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tonotbelionized · 5 years

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RWBY’s Handlement of Abuse

Abuse isn’t a topic that’s anything new in media, it’s been handled over decades in many different ways; some done very well and others... not so well. RWBY is one of the many shows that attempts to handle this controversial topic, and goes deep into how it not only affects the victims of the abuse, but also deals with different types.

Physical, Emotional, Mental, even less known ones such as financial abuse, this show actually handles many attempts with clear care and the writers do seem to do their research in this. In my opinion, this research and trying to find out more about this sensitive topic is shown very clearly. I don’t like talking about myself much, but as a victim of abuse myself, I hold this topic very dear to my heart and feel more strongly when it’s written compared to other topics.

So, with that in mind, I’d like to look at the different abusive relationships we have so far in RWBY, and to see how well they hold up in both writing and how they’re seen so in the FNDM itself.

Adam & Blake

Now, one of the most well known abusive relationships in RWBY is the one between Adam and Blake. It’s been given the most screen time, thought, and it has the bonus of having happened to one of our four protagonists. There is no denying that the relationship between these two characters is an extremely toxic one, and it’s a relationship that has heavily impacted on both Blake and the FNDM as well.

Even before their confrontation at the end of Volume 3, Blake clearly shows the behaviour and the mentality of an abuse victim. She doesn’t see Adam as this monster, and whenever he’s mentioned by her during this time, she actually uses non-threatening or derogatory words such as referring to him as her partner or that he changed. She never outright talks about what it was exactly that Adam did to her or how he changed. In fact, the closest we had was after Yang was disqualified from the tournament where she explains why she’s afraid to just trust Yang again.

Blake’s journey of learning to live with her trauma and move away from the past is nicely written and I like the fact that it isn’t a straight path to progress. Blake stumbles, she fails and she gets back up again, something that’s great because that’s what most recovery progress is like. The culmination of her proving she’s no longer afraid of Adam at the end of Volume 5 felt earned compared to her reaction to seeing him again before, and it’s a solid moment of Blake doing this with Sun, a friend, rather than carrying on what she was doing before with pushing everything away.

While I’m not a big fan of her letting Adam go at the end of it, given that it just felt like she was letting a terrorist and extremely dangerous person escape just so he knew what it was like to run away, that doesn’t diminish how powerful that moment is for Blake’s character and her whole relationship with Adam. Adam’s short and Blake opening up more in Volume 6 shows use how far the abuse went.

Adam wasn’t afraid to emotionally manipulate and gaslight Blake when he felt she was questioning him too much. He’s emotionally shackled himself to her and clearly won’t let anything take Blake away from him, so when she finally leaves him behind, he believes that it’s her fault that he’s hurting and is unable to see how irrational that line of thinking is. He isn’t willing to take responsibility for what he did, and this carries on to where he would rather kill Blake than let her go again, even dragging Yang into it.

It’s really telling that Adam goes as far as to reject the chance to leave twice. Both Blake and Yang have matured enough to try and push Adam to leave them alone and to move on with his life, but he’s unable to comprehend doing so mentally. That emotional attachment to Blake is still there, and ultimately he died rather than break that bond. It was a cathartic moment for Blake to truly be free of Adam, and the fact that she breaks down rather than be triumphant feels like such a realistic moment because an abuse victim doesn’t just hate their abuser even when they leave.

Getting those moments that were great with your abuser out of your head is incredibly difficult, and it’s clear that even with Adam gone, the damage that he did to Blake’s mental state is plain to see, especially since she blames herself for the plan going wrong on the ship. She’s so used to it being her fault that she can’t comprehend when it isn’t, because to an abuse victim everything is their fault.

Raven & Yang

Abandonment and emotional abuse go hand in hand, and I’d like to add that while Raven’s abandonment of Yang is a more typical style we are used to in media, where the person ups and leaves to never return, there is another type of abandonment; a series of temporary abandonment where the abuser returns again, only to up and leave when things don’t go as they want.

The abusive relationship between Yang and Raven is just as impactful as the abuse Blake suffered under Adam, and yet I feel that it’s weirdly brushed off by some people in the FNDM as well as not being given much prevalence when Yang finally confronts Raven, both when she met Raven at the bandit camp and in Haven’s vault.

I don’t like that Yang calls Raven “Mom”, because Raven is not Yang’s mother. She left when her daughter was just born and never did anything to raise her, which is what a parent is. It’s easy to have a baby, but if you don’t put in the effort to actually raise that child in a healthy way, then you are not a parent. On top of that, when Yang finally finds Raven again, she’s very emotionally manipulative of her daughter.

She constantly praises and is open to Yang when it suits her, but as soon as Yang makes it clear that she only wants to find Ruby, not spend time with her, Raven instantly becomes closed off and cold, making comments on that family only visits her when they want something. Not only is this classical emotional abuse, as she’s treating Yang well only when she believes Yang deserves it. Put plainly, Yang is treated nicely when she does what Raven likes. It’s also very hypocritical given how little Raven actually cares about her actual family.

Then the argument in vault further solidifies this. Raven isn’t above calling her mentally ill daughter a scared little girl when Yang starts shaking from her PTSD. She constantly tries to excuse her behaviour, albeit poorly, and Yang rightfully calls her out for not only calling herself strong while showing the exact opposite, but that she killed the previous Spring Maiden to take her powers while also calling herself merciful for doing so. It just paints Raven with a victim complex, that she had a hard life and survived it so her actions are justified.

The main problem that I have with this that I don’t have with Adam and Blake’s relationship, is that there’s no real ending to the fact that Raven abandoned Yang and left her daughter with crippling abandonment issues. Yang starts to touch on this when she asked Raven why she left her and her family in the bandit camp, but Raven deflected the question and it’s never brought up again during this time.

Their only confrontation after is in the vault, but as I mentioned before, Yang didn’t even try to find out why Raven left her. This was the one thing she wanted to find out, something that was built up in her talk with Blake in Volume 2, but instead they talk about the Spring Maiden and then Yang takes the lamp after calling Raven out for calling herself strong. No mention of how her leaving Yang affected her daughter, or even Yang trying to find out why.

The final thing with this is just how selfish Raven is. She willingly lets Yang take the relic despite knowing that Salem would go after her, rather than just closing the vault and leaving. That’s a choice. No one needed to take the relic because no one knew that Raven was the Spring Maiden. The only person who knew otherwise was Cinder, and she was believed to be dead at that moment. The fact that she cried for a few seconds seems to be enough for some fans to say that she obviously cared when Raven hadn’t shown any of that before.

She purposely manipulated Yang, she abandoned her family, she wanted the villains to kill her brother and lets Cinder throw a fireball at Ruby (Yang’s sister and her teammates daughter), and she shows no remorse for this until that one moment. That’s not good enough, and I certainly hope that Yang gets at least some closure in the upcoming volumes.

Jacques & Winter, Weiss and Whitley

The interesting thing about Jacques’ abuse on his children, and his wife, is that it’s one of the few abusive relationships that we see have a different effect on each one of his victims.

First one and the one I actually have least to say about is Willow, but it seems that his abuse of her has the biggest impact because of how much it affects their children. It’s pretty clear that their marriage was very much toxic, but not so much that she would’ve suspected that Jacques didn’t actually love her given Willow’s severe reaction and decline mentally when he confessed that he only married her for her name.

This beating down of his wife’s mental state and driving her to alcoholism has the negative effect on the children because they no longer have that maternal figure in their life anymore. Willow was a caring mother; she attended Weiss’ recitals, she cared enough to throw them birthday parties and was angry when Jacques was late to Weiss’ tenth birthday, but after that she just stopped caring.

His behaviour with his children is that of a typical narcissist, and that it seems to have an effect on each Schnee child differently. It very much relies on dividing the siblings, playing on the typical golden child vs black sheep, and even then the term golden child is used loosely given how easily they can lose that title if they even step a toe out of line. With that mentality, Winter, Weiss and Whitley have that source of comfort and strength with standing together taken away.

Not only that, but a majority of his abuse comes from that narcissist behaviour. To Jacques, his children aren’t people with their own dreams and feelings and wants, their physical extensions of himself that he can control, befitting that of stocks to a business owner.

Let’s start with Winter. We can pretty much infer that what happened to Weiss had happened to Winter given what she says in Volume 3, that she went through something similar when she left to join the army. Winter leaving home to join the army is a direct comparison to the story of an abused child leaving the household to join the military as a way of escaping that trauma, and even then Winter is not completely free from Jacques because she has to keep contact with him.

It’s likely that moment of freedom she granted herself by joining the army was taken as an affront to Jacques’ power and control over her, he can no longer tell Winter what to do because she doesn’t live with him or rely on him for shelter, so he’s going to do the next best thing he can. He cuts Winter off from her money. It’s a fantastic representation of financial abuse that also affects Weiss in Volume 3, and shows how far Jacques is willing to go just to prove that Winter ultimately can’t escape him so long as she is in Atlas, which she remains due to her work.

The effect this has on Winter is very open and clear. Winter has pretty much thrown herself into her work and professionalism, to the point where, while it’s obvious she deeply cares for Weiss and had been looking out for her sister since they were children, she cannot let herself be free and open with her feelings. To Winter, her place in the military is home because it’s given her that chance for freedom away from her abusive household, away from Jacques. If that’s threatened or insulted, such as her fight with Qrow because he called Ironwood and the Atlas military “sellouts”, she will take it personally and lose her temper because she owes everything to Ironwood and the military.

Weiss is the one with the most affected character because of her status as one of the protagonist. Taking into account all of the material surrounding her backstory, Weiss, like Winter, was treated more as an object or commodity by Jacques, something that he could force to do whatever he pleased. It’s shown in the Mirror Mirror manga where he pushed her to sing at concerts at a young age, even to the point where Weiss was exhausted. When Winter stepped in and told Weiss to rest, Jacques took that as a slight against him and berated Winter viciously, lecturing her on upholding the Schnee name. He cares more about the name than his daughter’s health.

Even in her debut trailer,Weiss had to fight and be disfigured before Jacques allowed her to go to Beacon instead of Atlas. The permanent reminder of that constantly on her face. Even when Weiss finally managed to get to Beacon, Jacques constantly rang hr in an attempt to keep in touch with her, trying to uphold that small amount of power he had with Weiss in another continent. Trying to leave an abuser is incredibly difficult if you still have contact with them, even if it’s something as small as phone calls.

When she didn’t do what he wanted and answer his calls, that same financial abuse that Winter was subjected to happened again, and it’s obviously embarrassing to Weiss that she can’t even afford a meal now and has to rely on friends. That attempt to isolate her through embarrassment is just another effect from Jacques’ decision to cut Weiss off. When she becomes more rebellious and mouths back to him, as well as calling everyone out at the party in Volume 4, Jacques couldn’t handle this kind of rebellion like a narcissist would.

To him, Weiss is being unreasonable and he had given her everything she could ever want, so at this point he would simply take it all away. He can’t handle shame and seems to hold the Schnee name up, despite marrying into it, and when Weiss points this out he finally delves into physical abuse by slapping her. Given her shocked reaction to this, I don’t think she expected him to hit her, pointing that Jacques usually went for more emotional manipulation to keep them in line.

Finally, his abuse of Whitley has pushed his son in the complete opposite direction to his sister. As the youngest and unable to leave through the same way his siblings did, either joining the Academy or the military, Whitley spent his time in the manor with Jacques completely alone and isolated. So, in a desperate attempt to handle this pressure, he’s simply buckled under Jacques’ thumb and does whatever he can to appease his father, just because he’s seen what happens if he rebels like Weiss and Winter did.

Another note is that Whitley was 5/6 when Jacques’ true reasons for marrying Willow came out. After that Willow stopped being much of a part in her children’s lives, so much so that she’s constantly sitting in the gardens getting drunk. Because of that young age, Whitley never had any solid memories of a time where Willow was a more active and caring mother, unlike Winter and Weiss. While it can hurt to remember how someone used to be when they’ve fallen so far, they at least have those memories to hold onto. Whitley doesn’t, and that likely adds more into his isolation.

It seems however, that to a worryingly large amount of the FNDM, that Whitley’s abuse is swept under the rug and not talked about as much as Weiss and Winter’s, some even making him out to be the villain. The only thing that Whitley is guilty of is his poor attitude, and that alone doesn’t constitute to him being a villain or needing redemption. He wasn’t responsible for Weiss being disinherited, and his words to Weiss afterwards just tells us how much Jacques is getting to him.

If he doesn’t go against his father, he’s rewarded, but if he behaves like Weiss and Winter, then he too will be punished. An abuse victim still trapped in their home will do whatever they can to survive, and unfortunately for Weiss, Whitley doesn’t have the same escape options that she does or the connections outside of the family.

Marcus & Mercury

There isn’t any onscreen time where we witness this abuse firsthand, but the effects of Marcus’ brutal treatment on Mercury is prevalent even after he killed his father. Mercury has been impacted severely both emotionally and physically.

Having been installed to be an unfeeling assassin by Marcus, showing any sort of emotional vulnerability is impossible for Mercury, and the one time he does talk about the things he went through to Emerald, he does so in his own way and reacts very badly when Tyrian reveals to be listening in to his troubled past. Even going to the point where he tries to attack Tyrian because he wasn’t taught how to handle his emotions in a healthy way.

He shows little sympathy for Emerald’s confusion and fear over not knowing what is right, but that’s not to say that Mercury doesn’t care at all. It’s likely that Marcus’ told him that, as well as relying on his semblance, feeling normal emotions like fear, empathy and love is weakness, and even likely beaten it out of Mercury. This leads a very emotionally disturbed teenager.

Now with the physical part we get some very disturbing reminders of what Mercury went through with his father. The first thing is that the fight between them ended up costing Mercury his legs, forcing him to wear prosthetics. That’s a very much blatant reminder of how far Marcus went, and not only will Mercury have to wear prosthetics for the rest of his life, but the pain both physically and mentally from the action will always stick with him.

The second part is even worse. Marcus practically took Mercury’s semblance, something that’s considered the very essence by the characters in RWBY, and Mercury canonically sees this as his father defiling him. Mercury is constantly reminded that he will never get his semblance back, unlike Jaune and Roman who simply didn’t unlock theirs, and pushed him to work harder than anyone else to get where he is. Both of these physical injuries serves to tell the audience just how much Marcus’ abuse of Mercury not only remain, but stick to him as well.

Cinder & Emerald

Similar to Jacques with his children, Cinder is shown to not really care about Emerald outside of her Semblance, in fact only taking Emerald into the group because she was useful to Cinder’s plan. She plays on Emerald’s past as a street orphan by promising companionship and never having to go hungry again, something that Emerald desperately craved.

The main aspect to this relationship that makes it interesting is that, as of this time, it’s still an abusive relationship that the victim is in and wants to stay in. Emerald deeply cares about Cinder, and going off Mercury’s observation, sees her as the mother figure she never had. This devotion Emerald has runs so deep that she doesn’t ever question how Cinder treats her and reacts violently when Mercury straight up tells her that Cinder doesn’t care about either of them.

It’s at the point where Emerald doesn’t even consider her relationship with Cinder toxic. Everyone else knows that their relationship with their abuser in question was at least not good, even Blake in the early volumes because she knew that she had to get away from him despite her still coming to terms with it all. Emerald, however, is portrayed as the victim that doesn’t even think of themselves as a victim.

It reminds me of a video I watched recently. Here’s the link for anyone to watch, but it basically explains the type of abuse that doesn’t actually get shown all that much in media. Most abusive relationships portrayed have the abuser as a sadistic villain who abuses their victim because it brings them joy, and the victim knows that they’re being abused but are too scared to leave. It can be how the relationship is towards the end, but hardly any abusive relationship in real life are like that.

Cinder doesn’t accept any rebellion from Emerald. Like Jacques, she slaps Emerald and tells her to remember her place when she simply told Cinder that they didn’t need Mercury. To her, anything that Emerald says that isn’t her submissively accepting Cinder’s rule is something that needs to be snuffed out, even with physical abuse if needed.

While Mercury works for Cinder as well, this abusive relationship doesn’t affect him like it does Emerald, mostly because he isn’t in a delusioned mindset where he believes Cinder actually cares and he doesn’t need anything that Cinder can give to him. Their relationship seems strictly professional, Cinder needed an assassin and Mercury had the skills to do the job, as well as his underlying fear of what’s beyond his life that was forced on him. To Mercury, there is no need of approval or companionship from Cinder that Emerald wants.

Salem & Ozpin

This is the relationship that mirrors so much to the abusive relationship between Adam and Blake, and yet it weirdly doesn’t get much screen time pointing out how toxic it was, rather spending time portraying Salem’s backstory and Start to Darkness. Seeing how Ozpin was treated by his wife is pretty much ignored not only by the cast but also the FNDM, with some people even going as far as to deny that it was even abusive to begin with.

Even before she threw herself into the Grimm pools, Salem was not a good person. After Ozma died, she went to demand that the Gods brought him back, not thinking for a moment about what Ozma himself wanted, and when the Gods constantly brought him back to life and killed him over and over again, Salem is not angry at that. She only fights against them when the God of Darkness took Ozma away from her again, demanding that they give him back. It shows Salem to actually be pretty selfish and unable to comprehend that what she wants may not be what’s actually best.

The good thing about this is that the story explains why Salem is like that. She’s not selfish to be selfish, she was sheltered away in a tower for all her life and as a result, was never taught proper coping mechanisms when she inevitably faces death, loss and grief. Not only that, the Gods’ behaviour towards her did not help matters. Rather than actually caring that she was hurting and help Salem, they treated her very much like a child throwing a tantrum and punished her in the cruelest way they could.

The thing is that this selfishness carries on after she and Ozma reunite. She canonically manipulated Ozma into acting like gods to lord over the new humanity, and when he started showing doubt she turned the blame on him by saying that he wanted it. Even when Ozma, who is derailed by the show and fans for keeping secrets, comes completely clean to Salem, she does not extend that courtesy and keeps what happened with the Gods a secret from him.

Eventually, when Ozma no longer wants to be a part of her plan or let her use their daughters to remake the world in her image, she attacks him and kills their own children. Salem shows no remorse for this, she knew that her children were there long before she attacks and she does so anyway. This just shows how little she cares about her own husband and children if they don’t toe the line with her. It even extends to her blaming Ozma for the fighting by telling him that they finally had freedom, seemingly holding resentment that Ozma didn’t want to be with her. After that, she burns Ozma alive.

The whole war between her and Ozma, even to her admission, is her want to watch everything that Ozma worked for burned to the ground. The only thing fueling Salem at this point is spite, just like what was fueling Adam after Blake left him and the White Fang. To her, Ozma has thrown away everything she worked hard for and that selfishness and inability to comprehend others’ viewpoints come into play.

Over the thousands of years after that fight, she does everything in her power to further terrorize Ozma. She turns his allies against him, she has her minions destroy his school and kill his Huntsmen, and in her song Divide, it’s basically a song gaslighting Ozma with Salem blaming him for everyone dying and saying that their blood is on his hands. There is no difference between that and Adam’s line “Why must you hurt me, Blake?” after he dismembered Yang. It’s classical abusive move of having the victim blame themselves for things that weren’t their fault.

Just like Blake, Ozpin is clearly affected by this abuse under Salem. He can no longer trust people, and he even goes as far as to blame himself for everything that goes wrong even when it’s not his fault, just like Blake does. He has such a low view of himself that he admits he’s made more mistakes than any man, woman or child on the planet, and the show at this point hasn’t had Ozma begin to talk to anyone about this even after Team RWBY saw what his life with Salem was like.

I certainly hope he gets the support he desperately needs in the upcoming volumes, because the writing regarding everyone dealing with this knowledge is questionable at the moment.

Salem & her followers

Just like with Ozma, Salem is canonically manipulative with both the show supporting this and the writers in the Volume 6 commentary. She is especially harsh with Cinder and Tyrian, given that she spends the most time with them in Volume 4 especially, and you can see how differently the two react when around her.

Tyrian is utterly devoted to Salem, putting her up on a pedestal as a goddess, and Salem isn’t afraid to use this devotion against him in cruel ways. She dangles hope in front of him when contemplating over his failure in capturing Ruby, even though he stung Qrow who was by rights and purposes, going to die. However, when Tyrian seems more hopeful that he’s pleased her, Salem snatches that glimmer away and leaves him to have a mental breakdown.

Cinder on the other hand is completely quiet, and even when she can talk again, doesn’t have her attitude from the volumes before. When Salem snaps at her while training, Cinder visibly cringes. It’s pretty clear from her character and mentality that Cinder was someone who was so devalued and powerless in the past that she is willing to do anything not to be put in that situation again, even put up with Salem’s treatment of her.

Just like Salem, Cinder had become a victim of the cycle of abuse, and while Salem is no longer a victim, Cinder has swapped one likely abusive situation for another one. It even carries on into Volume 6, where Salem treats Cinder being outcasted from the group like a child being put in time out. It’s very infantalising and mentally damaging to Cinder, but Salem seems to treat it as adequate punishment for Cinder failing her. No matter what one feels about Cinder, no one deserves to be abused.

Despite their less screen time together, Salem’s behaviour even extends to the other members of her group. She physically assaults Hazel after the failure at Haven for simply accepting the blame, and shows little care for Tyrian getting caught by the table when she threw it. Given that the writers confirmed that she has a different way to getting to each member to do what she wants, and we’ve seen that she uses Tyrian’s devotion against him, it’s not a big stretch to assume she uses more physical means when Hazel eventually does cross her.

Her way of getting to Emerald is even through fear. She’s made Emerald so afraid of what she could do to her that even just asking has Emerald quickly giving up someone she cares about deeply, and that kind of emotional manipulation is a classic abuser tactic.

Blake & Sun

Now this one has raised probably the most controversy in the FNDM, and I can see why. No, the relationship between Sun and Blake is not inherently abusive, nor is it any way evidence that Blake is an abuser on level with anyone else that is mentioned in this post. She’s not malicious or hurting Sun because of some slight against her, even though that’s not the only type of abuser and we’ll go into further detail in a moment.

The problem is that her behaviour towards Sun during Volume 4 is abusive, and it’s the worst written abuse in the entire show in my opinion.

The main thing that makes me say that is I’m not even sure if the writers intended to make these moments in Volume 4 abusive, but whether they intended for it or not doesn’t negate the fact that these scenes very much read that way, and it makes me uncomfortable to watch through even to this day. It’s not even just one fight where things got so heated that Blake lashed out, it happened multiple times over the course of the volume.

The first time is the boat. Sun was in the wrong for following after Blake like he did while she was still reeling from her trauma at Beacon, but that did not mean she was in the right to slap him across the face and then slap his hand away later on in the boat. She wasn’t in danger, Sun wasn’t threatening her and they weren’t even arguing, Sun was happy that they just survived a Grimm attack. Blake had a right to feel scared and angry that Sun basically followed her without her knowing, but that does not give her the right to lay her hands on him.

The show does this worse by playing it off as comedy. RWBY has a problem with playing some scenes for comedy when the exact same thing happening to a different character is framed as dramatic. Most slapstick comedy is scenes like Ruby and Yang fighting in the room in Volume 1 just before their exam, or Winter smacking Weiss on the head because she was rambling about things that she didn’t ask about. Blake hitting Sun here is not slapstick, but it’s played as such and that makes me very uncomfortable.

The next one is probably the worst offender of the bunch; the argument on the balcony. Once again, Sun was in the wrong for intruding on an intimate moment between Blake and her father, someone she hadn’t talked to in five years and thought that he hated her, but it wasn’t any malicious reason for Sun doing it. He had information about the White Fang that was urgent for Blake to know, because as he said, the White Fang would still go for her even if she didn’t go after them.

Should he have waited? Yep. Does that mean Blake was in the right for slapping him in the face twice? Nope.

On top of that, she goes one step further and breaks his phone when he tries to show her a photo of the White Fang member he found in Menagerie. She threw it off the balcony.

And the last scene is when Sun wakes up from being unconscious. He almost died, and yet Blake sits there and immediately goes on about herself and why she constantly runs away. It’s not bad for her to explain to Sun why she ran away, but the problem is that she doesn’t even bother to ask him if he was alright or at least tell him where he was before going into her rant about her friends getting hurt about her. The other problem is that we already know why she ran away, it’s all she ever talks about. She ran away so that her friends wouldn’t get hurt, she ran away because she believes it’s better to be alone, she ran away to think for a while after the Fall of Beacon.

Her whole speech in this scene gives us no new information and comes at the cost of portraying Blake as a very unsympathetic person. Even when Sun tries to comfort her despite being injured, she tells him to shut up and shouts at him. She towers over him aggressively with her hands balled up into fists, and you can clearly see Sun flinches now because Blake has made it clear to him that when she’s upset or angry she hits him.

And just like Salem, Blake’s behaviour makes sense. She’s stressed and scared and likely feels just as alone as she did when she first left the White Fang and Adam, only now she knows that Adam is explicitly coming after her and everyone she loves. Her past abuse at a young age means that Blake likely doesn’t understand how to healthily deal with negative emotions while in a relationship, something that Miles pointed out.

And even then, Blake is not inherently abusive. Her behaviour in Volume 5 has her and Sun’s relationship much more mutually respected and healthy. Even when she was frustrated she no longer took it out on him, and it’s good to see that after the mess that was Volume 4, but it’s how it’s handled that still bothers me.

Blake never learns that she shouldn’t be treating Sun like that. She’s called out by Sun for pushing her friends out and to let them help, but that’s not pointing out that she’s copying Adam’s own behaviours. It would’ve actually been a good and realistic arc given that it’s called the cycle of abuse for a reason. Blake realizing that she’s doing to Sun what Adam was doing to her and actively making the choice to do better, not having someone just tell her, would have been interesting to watch compared to what we got.

