlan hasn't encountered any aliens yet... so yes, I suppose."

"Okay! Hmmm, let's see, yes, yes... I think I have a form cooked up for you!"

"...Form?"

"Anyway, remember that question about the aliens and how you said you'd like to meet them?"

"Yes? I'm guessing wish granted."

"Yep! Wish granted."

The void turned a blinding white before Kratos lost consciousness again.

Chapter 1: Welcome To The World

Kratos stirred, groaned, and finally opened his eyes. What he saw was blue sky, much more blue than on Derris-Kharlan. He tilted his head a bit, saw trees, grass, and -

"Hey you! You're finally awake!"

What Kratos saw next to him was a small, black-and-red fox wearing a teal robe, with inquisitive blue eyes staring right at him.

"I was just about to get help... Are you OK?"

"Yes... I am alright," said Kratos. "Let me just..."

He sat up. And then realized he wasn't himself. His body was now much, much smaller in proportion to his head, and fuzzy. And his arms were... wings. Not like his old angel wings, like bat or dragon wings, with claws at the end instead of hands.

"How... How did this happen?"

"Someone must have knocked you out!" said the fox.

Kratos gave the fox a look.

"It must have been a feral Pokemon... Do you remember anything about it?"

"No... and I mean... What am I?"

The fox gasped. "Oh no! You must have amnesia! Uh, you're a Noibat! Though, not like any Noibat I've ever seen. Your colors are all different..."

"So I'm a creature known as a Noibat, then."

"Yeah! And I'm a Zorua! My name's Edbark. Do you remember yours?"

"...Yes. It's Kratos."

"Kratos? Huh. Sounds foreign. Well nice to meet you Kratos! I'll be sure to help get your memories back!"

"I don't need-"

"Come on! I'll take you to a doctor in the city."

"...Fine."

Edbark started to trot off. Kratos sighed and started to try and follow, only to stumble over. Edbark turned back and gasped.

"Oh no! You've forgotten how to walk!"

"I'm fine," said Kratos. "I just need to get used to this new body..."

"Come on," said Edbark. "I'll help you."

Edbark propped Kratos up with his back, then they walked away together.

------------

Eventually, the duo reached the outskirts of what seemed to be a city. There were many houses both small and large and dirt roads, as well as towering buildings which Kratos could only fathom a guess at the purpose of.

Having figured out how to walk by himself, Kratos went closer and saw the city was populated not by humans or elves or half-elves or dwarves or even angels, but by a staggering array of different animals, plants, and even inanimate objects, all moving around as if they were people.

"What... is this place?" said Kratos. "And what are these creatures?"

"This is Rainbow Wing City!" said Edbark. "And man, that amnesia really got to you... These are Pokemon! You're a Pokemon, I'm a Pokemon..."

"I thought you said I was a Noibat and you were a Zorua."

"Noibat and Zorua are both kinds of Pokemon silly!"

"...I see."

The two continued further on into Rainbow Wing City, passing various buildings and a great variety of Pokemon. Kratos marveled at the bazaars and shops and facilities run by colorful creatures he couldn't even count. Eventually the two reached what seemed to be a castle - Kratos noticed one of two in the city, along with a cathedral.

"And this place is..." said Kratos.

"The Adventurer's Guild!" said Edbark."They can help you out!"

Edbark dragged Kratos inside. Kratos noticed more facilities and corridors and dormitories inside, as well as what seemed to be an... Inn? With a bar?

Eventually Edbark dragged Kratos into a central room. Seated at the end of the room was a strange, cream-and-green mustelid-like creature wearing a red vest, flanked by two floating grayish blue automaton-like beings.

"Guildmaster, it's Edbark!" said one.

"And... some Noibat?" said another.

"I see, I see," said the mustelid. He approached the duo. "Edbark my boy! Who do you have here?"

"Guildmaster Stoakes!" said Edbark. "This is Kratos! Poor guy has amnesia! All he can remember is his own name... You gotta help him!"

Kratos was about to object that no, he did not have amnesia, he remembers the last four thousand years or so up until this point fine, but then he realized they probably weren't going to listen and decided to just roll with it.

"Hmm, amnesia, huh?" said Stoakes, scratching his chin. "He'll need some rest and recovery... But the Adventurer's Guild never turns down a person in need. He can stay here, we'll have Nurse Betania take a look at him."

"Yay! Thank you, Guildmaster Stoakes!" said Edbark. He turned to Kratos. "These guys have got you covered. I'll be back!"

He scampered off, and the two automatons escorted Kratos to another room as Stoakes followed.

---------------

A large pink oval with white tufts on her body and an egg nestled in a pouch on her belly now looked Kratos over. She looked him up, down, and sideways as she prodded and investigated his head and body. Kratos begrudgingly obliged as Stoakes watched.

"Well," said the pink oval, who was apparently Nurse Betania, "This is odd. He doesn't seem to have head trauma or other trauma or any injuries at all! How the hell does he have amnesia?"

"Well I wouldn't know." said Kratos.

Stoakes thought to himself a bit. "There's one possibility... Some nefarious Pokemon, somehow, wiped his memories."

"Well that gives us fuck-all evidence as to who!" said Betania, huffing.

"It seems it can't be helped." said Stoakes. He sighed, then turned to Kratos. "My offer for you to stay here still stands. Though... what do you remember?"

Kratos paused to think of a convincing reply. "...My name, Kratos Aurion. And apparently your language, basic functions of living, certain basic concepts... I remember nothing of this world or its people."

"Hm. Awfully specific memory wipe," said Stoakes. "Whoever did this to you must have had a very strange goal in mind... Nevertheless, you're safe with the Adventurer's Guild."

"Thank you."

"Hmph. Adopting another one, I see, Stoakes," said Betania.

"It can't be helped! Rule Number 1 of the Adventurer's Guild! Always help those in need, no matter who they are!"

Kratos was suddenly reminded of his son Lloyd's fondness for the Dwarven Vows. "I appreciate it."

"Besides," said Stoakes. "You came to Rainbow Wing City at a good time! The Seeking is soon! There will be a big festival and everything!"

"The Seeking?"

"I'll let Edbark explain that one, he gets excited about old myths and legends and stuff like that. Anyway, we should probably find you a room..."

He led Kratos out of the infirmary and down the stony hall to a set of rooms.

"Here's an empty dormitory. Since we're hosting you, you get to stay free of charge here instead of at the inn."

"Thank you for your generosity."

"No problem, Kratos! Come to us for anything you need!"

He headed off. Kratos paused, then sat on the bed of his new room and stared off into space.

What the hell was going on?

--------------

And there you have it, the beginning of this crossover adventure! This will update in rough alternation with Heroes After All until one of them finishes in like 3000 years. Stay tuned!

#pokemon #pokemon mystery dungeon #tales of symphonia #kratos aurion #tales of arrival

3 notes · View notes

thereluctantinquisitor · 6 years

Note

"Not a person standing in the hall" for the spoopy promptsss

To the new owner

There are some stories that are easy to tell. They roll offthe tongue. Make good conversational centrepieces at parties. Fill thoseawkward silences in office banter when everyone realises that they used up allthe good topics the day before.

This is not one of those stories.

In truth, I’m not entirely sure where to begin. I supposethis is the part where some wise-guy says ‘the beginning, idiot’. Well, theywouldn’t be wrong, so… here it goes.

My name is Jean.

There is something behind me.

Not a person standing in the hall. Not even a person at all.

Just... something.

I can’t tell you what it is.

