#and will struggle to see his baby brother flourish (without him specifically)

[skeletonlvr22]

HELLO!!

I wanted to ask if/when Wine would find out about Willa how would he react?

Would he go off the rails and go full protective brother mode?

Or just play it off with his best poker face? OR WOULD HE BE FINE WITH IT??

Please I need to know 🙏[also I love this fic so far, especially the way you write Coffee!!]

HI, HI!!!

Hmm, well! Wine doesn't typically do well in situations he's never been put in, and Coffee's never brought anyone home (let alone been with anyone) so Wine would struggle with it.

However, Wine prides himself on being put together and having more information than other people think he does (its a control thing), so if he's able to keep himself together, he'd probably just do a deep dive into her past and then be vaguely creepy (in the way of knowing things she hasn't told him and stuff she knows Coffee hasn't told him either).

Although Willa and Wine won't be meeting anytime soon, it's sure to be interesting!

Willa has a lot more to learn (about herself, not just Coffee), Coffee has more people to meet, and Wine meeting any of Coffee’s friends is a bit far in their futures. But it will happen! It's been planned out since the beginning, and I can't wait to get to it!

Thank u sm for your ask and your kind words, Coffee's so fun to write!!

[kitkatopinions]

The baby boy himself, Whitley!

(for the ask meme)

Whitley is so my baby, I love my child so much. I’m realizing I say ‘I’m really excited for this one’ for like every character I get for this ask game, but it’s because I’m having so much fun! These take a bit to write, but they are honestly so interesting to me, so as an fyi, if anyone does have any character they want to ask my about, but thinks they might be too late, or I might be uninterested, I’m still totally interested! It just might take me a bit to answer. :)

My top three ships for the character

Whitley/Oscar is my top ship for this in canon currently. It works best if Ozpin could somehow be separated from Oscar (which is theoretically possible I guess,) but yeah. Farm boy vs rich boy, they look cute together, their personalities could vibe, and they’re both snarky, but at heart caring and compassionate. Whitley/Mercury. I mentioned this in my Mercury ask, but I was writing a fic with @why-i-hate-rwby-now where Whitley and Mercury were thrown together and had to work together to escape their abusers, and I just kind of started shipping them while writing it. O.O Also Whitley/Penny is cute as heck and I could totally see her grounding him and also making him loosen up, while Penny thinks he’s funny and interesting.

My three least favorite ships for the character

Whitley/Blake. I don’t understand this ship, Blake just feels like more of an adult atm compared to Whitley - a literal child. (Yes, I realize I ship Whit with Merc, but A. I thought Merc was sixteen while I was writing that fanfiction and he acts kind of on the young side, while Blake has been acting ‘as an adult’ and being treated ‘as an adult’ for two seasons at least while directly talking to Whitley, and has always been more of a mature character for her age anyway.) But on top of that, Blake seems to treat Whitley like an in the way child and is kinda judgey to him, while Whitley barely seems to notice her. Whitley/Henry Marigold just feels bad. And Whitley/Yang. Again, Yang has been written as a nineteen year old demanding to be treated as an adult (though I wanna say she’s less mature than Blake) but also Yang is a hotheaded character and has been acting pushy lately, and that’s fine as a character flaw, but I feel like it just puts me off her for Whitley especially.

My biggest criticism for the character

He’s treated like he’s not a victim??? Like, his abuse and neglect and even his struggles are just... Not really gone into or acknowledged very much, Weiss acts like he has to prove himself before she can show him the slightest bit of sympathy or affection when she’s his big sister, his relationship with Jacques is glossed over and he isn’t given closure there, Willow’s neglect isn’t really acknowledged seriously, Winter seeming totally disinterested in him doesn’t feel like it even matters, Weiss is treated as blameless in her and Whitley’s problems. And the writing kind of frames Whitley as having gotten a redemption, when the worst things he did was be a bit of an asshole while in an abusive situation as like a fourteen-fifteen year old with no aura or glyphs or fighting ability. Emerald and Whitley’s volume 8 arcs should not be comparable! Emerald is a full on murderer and was still willingly working with Cinder to attack people as a nineteen year old woman, and yet she and Whitley are treated very similarly by the narrative (helping one person and then that ‘making up for’ their ‘past mistakes’ and then them just being on the good side and carrying the team’s actions until the pathways arrive and they both go to Vacuo. To be clear, I think this framing was too much for Whitley since he never even needed a redemption at all imo, and not enough for Emerald, the literal murderer of Penny who was just recently willingly helping Cinder try and murder Penny once again.) Whitley should’ve been treated as the child he is, he should’ve been treated as the victim he is.

My favorite thing about the character

His potential dynamics, but specifically with Weiss. He and Weiss both had almost the exact same upbringing, only Weiss actually had more support, but guys... The way the two of them coped had similarities, but were also very different. Weiss hid behind anger and sternness, Whitley hid behind peppiness and smiles. Weiss copied Winter, Whitley copied Jacques. Weiss was always afraid of people putting on acts around her, Whitley was constantly putting on acts as a means of survival. Each of them are plagued by jealousy, pettiness, judgmental behavior, and they both have good qualities that are similar, but they both are too prejudice against each other to see those good qualities and need to learn to understand where the other is coming from. Weiss is a fighter, but a follower, while Whitley seems to have a bit of a ‘fawn’ tendency, but plans and enacts schemes under the table (even if it doesn’t have to be, like with Nora! Whitley’s instincts were to just figure out how to help Nora and then go off and do it alone without telling any of the obviously antsy people with guns what he was doing - after he was spying on them lol.) I just love the possibilities that exist with two characters that are so similar, but so fundamentally different. Also I’d love to see him resentful of Winter and snarky and passive aggressive with her, and Winter not really getting the problem, and Weiss having to mediate between them. Idk, there are so many possibilities of amazing interactions and connections Whitley could have with the others, and he could be a really new, good viewpoint if he was allowed to flourish. And maybe became kind of a ‘guy in the chair’ more permanent part of the team. Like, I know we don’t need more character bloat, but let me dream!

A headcanon I have about them

Before Weiss lost her inheritance, Whitley was sort of tasked with learning everything but being head of the company, like he was learning the financial side of things, the technological side of things, ordering, inventory, scheduling, all about Dust and mine operations... And Whitley’s naturally academic and a fast learner, so he absorbed a lot of it. But yeah, I think Jacques was trying to train Whitley up to be a sort of always available PA of Weiss’s that could handle anything she didn’t want to do / was too busy to do, and that was something Whitley really resented too. His skillset was essentially being crafted around helping Weiss, but never learning how to actually manage the company itself and severely lacking in the social side of things, like he’d never be able to make a proper speech. Also, like pretty much everyone I think he plays piano and writes his own music compositions (which in my headcanons he subconsciously writes to include vocals only for him to then get bothered that even his music seems influenced by Weiss. XD) Also I know this is three headcanons, but if he had been trained to fight, he would’ve used duel pistols and would’ve eventually developed a ‘born out of trauma’ semblance.

What I would change about them if I was making a re-write

I’d just allow his status as a victim to be recognized and for him to have the sympathy I feel his character deserves. I’d have him and Weiss both framed as having contributed to their bad relationship, but Weiss - as the sister four to five years older than him - would be the one who makes the first moves towards repairing it, proving she has changed enough to put aside her pettiness and be there for the brother she does truly love. I’d also get Willow away from him, or at least let Whitley be angry and distant and not have their relationship fixed over the course of an in-universe day. This is why I say there should’ve been another Atlas season, which I think is what I’d do when it boils down to it. With every plot point coming fast and then being pushed on the back burner for the next plot point, there’s no time to focus on any of it or to give the character’s sufficient growth from it. So then things like Willow having her hand glued to Whitley’s shoulder feels very ingenuine, because their ‘growth’ was so rushed. So yeah, I’d really just add an extra season and let Weiss recognize that Whitley is also an abuse victim, make her be the one to start making steps to be there for him, and let things like his relationship with his mother come slower and not be an easy fix. Also I’d have Winter acknowledge that she has a brother more regularly and have her actually care about him, even if she hasn’t shown it well at all.

