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captainjaspenor · 5 years ago

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Fire in My Bones - Chapter 4

heFirst of all, I want to say a huge apology for the wait. First I moved, and then I had to get settled in, and then I was job hunting and before I knew it weeks had flown by. I worked on this slowly the entire time though, so it was never abandoned. Also, I have been working on a Last Kingdom (Finan x Reader) story that was stealing some of my attention.

Anyway, thank you all for being patient. I appreciate all the nice things you guys have been saying about the previous chapters! I hope this next one doesn’t disappoint. It does have some action in it for you too!

Surprisingly no one guessed last chapter’s song title which came from “I Know Places” by Taylor Swift. As usual, if you know this week’s song title comment or message me and you’ll get a shoutout.

Title: Fire in My Bones

Show: Cursed

Pairing: Weeping Monk x Reader

Warnings: Blood, mild violence, language, mentions of death and dying

Summary: “From the trees, shrouded in smoke, he emerges. The Weeping Monk. Around you the terrified screams of the Fey and the pained groans of the dying fade away. You forget the acrid smell and taste of the smoke and ash as it burns your throat and lungs. You forget Nimue, who is hiding behind you, clutching at your cloak, shaking like a leaf.”

Chapter 4: I’m Burning So Deep That Just Breathing Hurts

Note: For the sake of the story, I assumed that Episodes 3&4 happened on two different days.

You wail as your teacher drags you by the arm into the hut where your father holds his council. You’d begged your teacher not to involve your father, but your pleas had fallen on deaf ears.

Your father is standing on the far side of a large wooden table, which is currently covered in rolled out maps. Around him, his war council discusses plans. At the sound of your intrusion, your father looks up.

“What’s the meaning of this?” he demands.

Your teacher stands straighter, but his hold on your arm only grows tighter. “May I have a word with you, Lord?” He glances at the other men in the room. “Alone.”

Your father glares down at you and you try not to cower under his scrutiny. With a flick of his hand he dismisses the others and they make a quick exit. Your father’s temper is legendary. “Speak,” your father says.

Your teacher steps forward and gives you a shove. You stumble but manage to stay upright. “Go on, (Y/N),” your teacher demands, “Tell him what you told me.”

Your lower lips wobbles, but you don’t cry. It will be worse if you cry. “I don’t want to do the lessons,” you admit.

“Why not?” Your father comes around the table to stand in front of you. “I – I–” you stutter, unable to get the words out now that he’s towering over you.

“She says she’s afraid of fire. What kind of Fire Folk is afraid of fire?” your teacher scoffs.

“You’re dismissed,” your father says, not taking his eyes away from yours. You’re teacher starts to say something, but your father cuts him off. “Go.” His tone leaves no room for further arguments. Your teacher exits, and though you hate him you wish he’d stay. Because you know what’s coming next.

Still, the ferocity behind the smack catches you off guard. He’s hit you before, but never this hard. “Get up,” he grabs your by the back of the shirt and half drags, half pushes you out of the tent and into the center of your village. “No daughter of mine is going to be afraid of fire,” he snarls in your ear. The people do not so much as glance at the two of you as they pass, knowing that if they do they risk bringing your father’s wrath down on them as well.

In the center of town stands a large pillar, where criminals and prisoners of war are tied up and tortured. And if they’re not fire folk, burned alive. You realize your father’s intention now and you begin to struggle.

“No,” you claw and kick and scream, “I’ll do the lessons, I swear I’ll do the lessons,” you sob in fear, “Father, please! I swear I’m not afraid, I swear.” But it’s no use.

Your father clutches your wrists in one strong hand while using the other to wrap a thick iron chain around them. You try to pull free, but he’s too strong and the chains are locked in place. Your father walks over to a large pile of kindling kept nearby for just such occasions and begins to pile it around your feet. You beg and thrash and fight, but the chains hold and so does your father’s resolve. At last he comes to stand by you. He roughly grabs your tearful face with his hand and forces you to look at him.

“You are to fear nothing and no one,” he hisses. You sob harder as he creates a small flame under your feet. It doesn’t take long to spread and soon you’re engulfed in flames. You scream in fear as the flames lick your legs and burn away your clothes. You can see nothing but smoke and you feel the warmth from the fire around you.

You don’t know how long you stand there, an hour, maybe two? You scream and howl until your throat is raw and no sound will come out. Eventually the flames begin to subside taking your tears along with them. When the fire goes out you’re left naked and covered in ash and soot, but still chained. Your wrists are red, raw, and burnt. You wish one of the passing village people would unshackle you, but you know you won’t be freed until the sun sets. Father’s orders.

You shiver in the cold for hours watching as the sun slowly creeps lower in the sky. The moment the last sliver of sunlight disappears over the horizon your mother is there. She removes the chains and bundles you up before carrying you towards your family’s tent. Her gentle, soothing touch is welcome.

“Why does father hate me?” you whisper to her as one fat tear rolls down your cheek.

“Oh, (Y/N), your father doesn’t hate you,” your mothers says, “He loves you, very much. He just…Training you to be a warrior is the only way he knows how to be a father. To him, forcing you to face your fears is his way of showing you that he loves you. Do you understand, little one?”

“Mama? I’m not scared of fire,” you confide, “I’m scared because sometimes I can’t control it.”

“You should be afraid,” she says. You must look surprised because she adds, “Fire is dangerous, (Y/N). Fire Folk can create fire and manipulate it, but we can’t put it out once it starts to burn. And though we cannot burn, humans and the other fey can.” Her tone grows stern. “That’s why you must only use fire as a last resort.” You nod and she kisses your forehead softly.

“Mama?” you ask, as the two of you approach the tent. “If fire can’t hurt me then why am I burned?” You hold up your blistered wrists.

“The chains your father used are iron. Iron is the only thing that can burn us. Remember that, (Y/N), but never tell another soul. If the other fey—or gods forbid, the humans—found out, they’d use it against us.

You wake before the monk does. It’s no surprise considering you’re sleeping on the hard floor. You sit up and stretch to loosen up your aching body. It’s been awhile since you’ve slept somewhere this uncomfortable. You pull the blanket up around you to ward off the early morning chill. In the corner the torch still burns, allowing you to watch the monk as he sleeps.

He looks different when he’s asleep. Peaceful, almost. You don’t know how long you watch him sleep, but eventually his steady breathing becomes shallower and he begins to stir. His eyes open and meet yours.

“How long have you been staring at me?” he asks, sitting up.

“Long enough to know that you drool in your sleep,” you say.

“I don’t drool,” he dismisses. He’s right. He doesn’t, but you might be right now. Down to nothing but his undershirt – black, of course – you can see practically every muscle move when he so much as breathes. You nearly moan when he lifts an arm to run a hand through his bound hair. You continue to stare, unabashed, but the monk seems uncomfortable with your scrutiny. He looks down at his hands and picks at the bandages with his fingers.

“Can I take these off?” he asks.

“Yes,” you say, though part of you wants to offer to do it for him, just to be able to touch him again.

He begins to fiddle with the knot you tied in the bandage, but with only one hand he struggles to undo it. After a few futile attempts, he sighs. He looks up at you and you can see the question in his eyes. You debate making him say it out loud, but he looks so pitiful, you give in and go to him.

He makes a move as if to stand, but you shake your head. This time you don’t hesitate to take your place between his legs as you take his hand and begin to untie the small knot at the base of his wrist. He shifts and little and his thigh brushes your hip. Your fingers fumble and you pray he doesn’t notice.

“I have to leave the abbey today,” the monk says in a voice not much louder than a whisper.

You continue to slowly unwrap the bandage. “Why?”

“We’re going to ride out and search for the witch. She can’t have gotten far,” the monk says.

At first you don’t answer. Instead you methodically finish unwrapping the first bandage. You observe your handiwork, happy to see that the blisters have healed nicely. They’ll still be tender, but they won’t impede any movement. You move on to the next hand. “How long will you be gone?” you ask.

“I don’t know,” he admits. Once again you remain silent. You finish the second hand faster than the first and step back to allow him to see the results himself, but he keeps his eyes on you. “I’ll come back as soon as I can,” he says.

Somewhere in the back of your mind your father’s voice echoes: No one will ever come back for you.

You nod and gather the dirty bandages. You drop them on the chest the empty mortar and pestle. As his prisoner, you really shouldn’t be upset that your jailer is telling you that he won’t be around in order to keep an eye on you today, but somehow you are.

You observe the monk. He’s still sitting on the bed, his elbows on his knees, looking at his nearly healed hands. You notice his hair is still ruffled from sleep and you fight the urge to cross the room and brush it back. You glance down at the bed and notice a red stain.

“You’re bleeding,” you say.

The monk looks at his shoulder and presses his fingers to the wound. They come away red. “Well, you did stab me,” he says.

You roll your eyes. “You haven’t gotten it stitched yet?” The monk shakes his head and you let out a frustrated noise. You grab the leftover sutures, needle, and cloth Celia left behind and place them on the bed next to him.

“What are you doing?” he asks as you thread the needle.

“I’m going to stitch it for you,” you say. The monk seems surprised by your answer. “Take your shirt off,” you demand and you place yourself between his legs once more.

“No,” he says. “You can stitch it, but I keep my shirt on.”

You shrug and he unlaces his undershirt as far down as it will go. He pushes the fabric to the side to reveal the bloody wound.

“You idiot,” you chastise him as you begin to clean the area with a damp cloth, “You’ve let it bleed for two days? Do you want to get an infection?” The monk looks a little embarrassed by your scolding and opens his mouth to interrupt, but you shush him. “I don’t want to hear any excuses from you.” Once the wound is clean enough you carefully prod at the edges. The wound isn’t large but it’s deep. You feel bad that you’re the one who gave it to him. Almost.

“Well?” the monk says when you finish your inspection. “Am I going to live?” he asks sarcastically.

“You’re lucky I wasn’t trying to kill you, Monk,” you quip. “The dagger missed all the big veins and arteries and only hit muscle. It’ll take time to heal, but there shouldn’t be any lasting damage.” You wish you had something to sterilize the wound with, but you’ll have to make do with water. If the needle going in and out of his flesh bothers the monk, he doesn’t show it.

You work in silence for a while before asking, “Is Father Carden going with you?” The monk nods. “He must really want this girl dead,” you say.

“She killed one of our brothers,” the monk explains.

“Really? How?”

“She strung him up with branches. The branches were…inside of him,” the monk says.

Your sewing falters. “That is… considerable magic. What else do you know about this Wolf-Blood Witch?” You try to keep your tone neutral.

“Nothing more than what I’ve already told you,” the monk admits. “She told the abbess that her name is Alice, but that’s probably a lie.” You make a thoughtful noise and continue your stitching. You remain silent but your mind is racing, trying to use what little clues you had to figure out the identity of the fey girl in question. Whoever she is, you hope she’s gotten herself far away from here.

“Can I ask you a question?” he asks. You shrug so he continues, “Why are you helping me?”

You consider the question. “My mother used to tell me…” You clear your throat, talking about her is always hard. “She told me that there is a time to kill and a time to heal, and that it’s important to know the difference.” You can tell he’s not satisfied with this, so you elaborate. “You let me live. True, I’m a prisoner, but I’m alive. And I don’t know if it’s for some sadistic reason that I’ll find out later, but so far you’ve been…kind to me.” You make the mistake of looking into those striking eyes of his. His expression is unreadable. “And I don’t like seeing you—I mean, seeing anyone–hurt when I can help,” you stammer. Smooth. You force yourself to break eye contact and go back to stitching. You can feel the monk’s eyes burning into you, but you refuse to look up until you finish the last couple of stitches.

Finally, you tie off the last suture. You have no excuse to avoid his gaze now. “I’m done,” your voice is nearly a whisper; the two of you are so close.

“Thank you, (Y/N).” For a brief moment you think you see something akin to tenderness in his eyes. He opens his mouth to say more, but the door opens and Celia comes bustling in. You step back and the monk’s face is a mask once more.

“Oh.” She stops and takes the two of you in. “I’m sorry, but Father Carden has asked for you,” she says to the monk. She gives you a look before adding, “I’ll wait outside.”

The monk stands and laces up his undershirt. He dresses quickly, avoiding eye contact to your disappointment. The finishing touch is his sword belt. As he straps it on, he finally looks at you. “I’ll be back as soon as I can,” he says before leaving once more. You feel almost as if he’s taken your heart with him, but you remind yourself how foolish that is.

You gather up the bloody rags and discarded needle and place them on the table along with the mortar and pestle. The door opens and for a moment you think it might be the monk returning, but it’s Celia. She doesn’t say anything as she begins to collect up the used supplies.

“It wasn’t what it looked like,” you try to explain yourself.

“You helped him.” It’s not question.

“It was the right thing to do,” you say.

Celia cuts you off. She seems almost subdued. “(Y/N), I’m not judging you. I understand what it’s like to…want something that you shouldn’t,” she says.

“Is everything alright?” you ask.

“It’s Morgana,” she admits, “She hasn’t been seen since yesterday. I’m worried something bad has happened.”

“I don’t know Morgana personally, but from what you’ve told me, she seems like she can take care of herself,” you say, but she doesn’t look convinced. “I’m sure she’ll be back soon, Celia,” you take one of her shaking hands in yours.

“Thank you, (Y/N).” She smiles softly at you. “I have to go. Father Carden has called for us to gather in the courtyard, but I’ll return later with lunch.” Once again, you are locked in and alone.

Time passes slowly as you wait for Celia to return. You run through a few basic exercises and try to loosen up your sore muscles, but that doesn’t take long and before you know it you’re back to square one.

Eventually your mind wanders to the monk. He’d said come back as soon as he could, but every bit of training in you screams not to believe him. He could leave you locked in here for days, weeks, even months if he wanted to. He could starve you or let his brothers torture you for information about the fey. He could kill you. And he has no reason not to. You want to believe that the two of you have some sort of mutual respect, but you can’t really trust that after having one – okay, maybe two – conversations with him.

Your head wants to find a way to escape, but your heart wants to stay and wait for the monk to return. If he returns. If you’re going to escape then this evening will be your best opportunity. You have to assume that most of the Red Paladins are with Father Carden and the monk, searching for the Wolf Blood Witch. Now that you’re hands aren’t bound, you can take on at least a few brothers even if you don’t currently have a weapon. They abbey is a maze and you’ve only been led through it blindfolded, but you can find your way out one way or another, even if you have to persuade one of the brothers to show.

In the end it’s your loyalty to Nimue that sways you. You know that you owe it to her—and Lenore—to do your best to get out of here and find them. You study the lock on the door. You’re pleased to discover that it appears easy enough to pick given the right tools. You look around the room, but there’s nothing small enough to fit through the keyhole. You dig through the trunk at the base of the monk’s bed, but only find a couple of dusty blankets. Frustrated, you return to the bed and sit. If you can’t find something small enough to turn the tumblers in the lock then any future plans are futile.

Thankfully you don’t get to wallow in self-pity long because the lock clicks and Celia enters. _

The man screams and begs for mercy, but the monk runs him through anyway. He’s used to killing men as they beg for their lives. It doesn’t bother him anymore. Almost. He turns and walks away from the body. He digs a stained rag from his pocked and begins to methodically wipe the blood from his blade.

He approaches one of the brothers standing by. “The caravans are run by a man named Dizier. Drives a wagon full of leather goods. Go,” he dismisses and the brother exits to spread the word.

The monk sheathes his blade as Father Carden approaches from behind. “How many?” the older man asks.

“Just one. A Tusk,” the monk reports as he uses the rag to wipe any remaining traces of blood from his hands.

Father Carden nods, pleased. “Still, another smuggler off the road.”

“I found something else.” He leads Father Carden to the trees lining the road, nodding towards the symbols hidden among them. “They’re in the trees and on the ground,” the monk says as he stops to gently run his fingers over one of the intricate spirals.

“What are they?” Father Carden asks.

“Directions.”

“To where?”

“I only have pieces,” the monk admits, “Somewhere north. Toward the Minotaur. A sanctuary. The caravans, they move one, two at a time, but this… This is where we’ll find them all. And I know someone who can take us there.”

You’re surprised to see that Celia’s been crying. “What is it? What’s wrong?” you ask as you go to her. You guide her to one of the stools and take the plate from her hands, setting it on the table.

Celia tears start anew. “The Red Paladins took the abbess. They drug her away and put her in a caravan. Father Carden said she’s to be punished for harboring the Wolf-Blood Witch. He’s going to have her killed,” she weeps.

You take her into your arms and whisper reassurances. You know what it’s like to have someone you care about taken away from you suddenly and you know that nothing you say can actually help, but you try anyway.

Eventually her sobs subside to small sniffs and she pulls away. Her face is tearstained and blotchy. “There’s something else.” You raise your eyebrows at her, indicating she should go on. “Morgana’s left the abbey.”

“How do you know, I thought she hadn’t been seen since yesterday?”

“She came back, but now she’s gone again. I think she blames herself for the abbess.”

“The abbess? Why?” you ask.

Celia lowers her voice, even though you’re the only two in the room. “She’s the one who was helping the girl, Alice.”

“And where has she gone now? Morgana.”

“There’s this place she’s been talking about, a sanctuary for the fey kind.”

“Nemos,” you mutter.

“You know it?” Celia asks, perking up. “Have you been there?”

“Once,” you sigh and take a seat on the other stool.

“And Morgana? She will be safe there?” Celia asks, hopeful.

“As safe as any fey, I suppose. But Celia, these are dangerous times for the fey and those who help us,” you warn her.

“I know. I tried to talk her out of it, but she wouldn’t budge,” Celia admits. She tears up. You suspect that Morgana may mean more to Celia than she’s let on, but you don’t want to pry.

“I’m sure she’ll be fine,” you reassure her. “Morgana seems more than capable of taking care of herself. After all, she snuck the Wolf-Blood Witch into the abbey right under the Weeping Monk’s nose,” you joke. It works and Celia cracks a smile.

The two of you sit in a comfortable silence for a while as Celia composes herself.

“She asked me to go with her,” she finally says.

“Why didn’t you?”

