it's not my birthday but i'll pretend it is. here's an out of order unfinished practice scene from the twst longfic wip. some context:
this takes place in book 6, on the ride back to NRC campus. this contains major spoilers for twisted wonderland book 6.
it is not common knowledge that the prefect is from another world. of the characters in this scene, only Grim knows.
the prefect knows the Disney stories; they have not told anyone else.
prefect is called Yuu but Yuu is not their real name. they noticed that no one had ever bothered to actually ask their name (for example, not questioning whenever Grim introduced them as "my henchman", or talking over their introduction with "you're the magicless prefect, right?") so they just decided not to tell anyone, ever. Yuu is a nickname they chose for themself when someone finally asked their name and waited for an answer.
people they are close to + people who asked their name and waited for an answer are aware that Yuu is not their real name.
^ because of this, Epel has nicknamed them "Red Delicious"
(i included a screenshot of my notes on the prefect's name situation on this post. you do not need that info for this scene)
~~~
The ship hums beneath you. Grim breathes in your arms, warm and heavy and real and there, his head tucked beneath your chin and claws tangled into your borrowed uniform. You leave your fingers buried in his fur, your feet tucked up and legs folded until you’ve practically formed a box around him, the long sleeves of the Pomefiore uniform curtaining him from view. He’s here. He’s safe. He’s in your arms. He’s safe.
Vil’s wails carry all too well in the confined space. You can’t blame him; a change that drastic is bound to terrify, even if it didn’t represent something he’d confessed not hours ago was a fear he held so deep he hadn’t even known it: to age, to grow old. Rook murmurs words of comfort, lost beneath his housewarden’s keening.
Your knowledge remains as useless as ever. What good is it to know that there was a cure in the story you know, if it’s wholly inaccessible? If Vil were going to rediscover any godly heritage, he would have already. Nothing you have and nothing you know can fix this, but you have to. You have to. If you’d been faster, even by a minute, a second--
Grim snuffles against your chest. You rub behind his ears, trying to steady your own breathing. Now isn’t the time, not for you. Not when you have everything you came for, when everyone else were the ones to lose--
“Prefect,” Epel says, at your elbow; you didn’t even know he was there. He giggles uncomfortably when you flinch. “S-sorry! Um. . .”
He hesitates for a long moment, his large eyes dropping briefly away from yours as he folds his hands. It’s getting harder and harder to tell when he’s performing for Vil’s sake, or his own--or if he’d always had an awkward streak that slipped into this sort of. . . softness, when he wasn’t acting aggressive for being set on the defensive. You’ll never know, you suppose. You didn’t know him before. . . this. Before Vil.
You didn’t grow up with these people, and it’s still strange not to know everyone around you the way you know your own breathing. High school should have acclimated you to that idea, but. . . well, maybe it’s just extenuating circumstances. You did almost die recently. Maybe you’re entitled to a little backsliding of your own. Just this once.
“How’s Grim?” Epel asks, though you get the feeling that isn’t what he wanted to say.
“Sleeping,” you say, quietly, even though he isn’t snoring like a runaway train--more than anything, he’s probably cried himself into that nebulous space between awake and asleep, but Night Ravens don’t admit to that, nevermind your boss. Sleep is the kinder answer. “It’s been a long few days.”
Only a few days. What happens when you leave? How many mornings are you going to wake up missing his warmth against your chest?
(how many mornings will he wake up looking for you?)
Epel’s careful smile turns a little more wan and a little more genuine, and his accent slips in as he says, “Ya can say that again.”
Maybe it’s the brief break in character that stirs your own spirit. You lift your head, just a little, to look at him from more than the corner of your eyes, and repeat, “It’s been a long few days.”
Epel snorts, poking your arm gentle enough not to disturb Grim. “Cheeky. I ain’t meant it literally.” A breath later, he claps a hand over his mouth, wide eyes flicking to Vil.
“Relax,” you say, quietly, because Vil didn’t even notice and that’s not a reassuring sign for anyone. “I’m sure now is a time code switching is allowed. We’re peers, aren’t we?”
“. . . I guess so,” Epel says, and then corrects, “I suppose.” He exhales, long and slow. “Feels kinda weird to still be worryin’ about that, after everything. . . That oughta be my last thought, shouldn’t it?”
You shrug, the tiniest micro-movement to avoid disturbing Grim. “I don’t think I can speak on that. You’re talking to somebody who still remembered to say -senpai in a crisis. Before September I’d never even said the word.”
Except as a joke. A stupid, stupid joke. Nobody here would get it. Was it even funny to begin with?