What I I think of their character allusion and what (if anything) I would change about it

Whitley has no assigned character allusion and his name doesn’t offer very many hints, since it literally just means white meadow/field snow, but it’s easy enough to assume that like Weiss and Jacques - Snow White and Jack Frost - Whitley’s character allusion has something to do with the cold. I agree with the general opinion that he’s connected to ‘the Snow Queen,’ and is likely meant to be Kai, a once kind hearted boy who gets a piece of a magic mirror in his eye that only lets him see the bad in people and gets kidnapped by the snow queen. His best friend Gerda goes on a quest to save him - encountering a land of eternal summer and a talking crow amongst other things - and temporarily forgets him due to an enchantment, but then finds him almost frozen over and saves him by crying on him and through the power of her love that literally makes people and nature bend to her will, Gerda rescues Kai and dislodges the mirror piece from his eye so that he can be cheerful again. Pretty in tune with how the writers wrote things. I don’t mind this, but if Whitley is meant to be Kai and Weiss is meant to be his Gerda, there were two missed opportunities here that could’ve been great. One, Gerda is reminded of her love for Kai whenever she sees red roses, and Ruby and Whitley have a few similar mannerisms and kind of similar coping through their ‘cheery exterior’s’ even f Ruby’s lost all her sass and Whitley’s never had her spazzy, dorky, rough around the edges traits. I think it would’ve been cute and make for a more interesting dynamic if Weiss had mentioned to Ruby in volumes 1-3 that Ruby reminds her of her brother, and if it had made Weiss both harder on Ruby (since she and Whitley are estranged and he does drive her crazy a lot lol) but it also made Ruby all the more endearing to her and is one of the reasons they could be friends fairly fast despite Weiss’s early animosity (since she loves her brother and the traits he shares with Ruby compliment hers.) The next missed opportunity I can think of is that everyone thinks Kai is dead in the Snow Queen for a bit, but Gerda doesn’t believe it and goes looking for him instead. You could easily fit this into a narrative where everyone else has given up Whitley as a lost cause, but Weiss won’t believe that and is determined to help and to get close to Whitley again, which is what I think I’d want to go with. But also, a Whitley death fake out? That could be very good and very emotional. And it’d be easy omg. Weiss could think the Hound has killed him sometime during the fight (even if just for a moment,) but also if Whitley had been the first one to fall in the void instead of going through to Vacuo O.O 

Idk if we’ll ever get his character allusion confirmed, but if it isn’t someone from the Snow Queen, I feel like the whole fandom will say “What?!” at the exact same time. XD 

[thanksjro]

More Than Meets the Eye #19- Ambulon and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day

We got a major reveal at the end of last issue, and now it’s time to put the rest of the pieces together so we can finally understand the mystery that is the Ultra Magnus situation.

So back when Magnus’ seemingly lifeless body stole a shuttle, fucked off into space and landed on the moon, Tyrest was there to greet him.

And by “greet him”, I mean punch through the windshield and carry him bridal style, as if he weighed no more than a baby bird, into his moon base.

Pharma did his thing with his crazy new hands, Magnus was saved, and he woke up shortly after his lifesaving operation. Then Tyrest punched Magnus in the face, because fuck the healing process. He’s an engineer, not a doctor, he doesn’t deal with the SOUL and FEELINGS or anything like that.

In the here and now, Rodimus is still trying to comprehend the fact that his SIC isn’t dead, and is also actually another, much smaller guy with a mustache. Minimus Ambus attempts to explain just what the hell is going on, and we get back to our flashback.

After some good old-fashioned face violence, Tyrest showed Magnus around the place, specifically the terminal he’d set up for his on-the-fly, real-time law amending. With how many war crimes the Cybertronian race has committed in the last several million years, I’m sure it was needed.

Dang, wonder who pissed off Big Brother.

Magnus is more concerned about how it is exactly he isn’t dead right now, and also why his boss looks like a swiss cheese party platter.

Turns out that Tyrest isn’t actually mad at Magnus, just disappointed. He went and read his diary while the operation was happening, and in the 18 months that the Knight Quest has been running, Tyrest has deemed the work done to be unsatisfactory. Instead of arresting criminals, Magnus had been handling infractions so minor, most people wouldn’t have even noticed them. Tyrest doesn’t know where he went wrong.

Well, Tyrest, it was probably the anxiety that manifested itself as OCD, because you picked someone without factoring what the end of the war might do to them. Magnus needs structure to flourish, and if he cannot find it, he will make it himself. I mean, look at all this:

No wonder he was struggling on the chaos engine that is the Lost Light.

Still, Tyrest wants nothing to do with someone who’s cracked under the pressure (lack of pressure?) and the deal was that Magnus only got to be Magnus if he did what Tyrest wanted. Tyrest divests him with the literal push of a button.

Good grief, he’s naked!

As Minimus Ambus mourns over the loss of his stature, both literal and position-wise, we get back to the present, in a double-page spread no less, as Minimus tells everyone about the storied history of the Magnus Armor. Ultra Magnus was originally an actual person, but then he died, and Tyrest was kind of bummed out about that, so he decided to make up a lie (lying, while perhaps morally dubious is not illegal, so he’s allowed to do that) that Magnus faked his death, and then built the armor. There were at least a few wearers of the armor prior to Minimus, some of who were even known by the other crew members. Whenever someone got offed, their hand would spasm and press a recall button in their palm, which would bring the Magnus Armor, and the dead body inside, back to Tyrest.

You can tell he’s still real shaken up about losing the Magnus Armor, because he’s truncating his words. Poor guy.

Minimus asks what exactly happened after he got stabbed, seeing as he was too busy dying to really pay attention to the Overlord plot. Rodimus tells him it’s been handled. Brainstorm jumps in, wanting to know about the other things on Minimus’ resume, which leads into Minimus revealing the fact that he is a Point One Percenter, and something known as a Load Bearer. Load Bearers circumvent that niggling little issue that we saw presented in the “Shadowplay” arc, where spark strain due to not being able to handle a different frame type would outright kill you. Minimus doesn’t have that problem.

Tailgate wants to know how exactly it is that Minimus isn’t dead, seeing as he was clearly on his way out prior to his grand theft auto. Tailgate may have a personal interest in that sort of information, what with still being terminal and all.

Everyone’s real handsy this issue.

Minimus lets Tailgate know that Tyrest’s medical equipment is off the hook, and we get a reminder that Tailgate’s got basically a day left to live. Harsh, Roberts.

Back in Minimus’ flashback, Tyrest sort-of apologizes for punching him in the face, and laments on the loss of one of his greatest Enforcers of the Tyrest Accord.

Oh, so you DID know that this was a possibility, and instead of ordering your subordinate to go make that follow-up appointment with the only therapist on Cybertron- which, while being borderline sectioning, would have at least kept Minimus from sending emails to Rodimus about how he was spiraling- you just let it happen. The Vector Sigma pulse wave went all over the galaxy, there’s zero possibility you didn’t hear about the end of the war before Magnus loaded up on the Lost Light and didn’t call for a year and a half.

Anyway, so Tyrest’s got a new Enforcer lined up, seeing as he’s going to retire the Magnus Armor after all the shenanigans Minimus got dragged through while wearing it. Let’s see what we’re working with.

I thought we were supposed to have separation of church and state, what the hell?

In the present, Rodimus has questions, mainly about why there are so many people in this prison cell. Minimus admits that he asked to be put in here, to try and prove Rodimus and friends’ innocence on the charge of harboring a criminal, by recording their conversation and proving that they had no idea what SKIDS deal was.

Yep, Skids did a bad, and Tyrest wants him in jail.

Minimus also drops the bomb that everyone else in this cell is going to get he death penalty for that whole “crimes against creation” thing. I mean, all Tyrest has to do is wait for a little while and Tailgate will be dealt with, no sweat.

Minimus pulls a device out of his hip compartment, uses it to disrupt the electro-bars of the cell (it’s cool, he was an undercover cop for this whole thing and can therefore break out of prison without it being a crime), and goes to have a chat with his boss about all the weird new stuff he’s shoved into the Autobot Code in the last year and a half. Rodimus doesn’t really want him to leave, but there’s no time for that, because the cell just got a little more full.