“I was afraid,” Celia says, “I still am. Part of me wants to go after her, but I’ve never lived anywhere but this abbey. I’m terrified of the world outside of these four walls. And the sisters, they’re my family! I can’t just abandon them.”

It’s not your place to try and change her mind, but still you ask, “And can you live knowing you may never see Morgana again?” Celia doesn’t respond, probably because she doesn’t know the answer herself. “Look, Celia, I can’t tell you what’s the right choice here, but I want you to know that it’s okay to want something good for yourself. It’s okay to choose love,” you tell her. Celia glances at you shyly at your use of the word “love” but you give her a reassuring smile.

“I don’t know what to do,” she admits.

“You don’t have to decide now. Think it over. Sleep on it. You can still go tomorrow if you want.”

With that the two of you lapse into casual conversation while you devour the lunch Celia has brought you. It’s a slab of meat with some bread and cheese. Nothing fancy, but you’re grateful all the same. It’s during one of Celia’s long-winded answers about one of the sisters at the abbey that you notice it: two small wires coiled tightly around the handles of the handmade utensils you’ve been using to cut the meat. You try to keep your face neutral as you mentally judge about how long the wires will be once unwrapped and straightened out. By your calculations they should be just long enough to use to pick the lock.

Nonchalantly you nod along to Celia’s story while bringing the fork to your lap. You slowly unwind the wire and leave it on your lap as you bring the fork back up and stick it into the meat. You repeat the process with the knife, taking a few bites in between to avoid arousing any suspicion to what your hands are doing under the table.

After the meal concludes you place the utensils on the plate and scoot it towards Celia, praying she won’t notice the missing wires. Thankfully she seems oblivious as she gathers up the empty plate and goes to exit.

At the last second she asks, “(Y/N)?”

“Yes?”

“I know you’ve probably already figured out how to escape and you’d probably succeed if you tried, but I’m going to ask you not to. I know you don’t owe me anything, but if you run the sisters and I – we’ll be punished and with the abbess gone, I’m afraid of what they might do to us,” Celia says, “If it was just me at risk, I wouldn’t ask, but I fear for my sisters. Please, try to understand.”

You think of Nimue and Squirrel, and send up a silent prayer to the gods that they’re safe and have found each other. “I promise I won’t do anything to put you or your sisters in danger.” You might have just sworn away your last chance at freedom, but Celia’s grateful smile soothes any ill feelings you have. With promises to return later with more food, Celia locks you away in your prison once more. ____ The monk watches in stony silence as his brothers pull the bloated corpses from the bloody pool of water. He can hardly believe that one girl could do this much damage.

Next to him, Father Carden speaks, “Now this… This is a message. She taunts you, my son.” The monk always likes it when Father Carden calls him that. It reminds him of the bond the two share. One forged in blood. “She taunts you with your dead brothers.” The monk can hear the disappointment in his voice and he wants nothing more than to erase it.

“Let us pray,” Father Carden continues. The monk bows his head in obedience. “We pray for the lost souls of our fallen brothers, Almighty Father. We beg thee purge us of our weaknesses, skin us of our mercy. Send a heavenly flame to cleanse our corrupted hearts. And should you deem us unworthy, send us your purest soldier, your avenging angel. Amen.”

Father Carden looks at the monk expectantly. “Are you certain the girl will lead us to the sanctuary?”

“Yes.” The monk nods. “I am.”

You sprint through the woods, cursing silently every time you misstep and a branch snaps under your feet. You know you can’t outrun him, so instead you duck down underneath one of the large trees. A small cave has formed at the base of the trees roots, just large enough for you to crawl into. You tuck yourself in and cover your mouth with your hand to quiet your heavy breathing. You wait.

Moments later you hear him. He doesn’t care how many branches snap beneath his feet, and each step alerts you that he’s getting closer. You try to make yourself even smaller, even less visible, if that’s even at all possible.

Finally, you see him. You can only see from the waist down, as the roots obstruct your view, but you watch as he paces the area, most likely following your tracks. You should have covered them better, but there wasn’t time.

He turns and walks toward your hiding spot and you stop breathing all together. You pray for him to turn around and walk away, but he doesn’t. In three paces, he’s on you. He reaches down and grabs the front of your tunic, hauling you up. He easily lifts you off your feet and presses your back to the tree. He levels the tip of his dagger at your throat.

“I’ve caught you,” your father says, “The Fire Folk have lost the battle and now I’m going to take you captive. What do you do?”

You slide one of your hidden daggers from your forearm sheathe and press it against your own chest. Your father steps back and nods with approval. “That’s right. If you’re captured, you fall on your own sword. Why?” he asks.

“Because no one will ever come back for me.”

He nods. “Because no one will ever come back for you.”

You wake to the smell of smoke. You’re fully alert in seconds. After a quick dinner with Celia you’d passed out early, not having much else to do. But now something’s wrong. The smell is overwhelming and you can see tendrils of black smoke seeping through the door. You pull on your cloak and go to put an ear to the door, but you can’t hear anything. Silence. You call out and bang on your door, but still there is only silence.

You mentally run through your options. Stay here and wait to see what happens or go outside and investigate. You still have the wires from earlier and you can pick the lock, but that would mean breaking your promise to Celia. But what if she needs help? Decision made, you make quick work of the door’s heavy deadbolt. It’s all in the tumblers. Tucking away the tools in case you need them later, you brace yourself and open the door.

A thick black cloud of smoke rushes in around you. A normal person would have trouble seeing with the smoke burning their eyes, but being Fire Folk you’re unaffected. You study the hallway; you’d always been blindfolded when you’d been led through the abbey, so you can’t be sure which way to go. A voice in your head reminds you that when Celia had taken you to bathe, she’d taken you to the left. You would guess that the bathing chambers would be towards the center of the abbey, close to where the sisters sleep. Which means the right most likely leads to a way out of here. You send up a small prayer asking Nimue for forgiveness and go left.

Around you the temperature has risen substantially in the narrow stone hallway you sprint down. You make turn after turn hoping to hear or see someone, but the place seems deserted. You call out Celia’s name, but she doesn’t respond.

You force yourself to stop and think. When you first arrived here Celia had led you up multiple flights of stairs, which means you’re on one of the higher floors. A light goes off in your head and you remember that when Celia had taken you to bathe she’d taken you down the stairs again, and the bathing chambers are likely on the ground floor. And if you know the monk, he’s likely chosen a room away from any one else’s living quarters. Stupid. You’ve been searching the wrong floor.

You check the next floor down, but still have no luck finding anyone. Many of the rooms are locked and you don’t bother picking them, not wanting to waste any time. You find another staircase and continue down.

It’s on the third floor that you check that you finally hear it. It’s faint, but you think you can hear the sound of screaming. Sweat drips from your brow and into your eyes. It glides down your cheeks and falls from your chin onto your leather jerkin. It’s hotter down here, so you figure you’re closer to the source of the fire, not that it’s a problem for you, but it could be for Celia.

You run hard, but it doesn’t seem fast enough. The heat and smoke grow more intense the closer you get. Still the cries are getting louder and clearer. You can tell there are multiple women. And they’re all screaming for their lives. As you round the last corner, you discover the screams are coming from the other side of a massive wooden door. You slam into it at full speed, trying to force it open, but it doesn’t budge.

“Celia?” you shout over the other women’s screams.

“(Y/N)?” she calls back.

“Yes, Celia, it’s me!” You press your hands to the door, overjoyed to have found her. “Don’t worry, I’m going to get you out of there,” you reassure her.

You observe the door and quickly realize that someone has put a lock on the door. No wonder the sisters can’t get out. You reach out and grab it to study the keyhole, but the metal scalds your hand. Iron. You swear violently and you drop the lock. You give your hand a few shakes in a futile attempt to cool the burnt skin. You give up and cradle your burnt hand in the other. Blisters are already forming on your palm. You hiss in frustration. You’ll have to work carefully to get the lock off without touching it. You dig out the small wires and begin to fiddle with the tumblers.

“(Y/N), please, hurry!” Celia begs. You try to drown out the women’s frightened scream and focus on the task at hand. The lock is old and rusty and for a moment you’re worried the wires aren’t strong enough to get the job done when there’s a satisfying click.

You wrap your cloak around your good hand and yank the lock off. Triumphant, you toss it away and shove open the heavy door. Smoke billows out at an alarming rate, proving your theory that at least one of the fires is nearby, likely started in the dorms. You step into the room, only to be met with a horrible sight.

Over twenty sisters of different ages are gathered around the door in disarray. The women are in various states of asphyxiation from the smoke. Some of the older ones have already succumbed to it. You’d been so intent on getting the lock open you hadn’t realized the screaming had stopped. You force yourself to look away from a young girl, not much older than Squirrel, who is lying on the floor with her eyes shut, her breathing shallow.

Behind you a weak voice calls your name. Celia is there, with her dark hair unbound, barefoot and in nothing but a thin nightgown. She has her arms wrapped around an older woman, but it’s clear the woman is moments away from death. You crouch in front of Celia and begin to untangle her arms. She tries to fight you at first, but she’s too weak from the oxygen deprivation.

“Celia, we have to go,” you tell her as you wrap your arms around her and stand up. You have to lean most of her weight on you, which means you won’t be able to go very fast. You pray you don’t have too many more stairs to climb down.

“What about my sisters?” she argues, “I can’t just leave them behind!” Celia begins to struggle against you.

“Celia, please! Most of them are gone already. Think about Morgana! She’d want you to come with me,” you try to reason with her. With that, all the fight leaves her body and she nods. Her breathing is becoming more and more labored. You have minutes at best. “Celia,” you shake her as she drowses, “How do we get out of here?”

With a tremendous amount of effort she lifts her head. “Down the hall to the left,” she mumbles, “Then we go through the courtyard and take a right to the entryway.” You basically drag her down the hallway, praying for a miracle that the courtyard isn’t on fire.

Unfortunately, the gods aren’t on your side today, because as you step through the doorway a large flaming branch from one of the trees snaps off and smashes to the ground only a couple feet in front of you. Sparks go flying and Celia cowers in fear. You hold fast and look around, searching for a way around the fire to get to the aforementioned entryway.

What was clearly once a well-kept courtyard of flowers and trees is now completely ablaze. It takes you a moment to realize that it’s dark outside, because the glow from the fires is so intense and it bathes everything in an eerie orange glow. Plumes of gray smoke disappear into the night sky, so thick that it’s impossible to see the stars. Beside you Celia coughs and takes ragged, painful breaths.

You take off your thick cloak and wrap it tightly around her, making sure to cover her mouth and nose. And then, you summon the Hidden. The flames in front of you part, not unlike the way the Red Sea parted for Moses. If only the Church knew… You keep an arm wrapped around her as you guide her forward. You know the cloak will not catch fire, but it doesn’t cover all of her and the exposed skin on her body has begin to blister and burn from the overwhelming heat coming from the walls of fire on either side of you. You can smell the burning flesh and hear her soft cries. You wish you could ease the pain for her, but have to settle for moving faster and calling out reassurances.

Finally, finally, you lead her out of the small inferno and through the threshold that leads to the abbey’s main entryway. You pray from some reprieve from the heat of the fire, but inside the entryway is also ablaze. In front of you stands a massive wooden and metal door, easily three times taller than you and Celia. You pull her forward, so close to your destination, when you hear a loud crack above you. You glance up to see one of the wooden beams from the roof come loose and plummet towards you. You shove Celia back and fall to the ground, slamming your not quite healed head on the concrete floor. You see stars. For a second you feel the blackness of unconsciousness pull you down, but you fight it and force your eyes open. Your vision remains blurry but you can once again see the burning room around you. You crawl on your hands and knees to where Celia has fallen.

You pull yourself up next to her and look at the now inaccessible exit. The massive, smoldering beam has landed right in front of the large doors, making it impossible to pull them open and escape the inferno. You pull Celia’s head onto your lap and sit her up a bit, to ease her breathing.

She lays on the ground, your cloak having come unwrapped. Her face is dirty from the ash and smoke except for where her tears have left thin tracks. Her eyes are swollen and puffy and her hands and feet are raw with blisters. Her lips are cracked and labored breaths barely push through them.

She takes one of your hands in her blistered ones. “I’m dying, aren’t I?” she rasps.

Tears prick your eyes and you look up at the flaming ceiling to allow you moment to compose yourself. You look back down at her blackened face, “Yes.”

She closes her eyes and nods in acceptance. A wry smile appears on her face. “I was going to leave tomorrow. I was going to go after Morgana and tell her that I loved her.”

This time you don’t fight the tears that spill over. “Celia, I’m so sorry.”

Celia shushes you softly. “It’s okay, (Y/N). There’s nothing more you could’ve done.” You open your mouth to argue with her, but a cough wracks her body. Once the cough subsides, she continues, “I want to thank you, (Y/N), for showing me that it’s okay to choose love. I hope you’ll do the same.” Another bout of coughing has the tears streaming down her cheeks anew. “Will you tell her?” she asks, “Will you tell Morgana that I was going to find her? Will you tell her that I love her?”

“Of course. Of course, I will,” you promise her. She gives you one last dreamy smile before closing her eyes. She lets out one last ragged exhale and is still. You press your palm to her chest, but can no longer feel her heartbeat. You cradle her in your arms and press your forehead to hers as you sob.

You cry for Celia and all the things she never got to do. You cry for Morgana who is going to be heartbroken when she learns the truth. And you cry for yourself, for having been unable to save yet another person you cared about.

You aren’t able to grieve long, because another large chunk of the ceiling slams into the ground a mere foot away from you. You look up and realize that the fire has eaten away at all the major wooden infrastructure of the entryway and the entire thing is dangerously close to coming down on top of your head. Fire may not kill you, but being crushed by hundreds of pounds of stone will.

You wipe your eyes and look around for another possible exit. There has to be a window or another door around here somewhere. When your search is unsuccessful you decide you’ll have to go look for a side door in a different room.

You carefully lower Celia’s body to the ground. You kiss her forehead and take your cloak from her, wrapping it back around your own shoulders. You stand and look down at her for the last time. Part of you loathes leaving her to burn, but she’d want her final resting place to be here: in her home with her sisters.

Again another piece of entryway comes lose and falls next to you. You flinch and take the hint to get the hell out of there. You sprint back through the blazing courtyard and take a left, hoping to find a wall with a window. You see a couple, but both are too small for even you to fit through so you keep going.

Around you debris is falling from the ceiling at an alarming rate. Nothing has hit you so far, but eventually you won’t be so lucky.

You round the corner and come to a halt. In front of you there is a dead end, except for one door. You mentally map out your path to figure out whether or not this door could possibly be an exit, but you’ve never been much good at that. You decide to try your luck one last time and go for the door.

It’s locked, of course. You take out the wires to work on the lock, only to realize that your hands are shaking. You take a deep breath and try to calm yourself. It doesn’t help much, but you allow muscle memory to take over. It works, because the lock clicks open and you yank open the door to be greeted with a breath of fresh air. You nearly collapse in relief, but manage to stagger forward on shaky knees.

You take in your surroundings. You’re not far from the abbey’s main entrance and you can spot the road you came in on with the monk. With the adrenaline starting to fade you realize that your body is bone tired. You don’t dare stop and look back at the burning abbey, because if you do you aren’t sure you’ll be able to hold it together.

You’ve only just made it to the edge of the road when a dark figure comes thundering down the road on the back of a black beast. His cloak billows out behind him. He comes to a screeching halt mere feet from you and dismounts. In the glow of the burning abbey, you see the trademark tears of the Weeping Monk.

You stumble and he smoothly steps forward and wraps his large hands around your biceps to steady you. “You came back,” you say, breathless.

“What happened here? How did you get out of there? How are you alive?” the monk demands to know as he takes the time to run his hands brusquely over your body to search for damage. Normally you’d take the time to bask in his attention, but your brain in still stuck on the fact that he came back. Satisfied you’re in one piece, he lets go and steps back.

“You came back,” you repeat, dumbly.

The monk eyes you warily. “I said I would.”

You nod. “I know, but you came back.” You try to emphasize what you mean. You think you might be in shock.

Apparently the monk does too cause he doesn’t say anything, but instead bundles you up and lifts you onto Goliath’s back. He hauls himself up behind you and turns Goliath back the way he came, this time at a much slower pace.

At some point you must have dozed off, because the next thing you know you’re deep in the Iron Wood again and the monk is bringing Goliath to a stop. You ask him why.

“It’ll be dawn in a few hours. I thought it best we make camp until then.” You accept his help as you dismount; your feet are still a little unsteady beneath you. He ties Goliath’s reigns to a nearby branch as you go and sit on a fallen tree trunk.

You don’t say anything as the monk begins to dig a hole and line it with large stones. You watch him circle the clearing, picking up kindling. You don’t think you’ve seen anyone move with such ease and grace, even in the dark. You look away as he walks back toward you and its only minutes later before he has a sizeable fire going. He sits across from you and observes you in the orange light of the campfire.

“What happened at the abbey?” he finally asks. You’d been dreading the question, but had known it was coming. Of course he’d want to know what happened. It’s not every day an entire abbey burns down.

“I don’t know,” you admit, “I went to sleep and when I woke up I could smell the smoke. I picked the lock on my door,”—you give him a nervous glance but his expression doesn’t change—“and I went to find Celia.” The monk doesn’t say anything; instead he lets you take the time you need to relay the story back to him. When you tell him about losing Celia, you don’t even try to stop your tears. “I thought I could get her out. I thought I could save her,” you admit to him. You look up to see the monk watching you with a peculiar expression on his face, but before you can ask him what he’s thinking, it’s gone.

“I’m sorry about your friend.” The words are so quiet you almost don’t hear them. Before you can say anything back, the monk stands and goes to his saddlebags, where he retrieves food for the both of you. He holds out your portion to you, but you don’t take it.

“I’m not hungry,” you tell him.

“You have to eat something. Please.” The last part is an afterthought. Surprised by his use of the word, you accept the food and take small bites.

The two of you eat in comfortable silence. After you finish you lean back and watch as the monk takes his sword out and begins to clean it. You feel a pang at the sight and you wish for your own blades.