Epel huffs a laugh, huskier than a giggle but lighter than a chuckle. “Y’know, ‘fore I came to Night Raven, I thought everywhere was like Harveston. Then I saw Pomefiore, and I thought maybe nowhere was. Talkin’ to you. . . I guess it ain’t that simple.”
“There’s Hicktown McBumfuckvilles in all corners of the world,” you say. “There’s probably a whole tasting menu of bumpkins like us.”
Azul snorts. You didn’t think he was listening, but you’re not exactly surprised either. There’s hardly space for privacy.
“I’m not wrong,” you say, mildly, to no one in particular.
“You have such a gift with words, Prefect,” Azul says, or maybe sneers, but he sounds at least a little amused.
“Thank you, Senpai,” you say. “Coming from you, that means a lot.”
Azul sputters as Epel buries a snicker in his sleeve.
“Prefect,” Jamil says, and your eyes flick up in time to catch the amusement fading from his face, vindictive smirk falling into a focused frown. You look away. “Where are you from? I hardly believe it’s. . . what was it? ‘Hicktown Mc. . .’ ”
As funny as it would be to try to goad Jamil into saying the full joke name, the question alone burns in your hollow chest.
Just saying the name of your town leaves you breathless.
Azul repeats it, putting too much emphasis on the wrong syllable. “I’m afraid I don’t recognize it--I’m still so new to the surface, after all. Might I inquire as to which country it’s in?”
He’s not asking because he’s curious. He’s asking like a lawyer, walking you into a trap.
You are so tired of lying.
“You may not,” you say, flat, and tuck your head into the tent of your sleeves.
The seat beside you creaks as Epel shifts. “Red. . .”
“I don’t mean to offend,” Azul begins, utterly unrepentant; you wish he’d take a hint. “I only wish to--”
“Shut up.” The low rumbling voice takes the words out of your mouth. Leona huffs. “How am I supposed to nap if you’re making all this noise? What a pain. . .”
“Who was the one to fall asleep in seconds right after fighting a titan?” Jamil deadpans.
You imagine the flash of Leona’s teeth as he speaks, the smirk he always wears when he throws out a dig. “That room was nice and quiet. You know, I’m a delicate princeling.”
Jamil scoffs, audibly, and you think about the contempt in his dark eyes. You imagine Azul’s false smile souring before he can paste it back on. You hear Epel muffle another snicker and picture his wide malicious grin.
When did it become so easy to visualize them? When did you look long enough to memorize them?
Epel’s eyes shine with mirth and mischief when you dig one eye out to look at him. He’s still wearing the last of his wide grin as he drops his hand. His eyes find yours, and his grin slips. You think about looking away. You don’t.
“Ya know, Red,” Epel says, quietly. “Idia-senpai, he. . . Well. . .” A breath, and then, all at once, “He knew yer name, didn’ he? That’s why you went-- uh--”
Terminator, you don’t say, because that’s an artifact of your world, not theirs.
“So, he managed to find it after all,” Azul mutters, almost to himself. “Of course. . . As expected for him. . . But where?”
“Why, Azul,” Jamil says, with feigned surprise. “It almost sounds as though you know something about this.”
You tilt your head lazily just to see the glare Azul turns his way--the one where his eyebrows slant like an emoticon and he raises a hand to his glasses in an attempt to hide the lower half of his face. “I assure you, I had no part in whatever happened.”
“Azul,” Leona growls.
Azul sighs, long-sufferingly--and then looks at you (you think about tucking back into your sleeves. you don’t). “Prefect, I’m sure you recall our. . . negotiations.”
You hum. “Oh yeah. Where we weren’t sure the contract would be binding on me, right?”
Because you lack magic in any way, shape, or form. Because you wouldn’t give away a name no one ever bothered to ask for. Because you wanted to see him squirm, even just a little.
Hm. Maybe part of you has been adapting to Night Raven for longer than you thought.
“In effect, yes,” Azul agrees, brusquely. “I was certainly nonplussed by the unusual circumstance. I suppose that carried over to the club meeting I attended shortly after, where I confided some of my stresses in my clubmate. . . But dear me, I must have shared a little too much. . .”
“So you purposefully revealed details about a deal with the prefect to Idia-senpai in an attempt to get him curious enough to invade their privacy and find you the information?” Riddle interrupts.
Epel jumps. “Riddle-senpai, you’re--!”
“Isn’t that right, Azul?” Riddle says, coldly, brushing right over it.
“I’m appalled you would think I would resort to such underhanded tactics!” Azul places a hand on his chest (do octopus-mers keep their heart in their chest? would it move there during their human transformation, if they don’t?).
“It doesn’t explain how he found it.”
Every head turns to you, the ship suddenly silent but for the humming of the engine. All at once, you realize even Vil has fallen quiet; when did that happen?