Uh oh, Swerve’s badge has gone missing again. Rung, why don’t you slap yours on his crotch, that way Minimus won’t try to murder him when he gets back?

While this is happening, Whirl and Cyclonus are standing on the rim of a smelting pool, absolutely not having a dick measuring contest.

Luna 1 said Bi Rights.

There’s a structure built over the pool that looks an awful lot like living quarters, but is probably actually a prison that violates the Geneva convention. Whirl suggests they find some weapons and go hog-wild, but Cyclonus is more concerned about finding something. When Whirl asks what in the hell he could possibly be looking for in this sort of crisis, Cyclonus turns into a moody teenager.

Well, at least he’s respecting Tailgate’s wish to keep his looming demise under wraps. Not that Cyclonus tells anyone anything anyway.

Over in the Luna 1 medibay, Ratchet is being subjected to having his very fucking soul threatened with a paring knife. Pharma’s having what probably an inappropriate amount of fun, especially since he’s realized that Ratchet took his goddamn hands after the shitshow that was Delphi.

It turns out that every single piece of tech that Ultra Magnus ever repossessed is floating around on Luna 1, even the stuff that really ought to have been destroyed. This is why they were able to save Magnus from certain death at the start of the issue. Somehow I’m not surprised that Tyrest kept all those toys for himself. Corruption of an authority figure? In my Cybertronian Justice System? It’s more likely than you think.

Some of the little art quirks in MTMTE are added in by Milne- see Brainstorm holding any handgun ever if you’d like an example- but I know for a FACT that Pharma humping Ratchet’s headless body was specified by Roberts.

Ratchet, unimpressed and likely mildly queasy by the display going on before him, proposes that Pharma’s afraid of failure, which is why he hasn’t taken his hands back. Pharma disagrees, and a wager is set to see who the better doctor is- winner gets to keep the hands.

Over with the fly boys, alarms are going off in a deserted building, as Whirl struggles to open a door with his claws. Cyclonus takes over on door duty, and asks why Whirl hasn’t gotten his shit fixed yet.

Whirl’s worried that if he gets help for his trauma, he’s going to lose a huge part of himself as a person, and then where will he be? Of course, he says it in a much more Whirly fashion, full of vitriolic self-blame, but reading between the lines is fun. Whirl fires the “let’s get into each other’s personal issues even though both of us hate talking about ourselves and also each other” missile right back at Cyclonus. He wants to know about Cyclonus’ facial situation.

Cyclonus doesn’t like this question.

Then he gets stabbed with a sword.

Back with the docs, it’s apparently much later, as Ratchet’s just woken up from surgery and has a body again. He gets up from the operating table and finds that Pharma’s gone ahead with setting up their gentleman’s wager.

First Aid seems less than pleased with the current situation. Ambulon’s arms are long as hell in this panel, and he doesn’t seem entirely present in the moment. Maybe he’s practicing Rungian Re-Experience Therapy.

Pharma wants to cut both of the boys in half to see who can put the pieces together back the fastest. Ratchet tries to deescalate the situation, because he’s usually pretty good at it, but Pharma’s set on using his chainsaw attachment on someone today.

Ratchet attempts to console his coworkers, saying that their Springer-on-Pova treatment be over soon, and they’ll get a nice lollipop at the end for being such brave little robots.

Then Pharma cuts Ambulon in half, in a way that Ratchet hadn’t accounted for.

We’re gonna need a little more than some bandaids and a kiss to make it feel better for this one. It’s amazing what censorship laws will let you get away with when the blood isn’t red.

Speaking of blood, Cyclonus is more or less okay with being stabbed, because Whirl did him a solid and chopped his assailant in half- lengthways- with a super sweet sword he found in the armory they just opened up. Cyclonus pulls the blade out of his midriff and we finally find out what happened to the Circle of Light.

Back in the prison cell, Perceptor’s been given the job of doctor, even though Rung, Swerve, and Chromedome are all here and at least somewhat closer to being general practice doctors than our science sniper.

Seems like Swerve filled everyone in on the situation on the Lost Light off-panel, which is good, because they’ve been in the dark up to this point.

Chromedome hypothesizes that the reason Skids is a wanted man has to do with that mysterious gun he was holding when he fell out of the sky all the way back in issue #2. This is the point where Skids wakes up from his stabbing and admits that this is probably what happened, even though he still has no recollection of ever stealing the gun or even it existing up until he entered the story, but he apologizes for the trouble anyway.

Shh.  Someone’s coming down the corridor. It’s Star Saber, and he’s brought yet another prisoner to stuff in this cell.

And there’s something else. Can you hear it?

Is… is that music?

Are those the beginning synth riffs of “Tainted Love" by Soft Cell?

Over with Minimus, we’re treated to a taste of Tyrest’s personal brand of disinterest, then get a quick run-down of the birds and the bees. The forging process is a little more convoluted than originally implied, needing Primus to send out a pulse wave through Vector Sigma in order for the Hot Spots to be ignited.

Then the pulse waves started to slow down, Nova Prime had a little freak out, and cold construction was invented to prevent the Cybertronian race from becoming an endangered species.

Minimus of course knows all of this, because he, like basically half of the cast of MTMTE, is old as shit. What he DOESN’T know is that cold construction isn’t managed the way that anyone thought that it was, because there was a government coverup going on about the whole thing. You don’t splice sparks to make a new one, you use the Matrix to create new life.

I know, it’s crazy.

Tyrest was on the team that fiddled around with the Matrix until it started spitting out robot zygotes, and he’s now convinced that they bled the Matrix dry. Nobody tell him what happened to the thing after the war ended.

Wait. If the pulse waves have stopped, and the Matrix is busted beyond repair, doesn’t that mean they can’t make any more Transformers? Once they finish up on their stockpile of sparks, that’s it. No more. The Transformers are a protected species now, we’ve got to treat them like giant pandas.

One of his team members stole the Matrix and hid it in the black market, so its strange, mystical baby powers could never be used again. Except someone obviously found it later on, because we have half of it on the Lost Light. Minimus isn’t sure why any of this is actually relevant to the current situation, or why Tyrest feels guilty about pulling a Eugenesis Fulcrum and finding out where babies come from.

Tyrest is convinced that by draining the Matrix, his team somehow corrupted it, and all the sparks made by this corrupted Matrix are straying further and further from Primus. This is why Rodimus and friends have been charged with crimes against creation- some of their party were created in a way that predisposes them to crime. Or so Tyrest thinks.

I thought we were supposed to have separation of church and state, what the hell? This is still the same guy who was appointed as Chief Justice by the space pope because of his levelheadedness, right?

Yes, actually, but this sudden flip in priorities and personality has been induced by the guilt he felt during the Aequitas trials. Tyrest turned to self harm to deal with the weight of it all, and one day tried to go for what in most species would have been a suicide, by drilling with his drill fingers into the spot between his eyes. Instead, he most likely gave himself a lobotomy and became a religious zealot, fully believing that the gods are real, and he can go visit them by using his super-cool space portal.

Outside the moon base, Whirl and Cyclonus have freed the Circle of Light, and everyone’s ready to kick some ass. Both the fly boys have found themselves a Great Sword to play with, further cementing Cyclonus as our replacement Drift. Rodimus will be so thrilled.

Dai Atlas, the leader of the Circle of Light, tells our boys that there used to be a lot more of his group, but a lot of folks ended up being used to build Legislators.

Hm. I’m sure that’ll never be brought up again, and won’t paint future events in a much darker light. Nope. Absolutely not.

Cyclonus thinks that they need to get a move on, because if that sort of horrific shit can happen to the Circle of Light, it can also happen to Tailgate and the others. He does specifically name Tailgate in his dialogue, but it’s not like he actually cares about the guy, right? Feelings are for nerds.

Then the Legislators show up and it’s party time.

Wonder how that’s going to work out for you, Whirl.

Back with Tyrest, it’s revealed that Tyrest’s plan has a small snag- only people completely absolved of their guilt can go to Cyberutopia to hang out with Primus and the gang, and Tyrest is feeling awful guilty. Not about his weird space-eugenics thing, but about inventing cold construction. Now, how in the world is he going to handle this?