“I wouldn’t have killed the boy.” The monk doesn’t look up as he says this, his eyes on the cloth in his hand as it works its way up and down the blade. You hadn’t realized how sexy cleaning blood off of a sword could be.

“What?” You’re really killing it today with the clever comebacks.

“The one you call Squirrel. I wouldn’t have killed him. I don’t hurt children,” the monk says. You can’t help but scoff at this and he looks up, raising an eyebrow in a silent question.

“You don’t think you hurt Squirrel when you burned down our village, murdered his father, and stole his innocence by using him as bait so you could slaughter his friends in front of him? You might not kill children, Monk, but you do hurt them.” The monk narrows his eyes at you, and for a moment you fear you’ve said too much, but his expression switches to one of contemplation and he focuses back on the task at hand.

Again you two sit in silence. You think he almost might prefer it this way, but after a few minutes you can’t take it anymore. “Why did you come back?” you blurt out.

The monk shrugs. “I told you I would.”

“Yes, but why?” you press, “Did you find the witch?”

The monk’s hand stills on his blade and he scowls. “No.”

Picking up on the obvious tension in his body, you ask: “Did something happened?”

The monk only grunts in response. You wait, figuring he’ll share when he’s ready. Eventually he sighs and runs a hand over his face in frustration. “She killed half a dozen brothers today.”

“With magic?”

The monk shakes his head. “She used the sword. It seems the longer she has it, the stronger she gets.” Lenore had warned you about that. She’d also warned you that the sword corrupts those who wield it. You hope whoever this girl is she’s able to overcome whatever hold the sword has over her.

“So what now?” you ask.

“I think she’s going somewhere. A Fey sanctuary.” The monk’s eyes never leave yours, and you know he’s studying you for a reaction. You try to keep your face neutral as the he continues. “The directions are hidden in symbols in the trees and on the ground. I’ve been able to decipher some of them, but I need someone who speaks Old Fey for the rest.”

And there it was. The real reason for the monk’s timely arrival at the abbey. Perhaps even the reason he kept you alive in the first place.

“I won’t help you slaughter what is left of the Fey. Even if most of them deserve it.”

The monk cocks his head to the side. “You don’t care for your fellow fey kind?”

You chew the inside of your cheek indecisively before asking him, “Do you know why you’ve never seen a Fire Folk before?” The monk shakes his head. “It’s because the fey council had them all murdered when I was a child. Not unlike the way you and your Red Paladins have been doing to them.”

The monk seems genuinely surprised by this revelation. “How did you survive?”

“Lenore. She begged the council to spare my life. My mother wasn’t so lucky.”

The monk places his sword to the side and leans forward, blue eyes boring into your golden ones. “Would helping me not be the perfect way to avenger her?”

For a second you’d been lured in by the sincerity in his eyes, but his words make your blood run cold. “I will not tarnish her memory by helping you wipe the fey in her name.”

“Even if refusing might cost you your life?” The monk’s words are eerily quiet. There it is. The moment you’ve been waiting for. The one where he finally starts treating you like the prisoner you are.

“Even if,” you say.

“Why? Why are you willing to die for those who wouldn’t do the same for you?”

“I could ask you the same,” you taunt. The monk doesn’t take the bait and you sigh. “Because there are dozens of children living there. You say you don’t hurt children? Well, if I take you there then I assure you nothing will stop brothers from slaughtering every last one of them.”

“I will not ask you to help me to find the sanctuary. But I also won’t stop searching for it,” the monk warns. You nod and the tension dissipates.

You ask the monk the question that’s been on your mind since you first saw the lock on the sisters’ sleeping chamber door. “Was if you? The fire at the abbey. Was it the Red Paladins?”

The monk had been staring at the stars in the sky above you, but when you started talking he’d locked his gaze back on you. You can’t help but feel guilty somehow. Like you’re accusing him of something. Which is silly considering how many fey he’s killed, seemingly without remorse.

“How do you know the fire was set on purpose?” he asks.

“It’s just... I know Father Carden had the abbess taken away for helping the witch. And there was a lock... on the door... which is why the sisters couldn’t get out... and there’s no way the fire spread that quickly. Someone must’ve set multiple fires all over the abbey. And I just thought... did he do this? To punish them?” Shit, you’re rambling. You can’t help it when he’s staring at you like that.

The monk seems to be amused by how flustered you’ve become and his gaze softens. “No. We didn’t do it.”

“You’re sure?”

“Father Carden doesn’t do anything without a reason. And this.... what reason could he possibly have for this?”

“Okay.... You’re right.... I just... If it wasn’t you guys, then who? Who would want a bunch of nuns dead? It doesn’t make sense.”

“At first I thought it was you.”

“Me?”

“Who burned down the abbey, but then I saw how upset you were and I knew I was mistaken.”

“Why did you think it was me?”

“Because you managed to walk out of a burning building while everyone else inside died. The smoke alone should have killed you. But then it came to me: you’re immune to fire.” You tense at his words. “I’m right, aren’t I?” You nod, warily. “Do the other fey know?” he asks.

“Some. The older ones, who were alive before the Fire Fey were massacred, though I suspect many of them have forgotten. I don’t make it a habit of showing off that particular talent.”

The monk hums in acknowledgment. “Don’t worry,” he whispers, “Your secret’s safe with me.” He gives you a conspiratorial (and uncharacteristic) grin before going back to cleaning his sword.

You stare into the campfire in front of you. The flames dance in a hypnotic pattern, one you are familiar with. One you used to find comfort in. But now you can’t help but picture Celia’s terrified face as the flames around you came closer. You glare down at your hands in despair, blinking back tears as the sound of the women’s screams echo through your mind.

The monk must sense your distress because he leaves his spot on the other side of the fire to approach you. He crouches in front of you, forcing you to look at him. “You blame yourself.” It’s not a question. The monk continues, “You can’t save everyone.” You open your mouth to protest but he silences you with a look.

He’s right. You know he’s right. But still, you hate to admit it. And you sure as hell aren’t going to do it out loud. Instead you settle for a nod. The small gesture brings your faces closer together. The monk glances down at your lips and for a moment you think he’s going to kiss you, but instead he says, “You should get some rest.”

You fight back a groan of frustration as he pulls away from you and returns to his spot on the other side of the fire. Nonetheless, you obey and make a place to sleep near fire while the monk does the same. It doesn’t take you long to realize that you’re not going to be able to sleep. Every time you close your eyes you see Celia’s face. You let out a soft sigh and stare at the stars overhead. You try to keep your breathing even and steady, to make the monk think you’re asleep. It doesn’t work.

“I can hear you thinking,” the monk’s voice cuts through the darkness.

“That doesn’t make any sense,” you retort.

The monk ignores you. “Why aren’t you sleeping?”

“I can’t,” you say, softly, “When I close my eyes I see… her.” Normally you wouldn’t be so vulnerable, but somehow you know the monk won’t judge.

At first you think he isn’t going to say anything or that he’s fallen asleep but there is a sudden flurry of movement to your right as he stands and begins to gather his belongings.

You sit up. “What? What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” the monk says, “but if you can’t sleep then there’s no sense in staying here until dawn.”

“Scared I’ll kill you in your sleep?” you tease.

The monk helps you into Goliath’s saddle and hands you the reigns as he goes to put out the fire. “I just thought you wouldn’t want to be alone with your thoughts all night,” he says, his back to you.

You can’t say anything, overwhelmed by the tenderness you feel in your heart towards this man who should terrify you. Instead, you offer your hand to him when he returns. He accepts the offer and together you pull him up and into the saddle behind you. He settles in and wraps his arms around you to take the reigns.

“Ready?” he asks. You nod and the monk digs his heels into Goliath’s sides, sending you galloping through the forest once more. ____

And there it is! Let me know what you think in the comments!

Taglist: @rogershoe @nj01 @ancarwin @boredoomfm @linkpk88 @lancelotapricot @remmyswritings @archaeologydigit

If I missed your name on the taglist, let me know. I try to keep track of them all but sometimes one slips through the cracks.

#cursed #Cursed Netflix #cursed fanfic #lancelot cursed #lancelot x reader #weeping monk fanfiction #weeping monk #weeping monk x reader #Daniel Sharman #nimue x reader friendship #fire in my bones

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dmndmyth · 4 years ago

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⧼ stana katic, cis female, she/her / this is me trying by taylor swift + dried flower petals littered everywhere, stacks of books beside a too neat bed and the wind blowing her hair, pulling it from the crasp of a broken clip. ⧽ ━━ hey, isn’t that ROLANDA HOOCH? i read a daily prophet article on them, once ; the FORTY FIVE year old [ half blood ] WITCH is a [ RAVENCLAW alumnus who has gone on to be a HOGWARTS QUIDDITCH COACH AND PROFESSIONAL QUIDDITCH COMMENTATOR]. i’ve heard they can be quite COMPASSIONATE & INTUITIVE , but i don’t know… they came off very EVASIVE & ARGUMENTATIVE in that interview. it really is hard to know what to believe these days though, isn’t it?

tw: death, murder, war

Imagine a little cottage by the sea. The sound of the waves there to ease one to sleep and to gently rouse them to wakefulness. The best that England had to offer. That’s what Rolanda Hooch’s parents used to tell her as they would sit out on the deck eating their dinner, little Ro’s legs crossed underneath as she nestled happily in between her mums. Mama was her biological mother and a powerful witch at that with Mum being a woman that Mama had met surely after Rolanda’s birth and the subsequent leaving of her father. Mum was a muggle who got broiled up into the world of magic and children and took it like a camp. That’s how Mama used to talk about it.

Ro’s childhood was as idyllic as one could be. Surrounded by blue skies and plenty of books with parents that loved her. It seemed like nothing could go wrong. Even once she hit Hogwarts and had to figure out what homesickness was and how to deal with it or through all the trials and tribulations that all teenagers go through, she was good. Ravenclaw had become another home and she became the seeker for Ravenclaw at just thirteen. To this day, Ro says that was one of her best achievements. It wasn’t until the later years of Hogwarts where the world that was so bright and colourful slowly started to turn grey and dark and the places that once held wonder now held fear.

Upon graduation, Rolanda was offered a spot with the Holyhead Harpies. Their seeker was about to retire and little Ro (not that she was little anymore) had a reputation. With rumours of Voldemort and his army becoming more than just whispers, she was determined to enjoy something and so she grasped that chance with two hands. It was also upon graduation that like many others in her year, she joined the Order. This was done without the knowledge of either one of her mothers. She knew how they would react and everyone was so certain that those who didn’t know anything would be space. Sometimes, she wished she also knew nothing but she did and her position on the team gave her a unique chance to travel and scout that most did not have. She never did much actual fighting.

She wishes she had. After all, her lack of fighting or time at home didn’t save Mama and Mum. She was twenty years old and was so excited to be home after a long season. It was supposed to be a surprise. Turns out, she was the one in for a surprise. The dark mark was visible before she had even walked down the lane.

Her memories of that night are spotty. Even now. She knew that there was someone holding her. Someone from The Order, many someone’s maybe. She knew that there was crying and that there was ash, because it had stuck to her tears and gotten in her eyes. Her home was gone and for no reason at all then her Mama was with a muggle. Senseless. That’s what it was.

Time became a blur after that. The next year was different homes and another season that pretended that the world wasn’t about to fall apart. Perhaps that was the right thing to do because before it could, Lily and James Potter died and little Harry Potter killed Lord Voldemort. She was twenty-one, yet like everyone else her age, she felt twice that.

As the world recovered, she endeavored to do the same and gave everything to Quidditch, grasping for the joy that the First had just about taken from her. She was Seeker for the Holyhead Harpies for another nine years. In that time, she found love, a wonderful man by the name of William Picard. He was a wizard from America. He was so kind and so good and at twenty-nine when she gave birth to his child, a beautiful boy by the time of Adam, it finally felt like she had grasped onto life again.

Only a few months after he was born, at her first game back after maternity leave, a particularly nasty bludger knocked her off her broom. It should have been an easy fix but even magic couldn’t fix the damage it had done to her hip. It wasn’t that she’d never fly again, it was that playing at a professional level had fallen from her grasp. She was newly thirty years old and sometimes still that hip causes her pain. It was okay though, because she had William and Adam and she would find something else. Right?

And find something she did. Six months after the injury, Albus Dumbledore contacted her. Hogwarts was in need of a Quidditch Coach and he thought she would be perfect for the job. Turns out he was right. Her days were spent at Hogwarts before she would head to Hogsmeade and apparate home.. Somedays Adam would come in with her and others William would have him. It wasn’t necessarily easy to figure out, but they made it work. Somewhere amongst all of that Ro also began to commentate for the British and Irish Quidditch league. Things were good.

And then in 2012, Voldemort came back. There isn’t much to say about the three years following, other than that Ro felt like she was twenty years old again, scared for her family and trying to pretend at work that things were okay. In January of 2014 however, doing so became much harder. She had eagerly left Hogwarts that day, desperate to be out of the dark and fearful place it had become. That day however, she apparated to a painfully familiar sight. The dark hovering over her home. William and Adam, only ten years old, were inside. It happened again. She had wanted nothing more then to run then, but instead she had simply gone back to Hogwarts and sent a Patronus to a member of The Order. Students needed her.

Then May Fourteenth happened and once again the world had to rebuild. She threw herself into it, desperate to continue to ignore what had happened, what she had lost. Stopping was out of the question because if she did so, she was certain she would unravel. And unravel she did when it all finally caught up to her. After all, she was now a widow (even if they had never officially gotten married) and a mother without a child. Who came back from such a thing?

It’s been six years now and sometimes she almost feels like the woman before the Second War. After all, she works at Hogwarts again (but now she lives there) and still travels occasionally to commentate (but now there is no one to send letters too). Even so, she knows that to be false. Especially now as history seems to be on the brink of repeating itself. Well, at least she has no family to get killed this time.

---

if you read all of that i’m very proud! i certainly did get a little carried away there. either way, i would love to plot and am open to most things! i hope you like her, she’s a new character for me so i’m very much still figuring her out!

#murder tw #death tw #war tw #rolanda | history #this gif is just too cute

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clumsyclifford · 5 years ago

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What about peace by Taylor swift? I don’t have a specific ship I jsut like that song

hey babe it’s been a minute since you sent me this but i knew when you did that it was gonna be mashton and i just needed to be in the right headspace and finally i’ve written it <3 i fucking love this song so i hope i did it justice !!

ao3 link!

Michael is tired.

It’s late, really late, so maybe that’s why; maybe it’s just the weight of the darkness, tugging at his limbs, wearing him out. Maybe a good night’s sleep would fix it, but Michael doubts it. It’s not that kind of tired.

No, this tired is deep and abiding. It’s been there for a long time, and it doesn’t look like it’s going anywhere anytime soon. He’s tired of having his guard up, tired of hiding his face behind real walls, his heart behind figurative ones, tired of blinking camera flashes out of his eyes. Tired of reading about himself in the news.

Tired of pretending he’s not tired.

In his arms, yawning, Ashton is sleep-tired. Michael can tell. The night is pulling at them both, and in a few minutes Ashton will probably fall asleep. They’re not tired for any reason except the hour; the day had been relaxing, easy, comfortable. Michael loves relaxing evenings with Ashton, eating pizza and cuddling in front of the TV, when the biggest stressor is trying to guess who will get eliminated from whatever shitty reality show they’ve put on. For a few hours, Michael gets to forget about his baggage, about the madness that is his life; sometimes Ashton will try to carry the burden, but on days like these he manages to vanish it completely, for just a little while.

But it’s back, now. And Ashton has been around for long enough that Michael figures they should at least talk about it. Ashton deserves a warning. If this is going to become anything, anything at all more than it already is — and Michael has his doubts, because inevitably every time he’s ever gotten close to anything more it’s crashed and burned before him — Ashton should know what he’s getting into.

Before Michael can say anything, though, Ashton murmurs, “You okay, Mike?”

Michael sighs. Trust Ashton to know. “Why do you ask?”

Ashton tilts his head to look Michael in the eyes. “I don’t know. Your…vibes are different.”

Michael huffs a laugh. “My vibes?”

“Yes, your vibes,” Ashton says stubbornly. “They’re off. What’s going on?” He kisses Michael’s shoulder. “Thinking hard?”

Michael inclines his head. “When am I not?”

“True,” Ashton says, smiling gently. “About what?”

About how this relationship has an expiration date, Michael doesn’t say. He worries his bottom lip and avoids Ashton’s eyes. About how badly I want you to stay, and how likely you are to leave when I tell you the reality of my life. Ashton’s eyes will trip him up, because they’re so earnest, so sincere, and Michael will forget about his stupid fucking hangups and just say, like, you’re the most beautiful man I’ve ever met or I love you I love you I love you please never leave or even just nothing, let’s go to sleep.

“There’s something I want to talk to you about,” he says carefully. “Nothing bad. Well. Nothing bad about you.”

Ashton frowns. “Okay,” he says.

Michael closes his eyes, and takes a deep breath. “So, um, obviously I love you. So much. You’re one of the best people I’ve ever met, and I — I don’t know how my luck is this good after everything, that I found you, that you…want to be with me, but.” Another breath. “But you have to know that this isn’t going to be, like, a normal relationship.”

He pauses. Ashton says, a hint wry, “Yeah, I figured.”

“Okay, but you’re not — fuck, I don’t want to sound arrogant or anything here,” Michael says, pressing the heels of his palm against his eyes. “Like, I’m really…famous?” He laughs a bit. “Yeah. I’m really famous.”

“I know that.”

“And I’ve taken a lot of shit in the past, and like, whatever, I can get past that, but…the people who are in relationships with me take a lot of shit, too. Without fail. Every boyfriend I’ve ever had has had at least one scathing article about them. No matter what I do, it always happens. I can’t stop them writing about my life.” He opens his eyes finally, and he looks over at Ashton, whose face is unreadable. Michael doesn’t like that; Ashton wears his heart on his sleeve, most of the time. “You’ll never have peace with me, Ash. I can’t control that. So you just should know that.” He swallows. “I’m sorry.”

