I was looking at a few posts about autism (as one does) and it just suddenly clicked into place a fundamental thing about Yuri's character that I'd been grasping at, but hadn't really been able to adequately identify. I still have a much longer and more thorough analysis going through a whole lot of my thoughts on Yuri's character and her experience of autism that i'm working on (of which this will likely be a component), but I thought I'd share this separately just to emphasize.
Post I saw which made this click for me was making fun of the fact that most media depicting impaired empathy in autistic characters explicitly depicts them with this unflappable confidence of never having been rejected by people they love. The crux of this is that in actual reality, autistic people almost always have that experience at some point, for some behavior, for reasons they don't really understand. "There is an invisible line where people will get sick of you, and you have no warning of when you're about to cross it." So frequently, autistic people attempt to ride a razor thin edge, walking on constant eggshells to desperately attempt to avoid crossing that line.
Very often autistic people will attempt to avoid doing anything at all which could be considered weird, or off-putting, and will try their absolute hardest to do things in a way that is acceptable to other people, sometimes to the point of outright suppressing their emotions, because they are afraid that they'll say something just wrong enough that the people they care about will push them away, and they don't understand WHY it happened, but they know it's THEIR fault. Sometimes masking is fighting to appear aloof all the time because you can't regulate your emotions in a way that is acceptable to other people.
And holy fucking Jesus, that fits the exact mold of what I've been trying to talk about with the particular way Yuri's anxieties manifest.
It really feels to me like Yuri has this constant fear of breaking the "rules" of socializing, despite not really understanding what those rules even are. She's constantly afraid of saying something wrong, when she doesn't even know what wrong would be, she's just sure everyone ELSE will know it when they hear it. I think a huge part of her social anxiety comes from her own understanding of herself as a very weird person who doesn't really get a lot of how to socialize, and it seems to me like she's probably dealt with her fair share of social rejection and isolation based on those traits. She then felt she had to take responsibility for those traits, probably because it's the one thing she can change, and she is the one common denominator in all of these bad situations (This is something which is pretty common, actually! "Everyone else can socialize just fine, and I have so much difficulty with it! I must just be broken in some way. I have to try super hard to be normal to make friends!")
I think a big part of why it's so apparent in the Literature Club is because she really thinks she's found a place where she can make friends in spite of all of her issues, so when she starts...being herself, and receives even the smallest HINT of pushback, she overcorrects and tries to rein all of herself in to fix her "mistake", because she really wants to make friends here, and doesn't want them to reject her as well.
She's had this experience of others pushing her away for being weird so often that, coupled with her acknowledged trouble for reading situations, when anybody responds poorly to something and she recognizes it, she immediately overcorrects out of fear of being an annoying burden to everyone around her, and that "correction" consists of suppressing herself into being "normal" (or at least "less weird"), because she believes nobody could actually like her just for being who she is. There's something wrong with her fundamentally, and to make friends, for people to like her and want to be around her, she has to "fix" herself.
it's just, like...
it's really hard for me to interpret Yuri's character that doesn't involve her being somewhere on the spectrum, bros. she's written with such delicately constructed autistic coding, despite the appearance of just being a hackneyed weird girl visual novel trope. she deserves the world.......
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arthur/eithne: "why are you talking like we'll never see each other again?"
Eithne took a deep breath before speaking again.
"That's not what I meant to imply," Eithne answered slowly. "I just..." she paused. She'd had this conversation again and again over the past weeks but she had known with him it would be different-- with him her heart would hurt in a different way than it had when she'd seen the despair on her sisters' faces.
"You will always be welcome, of course, at Malconaire. My husband-to-be and I would be honored to host you and your family as our first guests after our wedding."
"Your husband-to-be?"
"I'm marrying Cassimir."
Arthur was rendered speechless and Eithne was ashamed at her next action: she fled into the garden, unable to stand the silence. He was following her within seconds.
"Why? What does he have over you to convince you to do such a thing?" Arthur demanded, grabbing Eithne's arm to stop her as she made a beeline for the chicken pen. Eithne whipped around to face him.
"Nothing. This is my own decision," Eithne answered sternly. Arthur seemed unconvinced.
