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headcanonsandmore · 3 years

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Gentry and Gentlemen, Chapter One

Summary: Hermione Granger has just begun a new position of governess at Ottery Manor in the Devon Countryside, a world away from her upbringing in Regency-era London. There she meets a redheaded blacksmith man named Ron Weasley. Sparks may just fly between the middle class city woman and the working-class country man with a genuine and heartfelt charm all his own. (Jane Austen Romione AU)

Tagging: @hillnerd @nagemeikenu @acnelli @aimless-twig @femaledoubleagent @thehufflepuffpixie @adenei @abradystrix

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Read on FFN. Read on AO3.

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The Regency period is full of stories about dashing military officers and their lovers, titled men and women, and the romantic misadventures of the landed gentry. Almost always of young ladies of the gentry and their aristocratic suitors. Of money, land, and upper class goings-on. The sort of stories that have become synonymous with high romance, retold countless times since.

This is not one of those stories.

The stagecoach trundled along the country lane. It was the middle of April, and the Devon countryside was quickly losing any vestiges of the winter. Trees were growing green, bees were pollinating all manner of plants, and the lane was fast becoming dusty due to the lack of rain.

‘Oh, really, good sir!’ giggled a lady, her aristocratic manner evident in her voice. ‘You are a delight!’

‘My pleasure, good lady,’ replied the gentleman, a large tall man with a similar way of speaking. ‘I find myself inclined to be such when in the company of such an amiable person as yourself.’

There was a loud crack, as one of the stagecoach wheels hit a hole in the lane.

‘My apologies, ladies and gentlemen!’ exclaimed the coachman from above. ‘The roads have not been repaired after the winter rains!’

‘You’d think the locals would have done something about it,’ complained the gentleman to his lady friend. ‘But I suppose that is to be expected of being so far out from respectable society.’

The woman sat across from the couple stared out of the window, a slight frown briefly appearing on her face. Her fellow passengers did not notice this, and had made no attempt at conversation with her for the entire journey from Exeter. But she was somewhat glad of that.

She was a young woman, in her mid-twenties and, unlike the pair sat across from her, was not wearing the latest fashions of aristocratic society. Her dress was well-worn but functional, as befitted her position. Her hat was smart was simple but sturdy. Her face was impassive, yet strong, and her eyes - a dark brown- were piercingly intelligent. A parasol, far from new, was placed sensibly across her lap. Her shoes, polished but faded from use, were the sort worn by practical working women since time immemorial. However, in contrast to all this was her hair; an enormous bushy mane that strained against the many pins she had used to keep it in place. It was the sort of hair that you couldn’t help but notice, and it was perhaps for that reason that the young lady had chosen to keep her hat on in the coach despite the heat.

‘Final stop; Ottery St Catchpole!’

The coach trundled to a halt, and the coachman (whose name was Mr Jones) climbed down, pulling the small set of steps out from under the coach door. The gentleman helped his lady companion down, and the two of them sauntered away with their bags without so much as a thank you to the coachman.

Sighing to himself, the coachman turned.

‘Er… my apologies, Mr Jones,’ came a voice from within the coach. ‘Could you help me down, please?’

‘Of course, miss,’ he said, before helping the young lady down to the ground. ‘Allow me to help you with your bags as well.’

‘Thank you.’

As the coachman pulled her bags out from the luggage racks, the young lady stared down the street. The gentleman and his lady friend were laughing loudly to themselves outside one of the shops.

‘They were awfully rude, weren’t they?’

‘Afraid so, Miss,’ replied Mr Jones. ‘Many from London feel that Devon might as well be on another planet.’

‘I hope you won’t judge me by their behaviour.’

‘Oh, of course not, Miss…er… my apologies, my memory isn’t what it once was…’

‘Granger.’ Hermione Granger said, giving a small curtsy. ‘And thank you for keeping me company on such a pleasant journey, Mr Jones.’

‘My pleasure, Miss Granger,’ Mr Jones said, tipping his cap. ‘I’m surprised that such a pleasant young lady like yourself is travelling all alone, truth be told.’

‘Well, you see, I’m on my way to a new place of employment.’ Hermione said. ‘Ottery Manor; perhaps you know it?’

‘Oh, yeah, Miss. Very prominent local gentry.’

‘I am due to take up the post of governess for the young children,’ Hermione elaborated.

‘A governess, you say?’ Mr Jones said, looking very surprised.

‘Yes, I recently achieved my qualification, you see.’

‘Very impressive, Miss. Er… just a word of warning, if you please?’

‘Whatever for?’

‘Well…’ Mr Jones looked rather uncomfortable. ‘You are… that is…’

Hermione sighed. She had been expecting this.

‘Mr Jones, I am well aware that the colour of my skin is perhaps not what the locals are used to.’

‘Oh, no, miss; that’s not what I meant!’ Mr Jones replied, shaking his head quickly. ‘Good gracious, no! Plymouth isn’t that far away, and we’re used to seeing people from all over the world popping through. It’s just… the gentry round here… aren’t quite so relaxed about it as the ordinary people are.’

Hermione smiled. Mr Jones was a sweet old man who clearly wanted to warn her as best he could, even if he didn’t quite have the terminology correct.

‘Thank you, Mr Jones; you are very kind.’

‘My pleasure, miss.’

‘Could you… point me in the direction of the manor house?’

Mr Jones nodded, pointing along up the narrow winding street of Ottery St Catchpole.

‘You can’t miss it; the big house on the hill.’

‘Thank you.’

As Hermione made her way through the main street, she was aware of just how much of a different world this was to London, where she had lived most of her life. For one thing, people walked far slower and had a relaxed attitude in their comings and goings. One could certainly tell that the pace of life was slower.

Within a few minutes, Hermione had left the village, and headed along the country road up towards the manor house. The lack of rain had meant that dust was virtually inescapable, but Hermione preferred it to the mud she had been concerned about. She wouldn’t have wanted to make a first appearance with her best clothes dirtied. That would be most distressing. She, after all, was being entrusted with the care of the children of the local landed family, and ought to be presentable in a way that acknowledged that responsibility she was being granted.

Her stomach began to squirm, as her nerves became agitated. She had largely avoided thinking too much about it when she was travelling but, now that she was so close to the manor, she couldn’t help worrying. What if she wasn’t qualified for this? What if the other staff members didn’t like her? What if she-

‘NEIIIIIGHHHH!’

Hermione’s thoughts were suddenly interrupted, as a large horse rounded the corner of the lane, galloping as fast as it could, and heading right towards her. It was tall, brown, and looked startled, its eyes wide.

Hermione’s bags slipped from her hands as she stumbled backwards, but the horse was already barely seven feet away. With a cry, Hermione tripped over the uneven ground, her hat flying off her head.

The horse reared up on its hind legs, and Hermione found herself frozen on the ground. Hoofs began to fall.

‘WHOOOAAA!’

Suddenly, the horse was no longer there.

Coming to her senses, Hermione pulled herself to her feet, and collected her bags together.

A man, roughly her age, was stood with the horse a few feet away. The first thing of notice was his height, at least a foot taller than Hermione. His head was framed with short, red hair. Freckles covered every inch of skin that was on show. He was wearing a rough work shirt that was tied up to his elbows, and a pair of trousers that were slightly too short on him. A pair of tough work boots, that had clearly seen better days, completed the ensemble.

‘Sssshhhhh, Tiff….’ He soothed, stroking the horse’s neck slowly. ‘It’s okay, girl… no-one’s going to hurt you…’

‘Good grief!’

Another man had joined him.

‘Good thing you’re such a fast runner, mate!’

‘I try my best,’ replied the redheaded man. ‘Good thing we managed to catch her before she reached the village.’

As the horse was led away by the other man, the redhead turned and, spotting Hermione, ran forward.

‘Miss, are you alright?’ he exclaimed, coming to a stop in front of her. There was a splodge of dirt on his long nose. ‘Tiffany got spooked earlier, and we only just caught up with her. I’m so sorry; are you hurt?’

‘I’m… I’m fine, thank you,’ Hermione said, as a pair of bright blue eyes stared down at her. ‘Although I think my hat must have blown away in the wind.’

The redhead man looked around, and pointed up into the branches of a nearby tree.

‘You mean that one, with the nice bow?’

‘Yes, but-’

The man was up the tree in a flash, and was soon leaping down next to her again, holding her hat.

‘There we go,’ he said, handing it over. ‘Maybe a little dusty, but that’s the heatwave for you.’

‘Thank you,’ Hermione said, placing the hat on top of her bushy hair. The two of them began to walk up the lane. ‘I appreciate your concern, Mr…’

‘Weasley,’ the redhead said, smiling. ‘But there’s enough of the Weasleys around here, so you can just call me Ron. Everyone else does; it’d be confusing otherwise.’

‘I… I don’t think that would be appropriate.’ Hermione said, as she bent down to pick up her bags.

‘Why? We’re all people, aren’t we?’ Mr Weasley replied. ‘Oh, let me help you.’

‘Yes, but I’m…’ Hermione stammered, as her load was lightened considerably. ‘Well, I’m starting at the Manor as the new governess.’

‘Oh, you’re the teacher everyone’s been gossiping about!’ Ron said, cheerily. ‘Miss… Granger, if my memory’s correct?

‘W-why, yes!’ Hermione exclaimed, suddenly feeling rather embarrassed. ‘Er…gossip, you say?’

‘Yes; the scullery-maids have been talking about nothing else for the past week,’ Mr Weasley replied, keenly. ‘Well, that and the summer fete. But, yes; a posh lady governess from up-country coming down to our little neck of the woods! They’ll be delighted to meet you!’

Hermione felt her cheeks flush.

‘I’m not nearly as posh as all that, Mr Weasley,’ she said, primly. ‘So I hope I don’t ruin their expectations when they see me.’

‘Why? You sound posh to me.’

‘No… I… I mean… well, look at me.’

The redhead stared at her in confusion, and Hermione felt she needed to elaborate.

‘Surely they were expecting someone less… exotic?’

Mr Weasley blinked.

‘You are from London, aren’t you? That’s pretty exotic.’

Hermione found herself suddenly laughing. Not the usual polite laughs she had been taught as a girl, but a full, unrestrained laugh, full of accompanying snorts.

‘London… exotic?!’

Mr Weasley grinned at her, his cheeks dimpling under his freckles.

‘If you’re born and raised in Devon, it is,’ he said, cheerfully. ‘Besides, I bet that’s the first time you’ve laughed in a good long while.’

‘Why… yes, it is,’ Hermione replied, smiling. ‘However could you tell?’

‘I hear tell of the aristo’s who take the stagecoach routes down from London. I gather they aren’t much in the way of humorous conversation?’

‘You would be correct about that. But where do you hear that from? Mr Jones the coachman?’

‘Old Jonesey? Oh, yes; lovely old soul. I’m the… well, the blacksmith and the odd-job man for the estate, so I’m in and out of the village a lot.’

Hermione nodded, trying not to notice how well the redheads shirt seemed to fit him. She supposed blacksmiths were all rather… muscley.

Ottery Manor stretched out before them. It was a double-storied building, with fine windows and a pair of thick oak doors. The house was arranged around a central courtyard, so that two wings of the house stretched out in front. A small fountain marked the middle of the courtyard, and the centre of the house was covered in fine ivy. Grounds stretched out around the house in all directions, full of trees and well-trimmed lawns. Hermione could make out some distant greenhouses and vegetable gardens on the periphery.

‘You like the ivy?’ Mr Weasley enquired, pointing at the plant as they walked up the main pathway towards the house. ‘Me and my brother Bill -he works in the gardens- pruned them just last week; rather a nice effect, eh?’

‘Yes,’ Hermione replied. ‘Are all your siblings employed as members of staff here?’

‘No.’ the redhead said. ‘Percy -he’s the intellectual one- he works in Plymouth in an office. Fred and George -they’re the youngest brothers aside from me- work in the post office a few villages over.’

‘Any sisters?’

‘Just Ginny. She’s the youngest. Mum did want her to get a good job as a scullery maid, but Ginny’s always been more outdoorsy. She works in the gardens most of the time, but she sometimes helps me and Charlie in the forge.’

‘Charlie is… the main blacksmith aside from you, then?’

Mr Weasley laughed.

‘Yes, he’s always been good with animals, so he handles the shoe-fitting. I’m a bit of a jack-of-all-trades, myself; that’s why I’m the odd job man as well.’

‘There is nothing wrong with being multi-skilled,’ Hermione said, earnestly. ‘Most men in London would love to have a wide array of talents.’

Mr Weasley laughed again, his cheeks dimpling again.

By this point, they had reached the courtyard but, instead of heading for the front door, Mr Weasley lead her around one wing of the house and into a yard of sorts. Hermione could hear horses neighing nearby, and presumed that the stables weren’t that far away.

‘You’d best come through the servants entrance,’ Mr Weasley said, leading her up the rear side of the wing and stopping before a door, which was left open. ‘Not a good idea to get on the bad side of the footmen on your first day. Especially the head footman; he’s a right killjoy about these things.’

‘Well, I am a servant, technically.’

‘I know,’ Mr Weasley said, sighing. ‘But, if I had my way, we wouldn’t have to worry about separate entrances. We’re the people who actually keep this place going, not the aristo’s using this place like a retreat for when the season ends in London.’

Hermione felt rather shocked at Mr Weasley’s words, but she opted not to say anything. She could certainly understand his frustration, but she had never met someone who was so open about it.

‘The gentry often have friends and relatives down from London, then?’

‘Yes, but you probably won’t have to worry about them,’ Mr Weasley said, encouragingly. ‘They tend to stay away from the children if they can help it. This time of year, most of them are living the high life in London society; they shouldn’t be arriving here for another couple months.’

‘Well, I lived in London most of my life, but I already rather like it here in Devon.’

The redhead turned to look at her.

‘Really? Why?’

‘Well, judging from what I’ve seen so far, it’s quieter, for one thing. The pace of life in the city is far too extreme. Out here, you can hear the birds in the trees, see the bees in the hedgerows, smell the…’

‘Muck on the fields?’

Hermione laughed.

‘You’re very amusing, Mr Weasley.’

‘I try,’ the redhead said, his cheeks dimpling as he smiled. ‘Not very often I get the opportunity to make a woman laugh without making a prat of myself first.’

‘Oh, I-I’m sure all the local girls adore you.’

‘With five older brothers? I barely get a look in,’ Mr Weasley chuckled, his ears going a little pink. ‘But, thank you, miss.’

‘My… my pleasure, Mr Weasley.’

‘Mr Weasley, I trust you haven’t been frightening the new governess.’

A man had stepped out from the servants entrance. Judging by his dress, he was a footman of some description. His hair was surprisingly greasy, and he had a long, hooked nose. His voice gave an indication that he had taken elocution lessons to disguise a midlands accent.

‘Oh, no, sir!’ Hermione exclaimed, as the two of them deposited her bags near the door. ‘Mr Weasley came to my assistance when my hat blew astray on the front drive.’

Mr Weasley grinned at the footman.

‘Wouldn’t be a gentleman if I didn’t do so, sir.’

‘Mr Weasley… you are not a gentleman, and never will be. You are a commoner, and you would do well to remember it,’ the footman said, looking unkindly up at Ron over his long hooked nose. ‘Now, Miss Granger, if you would accompany me this way…’

As Hermione followed the footman, she happened to look back over her shoulder. Mr Weasley caught her eye, and mouthed “what an oily-haired git, eh?”. Hermione bit down on her lower lip to stop herself laughing.

On reflection, Hermione was rather embarrassed that she’d been so nervous about her first meeting with her employers. The lord of the manor seemed disinterested the entire time, while his wife asked a few questions about Hermione’s teaching qualification. In fact, Hermione spent most of the meeting nodding politely while the lady discussed the difficulty in finding a good governess in the local area, and that they appreciated that Hermione had come such a long way.

She was then escorted by the head footman back to the servants entrance, all the while wondering if all lords and ladies were so… underwhelming as people.

‘Thank you, but where should I-’

But the footman had already walked away.

Hermione looked around, her nerves building again. She didn’t know her way around, and she hadn’t even been told where her lodgings would be. Maybe she should-

‘All finished?’

Mr Weasley had poked his head through the door.

‘Y-yes,’ Hermione said. ‘But… well, where should I put all my…’

‘Oh, I’ll help you,’ Mr Weasley replied, cheerfully. ‘I can’t go into the women’s quarters, but I can let the scullery maids know that you’ve arrived.’

Turning, he knocked on a door.

‘Parvati? Lavender? The new governess is here; can you help her move her things into the women’s dormitory?’

There was a loud squeal from inside the room.

Rolling his eyes, Mr Weasley opened the door, and poked his head around it.

‘Oy; are you two finished?’

A few moments later, two women appeared from behind the door. Both of them dressed in the same simple uniform, and both roughly the same age as Hermione. They also both seemed to be very giggly.

‘Hello, Miss Granger!’ said one of them, who seemed to be of Indian descent. ‘Nice to meet you; I’m Parvati, and this is Lavender.’

Lavender, a girl with blonde hair that was pulled up under her bonnet, smiled.

‘Sorry we couldn’t meet you at the gates,’ Parvati said. ‘Me and Lav got a bit… distracted.’

There was a snicker from Mr Weasley. Lavender laughed, and slapped him playfully on the arm.

‘Anyway,’ Parvati continued, and Hermione was confused as to why the girl’s face had flushed at Mr Weasley’s comment. ‘We’ll help you take your bags up to the dorm.’

‘I wouldn’t want to cause you any trouble-’

‘Oh, it’s no trouble,’ Lavender said. ‘Besides, we never get to talk to anyone from London; do you know what the most recent styles are?’

‘Er…’ Hermione trailed off, as the two girls hurried along the corridor. She was about to follow, when she realised that the tall redhead was still there. She turned to face him again.

‘Thank you for all your help, Mr Weasley,’ Hermione said, giving a quick curtsy. ‘I am most pleased to make your acquaintance.’

‘As am I to make yours, Miss Granger,’ the redhead replied, his freckled cheeks dimpling once again. ‘Although, like I say, “Ron” is fine. There’s half a dozen Mr Weasleys here, so it just saves time.’

‘In that case, I will call you that,… Ron.’

The redhead grinned, before leaving to run across the wild grass nearby in the direction of the stables. The shirt Ron was wearing was, indeed, rather tight on him, and Hermione couldn’t help but notice how his muscles strained against the fabric as he ran, the sunlight reflecting beautifully off his red hair.

Hermione smiled, as she turned to follow Parvati and Lavender along the corridor. Ottery St Catchpole was shaping up to be a rather wonderful place to live.

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Thanks for reading, everyone! Hope you liked it! If you want to keep up-to-date with the series, please subscribe on AO3 or FFN, or ask me to add you to the tag list on Tumblr.

#jane austen #jane austen au #romione #ronmione #romione au #alternative universe #ron x hermione #ron/hermione #hermione x ron #hermione/ron #hermione granger #ron weasley #governess!hermione granger #blacksmith!ron weasley #background pavender

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chaosmax · 3 years

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On the whole “does Kaiba die / stay or get stuck in the afterlife?” thing

I never thought Kaiba doesn't get back from the ending of DSoD. Yeah, I know there was the ~untested~ tech that was mentioned but honestly it seemed more like a line thrown in for possible sequel bait or just for the sake of open-endedness/vauge storytelling style a la many Japanese story telling (re: my essay on that).

And from a character point, no, I don't think there's any way in hell that Seto would gamble the chances of permanently orphaning Mokuba again. No matter how much tunnel vision he got for his goal (and no matter how grieved he was. And I hate it that people spin it to pit the headcanoned romantic love between him and Atem against his canonical love of Mokuba and it's the possible and unconfirmed romo love that “wins”.

[I am NOT trying to bash on pride here, I actually quite enjoy that ship when work is put into it and all the nuance and complexity isn't sucked out of it for quick hurt/comfort or just turned into a glorified/romanticized toxic love horny fest]. But even if it was confirmed canon, stop pitting romo love against platonic love and have one come out as the "winner" mmkay? There's already enough damaging amatonormativity ingrained in society ok thanks.

Grief makes you do wild things, sure and everyone reacts to grief differently. But Seto has never been a gambler and I don't think after all the character development he's been though he would risk his relationship with Mokuba like that (this is taking consideration of how technically this is the manga continuity Kaiba who has done Death T and all that and messed up pretty bad with Mokuba before). I just don't think he'd run off to see/challenge/get closure from Atem and ditch his precious little brother behind with great odds that he would never see him again. Not after all the times he’s put his life on the line to protect Mokuba.

I've always thought he comes back. It just may have a cost and may not be a straight shot there and back. I think the ~untested~ tech means he doesn't know how long it will take or how much stress it puts on the user, a la the purple particles eating away at Kaiba in the post credit scene that seem to be threatening to send him back to his own dimension (again DIMENSION it's not a time machine). No, I don't think it's anything crazy like YEARS pass before he gets back. I think a couple of weeks at most. And no, I don't think Mokuba was crying and begging Seto to not have this goal in the first place. Mokuba is quite gung-ho the entire movie about getting and defending the puzzle. Hell, he headbutts Diva off the puzzle container when Mokuba had no way to know if he'd land safely or just die. He interrogates Diva to try and get the puzzle piece. He closes up the shop for Yugi and says a happy hi before the tournament. That seems far from someone who wants Seto to just let it go.

This is a bit more on the speculation side for canon hates digging into Mokuba’s feelings much sadly, but I think Mokuba has his own sense of unfinished business with Atem as well which plays a part in his motivation to help this goal. Atem is also someone he had bonded with on some level. He and Yugi were one of the first people to help him, ever, that wasn't Seto. They aided him in Duelist Kingdom. Then again in the Legendary Heroes arc when he had no one else to turn too. He seemed so...surprised in both cases. Clearly someone who's not used to being able to ask for help, much like Seto.

But now this person is gone. One of the few people Mokuba felt he could go to if he had a problem or needed to ask for help. I can easily see Mokuba thinking, “how come he cared enough to help me all those times but not say goodbye?” (though again, we don’t know exactly what happened there, if the Kaiba brothers were unable to contact or of the main crew literally just didn’t call them up, so I’m in no way trying to assign blame here, but I could see how this is how Mokuba would see it and feel about it).

I think Mokuba misses him too, or at the very least misses him as someone he can depend on and place his trust in. The following may be a bit of a stretch on evidence for I don't know who writes the lines for Duel Links, but if you challenge Yami Yugi as DSOD Mokuba and win, his expression is sad, saying, “You thought you could run from Seto without one last Duel?" I think Mokuba certainly sees the departure hurt Seto, but I also think it hurt him. I think he’s also trying to say, ‘You thought you could run from us without saying bye?’

So no, I don't think Kaiba runs off to Atem's afterlife forever for whatever reason ship or no ship and ditches everyone and everything (don’t forget KC and Kaibaland, his life’s dream pride and joy) behind in the living dimension. I don't think he fails to get back. While the prospect of something going wrong or the tech failing is an immensely interesting fic/AU/etc idea to play around with or such because of the added mysteriousness (or because it's edgy and dark or whatnot I feel like that’s how the theory Kaiba dies really gained it’s first traction lol) I don't think that's what happened. I think it may take some more time than expected, perhaps have some magical cost that the soft magic system didn't really specify (such as having a set number of uses or something until whatever remnant power in the cube runs out, be physically straining, etc.)

But I will never believe Seto gambled the chance of possibly orphaning Mokuba. That's my interpretation.

____

[Note: I’m not here to argue, of course you can have a different headcanon or reading of the events to DSoD, these are just my thoughts, with the textual evidence to back up my thought process.]

#yugioh #seto kaiba #mokuba kaiba #yugioh dsod #this was gonna be a QUICK post that i mostly did on mobile until i had to go pull links and now this happened #why do i do this. anyway i hope this doesn't flop. i'm not here to argue of course you can have a different headcanon or reading #but this is how i read it so #and i come from an environment where every point you make needs to be backed up with evidence from somewhere lmao #ah academia i wont miss having to MLA cite everything lmao #my posts #my meta

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myhahnestopinion · 3 years

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THE AARONS 2020 - Best TV Show

It was prime time for TV in 2020, with many more free hours to fill. I managed to get through a lot of my backlog in fact, finally getting around to watching shows like The Strain. It’s a show about a deadly disease that tears society apart because a lot of arrogant people think they are exempt from quarantining. The disease turns people into vampires, so it’s technically escapism. Here are the Aarons for Best TV Show:

#10. The Plot Against America (Miniseries) - HBO

It’s not TV, it’s not HBO, it’s real life. The Wire-creator David Simon’s penchant for illustrating the human fallout of institutional failures made him a perfect collaborator for HBO’s Plot Against America, an adaptation of Phillip Roth’s alternate-history novel. Following a Jewish family in New Jersey navigating the increasingly-fascist America of a hypothetical Charles Lindbergh administration, the show is a terrifying warning of what happens when hatred and conspiracy theories are allowed to accumulate political force. Notably, while the book ends with history back on the right track, the closing moments here are left ambiguous. The show was a limited series, but in many ways, The Plot Against America is ongoing.

#9. Mrs. America (Miniseries) - FX

Its interests are married to The Plot Against America, but Mrs. America traces the country’s rising extremism from a more historically accurate perspective. The miniseries centers on political activists in the 1970s on opposing sides of the proposed Equal Rights Amendment, but its dialogue isn’t a strict dichotomy. The episodic format is expertly utilized to build out intersectional ideas from the likes of Rose Byrne’s Gloria Steinem, Uzo Aduba’s Shirley Crisholm, and Margo Martindale’s Bella Abzug, detailing the difficulties in building a diverse coalition, and the dangers of a single-minded one. Drawing parallels to current debates, its compelling centerpiece is how conservative Phylis Shafley (Cate Blanchett) successfully defeats the Amendment; voting against your own self-interests, Mrs. America says, is as American as apple pie.

#8. The Outsider (Miniseries) - HBO

Societal collapse comes from within in the two shows mentioned above, but the threat in HBO’s adaptation of Stephen King’s 2018 novel is decidedly an “other.” King clearly had his mind on modern manipulations of truth when crafting the ingenious premise: a man is arrested for the murder of two young boys due to irrefutable DNA evidence, only to provide an air-tight alibi for the crime. To match King’s procedural prose, HBO brought on The Night Of’s David Price, who layers the original work with meticulous mysteries. The Outsider has all the pulpy jolts expected of the author, but the show’s true horror lies in its overbearing grief, best brought to life by Ben Mendelsohn’s Detective Anderson. To say more would be to spoil its secrets; you’ll want to be on the inside.

#7. Perry Mason (Season 1) - HBO

Just like the famous fictional attorney, HBO can’t seem to lose, with Perry Mason marking its third entry on this list. The reimagining of the long running court drama actually takes place before the character’s illustrious law career; here he’s a down-on-his-luck private eye caught up in a scandalous child kidnapping case. The result’s a gangbusters production of old-fashioned moody noir: political corruption, femme fatales, and a more morally-complicated Mason, as played by The Americans’ Matthew Rhys. The lavish period details and character-actor cast, including Shea Whigham, John Lithgow, and Tatiana Maslany, will help draw viewers in, but, I’ll confess, I was already hooked by the season’s chilling opening moments.

#6. Zoey’s Extraordinary Playlist (Season 1) - NBC

Dour seasons have dominated this list thus far, but Zoey’s Extraordinary Playlist sings a different tune. It’s a lovably oddball premise: an accident during an MRI causes a young woman, played by Jane Levy, to hear other people’s thoughts in the form of popular music. It’s all karaoke, but, emphasized by the presence of Skylar Astin, a worthy inheritor to Crazy Ex-Girlfriend’s musical-comedy crown. The tracklist, workplace antics, and love-triangle drama all exist in a comfortingly familiar network TV realm, but the show takes additional steps for inclusion with stories highlighting Zoey’s genderfluid neighbor (Alex Newell) and an American Sign Language performance of Rachel Platten’s “Fight Song.” During a year in need of shuffling off stress, there was no better time to queue up Zoey’s Extraordinary Playlist.