By committing a genocide.

Minimus is, understandably, not a fan of this plan. Tyrest had anticipated that the Universal Killswitch wouldn’t be universally appreciated, and has some of the new law come into play.

And that’s a series wrap on Minimus Ambus! Let’s give him a hand, folks!

[mythicamagic]

Ulquihime Week: Day 4

@ulquihimeweek

Pairing: Ulquiorra/Orihime (UlquiHime) fanfic. Chapter Two - here

Rated T

Summery: Orihime has an imaginary friend, who happens to be a terrifying creature living in the woods behind her summer home.

For Ulquihime Week 2019 Day 4: Haunting/Touch Starved.

AN: This one is a little...weird. Think of it like a fairy tale/ horror /friendship /eventual romance?

Eldritch

At six years old little girls still believe in many things: Magic, ghosts, monsters, Santa, unicorns, the tooth fairy. Yet their beliefs are usually rooted in what they've already been told is possible. Santa lives at the North Pole and visits on Christmas. Unicorns can be found in forests. Tooth fairies only visit if you lose a tooth. The evil spirits in bathrooms usually resided in the last cubical.

Orihime Inoue had the profound ability to believe in almost anything. To give imperfect things palpable form inside her mind as something new. If Sora held up a sock puppet because her parents couldn't afford to buy a doll, she'd willingly suspend her disbelief and see it as a fierce cupcake dragon. If she ate red-bean paste on bread because they were low on groceries, she'd taste honey on pancakes or strawberries and cream. Dust came from magic spiders who liked to throw salt shakers of grey specs everywhere. The gloomy, faded lights of their dingy neighbourhood weren't half dead lightbulbs, but winking fairies or playful spirits. Graffiti was a technicolour, ancient language she didn't understand. The rivers and skies was a playground for the Gods. Sora could be her Mama and Papa in place of their actual parents.

So it surprised absolutely no one when Orihime claimed one day that Batman was her best friend.

---

He had been born from nothingness.

The only indicators that he was even alive were from the sharp, broken twigs on the forest floor tickling his hard, pale skin, and the solid earth supporting his back. That and consciousness.

He had no visible features, lacking a mouth with which to eat, or eyes with which to see. No hearing with which to listen, fingernails to claw and pry, fur or hair with which to shelter, and no heart.

Essentially, he had been born to experience nothing. A worthless, meaningless birth. He felt the absences of what he lacked with a keen, visceral emptiness.

The creature lay in a pale heap, content to die.

But something disturbed the clear nothingness surrounding him. Raising a hand, long fingers flexed wide, searching for the thin sensation in the breeze. The slightest, barely-there touch had him snatching something out of the air. Pressing it instinctively to his face, his form shuddered and convulsed.

Twin slits cracked on the creature's face. Muscle started to move and fix itself together. Skin crumpled as paper-mache lids pried themselves open. Long black lashes grew forth and the creature blinked the dust from his newly formed grey eyes. Muddy colours and blurry forms assaulted him, until he looked directly into an orb of something harsh and bright. Shielding his eyes, he looked down. Focusing on the dirt felt safer as he took a moment to practice blinking, seeing an afterimage of that burning light.

His sight cleared, shapes coming into focus.

Lifting his head and glancing around at the forest, slit pupils shifted. Sunlight filtered through the leaves. Blue skies could be glimpsed further still above. Hundreds of countless trees surrounded him.

Green. So much green.

His grey eyes let the colour leak into the canvas of his irises, making them give way to lush emerald. Touching his black lashes gingerly, the creature instinctively pried out one that didn't fit quite right with the rest. A small, single sun-kissed orange eyelash lay in his palm.

He found the colour acceptable.

Muffled, quiet vibrations thudded on the ground not too away then, like footsteps. Somehow, he could feel it. Lifting his gaze upon seeing movement in his peripheral vision, the creature stilled.

A little girl stopped in unison with him, tilting her head. The hair spilling out from under her sunhat blazed the same bright, fiery colour.

Deaf to her words, he could only watch as her mouth moved. She then hesitantly shifted forward, silver eyes bright and filled with nebulous flecks of brown. Gesturing to the orange lash in his palm, her lips curved, and the girl beamed.

For some reason, he then heard her words clearly, blessed with sound. "Are you my new friend? You can keep that eyelash in exchange!"

He stared uncomprehendingly, seeing a reflection of his image in her eyes. Proof of his existence. Distant tweeting could be heard in the trees. The scampering of strange, tiny creatures raced up tree trunks.

Something ran down his face from his eyes. Her expression crumpled and became alarmed, taking out a tissue from her pocket. "Oh no, don't cry! I promise I'll be a good friend!"

Racing over, she knelt and pressed the soft white thing against his dry cheeks. No matter how much she fussed and rubbed, the teal lines that made him look like he was constantly in mourning remained.

---

The girl had spent a few hours with him every day from then on, jabbering. Now that he'd received both sight and sound, the creature drank in all the newness surrounding him. He did not understand why his form was grown, with longer limbs than the girl, or why she saw fit to blush and remove her coat, telling him to cover his lower half with it. He did not understand much about himself at all, but everything she talked about, his frayed knowledge pieced together. The more books she read to him, the more his mind caught on until he became impatient with her slowness to describe the words.

'Sora' was her older brother, she said. A brother was a sibling. Her parents were poor. Parents raised their young. Being poor meant having no money with which to buy things.

The girl was called 'Orihime Inoue.'

When he gestured to himself, she blinked at him. "Oh, you're Batman!"

'Batman' did not sound right. But he supposed she was his God, his maker, despite not having palpable proof of such a thing. It felt correct to assume she knew best.

When she returned into the woods that bordered her back garden again, this time Orihime chewed an apple. She took out another from her red frilly dress, handing it to him.

"Oh...can you eat without a mouth?" She frowned.

Mouth?

Eat?

She tilted her head, saddened. "You must be really hungry," her tiny hand patted her stomach.

Hungry.

His stomach felt empty then, twisting into knots. Perhaps that was what she meant.

Yes, hunger.

He supposed he was.

'Batman' did not expect much to come from it, but the next day, Orihime trotted out through the bushes, giving him a gap-toothed smile.

She presented her baby tooth to him with all the flourish of a magician. "For you! This way, you can have a mouth! I could have saved it for the tooth fairy, but I'm giving it to you instead. I wrote her a letter explaining that eating food is one of the best things in the world, and my friend needs to know what it's like more than I need yen," she nodded happily. Her exuberance faltered slightly then. "Um, I think this will work. I hope. When you got that eyelash you got eyes, right?"

The creature reached out and took it between bone-thin forefinger and thumb. Instinctively he pressed the tooth to the appropriate place on his face.

A natural slit curved open, spreading wider as he stared at her, mentally mapping the look of her mouth. Behind the lips that formed came other intricacies of the mouth, muscles and such- that allowed him to open his jaw, accepting the tooth inside. Others formed an upper and lower row of the same bone-white teeth, strengthening until they were adult molars, canines and the like.

When finished, he parted his lips, plucking out the baby tooth and handing it back to her, a new tooth instantly regenerating within his mouth.

Orihime blinked, not thrown by witnessing the somewhat gruesome creation. "Your upper lip is all dark," she patted her top lip.

He mimicked the action but obviously could not see. Without fear, she casually pried her thumb into his lips to flash his new teeth at her.

"Wow! So many!"

Batman did not like this so he shied away from her touch.

"I guess you still can't talk though," small shoulders fell. "You probably need a tongue for that."

Tongue?

She stuck out her own, grinning. "You can't have mine! But I will go fetch you some food. I hear that ice-cream and soup are good if you struggle to eat. Please stay here!" The little ball of sunshine turned, bounding away without another word.

Green eyes stared after her, before mismatched lips opened. Touching inside, he indeed felt an absence inside the wet, hot space. His finger traced over the bumps and edges of his new teeth with fascination.

When she eventually returned, Orihime fed him peanut butter ice-cream and soup. He couldn't taste it, so the texture was all he had to go on as he swallowed. It was fine. He opened his mouth for more, and she giggled, calling him a glutton. He frowned at her tone and took the spoon off her, feeding himself.