Ashton looks mildly alarmed. “Why are you sorry? Are you breaking up with me?”

“No! No, no, fuck no,” Michael says quickly. “I’m sorry that we can’t just be a normal couple in a normal relationship. I’m sorry this won’t be easy, I’m sorry that it has to be this complicated. I’m — I’m fucking sorry that being with me comes with all this fine print. You’re incredible, and I love you, but you can’t be flying blind here. I’m giving you the chance to —”

“To leave?” Ashton says, in a strangled voice. “You think I’d leave because it’s hard? All relationships are hard, Michael.”

“I’m not saying they’re not,” Michael says firmly. “But this one is hard in a really atypical way, you have to at least admit that.”

“Every relationship has challenges,” Ashton says. Michael opens his mouth, but Ashton beats him to it. “Okay, I get it that this is different. You’re one of the biggest pop stars in the world, and I’m just some bloke from Australia. Yeah, it’s not the same, but whatever. I love you. We’ll figure it out.”

And if we don’t? Michael thinks, but looking at Ashton, he can’t bring himself to say it. “That’s the thing, though, you know? You’re not just some bloke from Australia. Not to me, but also not to them. You’re going to be Michael Clifford’s boyfriend.” Bitterly, he scoffs, “His latest boyfriend. Latest in a string of failed relationships, is probably what they’ll say.”

“Fine,” Ashton says, and his voice sounds like steel. “Michael, you have to know I don’t care. I don’t care. They don’t know what we know. They’re not here with us.”

“You say that now,” Michael says.

“And I’ll say it forever,” Ashton interrupts. “Michael. I love you. That’s the only thing that matters to me, okay? Everything else we’ll deal with as it comes. That’s how every relationship is.” He cradles Michael’s face in his hands, palms as warm as his voice when he speaks again. “I don’t want peace, Michael. I don’t want easy. I want you, whatever that takes.”

Michael stares at him, but Ashton doesn’t waver. “Okay,” he says quietly. “But if you change your mind —”

“Stop,” Ashton says, and Michael falls silent, always at Ashton’s whim. “You’re telling me all the reasons this relationship won’t work. What about all the reasons it will? What about the reasons it does?” He holds up a finger. “First of all, I love you.” A second finger. “And you love me. So that’s already two reasons.”

Michael bites his lip. “Yeah. True.”

“Third,” Ashton says, “I’m an excellent cook, and you’re awful at it. So you need me around.”

A laugh escapes off Michael’s tongue despite his best efforts to stop it. “Hey, now.”

“Fourth, my siblings would probably kill me if I broke up with you,” Ashton says, putting up a fourth finger. Michael giggles. “And I enjoy being alive. Don’t even get me started on my mum.”

“My mum would kill me,” Michael agrees.

“Fifth,” Ashton says softly, lowering his hand to link it with Michael’s, “I am hopelessly in love with you.” Michael feels himself blush, feels his heart rate pick up even though it’s not the first time Ashton’s said it. Ashton always makes his heartbeat feel like a drumroll. “So whatever happens, happens, but I’m not going anywhere if I have anything to say about it. Rain or shine. You’re far too important to me for that.”

Michael wonders if it would be wrong to cry, or if Ashton would take it the wrong way. He doesn’t cry, but it’s a close thing, so instead he presses forward, capturing Ashton’s lips in his own, trying to say me too without having to actually say it, because to say it wouldn’t feel like enough. Two syllables can’t adequately express everything Michael feels about Ashton, now and forever, but maybe Ashton will understand anyway. Maybe Ashton will just know.

“I don’t know how I got this lucky, but holy fuck, I am so glad I did,” Michael breathes, pulling barely away, leaning his forehead against Ashton’s. “You mean the world to me, Ash. I love you. I’m sorry.”

“You have nothing to be sorry for.”

“Thank you,” Michael amends, because that’s what he means anyway. “Thank you for — fuck, for everything. For hearing me out. For still being here. For being the best fucking person I’ve ever known.”

The corners of Ashton’s mouth pull upward. “I’ll accept that. And thank you for trusting me.”

It had never been a question, whether or not Michael ought to trust Ashton, to love Ashton. From their first day, Michael had been sold; to fall in love with Ashton had always been a question of when and not if. “Look at us,” he murmurs, “communicating like mature adults. If only the press could see us now.”

Ashton laughs. “You don’t want that.”

“No, I don’t.” He can’t avoid it — neither of them can — but Michael can pretend, just for now. This moment, with Ashton, can be their secret. “I love you.”

“I love you,” Ashton echoes. He presses another kiss to Michael’s lips. “And I’m tired, and I can tell you are too. Stop thinking so hard for tonight. Go to sleep.”

There’s nothing Michael wants more. “Okay,” he says. There’s a rare, unfamiliar feeling settling in his chest, his bones, as he shifts his position to fully embrace Ashton, brushing a kiss to the back of his neck.

As Michael falls asleep, Ashton’s heartbeat under his hands, he realizes the feeling is peace.

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hellzyeahthewebwieldingavenger · 5 years ago

Text

This is the most offensivly ignorant comment I’ve ever had the misfortunte of reading

Unsurprisingly it comes from the King of ‘What you just said is so aggressively idiotic I feel like you just insulted everyone’: RDMacQ.

For context you need to read this statement from someone else. Whilst I do not agree with this statement I’m not addressing it’s merits or demerits.

“Let me say that I don't like Evil Superman as a concept, but when written well, like Tom Taylor's Injustice comics, where the guy who wrote it clearly has love for the traditional version of Superman and tries to humanize him even at his worst so you can relate and feel for the guy, I accept it, I enjoy it. By that same token, I was always open to Peter/MJ not working out if it was done well, and not done as in the case of OMD/OMIT with the demonstrable intent of slandering MJ's character and making Peter young hip and open to dating younger girls without him coming off as a creep and sleazebag. I am not okay with it happening to preserving Peter's sainthood. I mean the reason I accepted Peter B. in ITSV is that it did that take on the direction the character went into very well. In the case of Life Story #3, you are meant to agree with MJ and she's shown as a moral force, someone who condemns Venom Peter when he is about to kill Kraven-in-Cloth Suit. And of course people need to keep in mind that in Life Story, Reed and Sue didn't work out either, Vision suffers more guilt than even Peter can fathom, Captain America made a bigger and more difficult choice and faces more consequences for his actions than Peter does. So I feel that whatever Zdarsky is doing he's playing fair in the way that other writers don't when they do the story this way. And also tonally, the story is set in the '80s, the age of Watchmen. I think in terms of decade-specific mood and trend, having a story where Spider-man becomes a deadbeat dad worried about not being in prime physical shape and so on...is quite apposite.”

Then we get to RDMacQ’s bullshit

“Yeah, I find it weird that the main complaint is "This isn't what happened in the original comics" and I'm like "Yeah.... kind of the point!"”

Here is the problem.

Life Story is intended and promoted as a WHAT IF.

The way a WHAT IF works is that it takes what DID happen and changes variables to explore how that’d impact the outcome.

With Variables A+B you get outcome 1 (the main universe).

But what if you had Variables C+D? You would get outcome 2.

Gwen Stacy died so Spider-Man tried (and ultimately refrained) from murdering the Green Goblin.

But what If Spider-Man saved Gwen Stacy? Then she’d accept him, he’d stop the Goblin, but the Goblin would expose his identity in the interim and thus ruin Peter’s life.

Kingpin’s assassin injured Aunt May so Peter beat him up.

But what If the Kingpin’s assassin didn’t injure Aunt May but simply outright killed Mary Jane? Then Peter would directly murder the Kingpin.

Life Story doesn’t play fair as a What if in the slightest.

A what if done properly is confined by the parameters of the original story. Everyone still needs to act in character within the context of the new situation as defined by the older stories.

That isn’t he case in Life Story

To begin with it isn’t changing just one variable it’s changing multiple. Spider-Man is aging in real time. The events of his life are happening in roughly the same time period they would’ve been published, but not in the same order. The level of realism is drastically higher since Marvel heroes are going to the Vietnam War.

Characters act arbitrarily differently in ways they wouldn’t do in the context of the new variables. Case in point, why exactly would Norman Osborn pull the scheme he di in issue #2 just because he’s in prison? His plan never made sense. And in issue #4 his plan was even more asinine. He wanted to destroy Spider-Man and due to being too old to do it himself he pulled the Clone Saga and got Doc Ock to attack Spidey on his behalf. But he knew who Peter was, why not just reveal the truth. Doing so couldn’t harm him as he’d already paid for his crimes as the Goblin and his identity was public knowledge.

That doesn’t make sense. That’s not an opinion that’s just self-evident by the story. The cause and effect of it doesn’t add up.

But RDMacQ doesn’t believe in that. According to him Norman’s actions are justified because ‘ a crazy person did something that didn’t make sense’. That’s the laziest most pathetic attempt at analysis. And yet this cum bubble of a human being has the audiactity to claim I don’t analyse.

To him authorial intent is everything unless he doesn’t like it.

Because the point is that it’s supposed to be different from canon that means that characters can act in ANY way that’s different. ANY thing that is different is a viable option. Which obviously defeats the entire object of the project. If you are going to do that what is the point of rooting it in 616 canon in the first place? Why rely upon familiarity with the canon universe if you are going to randomly change anything on a whim as opposed to in logical response to a changed variable?

In doing that all you have accomplished is a weird and unfocussed Ultimate Universe, not a What if.

But then ol’ Big Mac starts to step up the game.

“I think probably my issue arises due to certain recent fan outrages, and a lot of the rationalizations and justifications that came from them. The latest episode of Game of Thrones, for example, had a lot of people- and I mean a LOT of people- decrying a character's "Heel" turn and their "Out of character" moments- while at the same time showing a bit of a misreading of the material or the subject matter.”

Bear in mind when he wrote this the latest episode of HBO’s Game of Thrones was the penultimate episode of it’s eighth and final season. In it, key protagonist, Daenerys slaughtered a whole city full of civilians with a fire breathing dragon and her army. Throughout the show she’d previously been defined as being unwilling to kill innocents on principle, once claiming that each enslaved person in a city was a reason to conquer the city and liberate it’s people. She was so horrified that one of her dragons inadvertently killed a child that she locked them up. She once affirmed that she did not want to be ‘Queen of the Ashes’ amidst her campaign to retake her homeland.

It’s fair to say the overwhelming majority of viewers AND professional critics took major issue with this and declared it a travesty and out of character.

Behind-the-scenes stories also heavily point to Emilia Clarke (the actress portraying the character) being upset and disenchanted with her character’s direction.

youtube

For my money these two videos are the best examinations of the disaster that was Daenerys heel turn in this episode of Game of Thrones.*

youtube

Also please bear in mind the ‘man’ saying people are misreading things is the same man who has continually insisted that Norman Osborn merely wants to kill Spider-Man in spite of me citing examples to the contrary, including this page.

So you know, not exactly demonstrating great analytical skills there.

“I think it's far too easy to cry "Out of character" when a character does something different, or simply questionable, because it's an easy catch all phrase that sounds like you know something, but in reality it's just a cover for a lack of understanding of things like characterization or plot development.”

Says the ‘man’ who genuinely once said Norman Osborn doing something nonsensical is justified because ‘he’s crazy’.

Says the ‘man’ who leaned incredibly hard on the idea that Miles Warren in Life Story would not have intervened in Gwen’s marriage to Peter Parker even though his entire character revolves around his jealous obsession over her.

Says the guy who once said a writer can randomly decide all of Mary Jane’s character development since the 1980s didn’t matter.

Says the ‘man’ who once claimed Doc Ock at the end of Gage’s Superior run was he real Doc Ock even though he was literally a clone of his mind in a clone of his body…and then he refused to listen to me when I repeatedly spelled that fact out for him. His rationale was ‘Marvel are treating him as the real guy so he is’.

Says the ‘man’ that in his ‘interpretation’ Spider-Man regarded Ned Leeds as a ‘viper’ after he was revealed as the Hobgoblin, in spite of literally no evidence supporting that interpretation and you know Spider-Man literally saying otherwise multiple times; including in the issue he learned Ned was a villain. In fact when I pointed this out to ol’ big Mac he referred to such things as ‘arbitrary’.

Says the guy who once said it’s better for stories to be in multi-parters because before the rise of decompression al stories had rushed endings. Remember how Amazing Fantasy #15, The Kid Who Collects Spider-Man, Sensational Annual 2007, The Conversation and When Commeth the Commuter all had ‘rushed’ endings?

Says the poor excuse for a ‘man’ who once claimed there was nothing wrong with the JMS run having magic but who also lambasted Peter David’s Spider-Man work for involving magic and time travel, even though JMS wrote ASM #500 which is literally about magic time travel.

What I am trying to say is this ‘man’ has systemically demonstrated immense hypocrisy and stupidity but a staggering deficiency when it comes to literary analytical skills.

“The movie reviewer Bob Chipman mentioned this in one of his videos where he talked about the problems that a lot of "Modern" viewers have is that they believe because they watch a lot of movies in a year, that somehow makes them film buffs or gives them insight into the storytelling process, when in reality what they are doing is watching all the Marvel movies or all the big releases, and assuming that gives them the same sort of insight that people who go to school to learn this sort of thing do. And I kind of think that's also true of comics as well.”

Oh boy, is there a lot to unpack here.

Keeper of the Gate

For starters let’s call this out for what it is. As much as he might be softening the statement by saying ‘kind of’, what he is actually doing right here is GATEKEEPING.**

He is saying unless you have ‘gone to school to learn this sort of thing’ you don’t COUNT as a critic.***

Okay let’s dive into that one.

Schooling ain’t everything

Gone to school to do what exactly? How to make movies? That’s what film school is for right? So you can learn how to write, produce, direct, etc movies. Correct me if I am wrong but film school does not teach you how to CRITIQUE movies.

So by this logic going to film school wouldn’t qualify you to critique a movie, just how to make them. Except no one argues that. Bob Chipman himself studied film at school and it is from that point of view that his analyses come from.

So by RDMacQ’s own logic Bob himself isn’t qualified for his own job, let alone RD himself. At which point why does Bob’s words carry any weight at all?

But wait, we can go yet deeper.

What if we aren’t talking about film school specifically? What if someone just studied film as their major in college but not strictly film school? Is that good enough to be a film critic or not? If it is are you a lower echelon of film critic?

What if you minored in film/media studies instead of majored in it? Are you yet lower on the totem pole?

What if you went to film school but dropped out?

What if you studied from home and didn’t actually GO to the school itself?

What if you studied it at A school but pre-college?

What if you studied it privately outside of an educational institution? In other words a self-taught film student?

Shit, what about the first ever film critics or the first ever film makers who pioneered techniques and the art form? If they were going through the trial and error of formulating the art form and medium there obviously couldn’t have BEEN film schools back then?

Do they not count?

Not to mention the cultural implications of this. If you are an American who attended a French film school are you unqualified to critique American films and only French ones, even if you grew up predominantly with American cinema?

Let’s change things up a little and look to TV in Britain. One of the most acclaimed British TV writers of all time was a man named John Sullivan. Sullivan created multiple beloved and acclaimed sitcoms, the most famous of which is called Only Fools and Horses. So successful was this show that it was the most viewed TV show in Britain in both the 90s and the 2000s. The latte in particular is an achievement since the show existed purely as reruns in the 2000s sans literally 3 episodes.

The show had a total of 64 episodes and ran between 1981-2003. Do you know how many of those 64 episodes Sullivan wrote?

ALL of them.

And do you know how many of them have predominantly negative reviews? Arguably just four.

Not only has the show been positively received it’s been regarded as the singular greatest British comedy of all time, a title it still holds to this day.

Amidst the praise that the show has received is it’s great characterization, it’s emotional moments and in particular it’s utter command of narrative structure. Not only do the jokes land they land with grace and make the feat seem easy when it’s all over. The cherry on his record was his OBE, an official government recognition of his positive contributions to the arts.

So you know, this guy clearly knew how to tell a good story. He did like 60 times in a row single handily.

So when and where did he study film? The answer is, he didn’t.

He never studied film. His formal education stopped at age 15 when he dropped out of school with no qualifications. Even if he had completed his secondary high school education he’d have not studied film. Film was not on the British curriculum at the time and to my knowledge still isn’t. At best you can study ‘media studies’ starting at age 16-18 before you go on to university. But up until age 16 it’s just not an available option.

He did go to evening classes for English and read teach yourself books but that was it.

By Big Mac’s standards this writer who’s been recognized by the government themselves wasn’t qualified to write anything, let alone critique it.

Additionally let’s consider one teeny weeny little fact. If you’ve lived through the formal education system in pretty much any Western country you have almost certainly been educated on how to gain an insight into the storytelling process. Because that’s a big part of what fucking ENGLISH class is for!****

MovieBob

I’d say I’m shocked and appalled at RD’s audacity and lack of self-awareness in citing MovieBob Chipman. But I’m not. It actually makes far too much sense.

MovieBob is a broken clock that’s often not even right twice a day. His credibility as a critic and as a human being is also woefully lacking.

For starters RD is a big Spider-Marriage proponent (though he’s recently turned traitor and says he doesn’t really mid if it doesn’t come back). To his credit he has often called out and deconstructed unfair and disingenuous arguments against the Spider-Marriage.

Bob however is staunchly on the other side of that debate.

He’s even said the marriage was never good, came from an illegitimate place, that Spider-Mans imply should never be married and in fact argued that a late Slott era Spider-Man and MJ were more interesting than they were before.

Thus I find RD’s citing of Bob to back up his claims about who is ‘qualified’ to be a critic the height of irony.

But you know, that doesn’t necessarily hurt RD’s argument. Hell, Bob un-ironically believing in eugenics or intelligence testing for voters doesn’t necessarily hurt RD’s argument.

Nor does MovieBob’s weird, weird views on how society apparently punishes the Big Brains like himself of course. Although it’s so telling that an arrogant prick like RD would invoke the words of a ‘brother-in-arms’ like Bob.

No, what hurts RD’s argument is where Bob was probably coming from with his initial statement.