#5. What We Do in The Shadows (Season 2) - FX

FX’s expansion of the mockumentary feature film of the same name lit up some of the darker corners of its universe in the show’s second season, transforming mundane-seeming material into something completely, uniquely batty. Each creature of Shadows took their turn in the spotlight this season, from a middle-management promotion gifting energy-vampire Colin Robinson unlimited supernatural power, to undead Nadja befriending a doll possessed by her own ghost, to Matt Berry’s Lazlo forging a small-town persona as a bartender/volleyball coach to escape a vengeful Mark Hamill. As always, it was the sympathetic Guillermo (Harvey Guillén), a Van Helsing descendent desperate to become a vampire, who gave the show its emotional stakes, and the vampires within a different kind altogether.

#4. Stargirl (Season 1) - DC Universe

Shadows was lit, but few things burned brighter this year than Stargirl (perhaps too brightly for the flamed-out DC Universe). The superhero drama is one of several that will outlive its original streaming service - fitting, given its obsession with legacy. Based on a character created by DC Comics stalwart Geoff Johns after the tragic loss of his sister, the show finds a young girl taking on the mantle of a fallen hero after moving to a town run in secret by supervillains. With sprightly fight choreography and an unabashed embrace of its comic book lore, Stargirl outshines the overabundance of small-screen superheroes out there. Its highlight is the bright performance of lead Brec Bassinger; put simply, she’s a star, girl.

#3. BoJack Horseman (Season 6b) - Netflix

Throughout its run, BoJack Horseman garnered acclaim for routinely delivering unexpected pathos, and the final season kept it on that track until the end. ...Get it, because horses run on tracks? The unexpected porter of television’s legacy of antiheroes ended in much the same vein as its sister shows - with consequences finally catching up with its protagonist. No amount of fanciful animal puns could soften that painful catharsis, as the show finally trampled its tricky web of abuse through bittersweet means. The series closed out with an especially thoughtful scene, the kind viewers who looked past the wonky pilot years ago were regularly blessed with; to the very end, BoJack, you were a gift, horse.

#2. Better Call Saul (Season 5) - AMC

As good as Bad ever was and better than ever before, the fifth season of AMC’s spin-off completely upended the world of its eponymous lawyer while bringing Vince Gilligan’s universe one step away from full-circle. Saul Goodman found himself in way over his head, and viewers found themselves way on the edge of their seats, as his first foray into “criminal” lawyering swiftly dovetailed with an escalating drug war. Despite the emotional distress of watching fan-favorite character Kim Wexler placed in perilous situations, there are no objections to be had with the drama’s continued masterful storytelling. Ramping up the slow-burn storytelling, season five saw Kim and Saul’s relationship develop in rich and unexpected ways, while still keeping their final fates unresolved. Fans are thus waiting with bated breath for the show’s final call next year.

#1. The Great (Season 1) - Hulu

Who could be the best but The Great? There was a minor television controversy this year over Netflix marketing The Crown as a historical drama despite its fictional interpretation of events; The Great has no such pretentions. An asterix adorns every title card of the show, letting viewers know that its take on Catherine the Great’s coup against Emperor Peter III of Russia is only “an occasionally true story.” The show indeed is not great for education, but it’s the most entertaining television of the year, locking stars Elle Fanning and Nicholas Hoult in a battle of wits and a fight for the country’s soul under the watch of The Favourite co-writer Tony McNamara. The uproarious comedy slyly collates leadership based in cruelty with leadership based in goodwill in the background of its quite bawdy escapades, a subtle bit of relevant political maneuvering that lets it successfully claim the crown this year.

NEXT UP: THE 2020 AARONS FOR BEST TV EPISODE!

#tv #TheAarons #TheAarons2020 #TheAaronsTV #best of 2020 #the plot against america #mrs america #the outsider #perry mason #zoey's extraordinary playlist #what we do in the shadows #stargirl #bojack horseman #better call saul #the great

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lumau · 3 years

Link

Chapters: 3/7 Fandom: The Invisible Library - Genevieve Cogman Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Characters: Irene (The Invisible Library), Kai (The Invisible Library), Peregrine Vale, catherine (the invisible library), Lord Silver (The Invisible Library), Li Ming (Invisible Library), Ao Shun (Invisible Library) Additional Tags: ilcharacterweek, Angst, Some Humor, Some Romance, all a bit trippy, but it'll make sense, potentially additional tags per chapter, minor spoilers for the dark archive and all other books Summary: 7 chapters, each focussing on one of the main / favorite characters (written for 2021 Invisible Library Character Appreciation Week)

Chapter 3 - Vale

additional safety notes for this chapter: contains reference to death / suicidal thoughts

╳

Vale’s cane tapped on the dark, polished floor as he strode briskly down the corridor.

This, he could feel it. This was it.

His usual instinct that helped him to meet the right people at the right time had never failed him, and he would trust it also in this case. While his whole system was on full alert, there was the smallest twitch in the corner of his lips. He quietly muttered to himself, as he briefly bent down to check the floor, before continuing onwards with even more determination.

“If my record were closed tonight I could still survey it with equanimity. Today I crown my career by the capture or extinction of the most dangerous and capable criminal in Europe.”

He cast a quick glance over his shoulder, but, as expected, the hall was empty. Very well. He had sent Strongrock to meet up with Winters, which should distract both of them sufficiently. This was one matter he had to face alone.

In front of him the corridor ended and opened into a vast space. Not only the ceiling lay hidden in complete darkness, but also the other sides of the wide room. It was impossible to make out how far the room stretched in any direction.

Vale stopped in his tracks and stood completely still, listening intently. He could not hear any noise by another living thing, but found that he could make out a vague rushing sound, like water running down a stream in the far distance. And still, he knew that he was not alone.

Ahead of him a narrow bridge stretched out over the darkness that lay below. There was only one way onwards.

Vale was perfectly calm when he pulled a notebook and pen from his pocket. He set down his cane, leaning it against the wall of the corridor, and in his usual firm and clear manner, he wrote out a few lines, before cleanly ripping the sheet from the book and sticking it behind the cane’s handle.

My dear Winters, my dear Strongrock! I write these few lines through the courtesy of my adversary, who awaits my convenience for the final discussion of those questions which lie between us. I am pleased to think that I shall be able to free society from any further effects of his presence, though I fear that it is at a cost which will give pain to my friends, and especially to you.

However, my career had in any case reached its crisis, and no possible conclusion to it could be more congenial to me than this. I made every disposition of my property before leaving London, and handed it to my sister Columbine. Pray give my greetings to Inspector Singh, and believe me to be, my dear fellows,

Very sincerely yours, Vale

With one deep breath and not a moment's hesitation, Vale turned to face towards the narrow plank across the unfathomable chasm. As he began to walk, he could make out a shadow opposite him, the dark figure of a man, walking towards him at the same, steady pace.

Vale felt his heart pounding fast in his chest, but no sign of the thrill of anticipation passed through to the outside. There was the familiar weight of his revolver against the side of his leg. Without his cane it did give him something to focus on, a target for his senses, to keep them alert and focussed. He knew that if he only slipped for a second, it would be a lost game. Only fools underestimated their enemies, and while Vale was prepared to die, he would not do so without taking his with him.

The light was so low that he could still not make out more than the outlines of the man opposite him. The bridge was so narrow that neither of them would be able to evade the other.

"It is a dangerous habit to finger loaded firearms in the pocket of one's coat."

Vale startled for a second, as the voice rang out ahead of him, loud and clear, an echo in the vast chamber. He drew to a halt, the figure opposite mirroring his step. Vale smiled, and pulled out his revolver.

"You evidently don't know me," snarled the voice.

“On the contrary," Vale answered in a light tone, that gave none of his tension away. "I think it is fairly evident that I do. Pray, spare me the chatter. If you have anything to say, then do it now."

"All that I have to say has already crossed your mind."

“Then possibly my answer has crossed yours," Vale replied.

“You stand fast?”

“Absolutely."

The silence was cut by the faintest rustle of fabric, and with one swift motion, Vale raised his pistol, just as the other moved in the same manner, and pulled the trigger.

The shot was an explosion in the vast, empty room. Within the same moment Vale knew that something had gone wrong, even while the sudden, blinding light made it impossible for him to see. Then the fragments of broken glass came hurling towards him and he understood.

It was an instinctual move to dodge the bullet that had ricocheted from the mirror that sent his foot over the edge of the bridge. His weight tipped with nothing to grasp for, and he fell.

╳

“Strongrock?”

Vale stepped into the room, carefully avoiding the shattered glass and fragments of what looked like it had once been a chair that were strewn all across the floor. The figure kneeling crouched over in the middle of it all had nothing of the poise and energy he knew his friend to hold in almost any situation, but it was clearly him. With a critical glance around Vale quickly took in the scene. Just a moment ago he had woken slouched in a dark corridor without any recollection of how he got there. But as he followed the faint noises around the corner and was faced with this scenery, all his senses immediately sprang to high alert. He itched to investigate the rubble and this odd place. Yet, the dragon’s state seemed the most pressing issue for now.

“My dear fellow, are you alright?”

He went down on one knee next to him and touched a hand to his shaking shoulder. Kai flinched and looked up at him. His face was streaked with tears and ashen. Tiny cuts stood out dark against his deadly pale skin. Kai stared at him in shock with the expression of someone who had just seen a ghost, or believed he had. Vale frowned, clearly something had shaked his friend to the bones, and he knew this was not easily done.

“Vale? You… are you real?” His voice was hoarse and small, and Vale could hear the desperation in it. It met some part inside his chest with a stinging pain.

Vale swallowed down a lump in his throat, and gave the dragon’s arm a sympathetic squeeze.

“Quite, for all I can account for, I am very real.”

“I thought I had lost you,” Kai slumped forwards in a shudder of sobbs, clasping onto Vale’s arm.

Vale was taken aback by the outburst, wondering what might have inspired it. He put his hand on Kai’s heaving back. This was a moment where Winters would say something sympathetic and yet constructive, witty but kind. He on the other hand was rather out of his depth, and while he had faced many distraught clients and victims, they weren’t generally his friends as well.

It took him a moment to regain his composure. As Kai sat up, he looked more miserable than Vale had ever seen him, but his eyes had regained some of their sharpness now. He focussed on Vale, and there was something in his look that he had not seen there before.

“Vale, please forgive me. I don’t even know what I can say to express how sorry I am.”

“I can’t see what you should apologize for and what has upset you that much. Won’t you explain to me?” Vale asked softly.

Kai took a deep breath to steady himself and told Vale what had happened. His face drew into a pained expression as he told him of his struggle to free them, and his desparation as he simply couldn’t do anything. He averted his eyes, clearly fighting to find the words.

“I just had to do something. It was not as if I would not have tried to help you and Catherine as well. Please, Vale, you must believe me,” he pleaded.

Vale paused, thinking rapidly. This was all very curious. “You might have fallen victim to some sort of wicked illusion. Surely you must see that this is so, as I am right here, unharmed?”

Kai swallowed, then shook his head decisively. “But that is not the point,” his voice rose to an urgent tone that Vale had rarely heard from him, at least not directed at himself, “I betrayed you. How can you be so dismissive about this?”

Vale took a moment to consider.

“My dear Strongrock, had I been there, I would have implored you to save Winters. And it would have been the sensible thing, too, as her abilities might have enabled further action," he said calmly. "I would have expected nothing less of you. There is nothing to forgive.”

Kai stared at him, aghast, and Vale could see a whole array of emotions pass over his face. He was so obvious, still, and it was one of the things that made him such a fine person.

“Why do you have to be so utterly noble?” Kai grunted, but the strained expression on his face had softened somewhat. In a spontaneous gesture, Vale held his hand out for him. Kai took it, and then leaned forward to pull him into an embrace.

Vale was startled, but forced himself to not just hang in his arms boardlike. That was usually not an appropriate reaction. Instead he settled on returning the embrace, and for a moment, he thought he shared the others relief and allowed himself to relax a bit.

And then, the screams started outside.

╳

(with abbreviated quotes from The Adventure of the Final Problem by Arthur Conan Doyle)

#the invisible library #ilcharacterweek #peregrine vale #the angst prevails #theres finally some comfort too though #tw: suicidal thoughts #tw: suicide

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sleekervae · 3 years

Text

The Neighbour [1.4]

Masterlist

Trigger Warning: nudity, very mild allusion to smut

The grocery store was busier than either of them had expected for an early Saturday morning. Eva wasn't even halfway around the store yet and the cart was filling up rapidly. She hadn't decided what she was going to make for dinner and hadn't found any of the items that had been on her list. She read the list on her phone and looked at the boxes of rice varied on the shelf. Remington came up behind her with a few bags of fruits and vegetables, placing them in the cart.

"What do you want for dinner?" she asked, her voice slightly muffled by her mask.

Remington shrugged, "I don't know, whatever you're in the mood for," he replied.

"... So, if I'm in the mood for prime rib --"

"Let's not get ridiculous now," he chided, eyes crinkling to let her know he was smiling. Eva snorted and grabbed a random box of rice.

She looked to him as he went on to the next section of the aisle, hand on his hip as he tried to make sense of the list she'd given him, matching it with what was on the shelf. His hair was hidden under a toque, despite the heat, with the pastel pink tips falling into his eyes - sexy and sweet all at once. The low neckline of his black and white striped t-shirt accentuated his neck where collar bone tattoo was peaking out. He had on some simple black jeans, black boots, and his eyes lined in thin black that was beginning to smudge. He was tentative as he reached for a jar of pickled vegetables, cognisant that someone may have touched the same jar not minutes ago and may have been carrying the virus. He was quick to sanitize his hands after he'd placed the jar in the cart.

Pushing the cart into the next aisle, Eva turned her back to reach for something on the shelf. His movements were slow but out of the corner of her eye could see Remington moving towards the cart, burying something under the almond milk and cheese, hoping she hadn't seen as he shifted back into his position with the shopping list still open on his phone. His face was nonchalant but he scratched his neck, moving along, trying to act interested in the shelf he'd stopped in front of. Eva shook her head with a laugh.

"Whatever it is, either put it back or get another cart," she stated simply.

He flicked his head back to her, eyes wide above the mask, the devilish smirk hidden beneath but was twitching at the corners of his lips. He was quiet for a moment, feigning innocence then sighed defeatedly.

"I hoped you wouldn't notice," he mumbled, crossing back to the cart beside her, his hand warm on the small of her back. She turned to him, her attention fully his and he wiggled his eyebrows a little, his goofy tactic making her laugh with her head tipped back.

"My darling, every time we shop together you try and sneak shit in,"

"And here I was thinking I was getting away with it," he replied, and Eva could picture the pout he was putting on behind his mask. She reached to touch his neck, her hand cold from the fridges she'd just been in but he leant into her palm, those big brown eyes staring at her with mischief. She lowered her voice a little, so that only he could hear her.

"Well, you get away with it because you're so goddamn hard to deny," she said.

"Oh, really?" he chuckled, his arms wrapping around her waist to bring her close, forgetting for moment who he was and where he was. His thumbs tickled her sides a little and she giggled back at him.

"Yep, you're too cute you see?"

"I try..." he chuckled with a shrug, the subtlest of blush colouring his cheeks.

"So," she began, raising her eyebrows at him, "- what did you just try to sneak into my shopping cart?"

"Just some cookies," he mumbled quickly, momentarily avoiding her eye contact like a child who'd been caught misbehaving. "I'll share 'em with ya!" he exclaimed.

"Well, it's alright for you with your tiny waist and annoyingly good metabolism. You can eat all you want and still look that good," she licked her lips a little, moving her hand to touch his chest, "If I have a bite of one, I'll be bloated for the rest of the week."

"Don't be silly," he grumbled, pulling his mask down momentarily to peck her forward reassuringly, then moving her suddenly out of the way from an elderly lady who wanted something on the shelf behind them. He watched as she stretched across to the shelf, her frail fingers not quite able to reach the packet she was fumbling for and he was quick to react, sinking a little to meet her eye line.

"Would you like a hand?" he asked confidently, his voice soft, his eyes brimming with the same genuine kindness and effortless charm that made Eva fall in love with him over and over each day.

"That'd be wonderful, dear," she replied, grinning at him and Eva and stepping out of the way. Remington quickly grabbed the packet from the shelf and popped it into her basket for her. "Thank you so much," she chimed, nodding her head of grey hair in appreciation. "Such a lovely boy," she shuffled off with a final thank you and Remington beamed from ear to ear proudly.

"See," he hummed, turning back to Eva "I'm a lovely boy..."

"Mhmm... sanitize your hands, lovely," she took hold of the cart again, pushing it further along. Remington quickly pulled out his trusty bottle.

"Okay," he drawled, coming up behind Eva as she walked, trying to wrap his arms around her waist again needily, his chest pressed against her back, "I have a little proposition for you,"

"Oh no" she joked, relaxing into his warmth and the familiar scent of his shampoo.

"I'll put whatever I want in the cart and you just have to pretend ya' don't notice,"

He nuzzled the side of Eva's neck, his nose pressed against it and she tensed for a moment. He was ridiculously impossible to say no to, annoyingly irresistible. She sighed.

"Fine,"

Satisfied, he checked to make sure nobody was around before he pulled down his mask, then she hers, and he moved to kiss her on the lips lovingly, lingering for a while longer than he should have in the middle of the store, his fingers tangling in her hair. When they pulled away Eva playfully rolled her eyes as they pulled their masks back on.

"You're footing the bill this time, Cookie Monster,"

They finally managed to exit the store, both of them with plastic bags in each hand. Crossing out the threshold, Remington stopped short when he spotted a familiar face coming towards them, scowling as he had to put on his mask per store policy. It was the same man who was harassing the cashier a few months ago, the same one Remington cold-cocked in front of the entire store. Eva recognized him quickly, and glanced at Remington with wary.

Remington couldn't help but smile smugly, clearly having been recognized. The man refused to make eye contact with either of them as he stormed past, ducking into the store.

Remington scoffed, "I guess his probation is up,"

"I wonder which poor staff member he's going to harass today?" she said.

He glanced down at her with a mischievous grin, "Did you happen to forget anything on your list?"

Eva rolled her eyes, "Cut it out, Rem,"

When they made it back to her place, they were quick to unload and disinfect all their groceries. And then they fell into their making-dinner routine as per usual; and of course, Remington ended up getting distracted by Pluto. The tabby would rub against his legs or sit and eye him on the counter while he chopped the vegetables. While Eva wasn't looking, he pushed over some pieces of carrot for Pluto to nibble on. He had turned into a real pushover when it came to this cat.

After they'd eaten and cleaned up the dishes, Eva was reluctant to start up her work again. The article she was working on was a particularly dry piece and it was like pulling teeth get all her information and detail from her client. This was week three she had been working on it; she usually had her pieces finished within less than a week.

Remington sat on the couch while she worked at the table, reading a book he had picked from her extensive collection: The Strange Case of Doctor Jekyll and Mr. Hyde. It was a story he knew of well but he never had the opportunity to read the actual book, and he found the sounds of Eva's typing soothing as he got lost within the literature.

It was some time past eight-fifteen when Eva pushed her laptop away, rubbing her strained eyes and yawning. Perhaps she ought to invest in a pair of blue light glasses? Her eyes wouldn't be aching this much if she did. She stood up and did a stretch, looking over to her couch where a single lamp illuminated the dark space. Remington had spread himself across the cushions with Pluto curled up in his lap; he read the book with one hand and rubbed the tabby's ears with the other. It was an endearing thing to see.

She wandered over and sat on the couch arm, smiling when she read the cover of his book, "How is it?"

"Very good. If I had read this in English class I probably would've gotten a higher grade," he said.

"You didn't read it in high school?"

"Something tells me you did,"

Eva nodded, "Wrote a paper on how society has suppressed us to the point where we all sympathize with Hyde because he represents instinctive human nature,"

Remington threw his head back into the pillow, looking up at the ceiling, "Of course you did,"

"What?"

"You're just really fucking cool. Have I mentioned that already?"

Eva simpered, "Says the rockstar with a number one album out,"

"And with only one person in my audience," he smiled at her, "How's your work?"

The small brunette sighed and pouted, staring down at Pluto and petting his pointed ears, "... Can I have a hug?"

"That bad, huh?"

"Yep,"

He didn't need to be asked twice. Remington carefully removed Pluto and set him down on the floor before pulling Eva into his lap, wrapping his arms around her tightly and placing a soft kiss on her head. Eva rested her head against his chest, sighing heavily and closing her eyes, hoping to make the ache in her head go away. His fingers twisted in the short locks of her hair and she picked at the fraying threads of his t-shirt.

"What're you writing about?" he asked softly.

She scoffed, "An analysis and review on why old Hollywood stars all spoke in that same not-British-not-American hybrid accent,"

"That sounds kind of cool,"

"In theory, yes. In writing, not at all," she rubbed her eyes again and pinched the bridge of her nose, "It's really dry,"

Remington grazed his fingers over the nape of her neck, "You got a headache?" and she nodded briefly, "You want some pills?"

"Took some already," she muttered.

It didn't take two glances at Eva to see that she was exhausted. In between her work and their outings, Remington could pick off that she was slowly fading, whether it be her focus or her overall body language. And in the last few hours, fatigue had slammed into her like an eighteen-wheeler.

"How much more do you have to write?" he asked.

"I'm just about at the conclusion," she looked up at him, her dark stormy eyes glossy and cloudy.

He smiled endearingly, pushed her fallen hair of her face, "I think it can wait until tomorrow,"

Eva shook her head, "I'd rather just get it all done tonight," she said.

"No offense, but your eyes look like they're about to roll out of your head," he chuckled.

Eva would have rolled her eyes but it hurt to do so, "Rem..."

"Besides, your eyes are one my favorite things about you and it would be a damn shame to lose 'em,"

"My eyes can't roll out of my head," she giggled at his absurdity.

Remington shrugged, "Keep pushing yourself and you may be proven wrong," he joked, then standing up much to Eva's chagrin. She pouted as he glanced down at her, only in the mood for cuddles and silence.

"Where are you going?" she whined, her glossy eyes and pursed lips incredibly adorable to Remington.

"Don't worry, you're coming with me," he assured her, trying to entice her to stand up. Eva put her hands out in front of her and Remington took the bait, hauling her to her feet with one swift tug. Eva was definitely more awake after that.

He led her into the bathroom and had her sit on the counter sink, excitement flooding her as he turned on the faucet to her bathtub. She had an average sized bathroom considering how small her apartment was, with white tile walls and a few succulents on some shelves alongside her toiletry products. Remington was pleased to see she had a couple different scents for a bubble bath.

"Ocean breeze or peach and mango?" he asked, pointing to the blue and orange bottles.

"Ocean breeze," Eva smiled.

She didn't have any adequate candles in her apartment, but she did have a lava lamp with a strobe light that changed colors. Alongside the pleasant and calming scent of the ocean bubble bath, Remington set up his Spotify playlist to echo softly through the room.

Eva cocked her head as she watched the water rise and the bubble grow in height in her small tub, "I hope we both fit,"

"It'll be fine," Remington nodded, shutting the water off as it hit just the right height, "Gives me more reason to be closer to you, anyway,"

Eva simpered, "You're so schmaltzy,"

"You like it, though,"

"I do," she shut her eyes as he came down to kiss her, chapped lips soft and gentle, and she couldn't help but smile when she felt his fingers fiddle with the buttons of her top. She didn't object, however.

He let go of her only to help her undress; pulling her shirt over her head and pressing a few kisses to her shoulder playfully as he fumbled with her bra. It didn't take Eva long to discard her socks, shuffle out of her denim shorts and for Remington to eagerly get her out of her underwear too, his hands roaming her body to keep her close to him. She undressed him as well, his jeans slipping down his legs with ease and making quick work of his briefs. He bundled all the clothing into the corner of the room. Brushing back her hair and kissing each cheek, he held Eva for a moment, then nestled into her neck, looking at them both in the mirror.

"My God, you're gorgeous," he spoke into her ear, his thumbs brushing the skin at her waist where he held her now, his chest pushed to her back.

"You're not so bad, yourself," she tittered, her cheeks tinting in time as the color in the lava lamp changed to fuschia.

Remington pressed a couple of kisses to her shoulder then shuffled over to the bathtub, steam rising from the surface, dipping his hand in to check if was the temperature was right. Supposedly satisfied, he then sunk into the water quickly, stretching his legs and resting his elbows over the back of the tub.

"How's the water?" Eva giggled.

"Fantastic. Care to join me?"

He held out his hand to get her in, not the most elegant of tasks be he couldn't take his eyes off of her, watching as Eva sunk in the water and sitting comfortably between his legs. The water was perfectly warm, detoxifying. She let go of his hand reluctantly.

Remington shuffled a little behind her, readjusting exactly where he wanted to be. Eva relaxed against him, her back on his chest, her eyes closing for a moment as she sunk into the relief of how warm she was.

"This okay?"

"Mhmm,"

"How's your head?"

"A bit better," she rested her head on his shoulder, smiling up at him, "I've never taken a bath with a boyfriend, before," she admitted.

"Are you kidding me?" he replied, his fingertips drawing little circles in her thighs.

Eva shook her head, "No baths. It was always showers, which was kinda' nice too, but..."

"There was always the lead up to shower sex?"

"Right," she chuckled again, "Did you ever find that shower sex is a lot more complicated then its made out to be?"

"You're referring to the stress of trying to fuck and not slipping in the shower, right?" he smirked.

"Exactly! It sounds like so much fun and then you actually try it, and it's way more work than it's worth," she said.

"I admit, it's not my favorite thing," beneath the water, Eva could feel his fingers drawing up over her thighs and ghosting between her legs, "But we can always just fuck in the bathtub, too,"

Her back arched momentarily before the hand in question came to rest over her stomach, and Remington was wearing a shit-eating smirk, "Is that the sequel to Dying in a Hot Tub? Fucking in the Bathtub?" she chuckled.

He gasped, his dark eyes going wide, "Oh my God, you're a genius!"

"You're just figuring this out?" she laughed again before pecking his flushed cheek, one hand grasping his shoulder as she turned in her spot and peppering kisses all over his forehead, down his temple, his cheeks, his eyelashes, above his lips and on his jaw. She attacked him with quick kisses and he was laughing that light giggle that set her heart ablaze.

His fingers snagged her cheeks. holding her in place so he could give her a proper kiss on the lips, "What was that for?"

"Just because," she pecked his lips again, "You make me really happy,"

#palaye royale #Palaye Royale imagine #Palaye Royale fic #palaye positivity #remington leith #Remington Leith imagine #emerson barrett #sebastian danzig #fluff #tooth rotting fluff #boy bands #emo boys #band imagines #band imagine blog #band blog #original female character #original story

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flutteringphalanges · 3 years

Photo

Caught in a Riptide

Summary: After the infamous Count Dracula is discovered and taken into custody by the Jonathan Harker Foundation, former nun and now guardian to her young niece, Zoe, Agatha Van Helsing is tasked with keeping tabs on the vampire after a mishap leads to his release into modern day society. Can Agatha remain levelheaded, or will fate turn her onto a new path?

Pairing: Dracula/Agatha Van Helsing

Rated: M

Read on FFN and AO3

A/N: Hooray! Two story updates in one week! I guess this Spring Break is proving to be writing productive! Anyway, hope you enjoy this chapter! Feedback is greatly appreciated and fuels the writing mind! Thank you guys so much and I hope you enjoy this chapter! -Jen

Chapter Eleven

Agatha wasn’t quite sure how long she stood in the doorway with her mouth ajar. A second perhaps? A few minutes? Hell, possibly a millennium? But the only comparison to this moment she could make was waking up from a dream and going straight into a nightmare. Her eyes wander around the room as she noted how every window in sight was plastered over with discarded newspapers and pieces of cardboard--some with scribbled drawings she could only attribute to being Zoe’s. The rat bastard had blocked the sunlight getting in.