She told him about her abusive parents, a drunk of a father and prostitute mother whom her brother, Sora, had saved her from. Ulquiorra understood some of the intricacies of what she said without fathoming her sadness or happiness. He did want to learn specifically, what the term 'glutton,' 'drunk' and 'prostitute' meant, but could not ask. Gesturing to her summer holidays homework in her backpack, he was rewarded with her teaching him how to read at her level. He caught on quickly, adapting, thirsty for knowledge.

Orihime gripped his large hand in both of her small ones and his curled long, pale fingers around a pen. She then grinned and taught him how to write in large sprawling characters.

She left him with a strand of her hair, which looked as though it had been kissed by the sun. He'd dutifully touched it to his head, where long, flowing dark tresses grew and fell to his shoulders, sprawling unevenly and wild.

----

From one of her broken fingernails came his long sharp talons.

With them, the creature felt that he now had the right tools to hunt, which she explained was what he'd need to do in her absence.

It was just as well, because a week later, Orihime had to leave. She'd made him a house of twigs and branches, a poor attempt at shelter, while explaining that she'd been staying with Sora at a cheap 'holiday home' they visited every year and rented for two weeks. They were now leaving for their city home. Batman felt no emotion at her departure but frowned slightly when water leaked from her eyes, running down chubby cheeks.

It smelled sharp and strange.

She'd scrubbed at her eyes and waved, promising to see him next year. Ulquiorra had nodded. With all the caprice and carelessness of a child, she'd then left her creation in the woods alone.

Orihime wanted him to have a tongue and it felt imperative to get one immediately. Legs shook as he stood, and he glanced down at the new blanket he'd tied around his waist at her behest.

He set down the advanced dictionary in his hand and tried talking a few steps, mimicking her walk, but soon panted. Sweat dotted his brow from the effort of walking the expanse of his clearing. He'd need to build strength. Eventually he'd get the hang of it.

---

"That's horrible."

Orihime looked up from her doodles to glance at Sora in the driver's seat, who listened to the radio.

"This attack was random and unprecedented in this town. Kenta Yano remains in hospital and has been unable to communicate to authorities who exactly is responsible for viciously severing his tongue from his mou-" the dial was snapped to the side, turning it off. Sora glanced at Orihime in the rearview mirror and gave a smile.

"Who wants pancakes with broccoli when we get home?"

"Ohhh I do, I do!" Orihime raised her hand, the distraction working its magic as they left the woods and summer home behind them.

----

The creature found that without her, the days blurred into one. He kept himself busy by reading the books she'd left him but they were quickly committed to memory. Rain poured heavy and endless sometimes. It had forced him from the usual clearing where they talked, finding a small cave and clawing at the earth to carve a space deeper for himself. He then lay down, suspending any and all thought; sleeping.

A year later, when she came hurrying through the woods again, clad in a summer dress and skirts flitting about her knees, Orihime found him exactly where she'd left him, but he now stood upright on two legs. More books were stacked atop each other, carefully stored in the shelter of a tree. They appeared to have been stolen from the library, but since the collection wasn't out of control, it could only be assured that he'd been putting the books back after reading them. The trunk had been carved out into shelves, keeping them safe. Orihime felt kind of proud. She'd told him not to steal.

His form had changed. Black fur now coated his arms up to his elbows, feathers sprouting from his shoulder-blades, yet more dark fur on his legs and lower-half, ending at his waist. She supposed he must have gotten cold in the woods. It only occurred to her then that she could have given him a pair of Sora's pants, and felt a degree of guilt. Maybe she'd been a bad friend.

He glanced at her, eyes wilder than she remembered, but he spoke eloquently, in steady, clipped tones.

"You are late, Orihime Inoue."

She burst into a wide smile.

---

"Murciélago," he said one day on her 8th birthday.

"Hm?"

"My name."

Orihime scrunched up her nose with concentration. "Mercy-"

"Murciélago."

"Merci...lego."

Flat green eyes told her he was not amused.

She huffed, looking apologetic. "Can I not call you Batman?"

"If you want to be incorrect, yes."

Seeing her state of furrowed brows and continual struggle to say it, he bit back a sigh, glancing up at the branches. "...Ulquiorra, then."

"Ulqui...orra," she murmured, before brightening. "Ulquiorra! That's a nice name."

He did not need her opinion on the matter but nonetheless felt assured and proud.

---

"I think it would be fun if you could fly," she mused one day, wading through a stream at the bright young age of 9. She claimed to be searching for stardust, because gold didn't satisfy ogres, apparently.

Since he was used to her random outbursts, he took it in stride, watching her from the bank. "Do you want me to fly?" He asked, gaze gliding over the bruises on her arms. He did not ask what they were from.

Orihime laughed softly, "maybe. Sure!" She then tapped her bottom lip. "But my brother says it's good to have a tail if you want to fly."

He blinked as she gasped and clapped her hands, dropping the bucket of precious stones she'd found into the water. "Ohh! Imagine if you had a lion's tail!"

----

She heard about the local zoo's break-in and subsequent attack on its male Barbary lion. She didn't think much of it even as she hugged Ulquiorra's newfound tail, which was thin, black and long. She had a wonderful time playing skip-rope with it.

Her laughter always resounded- not in his ears- but in the hollow of his chest which lay hidden beneath a surface of skin and muscle. The sound echoed and bounced off the walls long after she'd left him alone. In those times, he resented her presence in his life. The echos left a pulsing, aching thing. When his chest was silent, there was no sensation. An absence. A nothing. Nothingness did not hurt, so Ulquiorra came to the conclusion that nothingness was happiness.

----

"Your hair is shorter."

That smile he always noticed wobbled and shrank, before finally disappearing altogether. She curled her arms tighter around her knees, "some...girls cut it at the playground."

"Without permission?"

"Mhm," she scrubbed at her cheek, shoulders shaking a little. "I didn't tell Sora. I just said I felt like a change," her voice became thin and fragile. Ulquiorra watched as she struggled with something, holding back tears. She blinked rapidly and raised her head, exhaling. Not one fell.

His slit pupils dilated slightly. Even at ten years old, she was a strong girl. Different from the brats he'd glimpsed sometimes playing in the woods.

"It's just that...they made me feel like I was nothing," Orihime scuffed her shoes on the forest floor, disturbing leaves. "Just trash to be discarded. Girls always do stuff like this at school, but I didn't think it would happen while I was here. I like coming to the summer house... to be happy for a little while."

Happy? He blinked. Was she not usually? She smiled so often, indicating happiness. "There isn't anything wrong with being nothing," his tail thumped and slid over the forest floor. "But you are not trash."

She turned to look at him, brows furrowing. "I'm not?"

Ulquiorra stared at her, face as expressionless as ever, but a firmness crept into his tone. "No."

----

The next day, Orihime wandered to the playground cautiously, only to blink at the sight of the girls there. They sat, hands curled in their short locks that ended above their shoulders.

Frowning slightly, she made to approach. They hadn't looked like that yesterday. Their hair had been long and lush. The girls immediately noticed her and squeaked, hurrying away with frightened wails. One of them, the girl who Orihime remembered holding her down as the others had snipped at her orange locks- tripped and fell.

Orihime wandered closer, "what happened to you all?"

"Stay back!" The girl cried, dragging herself backwards on the mud to try and scramble away. "Keep away from me! You're a witch! A-a witch who summons demons or something! You sliced off my hair! I know it was you!"

Flabbergasted, Orihime could only watch as she turned and clawed at the ground to pick herself up and bolt away.

Naturally she'd visited Ulquiorra soon after. "Did you cut their hair?"

Vivid green eyes slid away. A rare thing. He always stared, like he were burning the image of her into his retinas. "You'll have to be specific."

Small hands drew into fists, "those girls. Did you...hurt them?"

"They hurt you," he pointed out evenly. The creature shifted and blurred, appearing much closer than she'd anticipated and causing her to startle. Long, sharp talons slid into her hair, gliding nails through the locks briefly, before drawing away.

Orihime swallowed, experiencing a brief flash of wariness for the first time. She then shook it away, putting her small fingers over the sharp tips of his claws. "You can't do that again."