See I heavily suspect that RD’s claims about Bob are kind of stem from his interpretations of this video Bob made called ‘BIG PICTURE: PLOTHOLE SURFERS’. Noticeably that video cites this video by another Youtube film critic named Patrick Willems. Called ‘SHUT UP ABOUT PLOT HOLES’.

The sentiments of both videos explicitly or implicitly echo Big MacQuack’s. Everyone is wrong in how they are critiquing movies except them and people like them because they are ‘professionals’ because they went to school.

None of these arguments hold up to scrutiny both due to stuff I have mentioned above but also for various other reasons I’m not going to bother unpacking here. If you want a detailed look at why Chipman and Willems (and by extension RD) are full of shit there are several Youtube videos dissecting their points, particularly Willems’.

However, I’ve found the most detailed to be this video.

youtube

There is also this video where they more directly address Bob’s video.

Fair warning they are long and get less than PC, and yet they do address why the videos don’t hold up to scrutiny.

Self-taught critic

Here is a crazy thought, if you’ve watched all the Marvel movies and big releases every year, why SHOULDN’T that give you a potential insight when critiquing OTHER Marvel movies or big releases? Those things are competing against one another, they are broadly going for the same audience. If you familiarise yourself with them then it is not beyond impossibility that you could mentally play spot the difference in the storytelling and critically evaluate them. It’s almost like in consuming that media you have formulated a CRITERIA which you are then CRITICALLY judging similar such media against.

Hypocrisy

The best part about RD’s statements? He himself has never gone to film school. Nor has he gone to a school specifically teaching him how to analyse comic books nor write them.

By his own logic he has disqualified himself from partaking in critiquing any story, as he did with Life Story or Game of Thrones earlier on.

But the best part?

If you check out the thread this is from and observe the poster called Chase the Blues Away they often disagree. CTBA points out holes in RD’s arguments and subtly questions his reading comprehension. Entirely separately they also implied they felt GoT’s writing was illogical towards the end of season 8 as well.

Why is CTBA relevant.

Because they actually HAVE gone to film school!

Furthermore, on both Life Story and most other matters related to Spider-Man CTBA and myself have been on the same page, whether this entails agreeing with one another’s statements or by coincidence having similar positions.

Now me?

I NEVER went to film school nor did I study English literature formally beyond age 18. Oh, I’ve read bits and bobs about writing (my favourite being Russell T Davies’ book ‘A Writer’s Tale’). But I have no college level formal education on the craft of writing. My analytical skills were cultivated from my school experiences and a whole load of osmosis and practice.

I have also found myself often on the same page as another person who at least studied English at a college level. They are another poster on the same forum called MacGoblin, perhaps better known as the creator of the (now defunct) SpideyKicksButt website. For many people the site was THE best source of Spider-Man analysis on the web for over a decade.

MadGoblin still participates regularly on a podcast covering new Spider-Man issues and whether or not I agree with all his assessments the manner in which he analyses (with an eye upon continuity) is similar to myself and indeed all the other panellists on the podcast.

One of the former panellists on the podcast (who I have also been on the same page with more often than not) was called Donomark and he too studied English at a college level.

So that’s three people who meet RD’s arbitrary rules for who is a ‘real’ critic. And yet I (someone who doesn’t meet RD’s criteria) have come to mostly the exact same conclusions as they have through entirely independent analysis.

As have other people I know who didn’t study film or English Lit in college.

So, either I’m just an absolute prodigy, or RDMacQ, Willems and MovieBob’s criteria for who can and can’t grasp plot and characters is full of shit.

“A lot of the complaints I've seen is that Peter wouldn't or didn't do this in the original comics. But arguing "Peter wouldn't do this because in ASM #225, on page 11..." isn't pointing out the flaw in the story.”

As always RD is devoid of nuance or appreciating the complexities of things.

If in Life Story or any Spider-Man story in canon Peter acts in a way at odds with his established characterization which is DEFINED by ASM #225 then absolutely that’s pointing out a flaw in a story.

Case in point, here is this poorly drawn satire of Superior Spider-Man RDMacQ himself made:

Most of the gags at the expense of Superior Spider-Man in this page was made through the lens of knowing the characters’ past, of knowing what they did and how they acted in older stories.

The confusion over Crazy Town Banana Pants derives from Superior claiming Peter routinely said this when he in fact never did.

Carlie’s suspicions over Superior’s behaviour stems from he fact that the older stories have established how Peter acts and established that Carlie knows how he acts. Therefore Carlie not realizing the truth when she’s been told is illogical. That’s the gag from someone who’s stamped his foot on the ground and angrily refuted that human beings are capable of being logical.

The same is true of this next page too.

Captain America refers to ‘usual’ people involved with the Avengers (super scientists, etc.). Usual means there is a precedent and a precedent can only be defined via a pattern. A pattern of what? A pattern of older stories!

The second panel is bringing up the OLDER STORY ‘Ends of the Earth’ to prove the hypocrisy of Doc Ock

The final panel references SEVERAL past events. The Clone Saga. The Alien Costume Saga. Every time the Chameleon or another shape shifter has impersonated him. Kraven’s Last Hunt.

It’s also referencing the fact that MJ would KNOW about them and even goes really specific by referencing the events of a few pages of one specific issue of Kraven’s Last Hunt. Not the gist of the story, not the climax or the most famous moments. This one scene in the middle of everything else.

RD is using that very specific moment to draw a comparison between it and the events of Superior in order to point out how MJ is not acting consistently.

Almost like she’s, I dunno, OUT OF CHARACTER or something?

Oh, and or the record declaring Peter would or wouldn’t act this way because of ASm #225 p11 is bullshit because Peter isn’t even on that page.

“That's just spouting comic book trivia, which isn't the same thing.”

But referencing events in the middle of KLH which are hardly iconic and immediately memorable and pointing out how MJ didn’t act consistently with them in Superior Spider-Man?

Oh no, that’s NOT ‘spouting comic book trivia’.

Can you see the hypocrisy of this creature now?

Can you see how BROKEN it is to argue a character being established as acting a certain way by an older story DOESN’T mean it matters thereafter?

And he says I am bad at analysis, Jesus Christ.

“Knowledge of trivia isn't the same as understanding plot structure, foreshadowing, character development, or knowing or accepting that just because something happens in issue 1 doesn't mean it will stay that way throughout the entire book.”

First of all the sheer audacity of someone with such non-existent analytical skills to DARE fucking throw shade like this is astounding. That’s like Michael Bay trying to explain how you make a movie with substance.

Second of all he’s right and wrong here.

Knowing the history of the characters is not the same as knowing those things.

But that doesn’t render it trivia because it’s the fucking histories of the characters that define who they goddam are!

Everyone agrees Spider-Man would not have acted the way he did in One More Day right? And that MJ wouldn’t have acted the way she did in OMIT right?

Why? Why do people feel the characters would not behave that way?

Because they read older stories that depicted them acting in certain ways in certain situations that were then contradicted by OMD and OMIT.

You know like MJ not realising Superior Spidey wasn’t really Peter even though the situation was incredibly similar to Kraven’s Last Hunt and both entailed imposters pretending to be Spider-Man.

No, knowing the history isn’t the same as knowing all that other stuff.

But it is undeniably an integral PART of being able to analyse something because if the prior events don’t matter, if they are merely trivia (or worse trivia when he wants it to be but not when he doesn’t) then NOTHING matters.

Why the fuck should issue #1 matter when reading issue #2? Or issue #3 when reading issue #5?

What does it matter if chapter 1 established our protagonist as an adult black man with a wife but by chapter 10, with no explanation they are a teenaged white woman claiming they’ve never been married?

Hey, chapter 1 is just trivia right. Why should that matter?

By the way, go ask Harry Potter fans if those little details are irrelevant and see how that goes.

He’s also (unsurprisingly) disgustingly disingenuous in his final point. Yes, things between issue #1 and issue #25 will change. But there is a world of difference between something changing via development vs. lazy contradictive writing.

Case in point, in ASM #1 Peter Parker doesn’t have a job, is a pariah at school and runs away crying from a failed adventure. In issue #25 he has a freelance job, isn’t running away crying and 2 ladies are interested in him.

WHAT? Isn’t this a contradiction? Doesn’t accepting this change mean you accept that issue #1 was mere trivia?

No, because between issue #1 and #25 we saw how and when Peter got a job, those two ladies became interested in him and we saw his skills, experience and confidence grow. The end result is that issue #25 was different to issue #1 because we’d been on a JOURNEY to get us there.

In contrast in ASM #700 Doc Ock is seemingly turned into a good guy because all of Spider-Man’s memories were beamed into his head, teaching him Uncle Ben’s famous mantra. But in Superior Spider-Man #1 he’s randomly reverted to what he was doing back in ASM #698.

So that stuff was just trivia? But that stuff was the resolution of ASM #700 and therefore the set up for Superior #1. The latter couldn’t exist without the former and yet it doesn’t make sense.

And you see that? You see how that cause and effect problem exists? Yeah, that’s PART of critiquing plot structure and foreshadowing. It’s ALMOST like the older stories aren’t merely trivia but actually very important and play a factor in the other forms of analysis RD listed off.

Not to mention, the idiocy of saying knowing the trivia doesn’t mean you understand foreshadowing. Motherfucker, the entire concept of foreshadowing is that you establish details in the present because you want to hint at readers about where the story is going to go later. It practically HINGES upon readers remembering that ‘trivia’.

If ASM #225 p11 had Spider-Man pass by a black cat and say ‘Boy that reminds me of Felicia Hardy.’ THAT would be foreshadowing for the next issue, but you couldn’t appreciate that UNLESS you remembered what happened in ASM #225 p11.

And the imbecility of bringing this shit up whilst referencing Game of Thrones too? As if Daenerys heel turn was actually foreshadowed and not just created from splicing old voice overs together in the previously segment of the show.

The next bit is in reference to Life Story again by the way.

“I mean, one of the best bits of subtle foreshadowing here is what happens with Peter and Reed's relationship. In issue 2, Peter reflects on how Reed pushed Sue away with his actions, and how he doesn't want to end up like that. But come issue 3, Peter ends up doing just that, despite his best efforts to the contrary and knowing what happened to Reed beforehand. That shows smart plot structure, which doesn't come out and yell at you "THIS IS IMPORTANT!" or hold your hand in any way. That shows that this story is pretty smart with the narrative choices that are being made.”

No it doesn’t.

Because the way in which Peter pushed MJ away contradicted his character and made no fucking sense. He had a mid-life crisis in spite of being well under 40 years old.

Also, you can have, by skill or by fluke, a dash of GOOD writing amidst your shitty writing.

A LOT of people would argue the podrace or Duel of the Fates fight in Phantom Menace were legitimately good sequences in an otherwise bad movie.

People broadbrush 90s Marvel as wall to wall trash but equally everyone praises Spider-Man 2099, Joe Kelly’s Deadpool run, Ron Marz’s Green Lantern run, etc.

Goddammit, 99% of all Doctor Who is fans celebrating the bits that were great amidst the bits that were bad. There are no end of Dr. Who stories were fans will praise the set design or costumes whilst shitting on the over all writing.

Shockingly a piece of media can have good AND bad elements!

Whenever someone says a story is good or bad they are almost always speaking OVERALL. A New Hope is OVERALL good. It’s not claiming there aren’t flaws to it.

Dan Slott’s Spider-Man run was OVERALL bad. Even I have said there are good elements to it.

But the mere existence of good elements doesn’t prove that something is overall one thing or another.

In Life Story’s case, let’s pretend RD is right. Then Zdarsky executed a good bit of foreshadowing.

Key word there: ‘bit’.

It doesn’t PROVE the over all story is smart with its narrative choices.

That’s such an utterly childish manner of analysis. ‘Well this bit is good that means everything else has to be good’.

Like how the fuck does doing a good bit of foreshadowing prove that Life Story wasn’t mischaracterizing anyone or knew how to tell a good alternate history story?

Shit, DAN SLOTT had foreshadowing, sometimes it was even competently executed. Didn’t mean it wasn’t happening within the context of mischaracterization.��

Trust Bobby Mac to have no grasp of nuance.

“But rather than acknowledging that, instead we get stuff like being concerned with that because Gwen finds out Peter's secret identity at the end of issue 1, that therefore means that Peter is going to be hooking up with Gwen throughout the rest of the story, that this is going to be one big Peter/ Gwen book, that Chip Zdarsky is somehow a Gwen shipper because he wanted to just have her as a best friend in Spectacular, that MJ only having two lines in the first issue means her importance will be diminished overall, and that the whole series is going to try and be a rewrite to push that ship.”

None of the allegedly great foreshadowing RD spoke of above was in issue #1

Even if it was nobody could possibly have talked about that as a point of praise because the nature of foreshadowing is we wouldn’t have realised it was goddam foreshadowing until we finally GOT to the bit it was setting up in later issues

RD has been one of the most involved people in discussions about the Spider-Marriage, frequently clashing with a fell named Mister Mets on CBR and on the linked message board. He knows that Marvel from OMD onwards used to spite fans over OMD and the Spider-Marriage and that circa 2019 when Life Story was being released the latest of such instances had occurred maybe just 1 year earlier in Slott’s Red Goblin storyline. He also knows Zdarsky pissed in the well of the Spider-Marriage fans with his FCBD 2017 Spidey story which involved Mary Jane. So for a heavily burned and abused fanbase to suddenly be concerned that Zdarksy would be pushing an agenda was a totally natural and justified reaction to have at the time even if it was proven incorrect in the long run.

RD is being a shithead again. ‘Ugh, look at these overwrought FaNz. wHy CaNt dey celebrate the GUD stuff and not focus on the WRONG stuff’.The wrong stuff being Zdarsky shitting on the Spider-Man marriage, which he clearly did by breaking up Peter and Mj in the 80s when they didn’t break up then but he needed to ship Peter with Jessica Jones I guess

“Yet here we, two issues later, and Gwen is dead, Peter married MJ and now they have kids.”

And in LF #3 their marriage was in a toxic place and they split up. In issue #4 they get back together but only by Peter giving up being Spider-Man. Almost like the story was saying having a family and being Spidey are incompatible or something.

Shit issue #3 BEGINS with MJ griping about Peter.

“All the reactionary nonsense turned out to be for naught, since the story was going in a different direction, and just because Gwen was prominent early on didn't mean MJ wasn't going to play an important role later.”

It wasn’t reactionary nonsense it was entirely justified reactionary concern. People weren’t concerned that MJ wouldn’t be important but that Zdarsky would be pushing a pro-Gwen/anti-Mj agenda which he at least debatably did and certainly seemed to be doing in the first 3 issues.

“And yet we still continue to see that reactionary nonsense continue with decrying because Peter and MJ leave off on a bad note here, it therefore means the rest of the series will be an unending slide into misery.”

Which was proven partially true.

Issue #4 Harry dies, Peter quits like a coward.

Issue #5 Peter’s child is crippled, his identity is outted, ben Reilly dies and he becomes a fugitive as a super human civil war breaks out.

Issue #6 the world has turned to shit because of that civil war and the only way to fix it is for Spider-Man to die.

But again, he’s missing the point like the fool that he is.

People were concerned and upset BECAUSE the series split Peter and MJ up in the first place. Both because that defied the mission statement of the series but also because they know Peter and MJ WOULDN’T split up and the circumstances engineering it were fucking contrived shit.

“Which then unfortunately leads into bashing the creator himself, which I find incredibly unreasonable given the tremendous job Zdarsky is doing.”

He didn’t do a tremendous job.

Chase the Blues Away, the film school student, had been saying so and continued to say so after RD made this comment. So I guess by his own metric he was full of shit.

This is one of RD’s fundamental and fatal flaws. He’s a hypocrite. Everything is subjective unless it’s the shit HE likes or hates. Then it’s objectively good or bad.

Not to mention no one had been bashing the creator personally. He can’t grasp this either. He doesn’t grasp the distinction between bashing the work of a writer vs. bashing the writer personally.

E.g. he falsely claims I’ve sworn at him. I have sworn at him…here. On my own blog here I don’t feel the need to play nice.

On a public forum? Never. I’ve sworn in the course of conversations with him. I’ve sworn in regards to his argument but never sworn to attack him personally.

“Decrying Zdarsky as some form of hack because halfway through a six part story he's had the protagonist go through a rough time and that he is just putting out "Fan fiction," or- as I saw someone else argue- that the reason Zdarsky did this was because he himself went through marital troubles at one time in his life is just silly.”

It’s really not. He admitted that he wrote MJ in FCBD 2017 as his ex wife.

Fanfiction is exactly what LF was. Peter hooks up with Jessica Jones because…no given reason. It’d make infinitely more sense for that to have been Felicia but it was Jessica Jones. Zdarsky invents his own personal new spin on the Goblin who’s wearing kewl black because why not. He has characters randomly act in any way he wants for the story to happen regardless of how little sense it makes. That’s bad fanfiction 101. He has logic holes you can drive a truck through. FFS Russia launched nukes on America in issue #3 and this DIDN”T result in all out nuclear Armageddon. That’s amateuris

“Just like it's silly to say that D&B from GoT are purposefully destroying the show because they hate it and they hate women and they just want to move onto Star Wars,”

This is at worst a strawman.

At best an utterly myopic oversimplification.

The MAJORITY of people crying out against GoT season 8 weren’t claiming D&B were engaging in deliberate sabotage but rather they were ruining the series via their incompetence and RUSHING to get to the end.

Additionally the idea that they are misogynists is REALLY not a ‘silly’ argument. MANY people throughout the show’s history have made that argument, long before the popular opinion was that the show was bad,

A season 4 subplot that was heavily embellished (to the point of being called practically original) from the books entailed rogue Night’s Watchmen raping a household of women beyond the Wall. The most infamous line from the subplot was ‘Fuck them all to death.’

In that same season Jamie Lannister makes sexual advances on his sister Cersei even though she was saying no.

Sansa Stark, in a scene not in the books, was raped by Ramsey Bolton with the focus being upon Theon Greyjoy’s horror at the situation.