It started when I first moved in to my new place. Reasonablynew, freshly painted, with high ceilings and smart wood paneling. I know whatyou’re thinking; this is going to be some typical haunted house bullshit. Hell,maybe it is to some degree. I think it goes a bit beyond that, though. Let meexplain why.

That very first day, when the dust and boxes had settled, there was a letter under my door,preceded by knocking that could only be described as frantic. I tried to spotthe person who had left it, but whoever they were, they were either unnaturallyfast or hiding somewhere just out of sight. Let’s just say this is going to bethe start of a theme. You’ll see what I mean.

Or maybe you won’t.

God, I hope you won’t.

Anyway, the letter. Simple enough. Plain paper, neathandwriting - nothing serial-killery or stalkerish about it. I assumed it wasjust one of those ‘welcome to the neighbourhood’ messages some socially awkward people like todeliver. I opened it as I wandered back into my living room, noting fondly that the floorboards didn’t even creak underfoot. I think the firsttime I read the message it didn’t really sink in. I almost tossed it down onthe coffee table without even a second thought, my brain apparently re-writingit into something that made sense. Something I could understand.

But then I read it again.

To the new owner,

It is yours now. It will come at night.

Do not look at it.

My first instinct, to be honest, was to laugh. I thoughtsome kid was playing a practical joke on me. Sure, it was a different kind of‘welcome to the neighbourhood’ experience, but hey, maybe there were somemischievous teenagers around. At least Halloween was bound to be a blast.

Shaking my head, I set the letter down and went about my day, chuckling everytime I caught a glimpse of it sitting there on the table. I mean, it was a bit of a crueljoke, really. They were lucky I wasn’t a paranoid person, or it might have seriouslymessed me up.

It… seriously messed me up.

The sun started to sink and for some reason, my stomach sankright along with it. This, frankly, made no sense because the house seemedanything but nefarious. Despite that, I turned on every light in the place, andfresh paint and paneling aside, it was that damn letter sitting on the tablethat demanded my attention. Taunted me. Shit, I must have read and re-read themessage ten more times, wondering why someone had made the effort to write itso neatly. To go over the last line over and over so the ink lay thick and darkagainst the pale paper. The hand-writer’s version of bold text.

In the end, I decided I just needed to sleep.

That was when everything changed.

I brushed my teeth. Showered. Changed. It seemed normalenough, and with each part of my routine I successfully completed I startedfeeling more like myself. More human and less like a frightened animal. Itprobably didn’t help that this was the first time I’d ever lived on my own. Noroommates, not even a dog. Just me. Anyway, I calmed down a bit and went to my nicedouble-bed, totally ready to sprawl out and make the most of the space. And Idid. I fell asleep.

Then I woke up.

I can’t say what woke me, other than that skin-tinglingsensation that someone was watching. My room was an inky black, full offoreign shapes that set my heart racing in the dark. Lying there, I kept telling myself Ijust wasn’t used to it; that it was a new bed in a new place and some part ofmy mind had just felt uncomfortable. Out of place. Still, I fumbled aroundblearily for my bedside lamp. My hand hovered mere centimetres from it beforefour words suddenly crept through the shivering walls of my mind.

Don’t look at it.

It seems insane to say it, but I hesitated. I actually hesitated because some part of me wascertain that I’d hit the light and see… shit, I don’t know what I’d see. Aperson? An animal? Something?

Nothing?

“It’s nothing,” I remember whispering to myself. Hell, Isaid it with such convictionthat all I can do now is look back on that moment and laugh myself to halfwayto tears.

Why?

I already told you why.

It’s right fucking behind me.

That first night passed in something of a surreal blur. Icouldn’t seem to get back to sleep. That awful prickling sensation refused togo away, and no matter how I tried to distract myself, I couldn’t get the wordsof that letter out of my mind. But I stayed still. So still. I barely moved, not because I was paralysed but because Ichose not to. My arm started to ache and turn numb and I ignored it because the entire back of my body felt strange and tingly. The back of my headitched but I just used that sensation as a form of distraction from the heavybeating of my heart. Not fast. Not slow. Just… heavy.

I’d never felt anything like itbefore.

It was almost dawn before I worked up a shred of courage. Maybe itwas because I was deliriously tired, or maybe the approaching dawn had given me some confidence, but I started to get more and more fed upwith myself. With my own ridiculousness. After all, was I seriously going tolet some kids get to me like this? I had work in the morning. I was an adultwith adult responsibilities and shit to do. I needed sleep. I needed to proveto myself that there was nothing there because there was no mum or dad to comein with a torch and do it for me anymore. And I didn’t need them to.

So… I rolled over.

I did it slowly. No one was there to judge me for it, afterall, so I figured who cares? As I rolled, I remember keeping my eyesdirectly forward, not moving my head as my body turned. I’m not sure whatpossessed me to do it like that; it felt far from natural. But that’s how I did it.

It was just as well.

At first I thought it was just another shadow; a blur in thedark of a cabinet or a stack of boxes waiting to be unpacked. However, despitemy rational mind… well, rationalisingit… I froze. Completely and utterly locked up in this awkward, half-rolledposition. The urge to turn my head towards it was nearly overwhelming but fuck, all I could imagine were those heavilytraced words screaming at the back of my mind.

Don’t look at it.

I have to tell you, it goes against every natural instinctin the human body, to sense danger and not look at it. It goes againsteverything that has kept us alive over hundreds of thousands of years ofevolution. But, for whatever reason, something inside me overrode this naturalfunction and kept my eyes fixed firmly forward. I couldn’t look. I couldn’tclose my eyes but I also couldn’t look.

I stayed like that until morning. Frozen. Barely blinking.

So did the thing in the corner.

That was my first encounter, and after that, things only gotworse. Every night was torture, spent lying awake buried under my sheets,sweating from the heat of my own breath and fear. The prickling of my skin;that cold fission; was enough to drive me mad, but at the same time, I knew itwas a warning. A sign that it was near. A signal that, if I wanted to movearound or look, I would have to do so extremely, extremely carefully.

Worst were the nights when I had to take a piss.

I remember it vividly, the first night when I’d made themistake of drinking too much scotch before bed in a pathetic attempt toself-medicate. Most nights I would just hold it in, but that night there was justno way that was going to happen. As much as it pains me to confess, I actuallyconsidered… well, wetting the bed. Honestly, I think I would have, but then this strangeindignation washed over me and I decided that, no, I was an adult, and adultsdid not piss themselves because they were too scared to walk to the bathroom.

The decision was about as spur of the moment as anything. I threw the covers back in a dramatic rush, trying to ignorethe sudden wave of shivers that flared across my skin like cold wind through an open door. It wasn’t just theback of my neck this time, but a full-body sensation, as though I was…

… as though I was facing the thing head-on.

My eyes were shut. I wasn’t stupid enough to make a move withthem open, but shit I swear I could feelit right in front of me. Silent. Still. My heartrate spiked and I flailed about,kicking my legs off the side of the bed that was closest to the hall. I musthave run into every corner between my dressing table and the doorway, but forwhatever reason, I barely felt any pain at all. No. I felt nothing but thatcold, prickling, horrifying sensationof being watched. It was utterly overwhelming.

Then, as I finally staggered into the hallway, it just… stopped.

Just completely stopped.

I remember standing there, frozen in place, breathing sohard I wanted to rip my own lungs out because it meant I couldn’t hear anythingabove my panic. But the longer I stood there, eyes closed and sweating, themore I realised I was, for all intents and purposes, alone. So, I groped aroundthe for light on the wall – felt it click beneath my shaking fingertips. The darknessbehind my closed lids gave way to a warm red, and… I opened them. Slowly. So…so slowly.

There was nothing there.

Just me, alone.

