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lovelywingsart · 3 years

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Turning Cogs

-- Karl Heisenberg X OC (AFAB, She/Her) --

Remember 'Apologies'? Well, this is more or less a type of 'follow-up'! Over 20 years later. I may also make a small timeline, or an explanation post about it, but anyway-

This was also a cute fun one, and my favorite right next to 'Chase'. I just... I love cute things for them... I need more cute things for them. It makes me feel a little better.

Please, please don't hate me for what's coming next. (That is, IF I choose to post it immediately after this... I may wait a bit until another story or two is up...)

**Remember, check out the Masterlist for more! <3 **

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*Warning?: Cute sappy shit, read at your own risk eue

Summary: A 'task' given years ago leads to a small solution near the end of the line. Emmy has a gift! But what is it? What significance will it hold? Alot more than she thinks, that's for sure!

The factory ran smoothly, production went on as usual, and the hope of freedom permeated the air as the date of the 'revolution' drew near. A few days... It was only a few days. Supposedly, at least. Emelia found herself simply wandering the factory at times, much like Heisenberg himself. Sure, she worked, but it often helped ease her mind of the now constant nervous jitters she found herself experiencing. But she now currently walked with a purpose, making her way to the notorious metal man with an eager hop in her step.

As she wandered the halls, she mused to herself how great all of this had become. The factory, the creations, even the small 'bond' she shared with the man who ran it all. It wasn't much of one, she thought, but recently it had become almost... like a dream. Like an odd, welcoming dream after their talk some weeks ago. He tried... He actually did try, she noticed. After so many years, she had come know the man very well, and the small changes he had made in just a few weeks time were highly evident. She enjoyed them... Thoroughly, at that. He didn't even change himself, and it wasn't a forced change. It was... Natural.

As if the changes were being held back for years.

She found herself smiling more with him. Smiling and genuinely enjoying herself, even laughing at times when they were alone. Even the mechanical menaces didn't prove to be much of an issue lately... Even as she wandered past, the creatures simply ignored her. Sure, she was still somewhat worried about the upcoming events, but she found it easier to keep her mind off of them and relax when he was around. It was wonderful, really.

She made her way to the upper levels after a while with just the smallest bit of excitement. A small jingling in her pocket could be heard as she jogged to the elevator that boosted that feeling, and she couldn't help but smile again. She knew what the sound was... She had been thinking about the small items for years. Literal years. She kept them with her at times ever since he had given her the task well over 20 years ago, and they hadn't left her mind since. Only recently had she finally had an idea for them, and while she had initially considered it a little dumb, it was the only thing she could think of. She just hoped he would agree.

She stepped off the elevator as it creaked to a stop, making her way through more doors and halls until she finally made it to a gold and copper encased door with the 'family' crest in the middle. She paused before opening the door, running her hand along the impression of the stallion that adorned the crest. She had to admit, she had grown fond of it over the years... Knowing that it was coming to a glorious 'end' only filled her with more eagerness as she pressed her palm to the horses nose and opened the door. She was met with an echoing, deep hum of a quiet song. It was one that she recognized, and she couldn't help but join the hum as she rounded the corner. The other hum paused for only a moment, followed by a light chuckle before it continued, now with quiet words.

As she finally reached the personal workshop, she was met with Heisenberg slightly hunched over his work table, a pencil in his hands and small metal objects 'dancing' around him lazily as he sung their tune. Despite the small scraps, he was relatively calm, tilting his head as she approached. His singing only stopped with a chuckle as she casually wrapped her arms around his chest, pressing her face to the back of his neck. It was a common gesture going both ways, and she felt a scarred hand reached to hold her arm.

"Hello there." He mused, turning his head slightly.

"Why did you stop singing?" Emelia asked, being met with a chuckle.

"Because you're in the room now."

"Would you like me to leave then?"

"No, I think prefer you right here." Heisenberg chuckled, finally turning in her arms to face her. He simply leaned back against the table, wrapping one arm around her waist while using the other to direct the scraps to float around them. "Is there something you needed?"

She watched the scraps flutter as if they were moths, tilting her head slightly.

"I came to tell you something. Or... 'give', rather." She said simply, her eye moving to meet his as she leaned against him. He raised a brow in interest.

"Oh?" He said, pausing his hand movements for a moment. "And what could you possibly have to give me?"

She couldn't help but give a small smile, carefully taking a step back, careful not to hit one of the scraps.

"Do you remember that... 'task' years ago? With the defect cogs?"

He watched her for a moment, light confusion entering his features. The cogs... Cogs?? Wait, those cogs??? She couldn't have POSSIBLY meant THOSE cogs. He vaguely remembered the situation, and his nose scrunched.

"Emmy, that was... That was how long ago??" He said, crossing his arms slightly.

"A few years..."

"A few??"

"Ok, more than a few. But that's besides the point." She shook her head reaching into her pocket almost hesitantly. "I believe I found something for them..."

Heisenbergs brows raised in legitimate surprise.

"You what???" He asked, slowly lowering the scraps to the floor as Emelia took hold of something In her pocket. He shook his head. "There... You couldn't have. That task was a joke. A test to see what you would do under stress."

"Well, I didn't take it as one." She shrugged. "You're a sneaky twit, Heisenberg. I wasn't going to let an obvious trick sway me."

"It seemed to 'sway' you back then." He smirked lightly, nearly laughing at the sudden redness that entered her cheeks as vivid memories played in her mind. She rolled her eye and pulled her hand out, her fist curled around something.

"'Tricks' aside, I never stopped thinking about it, and I've finally thought of something." She said, ignoring the knowing chuckle he gave. She cleared her throat slightly, looking at her hand. "Just... promise you won't laugh."

"Why would I ever laugh at you, Emelia?" He mused, only to chuckle again and hold up his arms as she glared at him. "Alright, alright, I'm done. What did you think of?"

"Well..." she started, taking a breath. "I was looking at them, and the holes went all the way through to the other sides, and had some other small ones. They were pretty useless for most things I could come up with, but..."

She opened her hand, letting something fall and clink together- hanging from her fingers were the cogs, each carefully welded to three smaller cogs and wrapped with thin, copper wire, with a thick, black string through the main defective holes. Each main cog held a small bit of red stone in the middle, adding a small bit of color to the otherwise metallic items. She brought them slightly closer to her chest, a deeper blush forming on her face as she watched Heisenbergs eyes widen with simultaneous surprise and interest. Emelia cleared her throat slightly.

"I, um... I'm not the best or most creative, I suppose... and I had the string Donna gifted me, with some of the glass pieces from the Reservoir... I found the wire pieces around here..." she managed, looking at the small necklaces. "It's... It's not much..."

She fell silent for a moment, looking up at the man in front of her. She couldn't tell what he was thinking. His face held a strange mixture of emotion as he held out a hand, beckoning her forward. She held out the hand with the necklaces as she moved, swallowing hard as his fingers gingerly went behind one of the pieces and brought it forward to inspect it.

"... You actually made these?" He asked. She nodded.

"Just some minor welding and scrap melts for the smaller ones..." she replied quietly, watching as his eyes seemed to inspect every small detail. She then frowned slightly. "I... I-I'm sorry, it's... They're stupid-"

"No, no... Not stupid..." he said quietly, now holding both. Each of the smaller cogs were made of different mixed materials, providing an interesting effect once they hit the light. "They're... Impressive."

She perked up slightly.

"Really...?"

He nodded.

"Why are there two?" He asked, glancing up at her with interest. She worked her jaw slightly.

"I... I thought maybe... um..." she tried, avoiding his gaze. "I thought... perhaps... we could each have one... maybe?" She managed, her voice quiet.

There was silence for a few moments, and she could feel his gaze as he fully looked at her. It wasn't until he chuckled that she looked at him, surprised to see a grin on his face.

"Brilliant idea, Emmy." He said, trailing one of the strings up to where her hand held them to carefully remove one from her grip. She stared at him.

"... Really?"

"Sure!" He chuckled, bringing the one he held close to his face to look over it once more. "May I ask what the inspiration was?"

"I... didn't really have one..." she replied, only to go rigid as he reached forward and took hold of her arm to pull her closer.

"Hm." He gave a hum, looking at her once more. "I'd say your pretty creative, Emmy, not even I could think of this."

"It only took me 20 years..." she managed to joke, tilting her head as he held the string open on the necklace he held. "What are you doing-"

She stopped as he reached forward, her face heating up as he simply rested the necklace around her own neck. She looked down as his hands traced the string, caressing the small gears before resting it against her chest.

"I think it suits you." Heisenberg chuckled, holding his hands to the side as if he had achieved something grand with slipping it on. Emelia couldn't help but give a light snort, keeping her eye on it.

"I suppose so..." she replied simply, her eye moving to the one she still held. She was quiet for a moment before taking a breath, doing the same with the second necklace.

She turned it and held it up to his head, opening the string. He was still as she managed to slip it around his own neck, nearly chuckling with amusement as she watched it rest against the necklaces he already wore. She took her hands away, tilting her head as she looked at it. It didn't look TOO odd against the other items...

"Suits you, too..." she said quietly, her hands resting along his chest. He nearly laughed.

"Well congratulations, your task is complete. I'll be damned." He snorted, finally setting his hands on her hips. "Good work."

"You're just saying that..." she chuckled, looking up at him. He shrugged.

"I mean it." He suddenly gave a genuine smile. One she could see in his eyes, and it made her breath catch in her throat. "Thank you, Emelia."

She couldn't help but return the smile, slowly wrapping her arms around his shoulders in a tight hug. He returned the action, his arms surrounding her waist as he pressed his face to her shoulder.

"You're an odd one, Emmy." He nearly whispered.

She could feel his smile against her skin as she chuckled, resting her chin on his own shoulder.

"So are you, Heisenberg." She replied. "You're the oddest one of them all."

"Ah, I beg to differ." He chuckled, using his hand to raise the small scraps from before into the air again, twirling his finger slightly to make them circle the two slowly. Emelia kept her smile, turning her head to bury her face into his neck.

"Beg then, Metalhead."

"Hm." He hummed, pressing a light kiss to the side of her neck. "I think I will."

She lifted her head to question, only to let out a surprised yelp as he suddenly hoisted her over his shoulder.

"Karl!!!"

"Aht aht, no fighting!" He chimed, amused as she started to squirm before he began walking to the side door of the workshop. She only stopped squirming momentarily with a surprised laugh as he pinched her side.

"The bloody hell are you doing?!" She tried, unable to hide her own amusement as he kicked open the door and went down the small hall leading to the 'living quarters'.

"Guess this really does make you the 'lady' of the factory then, yeah?" He joked. She squirmed again, earning another pinch.

"Call- HEY- C-Call me a 'lady' again and see what happens...!!" She laughed, only to nearly stumble back as he suddenly heaved her down, holding into him to keep her balance. She was met with a quick kiss, keeping the smile on her face.

"Fine then, the 'wench' of the factory." He joked, letting out his own laugh as she smacked his shoulder.

"That's even worse you twit!"

"Ah, no need for that, Emmy!"

He nudged her forward, giving another quick kiss before she nearly fell over as the edge of the bed hit the back of her legs.

"Are you mad?!" She laughed, nearly falling back as he nudged her again. Instead she just flopped back, holding out her arms for him as he crawled over her with a chuckle.

"I was planning on taking a break anyway." He replied simply before falling to his side next to her. She chuckled as his arms suddenly went around her, bringing her tightly to his chest.

"I still have work to do!" She argued, though didn't actively try to get away. Instead, she cuddled to his chest as he snorted.

"Doesn't seem like you're all too concerned about it, Doll."

"Maybe because you're warmer than the Foundry."

"I'll take that at a compliment."

"As you should."

She couldn't help but relax in his arms, her gaze drifting to the gear necklace around his neck. It made her feel... proud. Proud and another feeling she couldn't quite pin down. She reached up and caressed it lightly, feeling as he looked down.

"You really like them...?" She asked quietly, only to jump as he cupped her chin and had her look at him.

"I love them." He replied, pressing a kiss to her forehead. "Stay here for a while, we'll get back to work soon."

She was silent with a smile, nodding and nuzzling under his chin carefully before wrapping her own arm around him.

"Fine... I get to decide the next break time, then." She said. He chuckled.

"It's a deal."

#resident evil #resident evil village #re8 #resident evil oc #resident evil village oc #re8oc #resident evil village fanfiction #karl heisenberg #lord heisenberg #re8 heisenberg #heisenberg #heisenberg x oc #karl heisenberg x oc #lovelywingsart #lovelywingsocs #Metalworks fanfiction #heisenberg fanfiction

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eerythingisshaka · 5 years

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The Coffee Prince XII

(T’Challa x Reader)

Word Count: 5.9K

*Part 1* *Part 2* *Part 3* *Part 4* *Part 5* *Part 6* *Part 7* *Part 8* *Part 9* *Part 10* *Part 11*

You look at a bowl of stew that in every way should be delectable and nutritious. Just the right balance of vegetable and meat so that it isn’t heavy on your stomach. Protein for energy, ruffage for vitamins and regularity, with a salty, rich broth to wash it on down. A thick slice of bread sits on a plate to the side.

T’Challa takes a spoon and dips it into the bowls contents, collecting a bit of everything for a handsome bite. “This I swear is my best batch yet.”

He clinks the back of the spoon against the ceramic. “Ok, yesterday we got one bite. Today we will at least get two.” He says brightly looking at you as he aims the utensil towards your mouth.

You turn to look at the floor as your stomach lurches. “I don’t want it.”

T’Challa’s mouth flies open, taking the spoon back with a flinch. “Bast! Is that that lovely voice I have missed for over 24 hours now?”

His happiness over you speaking does not catch on with you. You sigh with exhaustion. “Please, don’t talk to me like that. Like I’m a four year old.”

T’Challa sets the spoon back in the bowl, look satisfied with himself. “I know, I’m just glad that you said something, even at my annoyance.”

T’Challa wouldn’t be able to handle half the feelings you have concerning him everyday since waking up. You feel agitated, weak, tired and most of those symptoms would be cleared up with a meal. But the food was not going to get past the rock in your throat you constantly held whenever your mind thought about Bean. And you never stopped.

“I don’t want to eat anything.” You say in a low voice.

He sighs deeply. “Fine. That’s you choice for now. But you need something, so I’ll get you a nutrient patch.”

Getting up from his stool, T’Challa walks around the kitchen island to open a heavy ornate cabinet door to pull out a small box. Clicking open the lid, a small card-like piece pops up like a jack in the box, which he retrieves. He comes over to you.

“I’m going to need to pull you shirt up, ok?” T’Challa says quietly. You say nothing do nothing as he lifts the bottom of your blouse. The sound of adhesive peeling fills the silence as you feel his fingers creating stability on your back to place it.

“T’Challa, how long have I been here for?” You ask in a daze.

T’Challa rubs the patch onto you. “You do not have to think about that right now.”

“But I’m asking.” You say, rubbing your throat. It feels rough and dry, making you wince.

T’Challa pulls your shirt down, noticing this action. “Do you need water?” T’Challa asks, retrieving a glass before you can even answer.

His selective kindness is immediately irritating. “I told you what I want.” You say gravely as T’Challa shuts off the faucet turning to you. His sunny disposition becoming cloudy.

“I heard you. But...with all that has happened, I want to make sure you are well enough before going into it any specific details.”

You close your eyes in thought. If you had the strength you would do you best to snatch him across the table, no matter if it was a losing fight on your side. You can’t stand this side of him. “I just lost my baby after being punched in the stomach before I thought you were dying in front of my eyes....I think I can handle a little chronology added to that mix!” You hissed, pushing the bowl across the counter as the broth spills. You could care less how he felt about you, he’s kept you in the dark far too long.

T’Challa’s face drops with disappointment. Instead of entertaining your outburst, he brings the glass next to you. “You are tired. I know you didn’t rest last night, I heard you talking in your sleep and you were sweating.”

You grunt, holding your face in your hands. “All I do is rest. I’ve been resting for an UNKNOWN amount of time so I’m probably resting too much. Don’t you think? Mr. Know Everything, Says Nothing?”

T’Challa cocks his head to one side, studying your face blankly. “Would you like to go for a walk instead?” T’Challa asks calmly.

You turn your body to get up from the chair, T’Challa coming around hastily to hold your hand. You want to swipe it away, tell him to back off. You’re not made of glass, you won’t break. You only lost a pregnancy, it happens everyday. You’re still alive, but he keeps treating you like you’re a feather on a windy day, frantically grasping at you.

Instead you say, “Sure. A walk sounds great. A change of scenery can keep my mind off other things.” You come to a standing and feel something release, holding your stomach as an odd sensation trickles beneath you, a stark reminder of what you’re still going through. “Let me just go freshen up first.”

When you make it outdoors, you and T’Challa walk side by side separately. The sun is high but the heat isn’t offensive. You both walk across a clearing of high grass, tickling the exposed skin in your sandals. Every time a part of your body grazed his, you bristle, not wanting to insinuate that it was purposeful. You could see the hurt in his eyes from not taking his arm when he asked, but you were tired of feeling a rehabilitated bird. He has become so coddling, which you guess is not far from how he’s always been. But it isn’t nice now, nor does it feel secure.

“Thank Bast for such a wonderful day out. The sky is clear and the sun shines on us generously.” T’Challa opines. You squint at the sky, feeling the strain from being indoors so long.

“Mm,” is about all you can muster..

T’Challa looks at you as you look on. “How are you currently?”

“Hm! You wanna know, huh?” The grandeur of your tone drips with sarcasm.

“I’ve only ever wanted to know how you’re doing.”

You shrug. “I’ve been better.”

“Be more specific, uhmle.” T’Challa insists.

You scoff, tossing your hands up. “T’Challa, I don’t think there is much else for me to say when nothing I’ve asked has been answered.”

T’Challa sighs. “Isn’t mystery the spice of life?”

“And isn’t transparency the key to a healthy relationship? You think keeping shit from me has worked well enough for you up til now? See, that’s what I have been trying to say, but you won’t listen!” You say, flipping the switch on your anger quickly. .

T’Challa raises his hands in surrender. “I do, I hear you. Like anything else, there is a time and place. Maybe we can ease into this conversation. I just don’t want you to get upset in your condition.”

“Who is gonna hear us out here, T’Challa? We have privacy! And I have no condition, I just don’t have no baby.” You say flippantly.

“(Y/N)!” He snaps your name up at your quip. “Do not downplay your importance to what has been lost. That was not your fault.”

“Was it not?? As blurry as it may be in my memory, the one thing that keeps playing in my head is if I hadn’t insisted on you going to fight Erik, our child may still be coming.”

T’Challa closes his eyes shaking his head. “Erik was planning carnage whether things went his way of not! Until M’Baku helped to subdue him, we would have woken up to a very different Wakanda.”

You are disbelieving. “I know there’s a greater good, silver lining to all of this but I’m...really in a selfish mode right now, ok? I don’t wanna know about Wakanda, or Erik right now. Tell me, moment by moment what happened leading up to me waking up in bed?”

Just then T’Challa’s kimoyo beads trill, breaking the stand off in his favor.

“You forgot your kimoyo beads at home again?”

You shrink a little at his mention of home. Wakanda had become more of a place of asylum, just a means of protection and rehabilitation. Somewhere you go for a necessity and count the days in which the worst is over and you can be free.

“It’s hard to remember. I’m not a big jewelry wearer.” You mumble.

T’Challa brings up a hologram of Shuri. “Good Afternoon, sister.”

“Yes, yes. I’m not here for you. (Y/N) won’t answer. Have you seen her?”

T’Challa turns his body so Shuri can see the both of you.

You feign a smile. “I’m here! Sorry, just forgetful, no danger.”

Shuri sighs in relief. “Ok, I will just outfit you with an older model of the kimoyos. I phased them out a couple years ago, but it’s in a necklace form so maybe you are less tempted to take it off. Come see me when you get the chance.”

“I’ll be there soon!” You exclaim.

T’Challa starts. “And Shuri, have you got a chance to show me your remodels for the heli-”

“Brother, use the brain Bast gave you to figure it out. You have the time and capacity to do that without me, right? Or ask Okoye to help you.”

“I’m not putting my time into anything but (Y/N) right now.” T’Challa whines.

You bristle at this. “I don’t need supervision and frankly, I’m done talking anyway.”

T’Challa stutters slightly. “I did not mean that you need watching over!”

Shuri hangs up in the midst of the spat. T’Challa faces you, clearly exasperated as you lay into him.

Not letting up, you say, “You’re acting as if I’m a ticking time bomb, but I’m fine! I have no issues to reconcile except for piecing together a timeline to find out what happened to get us here!”

“And why is that so important to you? Why can we not move forward and learn how we should do things since what happened? You want to dig up pain again that hasn’t fully healed, what good does that do?”

“SO I CAN KNOW WHAT WENT WRONG!! I thought I was doing everything right! I thought that you could handle yourself and protect me and Bean and then things went south so fast and all I remember is waking up and the flutter is gone! And I keep pinching and prodding and wishing…” You rub your stomach like a magic lamp. “...praying that it’s all a dream and that he’s still here inside of me.”

“He?” T’Challa questions.

You close your eyes and walk past him slowly, cancelling out the natural noise around you. “So beautiful. Your eyes. A complexion so beautiful and deep, like their skin drinks sunshine. Hair still loose, not yet curling. Chubby, fussy, but happy…”

When you open your eyes you stop in your tracks. The way the wind blew against your skin, the temperature of the air. The sun had risen in just the right spot in the sky, making you squint and hide your face before you feel your emotions crash from inside, hurling yourself to your knees.

T’Challa catches your arm, willing you to stand. “(Y/N)! Are you in pain? What is going on?”

You gulp between sobs and somehow manage words in the midst. “This…..dream...here...”

“I’ll take you to the hospital ward. You are not making sense.” T’Challa says.

“I won’t go! You don’t care, you don’t understand!” You tear at the sweet grass around you before rising up, swallowing your breakdown like a horse pill. He doesn’t understand, he won’t. Not now. “I’m going to Shuri now. Do not follow me, I am serious as hell about that T’Challa. Don’t!” You point at him. You can't dwell on the hurt on his face as he stood completely gutted of power by you. But you weren’t on the same page with T’Challa anymore. He is treating you like a child at every turn like he is trying to keep you from knowing Santa isn’t real and you were sick of it. You need a break, and surely Shuri would be the best option.

As you approach her lab, Shuri meets you at the entrance with a concerned look. “Hey how are you? Did something happen?”

You sigh. “Kind of.”

Shuri walks you in. “Well first let’s get some business taken care of. Here is your personal kimoyo device to stay in communication with us. Don’t want to lose you, Wakanda can be a bit of a sensory overload at times.” Shuri walks you up to a table with a silver looking necklace with a simple looking flat teardrop pendant decorated with Wakandan markings in a raised middle section in its center.