And of course there is ever so slightly a dash of gratuitous nudity involving women in the show.

Look, I’m not even saying for sure that D&B hate women or that that was at the root of how they fucked up Daenerys’ character in season 8.

But it’s idiotic to just dismiss the idea as wholesale silly as Smac a Mac is doing above.

“when in reality D&B were the reason the show got made in the first place and all those great female characters were brought to television for a wider audience to experience.”

Hollywood had been wanting to adapt George R. R. Martin’s books for years before he let D&B do it

Their first pilot was so bad they had to reshoot it.

They weren’t the reason we got those great female characters. Martin’s writing was why we got those characters and those good stories and why anyone wanted to make his books into a live action property at all.

Again, RD FAILING at nuance. A female character can have good writing AND bad writing. They can be good over all but drop the ball in certain moments. They can be great for 7 seasons but then fumble disastrously at the finish line. An opinion shared by all those critics that went to film school

Writers can be capable of doing good female characters even if they are misogynists. Writers who are not misogynists are capable of still being sexist at times. Friggin Stan Lee had sexist female characters in spite of also inventing Mary Jane who is lauded as a great female character even in the 1960s. Again, nuance. Mac Attac ain’t good at it.

“We can dislike or criticize a work without having to demonize the creators,”

It’s not demonizing D&B or Zdarsky to call them incompetent writers.

“and I think it's just become far too easy nowadays for people to rationalize their statements by making the creators themselves into remorseless villains, since that justifies them acting however they please in response.”

And it’s become far too difficult for me to stomach any more of this piece of shit.

*For what it is worth, these events are also listed on TV Tropes under the Face Heel Turn page:

Daenerys herself falls victim to this in the final seasons. Her actions in Essos had the purest of intentions: fighting against the Dothraki's misogyny and ending slavery in western Essos. Even her morally questionable acts still had these goals in mind. But when she set her sights on conquering Westeros, which is more or less a standard medieval European setting, her only goal was conquest. Even her claim that the Iron Throne is her birthright falls short since her father was killed due to his madness and love of burning things. Dany really doesn't help her case by burning alive any captive soldiers who don't side with her. This culminates with her slaughtering most of King's Landing's civilian population in the penultimate episode. Had the show started with the sixth season, there'd be no question that she is Daddy's Little Villain, her tragic backstory and past heroic deeds being a footnote at best.

**This is especially ironic as he’s accused me of doing the same.

Me, I’ve called people out or corrected them when they have gotten facts wrong. I’ve even said they don’t know what they are talking about. The difference is I’m not doing it just on principal as he is here.

I’ve never said someone doesn’t belong in the fandom or is not a real fan. Yet here RDMacQ is outright disqualifying people from having the legitimacy to critique comic books unless they’ve gone through what he deems the ‘appropriate steps’.

If I have told someone they are wrong or don’t know what they are talking about or don’t understand the material I have corroborative EVIDENCE to back it up. Their own statements prove that point.

E.g. RDMacQ doesn’t understand Norman Osborn’s character. Why? Because his statements contradicts the clear cut TEXT (not the subtext) of the source material. See? The source material is the EVIDENCE that supports my accusation. But RDMacQ doesn’t believe in analysis that way and has told me so himself.

***This laughable in he modern day and age where film criticism is so transparently ideologically driven as opposed to sincerely critiquing the merits of a film.

Hence why Bob Chipman and most other professional critics laud works like the Last Jedi which a fifth grader can see has little internal consistency.

#RDMacQ #Catharsis #Spider-Man #Game of Thrones #Dan Slott #Mary Jane Watson #Superior Spider-Man #MovieBob #Bob Chipman #daenerys targeryan

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heydemonsitmeyaboy · 6 years ago

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Demon war Sam's route got me messed up and now that Michaela's not doing anymore I just want to see how mc and Sam would deal with the reader being the demon princess and James and the other brothers having kids who are all boys who are best friends and pretty much brothers and sister compared to cousins James son - Jade Erik - Ash Matthew - Leo Damien - Taylor If you could do this please I will be very happy there are like no stories for something like this thanks!

Headcanons!/ short story

( thank you so much for your request! I thought head cannons would be easier instead of me doing a one shot since you’ll actually see you like in order how he would deal but if you would like one shot please let me know!(I also did like a short version of a one-shot I have no idea what to call it but it’s kind a like a miniature Headcanon if you will) 💜 as for the other request I will be answering that one separately)

💚 Sam will be extremely patient with the reader considering he’s been a demon all his life so he has some pointers on the do’s and don’t.

💚 although we never really got told how Sam felt about the whole entire ordeal they kind of just pushed it out there I’m sure that he was welcomed with the whole idea of the reader being a demon in the first place. Knowing how if he has an opinion about something he’ll definitely share it so I’m sure it’s not really shocking thing

💚 Sam would be extremely over protective ,maybe even more now that the reader is a demon. Since Sam really didn’t have to worry that much in the human world, because he was stronger than them ,but now since he’s the demon king and knowing what the previous king did .I am sure there would be plenty of demons wanting to kill him and the queen in the name of revenge. And since the reader is still adjusting to living and being a demon period she won’t have much to defend herself with so same would be in protective mode 24/7

💚With the soul bonding Sam would be able to feel when the reader is in distressed so in those times he’ll comfort her and maybe if she’s feeling a little homesick he’ll do the best he can(since you literally can’t open a portal without a human on the other side casting it so visiting the human world would be a no)

💚 studying the history of the abyssal plains. ( you can’t have an unknowledgeable monarchs rule the kingdom so Sam and the reader would have to study to see how to make the kingdom better and how to fix what the demon lord did . In the first seduce me the otome James was constantly studying so he’ll be prepared when is his time to take the throne. Sam wouldn’t have to study as much because his mother was there to teach him how to rule if there was a possibility that Sam will take the throne but I’m sure MC would have to study quite a bit so Sam would be there to help her )

💚sexy time? Sexy time. It does take quite a bit of energy to rule the kingdom ;)

💚 Sam would be a bit new to this whole succubus thing and ah mc has two horns. Powerful gal

Sam would deal with the reader as he would normally would,Demon or human he’ll love mc and be by her side... always.of course being the in abyssal plans things will tend to get a bit rough, with demons not knowing that you were once human, they would a assume that you were a princess to a kingdom and you had training before hand.so Sam would have to teach you the do’s and dont’s on how to run a kingdom.sam wouldn’t be too keen on the mc just wandering around the place so I’m pretty sure he’ll supervise most of the time ,but not in like a kid away but a protective type away. Now that Sam could read he’ll have no problem teaching her a little bit of history so that will be fun. (incomplete in utter honesty I see Sam having no particular noticeable bumps if MC does become the princess of the abyssal plains I feel like he’ll just become more protective and more hostile towards the others since you can’t sleep in the demon world without at least having one eye open. But other than that I’m pretty sure he will still treat her relatively the same way maybe a bit more frisky if you know what I mean since he’ll think she can take it better and think about the enthrallment... I can’t...)

#seduce me the otome #seduce me the demon war #ahh why is it like that

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jazlynso-blog · 5 years ago

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I not much fussed about the royal kid

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hauntedschnee · 6 years ago

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This is for everybody.

So, you’ve got haters? Ignore them. You’ve got shamers? Ignore them. LISTEN. The goal of these haters and shamers is primarily to make you feel worthless, less confident in yourself, and to make you regret yourself...and your choices. Once you get affected by their words aggressively and greatly and begin to feel worthless and everything that I’ve mentioned that is their goal, they win. DO👏🏼NOT👏🏼LET👏🏼THEM👏🏼WIN👏🏼. If you let them win, if they see you get affected greatly by their irrational and negative comments, they will not stop their bad works. Honestly and seriously, haters and shamers can be great motivators as well to improve yourself. Now, I’ve just mentioned to ignore the haters and shamers, but hear me out. There are two options in what to do to haters: 1) Ignore them. Or 2) Use them as your positive motivator. (there are probably more options, but so far these two are the only options I can think of right now.) Now, how in the world will the negative comments be positive motivators? Here’s the thing: I always tell myself to turn my weaknesses into strengths. For instance, I was so stubborn, then I turned it into perseverance and determination—I can’t let the others stop me from doing what I want and what I’m passionate about. Even though some say I’m being too stubborn and I should just stop trying something new and different, I don’t let them and I shouldn’t. I am honestly competitive and so determined, that’s why. Now that’s the same thing when it comes to haters...and shamers. If they comment or tell you that you’re fat (sometimes it’s even an exaggeration), make it a motivation to do some workouts and exercise. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not against the fat acceptance movement; I’m not saying being fat is bad, but you could do better. And...you know what? At the end of the day, it depends on you anyways how you will make your haters as positive motivators and how you will become at your best. Or you could actually just ignore the haters and shamers. Another instance is, when someone tells you that you’re not too good for a role, that you will never be good at a specific object or situation, like photography, singing, playing sports, and such. (I was about to type “Prove them that...”) Nah. You don’t have to prove anything to your haters. Or to anyone else actually. If there is one person to whom you prove your worth and that you’re at your best, that person is yourself. YOURSELF. Okay? You don’t have to prove a thing to people—frankly speaking, that’s just dumb. It’s only you YOURSELF who know your own worth. You don’t have to show them that you’ve improved, let the others see it themselves. It’s only you YOURSELF who know whether you’ve improved.

Also, it’s important to know and to always remember that there are people who love you. Live for the people who love you and whom you love. Improve yourself for yourself. You don’t need someone else’s permission to be the better and new you. REMEMBER: You are someone else’s reason to smile and to laugh out loud, so don’t allow the words of the haters get into you. People who love you will be disappointed once they see you grow less confident. There may be other people who just hate you because they think that you look like this, that you’re like this (even though they haven’t met you personally and only see your pics and posts and such), but always remember there are these people who love you for your flaws. It’s normal to have flaws anyways. After all, WE are all I-M-P-E-R-F-E-C-T. There are really just people who can’t stop themselves from spreading hate (and encouraging others to join them) and from putting their noses into other people’s businesses. As usual, haters gonna hate, hate, hate, hate, hate. So shake ‘em off your life and live at your best. Carpe diem! XOXO

1. But honestly, I don’t understand why these haters can’t just keep their hates to themselves, like, is it necessary to comment it? Post it? Share it? And to what? To gain attention? To spread more irrational hate? I believe so honestly. I’m not saying people who hate something aren’t allowed to express themselves. NO. Everyone is allowed to hate or oppose a decision or a person or a concept and even share it; however, when the hate has gone personal and irrational and is really offensive to a person or to a community, that’s when the hater should stop. That’s gonna be A HATE WITHOUT RESPECT. (Is there a hate with respect? Yes. Definitely. When you oppose the idea politely, when you don’t like someone at all, but you still respect them.💞) I admit I’m a hater myself of someone (I mean it’s pretty normal to hate someone or something, no one can avoid that), but I know how to keep the hate to myself. I don’t want to get involved in some big trouble and spread the hate even more, and sometimes, the hate will just go away eventually. I don’t wanna hurt anyone verbally, emotionally, physically (sometimes when I’m really pissed off), and mentally. But, yeah. Anyways...SPREAD LOVE NOT HATE💞💞🌈🌈

2. If you’re feeling down, please do listen to these songs. Hopefully, they will make you feel better!💞💞🌈🌈

- get well soon by Ariana Grande

- One Step At a Time by Jordin Sparks

- Bye Bye Bye by NYSNC

- Put Your Hearts Up by Ariana Grande

- Daydream by Tori Kelly

- Finally Free by Niall Horan

- Touch The Sky by Julie Fowlis (from Brave)

- Into The Open Air by Julie Fowlis (from Brave)

- Love Myself by Hailee Steinfeld

- MIC DROP by BTS

- Ashes by Cèline Dion

- Mr. Blue Sky by Electric Light Orchestra

- Help Us to Love by Tori Kelly

- Without You by Avicii

- Some Nights by fun.

- Thunder by Imagine Dragons

- All Star by Smash Mouth

- Simple Song by Passenger

- Mean by Taylor Swift

- I’ll Find You by Tori Kelly

- At My Best by Machine Gun Kelly (ft. Hailee Steinfeld)

- Scars To Your Beautiful by Alessia Cara

- Sing by Pentatonix

- Try Everything by Shakira

- CAN’T STOP THE FEELING! by Justine Timberlake

- Nothing’s Gonna Stop Us Now by Starship

- Afterlife by Greyson Chance

- Just Like Fire by P!nk

- Inside Out by The Chainsmokers

- Stand By You by Rachel Platten

- Fight Song by Rachel Platten

- Good Life by OneRepublic

- Feel The Light by Jennifer Lopez

- Bright by Echosmith

- Breakaway by Kelly Clarkson

- Best Day of My Life by American Authors

- Tenerife Sea by Ed Sheeran

- Stronger (What Doesn’t Kill You) by Kelly Clarkson

- Lush Life by Zara Larsson

- Brave by Sara Bareilles

- Shake It Off by Taylor Swift

#just some random thoughts #reminder #love y’all

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unkindnessofone · 8 years ago

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5SOS. Rooms You’re Tall In

It’s up! This was a much tougher one to write. I thought I knew where it would go, I had so many notes, but here we are. I would love to hear some feedback. Sending this one out as a thank you to the darling @gotsbadblood. They are always encouraging and supportive. I appreciate it. Also if you love Taylor Swift, it’s a blog worth checking out.

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They had been there before together multiple times, but this felt different than following their parents around for their respective vocations and seeing Parisian life from the safety and comfort of their parent's laps. He was travelling the world as an actual musician, making money for his songs and hearing people that weren't from his neighborhood being impacted from feelings and words that had been produced by his fingers and mind. Then there was her, studying in the city to become a chef, being screamed at in a language she hardly understood while prepping plates for some of the most appetizing food she had ever seen. She wasn't Luke Hemmings daughter when she had her culinary whites on. He was still trying to shake off the shadow of his dad as it danced behind him every time he stepped on stage.

Taking her bohemian dreams to a different level than she had been able to back home in Sydney, Penelope skipped steps on her way out of the subway pit as found herself in a more touristy part of town. She held the crochet strap of her usual purse over her chest as the bottom of her elephant pants, coloured teal, mustard yellow, and a rich purple, dragged delicately over the dirty street. Her eyes were tired, the bags beneath them almost matching the colour of her lightweight pants, but she had taken today as her first day off of work since moving to France. She couldn't spend the Saturday sleeping in and losing out on time with her best friend. Penelope walked straight into the hotel lobby as if she belonged there like any other guest and headed to the stairwell. Connor had texted her his room number and it would have been easier to take the elevator, br she had been surviving off butter, sugar, and jam. Besides, walking up the stairs felt exciting since her doctor and parents had banned almost every other physical activity.

"Hi, rock star." Grinning from ear to ear, Penelope mustered up some energy from the vitamin she took upon leaving her place as soon as Connor threw the door open, his hair as light as it had ever been and terribly curly. As if they had a mental countdown between them, they hurried to hug one another - laughing as they did.

"God, I missed you." Hugging her tighter, shaking at her touch, Connor moaned into her ears that were poking him back with her gold conch shell studs his mother had made for her. "You smell like...thyme? Is that thyme?" Chuckling, he asked as she started to slip out of his arms.

Penelope lifted up her arm and smelled her elbow before yanking on the collar of her plain white t shirt and sniffing it next. She was low on laundry. From living on her own, she was learning she hated to do laundry.

"Honestly, I smell like a pantry now. It's just my life." She shrugged, smacking her arms against both her sides. "I brought you something." She raised his brows with peaked interest as she unzipped her purse and reached around into its contents, producing a small jar of mixed berry jam. On the tightly sealed gold label, she had stamped 'Penelope Hemmings Jam' with a small conch shell in black ink.

"Thank you." Connor held it in one hand, admiring her self made label and leaning in to hug her again, using one arm this time.

"So you can taste home wherever you go."

"I have something for you too." He held his hotel room door open wider for her, allowing her in as he stepped through to where his suitcase was resting open on the queen sized bed.

Fidgeting with the fabric of her pants, Penelope looked around and the room and concentrated on nothing. It felt uncomfortable to be alone in his hotel room. Connor was her best friend and they had been countless hotel suites together, but last time they had seen one another they had kissed. She wasn't sure if that had stopped meaning anything or where they were at yet. Over texts neither of them had brought it up.

Penelope leaned her shoulders against the wallpapered stripes and watched him. He looked stronger somehow which made little sense to her as they hadn't been apart very long and she followed his life closely online. Penelope chalked it up to her head. She was trying to learn French and cooking with a permanent concussion, maybe it was making a mess of the way she saw things even a guy she knew better than the instructions to the perfect pancakes.

"Here you go." Standing up straight again, Connor offered her a closed yellow envelope with her nickname written across it in his forever clumsy penmanship. "Four tickets to the show tonight."

"I can't believe I am going to see you live in an arena tonight." Grinning, Penelope took the envelope and then held her arms up above her head to shake them around with wiggling excitement.

Laughing, Connor stepped in to hug her again, picking her up and twirling her around which invited high volume laughter from his favourite girl. He snuggled his face into her neck, breathing in her new scent, but when he went to part his lips slightly and leave a kiss behind he was surprised that she leaned her neck and head away. Connor took the cue and politely put her down on an end corner of the bed.

"So are you best friends with your idol now? Or one of them." Penelope teased while leaning back comfortably onto her flat hands. Everyone knew that as much as he was inspired by the opening act, Ashton Irwin was Connor's truest idol.

"Paul is cool." Humbly, Connor informed her. "He's living up to my expectations, but he definitely is more quiet and distant than I thought he'd be, ya know? With how crazy he is on stage."

"People are full of surprises." She mused even though more often than not, Penelope found herself guessing what was about to happen before it did and being correct. She was a good judge of character and she figured that came from meeting so many people at once constantly as a little girl on tour. One had to learn fast who was good and who was just pretending.

"Like Molly." Connor mused with a wiggle of his brows, sending them under his mess of curls that were someone else's nightly problem now.