I’d pissed myself.

You start to get better, as the days roll into weeks. Startto develop strategies to cope. Little things, like whenever I’d open my eyes, Iwould look down at the floor and let my hair hide the rest of the room. Likefeeling for that awful tingling sensation racing across my skin and blindly walkinguntil it faded into nothing. Like wearing an eye-mask to bed to prevent anypossible late-night… mistakes.

Hell, I even bought a fan for my room so I could pretendthat horrible sensation on my skin was just the brushing of air across mysheets.

It probably sounds insane to someone outside the situation.I can hear you all screaming ‘why didn’tyou just move out. Leave! Go somewhere else!’ and believe me, I considered it. But you have to understand, these things aren’t as simple as they seem. I hadno family or friends in the area. No money, because all of it had gone into thedown payment on my own personal nightmare. Even if I put the place back up forsale, it would raise questions from new buyers – drag out the process – and allthe while I’d still have to live in the house because where the hell else couldI go?

Anyway, I developed strategies in the meantime. I neededsome way to deal with what was happening every night. I determined loose rulesabout the… whatever it was and I wrote them down.

1. It comes at night.

2. It comes after 10pm.

3. It tells me where it is.

4. It does not speak.

5. It does not move.

6. It does not follow.

7. It waits.

It was strangely comforting, to ascribe some kind of laws tothe lawless. Some sense to the utterly senseless. Terrifying though it was, itnever seemed to try to trick me into seeing it. There were always the samewarning signs, and for whatever reason, it tended to stay towards the edges ofthe room, where I was not likely to look as a matter of first instinct. Somepart of me wondered if it was just toying with me. Playing some kind ofgame.

Now... well, now I know it was just the beginning.

Nothing stays the same.

#reluctant writes #horror prompts #to the new owner #i could call it part 1 but im not sure it's worth continuing ahah #so i will just say it is a 'prompt filled' and call it a day #>.>#reluctant replies #horror #(or an attempt at such)#Anonymous

26 notes · View notes

presumenothing · 6 years

Text

once more with feeling

(or, spooky action at no distance)

belated halloween-ish fic, aka questionably-serious crackfic with a heavy side of casual morbidity and inappropriate science. also entirely unedited phonefic which i refuse to even reread before posting. beware of character death (sorry shiho) and property destruction (not sorry). working title: the ectoplasmic method. this is what happens when grad school deadlines meet the looming shadow of finals?? idk just have it anyway

Somewhere, in the cell of a singularly dismal back room –

A figure falls to slump against the wall, the handcuff on one wrist letting out the sad jingle of a clink as it takes on most of her weight.

The same somewhere, scant minutes later –

"Oh, bollocks," says a disembodied voice, two feet up and several inches to the left, with more heartfelt feeling than its owner ever really displayed in life. "This isn't even scientific at all!"

…ahem. Anyway.

The first thing that Shiho does with her newfound freedom from both matter and gravity (along with most of physics and the sciences, really, natural or otherwise) is to float back out to the main lab, and sigh a non-essential breath of relief at the absence of a tiny horde of spectral lab rats scurrying about.

Admittedly the process of doing so is rather less smooth than imagination might suggest, with more error than trial in the grander scale of things, but such is the steady march of science.

Either way, some brief confusion of force and acceleration aside, the lab proves empty of any (other) less-than-corporeal entities.

Hypothesis: either said rats were once here and had since dissipated with the pass of time (because she refuses to use such a vague phrase as move on, even setting aside the question of whether it would even – theoretically – apply to animals of questionable self-awareness), or this… ectoplasmic… existence is yet another astronomically-rare effect of the apoptoxin.

Shiho's still mulling over the question when she reaches for the coffeepot from long habit…

…only for her hand to pass right through it. Predictably enough, in hindsight.

Her eyebrow twitches.

…

……

………………

Revised hypothesis: the afterlife sucks.

The moment of decaffeinated betrayal is interrupted by the insistently loud tick of the wall clock.

Her baleful glare at it yields nothing much of use, since she hasn't had any way of reliably telling the time over the past couple days, given her spectacularly cozy accomodations.

If nothing else, it's probably going to be a couple hours until someone discovers her very dead body and alerts Gin, she thinks in no little vindication – followed by an itemised list of unprintably detailed expletives.

Because, in that moment of thought, she'd suddenly found herself elsewhere in a quantum blink, with no experience or memory of having crossed the intervening space.

And staring Gin almost in the face, no less.

Shiho definitely does not shriek as she throws herself aside, all the while cursing stupidly broken FTL teleports that didn't even have the decency to deposit her somewhere more pleasant. Like Majorca, maybe. Or even back to America.

…actually, on that thought – Shiho narrows her eyes in concentration.

Several (failed) attempts at geographically displacing herself later, she gives it up as a bad job, earmarked for further study. At the very least Gin didn't act like he'd heard any ghostly screeching that may or may not have happened, even if he also failed to display signs of the sudden chill – more's the pity – that featured so consistently in those terrible movies she'd had the misfortune of being coerced into watching by certain people one time too many.

Though she supposes that could also be due to the fact that she'd dodged with the express purpose of not having him walk through her. Not that intersecting spaces with a corridor wall had turned out to be a much more comfortable option, on the whole, but it's mostly a matter of metaphysical principle.

Either way. Shiho inches forward until she's no longer coexisting with shoddily-constructed cinderblock, all the while cheerfully ignoring whatever nefariously above-her-paygrade evil Gin is monologuing about to Vodka, over the increasingly loud click of heels.

…wait. Heels? she repeats mentally, before promptly noping back through the wall before she has to experimentally verify whether Vermouth, of all people, can see her or not.

Which is how she finds herself somewhere that looks suspiciously like Gin's dressing room, complete with shelves of overpriced hair product, full-length mirrors, and a wardrobe she assumes must be full of identical white turtlenecks and black trenchcoats.

"Hm," she says, aloud, as she sets to work. All in the name of science, of course.

(Careful recollection of events, multiple attempts, and a fair assortment of choice swears later, she figures out what her previous attempts at properly haunting ghosthood had been lacking: emotion.

Fortunately, she doesn't lack for any degree of anger in this circumstance. It still takes some trying to have the conditioner bottles explode messily rather than just fall off the shelves with a series of dull thunks, but eventually she manages it.

Though she limits herself to breaking only one mirror. Just in case the bad luck accrues to her instead of Gin.

Then again, she is dead. How much worse can it get, really?)

Armed with her newfound discovery, she attempts to teleport again. A few minutes' intense concentration on the comfortable familiarity of her lab brings her back to where she started, but thinking fondly of her doctoral research lab garners her nothing but a faint headache and an impending sense of hypocrisy.

At least she confirms that her body is still where she left it.

Honestly, she's almost unsure whether to be offended or not, Shiho thinks, as she watches the slow creep of rigor mortis across her muscles.

Unbidden, the lone photo from that newspaper clipping flashes to mind –

"…oh, come on!"

Look, it's not like Shiho can deny the miniature cataclysm of feelings surrounding even the echo of that image, but really? Really? After everything else she's tried?

And why to an elementary school, of all places? Jeez.

Shiho rolls her eyes at the corridor – which stands empty, this time – and swears off shattering any more mirrors before floating off again. There's an awkward moment when she vaguely recalls something about children supposedly being more sensitive to unscientific phenomena, though that's quickly falsified by the inhabitants of the first half-dozen classrooms she passes through, teacher or student alike.

Ironically enough it's the de-aged Kudo Shinichi who does react somewhat to her presence, when she finally manages to locate his classroom – and honestly, couldn't he have at least faked his way into a higher grade? Pretend to be very unusually short for his age or something? That can't be enjoyable at all.