“Living room now!” She hissed, Dracula’s cheeky grin only causing the flames of fury to burn hotter within her. “Now!”

Part of her felt as if she needed to grab him by the ear and drag him in there himself as the vampire purposely took his time to follow her out of Zoe’s earshot. Once they were alone, the former nun whipped around to face him.

“Why the hell are you still here?!” She growled, jabbing a finger into his chest. “Not only are you not welcome, but you have overstayed at that!” Agatha motioned around her. “And you’ve desecrated my house!”

“First, I would like to say that I am rather disappointed in you.” Dracula smirked. “I had originally thought your intentions to be alone with me were for more...intimate reasons.” He didn’t even blink when Agatha slapped him hard across the face. “Clearly you should’ve had your breakfast before we had this talk. You’re simply...well, what’s the term the adolescence use nowadays?” The Count’s devilish grin only widened. “Hangery?”

Agatha sucked in a sharp breath. “I...you…” Her fists clenched so tightly the circulation to her fingers was on the verge of being cut off. “If Zoe wasn’t in the other room, I would rip your stupid sun protection off my windows and watch you die a long, painful death. But I don’t feel like scarring a little girl!”

Dracula chuckled, his smile lopsided as he watched the woman fuming before his very eyes. He’d expected her to be upset, sure, but this...this was true gold. Agatha ground her teeth together, arms now folded over her chest as she continued to scowl darkly at him.

“You do know if you kill me…” He paused. “And I know you very, very much want to. It would certainly be a breach of contract.” Dracula feigned a long exhale, looking towards the direction of the door. “Perhaps I’ll stay until nightfall. It isn’t as if I have much of a choice.” The Count shrugged, his false sense of apology quite evident to Agatha. “A true pity really. But it can’t be helped, now can it?”

Over a hundred ways to slaughter Count Dracula began to manifest in Agatha’s mind. Yet he was right. Until nightfall, he couldn’t exactly leave without consequences no matter how much she’d like him to burn. Literally. Nostrils flared, her brows knitted together as she tried her best to ignore his obnoxious grin.

“You may be forced to stay here.” She spat, not hiding the disgust in her tone. “But Zoe and I certainly don’t have to.” Agatha looked over her shoulder and called out towards the kitchen. “Zoe, go get dressed and put on your shoes, we’re leaving.”

“Is Mr. Dracula coming too?” Zoe replied loudly, sounding hopeful.

“No.” Her aunt answered flatly, glaring at the Count. “Mr. Dracula is staying behind.” Still looking at Dracula incredulous, Agatha’s eyes narrowed. “I’m going to go change now. Follow me, and you’ll regret it.”

The vampire held up his hands. “Relax, Agatha. I assure you I can manage holding back my temptations to repeat last night’s...experience for another time. Feel free to go get dressed, I can bask in the memories…” He paused, his ever present smirk broadening. “For now.”

Agatha said nothing as she shoved past the vampire, trying to block out his laughing as she stormed into her room. While her body craved a nice, hot shower, her mind convinced her the best option was just to throw on some clothes and leave with Zoe before she went completely berserk. Wearing an old, long sleeved shirt and some worn pants, she stepped out into the hallway to find her niece waiting there patiently.

“You do realize you are wearing two different colored socks.” She noted, eyeing the little girl with a sigh. “And that shirt has a stain on it.”

“So?” Zoe shrugged. “I like it that way.”

Agatha exhaled, shaking her head. “Nevermind. Let’s just go.” Taking Zoe by her hand, she walked briskly towards the front door. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Dracula standing back in the shadows. When he waved, she did not return the favor. “You better be gone when we return.” She growled, tugging on her niece’s hand. “C’mon, Zoe. We’re leaving.”

“Where are we going?” The child asked, craning her neck to catch a glimpse of the vampire. “Not somewhere boring, right?”

“To the park.” Agatha said, grabbing their windbreakers from the rack. “And then...maybe some ice cream, I don’t know. We’re just going.”

“Hooray!” Zoe squealed, sounding far more excited about their sudden departure. “Goodbye, Mr. Dracula! See you soon!”

“Oh, I very much count on that, dear Zoe.” The vampire smiled. “Your aunt and I have some unfinished business.”

When the little girl’s attention was preoccupied, Agatha flipped the Count off before opening the front door and slamming it behind them. Once they were outside, the former nun’s grip loosened around her niece’s hand. Zoe hummed to herself as Agatha fished around in her purse to retrieve her phone. Unlocking it, she scrolled down through her contacts before clicking on the one she desired.

“Hello, Jack?” Agatha spoke, letting out a long breath when she heard the other end connect. “Can you meet me at Pannett Park?” She looked over her shoulder, holding the cell close to her ear. “It’s important.”

XXX

Despite it being early in the morning, the park was decently packed by the time Agatha pulled up into the parking lot. She scanned the lot, looking for an empty parking space. Zoe had already unfastened her belt, against her aunt’s orders, and had taken to leaning over the side of the driver’s seat with the intention of helping out.

“Zoe, sit back down.” Agatha instructed, trying to focus on the road and not her loose niece. “The car hasn’t stopped yet.”

“I’m trying to help you.” The girl replied, frowning softly as she peered around. “What if we can never find a space?” She let out an exaggerated sigh and collapsed against her seat. “We’ve been driving for forever!”

“Patience is a virtue.” But even Agatha’s tone was strained. “We’ll find one.”

Zoe let out a huff and crossed her arms in annoyance. After circling the parking lot twice, Agatha finally managed to find a spot. It was right in the sun, of course, but it would work. Turning the car off, she barely had a moment to step out before her niece leaped from the back seat and out onto the grass.

“Zoe, stay where I can see you!” The former nun called out as the girl bounded towards the playground. “Don’t go too far!”

But she was already out of earshot, her laughter becoming more distant the further she went. Shaking her head, Agatha walked over to an empty bench and sat down. Pulling out her phone once more, she unlocked the screen and located Jack’s number.

“We made it. Good luck finding parking, the place is packed.” -Agatha

A few minutes passed by before her cell began to vibrate.

“Sorry, couldn’t text and drive. But you’re right, you’d think there was some event going on. I ended up parking across the street. Where are you?” -Jack

“On a bench by…” Agatha paused her typing, glancing around for a landmark. Not too far off from where she sat was a large sign dictating the rules that all park pedestrians were instructed to follow. “...by a big brown sign closest to the swing set. Can’t miss it.” -Agatha

“Great, I’ll be right over then.” -Jack

Leaning back against the bench, Agatha stared out towards the playground. Zoe seemed to have found a group of children to play with. Her eyes followed them as they ran back and forth in what she assumed was a game of tag. She tried to suppress the thoughts of what occurred last night in her head. His face. His body. The way he made her feel. How she and Dracula had done deeds that would send Mother Superior to an early grave. A shiver ran down her spine at each thought. Memories that she felt conflicted about. The former nun was so focused on trying not to think that she failed to notice Jack taking a seat beside her.

“Hey, you feeling okay?”

Agatha jumped in surprise, turning her head so quickly to face him that she pulled a muscle in her neck. Wincing, she rubbed at the spot and let out a grunt. Just another thing to add on to the ever growing stack of problems she was facing.

“Yeah, I’m okay.” It was a lie and even she couldn’t hide it from her tone. “Thanks for coming on such short notice.”

“Of course.” Jack smiled, his expression soft. “Gave me an excuse to get out of the house.” He inhaled, relaxing a little. “So what is so important that we needed to meet across town in a park to talk about?”

Agatha averted her eyes, unable to meet his. “Something happened and I needed to talk to someone who I could trust.” She paused, her mouth suddenly becoming dry. “A secret rather...big.”

“Oh?” Jack inquired, beginning to sound concern. “What kind of secret?”

Agatha picked at one of her cuticles absentmindedly, a nervous habit she’d had since childhood. Her eyes focused on Zoe as the young girl when zipping down the long, curling slide on the playground. She knew Jack was staring at her intently, waiting to hear why exactly she had summoned him here of all place. And though, try as she might, she couldn’t yet muster up the courage to meet his gaze. Especially when it came to what was about to come next.

“Dracula paid me an unexpected visit last night.” She said in a low, almost inaudible voice. “Or rather, showed up inside my house uninvited…by me at least.”

“What?!” The alarm in the man’s tone was almost humorous. Certainly his next emotions would far surpass those when he learned more. “Are you okay? Is Zoe? Does Dr. Bloxham…”

“We’re fine, and no…” Agatha answered, a small twinge of pain coming from the corner of her nail bed. “And that isn’t exactly why I called you here to meet me. Something else happened…” Drawing in a breath, she finally found it in her to turn and meet the young doctor’s eyes. “I had sex with Count Dracula.”

There was a long pause before Jack’s face contorted into an alarmed expression. “You’re joking.” But when Agatha failed to reply, his eyes grew wide. “You’re not joking?! Agatha, what...what were you thinking?!”

“Shh!” She hissed softly, glancing around her as if half expecting to see Bloxham pop out from between the bushes. “Keep your voice down. I said it was a secret for a reason!”

“I can’t believe you would...did he force himself upon...what the hell were you thinking, Agatha?!” Jack stumbled, unable to form a coherent sentence. “Why…”

“It was consensual.” It was no use trying to hide the embarrassment in her voice. “And I don’t know what I was thinking. One minute we were fighting and the next...and the next…” She shook her head, frowning deeply. “It was a mistake, okay? A dreadful, horrible mistake that I can’t take back.”

The young doctor shook his head. “...Did he bite you or anything?” A look of horror crossed his features. “You aren’t going to become a vampire now, are you?”

The former nun rolled her eyes. “Last time I checked, having sexual intercourse with a vampire doesn’t lead to one, well, becoming a vampire.” Sighing heavily, Agatha slumped against the seat. “What am I going to do, Jack?”

“You want my honest answer?” Her fellow colleague asked.

Agatha nodded. “Yes!”

“Well, I have none.” Jack replied sheepishly. “I’m not sure what to tell you other than Bloxham can’t ever hear about this. If she knew...it wouldn’t be good.” He ran a hand through his hair. “You have no choice but to continue to work with him. Think you can act like it never happened?”

“I'm quite certain he’ll likely make sure that I’ll never forget that it actually happened.” Agatha grumbled. “But maybe I can figure out a way to keep his hideous, fanged mouth shut.” She turned her attention to the playground, making sure that Zoe was still in sight. “She likes him, you know.”

“Who?” Jack asked. “Bloxham?!”

“No.” Agatha scoffed. “Zoe. She’s the reason he keeps getting into my bloody house! She’s befriended him. Or he’s using her...manipulating her...what difference does it make?” A small smile crept across her features. “She’s a Van Helsing. Being fearless in the face of the undead runs in her blood. Which, I suppose, has its advantages and disadvantages.”

“Like inviting a vampire into your house.” Jack answered.

“Exactly.” Agatha exhaled. “Like inviting a bloody vampire into my damn house.”

“She means well.” Jack added, his attention now on Zoe as she proceeded to swing across the monkey bars. “She’s a good kid, even to those who don’t deserve her kindness. Despite everything she’s been through. I couldn’t do it.”

“I know.” The former nun agreed. “That’s why I worry…”

Before Jack had a chance to reply, Agatha’s phone began to ring. Frowning softly, she pulled it out and looked at the caller ID. Dr. Bloxham. Meeting Jack’s eyes, she unlocked the screen and answered.

“Hello? Agatha Van Helsing speaking.”

“Yes, good morning, Agatha.” Bloxham replied in a flat voice. “I hope I’m not pulling you away from anything important, but I need you to come to the Foundation at your earliest convenience. There is something that needs to be discussed and it cannot wait.”

“What does she want?” Jack whispered softly.

“I don’t know.” Agatha muttered, covering the speaker. “But it doesn’t sound good.”

“Jack! Jack!”

Agatha and Jack both turned their heads to see Zoe hurrying over with a wide grin spread across her face. She immediately flung her arms around the young man, peering up at him with bright eyes.

“Come push me on the swing?” She begged. “Please?!”

“Let me watch her.” Jack offered, patting the young girl on the back. “I’ll take her back to my place and you can pick her up when you are done. Really, it’s no trouble.”

“Agatha? Agatha, are you still there?”

The former nun held her phone towards her ear. “Yes,” she replied. “I’m still here.” She glanced over at Jack who gave her an encouraging thumbs up. “And I’ll be there shortly.” Agatha ended the call and exhaled. “Thank you, Jack. You are truly a saint.”

“Quite a compliment coming from a nun.” The young doctor chuckled.

“Former nun.” She corrected, smiling as she turned her attention to Zoe. “Monkey, I have to go into work for a little bit. You're going to hang out with Jack at his house. I want you to be on your best behavior, okay? Hopefully I won’t be gone for very long.”

“I promise, Aunt Aggie!” Zoe saluted before tugging on Jack’s arm. “Can we go swing now?” “I owe you big time.” Agatha chuckled, standing up from the bench. “I’ll keep you posted.”

“We’ll be fine,” Jack assured her. “Just worry about yourself...or don’t stress...you get the idea.”

She tried to force a smile as she leaned down and kissed the top of Zoe’s head. Giving one final wave, she turned on her heels and began making her way to the parking lot. Worrying. That was better said than done. A whirlwind of endless possibilities, mostly bad ones, of why Bloxham needed her now began to swirl in her mind. Swallowing hard, Agatha unlocked her car and got into the front seat. It was only the morning and today was already proving to be very, very long.

XXX

Unlike the park, the parking lot at the Foundation was nearly empty. Agatha tried to focus on her breathing as she fished around to find her badge. Bloxham couldn’t possibly know about what happened between her and Dracula last night. Could she? Inhaling deeply, she made her way into the building that seemed far larger than usual.

“Ah, Zoe, so glad you could make it on such short notice.”

Bloxham sounded surprisingly friendly as Agatha approached her boss, something that felt very unsettling. Feigning a smile, she nodded in agreement as the woman motioned for her to follow. Their heels clacked against the tiled floor as they made their way into Bloxham’s office.

“I apologize for pulling you away from whatever it is that you were doing. But I wanted you to meet someone important.” The corners of Bloxham’s lips twitched into a grin that would curdle milk. “Someone I think who just might help us with dealing with Count Dracula.”

As she opened her office door, Agatha’s eyes fell upon a tall man. His blond hair, though thick, was greying at the sides and the look in his brown eyes was cold. When he became face to face with the former nun, he gave a small nod in greeting.

“Ms. Agatha Van Helsing.” He greeted, extending his hand. “It’s a true pleasure to finally meet you.” Bloxham joined his side and suddenly Agatha began to feel claustrophobic. “You might not know me by name, but my ancestors were responsible for founding this over a century ago.” A small smile crept across his features. “My name is Howard Murray, the true descendant of Mina Murray herself. And I would like to lend my hand in personally assisting you and the others with Count Dracula.”

#Dracula #Dracula 2020 #Dragatha #Agatha Van Helsing #Dracula x Agatha #BBC Dracula #Caught in a Riptide

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threads-of-trust · 3 years

Note

robot.. hooker..?

“Oh my fucking god-! Ivy! That fucking robotic bitch!” Miu spat at you, looking beyond annoyed that you needed an explanation. She walked straight over to said girl’s lab and began banging on the door with her fist as loudly as possible. “Open up, you emotionless cunt!”

Ivy was rounding a nearby corner, on the way to her lab. It was rather strange, seeing Miu banging on the door. “...since when were you so interested in seeing my lab, Miu?”

Miu turned her head, gritting her teeth at the fact she just looked like an idiot banging on the door with nobody home. “Fuck your lab! I’m looking for you.” She hissed, stomping over and practically shoving her tablet in Ivy’s face, pressing the play button as all-too-familiar images flashed over it. “What the fuck is this!? And why are you trying to hide it, huh!?” She demanded.

Ivy’s eyes went wide. “...what...? They...they got footage of Æsir-Fest?! No, there’s no way. That happened in my world! Since when could-!” Ivy cut herself off, realizing what could’ve happened. Her hands clenched into fists. “...my memories. My fucking memories. They went through them. Probably Vanessa’s, too. It’s the only explanation.” She groans in frustration, turning away from Miu, letting her hands relax. “...I hid that information because it holds no relevance in this world. Why talk about something that technically didn’t even happen?”

“I don’t care what god damn multiverse it happened in! You got a shit load of people killed, do you get that!? People died! Because of you! You-! You might as well be labeled a mass murderer!” Miu growled, her anger growing now that Ivy wasn’t looking at her. “What!? You don’t like hearing the truth? Look me in the eyes, you fucking coward!”

“You think I did that just to hurt people!? Miu, you clearly don’t know me very well. I hate hurting people. Æsir-Fest was meant to collect a large amount of data about emotions in a short amount of time. I didn’t know the side effects until it had already took place! How was I supposed to know taking memories from people in virtual reality would do that to people?!” Ivy turned back around sharply, grabbing Miu’s collar and pulling her close. “Don’t you dare call me a fucking coward. I spent years trying to save Vanessa. I broke into high-security buildings, stole highly confidential data, and gave my own life in the process. You? You’re just as broken as I am. Putting up masks to hide your own faults, your insecurities. We both did things that we regret. The only difference is: I’ve already experienced the downfall. Perhaps that’s why we both got each other’s secrets.”

“You-!!” Miu shrunk at being yanked forward by the collar, wanting to cower but pushing through. Her eyes shrunk with panic at Ivy’s last sentence, pulling herself away violently and stumbling while doing so. “You already experienced the downfall...? Meaning I haven’t, h-huh?” She forced a strained laugh out. “I went into a coma. I ruined-! I hurt... you think I don’t sit here and think about how I hurt him!? You think I don’t blame myself!? Is that not punishment enough!? I work harder than anyone else to make up for it every fucking day. Just because I don’t have blood on my hands, doesn’t mean I didn’t suffer, you stuck up bitch!” She yelled, but it’s easy to see tears forming in her eyes, just from the thought of someone knowing her secret.

Ivy tilted her head. “Oh? Are you truly without blood on your hands? Hm.” She let go of Miu’s collar, reaching into her hoodie and pulling out the video she got. Holding it out for Miu to take. “You know, I initially thought you wouldn’t remember. At least...not to the level of detail that I saw. Your reaction, however...well, let’s just say I’m not terribly sure now.” She forced a smile for a moment, before sighing, finding the effort unnecessary. “...I don’t hate you, truthfully. I never did, and I probably never will. I’ve never been able to really...stay angry at anybody for very long. Don’t really know why.”

Miu tumbled back in a huff at being released, snatching away the video and throwing it on the ground with all her might. It didn’t shatter, it hardly did anything actually, the videos were near indestructible. Which only made the inventor more angry. “It’s the only fucking thing I remember from being a kid! That it’s my fault, right!? That I caused the stupid fucking crash! W-What the fuck was I supposed to do, huh!? He was drunk! H-He handed me the keys! I-I... I was only a kid!! I didn’t know how t-to drive or what to do! It’s my fucking fault, no matter what anyone says! I could’ve p-prevented it if I was just-! If I’d-!” She shook like a leaf in a storm while yelling and trying to stomp the video into pieces. “I gotta get out of here, I have to. I-I haven’t made it up to him yet! I can’t fucking die here. I-I won’t-!” She proclaimed with a shaky voice.

Ivy watched as Miu tried to destroy the video, only to suddenly step on the tablet between her stomps and kick it backwards, away from Miu. "...Miu, I get it. I feel the same way over Æsir-Fest. We both did things we regret. Not a moment goes by without me...thinking about what I could've done differently." She turned around, moving to pick up the tablet and stow it away in her hoodie. “Grief is...a strange thing, isn’t it? The way it takes on different forms, with different causes... well, it certainly intrigues me.”

“Can you act like a normal person for five fucking seconds? I’m having a g-god damn breakdown!” Miu sniffles, wiping at her eyes. “Grief isn’t interesting, it’s miserable, you wignut! How am I supposed to trust you now? I don’t even what you are. You’ll take my m-memories for your stupid Fuck-Fest too, won’t you..?” She asked, naturally aggressive but more vulnerable with her words now.

“Miu, I have no need for that anymore. The emotion samples were for Vanessa. She’s perfectly fine now. Æsir-Fest wasn’t the goal, it was a means.” Ivy sighs, making her way towards her lab. “And honestly? I don’t expect anyone to trust me. When you’re a robot who’s been infiltrating human society for over five years, trust has a steep price. Normalcy is a luxury.” She opens the door to her lab. “...I have a sculpture to finish. If you wish to speak to me again, you can wait for me in the lobby. Unlike Aditi, I can’t exactly drown my sorrows in alcohol.”

“......” Miu looked out off by her emotions being so thoroughly dismissed. What else should expect from a robot? Even Pixel acted this way at times, despite the emotions function she added onto her. Ivy wasn’t any different. And now, the inventor looked like a fool for trying to confide in her. She glared at the ground before turning her back and huffing. “Whatever. Go carve your fucking ice, I guess. It’s fine... what the fuck ever...” She scoffed before walking off, completely red in the face and indignant.

“...” Ivy didn’t respond, softly closing the door behind her as Miu walked away. She sighed, taking off her hoodie and hanging it up on a convenient hook near the door, before leaning against the door, letting herself slide down to the floor. Something definitely struck a nerve...

#🛠miu iruma: ultimate inventor💖#❄ivy: ultimate ???💻#✉woven messages: ask🧵#🎭frayed threads: anonymous❓

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gothic-safari-clown · 3 years

Text

The Mind’s Power Over the Body

Part Eleven: Exacting Revenge

Story summary: They only ever had each other. It had been that way since high school, ever since Elianna transferred to dreary Arlen and took Jonathan under her wing. They go separate ways for college, and when they're reunited at Arkham Asylum professionally, Elianna comes to find that they've both changed during their time separated. Can she look past the promise of danger and stay by Jonathan's side as they slide further and further into the darkness while she grapples to come to terms with the truth about herself? Can she accept what needs to be done in order to hold onto the only person who holds any meaning in her life? This is a very self-indulgent AU that draws from several different canons of the DCU and ignoring others, starting in the Batman Begins Nolanverse. This will follow the plot of the movie, although the timeline has been very slightly tweaked.

Part One / Part Two / Part Three / Part Four / Part Five / Part Six / Part Seven / Part Eight / Part Nine / Part Ten

Word count: 2606

Trigger warnings: Needles, drowning

I know that I've written Arkham in this story is very different from the movie; it's part of the AU. It's mostly for atmosphere and aesthetic. Sorry if it's confusing, I like the thought of them sneaking around; it's kinda cute, isn't it? Sneaky little monsters? Plus, like, in the movie, they just go through a door, and the whole setup is just...there???? Where anyone with a key could just stroll in? That makes no sense to me; I had to change it for my own edification.

The trick to staving off impatience is to make yourself forget about whatever you're waiting for. Or at least, that was what got Elianna through the week. She had pushed the plan so far to the corners of her mind that the day of, she had forgotten that it had finally arrived.

Of course, once it did resurface on her radar, she couldn't stop thinking about it.

Paperwork finished, and nothing left to do but wait, Elianna found herself bored, playing the pre-programmed solitaire on her desktop office computer. No one else was left in the facility besides the night orderlies, security, and the inmates, so when Jonathan knocked on the door, she buzzed him in without question, eyes still focused on the screen in front of her.

He came in, closing the door behind him, and when she didn't greet him straight away, he walked around to her side of the desk to see what she was looking at. She just needed a place for the three of spades, and everything else would fall into place, but she was about to give up on it when Jonathan reached over and took the mouse from her, finishing the board in a few clicks.

"I hate you." El put her face in her hands, annoyed at having missed the clear space for the card.

"Thank you. Are you ready?" She nodded and shut off the dinosaur of a computer and gathered her things.

"Is there anything I should know before we do this? Anything you need from me?"

"No, all you need to do is watch, but you can administer the serum if you'd like." He pushed his glasses up his nose as they stepped into the hallway.

"I think I'd rather watch you do it the first time, just to get an idea of what to expect. Where are we going?"

"Service elevator goes to the basement. And that's fine, just don't report me."

"I'm afraid you're stuck with me." El pushed on the door to ensure that it was locked, a habit she had developed to make sure that Zsasz couldn't be waiting in her office for her when she returned.

"Damn," Jonathan replied with dry sarcasm before, "ow," when she smacked him on the arm as they started walking for the service elevator. "If you're going to hit me, can't you at least pretend that you don't want to hurt me?"

"Yeah, yeah. Maybe I'll be your bodyguard when people show up outside your apartment with pitchforks and torches."

"I'll hold you to that." He pressed the 'down' button to call the elevator and, once inside, produced a key to allow them access to the basement. "That woman from the DA's office, Rachel Dawes, seems to think I'm up to something; maybe you should track her down."

"You are up to something." El reminded him as the elevator began its descent.

"She doesn't know that. She just happens to be right." Elianna laughed softly and followed him into the dingy hallway when the doors reopened. He led her into the third closet on the left and shut the door behind them.

"Hey, this reminds me." She chimed up, and Jonathan squinted at her through the darkness. "If we don't start having sex, Harley is going to be really disappointed in us."

"Oh my God," he muttered, and she laughed as she followed him to the back of the closet.

"Yeah, that's basically what I said. I just thought it was funny. What are you doing?" Jonathan was pushing aside a stack of mattresses leaned against the wall, revealing a loose panel, which he removed and gestured for her to step in first. "Seriously?" He gave her a confused look, to which she sighed in conceit and walked through to the other side of the wall, muttering something about cliches. "Why is this even here?"

Well," Jonathan cleared his throat and stepped through after her, replacing the panel. "This place has been around for a couple of hundred years, and as you know, asylums used to be a place to shove people that society didn't want to deal with. They renovated a few decades ago but never actually got rid of these old chambers, just walled them off. In fact, they even had it soundproofed. I haven't been able to figure out why, but it's convenient. Believe it or not, I'm not the first doctor with cause to mistreat patients; I think whoever was in charge during that renovation probably wasn't the best person either." El nodded in understanding, and they went down a short flight of iron stairs, which took them around one last corner.

Elianna slowed at the tableau before her. Zsasz was strapped to an old transport dolly by the neck, abdomen, wrists, and ankles, clearly agitated by how he squirmed.

"How...how did you get him down here?"

"Well, those guards that were in the room with you that day felt bad about what happened and took the opportunity to make it up to you."

"The stairs?" She turned around and looked at them, then back at Zsasz.

"He was moved here on the dolly. It's my understanding that he didn't particularly enjoy being wheeled down the stairs." Jonathan put his hand on El's back and guided her all the way into the spacious...What would you even call this? A torture chamber?

When they came all the way into view, Zsasz finally noticed them. The way his voice washed over Elianna was all too familiar and reminiscent of something cold and scaley, like a dead fish, but this time she was able to brush off the sensation. She held the power here.

"Doctor Montgomery! Have you come to conduct our next session? I think we're really starting to make progress." The deranged man laughed as he struggled harder against the leather cuffs; as they approached, El could see that they were reinforced.

"Mister Zsasz, you'll be helping me with an experiment tonight. Doctor Montgomery is here as a witness, and I'm going to have to ask you to refrain from speaking to her." Jonathan interjected before El could say anything.

***

For the first time, Zsasz seemed uneasy, and his eyes followed Jonathan's briefcase as he set it on a nearby table, unlatched it, and then revealed a false bottom. "I do hope that you aren't uncomfortable with needles," he continued as he produced a syringe and a vial of stale-looking, yellowish liquid. "Usually, I would prefer to use a gaseous form of this compound, but I'm afraid I only have one gas mask with me, and Doctor Montgomery and I are both very interested in seeing the results of this experiment." Jonathan monologued as he prepared the syringe.

El moved to sit on the table next to the briefcase setup, and Zsasz made sharp eye contact with her, and she felt a chill run down her spine for the first time in days. She found that she had almost missed the feeling as she held his glassy stare with one of her own. A vision of him in a few minutes writhing against his restraints, screaming until his lungs filled with blood suddenly appeared in her mind, and the thought made her smile involuntarily.