"I won't let this happen. He doesn't deserve you."
"There are reasons I just cannot explain. You have to believe me-- I am doing what is best for myself. My family. My home."
"So he does hold something over you!"
"No, you're not listening--"
"I'll challenge him. For your honor," Arthur proclaimed. Eithne wrenched her arm out of his grasp.
"You will do no such thing!"
"You cannot tell me what I will and will not do-- I am your prince!" Arthur snapped suddenly, almost without thought. The words hung in the air between them and you could see the regret on his face as he realized what he had said. Something ended in that moment-- they'd been balancing on a precarious edge for months now and with that one sentence, they'd slipped into the abyss below.
"Eithne..."
"My most sincere apologies, Your Imperial Highness," Eithne answered, taking a few steps backwards from Arthur. She looked up and met his eyes-- he was silently pleading with her but she knew this was how it had to be.
"I am due to be in the village this afternoon," Eithne continued, trying to keep her voice even. "My step mother and step sister should be home by now-- I am sure they will be more than happy to receive you for tea should you wish to have some refreshments before your trip home."
"Eithne, please," Arthur was walking towards her, arm outstretched. She shook her head and he stopped. "Eithne..."
"Good afternoon, Your Imperial Highness," Eithne sank into a deep curtsey before turning and fleeing through the garden gate before he could see the emotion flooding her face.
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Braindumping about Silco and Vi, because these two are such fantastic narrative foils for each other—and, in the same breath, completely cut from the same cloth.
I keep wishing they had more scenes together, another square-off, something to put them head-to-head—because there's so much potential for them to counteract the layers of each other.
At the root of it all, Vander's looming between them, this monolith of a presence that ties their pasts together. But above that, still, we have Jinx—who not only is their driving tension, but their greatest possibility for reconnection.
Here, we have Vander's daughter—someone who, for all intents and purposes, has become what he wanted, but who has also been someone he saw too much of himself in; who he did his best to reshape, instead of enable, and who put him on a pedestal, and truly saw him as hers, more than perhaps anyone (except, well, Silco).
Vi treasured Vander, fully looked up to him as her father—and losing him shattered her. In between all the layers of it, there's this underlying thread in his actions towards her, a tension that just sits with her through Act 1—Do as I say, not as I do (or, rather, as I did).
Here, we also have Vander's partner—someone who knew him before, knew what he was, what he resented, and what he became, instead; and who bears the scars of what all their fallout grew to be. Someone who holds the memory of him tangibly, in multiple respects, as though it is something he physically cannot sever: Vander's knife, the Drop—and even, in some ways, Jinx.
Silco is still clinging to the idea of Vander, throughout the entire series. To the potential in their reunion at the cannery; to the reassurance of what he knew him to be (I knew you still had it in you; Vander wasn't the man you thought he was); to this need he has to still speak to him, even after everything.
But Vi was raised with the burden of being the eldest; being the one most capable of providing protection—and, as a consequence, with the burden of responsibility.
She's not only a sister to Jinx. She's a guardian to her—and in many respects, a stand-in mother. And Silco, as a surrogate father, is standing right in the middle of that. A roadblock between "Powder," as Vi knows her sister as, and "Jinx," as Silco knows his daughter to be.
Right at the forefront, we have so much conflict here. Vi is so similar to Vander, to the point that she is nearly his spirit incarnate—so much so that having her resurface from a presumed grave just sets fuel to fire for a vendetta Silco has never been able to snuff out.
But beneath that—far beneath that—they have so much in common. Vi's headstrong rebuttals in Act 1 about going against Piltover and striking them down, about being made to feel lesser her whole life and needing to fight against it, just sings with Silco's anger in the cannery (You'd die for the cause, but you won't fight for one?).
These are two kindred spirits, two revolutionaries willing to do anything for their city and those they love, and who aren't afraid to fight for it. Who want to fight for it.
But trapped between it all, we have Jinx. Someone Vi is not willing to sacrifice (i.e., her memory of Powder), and who Silco, by the end of the series, isn't willing to sacrifice, either (i.e., his loyalty to Jinx).