You admire it as Shuri hands it to you to put on. “This is so beautiful! How is this not in circulation anymore?”

Shuri shrugs. “A little too expensive to reproduce in mass, somewhat impractical, especially for more active members of society. My mother loved it so much, I had to unplug the thing to her to finally give it up.”

“I can understand it. Thanks, I won’t take it off, no doubt.” You was, caressing the heavy cold metal on your chest.

A moment of silence passed between you. Looking around the magic that is her lab, places you in a state of awe.

“Shuri, I don’t know if I told you but your lab has to be the coolest thing I have seen in this country since I’ve been here.”

Shuri twists he lean body with elated humility. “Aw, why thank you (Y/N). The renovations are all mine. I want to work efficiently but not without style, you know? The vibranium mines are highlighted in the walls instead of hidden and fleshed out. Kind of like an ode to what stabilizes us. What we have been blessed with to be able to succeed.”

You look out of a window that shows the train of vibranium passing newly mined material from one end to another. Advancements you never seen in America is right here under your feet in the motherland.

“What could’ve been…I’ve fallen so much in love with the people here, the culture. I know I haven’t been available to really enjoy it but-”

You hear Shuri’s tongue clicking as she comes up beside you. “Don't beat yourself up about that. You came here on an unfortunate circumstance but you are welcome to stay for as long as you care to. You have been a light in my brother’s life and if I can say you are cool, that is a compliment worth something around here. T’Challa hasn’t even earned that yet.”

You make a small smile. “He’s cool to me.”

Shuri smirks at you before saying, “So, do you mind me asking why your little eyes are so red and puffy? Unless you have very active allergies that flare in the moments between my call and now, which we do have remedies for that are literally 100% effective.”

“For real? I mean, I do have allergies but, I won’t lie that’s not why I’m red eyed.” You sigh heavily as the words get stuck in your throat.

Shuri puts a hand on your arm. “You can talk to me. I won’t hinder you with any biases or opinions. You’ve been through a lot already, the worst is over. Now’s the time for healing, right?”

Her words are soft in nature but break you instantly. You crumble like a toddler skinning their knee on the pavement as Shuri, a girl about half your age takes you in her arms like a mother who knows. You sob against her as you try and deliver your feelings as clearly as you can while she affirms you gently. Her kindness is overwhelming and insight unmatched as you finally feel your sadness and concern and anger and frustration spill out in waves.

“Ok...ok...shhh.” Shuri gives you gentle pats on your back. “Let’s sit down here for a second, eh?”

She takes you to a more private nook in her lab for you to sit, handing you a handkerchief.

“I don’t know where that came from, I’m sorry.” You sniffle.

Shuri looks you over with pity. “I have a feeling. You know the weeks you have had here? It’s crazy for anyone to go through.”

You sober up a bit to take in what she is saying. “Weeks, you say?”

Shuri looks down at her lap. “You suffered a lot. Some of what we had to do was put you into an induced coma of sorts. The miscarriage was well before that though, which is why we put you under. To dull the breakdown as much as possible.”

You sputter. “Bu-but what about my-my life? I can’t be just anywhere for weeks without no one knowing! My job, I’m fired!”

Shuri raises her hands. “We took care of that. You will have employment when you return. We made sure your apartment is secure as well.”

You squeeze and knead your temples. “This is completely nuts. I’ve lost...how many weeks exactly?”

“About 2 ½. Did T’Challa not-”

You hold a hand up. “Don’t get me started on that. He is so damn...secretive. About everything! He keeps telling me no like it’s for my benefit but-”

“Oh my dear, how are you?” Queen Mother Ramonda says coming around to join you both out of nowhere.

“Hello mother! It is so good to have you here!” Shuri says jovially.

“I came as soon as I heard.” She says, having a royal flourish of a seat and placing a hand in yours.

You feel even better with Queen Mother’s energy beside you. “Did T’Challa speak with you about me being here?” You ask.

“No! Shuri did. Just a couple minutes ago.” She says with a smile.

You look at Shuri and feel slightly embarrassed. Shuri shrugs at you. “I apologize, but soon as you collapsed into my arms weeping, I knew I was out of my element and needed back up.”

“My daughter is beyond her years in intelligence, but she knows when to call for mother still.” Queen Mother says with a prideful smile. “Tell me, are you well?”

You look down at your lap, biting back your lip as you refuse to speak. The strain in your throat threatened your speech pattern anyhow and you were tired of talking like a drowning muppet.

Queen Mother’s hand clutches your chin, raising your face gently. She looks into your eyes with a concerned expression, searching your face for clues that you don’t speak of as you admire her ageless complexion.

“You are broken, my child, I know. This all happened too fast, but you are in love with my son and I feel that. From him and you. But you are not conveying the whole truth.”

You move your face from her hand with a tight jaw. It’s painful for you to be seen so transparently.

She nods. “Ah, and he is not either still, I assume? You are either very good at body language, or very bad at a poker face.”

Shuri snorts but straightens up as her mother’s gaze makes her.

“I don’t want to keep going over the same things in my head. But I can’t get past it.” You sigh.

“Well it over an accumulation of days ago! For you it was like yesterday, of course you can not move past it!” Queen Mother exclaims.

You slap your leg. “Thank you! It’s just hard to think I’m right when T’Challa keeps asking me have I eaten or if I want to do stuff, but soon as I ask about what has happened, anything related to that, he goes shuts down on me. I don’t know why he won’t talk to me about it.”

She nods. “And you should not have to beg him for that information.” She pauses. “I would not take his checking in on you in offense, he does want the best for you overall. And he knows your pain. It was his first too.”

Your heart skips at this notion. You and T’Challa seems to be on two entirely different planets now, it seemed more foreign to remember you both shared an experience, but your coping mechanisms refuse to blend. “I know, and I appreciate it.”

“However, he will need to be more open or you will never have this loose end fastened in your memory. You will resent him. He may not be ready to look back but he needs to know that you are serious. I would recommend you not retreating. If there is anything additional you want insight on, we could help you to know it.”

“No, that’s ok. I’ll see how far I can get with him. Thanks you guys, I think I’ll go.” You stand a little too quickly and feel a sharp squeeze in your abdomen.

“Be careful! You still have a lot of healing to do.”

You nod. “Most definitely…Queen Mother? I want to tell you something I haven’t told T’Challa.”

Her eyes widen but appears eager. “Go on.”

“I saw Bean...um I mean the baby.”

“How?!” Shuri exclaims. “It would not have developed discernible features for another two weeks.”

“It wasn’t in real life! But in some sort of vision. It had to have been when I was knocked out, but...he was so beautiful. And healthy. And ours.” You smile weakly in the place of peace you enjoyed then, Queen Mother bowing her head and clasping her hands. “But I can’t tell him that.”

“Why not? It is your truth, and if it causes you pain, he would surely know of it too. You must share it with him as you have us.”

You shake your head. “He won’t get it. Maybe call Shuri for doctors to evaluate my brain even. He hasn’t even mentioned Bean since all of this. How could he avoid it?”

“That is how he operates. For example he does not speak of half the shames I have put him through with test driving the new technology I work up. Thank Bast for healing or he would be a puddle of jelly by now. He would never tell you that though. He keeps a strong face.” Shuri grabs your shoulder. “But he has a good heart. You stole his so easily, I know you can work your magic to freeze him again.”

You give them both a hug and thank them before getting ready to leave.

Shuri stops you for one more thing. “Before you go, I know you will need some more of these, just let me know if you ever want to try our brand. It will last ages longer than those, but they take some getting use to,” handing you a box of sanitary napkins.

“Thanks.” You tap the box anxiously, not moving from your spot as something inside urges you to speak up. “Before I go, I wondered if you all could answer one question for me. Maybe two…”

Back at your spot with T’Challa, you walk in and see him sitting on the couch, staring towards the outside scenery of the open balcony.

You make your way to lean over the back of the couch. “Hey.”

He looks back nonchalantly. “Good to see you are back.”

“You didn’t call me at all while I was gone. I’m surprised.” You say walking around to sit on the couch, a couple cushions away.

He shrugs. “I know you are in good hands. I also do not want to treat you like a child, uhmle.”

“You don’t. I know you’re just being protective and caring.”

“I am learning to build my trust in you as well. We have some growing to do there, and I accept my responsibility in that front,:

“Hm.”

“What do you mean by that, ‘hm’” He asks.

“I think it’s good to have that trust between us. I’m so happy that you’re finding growth within yourself to find it in me but...my process isn’t the same as yours.”

“That’s fine!”

“Is it? So far we haven’t been on the same wave and it doesn’t seem ok. I’m short with you, you’re impatient with me. Communication breaks down all around and then…”

T’Challa reaches towards you. “That is just what a relationship is about. We learn about each other’s language and what works. It’s not always easy.”

“It’s not always easy but I could’ve made it easier by not jumping in to stop things I couldn’t. And you could have if you had let me know the full story of who you are!”

Your voice echoes off the walls causing a lull in the conversation. T’Challa starts again in a low calm tone.

“I accept my part in this. And I’m even open to speak about what happened, fully. But I won’t let you blame yourself.”

“Oh? Well don’t worry I’m doing plenty for the both of us.”

“Why are you being this way? You didn’t ask for Erik to find you, or for your friend to turn on you. None of this was in your control!”

“But I didn’t have to enter his room when no one was around! I didn’t have to sympathize for Tavia when my chance to take her out was there. I didn’t have to recommend you fight Erik or interfere with the fight and lose my son’s life!”

T’Challa looks to you confused. “You knew what Bean was?”

You laugh uncontrollable. “Wow! You remembered him! This is the first time I’ve heard you mention him since I lost the flutter in my stomach T’Challa, I hope you know.”

He starts to retreat, but turns to you again. “Do not do that.”

“Do what! State the obvious? You’ve completely forgotten him, all you talk about is me. But when I’m sitting in my own skin all I can think about is what could’ve been with you and with him.”

“How could I forget either of you in a matter of days! I watched you in a comatose state as we tried to save you and Bean before it was certain it was too late. You weren’t with me physically, but I held your hand, nursed you as best I could until I was dragged away to heal my own wounds and get some rest. As much as I loved Bean, I could not bear to lose you in the process. So no, there is not a second Bean leaves my memory because they...HE...is so attached to YOU. I didn’t want to lose you but all of this has made me lose some of you already. I can’t imagine heaven with the two of you because I was in hell.”

You stand there in shock, your aggressiveness breaking under his candidness. “T’Challa...our walk today made me remember him. I saw him when I was out, in the coma. When I was out, we lived a whole life with our baby, it was so sweet and free….it is too jarring to wake up from that to be in pain with nothing to show for it but the constant bloody reminder of what was. I don’t know how I’ll recover T’Challa, I truly don’t.”

He hugs you tightly. You allow yourself to enjoy his embrace, let him protect you from yourself. “I don’t mean to hurt you by not talking about our Bean. I know how much you were connected to him for the short time he was growing in you. I was excited ever since the announcement was made.”

“Yeah?” You sniffle.

“Of course, are you kidding? Uhmle, I am in love with you, and that will not change. Any part of you is precious to me. And the fact that we made a life, unplanned as it may have been, it was ours. And I’ll speak for myself when I say I am devoted. I have a strong feeling though that you feel the same.”

“I...I do. I feel myself loving you with every kindness you show me. When we met, I thought it was infatuation because I hadn’t had luck with dating and felt a bit insecure about my appearance and who I am. But I learned more about what makes me a...good person.”

“You can say it.”

“What?”

“...bad bitch.”

“Uh!” You smack his arm in protest, laughing for the first time in a while.

T’Challa holds you close to him. “Can you call my name?”

“What are you talking about?”

“You haven’t called me by my name in I don’t know how long. It’s quirky but it’s yours for me. I’d feel better to hear it.”

You furrow your brow with confusion. “I’m not sure what you mean, but maybe we can figure it out with some music for us to...ChaCha to.”

You both laugh as he snaps his fingers to play The Internet’s ‘Shadow Dance’.

“Ohhh, my song!” You say as Syd’s vocals circle around you two. T’Challa takes his hand in yours, while his other finds your waist to begin a sway. You rest against his shoulder, feeling his heartbeat in your ear, steady and strong. Your mind is eased into the moments of sweet bliss you both shared: first date, first kiss, first...and through it all he still knows what makes you swoon. He’s so perfect to you, and you are perfect to him.

“I remember Tavia being into this song as well.”

You and T’Challa continue to sway, he kisses your forehead gently.

“She wasn’t as big a fan of them as me, but this song got to her.”

T’Challa gently drops his hands from your body and takes a step back. You cross your arms in front of yourself feeling anxious but brave.

“What are you saying?” T’Challa says with a suspicious squint.

You shrug, snapping your fingers to shut the music off.

He shakes a finger at you. “It is never nothing, you are going around it. Tell me straight out.”

You pace around, in a lioness kind of way, inspecting your prey. “For how long I have been here and for what has happened I feel like you know what I am asking for.”

“You don’t get what you don’t ask for.” T’Challa seethes.

“However you know exactly-”

“DON’T TELL ME WHAT I KNOW!” T’Challa yells. You practically jump out of your skin, backing away from his offending volume. His body didn’t strain or shake to let out his anger in his tone but just as quickly as it expelled, he reeled it back in.

“I am...I apologize for my outburst.”

You scoff. “You think that scared me? Try a gun in my mouth next time, that might get you somewhere.”

“(Y/N), it is not like I want to hurt you! But you will not be around those people while I have you under my care.”

“Oh? Your care?”

“Don’t go there again!” T’Challa demands.

“I have! This whole damn time I have! I told you over and over again to stop treating me like damaged goods, treat me like you love me! And I told you what I need but you won’t listen!”

“I have….and I’m telling you no.”

You blink a couple times incredulously. “No? Like just....no? My friend is alive and here and I want to see her and how she is, but you’re saying no?”

“She is not your friend!”

“She is the only person I know here!” You yell out.

T’Challa’s mouth hangs open. “Don’t you...know me?”

Your mind goes a thousand miles a minute thinking of all the ways you could read him down, give him his rights, and set him on fire for a Viking funeral. How dare he, how could he be so oblivious.

“You never let me. I will see her, whether you like it or not. I’m going to bed, I don’t want to discuss this no more.”

As you walk away across the living room and to the corridor leading to the master bedroom, T’Challa calls out.

“You will not see her. I’ve already put in word to anyone who knows that they be uncooperative with information regarding her whereabouts or you visiting. She is a prisoner of Wakanda, a terrorist. She is the reason we do not have Bean. I will not move on this, understand?”

You don’t turn around. His voice reverberates along the walls of the corridor you stand still in, amplifying his role of playing God over your decisions here in Wakanda. You had enough: enough of him and enough of this place.

As you lay in bed you feel his weight on the other side of it and roll your eyes instinctively. Of course the King can’t sleep on the couch in his humble abode. He doesn’t dare reach out to touch you however. The chilly shoulder you give him for the remainder of the evening is clue enough that he ought not try it. He probably thinks this will all blow over in the morning, and if he does? You’d be on the first heliplane back to America quicker than he can put on his catsuit.

T’Challa snores gently into the night and you can’t sleep. The bed is overly comfortable but your body won’t let you enjoy it’s luxury, so you fling the covers off to get up, putting on your shoes.

“Where are you going?” T’Challa asks in a groggy voice.

You finish up with your shoes, putting on a robe. “I am out of feminine napkins thingies, so I’m going to get some from one of Shuri’s assistants.”

He begins to sit up, scratching his bare chest. “I could get them for you, save your steps.”

“It’s ok, they are already expecting me and I’m wide awake. You need to rest yourself, go back to sleep.”

T’Challa rolls over and does just that. First time you all agreed on something this entire time.

You walk over to Shuri’s lab and see Shuri and Okoye and Ayo standing in the middle of the floor, all turning at once when you step in.

“Does he know?” Shuri asks.

You shake your head. “Sleep like a baby and known the wiser.”

Okoye nods. “Good. Just remember, this is no more than a ten minute outing. You will be timed and escorted out at once. Clear?”

You nod your head. “As a deer in headlights.”

Okoye gives some instruction to Ayo in Xhosa as Shuri wishes you luck with a hug. The three of you begin a journey down past the ground floor, to the underground. Deep within the mountain in which you have been staying in is the mines where all the raw vibranium is kept.

Approaching the main deck, many folks of the Mining Tribe walk past you all, covered in soot and glowing blue flakes on their protective garments.

“They all work in the mines?” You ask out loud.

“These are maintenance people. We have automatic machines that mine the vibranium for us, but the machines need upkeep.” Ayo responds. “The prisoner would be part of the clean up crew for them: organizing spare parts and recycling broken ones.”

They lead you to a door, swiping an object at a sensor near the knob to open it. A person sits inside greeting them.

“Please dismiss the prisoner for us to interrogate. We won’t be long,” Okoye commands. The person in the booth, pushes some buttons and talks into a mic.

“Prisoner Tavia Reed, report to holding quarters.”

Masterlist

RagTag

@sweetpeachjones@scrumptiouslytenaciouscrusade@universalbri@therevolution-willbelive@you-like-this-chain @sarcastic-sunshines@airis-paris14@afraiddreamingandloving@kreolemami@lalapalooza718@syreanne@thiccdaddy-mbaku@she-is-golden @wakanda-inspired@90sinspiredgirl@bidibidibombaclaat@sithlordslut@brujademente@chaneajoyyy@slimmiyagi @lewatigress @shesakillerkween @queentearra @fiercedeception @yaachtynoboat711 @yofavcocoa @katasstrophey @zxddy-panther @babygirlofwakanda@destinio1 @heyauntieeee @ambthegamer @savageiz@klaine15689 @nickidub718 @dramaqueenamby

#the coffee prince #t'challa fanfic #black panther fanfic #shakafic

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journeysintowebcomics · 5 years

Text

Worm Liveblog #112

UPDATE 112: The Impostor

Last time Skitter had escaped Calvert’s trap through the use of sheer cleverness and a whole lot of luck. Now she’ll try to get back to the rest of the team, to try to tell them Calvert is no longer someone they should be with, what with his flagrant betrayal. This is bound to be pretty difficult, though! So let’s continue.

Finding the rest of the Undersiders was easier than expected, thanks to Calvert’s need to keep an eye on them, especially now that he knows Skitter possibly would go try to warn them. The groups of soldiers nearby are alert, and I won’t be surprised if at some point they’re asked to take action against the Undersiders. I for one hope the costumes Skitter made for them will be effective against those bullets too. It depends on the armor, really.

Calvert had dropped me in Genesis’ territory. It was about as far away as I could be from where I wanted to be, about ten minutes drive down Lord street and then a ways towards the water, if someone was driving quickly.

Naturally he’d kill her as far away as possible from the rest of the Undersiders. Perhaps Genesis is aware of what he intended to do? Did she, when she said she hoped to never see Skitter again, know Calvert was going to try to kill her? I’m not sure how to feel about that line if she knew, because if so, it could be interpreted as a wish Skitter died by Calvert’s hands.

The problem right now is that Skitter will have to advance and dodge all the soldiers, since she can’t attack any of them. If she attacks anyone she’ll give away her position, and that’s bound to be inconvenient. Who knows what Calvert would do if he found out she’s already close to the rest of the Undersiders.

I did want to go on the offensive. I just wasn’t sure how. If I attacked the individual squads, a check-in on Calvert’s part would reveal that someone was picking them off and they would all go on the offensive. They might even shoot to eliminate my teammates. Grue, Imp, Bitch and the dogs might have the suits or natural durability to keep them alive in the face of a hail of gunfire, but Dinah didn’t, and there was the possibility that the shots from the sniper rifles could penetrate the suits.

I mean, I’m pretty sure if anyone shot Dinah, Calvert would be so upset. He did all this betrayal so he could keep Dinah in his clutches! If she dies then it was all for nothing, and Calvert would throw away this timeline if he was using his power already. Ironically enough, I believe the team is safe as long as Dinah is in the area. It’d stop Calvert’s troops from doing something like throwing grenades at them or something.

Unless they teleport Dinah away. Given the technology they have, that’s a possibility.

That left me to wonder why he hadn’t done something similar at the house. No grenades, no mortar, no bomb lying in wait.

Well, the theory the narration brought up was that Calvert wanted to be kind of subtle – or as subtle as you can be setting a house on fire. That particular theory still stands.

Failing that, what was the trick behind the teleportation? Why hadn’t he just teleported me back after I slipped away?

Hmmm...at first I thought whatever device they use for teleporting stuff around works like Trickster’s power so they’d have to see both targets at once, but the fact Skitter was teleported like half of the city away makes that unlikely. Perhaps the teleporting trick needs more set-up than I realized?

Did he want to keep me alive? Or had he actually expected me to escape? Had he looked at all my past confrontations and gauged that I could probably make it, and it was no skin off his nose if I didn’t?

Ohohoho, honestly? I’m absolutely certain he wanted Skitter so damn dead in that place. Thinking otherwise is the height of foolishness. Calvert tries his hardest to kill Skitter, and he’d have succeeded if Skitter hadn’t used her gun to break through the window. He started all that to try to kill her, and the fact she escaped is such a spanner in the works I’m sure he’s annoyed. Still, I also believe he may have considered the possibility – even if it was small – she’d escape, so he has a backup plan. I still fear for Dad Hebert’s life.

Skitter manages to get closer and closer, staying out of the soldiers’ sight and staying in the shadows. Thanks to her bugs, she already has an idea of how things are like in the group. Right now they’re walking amicably enough. Heckpuppy is on one of her dogs, the rest are walking by, and among everyone there’s a fake Skitter.

This fake Skitter has so many weapons I’m sure if the rest of the Undersiders knew they’d immediately believe she’s an impostor. She even has grenades! The moment this fake Skitter finds out anyone suspects her; I think she’ll start trying to kill or hurt them. This fake Skitter also has bugs on her costume, thanks to pheromones, and the costume itself is a perfect copy. Given Coil is aware how the code the Undersiders use to signal each other something’s wrong is like, I’m sure this fake Skitter was also told how it works.

If Calvert’s preparation of the building prior to teleporting me in hadn’t made me think his betrayal was premeditated, this certainly cinched it.

...what, was there ever even a little bit of doubt it wasn’t premeditated? Calvert’s personality and power pretty much makes it impossible he’ll do something in the spur of the moment! And it sure wasn’t an accident, haha. Whooops, I accidentally teleported Skitter into a house and accidentally set that house on fire. My bad!

Dinah was still with them. They hadn’t dropped her off, even though Calvert could have arranged something like fake parents to accept Dinah.