Zsasz, on the other hand, hadn't been expecting for her to smile and frowned uneasily, making a more desperate attempt to wriggle out of the restraints as he returned his attention to what Jonathan was doing, which was to take a voice recorder out of his case, switch it on and begin speaking into it.

"Serum fifteen, experiment one. Subject name: Victor Zsasz," he spoke into the receiver before setting on the table and advancing on Zsasz, not bothering to sterilize the injection site. El leaned forward to watch the injection, fascinated to see what would happen next.

Jonathan stepped away from the dolly, and already Zsasz was visibly shuddering and straining against the cuffs holding him in place. El got to her feet and slowly moved closer to examine the effects.

"How does it work?" She asked, observing the way Zsasz's eyes flitted about the room as his breathing intensified. Behind her, Jonathan smiled at her curiosity before explaining.

"The serum introduces higher glucose levels in the bloodstream. Once it reaches the brain, the compound amps up the output of cortisol, glutamate, and adrenaline to the amygdala. In addition to that, the flower I told you about naturally produces a high concentration of a powerful hallucinogenic compound. Altogether, it causes the brain to go into a state of terror and hallucinate things they fear. The aerosolized version works faster, but you don't have a mask, so it should kick in any time now."

Just as Jonathan finished his explanation, Zsasz began screaming. Closer to howling actually, a haunting, inhuman sound that made Elianna furrow her brow as Jonathan spoke quietly into his voice recorder. El leaned closer to Zsasz's face to further assess his experience. His eyes shifted to her face with dilated pupils, and a look of horror overtook his face, all the while screaming and pulling at his cuffs so hard that she was surprised that he hadn't dislocated anything yet.

"What is he seeing?" El inquired, pulling away from the screaming, terrified maniac before her. Jonathan brought the voice recorder closer, now standing next to her.

"Mr. Zsasz, would you mind telling us what you see?" The howling and thrashing gave way to paranoid muttering and sudden, jerking movements as if he could catch the restraints off guard and trick them into releasing him.

"Get it out, get it out of here," Zsasz demanded in a desperate voice through gritted teeth, repeating it over and over. Jonathan frowned slightly, retreating to his briefcase and removing a burlap mask, at which Elianna couldn't help but laugh a bit.

"Was that Scarecrow, or do you still have a fixation on the one that was out on your property?"

"Where do you think Scarecrow came from, El?" He retorted distractedly as he removed his glasses and put on the mask, crossing back over to Zsasz. "Tell me what you see, Victor." He ordered again, looming over the scarred man.

"Get it out!" Zsasz screamed again in response.

"I can't take it away unless you tell me what it is," Jonathan's voice had become low and impatient; he must be trying really hard to keep Scarecrow back since I'm here. Zsasz looked Jonathan, or rather the mask, in the eyes—eyeholes?—and his breathing grew even louder as he ground his teeth.

"Don't you see it? The water! It's rising so quickly; you have to get it out if here, or we'll all drown!" The thought of drowning causes Zsasz to begin hyperventilating.

"Aquaphobia," El mused, leaning back in. "Does that stem from your parents' accident, Victor? They died on a boat if I'm not mistaken." The desperate screaming resumed, and El observed as it was interrupted by a coughing sputter, as though he were trying not to drown. That's interesting. Zsasz's mind had produced such a life-like delusion of rising water that his body was reacting as though it were really there, and all the while, Jonathan had taken the mask off and was speaking quickly and quietly into his recording device.

After only a few more minutes, Zsasz's gasping breaths and twitching slowed and eventually stopped as his head lolled to the side. Jonathan checked his pulse to assess whether or not he was dead.

***

"Subject has fallen unconscious at," Jonathan took a moment from his notes to check his watch, "twenty-five minutes." He switched off the device and turned to replace all of his equipment into his case, returning his glasses to his face.

"Twenty-five? Really?" Elianna took one last look at Zsasz's unconscious, vulnerable face. "Didn't feel that long."

"No, because you enjoyed it, you should have seen your face," Jonathan informed in a light voice as he relatched his case and tilted his head for her to walk with him back up the stairs. "Eyes all lit up-"

"Look who's talking. What's with that mask?"

"Some subjects react more strongly to it. It makes them more likely to cooperate."

"I guess that makes sense...hey, are we just leaving him down here?"

"The guards will take him back up when they see us leave; no one else will ever know." He reassured her and went first through the panel, pushing the spare mattresses back over it once they were both out. "Are you hungry? We can pick up something to eat on the way home." El hummed in response.

They emerged from the bowels of Arkham and were approaching the car when a sudden thought struck her. "Are you afraid of anything?" Jonathan looked down at her, face impassive, and opened the passenger door for her, moving to the driver's side once she was in.

"Just Granny," he finally replied after closing and locking the door.

"That's it?" She got a nod in response.

"In the early stages of the project, I hadn't figured out the system for test subjects yet, so I had to test it on myself. I had to learn to push down many things to record the results reliably, and eventually, I had done it so much that none of the other things even made an appearance anymore. I still get hallucinations of things that are traditionally 'scary,' but I get none of the accompanying physical symptoms."

"So, controlled, repeated exposure to the toxin can slowly start to eliminate your fear response?"

"It's either that, or it's possible to build up somewhat of an immunity to the toxin, which I think is more likely," Jonathan commented and finally started the car. They drove in silence for a few minutes, and Elianna found herself once again trying to make a life-changing decision.

"Do you think it would work on me?" The question catches Jonathan off-guard enough to tear his eyes away from the road for a moment to give her a look of surprise.

"Are you asking me to dose you?"

"I think I am, as long as you think it's safe." He sucked in a deep breath, his face stern, and Elianna fell silent to let him think.

"It could work, but we'll use the original formula just in case. It's the one I've tested the most, so there's less of a risk."

"Then let's do it." She said without hesitation. If there was one thing she had learned over the last week, it was that there was no use in resisting her impulses. Jonathan nodded slowly. Every day was becoming more interesting than the last with her around again, and he had the feeling that that wouldn't change any time soon.

#the mind's power over the body #jonathan crane #scarecrow #batman begins #nolanverse #elianna montgomery #jonathan crane x ofc #slight au #fanfiction #multi chapter fic #attraction to the insane #cillian murphy #cillian murphy scarecrow #tmpotb chapter 11

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basenji18 · 4 years

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Brush

She's staring at a toothbrush, trying to decide its significance. It's her toothbrush, in his holder. And she cannot for the life of her remember which one of them put it there. She has a clear memory of sliding it into the cup last night. But memory is fragile, and easy to fabricate. She has an equally clear recollection of sleepily leaving it to dry on the counter, can see him as clearly as herself coming in after her and dropping it in place. Which one of them placed it there, and what does it mean? She knows she's overthinking. But knowing it has never stopped it. It's a toothbrush and it belongs in a toothbrush holder and either of them might have done it because they're both neat freaks but her toothbrush in his toothbrush holder could potentially have very big implications and she wants to know which one of them did it so she knows if he's being hospitable or she's being presumptuous or if it's just a stupid toothbrush and it is too early in the morning for her to be doing this to herself. Her side bites her. She's tensed up and angered her bruised ribs. She grips the marble sink and purses her lips against it. She takes a shaky deep breath through her nose. She always tenses and it hurts and she tries to hide it by tensing up worse. She lets the breath out through her lips, and a little of the pain goes with it. A second inhale-exhale lets her straighten. She's off the pain meds, except for once a day, right before bed. James and the old doctor with the furry ears both encouraged her to take them longer, but she refused. Bad enough her plane is gone. Bad enough Cobra's plans are severely delayed. Bad enough the Joes are still loose. And bad enough that this feels like the first vacation she's had in...ever. She likes the drugs. She likes not being in pain. Fuck American puritanism, she likes being high for a while, nothing bothering her, dropping off wherever she happens to be and waking up six to ten hours later, no dreams, refreshed, still a little hazy. Vicodin keeps her from overthinking toothbrushes. And that's what makes it dangerous. The doctor prescribed regular ibuprofen, if she won’t take the hard stuff. If she wants to be up and working, it will "take the edge off." He doesn't understand she needs her edge. She is the knife the Commander wields to keep his empire in line, and she wants to stay the knife instead of the sheep. She'd love to float in a medicine-induced haze until her ribs don't bite and her brain isn't scrambled and she doesn't get headaches and exhaustion from thinking too hard. But it's dangerous to be caught off guard. Because off guard people don't notice who put their toothbrush in the damn toothbrush holder. Everything else is in its place, but nothing else is hers, so it doesn't matter. She didn't come planning to stay. She got off her transport with nothing but the clothes on her back. She's been provided with everything, from medical care to soft wool sweaters. The clothes she wears and the bed she sleeps in and even the hygiene products she uses because of course that would take place this week all have their places in the castle and wardrobes and bathroom cupboards. But none of that matters, because none of those items are really hers. This would bother most people more than her. Anastasia mostly does not have possessions. This sounds odd to people who do not understand what it's like to have money. She’s rich, right? So she must own things. Yes and no. She uses things. The dresses for the parties are rented. Designers pay Cobra to have her seen in their work. The plane belonged to Cobra. Her glasses were designed by their engineers and assigned to her. The houses in her name are overseen by various historical societies - more than one well-heeled old lady with a pedigree almost as long as Ana's own would laugh her out of the office if she so much as suggested where to hang a picture. Her time is Cobra's. Her energies belong to the Commander. But the toothbrush is hers. You can't scrub your mouth out with something and expect someone to want it back. The toothbrush came from the plane. A little travel case, toothbrush and passport (one of them...) and the like. Fireproof, bulletproof. Explosion proof, apparently. Recovered from the wreckage and dutifully returned. Her glasses slide up her head as she rubs her eyes, pressing her fingers in until she sees stars in the dark. This is not about a toothbrush. This is about her trying to fuck something up so she can feel in charge of the fallout. Because she fixes things. She takes care of problems. And here there's nothing to fix. She's heard of happy households. She knows they exist, in the same way she knows endangered rhinoceri exist somewhere out in the wild, though she's never seen one. For all her experience, the rhinos and the happy families might be actual unicorns. Her own parents considered their second born an accident. A mistake at best, a disgrace at worst. Most of their parenting had been a mad scramble after her brother's death, when they realized they'd have to make the best out of a bad situation and try to salvage the family line. Her ribs twinge. She's hugging herself very tight. James' parents are gone, but his household is close. The people here are a community built over generations, not hired and vetted and run like a military. And they have swept her up immediately. She doesn't understand it. When she's not playing the part of PR representative, she's not charming. Her personality is distant and cold as the best or worst Russian stereotype. But the maids and the workers are all friendly, one housekeeper who may have seen the first stones laid taking particular care of her, like she'd been raised in here, and wasn't the new wink-and-a-nudge interest of the laird. They're treating her like she's human, and she's about to crack under the strain. The other day she had her thumb on the button to call Mindbender, just to hear a familiar, caustic voice. At the last second, she...stopped.

She's never visited her parents' graves. Yet she's already seen where James' parents lie. The McCullen clan has a plot, a rolling field under the grey Scotland sky, which somehow looks less like the kind of well-manicured field of death where she's sure her parents rot than like a kind of stone-marked family get together. As if the ghosts were invisibly hanging around, staying close to their descendants. That's too much fantasy. She frowns at the toothbrush. Behind her in the bedroom, she hears James stir. They haven't had sex yet. Isn't that funny? Shared a bed every night for a week and they spoon like cats, but he hasn't even taken a feel, though he's had every opportunity. They've skipped over the hot and heavy and sexy right to the point where they're sprawled out and drooling on each other. The bed springs creak and she can see him in her mind, stretching, craning like a bear, yawning best he can in that mask. He'll be in in a minute to deal with his own teeth, an unpleasant procedure with strong mouthwash and a straw he's embarrassed of, so she tries to always be done and in getting dressed by the time he comes in. Does he watch her in the mirror? She's never caught him at it. Is this love? Even she has felt infatuation, and this doesn't feel like that. Anastasia can count on one hand the people she's sure she's loved, and have fingers left over. James has the charm and he makes such fun toys at MARS, and she'll admit, he's given her a little flutter before. But he's also blown her off back when, when he was MARS and she was Cobra and he was captain of his own ship and proud to stay that way. The mask has humbled him. Recent events have brought them both down a peg. Blind infatuation isn't necessary. Neither one of them needs more fireworks in their life right now. Her head already hurts from her thoughts spinning round inside it. She's just got up and she's making herself tired. She has only seconds until he gets here to review the facts. He calls her Nastya. Not in front of anyone, of course. She vaguely remembers asking him to, and she believes this memory because 1) it's not the nickname English speakers naturally fall to (he still calls her Ana sometimes), and 2) she wants him to call her Nastya, and she has been very drugged lately. Drugged enough to act on wants. So she believes her memory is real in this case. What does that say for her toothbrush? Eugene. Zhenya. The one person Ana knows she's loved. When she thinks of James, she thinks of him as she thought of Zhenya. Not in brotherly fashion, obviously. But when she thinks of the future, he is there. When she thinks of anything, his presence feels natural. Anastasia holds her thumping head. "Are ye alright?" He's in pajama bottoms, bare-chested, as she's wearing the top half. The stark metal of his mask ends at his throat, above a broad chest with a scattering of ginger hair. Lord help them all if they ever have to follow the Joes to a desert. Between her, him, and Mindbender, they'll have to buy a sunscreen factory for Cobra. "What are you grinning at?" The smile in his voice and eyes, tickled at her getting tickled. In answer she wraps her arms around his waist. His skin is warm, the hair lightly coarse against her cheek. Arms wrap around her in return. Who put the toothbrush in the toothbrush holder? Who cares? In the first draft, I realized I wrote Baroness' POV in the same voice I used for Destro, so I went back and reworked it. I like the result. I feel like James is more soft spoken and considerate, kind of sidling up to thoughts, while Anastasia would be blunt and direct even in her own head, but occasionally work herself into a tailspin of overthinking.

#anastasia cisarovna #james mccullen #baroness #destro #gi joe #gi joe renegades #gi joe: renegades #long post #but i actually cut it in half so watch for the sequel #baroness destro #baronestro #fanfiction

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sobdasha · 5 years

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some (very long) Hiro metas and a Kisa-n-Tohru tangent

seeing the "Hiro is a brat!" "Hiro just has trauma!" debate has made me ponder…

Like, not to compare trauma and argue who had what worse and invalidate suffering, but my immediate reaction was kind of, "Wait, what? I mean, okay, I guess Hiro did just have some trauma re: Kisa, but like, overall…???"

So it's time for some scrutiny!

I’mma talk myself through this in a post.

Here we have Hiro. He's a Souma, which is pretty damn traumatic in its own right, and possessed by a Zodiac spirit, which is even worse. He's part of an elite inner circle, privileged with status and wealth; but on the flip side, there's still people in the family who look down on the Zodiac, and Hiro's looking at a future of isolation (afraid of looking like a monster, afraid to betray the family secret, not properly free to pick his own job, may or may not be able to live outside the estate, love life is gonna be a disaster when puberty hits). And Akito, whom the possessed part of him loves deeply and desperately, tends to weaponize his own love and withhold it when someone displeases him, or turn hurtful when someone needs punishment.

Okay, so that's bad. But Hiro shares that with all of the Zodiac members, that's just the baseline trauma, and there's some compounding issues at play that Hiro lacks:

- Hiro, as the Sheep, isn't especially hated. Kyou, for instance, has a bad attitude that's partly due to the entire clan ragging on him for being a horrible abomination of a monster, comparing him unfavorably to Idealized Yuki, and telling him he's gonna be locked up in a one-room house on the estate to suffer out his life--and that's not even counting how being the Cat affected how his immediate family treated him. Haru, as the Ox, got ~harmlessly teased~ about being a big dumb slow stupid ox by the family so much that he started flipping over to a Black personality to violently vent his feelings.

- Hiro's family life is, as far as I can tell, actually ideal. His parents didn't reject him (Momiji, Kyou re: his sperm donor, Rin), split up over him (I suspect this is what happened for Kagura, because her parents argued a lot when she was young, and I wonder about the fact that Ritsu's dad isn't at the onsen? And there's no mention of Kisa's dad? But then again, we're told repeatedly that Yuki and Ayame have a father and he lives in the same house as their mother and I've never seen proof of this man's existence), be coolly indifferent to him (Ayame after Yuki was born and he got off the hook but honestly I think that was a blessing to him, Yuki, Hatori), or get extremely overprotective (Kyou re: his mom, I'd argue this is partly why Ritsu's mom is so stressed out, and also I'd argue this may be why Kisa's mom hits her limit). In fact, Hiro's the only one who we can definitely say has two parents, who live together, and have a good relationship, and actively enjoy nurturing their child. Also Satsuki's completely adorkable. (This puts strain on Hiro in other ways, lol, but at least he shares that feeling with his dad.)

- Hiro, as the Sheep, probably doesn't particularly stand out. I'm guessing his hair color isn't particularly notable? So he probably hasn't been singled out for teasing from people who don't even know about the curse, like Kyou and Haru and Kisa. (No one's not-thirsty enough to have teased Ayame or Yuki for their looks, I'm pretty sure, and Momiji can pull the biracial card, even if that wouldn't stop people, and went to international school, where people probably found other ways to pick on you.)

So where, for Hiro, does his particular extremely combative, condescending, scathing, sarcastic attitude come from?

That's not to say none of those things above could be factors. It's extremely possible that the family found dumb things to say to him because, y'know, clearly it's impossible to hurt a kid's feelings if you're arrogant enough about it. And like Kyouko says, you can't really judge someone's family situation based on their behavior, and vice versa. I'd expect Hiro to be super well-adjusted, coming from a loving nuclear family, but kids are people and they will turn out how they turn out both because of and in spite of how they're raised. And maybe Hiro's experienced some bullying about whatever, and his instant sharp-tongued retorts became the default in response to that. Hiro didn't tell us any of this, but who knows!

Or maybe Hiro's difficult phase is just a phase. Maybe that's how all his classmates talk to each other?? I can easily see that being a thing, especially with boys, both friendly with friends or aggressive with people you want to treat badly, and maybe Hiro's so much in the habit of it that he doesn't think first (and doesn't care enough about Tohru and her feelings to exercise a little self-control). Like this post that points out how it's a Definite Thing that part of Hiro's lording-little-brat arrogance is because he's in his final year of elementary school and he's everyone's senpai and that sort of thing is indulged because adults know he'll get cruelly humbled next year when he's a baby kouhai.

But I think maybe, what's most relevant with Hiro, is that because of his lack of obvious outside factors to fight against for personal growth, his growing pains as a character are internal. He's fighting against himself. AKA, it's only logical that he's a tiny little shit and his character arc is about growing into someone who isn't a jerkface. Which can be just as difficult and traumatic as standing up to your parents, or Akito, or society, or your classmates. Hiro has to assert himself against himself, and himself won't punch him in the face or lock him in his room but it's so easy to just put the blame elsewhere and let himself get away with it and give him a pass and stop trying to improve.

Now I wanna analyze the timeline!

Aside from a few select Zodiac members, Akito hasn't really done anything super terrible that we've heard about until Hiro's in 3rd grade. That's when Hatori and Kana ask to get married, and Hatori gets injured. Akito has been a jerk before, and Akito is very clearly in favor of a hierarchy that puts God at the top getting all the love. But Shigure and Ayame have talked about their sexcapades with no issue, and Kagura's always going on about her undying love for and future marriage with Kyou, and this is the first incident that says those things aren't allowed.

Sometime not terribly long after that, Shigure gets kicked out of the Main House. This ramps up Akito's hatred of women, though Hiro wouldn't know the betrayal behind it and might not have a clue about Akito's vendetta.

Right about the time Hiro starts 6th grade, he feels compelled to tell Akito that he has feelings for Kisa. (I'm pulling this from the Collector's Edition timeline. In the actual story I keep seeing the English being like "I always thought Hiro hated me / I thought Hiro hated me for a long time" with Kisa then immediately turning around and saying "We were bffs all through my elementary school years / Hiro always played with me until this year", so I heavily suspect the translators keep getting a modifier in the wrong place or something because wtf.) Akito kicks Kisa's ass and Kisa takes two weeks to heal. (This isn't Akito's fault. It's also not Kisa's fault, obviously, because Hiro didn't even tell her yet that he liked her. So that means it's all Hiro's fault.) Hiro's horrified, because he could have had an idea this would be bad but he probably didn't expect it to all be taken out on Kisa. After all, Hatori got hurt, not Kana, and Rin hasn't been pushed out a window yet.

Hiro abruptly cuts off his interaction with Kisa, to protect her from getting punished by Akito again. Kisa goes back to 7th grade, where she's just transitioned from Top Of The Heap Senpai and Just A Child So We Can Let Things Slide to Lowly Kouhai Who Needs To Learn Proper Social Behaviors, and she's being bullied, and her bff won't talk to her, and her Talking Things Out skills are having zero effect, so she just stops talking, and now her mom is upset, and then she starts skipping school, and now her mom is really upset. And Hiro was probably unaware of a lot of this, until it got really bad several months in, since he stopped seeing his bff.

And Hiro's agonizing and worrying about it, when suddenly Tohru swoops in and magically saves the day, bringing hope where there was none and erasing suffering, right when Hiro was probably nerving himself up to try to help somehow without bringing Akito's wrath back down on Kisa.

Oh I wanna have a tangent about Kisa!

Timeline again, but from Kisa's point of view:

Kisa and Hiro are only a year apart, so they've always been super close. Hiro is her bff.

Now Kisa is starting 7th grade.

Kisa does something Bad. It's not clear what, but it's Bad Enough to make Akito hate her and also seriously beat her up, so that's Pretty Bad.

Actually it's Really Very Bad, because after that Hiro hates her too.

Anyway Kisa's starting 7th grade! Yay! New school, new girls, new pressures. In my personal experience, middle school is when girls are at their nastiest (after they hit high school, they start to chill out. Obviously you still get jerks, because people, but there was a little more "live and let live" attitude), so I always assume this is part of the problem. Kisa's classmates start to bully her. Kisa tries out her conflict resolution skills, like the adult she's expected to be becoming, and it only causes the situation to escalate. Her self-esteem has already had the crap kicked out of it, and hasn't healed in 2+ weeks. Her bff hates her and won't talk to her.

And then Kisa just gives up without telling anyone why.

Tohru's got a very valid point, that it's hard to talk about the things that actually bother you. It's hard to ask for help. I can complain all day long about little things, but I can't put big issues into words without spontaneously bawling? Which is really fricken embarrassing???

But I think the reason Tohru strikes such a chord with Kisa, and is able to instantly win her over, is because she talks with such quiet feeling about being scared her mom wouldn't love her anymore. Because that feeling was very, very real for Tohru--grounded in the fact that Kyouko actually did abandon her once.

And Kisa recognized that, and realized that Tohru--unlike everyone else--actually got it, because that's exactly what Kisa's feeling. Because Kisa's gotten along with her mother very well all her life, if what we see of her with Hiro is any indication. Except that suddenly Akito hates her. Suddenly Hiro hates her. It's a very real fear, once Kisa's mom starts getting stressed about the not-talking, that Kisa's mom is going to stop loving her just like everyone else is suddenly doing. Because that's literally what's happening to Kisa.

Tohru's not just a warm, loving, accepting, motherly presence. Tohru's someone who can very viscerally relate to Kisa's terror. Of course Kisa clings to her.

Back to Hiro though!

I think we could also stand to apply to Hiro the tried-and-true, "The things you hate most in other people are the things you hate most about yourself," because it is both true in general and a definite thing Fruits Basket does (for a quick example, see Yuki saying he hates dependent people [while Kyou's like "that's you tho"] and Rin hating Yuki [because he's dependent on Haru the way she is guiltly dependent on Haru]).

I went to rewatch the episode to look at all the specific things Hiro says about Tohru and other people, only to realize the obvious flaw that like everything he says is an insult and there's too much there for me to unpack here, so I chose just a few statements that were really specifically phrased (I can't stand people who X).

I can't stand people who let themselves be pushed around so easily

Hiro also talks a couple times about Tohru having no sense of identity or agency, or not having thoughts of her own. So this reveals Hiro's inner struggle with his own complacency. He's got that bond with Akito, he's got a life that's at least partly set in stone already for him, and he's not doing anything to fight it. He didn't hide his feelings for Kisa from Akito, and then when Kisa got hurt Hiro never told her why ("It's my fault because I told Akito I like you and that made him mad, it's nothing you did") and never called Akito out on it (he can't blame Akito but when he talks about it you can tell he also knows he should blame Akito because Hiro can figure out that that was wrong. Maybe because, unlike so many others of the Zodiac, he was raised in a sensible and loving family and he knows that Akito's behavior isn't normal, isn't right, isn't acceptable).

This is probably why, even while using "I'm just a kid" to get away with his behavior, he's so frustrated with not being an adult. Because, to him, an adult wouldn't just let these things happen. He's wrong, on one hand, but on the other hand the maturity that will come with his personal growth will let him be the kind of adult he envisions.

I can't stand inconsiderate people

Hiro knows he's a jerk. He knows his snappy retorts piss people off--he enjoys that. He's super jealous about Tohru and doesn't care about her feelings, and him taking his anger out on Tohru has been hurting Kisa's feelings and that hasn't caused Hiro to check himself yet either.

He knows this, he hates this, he's not ready to deal with it yet and exercise self-control, so he's the niceness police about other people being rude.

(I think it's interesting that, when Hiro starts maturing, even though he still has that tendency to rudeness, there's also a hint that it will one day turn into a frankness that isn't just "a blunt insult is the same as honesty right?" That time when Hiro realizes that Kyou and Tohru have Feelings and he's like "Um, wait, is that okay? Are we just not going to talk about the fact that Kyou is going to be locked up alone in a room for the rest of his life???" He asks the tough questions lol. I won't give him credit for bringing up Tohru's dad issues because he was just doing that to be a dick, there was zero maturity there. In another world, though, he would've been the only other person besides Kyou [who already knew the details] to think to question Tohru about it.)

People who whine about their situation while accepting no responsibility are so irritating

Again...Hiro hates the whole situation that happened with Kisa, and hates his part in it, and didn't do anything to fix it before Tohru came along. And even then, he still hasn't fessed up to Kisa about the real circumstances. He knows he owes Kisa that, and he hasn't taken responsibility yet.

This ties into the complacency issue, but with the added fact that Hiro's said it's shitty and unfair but still is going along with it without trying to stop it. So he's an extra jerk, but he still hasn't stepped up yet.

I think maybe this is why Tohru's speech touches him, even after he just called her out on magical Mary Sue emotional healing powers. He's been nothing but his worst self around Tohru--bad enough that it's not only just Tohru but Kisa he's been upsetting as well--he's been bratty and insulting and pushed Tohru around and stolen her property and treated her like shit and--

And instead of rolling her eyes, or getting fed up and firing back, or any other response that show her low expectations for Hiro…

Tohru just stands there and says it's brave, to admit you have flaws, and that she has faith that he can and will make good on his responsibilities. Even though nothing at all that Hiro's done--and he's very well aware of this--gives any indication that he would even try. Let alone succeed.

The way that Hiro, when people call him a brat, tends to then embrace it and get even brattier--this makes me think he's the kind of kid who lives down to people's expectations, rather than trying to prove them wrong. So when Tohru without hesitation sets the bar high like that, and it pisses Hiro off--

He's gonna show you, stupid woman. You think he's a prince? You're gonna be floored at the kind of prince he'll be.

(Eventually. Much later.)