Shiho tries to imagine herself stuck with this bunch of seven-year-olds and can't help a shudder, which is why she almost misses one of said children leaning slightly backwards in her seat to whisper far too loudly. "Are you alright, Conan-kun? Do you need a sweater?"

"No, I'm fine," Kudo-kun demurs, rejecting the profferred garment – quite rightly too, Shiho thinks, since that's just plain asking to be a vector for germs. "Just a cold draft, that's all."

He doesn't look even once in her direction, but relaxes visibly when she finally floats back out of the classroom to observe via a window.

Huh. Interesting. Maybe it's something about having seen too many corpses?

Shiho almost discards that out of hand on grounds of Gin, who had seen easily ten times as many dead bodies, most by virtue of having put them there by his own hands.

Admittedly, now that she thinks on it, it does seem entirely possible that Gin would not notice a localised drop in temperature due to being cold-blooded to start with, anyway.

She has insufficient data, she decides, and three working guesses: either Kudo-kun has seen too many deaths, too many corpses, or he's just looped into the same cosmic joke for having taken the apoptoxin as well.

History and statistics suggest that she'll eventually run into both mass murderers and homicide officers if she hangs around him long enough. Which leaves the third category quite unverifiable, but at least it'd make more sense than some high school detective managing to be the single outlier that should not be counted in any statistic, ever.

Though even waiting out the school day in the hope of some murders happening feels like an increasingly unattractive prospect, she thinks, pulling a face at the chalkboard's worth of mind-numbingly basic math when the bell stubbornly refuses to ring the end of first period.

She didn't skip through the first half of her education just to subject herself to it in death, of all things, and besides it's about time someone found her body anyway.

Shiho contemplates the hallway ceiling for a minute before managing to rebel further against gravity until she reaches the rooftop, already preparing to move herself back to the lab once she gets her bearings straight.

Then someone behind her gasps Shiho? in a voice all too familiar, and she –

Shiho isn't actually too sure what happens, in the following minutes.

Somewhere in the glassy shards of thought left fractured by her sister's voice is a swift-rising horror that it'd all been a lie – that the bullet which killed Akemi-oneechan was one she'd made with her own hands –

And maybe she says some of this out loud, maybe she doesn't, maybe it's simply that her sister has ever been the sole person in this world who understood her (even if she'd only realised that too late), but when the unrelenting static finally clears Shiho find herself not-quite hyperventilating on the rooftop of one Teitan Elementary, head spinning from the lack of air that she doesn't even need, and the one voice she'd never thought she'd hear again.

Even through the haze she can hear onee-chan saying things like it's not your fault, never was and Shiho almost shakes her head in reflexive denial, even as her mind whirrs back to that thrice-damned photograph and whispers agreement in logic, that death by apoptoxin is instantaneous and a gunshot wound would've left a significantly different blood spatter post-mortem, which meant –

"How are you here?" she chokes out, unable and unwilling to look up and meet those eyes. "If it wasn't the APTX – "

"APT– oh, is that the drug you were working on? No," Akemi says, with a sudden vindictiveness that startles Shiho into looking up anyway. "No, it was that utter scumbag Gin who shot me, you can take my word for that."

Shiho supposes that she must look unconvinced somehow, because Akemi adds, "I'd say that you could confirm with that little detective about that, but… well…"

Her gaze follows the wave of onee-chan's hand down to a cluster of small figures in the field, one of which is barely identifiable as Edogawa Conan, from this distance. It raises another dozen questions in turn, but still Shiho persists. "But how are you still here? Why haven't you… moved on?"

"Unfinished business, I suppose you could say."

"Huh?"

Akemi-oneechan blinks at that, in some apparent surprise. "Isn't it obvious?"

Shiho shakes her head in full earnesty.

"Oh, Shiho," Akemi almost-sighs, as she floats over and – catches hold of her hands, with a bout of warmth against all logic, the first solid thing Shiho's felt since this all started. "It's you, of course, it was always you."

…her words won't work and either way she knows not what to say to that, so Shiho just stands (floats) there, gaping silently like an idiot.

Somehow Akemi-oneechan is still smiling. "Well, I mean – I did manage to track down Dai-kun by accident, and I've been keeping an eye out for anything around Conan-kun, you wouldn't believe the amount of trouble he gets into. But the only one I worried over was you, and yet I couldn't find you, no matter what I tried…"

Shiho tries – and mostly fails – to process all this, and pieces together the next logical question. "Then what about me?"

She'd thought that it'd been because of the apoptoxin, but that's obviously invalid now, even if it galls her to replace that with such a ridiculously nebulous notion as unfinished business –

"There must be something you haven't done, a wish you haven't fulfilled, or… well," Akemi pauses, and Shiho can tell just from the lilt of her tone that she's not going to like whatever follows next, "like I've always been telling you, maybe it's just that you need to live a little. Have some fun, you know!"

And Shiho surprises them both by snorting a laugh at that. "In that case, I've gotten a start on that already."

To describe Akemi-oneechan's expression as starry-eyed would not be amiss, nor her voice as a squeal. "What did you do?"

"…destroy all of Gin's hair products?"

"Really?! Oh my god, Shiho-chan, I'm so proud, I always knew you had it in you – "

(AO3)

listen i literally?? don’t even?? know???? i did not see this coming, no plans here only bad jokes. the semi-crack antidote to this previous fic or something i guess, except not. don’t @ me

#i refuse #to maintag #this utter disaster #of a #.......i don't even know what #so there #detective conan #dcmk #miyano shiho #fanfiction #mine #protip do not start fics at eleven ey em on a monday morning

24 notes · View notes

sonata-of-sorrow · 6 years

Text

Ruthlessness

Maybe I should’ve sung something a bit more upbeat…

That was the first thought that crossed Vivica’s mind when she looked out at all the numb and vacant faces looking at her. She couldn’t blame them. Most of them were drunk, seeking that sensation of warmth even though the chill was still deep within their bones. The others had just become so resigned to their miserable existence in the Brume that they could no longer be moved by song.

It had seemed almost blasphemous anyway to sing of joy and love, of good tidings and happiness. Not when most folk were just wanting to survive. Vivica tugged nervously at her threadbare gloves, the feeling of dread like a heavy stone within her belly. Or maybe that was just what hunger felt like when you had nothing to fill it for two days.

Guilt put a few pennies in her knit cap but it was only enough for maybe a cup of bone broth. Maybe if she were lucky, there might be some scraggly excuse for root vegetables in it. If this had been the first time her songs had not been well received in the pubs, she might have cried but by now, this was just her lot in life.

Vivica double checked to make sure no holes had worn through her pockets before safely stashing away the coin. She hated the prospect of having to go out into the blizzard again but there were other taverns she might have better luck at to visit. That was, until she saw the woman in the back of the room.

At first she assumed it was merely a figment of her imagination, brought on by starvation. No respectable woman would have been caught dead down in this part of the city but there she was, dressed up in all her finery. She was a robust woman, full cheeked and curved that meant she wasn’t wanting for a good meal. Vivica thought she had to be at least as old as her own mother, though still quite beautiful. Many of then in the bar thought so as well, considering the looks she was cast.

And yet, despite all the attention paid to her, the well-dressed woman seemed to only have eyes for her. A shiver worked up Vivica’s spine, despite there being no draft. Her minor distress seemed to amuse her admirer and a gloved hand was quick to beckon her over to the vacant seat at her table. After a quick glance about, the half-elezen realized that she was indeed the intended and meekly approached.