I feel like the FNDM can’t see this as abuse because Blake isn’t like the other abusers that we get in RWBY, and outside of Volume 4 her behaviour is not abusive to anyone. Even then, it’s understandable why she acts that way but that doesn’t mean how she acted can just be swept under the rug by both show and FNDM. It’s an ugly part of her character that should be acknowledged, and just because it happened doesn’t make her this evil being. Abusers can learn, and they can most certainly change, and that’s what Blake did.

I just wish the writers did it better.

So that’s it for all the abusers and their writing in RWBY. Overall? The writers certainly can handle this topic with the care and dedication it needs, and I’m actually happy with what we were given. Unfortunately, the ones that they did stumble one are pretty egregious and just leave me with a bitter taste in my mouth regarding those characters.

All I have to say is that abuse can come from different sources, and that media could do well with showing this difference. Abusers are often portrayed as one-dimensional bullies that torture their victims for laughs, while this is far from the truth and leaves people with a twisted version of what an abuser is, but I don’t think RWBY does that. Even when they stumble, they’ve written characters out to be just that; characters. Although we have more stereotypical abusers like Jacques, we also have those who come from pretty sympathetic backstories, even though we know that it doesn’t excuse their actions, such as Adam and Salem.

And really that’s the message I hope people do learn and use it to protect themselves with. You are hardly ever going to find someone who is so obviously an abuser; what makes them so terrifying is just how human they can be, and that sometimes they even have this twisted sense of love and reasoning over abusing their victims. Rarely it’ll be for sadistic reasons, but rather that they’re protecting their loved ones or that because they help in the victim’s dreams or goals that it makes their treatment of the victim okay, but it never is.

No one deserves to be hit, or made to feel like trash, or have their possessions broken. Everyone deserves love and companionship. Either way, thank you all for reading!

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orangeoctopi7 · 4 years

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Bonding Time

Hey y’all, it’s the latest chapter of the Spider-Stan AU! Consider it a late Christmas present. Or... wait... is it still Hanukkah? Have a happy Hanukkah present then!

Breakfast the morning after McGucket left was awkward, to say the least. The only sound was the steady crunch of chewing cold cereal punctuated by the occasional scrape of a spoon. Stan pretended to try and solve the maze on the back of the box of Penta-Grahms, even though it was easy enough for a five-year-old. Ford stared so intently into his bowl it appeared as though he was trying to use it as a crystal ball.

Eventually they both finished eating, and Stan finally broke the silence.

“So, what kinda tests are we runnin’ today?”

“Well…” Stanford trailed off, remembering his argument with Fiddleford the day before. Maybe he could be a little more honest with his brother. “Truthfully, we’ve run about all the physical tests I can think of, so far. We’ve, uh, we’ve learned a lot about how the mutation has affected you and your physical capabilities. And your health.”

Stan’s face fell. “Oh… soooooo… no more tests... does that mean… you want me to go?”

“You don’t have to go if you don’t want to.” Ford said hurriedly.

“Well, I mean, I don’t wanna stay if you don’t want me to.”

“Who ever said I didn’t want you to stay?”

“No one, I just don’t wanna seem like I’m leachin’ off you.”

“Nonsense!” Ford corrected him. The beginnings of a hopeful smile formed on Stan’s lips. “There’s still plenty more we can learn from you!”

“Oh.” Stan’s almost-smile changed to an annoyed frown before his brother even noticed it.

“I’ve got some inventions I was working on before another project came along and took up most of my time, but you’d be perfect to test them!”

“As long as we don’t have to take any more blood samples, sounds good to me.”

And so Stan followed his brother into a small storage room, with just a few small windows, where several odd objects were sitting around, collecting dust. It all looked like junk to Stan, but obviously Ford knew what it all was. He picked out a large pair of goggles, a pair of weird gauntlets, and what looked suspiciously like spandex, before leaving the room and heading outside.

Ford sat down on the porch steps and tried on the goggles. They were comically large, even fitting over those huge nerd glasses, and made him look even more like a great horned owl. The eye pieces slanted at an angle, reminding Stan of an oni print he’d seen in a Japanese gift shop back in Portland.

After just a couple of seconds, Ford pulled them off, blinking rapidly and massaging his eyes. “They seem to be working, but I can’t wear them for long without getting a horrible headache.”

“What’re they supposed to do?”

“They’re light filtration goggles, meant to help see beyond the visible light spectrum. But they take in more light at once than the human eye can typically handle. I was hoping, with your improved senses, you might be able to make use of it. Either that, or it’ll just give you a headache faster.”

“Gee, thanks.” Stan rolled his eyes, but took the goggles anyways. “Whoa!” He exclaimed when he put them on. The world seemed brighter and more colorful with the goggles on, like someone had fiddled with the color balance on the TV.

“Is it giving you a headache already?” Ford asked with a touch of concern.

“No, my head’s fine. But wow, this… this doesn’t look real. It feels more like I’m lookin’ at some fancy paintin’ of the woods than a real forest.” Stan continued to look around when he noticed a strange trail of purple that definitely hadn’t been there before, leading into the forest. As he focused on where the purple line disappeared into the trees, the goggles whirred, and suddenly his vision zoomed in on the spot. “Whoa!” he repeated.

“The goggles can read the muscle movements in and around your eyes to magnify when you’re looking at something in the distance.” Ford explained.

“Yeah yeah, I noticed that part.” Stan stood and walked towards the trail, “But I’m seein’ some weird purple stuff here.”

“Really?” Ford followed him and crouched down, low to the ground, to get a better look at what his brother was staring at. “Right here?” He pointed to a tiny gnome footprint in the dirt.

“Yeah, except it’s a whole line of little purple streaks like that, leading into the woods…” Stan followed the line back towards the cabin and saw it snake around the corner “...and into your front yard.”

Ford’s eyes widened “That’s the trail the gnomes take to my garbage can! You’re telling me you can see it as a different color?”

“Yeah, it’s kinda hazy purple.”

A triumphant grin spread across Ford’s face. “This is incredible! I originally invented these to enable me to visualize residual weirdness, but whenever I tried them on myself, the visual input was too much, and I couldn’t make out anything through the sensory overload! But it actually works!” He grabbed Stan by the shoulders and turned him back towards the woods. “Tell me, do you see anything else?”

“Uhhh…” He scanned the woods, looking for any more colors that looked out of place. “There’s a tree over that way that looks… I dunno, too green? That one with the really thick trunk, near the edge of the clearing.”

Ford followed his brother’s gaze as best he could, squinting at the trees in the vicinity and finding the thick trunk in question. His eyes widened when he got a good look at it, and he suddenly rushed back into the house. Stan didn’t even have time to ask what his brother was doing when the researcher reappeared on the porch, holding a megaphone in one hand.

“Steve, I told you to stay away from the cars in this clearing! If you take one more step towards my brother’s car, I will get the chainsaw!”

Stan was beginning to think his brother had finally made the leap from eccentric to just plain crazy when the tree trunk, which had to be a few yards around, was lifted out of the ground. Stan pulled the goggles off, sure they were malfunctioning. His jaw dropped in disbelief as he realized it wasn’t a tree at all, but the foot of some bark-skinned giant. A flock of startled birds rose out of the woods and the ground shook as the giant stomped away, it’s full form hidden by the giant redwoods which swayed as it moved past.

“Sorry about that.” Ford turned to him and put down the megaphone. “Steve seems to have some kind of problem with cars. He wrecked mine before this cabin was even finished, and I’ve had to chase him off from Fiddleford’s truck a few times. You might want to park a little closer to the house, he’ll only reach so far out into the clearing.”

Stan just stared at his brother, mouth agape.

“Steve?” He finally groaned incredulously.

“He acts like a Steve!” Ford said defensively.

***

After Stan moved his car so close to the house you couldn’t even open the passenger-side doors, they moved on to the next invention Ford wanted to test. The two of them climbed a ladder in the library to the roof, then scaled the steep wooden shingles to the highest peak.

It was an easy climb for Stan, with his ability to stick to walls, but he was impressed by how at-ease Ford seemed up here with just his boots and his sense of balance.

Ford helped Stan put on a pair of strange gauntlets, made of a bulky, segmented wrist strap and a sort of button on a stick that rested just above Stan's palm.

“So, you hold down the paddle here,” Ford pointed to the button thingy that extended over Stan’s palm from the gauntlet thingy around his wrist. “to release the pressurized fluid. The stream will solidify into a sticky fiber ten times stronger and lighter than a steel cable. It’s the same basic principle they use to make nylon, but with an even more robust substance. You just swing it out towards whatever surface you want to use as an anchor, then once it’s stuck, jump up and swing forward. Double-tap to release the fiber, and repeat. When the fluid runs out, hold down on the cartridge,” He pointed to where the cartridge slotted into the wrist gauntlet thingy, “And it’ll pop out. Then turn the wrist strap to the next compartment with a new cartridge.”

“Uh, ok…” Stan nodded, looking over the strange device. He thought he understood what to do.

He took aim at a sturdy looking tree that towered above their perch on the roof of Ford’s cabin. A stream of white goo shot out, quickly weaving itself into a chord of spider silk as it sailed through the air and finally found its target. Stan gave the chord an experimental tug, making sure it was secured to the branch. It held firm.

“Now, the real trick it to pick out a second anchor, take aim with the second web-shooter, and secure a second line while swinging from the first line.” Ford continued.

“Are you even sure the first line will hold me?” Stan asked nervously. He’d mostly gotten over his fear of heights when he gained the ability to stick to walls, but the woods didn’t leave him a lot of options to catch his fall.

“Absolutely. I already tested it out when I first developed this technology.” Ford assured his brother. “I just never got past the first swing because… well, I completely tore my arm out of its socket.”

Stan stared at his brother incredulously. “It’s a good thing I found you before you killed yourself.”

“I was fine! I was wearing an amulet that grants the wearer telekinetic powers, so I caught myself before I hit the ground!” Ford bristled defensively. “And technically, I found you.”

“Whatever. It’s still a miracle you’ve survived this long on your own.” Stan rolled his eyes.

“I wasn’t on my own--”

“McGucket told me you only called him out here a few weeks ago.”

“Well yes, but I…” Ford trailed off. Stan could see he was having an internal argument of some sort. He didn't even notice when Stan gave a start as that strange, twinging version of his spider-sense returned.

This was the first time Stan had ever felt it during the day before, and as he tried to concentrate on the sensation, he was more sure than ever that it had some connection to his brother. Something was wrong with Ford. No, not wrong with Ford. Something wrong was happening to Ford.

But just as soon as he’d noticed it, it passed, and the next thing Ford said threw him off so much, he forgot about his spider-sense for a time.

“I’m not the only one who’s lucky to have survived so long on my own.” Ford said, casting his gaze downward. “I… I’m sorry I didn’t believe you before, when you told me my specimen had bitten you, and that it was affecting you. I can’t imagine what undergoing that kind of genetic mutation on your own must have been like. You could have died!”

“...Oh…” Stan squeaked. He didn’t know how else to react. He’d never felt like he could have died, not from the spider powers showing up, anyway. There had been plenty of times he’d gotten himself into trouble with the mob or creditors or gangs and he’d felt like he could have died, only to discover a useful new ability. Like sticking to walls when he was pushed off a building, or superhuman strength when he broke himself out of a locked trunk, or inhuman agility when he’d literally dodged a bullet.

“In my defense, you weren’t being sympathetic to my ruined science fair project at all.” Ford continued. “It really did seem to me like you were just being a massive jerk and trying to worm your way out of taking responsibility like you always do.”

“Wow, you are terrible at apologizing, you know that?” Stan grunted.

It was Ford’s turn to roll his eyes. “Nevermind. Let’s just test these web shooters out already.” he said flusteredly.

This unexpected apology caught Stan off guard. He'd volunteered to come out here and be a guinea pig in exchange for room and board. Stan didn’t really mind; it gave him an excuse to stay and… keep an eye on Ford. Yeah. Nobody could deny the nerd needed looking after. Stan certainly didn’t have illusions that things could ever go back to the way things were between them before. No way. He definitely wasn’t getting his hopes up. No one could prove anything.

Eager to leave this awkward conversation and his conflicted feelings behind, Stan jumped off the roof, swinging on the chord. It felt great, like being a kid on a rope-swing again. As he felt himself swing to the opposite end of his human pendulum, he looked around for another good tree branch to anchor from. It was like his spider-sense slowed down time as he found a target, took aim, fired the second web shooter and released the first line, all in a fraction of a second. For just a heartbeat, he was weightless, before swinging forward on the second line. This was fun! It was hard to be worried or upset about anything when he was swinging through the trees like Tarzan.

He managed to reach the outskirts of town in just a fraction of the time it took to walk, and nearly as fast as it did to drive. Stan figured he could get there even faster than driving with enough practice. He enjoyed the view at the top of the old bell tower for a moment, then swung back to Ford’s cabin.

The nerd looked like their birthday had come early when Stan got back. “That test-run went better than I could have hoped! How far did you go?”

“To the old bell tower in town and back.”

“Really? In that short a time?” Ford pulled out his journal and started writing excitedly. “And you never slipped, or ran into anything? The line never broke or detached?”

“Nope. I almost hit a few trees but I always changed course in time.”

“Incredible!” Ford grinned. “Let me see the fluid cartridge, how much did it use?” He grabbed Stan’s wrists and popped out the cartridges without waiting for Stan to answer. “How many lines would you say you used, round trip?”

“Uh, I dunno… maybe ten? Twelve?” Stan guessed. He hadn’t known he was supposed to keep track.

“Hmm… and only used about a fifth of the fluid in the cartridge. Good to know.” Ford jotted the info into his Journal, then snapped it shut. “Fiddleford is going to be so excited to hear this when he gets back! Oh, and it's going to make salvaging parts so much easier!”

Stan raised an eyebrow. He’d used his powers for his fair share of ‘salvaging’, but somehow he doubted that was the same thing his brother was talking about now. “What kind of salvaging are we talking here?”

Ford got that insufferable ‘I know something you don’t’ look on his face. “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”

“Ford I literally have super-powers from a radioactive spider. Try me.”

“You’ll just have to wait and see.”

***

They spent a few hours out on the roof, testing out the web shooters. How much fluid did one line use? How many lines did it take to travel a mile? How far could he swing on just one line? Did it take more lines to make a sharp turn? How fast could he travel?

Stan was pretty sure Ford would’ve had him out there all night, swinging back and forth between the forest and the cabin, if not for an incident in the late afternoon. Stan was trying to beat his time from the cabin to the main road when he picked out a branch to anchor from just within sight of the roof. He’d just released his previous line and was about to line up another anchor when he heard a sharp crack. He felt more than saw the dead branch he was anchored to break. He panicked, and instead of thinking to fire the second web shooter and create another secure line, all he could think of was grabbing onto a branch, or a ledge, or a wall, or something to catch his fall. He must have fallen at least 15 feet before he finally stuck to the upper limb of a giant sequoia. Immediately, he hugged it like a life preserver.

“Are you ok?” He heard Ford shout from the roof, witness to the entire embarrassing snafu.

“Fine!” Stan yelled back, his heart still beating a rapid drum solo in his chest.

“I think that’s our sign to stop for the day.” Ford hollered.

Stan didn’t need to be told twice. As much as he had enjoyed himself with the web shooters, this near-accident showed he wasn’t exactly a natural at it. He’d probably do a bit more practice a little closer to the ground before trying that again. Perhaps he wasn’t completely over his fear of heights after all.

***

After yet another canned dinner, Ford brought out the last shelved invention from the storage room. To Stan’s untrained eyes, it looked like several rolls of stretchy, colorful fabric.

“Something tells me these aren’t just to add some accents to your wardrobe.”

“No. It’s an extremely durable fabric. I ruined one too many sweaters while out doing field work, so I developed something that’s water-proof, tear-resistant, protects from abrasions, keeps warm, and most importantly, doesn’t get burrs or stickers caught on it.”

“So, what? You want me to see if I can tear it with my super strength?”

“Well, yes. But also…” Ford paused to collect his thoughts, thinking about how to word what he wanted to say. “I think it could improve your costume.”

Stan blinked. “What’s my costume got to do with anything?”

Ford sighed, looking anywhere but at his brother. How to word this? “I want to help you.”

“I thought that was the whole point of me comin’ out here.”

“No. Well, yes, but specifically… Stan, you’re a hero, don’t get me wrong, you’ve saved so many people, but I know you could do even more with some help.” He finally looked his brother in the eye. “I want to help you be a better crime-fighter.”

Stan broke the eye contact almost immediately. “Uh, Ford, I can’t believe you haven’t already pieced this together yet, but… I’m not really a crime fighter.”

“Not technically, no, and chances are you’ll never be officially sanctioned or acknowledged by law enforcement, but that doesn’t make you any less of a hero. And that’s why I want to help you! You could finally have cutting-edge technology at your disposal!”

“I’m not a hero, ok?” Stan finally burst out. “I never set out to be one, and you of all people should know I don’t act like one.”

“But… but all those people you saved!” Ford protested. “I’ve read the articles! The eye witness accounts!”

“Sure, I may have been in the right place at the right time, and if I saw people needed help, I helped them. That’s just what decent people do, genius! It doesn’t make me a hero! I’m sorry a bunch of nerds blew things out of proportion and made you think I was one.

"The truth is, I've mostly been using my powers to steal. Money. Food. Jewelry. Clothes. Money. Whatever I needed to take care of myself. All those people I threw in jail? Folks I owed money. Enemies I wanted off my back. That's not the kind of stuff a hero does."

At first Ford's only reaction was a blank stare. He was taking a while to process this new information. For all these years he'd had a vision of what he expected the Spider Man to be like, and now, twice in one week, those expectations had been turned on their head. Finally, he collected his thoughts.

"You may have done what you had to to survive. You may have been taking advantage of your powers. But with that power comes a responsibility to use it for good!"

Stan rolled his eyes. "Responsibility? Yeah, right! Like I owe the world anything! The way I see it, these powers are the least the universe could do for me after all the ways life has screwed me over!"

Ford opened his mouth like he was going to argue, but after a moment's pause, he just sighed and shook his head. "Don't you see, Stanley? You've already made a difference in the lives of the people you saved. Hundreds of people already see you as a hero. Why not embrace it?"

"What do you care!?" Stan huffed. "You just wanna play the hero like when we were kids, don't you? Only if you can't be the hero yourself, you'll just live the dream through me."

“Is that what you think?” Ford shook his head sadly, “You just don’t get it.” He trudged back down the stairs to the storage room, the colorful bolts of fabric under his arm.

***

That night, Bill returned to Ford’s dreams. The researcher was getting used to his muse showing up almost every night now. He was also getting used to the otherworldly being’s impatience.

“WOW, FOUR-EYES REALLY DID YOU A FAVOR, LEAVING YOU ALONE WITH YOUR DEADBEAT BROTHER, HUH?”

“I know you’re being sarcastic, but this is the first time I’ve felt at home with Stan since we found him in Portland. In years, actually. While I still wish Fiddleford didn’t feel the need to lie to me about it, I think him leaving for a few days was the right choice. Yes, things are still… fragile,” Ford admitted, as he thought back to their argument earlier after dinner, “But our relationship now is better than it’s been for over a decade, and I’m hopeful it will continue to improve.”

“OH, I’M GLAD YOU’RE HOPEFUL ABOUT THAT. ONE MORE SHORT-LIVED HUMAN FAMILIAL BOND RESTORED, WOO-HOO.” Bill rolled his single eye, and then signed “IT JUST SEEMS LIKE SUCH A WASTE FOR SUCH INCREDIBLE POWERS TO GO TO A GUY WHO’D RATHER USE THEM FOR HIMSELF.”

“It’s... unfortunate, yes.” Ford agreed, his annoyance at his brother resurfacing, “But not entirely unexpected from Stanley. At least he’s used his powers to help people in need when he crossed paths with them.”

“STILL, YOU COULD BE A WAY BETTER HERO THAN HIM! I MIGHT BE ABLE TO HELP YOU THERE.”

“Thank you, Bill, but no. Despite what my brother thinks, I’m really not interested in becoming a super hero myself. I’d much rather be recognized for my scientific accomplishments.”

Bill shrugged. “ALRIGHT, BUT IF YOU CHANGE YOUR MIND, I’LL BE RIGHT HERE WAITING TO MAKE IT HAPPEN!”

***

Stan wanted to scream into his pillow when the twinging, unusual version of his spider sense returned late that night. Sure enough, if he concentrated, he could tell it was strongest in the direction of his brother’s bedroom. But then, Stan got an idea. Those goggles from earlier! They’d helped him see some weird stuff out in the woods, maybe they’d give him a clue as to what was going on with Ford.

So he crept out of bed, down to the storage room to retrieve the goggles, and then into Ford’s room. Stan barely stifled a gasp when he put them on. A halo of sickly yellow was radiating from Ford’s head. That definitely hadn’t been there this morning.

This time, Stan just sat there and watched. Every other time he’d felt this sensation it had come and gone in just a few minutes, maybe even seconds, but this time he was going to really pay attention and figure out what it was, and where it was coming from. What Stan figured out was, of course, really weird. Whatever it was, it seemed to be coming from everywhere, but it all converged on one point: Ford. That’s why Stan had such a hard time pinpointing it that first night, and it was why it had seemed to be coming from Ford all the times he’d felt it before.

After twenty minutes of watching and just trying to familiarize himself with the sensation of this peculiar spider sense, something finally happened. The yellow halo surrounding Ford’s head shifted, and the ghostly silhouette of a triangle appeared. It had a single, slitted eye, just like all those freaky effigies Ford had all around the house, and in the split second before it disappeared, it looked straight at Stan.

“... What the H?” Stan exclaimed under his breath.

****

XSYO BUOL KAQQZVFIGKL BTMOUF. ECG O VIZ APFX ZQGN BB. U QJUUW VRKW BA PBM YRE SUK I NMU WS L ENTM BA GBHPK BUOL JUK NOPNMEKE.

#Gravity Falls #Fanfiction #Spider Stan AU #Stanley Pines #Stanford Pines #This Jerk #My writing

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nadziejastar · 4 years

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Thoughts on the dlc? After it released and after you watched it?

Honestly, I’m glad I didn’t spend any money on it. It was really just...not very good. It didn’t help KH3 feel any more complete. This series has really alienated me. I never thought by the end of KH3, I’d be so uninterested in the future of KH. But I really do think the Dark Seeker Saga was irreparably destroyed. It’s heartbreaking.

KH3 would have been faaaar better if we had gotten to see everyone use the power of waking. This whole “the power of waking is taboo” thing, I’m just not buying. The power of waking is supposed to be the power to awaken a sleeping heart. This power was the key to the plot and Ansem’s data. Many of the characters would need to have it used on them to be brought back and have their pain healed. That was, ya know, kinda the whole point of KH3.

But...the power of waking does not work on those who were wiped from existence. Okaaaaaaay? Why is everyone suddenly wiped from existence? Nomura originally said that there’s no concept of death in KH. The whole point until now was that everyone in trouble simply needed to be woken up. Birth By Sleep. Dream Drop Distance. In KH3D, Yen Sid says that the three lost Keyblade wielders needed to be woken from their sorrow and slumber. Even in Saix’s boss fight, Lea says “Isa, it’s time to wake up!” Which just...makes me sad.

Really, the focus of KH3′s finale should have been these characters being woken up. That’s it. Not time travel. Not the black box. Not Xigbar being Luxu. Not Yozora. Not Sora getting transported to another world. Not setting up KH4. Save that for later. Because the story was such a hot mess, even the reunions felt anticlimactic. TAV’s felt rushed. Lea and Isa didn’t even get one.

Overall, I thought the DLC was just really boring. They tried to give some explanation for why Sora was there during everyone’s boss fight, but it still barely made any sense to me. The battles should have played out with you playing as each character without Sora there. Period. He just plain shouldn’t have been there. No time travel shenanigans can fix that.

Most of the DLC was just rehashes of the Keyblade Graveyard battles with a lot of scenes that felt like they didn’t add much. Was that extra scene of Demyx with the Gummiphone really necessary? I dunno, maybe. I didn’t think anyone really felt like they got better much development than they did before. I liked seeing Aqua get more dialogue during her boss fight with Terra. But still. There’s just something...missing in all of these fights. And that is...you guessed it, the power of waking.

I don’t care about why Sora is there during everyone’s fights. He shouldn’t be bringing everyone back like that. I wanted to see Ventus dive inside Terra’s heart to find him, piece him back together and wake him up. That’s what KH is all about. The characters and their bonds. That is the heart of the series. In KH3, the character development just flat-out sucked.

I don’t buy the explanation that the power of waking is soooo taboo and that’s why only Sora got to use it (at great cost). The power of waking was built up SO MUCH. Each Guardian of Light should have gotten a chance to use it to make their character arcs feel more complete. Aqua should have used it on Ventus in the Land of Departure when she was randomly unconscious. Riku and Mickey shoulda used it on each other when they were randomly unconscious. I wanted to see Lea defeat Isa, then use the power of waking on him to wake him up.

Roxas and Xion’s presence in that fight still made no sense and doesn’t feel any more organic than it did before. Xion was made out of Sora’s memories. How did they even bring her back? How is she suddenly worthy to be a full-fledged Seeker of Darkness now? Originally, she needed to merge with Roxas to become a complete Sora Replica. Honestly, Nomura should have just stuck to his guns and not brought her back. Too much of KH3 felt like it was just written as cheap fanservice. Let’s bring back everyone. Then maybe fans won’t notice how shitty the character development is.

I was much more aware during KH3 that I was playing a game made by a huge corporation to make money than I ever was before. With the older games, I felt like I was playing a creative work. Regardless of how zany the plot could get, I could always feel the love that each game had put into it. On the other hand, KH3 felt much more like a disposable “consumer product,” if that makes sense.