Vi, of course, could never fathom Silco being a father to Powder (how could she, after he is the reason Vander was taken from her?)—and looks for justifications for her hatred, in everything he does.
But the unfortunate truth of the matter is that for all Vander cherished and nurtured Vi as a vision of himself—so has Silco, to Jinx. He sees himself in her. He has empowered her, cherished her. He is so incredibly tender with her, in his own ways. And—for all his absolute faults, his skewed morals, his tunnel-visioned zealousy to achieve Zaun—he is a good father to Jinx, just as Vander was a good father to Vi.
The question I keep finding myself mulling over, though, is whether these two could find elements of that, once again, in each other.
There are so many things Silco isn't—not only in Vander's shadow, but simply in the character that he is. He doesn't come in swinging; he plots, he strategizes, he fights with words. He isn't a warm presence, or a jovial one; he's chilling, he's dry, he's distanced. There are countless contradictions one can draw between the two of them—and so many layers one can tease apart, on how their opposites attracted each other, how they worked (a balance that will no longer ever be).
But there are so many things Silco is. He's critical, he's fiercely rational, he knows how to weave a crowd around his finger with a single intonation. He admires the outcasts, the scrappers, those that have dredged through society to claw for what they can. He surrounds himself with them—and he operates alongside them, as an equal as much as an usurper.
He's a flavor of parenthood Vi didn't receive, but could have—the one that would have validated her need to fight; who would have taught her that strength comes in numbers, not in one's single ability to protect; who would have seen her snarkiness, her quick wit on her feet, and taught her to use it to her leverage.
The tragedy of the whole series is that Jinx needs them both to have balance in her life—to keep the tether of her child self and her trauma from splitting her apart at the seams—yet for Silco and Vi, as the narrative destines them for (and as it destined Silco and Vander for), any semblance of a connection between them is doomed for destruction.
There's too much they hold fiercely to themselves, in their own traumas, that they cannot set down—even for the sake of Jinx's needs. They are equally selfish, in that way. They want the version of Vander that they are not willing to let go of; and they want the version of Jinx that they know her to be.
But they could change. They could.
Silco did, by the end. Chose his daughter, his legacy, over the cause, over his vision of progress. And Vi did, too. Chose "peace," chose to set down the gauntlets, chose politics (and—arguably—complacency, in the same way Vander did) as the path forward.
But what if they set it all down, for Jinx? What if they became what she needed, on both sides? A father who sees her, nurtures her, like Vander saw and nurtured Vi—and a sister who loves and protects her, like Vi loved and protected Powder; who could learn, maybe, to love and protect "Jinx," too?
And maybe—just maybe—Silco and Vi could learn to appreciate each other, for all their surface hatreds. Find mentorship, find balance again, in each other. And through it, Vi could learn that protection, responsibility, isn't the only quality to strive for. That even she can be nurtured again, too.
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Language and Shape.
A bit taken out from this earlier part. Anyways onto cute, Flood Vanitas! Ft. Illiterate Yoruhua lol.
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"Nothing's changed! I've done everything you've told me to do, and none of it works." Vanitas complains.
He pouts, arms crossed as he looks at them like they're some kind of traitor, which... Was technically true on multiple levels, but not here.
"This kind of thing takes time, Vanitas, you can't force something as personal as your body to shapeshift that easily."
A deep sigh escapes her, "Érebos, it might even take at the very least, a year. And that's looking on the extremely bright side, it took me years to properly develop a Clavat- eh, human, form- Over my years, I still am." Yoruhua replies, face still buried in their books and journals.
'Sol ardenti! Why does this have to be so hard?'
-
-
Why did language and writing have to become something barely unrecognizable? Thank Érebos, that Yoruhua was at least conscious and hearing enough within Void Gear to evolve and understand spoken speech over the eons. Enough time linked with their previous wielders was the only thing saving them now.
Trying to get back to their work- because if they were able to learn this, then Orichalchemi would have one less thing to worry about when they got her back- they paid no mind to Vanitas wandering around their space.
So Yoruhua buries himself in all kinds of syllables and scripts…
'So the characters are completely different here... And none of them are using glyphs anymore?! Until Ori can repair Quiet Regalia, I'll just have to learn this the hard way. Okay... This looks the closest to the descendant of my language…'
"-hua."