“Take a seat, darling. I promise, I do not bite.” Her words were like warmed honey on Isghardian muffins first thing in the morning, rich and alluring. Vivica could not help but feel self conscious in her tattered dress and the dirt upon her cheeks.

Unlike the other drunkards in the establishment, a teapot with two empty cups at before her. It only added to the air of refinement that hovered around her. She began to pour as Vivica tentatively took the opposing seat. Her own tangled mess of auburn curls seemed such a stark contrast to the perfectly manicured tendrils that spilled out from her elaborate hat. Vivica felt ashamed to even look upon her considering her current state of poverty, keeping her chin dipped.

“Oh no, need to be meek with me. You and I are not that much unalike. “ The strange woman tried to reassure as steeped tea filled the cups and one was placed before her. “This world is hard and cruel and meekness is devoured. I was once like you. Lost and aimless but I wanted to survive. I realized I had to shed my meekness and allow myself to be ruthless to do so.” Vivica cupped the drink in her hands and sighed softly from the warmth bleeding into her fingertips. A part of her questioned the generosity but she was so drawn in by the aura and intrigue that her instincts could be easily dismissed.

“All my sacrifices were for not though. I am now in a position that is advantageous because I was willing to do what must be done. I make it my calling to help girls like you, so you will no longer have to suffer as I once did. Girls that the world has cast away and left to die in the cold streets.” Lazily, she stirred her tea with a small spoon, reciting soothing words that seemed too good to be true.

“I want to help you, child. If you will let me. I can give you a purpose, revenue. A roof over your head and food in your belly if you only agree to my few stipulations.” Vivica looked up at the woman, wide eyed with curiosity and awe. Everything had a price but how much longer could she sing for meager amounts of gil before it was too much.

The woman giggled at the response and it seemed almost practiced. Vivica could not care. “What’s your name?” She was asked and without thought, her mouth opened to give a response. Her words were cut short though with a sharp click of the tongue. “Not the name given to you. No, if you are to embrace my offer, I implore you to give me a name that emboldens you. Reminds you of what you are entitled to…”

Suddenly, Vivica’s head was filled with the presence of her once friend, mistress and then competition. She thought of all the fine dresses Guinevere was constantly wearing. The late night calls to the kitchen for sweets before bed. All the suitors that came calling looking to court the young elezen girl and the bitter jealousy she had felt when one of them had taken notice of Vivica herself. The look of anger was still seared into her mind when she had been caught in that closet with the nobleman’s son and it had brought Vivica a sense of satisfaction. “Guinevere,” she responded after a pause.

With a sip of her tea and a nod of her head, the older hyur woman seemed quite pleased with the answer. “Excellent, my dear Guin. Now let me tell you about an opportunity of a lifetime…”

Guinevere walked with purpose through the halls of the brothel. No one impeded her at this early of an hour. Most of the other working girls were enjoying a bit of quiet before night fell and business picked up. Even then, there were a few clients that were enjoying the services they provided if the moans and cries of satisfaction were anything to go by.

Double doors at the end of the hall were elaborate by comparison to the others and a grizzled old soldier, turned guard stood beside it. He barely even registered the fact that Guin was wearing little more than a corset and stockings as she came to knock on the door. When she had first started, she had always wondered why he had not gawked at her show of flesh but the half-elezen soon came to realize that he was just a well trained dog.

“Come in….” Came the soft trill from behind closed doors.

Guin turned the knob and entered, unimpeded by the guardsman. Inside, the lavish interior always made her feel uncomfortable. It made her feel like she was walking back into the manse she served in her youth, except then, it was in the kitchen and not on her backside. Except Delacroix was no noble lady, just a Madame who had grown her wealth on the sultry business of prostitution.

All those years ago, she had not lied when she promised her that she would have a roof over her head and a full belly but seeing all the meticulous stacks of gil upon the desk made Guin wonder if she wasn’t entitled to more than second hand garters and mended fishnet.

“Aww, my dear. I was not expecting you. I hear that Lord Valincourt was been calling upon you quite frequently. I can’t say that I’m not pleased by his continued patronage.” Madame Delacroix did not even need to look up from her ledgers and money counting to know it was her. It was a trait that always threw Guinevere off guard.

She wasn’t there though to discuss the men that paid for her company in bed. While the shame of her profession had long since disappeared, Guin had other matters upon her mind. “Valerie has not been seen in a sennight.” Her words were firm and conveyed the gravity of her concern.

Madame Delcroix sat back in her chair and finally regarded the half-elezen whore. Her fingers plucked the glasses from the bridge of her nose and set them upon the desk. “Oh? And why should you worry about her? She’s always been a wistful thing, constantly trying to ensnare some poor lord’s son into taking her as a mistress.”

The callous tone when she spoke of Valerie rankled Guin but she did not want to show disdain for her boss and patron. “She came to me last week and told me that she was in trouble. That she had important information in regards to the disappearances of those working girls down in the Brume.” Even the mention of it made Guin’s nose wrinkle, remembering cold stone and the desperation.

When the Madame did not respond, Guin took it as a cue to continue. “She gave me something. A journal and told me to hold it for her while she settled a few things. I can’t make heads or tails of most of it but there are some notes in there that lead me to think that something nefarious is about….”

This peeked the woman’s interest as she leaned forward in her chair. Her gaze was intense and caused Guin to look elsewhere to lessen the sting of scrutiny.

“And where is it she supposedly procured this journal?” The woman’s words were droll, forced. As if she were trying hard not to let on how curious she really was.

Guin shrugged her bare shoulders and put her hands upon her hips. “Last I knew, she was frequenting the Weilfric Household. The second son had taken quite a liking to her the past few months and I know she was complaining of feeling ill of late but that was before she went missing that first time. She seemed scared, anxious when she gave it to me. I think something may have happened to her.”

Valerie had been the closest thing to a friend since she’d started working in the brothel. She had shown her many ways to please a man, held her when they had been too rough and had driven her to tears, and had been a confidant during her time within the walls.

The older woman’s lips turned up into a smirk as she rose to her feet. It was such a graceful movement, poised as she crossed over to stand beside the red head. “Aww, yes. You have right to be concerned but it is far more simple than you assume.”

Guinevere’s eyebrows arched, head tilting as she considered her mistress. The woman grasped her shoulders and smiled warmly. “There is nothing to worry about, my dear. Valerie has just succumbed to the cruelest fate a whore can endure. She has a bastard brewing in her belly and she wished to ensnare the Lord Weilfric’s son into claiming legitimacy.” It seemed a plausible enough explanation but something did not seem to sit right with Guin.

As if reading her apprehension, Madame Delcroix pulled her into an embrace and began to stroke her hair. “Do not fret for her. I have seen that she is being taken care of. No doubt she wished to use the journal as leverage against the nobles and thought it right to entrust you with it. I was not made privy of such lengths when I found her accomodations suiting her condition.” A hand rested on the flat of Guin’s stomach and the pressure caused the boning of her corset to dig into her flesh.

“This is a cruel world and I hoped to shield young Valerie as much as possible from the ruthlessness that she would endure if Ishgard knew of the illegitimate child brewing in her belly. I can assure you, all is well. If you would like, I will arrange for you to visit her. She is quite comfortable and in the best care. I have seen to it. You believe me, right my beloved Guinevere?” Maybe it was the smoothness of her tone or the gentle comfort of her touch that eased her worries but the half elezen nodded in agreement and sighed.

“Yes ma’am...I would like to see her as soon as I am able.”

Delacroix pulled away and saw to fidgeting with stray strands of hair and the lace of her bodice. “Good. We could go as early as the morrow but not until after you attend to your duties tonight. I expect you to be on good form, my girl. Do not disappoint me.”