It’s really sad how obvious it was that Kairi and Isa spent most of their fight standing around doing nothing. Really solidified my opinion that bringing back Roxas and Xion (physically) was a huge mistake and that it was thought up at the last minute. Nomura was complaining that there’s too many characters and admitted he couldn’t keep track of who has met who. Well, I’m pretty sure he had Roxas and Xion in mind when he said that (just look at the final scene at Yen Sid’s Tower when Lea reunited with Ventus and how awkward it was). There really are too many characters and some had to be sacrificed so others could shine.

Yeah, Kairi got one extra scene fighting Xemnas before she got kidnapped. But it did little to change the fact that she got benched in her own fight and got fridged. Lea and Kairi trained hard for that fight. They were preparing to fight Isa, Lea’s best friend from childhood who was possessed. But Kairi and Isa stood around and did nothing the whole time while Roxas and Xion got all the spotlight. The Recusant’s Sigil was surprisingly brought up again, but the scene made no sense to me. We’re definitely missing some vital backstory there with the Sigil.

I’m glad Kairi got to fight in an actual boss battle, so we can see her play style and everything. That’s great. Of course, she should have gotten that in the original game. And I still think killing her off at the end was a huge mistake. This DLC tried to make her feel more important, but I stand by my original opinion. The ending of KH3 should have just had Kairi rescue Sora at the end with the power of waking, then Sora and everyone celebrate their victory on the beach.

There’s a sense of closure, and a happy ending. Then they could start building up a new arc. Just overall, KH3 had no sense of closure or emotional satisfaction. It doesn’t even feel like the Dark Seeker Saga had a definitive end. Really, KH2 had more closure, yet KH3 is supposed to be the grand finale. KH3 felt more like a teaser for the new arc than the conclusion of this one. The DLC doesn’t fix that at all. It certainly doesn’t make KH3 feel like a “Final Mix”.

People say that Nomura was more interested in what came after KH3 than KH3 itself. And it’s true. I’m sure that if KH3 had been able to come out in 2014 or 2015, it would have been a drastically different game. KH3 is a product of Square’s huge problems as a company, and that’s a damn shame.

I liked seeing more of Scala ad Caelum. But it doesn’t make up for the fact that it should have been an explorable world in the main campaign. Sora should have been able to go there and learn about Xehanort, the Recusant’s Sigil, etc. It was very poorly integrated into the story. The story itself was just a mess.

Finally, I really couldn’t care less about Yozora. Let’s be real, if KH3 had come out in 2015, Yozora wouldn’t even exist. Noctis and his bros would have probably appeared in KH3 instead and it would have felt like a more traditional KH game. I was sad about Versus XIII’s cancellation. I still am. But Yozora just feels out of place and shoehorned in. Nomura is obviously unable to move on and this has affected his creative choices. Sora’s disappearance at the end just felt like a gimmick to introduce him to Yozora.

Overall, I really got FFXIII-2 vibes with Re:Mind. Like all the nonsensical time travel stuff, the hollowed out characterization, Sora turning to crystal. Pretty graphics, but lacking a soul. I’ll always love the older games. They’ll always have a special place in my heart. But KH3? Eh....not so much.

#kh remind

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afanoftheglassscientists · 5 years

Text

The Glass Scientists Art-Style Changes

Hey yeah sorry but I saw someone complain about how the webcomic’s art style is jarring in the later chapters and that the noses are bad because they’re big and I’m back in full salt mode WHO WANTS SOME TEA!?

@glass-scientists your art-style has only gotten more beautiful as the webcomic continues and you work extremely hard on the comic by yourself and I am amazed you kept working on this for more than four years now while in a career and I hope you’ll be able to do so for the foreseeable future. When I comment on how your art changed please know that I’m not doing it to critique you. Okay you don’t have to read more of this I just wanted to be the 156th person to let you know you’re doing great.

ONE - The noses have always been prominent on the characters’ art design and having a big noses does not automatically make it look ugly. Admittedly there are artists out there who draw very ugly noses for very ugly reasons, but Sabrina Cotugno is not and never has been one of those types of artists. Yes, Jekyll’s nose is bigger, but is not the end-all, be-all take from his design changes.

Here’s him from Ch.1 Pg. 15.

And here’s him from Ch.7 Pg. 22

(And no, I do not know why the latter two picture are bigger.)

As you can see, the nose in the earlier chapters looks smaller, but Jekyll’s face is also a lot more...soft? Like think of ceramic pieces. You start out with soft clay and you mold it into the shape you want (but don’t forget to wedge don’t want it to explode in the oven) but then after the clay firms up a little you’re ready to carve it and give it a more pronounced form. That’s what happened in the later chapters: Jekyll’s nose, the shape of his jawline, his sideburns, hair and even his eyebrows has become sharper and more distinct. His nose isn’t just an attachment like a Mister Potato Head, its a part of him. To give him a smaller nose would mean changing his whole character profile.

TWO - Like Clay, Art Changes. Admittedly I was taken aback by the change in the comic’s art-style as well, but that will happen to literally any long-form manga or comic. Unless you’ve been doing comics for literal decades your art is going to change, because you’re going to change, and what you want from your art and the characters you create are going to change. Look at Bluechair by Shen on WEBTOON: while his artstyle has solidified these past few years his earlier comics are unrecognizable, because he’s been working on his Bluechairs comic for five years, often updating two or three times a week, and is currently on Episode 536 of Bluechairs, but technically he currently has 706 of them under the Bluechairs page. His comics are like the Sunday Newspaper kind of comics, so I’m not asking you to read his stuff starting from the beginning (in fact please don’t try to read it all at once: his early stuff is pretty good but let me remind you he has SEVEN HUNDRED AND SIX COMICS OF STUFF) but maybe read a couple of them from the beginning and then read some of his latest ones.

So yeah, its not unexpected from comics to change in style, either slowly due to how the artists gains a more experienced hand or by an intentional shift in art direction. Sabrina was in the latter camp, due to the fact that she felt the earlier character designs was too much like a Disney Princess Line-Up, which she mentioned in a page description that I cannot find but I know was real.

Honestly I really do like the more recent pages. I disagree that they’re less vibrant, because I think removing the high glossy sheen made the characters even more distinct from each other. Before the shift in artstyle I felt like everyone was getting the same brand of hair gel. Hot take coming, but the character who most benefits from this shift is Rachel, who’s been looking gorgeous these last few chapters.

THREE - Sabrina Cotugno has been working this story, these characters and the art of this webcomic mainly by herself, while still working a job as a cartoon director for multiple shows and is currently working on a project for Disney. She does not have a lot of time on her hands to fix mistakes and asking her to change things or give her “Advice” on her art is...I won’t say unwanted because that’s up to her as to whether or not she’d use that language, but I will say she probably doesn’t need your advice on how to draw art when she has already worked in professional spaces as a storyboard artist AND as a director.

Plus I’m going to be upfront here, and this is going to sound harsh: Do not fucking nitpick and tear apart content made independently unless warranted by offensive language or imagery, because not only is it unhelpful it is just plain mean. Yes, Sabrina has worked on shows before, but The Glass Scientists is not made by a group of people working together, with producers and press and editors to back them up. This is entirely her work. She is spending her own free time making this. This webcomic is hours, days, weeks, years in the making, in the wake of hot days, sickness, travelling, other deadlines and dying plants.

And to turn around and say “Oh the way you do the art now isn’t as good?” Fuck off with that. I’m not Sabrina, so I get to be mean here - You are allowed to admit you dislike these changes, but sending the artist messages directly telling them of your dislikes is an absolute garbage thing to do. Especially when you yourself are not an artist.

Like Sergeant Brokenshire has a beard in one panel but loses it in the next few pages. Cue the Cinema Sins ding noise I guess. Okay, that happens sometimes, she doesn’t have an editor to correct. Am I going to directly send her messages letting her know she did her webcomic wrong? Fuck no. She probably has been sent hundreds of “helpful” messages about it already, and guess what? She doesn’t have the time to correct every mistake because she has a job.

Of course if Sabrina or any independent artist does something horrifically offensive or even just something that makes you uncomfortable you are absolutely allowed to air your grievances. But so far Sabrina has been good so I’ve got nothing to complain about, and the asks she gets that do have issues with the webcomic she answers with grace.

So basically this wandered completely off from the nose discussion and into the ethics of fandoms for independently made webcomics, but anyway long story short.

The Glass Scientists is not yours and its not mine. It belongs to Sabrina Cotugno, and its hers to change how she sees fit. Get over that and enjoy the webcomic as it is and you’ll have a much better experience.

Sorry to sound preachy there. I’m not trying to act like the Fandom Police and I’m not trying to fight Sabrina’s battles for her. I just see a lot of bad fucking behavior toward other independent artists and I don’t want to see it here. I have been that anon who “critiques” or gives “helpful” advice to artists who had far more experience than me, so its not like I’m pretending to be above it all here. I’ve buried many a blogs because of my shameful past.

Most of this Fandom has been wonderful. Let’s keep it that way while it lasts.

Anyway that espresso really did a number on me. I’m about to crash and I’m getting the awful sense of deja-vu here. Sorry for being so salty on Fandom lately, I won’t do it again unless I see some real trouble. This has accidentally become a Midnight Post, so go to bed!

...Oh wait one more thing: PLEASE DON’T REPOST FULL PAGES OF THE WEBCOMIC!!! Access to the official page is not hard and despite a few hiccups (which is not Sabrina’s fault but the webpage itself) we have been able to see all of the webcomic. There is no need to repost the whole page and on Sabrina’s FAQ she specifically asked people not do this. If you want to read each new page and don’t want to refresh the website twenty time on Monday morning you can always follow her twitter or her blog “arythusa” where she posts a link to each new page after it uploads. In fact starting tomorrow I’ll be sure to reblog these posts to make sure you have a link available to click.

Okay now good night.

#tgs #the glass scientists

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jasperlion · 4 years

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You must know when to be firm.

Duma’s final wish was for Valentia to become a place that held love and strength in equal measure. At the time, he had seen it as a simple task. But, as time progressed and his position as ruler solidified... he found it was hard to tell when he had to be gentle, and when he had to be firm.

It was easy, in the war. You saw a general abusing of the populace and a general trying to protect them under the circumstance, and you knew who needed a gentle hand and who needed to be run out. You saw bandits assaulting travelers and knew who to protect and who to be firm with— maybe even kill.

Seated upon a throne, being presented evidence, and no longer being there to see the situation unfold— it definitely made things harder to call. He was by far a man who preferred to see rather than be told, to experience rather than hear of it, yet he no longer had the luxury.

It is easy to send troops to defend a town against bandits, it’s harder when you’re told one side of the story by one party and an entirely different one by another. The distribution of grain is not enough— no, it’s just enough, it’s what was mandated by law— but there’s not much to go around! The discussions whirl around his head and he can’t help but want to say ‘then show me!’ or something equally stupid in a Great Hall. All he could do was placate both parties, assure of an investigation, and hope the truth is found plain in sight. A bandit? Theft? Are the civilians lying? Is the distribution really not what it’s mandated to be? Or is the mistake with the mandate itself? Do the rations sent by the crown need to be increased instead?

It’s stressful not to know the answer when the problem is presented. More so that he can’t simply stand up and say he’d resolve the matter himself. He can’t simply fight his way through right and wrong anymore.

Alm thought he knew the eyes of a man consumed by greed; it turns out he only knew the face of a man who had already been caught in his scheme. A man who saw no need to hide his desires... who let go of deceit to fight. To know when to be firm and when to be gentle...

Maybe he could now understand how those who came before him felt.

#once upon a time | drabble #by his own loving heart | headcanon #[ a small followup to the 'kindness' one... the debate of when to know to practice 'strength and firmness' instead ]

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devilgoat · 6 years

Text

The Saw is Family

((We’ll see if this stays up? Anyways so I decided to combine both parts together, so here’s the entire fic in its 18k+ word glory because I hate myself but also Love Bubba Sawyer with my entire being. Find other works under my “devilgoat writing” tag! Do you like my work? Then maybe consider following the link in my bio and buying me a Ko-Fi!))

You can find Part 2, “Blue Rare” under “the saw is family”/ “devilgoat writing” tag

Leatherface | Bubba Sawyer x Gender Neutral Reader

Sweat. That is what hot Texas summers consisted of. Sweat, heat, and rot. Sweat on your face, dripping down your back, and soaking through your shirt. Sweat, heat, barren landscape, rotting road kill. Road-tripping across Texas in summer was unpleasant, to say the least. What made it more unpleasant was the annoying company stuffed inside this tiny little car along with you.

Summer break had begun for your university and it was time to head home. Unfortunately, home was 8 hours away and the road there led through the most boring, barren landscape you could imagine. Dry, crumpling hills made of rocks and dust littered the scenery on either side of you. And honestly, you would have preferred to be out there in the hot sun than the sweltering, stuffy car that had become a cage for you. You had needed a ride back to your hometown, and with no money, no car, and your family too busy with work and other things to come get you; your only option was Lana. See, Lana didn’t have a car either, but she did have a boyfriend, Sam. And Sam had a car. Turns out, both you and Lana were from the same town, and if it weren’t for that little piece of trivia, you wouldn’t have been caught dead in this car with the two of them.

To say that you weren’t friends with them would be an understatement. Sam was famous around your university, but not for the best reasons. Known to lie, cheat, and steal to get ahead, he was also known for sneaking into the university’s library to fuck his current hot date of the week on the second floor. During finals. In the middle of the day. He wasn’t very likable. Sam had also apparently never grown out of his high school bully persona because he continued his harassment and bullying far into his academic career. He took pleasure in it. His current paramour just happened to be Lana. And you knew if summer break had started just a week earlier or later, you wouldn’t have had this ride to begin with. And Lana? Well, she was something else. Known to acerbic, arrogant, and also just plain unhelpful during group projects, she had once forced her former roommate to move out because she wanted the whole room to herself. She drove the other girl partly insane over the course of weeks by cutting out her hair while she was asleep and then telling her that the stress of school was killing her. So yeah, it was fair to say that she wasn’t well liked. The only reason you knew this was because you were acquaintances with the poor girl she had roomed with, and she was just too tired with dealing with it to report her suspicions to the bureaucratic student affairs board. It was definitely not the place you had preferred to be in. But Lana had a ride and you both knew that you were from the same place. And now you were here. Your sweat had soaked through the entire front of your shirt. To be honest, you weren’t particularly excited to go back home, but you had nowhere else to go. Sam was driving, Lana in the passenger seat, and you in the back, stuffed with all the luggage. It was cramped and uncomfortable, and you weren’t even through the first three hours of driving. “Ahhh shit,” Sam muttered. Oh no. “What is it?” Lana asked. “We’re almost out of gas,” He sighed and lifted one of his hands off the wheel and ran it through his hair. “I thought you said you filled it before we left?” “Yeah I did! I did...say that.” He was silent for a moment but turned to Lana, not caring about the empty road ahead. “Awww come on it’s alright. I’m sure there’s a gas station somewhere close by. There has to be!” Lana pouted in her seat. Sam reached over and grabbed her chin, while making cooing sounds. “Awww are you mad at me?” His voice was thick with patronization and it made you sick. Lana laughed and slapped his hand away. “You better hope there is or you won’t be getting any tonight.” “Hey uhh,” you interjected for the first time. “I’m still here.” “Oh right, you.” Lana laughed and gave you the gift of faux embarrassment. She turned in her seat to face you and gave you a wry smile. “Sorry, I just get carried away sometimes.” You have a polite, curt smile and turned to look out the window. You knew she enjoyed watching you squirm. It was entertainment for her too. She and Sam were perfect for one another. You felt the sneaking sense of dread settle in the depths of your stomach. Now your worries were less about surviving this trip and more about finishing it at all. Without any gas, the three of you would be screwed out in the middle of nowhere.

“You know,” Lana began, “Sam and I were going to stay at his place for the summer. His family owns this great house by the lake. But when I heard you needed some help I thought, why not? I haven’t been to town for a really long time.” You wondered if she hated her family or if her family hated her.

More dry rolling hills and nothingness. And then suddenly, like a mirage, a black dot appeared on the horizon. It wavered and sputtered in the heat, until it slowly grew and solidified on the side of the road. A hitchhiker? Yes, you were closer now and you could clearly see the hitchhiker off in the distance. You straightened up in your seat and stared him down. “Hey look at that guy!” Lana exclaimed. She pointed at the man in the distance and squinted her eyes. “He looks...weird.” A bit closer to him now and you could see what she meant. His movements were erratic, and you could barely see the manic smile across his face. He had his thumb out, asking for a ride, and it felt...wrong somehow. His shoulders were shaking with what appeared to be laughter. A chill ran down your spine as you felt the car begin to slow. “Wait!” You shouted at Sam. “You’re not actually stopping are you?” “Ahhh what’s the harm?” he responded. What’s the harm? Really? The car stopped right alongside the hitchhiker, and you were able to see clear as day how off-putting he was. He had a large red birthmark on his right cheek. It looked like blood. A camera hung around his neck along with a small pouch made out of some unknown animal. Lana rolled down her window slightly in order to hear him. He spoke quickly, as if he were in a rush or high. “Hey, man, mind if I catch a ride?” “A ride where?” Lana asked. “To my house! It’s just up the road there!” “Well why don’t you keep walking?” Lana sneered at him and Sam followed suit. The hitchhiker hesitated to answer the question. His face twisted in confusion and eventually defaulted into the same, off-putting smile. “Come on! Just give me a ride! I’ll make it worth your while!” To your absolute horror, he turned to face you in the back seat. His smiles grew wider as he noticed you for the first time. “Oh yeah,” he muttered. “I’ll make it worth your while.” You shifted in your seat and turned away from him. You could feel his eyes boring into you, prying you open and digging his hands inside. It was silent for too long as the hitchhiker waited for a response. He took in a breath to speak once more when Sam broke through the silence. “Yeah, umm...” he began. “The thing is, friend, we’re in a bit of a rush and running out of gas and we’d just like to get home.” The hitchhiker seemed to perk up at the mention of gas. His back straightened, and he tried to hide the glee on his face, and failed miserably. “Oh I uhh, I know a place! Yeah! Right up there! By my house! I can take you there if you want, just give me a ride!” Lana and Sam exchanged a knowing look, one that you had no part in. Lana turned to the hitchhiker and exaggerated her thinking process, letting out “hmm”s and “uhh”s and pressed a finger to her chin, her eyes rolled upwards in “thought”. “Hmm,” she “pondered”. “Nah! Good luck and don’t die!” Lana burst out laughing as soon as the engine revved. Sam slammed his foot against the pedal and you lurched backwards with the speed the car propelled itself away with. The tires squealed and kicked up dust. Once you regained your balance, you turned around in your seat to watch the hitchhiker fade away behind you, shrouded in dust. ——— “God, he was such a creep, wasn’t he?” Lana had a look of plain disgust and mockery as she asked this. She turned from Sam who nodded and laughed and turned you. She expected an answer. “Yeah I guess,” you said, forcing a fake smile. You agreed sure, the guy was a bit weird, but did he really deserve to be shit on like that? You tried not to dwell on it. You were long gone now, and the car was getting dangerously low on gas. Everyone was searching the shimmering horizon for some sign of civilization. You turned to your right and saw a dead armadillo on the side of the road. Your heart felt a pang of grief over the rotting carcass. It was a cruel world, you knew that, but you still felt like an innocent animal would be exempt from it. Just a few moments after seeing the poor armadillo, you spied a building between two rolling hills and a cluster of sad trees. A thin road stretched and winded towards a large sign that read “GAS” in thick, red letters. “Wait!” You shouted. “Down that road there!” Both Sam and Lana were shocked out of their concentration by the sound of your voice. Your frantic pointing gave the hidden road away and Sam jerked the steering wheel in order to make the curve in time. Both you and Lana held on as best you could, and your chest strained against your seatbelt. “Ow, fuck!” Lana yelled. She righted herself and smacked Sam on the arm. “You asshole!” Sam burst out laughing. He always worked best when he was able to get a rise out of someone. The car rocked over the unpaved, bumpy road. It took all you could not to bang your head against the ceiling. Lana was a bit less lucky. She hit her head quite hard against the window and cried out in pain. Sam ignored her. “Slow down, asshole!” She yelled. “Do you want to get gas or not, huh?” A few more hours. Just a few more hours and you would be home and you wouldn’t need to deal with this anymore. You didn’t want to be around when their relationship exploded. And it would undoubtedly explode any minute now. The car bumped and rocked up to the gas station, and came to a stop by one of the old, rusted pumps. “Last Chance Gas” was up in large red letters above the entrance to the small station. It was dirty and seemingly abandoned. Sam stepped out of the car and called out. “Hello! Anyone in there?” He quickly ducked his head in the car window. “Lana, come with me.” In response, Lana pouted and angrily shook her head, her arms crossed against her chest. Sam sighed and called out once more. You could tell he was getting exasperated. Right as he was about to call out again, undoubtedly louder this time, a man emerged from the station’s front door. You felt like if the gas station were a person, it would look exactly like him. He was older, worn out, his clothes were slightly grimy, and his hair was greasy, or at least what was left of it. You rolled down your window in order to hear what he and Sam were saying. “Hey, man, were almost out of gas here and we’ve got somewhere to be. Fill her up will ya?” Even when asking a stranger for their service, he couldn’t help but sound like an absolute douche. “Well, sorry about that, son,” the man said, “We’re all out of gas.” “You-you’re out? Of gas? You’re a gas station!” “I’m well aware of that, son, but we won’t be getting another shipment until the end of the day.” Sam groaned in response. The man brought up a placating hand. “Now, you’re allowed to wait here until then, if you like.” “No!” Sam almost shouted. He took a breath and calmed himself down. “Listen, is there another gas station around here? We need to be moving.” “Read the sign.” The man pointed up to the red letters behind him. “Alright then fuck this,” Sam said. He made his way back around to the driver’s side. “I’ll take my chances.” Before the man could get another word in, Sam was revving up the car and continued down the road ahead of you. “Wait, Sam,” Lana began, “Let’s just wait! If they say it’s gonna be in at the end of the day then let’s just stop here.” “I am not going to be sitting in this damn hot fucking car for who knows how long. We’ll just keep going. There’s GOT to be someplace ahead. It’s just a marketing tactic with that whole “last chance” bullshit.” Both you and Lana knew you wouldn’t be able to convince him otherwise. Sam got what he wanted when he wanted. And you in particular did not want to find out what happened if he didn’t. And he was probably right. There had to be a place somewhere ahead. You settled into your seat in a puddle of your own sweat. You were just thankful that the window allowed just enough of a breeze in to keep you going. You could feel the car start to sputter and slow as the needle drew closer and closer to the E on the dial. Sam’s knuckles were growing white against the wheel as his nervousness grew. You were wary of his eventual explosion, and there didn’t seem to be any salvation in sight. The sun was an unrelenting presence that was slowing siphoning away your energy, and soon enough you were in a daze. Your eyelids were growing heavy from the sun, the heat, and the road. Before you knew it, your body was asleep and finally able to let go of the tension set in your muscles. It would have been peaceful, if you were not robbed of it just moments later. “Look!” You heard. Your sleep-addled mind couldn’t process what was going on at first, but once your eyelids forced themselves open, you started to wrap your head around it. Lana was pointing towards the side of the road, trying to get Sam’s attention. The sun was in your eyes, so it took a moment to see what she was seeing. Amongst the trees and dusty hills was a very narrow road. And past the tree line and into the depths of the forest, you could see the roof of a very large house. “Maybe they’ll have some gas?” Lana hoped. She looked over at Sam and begged him with her eyes to pull over. He let out a strong and obvious sigh, but did not say a word. The wheel spun and the car turned onto the gravel road. Trees immediately flanked either side of the car and you could barely see past them, even in the sunlight. The rooftop grew larger and larger in front of all of you. It grew and grew like a menacing giant, ready to eat the three of you whole. The eye-like windows glared at you as they came into view. The poor house was incredibly run down. It seemed to slump into itself, sad of its own existence. The white paint was chipping off the exterior, which made the cracks look like veins spreading across its hide. The house was a creature, alone in the forest. What concerned you was that you didn’t know if it was alive or not. The car came to slow stop in front of it as it rolled over overgrown grass. Sam turned the engine off and stuffed the keys into his pocket. “Alright,” he said. “I’m gonna go check and see if they have any gas to spare. They must have some kind of generator or something way out here. I’ll be back.” Sam made no effort to invite you or Lana, so you made yourself comfortable. Or as comfortable as you could possibly be in the sweltering heat. Sam was halfway to the front door when Lana was suddenly spurred into motion. She climbed out of the car and ran after Sam. “Wait!” She called. “I’ll come too.” And like that you were left alone in the car.