"I can't even imagine your Dad's face." Penny shook her head, eyes shut with disbelief. A dedicated cheerleader of a father, Penny imagine her Uncle Ash still hadn't picked up his frown from the floor since finding out Molly had been arrested.

"They were way more upset she was in a relationship and didn't tell them." Honestly, Connor had been bummed out that his sister didn't confide in him either. He laid down on his back on the bed next to Penelope, hanging his legs off the edge.

"He's really hot." Pen mentioned casually. When the news filtered through the many group chats, Emmeline had taken it upon herself to send everyone pictures from the Internet of Molly's rugby beau, Flynn O'Malley. Connor stared at her blankly, absorbing her comment and trying not to expose how much he didn't care for it. It had always been him obsessing over girls and Penelope blowing off the advances of everyone. Connor wasn't sure he had actually ever heard Penny call someone that wasn't on TV hot before. He knew now that it didn't make him feel good.

"I guess." Connor tried to laugh it off, staring at her blond hair from where he laid like it could tell him a thousand secrets. "I got to go to a radio interview and sound check in a little but. How's your French? Can you translate for me?"

"I could, but I'm not going to." There was nothing about a life that mirrored her dad's that interested Penelope. She wanted to stray as far away from living beneath a microscope as she could. Sometimes she considered using one of her middle names or her maiden name in place of ' Hemmings' just so she was less traceable. Penelope knew how much that would hurt her father though. They had talked about it. "People would start rumours I was your girlfriend if I showed up at interviews and your show with you." Penny laughed awkwardly.

He wanted to ask her if that would be so bad, but Connor wasn't sure his singer-songwriter could take the answer, "Is that why you're bringing a bunch of friends tonight? You don't want anyone getting ideas?" He asked instead.

"I'm just proud and I want to show the people I'm close with here to see my best friend and all can do." She was staring down at him with her usual loving eyes, but the sun bleeding through his balcony window illuminated her to look like his own personal angel.

"You're the best." His hand reached to cover hers over the bed as they both shared smiles from one another. "I've missed you."

"I've missed you too." She had been so busy in her new life that e didn't occupy her thoughts constantly, but once a day when she was sitting on the train or learning a new French phrase, he popped into her mind and lingered.

Connor wanted to pull her down. He wanted to wrap her up in his arms and moan how much he craved her over and over into her hair and neck. She was keeping her distance from him though and he knew he would pummel some guy who made her uncomfortable. Connor would never forgive himself if he was that guy.

"You're coming to the party tonight after, right? I want you to meet some people. They hired a bassist for us and he's so dope. He's from South Africa and might be completely insane."

"Can't wait." Penny joked. "I want you to meet my friends too." Along with her, she was bringing some of her petite Paris family that she had naturally put together. Alexandra, Cerise, and Jules. "They're excited to meet you as well. I've been playing your music for anyone who will listen." Her cheeks blushed a mauve tone which felt unnatural since very little made her nervous. "You should probably get ready, huh?" She knew he had a busy day ahead and was just fitting her in for a sliver of time this morning.

Like a child, he whined, "I don't want you to leave." It was the same way he felt when she was packing for France ages ago.

"You got to go be the Connor, the Rock God. I have no choice, I'm just a lowly culinary student." Penny fished her hand out from under his, beginning to slouch her way off of the bed entirely. She still had things to do on her day off as well. Nobody was trying to interview her, but she had research for school and she planned to cut her own hair in the bathroom before going to his concert. Plus she had to go to the open market to pick up more ingredients for homemade jam and salsa. Canning had become a fun past time to do in her tiny kitchen with friends. It was a love second to surfing. Nothing would ever replace a board and waves for Penelope Hemmings, but staying up in her kitchen until 4 in the morning in her pajamas with good music playing and fruit in a pan could tide her over.

"There is nothing lowly about you." He said with great conviction, his eyes screaming his opinion as a promise to her as he took her hand again. "You're the amazing Penelope Hemmings."

After wishing Connor luck, Penelope let herself out of his suite. His lips had tainted her as she said goodbye with their knees knocking. Penelope felt like there were too many things to consider. She was falling in love with her new life and her independence. He was on tour and had always taken up with other girls. She imagined he was meeting so many different bodies now that his career was on it's launching pad. Of course, there was also the new people in her life to think about as well.

As she squeezed between two doormen squabbling in French, Penelope reached into her purse and pulled out a bent thin paperback to read on the subway along with her cell phone in its Australian flag phone case. She had missed two texts from her friend, Cerise. The first one in French and second translated to English. The two girls had paired up on the first day of class and became fast friends over their mutual disdain for the know-it-all guy who sat two stations ahead of them.

"I will see you there." Excitedly, Penelope texted back and tossed her phone back into her purse before heading to her subway stop. Somehow, Cerise had managed to score a brunch reservation at Cafe Lola and it was on Penny's long list of places to eat it mostly because of their lemon curd that was apparently the perfect balance of tart and sweet. Penelope was starving anyway. Today was going to be perfect.

As soon as she pulled the black glass door open to the busy spot, Penny was greeted by cutlery clanking against plates and chatter so frequent that it was just static around her. It reminded her of being in the restaurant kitchen just without the heat and pressure. Penelope loved when she was in the middle of chaos which was strange given how little interest she had in drama. It was just that when she was surrounded by noise and movement she felt closer to the feeling of surfing. She was tranquility in something made without control. It was thrilling.

Her eyes scanned around the room for the vibrant red pixie cut she sat beside every week day in class. Instead, she spotted Jules sitting by himself with a cup of coffee and a kindle in front of him. He was waving at her up high by the time she linked her eyes to him. His smile sent her waking by the hostess stand and through waiting groups of patron.

"Salut, Penelope." He stood up and greeted her with a hug, one hand resting on her back. She loved the way he said her name in Picardy influenced accent. It always sounded like he meant to say 'antelope'.

Penelope kissed around the stubble on his cheek before taking a seat right beside him, the spot across from her vacant for their third.

After exchanging pleasant how are you's en Francais and flagging down a server to order a lemonade for Penny, the Australian-American reached into her purse and retrieved the paperback that she had tucked back in after reading it on the subway. Jules turned off his kindle and moved it to the side, leaning in to give the beautiful girl his full attention.

"I like this one better than The Three Musketeers." She told him, flipping through a couple dry pages of Gaston Leroux's 'Le Fantôme de l'Opéra.' with Penelope being the type desperate for adventures, Jules had assumed she would love The Three Musketeers, but she had texted him somewhere around chapter two giving it five thumbs down emojis. Penny found the page that she had drawn neon orange highlighter marks on with his permission. It was his clever way of helping her with her French. He gave her books to read and asked her to keep track of the words she didn't know. She had gone from requiring him to read her whole pages while she cooked him dinner in her suite to just needing help with a few words every couple pages or so. Penny dragged her nibbled finger nail to the word and tried to read it before noticing Jules was rubbing at his right knee.

"Are you alright?" Even though she could say it French, she said so in her native tongue to better express her concern. Jules would have detected it in the way she leaned in and dropped what she was doing.

"I love that I can still get you with that." Chuckling, Jules tapped at his prosthetic leg and watched Penny relax with a sigh and fix him her meanest mug that was cuter than it was cruel.

They met at the tapas restaurant they both worked at. Jules played piano with the jazz band and met Penny while rushing through the kitchen late for a gig. He had snatched a piece of baguette she was using for a bruschetta platter and found his chin at the tip of her sharp blade until he put it back down onto the surface. It wasn't until she was mixed up with directions on how to get home that they found themselves talking and getting to know one another better. He fit in with her friends from school because he was relaxed and the girls were wild. He had quickly become a very close friend. One of the only people she actually liked talking to about her surfing accident.

"You're a gomer." Her Aussie accent shone as she rolled her eyes at him and leaned back into her book, turning it around to show him the words she was struggling with. She often looked them up on her own, but it was nice to be with a local that she trusted and have him show her better pronunciation and how to use the word.

"Did you have a nice visit with your friend?" Very interested, Jules asked while leaning in and looking at the book he lent her. She was at the part where Christine and Raoul were hiding from the Angel of Music in the roof of the opera house, vowing to protect one another and love each other for eternity.

"Yeah, it was quick. He has press and stuff." Penny shrugged. "But it was really nice to see him. He gave me the tickets for tonight. Thanks again for coming." She liked spending time with Jules and, like her, he had a true appreciation for live music. It wasn't just about screaming and having drinks for him which Penny liked because she detested both.

"This word, bagarre," With a clean fingertip he poked under the word she had highlighted. "It would be like...how do you say?" Jules bit down on his bottom pink lip, a small scar in the middle that she had noticed as soon as they met. "It's like a duel, but less formal. A brawl!" As he was talking, he figured it out. "Raoul would step outside of himself and brawl with them phantom in order to look after Christine if he needed to." Jules didn't even realize that he had begun to use his hands in front of him to explain the story.

"That's what I thought." The rest of the sentence only made sense that way, but it was still helpful to hear her friend say the word aloud. "Bagarre." Penny repeated and celebrated mentally when he shot her a thumbs up, a gesture he liked because it seemed American.

"C'est bon! Oui." Celebrating with her proudly, Jules reached over and squeezed her arm right before her lemonade was set down in front of them. Penny would have watched his hand over her if the server hadn't shown up. She peeled her eyes off of his hands that were strong and worn out from a lifetime of playing music so she could order a tray of pastries for the table. She hadn't forgotten how badly she wanted to try their lemon curd. Penny nodded her head into her shoulder and watched as Jules watched her, the arrival of her French friend who reminded her so much of Emmeline interrupting their sweet, but nervous silence.

"I'm here and I'm hungry." Kissing Jules cheek first, Cerise exclaimed as fast as she could in French before rushing over to greet Penny with a kiss as well. While Cerise put herself together in her spot, stripping off her pink jean jacket and talking about her morning, Penelope watched Jules listen. His side profile was what had caught her gaze and daydreams in the first place. She was confused. He was very much her first real crush from the excitement that tickled her stomach when he texted her to the nerves that took over her mind when he waved 'bonjour' when he saw her at work, but then there was Connor. He had lusted after her for so long, written songs about her, and they kissed before she left in front of so many people. Did she talk to Connor about a long distance relationship or did she keep dreamed about the French jazz musician with eyes that she swore had flecks of 24 karat gold in them.

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Penelope hadn't been wrong about her day. It started with a tight squeeze from Connor Irwin, followed by pastries that lived up their rave reviews, a little time sitting on a bench in Rene Binet garden with Jules, both of them reading their respective books while wishing they brought sweaters. Autumn was fast approaching. She went home in a dream-like state, having a little cheese and jam while cutting her split ends in front of her perpetually foggy bathroom mirror.

She wasn't used to the confusion that seemed to swirl in her brain like creamer freshly poured into morning coffee. She felt like a moron the way her mind was drifting between imagining a hectic life that mirrored her parents with Connor Irwin and an easy melody with Jules where they could cook, dance, and create together. Penelope used to roll her eyes when her friends would stress about boys, but she was reading her textbook with her French to English dictionary on her bed and wondering what Connor's mouth between her knees would feel like it if the way Jules said her name would feel as good as it sounded.

She was thankful when Alexandra texted her that she was on her way so they could get ready for the concert together. The two girls who worked in the male dominated kitchen could gab together about other topics. Alexandra dreamed of running her own catering business in the South of France, only working for the most elite events, and her dreams helped Penelope figure out where she wanted to take her new skills. So far, Penelope Hemmings just really liked making jams and salsa. It wasn't exactly a launchpad for a real career.

Once in her favorite sweater, a blue and white check pattern that her Grandma Christie from her mother's side sent her, and slipped into a very worn out pair of black jeans, Penelope was ready to spend the night with both boys who were holding the logical side of her brain captive. She rested her butt on the edge of her claw foot bath tub and braided her friends hair, breathing in the third cigarette Alexandra had lit in the last fifteen minutes.

"I listened to your friend's music the whole way here." The older girl spoke after her drawn out inhale, her thick almost black hair being massaged by Penny's nimble fingers. "I don't know him, but does he write about you? I felt like his songs, some of them, they were about you." Alexandra had obviously figured out that the tune 'Penny and Me' was all about her new beach loving friend.

"I think so." Forever modest, Penelope explained. They didn't have a deep enough friendship yet for her to be forthcoming. They usually just talked food and work. "We grew up together, you know? Our dads are best friends, they were in the same band. I don't think I had a day without Connor until I was, like, four." It was a slight exaggeration, but they did spend more days together than apart for most of their early years. It wasn't until they grew into preteens that they started to choose to run in the same circle.

"It sounds like he loves you." Alexandra let the cigarette smoke curl upward as she glanced behind her to inform Penny. She wanted to see her reaction even if it was lackluster. "Do you love him?" She inquired as soon as she turned her head again.

"I didn't think we were going to talk about guys..." Nervously, Penny chuckled back. "Weren't you going to give me a recipe for some kind of bore entree?" Penelope was obsessed and wanted to soak in all the different techniques and meals she could.

"I will." She rolled her eyes. They worked together, there was time to teach the blond how to make a bore lasagna. "Do you love him or do you still have, what do you call them, giggly eyes for the drummer?" Alexandra had been working with Jules since she was hired over a year ago. He didn't ever register in her world though until she investigated who the guy walking Penny home every night was even on the evenings he didn't work. Girls had to stick together and look out for one another, she figured.

"Googly eyes!" Loudly laughing with her head back and her blond hair falling to the dimples above her butt, Penelope taught her. She supposed that giggly eyes still described her as well. "I don't know, Alex. I wish I did. I've never been in this situation before."

"Wait!" Letting her second braid come completely undone as she yanked it from Penelope's hand, Alex looked up with an enlarged stare and almost blew smoke right into Penelope's almost nude face. "You're a virgin?!" It was a real plot twist for Alex. She just assumed that the daughter of an Australian rock star with legs as long as pi in its entirety would have banged out a boyfriend and a few wild strangers in-between.

"No more. I'm not talking about this." Penelope drew her line in the sand. She readjusted her almost straight hips on the bath tubs edge and took to her friends hair again. The girl who was once known for how laid back and chill she was (like ice cubes in a finished glass of iced tea) was flustered and embarrassed. She felt like every time she entered a different room in Paris she was finding a different part of herself. It was the biggest adventure of all and she was not impressed with it.

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She was blaming it on her busy mind, but Penelope felt lost in the crowd during Connor's act at the Paul Shimnowski Band concert. She had no idea how many concerts that she had attended in her entire life, all of them she had loved, but this one she wanted to sit out. She had arrived so excited with her hair falling Cher style down her back and her phone ready to take a hundred pictures a second. Instead, she felt the headaches that she suffered randomly since her accident come on the moment she was a part of the large crowd in the concession areas. She followed Alexandra and Cerise, staying next to Jules as they squeezed through to find their floor seats. Maybe, it was because all of Connor's shows she had attended up until this point had been small venues, local ones that she had seen other decent and not-so-good bands in. This was a stadium. This was the kind of show she grew up watching her Dad put on, but of course, more folksy. The smell of weed lead the vibe of the entire show. She usually danced freely at Connor's shows. She was his biggest fan and former number one merch girl after all. She would raise her tanned arms above her space buns and turn her body in every direction she could without colliding with anyone, but not tonight. Tonight, she hugged her chest and watched her friend with a tight lipped smile. The kind that silently shouted, 'I am not okay'.

Connor looked every bit like his father with his mom's chin and jawbone. Somehow he managed to hone his mother's poise and grace while still embodying his father's goofiness and charm. It made it hard to pull your attention away from him when he was practically making out with the microphone and his hands were massaging the instrument he was playing, seducing the crowd by gyrating to his own songs. It could not be denied, as far as Penelope could see, Connor belonged to the stage. He always said he was born to play music for the world and she hadn't ever doubted him. Now she knew that nobody would be able to. The crowd around her was reasonably new to Connor. He had been relatively unknown outside of Sydney until Paul Shimnowski took him on tour, but she could hear over 5,000 other voices singing along to the song, 'Slipping Away', a ballad he wrote about her, about being with someone else and wishing he was with her, a song that Penelope had heard over a hundred times, but she couldn't remember any of the lyrics. Her head knew the words, her mouth was well acquainted with them, but her brain refused to connect them to her memory. It even struck her as a surprise when he whispered her name into the microphone, singing out loud how he felt clearly, 'Penelope she sleeps so soundly, somewhere in her bathing suit...'. She had heard the line before, even recalling the first time he played the song for her in his parent's backyard while she scratched at one of his big dog's ears, but the words were lost in the fog her head produced.

To her left, looking for sanctuary, Penny looked over at Jules by her side. He was standing still, just watching Connor with a contented look blanketed by a blue glow coming from the stage they were near to. She moved her attention down to the military green chinos he was wearing. She could see at the bottom of one pant leg the fabric outlined his metal prosthetic. He had opted to wear it over his one that better resembled a limb for reasons she knew not to be her business. The sight of his prosthetic, though covered, was a source of comfort to Penny and she leaned into him, knocking her arm against his and gaining his attention for herself.

“You're the Penelope, right?” Jules asked right in her ear, still saying her name how he knew it to be pronounced and not how Connor had just sung it. He had found her to be a small recurring theme in Connor Irwin's songs especially the sappier ones.

“Indeed.” She brought both palms to her chin as if to frame her face for him before laughing gently. “Connor invited me to an after party. Do you want to come?” She knew Alexandra couldn't because she worked in the morning and Cerise was all, but seething that she couldn't because she had obligations with her own boyfriend and his very religious family that attended church every Sunday.

“I'm going back to the restaurant.” Jules explained with a half-frown. Music was his life, just like it was Connor's, and even though he would gladly take any night off for a concert or if Penelope needed him to, he loved going to see his friends play and always wanted to find an opportunity to jump in and jam. He knew he wouldn't make it to the place they both worked at until nearly 11 pm, but he also knew that his seat behind the kit would always be warm and welcoming to him.

“I didn't know.” Penny shrugged. She didn't know which event she wanted to be at more, Connor's after party or her work where Jules would be playing with the rest of the jazz group. She felt obligated to Connor's since she had agreed to be there that morning.