If Dinah is currently drugged that could be easy. Skitter sure hasn’t ever met Dinah’s parents, maybe Coil should have just made a pair of people pretend to be Dinah’s parents, receive her, and then take Dinah and hide her somewhere else. Since Tattletale isn’t here, Skitter would be none the wiser – until Tattletale unavoidably found out, but that’s a different matter to deal with.

...

Heck, if he wanted extra safety, why not to have a fake Dinah? Skitter isn’t too familiar with her! I’m sure Coil would have managed to find someone who looks like her, and would be able to act for a little while as Dinah. Then he wouldn’t have needed to do an entire mess trying to kill Skitter, and she would have believed she got away with her deal. Again, until Tattletale found it. What I’m trying to say is that he didn’t have to try to kill Skitter. He could have maybe changed things a little, like making the Undersiders be the ones to be pushed out of the town right away instead of the Travelers, and that’d have kept Skitter away from him. He kiiiind of may have gone for the drastic options.

There’s a lot of wondering what’ll happen to the Undersiders, and I still insist now that Skitter escaped Calvert’s trap, they’re all as good as dead unless something is done. He can’t afford to have the Undersiders turning against him. I’m kind of expecting the fake Skitter to grab Dinah and teleport away, and then mortars explode. Skitter even thinks of that possibility. So, how to tell the rest of the team there’s a fake Skitter, without alarming the soldiers enough for them to eliminate everyone at once?

Rachel? No. I was pretty sure she couldn’t read and write well enough to follow any directions

Wow! Isn’t that a tad rude? She’s not the most academically smart person here, but I’m inclined to think she can read well enough, thank you very much! Skitter, you better have meant that as in ‘she couldn’t read bugs well in the evening’.

Looks like there’s not really a good strategy to use here due to the lighting – something I’m sure Calvert took into account in his planning, too. Plans upon plans upon more plans! You’re less likely to notice there’s an impostor if the lighting is insufficient. Having no better plan, Skitter hopes Dinah can do something, so she sends a ladybug to Dinah.

Dinah seems to have noticed something was off, because she tries to hide the ladybug from the fake Skitter! Or could it be she has her powers back, and has realized there are veeeery high odds Calvert would pass her to a fake Skitter? Either way, she seems to be taking some actions.

Or maybe not. If Dinah is trying to communicate something, Skitter isn’t catching on. She’s even considering the possibility Dinah has gotten so addicted to Calvert’s drugs she wants to stay with him. Oh no...poor Dinah. Even after being freed from Calvert she’s going to need a lot of support and time to get better. Therapy, something to deal with her possible drug addiction...Dinah has gotten quite the bad situation here. I wonder if she hates her power a lot, since it’s what got her into this situation.

Perhaps...she already knows. Maybe long ago, back when Calvert caught her first, she looked into the future and gauged the odds someone would rescue her someday, and how soon. In which case, being here could be how she saw it happening, so she knows what to do. It doesn’t mean Skitter knows how the best rescue method is like, but maybe Dinah’s actions from now on will indicate something.

The second thing I noticed was that what Dinah was doing was probably a signal. Both times, she’d touched the bug to her chest, bringing it close to her heart.

Bringing the bug to her?

I didn’t like the idea of that. If I was interpreting it the way I was supposed to, it seemed suicidal. Did she want me to come to where she was? If she was, was her power guiding that request, or was she still powerless and simply wanting to be rescued?

Oh, she’s considering Dinah may be indicating that thanks to her power. In that case, hm...well, Dinah would want things going according to her best interest. Listening to her would be the best option, right? So yeah, Skitter, go! Run at them. It’s bound to cause some confusion, what with two Skitters being in the same place, but if Dinah says this is what should be done then maybe that should be the right move here.

Calvert had to anticipate that I’d try to rescue my teammates. His soldiers wouldn’t be on guard against an outside threat like this if he didn’t. What did he expect I would do? I wouldn’t charge headlong into his soldiers. I would see them. I’d find some way around them, maybe turn some aspect of the situation to my advantage.

Hmmm...maybe he’d expect Skitter to try to take the Undersiders away from any possible danger, try to get them out of sight. I don’t think he’d expect Skitter to act recklessly, such as running straight at the team, for example. Perhaps that was Dinah’s thought? That the route to success is to make Skitter act recklessly, because that’s what Calvert wouldn’t account for?

Skitter doesn’t rush towards the team, and she considers the possibility Calvert would have asked Leet to devise some sort of counter-weapon for her bugs. Like what Armsmaster does, perhaps? But there isn’t much time for thinking, Dinah seems to indicate Skitter has to move now – maybe the window of opportunity is closing now.

Finding a route to approach the group isn’t too difficult, she’ll use the sewer drains. I’m a bit surprised there wasn’t a group in there, just in case someone tried to sneak by in there, but it’s working! She gets past the perimeter and realizes that, now that she’s in this area, she can use her bugs to fight back against anyone who has the mortars. She’s already gathered bugs, and the moment any soldier moves to use the mortars, she attacks, covering them

The problem is that the fake Skitter may have direct communication with the rest of the soldiers – soldiers that are suffering and unable to take further action. Knowing things are starting to go pear-shaped, she decides she has to make her move.

Fake Skitter wheeled around, reaching behind her back to draw her gun. Her arm caught Dinah around the shoulders, hugging the girl to her side.

I missed the first part of what she said. The meaning was clear. “…got no more use for you.”

...well that sure isn’t going to be great. There’s already a precedent for Skitter trying to betray them, this is going to make them so upset. I hope Skitter can get there before anything else happens, because if the fake Skitter gets away with implanting doubts into them and making Skitter look like a traitor, things aren’t going to be pretty.

Calvert sure prepared this fake person rather well. Not only she has the identical costume and body, she also seems to have her voice. A voice changer, perhaps? And there’s also a way for her to control bugs, given Skitter finds her own powers drowned out by intermittent orders to attack. I didn’t think the powers could be imitated, yet here we are, Calvert must have managed to do so. I wonder if Cauldron had anything to do with this – making a version of Skitter’s powers for this fake person.

Now that I think about it, it’d make sense, no? Acquiring some bug powers from Cauldron in order to make the false Skitter more believable. He sure has enough money for that.

“Betraying us!?” Bitch screamed the words. Next to Bentley, she was suffering the worst of it as the bugs attacked.

That’s going to sting even more than the bugs attacking. She was just starting to let her guard down around Skitter again, and now here she is, performing some betrayal. Even if/once Skitter sets ther record straight, I wouldn’t be surprised if Heckpuppy once again distances herself from her.

The fake Skitter settles the betrayal by firing her gun at the Undersiders. I’m not sure if any bullet hit Heckpuppy or her dog. Hopefully their costumes are bulletproof, but the dog isn’t. Things can get pretty nasty if it shot straight into that sac thing that’s holding the real dog inside.

Did he clone me?

Hah! Well it’s not...impossible, I guess, but I sure hope not. Clones are a plot point I dislike a lot, honestly. I guess I could tolerate if Skitter was cloned, but I sure would hope this was the only instance of that in this story. Clones are...really a quick way to make my enthusiasm for something drop, unless it’s exceptionally well done.

Well, if it’s an imperfect clone I think I could like it. If this is a clone she isn’t exactly the same, because she doesn’t have powers. The powers come from a box in a building. In that case, if this is a clone then it’s one from before Skitter got her powers, or something. Or powers cannot be copied. Who knowsssss. Either way, that box has been detected, so Skitter knows she has to destroy it in order to stop the bugs from attacking even her. Personally I think her priority should be making sure the rest of the Undersiders realize she’s not betraying them, that this is another Skitter, but that’s going to be a little more difficult because Grue cloaked everything with darkness.

That aside, if this bug control box was placed in a building here, then that should mean the fake Skitter was always meant to betray everyone at this point, right? Is that what Calvert’s plan was? Kill Skitter here, and then the fake Skitter would betray the Undersiders so they would be so angry none of them would want to find out what happened to Skitter if she suddenly disappears? He’d be covering his tracks that way. Clever!

Skitter runs towards the building with the bug box while the fake Skitter hurls flashbangs at the team, blinding them. Maybe it was a good thing Skitter didn’t run straight ahead at them, or else she’d have been affected by the flashbangs. As if her very abused eyes would have needed even more pain. Meanwhile, the mortar crews are leaving the scene, for some reason.

This is Calvert’s doing. He was convincing the others that ‘I’ was turning on them the second I had Dinah. He’d probably rigged it so I would disappear afterward. Skitter out of the picture, in a way that was totally believable given my prior actions. The Undersiders would be mad, they’d be hurt, but they’d still be his.

Oh hey, that’s mostly what I had realized ten minutes ago! Although...now that I think about it...could Tattletale find out something? She currently is with Calvert, though. That’s a problem. He should start thinking of a way Tattletale can betray them too.

Except I was here. I could convince them it was a trick. Either shut off the swarm box or take a left turn, show up where they were, and things would make sense in an instant, two Skitters, one a fake…

No, I had to shut off the box. I could feel blood, where some bugs had found flesh on Rachel and the dogs. If too many bee or wasp stings struck home, someone could be seriously hurt, needing epinephrine.

That’s a good point, the part about how the bugs were starting to harm the team, but I still think Skitter should make sure they know she didn’t betray them. This is the kind of thing they won’t believe unless there’s flagrant proof, if they don’t see the two Skitter at once then I don’t think she’ll be able to convince them.

Not too far away, Dinah and the fake Skitter disappear, Dinah moving the hand with the ladybug like she’s writing SORRY on herself. She knew this would happen, undoubtedly. Iiii’m like 60% sure she was trying to stop her kidnapping, trying to get Skitter to be in front of everyone before the fake Skitter pulled her betrayal stunt, but Skitter had hesitated too much. She didn’t get there in time, and now Dinah is feeling bad about it.

Or at least I think that’s what she means.

Breaking into the building that has the bug-controlling box is easy enough, she’s able to burst in through the boarded door, although it makes her cough a lot due to her weakened state. The gunshot she used and the coughing may alert the others of her presence, no?

“Find her!” she shouted. “Find Skitter! Hurt! Kill!”

Oh, damn, Heckpuppy is out for blood, as I expected. I just knew she would take all this so badly. Her dog gets moving, sniffing where the fake Skitter was. If she’s a clone she’ll smell just like Skitter, right?

Did they make her smell like me? They had to have, to keep the dogs from barking distress. But how? Had Calvert had his men raid my stuff? Had he used my dirty laundry?

I felt violated, not just because of the potential trespass, but the extent to which they’d stolen my identity and abused it.

Oh, god. For the sake of Skitter not having had her privacy incredibly violated, I hope this is a clone, as unhappy as that will make me.

It didn’t take long for the dog to pinpoint the real Skitter, so she’s forced to crawl into the building and kick it shut. No matter if the dog can’t get in, this means the rest now knows where she is, no? At any moment they’ll come forth, and things will get preeeeetty difficult. That’s going to be difficult to clear up.

The box using the bugs means Skitter right now is experiencing herself how her victims feel when she uses her bugs against them. The suffocation – not by them getting onto her face, thankfully – due to the weight, and the stings and bites of many other bugs. I for one hope her bug control also gives her a bit of immunity to the poisons.

Despite the immense quantity of bugs on the box, Skitter removes the tarp and starts trying to break it, tearing wires without much success. She doesn’t have much time before Grue and Heckpuppy arrive, and I was about to wonder where Imp was when the story answers that question. She’s here already. Her first move is to kick Skitter right in the chest. Ouch.

The threat Imp gave like...an arc and half ago, was it? So like two days ago in this story? She’s more than willing to fulfill it, and she’s musing options aloud when the other two arrive. Grue seems emotionless, I’m sure he’s repressing all kinds of emotions he must be feeling right now. Thankfully, he doesn’t let the others kill her, instead he even waits patiently for Skitter to have enough strength to talk. He didn’t have to do that, yet he did. I’m so glad about that, seriously. Thank you, Grue.

“Use…” I wheezed in a breath, “Dark.”

Hm? Is it so they can talk by themselves, without Heckpuppy and Imp listening? Does she think she has better odds of convincing Grue by himself? Well, she wouldn’t be wrong, what with Heckpuppy and Imp ready to kill Skitter.

No, instead it seems the darkness seems to have revealed something. The moment Skitter was covered by it, her power weakened yet the bugs intensified. Grue must have been able to sense that, right?

He did, he gets Heckpuppy to use her wolf to smash the box. It’s over.

Imp and Heckpuppy still don’t seem convinced at all, but Grue already determined the traitor wasn’t the real Skitter. I’m really relieved, honestly. This could have gone much worse, I’m glad it didn’t. They’re going to need unity if they’ll go against Calvert, especially because...

I coughed briefly. “Tattletale. Regent too. They’re in trouble. We left them with Calvert. With Coil.”

...because that now will be the priority. New arc next time? Or does this one continue? This is the twelfth chapter, this arc has gone for quite a while. I think someone had told me this was a long arc, they definitely weren’t wrong.

I’ll continue next time!

Next time: in four updates

#worm #worm liveblog #webserial #liveblog #webserial liveblog

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ibelieveinahappilyeverafter · 5 years

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Villainous Heroics - Chapter 13

Woo, sorry for the long pause between updates, guys! School's really been kicking it to me this semester, but you can't keep a good writer down!

A few quick notes to go over:

Just a quick update dealing with the timeline, but I won't be dealing with the Overhaul and Eri arc. Please assume that these events happen in Class 1-A's second year - as well as any further manga/anime plot elements. The rest of this story takes place throughout the rest of first year and possibly crossing over into the summer break. I don't want this story to grow too expansive where it was just meant to be a short thing, but corndog-patrol on tumblr has art of their original version of this AU that has Mic meeting Eri and it is absolutely adorable! As for me, well, I'm going to give our boys and 1-A a bit of a break. We'll see about Eri popping up in future drabbles, though!

Another note, I've changed the spelling of Shota to Shouta where I learned that Wikipedia is a fool that should never be trusted. I'll be using the spelling of Shouta from here on out, but there will be a final edit to the story once completed so that the earlier chapters are updated to reflect this - any other names I messed up will also be fixed.

Enjoy!

Click here to read the work on Archive Of Our Own.

Click here to read the work on Fan Fiction Net.

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Summary: Eraserhead is an underground hero who is constantly busy and doesn’t have time to be dealing with new villains - even if they aren’t all that villainous and make the night interesting.

Present Mic is the latest up-and-coming villain in the world and he has a point to prove to everyone out there - as long as he doesn’t keep getting distracted by Eraserhead.

Aizawa Shota is someone who soon learns that there is more to someone than the mask they show to the world - especially when it comes to playing heroes and villains.

Yamada Hizashi learns that there is more to heroics and villainy than he could have ever thought - especially in a world where some heroes still care about those lost in the shadows.

(Inspired and dedicated to corndog-patrol’s Villain!Mic AU on Tumblr.)

<<First/Chapter>> <<Last Chapter>> <<Next Chapter>>

Chapter Thirteen

“Your body moved before you could think, huh…” Shouta stared at the streets below him, the image of cracked roads and dim street lights blurring into a single color as he let his thoughts drift back to the other night with Mic. “What am I going to do with you, Mic?”

Shouta had responded to the alert of a bank robbery and had been the closest hero on patrol at the time. He had gone in expecting hostages and thugs or villains who had been twisted by the cruelty of the world - or had given in to their own cruelty. Instead he had slipped in and saw Present Mic bleeding with a gun trained on him.

The blood hadn’t been a priority. Mic, whether villain or vigilante, had grown used to the pain of a difficult fight. The sight of a gun being pointed at him with a finger on the trigger had been anxiety inducing, but the expression on Mic’s face - the expression of acceptance as if he knew he was going to die and had already accepted it as fact… That had been heartbreaking.

There was a second where Shouta had seen his student and a hand reaching out to crumble her down to dust. It hadn’t been a reminder he needed, and it was only years of fighting and doing hero work that had him reacting on instinct, changing the path of the bullet and sparring Present Mic of death. Shouta hadn’t spared him from a lecture, though, but then the man had gone and said that.

“My body moved on its own before I could think.”

It was a joke among pro heroes. It wasn’t a well-known joke, but it wasn’t a secret, either. Every good pro hero, whether aware or not, they always managed to say the same thing. Their debut, the first time they helped someone, the moment they realized they knew what they wanted to do, it was the same phrase said again and again no matter the circumstances.

Their bodies moved before they could think. It was the mark of a good hero. It was the mark of a good hero - one who cared more about the safety of people than the rankings or media attention. These days being a pro hero was akin to being a celebrity, but even then the feelings were often the same.

Shouta groaned and shoved his goggles down to rub at his eyes, fingers pausing and twitching as they touched the familiar piece of gear, thoughts of Mic drifting up even more than before. The overwhelming abundance of memories and thoughts were drowned out by one single conclusion, though.

Present Mic was not, and never had been, a villain. There was no way for him to be a villain when he was too afraid of his own quirk and only used it when he was helping people. He protected children and saved teenagers he didn’t even know, he broke up fights if they got too rough, and he was willing to let himself get shot to help those who he had never met before. Present Mic may have called himself the ‘Voice Villain,’ but it was clear that he was anything but.

Even half the police in his area thought Mic was a vigilante! After the report he had filled for the bank robbery, half the force had asked him who the vigilante was that had been at the scene. Shouta hadn’t had the heart to correct their assumptions. Plus, it was going to be that much funnier when they were told the hostages were saved by another villain.

The sound of tired footsteps had Shouta coming out of his thoughts and tugging his goggles back up, reminding himself that he was on patrol. A glance down showed a man with long blonde hair that was pulled back in a bun, grumpy expression on his face.

The grumpy expression on his face was why it took so long for Shouta to realize that the man was familiar due to the fact this was the barista he saw at his regular coffee place. He didn’t even know that the shop closed this late.

“-stupid fucking douchebag. I could kill him and people would thank me. Oh, Yamada, you murdered your boss? Well, yes, because he made me stay four hours past closing and clean and-” The words drifted up through the air towards him before dropping back into bitter grumbling and mumbling, Shouta feeling his lips twitch into a smile.

He would have to remember to try and be a touch nicer towards him in the morning if he was there. Back to back closing and morning shifts weren’t exactly fun, especially when he already looked exhausted and overworked. Seeing people like this made Shouta wonder what Mic’s day job was. The man had to be doing something. Hm. He probably DJ’d at a local club.

Looking back down, Shouta now saw two figures in the shadows where the street lights didn’t reach instead of just the one. Readying his binding cloth, Shouta took a moment to assess the situation before he saw the flash of a gun.

Jumping down, Shouta barely landed before he was shouting loud enough to get their attention, “Hey!” The gun was now trained on Shouta, which, good. The civilian, the same barista, was tense and had a pale face and shocked expression, entire body drawn in tight. He seemed to be favoring his right shoulder, so it was possible he was hurt, but Shouta hadn’t heard a gunshot, at least.

“Who are you supposed to be?” The man who held the gun sounded panicked and ready to pull the trigger. Shouta would’ve been amused if there wasn’t a hostage or a gun involved.

“I’m the guy that’s going to kick your ass.” It was possible Shouta took some aggression out when it came to the fight that followed, but Shouta didn’t have much sympathy for those who contemplated murder as being an acceptable risk.

Making sure the knots were tight and the police were on their way, Shouta finally looked to the civilian, gaze flicking him over quickly to assess for damage. The man was rambling about how he was okay, full of nervous energy. He looked ready to vibrate out of his skin and there seemed to be some sort of damage to his shoulder.

“You sure you’re okay?” Shouta asked, pushing his goggles up and finally cutting into the rambling. He a had a lot of practice with Mic, after all.

“Of course! He didn’t get a scratch on me!” Something was… not wrong, but not quite right, either. Shouta felt like he was a few steps off from where he should be, and it wasn’t a feeling he particularly liked. Usually he was still half-asleep when talking to this man, so maybe that was it.

“Well,” Shouta sighed, turning back to keep an eye on the defeated villain. He wasn’t much moving. “You should at least come with me to make a report.”

“No!” That was a very strong reaction to the idea of going to the police. Maybe the other just hated paperwork. Shouta could relate to that. “I mean… I’ll just head home - thanks for the help, Eraserhead.”

“Mm.” Jumpy, but he wasn’t bleeding and didn’t seem in any extreme pain, and if he didn’t want to make a report or press charges, then Shouta could let him off easily enough. Strange, though. It was very rare that a civilian knew his name considering his status of being underground.

The feeling of the wrong steps turned into that of a missed step. It was odd, but maybe Shouta was just putting too much thought into it. If Mic were there, he would probably…

Shouta’s thoughts trailed off into silence as he felt a million little clues come into complete focus in a way that had him torn between incomprehensible anger and utter despair.

There wasn’t any other way to react when he realized his barista of the past few months was Present Mic.

Shouta really should have seen this sooner. He was groggy with the hour or two of sleep he had managed, but he pushed himself to focus as he stared at the barista who had a nametag he had never bothered to read before. Present Mic’s family name was Yamada and Shouta was feeling more and more like an idiot by the second.

Not only had Present Mic been in front of him since the very beginning of this whole mess, but he couldn’t even complain about it to anyone. He could never let this realization be known – to Nemuri, especially.

“Hey, there! You’re actually pretty early, this morning!” Yamada greeted, his tone an exact match for Mic’s in every way possible

“I couldn’t sleep so I decided to start the day early.” Shouta was only half aware of the words coming out of his mouth as he did his best not to be obvious about his staring. The more he looked, the more stupid he felt.

Yamada was wearing the same bulky glasses that Mic had worn all those months ago when his own sunglasses had still been broken. There were the hearing aids that Shouta caught glimpses of when Mic’s headphones weren’t on. There was that stupid mustache that should have been a dead giveaway and all of it was tied together with bright green eyes that were shining as if they knew him and fuck. Present Mic had been serving him coffee the whole damn time. This was Mic and he knew exactly who Shouta was.

“Maybe you shouldn’t be drinking coffee, then,” Yamada - Mic - teased, smile fond and warm in a way that Mic never let himself really show. “I wanted to say thank you, by the way, for last night. It’s good to have a hero around these parts.”

“It’s my job,” Shouta shrugged off, trying to get over his panic and calm himself down. It wasn’t working as much as he wanted it to.

“Well, thank you anyways, Eraserhead,” Yamada laughed, everything about him soft and quiet in a way that Present Mic never let himself be. Shouta had thought his feelings had been bad before, but this… Jeez.

“Aizawa,” Shouta said quietly, pleased when Yamada blinked at him in confusion. “I’m off duty in the mornings, so it’s Aizawa Shouta.”