Climbing over a small set of stairs, they stood by the door and knocked and called for several minutes. You were resigned to the house’s clear abandonment, but Sam thought he heard something. You could hear it faintly as well. He pulled the screen door open and stepped inside, with Lana glued to his side. You watched them enter the house’s maw. They disappeared into the darkness behind the screen door and you waited. You waited and waited and waited until you felt an unreasonable amount of time pass. They shouldn’t have been gone for this long. If they hadn’t found anyone, they would have come back out by now. If they had, they would have brought them out to the front with gas. Maybe it really was empty and they decided to take some “time together”. You groaned to yourself at their obnoxious behavior. Could they really not wait until they were back home to have their foray? Here you were, in the back of a suffocating hot car, waiting while these two jerks finished pounding one out. As time went on, you were a bit surprised with their stamina and the fact they had been at it for so long. Finally, enough was enough. They had been gone for so long that you didn’t care what you walked in on, as long you got kick them out and get you all going again. You threw the door open and slammed it behind you, hoping it would signal to them that you were on your way. With your feet in the grass, you realized how unkempt it really was. You saw small bugs jump off of the tips of grass and run off further into the vegetation. There was no way this house was inhabited. There was no sign out here that anyone had lived here for years. You climbed up the short, creaky steps onto the porch. You entered a bit of shade and felt an immediate relief. You allowed yourself to rest in the partial darkness for a few moments before you braced yourself. The screen door was in front of you, beckoning to you. You pushed it open and entered an even hotter, note sweltering environment. The house was tight and closed in. Dust had collected on a lot of the surfaces inside. It was dark, with only the natural light that flowed through the cracks in the closed windows allowed you to see inside. “Lana? Sam?” Your voice spread into each nook and cranny of the house. “Hey, you guys, come on!” No response. The floorboards creaked underneath you as you walked down the small hallway in front of you. The stairs before you called to you, but it would be better to check the first floor before anything else. A large steel door was at the end of the tight hallway. It seemed out of place in this home. It looked like it would be more at home in a slaughterhouse than here. You tried to open it, but it only jingled against its lock. You left it alone for now and turned left towards another part of the house. You called out once more to your traveling companions, but still there was no answer. You figured you would be hearing some type of moaning by now, but the house was passive in unsettled quiet. And then you heard it. A small squeal in a back room that was unmistakable for Lana. You followed the sound as best you could. You turned a corner and your feet stepped on something strange. It was soft and fluffy, but a hard piece lay in the middle. Your foot rolled over the object as it clattered away. You looked down. You were stepping on feathers. Piles and piles of loose feathers and…bone. The object that rolled away was a thin, bare bone. And there were more of them. Everywhere. Bones on top of more bones scattered and dumped without a care. Your body froze in place. You felt yourself begin to sweat, but the droplets came out cold and quick down your back. Your muscles tensed, but your eyes desired to explore the room around you. You didn’t want to look, oh no please don’t look, but they moved around anyways. They moved up from the floor of feathers and bones, up to the table full of rusty tools and even more bones, to the pieces of furniture that decelerated the edges and sides of the rooms made of...bones. Human...bones. Human skulls, femurs, and ribs were tied with chicken wire against the frames of shoddily crafted chairs and benches. There was no denying their human origin. The noise. The noise came again from the room to your right. The same small squeal. You knew both Lana and Sam were twisted, but they couldn’t be this twisted, could they? Could they really be here, amongst these rotting horrors and… You shook the thought out and followed the noise. You had to pull them out of there quickly. “Hey guys, quit it, let’s go!” You turned the corner and stopped dead in your tracks. Lana was there. And Sam too. Or at least parts of him. What was left of his body rested on an old, bloodstained table. His limbs were in a bucket in the corner. And his head, well...you couldn’t find it. But it was definitely him. The body had the same clothes, and despite missing its extremities, it still held an energy of callousness and arrogance. A large, bloody chainsaw sat next to his remains. And Lana. She was still alive. At least you thought. She was strung up, facing Sam. You ran to her, jumping over bits of bone and flesh, but when you touched her she screamed. You saw how she was being held up. A long, rusted hook had pierced her back, and every movement on her caused her to cry out in excruciating pain. Your heart began to race. What could you do? What happened? Who did this? It was all happening too fast. You couldn’t think straight. It was all wrong. Every movement you tried to get her off the hook only made her claw out in pain. And then you heard a sound behind you. It sounded like a large hunk of metal sliding up against itself. The screeching metal clawed itself open like a demon out of hell. The door. The door was opening and it was behind you and that meant whatever was opening it was behind you too. The hairs on the back of your neck would have stood on end if not for the layers of sweat pressing them down. Critical thinking was gone now, what was left was simply survival instinct. Your eyes darted from side to side, searching for a space to hide. There were layers of tanned hide — animal? Human? — draped over several chairs next to a table, with piles of animal parts on the seat. You crawled underneath the table and pulled the chairs in front of you to hide yourself as best you could. You were breathing heavily from panic, and after you realized this, you slapped a hand to cover your mouth. You pressed your eyes closed for a moment. You were a coward. A goddamn coward. Sure, Lana wasn’t a friend, but you could hear her desperate cries as she pleaded for you to save her. But you couldn’t. You just couldn’t. Your muscles had seized from fear, and when you tried to move them, they began to shake uncontrollably. Thump, thump, thump. Footsteps came closer. You could hear them clear as day behind Lana’s cries. And behind the steps you could hear a sound like a squealing pig. Whoever had done this was in the room. Your entire body tensed when you saw movement pass in front of the chairs. Dark pant legs approached Lana and the hooks. You could see the end of her legs frantically kicking. You tried not to imagine what that was doing to the hook in her back. She cried out for help. She called for you by name. Part of you hoped she hadn’t given you away, and you immediately felt bad for hoping that. The legs moved away from her and then to the large, bloodstained table in the middle of the room. You heard the sick thunk of Sam’s torso hitting the floor. Whoever was doing this was planning on doing the same to Lana that they had done to Sam. You wanted to stop it, but you couldn’t. Cold blood and sweat flowed through your body, and no matter how much you wanted you could not move yourself. You couldn’t stop it. You listened to the sound of Lana being placed on the table, and then you listened to the disgusting slam of a heavy object against what you figured was her head. Her strained cries turned into a gurgle. The gurgle turned into a choke. The choke turned into silence. Your eyes were wild and bulged out of their sockets. They stared into the coarse hairs of one of the hides in front of you. You heard silence in the room, and you could not see the pair of legs form before. You didn’t know how you would get home or when, but you knew you had to get out of here now now now. You moved your body in this cramped space as slowly as you could. A crunch. A bone snapped beneath you. The snap reverberated through your entire body and then the whole house. Or at least it felt like it. But you were safe. Nothing moved except for you. Then another snap. An even louder snap this time and you knew you had done it. The pair of legs appeared from around the corner. You held still as it came closer to you. You wished it away. You wished so hard that the sting of tears pricked the corners of your eyes. You were going to fucking die. The pair of legs and the figure it was attached to grabbed the chairs in front of you in a sudden fury. The creaky wood was whipped away from your shelter and you let out a scream you could not control. You pushed yourself backwards, squishing bones and feathers underneath you. Thick, pudgy hands gripped the lip of the table in front of you and lifted. The table wasn’t bare. It was stacked and piled with animal parts and skins and that must have weighed it down by a lot. Which meant that the being currently lifting it clear off the floor and tossing it aside had an enormous amount of strength. The pig squealing began again, and you realized it was emanating from the figure in front of you. You were blind with fear, and you couldn’t see much of them before you started to flee. Your legs tensed underneath you as they tried to propel you forward, but you weren’t fast enough. Thick, hairy arms wrapped around your body and lifted you up clear off the ground. The person holding you was big in every since of the word. You panicked and began to squirm in the vice you were in. You kicked at their chubby stomach and strong legs. You pushed against them and you were able to hook your feet against them and push away. Their grip weakened and you fell out of their arms. You landed hard on the floor, and the tough bones that littered it banged against your muscles as you hit them. You twisted yourself around and crawled away as best you could, but the door was nowhere near. You backed yourself into a literal corner and felt yourself press against the wall behind you. The figure was standing above you now. And they were bigger than you had thought. Their body heaved with the previous exertion and each step made a heavy thump as they moved their weight around. You grabbed a bone by your side and held it up. It was old and brittle, useless in a fight but it was all you had. Your need to fight hadn’t left just yet. You held it up between you and the large beast. “Stay back!” You screamed. Your heart was blasting against your rib cage. You were able to see the full frame of the man in front of you. You stared up towards his face. A face that seemed…wrong, and loose somehow. The apron over his shirt and tie was stained with what was obviously blood and gore. The man took a few steps closer once more. You jabbed out with the bone and he flinched slightly. He was right above you, his body heaving and bursting with strength. The man kneeled in front of you. You jabbed out again, but the man squealed and flung out a big, meaty hand. He smacked the bone out of your hands and it flew clear across the room. Completely defenseless, you pressed yourself as hard as you could into the wall, hoping in some way that you could meld into it and disappear. But you were not that fortunate. You were face to face with the man. He lowered himself to your eye level, and kept coming closer and closer until he was mere inches away. His body and shape seemed to swallow the room around him until all you could see was him and his face. And that’s when it hit you. In another split second, your eyes took in the thick twine that pieced the mask together. The mask made of something slightly translucent. It was poorly stitched together, with flaps covering the ears underneath completely. Greasy black hair erupted from the top of the mask in tangled curls. It took longer to realize that it didn’t belong to the man himself. You could see into his eyes. Holes had been cut away from the mask’s eyes and mouth, allowing you to see the true skin underneath. He noticed you holding your breath, and stopped moving. You looked into his dark eyes. The sun that broke through into the room reflected off of them, and unlocked the honeyed brown kept in their depths. Crooked teeth exposed themselves from behind his chapped lips. The light pierced through the translucent skin he had wrapped around his own. Skin around his own he was wearing skin wearing someone else’s skin on his face. You wanted to scream. You tried to scream as hard as you could, but nothing came out. A tear slipped from the corner of your eye. You could feel your body shutting down. Its natural instinct to flee and fight was beginning to wear off and all that was left was limp flesh. And he kept staring at you. The man wearing a mask of leathery skin tilted his head from side to side. His tongue slipped out and ran over his teeth. He let out a small, pig-like squeal. The strangeness of him knocked some voice into you. “I’m so sorry,” you began, your voice a hoarse whisper. “I’m sorry, I didn’t see anything. Please just let me go. I shouldn’t have come here. Please!” The man tilted his head once more. Your chances were slim, but you would do anything to get out of here. Pride meant nothing to you. “I’m so so sorry. I shouldn’t have been in here. You don’t have to hurt me. Please don’t hurt me.” One of his hands rose before your eyes. You turned your face away in fear of being struck. A hand so large and thick would do terrible damage to you, and your braced yourself from the pain. But instead of a slap or the feeling of the intimidatingly thick fingers wrapped around your throat, you felt a calloused hand brush against your cheek. It was rough, and almost hesitant to touch you. You let out a pained sound as you felt him touch you. To your surprise, he immediately pulled away. Your eyes flashed opened and you heard him let out a small whimper. You saw him immediately grow self conscious of his movements. He held his hands in front of him and shuffled in place. His head ducked slightly and that’s when you realized he was just as scared of you as you were of him. You were an intruder, a stranger who had burst into his home along with Lana and Sam. They had broken in, made loud sounds, and he felt as if his shelter was being invaded. He was defending himself. He was defending himself against you. You had hidden yourself in his house and had even threatened him. Yeah, he had killed two of your “friends”, but maybe in his mind, this was a natural reaction. He kept his head down and started his pig-like squealing once more. “Hey, hey, hey,” oh god you couldn’t believe you were actually trying to comfort him. “It’s okay! It’s okay.” He watched you from the corner of his eye; his head still to the side and tucked low to show his submission. He turned his head to look away from you and stood up. You pulled your feet close to your chest and pressed yourself farther into the wall. The man walked over to the corner of the room and picked something up. He came back to you, knelt, and then presented one of Sam’s arms as an offering. A scraggly sound of fear escaped your throat and you turned away to fully face the corner. Another tear escaped you. The man whimpered and made a sound that almost sounded apologetic. He went to put the arm back where he had first put it. You sensed him return. You felt his heat radiating from his body. You smelled his sweat and his scent filling the room. You heard a soft sound escape his lips. You slowly turned to face him once more. He held his hand out to you. His eyes glowed in amber against the sun. You dared to reach a hand out, palm up, to accept his gift. Very slowly and gently, the man placed a small bird skull into the palm of your hand. You had no idea what kind of bird it was, but it was still greasy after it rotted the rest of its flesh away. “Thank you,” you whimpered. He nodded to you and made an effort to smile behind his mask and crooked teeth. From what you gathered, he could not speak. The best he could manage was small babbling sounds and a pig-like squeal that sounded frighteningly real. You wondered if he was alone here. If you were alone here with him. Your questions were immediately answered. You heard the screen door of the porch swing open and slam against the inside of the house. “Bubba!” You heard someone yell. In that moment, the man’s body seemed to change. His gentle submissiveness was exchanged for manic fear. His back straightened and he sat up. He looked from side to side, as if wondering what to do. Had someone else invaded the home? Would he kill them too? And then his eyes landed on you. Nervous sounds began to spill out of him and he held out a hand as if to say, “Wait there”. He grabbed the toppled-over stacks of animal hide and draped them over you. He covered your entire body until all you could see and smell were the tanned skins around you. You heard the voice get closer. “Bubba! What the hell is that car doing outside?” The voice sounded vaguely familiar. It was scratchy and dug itself under your skin. The voice was inside the room now. “What the fuck is this, huh? What the goddamn hell did you do?” The man with the skin mask began to babble incoherently, like a child. He was panicked and scared. And it scared you. If the man who had just chopped up your acquaintances was scared of this voice, how bad would this one be? This voice, like an old man... The gas station attendant. The old, wispy haired man. He knew the man in the house somehow. Why? Didn’t he see the bodies in the room? Wasn’t he scared? You heard the older man grab something heavy off of a table. “You goddamn bastard! Look at the fucking mess that you made!” You heard clambering and various objects being thrown to the ground. Their voices moved around the room as the older man chased the other, and you heard a hard thump as he hit the masked man with something. The leathered-faced man began to cry, deep painful sobs. The older man had hit him. For some reason, you felt you heart throb in your chest. “You got all of them, didn’t you?” The man made desperate sounds of his agreement. Yes, yes, they were all gone, nothing to see here. “Well, good! Now get this mess cleaned the fuck up!” The voice disappeared, and angry footsteps followed as the older man stamped down the hall and entered another part of the house. Suddenly, there was silence. Except for the man’s crying. He was sobbing, and you could almost hear the thick drops of tears land onto the creaky hardwood floor. You didn’t dare to move. You heard the man begin to move around the room, sniffling the entire time he did so. You heard the dripping of blood as he moved the bodies of Lana and Sam away. He righted the table and chairs close to you, and after a too-long silence, he carefully pried the tanned hides away from your face. The room was still a mess, but nowhere near as bad as before. The man pressed a finger to his lips and croaked out what could have been a shushing sound. He waved his hands, gesturing you to come closer. Tears streaked the cheeks behind his mask and left a trail of wet cleanliness behind his grime. You couldn’t go with him, could you? A man who killed your friends—alright well, tolerated acquaintances—was going to take you who knows where? But you found yourself more scared of the other man than this one. At least this one didn’t kill you right away. You scooted yourself closer to the man, and he picked you up and threw your body over his shoulder. You struggled to right yourself so you weren’t hanging upside down. But he shook your body and loosened your grip until you were hanging again. You allowed this to happen, but you wondered how you were going to get out of this room unnoticed. Then, the man approached Lana’s body. The front of her head was smashed in and you could see bits of brain and bone mixed into a pudding inside her skull. You almost threw up at the sight of it. Flies were already buzzing around her. The man grabbed her, or what was left of her, and threw her over his other shoulder. You realized what he was doing. He was disguising you as another corpse. If this was your only way out, then so be it. You played dead. You let your arms flap and swing down under you. All you could see was the floor and the bits of brain that fell out of Lana’s skull as you left the room. The old man’s voice rang out again, “Don’t get all that fucking shit over my floors!” And as quickly as it had come, it was gone, muffled in another room as he spoke to someone else you could not make out. It had somehow worked. He didn’t notice that he hadn’t seen your body before, possibly because he didn’t care, and left the rest of the dirty work to be handled away from him. The man carrying you turned and headed up the narrow stairs you had seen near the entrance. Fuck, the entrance. It was right there, so close you could almost taste it, but you felt the grip on you to be too strong to even try it. At the top of the steps, the man turned down a small hallway. He opened a door and entered a little room. He made a small grunt as he shook you off his shoulder and you landed on an old, creaky bed in the corner of the room. You righted yourself quickly and pressed yourself against the corner. The man pressed a finger to his lips and signaled that you should not move. You wouldn’t—you couldn’t—as you watched him exit the room with Lana’s body. The last thing you saw of her was the gaping hole in her head. The door gently closed behind him, and you were alone. You looked around frantically, looking for some way to get away. The room was generously decorated with more animal and human bones. Strings of femurs and ribs dangled from their nailed purchase in the ceilings. And like a bolt of lightning you remembered the small bird skull that you held in your hand. You slowly opened the desperate grip and stared down at it. You hadn’t realized that you still had it. You had held onto it out of fear, and its greasy texture coated the inside of your palm. You kept it in your hand as you looked around the unfamiliar environment. There was a large window to your right. You peeled yourself off the bed and took the few steps towards it. Thin, lace-like drapes allowed most of the amber sunset light blaze through the paint-chipped frames. You were on the second floor, that was obvious, and underneath you were scraggly dried branches of juvenile trees and the sharp, thorny brambles of bushes. You tried to dig your fingers underneath the window frame in an effort to pry it open, but the swollen wood couldn’t budge in this heat. You grunted and strained behind your full strength, but you couldn’t get it open. A faint jingling came from outside the bedroom door. You whipped yourself around, your eyes already searching for a new way of escape. The door swung open, and the man came in and closed it right behind him. The jingling came from a strange bracelet on his left wrist, and you wondered who had given it to him. The man was slightly hunched over, and his movements were wary. He shuffled towards you. He could not look you in the eye, rather, he came to you like a meek, punished puppy. Your heart could not help but to ache for him. The man was large, easily a full head and a half taller than you, but in this cowardly state, he only managed to be at eye level. Your body was frozen in place in front of the window. The man got so close that you were practically hugging the wall. His face inched closer to you and sniffed at the air around you. He finally managed to work up the courage to look you in the eye. He wearily brought a finger to his lips, and then pointed out towards the door. You could still hear the muffled voices from downstairs. He whined again, desperate to have you understand. Don’t make a noise, he meant to say, or they’ll hear you. You nodded slowly, and your teeth chattered with fear and dying adrenaline. His hands came up too quickly for you to react to. Their rough, working man’s palms rubbed against your flesh and squeezed. He pulled you over to the bed and had you sit down on the edge of it. He turned from side to side, frantic, as if he were trying to compute something within his mind. As if he were struggling to find the book inside that would translate his own communication to yours. His hands came up, palms forward. Wait here, it said, please wait here. He searched for some kind of understanding in your eyes. You nodded, and to your surprise, he seemed to beam at this. A large, crooked smile stretched from behind his mask. He squealed and reached for you. You flinched and backed yourself farther into the bed. The man stopped dead in his tracks. The smile disappeared, and his head sagged. He realized his excitement had scared you. In apology, he took the jumbled up blanket that hung off the foot of the bed and gently offered it up to you. He whimpered and lowered his gaze. You took the blanket from him and wrapped it around yourself. Despite the harsh heat still present in the stuffy house, you found yourself incredibly cold. Or maybe just in need of a little comfort. The man gave his wait motion once more, and then left the room. You felt as if you could breath again. The hanging bones and rotting flesh didn’t give the most pleasant smell, but you were alive. Lana and Sam weren’t, but you were. The small bird skull hidden in your grip was your trophy; it was the symbol of your survival. But as you thought about it, did you truly deserve to survive? Your mind tried to rationalize things. They were assholes, you thought. They were huge assholes that never have or would have done a good thing in their life. But even if that were true, you were at least partly responsible for their death. They had been giving you a ride. If you weren’t around, they could’ve gone off someplace else and never gotten stuck in road kill county. It was your fault. You couldn’t save Lana, the fear had taken over. You were a coward. You had done nothing. No, but you had tried. You had never seen a dead body before, what could you have done? You tried your best to excuse and reason with yourself. Your mind spiraled and repeated for the next hour. You were immobilized by your thoughts and by the sounds of voices emanating from downstairs. It was a repetitive cycle of guilt and rationalization, and you had no way of getting out of it or this room. The sunlight was slowly fading from the window, and as the last light turned orange and pink and purple, the man entered the room once more. He was hunched over, submissive, and had lowered himself from full height in order not to scare you. He was aware of his intimidating stature. However, his size was probably the least scary thing about him. He was hiding from behind his mask of leathered skin, but not in the way you first thought. He was not trying to hide his identity, no. What is more obvious than a large man in a mask made out of faces? Very few things, you would say. But he was trying to hide himself from the outside world either way. The mask was a part of him, a different face that he could show the world that despite its origin was more of a part of him than its original owner. He held a large plate in one hand, and a cup in another. As he crept closer, you were able to see more of what was on it. It was packed with mac and cheese, greens, and mashed potatoes. Your mouth drooled at just the sight of it. You hadn’t realized how desperately hungry you were. You were running on fumes since this morning, and your stomach twisted and flipped at the possibility of food inside of it. But the man was carrying it. How safe could it really be? You wrapped the blanket tighter around yourself as he stood at the edge of the bed. With his head bowed, he offered up the food to you. It took a moment of him holding it to realize that he wanted you to take it. “Th-thank you.” You took the plate and cup out of his hand and placed the former on your lap. The man shifted from foot to foot and slipped a fork out from his apron pocket. He continued to shift from foot to foot as he waited for you to take your first bite. You stared at your food and debated. Was it truly safe? Could it be poisoned? Did you really have a choice? You raised your fork and began to pick at your meal. You looked up at the masked man, and his eyes shone bright with anticipation. You brought a forkful of mac and cheese to your mouth and ate it. Your taste buds exploded and your mouth coated itself with saliva. It was the best mac and cheese you had ever tasted in your life. Without pause, you began to take more and more food in your mouth. You didn’t know if you were that hungry or if it was just that good, but you did not hesitate with eating the rest of your plate. The man stared at you the entire time, his shifting growing quicker as he saw your enthusiasm. When you were done, you chugged down the rest of the old, slightly dusty cup and took a deep breath. You looked up at the man and managed a smile. “Thank you. That was–that was really good.” The man let out a cheerful squeal and took the plate and cup from you. As he reached down, you saw the large, purple bruises that plagued his forearms. Your heart dropped. Acting on instinct, you reached out and touched him. Your fingers grazed the dark discoloration on his hairy arms. He let out a high-pitched squeal and tugged himself away. He took a few steps back, as if you were the true danger here in this room. “I’m sorry! I’m sorry!” You said. You brought up your hands to show that you meant no harm. “You’re hurt! May I see?” The man’s chest rose and fell with quick, nervous breathes. He set the plate and cup down on a small table nearby. Like a meek little puppy, the man reluctantly approached. With each step he took, his height and presence shrunk, until he was quite literally on your knees in front of you. He weakly held up his arm to you. His head had fallen to his chest and you could feel the apprehension wafting out of him in waves. You were careful not to put too much pressure on his arms in order not to hurt him. The bruises were quickly turning into huge welts. His forearms were filled with them, and you had the suspicion that the bruises crawled up onto his shoulders behind the short sleeves of his dress shirt. “Did the other man do this to you?” He nodded weakly. He made no effort to take his arm from you. He had been beaten into outright submission. If you could have afforded the tears, you would’ve cried. “Bubba?” The man’s head whipped up. “That’s your name, right? Bubba? That’s what that other guy called you.” The man, or rather, Bubba, gave a quick nod. His name on your lips and in the air made his heart beat faster. “Bubba—“ He cocked his head. “Does he do this to you a lot?” He gave another curt nod. He stood up in a sudden motion and sat himself on the bed. The sudden drop of his weight on the spring mattress almost sent you flying. Bubba put his head in his hands and his fingers pressed deeply into the skin of his mask. You reached out to touch him. To comfort him. Were you really doing this? Were you really going to comfort the man that you saw kill two human beings. A man that wore human skin on his face? As the thoughts raced around in your mind, you felt your own hand touch his shoulder before you could even think of it. He flinched at the touch, obviously not used to the end of a hand that was not striking him. You pulled away; scared that too much would warrant an angry or violent reaction out of him. “Did you...” your voice came out scraggly and hoarse so you cleared it. “Did you cook the food you gave me?” Bubba was sniveling and sniffling. He expertly hooked his fingers under the stitched skin to wipe away his tears, as if he had done it countless times before. It took a few moments before he nodded, and his sappy, teary eyes refused to make contact with yours. “Bubba–“ his back straightened. “That food was really amazing! You sure do know how to cook!” His hands crept up to his face, and through his fingers and mask, you could see the reddening in his face as he began to blush. “I mean it! You should be proud of yourself!” Bubba finally faced you, and his cracked lips pulled over crooked teeth to give you the biggest smile you had ever seen on a person. His thick, pudgy hands slapped his thighs in excitement. He began to bounce on the bed, his heavy weight sending shockwaves through it, and almost knocking you off. You couldn’t help but to laugh. His pure, unbridled joy was something difficult to come by, and it seeped into your bones and muscles and filled your belly full of laughter. Your happiness only caused him to get more excited, and he found himself further onto the bed, his legs crossed in front of him across from you. You tried to quiet yourself as to not draw attention to the others downstairs, but once you started laughing you couldn’t stop. This man in front of you, this murderer, had all the excitement and joy of a small child and the energies of it wafted through the air and settled on your skin. You didn’t know what had gotten into you. Was it Stockholm Syndrome? You couldn’t have fallen into it this quickly could you? It was so easy to condemn him for what he had done to people you couldn’t even stand—but still, they were people—when he wasn’t around, but now, with him in his pure joy, in his uncharacteristic innocence, he couldn’t help but forgive him. He didn’t kill you for one thing, but it was like he was a different person. The squealing, ferocious man that you had seen downstairs had morphed into this battered, giggling mess. It was wrong for the three of you to have come into the house, you knew that now. He was scared. Bubba was a frightened boy that lashed out and hurt and hurt because he didn’t understand. And maybe he didn’t understand death or killing but he did understand kindness and joy. And he understood fear. It seemed like he lived in fear every day. Bubba began to settle down, but his body continued to bounce, causing the bedsprings to creak. Your heart was thumping, but for the first time today it wasn’t from fear. The two of you were mushed onto this small, creaky bed in a room full of rot and hidden treasures, and in that moment, it became a sanctuary. Finally calm, you stuck out a hand to touch the beaten arm again. Bubba watched, his gaze quickly shifting from your hand to your eyes. He let you touch him and you saw the hairs on his arm stand up. You smiled and let out a small sigh. “Yeah, Bubba,” his name felt like sweet honey on your tongue, “Thank you. For giving me food. What I wouldn’t do for a bit of steak right now, though.” Like a shock running through your fingertips, you felt the presence in his body begin to shift. He sat up straight, his eyes boring into you. Without warning, he began to shake his head furiously from side to side. His sounds started at a whimper and crescendoed into a constant, loud squealing. He launched himself across the bed and grabbed you by the arms. The momentum and force behind his weight and body caused you to fall backwards, and suddenly he was on top of you. His eyes were wild with panic and his voice and squeals trembled with pain. He shook you, hard. His head wouldn’t stop shaking and his voice cried out as if he were trying to say words that he wasn’t capable of forming. You were a stone statue on the bed, unable to move from both fright and the weight that he put on you. You couldn’t look away from his eyes and see how scared they looked. Bubba let go of you and began to beat at his head, his flat palms slapping against either side of him. He was punishing himself for lord knows what, and you knew he wasn’t being gentle with himself. Your hands flew out and tried to grab his wrists and stop him, but he was too strong. He was crying again, and terrible sobs ripped through the room as he continued to hurt himself. You panicked. You didn’t know what you could do. So your next instinct was to slip your hands around his head and block his hands from hitting himself. The thick palms slapped against your hands, and the pain rang out of your fingers. You grimaced but kept your hands to block him. “It’s okay, Bubba! No meat! No meat!” He tried to hit himself once more when it clicked that your hands were around him, and he was hurting you and not himself. He stopped almost immediately. The room went quiet. Bubba’s lip quivered as he slowly removed your hands from the sides of his head. Your skin was growing a dark shade of red, and he brought your hands close in order to observe. His head tilted and he let out a small whimper. His eyes tore themselves away and returned to you. A small rumble that slowly morphed into a whimper escaped his throat. Bubba’s giant hands wrapped around yours, and he whined and whined like a desperate puppy once he realized he hurt you. His head peeled up after a moment, and his hand shot out to your side. You flinched at the sudden movement. He noticed this and went slow as he picked up the small bird skull he had given you earlier. He took one of your hands and placed the skull in your palm. His fingers curled yours and pressed your hand close to your chest. It was yours now. It was his apology. You gave him a slight nod but you couldn’t afford a smile. He knew he had done something wrong and he might have punished himself more if he knew you wouldn’t stop him. The poor boy was distraught. His eyes were red from tears and his entire body shivered despite the heat. The last rays of light traveled through the nearby window. You could feel your exhaustion growing as the day that could have been your last began to end. You heard the stomping of feet outside coming up the stairs. They stopped outside the room and an angry fist slammed against the old, wooden door. “Bubba! Shut your fucking yapping! Your brother and I are trying to have a fucking conversation!” It was the old man again, undoubtedly angry. A brother? Bubba has a brother? Was that the other voice? You couldn’t dwell on the thought for long, because Bubba’s large, shivering frame flinched and cowered at the voice. He pulled himself back onto the bed and pressed his body against you. You could feel every ounce of his weight as he leaned on you, and before you could stop him, he was burying his face against your side in fear. His hands gripped your shirt and you could feel the wetness of his tears drying against it. You felt the rumble in his chest as he whimpered in fright. Your hand fell against his back, and before you knew what you were doing, you were rubbing and comforting him. Almost immediately, the shivering stopped. A low hum in his body, like a purr, flowed through him and his head fell from your side to your lap. You froze at the sudden change in demeanor. Bubba was quick to change from anger to fear, or maybe it was all fear in different flavors. The thick, curly hair that did not belong to him shook with tears on your lap. Your hand continued to rub him. “Shhhh,” you hushed. “It’s okay, Bubba. It’s okay.” His body began to grow still on you. His fingers kept their strong hook on your clothing, but you managed to lean back against the pillow and wall and rest your head. Exhaustion clawed at your heart and eyes as your breathing began to slow, and the heat in the air and from Bubba’s body provided a blanket around you that you could not leave even if you wanted to. Surprisingly, you did not. Darkness fell over the light clinking of bones that hung from the ceiling. Sleep overtook you, and you were gone.