Guinevere could barely restrain herself from rolling her eyes. None of the men had made a complaint about her yet.

Delacroix looked quite surprised when she found Vivica sitting at the same table they had met all those years ago. It amused her greatly to see her slack jaw expression and the whites of her widened eyes. Maybe she had assumed she was looking upon a ghost. Considering she had languished in an Ishgardian prison for so long, most people would’ve just thought her long dead.

But here she was, dressed in a simple gown that had been given to her after her pardon and release. At least she was clean and tried to remain dignified. A steeping teapot and a set of cups sat on the table as Vivica’s gaze remained upon the woman.

The madame had always been a stubborn woman and the sight of one of her old working girls did not hinder her in the slightest. She composed herself, jaw set and looking quite formidable as she slunk into the vacant seat. “I see that prison has treated you well.”

The courtesy was a veiled insult but the only inclination that it affected Vivica was the brief wrinkle of her nose. “If by treating me well, you mean hours of endless torture and then solitude in the hopes that my spirit might break? And yet, here I am, whole and hearty.” She responded with a terse smile.

Removing her hat, Delacroix seemed undeterred by the curtness of her tone. “I can see that. A miracle, to be sure.”

Vivica reached for the teapot, proceeding to pour one glass and then the other. “Mmm..” she hummed thoughtful. In truth, it was taking every inch of her concentration to not fumble with the teapot. There was so little strength left in her limbs but she knew that every day, she would recover. There was no way she wanted to show the woman her weakness. “Considering your part you played in my imprisonment, I would have thought you would not be pleased to see me.”

The elder woman took one of the offered cups and sipped at it briefly. Vivica knew she was covering while she considered her next words careful and it was amusing to watch the normally composed woman squirm. Licking her lips, she looked down at the inside of the cup before finally addressing her former employee. “I have told you many times before that I did not get to where I was without being ruthless. You would have brought down my entire establishment, my hard work with your nosiness had I not intervened. Think of all those girls I spared a harsh life on the street had you meddled in business that had nothing to do with you.”

It was the closest thing to an admission of guilt that Vivica was like to hear and yet it did not surprise her. She merely smiled and stirred her drink slowly with a spoon. “Girls were disappearing. My friend was in trouble…”

“The destitute disappear all the time. Their life is hardship. You should know, considering you were once one of them.” Delacroix sneered as she licked her lips again and then coughed when a tickle developed in her throat.

Vivica let her words linger in silence for a moment, the only sound was the growing severity of her companion’s cough. The older woman seemed unable to clear her throat, a raspy sound as she began to become distressed by the sensation. A few patrons of the tavern turned to look at the pair but the serene expression upon Vivica’s face seemed to dissuade them of anything untoward.

“I may have been but you aren’t the only survivor. I was stubborn, resilient and I did not break.” She finally whispered, leaning forward so her words could only be heard over the hacking sound. Delacroix began to claw at her throat, eyes watering and cheeks flushing bright red. Satisfaction washed over Vivica as she watched the moment of realization dawn upon her victim.

“How does it feel, Madame? My ruthlessness. Are you choking on your own lies now? Your falsities? How many other women did you force to break their backs so you could live in your gilded palace? How does it feel to question the choices in your life? The choices that have brought you here to look one of your many sins in the eye? Does it taste bitter? That would be the poison you swallowed but to me, it all tastes so sweet. I’ve been waiting so long for this moment....”

Maybe it was the coldness in her delivery that set Delcroix into a panic. She bolted to her feet, knocking her chair over. Her mouth opened wide but only the strangled sound of her choking on her swollen tongue came forth. Vivica swept a hand across the table top and sent the porcelain smashing to the floor.

“Oh no! I think she’s having a reaction! Please! Is anyone able to help!?!?! She’s choking” Vivica cried out in feigned hysterics, playing the part of the concerned friend ever so well. They had the attention of everyone now and they circled like carrion bird, though more out of morbid curiosity than wishing to intervene. Delacroix was flailing now, the inevitability of her fast approaching demise feeding her fear. The entire spectacle and the audience that they had attracted made it easy for Vivica to slip away into the crowd.

No one paid her any heed despite her part she’d played. The half-elezen merely turned on her heel, tightening the lapels of her jacket around her neck and walked confidently out the door. It was only when she heard the heavy sound of Delacroix collapse and the collective gasp did she even chance a victorious smile.

#My writing #Long #I'm sorry #;-;#Vivica Leclair

13 notes · View notes

snowdice · 4 years

Text

Big Bang (Sort of) Editing Story [Day 57]

I’m going to do this and chill for a bit. Then maybe force myself to do my grading later.

Chapter 27

Logan had seen him panic and, while he tugged a bit at the sweater he was wearing, the motion was not particularly fervent, so he was likely just slightly nervous.

Patton had moved over to greet his mother as she wiped her hands off on a rag. She glanced over at Virgil and Logan and Logan saw Virgil shrink back a bit.

“It’s fine, Virgil,” Logan told him, but Virgil didn’t seem to believe him. Luckily, Patton had turned back and seemed to realize something was amiss.

He stepped back over to them. “Hey, honey,” he said. A plate clattered in the kitchen and Virgil just about ripped Logan’s shirt.

Patton frowned sympathetically. “Too loud?”

“Virgil,” Logan said. “You are digging your fingernails into my skin.” Patton shot Logan a glare. “What?”

“How about,” Patton’s mom suggested. Virgil’s fingernails dug more into Logan’s skin. “We go to my office.”

Ms. Heart shot a glance at Logan and Logan felt irrationally like she was trying to read his thoughts. Logan smoothed his features out and turned to follow Patton and Virgil towards her office.

Logan noticed that Ms. Heart did not come far into the room, instead pausing near the door. She did, however close the door to give them privacy, and that seemed to distress Virgil more.

She seemed to contemplate him for a moment. “Hello,” she said, her voice softer than Logan was used to hearing. “You must be Virgil.”

It seemed as though he were willing himself to magically shrink, but he still replied. “Yes, ma’am,” he said quietly.

“It’s nice to meet you,” she said. “I’m Patton’s mom.”

“I know, ma’am.”

“There’s no need to be formal, Virgil.”

He hesitated. “Okay,” he said somehow quieter.

Her eyebrows drew together in concern, and it seemed that she decided to result to her default way of making people more comfortable. “Would you kids like some candy?”

Logan saw Patton’s hand squeeze Virgil’s lightly. “That would be great, Mama.”

“Thanks,” Virgil said to Ms. Heart before placing his piece in his mouth.

He looked at it warily again, but he still stepped closer slowly and took another piece. “Thank you.”

“Anytime,” Ms. Heart said, eyes looking over him intensely. “You look like you could do to with a few more sweets every so often.”

Virgil tilted his head in that way he did when he was particularly perplexed.

Patton giggled a bit. “She means your skinny.”

“Oh,” Virgil said. “Logan already gave me a malnutrition potion for that.”

“Okay,” she said. “Well, I’m going to have a few more specific questions, but let’s just start with what are your favorite foods?”

“I’ll eat anything,” Virgil replied immediately.

“He really likes chicken alfredo,” Patton contributed.

Virgil perked up at the name of the food. “I did like that,” he agreed.

“Alright,” Ms. Heart replied. That’s a start.

Chapter 28

He could also guess what had happened to illicit such a response. Thomas had caught up to Jeffers Deknis in his garden and they’d spoken at length about Logan and Patton’s new friend.

Thomas had sussed all of that out before the kitchen worker bringing him his dinner had mentioned what had happened that day.