“Oh.” The word was a soft exhale, Yamada’s eyes wide and bright and a smile on his face that looked fragile. If Shouta hadn’t known who this was before, then this moment would have given it away. “Well, then, it’s only right if you call me Yamada. Yamada Hizashi. Um, nice to meet you?”

“Right. Nice to meet you.” Shouta was fucked. His name was Yamada Hizashi. Present Mic’s name was Hizashi which literally meant the perception of sunshine. Shouta was filled with a dawning horror as he silently realized how many times he had compared the man’s smile to sunshine.

“Right, your order!” Yamada quickly moved to get the items, passing by a teenager coworker who was hissing something at him as he scribbled on an empty coffee cup before filling it. Shouta couldn’t even be upset he only counted two espresso shots instead of his usual six.

Yamada bustled around the small area and looked to hiss something back to his now glaring coworker before setting Shouta’s coffee and a bag of cute cat muffins on the counter. “Here you go, Aizawa-san! Consider this one on the house as thanks for last night.”

“Oh, uh…” This man was too sweet. This man was literally sunshine and Shouta had no idea how to deal with it. It was one thing dealing with Mic’s cockiness and rapid wit, but it was another dealing with this soft and quiet barista who gave the warmest smiles. “That’s really-”

“I won’t take no for an answer,” Yamada insisted, pushing the items closer and then crossing his arms. “And I can be a lot more stubborn than you can!”

“That part I didn’t doubt,” Shouta muttered, taking the items and half hiding behind his binding cloth as he eyed Yamada. “Thank you.”

“Of course! Just don’t make me say that stupid ‘have a lovely day’ phrase,” Yamada mock frowned, sticking his tongue out. “It’s so lame!” The frown disappeared in favor of one of those bright smiles. “Have a nice day, Aizawa-san!”

Shouta managed to keep himself together, as well as mumble back a response, and make it all the way to the U. A. staff room. He was in complete control of himself for the entire time. The moment he sat down, though, he let his head hit the desk, cheek squished against the desk as he felt his cheeks redden.

“My, my, what’s this, Shou-chan? Are you feeling embarrassed over something?” Nemuri, the utter vulture, was leaning off his chair in a second. Shouta did his best to ignore her and instead looked at his coffee cup which… didn’t have his name written on it. Instead, scrawled across his cup in looping lines:

Sound does not travel when no one hears Yet you have always listened for me From my loudest shouts To my quietest whispers

My voice has never fallen on deaf ears since you Is it any wonder I fell for you Like the last sharp note of a song Trailing off before dropping into unknown

“Holy shit, are you dying? Your face just got so red?” Nemuri’s shocked voice barely even registered, Shouta only staring at where Present Mic had written a love poem on his coffee cup. Oh, god, how often had he done this? Had Shouta been throwing away cups with love notes on them this whole time?

Shouta turned his head to rest his forehead against his desk, his co-workers chatting above him in a way to where it was nothing except for white noise.

Jeez… Shouta had never felt so blind as he did now.

#bnha #boku no hero academia #mha #my hero academia #erasermic #villain!mic #corndog-patrol #villainous heroics

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meetmeatthecoda · 6 years

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Happy holidays!

Surprise, @unruhigwandern, I’m your Secret Santa! :D I wrote you a fic based on what you told me you liked and the things you include in your own writing... I really hope you like it! :)) The fic is set about 6 months after Liz wakes up from her coma, Red and Liz have been in an established relationship for about 5 months, and Agnes is about two and a half. But take all that with a grain of salt, timelines are not my forte. :) Basically, Liz and Red are having some personal, emotional problems this Christmas (based on canon events like Tom’s death and Red’s past) and that leads to some miscommunication and angst in their relationship. I’ve called it “Ghosts of Christmases Past”, hopefully that’s not too cheesy! :) There is a lot of hurt/comfort and some fluff at the end because I couldn’t resist! :D This also turned out to be the longest one shot I’ve ever written so that’s a bit of an accomplishment :) I’m also going to post this on FF.net and Ao3 tonight in case you’d prefer to read it there but I’m putting it under the cut here for now! So yeah, I really hope you like your gift, and Happy Holidays to you and yours!! :) Much love! <3

“Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the house…”

Liz stands at the stove, stirring a saucepan full of water, cocoa, and sugar absentmindedly, listening to Red’s dulcet tones reading to Agnes in her bedroom.

Christmas is in a week.

Agnes, now nearing two and a half, is only aware of excitement in the air and impending presents. Her favorite bedtime story at the moment is “The Night Before Christmas”, regardless of the date, and Red is more than happy to indulge her by reading it night after night.

He loves to spoil her.

“The children were nestled all snug in their beds…”

Agnes has a very specific idea of which parent should read each book and “The Night Before Christmas” was designated Red’s five nights ago when Agnes asked for a “Santa story” and he pulled it off the shelf. She was asleep before the end, of course, (Red’s deep voice never failed to lull her to sleep within half an hour), but the beginning at least had stuck with her and she had asked for the story again the next night.

And every night after.

Liz expects that Red will be stuck reading it until at least Christmas day, if not longer, but she knows he won’t mind. He cherishes his surrogate father duties like she never thought he would.

Red.

Liz sighs a little dreamily and goes to fetch the milk from the fridge, snagging a measuring cup from a drawer on her way back to the stove.

Red and Liz had dived straight into a relationship not long after she woke up from her coma six months ago. Liz figures that the final tipping point had been a combination of Red taking such good care of Agnes while Liz couldn’t and him being there for every step of her recovery. She seemed to have woken up with a new appreciation for Red and everything he’s done for her over the years. And seeing the bond he had forged with Agnes in her absence just cemented the fact that she cared more for him than she ever thought she would.

They have been together officially for only a few months but it feels to Liz like much longer. Their new relationship hadn’t felt new at all, simply moving from one level of intimacy to the next. It felt like the most natural thing in the world. They are now living together, the three of them, as normally as they can and they haven’t looked back since.

Red has become such a father to Agnes, filling a hole that Liz and Agnes hadn’t quite realized was there, and Liz can’t imagine someone better for them. He has been there every step of the way (sometimes more so than Liz) and has taken over all the fatherly duties that Agnes needed, from nighttime drug store runs to visits to the zoo to bedtime stories.

“When out on the lawn there arose such a clatter…”

Liz certainly doesn’t mind Red taking over story time for the time being. Agnes had a long stint of “Guess How Much I Love You” and no one could read it to her except Liz and that had meant more to Liz than Agnes could ever realize. So, Liz figures it’s Red’s turn to read and it suits her just fine. It gives Liz some time to think.

Things between her and Red have been truly wonderful in a way she has never experienced with anyone but lately things have been…off. Liz first noticed it around the first week of December, initially dismissing it as phase of Red’s, deciding not to worry about it. But now, a week before Christmas, Liz can’t deny it anymore.

Red is being clingy.

He’s not only intruding on her personal boundaries and space but more so wanting to be nowhere but where she is. Ordinarily, Liz wouldn’t mind this at all. In fact, normally it would be the opposite.

Liz turns down the fire on the stovetop burner, continuing to stir the brown, sweet-smelling mixture, staring pensively at the swirling liquid.

It’s true that with her previous relationships, she would be the one to ask for space, pushing her partner away if they were too close too often. In some cases, that was the sole reason for her breakups. It had been a frequent problem with some of her early flings with high school and college boyfriends and even occasionally with Nik, who had a habit of overwhelming her. (That was half the reason she had gravitated toward Tom in the first place.) She hadn’t had this problem with Tom, however, who liked a fair amount of space himself. This fact was certainly one of the reasons she thought they were so perfectly matched.

(How naïve she had been.)

Liz truly not had thought that this clingy behavior that had so bothered her in her past relationships would be a problem with Red. In part, this was because from the moment they got together (and, if she was honest with herself, a fair amount of time before that), she didn’t want to be parted from Red. Perhaps it was all the death-defying things they had been through together or maybe the fact that they had spent so long dancing around each other, but they wanted to be together all the time. Liz knows that it’s still relatively early in the relationship, however much it may not feel like it, but she had felt that up to now, it was a sign of how strong her and Red’s relationship was: she wasn’t getting tired of him.

Liz delighted in Red’s closeness and he seemed to do the same, as they spent time together literally whenever they could, either with Agnes or without. It didn’t matter where, when, or how; they just wanted to be together.

“With a little old driver, so lively and quick…”

But then December hit and Red got very close very fast. And Liz is uneasy about it. She doesn’t like the fact that she feels this way. She likes feeling that he was never close enough, she’s happy that way. She’s angry at herself for wanting space and she certainly doesn’t want to hurt Red by telling him this.

Even so, this doesn’t feel like the other times she’s wanted to get away from a boyfriend. At those times, she had simply grow tired of them and wanted something new. This time, however, she feels distinctly ill at ease, like she’s fighting something and trying to find her way back to Red. Usually, he can sense when this happens and he backs off a little, trying to give her time and space to work things out herself. This happened many times after she awoke from her coma, when she simply needed time to think through the events that had changed her life so completely. But those mental blocks only lasted a few days at most and this odd funk she found herself in was getting worse every day.

And so was Red.

Liz continues to stir mechanically. She is using this story time to try and channel her inner psychologist (who has been dormant for far too long) and consider what is disturbing her, what is preventing her from accepting Red’s attention. What could possibly be different right now from the past few months when she has delighted in Red’s company?

Well, it’s the holidays, for one thing. That can be stressful, of course, but Liz feels nothing but excitement, mostly for Agnes and their first Christmas together as a stable family unit.

Hm.

Family unit. And first Christmas. That’s not exactly true, is it? Agnes is two and she’s had another Christmas before this one. It wasn’t very special, as things had been hectic at the time, what with work and Tom and all the drama that came with those things. Just a few presents and a brief celebratory dinner, mostly store bought. Nothing festive. In fact, Liz is rather glad that Agnes probably won’t remember it. Tom hadn’t even –

Tom.

Oh.

That’s the difference, Liz realizes suddenly, the spoon she’s holding drifting to a stop in the pan. Why did it take her so long to realize that Tom isn’t here this Christmas? She realized on a conscious level, of course, that he was gone, and she’d accepted that long ago. Things had been wrong between her and Tom long before his death and Red had calmly explained the reasons behind his murder and Liz is well aware that it was partially his own fault. She had held on to some residual anger at his motives for putting her and Agnes in danger despite being warned repeatedly by Red to let things go but she had realized soon that there was no point. Tom was gone and at least they’d had a chance to make some peace before he’d died. He was out of their lives now and they were probably better for it.

But, be that as it may, he hasn’t been gone for a whole year yet and Liz is apparently still feeling his absence during this time of year that had once been special to them. After all, for the four years before Agnes was born, she and Tom had been together every Christmas, celebrating as a married couple. Liz hadn’t known the truth about Tom at that point, how could she, and she had genuinely enjoyed those years with him.

Now, the first Christmas after his death, she finally sees the Tom-shaped hole she has been trying to identify for days. It is not a gaping, raw thing. She’s not mourning him by any means - her mourning period for Tom was blessedly brief – and anyway the time for that has long since passed. This hole is a cold, dark thing, peaceful but still there, regardless of her current feelings, and apparently Liz still has some adjusting to do, as much as she may loath the necessity of it.

She feels better now, lets out a little breath she didn’t quite know she was holding in, but her uneasiness is nowhere near resolved. She has identified the problem but she has not addressed the issue (boy, she’s stretching her psych muscles now). What she really needs is time to herself to think –

But Liz is startled out of her revelations by a pair of familiar hands at her waist. She takes in a sharp breath purely out of surprise, and quickly relaxes into Red’s grip, feeling a certain amount of comfort from his touch.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you.” Red murmurs in her ear, his lips running lightly around the edge.

“That’s okay,” Liz says, trying for lightness but feeling a little like she’s forcing the words out, trying to shake the lingering fog of her realizations. “Is Agnes asleep?”

“Yes. She almost made it to the end of the book tonight. St. Nicholas was just bounding down the chimney when she drifted off…”

Liz smiles, managing to relax at the mention of Agnes, leaning back into Red as his arms drift to wrap loosely around her waist. “You must know that thing by heart by now.”

“Pretty much,” Red mutters, chuckling a little. “But I don’t mind. That smells good by the way.” He adds, peering over Liz’s shoulder at the simmering hot chocolate in the pan.

“Thanks,” Liz says. “I’m getting pretty good, I think. Haven’t burned a batch for a few nights.”

It has become rather a nightly holiday tradition of theirs, drinking hot chocolate together after Agnes has gone to sleep. It is a chance for them to relax at the end of the day, winding down from the day-long high that comes from caring for a two-year-old. Red has been particularly gracious in drinking even her early batches of hot chocolate where she somehow managed to scorch the chocolate before she even added any milk.

But Red never complains.

“That’s right,” he says now. “You’re doing quite well. Improving in leaps and bounds, just as I knew you would. I think it will be hard to top last night’s batch though. It was the best yet.”

“Well, let’s see. I think this is ready. Can you grab the mugs?”

Red nods, squeezing her waist lightly before going to the cabinet to fetch their Christmas themed mugs, his with Santa Claus and hers with a snowman. Liz uses the free moment to try to shove her realizations about Tom to the back of her mind. She’ll deal with them later.

This is her and Red’s time.

Red carefully pours the hot chocolate in their mugs while Liz grabs the marshmallows she likes to add to her cocoa and heads to the couch, turning out the main lights on her way. Her and Red have taken to sitting tangled together under a blanket with their warm beverages, only the multicolored lights adorning the Christmas tree and the bright white string lights hung over the doorway illuminating them, enjoying the closeness the semi-darkness provides. They talk quietly together or sometimes just sit in silence, cuddling until they are sleepy enough to move to their bedroom.

Red joins her now, letting her get settled under the blankets before handing her mug to her and then making himself comfortable, sitting very close to her and taking her hand. They enjoy their drinks mostly in comfortable silence, each lost in their own thoughts. It is enjoyable for the first little while (Liz has missed Red today) but after their mugs are empty and moved to the coffee table and Red pulls Liz close to press his nose into her hair, Liz can’t help but feel a little uncomfortable.

The longer they sit there, the more her unease pushes at her, the more she longs to be alone to sort through everything she’s feeling. The sooner she deals with it, the sooner it will be over and she can enjoy her time with Red as she usually does. But Red is so close to her and no matter how far she tries to surreptitiously tries to move from him, he simply closes the distance with a content hum.

He won’t stop crowding her.

Liz desperately tries to push the unease away, at least for tonight.

She can deal with it all tomorrow.

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

As it turns out, she can’t.

She wakes in bed with Red wrapped around her. She showers with Red at the sink brushing his teeth. She feeds Agnes with Red sitting next to her. She eats breakfast while Red plays with Agnes at the table. She has playtime with Agnes on the floor with Red sitting above them on the couch. She reads on the couch during Agnes’ nap time with Red’s head in her lap. She entertains Agnes while he fixes snack time in the kitchen. She takes Agnes on a walk in the park with Red’s arm wrapped around them both at all times. She makes dinner while Agnes is in her bouncy chair with Red cutting and chopping and simmering at her side. And Liz would have had story time to herself but Agnes requested both of them in her room that night and how could Liz deny her baby girl? Then Red and Liz have their hot chocolate and its bed again, where Red pulls her into his arms and doesn’t let go until morning.

Liz can’t believe it.

The next day is much the same except for Liz’s rising irritation and anxiety. Red won’t leave her alone for a second and she doesn’t know why. He has never been like this before, going out of his way to spend literally every second at least in the same room as her, if not touching in some way. Liz knows she would be flattered and grateful for the attention if she didn’t have her huge unresolved issues nagging at her all the time. If she could just get away from Red for a few hours, maybe she could sort out her confusing feelings.

Liz ponders while giving Agnes her bath for the night, Red sitting on their bed where he can see them both through the open bathroom door. Liz alternates between playfully splashing her giggling girl and desperately trying to figure out what she can do to be alone tomorrow. What could she possibly do five days before Christmas and where…

Christmas.

Shopping.

Liz almost smacks herself in the forehead. Of course. She can go Christmas shopping. At least, that’s what she’ll tell Red she’s doing. She’s already got everything for Agnes, tucked safely in the closet, and she’s got Red’s present, hidden carefully in her nightstand.

But Red doesn’t know that.

She’ll tell him she’s going shopping for him. That should unglue him from her side for at least a few hours.

Red loves surprises.

She’ll take Agnes as well. She likes the mall and Liz could use the touchstone of her happy daughter in her arms while she’s sorting through her confusing feelings.

Yes. That’s what she’ll do.

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

“But where are you going?” Red is pacing anxiously around the living room, holding Agnes tightly in his arms. Liz watches him from kitchen where she is slowly and methodically cleaning their breakfast plates, completely baffled by his behavior.

“I told you, out,” says Liz, trying her best to be patient. “It is almost Christmas, you know. I’m allowed to have some secrets.” She turns to smile teasingly at him but he doesn’t meet her gaze. She frowns.

“Well, why can’t I go with you?” Red demands, a little rudely.

Liz turns back to the plate she’s washing, channeling her annoyance into the sponge, scrubbing a little harder than necessary.

“Jeez, Red, normally you can read between the lines a little better than this. I’m going Christmas shopping for you, that’s why you can’t come, okay?”

She figured he’d perk up a little at that but for some reason it only makes him pace faster, striding back and forth across the small room now, pulling Agnes closer to him and stroking her hair. Agnes, who has just had play time and is almost ready for a nap, can sense Red’s uneasiness and is starting to fuss. Red rubs her back distractedly and she settles down a little but Liz can still see that pout on her lips that warns of incoming tears.

“But why can’t Dembe or Baz go out and make your purchases for you?” he presses.

Liz grits her teeth, now truly starting to lose her patience and probably taking a layer off the plate in the process.

“Because I don’t know what I’m getting you yet. I’m just gonna wander around the mall until I’m inspired or something, okay? Why are you being so difficult about this?” she snaps.

At that, Red whips around. “I’m being difficult? Why are you being so cagey?”

Liz gives up and tosses the plate in the sink, turning to face him. “I’m not being cagey! I’m being honest, I’m just unprepared for Christmas, is that a crime?” she’s raised her voice without realizing and now Agnes is starting to whimper in Red’s arms.

Red’s eyes flash with anger.

“I just don’t think there’s any reason for you to go alone so why can’t –”

“I just don’t understand why you think I need protection everywhere I go so I don’t –”

Their voices start to overlap as they get going and Agnes starts to cry.

“God damn it, Red!” Liz yells over them both, frustrated and upset. “You are smothering me!”

Red, who had been about to fire back with something, snaps his jaw shut, looking at her with curiously accusing, wet eyes.

“All right then,” he murmurs, frighteningly quiet all of a sudden. “Here.” He moves toward Liz and hands her Agnes who is now beside herself, wailing, with tears streaming down her face.

(Liz has to ignore the tug in her heart at how gently he handles Agnes, despite the anger he obvious feels, carefully pulling her little hands free where they are gripping his shirt and placing her lovingly in Liz’s arms, a hand ghosting soothingly over her hair before he moves away.)

“I’ll just give you some room to breathe, then, shall I?”

And he grabs his coat and hat and walks right out the door.

Liz barely makes it to the couch before she collapses, the anger swiftly draining out of her, Agnes crying into her shoulder. Liz presses kisses into her daughter’s hair and tries to console her but it’s difficult.

Liz is crying right along with her.

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

Liz holds out for three days, moping around the apartment feeling sorry for herself while, at the same time, trying to console Agnes, who starts asking for Red the moment she wakes up the next day.

“Red, Red!”

“Red’s not here, baby, he had to go away.”

“Chris-muss?”

“I don’t know if he’ll be back for Christmas, hon.”

And Liz has to quickly distract Agnes with a toy or a snack before she starts crying.

Liz uses the first day to sort through her feelings, eventually, without any fanfare, reconciling with Tom’s absence while lying alone in bed that night. She simply realizes that different does not necessarily mean bad, and just because Tom isn’t there doesn’t mean that she can’t enjoy the holidays with who she has around her: Red and Agnes. She doesn’t need to feel any guilt over the fact that Tom is gone and that fact certainly shouldn’t keep her from enjoying the holidays with her family. She immediately feels better, having thought things through and put her mind at ease, the only wishing that she could have had just a few hours to figure that out before, and then she wouldn’t have exploded at Red.

Red…

Liz is still confused about his clingy behavior over the last few weeks and she spends the next two days pondering why that could be. She is unfocused with Agnes the whole time, her baby having to pat her cheek or cry out to get her attention. Having fixed her own problem, she is now occupied with trying to solve Red’s, and spends the day going backwards through their interactions for the past few weeks to the best of her memory. What there something she said or done that could have triggered his behavior?

Think like a psychologist, Liz, come on now.

But for the life of her, Liz can’t figure it out.

She continues to think in circles even after Agnes is tucked in bed for the night, feeling as though there’s something very obvious she’s missing. Liz mentally examines their fight, looking for something that could have set him off, while slowly and methodically cleaning the living room, putting Agnes’ toys away.

She’d given no hint of uncertainty about their relationship that she can remember, at least not intentionally. And if Red had had any concerns, he certainly would have voiced them. And obviously Agnes didn’t do anything to worry him, she’s an angel, what harm could she do? Liz remembers only too vividly how tightly he clutched Agnes as he paced when they were fighting, almost as if he was afraid to let her go, as if something would –

Liz freezes, half bent over reaching for a toy, the three she was already holding tumbling back to the floor.

Of course.

Red was afraid something would happen to them.

Because it’s Christmas.

Oh, Liz, you idiot.

She’d been so preoccupied with her own stupid feelings that she hadn’t even stopped to consider how Red was feeling during the holiday season.

He has ghosts of his own, after all.

His poor wife and daughter, those awful events so many years ago, the fact that he had never truly recovered. And this is his first Christmas with Liz and Agnes as a family. Of course, he’s paranoid, terrified probably, of something happening to them. That’s why he didn’t want Liz to go anywhere without him, why he kept Agnes in sight at all times unless he knew she was tucked safely in bed, why he kept physical contact with Liz every second he was able to. It is comforting to him to be with them, to be at ease, to know they are safe. And how can she blame him? As irrational as his fears may be, there is obviously a legitimate reason for them and, above all, it is just because he loves them.

He just loves them.

Oh, Red.

He doesn’t like to talk about that awful Christmas Eve all those years ago but –

Christmas Eve.

Tonight is Christmas Eve.

Oh, Red.

Liz abandons the toys and whips around, frantically looking for her phone. She’d gone and pushed Red away when literally the only thing he wanted was to be close to her and Agnes in the days leading up to Christmas. And, here it is, Christmas Eve, and he’s sitting alone somewhere, wondering, worrying –

Oh, what has she done?