––––––––

You felt your heart before anything else. You felt the quickening thumping in your chest as your body began to wake around you. Your eyes fluttered open as you took in the peach glow of the morning sun. It was that sort of morning light you saw when you were young and woke up early, even before your parents, and watched cartoons with a blanket wrapped around you for protection. You felt warm as another blanket cloaked you now, although it was much heavier than you thought it would be. You turned to the side and were met with the crude, stitched-together mess of translucent skin and matted hair. Your heart began to speed up, but it slowed as your eyes drifted to the peaceful, closed eyes of the man behind the mask. The gentle curve of his long eyelashes twitched in his sleep, and his chapped lips lay partly open as he breathed in and out. His large hairy arm rested on top of you, the weight of it a comfort in the dawn. Your heart slowed on instinct. For some reason, you felt safe in Bubba’s arms. You were shocked, sure, to find yourself in this situation, but it felt… Right? Was it okay to feel right with this man? Was it okay to find yourself sleeping next to someone who had bashed a person’s skull in and sawed off their limbs to a stump? Maybe not, but it was what you felt. You felt some sort protectiveness over him. Despite his large body, he was frail. Like an abandoned puppy, lost in the rain, you wanted to scoop him in and place him in your warm care. You closed your eyes once more and shifted your body towards him. You were going to embrace him both physically and figuratively. He was only defending himself after all, and you enjoyed a man who would defend what was his with all he had. You turned your back to him and settled into the softness of his chest and tummy. You fit into him like the last piece in a thousand-piece puzzle, with just as much relief and satisfaction. A light noise passed his lips from the movement, and you grew still in order not to wake him. You slowly drifted into sleep. Your eyelids grew heavy with the sweet lull of unconsciousness. Your gentle rock into sleep was disturbed once more when you felt Bubba shift a bit behind you. You kept your eyes closed in case he was just readjusting himself, but the slight movement happened again. And again. You realized his hips were moving, bucking into you. In the swirl of your half-asleep mind, you barely noticed the hardened bulge in the center of his mass, pressed up against you. It was as if your body was asleep when your mind was not, and each of your movements was like moving through a slog of honey. Each touch against you left a buzz that flowed through your skin and deep into your bones. The hardened prod against your rear and thighs pressed gently against you, and you could feel the warmth of Bubba’s member against you. The arm around you gripped you harder, and Bubba pulled you in against each rut against you. He was slowly going faster, and his movements caused you to let out a throaty moan. Your mouth slammed shut as soon as you heard it, as the moan came out from pure instinct and stimulation. You were embarrassed by how easily he made you moan, but if it happened and felt this good, then why deny it? Bubba’s morning wood pressed against you once more before his arm removed itself from around your torso. He was much more awake than you were. His hand slipped down between the two of your bodies and to the front of his pants. You heard the light unzipping of his pants and then the warmth of his heat pressed against you. Your arms reached out above you and stretched the sleepiness from your muscles in beautiful satisfaction. Your back pressed up against him, and the softest of sounds escaped your lips once more. And to your surprise, Bubba responded with a sound of his own. The sound alone could have sent you over the brink. It was a huff that ended in a higher pitch, like a soft whine of desperation and need that sent wild thoughts through your mind of how badly he needed you. You felt his member already leaking against you, as it left warm, wet patches on the back of your pants. On instinct and pleasure, you ground your ass against him, just to get more of a feel of him against you. He was large, you could tell that much, but you were worried about turning around in case it would make him stop. Bubba’s arm wrapped itself around you again, and his face neared the back of your neck. You could feel his breath on you, and the slight chill of it made the hair on the back of your neck stand on end. He whimpered again, as if pleading for you to take him. It seemed like this was his first time in this sort of situation, as his hips seemed to buck erratically and with slight hesitance. His belly pressed against you. He stopped for a moment and waited for you to show expressive interest. Now fully awake, you reached down to bring down the hem of your pants. The heat in your crotch was as hot or even hotter than the heat the rising sun that was blazing through the room. And then you felt it, you felt Bubba. He was incredibly, unfairly thick, almost like your forearm. He wasn’t the longest, but what he was packing made you tremble. You felt the eager tip of his cock press against the soft mounds of your ass. His entire body began to shake and shiver and you were convinced that he was going to cum right then and there if it weren’t for the loud footsteps and banging on the door that brought the both of you out of it. “Bubba!” The voice yelled, “It’s time to get breakfast ready!” Bubba’s breath was raspy against your neck, and you immediately pulled up your pants. They still didn’t know you were here, and if you weren’t careful, they would soon find out. And who knows what they would do to you. Bubba tucked himself into his pants before you could see him and—and wow, you actually wanted to see him. You felt a chamber in your core unlock as desire began to take over. This large, masked, strange man had torn a hole in your heart and had settled inside. He was so comfortable there that you had almost…almost… Bubba got up out his creaky bed. He whimpered as his legs dragged behind him. Before he opened the door, he looked back and made a motion for you to stay put, not like you had much of an option. He left and closed the door behind himself. And now you were alone. Alone with your thoughts. What were you doing? You were here, in a house where people had been killed, and you had just, you know, done things with the man who did it. It was wrong. It was sickeningly, disgustingly, intoxicatingly wrong. You had to admit to yourself that the fact that you knew what Bubba was capable of, that this soft puppy of a man was capable of such horrifying acts—but not with you—that it was…attractive. He could hurt someone for you. He could maybe even kill for you, and you knew his curiosity and obsession with you was growing. The simple fact that he was willing to hide you here from the man who hit him said enough. You didn’t owe him anything, but you wanted to give him everything. But your curiosity was getting the better of you. You heard the muffled voices and clattering of pots and pans from downstairs. You swung your feet over the bed and carefully distributed your weight as to not make the boards creak. With careful steps along the dresser and table, where the wood had settled the best, you carefully made your way to the door. You listened for a moment, and after you heard nothing, you cracked the door open and peaked outside. This was your first view of the hallway right side up. The walls were adorned with dark-green, peeling wallpaper that must have been set 20 years past. You saw the doors to a few more rooms and then the stairs leading down. Movement caught your eye as a dark shadow moved past the open crack of the door. Your heart froze in your chest as a man walked past you with no knowledge you were actually there. He turned the corner to go down the stairs, and in the brief moment before you hid behind the door, you saw his face. The face with a large, red birthmark the color of blood dripping down the side of his face. The hitchhiker. It was the man on the road from yesterday who had tried to get you to come to his…house. You recoiled from the opening and brought your hands up to your face. You were always going to end up here, somehow. You were going to end up in this house, in this room, in this heat. But you realized just how lucky you were that you didn’t die like the rest of them. You were lucky that Bubba didn’t hurt you at all. You were here and that mattered for something didn’t it? And you were here with Bubba, which wasn’t so bad either. You heard the voices return and come up the stairs, and your undying curiosity brought you back to the crack in the door. You saw the hitchhiker again, and then Bubba behind him. You gathered that the hitchhiker was a bit nicer than the older man, as when he put his hand on Bubba’s back, the latter didn’t immediately flinch or cringe away from the touch. The older man yelled from the bottom of the stairs. “Now be careful with Grandpa, boys!” Grandpa? Bubba and the hitchhiker went into a room directly across from the top of the stairs. They had disappeared for only a moment when they reappeared once more. Between the two of them, they carried an old wooden chair, and in that chair was a corpse. Your breath caught in your throat and you heart froze in your chest. The corpse was that of an old man. Bald, sheet white, and sunken in, its head lulled from side to side as the two men carried it down the stairs. But it wasn’t a corpse at all. For the briefest moment, the old man regained its control over its head and turned to you. The sunken, hollow eyes made contact with yours before it lost its strength and dropped once more. You heard the thumps and coordination of their feet as they got to the bottom, along with the yelling from the older man. You took a deep breath and exited the room. You needed to see more. You needed to see more of Bubba. You took careful steps along the hallway until you reached the top of the stairs. You took a few steps down and sat. Your hands wrapped around the white bannisters whose paint had chipped and the wooden frame underneath peaked through. You could hear the voices much clearer now. They were below and around a corner. “Nubbins!” The older man cried out. “Go help your brother with the food!” When was this man not yelling? But also, was that the hitchhiker’s name? Strange. You had thought you misheard until you heard him respond. “Yeah, yeah, hold your fucking horses, Drayton.” Nubbins and Drayton. This was Bubba’s family. You heard even more clambering in the kitchen until it began to quiet. The scrape of old chairs against the wood floor signaled that they were sitting to eat. The thought of food made a pang of hunger hit your stomach. A moment of silence to say grace, and then the dining room erupted in noise once more. The all spoke loudly to each other, except for Bubba of course. They asked to be passed the bacon, eggs, ham, and even ribs. They had plenty of food, and you were curious at how they got them. But also, why did Bubba not want you to eat the meat if they were having so much of it now? You wanted to see more of the privacy of their meal, and you slowly slid off the step and lowered yourself down a bit more. You were now able to see farther into the dining room. It was adorned similarly to the rest of the house, with bones tied to and holding the majority of furniture together. You could see part of Bubba, or at least you thought it was him. He wore a mask, but a different one from before. It had short, grey hair, and a hole on the forehead similar to the one you met him in. The skin sagged and lay wrinkled as it wrapped around Bubba’s face. He served food around the table, and babbled incoherent gibberish in a high-pitched voice. He seemed erratic and nervous as he tried to handle everything around the table. You wished you could run down the stairs and hug him tightly. But you knew that you would be in danger as soon as Nubbins or Drayton knew of your existence. Through a mouth full of food, Drayton muttered, “You did it again, Bubba! Great fucking breakfast. Who knew you could make such great shit out of such little meat, eh? Sometimes God simply provides.” “Hey!” Nubbins yelled, “I’m the one that sent them here!” “You didn’t send shit! You couldn’t even get into their fucking car! You didn’t do anything to provide for this family, you chickenshit! Bubba here, Bubba made something for us. He took care of those fucking kids and used their best bits and gave us this. Do you know how to do that? Do ya?” The voices quickly reduced to a jumble of screaming and yelling. Bubba bumbling and whimpering only added to the chorus. But you weren’t paying attention to that. Their bits? Their best bits? What did he mean? Their luggage? It wouldn’t serve any sort of use. And– No, their bits. Their meat. This grand breakfast the day after you saw them chopped up amongst the bones. They were eating them. And Bubba had cooked them up. That was why he didn’t want you to eat it. If you could, you would have bolted out of here this instant. In fact, what was stopping you? You stood up, not caring if the stairs underneath emitted any sound. Your legs tensed and you held your breath. Just as you were about to run for your life, you heard a clattering crash and slam. “Bubba!” A whimper. Then a hard smack of a sound. Bubba started to sob. “Bubba you useless, goddamn child! Look what your bumbling ass did with all this! You clean this shit up right now or I swear your ass is gonna red till next Sunday!” Bubba was bumbling and sobbing in his nonsense language, and you could imagine him putting up his hands in his defense. No, you couldn’t leave. Not while Bubba was still like this: alone and afraid, beaten and abused. You were one of the few to show him kindness, and you didn’t want to think about the heartbreak leaving him would do. Every cell in your body was telling you to go, especially now that you knew their eating habits, but you couldn’t leave Bubba. Your feet slowly crept back up the steps, and before you knew it, you were back in Bubba’s room. The bird skull was still waiting for you on the bed. You picked it up and held it close to your chest. You waited for what seemed like forever until you heard the faint jingle of Bubba’s bracelet as he came to the door. He opened it quietly, as if to not disturb you, as if this was no longer his room but yours and he was intruding. You watched him practically crawl to you like a punished dog, not quite knowing what he had done wrong. He carried a plate in his hand piled high with food. The old lady mask was gone and he had returned to his usual one. You felt your heart throb in your chest. The corners of your eyes stung with the beginnings of tears as you watched this (somewhat) innocent man reduced to the small, quivering mess before you. Bubba offered the food to you, bringing it up with his head bowed. The food was quickly in your hands but you did not devour it. You placed it aside and whispered: “Oh, Bubba... are you okay? I heard. I heard everything.” He looked up at you in shock. He knew that you knew and the shame was plain on his face. He whimpered and went on his knees. His hand clasped together in a plea, in forgiveness. “No!” Your voice shook and trembled in its strength. Bubba’s body grew into stone at your feet. “There is nothing to forgive. It’s okay.” Your arms opened and welcomed him into your warmth. The hard stone around his body crumbled away and he embraced you. His head collapsed on your shoulder, and the tears from his eyes soaked your dirty shirt. “I know what you do. And while I don’t quite…understand, I won’t leave alone here. Not with him. You’re safe with me.” Bubba’s body began to rise to his full height, but he never let go of you. He picked you up and his arms grew into a strong vice of a hug that you did not want to leave. Your feet dangled off the ground, and you felt every ounce of strength that Bubba was careful not to use too much against you. He was a specimen of natural strength, and you were well aware of what his arms were capable of. They were capable of crushing, maiming, killing, slaughtering, loving. Bubba set you down onto the bed once more and his gentle hand waivered above you. You could see how desperately he wanted to touch you, how his thick, calloused hands wanted to stroke your face, but could not dare to do. So you solved the problem for him. You grabbed his hand and place it against your cheek. His strong palms pressed against your skin and slowly trailed down to your jaw and then your neck. He watched his face as he did so. You watched the glowing, honeyed brown eyes as they reflected the light of the morning. You watched as he slowly and carefully inspected every inch and detail of your skin. You tried to gather as much information that was buried behind the mask, but all you could see was wonder. Bubba’s hand lowered down to your neck. You had watched that hand smash a girl’s head in, and now it was delicately tracing the tendons and veins of your throat. His fingertips grazed your collarbone and you knew he would keep going lower and lower unless you stopped him. But you didn’t. You wanted to see more of the pure joy and wonder in his eyes. His mouth let out small sounds of satisfaction whenever he hit a certain curve or angle of your skin. A soft whimper as he traced the small indent of your clavicle, and then a squeak as he grazed the flat surface of your sternum. A low growl escaped from his throat, and as suddenly as his touch was on you, it was gone. He slunk away from you, and it was plain just how scared he was to touch you any more. You realized he had never had this before. He never had someone to touch that wanted to be touch. And your heart ached for him. Bubba recoiled from you and picked up the food once more. He tried to offer it once more, but you weren’t interested in that. Bubba did not think he was worthy of you or your touch, but you wanted to show him that he was. You took the plate of food from him, and stood up. He took a few steps back and began to cower, worried that you were going to reject him and his food and get violent in some way. You set the plate down carefully on the table and approached Bubba like he was a scared, stray dog. You were slow and careful with each step, and after a few moments he stopped backing away. Bubba let out a constant stream of whimpers and cries as you closed in on him. You hushed him. “Bubba, shhh shhh, it’s okay. I’m not going to hurt you.” His hands came up to protect himself, but they faltered at your hush. Backed against the wall, he seemed so defenseless. And now you knew that he could never hurt you. With your hands raised in front of you, you let him know that you were going to touch him. Your palms pressed against his broad, heaving chest, and he immediately began to calm. He was panting from fear, but with each moment of contact, he began to go at ease. Bubba’s lip quivered and he whimpered as your hands explored his chest. You were a bit scared to touch his face, or “face” rather, but you stomached it to put your hands on either side of it. “I’m here, Bubba. It’s okay.” His dark eyes softened and locked onto yours. His hands came up and held yours to his face, and he applied a comforting pressure to them. After a moment, he let go, and you did as well. Your hands wandered down to chest once more, but this time, your hand wrapped around his patterned tie and tugged lightly. Bubba whimpered once more, but he quickly quieted when he pressed his lips against yours. You felt the surprisingly soft lips quivering against your own before they pressed harder into you. Your eyes widened from surprise, but softened as you felt more of his body around you. Your grip on Bubba’s tie grew stronger and pulled him in deeper. Your mouth parted, and your tongue slipped past his sharp, crooked teeth and slid across his hot, thick tongue. You felt the vibration of his whimpers echoing against your mouth, and you wanted to hear more of it. His sweet, desperate sounds sent chills down your body. His hands had crept up to continue exploring your body as he was before. His hands landed on your hips and squeezed before he continued upwards. Your tongue intertwined with his and you felt burning desire flow through you. You tugged on the tie again and began to lead Bubba back to the bed. You were careful as tried not to hurt the dark bruises throughout his body. “I’ll take care of you, Bubba.” He whined like a lovesick puppy. You turned him around, still with your grip around his tie, and sat him down onto the bed. He whimpered and cried out as you broke away from his lips. “Lie down.” You ordered. He immediately obeyed. As he rested on his back on the old, creaky bed, you saw the bulge in his pants as clear as day. You could tell just from the sight of it just how big he was. Bubba continued to look up at you. His tongue licked his lips. He was already addicted to you. He would do anything you asked of him. He was completely submissive. You slowly crept up onto the bed, and crawled over his body. You planted yourself firmly on his lap, his bulge pressing upwards against you. You leaned down to kiss him once more, before your hand righted around his tie and your hips began to grind. And then Bubba went wild. He began to squeal and babble much louder than he had before as his hips began to buck on their own and you began to bounce on him. His hands began to tug and pull at your clothing, as he tried his best to tear it off. “Bubba,” you said sternly, “Put your hands above your head and keep them there.” He immediately obeyed once more. His hands went above his head and gripped the bed’s headboard. You knew the strength in those arms, arms that could easily lift you up and take you exactly how he wanted to, but he had relinquished control to you, and you would not squander that gift. Bubba quieted and waited for you to move. You could feel his throbbing heat pulsating against your groin and you grew hungrier by the second. You took a moment to take off your shirt, and you saw Bubba reach out to touch you. You wagged your finger and he put his hands away once more. Bubba was panting desperately like an animal in heat. His mouth hung completely open, and his tongue lolled out of the corner of his mouth. You could practically see his hot breath huffing out of him. You were convinced that he would explode any second, as he seemed to grow and grow underneath you. The next thing to go was your pants. You quickly unbuttoned and threw them off onto the floor. Now completely bare, you could feel the throbbing heat in Bubba’s pants that was only separated by a few layers of fabric. Bubba’s ragged breath came out as constant noise, and you loved it. You ground your hips against his for a few moments as you felt his erection grow to its full size. The fabric of his pants could barely contain it. Finally, you scooted down in order to free him. As soon as you unzipped his pants, his thick, veiny cock sprung out from its cage. Your breath caught in your throat as you took the view in. To say he was thick was an understatement. Bubba was easily as thick as your wrist, and strong, pulsing veins added ridges to his member. He wasn’t the longest you had experienced, but it was his girth that shocked you. You knew it was going to ruin you and you were eager for it. His menacing cock jumped and twitched as he could feel your eyes on him. You raised yourself up, and ever so carefully; you grazed your aroused crotch against Bubba’s burning cock. He howled in pleasure and bucked up to reach you, but the momentary friction was gone as you continued to move yourself upwards. You didn’t stop until your groin was right above Bubba’s mouth. You could see his white-knuckled grip on the wooden headboard as he used every ounce of his willpower not to touch you. “You’re a big boy, Bubba. So you’re going to have to get me ready.” A moment later and you placed your entrance to his mouth, and he began to work. His thick, warm tongue slithered out past his lips and traced circles around your entrance. Your voice choked in your throat as you felt the warm tongue lap at you. Your legs trembled around Bubba’s head. You rested yourself fully on his face, and his tongue began to explore your depths. You felt your entrance part as his tongue ventured inside, leaving a slimy hot trail of saliva across every inch. Through gasps and moans, you were able to let out a few words. “You can touch me now.” Bubba did not need to hear anything more before his hands removed themselves from the headboard and wrapped their thickness against your thighs and pulled you down completely onto his face. It was like he was trying to devour you from the inside out. His tongue, lips, and even teeth worked in conjunction to prepare you. Your eyes slowly wandered to the headboard, and you saw the faint splintering of the wood around the indents of his grip. His noises never stopped. They vibrated and reverberated against your entrance. His hips bucked in a futile attempt at friction in the air. You were worried that you were suffocating him underneath your meat, but every attempt to pull away only strengthened his grip around you. His thick, slobbery tongue penetrated you as deep as it could, but it was not enough. You called Bubba’s name and he worked himself harder. “Good, Bubba. That’s my boy.” You pulled at the hair of his mask and bucked your hips, gliding up against Bubba’s noise and face with your protrusion. You decided you were ready, or rather, you couldn’t wait any longer. You tapped Bubba on the shoulder to get his attention. “Take me, Bubba. Fill me up.” He let out a hog-like squeal underneath you and pulled you off of his face. Bubba sat up and guided the weight of your body without a problem as he settled your entrance on the head of his cock. Just the head would be difficult enough to put inside, but you calmed yourself and slowly wriggled to ease it in. Bubba had other plans. He grabbed you by the hips, and pushed you down as hard as he could. White-hot burning pain exploded around you as you felt his thick cock travel to the depths of your body. Each vein was large enough to feel against your walls, and the gentle curve upwards guided the fat head to your special spot deep within. You cried out in pain for only a moment before Bubba covered your mouth with his thick palm. He looked up at you in wonder, and you watched a thick strand of drool ran down the corner of his mouth. His dark, hungry eyes were vacant with lust, and he only took a moment to buck into you. You could feel every single inch of him inside you. You felt his thick girth stretch you to your absolute limit. Your head of nerves gently stroked against Bubba’s belly. You needed something to grab onto, and on instinct you reached for his tie once more. You wrapped it around your hand several times before you tightened it against his throat. His squeal died down from the pressure on his airway, and his lips parted in order to breathe. His hips began to buck faster. Despite the pain you were in, you were leading him in your joined pleasure.