"Why not?"

She frowned, trying to explain. For once, she felt out of her depth, "because it's wrong. Sora says it's bad to get revenge...to be w-wrathful."

He considered this, having no use for her human concerns. "Are you ordering me?"

"U-um..." the girl faltered. "Will it stop you from doing it again?"

"Yes."

"Then don't hurt any humans again," Orihime nodded with satisfaction.

Ulquiorra bit back a sigh, inclining his head. The ensuing pensive, thoughtful silence was soon broken by him slowly verbalising what had bothered him all night. "They were frightened of me. Even before I did anything to them."

"I suppose that's normal," she mused. "You're not like them."

His usual melancholic expression didn't change, but a kind of weight settled into his next words. Like a soft demand to know. Ulquiorra had never demanded anything of her before. "Are you afraid of me?"

And as usual, honesty stared him right back in the face. She visibly gentled and smiled. "No, I'm not."

---

The next year, she did not come.

Orihime did not visit the year after that or the year following that either.

Ulquiorra eventually plucked a bat from a tree and ripped its wings clean off its squirming body. He then pressed them to his shoulder blades and forced the leathery appendages to lengthen and grow, attaching them into his body and weaving the muscles and bone together. They soon towered over him in height, enough to support his weight in the air.

Theoretically.

It took a few attempts, but soon it took jumping and freefalling from a tree to actually work the wings enough to glide. A few more days and he was leaping into the night sky, flying.

He did not find her right away. Actually it took two more years to track the girl down, as he moved only at night and kept to himself. Ulquiorra observed as he went, becoming used to crawling down alley walls to peer into windows and observe humans. He'd scared away a homeless man who'd been squatting in an attic of a warehouse, watching television. Ulquiorra had promptly seated himself before the square of moving images and bright lights, learning.

They were all so similar and yet different, humans. They all wanted things, be it money, relationships, security or fame. They spouted ridiculous things about emotions and 'the heart.' He found that his assessment of them kept changing. Their books had taught him so much- and yet not enough. Orihime had been something unnamed and yet he wanted to name it. Was she special to him only because she'd given him what every creature usually possessed? That of the five senses? That sounded logical.

And yet it felt incorrect. It was not just that.

Ulquiorra eventually tracked the girl down by closing his eyes and feeling for something invisible. That same pull in the air that had happened when they'd first met. Energy he couldn't name or find a word for it with the language she'd taught him.

He soon pushed a window to an apartment open, tail sliding into the dark room and feeling for the floor before the creature followed.

The light in the bedroom switched on, causing him to freeze, eyes widening.

"Ulquiorra?"

Bedcovers rustled and sounded like they were being pushed back. Ulquiorra shifted, turning slowly to look at the woman.

She blinked, sitting on her bed, eyes looking wet but cheeks remaining dry. "I-it's you..."

He stared, transfixed. Orihime had changed.

His mental image of her shifted; bones growing, hips curving, body filling out, hair lengthening. She was a woman now. The child that had taught him what 2+2 meant was dead and gone.

He didn't react to the change, merely updating his information on her appearance and assumed maturity.

She stood, walking toward him with vague confusion. Her hair cascaded over her shoulders, sliding down in waves to end at her mid-back. Ulquiorra blinked, his foot drawing back slightly, instinctively. Something pooled in his stomach. Similar to hunger, but illogical, since he'd already eaten.

"I thought...I don't-" her voice wobbled, uncertain. "What are you doing here?"

"You didn't return."

She bit her lip, tugging it between her teeth. The sensation in his stomach tightened into liquid heat. Ulquiorra shook it away.

Finally, her grey eyes slid away, like she were ashamed. "Sora died."

He processed this, picturing the brother he'd glimpsed beyond the treeline sometimes, waiting for her. A tall, dark-haired man. "I see. Do you expect me to comfort you?"

She flinched, holding her arms. Slowly, slim fingers glided over the tanned skin, nails biting in. "No," she murmured. "After he died, my aunt began giving me money so that I could keep myself afloat here. On my own," grey eyes slid to the window, guilty. "I wanted to see you but I didn't have enough to come-"

"You're poor. It's to be expected."

The words didn't upset her. Ulquiorra was always painfully blunt. She decided to be equally straightforward, looking at him.

"But...I'd like to give another order. If that's okay?"

Ulquiorra mulled it over, wondering if her teenage years and impending adulthood had rendered her as selfish and shallow as the other humans he'd glimpsed. Perhaps the qualities he'd admired in her had vanished.

Taking his silence as reluctance, Orihime stepped closer and lay gentle, warm hands on his arm. Ulquiorra tensed, breath hitching.

"Is there anything you'd like in exchange?" Her breath fanned over the exposed skin of his chest. The hollowness beneath the surface opened wider.

"I'm not sure as of right now," he quietly admitted. "I'll do as you ask, and then we can discuss what I want afterwards."

She nodded, firey hair bouncing with the motion. The heat from her body felt alluring, in a way no hearth had ever beckoned to him previously. "Alright, I want..." Orihime took a breath. "I wish you would bring Sora back."

Ulquiorra thought of the bat he'd killed. How its eyes had turned glassy and vacant. "I'm not certain that power is within my reach," he admitted, slit pupils dilating slightly at her tense, rigid expression. Like she straddled the line between a collected facade and despair. Strong as ever. "...But I will try," he added.

Her eyes lit up like they used to, lashes falling shut. Orihime's fingers brushed over the black fur of his arm.

"Thank you," she breathed, giggling slightly. Her arms wrapped around his middle then. The warmth and softness of her body pressed against his bare chest and torso, trapping him in a tight grip that he oddly didn't find restricting yet caused his eyes to widen anyway. The thudding coming from her chest resounded in his own. He set his hands on the curve of her hips, counting the thuds of her heartbeat. Without realising, he smelled her hair and brought her closer.

"You're the best imaginary friend I've ever had."

Tilting his head a touch caused black strands to dip and brush over her cheek. Did she mean that she'd initially assessed him as a friend but now felt that their bond had been imaginary? Or...

Orihime released him and turned towards the kitchen, asking whether he wanted something to eat or drink. He barely heard her.

She was incorrect. He'd left proof of his existence via that man, that bat, that lion, those girls in the park. Their tongues, wings, tails and hair had been cut by his talons. The things he'd assumed were his lungs constricted, sensations assaulting- spouting cold fire from the depths of his stomach and into his throat, burning.

His hand rose, digits pressing against the surface of his chest. The feeling of it being nothing but an empty container doubled. He was only vaguely alarmed when his fingers dipped inwards. The brittle surface of skin over his chest crumbled away where his heart should have been. A hollow hole was revealed in its place.

Ulquiorra realised then, he didn't care if he had actually interacted with the world. If he had actually scared that homeless man, harmed those creatures or cut those girls hair. What he desired, coveted, craved, needed lay in Orihime's tired eyes that seemed just a touch out of reality as she glanced at him and he found no sign of his reflection staring back at him.

He wanted to exist in her eyes again.

----

AN: TBC in chapter two

[pennys-th0ughts]

Robert Gray - The Origin of Pennywise 🤡 Chapter 1

Papers were scattered all over the desk and the dim light coming from an old oil lamp was fluttering in a lonely corner of the room. It was raining outside one cool November night of the year 1873 and the cobbled streets of Derry were almost empty. The sky was black ink like and the moon was bigger than usual. I was sitting on my armchair next to the window watching the last persons leave the street heading to the warm refuge of their homes.

The rain drops crashing against the window were falling down the glass getting thinner and thinner until the rain became a light drizzle. My eyes were focused on an old naked tree which had been stripped from all its leaves; it seemed to be dead since a crow was holding onto one of its branches looking erratically sideways. A seemingly endless night had woken up from its brief nap time, wet weather made it longer but sometimes the fresh breezes get to cool down my unstoppable mind from overthinking.