Liz snatches up her phone and dials.

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

Red swirls the amber liquid in his tumbler, slumped in a worn armchair in front of the large window in his hotel room, all the lights off, staring fixedly at Lizzie’s apartment building.

He hasn’t left this room for three days.

He knows it’s ridiculous. And paranoid and unhealthy and more than a little creepy. But he can’t help it. Staring at her building is the only thing that quells the otherwise relentless anxiety that radiates through his body at being away from Lizzie and Agnes.

This time of the year has always been hard for him, ever since that year, and here, now, with Lizzie and Agnes and this fresh start he has somehow been granted, he can’t help but worry about them.

He is so afraid.

He has nightmares, both awake and asleep it seems, about coming back to their apartment, expecting to be greeted by a giggling Agnes and a smiling Lizzie – Christmas presents in the car – feet of snow – nothing but blood –

No.

Red grimaces and squeezes his eyes shut, trying in vain to ward off the unwelcome thoughts. He can’t lose them. He just can’t.

He was aware in the back of his mind that he was crowding Lizzie, being too nosy, pushing too close, holding too long, but he couldn’t help it. If Lizzie is there, with him, next to him, wrapped up in him, no harm can come to her. And Agnes, Agnes, with her just a room away, he almost felt okay again, able to breathe, able to relax.

Almost.

But he was so absorbed in his own past, his own demons, his own comfort, he gave no thought to Lizzie.

Lizzie.

She has been through so much in the past year, a ten-month long coma, becoming a widow, losing almost a year of Agnes’ life, to say nothing of her own, and then having to re-adjust to everything when she woke up. Red is endlessly proud of her and he had foolishly assumed that after six months, she had made peace with things and settled into a rhythm and a routine.

With him.

But, of course, the holidays would be hard for her as well. Her father is gone and this is the first Christmas without her ex-husband and only her second with Agnes. Lizzie has every right to be overwhelmed, who wouldn’t need a little space for all that?

She just wanted space.

And Red had given her the opposite. No wonder she was feeling claustrophobic.

God, he was smothering her.

Red downs the rest of his scotch bitterly. He wants to call and apologize but Lizzie is probably still angry. He doesn’t want to encroach any further, he should wait and –

Ring, ring.

Red is up and out of his chair within seconds, racing for his phone, panic coursing through him. Has something happened? Did he miss something? What if –

His heart rate spikes as he checks the caller ID and sees Lizzie’s name flashing there.

Oh, god.

He presses accept as quickly as he can.

“Hello?” he croaks.

“Red,” he hears Lizzie breath.

He tries not to cry at the sound of her voice.

“Lizzie, are you alright?” he gasps.

“Yes, yes, I’m fine and so is Agnes. Everything’s fine, Red, we’re fine,” she sounds very patient and kind, much more so than the last time they talked. Red can feel himself relaxing in a way he hasn’t been able to in three days.

“Good,” he sighs, relieved.

He missed her.

“Then, why are you calling?” he questions after a moment, confused.

“Well, I’ve done a lot of thinking over the past few days and I realized some things and…listen, I’d really like to talk. Do you think you could come over?”

“Yes,” he blurts without thinking. “I mean, yes, uh, I can be there in…ten minutes?”

“Perfect,” Lizzie says and he wonders if that’s a smile he hears in her voice. “I’ll see you in a bit then?”

“Okay,” he murmurs and hangs up.

He gets to see Lizzie.

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

Red skids to a halt in front of what he hopes is still their apartment door and takes a moment to collect himself before knocking.

The door opens even before he has fully drawn his hand away and there is Lizzie, looking soft and wonderful in yoga pants and one of his sweaters, her eyebrows knitted in something that looks like concern.

Red stands there for a moment, staring, drinking her in, feeling the anxiety and paranoia draining from his limbs.

“Lizzie, I’m –”

But he gets nothing more out before she lurches forward and throws her arms around him. He lets out the air in his lungs in a huff, more out of surprise and true physical impact and takes a moment to breath in her familiar scent before wrapping his arms around her the way he’s wanted to for the last three days.

He’s home.

They stand there for a moment, in the hallway of their apartment building, just hugging.

It’s wonderful.

Eventually, Lizzie slowly and reluctantly pulls away and takes his hand, tugging him gently into the apartment. Red doesn’t think he’ll ever get tired of the feeling that washes over him as he steps over the threshold, knowing this is where they’re safe and happy, the three of them. Lizzie shuts the door and starts to lead him to the couch. He sees a few of Agnes’ toys still scattered on the floor from playtime.

Agnes.

Red feels his chest ache at the thought of his little girl and he pulls Lizzie to a stop in the middle of the living room. She turns to look at him questioningly and Red just stares at her, pleading. She understands immediately and turns without a word, still holding his hand, towards Agnes’ room. Red squeezes her hand in silent thanks as they walk quietly down the hallway.

Lizzie eases Agnes’ bedroom door open and gestures for Red to go inside. He leans in tentatively at first, another flash of fear for another daughter rocketing through him, but Lizzie is still holding his hand and everything is okay.

Red leaves Lizzie in the doorway and moves silently into the room, taking in the wonderful sight of little Agnes asleep in her pink big-girl bed, her stuffed fish clutched under one arm and her blond curls tangled on her pillow. Her face is pressed endearingly into the pillow, her mouth open as she sleeps peacefully. Her pink nightlight ebbs and flows gently in the corner, illuminating her precious features at slow, even intervals. The effect is very calming.

(Of course, it’s meant for Agnes but it does wonders for Red as well.)

He moves closer and ever-so-gently pushes Agnes’ tousled hair out of her face. She gives a little sigh in her sleep and rolls over and Red takes the opportunity to pull her purple comforter over her shoulders where it has slipped down.

(She may not biologically be his daughter but it doesn’t matter.

He loves her so.)

Red can’t help but lean in and press a quick kiss to the top of her head before turning to leave, catching sight of Lizzie watching, teary-eyed, from the hall. Red smiles at her, trying to convey all of his love and gratitude in that one expression, and takes her hand again, tugging her away from Agnes’ room and pulling the door halfway closed as he does so.

“Come on,” he murmurs and leads Lizzie back to the living room.

They sink down next to each other on the couch and it’s only a second before Lizzie is wrapping her arms around him, practically climbing onto his lap to hold him. He sighs and presses his face into her neck, feeling more at ease then he has in days.

“Thank you, Lizzie,” he says quietly, not exactly sure what he’s thanking her for.

(Probably everything.)

“You don’t need to thank me,” she whispers, and he’s not exactly sure what she’s referring to.

(Hopefully everything.)

They snuggle for a few minutes more before Red sighs and gently pulls back from her. She looks adorably put out for a moment before remembering that she asked him over to talk and yet they’ve only said a few words. She nods to herself and moves away a little, more on her own couch cushion now, but still reassuringly pressed against him.

“Lizzie,” he starts. “I’m so sorry that –”

But, once again, he doesn’t get far because Lizzie presses her fingers to his lips to stop him. He frowns lightly at her. Why won’t she let him apologize?

“No, Red,” she says. “You have nothing to apologize for. I was in the wrong and I’m a fool for not realizing it sooner. I’m so sorry.”

Red starts to shake his head but Lizzie won’t move her fingers.

“No,” she says firmly. “I was completely pre-occupied with how I was feeling, trying to process all the changes that have happened within the last year and how they made the holidays different from previous ones and stupid stuff like that. I just wanted space to think and all I knew was that you were crowding me and I gave no thought as to why that might be. I didn’t even stop to think about Christmas and the significance that holiday holds for you. If I had just tried to be a little more observant and caring towards my partner, none of this would have happened. The only thing you were worried about was our safety and you just wanted to be near us and I kicked you out –”

She can’t continue, her eyes filling up with tears, but she doesn’t need to. Red has heard enough.

“Lizzie,” he murmurs, pressing kisses into her hair as the tears spill over and race down her cheeks. “Lizzie, don’t cry. You weren’t to know, it’s all right, Lizzie.”

“I made you leave!” she gasps, wiping her eyes.

“I didn’t go far,” he whispers, wiping her tears away with his thumbs. “It’s okay, Lizzie, I forgive you.”

She gives a little hiccup at that but seems to accept it and her tears slow to a stop.

Red is glad.

(He can’t stand to see Lizzie cry, least of all because of him.)

He gives her a moment to calm down before giving her a final kiss on the cheek and taking a breath.

“And now it’s my turn.”

She is about to protest but he quickly presses his hand to her mouth like she did to him, smiling teasingly at her. She rolls her eyes but he can feel her mouth pull up in a grin beneath his fingers and she sits quietly, waiting for him to speak.

“I’m sorry as well, Lizzie,” he begins. “I was also pre-occupied with my own demons and I didn’t think for a second that you would be dealing with things too right now. You were completely right to want space to process things because so much has happened in the past year. And this is your first relatively calm Christmas with all of these changes and I should have known things would be hard for you. I was thoughtless and rude, Lizzie, and I’m sorry.”

Lizzie smiles sadly. “It’s okay, I’ve already forgiven you. Now I just want to spend Christmas together.” She cups his neck and scratches her fingernails lightly over his scalp, the way that she knows he loves, and he hums contentedly, his eyes drifting shut.

“I suppose we could’ve avoided all of this if we’d just been open with each other about our feelings, huh?”

“I suppose,” Red murmurs, opening his eyes and bringing his fingers up to play with a lock of her hair. “But arguments and miscommunication are part of a relationship. Frankly, I think we were a little overdue. Things had been going frighteningly well between us, don’t you agree?” he questions teasingly, grinning at her.

Liz laughs at that, throwing her head back, glorious in her happiness, and Red can’t believe he didn’t notice how long it had been since he’d seen her smile. Red chuckles along with her, his deep voice complimenting her lighter one.

They fit so perfectly.

“Yes, I think I’d have to agree,” she says eventually, patting his chest lovingly.

He smiles and looks over her shoulder at the Christmas tree standing majestically in the corner of the room. As his gaze moves to the piles of neatly wrapped presents underneath, an idea occurs to him.

Liz watches as his mouth slowly pulls up at the corners in a smile.

“What?” she asks, curiously, touching one corner gently with the tip of her finger.

Red turns his gaze back to her and takes her hand from his face, pressing a kiss to each finger in turn.

“What would you say to exchanging presents now?”

Lizzie’s eyebrows raise in surprise.

“Now? But it’s only Christmas Eve!”

Red glances at his watch. “Actually, it’s 12:23am, so technically it’s Christmas day already. And if we open our gifts now, we can let Christmas morning be all Agnes’. I know how dreadfully excited she is.”

Red sees Lizzie’s lips purse in that familiar, disapproving way of hers but he sees her eyes twinkle at the same time and he knows she’s already decided.

“You spoil that girl, you know,” she says, playfully frowning at him, trying to pretend that the idea of Red spoiling her daughter isn’t completely and utterly endearing to her.

“Of course,” he answers simply, shrugging.

She shakes her head, smiling at him. She hasn’t said yes yet, though they both know she will, so, just for fun, he lids his eyes and pushes his mouth into that pout he knows she can’t refuse.

“That’s not fair!” Lizzie cries indignantly, but she presses a quick kiss to his pouty lips anyway. “Oh, alright!” she sighs, pretending to be put out but she can’t quite hold back the giggle that escapes when Red bounds off the couch, excited, to retrieve her present from under the tree.

Red plucks a long, slender box wrapped in gold paper off the top of the biggest pile and gently carries it back to the couch. He hands it to Lizzie.

“For you,” he says softly, lovingly.

Lizzie blushes prettily and carefully peels the paper off to unveil a jewelry box.

“Red…” she murmurs, before she’s even seen it.

She slowly opens the box to reveal a beautiful, delicate, silver, heart-shaped locket, engraved with tiny, hand-painted flowers and vines. Lizzie gasps quietly and puts a hand to her mouth, her eyes filling with tears again.

“Open it,” Red murmurs in that same low tone of voice.

Lizzie sniffs weakly and takes a fortifying breath before carefully opening the locket. She gasps again at what she sees and she can’t keep the tears from falling his time, crying openly, pressing a hand over her mouth.

On the right side of the locket is a tiny perfectly fitted photograph. Lizzie took it a few months after she’d woken up from her coma and promptly proclaimed it was her favorite picture.

(In that instant, four months before Christmas, Red knew he had his gift for Lizzie.)

The photograph, candid but beautiful, is of Red and Agnes, who was almost two at the time. They were outside in the garden and Red is holding her, propped up in his arms, her blonde curls framing her face beautifully, while she points happily at a flower.

Red remembers the day perfectly, Agnes asking to be picked up to see the pretty pink hibiscus blooming on a bush high above her head. Red had picked her up and told her all about how flowers open like that to see the sun and once they are nice and warm, they go away again to sleep.

He didn’t know that Lizzie was standing off to the side, her phone in her hand, snapping such a perfect photo.

(It is his favorite.)

Red sees Lizzie’s gaze drift to the left side of the locket, where there is an inscription in French: “Ma vie, mon coeur…”

“What does it mean?” Lizzie breathes.

“My life, my heart…” Red whispers back. “I thought it appropriate.”

Liz closes her eyes and reaches for him blindly, knowing he’ll catch her.

(He always catches her.)

She kisses him a little desperately and he responds in kind, his hands gripping her waist tightly.

God, he loves her.

They break apart with a gasp. “Thank you,” she whispers, sounding a little broken. Red simply rubs his nose against hers, touching their lips together once again gently.

They sit together for another quiet, peaceful minute before Lizzie surprises him by huffing a quiet little laugh.

“What is it?” he asks curiously.

“I feel my present will rather pale in comparison,” Lizzie mutters, smiling a little sadly, disentangling from him and wiping her eyes.

“You didn’t need to get me –”

“Shut up, Red.”

He smiles.

“I’m sure I’ll love it.”

“That’s better,” she grins fondly at him. “It’s in our room, I’ll be right back.”

Red watches as she stands, straightens her sweater, and gives him a final loving smile before turning and hurrying back to their room. He watches her go in something like wonder. He doesn’t have to wait long before she is coming back, carrying a rectangular package, wrapped in green paper, slightly larger and bulkier than the jewelry box she’d just unwrapped.

“Hmm, whatever could this be…” he says playfully, taking it from her as she sits back down on the couch and drapes herself over him.

“Well, gee, it looks like you may have to unwrap it to find out,” she teases. He shoots her a look that makes her giggle and he can’t resist a quick poke to her side that makes her squeal.

“Let’s see…” he turns back to the package and peels off the paper gently, feeling the odd bulky shape beneath the wrapping. “What…”

He trails off as a beautiful, gilded picture frame is revealed and he gasps, distracted by the spectacular quality of it.

“Lizzie…” he breathes, trailing his finger along the edge of the frame. “It’s –”

But then he actually looks at the photograph in the gorgeous frame and his words dry up in his mouth. He almost laughs at the irony: it is a picture of Lizzie and Agnes.

(The fact that he and Lizzie’s gifts to one another were pictures of them with Agnes makes his heart actually ache and swell in his chest.)

It is a beautiful photo and, just like Lizzie’s, he remembers the day it was taken. It was during the first month Lizzie had woken up and she and Agnes were still getting reacquainted with one another. Agnes was about one and a half at the time and the three of them were outside enjoying the sun, Red and Agnes on a beach blanket in the grass and Lizzie laying in a hammock watching them. Agnes had looked up at her mother, beautiful in the sun and swinging lightly in the breeze, and used Red to stand up and walk right over to her, grabbing onto the hammock’s edge for balance when she got there.

The small tug got Lizzie’s attention and she had picked Agnes up and sat her in her lap. There, the mother and daughter had just looked at one another, Agnes staring in something like wonder and Lizzie in something that was definitely love. They both looked beautiful in the dappled sunlight shining through the trees above them and Red was already fumbling with his phone, trying to open the camera app, when Agnes had leaned forward and put both her tiny hands on either side of Lizzie’s face. Lizzie had looked momentarily surprised and then her face split into a gorgeous smile. Agnes had giggled in response and that’s when Red snapped the picture.

Mother and daughter sharing a tender moment.

(This is Red’s other favorite.)

“I thought you could add it to your collection in your Bethesda apartment,” Lizzie says quietly to him. “I know how much you love your photos.”

The tears are falling before Red even realizes it and Lizzie is leaning forward to kiss them away. He quickly turns and wraps her up in his arms.

“Thank you so much, Lizzie, I love it,” he breathes into her ear.

“I’m so glad,” she whispers back, rubbing his back in soothing circles that he never wants to stop. He pulls back after a long moment and they just stare at each other.

(He wonders briefly if he has ever been happier, than here with Lizzie and their daughter.)

“Well, that’s enough crying for one night, I think, don’t you?” Lizzie says after an appropriate amount of time, chipper and giggly, effectively lightening the tender moment.

“Yes, I rather agree,” Red sighs, leaning back in the sofa with a long-suffering sigh. “God, I’m exhausted.”

“Me too. But I’m not tired,” Liz says idly.

“Me neither.”

There is a beat of silence.

“Want some hot chocolate?”

“I thought you’d never ask.”

Lizzie giggles in that way he loves and hurries off to make the hot chocolate while he cleans up the used wrapping paper and takes their presents to their room, putting Lizzie’s necklace on her dresser with her other jewelry and his photo on his nightstand so he can look at it while falling asleep tonight.

(He thinks if he ever stops looking at it, it will be something of a Christmas miracle.)

Within a few minutes, they have reconvened in the living room with their hot chocolate and blankets, the main lights off and the tree lights on.

Red is about to settle down on the couch when Lizzie suddenly points to the window in excitement.

“Look, it’s snowing!”

Red turns to look, smiling at her child-like enthusiasm. He can only imagine what Agnes will be like in the morning.

(He can’t wait.)

“It’s beautiful,” he says quietly. “Should we watch?”

“Yeah,” says Lizzie, smiling at him.

“Come here,” he says and beckons to her.

Lizzie hurries over and takes a moment to get comfortable, ending up leaning back against Red’s chest, sitting snugly in between his legs, while they both face the window, warm under their blankets, sipping their drinks and watching the snow fall.

Red finds Lizzie’s hand under the blankets and she holds on tight. He presses a kiss to her hair.

“I love you,” he whispers to her.

“I love you too,” she whispers back and his heart swells.

They’ve acknowledged their ghosts and they made it through this holiday together, stronger than ever, and here they sit, happy and content, making new Christmas memories.

“Merry Christmas, Lizzie.”

“Merry Christmas, Red.”

He can’t wait for next year.

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inthisformiambadwolf · 7 years

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For @katiethemstie

Part I - Part II - Part III

Originally, the Eighth Doctor was all over this, but the fic evolved so that he doesn’t actually make himself physically known. He’s just talked about a lot. He’ll be present in a future installment, though, so for those of you who were looking forward to seeing him, don’t be disappointed. And for my Classic Who fans, look! It’s Seven!

The TARDIS was in between stages. She had changed a lot, under Seven’s watch, and at this point in her timeline, she was still a mix between the more sterile aura that Six had left behind and the dim-lit, paper-and-tea-scented, homey place she would be by time Seven would start losing his hair (which was a terrible shame, considering the Doctor’s tradition of keeping a fabulous head of hair through all his regenerations, but then again, who was Nine to judge?).

At the moment, though, Seven was still in his younger years and still the keeper of a full head of hair. And he was calmly preparing mint tea like it was nobody’s business, which was mostly true, seeing as the only other person in the TARDIS with him was… himself.

“So, what is the matter?” Seven asked. Nine immediately wanted to call Seven out on his placating tone, because I was you and I remember and I practically invented that tone of voice so don’t you dare use that on me, but he found himself… placated. And, well, as much as he remembered being Seven, he had forgotten how good Seven was at this. This, being… well, whatever it was. “It must be something important if you crossed timelines to talk to yourself about it.”

“We met a girl,” said Nine.

“Oh, dear, that’s awfully specific,” Seven snarked casually, shifting the kettle. “Please, be more vague so that we can include basically every day of our lives and ninety percent of our companions.”

“Shut it. I’m the one who’s supposed to be a snark, not you,” Nine said. He would have been amused if he wasn’t in such a foul temper.

“Hmph. I can be whatever I want to be.” Seven shifted the kettle again, more out of habit than necessity, since moving the tea kettle did absolutely nothing. “So, tell me. What’s so important about this girl?”

“We love her.” Sometimes blunt really was the way to go, especially with one’s own self.

“We do?” Seven looked as startled as he had ever been, which was saying something, considering how many times he had gotten a gun pointed in his face. Really should be a bit more wary of guns, Nine thought, remembering Seven’s unfortunate and honestly stupid end, but it wasn’t as if he could warn his younger self, so he stayed silent on that matter. Seven stared Nine down, looking for some hint as to his future self’s meaning, and he must have found it genuine, because he suddenly went slack in his seat and said, “Oh. Oh my. We do.”

“Yeah.”

Seven’s eyes darted aimlessly before settling on Nine’ shoe. “So. Love. I never thought...”

“Neither did I,” Nine agreed, bobbing his head in a nod. “But she’s fantastic.”

A small smile lit Seven’s face. “So, did you come just to tell me the big news, or did you need something? Not that news like that isn’t enough. I won’t be able to remember it, but I’ll still have that sensation of looking forward to something. Thank you.”

“S’pose I should tell the others,” Nine pondered, before shaking himself. “But I’m here because… well, I did something stupid.”

“Oh, of course,” Seven groaned. “I may not be particularly knowledgeable of your regeneration, seeing as you do come sometime after me, but I think I can guess that it was something you said. Our talent with words doesn’t seem to last past myself.”

“It does, though,” corrected the Ninth with a sneer. “It lasts through Eight, that’s for certain.”

For a moment or two, Seven was pleased, before he noticed Nine’s sneer of disdain. “Oh, dear. What does this have to do with Eight?”

“Well, y’see, it started…” Nine leaned forward, and so did Seven, both looking as though they were about to divulge the secrets of the universe. Which they could. “Ah, well… It's odd, y'know, I've never had t'explain this before. Thing is, she’s human.”

“Human?” echoed Seven, his eyebrows shooting up to his hairline. “Well, I suppose that’s… very much like us, to give our affections to a human. I never really considered it, I don’t think.”

“You will.”

“Hm. So, what’s it like? Loving a… a human.”

“Fantastic.” Nine smiled. “Not like those Gallifreyan ladies. She’s not full of it, actin’ better’n I am ’cause-a station. She’s jus’… her. Wants to see the whole universe. I get to show her everythin’. And she tries so hard, jus’t’be alive. Harder’n any Gallifreyan in history ever bothered to.”