“Faster, Bubba. Go faster.” His hips continued to buck up into you, and you let out breathy moans along with his whimpers. Bubba’s arms wrapped around you, and firmly hugged you to his chest. His hips bucked faster, and more and more of his cock tugged the flesh in and out of you. Bubba’s eyes never left your face. He watched as every one of his movements displayed itself on your visage. Each thrust into you hit just the right spot, and forced deep moans out from your mouth. Your sensitive stretch of nerves rubbed against Bubba’s pelvis and stomach, and the unending stimulation caused you to tuck your head in the crook of his shoulder. His head pressed against your own in his own display of kindness and affection. But not too long after, his rut into you began to escalate. His hips became faster and his cock fucked you harder. There was no hiding your noises now, it was all too late. Bubba’s squealing joined your moans as you held on for dear life. You were bouncing on his cock, and his entire length would slip out of you before sliding itself back in once more. Your entrance was aching but that only added to your desire. Bubba lifted you slightly and you wrapped your legs around his waist. Suddenly, you were on your back, and his weight was above you. He slowed down considerable to try not to hurt you, but a quick tightening of his tie, like a leash, hurried him once more. “Faster, Bubba, Faster. Bury yourself inside.” His hips were slamming into you at a manic pace. You could feel the base of his cock slam against your entrance with each quick push upwards. Bubba released a constant stream of needy sounds, and they only stopped once his lips landed on your neck. His sharp teeth bit and rugged at your glowing skin. With each bite he slid his fat tongue across your neck to accent each one. His tongue lapped at you and explored every inch of you. He pumped away below, but above, he kissed and sucked and licked, his mouth a roaming band of sensations. With one last twirl of his tongue, his mouth latched onto you completely. You could feel his teeth scrape and lips suction, and you already knew he was leaving deep hickeys on your skin. His animalistic grunt vibrated against your throat. Your mind had begun to meld into only blind pleasure. Along with his cock, his lips, his teeth, and his tongue, the front of you rubbed against his round belly. He was all around you and every inch provided you with pleasure. Your grip around his tie began to tighten as you felt your orgasm coming to a peak. Unexpectedly, Bubba’s hand moved from your thigh to the front of your groin. His agile hand worked you from what he knew from his own self-pleasure. He rubbed and tugged, and quickly switched from using just his thumb to his the palm of his hand and back again. It was all too much. Too much too much. Your legs quivered and your entire body shook as you came. The tie tightened itself around his throat until he could not breath. Your head rocked back as you let your orgasm take you as far as it could. Bubba continued to pump away at you, and your walls began to close around his cock like a vice. His thrusts began to quicken, and he remained deep within you. He still could not breathe, and it wasn’t until a squeak managed to escape his lips that you loosened the grip around his throat. He fucked away, until he began to squeal and pant wildly. Bubba’s hip stuttered for just a moment before he let out a harsh grunt, left your neck, and stared into your eyes as he came. He pumped you full of his cum, his hips continuously going until all of his seed was spent. You felt each hot spurt hitting your walls and filling up your guts with each thrust. And then, he jammed the rest of his cock inside, sealing your entrance with all of his hot juices inside. He kept you plugged for as long as he could bear to before the overstimulation caused him discomfort. You felt his warmth in the depths of your belly. Very slowly, Bubba pulled his thick monster of a cock out of you. His giant head made a pop as he exited you, and your gaping hole began to ooze the fruit of his labor. You felt every string and drop as it emptied out of you. You took a moment to take a few breaths and thought it was over. It wasn’t. Bubba’s cock did not waver after its orgasm, and instead stood strong beneath you. He had lived without a kind, living touch for so long, and he was going to get as much as he could out of you. Your grip around his tie was gone, but you were able to peak at the bright red marks along his neck that your control had caused. He immediately began to line up the gorgeous head of his cock against your entrance once more. He had stretched you to your limit, and your muscles did not provide any sort of obstacle to his member. You felt his warmth slip inside of you, slick on his hot cum. Bubba plugged you once more, and his cock filled you to the brim. You were still sensitive from your orgasm just moments before, but the deliciously painful stretch of your muscles distracted you from it. You were completely focused on Bubba above you. You focused on his soft eyes as he traced the features on your face. You focused on the feeling of the hot air around you. You focused on the thump of your heart in your chest. Bubba’s thrusts were slow at first as he tried to create a tempo, but once he did so, he began to thrust into you as quickly as possible. He humped away like a mad dog, his thick, burning cock pressing into your guts and smearing the remnants of his last orgasm against your walls. Your muscles were growing weak. He pumped away at you, his eyes bored into you as they watched his every movement that caused you to moan. His hands squeezed every bit of flesh that they could find. Before long, he let out another squeal and came into you once more. Even more cum came out of him than the first round. Each thrust caused more of his juices to implant themselves inside you, and he buried his cock deeply within. He had a thing for keeping his cum inside you, which was plain to see, and you were into it just as much. He filled your insides quickly, and you swore that you could feel the slight distention caused by both his fluids and his cock. You let out a long, guttural moan as he slowly pulled himself out. You felt his cum slowly drip and ooze out of you, and you were so tempted to use your fingers to spread it around your entrance. Bubba beat you to it. His fingers rubbed along your entrance in long strides, which coated his fingers in his own cum. He whimpered, and ducked his head down between your legs. His hot, wet tongue lapped at your entrance. It twirled and stroked up each drop of his cum that left your body. Occasionally, he dipped his tongue inside to coerce more of himself out of you. The sensation of his wetness sliding across your used up entrance caused your breathing to falter. You listened to him slurp up his cum, and his gentle touch sent gentle waves of pleasure through you body. You hand thrust out and held the back of Bubba’s head to your crotch.

“More, Bubba.” You were addicted to his heat and his tongue and you were not going to let go. He began to slid his flat thickness across your entrance and up over the rest of your groin. His tongue flicked and twirled at the tip, and you heard him gulp down his warm fluids. You looked down and saw his thick, white cum coat his tongue as he pulled it into his mouth, and you felt your body shake once more. You came again and pulled his face back into you, burying him into your scent. He cleaned up the remains of your orgasm and sighed in contentment. Bubba pulled away much too soon, as you could stay there with his head between your legs for hours. But alas, he pulled away, the both of you satisfied. Bubba repositioned himself and rested his head on your chest. The two of you stayed there for what felt like an eternal paradise. His heavy weight on you was a comforting presence, and the slow rhythm of your joined breathing sent your heart into peace. All was still, quiet, and perfect. Until your voice broke through the silence. “Run away with me, Bubba.” Bubba’s head perked up from your chest. He looked at you and tilted his head in confusion. You repeated yourself. “Run away with me. You don’t have to stay here. You don’t have to be with them. Come with me. Please?” Bubba sat up and stared at you with the same quizzical expression. You sat up next to him and place your hands on either side of his face. “You won’t be hurt anymore. You won’t have to be scared. And you’ll be with me! Please? Please, Bubba?” He stared at you for much too long. His eyes flicked from side to side until ultimately, he shook his head no. You felt your heart throb in your chest as it sunk into a pit. A sob got stuck in your throat. Tears pricked the corners of your eyes. You went to hold him, but he caught you by the arms. He shook his head. “Why? Why won’t you come with me?” Your voice began to crack from the sobs you were desperately trying to hold at bay. Bubba turned to the side, to the distant sound of voices, and pointed. He jabbed a finger in the air, and then slowly brought the flat of his palm to his chest. Family. “No, no, no! That’s not an excuse for how they treat you! You don’t deserve that!” Your mind became clouded with emotions. Sadness, pain, anger mixed into a volatile cocktail. “Fine! Fine, then. Stay here.” You started to dress yourself. While you picked up your clothes from the floor, Bubba tried to grab you. You shook him away as tears streamed down your face. “I’m out of here, Bubba. I’m going. I’m running and I’ll keep running. Join me or not, I don’t care.” You managed to get your shirt and pants on in a hurry, and you stood up in indignation. “But I’m going to have a little chat with them first.” Bubba began to squeal in a panic. No, the squeals said, they’ll hurt you, they’ll kill you, you must stay hidden. Before he could grab you and hold you back, you were out the door and heading down the stairs. About halfway down, you realized what you were doing. What were you thinking? They were the dangerous ones. They were the ones Bubba was afraid of, especially Drayton. And here you were, with a death wish. But it was too late now. “Hey!” Your voice rang out like a loud bell through the home. It pierced their usual sounds and instilled silence over the house. You turned the corner to find Drayton and Nubbins together talking. Their confusion was probably the only reason you were alive right now. You had the element of surprise. “You goddamn bastard!” You pointed at Drayton and closed the few feet between you to be able to jab at his chest with your finger. Your words spewed our with hatred anger in quick succession. “You fucking asshole how dare you hurt Bubba like that I should fucking gut you–” You didn’t know where you were going with this, but Nubbins stopped you before you could go any further. He grabbed you by the arms and held you back. His thin frame held a surprising strength and in a moment you were immobilized. You continued to shout obscenities at Drayton, and they only got louder once he took a step closer to you. He opened his mouth to order Nubbins to do something to you, hurt you most likely, but he didn’t get a chance to say it. Bubba thundered into the room, came up from behind Nubbins, and grabbed him by the neck. He grunted like a madman. It was with such a fury that you had never heard from him before. Nubbins let go of you out of shock. He was quickly tossed aside, and fell on a chair decorated with bones of previous meals. He landed in a clatter and the room was in an uproar. You were screaming at Drayton who was screaming at Nubbins who was screaming at Bubba who was howling and grunting like a maniac. Bubba took you into his arms and shielded you from his family. His giant frame protected you from all of them, and when they saw this, the two quieted. “What the hell is going on here?” Drayton asked Bubba. “Have you been hiding someone in your room? Part of those college kids?” “It is! It is!” Nubbins shouted. “I remember!” His mouth stretched into a toothy grin. Bubba gave a quick nod, but didn’t look at Drayton or Nubbins. Bubba stood between you and his bully, and his eyes were glued to the ground. “What the fuck were you thinking? Get rid of it now!” Bubba let out a defiant huff and shook his head no. You knew in that moment that neither of them were going to touch you. “Bubba! Do as I say!” Bubba shook his head even harder now. His entire body was trembling. He was afraid. You reached out and touched his arm to let him know you were still there. Even without looking at you, his body strengthened and he straightened himself up to his full height. “I’m thinking maybe Bubba has got a crush!” Nubbins laughed. “Good for him!” He laughed harder and turned to Drayton. “Aww come on, let the boy have something good for once!” “Something good? He’s got one of these fucking little shits as a pet!” “Hey!” You yelled out. “I’m no one’s pet! I could leave if I wanted to! I could...I could! But I’m here for Bubba.” “Come on, Drayton,” Nubbins whined. “It’s someone new to play with. It’s someone I can photograph. For free!” Drayton obviously wasn’t expecting this sort of resistance. You never thought you would feel this way, but you were actually grateful for Nubbins presence. “Bubba—“ Drayton began, but Bubba’s incoherent babbling cut him off. It seemed like Drayton was more used to it, and could decipher a bit here and there, or at least get the notion that you were Bubba’s and here to stay. Here to stay huh? You didn’t know if you wanted to stay. But you couldn’t leave Bubba here alone. Now, you had the chance to protect him. And maybe a chance to convince him to one day leave with you. You could see the invisible hackles begin to soften on Drayton’s back. He watched Bubba and his desperate attempt to save you, to protect you. There was at least one semblance of a conscience in him. “Well, I guess it’s not too much of a bother.” Nubbins managed to get up from his place on the floor and howled with a cheer. He stepped over to Bubba and gave him a playful slap on the back. Bubba looked at him from behind his mask and smiled his little scraggly-toothed grin that you could just die for. Nubbins turned to you, still under Bubba’s watchful eye, and held out a hand. It looked like he was coursing with energy as he shuffled from foot to foot, and gave a nervous laugh. “Welcome to the family, I guess!” You hesitated for a moment. You tuned to Bubba and once you received sign of his approval, you took Nubbin’s hyperactive hand and gave it a good, stern shake. You and Bubba turned to Drayton, who stood with a clear look of disapproval. He sighed. “Bubba’s gonna grow bored of you, and once he does, I’ll end up cleaning the mess.” He shook his head and walked out of the room. You knew he was trying to scare you. A minuscule part of you worried that he might be right. But even though you had only known Bubba for a short time, you knew he would never hurt you. He would protect you. He would fight for you. He would kill for you. He would die for you. Bubba was your loyal pet. And you would protect him just as he would with you. Nubbins slowly crept out of the room, and the two of you were finally alone again. “I’m sorry, Bubba. I know, it was dangerous. I just—I just don’t want them to hurt you anymore. I’m going to protect you from now on, okay? I’ll always be here for you.” Bubba whimpered and tilted his head to one side. He wondered how he could deserve this kindness. But you knew he did. He leaned down and held his hand to the back of your head. Held in place, he kissed you fiercely, his lips soft and strong against you. Bubba pulled away too soon, although every kiss would end too soon with him. He dug something out of his apron pocket and handed it to you. The small bird skull rested in the giant palm of his hand. It looked so delicate and frail. His hand was large, meaty, brutal, and yet, he held this skull with the utmost care. You took it from him and thanked him. The hot sun had fully entered the sky, and sweat began to seep from your pores. Rot grew both inside and outside of the Sawyer house, but within you, love blossomed.

#the texas chainsaw massacre #texas chainsaw massacre #leatherface #bubba sawyer #leatherface x reader #bubba sawyer x reader #slashers #slasher fic #The Saw is Family #devilgoat writing

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morkmywords · 5 years

Text

Not Really a Cinderella Story | Royalty au | Exo | Sehun | Part 12

Masterlist | Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 8.5 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Part 12 Part 13 Part 14 Part 15 [FINAL]

Royalty!AU

Length: 3.2k

Note: uhhhhhh hi, so school ate my life and i have no time anymore but this is finally finished even if its a shorter part also its not edited but when is it ever

I also want to that @haveanotherkpopblog and @theonethatcompletesyou you have supported me since i first started this fanfic and blog in general and you guys are my main motivation most of the time and i’m so sorry i can’t update more regularly but I hope you like this

Warnings: nothing really

Pairing: Sehun x Reader

Genre: Fluff/angst

Summary: When a strange string of not so great events somehow and you with a job at the palace punching the wrong people can be not so great.

The tapping of your slippers against the old marble floors was the only sound aside from your breathing as you once again stepped into the ballroom. The murals which decorated the domed ceiling of the cavernous room seemed to be covered with a grey filter, blurring the once bright colours which were now peeling away. You had been in Oclaria’s palace for almost two months now but the image of the forgotten ballroom haunted you as if the spirits of the people who once danced within it were buried in your heart. Ever since you had crossed the border between the two countries it felt as if a thin sheet had been thrown over your eyes, everything felt so familiar yet the sheer fabric only let you see shapes, hiding the details from your eyes.

Soon after entering the palace you quickly learned about the king who had passed, Sehun’s uncle. Long before you or Sehun were born the Queen, whom the King loves dearly, finally was pregnant with a child to the joy of the entire kingdom. Parties were held at every street corner, that is, until the baby was born still and took the Queen’s life with it. Heartbroken, the King locked himself away, sending every courtier back to their own territories and dismissing all the staff, keeping only those necessary to make sure the palace didn’t crumble around them. Nobody heard or saw from the King aside from those few servants, no parties or meeting were held and thus the palace was forgotten. Instead, being taken over by years upon years of dust and cobwebs.

The staff you arrived with easily outnumbered the current ones left by the King five to one, they were given the option to leave or stay when Sehun arrived and much to everyone’s surprise many chose to stay. With that, slowly the palace began to fill up again, more staff were hired, the stables and gardens were restored, and slowly the lords and ladies once again took up their places at court. The palace quickly transformed from the desolate and erie place you arrived to, when the grime was scrubbed away and a new coat of paint was slathered on the walls the palace was beautiful, more so than even the ice palace of Matus. But the ballroom was left untouched along with most of the east wing, which made it your favourite place to spend the long days. Though more often than not, you found yourself spending most of your time alone, the days were never predictable. For a man who was supposed to be preoccupied with learning how to govern a country Sehun sure managed to find a lot of free time. Almost every morning you would wake up to find a gift addressed to you waiting in front of your door from none other than the soon to be king. The gifts ranged from anything as simple as a bouquet of your favourite flowers which as the note explained, he grew in the gardens himself, or a new book for you to read. Sometimes he would to to such extremes as leaving a huge arm chair so plush and cushioned you had no idea how it would fit through your door, and gifting you an entirely new wardrobe full of hand crafted gowns, all with sleeves that would cover to your wrists. When there weren’t gifts there was always a letter left, your name scrawled on the envelope in familiar hand writing asking you to meet later in the day or apologizing and promising to make it up to you if he’s too tied up with work.

His favourite place to go with you was the palace gardens, a maze of paths twisting in between rows of flowers and plants that stretched almost as far as the palace itself. The first time you visited it with him he told you that the previous queen had loved to garden too, so much in fact, that as a wedding gift his uncle had ordered the expansion of the garden to add six different expansions, spring, summer, autumn, winter, day, and night. Over the course of her life the gardens were constructed one by one. Spring which bloomed every year with a myriad of colours in the warm rain, summer which was filled with ponds, a large oak tree with a swing hanging off one of the large branches in the center. Autumn was lined with orchards and other crops, providing endless produce that will last throughout the season and into the winter, speaking of which, winter was a forest of pine and spruce trees, pond in the middle freezing over and creating a skating rink. Day and night were the last two gardens going to be created but as soon as day’s glittering greenhouses and sparkling fountains were completed, the Queen died along with the baby girl they were going to name Luna after the moon which she admired. Overwhelmed by grief, the king had ordered the construction of the Night garden to be stopped and over the years it never resumed and thus fell into disrepair.

One of his other favourite things to do was to steal you away to the palace kitchen under the rouse of cooking a meal together when in reality you usually ended up doing all the work as Sehun played around with whatever weird vegetables he could find. Sometimes you two would wander around the city together, or you two would just sit in each other's company reading in the library. As much as spending time with Sehun made you bubble over with joy and your heart soar it didn’t.

And it all started when he first asked.

“Will you marry me?”

The chuckle in his voice and smile on his face would suggest there was a light heartedness around his question but with one look in his eyes you could see how it was weighing on him. With a seriousness you had never seen before. Jokingly you brushed it off, making some excuse about him snoring to loud but he kept asking. And with each time he asked the seriousness grew no matter how much you turned him down. There was always a nagging at the back of your mind, making your stomach churn with nerves so you kept turning him down.

The fact that most of the palace residents knew of your infatuation wasn't doing much good either. Many of the staff members fawned after your relationship, telling you their endless dreams of finding a significant other that was as sweet as Sehun was to you but as much as the mention of your relationship to the prince made you squirm they weren't the problem. The real problem was the court officials, it was no secret that they were pushing Sehun who had only just been crowned king to get married and for good reason too. He had to solidify his standing as king and the best way to do that was to find and marry a queen so there was always a seemingly endless stream of eligible women in the palace and yet through all their finery he turned them all down. And it was no secret to anyone that you were the reason why. The glares weighed heavy on you like a clock made out of led, and even if you were with Sehun, whether he noticed and chose to ignore it or was simply oblivious to the watching eyes their gazes still found their way deep inside of you. As the little worms of doubt and anxiety buried themselves in the lining of your stomach, arms, legs, and even through your spine and up the back of your neck you firmed your decision. As the seriousness in Sehun’s proposals grew so did the seriousness in your answers, there was no way you could marry him and become queen, he couldn't forgot marrying some rich young lady from a family of power and marry you, some lowborn commoner, it wouldn't be fair to him or the people of his country.

Fortunately the people of Oclaria are much kinder than those of the court. Lord Cha had grown to be much more of a father figure in your life over the past while. Whenever you weren't occupied, which was more often than it may seem, he took you to see the wonder of Oclaria. It was the second largest kingdom on the continent after the freezing plains of Lokya which were bathed in eternal winter that it said to have been cursed by a with centuries ago when the continent had no kingdoms, or kings, or queens. And after so many trips through the large cities with bustling markets and the quiet countryside with hills covered in flowers you had barely even seen a third of it.

----

Moonlight filtering through the stained glass windows which lined the walls and creating colourful patterns on the floor was the only thing illuminating the hallway aside from the quickly melting candle you clutched in your hand as you scurried through the hallway. You found yourself in quite similar situations for longer than you can remember at this point, nerves wriggling inside you and refusing you sleep until the early hours of the morning. Books had been the solution to quelling the pent up writhing of your emotions and you had taken refuge in Lord Cha’s private library as he too, was often a stranger to sleep due to reasons unknown. Earlier in the month you had borrowed a book titled ‘Greatest Composers of the Five Continents’ and as interesting as it was, it was incredibly long and you had finally finished it. Feeling ever so enlightened about the history of music in your great world you pushed open the door and stepped into the library. Without looking up from the diary on his lap Lord Cha offered you a wave a greeting which you quickly returned before diving into the shelves of books.

A few moments later after having successfully shelving your borrowed book and grabbing a new one you were settled in the generously stuffed armchair across from him.

“Y/n I wanted to ask you about something,” Lord Cha said as he put the cap back on his pen. He cleared his throat and adjusted his glasses before placing whatever he was writing about on the table side him. “In two days I'm heading back to the territory I'm from, Iyle. It's the largest territory in Oclaria, covering the border to Edesea and all of Oclaria’s southern coast and islands. It's been without a lord for many years since the line died out and I've been put in charge of governing it and I guess what I'm trying to say is that I hope you'll come with me.”

You stared at him blankly for a few moments before clearing your throat. You shifted in your seat as your mind raced, to what you didn't know, but it was flying so fast you couldn't even form a coherent sentence.

“Lord Cha, It sounds amazing- I'd really love to go- but the thing is-” you sputtered out.

“It's okay darling,” he cut you off with a chuckle as he reached over to pour you a cup of tea.

“I really would love to go-”

“I know, it's hard to decide in this moment. You have a lot to consider seeing as you've only just arrived in Oclaria and you'd be leaving the man who you loved enough to follow here for who knows how long as I don't know yet when we will return to the capital,” He smiled at you, “It's a hard decision to make and I don't expect you to make it now,” he straightened his tie and stood up, “We’re leaving at Sunset in two days time, meet us at the southern gate if you wish to come.”

With that he bid you goodnight and returned to his chambers and you returned to yours.

----

The darkness of your room didn’t seem dark. You stared at the ceiling, then rolled onto your side and looked out the window, before rolling onto your stomach and burying your face in the pillow. The soft glow of the sunrise was making your room brighter and brighter and with the light came the realization that you hadn’t slept at all the night before. You tossed and turned endlessly because of the nightmare that was your reality at this point in time. Lord Cha had invited you to go with him and you almost agreed on the spot but you hesitated. As much as you wished to escape the empty palace that seemed to be closing farther in on you every day, trapping you within the confines of the gilded walls and luxury, you couldn’t make the call. A small nagging in your heart which you had been feverishly trying to burry over the past weeks had unearthed itself and halted you from making a decision because if you left, would you ever be able to come back?

The sun had risen when you finally pushed yourself from under the quilt and got dressed, it felt almost mechanical as you went about your daily routine. You felt empty, why were there no tears? No frustration and indecision? Why were you nothing but a shell?

When the realization finally dawned on you it walls you had created came crashing down all at once and dread filled the pit of your stomach.

No letter came that day, nor did any gifts and you were thankful. A decision hadn’t been reached by the time you drifted into sleep in the late morning and slept the rest of the day away.

The nagging invaded your dreams and filled them with all your unanswered questions.

Should you leave Sehun alone?

Should you leave without telling him?

What if while you’re gone he gives in to the court and marries some noble lady?

Why do you care if he marries a noble woman? He’s a king after all…

Why do you care so much about him?

----

You had to make the decision today, your bag was packed and shoved under your bed but would you take it or not?

You were pacing back and forth in your room trying to decide what to do when a knock on your door interrupted you.

“You’re needed in the garden,” the guard said, “please follow me.”

Nodding you trailed behind him as he offered up no more information. The two of you snaked through the familiar halls to the garden, a path you had gotten very familiar with very quickly. Time seemed to slow as you stepped through the glass door and around the rose garden to be met with a beautiful sight. Sehun waiting for you, sun dancing on his face like rays of pure delight as a smile lit up his entire face when he spotted you. The guard who escorted you hung back as he rushed to meet you, grabbing your hand in his own and kissing your cheek lightly. Today something seemed different about him, maybe it was the changing seasons but he seemed lighter than before, like the world wasn’t resting on his shoulders anymore.

“I’ve been waiting for you,” he whispered and instinctively you smiled brightly back at him.

“I hope I didn’t keep you waiting too long,” you said.

He chuckles and clutched your hand tighter, “You’re right on time, we have to go somewhere but first promise me you won’t ask any questions, okay?”

You raised an eyebrow, “Should I be worried?”

“I don’t think so,” he answered pretending to scratch his head which made you laugh, “just trust me.”

You eyed him up and down. Pretending was hard especially since his joy was so infectious, so you nodded and stuck out you pinky which he gratefully took before pulling you after him. You walked for what seemed like only seconds when his hand clutched yours like it was the only thing that mattered. Another twinge was felt in you heart as you spotted a small gazebo which is where he seemed to be headed.

He dropped your hand and stood across from you, you shivered from the loss of the warmth and comfort against your palm, “Sehun, wha-”

“You promised not to ask questions, right?” he said. There was a different tone in his voice now, something between excitement and nervousness, but why? “Just let me talk first.”

You nodded as the atmosphere suddenly changed into something more serious.

“You know I love you right?”

You nodded again.

He took a deep breath, “I know I’ve been asking you this over and over for the past few weeks, and I know you needed time to think but I think a month is enough time to make a decision. Y/n, will you marry me?”