Stores were closed and finally the silence took over the sidewalks as insomnia used to take over my tired body and restless mind. I was twenty five years old and I suppose it was an advantage to be that young and have no commitments yet while being the sole heir of the only medicinal store in town. I could use my freedom at will and do whatever I pleased, managing my times since I was my own boss at work. The burden of such responsibility fell down on my shoulders when my father passed away, a couple of years after my mother decided to leave us because of a serious case of fever that my father couldn’t cure. I guess he felt defeated for not being able to cheat death this time and the corrosive feeling of guilt was what finally submitted him one night during his sleep.

The formalities concluded and after an orderly ceremony, the family’s lawyer made me sign some papers, then it all became in some kind of beneficious curse I needed to keep on going in order to survive. My father was the only apothecary in Derry and he began teaching me from an early age the art of mixing drugs to create specific medicines, so my grandfather did with him and so on.

Business flourished when a new disease wave attacked the small town leaving many fatal victims and several people in a critic health state. The only hospital was packed and people who couldn’t get medical attention in this facility had to stay indoors to prevent spreading the illness. There is when I stepped in. During a whole month I wouldn’t stop preparing thousands of dosses commissioned by the hospital and many other wealthy families. I would end up working night and day to fulfill the town needs for medicine to cure diphtheria, soothe the pain and reduce the fever. I got to really enjoy my work, but one day I couldn’t take the overwhelming pressure anymore that made me snap, so I started looking for an assistant to help me out with the preparations and also someone to deliver them. Speeding up the delivery could definitely save other people’s lives.

Shadows of death were still lurking and swallowing everything in its path, turning the alleys darker and the houses emptier. The plague was spreading faster than we could cure it and the atmosphere in Derry was getting heavier with sadness and hopelessness. During the nights, streets looked like pathways to afterlife and the little oil lamps hanging at the entrances were like golden eyes, always watching and waiting.

Two days passed and interested people didn’t make themselves wait much longer and started to come to the drug store asking for the jobs. They were all willing to help but none of them fit with the qualities I was looking for. Until one day I finally found her, or perhaps she found me. Her features were as I imagined them and even better; she had little hands and long fingers, she was meticulous and careful. Her name was Charlotte Wise but she was known in town as Ruby, a well-deserved nickname since her hair was red as the stone. The day she came into the store everything changed, as if a sudden peacefulness had taken over the place. My new assistant would transform not only my work but also my life from that moment on.

Spring arrived after the dark days left Derry and its people slowly tried to get back to normal. Charlotte and I began having more time to spend in each other’s company so I decided it would be a good opportunity to teach her something new related to her job. We were still working as usual but the environment inside the shop had some kind of magic that was making it springier. Andrew, Charlotte’s younger brother, took the delivery job and he was doing very well, we didn’t receive any complaints about time or packages delivered in bad conditions. The boy was attentive and helpful, just like his beautiful sister. Agility was on his side and he was making a great use of it with the bicycle he got for the job. When work increased we bought a new mean of transportation so the boy wouldn’t get caught under the suffocating heat or merciless storms.

That year ended with a happy ending for Derry and we started a new one even happier. Charlotte and I had gathered enough money to begin a new life; she wanted to live with me so we bought a small but modest house two blocks away from the shop. Her brother would inherit his sister bedroom in their mother’s house so things couldn’t have settled down any better. I proposed Charlotte to be my wife one hot summer morning to which she merrily accepted. We got married at the chapel and later we had a delicious brunch under the willows of the park. That day and the ones that would follow would be memorable.

August, 1875

Charlotte’s contractions were getting more often and she will soon start her labor. We found out she was expecting later that summer which to me was like more wonderful news. I was in the middle of a preparation to help diuresis when someone came to the shop and let me know that my wife was in the operations room. I left Andrew in charge of the shop until I got back and rushed to the hospital taking the carriage; it will get me there faster.

I got to the Derry Public Hospital just in time to hold my wife’s hand and help her with her labor. Although she wasn’t looking so well she was doing an amazing job, showing her braver side, as always. The nurses were extremely careful and gentle; they were coming and going, taking wet cloths and other objects to the room.

After a long struggle Charlotte finally delivered a beautiful baby girl into this world. The doctor cut the cord and put her on my wife’s arms; he turned around and made me to a side to talk privately.

– Congratulations Mr. Gray – the literate man said squeezing my shoulder-. Your daughter is in perfect shape – he made a pause and, with a lower tone of voice added- but I'm afraid your wife is in delicate condition now. She has lost too much blood and she will require an intensive iron treatment to overcome the anemia she might possibly develop.

The doctor gave me a prescription with the steps to follow and a food diet, I thanked him for his advice and went back with my wife that had fallen asleep cuddling our child. The little girl was oddly quiet, she seemed confused and curious yet she was paying attention to her surroundings very carefully. I came closer to take a better look at my tiny wonder and took her little hand with my fingers that she immediately held on to firmly. My heart was pounding inside my chest like a machine out of control, making me sweat almost profusely. Nervousness, excitement and curiosity were a complex mixture, as the ones I was so used to prepare with the only difference that this one was totally out of my knowledge.

Charlotte was indeed exhausted and very pale but I could see the joy sparkling in her face. She made a huge effort to open her eyes which eyelids seemed too heavy. Once she could finally fix her eyes with mine, she grabbed my hand and made me sit next to her. She looked at me in silence for some minutes as if trying to dig up my feelings somehow and figure out what was going on inside my head. Slowly the light in her eyes started to fade away, like a candle about to be completely consumed.

– Promise me you will always look after her, Robert – she pleaded in a whisper.

I nodded bitterly without saying a word knowing that, deep down inside she was, in some way, asking me to do something she wouldn’t be able to do and she just wanted to be sure we would be okay. I stroked her cheek so tenderly that the very contact with her smooth skin made the tips of fingers ache. I hugged them both as if I was trying to protect them from the world and the coldness it owned, but my arms seemed not to be enough. Nothing seemed to be enough to replace the turmoil of divided feelings I was being prey of that very moment so, I did what I was the best at, I began mixing them just to find the balance between happiness and sadness, wholeness and emptiness.

Five years later

Snow was covering Derry like no other time of the year and streets looked like unpolluted highways to heaven. There were some children playing in the front gardens of their houses, some were throwing snowballs at each other and some others were building snowmen. Augustine was having a hard time building her snowman since the snow kept on crumbling or the little branches didn’t stop falling from their holes. I was watching her through the window and her persistence was one of the many reasons of my smile. I grabbed my coat and went outside to help her finish what for her seemed to be a colossal monument. She was almost six years old and her mother and I had the chance to pick a name for her which I will always be totally grateful for.

Christmas was near and I had already bought Augustine her present. Andrew would spend the holiday with us since I started to enjoy my brother’s-in-law company and her niece loved her uncle very much. He became a great help when Charlotte passed away and our daughter was still a baby, he would take care of her while I was working and making the deliveries from time to time.

After Charlotte died I didn’t feel the need to bring another woman to work to the shop and less to start a new relationship, the hollow she left inside me was big enough to be impossible to be filled with somebody else’s presence and the fact was I wouldn’t ever try to replace my wife no matter how alone I could feel. My queen left her throne and I had a princess making her way to occupy it someday and that, for some unexplainable reason, was already a whole challenge that I had gladly accepted the very moment I looked at this little girl into her eyes.

To be continued…

[vigilante-rpg]

「 BIOGRAPHY 」

On March 28, 1990, everyone in Newhaven knew about the first son of Gryphon and Bogatyr, heroes of The Guild. The journey of Gryphon’s pregnancy was followed by the public since she first left the front lines to preserve her health and that of the baby. His name was never released, of course, lest the heroes, his parents, would be revealed.

They called him Fledgling, born with the beak of an an eagle and destined to follow in the footsteps of his father and mother.

Behind the mask, the Halls were a loving, if somewhat overinvested nuclear family. Vladimir Hall, cheerful father and knightlike superhero, lived as an interpreter of numerous Slavic languages for immigrants such as himself. Chantelle Prevost-Hall had more of a challenge to balance out her heroics and her civilian life as a popular stunt actress, but she was more than up to the task for what she felt was the right thing to do. They adored Garrett, and later their second son, Vincent, who inherited none of the family’s powers. But if Chantelle were to look back, she would see that her presence in the boys’ emotional conflicts was a place she fell short, and where she was needed more than ever. For Vlad, he was kind, he was affectionate, but the man simply could not empathize with his sons of a different generation and culture. Where they faltered to meet their children’s needs, they compensated in support of their education, social lives, and especially Garrett’s own unique abilities.