A warm, toasty feeling started to crackle to life between Seven’s hearts. “That sounds… wonderful.”

“Is. Problem, though,” admitted Nine.

Seven turned to gather two teacups from the cabinet. Nine looked at the delicate, floral-painted, gilded cups with some level of amusement. They didn’t really suit him or Seven, or any of him, but they had been around for so long, he couldn’t imagine getting rid of them. He hadn’t dared to take them out around you, but now that he thought about it, maybe you would find them as funny as he did.

“Of course there is,” said Seven, snatching the kettle off the burner (and, really, was that a Bunsen burner? Why did he even own one of those, much less make tea on it?). “Go on.”

“Well, being human, she doesn’t really know about the courtin’ procedures,” Nine admitted. Seven saw where the conversation was going and immediately groaned and allowed his head to bump against the cabinet door with a dull thud. “My thoughts exactly. And the worst part is’at I’m not all that good at courtin’ in the first place. I tried a few little things, messed the last one up horribly.”

“Double down,” Seven mused. “So you want me to help–” and then Seven paused, because the whole conversation clicked in his mind like the final piece of a jigsaw puzzle. “Eight is good with words, you said. You went to him for help.”

“Yeah,” said Nine. “Eight is… well, you’ll understand when you’re him, but it seemed like the perfect plan. He’s good with that sort of… thing. Women, I guess. He practically memorized the courting procedures, and he’s very… charming, y’could say, so I thought it would work.”

“What would work? You didn’t… oh. You did.”

“I took ’er t’see’im,” Nine admitted, scrubbing a palm down his face and covering his eyes. Seven scooted a cup of freshly-brewed tea under the other Doctor’s rather prominent nose. The steam rose up and wetted Nine’s skin. “It seemed like a good idea. He was so lonely, y’know. That body wanted love more’n any o’ the others did, so I thought he would be the most willing to help. Was a bit too willing.”

“Ah.” Seven sipped his tea and instantly regretted it. The liquid was scalding. “So.”

“He was all over her!” Nine exclaimed, suddenly throwing both hands into the air. If he hadn’t been feeling so tired, he might have jumped out of his chair to pace, as well. “I swear, second I told him who she was to us, he practically ran over and snogged her right then and there.”

“Well, you did say he wanted love more than the rest of us, and that’s saying something, considering how much we’ve wanted a… a bond-mate, over the centuries.”

Nine scoffed. “Either way, he was ridiculous. Eight’s very tactile, no sense of personal space, so I was expectin’ him to get a bit touchy with her, but he had her sitting on his lap. On his lap, hear me? I’ve known her for years, few weeks ago I finally get her to lie down on the couch with me, and in less than five minutes he’s got her on his lap, holding his hand. Oh, n’his hands were everywhere. On her face, in her hair, on her thigh, blast it. And she didn’t stop ’im, either.”

“Why would you want her to?” Seven asked, confused. “He’s us, he was forward enough to initiate courting touches, and she accepted. That’s perfect. What’s the problem?”

“She’s human, Doctor,” said Nine, frowning. “From a Gallifreyan woman, that might have been perfect, but she’s human. To her, it wasn’t me. It was a man who was more handsome and better spoken than me, touching her, and she was fine with it.”

“So you didn’t tell her that you and Eight are the same person? That we’re all the Doctor, despite our differences?” asked Seven, who was beginning to wonder if his counterpart had lost some brain cells through regeneration.

“Of course I did, but–”

“But nothing!” Seven cut his future self off abruptly. “You explained to her that Eight is you, she met Eight, and she accepted his courting offers. Maybe she doesn’t know the first thing about courting procedures, but it sounds to me as if he was making himself rather obvious. If she accepted it from him, then she accepted it from you, just as much as from me and all of us who come before and after.”

Nine was silent.

“I don’t know how your regeneration thinks,” Seven continued, voice much softer, “but I don’t think we would fall in love with a girl who wouldn’t love all of us. If she is who I hope she is, then she knows that we’re all… us. If she accepted Eight, she accepted us all, and that includes you, in case you didn’t notice. Now, stop being a jealous sod and go to her.”

Slowly, Nine eased his way out of his chair. His eyes wandered over the TARDIS’s mixed interior, obviously recalling when it had been his, what had come before and what would come after. Then he looked down at Seven, and Seven saw a light in his eyes that hadn’t been there before.

“I’d better get back to her, then,” Nine said, a smile playing at his lips but not coming all the way through. “Y’know… seems t’me like ya understand it all better than I do, and you haven’t even met her yet.”

“Maybe so,” Seven admitted, shrugging. He dipped his head down to take a sip of tea, but, remembering the perfectly unacceptable temperature, he refrained. “Still, would you give her my love?”

The smile turned into a full grin.

“Aye. I’ll do that.”

And just like that, Nine swiftly escaped from Seven’s TARDIS and into the rough terrain of whatever planet they had agreed to meet each other on. Seven knew that Nine’s TARDIS couldn’t be far away, which meant that you were probably close by. He stamped down the temptation to follow Nine, to catch a glimpse of you, or maybe just to hear your voice. He wanted to know. As confident as he had acted for his counterpart’s sake, he didn’t know anything about you, and he wished… he just wanted to know something about you.

Anything. Anything at all.

Someday, he thought, sipping the tea that had finally cooled, someday. He would have to forget all of this. If he didn’t, it would cause a paradox. But there was nothing saying that he had to forget immediately. He could keep the memory for a day, or two.

Maybe... maybe, if he kept this memory overnight, he would dream of you.

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sparda3g · 7 years

Text

Fairy Tail Chapter 532-533 Review

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I'm not entirely sure if this is affected by Golden Week, but regardless, we are treated with double chapters. I'm not sure if this is a sign that the series is ending before the movie, but it's narrowly close to it as the final boss has traditionally evolved to the unstoppable form. As the arc reaches to the exciting phase, there may be a sign that things could go a bit odd.

When it comes to entertainment, I'll say that it was a success as the event begins to enter the last act or the middle of the last act, however you prefer it. The first chapter focuses on Zeref and his bidding farewell to Mavis as he makes his move that has no return. The second chapter focuses more on one buildup with the Book of END and the showcase of immortal.

Truth be told, I thought the first chapter was the strongest of the two. It's mainly because the focus didn't drift away to show sign that a new deus ex machina is underway and this was a moving chapter. It's practically the last confrontation with Mavis before Zeref's master plan begins.

We do see more of Acnologia and Pegasus as it gradually gets worse for Pegasus, so it's only matter of time that they will lose. Jellal decides to handle the situation alone. Hm, well I have yet seen a storyboard with him for the next movie, so perhaps there is a death flag after all. It's a preparation stage as with Zeref enters the climax.

It's a bit strange that Natsu goes to his dragon mode and proceed to be halted by Mavis. It's like we have no right to be thrilled with the action. I thought that was strange on how the last chapter's cliffhanger suggests a lot of fighting. I don't even know if I should be bummed or be fine with it. It does engage to the next part quicker as Zeref grabs Mavis and begins to drain her magic. Good work, Mavis.

Zeref announces his reasoning behind the plan and it's a convincing argument on his behalf, I'll give him that. In fact, this part is emotional. He claims that Acnologia could not be defeated by magic, so that would mean for eternally, Mavis and Zeref would have to endure the beating by him forever.

The whole scene is what sells the chapter. Mavis thought he can be killed by Acnologia, but it turns out he can't die at all; it's an endless torture. In short, Zeref will lose if he doesn't pull Neo Eclipse. That fear look in his face is telling on how desperate he must do this.

Zeref has no choice since he can't even defeat Acnologia. It's like saying, "Well I can't beat him. Time to use cheat code." He has to go a different direction to win. The sad part is that Zeref in a way doesn't want to do it because he did cherish the moment with Mavis. Now that he's heading towards to his main goal, his last words to her is where his true color shows. For a while, we have seen him as a total villain, even if we know some of his other traits. Now he finally lets out.

It is a tender moment and it ends with a farewell address that they may not see each other in a restart timeline. But he promise to defeat Acnologia in the timeline as comparing to the first page, which by the way confirm that they went all the way, signify that he can't live in this world anymore.

It is pretty dark, but if Zeref knows about the Time Lapse, why not use it on Acnologia? Unless this is his way of hinting that whatever Anna is doing won't work. Maybe it can be that, I don't know entirely. I can't say if that's considered a plot hole, but perhaps I should wait further for anything new. In his defense, I could still see a reason to use Neo Eclipse: to start as a normal kid again.

What's also strange is that they had a love scene. I assume that first on-panel kiss was the confirmation of the pairing. When did that happen? I thought the pairing confirmed and then she goes to sleep. I wonder if that's considered a retcon. I guess the pairing confirmation happened much earlier.

Now that Zeref has absorbed her magic, he does the pose that pretty much yells, "Here is the perfection!" I wonder if that would mean he would be going around saying "ningen." In the end, he achieves the White Mage form and yes, this is the final boss transformation, shounen style; but I do like the design.

The second chapter is more of showcasing the power-up of Zeref, the White Mage. It's a typical format that when a villain gain a new power, they will have to look devastating and somehow always begin fresh and untouchable. Therefore the chapter actually goes by quicker than the last.

It does have some moments that are worth noting, even if one is more on standby but perhaps not for long. Fairy Tail members such as Laxus and Gildartz are reunited, meaning their battle has ended. I think it is a bit of a shame is for now at least that the finale will only leave those main characters we have seen many times.

Granted, they are main characters but I feel as if the side characters didn't get so much momentum before closing the series. I always adore on how Full Metal Alchemist handles the finale, and while it doesn't have to be the same, it should have been treated better. But maybe there's room for one last moment.

There is a small sad moment that does play a part later on and that's a reminder of Makarov's death. It's a bit sad that Laxus couldn't return home to give him the proper sendoff. I'm still puzzled if he is dead for good or resurrection is on hold. The series is close to the end, so we shall wait and see.

The part that is interesting yet worrisome is with the Book of END. As odd as it was to see it return abruptly because of Zeref's transformation, it's a bit shaky that another deus ex machina is in preparation and it has to do with changing the letters. I don't know if it's only fixing the problem of Natsu will die if Zeref dies, but that's concerning. It's like something out of Studio Trigger animation, where it can go over the top fast and become stylish Dragon Ball Z.

Lucy insists to find a way to change the letters, so we'll see how that plays out. Judging by the last part of chapter, it's no coincidence that it may be a case of "just in time." It is true that it is "logical" that the book would connect to Natsu, so changing something would change him as well, but hopefully it's not that easy.

As for the last part, it's pretty much the showcase of immortal. Natsu whips out a powerful attack at him that it would have been amusing if Zeref really got heavily damaged. It would be a nice change. Of course, he is unharmed, though his power now allows him to rewind the event, fixing the Guild in process. I wonder if Mashima is a fan of Dragon Maid.

The best part to me is Natsu said sorry to Makarov for destroying the Guild, yet Zeref taunts him by repairing it so to say and stabs the hell out of him. The badass line comes after by replying back at him with, "no need to apologize; because he's already dead." Natsu not only lost single-handedly, but learning about his master's death destroyed him for good. That was a really good scene.

Both chapters have pretty solid art and it's done more on the emotional level, including the action set piece. Zeref's transformation design looks neat, though I get that he's a white mage, it wouldn't hurt to have some shade. I wonder if the color would help out though. It does come across as a fantasy game final boss look. As for the set pieces, they are presented well with Zeref's last words to Mavis and Natsu's defeat. That shot of him in defeat is well addressed.

Overall, despite some of the questionable parts and iffy developments that could lead to a game changer with least rewarding, I had a good time with these two chapters. It has a moving moment with Zeref and Mavis, Acnologia continues to put pressure, so there's tension behind it, and although in a typical fashion, Zeref in his new form presented strong with that one hit and line. The series has now enter the last phase; be ready for a farewell.

#fairy tail #chapter 532 #chapter 533 #review

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alcoholicseraphim · 7 years

Text

The Year Before Tomorrow

Chapter Twenty- Year III- Variegated Vectors

For several weeks after that informal vow, Vici accompanied her everywhere. At Hermione's request, Vici maintained her own low-level Notice-Me-Not, and the pair of them essentially did as they pleased. During classes, Hermione kept up a running commentary explaining everything and teaching Vici how to read. It was the most useful Hermione had felt in a long time.

As a happy result of Vici's magic, Hermione was never subjected to the same treatment that Luna had endured during her time at Hogwarts, even though Hermione was at this point every bit as odd as Luna had been, if not more so.

("Perhaps talking about your friends will help you get better," Vici suggested. Hermione could see the logic in that. Indeed, it no longer hurt her just to think their names.)

The Notice-Me-Not, while sparing Hermione from most of the attention of students and staff alike, was not infallible. Dumbledore, with his irritating ability to see magic, was nigh on immune, and the fact that Hermione- and Vici, now- bothered with a Notice-Me-Not at all drew his focus. Not that he approached her with any questions, not so soon, but Hermione knew beyond a doubt that he was watching her.

She could live with that, for the time being.

Vici, while a lovely companion, could only slow the spread of loneliness. She hated seeing Sirius and Lily every day, perfectly happy without her there. She wouldn't have wanted anyone else from Gryffindor or Ravenclaw to notice her, anyway, and she couldn't even look at the Hufflepuffs without wanting to cry. That left only one House: Slytherin.

Of course, she'd halfheartedly tried to become friendly with a few, select Slytherins during her first year. Regulus had made it clear that he didn't trust her, being a Gryffindor Mudblood who was friends with the brother who hated him. Hermione could understand that, but now she was none of those things. That didn't guarantee that he would accept her attempts to befriend him, but it did increase the chances.

And Severus Snape. Still hurting from losing Lily, well on his way to becoming a Death Eater. She'd given up on him before, as much as she didn't like admitting it to herself. She'd left the Severus of that timeline to his fate, having unwittingly accelerated Voldemort's rise to power. Hermione could change that. She could. She was no better than he'd ever been, much less this teenage version of him.

If she was no better than Severus, who was to say he and Regulus were the only ones worth saving? What about the low-level Death Eaters? Gods, they were all so young. Who was she to say that any of them were beyond hope?

Few of them would respond to straight kindness, and she didn't know if she was capable of giving that, anyway. Ultimately, most became Death Eaters for their own sake or their families'. Just being nice could hardly change that. What she had to do was convince them that Voldemort would lead them to the deaths of their family lines. It wouldn't be a lie. The Malfoys and the Blacks, for example, were completely extinct in her time. The Princes, naturally. The Flints, the Carrows, the Lestranges, not to mention the neutral or Light houses. Voldemort would bring the demise of the Wizarding world, purity and all.

It would be easy enough to convince them- if she could get them to believe that she was a Seer. She did have... intimate knowledge of the future. But what could she say? "Oh, Sev, you die on May 2nd, 1998, of a snake bite after one of your masters believes that since you killed your other master, the fabled Elder Wand belonged to you. He was wrong, by the way, so it was kind of pointless." Even if telling them how and when they would die would be sure to make them believe her, her goal wasn't to scar them for life.

There was little point in being subtle.

While she may not have had direct access to Regulus, she did have several classes with Severus. Ravenclaws and Slytherins were often paired in classes, just as Gryffindors and Hufflepuffs were. Even though the Seelie and Unseelie courts were long disbanded in the West, inter-House tensions were passed down through blood. It was the easy answer for why Gryffindors and Slytherins especially hated one another, but not the entirely correct one.

"Severus Snape," said Hermione, turning to face the boy. His hair hung in a greasy sheet around his face, blocking her view. At the sound of his name she saw him twitch, but did not acknowledge her. She went on. "Son of Eileen Prince and Tobias Snape. Self-styled 'the Halfblood Prince'. Childhood friend of Lily Ev-"

"That's enough," said Snape, gripping his quill so hard it snapped.

"Childhood friend of Lily Evans. Particular enemy of James Potter and Sirius Black. Future follower of the Dark Lord. Future spy for Albus Dumbledore. The man responsible for the murders of James and Lily Potter."

"You're lying." He revealed his face, finally, glaring up at her.

"All I speak of is true, but it doesn't have to be."

"You're saying I can change it," Severus sneered.

"I am. The solution is easy: do not follow the Dark Lord. He leads you, your allies, and your godson to an early death." For Draco, a very early death.

He must have seen the sorrow that she hadn't quite managed to hide, and his eyebrows bunched together. The expression made him look fierce, but Hermione knew better. "How early?"

Hermione shook her head. "Are you sure you want to know?"

"No," said Severus, and that admission made her respect him just a bit more. It took maturity to think ahead and realize that he might not be strong enough to go forth to his death.

"I will say only that without the Dark Lord, you would likely live to be as old as Dumbledore."

"Are you a Seer?"

"Yes, after a fashion," Hermione said, the corner of her mouth twitching. Subtlety was, indeed, pointless.

He didn't look entirely convinced, but that was fine. He would watch her now, and listen to what she said, even if he wouldn't admit it for a while.

*|II8II|*

Even with the help of Vici's alterations to Hermione's bed, it didn't take very long before sleeping once again became impossible. Once again she padded down to the seventh floor and trapped herself within the Room of Requirement. She needed a cot, like the one she'd slept on in Azkaban. Beds were beginning to feel too comfortable, decadent, even. A cot, and a blanket, in a room only big enough to admit one person.

It would be her hiding place, even from herself. It was what she needed.

She wished that Echo was there, but until she came of her own volition Hermione wouldn't force the issue. She did miss her.

She'd been visiting the Shop on her good days. Keane ignored her most of the time, and Echo pretended to follow his example. Hermione sometimes caught Echo creeping around, and then she would have to leave so she could cry.

Still, things had been worse. When Minerva died, for example.

At the mere thought of her name, Hermione burst into tears, and the Room rocked her to sleep. There was still progress to be made on that front.

In the morning, Hermione woke up an hour too early for breakfast. She used the extra time to come up with a plan- or, rather, a non-plan.

Upon entering the Great Hall, Hermione made a beeline for the Slytherin table, sliding in directly across from Severus. "Good morning," she said, channeling her inner Trelawney.

"Morning," said Severus. At least, she thought that was what he said. He clutched a steaming mug of tea between pale spider-leg fingers, and dark circles pressed like bruises under his eyes. He didn't look up at her.

"What a lovely day to just focus on being children, yes?" She glanced up and down the table, but nothing appealed to her. She served herself some porridge anyway.

Severus mumbled something that could have been "Sure" and could have been "Bugger off".

"I've been wondering about superiority complexes," Hermione said, trying to find levity and failing, "and their inevitability. An undisciplined mind will naturally divide the world into insiders and outsiders, and most will then furthermore decide that the outsiders are somehow of lesser value than the insiders."

He still didn't look up, and Hermione suspected he was hearing very little of her monologue. She went on anyway.

"With a bit of work and discipline, those prejudices can be tucked down where they belong." Hermione paused. "I would say that the whole problem may be solved by blurring that line, but I'm quite certain that people like James Potter wouldn't even want to understand why, say, Lucius Malfoy does what he does. The world is yet simple to him and people like him."

At the sound of James's name Severus finally looked alive, and his face twisted for just a moment before he controlled himself.

"It's hard to tell for certain whether the reverse would work, either. Ultimately, there's no foolproof way to force someone to understand something when they don't want to." The porridge tasted like sludge in her mouth. She added cinnamon.

"Why are you telling me this? You have to be aware that everyone within earshot is listening to you," Severus said, sipping his tea.

Hermione smiled. "Of course I am," she said, deciding not to tell him about the Notice-Me-Not. "It's a message for anyone who will hear it. I can't have respect for those unwilling to improve themselves. You're- we're young yet. There's still time. Not much, in some of our cases, but I hope to change that."

"You're mad," Severus said, less of an accusation and more of an amused observation.

"If I am, I have reason to be," Hermione said cheerfully.

"That's not very reassuring," Severus said.

"On the contrary!" Hermione said. "It's far more comforting to know that it's the things I've seen that drove me loopy instead of some early onset chemical imbalance."

"Is it your intention to announce to the world what you are?"

"Hm, not exactly. I wouldn't be pleased to find out that the very people I'm trying to save have gone and reported me to their master. I'm entirely capable of disappearing, you know. It's not my loss if the future doesn't change. Did you know that in little more than twenty years from now the pureblood population will have been cut down by over half? He doesn't actually care about blood purity, it's just a ready-made launch for his career."

Severus was beginning to look uneasy. "You could get killed for saying these things," he said.

"I could, yes," Hermione agreed. "It's time to get to class. Would you care to escort me?"

"Do I have a choice?" he grumbled, standing and sliding his bag onto his shoulder.

"Not really," Hermione chuckled. As far as he knew, this was a political choice only further complicated by the fact that she was a Pureblood lady. There was no right answer. She couldn't bring herself to feel guilty for it, since the choice was an illusion. No one noticed their conversation or that they were even leaving, save perhaps Albus.

"You find this amusing," said Severus, glowering. "You do know that there will be social repercussions, yes?"

"Of course I do. Come, it's time for Herbology. And no, before you ask, I don't know what possessed them to schedule that so early in the day." She slipped her hand into the crook of his elbow, refusing to allow him to distance himself from her.

He more than made up for it with his stony expression. "I hadn't planned on asking you anything." The implication that she was both stupid and insane didn't escape Hermione, but she allowed it. After all, the boy was under some stress.

Herbology was both chilly and boring, for there was little practical application and Hermione already knew everything she could possibly find out about the flora that Pomona- Professor Sprout- meant to introduce to the class. Malefic Spores- what a joke.

Every class was becoming boring, as much as Hermione tried to ignore it. Even Arithmancy was becoming redundant, though she still took pleasure from discussing it with Professor Regent.

It was possible, by now, that Hermione knew enough about Arithmancy to apply it to her situation. A time-consuming, complicated project it would be, but could hardly do anything but ultimately assist her. And if she had so much free time, so little of her brain engaged-

Yes, that was it. She would throw herself into studying Arithmancy, for probability would be her strongest ally. Hadn't she already been wishing she could map out the consequences of her actions? She'd never read into such an encompassing project as this, but surely there would be documentation.

Had Albus taken advantage of this resource during the Second War? Surely he couldn't have, if things had gone so horribly wrong. Even taking hindsight bias into account, he couldn't have possibly thought that the probability of the Light winning was strong. Every examination proved that it was a coin toss at the very best.

A coin toss. There were timelines out there where the Light had won. Where Harry and Ron lived. Perhaps where everyone had lived. It was a comforting thought, to know that perhaps not so much rode on her success. The fate of a few timelines, yes, but in the grand scheme of things?