“Idia-senpai may be a sorry excuse for a housewarden, and lacks discipline in all crucial areas, but he remains uncontested in the field of technomantic engineering,” Riddle says, with effort, like the words hurt to say. “I believe our time in STYX has exemplified that much.”
“He must have found his way into the school’s digital files,” Jamil mumbles. “Though it’s hard to believe the headmage would have bothered to properly back up the records. . .”
Azul scoffs. “Even if that were the case, the student records don’t include the prefect’s name, only Grim’s.” At Riddle’s intensifying glare, he quickly adds, “They told me this themself!”
“Grim’s the mage,” you confirm. “They don’t make dual files, so I just put his name on everything.” Grim stirs at the sound of his name; you stroke his head with your thumb, and he stills. Quietly, you admit, “I don’t think Crowley knows my name.”
“Then, how ‘bout your old school records?” Epel suggests. “Or your birth records, or--”
“Can’t be that,” Leona interrupts. His eyes are narrowed when you cast your gaze his way, but his ears are not pinned back or flattened--not annoyed. . . but then, what? “Right, Herbivore?”
Thrown like a challenge, but bitterly, like the words turned to dust on his tongue.
“. . . Yeah,” you say, quietly. “There’s no way he has access to those.”
“I think you may be underestimating Idia,” Azul says, dryly.
You think you might know what he’s capable of better than anyone on this ship.
But your name does not exist in Twisted Wonderland--not as yours, anyway. No matter what computer he searches, no matter how many databases he trawls--hospitals, schools, coffee shop baristas inquiring at the counter--he would only find Yuu. A sick joke. The last time you said your name--
“Oh,” you say, “of course. The cameras.”
“Cameras?” Jamil echoes. “You mean. . . the ones in the school?”
Azul sits up. “Of course,” he says, a little wildly. “You must have told those Heartslabyul freshmen your name, or perhaps Grim, and he would have overheard--”
“Actually, no,” you correct, because Riddle’s shoulders are beginning to curl under some unseen weight. “They don’t know either.”
“Then it’s gotta be Malleus-senpai!” Epel declares.
You shake your head--though, by the terms of the agreement, you were certainly planning to tell him and probably already would have, if not for everything with STYX. “No, not him.”
“Then perhaps you’d care to elucidate us?” Jamil says, just a little too angry to come off as calm.
“. . . The Dark Mirror.”
Epel yelps. “The Dark Mirror?”
Azul’s eyes bug out. “You don’t mean--”
“Orientation,” Riddle seethes, though he directs his glare at his knees.
Rook laughs, softly. “Of course! The moment each new student introduces themself to the school. Naturally. . .”
And therein lies the irony you’ve marinated in since that exact moment, and the moment just outside the headmage’s office a day later, where you decided to see just how long the game could go. Nearly every one of the people you’ve interacted closely with at this school were at the opening ceremony where you said your name for the first and last time in this world.
“. . . I see,” Jamil murmurs. “And then the mirror declared you magicless, and moments later, Grim set the whole chamber on fire. . . so we all forgot.”
“That’s no excuse!” Epel rages. “Sevens--”
“Nobody’s sayin’ it’s an excuse,” Leona snaps, ears flicking. “Lower your voice.”
Azul places one gloved hand to his forehead, eyes still a little too wide, laughing just a little too slowly; it reminds you of exams and an ocean turned dark and you find yourself holding Grim that much closer, even though there’s no chance of a repeat--not over something so trivial as this.
“To think,” Azul mutters. “All this time, the answer had been within my grasp. . . Fool that I was to let such an opportunity slip through my fingers. . .”
“We never could have expected it would matter,” Riddle says, and then glances guiltily at you. “That is. . . Before this year, a magicless student attending Night Raven College was unheard of. I admit, I had not expected to see you after that night.”
He shouldn’t have. You shouldn’t have been there at all. You shouldn’t be here now. It shouldn’t have mattered. Maybe it still doesn’t.
“Yeah, me neither,” you say--casually, you thought, but Epel’s head shoots up and his eyes go a little wide and all at once you’re all too aware of the knot in your chest and the lump in your throat. You clear it. “It’s not such a big deal--the name thing, I mean. It was just a little game, you know? And now it’s over, so. . . it doesn’t really matter.”
Vil says, “Liar.”
He grimaces at the rasp in his own voice, but his lilac gaze is as iron and unflinching as ever as he continues, “If that were true, why would the mere act of hearing your own name send you into such a rage?”
Blood rushes to your cheeks, hot and stinging; you lower your head. “I didn’t know he knew what it was. It caught me off guard, that’s all.”