You felt you heart shift, “Sehun…….. No.”

HIs demeanour changed. He was dripping with something you couldn’t place and towering over you even if he was only a few inches taller than you in reality.

“Y/n I’ll give you one more chance, this is the last time I’m going to ask, so what’s your answer!” he asked.

It was as if the whole world had stilled, “No.”

“WHY?!” he exclaimed, latching onto your wrists in desperation, “Tell me why you have to keep turning me down when I love you so much!?”

“No Sehun,” you cried out trying halfheartedly to wrench yourself free from his grasp, “I can’t-I can’t be a queen!”

“WHY?!”

“Because I don’t love you!”

You could see his heart shatter in that very moment as his arms fell to his sides and his eyes went blank, focusing on something in the distance.

“Sehun-”

“LEAVE!” he bellowed, “I don’t want you in my sight!”

No tears fell as he spun away from you and you could do nothing but back away in horror at what you had just done. As you sprinted back into the palace your tears fell freely even if his didn’t because in that moment when the words tumbled from your lips you knew they weren’t true. Even if you had never been sure enough before to say it out loud you always knew deep down. And as soon as you opened your mouth you knew that you did love him, possibly more than he loved you. But now you had broken him beyond repair so you pulled your bag from under your bed and raced out to where Lord Cha said he would be waiting, hoping desperately they hadn’t left yet as the sun was beginning to set.

He didn’t question the tears which were still streaming down your face bus helped you onto a horse before setting off.

When the palace walls disappeared into the darkness behind you, you also felt the last shreds of something inside you snap.

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of-bug-and-beast · 5 years

Text

Okay, before we go anywhere with this, I do not wish MatPat any actual harm. He may have annihilated the last of my brain cells with his most recent theory (as of 2:27 PM, 07/07/19, when I started writing), but I will not advocate actually hurting him for all that. His channel is run for fun, and dare I say, attention. And I can understand that to an extent.

But with that said, he pissed me off this close to my birthday and I am having none of that shit.

Second, I will be calling the player character (the Knight) Ghost, as this is how Hornet has named them, and it has more or less become their name at this point.

So, are we good? Then let’s get started with this.

There is no way Ghost is the Pale King’s reincarnation.

I will concede that, as @take-a-bug has brought up here, this would make an excellent AU. But as a theory, even by MatPat’s standards, it literally has more holes in it than a block of Swiss cheese.

First and foremost, Ghost is literally seen about five feet away from the Pale King himself in the flashback cutscene, as most of the comment section of the video has brought up.

If Ghost really was simply the reincarnation of the Pale King, there would have been no reason for them (who is clearly moving and doing things without him) to be in the same room as the clearly-living Pale King. Quite in fact, it solidifies that we were indeed a rejected vessel.

But let’s pretend this never happened, as MatPat clearly had. Surely the “theory” holds water now?

No. It sure doesn’t.

Let’s progress as he had.

Point #1: The Lore Tablets.

The tablets indeed refer to “Higher beings.” Now, the answer to what are the “higher beings” is a subject that, as far as I’m aware, has not actually been closed, especially with the Wanderer’s Journal that was published. But the one most seem to follow- including myself- is that the Higher Beings are the god-like beings of Hallownest, as this is supported by Team Cherry’s dev notes and AMAs[1] as well.

The Pale King is among the ranks of the Higher Beings, then. But how would Ghost be able to read these tablets, if they weren’t officially called such? Godseeker sure doesn’t recognize them as a god, at least not until they become the Shade Lord. This fact also makes the “theory” very suspicious; if they really were the Pale King’s reincarnation, where’s the godly aura? She should have recognized them as such.

Admittedly, her behavior as a whole kinda throws everything for a loop. But in the end, there’s still this.

Ghost, along with every other vessel to exist, is child of the White Lady and the Pale King. Or perhaps the term might be was, as they were kind of dumped into the Abyss, and the Void kinda seems to hate the Pale King’s guts and likely his kids too. But may they be a reanimated corpse filled with void or simply a product of not one, not two, but three incredibly powerful entities, the White Lady claims Ghost as her own spawn. This is directly stated with her stating that “Your companion's eyes burn with a familiar flame... Success then for the scarlet heart, and irony, to use my spawn to grow its own.”[2]

Likewise, Hornet- daughter of Herrah and the Pale King (the White Lady confirms this by bringing up how she was born of a dalliance between the two aforementioned parties)- refers to the Hollow Knight as “Our birth-cursed sibling.”[3]

Not “my.” “Our.”

She is the vessels’ half sibling, sure, but this shows she recognizes them as the children of the Wyrm as well.

And being born of such powerful beings, it would be strange if they couldn’t read the text at all.

Now, the alternative possible meaning of “higher being” is those given mind by the Pale King, or similarly originated from Hallownest. Ellina from the Wanderer’s Journal book had shown no signs of being able to read the tablets in the Basin[1], which begins with the same phrase as those in the cliffs.

That in itself means nothing; after all, she is no god. But there is a lore tablet in the Howling Cliffs that rather supports this.

Higher beings, these words are for you alone.

These blasted plains stretch never-ending. There is no world beyond.

Those foolish enough to traverse this void must pay the toll and relinquish the precious mind this kingdom grants.[4]

It seems odd that the gods would so heavily rely on the narrow range of Hallownest, and since none (save for maybe Grimm, who has definitely not been here the entire time, judging from the looks of things but also has a very good knowledge of what has transpired) actually seem to have left, it seems near pointless to have the tablets.

However, we do know a bug that has left Hallownest, and came back with impaired memories besides Ghost themself: Quirrel. Now, perhaps it has to do with Monomon’s mask as well, but most likely being of Hallownest himself, he could have easily have been affected by the beyond. Those who were implied to have come from elsewhere (such as Tiso[5], Cornifer[6] and Iselda[7], Cloth[8], Ze’mer[9], and Zote[10]) have also shown no signs of memory loss despite having to have made the trek through the wastelands.

Now, Ghost has been out there, and apparently has memory loss, which does support that the wastelands do indeed strip the minds of some. Being born in Hallownest (or the Abyss, to be a little more specific), they would have been among those that would have a mind originating in the kingdom.

“But no mind to think!” you may cry, if you are one of the few people who actually think Ghost is a pure vessel. “They don’t have a mind!”

Au contraire. All the other vessels have shown to be imperfect, so they must have had at least one of the traits they were supposed to lack: will, voice, and mind. The Pure Vessel- later Hollow Knight- was tarnished by “an idea instilled”[11], which is likely tied to the cutscene at the end of the Path of Pain. But even then, the moment they had paused to glance back at Ghost, they were clearly impure; a creature without mind would have not hesitated to follow its master, yet they did. And they were judged the purer one between Ghost and themself.

In addition, if we take into consideration what we do in-game, they have made strategies to defeat enemies (or just rammed headfirst into fights until it finally worked out, which requires will and mind as well) and can choose to listen to what others say and retrain the information for their own use. They have a mind. They have a will. And what memory and knowledge they had was locked away, only able to be unlocked by some more forceful means.

So, conclusion to Point 1? Ghost can read the tablets not because they’re the Pale King, but because they are inherently tied to him and the kingdom. This can still be wrong, but it seems likelier than the suggested alternative.

Point #2: SOUL

While the Pale King has been suggested[12] to have a great ability of SOUL manipulation, it’s not far off to suggest that his kids might be able to do something similar. Hornet’s silk, as shown by the Silksong demo, seems to have a parallel to the SOUL meter back in Hollow Knight, mainly in part that it takes blows against enemies to fill it up.

But let’s ignore that for now, because there’s a more pressing thing at hand.

Guess where Ghost learned most of their spells from!

The snail shamans.

Hell, Ghost didn’t even know anything related to SOUL besides Focusing (healing), and it was only after meeting Mr. Snailman in the Ancestral Mound did they have any combative use for it. But even after getting all the spells (and out of these, Howling Wraiths, Shade Soul, and Descending Dark are likewise given by Snail Shamans, albeit dead ones), it doesn’t compare to what the Pure Vessel has.

Why do I bring them up? They were the one to be raised under the Pale King. SOUL manipulation seems a likely part of training. And between the “Focus” attack and the two “light lances” attacks, they do seem to have a firm grasp on SOUL. In fact, Ghost’s spells like quite untidy in comparison. But they weren’t the Pale King, either, and likely his abilities outshone their own. So, as the Pale King was likely a master with SOUL, why would he fall so low to be worse than his void child? Losing memory might at least leave him with something more than a rather sloppy heal.

So, as shaky as my arguments are here, it seems a little more plausible that Ghost just has the ability to manipulate SOUL because they are the Pale King’s child, and Hornet seems to support this as well, as mentioned before.

Point #3: Elegy for Hallownest and Ghost’s First Appearance

I’m not going to deny that the poem is directed to the Pale King. I mean, it clearly is.[13] But that being said, while MatPat’s logic seems at first glance slightly plausible, I remembered something that reftes this entirely. The first thing we see directly after the poem is actually the Hollow Knight in their prison, not Ghost.[14] Does this mean the Hollow Knight is the Pale King? No, it doesn’t, and don’t you dare suggest otherwise because the Pale King sure as hell locked up the kid with the Radiance in their head. It’d be kinda dumb to also be in the Hollow Knight beside his enemy, and as messed up as he was, the Pale King never struck me as that stupid.

As for the cutscene, I know this for a fact, because besides seeing the many videos of the game on YouTube, I’ve spent a lot of them playing this game, and I have seen a lot. The intro is no exception to this. So screw you and your misleading words.

Point #4: Usage of the Word “Dream” and “Ghost”

Surprisingly the most solid of his work, it’s a little harder to refute.

But this said, Elderbug may very well be meaning “dream” of grandeur, not the Radiance’s, or even the Pale King’s. His usage of the word “ghost” for the vessel is not unique either, as Ghost is given this moniker by Hornet as well[15]. Since her first pieces of dialogue in Greenpath, she refers them as “ghost” or “little ghost,” before eventually even calling them “Ghost of Hallownest.” While she gives no real explanation for the name, Ghost’s silence could easily be a main part in this.

Dreams and ghosts are also not always tied to the Radiance or the Pale King, either, as the Pale King’s palace is in the Dream realm (yet still away from the Radiance), and there are a lot of ghosts in Hallownest, if you know where to look.

So, do these words really have a deeper meaning? Not necessarily.

Point #5: Being Compared to the Pale King

Also a little hard to refute, but I’ll do my best.

The lines used to support this idea were “I almost feel like I'm once again in the presence of my beloved Wyrm,” from the White Lady and “Your noble bearing reminds me of our dear King,” from Ogrim, the Dung Defender (or White Defender, if you’re picky).

Let’s start with the first. Now in full, it actually goes “Ahh! So it bears our once-fractured soul, now complete. Such strength, such resolve, such dedication! Is it more than simply a Vessel? I almost feel like I'm once again in the presence of my beloved Wyrm.”[16]

She refers to the Kingsoul, the charm symbolizing the holy union of two higher beings[17], in this text first, before saying she almost feels like she’s in the presence of her husband. The Kingsoul would, by some degree of logic, have something that reminds the Queen of the Pale King, as half of the union was him. Besides that, Ghost has the Wyrm’s heritage, which could hypothetically amplify the effect.

But most important is still the Kingsoul. Half of it is based on the King, and that’s enough reason to remind the blind White Lady of the Pale King.

Quite in fact, she recognizes both Grimmchild and Carefree Melody to be linked to the Grimm Troupe (she tells them that “[… Ghost has] been consumed in the ritual of that scarlet clan.”[2]), so the actual presence of the primary higher being linked to the charm is unnecessary.

As for Ogrim, he says, “How funny that I see you in my dreams too, little one. Your noble bearing reminds me of our dear King. When he returns, I'll ask him if you can become a Knight! What jolly adventures we will have...”[18]

Noble bearing. Ghost literally could literally be holding themself up as if they were noble. In addition, Ogrim also recognizes Ghost as a vessel like the Hollow Knight, as he realizes that “...So there were others...” and even apologizes for the “cruel means” the Pale King used, despite his otherwise near-blind loyalty to the King.[19]

As for the Royal Retainers bowing to Ghost, there’s not much to say. While, yes, they do bow to you regardless of having the brand or not, it’s not far off to think they would have still bowed to the Hollow Knight back when it was a child, as it was the product of their beloved King. Ghost resembles the Hollow Knight, so it could easily be that. That said, since most would actually have the Brand by the time they go to the White Palace, it could also be a coding oversight. With the King’s Brand, Ghost is the King. This does not mean the Pale King, of course, but the King as in the ruler, as the brand has marked them as such.

And what does their Hunter’s Journal say about them, as MatPat so clearly points out? “The most loyal and devout servants of the King.”[20] Not even the Pale King, but simply the King. Doesn’t argue against the aforementioned points much, does it?

So, does it have to be that deep? No. Absolutely not.

Ghost’s heritage and the fact they hold the Kingsoul could essentially cover all the bases here.

Point #6: The Pale King Can Transform

This is a true fact. However, the most damning evidence here is that the King’s Brand in the Wyrm’s corpse seems to be on an egg, as Ellina states in the Journal.[21] This is likely the place the Pale King “hatched” from. Since we find no such egg near his corpse in the White Palace, it appears he’s pretty damn dead and isn’t coming back.

Bardoon may say that the death of a Wyrm may lead to “More transformation methinks,”[22] but that’s not quite solid enough to say that the Pale King had molted again. Bardoon also shows no signs of thinking of Ghost as a Wyrm, despite recognizing the Pale King and his brand being linked to such.

Point #7: Void

Let’s make this simple. The Void hates all forms of light, as seen by the lighthouse. The Pale King was using Void as well, and the Void hates his guts for that. To be reborn as a being primarily made of Void? He would probably self-destruct.

The Pale King also left the Kingdom in stasis, as Hornet states,[23] which could easily explain the “But yours is potential, eternity potential, force that could deny Time,“[4] quote.

MatPat also said he believed the egg near the throne room is where the Pale King hatched, and I think this has already been mentioned to likely be otherwise.[21]It’s more likely a failed attempt to hatching vessels in his little lab, as this resembles the egg Ghost had presumably hatched from.

Point #8: The Nursery Musicbox

This one’s also hard for me to explain, but it could also be MatPat made it illegal that leitmotifs are apparently not allowed to just be a callback.

I’m one to hate refuting a theory with another theory, but it has been suggested (and mentioned above) that the vessels may be the reanimated corpses of children of the Pale King and the White Lady. In this case, it would mean the children they had once been may have heard the song long ago, and the Shade remembers this past life.

Alternatively, the way Ghost and the Hollow Knight’s tales are entwined may also explain this, as it could have been the Hollow Knight’s room, once. But it’s shakier than the theory above.

Point #9: No Cost Too Great

This is the man who sacrificed millions, if not more, children just to contain a problem he caused. The cost was never directly tied to himself. Also, sure, maybe he’s redeemable somewhere, but I really cannot see him reincarnating into an even shorter entity.

And again, Ghost had hatched while the Pale King was still alive.[24] So. No.

Point #10: Ghost Can Wake Up Bugs from the Infection

I know we rouse Sly and Bretta from the infection’s clutches. But if we could really do this to any bug, why didn’t we do this with Myla? Or anyone else infected?

The first two seemed in a very early stage, maybe like sleepwalking at most. They could likely have been awaken by anyone else, had not the world been filled with infected individuals already.

Point #11: Monarch Wings

This is more my headcanon territory, but I would like to think that the Pale King could summon his own wings, and that set of wings? Might have been the Broken Vessel’s. Besides, we’re never given the opportunity to see if someone else can use the item.

Point #12: ...Father…?

Cut dialogue should always be taken with a grain of salt. That said, this could be a plea to their father, who Ghost does apparently remind some others of. Their mind has long since fell to the Radiance, so it’d be no surprise if they can’t distinguish the two. But this doesn’t mean Ghost is their father. The Hollow Knight was given a purpose by the Pale King, and they seemed to have loved him, and wanted to please him by being perfect, so to call out to their father in their weakest moment, wondering if he’s even out there…

Well, they were given the World Sense.[4] If they couldn’t find him that way, their resolve might have been shaken, but they’re still trying.

The rest of the cut Dream Nail dialogue[25] reads as if from the Radiance instead of the Hollow Knight, which leads to some interesting things. While “usurper” and “ancient enemy”[26] could hypothetically be linked to the Pale King, the Void is as much her enemy. Through Myla, she calls Ghost “the Empty One”[27] instead of “Wyrm” or some other term. She also states that “...THE LIGHT CANNOT BE CONSUMED...” The Pale King never consumed the Radiance and he is also of his own pale light.[28] But (while it can be held back by light) the Void wishes to snuff such radiance. In both the Dream No More and Embrace the Void endings, the Radiance is literally consumed by the Void. This makes it seem that in the end, she’s not talking to the threat of a Wyrm, but of simply a being of Void, no longer affiliated with Wyrm or Root.

Conclusion:

MatPat is a little shit that really should research more.

This is not to say I’m correct. Hell, I’d be glad if I’m even half correct. But when I can piece together an argument against that without too much issue, there’s something wrong here.

I need a source on this, but I remember seeing a post on Tumblr on how Hollow Knight is a game of acceptance, of who you were, of your past, and ultimately, your fate. It’s not about redemption.

It’s just achieving peace with your regrets and moving on, stronger.

Or at least, that’s how I’ve seen it.

I don’t see myself as right, but at least, I think I wrote something vaguely more solid, and found evidence to back it up. If nothing else, it was an excellent writing exercise. And for that I am thankful for the video.

I hope this was an enjoyable read for you, and I thank you for persisting this long.

SOURCES

1: https://youtu.be/dofQaoqecDk?t=920 – Mossbag brings this up. I do not own the book, nor have dived that far into either code or reddit.

2: https://hollowknight.fandom.com/wiki/White_Lady#The%20Grimm%20Troupe – source of quote.

3: https://hollowknight.fandom.com/wiki/Hornet#Black%20Egg%20Temple – source of quote.

4: https://hollowknight.fandom.com/wiki/Lore_Tablets_of_Hallownest – source of quote.

5: https://hollowknight.fandom.com/wiki/Tiso#Dirtmouth – while I have seen all his dialogue, the fact remains he never outright says that he is from beyond. However, his line of “Hallownest... What challengers await in its ruin?” does seem to imply such.

6: https://hollowknight.fandom.com/wiki/Cornifer#General – the fact he has only recently moved to Dirtmouth and expresses such wonder about Hallownest gives the impression he is from beyond the kingdom.

7: https://hollowknight.fandom.com/wiki/Iselda#Additional%20dialogue – Iselda likewise supports this with her statement of “Of all the places to end up, we've picked this dreary town. I'd thought it a temporary stop, then my husband became obsessed with that old ruin.”

8: https://hollowknight.fandom.com/wiki/Cloth#Ancient%20Basin – though vaguest of the list, her use of “this kingdom’s beasts” does imply she’s seen some others.

9: https://hollowknight.fandom.com/wiki/White_Lady#Delicate%20Flower – while she herself never said such, the White Lady says, “Not of me that flower, nor of this kingdom. Far it travelled to reach this place, brought by one beloved, fair knight of lands serene.” The Grey Mourner, presumed to be Ze’mer, was the one to give you the flower, and refers the blossoms as hers, with her words of “Che's sacred, precious, one of its kind flower,” at the quest’s fail.

10: https://hollowknight.fandom.com/wiki/Zote#Colosseum – while the article likewise states he’s from beyond, he does outright say he came to this kingdom. Hard to come into a place you’re already in.

11: https://hollowknight.fandom.com/wiki/White_Lady#General – source of quote.

12: I have no memory of a source, but the entire fandom seems to have taken it as at least a headcanon, and it’s bound to have reasoning somewhere.

13: To those who may not remember the poem, it goes as follows:

In wilds beyond they speak your name with reverence and regret,

For none could tame our savage souls yet you the challenge met,

Under palest watch, you taught, we changed, base instincts were redeemed,

A world you gave to bug and beast as they had never dreamed.

- From 'Elegy for Hallownest' by Monomon the Teacher

14: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0Y6DKBqXlmU – intro footage; self-explanatory.

15: https://hollowknight.fandom.com/wiki/Hornet#Greenpath – the page also has all her other dialogue pieces, but this is the first of her many uses of the name.

16: https://hollowknight.fandom.com/wiki/White_Lady#Reacting%20to%20Charms – source of quote

17: https://hollowknight.fandom.com/wiki/Kingsoul – has charm description.

18: https://hollowknight.fandom.com/wiki/White_Defender#Defeats – source of quote.

19: https://hollowknight.fandom.com/wiki/Dung_Defender#After%20the%20fight – source of quote.

20: https://hollowknight.fandom.com/wiki/Royal_Retainer – source of quote.

21: https://youtu.be/dofQaoqecDk?t=735 – Mossbag brings it up; again, I do not own the book.

22: https://hollowknight.fandom.com/wiki/Bardoon#General – source of quote.

23: https://hollowknight.fandom.com/wiki/Hornet#The%20Abyss – Hornet says, “A difficult journey you would face, but a choice it can create. Prolong our world's stasis or face the heart of its infection,” as seen here.

24: https://youtu.be/kOHdVy1BFNE?t=295 – Birthplace cutscene.

25: https://hollowknight.fandom.com/wiki/The_Hollow_Knight – the cut dialogue is in trivia.

26: https://hollowknight.fandom.com/wiki/The_Radiance – the Radiance’s own dream nail dialogue is found here.

27: https://hollowknight.fandom.com/wiki/Myla – Myla’s dream nail dialogue is found here.

28: https://hollowknight.fandom.com/wiki/The_Last_Stag#Additional%20dialogue – while I do not actually remember who said “pale light” (I do remember hearing it), the Old Stag also called the Pale King “bright and radiant in visage.” So it works.

#hollow knight #The Not-Quite-Fluffy Queen (OOC / Mun)#//i said i'll write a paper and there you go #//six hours of screaming #//and almost 4k words including sources #//i'm going to die #//also i am a more casual completionist so while I have indeed radianted Markoth I am no lorekeeper.#//so bear with me #//i am big dumb.#//but this is my best effort!!#//no beta we die like men

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riviae · 5 years

Note

Regis and/or Dettlaff for the character headcanon meme (ya know, if a hundred others haven't already asked lol)

character meme (accepting!): under a read more due to length

Regis:

favorite thing about them:

besides his obvious kind heart & unflinching loyalty, i love how passionate he is about things!! dude’s been alive for 400+ yrs & he still wants to travel, to make friends, to learn, to teach, to heal, to share his interests & knowledge. he loves life–loves humanity (cdpr can miss me w/ his referencing humans as mosquitoes metaphor nonsense)–& is my favorite example of a good redemption story/character.

least favorite thing about them:

he can be… rather pretentious at times. but to his credit, he never really belittles or alienates anyone in the hansa–it’s more like he has a lot of ‘high-brow’ interests for the time/setting (not counting distilling, of course) & in sharing/explaining them, he goes a bit over the top. i don’t think it’s on purpose, but case in point… not everything has to be a lecture, ya know?

favorite line:

kinda cheating on this, but my favorite scene of anything ever is this one from lady of the lake:

“Well,” sighed Regis. “Have it your way. I’ll have to avoid mirrors and dogs, and will have to beware of sorcerers and telepaths… And if I’m still exposed, I’m counting on you.”“You can count on me,” Geralt said seriously. “I’m not in the habit of leaving a friend in need.”The vampire smiled and because they were alone, he did not hide his fangs. “Friend?”

now specifically from b&w, i like this line from Regis’ journal: People justify bad deeds by good intentions. I’m not sure if there is greater idiocy

brOTP:

geralt/regis (which you’ll also see in the otp section), regis/yen (goth-nerd solidarity & also they both love geralt so jot that down), & regis/angouleme (he’s a wonderful uncle figure to angouleme)

also if regis ever got to meet vesemir i’m 100% sure they’d have gotten along swimminglg

OTP:

geralt/regis–it’s my lifeblood babey

nOTP:

romance-wise, any regis/hansa member that isn’t geralt is just not my cup of tea as well as regis/dett****

random headcanon

after his second regeneration, he became wearier around unknown sorcerers/sorceresses/magic users (w/ the exception of yen). at one point, geralt had decided to light a candle near regis using igni w/o really thinking abt it & noticed that regis had visibly flinched. geralt apologized immediately & now lets regis know when he’s abt to light something using magic (’normal’ fires, those not started by magic, don’t bother him. so it’s less of an aversion to fire & more of an aversion to fire made thru magic).

unpopular opinion:

i don’t really like his sideburns or hairline–not bc i think the design is bad per se (i think it solidified his intro in b&w as a more scholarly character), but bc i think it ages him much more than necessary. when the other 2 higher vampires (dettlaff, orianna, hell–even the unseen elder), look much younger, then it just seems unusual imo. a middle-aged tax collector w/ a crooked nose is how sapkowski describes him & idk, i think cdpr just wanted to give regis a more stereotypical scholarly look instead of using descriptions from the books.

song i associate with them:

when i’m in an angst™ mood, this song is what makes me think of regis (& higher vampires in the witcher series in general). it’s called far from home (the raven) by sam tinnesz

favorite picture of them (i’m too lazy to do this but assume every picture of regis is my fave)

Dettlaff:

favorite thing about them

his hobbies! woodworking & building toys for kids is nice™; cdpr should’ve at least given us a tiny scene of him tinkering on stuff. presumably he has a caring nature given that he nursed regis back to health but once again, cdpr couldn’t be bothered to flesh out the interesting aspects of his character & instead gave us an albeit cool but ultimately unnecessary boss battle :/

least favorite thing about them

oof, his lack of patience & propensity towards violence. well, perhaps propensity is the wrong word; i mean that in a character who is powerful/deadly (in which even a brief lapse in judgement could mean death for another), a hair trigger temper is... not going to endear me to them. for instance, i don’t think that dettlaff went to tesham mutna with the intent of killing syanna--i don’t think he knew himself what he would do upon seeing her. BUT, he still did it--& i’m sorry but killing an unarmed/defenseless (presumably unarmed, but even if she were armed it wouldn’t change the fact that she was defenseless against him & dettlaff knew that) woman in a fit of rage (who yes, wronged dettlaff greatly) speaks of a deeper problem relating to his inability to process his emotions.

i originally thought that cdpr was going to do some cool parallels between dettlaff and geralt bc both have issues w/ emotion but in different ways (i.e., dettlaff has difficulty controlling his while geralt has trouble expressing them), but they shared maybe a handful of sentences w/ each other before the conclusion of the dlc so yeah D:

favorite line:

“If you acknowledge any gods... start praying, now.”

brOTP:

regis/dettlaff is pretty much it/the only relationship i find interesting in b&w for dett anyway

OTP:

dettlaff/character development

nOTP:

mentioned in regis’ list above, but i also am not a fan of geralt/dett

random headcanon:

his “pack” up until syanna consisted almost entirely of orphaned lower vampires. whether due to their family dying or abandoning them, dett’s reserved & calming demeanor makes it easier for LVs to trust him. he’s nursed plenty of injured LVs back to health & when he passed thru the remnants of stygga castle, he did so bc he originally thought that he was following the trail of an injured LV (having caught regis’ scent). it was only when he got closer that he recognized the ‘shapeless smear’ was regis--someone he hadn’t seen in centuries--& chose to help him heal despite how taxing it would be.

unpopular opinion

i don’t understand his popularity as a character or how his actions can be defended. his character design is great (i still wanna to buy his moth brooch tbh), he was voice acted very well, & there are hints of an interesting backstory esp in relation to why he chose to help regis regenerate, but that’s not the focus of the dlc.

if i have to rely on regis to explain why dettlaff is a good person/deserves redemption/etc., then that’s lazy writing. i love regis to death, but he, like anna henrietta, was blind to/didn’t want to see his loved one’s faults/misdeeds. u can’t make an unbiased character judgement on someone you’re close to and indebted to imo.

granted, regis himself is an example of dett’s charity since he is alive & well (& also is stressed af bc of dettlaff), but does one good deed wash away all the death he later commits in the attack on beauclair? motivation or not, murder is murder, plain & simple. i can forgive but not condone regis’ actions in his youth bc, arguably, regis was already punished severely for it & chose to change/become a better person. cdpr didn’t give us an option to allow dett to be punished for his crimes (in something other than death--which i don’t think he nor syanna deserve) or let us know if he eventually grows to be a better person w/ the help of regis & so i can only care for him in the respect that i mourn the character he (& syanna) could’ve been.

in summary: everything i dislike abt dettlaff is entirely due to a lack of care when it came to fleshing out his character. we only see him committing acts of violence/murder, never healing or helping. we see the fallout of his anger, see that he feels grief & even remorse (like in de la croix’s death), but it doesn’t excuse the act itself. ppl are more than welcome to like or love morally dark/dubious characters, but i have an issue when a morally dubious character is painted as good or good but misunderstood.

song i associate with them

the song inferno by sir sly gives me real dettlaff vibes: I think you clipped my wings to save me from the sunForgot my hands and knees, I had to learn a lessonOh fearless teacher how'd I ever lose my sightWhy'd I ever try to fight against your path?Somewhere at half my life, I wandered in the woodsCan't find a single right, I swear nothing is goodI'm blinded now and darkness shrouds my every sightWhy'd I ever try to fight for my own path?

favorite picture of them:

once again, too lazy to find one, but his final form in the boss battle was cool even if it kinda went against sapkowski’s lore.