No, she couldn't think like that. It would be too easy to convince herself then that nothing mattered. That none of Voldemort's depravity mattered, that none of Harry's tragedies mattered, just because there were other timelines where they didn't exist. Hermione had to work for the well-being of every timeline she touched, she had to.

Harry would grow up in a happier future, because she loved him most of everyone. He deserved it.

Professor Regent was a valuable resource, as it turned out. She could recommend books, even books which the Library at Hogwarts didn't carry, and Hermione would go to the Shop and read them there. This new goal gave her the will to focus less on the emotional pain of her estrangement from Echo, and from Sirius and Lily. It helped.

It started with determining her own path, including her past and ignoring (for now) the future. It took no little effort not only to work out the equations, but to accurately plot them to create her path. Sure, there were spells which could plot it independently of her influence, but she was unwilling to rely on such things. She had to understand what was going on, as thoroughly as possible, before using anything automatic.

Her line was, fittingly, a charcoal grey. How glamorous.

The next line was Voldemort, and his line was jet black. She had to rely on every bit of information she remember, as even small details drastically changed his line direction.

The Horcruxes were far easier to plot, being based on a pre-existing line and having little autonomy. With every Horcrux she added, Voldemort's main line became more and more diluted until it was thin, barely even visible. That just wouldn't do. It was Voldemort himself, not his Diary, who was a true threat. Short of manipulating the line itself, which Hermione could be sure wouldn't go well, she could only attempt to make it more distinct. It would make more sense to work in three dimensions, anyway, and as a key player a bit of luminescence wouldn't go amiss.

After accounting for herself and Voldemort, Hermione was at a loss as to the next step. Harry was important, yes, but he wouldn't even exist during the year Hermione was confined to. He could have no influence. Hell, the prophecy hadn't been spoken yet. James and Lily hadn't defied Voldemort even once yet, much less thrice.

His birth was important, she acknowledged, but she would calculate that as an event, not a path.

That answered her question. James, Remus, Sirius, Peter, and Lily were all hopelessly tangled this conflict. She knew the most about them, anyway, and the paths would be more accurate knowing their past choices. These five lines took weeks to calculate and plot and revise and calculate again.

Every line was assigned a variable and a numerical value. With those in place Hermione had to re-work the previous equations.

Fine, perhaps she wouldn't do the whole project manually. Just the main players, and then the minor players and events could be automatically plotted and their variables worked into the other equations. Of course, she would have to calculate everything herself, as every Arithmancer had to do.

It took yet another week to compile and learn these spells, but the end result was worth it.

Seven lines, so far: Sirius was a deep maroon, James was a dark gold, Peter was a sickly sort of green, Remus was a navy blue, and Lily was a pastel blue, in addition to Hermione's grey and Voldemort's black. The lines twisted into one another and pulled away, sometimes passing through an un-plotted event and changing direction. In the three-dimensional work space there was so much empty space, and as of yet no purpose.

Albus and Aberforth came next, and Albus was a pale yellow to Aberforth's dark yellow.

The next few weeks saw the inclusion of Severus (brilliant violet), Regulus (mahogany), Minerva (red-orange), Bellatrix (dark green), Narcissa (sea green), and Lucius (pale orange). These complete, Hermione began working on event. They were polygons of varying size, depending on how many paths were affected.

By the beginning of December, she had a rough diagram of the entire situation, but she didn't just sit back and theorize for months. It was obvious from the beginning that her influence was necessary- especially when it came to the Slytherins.

She would have to take his army from him. With his followers would go his power.

The way to do that had been apparent even at the beginning of the cycle- appeal to their sense of preservation. Preservation of self, of family, of ideals, all of the things that Voldemort used against them to spur them into action. She would take those with some doubt already and convert them, and they would help her spread her ideas. She would allow them to believe that she was a Seer.

As was her habit, she made a list, cataloging each Slytherin by future importance, current influence, personal conviction, and pliability.

Hermione was already working on Severus, as his future importance was nearly unparalleled. The next step, however, was to convert someone who was close to Severus, had reason to doubt Voldemort's cause, and would be willing to listen to her. The answer was easy: Regulus Black. Ally of Severus, brother of Sirius Black, and not socially assertive.

"You're worried about your brother," Hermione said, bending over and resting her elbows on the table across from him. He sat alone, A Potioneer's Companion open before him.

He said nothing, only staring up at her with an expression battling between bemusement, suspicion, curiosity, and irritation.

"It's a sensitive spot for you. It's easiest to get your attention that way," Hermione explained. When no response came, she continued, "You help bring down the Dark Lord, a day that comes too soon. Ultimately you only end up making actually destroying him more difficult for those who might actually succeed. You mean well, naturally, but in the end you die in vain."

"Is this your idea of a joke?" Regulus asked, some measure of discomfort evident in his body language.

"Oh, no," Hermione said, sinking down so that her chin rested on her hands. "It isn't funny. Ironic, yes, but not funny."

"How could you know this? And why would you tell me? How do I know that it's true, anyway?"

"Regulus Black, why do you think my family was targeted this summer?" With that, Hermione smiled and stood, walking away.

He would need less of a hands-on approach than Severus, for he was by nature less cynical than his older friend. She only had to provide him with clues and he would come to his own conclusions. He was a clever boy.

She allowed several days before approaching him again. "You've spoken to Severus," she said.

"I have," said Regulus, closing his textbook but bookmarking it with his ring finger. It was An Understanding of Mind-Altering Potions this time.

Hermione smiled. "I'd hoped you would. I believe you both could help one another... marinate these ideas. What are your thoughts?"

"Snape thinks that you're a Seer," he said. "By his account, you've mentioned some things to him that you should have no way of knowing." The look on his face told her that he didn't know what these "things" were, and he was struggling not to let his curiosity eat him alive.

Hermione hadn't stopped plying Severus with her words and company. She'd spoken at him at length, citing his childhood abuse as a factor of his present and future behavior. He'd, predictably, been furious. He clearly wasn't comfortable with anyone knowing his secrets, and perhaps especially not her.

"I asked for your thoughts, Regulus Black," Hermione said. She traced the grain of the wooden table with her fingernail, peering into Regulus's eyes. They were exactly the same shade as Sirius's, and she didn't want to explore her feelings about that.

Regulus met her gaze unflinchingly, though the slight crease of his brow spoke the truth. "I agree with him, for now," he said. "He tells me that you've claimed the future to be changeable."

"I'm glad he mentioned that," said Hermione. "You don't have to die the way you do. In fact, I fully plan on preventing that."

"Why?" It was a word which said so many things, one of those things being a plain inability to understand what her motive was, why she would care if he died. It was a word which spoke of the deaths he'd witnessed, his understanding that he would die nameless in the end. He wouldn't believe altruism of her. Perhaps he wouldn't believe it of anyone.

"As good as your intentions will be, you do end up being a nuisance. Your actions are a roadblock to my ultimate goal, and my job is to clear the way as much as possible. It just so happens that you live longer as a result."

"You didn't lie to me," Regulus remarked, clearly surprised.

She laughed at that. "I have no need nor desire to spare your feelings. Candor is the most efficient option. If you would be more easily swayed by a lie, I would tell you one."

"Another honest answer," said Regulus, smiling himself.

Hermione hummed her agreement, but her patience was wearing thin. There was so little of it, these days, when it came to people. She forgot to say goodbye as she stood and floated out of the room, thinking of her Arithmancy.

#tybt #harry potter fanfiction #multi-chapter

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journeysintowebcomics · 5 years

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Homestuck Liveblog #184

UPDATE 184: Individuality According to Dirk Strider

Last time Dirk took over not only Rose, but also the entire narrative of this epilogue. What will be the consequences of such a thing? Well, he can control the story to some extent, for one. One of his actions was to make Jade fall unconscious, from what I understood, so let’s now continue.

The next page has Jade, but it’s a different one. It’s the Jade that was in the fight with Lord English, the one who is now drifting in the middle of nowhere, near the black hole. I suppose she survived the shard of reality impaling her on the back. Either that or she’s on the verge of death, like John is. I’ll take solace on that the odds the reality shard is poisoned are pretty low.

For a moment, she has the feeling that she’s recalling something. Images and sounds in her head that resemble memories. But the memories aren’t hers, exactly. They seem to be someone else’s. There’s an older version of Roxy... someone with a cheerful green skull for a head, who was... Roxy’s girlfriend? Something about an election. No, this doesn’t make any sense at all. The memories are slipping away, anyway. Quickly, they dissolve, and soon they’re completely out of her mind’s reach, like she’s waking from a dream. Just like that, they’re gone.

That sounds like it could be what Dirk and Rose were experiencing, visions of alternate selves. I wonder, though, perhaps Dirk’s the one sending said vision onto Jade? Heck, maybe he’s been doing this for much longer than I thought, and he’s the one who has been tormenting Rose, all so she would go talk to him and he’d have the chance to take over her. It’s plausible, I’d say.

Since she’s floating around half-dead, she has some time to think, and among the thoughts that may or may not be all hers, there’s something that gets my attention.

And she just fought Lord English after being plucked out of a doomed timeline.

For a while I had forgotten that those from doomed timelines are, well, doomed. John took with him a bunch of doomed people to fight Lord English. No wonder they died, really. Not that recruiting everyone from Earth C would have been more palatable, because he’d be placing at risk the versions of his friends who live in a peaceful Earth. There just wasn’t a perfect choice here.

For a moment I thought maybe Dirk had manipulated Rose and gave John instructions to make things go the way he wanted – including John most likely dying, given how Dirk thinks of him as useless and unremarkable – but then I remembered it was stated Dirk took over Rose during their conversation.

Something’s calling for Jade, right from the center of the black hole. It’s beckoning her, so she gets flying towards the black hole. Is that a good thing?

Oh! A red word in middle of everything! Dave red. I’m surprised! I didn’t think Dave would have the ability to mess with the narration too, but it makes sense. Striders, go!

She considers asking who is speaking, but her mouth stays shut, powerless against the forces transfixing her. Jade has no way of knowing who this voice belongs to. She has no context for understanding the true nature of this being, what role she has played in bringing about the end, and how long she has been waiting for this. She has no idea. But I do.

The dead cherub is making her move.

Hm. I’m a liiiittle bit concerned. The text is red, indicating it’s Caliborn. However, it’s not on ALL CAPS, like I remember Caliborn writes. Calliope is the only other option, and she’d write with green if she used color. Odd, hm...I guess I’ll know for sure which cherub this is when a word with U is shown.

You know a page’s not going to be fun when the very first lines are about someone being xenophobic – supposedly. It’s not like it was shown what it was. Sigh.

Apparently what caused potentially xenophobic comments was the mother grub being generally unpleasant to see. Cultural shock, I’ll say, it really was insensitive. I sure wouldn’t think a mother grub doing her thing is a nice sight, but you just don’t say that kind of thing aloud! Inner monologues are such a blessing. But hey, it’s the rebirth of trolls, this pretty much marks the success of everything Karkaroni and the rest of the trolls worked for. Only three of the original twelve are seeing the final result, but it’s worth it anyway.

So, why the description of the mother grub laying slurry from its ovipositional sphincter stuff is somehow less disgusting than the description of John eating meat? It’s kind of incongruent.

Ah, right, Kanaya is here, watching over the mother grub, and questions why they’re here, if it wasn’t to make quips about the mother grub’s performance. They’re here to convince Kanaya to join them into their political adventure, I figure. I’m not sure how Kanaya will react to that, but I don’t think she’ll eagerly support it. If she does it’ll be because of Karkaroni, though.

DAVE: im dropping a beat

DAVE: like im using a turntable and scratching one song into another

DAVE: all smooth and shit

KARKAT: IT LOOKS LIKE YOU’RE TRYING TO FOLD LAUNDRY YOU FORGOT TO IRON.

This amused me so much because that’s such a fun description of Dave’s gesture. It all reminds me I like Karkaroni a lot, what a colorful character he is.

Of course Kanaya was already aware of the election, and is impressed Karkaroni didn’t burst into flames with everyone watching him. Hah! Karkaroni replies to this gentle jab with a harsher remark about Kanaya’s like-blooded ancestors. Kind of a low blow, but nothing Kanaya can’t deal with what after so many years of being friends with Karkaroni.

She says Karkaroni has her utmost faith but that’s not the same as wanting to endorse him. I think if necessary she would, but it definitely isn’t a promise. She admits everything Karkaroni said concerns her, and Dirk takes the time to give a compliment about how Potential President Karkat can’t take compliments directly. The warm feelings cease when Kanaya mentions Jane already passed by to talk, though.

KANAYA: You Know I Do Like Jane

KANAYA: In Some Regards She Reminds Me Of A Friend We Had Who Sadly Did Not Survive Our Time On The Meteor

KANAYA: She Was Unfailingly Kind To Everyone She Met But She Also Happened To Be The Heiress To The Throne Of A Vast And Bloody Empire

KANAYA: And While She Had A Lot Of Opinions On Reform She Had Already Wrenched Some Of Her Power From Our Last Empress In The Traditional Manner

Feferi? Yeah, she was rather sweet, for troll standards. That said, I don’t think she was ‘unfailingly kind’. I mean, one of the few memories I have of her is she calling Jade stupid in a dream because she didn’t realize Feferi was dead. Hard to say someone’s unfailingly kind when the one interaction with somebody who wasn’t a troll was that, from what I remember. To her credit, she did show concern and care towards most of the trolls, so there’s that, at least.

KANAYA: By Which I Mean That Jane Is Perfectly Pleasant And I Believe That She Has Only The Best Of Intentions

KANAYA: But I Cant Shake The Feeling That Deep Inside Her Lurks The Potential For Despotism

The road to hell is paved with good intentions, they say. The saying in its usual meaning doesn’t apply to this, buuuut even though Jane has bad intentions, the result of said good intentions may not be the best for everyone. It’s a shame that so far it’s increasingly clear Jane’s supposed to be treated like she’s 100% in the wrong and should be shunned. My opinion is that maybe it’d be more interesting if it wasn’t so...black and white. That’s how things seem to me from what I have read so far, at least.

KARKAT: BUT FUCKING FEFERI? SHE WAS HARMLESS.

KANAYA: These Things Take Time To Gestate Karkat

DAVE: damn

KANAYA: Power Corrupts In Small Steps

KANAYA: Compromises

KANAYA: Concessions

KANAYA: Appeasements

KANAYA: And Leaders Follow The Example Set For Them

KANAYA: Look At What Jane Has Modeled Herself After Already

KANAYA: I Do Believe Its Important To Consider Precedent

I guess Kanaya would know better than me when it’s about troll culture, buuuut if I had to guess, Feferi would be a bit of an unpopular empress at first, given how different her policies of ‘don’t cull everyone’, but it’d be matter of time before trolls more amenable to her policies and ideas would exist, so I suppose at least for the first century or two she’d have to have a tough hand and maybe even use force to make things change. It’d be pretty close to fascism, admittedly.

Ooooh boy, Kanaya laughed, not kindly. That’s a no to the endorsement. Is she on Jane’s train, then?

KANAYA: Jane Offered Me “A Seat” On The “Board Of Responsible Troll Reproduction”

KARKAT: WHAT THE FUCK. HOW DARE SHE!

KANAYA: That Is Exactly What I Said

KANAYA: With More Tact Of Course

Board of responsible troll reproduction? That’s rather controlling. Jane, stop following the Condesce’s style, goodness.

The trolls are rather indignant at Jane’s tactless ideas, best intentions be damned, so it’s likely once anyone who isn’t human hears about it they’ll vote for Karkat. So from what I’m reading, this is starting to shape up into humans vs non-humans in general. That’s a rather delicate situation, no wonder it was said the peace in Earth C was so fragile.

I keep noticing Kanaya is dodging the topic of giving or not giving endorsement, even though that topic is touched she always has a way to go in a tangent. Look at her and learn a thing about smoothly changing topics, Dave, she’s good at this.

Apparently Rose has been distant with Dave, and he thinks she either is sick or she’s pregnant. Ah. Well that’s a thought I’d rather not to delve into, thanks for the weird thoughts, Dave. Take a hint from the trolls staring at you. Kanaya seems to feel guilty about something, and I’m not sure if Rose would have told her or not about the headaches and the unraveling of her powers and stuff. She even decides to call Rose right now.

Dirk answers, alarming Kanaya, who stays calm for diplomatic purposes. No answers come because John is doing something vaguely important to the plot again. Hah! Part of me is just imagining Dirk saw Kanaya was calling and because it’d be so awkward and bothersome to have to explain or make excuses, he made John do something just so he could get out of the conversation. But hey, no complaints from me! Moving the plot forward is good.

John’s vaguely important plot actions involve thinking about how everyone should become one powerful person, apparently. Is that your final objective, Dirk? Do you want everyone to become one person?

...

That kind of makes Jane’s presidential ambitions be a lot more sinister, since Dirk is so into them. I can’t rule out the possibility Jane winning the election would be an important step towards that goal, supposing he really intends to do such a thing.

Enough shoving strange thoughts into John’s head because he needs to focus on Meenah talking to him. She’s alive and not inside a black hole! Neato. What’s up, Lord English is dead. Rejoice!

There’s more silence than conversation here because they don’t know each other at all, unless you count John getting stabbed with a trident once or twice. Since this is a veeeery awkward conversation, he instead asks if she knows where Jade is, and Meenah doesn’t even know who Jade is. This conversation is just going nowhere.

This is without a doubt one of the worst conversations you’ve had in many, many years. And you aren’t just thinking that because I’m telling you you are.

When he’s right he’s right! More awkwardness ensues. They’re two strangers talking, pretty much.

JOHN: so what’s your plan now?

MEENAH: plan

JOHN: yeah.

JOHN: you just gonna hang around here, in the middle of nowhere, doing nothing forever?

MEENAH: thats what ghosts is most good at aint they

JOHN: you don’t have to stay here.

JOHN: i can take you back with me, to my planet.

JOHN: i mean, after we’re done looking for more survivors.

Is that possible? Can a ghost be among the living, just like that? Oh, right, John has the ring of life he took from Aranea. He could give it to Meenah and she’d be alive again. Is it a good idea, though? Do they want Meenah around? That’s what I’m not very sure about, because Meenah really doesn’t strike me as the kind of person who’d enjoy a peaceful existence with everyone else, or...as peaceful as it’ll get with everything that’s going on in Earth C.

Meenah points out correctly she’s a ghost and can’t exist over there in that planet, and she thought of her own plan, anyway. John gets close enough for her to whisper and then she leaves. John then thinks of checking his pockets and realizes the ring has been stolen. Pretty surprising it didn’t fall out of John’s pocket at some point given how much he was moving and getting bitten around. This is why you should captchalogue things instead of storing things in your pocket like some plebian, John!

Now that I think about it, captchaloguing simply stopped being a thing like in the middle of Act 6. Not that I’m complaining, really.

So, it turned out John’s vaguely important plot stuff was he getting the ring stolen by Meenah, so now that it’s done, Dirk can return to the conversation with Kanaya. How do you explain to someone her bride is unconscious after you pretty much started mind-controlling her? I suppose you don’t?

He totally isn’t explaining a thing. For someone who considers himself so clever and forward-planning what with the assimilation plan, he’s pretty awful at not keeping things going smoothly. Pretty bad traits for someone planning to possibly assimilate someone into one being.

DIRK: Sorry, Rose can’t come to the phone right now.

DIRK: She is otherwise... occupied.

KANAYA: Where Is She

DIRK: She’s at my place.

KANAYA: Im Sorry What

KANAYA: Rose Is Extremely Ill And Should Not Be Leaving The House Alone

KANAYA: What Is She Doing At Your Place

DIRK: Chillaxing, whilst we discuss the inevitable heat death of the universe and the unknowable, solitary nature of human consciousness.

KANAYA: I See

KANAYA: If She Is Capable Of Such Abstract Polemics Why Is It That She Cannot Speak With Me

DIRK: That’s a damned good question.

DIRK: One that will undoubtedly benefit from further exploration over the course of the next abstract polemic I have with her.

Goddamnit, Dirk. You could have just said she’s in the bathroom and that’d have worked slightly better than this!

Dirk’s taunting and messing around makes Kanaya decide she’ll get Rose, and once the call is over, Rose starts waking up. She doesn’t seem very under-Dirk’s-control right now, but she’s not okay. Maybe it’s a slow process or something.

John currently is wandering around, pondering if he should do surgery on the golden tooth stuck on his chest with a straight razor, and finding Jade’s shoes. He also finds Terezi. There she is! Wandering aaaaall the way out of the peaceful world, apparently. Either way, in this one paragraph I have compressed one entire page.

Apparently while they want for Kanaya Dirk’s making Rose discuss abstract polemics. I’m pretty sure that’s Dirk talking through her, because although Rose’s plenty verbose, I don’t think discussing philosophy while being sick is something she’d be eager to do. Also, she’s touching the topics of individuality, which is pretty relevant to Dirk right now. May as well listen, so I can understand a little better why Dirk’s doing all this.

Who the heck is Kierkegaard.

I’m going to be honest: reading philosophy being spouted with a straight face isn’t really what I was looking for in a liveblog. I feel a bit bad for scrolling through while all these orange and purple words fly over my head, buuuuut I don’t think liveblogging the intricacies of philosophical concepts is going to be interesting or fun, so I’m sparing everyone – and myself.

Oh, something I can bite into.

ROSE: I think free will is a thing, sure.

DIRK: Are you sure about that?

ROSE: ...

DIRK: Haven’t we spent the entire day having a feelings jam on how none of us got here by accident?

DIRK: Our lives were meticulously planned from clone-ception up through this very post-canon moment we find ourselves riffing in about the very free will we probably don’t even have.

DIRK: Don’t you think it’s all a little too convenient?

I mean, it’s a bit difficult to say there’s not a predetermined plan for these characters. If you don’t go through a series of actions, you’re in a doomed timeline and therefore you die. It’s hard not to go along the predetermined path when it’s either that or death. The only exception is John, who got powers of retcon and was able to jump around changing things to create the new predetermined path, but even then it’s possible the universe at a whole had determined that would happen and just nudged things in that direction.

Then again, when it’s about fiction there’s no free will. The author’s words and thoughts are the predetermined path. Authors are little gods creating their universe, so yeah, characters have no free will. Oh, look what you have done, Dirk, now I’m spouting philosophical nonsense, you sly fox. Won’t lie, typing all that just from a stream of thought was kind of fun. So that’s why the Striders enjoy being verbose.

Dirk keeps Rose lying down on the couch, proving he has full control of the narrative and therefore decides what happens and what doesn’t. He’s the author now and therefore the predetermined path is the one he creates. Oh there I go again, stop baiting me into philosophical hackneyed nonsense, Dirk.