#sobdasha fic adjacent #fruits basket #me getting ready to hit post: is it too late to go back in a put a sheeple joke in the last section #it's probably to late to squeeze in a sheeple joke #well anyway #Hiro wants to be a stubborn and independent ram #but he's pissed that he acts like a mindless sheep instead

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make-it-mavis · 4 years

Text

Starlight

WiR fic (ROADBLASTERS NEVER HAPPENED AU) 14,452 words Characters: Make-it Mavis, Turbo, Dr. Mario Minor/Mentioned Characters: Calhoun, Hero’s Duty soldiers, Fix-it Felix, Surge Protector, Zangief Content Warnings: In-depth themes of addiction/drugs, descriptions of wounds, one needle, the word "sex" is used once (you never know)

Premise: The Roadblasters incident may have never happened, and Mavis and Turbo may have grown into well-adjusted, happy, productive members of society, but it was never Roadblasters alone that threatened their lives. It's early 2013, and Mavis has come home from a party that went horribly awry, in horrible pain, and horribly afraid... feeling dangerously young.

________________________________

It took Mavis the entire walk home to realize that there was no time in recent memory that she had been in so much pain.

The emotional and physical exhaustion were bad enough on their own, and she could feel her heavy bones and grinding joints crying out for a chance to sit as she reached the crimson door to her house. But as tired as she might have been, she knew that the deep, pulsing pain in the left side of her face was bound to keep her awake all night.

At least she was home. The day was over and done, and she could be with her fiancé. She had been picturing him the whole way home, longing for the relief of cozying up to his warm, sleeping body under the blankets.

When she opened the unlocked door and stepped in, however, she saw light glowing from the kitchen, and heard the TV going in the living room. He was up, and he must have been waiting for her. Her heart sank, both from the regret of robbing him of sleep and from the certainty that he was going to want an explanation. Mavis was not sure she would be up to talking about it just yet, not even with him.

Still, she slipped out of her shoes and crossed over into the kitchen, accepting the inevitable. Much to her relief, she did not see him at first, only a loaf of bread that he forgot to put away and a butterknife still smeared with a bit of mayonnaise. But after setting her bags down on the kitchen island, she wandered over to the shadowy living room and peered over the back of the couch. Sure enough, he was there, but he was lightly sleeping, laid across the cushions with his head resting on a pillow in the corner. Mavis' shoulders relaxed. At least he had ended up dozing off after all. It was a welcome sight to see him so peaceful, too, after her rough evening. Watching as the cool light of the TV danced over his face, she remarked to herself not for the first time how no one would ever believe he could look so soft.

Resisting the urge to touch him, she walked back to the kitchen with the intent to feed and refresh herself. She barely even had the energy to make a sandwich, but since the bread was already out, she threw something together with scavenged scraps from the fridge, and grabbed a well-deserved bottle of root beer. Still craving her fiancé's company, she returned to the couch to sit past his feet, and tried to take a load off. Upon taking a bite of her sandwich and receiving a sharp jolt of pain that forked out from her teeth into her cheek and eye, she decided food could wait. Setting her barely bitten sandwich on the coffee table, she stuck to her root beer, which was, thankfully, relatively painless. She hoped the TV would prove distracting. It was Zangief's book show, however, so it was a toss-up.

The hulking street fighter sat in view, indecently clothed as ever, wearing comically small glasses as he read aloud from a book and a fireplace crackled behind him.

In that thick accent of his, he read, “All these enclosures are bounded by the river on one side and by a house on the other. The man in the waistcoat and wooden shoes of whom we have just spoken lived, about the year 1817, in the smallest of these enclosures and the humblest of these houses. He lived there solitary and alone, in silence and in poverty, with a woman who was neither young nor old, neither beautiful nor ugly, neither peasant nor bourgeois, who waited upon him. The square of earth which he called his garden was celebrated in the town for the beauty of the flowers which he cultivated in it. Flowers were his occupation.”

She could see why Turbo fell asleep.

It did not take Mavis very long to grow lonely and restless. She looked over at the snoozing Turbo and debated with herself. Even if there was a risk of him asking too many questions, she just wanted to talk to him at all. And she wanted him to join her upstairs, when the time came.

So she reached over and poked his butt. He stirred, and she did it again. "Hello," she sang quietly. "You alive?"

Turbo grunted, and his head lifted a bit so that he could peer over at her through harshly squinting yellow eyes. He smiled with a bit of a puff and twisted around in an attempt to stretch his shoulders. Voice straining, he rasped, “Hiya dollface.”

“Hiya Bright Eyes,” she smiled, and barely stifled a wince from the pain in her cheek. Thankfully, Turbo did not notice.

He did sit up, however, to check the wall clock in the dining area that read six-fifteen.

“Woah,” he combed a hand over his mess of hair, still blinking out the sleep. “Did ya just get home?”

“Mmm, like half an hour ago,” she told him. “You weren’t waitin’ up for me, were ya?”

Turbo sniffed. “Nah, nah. I just got real sucked into a project, n’ after I finished, I came out for a bite, n’ then… I guess I figured I’d snooze ‘til y’got back. Had no idea you’d be out so late.”

“Neither did I,” Mavis cocked her head a bit and took a swig of root beer. “Party ran real late. Everyone n’ their grandma wanted to make some kinda speech or get me to play a song for so-n’-so.”

“Well, they must’a been a real chatty bunch,” Turbo said in disbelief. “I hope y’got paid extra.”

“I’ll bug ‘em about it later,” she waved him off. “I’m wiped. I just wanna be done for the night.”

“Yeah, no kiddin’. Y’wanna go to bed, then?”

She did, she really did. But her face hurt so damn much, and she hated imagining a pillow pushed against it. Managing a smirk into her right cheek, she held up her root beer and wobbled it. “Not done my reward yet.”

Turbo snickered. “Ah, o’course.”

Mavis took another swallow, and then the two looked at each other for a little while, Turbo propping his elbow over the back of the couch, his hand clearly the only thing keeping his head up. Mavis had a simple solution, and that was to take a pillow from her side of the couch, place it in her lap, and pat it expectantly. He made a tired, but pleased noise in agreement, and obliged by turning around and laying his head in her lap. The weight on her legs was soothing and grounding, just as she expected it to be.

She looked over his body as she rubbed his chest. He was in the usual House-Turbo garb of a sleeveless shirt and sweatpants, a look she found so strangely endearing. But still, she pulled the old patchy blanket from the back of the couch and covered him up, cute outfit or no. He quivered a bit and squirmed into an even more comfortable position.

A contented little moan escaped him. “Hell yeah,” he purred dreamily.

“Hell yeah,” she agreed with a careful chuckle, stroking his bangs back over his head. He looked at her then, and she recognized the cozy, inviting look in his eyes immediately. He wanted to kiss her. Any other time, that would have been swell. But a sort of panic jittered in the back of her head, saying that the kiss would hurt in some unexpected way, and she would flinch, and he would notice, and her cover would be blown, and then they would have to talk about it. That would be not-so-swell.

So, when he sat up a bit, expecting her to close the gap between their faces, she opted to grab his nose and wiggle it. There was a small honk of surprise as he pulled her hand away.

“Excuse me,” he grinned in a slightly confused way, “that does not belong to you.”

“Not yet,” she shrugged, trying very hard to keep her smile small. “Once we’re married I’ll own your entire body.”

He smirked and squinted at her sidelong. “Is that how it works?”

“Well, it better be, or I’ll have said yes for nothin’,” she shrugged in feigned indifference.

Turbo scoffed and took up her hand again. “Whatever. Take it,” he kissed her hand and brought it with him as he laid his head back down onto her lap. He squeezed her fingers as he held them to his chest. “You’ll put it to good use, no doubt.”

“Always do,” she agreed, relieved to see her nose-grabbing impulse worked.

Turbo fell peacefully silent after that, and she contentedly twirled her fingers through his wild black hair. She had to reach over him to the coffee table whenever she wanted a sip of root beer, but he had no complaints there, which was unsurprising. Everything started to flow into low key contentment, finally. She was home, she was with Turbo, and she was having a root beer, like any night should have gone. Listening to Zangief continue to read the ancient tome of a book, she started to have hopes that she could fall asleep sitting up and not have to go to bed at all.

Zangief read, “Twice a year, on the first of January and on St. George’s Day, Marius wrote filial letters to his father, which his aunt dictated, and which, one would have said, were copied from some Complete Letter Writer; this was all that M. Gillenormand allowed; and the father answered with very tender letters, which the grandfather thrust into his pocket without reading.”

Then he closed the book with a clap that startled both Mavis and Turbo a bit, and they mutually chuckled over it, and Zangief gave his closing remarks and goodnights as Mavis rubbed Turbo’s soft belly beneath the blanket. Zangief reminded the world about his book club meetings, bid them happy reading, and was gone. The same old round of PSAs began in his show's absence, and sounded like nothing more than some muffled blend of Surge and Sonic’s voices to Mavis. Her eyes had left the screen entirely, content to get caught up in the sight of her fiancé relaxing in her lap, so warm, so happy, so… safe. Exactly where she meant to keep him.

Some horrible, haunting ghost of long-buried burdens had the nerve to make her question whether she could.

Almost on cue, another PSA started, and the music alone made her gut wrench. In a few seconds, she would hear her own voice detailing the dangers of buff use, what to do in the case of an overdose, where to turn for help and advice… as if she was some benevolent model for addicts to aspire to, as if she had it all under control…

No. Not now.

Quick as a snake, her hand snatched up the remote and turned off the TV. The living room fell into shadow, illuminated only by the kitchen a little ways behind them. Turbo’s glowing eyes opened in surprise at her sharp movement, and it occurred to her then that she may not have pulled the smartest move. But she had barely even thought before acting. It was like a knee-jerk reaction, one that she had never had about her own PSA before that night. It was really beginning to sink in, what bad shape she was in.

At first, Turbo just smirked at her, perplexed. “Gee, babe, your acting ain’t that bad…”

Roll with it, she thought. Give some snappy response and play it off. Go to bed. Don’t let it show.

But she recognized that shame, the sort that would force her to hide her pain, sometimes literally. That shame had caused enough suffering in her life before, and she could not welcome it back in. She closed her eyes and took a deep, steadying breath.

Turbo’s head lifted a bit. “...You okay?”

She let the words fall out, “Someone used buffs at my party.”

“...What? Who?” he asked, seeds of concern in his voice.

“A Hero’s Duty soldier,” she said lowly. “Tonight was that morale-boosting party Calhoun requested.”

“That was tonight?” Turbo sat up, and Mavis opened her eyes. “I didn’t know.”

Mavis huffed a bit through her nose, managing a tiny rueful, unhappy smile. “You should be glad you weren’t there. Trust me.”

Turbo frowned. “No, I kinda wish I had been,” he said quietly. “What happened?”

She found it a bit difficult to look at him as she spoke. “Well… the party was goin’ pretty great -- it was in the courtyard back in Fix-it Felix Jr., so the venue was cozy, and the music was good, and the drinks were good. Everyone was havin’ fun, from what I could tell. But I noticed that one guy was missing. I-- I didn’t really think much about it, but I have seen him overdoin’ it at Tapper’s before, so… I just wanted to make sure he wasn’t passed out in the river, or somethin’.”

“And which soldier was this?”

Mavis grimaced a bit, remembering her etiquette surrounding addicts. “It’s… not really my place to say.”

Turbo paused, but knowing the work she did, he seemed to understand. He nodded a bit. “Okay. So you went lookin’ for him?”

“Yeah, and I-- I tracked him… into the woods, a little bit.”

“Were you alone?”

“...Yeah. I didn’t expect to find…”

A glance at Turbo found him frowning, not in an accusatory way, but in a way that showed clear dislike for what he was hearing. Mavis’ weary heart begged her to drop the subject, but she ignored it and carried on. This did not have to be difficult. He did not need the whole truth.

“I found him totally out of his head. He must’ve been havin’ a real bad trip. I dunno what he was on, but he was on a lot of it. His eyes were practically blinding by that point… but no one noticed because he had been wearing shades, like a few of the other soldiers. He didn’t even bring in a question-mark block. There was some compartment in his armor that he hid the buff in -- at least, that was Calhoun’s guess, when she found out.”

“Really. How’d she take it?”

“Well, she…” she paused. “She didn’t really trust that I knew what I was doin’. I sent Felix to go fetch Surge, and that might’ve been a mistake. Maybe he could’ve vouched for me. She wanted to get in and deal with the situation herself, and I just had to try to keep her and the soldiers back. Really had to break out the hardass voice.”

“Devs help them,” Turbo said with a half-smile as he turned sideways to face her, once again resting his head in his hand over the back of the couch. “Did they run cryin’ back to their game?”

Mavis chuffed. “Nah… that team’s pretty tight-knit, apparently. They refused to leave, even though the party was definitely over. Surge showed up, and we managed to get some blankets on the guy, and then we had to search every other guest for buffs, check all their eyes, the works…” she just grew more and more tired as her story went on, “then we took him to Dr. Mario, and then I had to give an impromptu seminar to Calhoun and the soldiers on how to handle addiction in friends, what sort of accommodations or-- or time off he might need, and how he’d have to come to B.A. and all that. Even still after that, I had to give a report to Surge, and after that, I had to go help clean up after the party, and deal with Felix fussin’ over me, and…”

With a heavy sigh, she leaned forward over her knees, propped up on her elbows. She closed her eyes and rubbed the side of her face that was not in agony. “I’m just so glad to be home,” she muttered weakly.

The cushions shifted as Turbo scooted closer, and she felt his hand on her back. He stroked slowly and deeply, a sensation she found so comforting.

“I’m glad too,” he said gently, but sadly. “You shouldn’t’ve had to deal with all that.”

She exhaled through her nose. “It’s what I do.”

“And y’do it like a champ,” he agreed. “Surge should count himself lucky he’s got your help. Some nights just hit harder than others, I guess.”

Mavis slowly crossed her arms and squeezed her elbows, feeling low and weirdly sick. “I’m just glad it’s over.”

In her peripheral vision, she saw Turbo lean forward to see her face. Tentatively, she looked at him, and her heart ached at his smile, the way it did whenever she was keeping something from him. Always, she wanted him in the loop. But whatever reaction he would have to the whole truth, she did not have the emotional energy for. So, at the very least, she returned a soft, restrained smile.

“Then let’s go to bed,” he suggested. “Then it’s over for real. Yeah?”

Mavis’ heart fizzled. It really was time to face the pillows. She nodded slightly and breathed, “Yeah.”

They both stood, and Turbo took her hand to lead her out of the living room. Her normally springy feet dragged along the floor, profound exhaustion weighing her down like lead in her veins. The pain in her cheek had become so excruciating that it had infected her head, leaving her temples throbbing. And the guilt of hiding it all from Turbo sprinkled hot embers in her belly. It was not something that she should have been hiding from anyone, much less the man she was set to marry. But that was what buffs did to her, even second hand. They made her hide, and they made her lie.

Unconsciously, Mavis had brought her free hand to Turbo's forearm as they slowly walked together, rubbing as she kept herself close to him. This prompted Turbo to stop before they had even passed the bathroom, and turn to give her a reassuring smile.

"Hey," he whispered, curling his arms around her waist and gently pulling her in, "you get your ass in here."

Cautious, but in dire need of a hug, Mavis complied. She draped her arms over his shoulders as if they were dancing, and carefully leaned her right cheek against him. Her anxiety did not melt, but parts began to run a bit. She wished terribly that she could give him a crushing hug with reckless abandon.

"Yeah… there's my girl. There's my tiger," he sighed lovingly, rubbing her back and swaying a bit by nature. "You had a real crappy night, but you kicked its ass. You're a freakin' superstar, y'know?"

Guilt tainted every response that came into her head, so she just scoffed in feigned bashfulness.

"It's true. I'd know, being the OG superstar," he insisted, which did make her chuckle a bit. He then said quietly and sincerely, "Y'make me real proud, doin' stuff like that."

Her heart shied away from the praise, but she did give him a firm squeeze. "Thanks, sugar," she muttered drearily.

At that, Turbo pulled back until he was holding onto her elbows and looking her right in the seemingly perfect face. He gave her a sleepy smirk, and he said, "Thank you for gettin' home in one piece, eventually."

The irony of that comment froze Mavis' heart for just a moment, but that was enough time for disaster to strike. She was too distracted to register the sight of his face drawing close, of it setting course for her left cheek, and those glowing eyes going dark as they closed. She only realized that he had kissed her cheek when she felt it burst into searing pain.

Her sharp, sudden yelp startled the absolute bits out of Turbo, who instantly jumped back from her.

"WOAH--!! What ha-- What happened?!" he stammered quickly, moving to steady her as she shrunk towards the wall.

The throbbing pain was lasting far too long. Mavis clenched her eyes shut, biting down dangerously hard on her lip. Gently, her shoulder met the wall, and she leaned her weight against it. Turbo was right on her, holding onto her free shoulder and cupping her right cheek with his other hand, trying to direct her face.

"Mav--" he breathed, "What did I-- Are you okay?"

"M'fine," she rasped unconvincingly. It was then, however, that she looked at Turbo, and saw a harrowing sight. His lips, parted with confusion, were smeared with a touch of blood. Unwittingly, she stared at it, eyes wide.

Turbo squinted at her. "What are you looking at? Wha--" he skirted his tongue over his upper lip, and paused. Registering the taste, he wiped the back of his hand over his lips, and found it stained red. For a moment, he just stared at it. But his eyes turned to Mavis again, wide with alarm under his furrowing brow.

"This isn't my blood, is it," he told more than asked.

Mavis stared at him severely, frozen like a deer in headlights. His eyes certainly were like headlights, shedding harsh light over her shame, and her stupid attempt to hide. She ran through her head just what she could possibly say to him.

"Mavis," Turbo urged impatiently, "what is going on?"

Swallowing, she figured all she could do was give it to him straight.

"He hit me," she said lowly.

Turbo froze. "What?"

"I took his glasses off to see his eyes," she explained slowly, "...and he punched me."

For a moment, there was silence, and nothing but a tense stare. But Turbo spoke up quietly, a calm veil over the fury she could practically smell on him.

"Mav. Ditch the paint job."

She took a deep breath. Bracing herself for what was about to come, she concentrated painfully hard until a flash of blue binary glitched over her face and down her neck, washing away the disguise edits on her pixels and revealing the damage done.

Mavis had not actually gotten a chance to look at her face at all since it happened, but from the look on Turbo's face, she could tell it was not pretty. For a second, shock drowned everything else out. His jaw fell slack and he leaned in close to study the injury, clearly taking a great effort not to touch it. Mavis just avoided his gaze, awful feelings brewing in her belly as she was scrutinized.

"Oh--" Turbo breathed, "oh my Devs, this is-- Mav, why would you--..."

Then his shock cut out, and a grin angrier than she had ever seen on him spread across his face.

And just like that, he turned around and strode towards the front door.

Mavis was just confused for a moment, but her pounding heart suddenly hit harder. "Wait," she called, "where are you goin’?"

"To the hospital," he called back in a casual tone but dangerous volume. "So I can delete that son of a glitch out of existence."

Perfect. Brilliant. Splendid. Just what she needed to deal with after all she had been through that night. She trotted after him and sighed, “Turbo, you know that’s not gonna help.”

“Helps me plenty,” he dismissed her quickly.

She hopped right into his path. “He’ll still be in quarantine. You won’t even be able to get to him.”

“I’ll find a way,” he tried to push past her, but she braced both hands against his chest.

“Turbo,” she said sharply, “I just want tonight to be over. Let it be over. It’s done.”

“I know you do,” he said without looking at her, “that’s why I’m gonna go end it.”

“No, you’re not,” she growled with strain as he pushed against her. “You’re gonna go make everything worse. Just-- Just don’t!”

Turbo stopped pushing for a moment, standing firm and looking at her pointedly. “I have to, okay?!” he said harshly, his patience clearly wearing thin.

“You can’t protect me! It already happened!”

“I know it did!”

“I don’t need to be protected!”

“I know you don’t!” he raked his fingers through his hair with a loud, growling sigh. “But I just have to, okay, I need this!”

“Why?!” she demanded, throwing her hands up. “‘Cause you’re the man?!”

Turbo sucked in a breath, his whole body quaking for a second, before words burst from his mouth. “Because I love you, okay?!”

There was a moment’s silence as they stared at each other. Mavis could feel herself twisting up inside as she looked at his desperate, terribly distressed face. Before long, he held onto her shoulders and hunched down the short distance it took to be eye-level with her.

“I love you,” he said quietly with a squeeze on her arms, “and I protect the things I love. So, please, get outta the way.”

He tried to move past her again, but she caught him by the elbows and kept him in place. She stared into his eyes with a look that she only hoped he would understand.

“If you really love me,” she told him earnestly, “then you’ll know this wasn’t his fault.”

Turbo grumbled, “Well, it sure wasn’t yours, either.”

“He wasn’t in his right mind, Turbo. He didn’t know what was happening. He didn’t know who I was. He didn’t mean it,” she explained insistently. “You know that. I know you know that, ‘cause he’s no different than I was!”

Turbo gave a low scoff. “You two ain’t even in the same galaxy.”

Mavis could tell Turbo was in his own sort of altered state, just blinded by rage. Normally, he would have at least tried to listen to her, but it was like his ears were walled off. But it was hurting Mavis in ways he should have understood, hearing him talk like that. She was quickly becoming desperate, her need to defend both an innocent addict and herself boiling over. She just had to snap him out of it, or the fight would get a whole hell of a lot worse.

After receiving Mavis' silent, pained glare long enough, Turbo shook his head and went straight for the doorknob. "You don't need to understand," he grumbled.

Before his hand could make contact, Mavis darted and clamped her fingers around the knob, forcing a sharp warning into her stare. Turbo was a bit thrown off at that, and stepped back a bit when he saw her draw her brush. No fear entered his eyes, but he was alert, wise enough to give her space. The buildup of nasty emotions she had been carrying all night seemed to toil furiously over itself, and the friction's heat burst out of her paintbrush, the dollop of paint suddenly alight with bright, angry, popping sparks that cast flickering light over the room as if she were holding a lit firecracker.

"Turbo, if you so much as turn this doorknob, I swear to the Devs," she snarled viciously, "I will hogtie you on the spot and throw you in the hall closet 'til the arcade opens, you hear me?!"

It was an empty threat, and she was pretty sure Turbo knew it (at least, she hoped he did). All the same, his gaze was fixed on her, the sparks from her brush reflecting in his eyes like burning stars. But his furrowed brow loosened. His rigid posture slowly went slack as he backed off from her. And those stars in his eyes somehow seemed to burn a bit cooler. Mavis had managed to snap him out of it, a fact that relieved her so greatly that the sparks leaping from her paint fizzled out. Still, she refused to move until she was certain.

Turbo blinked slowly, taking a long breath through his nose. The corner of his mouth twitched with the idea of a smile. “Hardass voice,” he murmured.

Heaving a sigh, Mavis sheathed her brush and took the threat out of her stance. She softly held Turbo’s gaze, exhaustion leaving her cold and vulnerable. In a beaten-down voice, she quietly told him, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean any of that.”

“Part of you probably did,” Turbo replied with the ghost of a laugh, but fell into a sadder note. “But I’m sorry, too. I’ll stay here.”

Another sigh blowing past her lips, Mavis leaned back against the door and rubbed her right cheek. “Okay,” she nodded.

An extended hand came into her vision, and she looked to find Turbo inviting her out of her miserable bubble without intruding into it, a definitive sign that he had come to his senses. She took his hand, of course, craving close comfort more than anything else in the world. He gave a tug and let her lead herself into a carefully constructed hug, one that would spare her broken face. Closing her eyes, she rested herself against him and tried to let the familiar warm feeling of his code soothe everything. It did help, somewhat.

Turbo held her gently but firmly, sighing his own deep, restless sighs. "I know it wasn't actually his fault," he told her softly. "I just hate that I wasn't even there… I was safe at home and… and I'm just-- I mean, I know you don't need protecting. I know that. But a stranger still attacked my fiancée tonight, and I-- I can't just deal with that. I can't just not want to fight back when someone hurts you. Buffs or not."

Listening carefully, she nodded. "I know… That's fair."

He slowly squeezed her tighter. "I just… I need to do something. What can I do now?"

A small smile carefully crept onto Mavis' face. She adored him so much, even after all that. Her demon with a heart of hot, rumbling gold. Resisting the urge to bury her face under his neck with great difficulty, Mavis settled for slowly rubbing his back to show her love.

"I don't need you to fight my battles for me," she muttered sincerely, "I need you to hold me up after the fact. Just… stay with me. Please, T."

Turbo's chest swelled with a long sigh through his nose, and Mavis felt his hand rise up to pet her hair comfortingly. "Always," he whispered. “Always, I’m here.”

"I love you so much," she told him softly, finding that her own words picked at a raw anxiety deep in her gut. Her words were true, but for the first time in a lifetime, they felt… mournful. Almost frightening.

Not picking up on her unease at all, Turbo simply replied, "I love you, too. Maybe too much for my own health." Then he pulled back from her, his hands sliding to her biceps as he looked over her bloodied face again. It clearly pained him just to look. Once again fighting to keep his hand away, he whispered unsteadily, "You poor cuss. You didn't deserve this. I bet it hurts like a son of a glitch."

Mavis could not lie about it. "It really does. It hurts to even move my face," she muttered. "It really looks that bad, huh?"

Turbo tilted his head and his lip curled in disbelief. "You haven't seen it?"

"I… haven't had that much time to check," she half-lied.

"Okay…" Turbo said, letting her go. "Mav, do me a favor and go look in the mirror."

She blinked at him before her gaze drifted towards the bathroom. Mavis was not afraid to see a little carnage, but now that it had come down to it, she wondered if she had hidden her wounds for her own sake, as well. Most of her wanted to pretend the night’s violence had not happened at all. She did not want to see the truth of what happened and make it all the more real. But she could not continue hiding it from herself while subjecting Turbo to it. That just seemed unfair, almost cruel.

So, wordlessly, she complied and strode stiffly to the bathroom. She stepped into the dark and looked only at her black silhouette for a moment, steeling herself for what she might see filling that shape. Swallowing, she flipped the switch, winced at the harsh change of light, and felt her heart leap into her throat the moment her eyes adjusted.

It was a brutal sight. It looked every bit as painful as it was.

Almost the entirety of the left side of her face had been transformed into some morbid sort of painting. Under her inflamed skin, there were spills of sick yellows, sprays of vicious reds, and smears of noxious violet. Blood had been weeping from two deep tears in her cheek, presumably from the soldier’s heavily armored knuckles. Dried blood trailed all the way down her neck, and the wounds themselves were still wet, having stained Turbo’s lips minutes before. Even most of the white in her darkly-ringed eye had been stained an opaque red from burst blood vessels.

She leaned over the sink, exhaling coldly. “...Holy crit.”

Turbo appeared in the doorway behind her, folding his arms. “Yeah,” he sighed. “So, you can see why I wanna kick someone’s ass right now.”

Very carefully, she lifted a hand and tested the swelling. At even a slight brush, throbbing pain pulsed deep into the contours of her face. Even grimacing against the pain made it worse. The damage was proving to be quite severe, a fact that made her stomach quiver. “I… think my cheekbone might be broken,” she thought out loud.

A deep, disapproving groan emanated from Turbo. “Probably. Those guys’ fists are easily the size of your head,” he grumbled, and then quirked his head and squinted at a peculiar thought. “Wait, Felix would’ve been there, right? Why didn’t he heal you?”

Mavis straightened up and braced the heels of her palms against the counter, unable to look away from her own brutalized face. “He… didn’t know,” she sighed, a thick cloud of shame swirling in her head. “I covered up the wound pretty much the second I got it.”

“...Why?”

She shrugged. “It was just… It was already gonna be such a situation, and violence would’ve made a whole thing of it, and…” she sighed. “I needed to focus on handlin' everything, and its hard to do that with everyone fussin’ over ya.”

“Right,” he said slowly, “but you didn’t even go to him after?”

“Didn’t have the emotional energy,” she muttered.

“Yeah, okay,” he nodded begrudgingly. “What about Dr. Mario? You were at the hospital, weren’t you? Why not tell him?”

“All the soldiers were there, too, including Calhoun,” she said. “I didn’t want them to know he hurt me.”