'The TL sound doesn't really exist anymore, I... Think. It's either a K or L…'
"-ruhua."
'This is.. entirely incomprehensible... Without glyphs they just use entirely different, unique words to describe something instead of adding suffixes and prefixes? Oh this'll take me centuries to understand-!'
"YORUHUA!"
She jumps in her seat, frantically trying to catch herself so she doesn't fall, "Ack-! What in Érebos' name, did something happen-?!"
He turns to see what all the fuss is about, only to not see anyone.
"Vanitas? Vanitas, where did you go?" Yoruhua rises from their seat, but yelps when something pushes up against their shoe.
"Hey, watch it! I'm down here, ogre!" A familiar, muffled voice yells.
"Vanitas! I'm so sorry!" He quickly lifts his shoe and back away, only to see a small dark red flood skitter away from them.
He kneels down to meet him, but even then Yoruhua is a lot bigger than the tiny Vanitas. If anything, this only made their jarring height difference worse, like comparing a lion and a housecat, downgrading Vanitas from lynx.
"Yeah, you better be sorry! You almost crushed me, freak! Now help me up!" Little Flood Vanitas hisses.
Sheepishly, they reach out for him to hop onto their arm and get a better look at him. Carefully bringing him over their desk.
"oh wow... Look at you! You did it!!" Yoruhua broke into a wide smile, "this isn't what I imagined when I first brought it up shapeshifting, but this is fine! Certainly intriguing for a first shift..." She muses.
Vanitas stomps his little foot and grumbles, "are you done gawking?! This isn't what I wanted-why am I so small- Tell me how to undo this!"
She coos, enamored by his transformation and little tantrum. He reminded her of some of the younger homunculi she cared for in the past. "aw...but you’re so precious, so soon?"
Vanitas screeches, "YES!"
"Okay! Calm yourself!"
"I AM COMPLETELY CALM!"
She smiles to herself wryly, "uh-huh... Of course you are. Ahem, just take a deep breath and blank your mind. Stop thinking so hard about what you look like." She tries to coach.
The little flood squirms under her gaze but eventually settles, "this better work."
Vanitas' chest rises and falls as his eyes close and he stills, Yoruhua intensely watching in bated anticipation.
They wait a few seconds, then about a minute before Vanitas growls and groans, "this is impossible! It didn't work, again, fix this!"
They shake their head, "it shouldn't be that hard to go back. Being calm and not worrying about appearances is key. Your body should just relax and go to the default you're used to. With the body you're most comfortable in."
"but mine never has been!" He yells.
Yoruhua's eyes widen, "what-"
"-my body has never been just mine! I don't..." Vanitas' tiny form crumbles, sinking into a pitiful puddle on the desk, "I don't- I've never had a body I was... Completely comfortable, in. I lost that a long time ago and I'm never getting it back."
They frown, "Vanitas…"
The puddle shrinks, "why did you think I wanted to learn in the first place...? This was stupid, and now I can't even go back. Nothing ever goes my way."
Yoruhua stays silent, unsure how to comfort him. Their own form was not one they were ever unsatisfied with, not when shapeshifting came so easily to them. And, despite the fact they technically shared and understood Orichalchemi's odd relationship with having an inorganic body- this was an entirely different issue.
Yoruhua, as a homunculus, going between a monstrous form and more 'human-like' appearance, not including sharing fusion with Ori, or even body swapping with her on one occasion... all were just him in the truest way possible. Just a reflection of who he's been since birth, changing with time. Unrestrained, chaotic, self expression, like any other form of Darkness.
How and why Vanitas didn't have a decent grasp on half of that as another homunculus-
"oh." She says audibly, hitting her palm with her fist when it hits her.
'He wasn't always made of Darkness, neither was he raised in the Realm of Dark for any of this to feel natural by Light's rules. That's a tricky one to handle...'
Red eyes open and peer at her from the puddle, "...what?"
He dips his hand into the puddle and dredges Vanitas up by the scruff.
He squawks, bunging around in her grasp, "what do you think you're doing?! Let me go!"