The words ‘Ultimate Self’ and Dirk’s plan to possibly assimilate everyone into one god seem like they’re related, no? Maybe Dirk considers his Ultimate Self to be his goal, and it involves total assimilation. Pretty grim scenario, really.

Dirk makes Rose expand her mind, and she can see what John is doing right now.

ROSE: He could have made another choice.

DIRK: Then where would we be?

ROSE: Who knows.

The Candy epilogue, perhaps? I’m not sure how things would have changed based on that decision, but hey, butterfly effect stories are fun.

I’m not going to describe what she sees. First of all, that would be spoiling it. Unless you already know, in which case, I guess what’s taking place here qualifies as something closer to dramatic irony. But if you really want to see it for yourself, stop what you’re doing, flip the whole thing over, and begin again. I’ll be right here when you get back, waiting. Trust me, no one’s going anywhere.

Is this an indication I should go take a look at the candy epilogue now? It sounds like it is. I wonder if I should...but no, I have decided to see this through to the end. I’m already halfway done, may as well finish it.

If what Rose is saying is a reference to the events of the Candy epilogue, it doesn’t sound like they’re faring much better than the Meat epilogue. Sooooo the characters are generally screwed and are going to suffer either way. For people who spent three years in a game to create a new universe and get their happy lives that sure sucks.

Ah, here he is, I can see this is the moment where Dirk has finally assimilated Rose. It’s over for her. All that’s left is a condescending guy funneling pretentious thoughts into her. I liked Rose’s pretentious thoughts better. Next page!

Dirk’s narration when he’s talking about someone else’s supposed thoughts and actions is pretty exhausting. I find myself going faster and faster, and not because I’m invested in what he’s saying. Having Dirk as a narrator was a bad decision, he’s just on the same level than Doc Scratch was. Still not really enjoying the epilogue much.

He’s trying to stop her from going deeper into the black hole, and he’s failing. Not even the narrative is powerful enough to stop that, because there’s a stronger being trying to control parts of the narrative, the dead cherub trying to do this with red words. There was a U but it’s not any different from the rest of the text. The red text sounds courteous enough instead of Caliborn’s IRREVERENT SHOUTING so I suppose it’s Calliope, or at least a version of her. She beckons Jade deeper and deeper, until she’s irreversibly caught by the black hole and dragged in, much to Dirk’s frustration. There she goes! I’m curious what’ll happen with Jade, I admit!

Oho, the dead cherub is not only taking over the narration related to Jade in the black hole, they also are trying to take over the narration for the Jade in Earth C, the one who passed out in front of Roxy and Calliope.

ROXY: omg!

ROXY: jade

ROXY: jade u ok?

ROXY: callie hurry shes wakin up

JADE: j... john? rose??

JADE: is dave...?

JADE: wh...

JADE: what happened to.....

ROXY: yo its ok

ROXY: daves cool

ROXY: rose is cool

ROXY: everyones just straight chillin like usual

Huh! This feels kinda like the Jade in the black hole is being funneled into the Jade in Earth C. Are they fusing together, perhaps?

Dirk really doesn’t like that he can’t figure out what the dead cherub’s goal with the narrative is, and wastes his narrative grip by fuming about it while the dead cherub actually moves things along. It seems the Jade in Earth C is receiving the memories of her doomed black hole self. Maaaaaybe the doomed ghost versions of people getting caught in the black hole is that causes the headaches and visions. On the other hand, that’d require a lot of Roses and Dirks and Jades to be sucked into the black hole, and last I checked the ghost army was exclusively made of trolls. True, the black hole isn’t tied to the normal flow of time, so maybe it has expanded enough it has sucked a lot of doomed versions of the humans already.

Jade’s eyes are completely black. Alright, that wasn’t expected.

jade does not answer. the dead cherub scans her surroundings, expression neutral.

for the sake of clarity, the dead cherub is a phrase i am using in reference to myself. presently, i inhabit jade’s body, and through her i may influence this world.

Ah, nevermind, the dead cherub’s hijacking people around now. At least I can take solace on that it’s unlikely they have the same goal than Dirk. They even call him megalomaniac, which isn’t really wrong. They also call him a threat to the continued existence of the world and corporeal life, which is a tad worse than I thought it’d be. Was he planning to make everyone eliminate themselves once he got the complete takeover? Dirk’s goal is worse and worse with every page, seriously.

It doesn’t seem like Jade’s able to do anything, not even think. This is just as bad for them than what Dirk did to Rose, but it’s possible Jade’s current state is reversible once the dead cherub doesn’t need her anymore. On the other hand, what Dirk did seems permanent.

Aha, it definitely is Calliope doing things here in the narrative. Neat!

Dirk sounds so salty he’s losing the battle for the narrative, Dead Calliope even uses metaphors that are familiar to him to drive home the point: he’s outclassed. Thank goodness, I was getting tired of Dirk’s narrative.

in his haste to manipulate the events surrounding doomed jade’s ascent toward an outcome favorable to himself, the prince has unwittingly revealed several glaring weaknesses. by dictating the reality of others through expressions which he and he alone can relate to, he resorts to comparing all experience to his own. presuming his status on this side of my horizon would forever go unchallenged, his hubris went unchecked. he exposed too much of himself to all who could observe his wanton display of self-gratification. many of his personal biases and experiences have leaked through the seams of textual causality, leaving them vulnerable to exploitation by an adversary.

I’m not very sure what she means, but what’s clear is that Dirk brought this to himself, he’s the one who left the opening and enabled Dead Calliope to strike. He has nobody to blame but himself. A+ work, Dirk, try again. It also helps that Dead Calliope has more experiences with the vastness of metaphysical and narrative stuff than Dirk does, and isn’t as scared of it all as he is. If she’ll spend quite some time dunking on Dirk’s efforts I’m all for it. He deserves all the dunking he can get. Look at his tiny font, getting saltier and saltier. I’m enjoying this more, I have to say!

This seems like a good point to stop, now that we have a new narrator. Alright, until next time!

Next update: next time

#homestuck #homestuck liveblog #webcomics #liveblog #webcomic liveblog

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journeysintowebcomics · 7 years

Text

Worm Liveblog #35

UPDATE 35: The Schemer

Last time the Undersiders had barely managed to placate Purity and her pals, Tattletale revealed where Aster was. Prior to that the Undersiders almost died because they were seriously outmaneuvered and Grue was still woozy from spilling his blood around the city like a leaky bag of water, courtesy of the fight with Hookwolf, Cricket and That Other Guy. Let’s continue and most likely finish this arc!

Looks like everything has calmed down. The Undersiders go to a building in construction, Tattletale has the keys for all the locks they encounter. There’s a hatch where they go down, and judging by the fact they encounter some of Coil’s soldiers, this may be a hideout. Somehow...I’m a bit disappointed, but that’s because a smelly complex underneath a construction site doesn’t mesh with the image I have of Coil. I had imagined an “evil-looking” building – threatening yet nothing out of common in a city. Oh well. If Coil has stuff and soldiers here, it’s for a reason.

Circus is here, many of Coil’s soldiers are here, and a bunch of people that aren’t soldiers are here too. I wonder if the Travelers are here somewhere too. So, once Coil finishes talking with some people he approaches the Undersiders, gesturing around.

“Once things are set up, some of this will be a base of operations for the Travelers, the rest of this space serving as a place my men can meet before they deploy.”

Ah, right. Coil doesn’t stay here. So, Grue doesn’t sound happy at all, his body language denotes irritation. It’s explained why when Tattletale informs that the negotiations about joining Coil have taken a turn for the worse.

“We keep getting through these fights by the skin of our teeth. We’re not up to it. Just a few days after we helped take down the ABB, a situation that had two of our members facing down Lung and Oni Lee, we were up against the Protectorate, the Wards and Empire Eighty-Eight in the span of forty-eight hours. Even with your people and your powers to help, we’re not strong enough for this.”

Usually I’d say you as a group surely have Plot Armor and therefore you’ll survive everything, but Mr. Wildbow has shown willingness to put everyone in tough situations and mortal peril more than once, with painful consequences for them. I mean, I’m pretty sure Taylor will stay alive no matter what, but by now I can’t think the rest are guaranteed to survive.

Tattletale shook her head, “We’d rather not, but it depends on what we agree to here and now, in this meeting. We talked this over for the past week, and I’ll be blunt. The one person who wasn’t keen on taking your deal changed her mind, but the rest of us now have some serious reservations. And it’s not just the issue of our safety.”

Yes, I suppose the issue of accidentally making the Undersiders a target for the Empire Eighty-Eight may have soured their mood. But hey, Heckpuppy is now willing to accept the deal, so...if everybody else decides to stay with the arrangement, it’ll be as good as done.

Indeed, that’s part of why they’re not happy with Coil right now. Even Tattletale, who has worked with Coil for a while, has concerns about what’s going on, so if their concerns are settled, then they’ll join. At first, when this proposal was mentioned, I was completely sure there was no way the Undersiders would reject it, that they’d get Heckpuppy to join their side and they’d accept. But now...now I’m not so sure. I guess it depends on what’s going to be said in this chapter.

Coil apologized and I have a hard time believing it’s sincere. Must be because I distrust Coil – he’s a mastermind, after all. You can’t trust their words, intentions and emotions. Turns out he had been working on outing them for a while already, and this was his chance to finally do it. Tattletale’s help was vital to finish gathering the information. And so! It was done. He simply...well...

Coil turned his head, “Yes. I’ll admit I am not proud of my failure to see the bigger picture, and I assure you, it is not a mistake I am prepared to make again.”

There’s something kinda disappointing about hearing a mastermind not see the bigger picture, but at the same time I doubt he’d have let that stop him. The advantages of revealing E88’s people and destroying them that way were too big, so I bet it was going to happen anyways. Besides, if I understand his power, right, he’d have lived in the timeline/universe that got the best results.

Regent doesn’t want to accept the apology because it’s just that, an apology. Good!

Coil stopped, and we were forced to stop or we would have walked right into him. He spoke, “If you accept my deal, I will undertake no plan of this scale without first consulting you, the Travelers and the independent villains that work for me. It is my hope that you would be able to inform me about any flaws or unintended consequences regarding my schemes.”

...I feel a bit wary about the words ‘plan of this scale’. It’s kind of a vague interpretation, isn’t it? Could mean anything, could mean nothing. It’s not enough to get the Undersiders to work with him, they’re still indecisive, and Skitter even says he can’t pull the ‘Tattletale will know if I lie or hide something’ card because Tattletale isn’t infallible. Yeah, that’s true. We as readers already saw it a few times, and Coil seems to me the kind of person that’d manage to pull the wool over Tattletale’s eyes.

Besides, there’s also the problem about how unsafe they feel, what with the incredibly tough fights the author Coil keeps throwing them into. I swear, if Coil is Mr. Wildbow’s self-insert in some shape or way, I’m going to be hella amused. I like Coil as a villain, and I find interesting he has been directly and indirectly involved in all the big fights so far. It’s thanks to him that the Undersiders have been in deadly danger a few times already.

Anyway, Coil already is planning the next step of his conquest. He knows where Kaiser is hiding, and he wants the Undersiders to defeat him. He seems to have a secret weapon that may help. Not a something, a person, another cape, undoubtedly. Must be really powerful if he’s willing to make her help the Undersiders fight.

Iiiii was wrong, this is not a fighter. It’s a girl, twelve years old or so, and doesn’t seem to be a fighter. Instead Coil asks for some ‘numbers’, offering ‘candy’ in exchange. Hm. So!

“I did. But I want the Undersiders to hear what you say. Give me a number. How would they do, without my help?”

“Forty-six point six two three five four percent chance they all come back. Thirty three point seven seven nine zero one percent only some come back. That’s one question.”

Looks like this girl calculates possibilities, somehow, she sees all the potential outcomes and sees the percentage in her head. Sounds headache-inducing, like all precognitive powers tend to sound. So, following this, it’d mean...twenty-one percent chance of total and complete failure, leaving decimals aside because I don’t want to deal with that. The odds aren’t that bad, but I’m sure the Undersiders won’t want to risk some of them dying.

That aside this sure explains how Coil’s getting so far in his mastermind task! This is the kind of power I’d love to have, honestly – even though I’m aware surely it has many drawbacks. Doesn’t help I’m an indecisive type of person.

The Travelers have better odds of surviving. And if both teams are sent – I mean scenarios where one team is sent, not that they go together – and Coil helps, the odds go down drastically. Oh. That’s...odd. The only way I can see that happening is if Coil’s help ends betraying the Undersiders/Travelers or something like that, because I don’t think they’d be incompetent. Who knows.

Coil calling this girl ‘pet’ is rather creepy.

One last question before she’s given candy. Or...’candy’, because I kind of doubt by now it’s real candy. So, what are the odds the Undersiders return alive if Coil doesn’t help?

“Twelve point three one three three percent-”

That’s a really large change, hm...Coil doesn’t know how to interpret it, chalking it up to an anomaly. Anomaly like what? It’s worth noting that Tattletale is pale...something about this may have given her a nasty impression. Could that be related to the change in probabilities? Because, if she found out something, she could tell the others about it. That could be what’s skewing the results, that new info makes everything change.

Oooor something may have happened where Kaiser is in the minute or so between the first time this was asked, and the second time. Unlikely, but could have happened.

Since Coil now has something to think about, the Undersiders are told to leave. In the way out, Regent comments seeing that girl was surreal – and Skitter is...rather snappy right now. Huh...

“The candy she was asking for was a euphemism for drugs,” I spoke, and saying it aloud made it somehow more real. I hugged my arms tighter against my body, “He’s keeping her strung out so she’ll cooperate, give him his numbers.”

Aha, I see. I had the feeling it was something like that. That’s rather twisted, and completely unsurprising, somehow. Coil already showed lack of restraint when it’s about executing his plans, he revealed the families of a bunch of capes, putting them into public scrutiny. Keeping a drugged preteen to exploit her power wouldn’t be more excessive or twisted than that.

Something about finding that girl got Skitter in really bad mood, hm...ah. Oh. Well that’s a development! So, I didn’t remember it until now, but the newspapers after the bank robbery had an amber alert on the front page, a missing girl. That girl is this one, Dinah Alcott. What’s more...

“Get it, Regent?” I asked him, “The bank robbery was a distraction for the local capes, so Coil could be sure to get away with taking the kid. We played a part in that. We made that happen.”

I knew it!I knew that had to be a distraction or something! The bank robbery always seemed kind of odd, and look at that, it really was all a distraction! Coil kidnapped Dinah while the capes were busy with the robbery! And since a way to distract the capes was required for that, I can only guess this Dinah is related to some important person somehow. Maybe to a cape? And that’s why a distraction was necessary? After all, I don’t think a big distraction like the robbery would be needed if Dinah was a random girl from a local school. She has to be important, and not just because of her precognitive powers.

That’s the end of the chapter. I click on the link to the next one and...looks like this arc isn’t over yet. I pressed to the next, just for curiosity, and yeah, what I’ll read now is the final part of this arc, because what comes afterwards is an interlude. Okay, to the final stretch of this arc!

Skitter is rather upset she and her friends were used as a distraction while Coil continued his nefarious schemes – and I can’t blame her, the shock of seeing a twelve-year old girl drugged and forced to serve Coil some probability analysis must have been rather strong. It’s commendable she didn’t demand an explanation or anything once she realized what was going on.

Turns out all this time Tattletale had an idea of what was going on, but she overestimated how bad the situation was. This girl studied in a school near Arcadia, where the Wards usually are. Good reason to need a distraction, yes. She’s the niece of a mayoral candidate, and Tattletale thought Dinah was just...a bargaining chip, nothing else.

“I had a suspicion he got her to cooperate with some sort of incentive. Figure out she’s unhappy at home, give her a place to stay and some sort of bribe. Either way, it’s more fitting with his methods to date, and it would have been short term or more benign. Not so bad.”

So that’s what she thought...and the methods weren’t that different to what Coil usually did, so Tattletale felt nothing off. Hmmm...in that case, does that mean Coil is intensifying his actions? Doing bolder moves, being more ruthless? My, things are looking bleak for the city more and more, if Coil is willing to go to such extremes for his goals.

“Kind of off there,” I said, bitterly.

You said it last chapter, Skitter: Tattletale’s power isn’t perfect. It’s pretty damn good, but it’s not perfect.

Oh, just as I theorized not long ago:

“He’s been around me enough, communicated with me enough, to have an idea of stuff that I won’t necessarily know or think to look for.”

He really can hide information from Tattletale. The Undersiders can’t trust Coil at all, that’s for sure. He’ll have ways to lie to them, to hide information. Even if he tells them plans and asks for consensus, that doesn’t mean he doesn’t have other plans. So...yeah, they’re never going to trust Coil. Who would?

Skitter obviously doesn’t like the situation, but it’s not like they can say to Coil ‘hey, go screw yourself, you nutcase’ and walk away, not after seeing Dinah. Hm. Could be a long time before they get a chance to do something about it, and there’s also the problem of Coil’s power. He could skew everything in his favor, if he ever gets the chance.

Grue says they can’t reject Coil because they’re relying on him for a lot of things – among them the money he has to support his sister, the payment is good, after all. I think I once said Grue doesn’t care much about people unless it’s his friends, this here shows it. Dinah? Well that’s too bad. Aisha is higher in his list of priorities. Skitter doesn’t like hearing that. Hm. I hope this doesn’t strain their friendship, it’s sounding like it’d be a major disagreement between them.

Nobody but Skitter feels this animosity with the same intensity she does. Well, maybe they do, but they’re not going to do anything about it, for one reason or another. All Tattletale says is that they’re going to discuss it as a group. Since a unanimous agreement is needed to join Coil, would that mean they won’t, since Skitter is rejecting the deal? Could be.

“That you guys even think it’s negotiable is pretty fucked up,” I replied. The anger and betrayal I was feeling made my tone harsher, harder.

Villains, Skitter. Despite everything, they’re all villains, and now you are one too. There’s nothing you can do about it, and by now I’m pretty sure Skitter won’t leave the group, so...yeah. She may stick around, but she doesn’t have to like their situation.

Furious, Taylor turns to leave, they were all in the construction lot. When Grue tries to reach her she makes a barrier with her bugs and even considers how she could use them to her advantage in a fight against Grue, but of course the rest isn’t going to just stand there and let it happen. Heckpuppy prepares her dogs – a clear warning for Skitter – so she turns and flees. Well! The team dynamic just got a whole lot more difficult now.

Taylor went back to the loft, where one of Rachel’s dogs is resting. It’s Angelica, the one that got seriously injured by Fog. Not that Taylor cares that much, she cared about it only because Rachel did, so if anything happened to Angelica, Rachel would be devastated. And now...

It was strange to think I was walking away from this: the loft, the dogs, and the others.

...huh? Well, I believe the rest of the team will be able to convince her to stay, but I admit for a moment I thought this really may be it, the moment Taylor will walk away from the Undersiders. It’d be a bit embarrassing that not long after I said she wouldn’t leave them, she actually does.

Before her life was just getting from one day to the other, then after she got her powers she got a new goal. Since then everything Taylor did had a concrete goal in mind: becoming a superhero, betraying the Undersiders, bonding with them...and now she has to leave all that. I don’t think being a hero will be an option anymore, what after everything she has done until now. That door is closed. She can’t leave her father alone and go to another city, that’d be too much – I think, it’s not like she ever considers that course of action. She could try to be a rogue, I guess, or go back to a normal painful life. All in all...yeah, what’s she going to do?

As a memento, maybe, she takes the piece of amber Brian had given her, even taking the time to pad it with her clothes. That’s a significant action. Despite everything she’ll have something to cherish, and I’m not talking about the amber. She had some good times with the Undersiders, in the short time she’s been with them.

Her intention was to leave before the others could catch up to her, but Lisa soon found her. She doesn’t demand Taylor to stay, but I feel she’s trying to subtly convince her to stay, even if Taylor is trying her best to make her leave final.

“Believe it or not, Brian’s as freaked out as you are. If he’s being weird or out of character, it’s just him defaulting to his core programming, you know what I mean? Like Bitch getting angry, or you going quiet and wary.”

I shrugged, tied my sweatshirt around my waist, told her, “In hindsight, I don’t think it was that out of character for him. Part of the reason I’m leaving.”

Frankly...yeah, I don’t think that was out of character. That’s a facet of him. Doesn’t make it any less genuine than the other sides of Brian. I mean, I’m sure Lisa would know if that’s how he’s feeling, but it doesn’t really mean anything. Taylor’s not going to change her mind just like that.

You better not try to rescue Dinah yourself, Taylor. I don’t need precognitive powers to know that’d be a big failure and you’d be likely to die.

Tattletale spoke, “I’m not saying goodbye, because this isn’t. I’ll resolve this situation with Coil and his captive myself, if I have to, if it means we can have another civil conversation in the near future. Stay alive, don’t do anything rash, and be open to hearing us out in the future? Surely our friendship is worth doing that much?”

I think Taylor will appreciate Lisa took the time to say that. She really liked the Undersiders, she’ll appreciate Lisa is willing to someday leave this problem behind them and continue their friendship as if nothing had happened. Yeah, Taylor is willing to do that. She doesn’t say it with words, but that nod...that has to mean that, doesn’t it?

Taylor barely manages to get hallway down the stairwell when an air raid siren starts sounding. She hurries to the television to find out what was going on. All there is there was directions to evacuate. Well that’s...cheery. Some big natural disaster coming? Her first thought is that Bakuda is still causing trouble with her bombs. You don’t have to worry about her anymore, Taylor, someday you’ll find that out.

“Then what is it?” I asked her, though I already had a dark suspicion. Even the Bakuda’s terrorism campaign against the city hadn’t warranted the sirens, and that left very few possibilities.

Her response was one word, final. “Endbringer.”

...

...well...alright! Endbringer, yeah. That sounds like a big problem. Jeez, in this city big trouble happens one after another, doesn’t it? Brockton Bay looks more and more like a hell to live in. It’s almost a miracle nobody in this story has fainted out of exhaustion.

At some point before Taylor joined the group, the Undersiders had decided to help when this...Endbringer whatever it is...when this situation happened. Must be quite dangerous, that much is obvious. Since Taylor is trying to leave the group she’s under no responsibility to join them, but if she wants too—

“I’ll go.” I didn’t even need to think about it. I would never be able to forgive myself if I walked away, knowing there was something I could have done to help.

Alright, then! And once this has been dealt with, she’s going to return to the Undersiders officially? I’d think so. And that marks the end of the arc, with what’s a clear lead into next arc’s big problem. Endbringer, yeah...

...whatever will happen now won’t be piece of cake.

Next comes an interlude, so I’ll stop here now. Thank you for reading!

Next update: next time

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