#Anonymous #hannah rambles into the void #warning: if u like dett maybe don't read this as i might've been a tad harsh on his character & i know how it feels when someone criticizes #a fave character #& that's also why i won't be tagging either of them as i don't wanna put these sorts of things into their tag #but yes!! thank u for asking anon ;v; i appreciate it! rambling about the witcher is fun!!

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johnskleats · 5 years

Text

Update!

Beautiful Fool

Chapter 2: Eyes of God

Fandom: BBC Merlin

Characters: Merlin, Arthur Pendragon

Summary: Arthur, an affluent, lonely bachelor, spends his days brooding and entertaining his homebody neighbor with short-shot attempts at affection. Merlin just wants to chill with his plants, but his neighbor (the one with the castle) keeps sending him pretty things and inviting him to parties.

One night, he decides to go, and discovers a different sort of magic.

Great Gatsby!AU, also found on ao3

@the-once-and-future-love @arthur-of-the-pendragons @pretty-pendragon @bbcmerturfanficsrec

Merlin didn't sleep that night. He dreamt instead of red ascots, red lips, red wine; yellow cars, yellow hair, yellow watch; blue scarf, blue eyes, blue eyes. He woke gasping. It was still dark. In his bones, he could feel Arthur waiting for him. Waiting, to return tonight or any other, and keep his promise. The party raged on, and on, until the day broke.

Would you come back?

His vow bound him like cords.

That's all I wanted.

Dread it as he did, Merlin knew in his heart, from experience, that he would. Were he less stubborn, he would be there now, and maybe, maybe, Arthur Pendragon would have kissed him. Even the thought had him shaking his head rid of it; the vow remained.

Arthur Pendragon didn't need kisses to seal his spell. Merlin could feel with sinking resignation that he was already branded by those eyes, captured by that smile. The cogs of fate were turning; he could hear them.

Merlin did what he did best, and put it out of his mind.

There were no more letters, no more gifts, after that night. Merlin felt sick with the feeling he'd done something very wrong. The parties continued- at least he hadn't ruined that -but part of him had hoped that they would end as well, like a sign. He hadn't known, but somewhere in his mind, Merlin had hoped that they were for him. It was silly. Arthur had been up to that old trick a long time, was notorious for it, and yet he had hoped that, like himself, the man with the yellow car was waiting for something he couldn't define.

It was rare Merlin was compelled by guilt, but when he was, he liked to think he was quick to humble himself and apologize. How true that was, he couldn't say. He was stubborn and proud and he knew it, hated to say sorry, hated to be wrong. However, when the lights went up and the music blared and Merlin looked out his window to see fireworks illuminate the face of the lake, every night, he could see in a high room a man doing the same. Sometimes, he even fancied that the man was looking at him, sharing something quiet in all the noise, but he knew better. The stars would die on the water and Merlin would close his curtains, bitter, and more alone than ever.

Work was tedious, but gave him something to think about. He had always been good at arithmetic, always found comfort in the consistency accounting offered. If something was wrong, it was wrong. If it was right, then the numbers remained as such; everything was plain and visible and there was nowhere to hide. How ironic, then, that he cowered in his cottage instead of answering that nagging at the back of his head. How hypocritical, then, for his eyes to skip avidly over the little red box with its silky blue scarf, the only present he'd been too intrigued by to return and too paranoid to wear. Its use would be final, somehow. Made to go about his neck, like a collar, a mark of conquering, the scarf would stay in its box. In it or out of it, however, it felt to Merlin a profound loss; and so he ignored it.

He was getting worse and worse at that as time dragged forward. It was less that things piled up for him to overlook, and more so that what he had already pledged to bury persisted to press him exponentially. The gift box on his coffee table seemed to enlarge, take up all the air in the front room, and then only amplified when he moved it to a shelf, to a drawer, to another box in the closet. It never really went away. Out of sight, out of mind was a myth.

The day he decided to finally do something about it was a dismal one indeed. The sky was overcast, partly cloudy, and there was a storm on the lake. The city was bustling on the opposing shore, unbothered, more than a week since he had made his promise. More than a week- it had been more than two. In fact, Merlin let that boxed scarf nag at him for a month before he finally gave in to that churning upset in the pit of his stomach, and if he thought inaction made him queasy, then this was suicide. He rewrote the note six times before he typed it out. He signed it, after, to make it a touch more personal, but the awkwardness of the situation dangled over him more precarious than Damocles' sword. The threat of rejection weighed on him just as distressing.

Mr. Pendragon. Arthur Pendragon. Dear Mr. Pendragon. A. Pendragon. Dear Arthur. Arthur,

I regret I'm very busy. My thoughts have been scattered as of late As of late, I feel If I've offended you in some way I know I was wrong meant no ill will.

You are welcome to join me for tea tomorrow afternoon post three o'clock.

Merlin Emrys

Merlin signed it, dated it, and put it in the post. He knew it was awkward, and poorly constructed, and in worse taste, but looking at it more would make him sick.

There was no party that night.

Merlin listened as cars drove in, circled, then turned away from the closed gate. Their headlights spotted through his windows, light striping his walls. The only noise beyond his frantic heart was of rolling gravel under rubber and the occasional curse of a disappointed visitor. For the first time in a long while, he would sleep with no music. The nerves that had wracked him all day, mounting, in fact, all month, reached a peak when one of dozens of cars came and went, leaving his driveway dark again and his little house and that gargantuan palace alone together on their island, leaving Merlin and Arthur Pendragon alone, again, on their island. The walls seemed to suffocate him. This was wrong, tonight was wrong, everything had been off for so long and this, this quiet--

The door closed behind him with finality, and Merlin breathed in the chilled air of the night. His arms folded about himself, he cast off the thought that bade him fetch a coat- the air was good, enlivening. The moon was bright unlike its counterpart hours earlier. All the day was unprofitable; all clouds and no rain. All worry and no result.

Merlin stood on the edge of his rickety porch, uneven boards creaking softly, and overlooked the tire-haggard path with its moon-brushed pebbles, past the silvery grasses and gilded, swaying trees to the dock. It was the only kind of fence between he and his mysterious neighbor, the only barrier that served at a meeting point more than all else, and this thought possessed his feet with frightening poignancy. A man sat on the pier. Merlin could make out his fair hair in the starlight, shoulders hunched under the weight of the sky as Arthur swung his feet idly over the water. It had to be him. There was no one else.

Merlin stopped his anxious feet halfway there, just on the opposite side of the driveway. He dare not go further, not after all the energy he had put forth today in requesting an audience- an audience, as though Pendragon were some kind of king, or prince -but that tugging pronounced itself at the base of his neck, so much like a noose.

That's all I wanted.

Merlin chided himself to breathe; stop being silly.

You're all I want.

The truth of the matter was that he had neglected to phone his poor mother and had instead fantasized for a month about what may have happened if he had stayed on the night that magic entered his life. He had been beside himself, behaving like a lovesick teenager and more notably, a prat, and he was sorry and not accustomed to saying so, and now the object of his affection (?), fascination, perhaps even purpose, was before him on this most quiet, singular of nights, just waiting. Waiting for him, maybe, Merlin would like to think so, but he had always been a little self-important, and the heart of it he couldn't guess. All Merlin really knew was that he had been waiting for Arthur, and hoping for the chance to choose differently than he had when this kind of opportunity had first arrived.

He stepped onto the pier.

His limbs had been lead as he'd crossed the grass, and every second, he had been agonizingly aware of. He could turn back any moment, probably should, this could wait for tomorrow, he was being precocious, but then the boards creaked with his weight and Arthur jumped to see him and time had a funny way of stopping for them. It did so now, or it should have. At first, Arthur seemed dumbstruck with surprise. Then, his expression leveled into careful indifference, a neutral smile that still managed to be charming.

"Evening, Merlin," and that was all wrong, there was no fondness in it, "Scared me a moment there."

"--Sorry."

Arthur was stretching from how quickly he had leapt to his feet, his trousers rolled up to his knees and wet from the calves down. Merlin didn't see any shoes on the dry land. He was avoiding his face, shoulders tense, waiting for him to leave, and that dread that had plagued Merlin day in and day out solidified into heavy hurt.

"Not a problem," Arthur was saying, but Merlin was shaking his head. The blonde paused, a hand on his hip. Incredulous, he asked, "What? Are we playing charades now?"

Merlin shoved his hands down to keep them from rolling over themselves, trying to express the words he couldn't think to. Arthur smiled. He felt a little bit better.

"I wanted to apologize-"

"Then apologize."

Merlin pursed his lips, a spark of agitation souring his mouth. Arthur lead with his hand as if to say, I'm waiting, and all semblance of sorry vanished from his mind.

"A real life Prince Charming," he hummed.

Arthur shrugged. "I tried being nice."

"When?"

The sorry returned.

Merlin put up his hands in surrender and Arthur quirked an eyebrow. He wondered why it felt like this was a fight they'd had a hundred times before, a roller-coaster of feeling he'd experienced a million times over in some other life.

He took a deep breath.

"I'm not good at this."

It seemed as if his lovely neighbor was about to snark something along the lines of clearly, but thought better of it. Merlin was immensely grateful. He continued.

"I apologize for my...rash behavior last we met. All of this is very new to me and I'm not," Merlin winced at himself. He was beginning to feel sick, "versed in these affairs, I didn't mean to hurt your feelings--"

Arthur’s demeanor had changed from one of petulance to patience, albeit reluctant. He was nodding, worrying his lip, and the air was burning in his lungs as he waited for Arthur’s reply. Merlin chided himself, again, to breathe.

"No, I understand." His heart dropped. Oh. "You're not," Arthur cleared his throat, concealing a blush, "--The other night, you thought I- that I was, uh...dropping pins. Letting my hair down, you know, that," Oh. "I was a nance? That I made a...you know, a pass."

He smiled; it was brittle and Merlin was going to faint. The air crackled between them, stretched thin and screaming.

Arthur went on.

"A misunderstanding, that's all it was, I- ...A miscommunication. I made you uncomfortable, I can understand that."

Merlin was pale. He wasn't listening anymore.

"It wasn't,"

Don't say it.

"Intended,"

Will you stay tonight? Will you stay? Will you? That's all I-

"To be taken in the, um," he chuckled nervously, avoided his eyes, mussed his fair hair and smiled that pained smile again. "I'm sorry, Merlin, it, uh, makes sense why you'd- well, you know."

A miscommunication.

"I don't."

It sounded wrong now, too, but for different reasons. His tone was warm if not shaky, rose lips formed the curve, Merlin, with fondness, but it was rejection, it was apology, what, what was happening--

"What?" Arthur was frowning at him, taken off guard.

Merlin shifted his weight to a more defensive stance, less open, less vulnerable, less danger. "...I don't know. You said it made sense why I would, 'you know', and I…" he swallowed. "Don't."

Arthur blanched. "--Why you'd avoid me, I mean- you thought I had- that I was-"

He was trapped in a nightmare. All of this had been some strange perception of his own, some gooey, fantastical lens he'd conjured. He felt so incredibly stupid. Stupid, stupid-

"...We can be friends now. --Now that that's cleared up, and I won't do it again, we'll humor one another."

Merlin furrowed his brow. Arthur sounded hopeful, was looking at him with bright eyes as he babbled.

"This confusion kept you away, but now you'll come back, like you said." He couldn't piece together why Arthur would push like this, probe so desperately for a friend. He was wealthy and charming and handsome, had plenty of admirers. Nevertheless, he was worse than a puppy at table. "Right?"

Beyond himself and his floundering self-respect, Merlin found himself nodding.

"...Right," he murmured. "I'd like nothing more," and that was a lie.

Arthur smiled that smile, the one that could end wars, and Merlin reminded himself that he was damned. Fall for a normal man, someone not like him, that was the worst possible thing he could think to do. He had thought this time was different, had thought he'd heard destiny knocking, but he was wrong. He was wrong.

I won't do it again, he had said.

Arthur would never kiss him.

Merlin was reminded that he didn't have to, that he was lost to the ether, that his heartstrings were wound tight about Arthur’s little finger and that he was hopeless to the red box, a space he shared with the closet for what would certainly, now, be forever.

He seemed so happy that Merlin could almost forget his heartbreak. The ghost of his touches a month ago came to haunt him. What had they meant, if not attraction? What were those shared moments, if not ones of intrigue? What was he curing if not loneliness, not longing?

Merlin was more confused than ever.

"Then- goodnight," Arthur grinned, grabbing him by the shoulder in a cordial manner, brotherly. He found himself smiling warily, Arthur’s earlier words echoing in his brain with venom. He was so caught up that he didn't notice the ache behind Arthur’s eyes, but instead picked up the spring in his step as he wandered toward his mansion, free as a bird. Merlin stood on the pier, feeling vacant. Whatever anxious, merry creature had flitted about possessing him these past weeks had taken leave for the time being, and he didn't know what was happening in his mind. A profound emptiness, he supposed mutely. It was a sensation that should have been profound, at least, should have been distressing and life-altering as he had fancied Arthur Pendragon would be, but instead it was lackluster, and quiet, and sad. His companion disappeared down the road, into the trees, and was gone.

This confusion kept you away.

Merlin, his mind clearer than it had been in a long time, took the red box in hand and unceremoniously threw it out.

But now you'll come back.

In the morning, he phoned mother.

You'll come back, like you said.

Merlin had all but forgotten the note. Dramatically, he had slept in, and dramatically, he had stared at the ceiling for hours afterward and mapped the constellations in the pocked plaster. Mindlessly, he'd eventually roused himself, mechanically, he had dressed. The toast was dry and the tea, weak, and sometime around ten, he determined he would be angry instead of sad. He could use this to motivate himself. He could make this positive. He had been foolish to spiral into such an idolic crush, especially with so little knowledge of the man's true character. He could be anyone, could have done anything. Any number of those rumors could have been true. Besides, all Arthur had done was warm him with wine and pretty words, flatter him with a distant adoration, and Merlin had been so starved for affection that he'd lapped it up like honey. From this point forward, Merlin would do better. He deserved better.

It wasn't too late by any means to find a nice girl, some Mary or Julia or Elizabeth, someone who made pie and would ask him to fix the roof. Nevermind that the thought made him queasy with anxiety, nevermind that she would suspect, would know, would be betrayed and hurt and hate him, nevermind, nevermind, nevermind, and Merlin was sad again. It wasn't hard.

The tea was cold, and mother was chattering with her soft, kind voice about her bridge game with the old gals at church and how she wished he would drop by to get some food in him, and oh, did he hear Gwen was getting married in the fall? She had always thought he would have stepped up to nab her first, but there were lots of fish in the sea.

There was a knock at the door at half past two. Merlin was in his bedclothes, rather, in cleaner bedclothes than those he had woken up in, but bedclothes nonetheless, and he hadn't combed his hair. His teeth felt mossy under his tongue, his feet felt hollow, his heart was drained, he answered the door. He almost closed it.

Arthur looked lovely in grey. The color brought out his eyes, made them sharper, brighter, and his red ascot was the most brilliant color Merlin had been privy to all day. He stood stiff before him, tall and strong and well-dressed in his fitted suit and fine hat and shined shoes. His hair was sure to be neat. His nails were finely manicured and teeth shined and straight- he knew from the way Pendragon licked them anxiously, looking past him into the charming but achingly modest home.

"I know you said two," he said furtively, as though to conceal his nervous energy with something passive. Merlin didn't have much control over his mouth or mind in his state, and so he observed, marvelling:

"You can read."

Arthur smiled wryly. "Admittedly, not well."

In truth, he had all but forgotten, at least had worked very hard to forget and had at last succeeded, the invitation sent the day prior. Arthur would have received it last night or this morning, must have rearranged something or other to make the trip, much less arrive a half hour early; there was no way he could burn through money the way he doubtless did without some kind of job. He had to have gone to great pains to be here, standing uncomfortable and objectively unwelcome on Merlin’s porch. Even without plans moved, he was very well done up.

He was about to think Arthur was handsome, but recalled he had sworn off men over breakfast.

Merlin turned around in his robe and slippers, retreating inside. The door he left ajar for his guest to come or go at will; he did nothing to hide the fact that he was incredibly tired and lacking the patience required for niceties. Consciously, he didn't jump at the click of the lock.

Merlin could feel Arthur watching him, scrutinizing him closely as he reheated the tea from breakfast. His hands did not shake. After too long a moment, his intruder cleared his throat, about to start a train of conversation Merlin was avidly certain he wanted no part of. He beat him to the chase.

"Sugar?"

Arthur blinked, his own words halfway to his lips. "--Yes. Say, Merlin-"

"How much?"

"What?"

Mugs hit the table with resounding thuds, and as though ignorant of the tension, Merlin went on. He didn't want to talk. He didn't want to.

"Sugar, Arthur." He didn't like him saying his name like that. He thought, in his mind where most of his thoughts occurred, that if he mimicked the ridiculous sense of familiarity that his neighbor insisted on imposing on their odd, nonexistent relationship, that somehow that would make it better. Merlin, yes, the way Arthur said it made his heart skip, but the reminder of that thin, anxious, pitying smile the night before preyed on him. He thought if he said Arthur, the spell would break- say a name three times, and their jinx is broken. It didn't work.

It only served to make him pine for a reason to say it again.

Blue, blue eyes.

Arthur was looking more affronted by the second, guilt and sadness encroaching on the horizon of Merlin’s fluctuating mood. He just felt sorry again. He just felt lost.

"You've done well to fix this house," his guest said to the tune of 'are you alright?' "You did it yourself?"

Merlin nodded, and poured tea. He did not shake.

"Do you like it?"

His voice was remote, floating somewhere outside his body- the air, perhaps. "I make do."

He watched as Arthur slowly eased into the space, walking through the living room and surveying the extensive but humble changes. He appeared thoughtful. Chamomile steamed in a lonesome fashion, but Arthur paid no mind.

"May I sit?"

"--Over there?"

Merlin’s immediate thought was something along the lines of not eating on the furniture, but he swallowed his mother's teachings and gave his consent with a gesture of the hand. Arthur chose the sofa from which Merlin watched the Pendragon House every night. It creaked, and Merlin had yet to move.

"It's old," he explained, crossing the space the join him in the danger zone, in what was once a safe place. He sat down. "The furniture. I don't really know how old or where it's been, but it's...rickety."

Arthur nodded as though this were sage wisdom, and took the mug from Merlin’s hand. He had forgotten he had it.

"I've could use your expertise at the mansion," he said casually, taking a gulp of tea Merlin knew for a fact was too hot for consumption. "You've a good eye."

"Are you joking?"

Arthur shrugged. "Pendragon House is old, too. Older than these couches, certainly. Come work for me in the House and you'll be handsomely compensated."

The audacity of this man would never cease to amaze him. He was still talking, though, and Merlin had nothing to say.

"--Of course, the whole of it could take a number of months, but I wouldn't contract you harshly. The ballroom could do for some attention, I think, due to frequency of use, and some of the bedrooms, to start. What say you?"

Slowly, Merlin set aside his tea.

"What, exactly, do you mean by 'handsomely'?"

He couldn't help that he was his mother's son, Gaius's nephew. This was an opportunity, even if he didn't like it. It could lead somewhere, or provide more opportunity to forge a path of his own- provide the funds to get off this island, maybe.

"Merlin, fair weather friends are a dime a dozen. If I wanted one of those, I could pluck anybody off the street, but I admire your work ethic. You're smart, adaptable-"

"You don't know that." Ever so slightly, he trembled.

"I do."

"You can't possibly-"

Arthur’s tone sent Merlin’s eyes to the floor.

"I do."

Beside himself, he smiled wearily. "Bully all your friends, do you?"

The mood shifted instantly, a flash of humility knocking Arthur back to Earth. Softer now, he continued.

"If you won't let me be generous to you, be kind to me and take the offer. I've listened," not well, "and I'm letting you work for it, since you seem to prefer things that way."

"...I don't want handouts."

Arthur got that incredulous look.

"You don't accept gifts! Look, it's- it's a job to do."

"I like my job." Merlin closed his eyes, flexed his fingers, tapped his foot. "I need a moment," he said finally. He stood before Arthur could say anything sweet or stupid or invasive or considerate and disappeared into his bedroom, the door shut definitively behind him. Merlin didn't mean to run away, but the wreck of a day this had been had him by the neck.

His landlord wanted to pay him, presumably, considerable amounts of money to interior decorate because, and only because, he wouldn't accept said money any other way. Arthur was insistent on largely impacting him in one way or another. He seemed lonely, without any other friends- he almost certainly was alone, lived alone, else Merlin, a stranger, wouldn't be getting all of this unprompted attention.

He returned to the living room.

He thought back to that glittering evening, where his mind had been light and his feet lighter, and a handsome legend had swept him away to a place without time. He thought of the storm, the chill and that water cutting like knives through his clothes and across his skin as his muscles screamed, fingers slipped from the vehicle as he and a strange man trudged through mud together. He thought of the moonwashed youth on the pier the night before, for once all in quiet, of his contagious smile and confusing words. Merlin looked tiredly at the man sitting anxiously in his front room vying for any reason to see him again.

His voice was level, and sure.

"You mustn't pay me-"

"That's ridiculous!"

"--Unless you absolve my rent. I'll work for you in return for my tenancy and no further favors."

The suited man was quiet a moment, wiping his hand across his face in consideration, brow furrowed. In all seriousness, he reached out his hand. Merlin swallowed his hesitance and took it.

In all this, he had noticed only mutely that Arthur had taken off his ascot. He thought no more on it. It was a little hot, he supposed, and would be for anyone wearing as many layers as that.

On the table was the box.

This, Merlin realized hours later in the night. Music raised on the wind and floated into the ether on the lake. He drowned it out with cheap whiskey- all liquor was cheap these days. Prone to that old devil, heartache, and weakened by drink, he failed to question the gift box's resurgence, only heeding that pining of his to run his fingers over the silky material as he had in sorrow many times before. He opened the box and dropped it like fire. His glass shattered on the floor.

The scarf was red.

Merlin shook.

#Beautiful Fool #update #my writing #merlin #merthur fanfic #woooooot #if ya'll want to be tagged let me know #if ya'll DON'T want to be tagged let me know #i triiiieeeddd

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