Yoruhua huffs, "oh relax, you used to toss me around like this all the time in Void Gear, actually, I'm sure you did worse than that on occasion." She cups him in her palms, scratching under his fuzzy, yet staticky chin with a thumb, "it's okay though, this makes it even."
He half-heartedly pushes it away, "I guess…"
"Listen, I honestly have no idea how to comfort you, nor do I know how to 'fix' you."
"Tsk, I don't need your pity-" Vanitas begins to argue, but Yoruhua cuts him off.
"-but! You're right, you don't need me to. If you were able to shapeshift in the first place, then I believe you'll be able to go back eventually. Let's just ride this out, don't give up yet and don't be so hard on yourself." They encourage.
He glares, "but I don't wanna to be stuck like this."
Yoruhua gently pets him with his fingertips again, soothingly tracing down his back, "I know, but trying to force yourself back will do more harm than good. Don't worry, I'll keep you safe and sound!"
Vanitas can't help but cringe as she babies him, but a small part of him embarrassingly rumbles at the nice petting.
His sister quietly laughs to herself, earning another glare, but she feigns ignorance, coughing behind her glove.
Vanitas crawls away from her hand, "Well, since I can't do anything-" and instead hops up onto her sleeve, till he reaches her shoulder.
He brushes up against her cheek and pushes past her surprisingly soft hair, drawing a ticklish snort out from her.
"-I guess I'll just have to help you with this, your handwriting is awful." He snaps, pointing a claw at her handiwork.
Yoruhua immediately frowns, "I'd like to see you try going from millennia old glyphs to modern written words! I'm doing my best, punk."
Flood Vanitas bristles, "oh I get it, think you're too good for my help?! I'm never offering to help you again, hag."
His sister's voice goes high with indignation, "hag? Hag?!"
Vanitas squeaks when he's pulled away from his comfy perch, immobile in her grasp, "H-Hey! Not again!"
Yoruhua flicks him upside his muzzle, looking very offended, "I'll have you know I was one of, if not the most sought after Prince of Night in my era!" She gestures at her hard work, "I was a master in calligraphy, languages, chaotics, and mathematics you couldn't even conceive of, zygote!"
Vanitas hisses, and manages to nip their bare arm and points at their journal, "you spelled 'realm' wrong right there, genius."
Yoruhua's face blanches at the mistake, "oh. Um. Right. Guess some help wouldn't be entirely unwanted. You know, because you're from this era, you're my best resource." And unceremoniously drops Vanitas back down again.
Flood Vanitas mentally rolls his eyes and skitters up to their head this time, nesting on her fluffy hair, "at least like this, I get a front row seat to your mistakes."
"Hey, rude."
He scoffs, "and you used a 'k' instead of a 'c'- stars, wait, this worse than I thought, how have you been navigating the maps if you're this bad?"
Yoruhua stays silent.
Vanitas stills, "Hold on- have we been running around blind this whole time?!"
"It's not blind if I'm following a trail! I, um, recognize most worlds from your travels anyways! You never said anything-!" She tries to defend,
He lets out a loud groan and leans over their head to berate them to their face, "STARS ABOVE, it's a miracle we haven't gotten lost- you suck at everything! Teaching, reading, explaining, and now directions?!"
She sheepishly tugs on her hair, "uhm. To be fair. Orichalchemi was always the better navigator… heh, ha, she was an actual caravaner, I only ever watched while I was in her shadow… or made plans on the map we had in the castle…"
Vanitas can't believe what he's hearing, "...I'm just going to pull a rat, and take the reins from here. I may not have my body back, but I can still tell you what's what if we're taking a break from shapeshifting."
She looks up at his beady, glowing red eyes and sighs, "alright, can you read over this for me?" Offering up their notes to him.
He perks up at the distraction and lays on his smug attitude, "of course, your majesty. Now, pay attention- time for the student to take the role of the master!"
Yoruhua hides a smile under the shadow of their head, letting Vanitas do exactly as he says.
'Let him have his fun, he can learn his lessons later.' He thinks. Unaware of his bad habit, indulgence, getting in the way of resolution.
But for now, he takes genuine joy in being taught something new for the first time in ages.
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