That in mind, he decided to wait until after dinner should have been cleaned up before walking his own dinner leftovers down to the kitchens.

Helen took the tray of leftovers from Thomas herself and shooed the dishwasher out of the way. “I’ll handle the rest myself,” she told the girl. “You can leave.”

“It take it she met Virgil,” Thomas said to Jeff.

“She’s adopted Virgil,” Jeff replied, taking a bite out of a cookie.

“And what of it?” she asked. “Someone obviously needs to feed the boy. Speaking of, you’re grounding your son by the way.”

Thomas took one of the cookies for himself. “Why am I grounding Logan?” he asked.

“He was worried enough about his health to make him a nutrition potion, but still did not bring him to me,” she harrumphed.

“I see,” Thomas replied.

“In Logan’s defense,” Jeff interrupted. “the boy seems rather timid. He may have worried about you scaring him off.”

Helen slapped him with a dishtowel.

“Actually,” Jeff continued. “From what I’ve gathered he didn’t have contact with anyone since the time I saw him a couple of weeks ago until now.”

“I did get that impression, yes,” Helen said, pouring the hot water from the kettle into a tea pot and carrying it and some cups over to the table.

“Where did he come from?” Thomas asked.

“I’m not sure,” Jeff said. “I found him hiding in the garden shed a couple of weeks ago.”

“Did he sneak in?” Thomas asked.

Thomas took a sip. “Earl Grey,” he commented. “I guess I’m not sleeping much tonight.” It was her ‘planning tea.’

“We need a plan,” she said, “but we’re going to have to be gentle.”

“At least with Virgil,” Jeff said.

Thomas laughed lightly, “and what do you plan to do with the other two?”

“I have my ways.”

Helen rolled her eyes. “You say that,” she said, “but you’re too soft. The two of them learned to run circles around you and your powers years ago.”

“We should talk to them though,” Thomas said. “Separately from Virgil.”

Helen took a drink of tea, it seemed to calm herself. “We need to make sure whatever has been happening to him is not happening in these walls,” she said.

Thomas had honestly… not thought about that. He’d assumed whatever made Virgil so skittish was in the past, but it was possible that it was ongoing. The thought made him sick.

“Perhaps you should try to talk to him, Thomas,” Helen suggested.

Thomas winced. “I am not sure that is a good idea...”

“Why not?”

“We don’t have the best track record… I don’t think me being around him would be a good idea.”

“Oh, please, Thomas,” Helen said disbelievingly.

“No, you don’t understand,” Thomas said. “He seems disproportionately afraid of me. I think it’s a mix of me being king and how we met.”

“How did you meet?” Helen asked.

43410

Jeff nodded. “I will try to talk to him a bit more.”

Thomas met Jeff’s eyes. Yeah, it was going to be a long night.

Chapter 29

“Finished?” Logan asked.

“Yeah,” Virgil said.

“Sounds good,” Virgil said. “I don’t care what we do today though.”

“Well, there are a few options,” Logan said.

“What do you want to do?” Virgil asked.

Logan made an expression, and Virgil titled his head. “I’m don’t have anything in particular I want to do,” he said.

“You’re lying,” Virgil said immediately.

“You would not be interested in the activity I wish to partake in,” Logan said.

Virgil squinted at him. “I’d be interested in laying on the ground and staring at the ceiling.”

Logan chuckled. “No, truly. The activity I would do if you were not present would involve reading.”

“You can read to me,” Virgil suggested.

“…In Sanskrit.”

Virgil frowned at him. “Isn’t that, like, some sort of dead language?”

“That’s fine,” Virgil said. “You can do that.”

“It would be in the library,” Logan said.

“Okay.”

“But…” Logan said. “It would in no way be interesting to you.”

Virgil shrugged. “Like I said. I’m content to lie on the floor for a few hours.”

Logan frowned. “I can’t make you do that.”

“You wouldn’t be making me,” Virgil said. “I want to go. Maybe you can find me an easy book I could try to read?”

“Are you certain?” he asked.

Virgil nodded, decisively.

“Very well, get dressed and I will show you the library.”

Virgil stood to do so and a few minutes later, Logan was leading him out of the royal wing.

Both of the guards greeted him kindly, and Virgil hunched his shoulders in a bit, but said a soft “hi.”

The library didn’t end up being too far away. It was through the small dining hall and to the left where the staircase to the kitchen was to the right.

“I’ll look and see if there is something simple for you in case you’d like to read. You can explore a bit if you’d like,” Logan said.

Virgil heard Logan’s footsteps approach from down an aisle. “That’s the Pragilium text,” he said.

“It’s pretty,” Virgil said, looking at the design etched into the cover.

“You can read that?” Virgil asked.

“I can,” Logan said. “Very few people can though.”

“Wow, you’re really smart.”

“Thank you,” Logan said with a smile.

He handed him the book and Virgil took it with a smile. “I’ll try to read it,” he said.

“Well, you have free reign of the library. Feel free to continue to explore and to interrupt me if you need to.”

Virgil had, of course, known flowers grew from seeds, but it was interesting to see things about how the stem would pop out of the seed in the ground and things about the roots growing.

He more looked through the pictures than read it the first time but had flipped back to the front to try to read the words when he heard the library door open.

Virgil perked up in awareness, but then settled when he recognized Patton’s footsteps. Virgil tilted his head to watch as he walk directly to Logan’s hideaway.

“Hi,” he said, gaining Logan’s attention.

“Hello, Patton,” Logan replied. He glanced at the window and must have seen that time had passed because he closed his book and shuffled his papers.

“The guards said you came here,” Patton said, glancing around. “Where’s Virgil?”

Instead of letting Logan answer that question, Virgil pulled himself forward, with the book in one hand and slid off the bookshelf to land lightly on his feet next to Patton.

Patton screamed before slapping a hand over his mouth.

Logan had placed his hand over his heart. “Where on Earth did you come from?” he asked.

Virgil blinked at him and then pointed to the bookshelf he’d been on top of.

“How long were you up there?” Logan asked.

“Pretty much the whole time,” Virgil answered.

“I…” Logan said. “I didn’t even know.”

Virgil squinted at him. “You need to learn to look up.”

Patton giggled.

Virgil turned on him. “You need to learn to case the area.”

“Oh honey, your shirt is all covered in dust,” Patton said instead of responding to his very valid criticism. Virgil frowned. “Let’s get you changed and then go grab some lunch.”

“Lunch?” Virgil asked.

Patton chuckled and grabbed his hand. “Yes, sweetie, lunch. Then garden.”

“Fine,” Virgil said. “But you do need to learn to be more observant.

“Yes, yes, whatever you say,” Patton said.

Logan just rolled his eyes.

Chapter 30

Mr. Deknis looked up as they approached and smiled at them.

“Hello, Mr. Deknis,” Patton said as they came closer.

“Hello you three,” Mr. Deknis said. “Getting into trouble?”

“No,” Virgil said, shaking his head.

Mr. Deknis gave him a flash of a smile. “I know, I’m joking,” he said. “Especially since there isn’t much left in my gardens for certain princes to destroy with experiments.”

“Oh, okay,” Virgil said. He tilted his head. “What are you doing?”

“I’m getting the last of the acorn squash out,” Mr. Deknis replied. “It’s the last crop to get finished. Good thing too, it’s supposed to start snowing soon.”

Virgil looked down curiously at the dark green squash.

“Would you like to help me pick a couple?” Mr. Deknis asked.

“Sure,” Virgil said, sounding interested. Mr. Deknis patted the ground beside him and Virgil knelt down to watch him.

Mr. Deknis looked up at Patton and Logan. “Would the two of you like to help?” he asked. “I can get some more equipment.”