“Mm,” Turbo grunted. “That’s kind of important, though, ain’t it?”

Mavis’ gaze fell a bit. “Doesn’t have to be,” she lied.

“But if he knows he hurt an innocent sprite, that could be a major wake-up call for him, right? Ain’t that the point when a lot of addicts realize they got a problem?”

Turbo was absolutely right, and she knew this very well. Too well, even. But the topic was more tender than it had been in years, and she could not find any response that she could bear to say. The conversation was steering itself towards a corner that Mavis knew she was bound to get stuck in, but the closer it got, the more she could feel her hackles raising in a growing, defensive panic. She hated when she would get this way, but felt utterly weak against it that night. Silently, she hung her head.

Hearing no response, Turbo carried on. “Nevermind,” he mumbled, before moving on to his next harrowing question. “Why didn’t you just go to the hospital after all was said and done? Didn’t Calhoun and her crew go home?”

“Yeah,” she breathed. “But I just wanted to go home, too.”

Turbo exhaled sharply, not in anger, but definitely exasperation. She heard him step forward, and felt his hand gently rub the curve of her back. “I don’t blame ya, baby. Really. It’s been a hell of a night,” he said tiredly. “But you gotta get healed up. Let’s go to the hospital, yeah?”

Tensing up, Mavis shook her heavy head. “N-no…”

“It’s okay,” he assured her, wrapping an arm over her shoulders. “I’ll be right there with ya. Y'can just sleep all this off.”

Almost unconsciously, she slowly leaned away from him. “No. I’m not goin',” she said coldly.

“Wh--” Turbo half-chuckled incredulously, “what? Why?”

Her knuckles turned white. “I-- I don’t want to.”

“Well, that’s…” he straightened up, “that’s too bad, but ya have to.”

“Says who?”

“Says me,” he said, clearly getting frustrated.

Mavis’ nose crinkled a bit, and she shook his arm off of her shoulders. “You ain’t the boss of me,” she growled.

“I know. ‘Cept for when you’re flat-out refusin’ to take care of yourself, then, yeah, I get to boss you around a bit,” he told her firmly. “I’m not gonna let you wallow in pain for no Dev-damned reason.”

Finally, Mavis straightened up and backed away from him, her face aching deeply with the warning glare she was pointing at her partner. It felt terrible, and she wanted to stop, but it was out of her control. “You don’t get to ‘let’ me do anything,” she hissed, "and I have a very good reason!"

"Okay then," Turbo threw his hands up, "what is it?!"

"I-- I--" she stammered, so much conflict in her brain that she felt she could have started glitching, "I can't."

"What, you can't go or you can't tell me?" he asked impatiently.

Her stomach burned. Her muscles tingled. A jolt of adrenaline whipped up her spine. This was it. This was the corner.

And this was her fear.

"I-- I just CAN'T!" she shouted, squeezing her eyes shut and quite nearly ripping her hair out. "Can you not hear me?! I can't go and I won't go, so just GET OUT!"

Mavis refused to look Turbo in the eye for fear of what effect his expression might have on her heart, but she saw him already shifting tentatively towards the door. He tried to say something, but she cut him off immediately.

"I said GET OUT!" she did not lay a hand on him, but effectively chased him out of that bathroom. He lingered outside, and Mavis grabbed the doorknob, still keeping her eyes low. "And go clean the motor oil from your ears while you're at it!"

Then, with the sharp slam of a door, she isolated herself. This was something she always told the sprites at Buff Anon not to do, but her deep distress had completely taken the wheel. Seeking all the hiding she could get like a wounded animal, she climbed into the bathtub, yanked the curtains closed with a metallic clang, and sat down. Knees to her chest, she curled her fingers into claws against her skull and fought to keep from crying. Deep inside her code, dried-up patches of self-loathing began to run, muddying the waters of her brain. Somehow, her fear of hurting those she loved always seemed to self-fulfill. No matter what, her ugliest colors would bleed out eventually.

She should have been better. Turbo deserved better. Her heart ached horribly for what she had done. For what she doubted her own strength to not do.

Resting her chin on her hugged knees, she listened for anything in the hallway. There was no yelling, no speaking, no words at all. For a while, all she heard was his feet pacing back and forth outside the door. No doubt an effort to calm down and sort out his thoughts. But after stewing in guilt for what felt like forever, she jumped at a gentle knock on the door.

"Hey doll," Turbo called softly and carefully. "Can I come in, now?"

Mavis took a deep breath. It was time to start acting her age, or at least try to. "Yeah," she called back drearily.

The door opened, and then it closed. Hearing nothing from Turbo for a moment, she said, "I'm over here."

Mavis expected him to pull the curtain back, but she only heard him sit down on the other side of it, next to her. Carefully, she glanced over. The curtain was about as closed as it could go, but it could not tightly hug the wall. From where she sat at the back of the tub, there was a tall, thin gap in her mildewy barrier, and through it, she could see Turbo's back against the wall, and one yellow eye peeking through at her tiredly. He must have seen only her gruesome red eye, a fact that prompted her to look away.

She sighed roughly. "I'm so sorry, baby," she muttered.

"I know you are," he said calmly and reassuringly. "It's okay. That was nothing."

Mavis shook her head. "I just… ain't myself tonight."

"This whole thing really did a number on you, huh?"

Mavis was too busy formulating a plan on what and how she could tell him to answer, so he continued. "Y'know, I really wanna help you, Mav. But I can't if you don't talk to me."

Head swimming with heavy thoughts, Mavis stared at the tub's drain and pictured it sucking up all the messy words that were about to spill from her mouth. It was just comforting enough to finally get her going.

After a long, pregnant pause, she began wearily, "It's just… it was just so personal, T. It was in my game. At my party. In my forest, where I used to live. Buffs haven't been that closely involved in my personal life in… a really long time. I mean, Buff Anon is one thing, but that's more like work. And no one is actually high there. It… it completely blindsided me."

Turbo just listened politely.

"And… and I think the worst of it was," she continued, feeling sick, "being so close to… buff violence again. I hear about it in B.A., I've witnessed it, and I've even intervened, but I've… I've never been on the receiving end. So I know what that feels like now. And that… made me realize… just how it must have felt when I…"

She hugged her knees tighter. "...When I did that to sprites. How confused and scared they must've been. And I did that to strangers… and to sprites I really care about."

After a pause, Turbo piped up gently. "You know it wasn't your fault. It wasn't you."

A silence fell over them, one that lasted just long enough to be uncomfortable. Mavis was preparing to spill the hard truth of why she was so acutely shaken, and found that, like most things, the best thing to do would be to give it to him straight. As hard as it may have been.

Licking her dry lips, she asked slowly and shakily, "Y'wanna know why I don't wanna go see Dr. Mario?"

"Why?"

"Because… he'd-- he'd put me on healing buffs, and I--" she hit a snag in her sentence and hung her head, struggling against the quiver in her lip. The end of her sentence came fast and forcefully.

"And I'm scared that I'll relapse again!"

Mavis braced, but Turbo was quiet for a moment. She could tell that he was a little stunned, but he soon broke out of it with a small sigh. "Mav, baby," he said gently but insistently, "you're not gonna relapse."

"How do you know that?" she asked miserably, muffled against her knee.

"Well, for one thing, you've been clean for, what, ten years?"

"Thirteen and five months," she corrected him. "It took me ten to relapse the first time. It doesn't go away. It just goes to sleep. I'm so scared of it waking up."

"It won't."

"Why?"

"Because--" he tripped over his words a bit and sighed. "Because things are different now. Especially for you. You moved outta that game makin' you miserable. You live in a real house now, with me, your best-friend-slash-incredibly-sexy-fiancé--"

Mavis gave one chuckle.

"--you've got a huge circle of friends who all care about you, you have several jobs that you're amazing at, and hell, you run Buff Anon. So many sprites have gotten clean 'cause of you. Honey, you've got it made now."

"I know," she said, her voice breaking, "that's why I'm so afraid. I don't wanna let everyone down. I don't wanna lose everything. I don't... I don’t wanna lose you."

"Mavis," he said, pain in his voice, "I ain't goin' nowhere. I got the utmost faith in ya. I've seen you beat buffs a million times. Remember helpin' me get clean? You did that."

"I also remember getting you into buffs," she mumbled.

Turbo groaned almost imperceptibly. "Well," he said quietly, "that was a really long time ago. You can't blame yourself for that forever."

Mavis turned words over in her head for a minute, an awful numbness enveloping her. Slowly, carefully, she explained, "I… feel like my mind is back there… back in ‘a really long time ago’. I'm thinkin' about things I thought I moved past. And I'm reacting just how I used to. I'm bein' nasty. I'm hiding things. I'm hidin' myself. And I… I'm craving buffs to make it all go away. I feel like that guy punched me back in time."

Turbo considered that. "...What sorts of things are you thinkin' about? Is it… is it old Easter Egg stuff?"

Mavis squirmed, pointing her face away from him. "...Sorta," she said anxiously. "It's mostly just… me stuff. Like… thinkin' I'm not cut out for nice things, or-- or-- ...relationships. That I'm bound to screw things up eventually, no matter what. That everything… goes away."

"You know all that's not true."

"Not right now, I don't."

Turbo took a long pause to think, and Mavis was almost afraid of what those gears in his head would produce. "I don't believe you," he said plainly. "You still know everything you need to know. You can still follow your own advice. You're more qualified to help yourself than anybody, even me."

Stubbornly, drearily, Mavis shook her head. "No. I can help others just fine. Helping myself is a different story."

"Okay, well, in that case…" he offered slowly, "help me."

"...What?"

"What advice would you give me if I were in your shoes?"

Mavis half-scoffed uncomfortably, shaking her head. "I-- I dunno if I can…"

She heard his shoulders rub the wall as he shrugged. "Sure you can," he said coolly. "What would you say if, right now, I told you, 'Mav, I've got a problem. I'm havin' a real hard time and I'm missing buffs pretty bad. I miss the way it felt. I know they almost ruined my life, but I miss the good times. I miss takin' Heals with you, the way it'd feel when you touched me, and, ugh, the sex…"

As Mavis listened, she became more and more concerned. He was getting awfully specific, almost like it was not theoretical.

He continued, "...and how unstoppable I felt on Supers… but I'm worried that if I relapse, everyone will leave me. What do I do?'"

After a pause, Mavis asked tentatively, "Is any of that true?"

Turbo grunted. "Not all of it. I'm not actually tempted, but, y'know… I miss it sometimes. Just the feeling. Not enough to act on it, but still."

Mavis swallowed, her gaze low. "Yeah… me too," she muttered. "Usually, it's not a problem. It helps me relate to addicts who are struggling. But… tonight, it's just scary. It's too real."

"Well… call me an addict in crisis," he said, "and help me."

She wavered.

He prodded gently, "What if I believed all that awful stuff about myself…? What would you say?"

Mavis took a deep, steadying breath, squeezing her pant leg. The whole idea felt awkward and trivial, but she had to try, at least to let Turbo help her. She knew he needed to feel useful, so the least she could do was give him a chance.

"Well…" she began tentatively, "first things first, I'd say… that you reachin' out for help was the first step in the right direction, so… you've already got one leg up on this."

Turbo merely listened, trusting her to guide herself through it.

"And… and I'd say that…" she swallowed, "that you're not bad or weak for missing the good times. Anyone would miss somethin' that made them feel good. But buffs… are like a false friend. They'll seem fun, and they'll promise to be there for you. But then they'll tear you down until you don't love yourself enough to leave. And when you do, they'll show up at your door years later promisin' that things would be different the second time around. But they're lyin'. Never listen to them."

Mavis found herself beginning to quake, so she took a deep, quivering breath to try to maintain her composure. It was then that the shower curtain crinkled and a grey hand extended in, looking for anything to hold. He found her knee, and, shaking, she took his hand in both of hers and worried her thumbs against it. Holding him for support, she unsteadily continued.

"And… all the sprites who love you are the ones you should be reachin' for. Because they'll tell you the truth… That you deserve all the love in the world… the same as anybody else. You're not broken or unlovable or worthless. And if you can't take my word for it… then come to Buff Anon with me. We'll convince you."

She hit another snag, a much sharper one this time. Her face grew hotter than it already was, and a hefty lump formed in her throat. Awful pain shot through her left eye as the tears escaped, and she crushed her eyes shut against the sting. Turbo's fingers tightened around hers, and she squeezed back as she continued in a broken, teary voice.

"And I'd-- If it were you, I'd say--" she sniffed, "that even if you did end up relapsing… you'd be okay. The arcade is way better equipped to help you now. You wouldn't lose your game, or your jobs, or your friends, because… everyone knows you. They'd know when you're not yourself. And they wouldn't give up on you so easily."

Carefully, she kissed his hand. "And I'd tell you… that I'd carry you through this on my back if you asked me. Because I-- I love you more than anything. No amount of buffs could change that."

Turbo scrubbed his thumb against her hand, waiting for her to continue, but her words were running dry. Judging by how open the floodgates in her eyes were, the exercise had already hit its mark in ways she was not prepared for. She was emotionally raw, but she was done.

"And--" she muttered, sniffing, recalling Buff Anon's motto that stemmed from her own in-game catchphrase, "together, we can make it."

It took only a moment for Turbo to breathe, "Wow. I was just gonna say literally all of that."

A wet laugh broke from behind her teeth, and she carefully wiped away what wetness she could on her sleeve. "Not bad, T, not bad," she sighed, face aching with a smile. "You should lead a B.A. meeting sometime."

"Nah," he said, taking one of her hands and pulling it out of the tub. Warm lips pressed against her knuckle. "Everyone would be too captivated with me, and nothing would get done."

Mavis laughed quietly, and they both fell silent for a moment. Teardrops were still darkening the fabric on her knees, but the way Turbo's strong hands gently massaged her own was almost meditative. She tried to isolate the feeling, to focus on it and calm down.

Eventually, Turbo asked softly, "How ya feelin'?"

She drew a breath through her nose and sighed. "Better," she told him lowly. "I'm… still worried. But I'm not scared."

"I'd call that an improvement," he said, and she could hear the smile in his voice. "See? Didn't I tell ya you'd give the best advice?"

"You did," she smiled. "Which was good advice, too."

"I know," he said casually. "I'm basically a genius."

Mavis chuckled in her throat, and then, ever so slowly, she dared to lean her head back and peer out of her hiding spot. The gap had gotten even bigger with her arm passing through it, so she could see Turbo's entire face. He was looking her way, too, with a look of careful optimism. For a moment, they just looked at each other, and Mavis suddenly felt humbled with guilt over everything she had done since she got home. She knew very well that they had both done worse in the past, but in the present, she was supposed to know better. But she had been frightened and horribly triggered. She could only blame herself so much, and she tried very hard to remind herself of that. It was the same as what she would tell anyone.

Turbo spoke first, when it came to it.

"Hey," he breathed sweetly.

"Hey," Mavis echoed, her voice rough as she still softly cried.

He asked, "Ready to come out yet, tiger?"

She took a deep breath and decided that she was done with the night's bad experience haunting her actions. Talking it out had cleared her head, and it was time to start thinking straight again.

"Yeah," she nodded.

Turbo smiled, and promptly rose to his feet, guiding her upwards as well as he squeezed her hand. She pushed the shower curtain out of the way and stepped out of her hiding place, once again standing face to face with her best friend. Seeing the sincere look he gave her, she became so overwhelmed with love that it hurt, deep in her chest. Like a magnet, she stuck right to his body, hugging desperately tight. He returned the gesture, of course, and she found herself overflowing with tears again.

"I knew very well what I was gettin' into with you," he told her lovingly. "If the idea of you relapsing freaked me out enough to be a dealbreaker, I wouldn't be marryin' you, would I?"

Mavis merely sobbed almost silently, just strongly enough to make her body jump a bit in his arms. No matter how long it took him to get there, he always seemed to find just the right thing to say. It reminded her of the lessons she had learned over the course of her life, about her own worth and what she deserved. Once upon a time, she believed that she was not meant to have anything good. But even after thirty years, she still had him. And he was so good.

Steadily, her mind once again left the past behind her where it belonged. Her life was good. Her life was wonderful. And she deserved it.

For a time, they simply remained there in the bathroom, holding each other tightly and letting the emotional strain of the evening unwind and relax in the warmth they created. Turbo’s shoulder was wet with tears where Mavis had been resting her good cheek, but eventually, her tears ran dry, leaving only fine salty streaks down her skin. Her trembling body had found its stillness again.

Turbo rubbed her back deeply enough for her to feel the aches in her muscles crying to be kneaded out. He turned his head against hers the slightest bit, and whispered, “How we doin’?”

She waited, but nodded once. “Exhausted,” she sighed, “but I’ll be okay.”

“‘Course you will,” he patted her back a couple times, and then pulled back enough to look at her half-maimed face. He thought for a second, and then a lighthearted smile appeared. “Hey. I know somethin’ that might cheer you up.”

“What’s that?”

“Y’wanna see the commission I finished today?”

She perked up a bit, always interested in his machines and inventions. “Yeah, o'course!”

Finally, they both left the bathroom, and Turbo instructed her to go wait in the kitchen. She obeyed while he ducked into the garage for just a minute before coming back into view with a strange object in his hand. He crossed immediately to place it on the dinner table, and she wandered over to inspect it.

Mavis quirked a brow as she looked over the item. It was nothing that he had made before, to her recollection. It looked almost similar to a crystal ball on a base, only the ball was made of some kind of thin metal, maybe tin, with hundreds of chaotic punctures of varying size over its surface. It looked almost like it had been delicately shot with a tiny shotgun dozens of times. It did look well-made, but…

“What is it?” she asked curiously.

Turbo leaned his hand against the table casually. “Just a nightlight.”

Mavis blinked and gave him a bit of a look. Chuckling faintly, she confirmed, “A… nightlight.”

“Yeah,” he scratched under his chin. “Previously homeless sprite just moved into a dark game, but they’d only lived in a bright game before. I wouldn’t have accepted a commission for any ol’ lightbulb, but they told me to get fresh with it. Thought it’d be fun to just mess around.”

“Huh. Well, okay, then,” she reached for the switch on the base. “Let’s see it.”

Immediately, Turbo directed her hand away. “Ah, ah,” he held up a finger, “you go turn off the kitchen light, and I’ll turn it on.”

She scoffed. “Alright, your majesty,” she said with a smile before doing as instructed. She crossed to the wall by the fridge and flipped the switches down, plunging the entire floor in darkness that was disturbed only by thin slices of Turbo Time sunshine that made it around the blackout curtains. Turbo clicked his tongue once in that typical smug way to call her back over, and she returned to where those glowing eyes stood. To her confusion, though, he shook his head.

“Move back a little bit,” he told her casually.

“What? Is it gonna blow up, or something?” she asked, almost hopefully.

“Nope, just…” he abandoned his sentence in favor of holding her shoulders and relocating her himself. She made only vague sounds of protest at first, but actually felt a twinge of irritation as he was intentionally indecisive over what specific inch she should have stood on.

“Okay, T,” she scolded him slightly, “cut it out and show me the damn thing, will ya?”

He pretended to inspect her position for one more second, before calling it perfect and leaving her to stand in the open space of floor that was not quite the kitchen or living room or dining room. Turbo returned to the table and, in the darkness, she could see him place his finger over the switch, but not press it. He sure was making a big deal out of a nightlight.

“Ready?” he asked playfully.

“Yes, T, I’m ready,” she rolled her eyes a bit. “I was ready when you brought it out, ya weirdo.”

He hummed, and then sang quietly, “Okay!”

The switched clicked, the device lit up, and she gasped.

Stars.

There were stars everywhere. They speckled the walls, the ceiling, the furniture, and her body with soft sprays of golden light. The darkness was not chased away, but it was filled with a safe, inviting warmth that felt like walking on the edge of sleep. Slowly, her eyes roamed along the map of spilled light across the ceiling, her jaw a little slack with awe. It was such a simple thing, but it was so much more beautiful than she had expected.

“Oh… my Devs,” she finally managed to say, laughing incredulously. She looked over at Turbo, who had not moved at all, but was watching her with a grin as smug as ever. “T! What the hell -- this is awesome!”

He gave a hearty chuckle. “Oh, you like that?” he reached for the base again. “Well, check this out.”

Another switch clicked, and just like that, the sea of stars began to slowly swim around the room. It was as simple as the metal ball rotating, but what it did to the light was almost dizzyingly beautiful. The golden, glowing stars drifted at a leisurely, loving pace, finding something wonderful to say about everything they touched. They danced over the trophies lined on the wall, stretching and crowding over the sloping surfaces. Passing over the glass on the cabinets, they refracted into shimmering clusters like tiny fireworks. Mavis turned herself along with them, her hands twitching up towards her mouth.

Eventually, in her turning, her eyes fell on Turbo again. He was still leaning against the table, his arms folded as he watched her. The smugness in his smile had softened into quiet admiration.

"So, star expert," he said, "what's the verdict?"

"Hah," she breathed, glancing around again. "It's… it's beautiful. Honestly, this might be my favorite thing you've made."

He whistled. "That's some mighty praise for a nightlight."

Mavis smiled and crossed over to the table again. She watched the globe of the wonderful invention turn lazily, blinking when the beams met her eyes. She held out her hand to see its oversized silhouette against the wall, and noticed the way the stars streaked along the band of her engagement ring like tiny shooting stars. When she turned her hand over, the ring's rainbow of gems all came to life as the light danced gleefully through the sparkling facets.

"Damn," she whispered in awe.

Next to her, Turbo exhaled a single chuckle through his nose.

Mavis looked up at the tightest circle of stars that peppered the ceiling so finely, suddenly finding herself so wistful. For all her life, she had loved stars. She had written at least a dozen songs about them. But her relationship with them was… complicated. Not always happy. It was often that well of conflicting feelings that had made the stars so captivating, so addictive in a softly masochistic way, like how one may have habitually picked their skin or pulled out their hair.

On a good day, stars filled her mind with inspiration, with beautiful dreams of what life could bring. On a bad day, they were only a reminder of how trapped she was. How trapped everyone was.

But that night, in her home, there was no bad side. There was only beauty.

"I love stars," she sighed quietly.

"I know you do," Turbo muttered.

"They're the one thing that I miss about living in my game. Lying in my den and looking up at the stars."

"Not many stars in sunny Turbo Time," Turbo added. "Y'know, except for me."

Mavis scoffed.

"And you, I guess."

She looked at him, instantly filled with warmth from the way he looked back at her so peacefully, so contentedly. A sassy Turbo was a happy Turbo, and she was relieved to hear him cracking jokes again. The stars ran over the contours of his face, painting his grey skin into a hazy night sky, and waking the deep garnet tones of his well-hidden pupils. Many would not have called him beautiful, but Mavis did. Not just in his looks, either, but from the harmony he brought into her life. Looking at him then, everything seemed right. She was right where she was meant to be.

Suddenly, an epiphany washed over her, and all the worries of that night were swept away. But for the time being, she would keep it to herself, just to let it sink in and enjoy the moment for what it was.

So she merely smiled at him, and once again winced at the pain in her cheek. "You're hilarious, you know that?"

"I do," he shrugged.

Mavis turned around and leaned against the table next to him, which prompted him to wrap an arm around her. Glancing over at him, she added softly, "And you make some pretty amazing things."

He smiled and chuckled with a hint of smugness. "What can I say? I'm the best in the biz. Gotta keep the customers happy."

"Well," she laughed quietly, "no complaints from me, either."

Mavis looked back out across the room to peacefully watch the sea of stars swirl around the room. There was another dark silhouette cut into the drifting light, that of herself and her partner side by side, as they ought to have been. Then the shadows joined into one as she laid her head against his shoulder. Tingles swelled in her chest, and she sighed them out happily.

"So," she said calmly, "how much for you to make me one of these?"

Turbo scoffed. "How much? You wanna pay me?"

"Yeah, I mean, it's your work. It's your time. Don't go givin' me special treatment."

He shook her playfully a bit. "Mav, we're gettin' married next month. You're gettin' some special treatment."

"Oh, pfft," she blew, "matrimony. It's only a ceremony binding our lives together in the eyes of the Devs and the entire arcade forever. Big deal."

Turbo laughed. "You're just dreadin' it, aren't ya?"

Mavis shrugged. "Honestly, I might not even show up."

Chuckling through his teeth, he squeezed her shoulders and kissed her head. "Yeah, I'm excited, too," he nearly whispered.

Sighing dreamily, she snaked an arm behind him and held his soft waist. "Can't wait."

Another happy silence fell between them, broken only by the low, muffled hum of the machine running behind them. But before too long, Turbo drew in a sharp breath.

"Y'know what you could do to pay me back?" he sort of sighed.

"Hm?"

He stepped away from her side to instead stand in front of her. He held both of her hands and looked at her with a face full of sincerity. "Let me take you to Dr. Mario," he insisted gently, "before the arcade opens."

Mavis had hoped it would have been some owed salacious act, but was not surprised at all. However, when she came to consider it, she found that the fear had abated. Plus, she was very ready to not be in pain. She blinked at him and smiled tiredly.

"Okay," she nodded.

A bit of light came into his exhausted face. "Yeah?"

"Yeah."

"Yes," he sighed. "Finally."

With a tug on her hands, he pulled her into a hug that spun slowly, like a formless dance. She squeezed back, happy to see him so relieved. The poor man deserved a break from all the drama she had brought home with her.

A few moments passed, and Turbo pulled back far enough to see her face. He smiled at her so fondly, and she could not help but return the gesture. But he hesitated, his gaze repeatedly falling to her lips.

"So," he whispered almost sheepishly, "if I kiss you now, is it just gonna hurt again?"

"Ah," she fluttered her lashes and huffed, "yeah, it probably will."

Turbo smiled faintly, and let his eyes follow the lights along the walls. "Yeah," he sighed dramatically, "I figured."

But looking at him standing there, dappled in the light, she could hardly resist anymore. "But…" she breathed, lifting a hand to his cheek and directing his gaze back to her, "...do it anyway."

There was a glimmer of adoration in his eyes as he breathed a short, sighing laugh. "Alright then, tiger."

He had started to lean in, but he stopped when Mavis cleared her throat. Skirting her thumb over his cheek, she whispered a reminder. "Gently."

"Hah," he laughed silently. "I'll try."

Mavis then felt a strong, rough hand snake around behind her neck and cradle the back of her head, and found her heart thumping a bit harder than it normally would. Slowly, carefully, he drew in close, checking her reactions. Then he lingered in range of her breath, apparently making the most of taking his time. Mavis' face was growing hot, which only made her cheek throb harder, but she did not care. There was something about the careful anticipation that sent her heart reeling. It threw her right back to their early days, when they were only just learning how to kiss at all. How new and exciting it had all been.

Most of the vivid memories of the past had departed for the night, but those ones were welcome to stay.

Finally, she closed her eyes, and upon feeling the slightest brush against her lips, she pushed back gingerly. The kiss was barely there, hard enough only to maintain contact, but it squeezed a slow sigh out of her and sent her head swimming. Every moment or so, they would break apart, but softly join again to keep the moment alive, kissing peacefully in the light of the stars he made.

Immediately after their little romantic break, Mavis and Turbo set out for Dr. Mario’s hospital. For the walk there, Mavis reapplied her painted disguise so as to not draw attention, but of course glitched out of it once face-to-face with the mustachioed doctor. When he asked them what happened, Mavis sorrowfully told him the truth, knowing it was the best thing to do for all parties. Hopefully, it would be the push that kickstarted the soldier’s recovery. Dr. Mario offered to tell Calhoun and the crew about it, but she intended to tell them herself. She could not be afraid of any facets of her self-assigned job, or she would not be completely prepared to help those in need of it.