Leona scoffs, deep in his throat and--
says it.
Your name.
Your whole body shudders, flinching away from the sound-- to hear your name spoken here, by him, when you’d last heard it spoken by your parents, your family, your friends, in a town that does not exist to this world. When you’d last heard it from the loudspeakers as you crossed a stage to raucous applause to take up a certification with your name emblazoned upon it, when you’d looked out at the audience to see signs with your name written on them. Your name, in your home, in the mouths of people you could consider yours without a second thought, because you knew in turn that you were theirs.
Twisted Wonderland does not belong to you, and you do not belong to it.
“. . . Please don’t call me that.”
“Oh?” He lifts an eyebrow. “I thought it was ‘no big deal’.”
“The game isn’t,” you correct. “This is--” too much, too wrong “--different.” You breathe. “Please, just continue to call me Yuu.”
He says it again.
Again, your skin crawls; heat prickles behind your eyes. “Stop.”
Leona feigns surprise--by which, you of course mean that he places a hand on his chest and doesn’t even bother to change his expression. “What? That’s their name, ain’t it?” He tilts his head, looking almost bored as he regards you impassively. “For an herbivore that spent half a year playin’ games ‘cause nobody knew it, you’re sure reluctant to use it now that we do.”
You don’t get his game; you don’t get his damage; you just want all of them to shut up and stop asking questions you don’t want to answer, dredging up memories you don’t want to remember. You still like your name; it’s still yours, even if it’s been months since you heard it, but to hear it here, now, snarled at you in anger or thrown like a challenge, when in your world it was only ever spoken with love--
“It’s not for you,” you snap. “Just--”
Again, he says it. Shouldn’t it bother you less with every repetition? Your stomach rolls; too much of this and you might have to see if the STYX ships come equipped with complimentary vomit bags.
“Leona-senpai. . .” Epel says, hesitantly, eyes darting between you. A weak defense; it’s fine, Leona’s practically his idol. You get it. You understand. Your friends are never yours in this damned world.
“Hm?” Again, that stupid raised eyebrow. “Too close to home?”
Intentionally poking a sore; what’s his damage? “Yes,” you snarl. “Is that what you want me to say? Yes, it’s too close to home, so just-- stop.” It’s too desperate--they’ll be on that like sharks in the water--but it’s all you can do to blink back the tears, to stay still and quiet so Grim stays calm, because he’s been through so much, and you--
(you want to go home)
“What’s wrong with home?” he says. “Isn’t it nice to be reminded where you come from?”
“You’re one to talk.” Your throat burns. “This coming from the guy running from his at top speed?”
“Takes one to know one,” he says, flatly. “ ‘S how I know you aren’t.”
My heart carries this deep love and sorrow for you.
The love and happiness I get when I'm with you, I forget about our current situations that we both are fighting against.
The love and comfort we both feel, just melts everything away that I feel no pain. And I'm so happy in our moments.
But i feel a deep pain and sorrow when we are apart. Like it gets so hard to breathe and exist in this pain.
I've lived with this deep pain for so long that I can't remember what caused it when I was little...I never imagined that the pain could be worse...
I miss you when I can't reach out to you. And when I see you crying when you tell me you miss me...I hold you so tight...I will always be patient and wait because I know we would be worth it...
It's just a matter of getting through the Long nights without you...it's a matter of bearing through the pain I feel in my heart as I miss you more than anything else.
My husband asked me yesterday if Baldur’s Gate 3 has ruined Dragon Age for me. I considered this for a while and the short answer is:
Yes.
I’m not bashing DA here, I still very much enjoy the games and appreciate the stories that they’ve told me, but there’s a depth to BG that DA just doesn’t have.
The companions in BG feel alive, like they’ve existed out of our sight before they’re unceremoniously thrown together at the start of the story. They feel like they have genuine motivations, aspirations and lots of other ‘ations outside of the inconvenience of the tadpole.
In short: their existence doesn’t revolve around the MC and their goals are not always aligned aside from the common goal of finding a cure.
I’ve seen people touting Larian as the ‘new BioWare’ online and I don’t think that’s miles from the truth. I still have hopes for DA4 and I’ll still continue to support the franchise where I can because I’m still very fond of it; but BG3 has definitely set the bar very high and it’s going to be hard to beat.
But seriously, do you see how David’s face just fucking falls when he sees Matteo kiss Sara? And he’s still polite, gives her a small smile but then fucking flees? And how Matteo instantly loses this soft content look but his eyes follow him? And how defeated he looks when Sara says that Leonie likes him, like, “Fucking hell, another straight guy.”
Also, did you see how Matteo looked at him when David smiled when talking about Detroit?