“I can help out if you want, but you don’t need to stop and get more equipment just for me,” Patton said.

“The same for me,” Logan said.

“Well, if you’d like to help still, you can sort the leave. Give your mother a head start.”

“Sure,” Patton said. He and Logan went to do that while Mr. Deknis and Virgil worked on cutting the squashes from the vine.

“What do you do during the winter?” Virgil asked curiously. “If this is your last crop.”

“Seedlings?” he asked.

“I let seeds start to grow in the greenhouse that I replant once it gets warm enough.”

“Why don’t you just plant them where they’re going?”

“I do for some,” he said, “but giving some a head start is good for them.”

“Say yes if you want to Virgil,” Logan said.

“He’s exploring,” Logan said, nodding at the large patch of bushes.

Patton chuckled. “I see.” He sat next to Logan. Every so often he’d hear the bushes rustle, but he couldn’t tell if it was actually Virgil or an animal.

“He’s adorable,” Patton commented, keeping an ear out.

Logan hummed.

“I’m glad we kept him.”

“He isn’t a pet, Patton.”

“I’m going to go see what he’s doing,” Patton said. “I’ll be right back.”

“Ghost kitty!” he said, making sure to make his voice as quiet as possible.

“This is Ghost Kitty?” Virgil asked. “I thought you said she was hard to pet.”

“She is,” Patton said. He lowered himself onto the ground from a few feet away from them. “How did you get her to come to you?”

Virgil glanced down at the cat and shrugged, scratching one of her ears. “She just came over to me and let me pet her.”

“Wow,” Patton said softly. He looked at the cat. “Could I pet you sweetie?” he asked, holding out a hand in her direction. She hissed again.

Virgil frowned down at her. “It’s Patton,” he said as though he expected to understand his words and the exasperation in the tone he said them in.

Chapter 31

“Ah,” he said, immediately identifying the reason for Patton disappearing.

“Logan!” Patton said, his voice excited, but also quieter than normal. “We found a kitty!”

“No,” Virgil told the animal as though it could understand words. “That’s Logan. Be nice.”

The cat still glared at him and swished it’s tail back and forth threateningly. Virgil pet the top of it’s head and it broke eye contact with Logan to purr.

Patton seemed delighted by the purring, reaching to stroke under the thing’s chin carefully. “We should give her a name!” Patton said.

Virgil frowned. “I thought her name was Ghost Kitty.”

“But that was a temporary name,” Patton said, “for before we officially met her. Now we have to give her a real name.”

“Do not give it a name,” Logan said. “You will get attached.”

“How do you name a cat?” Virgil asked.

“Do not name it,” Logan said.

Virgil looked at the cat. “She’s completely black,” he said.

Patton hummed. “So, we could give her a name based on that like Midnight or Shadow.”

“Those are fine,” Virgil said.

“No, no,” Patton said. “I’m just giving you examples. You get to name her yourself.”

“This is a bad idea,” Logan said.

“Just throw out some names,” Patton said. “Anything you can think of.”

“Uh,” Virgil said. “Knife.”

“…Just Knife?” Patton asked.

“Nightmare.” Virgil seemed to think about it. “No, that’s mean.”

“How about things you like?” Patton suggested.

“Alfredo?”

Oh no, Logan thought, he was worse than Patton at cat naming.

“Good start,” Patton said. “Logan, do you have any suggestions.”

“Cat,” Logan said.

“Real suggestions,” Patton scolded.

Logan sighed and thought for a moment. “Aphrodite.”

“Catphrodite!”

Logan glared at him. “Helena.”

“Helenpaw.”

“Claudia.”

“Clawdia.”

“Persephone.”

Patton smiled at him, cheerfully.

“…Damnit!”

Patton turned to Virgil again. “Like that! They don’t even have to be serious. Like, uh, you could name her Madam Fluffywuffykins the Great!”

“Do not name her that,” Logan said, scrunching up his nose.

Logan sat on the ground, the cat eyeing him, but no longer hissing. Logan gently guided them towards more sensible names despite Patton trying his hardest to drag them into stupidity.

The cat made a sound and batted at Virgil’s face without claws to grab back his attention.

He turned back to it and bopped its face with a finger in kind. It attacked his finger, but in a clearly playful matter as it still did not extend it’s claws and its teeth did not draw blood.

“That’s a great name, Virgil,” Patton said.

“Much more pleasant than any that Patton suggested all afternoon,” Logan said. He received an elbow to the side for his quip.

“A pretty name for a pretty kitty,” Patton said, scooting over to where Virgil was sat and attempting to pet Marisol’s head. Marisol, however, was too keyed up and batted at the hand.

“I love you too!” Patton said.

Logan rolled his eyes, but he had long since resigned himself to watching the two of them play with and coo over the cat for the rest of the day.

Logan immediately felt unreasonably guilty, probably more so because Logan did not think Virgil was trying to make him feel guilty. “…Bring the dammed thing inside.”

Virgil blinked up at him. “What?”

“It will get cold soon anyway,” Logan said.

He frowned at Logan from where he was crouched. “But you don’t like fur in your room…”

Virgil nodded immediately and swooped Marisol up in his arms. The cat went without complaint. “Thank you!” he said. “I love her.”

Chapter 32

“Uh,” Patton said. “Have you seen Virgil?”

“No,” Helen said. “Why.”

“Er… Logan and I sorta, lost him,” Patton said. He was wringing his hands anxiously. Helen put down the knife in her hand.

“What do you mean you lost him?” she asked.

“Um, we don’t know that,” Patton’s mouth said while his eyes said ‘no.’

“He needs to be on a consistent diet, especially when he’s still taking the malnutrition potion,” she scolded.

Helen grimaced. Yet another concerning thing.

The newly illuminated figure startled as the lights came on, whipping around to stare at her with wide eyes.

“Virgil?” she asked.

“Sorry,” he said immediately, taking a step back.

“It’s fine,” she said immediately, “but what are you doing here?”

He considered her for a long moment, but apparently, she passed some sort of mental test, because he relaxed, at least as much as he’d ever relaxed in her presence. “Where are we?” he asked.

Her brow knit together. “The cellar under the kitchen,” she said, “You don’t know that?”

He shook his head.

“The only entrance is from the kitchen.” Now that she thought about it, she hadn’t seen him go through the kitchen at any point.

“No, it’s not,” Virgil said. “There’s a tunnel.”

“Yep,” he said.

“Where’s the tunnel?” she asked.

“How did you find this?” she asked.

She couldn’t help but laugh a bit at his explanation. “Well, it sounds like you went on an adventure,” she said, “but Patton and Logan have been trying to find you. You missed lunch.”

He tilted his head at her. “I know. I was supposed to hide.”

“Yes,” she explained, “but you are supposed to come out at some point if they can’t find you for things like food.”

“Oh,” he said.

“They probably should have explained,” she said. “For now, why don’t we get you something to eat? You must be hungry.”

Virgil frowned. “But I missed lunch.”

“You can still eat even though it’s not in normal hours,” she said. “You could even if you had made it to lunch.”

“Really?” he asked, he looked tragically confused by this offer.

“Of course, sweetie,” she said. “In fact, I insist you get something good to eat right now. How about I made you a grilled ham and cheese sandwich? Maybe some cookies too!”

Virgil titled his head. “You are Patton’s mother,” he stated.

Helen laughed softly. “He gets its all from me,” she said. “We should probably go find him and tell him you’re okay. He was worried.”

“I didn’t mean to worry him,” Virgil said with a frown.

#proofread stories #not writing #not pieces fic

33 notes · View notes