They were brought immediately into a slightly lower-lit hall with beds and monitors in curtained-off sections. Once assigned to a bed, Mavis sat on it and allowed the doctor to examine her. Judging by her swelling and extreme tenderness, he felt confident to say that there was, indeed, a crack in her cheekbone, but it would not take long to mend. He cleaned off all the dried blood as gently as he could, poured what felt like liquid fire on the wound, and began stitching up the deep gouges in her cheek to make sure they closed properly during the buff treatment. It stung badly enough to bring tears to her eyes, but the needle was so fine and he worked so deftly, it was not the worst to sit through. Devs knew that she had been through worse.

“Thank you for’a keeping still,” Dr. Mario muttered as he held her face steady anyways, “that’s’a more than I can expect from’a most’a my patients.”

“Yea--”

“Don’t’a talk, please.”

Mavis rolled her eyes a bit. He always did this.

“Mavis, I can see when you’a roll your eyes at’a me,” he said flatly as he worked.

“Don’t worry, Mav,” Turbo said from his seat behind the doctor, “he can’t watch us both at once.” He then gave a very exaggerated roll of the eyes. Mavis quivered with the effort to not grin.

“You’re a’funny guy, Turbo,” he said even flatter.

With that, he finished off the stitches, and started preparing the IV drip full of diluted healing buffs. A slight jolt of adrenaline zapped Mavis' heart. What she had been fearing all night was about to begin. Even though she had come to her senses, having buffs in her system always made her at least a little nervous… the events of the night just seemed to irritate that.

But as he went through the preparations, Dr. Mario hummed in thought.

"What's up, Doc?" Mavis asked tentatively.

"Oh, I was just a'thinking that it was'a funny thing to a'compare then and'a now," he explained calmly and nostalgically without looking away from his work. "I used to'a treat you for overdose a'more than any other a'patient. Yet, today you are a'here because you tried to a'save someone else a'from overdose."

Mavis blinked. She had not actually thought of it that way. Back in her worst, most buff-fueled days, she never would have believed that she could have made it so far. But something in his wording pulled her out of her thought bubble.

"'Tried?'" she asked anxiously. "What's that mean? Is he alright?"

"Ah, now, now, now," he took her right hand and began wiping the back of it with a wet, sharp-smelling swab. "He's a'fine. He's a'my responsibility now. Relax -- you should'a be proud."

Mavis' eyes immediately drifted to Turbo, who was crossing his arms and smiling warmly. With a slow blink, he nodded in agreement.

Heat danced around inside her chest. Mostly, she had been doing her job, only doing what she knew would keep everyone safe. But when she thought of it like Dr. Mario said… she really was proud.

"Well," she smiled, "proud to make things better than they were for me."

"So should'a we all," the doctor said, positioning the grotesquely long needle over the back of her hand. She looked to Turbo again hoping for one last vote of support, and she received it in the form of an encouraging eyebrow raise and a thumbs up.

Breathing deeply, she reminded herself why she had nothing to fear.

Then the needle broke her skin, and she winced as it delved deep down the back of her hand. After making sure he had hit the proper vein, Dr. Mario taped down what still stuck out and gathered his things.

"Now, ah, you should a'have four hours or so until you are a'fully healed," he said, checking his charts and jotting something down. He pulled aside a curtain and said over his shoulder, "I'll check in now and a'then. Ring the buzzer if a'you need a'something."

"Alright," she nodded. "Thanks, Doc."

With that, the doctor went about his business elsewhere. Mavis laid herself down on her side carefully, practically hearing her weary body creak and relishing that sweet relief of finally being horizontal. Nestling her good cheek into the cool, hospital-blue pillow, she peered at Turbo. He was watching her tiredly with a faint smile, abnormally silent.

“Hey, you,” she prodded.

“Heya, tiger,” he sighed.

“You’ve been awful quiet.”

“Hah, well. Don’t get too used to it,” he shrugged, his gaze idly wandering.

She paused. Then she said slowly and sincerely, “I know this ain’t your favorite place in the world. I really appreciate you bein' here.”

Turbo shrugged with a fleeting, distant smile. “Nah, s’nothin’. I ain’t scared of a crummy hospital,” he stretched in his chair, and fell slack with a sigh. “It’s just, ah… this was always the toughest part of it, for me. Sittin’ around in here n’ just waitin’ to hear if you’d live through the night. Wonderin’ how many more chances you’d get, always thinkin’ y’were on your last… Y’know. The works.”

“I know,” Mavis agreed gently. The memory was a haunting one, but thankfully, it still felt pretty far away. The guilt of ever putting him through that had been tough to cut down to size, but she had seen very well just what addiction did to sprites’ minds. He suffered because she suffered. She muttered, “I remember how upset you’d get.”

“Yeah, well. Little boys get angry when they feel things they don’t want to feel.”

“Not so different from little girls,” she half-smiled.

Turbo looked at her with a clear honesty that seemed almost humble for him. “The Doc’s right, though,” he told her. “I never thought buffs would land you in the hospital like this. You survived all that, and you’ve come so damn far. You’d better be proud a’ that, ‘cause Devs know I am.”

Tingling warmth fizzled in Mavis’ chest at his words, and she nuzzled her slightly heated cheek deeper into the pillow. Casting a sweet smile with her eyes, she said, “Thanks, Sugar. And trust me, I am.”

“Damn right,” he nodded.

They watched each other for just a minute, but it did not take Mavis long to decide that she would not be robbed of all time allotted to lie with him that night. Even if it was technically morning by then, with the arcade’s opening fast approaching.

“Y’know,” she said coyly, “there’s no rule about touchin' me this time around… and this bed’s pretty damn cold.”

Turbo scoffed, but a real grin appeared on his face. “Well, it sucks to be you, then.”

“It really does.”

He feigned a dramatic sigh as he stood and trudged around to the bedside behind her. Mavis heard a click and a creak as he lowered the guard rail, and felt the skinny bed rattle as he climbed aboard and situated himself. With hardly any other space to go, he squeezed his warm body right up against the back of hers, melting into her shape. A deep breath blew down the back of her neck, and she knew he must have been glad to lie down, too.

“Happy now?” he mock-grumbled.

“Hmm,” she hummed happily. “It’ll do.”

“The things I do for love,” he sighed, squeezing her back against him and planting a kiss on her shoulder. He patted around for a hand, but found her right first, which was occupied by a needle and tube. He grunted a bit as if he had just remembered something. “How's the IV?”

Mavis was just beginning to feel the effects of the healing buffs. The pain in her face was slowly starting to drain out. A sort of fuzziness enveloped her body and her mind, and left her lazily floating ever deeper into a state of bliss. It was the gentlest, most helpful effects of Heals, isolated from the code-scrambling excess.

"It's good," she purred. "Real good."

"Not too good, I take it?" he asked optimistically.

"Nah," she said, "I forgot how easy this stuff is. Besides, I know for sure that I ain't gonna relapse, now."

She felt Turbo perk up a bit. "Do ya, now? What changed your mind?"

Smiling to herself, she found his hand and held it to your chest. She pondered calmly just how to word her reason. But the answer to the question was easy enough.

"The nightlight."

Turbo paused. "Really? How's that?"

Playing with his fingers, she explained steadily, "Well, it's pretty simple. I used to look up at the stars and wish more than anything that I could fly past them and be free of this place. But that was impossible, so… buffs were my escape. Deep down, that was always why I used them. But now, I can look at my life and say…"

She squeezed his hand. "I don't want to escape this anymore. I'm happy right where I am. So why would I ever turn to buffs again?"

"...Huh…" he thoughtfully kissed the back of her neck. "And you got all that outta my swirly lights."

"That's right."

She felt him nod slowly. "I knew it'd work," he said quietly but triumphantly. "Just as I planned."

Looking back over her shoulder, she asked disbelievingly, "Did you really?"

"No," he smiled brightly, a slight chuckle in his voice. "I just knew it'd cheer you up."

She smirked. "Aw."

"Still," he squeezed her, "that's all great news, baby. I'm glad to hear it, for real. But if you'll permit me one question…"

"Shoot."

He squinted at her with a suspicious smile. "Do you mean to say that Make-it Mavis of a Million Dreams, if given the opportunity to see the world outside the arcade, would pass it up?"

"Oh, no, pfft," she answered immediately. "Pfft. As if. You know I'd clear outta here faster than Sonic with a flame on his ass."

Turbo sighed in exaggerated relief. "Phew. I'd have been worried if you said literally anything else."

She hissed a chuckle through her teeth, and began to strain her neck, so she laid her cheek back down on her pillow. "I'd come back, though," she told him softly. "This is where I belong."

No reply came from Turbo at first. He merely waited, and then slowly and tenderly nuzzled his nose through her hair and against her neck. Stroking his thumb against the ring on her finger, he whispered, "Damn right."

She smiled and sighed deeply. The love in her heart was nearly too much to handle. But then another thought occurred to her. A lovely idea.

"Y'know," she said thoughtfully, "when you make my lil' nightlight thing, I think I'll bring it to Buff Anon. I bet it'd get some good discussion going. And I'm sure everyone could use a little starlight."

Turbo took a moment to consider that, and then shifted to lean his body away from hers. "Mav," he said, a warning in his voice, "I'm gonna say somethin' gross."

"Oh, no," she gasped in dread.

"I'm gonna do it."

"Please don't."

"Here it comes."

"Devs, help me."

He scooched in snugly against her again and whispered in her ear, "Don't they get enough starlight with you around?"

A tickling shudder ran up her spine, and she instantly clutched her chest as if she had been stabbed. "No! Oh, yich! Blech!" she spat.

Turbo joined in her protests, dramatically throwing himself around and moaning in disgust. "Augh, nooo! Oh Devs, nasty! Uuugh, what have I done?!"

Mavis bent her knees up and hugged her stomach as Turbo draped his groaning self over her. "Oh, I'm gonna be sick!" she wailed. "He's killed me! Ohh, he's killed me!"

They were both cut short by the sharp clink of curtains being pushed open, and the slight of Dr. Mario's confused and alarmed face. Once he understood the scene, however, his expression fell flat and unimpressed.

"Turbo," he boredly scolded, "please a'don't torment a'my patients. There will be a'plenty of a'time for that after you are a'married. Hoo-hoo." He chuckled at his own joke, looking down at his clipboard.

"Joke's on you, Doc," Turbo countered, "I've been tormentin' her for thirty years!"

"Oh! Speakin' of which," Mavis piped in, "you're comin' to the weddin', right?"

Dr. Mario laughed dryly. "Cute of a'you to assume I ever a'get a night off."

"But it's not at night, not the ceremony, at least," Turbo insisted. "It's on a holiday -- the arcade will be closed."

"Surge let us have all of Game Central for it," Mavis added proudly. "It's gonna be a historic event, Doc, you can't miss it."

He did not look up from his charts. "Oh, I'm a'sure I'll hear all about it from whatever a'victims of a' wedding mishaps end up in a'here."

"I have no idea what you mean," Mavis said, choosing to deny any presence of fireworks.

"Come on, Doc, after all we been through, you don't wanna come watch us get hitched?" Turbo whined.

Mavis joined in, shooting him her best puppy eyes. "Pleeaase, Doc?"

Dr. Mario lifted a finger to silence them, looking at them from under his raised, thick brows. "I will a'try," he allowed, stepping back to pull the curtain shut. "But no a'promises."

Once his footsteps faded down the hall, Mavis looked at Turbo. "He ain't comin', is he?"

"S'pose we just wait n' see," Turbo shrugged. He looked her over, and said, "He's right, though. I oughtta stop buggin' you n' let you get some sleep."

Her eyelids were admittedly getting heavy, thanks in part to the shaded lighting and relaxing buffs. Sleeping off her whole experience sounded all too inviting. Still, she looked at him hopefully.

"Will you stay with me?" she asked. "I know you don't have much time now, but maybe you could take a power nap before you gotta go. Y'look exhausted, babe."

He snickered tiredly. "Nah. I ain't gettin any shut-eye here. 'Sides, I'm runnin' on more sleep than you."

That much was true.

"But I'll stay," he added softly, getting comfortable behind her again. "I won't be here when you wake up, but, y'know… I'll be here when you fall asleep."

She smiled. “I can live with that,” she muttered. “Let’s just take the night off after today, though. Get takeout, eat ice cream, watch TV…”

He yawned wide, baring those sharp golden teeth like a big cat. “Sounds killer. How’s about we do most of that in bed, yeah?”

Twisting her arm around to where he had propped himself up, she cupped his cheek and guided his head down to kiss just beside his mouth. “You got a deal,” she whispered dreamily. She released him and turned away once more, preparing to surrender happily to sleep and bring about a new day. “Love you, T.”

“You ain’t bad, either,” he muttered, and in his unwitting sleepiness, he kissed her healing cheek. Once he realized, she felt him startle a bit. “Oh-- damn it, that was the wrong cheek, wasn’t it?”

“Hm? Oh, no, it’s ‘kay, sugar…” It was, in fact, the wrong cheek, but Mavis only noticed that it should have hurt once he pointed it out. The Heals were doing their job quite splendidly. The pain in her battered cheek had drained away completely, along with all the aches in her joints and muscles she barely knew she had been carrying, and the anxious sickness in her belly that had plagued her all evening. With the bad diminished, the good shone through. Being snugly tucked beneath his arm, her whole body tingling gently from his heat on her back that rivaled a cozy fireplace, feeling his slow breathing, and even the rumbling beat of his heart… It all wrapped around her body and sank her slowly down, gently immersing her in sleep. Before she lost consciousness, she managed to finish reassuring Turbo in a voice hazy with sleep.

“...It doesn’t hurt anymore.”

She let go, and felt a final forceful pull that brought her down over her head. The world disappeared, replaced only with warm, calm waters that let her float just beneath the gently rippling surface. In the deeper waters beneath her, she could hear dreams echoing and calling for her to join them. But there were other noises, muffled and distant, keeping her afloat.

There was beeping, like little chirping bugs. Soft clinking and rattling, low bubbling notes that may have been voices once upon a time. A bigger, itchy voice that sounded like shifting sand saying something like, “Attention… open in one hour… would all visitors please…”

Then her hand was wrapped in warmth, and she heard whispers from a voice that she knew even in sleep. “I’ll see ya later,” echoed over the feeling of a kiss pressed to her temple.

“Starlight.”

#fanfiction #make it mavis #turbo #RBNH au #heres me winging it on a vague idea for fun #i like playing in this au a lot

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dzamie · 4 years

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I watched the live action Jungle Book! I’d say it was disappointing, but I set appropriate expectations going in. So, imma get into it:

So, the good parts first, in no particular order:

I really like Kaa’s hypnosis effect. The Disney animated movie’s swirling colors always looked really, really goofy to me, but the live-action’s waves of light and dark were very well done and legit alluring.

There are a lot of little jokes here and there that I feel were written in case they wanted to use them in a commercial. “You have never been a more endangered species than you are at this moment” is actually pretty darn funny.

The bodies moved well. King Louie was really the only animal I thought was straining realism too far; the positioning of limbs and torsos and stuff was pretty spot-on. Tails were a bit wonky, but you have to be looking for something like that, as someone with a slight tail fetish might.

This is definitely unintentional, but Mowgli makes an “oof” sound whenever something bowls into him or he leaps roughly against something. It sounds like the Roblox hurt noise. Tone-breaking, but HILARIOUS.

Having Mowgli seem to fear the bonfire was a nice touch.

As was having the final fight seem to take place at the watering hole, this time during wet season. Far from dry, the exact opposite of the Water Truce occurs - everything is in conflict.

Now, the less pleasant bits.

I mentioned the Water Truce callback was neat? Yeah. What a shame they took multiple minutes to repeat over and over that the Water Truce was that there was a truce around the watering hole. I’m glad they used all that time to explain why it was that Shere Khan wouldn’t attack anyone so he could conveniently see the man-cub. Also to set up the schtick where Mowgli has been Inventing Things because he is a Man.

Elephants are now a religion. I don’t like it, especially because it’s used to set up Mowgli rescuing a baby elephant from a hole, so that Baloo and Bagheera can see that Man Is More Powerful Than God.

The wildebeest herd exists only for shakycam purposes. There really isn’t much reason for Mowgli to not go directly into the river and escape Shere Khan on a log that way.

Oh how they ruined Kaa. I do rather like how she has a more cloying, sweet personality (it’s not better or worse than the animation’s rather goofy fellow, just different), but they whole-ass saw a snake character and thought “hey wouldn’t it be cool if she never wove around him or approached him from different angles? Let’s make sure to never show her for more than 8 seconds at a time, too; we MUST cut between her and Mowgli. There’s simply no way to shoot a scene where they’re both in the shot, talking.”

I hope you like snakeless ScarJo voiceover, because that’s literally half of Kaa’s appearance, from first line to last. It’s great that the man who hurt Shere Khan with fire just happened to be Mowgli’s dad, because I guess it’s not enough that Shere Khan wants to kill all humans in the jungle; he must have a Deep Personal Connection with the man-cub.

I can sort of understand coming out of the hypnotic vision to see Mowgli entirely in her coils, from a “this is Mowgli’s perspective” point of view, but wow it’s really unsatisfying. Look, the animated version had Mowgli slide into pre-coiled snek body, but at least we saw them interact. Kaa is pretty much a static prop here. What a waste of a serpentine character.

For someone who is afraid of heights and doesn’t know Mowgli, Baloo sure is eager to climb a big, tall tree and risk his own life against a giant, hypnotic snake.

Minor note: with all the focus on seeing Kaa from Mowgli’s point of view, Disney sure chickens the fuck out when it’s time to be snake chow. C’mon, you stupid mouse, show us what Kaa looks like inside.

It’s kinda weird that Bagheera and Baloo are so familiar with each other, considering that Mowgli has been in close contact with Bagheera all his life and neither met nor heard of the bear.

Shere Khan is almost comically evil to the wolves. Makes it hard to take his “I’m actually justified in my desire to kill you” thing seriously.

I feel like Disney hasn’t grown out of its “haha imagine SONGS in a CHILDREN’S MOVIE. What a stupid fucking idea” phase. Baloo and Mowgli sing off-tempo and off-key, and King Louie does a weird half-speaking thing that lets you know they want to do a song, but haven’t the slightest clue how to transition into one, and they still want to pretend to be a gritty serious realistic movie with no singing because that’s too silly.

King Louie Is Twenty Five Goddamn Feet Tall Because We Watched King Kong The Other Day

They set Louie up to be a mob boss, calm and composed for like a minute or two, and that goes out the window in no time flat. They try to bring back that structured “I help you you help me bada bing bada boom" thing back in the chase scene, but literally nobody cares what the chaser says in the chase scene. If they did, it wouldn’t be a chase scene.

“No, they don’t fear me, they fear you.” Except clearly they fear you because your MO this entire time has been “let’s kill and threaten animals and see if Mowgli comes back faster.”

Baloo, the laziest bear you ever did see who heard the wolf pledge exactly one (1) time and immediately dismissed it as propaganda, can recite it from heart because Shere Khan needs to be directly confronted with The Power Of Friendship

Can’t be a climax without fire. It’s a good thing that Mowgli can always find a safe path through this raging inferno that’s been burning steadily through the forest for the last few minutes or more.

Mowgli’s entire strategy hinges on many things that could go wrong at any moment:

a) the vines don’t catch on fire as he’s running through the burning forest

b) the vines and branch don’t catch on fire after he suspends them in the air in the middle of a huge forest fire

c) the dead tree, notably made of dead wood, which some may know to be extremely flammable, is not on fire nor does it catch on fire as he’s climbing it

d) Shere Khan follows him onto the branch

e) Shere Khan leaps at him on the fragile branch that Shere Khan seems to notice is weak

f) the vines and branch don’t catch on fire while he’s climbing them in the middle of a huge forest fire

g) he finds a way back out of the woods literally filled with fire

h) Shere Khan even follows him all the way in rather than going “nah the little bitch is gonna burn. Let him.”

i) the animals forgive him for setting the trees ablaze

They let ScarJo sing Trust In Me during the credits. Minor suggestion: don’t.

I choose to interpret Mowgli not seeing what happened with Kaa and Baloo to mean Kaa is still alive, and the monkeys trying to dig Louie out of the ruins to mean that he’s dead. This is entirely because of favoritism.

Compared to the animated version, this movie is much more based around Shere Khan, compared to around Mowgli and the jungle. Rather than “Mowgli won’t be safe here; send him to the Man Village so Shere Khan won’t kill him,” it’s “Mowgli won’t be safe here, but Shere Khan is going to threaten and probably kill us until Mowgli returns anyway, which he surely will because Shere Khan said so.”

They tried to do a grey-morality sort of thing by justifying Shere Khan’s fear of fire and hatred towards Men. But it kind of backfires because Shere Khan keeps being incredibly evil for no particular purpose aside from making his death be a good thing for everyone, and the one crime Mowgli commits (big fire) would not have happened if Shere Khan hadn’t announced his plan to kill the man-cub.

I really miss the allegories to different kinds of philosophies towards society from the animated version. The live-action replaces them with examples of different abusive relationships (Baloo is a manipulative fast-talker, Louie is supposed to be a mob boss, Kaa’s comfort is genuine but overshadowed by a desire to do harm), which is... nice, but not really my cup of tea.

Holy shit there is SO MUCH SHAKYCAM. You can barely see some of the scenes from all the shaking around. “Did we inspire adrenaline in you? Don’t you wanna go fast?” Yes, of course, but what am I doing this about? “...SHAKYCAM!! LOUD NOISES!!” It’s overstayed its welcome.

Realistic CGI animals are actually terrible at emoting.

This felt like yet another action film. Every opportunity they had, they threw in another fight scene or chase scene. You could take most of them out, cut off about 15 minutes from the movie, and still not have removed anything important.

All in all, I’m glad I now have 22 seconds of Kaa saying things. They really shouldn’t have given ScarJo so much coverage in the commercials, though. She’s in the movie for about 4 minutes, and she’s a visible snake for much less. I don’t think I’d pay to see this, and really this just gives me more reason to not watch other Disney live-action remakes.

Shakycam should have died eight years ago. Bring back shot composition.

#text #long post #The Jungle Book #reviews

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luckyjak · 5 years

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fic: Declaration of Intent (1/5)

“Then it’s settled,” Caleb beamed, pleased with his own cleverness. “We’ve got to find you a husband, before your mother finds you a wife.”

Essik has a problem; Caleb has a solution. Both of them are so good at pretending that their hearts may never recover.

[The Caleb-and-Essik-Fake-Dating/Fake-Engaged-fic you didn’t know you wanted. Shadowgast. Canon-compliant as of episode 63 but probably won't be for long.]

a/n: This is like, the opposite of a slow burn. This is a fast burn: two characters who get together way too quickly and are way too intimate with each before their feelings can catch up.

The rating may also go up as the story progresses, but I don't want to promise something and not follow through on it.

AO3 Link

There was something wrong with the Shadowhand.

It was subtle; from the outside, the man was as composed and as polished as ever. But Caleb had been spending a lot of time with him, and Caleb was nothing if not observant. He was sharper, more critical than Caleb had ever known Essik to be, and while practicing dunamancy was normally one of Caleb’s favorite activities, the afternoon had made it something of a chore. It was in the way Essik moved: his spellwork was...strained, and his concentration waned. He was irritable, and nothing Caleb could do seemed to help ease the irritability, no matter how flawlessly and fast Caleb learned. They had been at this particular spell for hours, and it was beginning to become a problem that would reach a boiling point soon.

“No no no, you are doing it wrong!” Essik snapped, for the fourth time this afternoon. He ran one hand through his cropped hair and the other along the spellbook, tracing arcane ruins with long fingers. “The pronunciation is el-sol-la-de , not el-sal-la-de , you--”

Caleb snapped back. “I would have done that if you said so earlier instead of just handing me a book written in Undercommon and expecting me to just 'figure it out'--”

“I don’t expect you to just figure it out, I expect you to use your brilliantly gifted mind and--” Essik stopped mid-sentence and rubbed his face with his hand, his eyes scrunched shut. He took a deep breath before speaking again. “I’m sorry. I am being unkind.”

You think? Caleb thought, but didn’t say out loud. Instead, he merely nodded in agreement; Essik had been uncharacteristically unkind towards him all afternoon.

“Perhaps we should take a break. I’ve been pushing you hard, and it’s not your fault. Dunamancy is a difficult school of magic to learn even on the best days, and we’ve been going at it for hours now,” The gentleman moved to sit down on the couch in the library/lab, and he gestured for Caleb to follow.

They sat together in quiet stillness for a moment; Essik stared out of the window, lost in his own thoughts, and Caleb stared at Essik. The other man was tired, Caleb realized, and clearly stressed about something, but what the young wizard couldn’t hazard to guess.

“You have been off all day,” Caleb broke the silence, sitting down next to the drow on the opposite end of the couch. “Is everything alright?”

Essik brushed him off immediately. “It is a personal matter. I should not allow it to interfere with my work.”

“What bothers you so?” Caleb tried again, his curiosity peaked. It wasn’t often that he saw the Shadowhand as raddled as much as he was. Essik stopped, his face scrunched in hesitation, which made Caleb wince in sympathy. “If it’s too personal, you do not have to--”

“No,” the drow shook his head. “I should talk to someone about it. And you are a neutral party, from a different culture. Perhaps you could advise me in ways others could not.”

Caleb bowed his head slightly. “I’ll do my best.”

“Right. I, uh,” the Shadowhand stumbled with his words uncharacteristically, stilling looking not at Caleb but at the dark window, as if it might hold the answer he was looking for. “I’m getting married.”

Oh . That was unexpected. “Congratulations?” He said, hesitantly. The thought of Essik getting married was...unanticipated.

Of course Essik would be getting married, Caleb thought with uneasy queasiness. He was a powerful, beautiful young man, with an important career and a lot of political influence. Of course he would have caught the attention of someone special, somebody young and beautiful, somebody not at all like Caleb.

“It is not my choice,” Essik bit his lip, turning his attention away from the window and looking at Caleb’s face once more. “You know I am--young, right? Not compared to you and your kind, but in elvish terms I am barely grown,” Caleb nodded in agreement. It was difficult to comprehend 200 years old as a young person, but when a species lived to be in the thousands, it was easier to acknowledge. “I’ve accomplished a lot in my short life, which is made even more impressive given that my soul is not consecrated, and this is only my first life. But, ah, my amille , my mother, she, ah, thinks I need to wed. For the good of House Theylas.” The drow shook his head in disagreement. “She’s arranged for me to meet with and betrothed myself to a young woman from Den Olios, and I--I do not wish to.”

“Because you do not like this young woman?” Caleb venture a guess.

“Because I do not like any women,” Essik’s face flushed a darker purple, and he hid his face in his hands. “For a woman who has lived 800 years and three separate lifetimes, you’d think my mother would understand that!”

“Ah,” Caleb winced in sympathy. “Admittedly, I still do not know much about your culture. Is such a thing frowned upon?”

He wanted to ask Essik, since he apparently didn’t like women, if preferred the company of men, but he didn’t want to assume. For all Caleb knew, the Shadowhand was like Caduceus, and didn’t want to be with anyone, no matter their gender. A small part of Caleb--a part he didn’t like to acknowledge--rather hoped that the Shadowhand did prefer men.

Men like Caleb, even, although that part remained wisely unsaid.

He also wondered if Essik’s face would always be such a delightful shade of dark purple. “It’s not frowned upon. Ah, we are a reincarnation society, right? So sometimes a pair of veru come back the same gender as before, or different. My father, he was a man when he married my mother, but when he was reborn he came back as a woman. She and my mother are no longer together, because they never vowed atemay , but they could be together if they wanted to, yes? It doesn’t matter that they are both women.”

Caleb cocked an eyebrow. “But it matters that you don’t wish to marry a woman?”

Essik sighed. “It--it does. It’s--it’s important for there to be children, yes? Especially in powerful dens, there needs to be heirs, because we reincarnate. Because I am the highest ranking member of my family, I’m considered Den Theylas’s heir, despite being my mother’s youngest child.”

It was starting to make sense to Caleb. “Because you are the Shadowhand.”

“Because I am the Shadowhand,” Essik repeated with a groan, leaning over to place his head in his hands. “I could--I could solve everything if I just stopped being the Shadowhand. My sister Meela would be my mother’s heir then, and Meela is already married with two children.”