Along with his astonishing prowess throughout his years of education, Garrett was trained in his superhuman abilities — plural after his secondary power manifested at age 4 — so that he would flourish as a sidekick to the heroic power couple Gryphon and Bogatyr, and eventually ascend to become a hero of The Guild. Everybody knew this. People gossiped, journalists followed the masked child’s every move, and where they failed to catch anything of note, they could glean some off of the proud parents themselves. Nobody was more excited for Fledgling’s next development than them.

That is why Garrett never told them how he really felt. His fears, his anxieties and insecurities were clutched to his chest, and he never spoke a word of his peers and other adults who saw him as the loner, a shortcut to their own successes, or the perfect target to push into the dirt. When he came home with a soggy bookbag and a busted lip, he said he fell into a fountain. When given the silent treatment by his younger brother, powerless and painfully average in everything but heart, he said he had eaten the last of Vincent’s favorite snack. When someone spoke about Fledgling and his sparkling future, he smiled and kept his mouth shut, even though he screamed on the inside, “Does anyone care what I think?!”

The last flickering light of hope turned to smoke when he learned the answer. Almost 18 years old, freshly dubbed a hero in his own right, and he had nobody. Even his best friend, his favorite person, his first love, only looked up to the heroic side of the mask. Just like everyone else.

Fledgling was so lucky, wasn’t he? To be the child of heroes, to be anywhere close to Spectrum, to be a hero himself.

That’s not me.

The rest of that day was a blur. He went to his room, threw on a jacket, got in his first — and only — fight with his dad, and then he was gone. He doesn’t remember what he said that evening. Only the rage, the guilt, the fear, but not enough to pretend he could ever make his family proud. Fledging was declared to have stepped down a week later, when the Halls had to realize that Garrett wasn’t coming home.With no contact, no leads, no motivation for him to completely run away, it was as though Garrett simply dissolved into thin air.

The years following were just as foggy when Garrett tries to look back. He wandered the streets, learned what it’s like to fight for his life, hitchhiked out of the city, and worked the odd job here and there until a kind samaritan had pity and took him in. He got into college with a double major in law and accounting, then law school because you can take the boy away from heroics, but you can’t take the hero out of the boy. He became a lawyer in the city on the outskirts, and a good one at that. It wasn’t until the last year that he was found by his brother, now an officer who begged and bothered for his return.

He got through to Garrett. This was not the life he wanted to lead anymore. In the span of a day, he quit his job, said goodbye to the person who took him in those years back, and disappeared into the night. The second time he ran, this time to the very place he yearned to leave behind.

His abrupt resignation would not bode well if he applied to another law firm, and between the deskwork and the effort outside of the office, he would hardly have time to have a full night’s rest. It was Vincent’s suggestion to start small instead, so Garrett pulled out his second degree and took the first accounting job he could get, at a bakery just mere blocks from the apartment he rented out. It was the perfect foundation to slip into the evening sky for the first time in years, wings bared for all to see.

After everything he did, it all lead back to putting on those golden shackles.

「 PERSONALITY」

Intelligent: Even without the dual wielded powers inherited from his parents, Garrett grew up a prodigy of all kinds. From a young age he mastered languages from the English, Russian, and French he heard daily, to Spanish, sign language, and Mandarin. Kinesthetic intelligence developed in his training and play, both effectively honing his body for a future of constant movement. In school, he set academic records that have yet to be beaten. For much of his childhood, he was educated in classes above most children his age until his parents moved him back down, rightfully fearing the neglect of his emotional needs. With the focus on his own growth, Garrett came to brush off those who seemed lesser than him, whether he meant to or not. Sometimes he did. Without establishing connections with the rest of the essentials for life, Vlad and Chantelle worried for his future. However, Garrett refused to ease his burdens, continuing to cultivate his mind and the skills he proved good at. After all, it’s what all the people wanted from him, right?

Blunt: One of the few things Garrett struggled with has always been social interaction. He can and has come off to others as rude and irritable, not just because he is, but also because he lacks the understanding of sensing others’ emotions and following that to a proper response. As a result, he simply says and does what is on his mind. [Emotional] While he would argue his brain to be his greatest strength, Garrett is almost entirely emotionally driven, and rather impulsive at that. He is the type of person to act first and apologize later than to ask for permission or another’s point of view. As much as he pretends to be an impervious wall to those around him, Garrett is prone to wear sad eyes and scrunch his face to avoid a fit of helpless snickers. Plus, there’s the avoidance of sad films; he has made many people uncomfortable with gross tears. He has also grown acutely aware of his personal traits and needs, as well as the ways his actions affect the lives of others. This may be the biggest cause for his return to Newhaven.

Observational: This trait is somewhat tied to those addressed before. Garrett is smart; he sees things and does everything he can to understand the who, where, when, why, how, and what to do next. It is much easier for him to go through this experience with the theoretical, scientific, mathematical, and rhetorical than it with the human mind. Humans are not so predictable, and Point A does not always lead to Point B with them.

A Grade A Asshole: That’s it. This is him. We’re done here. In slightly more seriousness, he can really be a jerk. This is important when connected to his impulsivity and inability to understand people. Garrett has made a number of mistakes that hurt other individuals in his own self-destructive spiral. When he says and does what he believes needs to be done, his methods can be… questionable at best. 

Troubled: Both Garrett and Legacy behave complete differently for the same reason: he doesn’t know how to amend the person he is with the person he wants or needs to be, as well as what is expected from him. His entire sense of self has been fractured, and it shows. Garrett attempts to push himself almost completely from the kind of person most would accept, much less want to be around. Legacy is quite the opposite, the golden boy he was fated to be since the very beginning. But neither of them are the real him. He doesn’t know how to get that back.

「 ABILITIES 」

Gryphon Physiology: From his mother, Legacy possesses a genetic structure that can shift from fully human to a more animalistic form. This ability is not powered by emotions or the person’s control, but is merely another body for him to inhabit. However, the more he changes at once, the more painful the process becomes. He has to physically make alterations to his muscles, bones, and every part of his body, which is hardly a natural effort. The most he can accomplish without causing significant injury to himself is manifest his wings, talons, claws, and bird-like eyes. Garrett has only tried to fully transform once as a teenager, but he failed impressively and never made an attempt since.

His strength and other physical attributes rely on his own fitness, except for the strength of his wings, massive and powerful to carry the weight of a grown man and then some, thus entirely capable of blunt damage should he risk injury to one of his most sensitive body parts. Another consequence is that his clothes get torn from the transformation if they are not specifically altered for this ability.

Gryphon and Bogatyr discovered his inheritance as soon as he was born; it was undeniable when they saw a beak in place of a wrinkled nose and mouth, and a head of pale, downy feathers. His parents made the decision while the medics tended to the newborn. They kept his identity a top secret from the disappointed city, known only to the doctors and the closest members of The Guild as they trained him parallel to his growing up.

Armor/Weapon Manifestation: “He is his father’s son,” said Gryphon, hiding a smile behind her hand as Bogatyr slammed the door open with 4-year-old Garrett swinging a knife behind him.

“Mama! Look what I made!”

Bogatyr is able to create a full suit of armor around his body as well as an impressive range of weaponry as long as they are predominantly composed of metal. Legacy, on the other hand, can only make himself a sophisticated short sword, shield, and the very basics of armor: visor, breastplate, shoulder guards, and simple coverings for his arms and legs. This ability also lasts for no more than a couple hours without causing significant strain (one and a half hours while part-gryphon), and can only bear up to the force of twice its mass without visible damage, likely due to a weaker version of the mutated gene. But the flexibility works well when he shifts forms with Gryphon’s power. For both men, the properties of their manifestations has no match to any known type of metal, but most closely resembles heat treated L6 Bainite. Between them and those who worked on research with them, they suspect the armor may be connected to iron and other materials from their bodies. For obvious health-related reasons, though, there have been no tests on either Bogatyr or Legacy.