That sounded like a terrible solution to Caleb. “But you don’t want to stop being the Shadowhand.”

“I love my job,” Essik agreed, with a pained expression. “What I do is important, to the Dynasty, to the Bright Queen, and to the study of dunamancy. I would hate to leave it.”

The thought was curious, however. “What would you do then, if you weren’t the Shadowhand?”

“I don’t know,” Essik answered honestly. “It wouldn’t be this, though,” he gestured around the room to where he and Caleb had spent most of the afternoon training and studying. A lump began to form in the back of Caleb’s throat at the thought of what Essik was implying: if Essik was no longer the Shadowhand, he would not be the person assigned to watch over and guide the Mighty Nein. Someone else would take his place.

Caleb tried to imagine somebody else in Essik’s role as their guide. In his mind, he pictured someone who would be less kind to their diverse group of adventurers. Someone who might have a problem with the fact that they planted a giant tree on the roof, or someone who would take issue with the fact that Caleb and Beau were humans. Someone who wouldn’t teach him dunamancy, and someone who wouldn’t be nearly as amused as Essik often was at their antics.

Someone less attractive, almost certainly, and that was reason enough for Caleb to protest. “Well, we cannot have that, then.”

“But I don’t know what else to do ,” Essik sighed, his head hung down low. “My mother is the Den Mother for all of Den Theylas. She’s an incredibly powerful Warlock and an uncanny politician. More importantly, she’s very good at getting what she wants, and she’s been trying to arrange a marriage for me for years. I’ve outsmarted her before, but I don’t know...I don’t know how to get out of it, this time.”

Caleb leaned over closer to Essik, so that his knee was barely brushing against Essik’s. “Is there anyone else you could get help from? Would the Bright Queen assist you in any way, if you appealed to her? You serve on her Council--surely that must account for something.”

“The Bright Queen and my mother have been friends since before I was born,” Essik shook his head. “If I went to her with this, she would side with my mother, and then I’d really have no hope. The Bright Queen’s word is law.”

“Could you suggest an alternate partner? Maybe the young lady from Den Olias has a brother?”

“She doesn’t, I’ve already looked. And if my mother is the one doing the arranging, then all she will care about is me having an heirs,” Essik rubbed his wrist with concern. “Which means a--a lady, a wife.”

“Which you don’t want.”

“I prefer men,” Essik confessed, and Caleb stomach flipped a bit happily. He had assumed, given Essik’s dilemma, but it was still nice to know he and the Shadowhand had that in common. “Sexually. Romantically. I don’t dislike women. But I cannot imagine myself ever being in a relationship with one. At least happily.”

It was a shame, too, because Essik was quite handsome, in Caleb’s opinion. It would be a terrible waste: Essik, with his beautiful smile and sharp chin, trapped in a loveless marriage, forced to spend--however obscenely long it was that drow lived for--with a woman he didn’t know and didn’t love.

At least if the girl in question were human, he’d only have to wait less than a tenth of his lifespan.

Oh.

A surge of brilliance struck through Caleb as an idea slowly began to take form. “What if you were already promised to another?”

That caught Essik’s attention. “How do you mean?”

“Could your mother marry you off if you were already engaged to someone else?” Caleb asked, his knees brushing against Essik’s on the couch.

Essik paused, his mouth frowning. “No--I, no, she couldn’t. Don’t get me wrong, polyamory is a thing here,” Good to know. “But once a bond has been established, no one outside of the bond can decide to extend it, no matter how much influence they may have.”

“Then it’s settled,” Caleb beamed, pleased with his own cleverness. “We’ve got to find you a husband, before your mother finds you a wife.”

Essik smiled at him softly, but it was not the overjoyed ‘ah, Caleb, you are so terribly brilliant’ smile Caleb had hoped it would be. “I wish it were that simple,” Essik shook his head. “But my mother is crafty . She will want to interrogate whoever I’ve chosen to marry, and she would have to approve of the match in order for it to go through. And I have,” he looked outside of the window at the dark day out there, “very little time to find someone.”

Caleb raised an eyebrow at Essik. “Would your mother ever accept a human?”

“You can’t be serious,” Essik breathed, catching on with the finer, unsaid aspects of Caleb’s plan.

“Why not?” Caleb shrugged. “We work well together. Better yet, we can convince the rest of the Nein to collaborate with our story. No one will argue too much with the Heroes of the Dynasty, no?” The red head leaned back on the couch, stretching slightly. “I have no other prospects for the moment. And I live a much shorter lifespan than you.”

“You are serious,” Essik’s eyes grew impossibly wider. “Widogast, that’s insane.”

“Why?”

“ Why? Lots of reasons!” The drow exclaimed, jumping up from the couch so he could pace the room. “We barely know each other! We’re--we’re from different worlds , two different countries, different cultures, different races--we can’t--we couldn’t possibly convince my mother that we were lovers, much less engaged! I’ve known you less than a month!”

“People do crazy things all the time, especially when they are in love,” Caleb smirked at his teacher. “Haven’t you ever been in love before?”

The Shadowhand turned to glare at him with his arms crossed. “I’m a little less than two hundred years old. What do you think?”

Caleb thought a lot of different things, and could have said as much, but he didn’t. Instead, he stood up and walked closer towards Essik. “It’s just a con, you know? Just a bunch of lies told together, to tell a semi-plausible story.” He stepped even closer towards Essik, until the two of them were face to face. It might’ve just been the atmosphere of their conversation, but Caleb felt taller than Essik for once. “You mean to tell me that you, Essik Theylas, Shadowhand of the Bright Queen, spymaster of the Dynasty, have problems lying?”

Essik flung his arms apart, poking Caleb in the chest. “It’s not my ability to lie that concerns me, Widogast. It’s yours .”

Caleb couldn’t help but chuckle. “Believe it or not, Shadowhand, but I’m quite an experienced con-artist. Nott and I used to run a con similar to this back before we joined up with the rest of the Nein, actually.”

Essik raised an eyebrow. “You and the little goblin girl used to pretend to be married for an extensive period of time?”

“Well, it wasn’t exactly the same,” Caleb blushed, stretching the back of his head. “ I--I, uh, pretended to be her father, actually.”

“Ah. And how did that go?” Essik looked a little impressed, though still a bit skeptical.

“It worked, for a while. Better in some towns than others. Made a decent amount of money at it. Kept us fed and dry. Certainly worked longer than this particular con would need to.”

Essik shook his head, turning away from Caleb and staring down at his feet. For a moment, Caleb had the strangest thought that the man was about to leave , just walk out of the Xhorhouse and never come back. But he didn’t. Instead, he turned back to face Caleb, his expression cold and methodical, as if their conversation was a game, and he needed to think 2000 steps ahead of Caleb in order to win.

“And what, exactly, do you get out of this, Caleb Widogast? I doubt you are willing to help me this much out of the kindness of your heart.”

Caleb shrugged. “I figure the Shadowhand of the Dynasty owing me a favor is a good thing to have.”

“None of that,” Essik snapped, stepping closer to Caleb. “I don’t play those games. Be specific about what you want, or stop wasting my time.”

Damn . Caleb had hoped to get by with a favor. A favor could be anything; a favor was negotiable, depending upon what the party in question was asking for.

Well, he’d just have to make due, then. He stepped closer to Essik, until the two gentlemen were face to face, merely breaths apart. “I figure as your husband, I might have access to your spellbook,” Caleb breathed, his face inches from Essik’s own. “You know. What’s mine is yours and all that.”

“Absolutely not,” Essik’s face flushed with what was quickly becoming Caleb’s favorite shade of dark purple. “I have some very powerful, very confidential spells--I could never just give you my spellbook.”

“But you could let me look at the rest,” Caleb gave a counteroffer. “Hide the confidential parts, and let me study at my leisure.”

The drow took a step back away from him, lost in his own thoughts. Caleb could tell he was considering the idea, and he tried not the get too giddy at the prospect.

Conversing with Essik like this was...exhilarating, in a way nothing in his life had been since he had been at the Academy. He had missed this, he realized suddenly. Verbally sparring with someone of equal intelligence was a game he had forgotten he missed.

It reminded him of how he used to talk with Astrid, actually. But that was a thought to analyze at a different time.

“Or you could get married,” Caleb teased, perhaps a bit mean, his thoughts returning from his former flame. He turned away from Essik, running his hand along the table in the center of the room, taking his time as he spoke. He could be terribly patient when he needed to. “You know, if the lady from Den Olios looks anything like the Den Mother Zethris, she’ll be quite beautiful. You’ll have that to work in your favor at leas--”

“The whole book,” Essik interrupted, stretching out his hand for Caleb to take. “Minus the confidential parts. And only while I’m around for you to copy it.”

Caleb grinned, and shook his hand firmly. “It’s a deal, then.”

“And if you blow yourself up with time magic, well, that’s just one less thing for me to worry about,” Essik grimaced, letting go of Caleb’s hand. He turned his back on Caleb, turning towards the table in the center of the room, with spellbooks and scrolls still opened up to various different dunamantic spells. Methodically, Essik began packing up, putting each book and scroll back in it’s case.

“It wouldn’t have to be real, you know,” Caleb offered, his voice quiet as he followed the drow around the room. “The Mighty Nein, we are planning to leave for a bit anyway. Have an errand to run in Nicodranas. You could try and find a legitimate partner while I’m gone, and we could, ah, break up when I return,” Caleb seemed unbothered by the prospect. “Or you said it yourself, that polyamory is a thing here. If you found another whose company you preferred, I would not be opposed. Or we could separate, after a time. When you thought it was safe,” Essik didn’t answer him.

Caleb watched Essik as he meticulously placed several books back into his bag, seemingly intent on ignoring Caleb. “That is a thing here, right? Divorce?” Caleb asked with genuine curiosity. If it wasn’t, perhaps that would be why Essik was so hesitant. “When two married people don’t want to be together anymore, they can separate legally?”

“We call it annulment, but yes, that’s a thing here,” Essik paused his packing momentarily to look back at Caleb. “It’s not terribly common, but it does exist. It--it wouldn’t be out of the question for me to seek an annulment.”

“Then perfect!” Caleb beamed, clapping his hands together. “We get married, you let me copy your spellbook, your mother gives up on finding you the perfect bride, and then we go our separate ways as friends and--”

Essik kissed him.

It was strange, being kissed by Essik. Sure, the drow man was incredibly attractive, but Caleb hadn’t thought to ever do anything about that, beyond a nighttime fantasy or two. What started as a simple press of lips quickly grew more passionate, as Caleb opened his mouth, and Essik opened his. Caleb was pushed with his back up against the table, as Essik had one hand flat against the table and the other crawling across the length of Caleb’s back. Caleb kept his hands pressed in the space between Essik’s neck and jawline, fingers tracing upwards towards white hair and pointed ears.

Essik kissed Caleb the same way lightning came with a storm, sudden and unexpected, a hot surge of energy radiating against Caleb’s skin. Caleb felt like his entire body was on fire; each place the drow kissed or touched left smoldering in its absence.

He didn’t know how long they kissed for. But they had to breathe at some point. Essik pulled away slow, then rested his forehead against Caleb’s own. “Well. That was nice.”

“Were you concerned?” Caleb asked, catching his breath, his back made uncomfortable by the way the table was digging into it, but unwilling to move any farther out of Essik’s embrace.

“Of course. I had to make sure we were compatible in that way,” Essik was teasing him, although it was hard to tell based on how serious his voice sounded. “For all I knew, you were a bad kisser. I couldn’t marry you if you were a bad kisser.”

“Hmm, well,” Caleb grinned, licking his lips where Essik’s had been moments ago. “Glad I passed the test.”

Essik smiled at him, a little coyly, and then kissed Caleb on the forehead. “I would not ask anything of you that you would be unwilling to do.” The drow promised, both of his hands on Caleb’s cheeks. “But my mother has a soft heart. If she thought I genuinely loved someone, she would support me, no matter who they were. We--we would need to convince her that we were in love, though.”

More kisses then. In public, where people could see. Certainly, there were worse things than kissing a handsome man in public. Caleb nodded, and bit his lip at the thought of kissing Essik again. “Ja. I can do that.”

“And--drow society is not always kind to outsiders,” he ran one hand down the side of Caleb’s face. “You would-- I would expect my cousins to be better people, but I cannot promise that they would not be unkind to you. There would be--rumors and gossip, always . My immediate family in particular may not be warm or friendly, especially at first.”

“It is nothing worse than what I have already endured,” Caleb confessed. Given everything he had already lived through, he could handle a few gossiping tongues. “And you are teaching me dunamancy. I feel it is only fair for me to help you given how you have helped me.”

Essik smiled, reaching out and taking Caleb’s hand into his own. “Your hand in marriage, in exchange for dunamacy lessons?”

Caleb rolled his eyes. “Well, when you put it that way--”

“I am being serious,” Essik said softly. “You don’t know how much this means to me. You,” he stopped and squeezed Caleb’s hand. “If this works, you’ll have saved my life.”

Caleb could tell he meant those words. Whether that meant Essik would have ended his own life to avoid a loveless marriage, or if he just meant that his life wouldn’t have been worth living, Caleb couldn’t tell.

“It’s the right thing to do,” Caleb whispered. “I don’t--I am not always the best at realizing what that is at times, but I know this is right. I would want someone to do the same for me, if I were in your shoes.”

Essik kissed him again, softly this time, and he pulled away far quicker than Caleb would have liked. Instead, he took Caleb’s hands and brought them to his lips, kissing both hands, one, and then the other. “You bring me honor by considering me as a partner.”

His words sounded solemn, like those of a vow, but Caleb didn’t know the context beyond that. It felt important, however, so Caleb remained silent, and let Essik speak. “I promise you loyalty, first to my Den, of which you will become a part, then to my Dynasty, and lastly to our line, that it may be prosperous. I promise you hearth and health, for as long as I am able to provide it, and that you may always have a home in Den Theylas, no matter what life you take on next. Above all, I promise to be your partner, in life and in love, through failure, sorrow, triumph, and joy, so long as you should have me as your husband,” Essik’s face glowed slightly. He then took off his cloth belt, and wrapped the fabric tightly around Caleb’s right wrist.

They were quiet for a moment as Caleb admired the newfound cloth bound tightly along his wrist. It was dark in color, like most of the clothes Essik wore, but it was silk, a nice fabric, and there was a recognizable emblem of Den Theylas sewed on it. The wrapping was tight, but not uncomfortable, and in hindsight, Caleb had seen others with their wrists bound like this that he had passed on the street. It’s like a ring, he thought, and felt his cheeks color. “I don’t know what to say.”

“ Yes is the preferred answer, given that this was your idea,” Essik kissed his clothed hand again.

“Yes, then.”

“I imagine the Empire has a slightly different traditional proposal?”

“It’s much simpler,” Caleb felt his face flush. “But, ah, seems less romantic in comparison.”

“What’s it like?” Essik asked with curiosity, and Caleb recognized the gleam of someone who wanted to learn as a kindred spirit.

He knelt down on one knee before Essik, taking the other man’s hand into his own. “Will you marry me?” He asked, fully aware of how red his face was. Essik didn’t seem to mind, as he was still smiling at Caleb.

“Oh, much simpler,” the drow grinned, squeezing Caleb’s hand. “Yes.”

“Traditionally, I’d have a ring, too, but you caught me a bit off-guard.”

“Any ring?” Essik asked, taking one off his fingers and offering it to Caleb, who was still kneeling.

“ Nein , not quite,” Caleb laughed, putting the gold ring back on Essik’s hand, the mimicry of an actual proposal. “It should be something we pick out together.” He stood up and kissed Essik again, softly and quickly, the way he might’ve if he had actually proposed to someone.

For a moment, he imagined that it was real. That he and Essik had fallen deeply, madly in love, in such a short time that they’d known each other, and decided tonight to promise themselves to each other. He could picture it, easily. The drow shly inviting him to dinner, late one evening after a long day of dunamancy practice. After an evening of witty banter and stimulating intellectual arguments, they’d retire to Essik’s private library, where the Shadowhand would try to impress him with his collection. But for once in his life, Caleb would be more distracted by his partner than he would be the collection of books. They’d kiss then in the library, hesitant at first but growing until the late hour demanded Caleb return to the Xhorhouse, alone but gifted with an overactive imagination and the promise of a second date.

After that, their relationship would move quickly; soft, hesitant kisses exchanged for evenings spent in one another’s bedchambers. When they were exhausted, they’d trade stories and secrets to one another. In his mind, Essik accepted every dark thing Caleb had ever done, and promised to help him figure out the dunamatic magic he needed to achieve his goals.

The Mighty Nein would love him; hell, the Mighty Nein already liked Essik, a lot. He was the first invited guest into their home, and Caleb imagined that it would not take much to invite him into the fold, the way they had done with Yeza. He would get teased, of course; “Cay-leb has a boy-friend~” Jester would sing, and Caleb would blush, but Essik would be beside him, squeezing his hand gently, and it would be worth it.

It just made Caleb wish the fantasy were real , that’s all.

“I suppose the only thing left to do is to tell the family,” Caleb smiled, shaking himself out of his daydream. “Mine and yours.”

“Tomorrow night,” Essik promised, suddenly solemn. “My Den is having a gathering tomorrow night. I--if you would do me the honor of escorting me, I thought we could make the announcement there. And you could meet my family, such as they are.”

“We need to talk more before then,” Caleb agreed, leaning down to lace his fingers with Essik’s. “Get our story straight, decide on what we want to tell them. It will be easier if we go in with a plan.”

“I’d love to,” Essik let go of his hand. “But not right this second. We’re hardly alone right now, darling.”

Caleb hadn’t noticed, but at some point in the past few minutes, Yeza Brenatto had opened the door to the library, and was staring at them sheepishly.

“So, you and Essik are getting married?”

“Ja.”

“But not for real?”

“Only...sort of for real?” Caleb shrugged, leaning back against the wall of the War Room. “It’s so Essik doesn’t have to go through with an arranged marriage.”

“Are you in love?” Jester asked, teasingly.

“If anyone asks, yes.” Caleb winked at her, conspiring. “We are trying to make it look convincing.”

“Because Essik’s mother is terrible?” Beau added. “And doesn’t want him to marry a boy?”

“She wants him to have children, yes. Whether she takes issue to him marrying a boy specifically, that I do not know.”

“That’s real shitty of her,” Beau practiced punching her fist into her palm.

Caleb nodded. “I agree. It’s part of why I’m helping him.”

“Do you even like boys?” Fjord asked, with genuine curiosity in his voice. “I’ve never known you to flirt with... hell , anybody, really.”

“I like boys,” Caleb confessed. “And girls. Generally, I like pretty people. I am not terribly picky when it comes to partners.”

“That’s what Molly used to say,” Yasha smiled sadly.

“Well, he was a smart person.” And a pretty one, Caleb thought but didn’t add.

“But you used to have a girlfriend.” Nott accused him.

He didn’t particularly want to talk about Astrid again. “And now I have a boyfriend. Husband. Fiance. Whatever,” Caleb waved them off. “We’re just pretending, anyway.”

“Cause Essik’s mom is a huge homophobe and we’re not about that?” Beau grinned, spinning around in her chair. “I’m into this plan.”

“Your involvement in this plan is minuscule.”

“Still into it.”

“Well, I’m happy for you, Mr. Caleb,” Caduceus smiled into his cup of tea. “I think you and Essik will make each other real happy.”

Caleb frowned at the firbolg. “We, ah, we are only pretending to be a couple, Mr. Clay.”

“Real happy,” Caduceus repeated, and with such seriousness that Caleb wondered if he spoke the truth, or if he knew something about the future that Caleb didn’t.

Yeza raised his hand in the air like a well-trained student, unlike the rest of the Mighty Nein who had talked all at once all over each other. “Mr. Caleb, sorry, but I have a question. Wouldn’t it be better for Mr. Essik to marry both Lady Olios and yourself? You said polyamory was a thing,” he shot a look that Caleb didn’t follow towards Nott. “Wouldn’t that solve the problem better? Then his mother wouldn’t be angry.”

“I believe that he doesn’t want to do that, so we’re not going to. But it’s a good suggestion if everything goes to shit.”

“Follow up question,” Beau raised her hand, mimicking Yeza. “Is Lady Olios hot, and can Essik introduce me to her?”

Caleb sighed. “ Beauregard.”

He didn’t get the chance to chastise her further. There was a knock on the door that then opened, revealing a slightly flustered Essik. “Sorry. I know I said I was leaving, and I am , but I had a thought,” he smiled at Caleb warmly, and walked over and kissed his cheek. “Hi babe.”

Caleb winced. “ Nein . I hate it.”

“Honey?” Essik tried instead while Jester cooed at them.

“Even worse.”

“Alright. No pet names,” Essik shrugged. “I just wanted to know, do you happen to have a cloth of some sort? Something with your family’s sigil on it? It should really have your den’s emblem on it, but I was under the impression the Empire didn’t really have Dens like the Dynasty does.”

“Ah,” Caleb looked down at his Essik’s bare wrist. “For your wrist, I assume.”

Essik raised an eyebrow. “To show that I am promised to another, yes.”

“I thought we weren’t meeting your family until tomorrow night.”

“We aren’t. But I thought wearing a band now would start the rumors going at least.”

Caleb didn’t look up from the floor, feeling his cheeks burn red, as they had so often in the drow’s presence. “I, uh, I do not have a family, Essik. So I do not have any sort of cloth with my family’s insignia on it. I don’t--”

“He has a clan, though,” Fjord interrupted him unexpectedly, standing tall. “ Us . The Mighty Nein. Would that work?”

Caleb felt a surge of pride rush up into his chest. He may not have a family anymore, but he had the Nein, and that was--that was something.

Essik raised a curious eyebrow. “Do you have a cloth with the Nein’s insignia on it?”

The seven individuals (plus Yeza) who made up the the Mighty Nein all shared a look. “Not right now,” Yasha spoke first. “But I can sew.”

That was a little unexpected, but the barbarian was full of many hidden talents.

“So can I!” Jester added.

“Excellent!” Essik beamed. “It doesn’t have to be large. About yea big. You can use mine as an example,” he held up Caleb’s wrist to show the band off, his thumb placing emphasis on the emblem of Den Theylas. “The important part is that people will see it and recognize that I’m being courted by a member of your Den.”

Jester and Yasha shared a look. “We can come up with something, Caleb!” Jester offered excitedly. “That way Essik has something to wear to show off the fact that he loves you and totally wants to be your husband and that you guys are going to get married and adopt like, all of the babies, and--”

Caleb held his hand up to cover his eyes. “Jester, there can be no dicks on it.”

(“What.” Essik asked with disbelief, his eyes going from his pretend fiance to Jester and back again. “ What?”)

The tiefling immediately deflated, collapsing back into her chair with a pout and her arms crossed. “Not even a little one? Just a teeney tiny little dick?” She tried to bargain, her fingers almost pressed together in simulation of the size. Caleb shook his head no, and she huffed in response. “What could we even use as a symbol for the great Den Mighty Nein if not a tiny dick?”

Essik nearly collapsed on the floor, he was laughing so hard. “A tiny dick!” He laughed, his face a dark purple. “How scandalous! Truly, I’m marrying up in this world.”

Caleb scowled, his face still pink, and shoved his pretend fiance towards the door. “Go away. Go, do your job or something. Make enough money to support me and our nine adopted children.”

“ Nein ,” Essik howled, still laughing even as Caleb closed the door to the War Room behind him. (Or maybe it was “ Nine???” like the Shadowhand couldn’t possibly imagine his and Caleb’s imaginary union resulting in nine adopted children. It didn’t make a difference to Caleb.)

“Well, now I gotta sew a little dick on there,” Jester argued, leaning back dangerously in her chair, her arms still crossed sourly. “I’ve never seen him laugh before.”

Neither had Caleb. But he was eager to see it again.

“Are you sure about this, Caleb?” Yasha asked, questioning. “Marriage is a big deal. I know you can separate whenever you want,” she brushed her hand aside, like she didn’t quite believe what Caleb had told her. “But it’s still a big commitment. And it’s a big thing, living with someone. You really get to know them, the good and the bad.”

“I live with you all currently,” Caleb argued. “It hasn’t changed much.”

“It’s different, when you share a bedroom. And a bed,” Yasha continued. “I don’t think you are taking this seriously enough.”

“And I think all of you are underestimating what a boon it would be to have the Shadowhand’s favor,” Caleb glared a bit, leaning over the War Table. “We have been wanting to ally ourselves with the Krynn. This is just another way of doing that.”

Without speaking, Nott stood up and crawled onto the table. She walked across the War Room table, bare goblin feet trending on oak wood, until she stood face to face with Caleb. By standing on the table and with him leaning over, she was eye level with him in a way she normally wasn’t.

She took his face into her hands, and cradled it gently. “Caleb. You deserve to marry for love, sweetheart. Not political favor.”

“It’s sweet that you think anyone could ever love me, given what I’ve done,” he rested his forehead against hers.

“Caleb ,” She admonished, pulling away from him. “ I love you. Everyone here,” she gestured around to the others seated at the table. “Loves you. What makes you think that there isn’t someone out there who could love you, too? Romantically even?”

He pulled away from her further. “Nott. I’m going to marry Essik. I’m sorry if you disapprove--”

“On the contrary,” Nott interrupted him. “I like Essik. I like Essik for you, even. He’s a good boy who has supported us when we’ve needed him to. He’s smart, he’s handsome, he’s loyal. He’s everything I could ever want for you. But,” she reached out for him again. “You don’t love him, Caleb. And you deserve to have someone who loves you, like I love Yeza,” she looked back at her husband, who was smiling at her, full of pride.

“Nott has a point, Caleb,” Jester added, her voice a little sad and a little soft. “You should marry for love. In every book I’ve ever read, love is like, the greatest thing that’s out there, and Nott just made me really sad thinking that you don’t think you deserve to be loved? How could you?”

“Hang on just a second,” Fjord shook his head, a confused look on his face. “What are we even talking about love for, anyway? Caleb’s a grown man, and it’s his decision. He does Essik a solid by marrying him, and gets to learn fancy drow magic and we get in even better with the Bright Queen? I’m not seeing a downside.” Fjord rested his elbows on the table. “Maybe Caleb and Essik don’t love each other, but Essik doesn’t love this drow girl, either, and it’s not fair to make him have to get married to her if Caleb backs out of this.”

“Bingo,” Beau threw her thumb towards Fjord. “Essik’s been good to us. Better than we expected. We should help him if we can. I’m on team marry-the-pretty-drow-boy”

“I was too, until Nott started talking about how he should marry for love and stuff!” Jester argued.

“Regardless,” Caduceus stood up, scooting his chair back, towering over everyone at the table, including Nott who was still standing on the table. “It’s Caleb’s decision, ultimately. And we’ll support you, no matter what you decide.” He walked over to where Caleb was standing, and squeezed his shoulder firmly.

“I have already agreed to this,” Caleb held out his banded wrist for everyone to see, the symbol of his engagement to Essik on display. “I’m going to follow through with it.”

“Good for you,” Caduceus patted his shoulder again. “We leave for Nicodranas in five days. Do you think you’ll still be able to join us?”

“I should,” Caleb removed Caduceus’s hand from his shoulder. “I already told Essik that that was our plan.”

“Excellent!” Caduceus grinned. “I need more tea.”

With that, the large firbolg left the room, and one by one, the Mighty Nein followed, until only Caleb and Nott were still in the War Room.

“Nott---” He shook his head. “It likely won’t be forever. Either I’ll find someone, or more likely, Essik will, and we’ll separate. This is just one way I can help him and further my goals, all at once.”

“I know,” Nott said sadly, and patted his cheek again. “I just hope you don’t get your heart broken in the process.”

You could not break what you did not have, Caleb didn’t say. But he followed her out of the room regardless.

#critical role #shadowgast #caleb widogast #essik theylas #mighty nein

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