“You'll be okay?”

“Oh yeah, I'll be fine. I just thought it would be fun for you to come too.” She knew it would be. He was a simple calmness that her life was missing. He chased adventures and liked new experiences as much as she did, but Jules was older by a year and needed time to lay in bed and relax. He forced Penelope to just slow down sometimes.

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Still hugging her chest, Penny waited backstage against a cold white brick wall that she had once leaned against before as a three year old, waiting with a stomach ache for her Aunt Grace to take her back to the hotel for a medicine and a long nap. The way her Uncle Michael told the story was that she ate too much stinky French cheese and threw up everywhere, but the truth was just simply that she had a terrible stomach ache and both her parents were working their respective on-the-road jobs.

Penelope waited behind hoards of people. Some speaking French, but most gabbing back and forth in slang English. She wasn't invisible, eyes looked her up and down, but no one engaged with her, so she kept to herself. In her purse, she still had her copy of The Phantom of the Opera if she really needed it. From over top of a small balding man and very angry looking woman, she spotted Connor's sweat slicked forehead. Penny stepped forward in a lunge movement and waved. He was in the middle of being spoken to by two people at once, but as soon as Connor spotted her, he dove between his new manager and a label executive to talk to her.

“You were out of this world!” With delight and honesty, she squealed, throwing her arms around his neck as he twirled her around.

“You're here.” He moaned against her cheek with a smile that almost broke free from the confines of his face. “You're stunning!” Connor was never light on compliments around his favorite Hemmings, but since they kissed, he felt better about always saying how he felt and right now he felt that she was the most beautiful girl he had seen all day. “Where are your friends?” He looked around, certain that he had given Penelope more than enough passes to come see him backstage without any hassle.

“They all have cooler lives than me.” She excused, as if going to an after party for a concert wasn't anything to write home about. “You're stuck with just me.”

“I'll take you.” Connor threw his arm around Penny and started to walk her closer to the people he now shared his life with. “What did you think of the show?” Her opinion was the only one that truly mattered to him.

“I think you look like a young Ashton Irwin. It was so bizarre.” Penelope tapped both her cheeks with her open palms as she looked up at Connor. “Like, I'm not sure if you're my Uncle or not.”

“Don't be sick.” He playfully shoved her away just to pull her back with the same arm he draped around her like a useless scarf. “Did you like some of the new stuff? I'm just constantly trying out new material. Paul thinks it's the best way to figure out new music, play it live in front of as many people as you can and gage the reaction.”

“It was cool. You're getting kind of Dylan-ish.” Well acquainted in the world of music even though she didn't feel like she had much artistic talent herself, Penny critiqued him. “But like both his eras, you know? Folk and electric. I dig it.”

“Awesome.” Connor tightened his arm around her, bringing her in closer for a hug. He led her into his dressing room where his two best music buddies from back home were packing up their instruments. “I'm just going to get changed. You cool to hang with the guys?” He asked, but Penelope had already escaped his grip and was sitting on a coffee table next to a bowl of pretzels, talking to the guys she knew from spending all her free time at the Wax 'n' Wake by the beach back in Sydney. Connor watched as she easily made herself fit into any room effortlessly. He wondered if his new schedule would change how he felt for her, but his feelings were strong as ever. She was still the image that waltzed through his mind when he was working on new music or the voice he wished he could hear after a particularly challenging day.

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Outside, where the air was crispy through a hollow wind that was announcing October was just days away, Penelope was dressed perfectly in her cozy sweater and jeans. Inside of the club, she was cooking like one of her first attempts at baklava. It turns out hotter doesn't always make something cook faster. Penny excused herself from the booth that Connor and his ban were occupying, squeezing her way past two very drunk and very French girls to make it to the stairs. She didn't realize that Connor was following behind her until she almost slapped his face off by whipping the smoking door open and shut.

"Are you okay?" Once outside, relief from the heat and noise greeted Penny. She moved away from the group of smokers huddled by the door and stood out in the open, admiring the street lamp between limp orange leaves in the trees. "I didn't know you were behind me."

"It's okay. I didn't need my nose anyway." Wiggling it theatrically at her, Connor teased. "Are you doing okay?" He never quite knew where she stood on parties and clubs. She was a teetotaller which changed her experience from other people throwing back shots and sipping on mixed drinks. Even before her accident, Penelope didn't have any desire to drink. Still, Connor remembered Penelope as a staple at almost every beach bonfire or high school party he went to. She was always there with her usual cooler than the rest smile and the straps of her bathing suit top poking out of a neckline.

"Yeah, I just couldn't breathe." Fresh air had become a requirement in Penelope's recovery. She spent her first few lunch hours at school walking outside around the building, breathing in the air, and she liked to keep a window of her bachelor suite open at all times. It helped her keep her mind clear or, at least, she felt like it did. "You seem really in your element. I can tell you're happy." It was nice to not have to check. With her brothers and Emmeline, she had to check, but Connor's joy stretched through him. It practically screamed into a room.

"I'm even happier that you're here." Connor moved in close just as Penny was lifting up her arms to tie back all her hair, allowing a cool breeze onto her neck and her small chest to press against his. He had no complaints about the movement. "I wish I had more time here. You could show me around or I could see your apartment." He tightened his hands together behind her back, right where her dimples were. "We don't have a day off til Lyon and I'm assuming you wouldn't skip school on Tuesday to hang out there with me."

She was shaking her head before he even finished speaking, "As much as I plan to go there, no way." If she missed a day of school, she missed an entire lesson. Culinary school was fast and Penelope wasn't as whip smart as she used to be. She really had to focus now where she could slack off before. "No." She finished the same sentiment. Somehow, and she wasn't quite sure how, Penelope's hands had left her hair and were both laying flat against his chest which made him flex out of insecurity.

"I understand." He nuzzled his head closer to hers, making their conversation private from even the prying ears of the breeze around. "We will just have to take advantage of tonight then." It was only half past eleven anyway. Connor kissed her forehead and then her cheek. It felt safe and comforting. Penelope felt drawn in, but stepped back anyway.

"Do you want to just go and hang out in my hotel room?" Connor asked and tried to follow her eyes that she was now hiding from him. It wasn't the first time someone had asked Penny back up to their room, but it was the first time she was tempted to agree.

"Connor -" She sighed out his name with frustration. It confused him even though she meant to direct it at herself. Penny had a hand on her forehead and her heart in her throat. "Con, I don't know what to do." He was her best friend and she didn't want to start keeping secrets from him now.

"We don't have to go to the hotel. I didn't mean that in a pressure filled way." Right away, he hurried to defend himself. "We could just, like, catch up or watch TV."

"No, I'm not upset about that." She assured, her hand still massaging sat her temple. "I like you. There's a part of me lately that would love to go back to your hotel room." Enlarging Connor's pupils she surprised him. He instantly cleared his throat and fidgeted his arms at the sound that she had thought about being with him. "There's a part of me that thinks nobody could ever see me the way you do, but..."

"But?" He was stunned she could follow both those reveals with a 'but' and his voice showed it.

Penelope stared at him, her hands finally both at her side, as she tried to read her own racing thoughts. They were four steps apart from one another and Penelope swore she could hear his nerves beating beneath the thin material of his black shirt, "I like someone else too." Like it was a sin, she admitted it, flicking the words out from behind her teeth at his frozen face with the tip of her tongue.

It was obvious he was disappointed as his head instantly fell and a few of his lazily tamed tangles of hair fell free. Penelope figured other girls might apologize in this situation, but she didn't. She made a point not to just apologize unless she was sorry and she was not sorry for how she felt for either Connor or Jules. It was nearly autumn, the wind was cold, but she was slowly burning in the parking lot with Connor almost on fire just steps away from her. Their silence was aching and she could hear it's melody like someone slamming on out of tune piano keys.

"It's that guy in your photos?" It took Connor a minute, but eventually he figured it out. He followed Penny's photo page online closely and the only two photos he hadn't liked was one of her in her white coat at work sitting with Jules in the walk in freezer of the restaurant and the other was just of Jules eating her jam with a large spatula on her balcony. Every other picture, he laughed and admired before giving it a heart tap.

Penelope only nodded in response. She wanted to be truthful, not hurt him.

"The guy with one leg?" It was obvious to Connor that the picture of them in the freezer, Jules in shorts, that he had a prosthetic limb.

"Yeah. His name is Jules." She didn't know if Connor would want that detail, but it came out of her anyway.

"You brought him to the show?!" For a second, Connor felt stung, but he puffed out his chest as he told himself that he had put on a great set. "Wait, he's the drummer at your restaurant." It was coming together quickly now that Connor had the perimeter of the puzzle pieced. He remembered in one of their earlier phone conversations that Penny had mentioned she made friends with a musician, a drummer at the place she was working at, and he was going to show her around Paris. Connor had felt jealous initially, but when she never brought him up again he figured that it was nothing. "He's a musician." He didn't like that for some reason. Maybe it was because he didn't want to have anything in common with her crush or it was because he felt threatened. Connor was on tour and this guy worked with Penny night after night.

"I've never known you to be into somebody." And he had known Her forever even when went through a phase where she wore a lollipop body mist that made her smell like sugar cane. Connor was flabbergasted. "I really thought tonight was going to go different. Honestly, I thought we would just pick up where we left off." Connor really did imagine Penelope's hand in his and the two of them kissing backstage, their young blood rushing around as she finally let herself be with him.

"You want to be together while you're flying around the world?" It was Penelope's time to be surprised though she supposed she shouldn't be because Connor was always fanciful and believed in fairy tales. They were different that way.

"Yeah. Why is that so bizarre?" She had a crooked smile on and her head was posed to the side, asking him to be real.

"It would never work." Penny had gone over the situation in her head plenty of times. She was in school and couldn't visit him whenever and he was on tour and couldn't stop by Paris whenever he felt like it. They could never be there for one another. Right now they were too restricted. Plus, she didn't know Connor to resist the attention and affection of girls who were fans of his music.

"And it's different with Jewel - ?"

"Jules." She corrected before he could continue.

"He plays music too. What is it just because he wasn't good enough to tour?"

"Okay, easy, you're not David Bowie." Penny pointed out with her face holding a frown. She really didn't want to upset Connor, she just didn't want to lead him on either. "And Jules is really talented. There's a lot of talented undiscovered people, you know that!" It wasn't that long ago that he had been recording music in his bathroom and wishing someone would give it half a listen. "I really like both of you." She didn't even know if Jules had any feelings for her, she just knew thinking about him made her feel like there was a ticking time bomb inside of her.

"He has one leg!" Connor laughed as he raised his voice.

"So?" She couldn't believe he was bringing that up so she made sure to narrow her eyes into him and step closer, letting him know just how crazy she thought he was being. "You have dirty blond hair." She said to try and show him how moot his point had been.

"Well, come on, Pen, what's so special about him? I've never known you to be into someone."

"He gets it."

"It? Gets what?" Connor squinted to better follow her. "I get you."

"He gets what it's like to have your whole world change from an accident." Sighing, Penelope told him with some embarrassment. She hated having to admit that things were different for her now.

"Wait..." He put up both his hands and waved them in front of himself as if it helped him understand what she was saying. "You have a crush on him because he's disabled?"

"Okay, fuck you." Penelope said it like she was wishing him good luck. It was simple and sincere. On her toes, she moved forward to rush away. She didn't know where she was and she couldn't remember where Montemare was from where they were standing, but in that moment, she thought being lost would be better than arguing with someone she trusted to never hurt her. Her blond hair whipped behind her like a reptiles tail as she stalked away. She could hear Connor's voice painfully calling her name, pleading, as his feet shuffled closer. Penny inhaled deeply and ignored her instinct to keep walking when she spun around. Their chests were so close to colliding that, out of reflex, Connor jumped back.

"You being cheesed right now is so hypocritical!" She threw her hands down in fists as she shouted into him. "I like both of you a lot, yeah, that sucks, but you dated your way through your yearbook in high school while writing songs about me the whole time!" In case e had forgotten, which he hadn't, Penny reminded him with one large breath.

"I didn't think I had a chance with you." With Penny, she was a mermaid-like angel and, around her, he was just a human with all his flaws. Connor softened, guilt leaking into his previously burning throat, Penny wasn't finished though. He had crossed a line and poked a button. He had never seen her so wound up before and he hated that it was him who had made her feel so awful. He wished now that he could step back five minutes into the past and try to handle his emotions differently.

"You know your parents and their perfect freaking marriage that you're lusting after? You are never going to have it if you don't like yourself on your own first. I was figuring out who I was then I had my accident and I had to figure myself out all over again. I'm not going to apologize for not having time to be your girlfriend and groupie because I was too busy figuring out who I was!" Her own impulsive foolishness had ripped memories and cognitive skills from her and Penelope was very proud of how hard she worked to become someone she liked again.

Connor has never heard Penelope raise her voice. Any time she had been cross before, she played it off cool as a cuke. He had seen her unleash a little on her younger brothers before, not him. It stung and Connor wanted to sit down on the curb and cry. Instead, he ran all his fingers through his hair aggressively holding the ends down and trying to keep from coming undone in front of her.

"Alright, so let's pretend there's no Jules. It's just you and me, you still wouldn't believe we could do it while I'm touring?" He couldn't change Penelope's heart. If she had feelings for two people than Connor couldn't yell at her until he got his way. "No chance?"

"I just don't see...how." Down at the tips of her scuffed up white canvas shoes, she said quietly before looking up to notice how little he cared for her response.

"Why?" Thrusting his chin forward, he asked assertively. "What? You think I'm going to be like your Dad?"

"What?"

"You think I'm going to stay out all night and get fucked up? You think I'll get caught with hookers -"

"That was a rumor and you fucking know it!" Like they were guitar strings, he was playing with her nerves now.

"Whatever. You think I'm going to cheat and not come home just like him."

"He didn't cheat on my Mom!" Penelope growled. She had asked her mom point blank once if he had and she promised that he never did.

"You're still the same little girl who got teased in kindergarten because her dad was in the papers and on TV! You are scared of being happy with me because of my job. Admit it!" Connor huffed at the end. He was out of breath as it has run away with his mouth. Neither of them were used to behaving this way especially with each other. "Penny, what I should have said -"

"Get fucked, you gomer." She didn't let him correct himself. Penny dragged her spiteful glance away from him and began to walk away. She figured she would walk until she was on a Main Street and then take the last subway home. Her emotions were so heightened that she couldn't think straight. Penelope stiffened up her mouth and fought with herself before taking her low battery phone out of her purse and calling her mom. She didn't know what she would say, but she hoped it would center her. It was almost ten in the morning back home on the next day, she assumed her mom would be up running errands or getting breakfast with friends.

She nearly broke into tears when she heard the groggy voice of a freshly awaken Luke Hemmings pick up. It played back every horrible thing that her best friend had just said. Penelope pulled her face away from the phone and checked that she had actually clicked on her mom's name.

"Penny? You okay?" Luke checked the time on his wife's phone as he had reached over her side to pick it up. She was in the shower. "Penny, its like midnight there. " He forgot that she was going to Connor's show that night.

"Dad, I'm lost." She hated admitting defeat. Her frustration with herself was evident.

All at once, Luke panicked, but he chose to take a deep breath and follow the advice of Penelope's doctor and therapist. He couldn't always spring into hero mode. He had to let her learn.

"Okay, that's okay. Can you call an uber to where you are?" He inquired, sitting up and adjusting his wife's pillow behind his back for support.

"I think I'm in a park. We went to a club to celebrate after Connor's show and...and I left..."

"Without your friends?" He didn't hide that he didn't like that.

"It's a long story, Dad." Her sigh was long and held its exasperation until the end. "I know that I'm in Passy which is, like, less than a half hour by car to my place." He was glad Penny knew that because he neighborhoods of Paris were simply French words to him. "The subway station is by Radio France." She didn't know why she knew that, but at some point someone had mentioned that to her and it stuck in her brain. "I don't know how to get there."

"Walk North, Penny." Luke coached her while reaching around to find his phone somewhere in the bed sheets. It was right beneath his pillow. He pulled open Google and began to search on the map for Radio France. Once he had the address, he opened up his GPS app that he used to track all three of his forever wandering children. He found Penelope quickly and changed what he told her, "I'm sorry, Penny, turn around and go straight. I'll stay on the phone til you get to the subway or in a cab." He didn't prefer either. Luke just wished he could drive her around himself.

"Thanks, Dad. I knew where I was and then I couldn't remember. It's been really good though until now." She had Jules to walk her home from work, but she really didn't need him to anymore. She just loved being alone with the drummer and all the tattoos that decorated his arms like lights and bulbs on Christmas tree.

"Are you alright? You could go back to the club and get a car."

"Yeah." Hearing his voice was giving her something positive to focus on. It made her feel closer to home even though they were just over the phone. "Maybe, I should. I just want to be home."

"You will be on December 24th." Luke reminded her while laying back down, feeling calmer now that she did.

"I meant my apartment."

"I know, I'm just teasing. We miss you." He told her that almost every day. "You close to the club?" He couldn't tell that on his phone app.

"Yeah, like, a minute away."

"Just take an Uber, Pen. I will wire you some money."

"I'm fine for money, Dad." Penelope was very proud of the fact that she supported herself. She could never be like her friends who lived off their parents back accounts. Still, Luke always helped her. It was one of the only ways he felt like he could help her from so far away. "I'm here. I'm at the club." She was standing right in the back parking lot where she and Connor acted like children fighting for no reason, but because their emotions demanded it. Connor wasn't there anymore and she assumed he had gone inside with his heart racing and hands playing with his hair.

"Okay. You feel okay?" He didn't want to patronize her and ask her to do some of her memory exercises, so Luke found a more vague way to investigate.

"I'll be fine." She wasn't about to vent to him about how Connor hurt her heart.

"Okay. Love you, Pen. Call anytime." He always reminded her that she could.

"Dad?" Penny didn't want him to hang up just yet.

"Yeah?"

Sometimes, to help her recollection, Penelope would walk herself backwards through her day until she was the place she needed to remember. Right now, she was in the parking lot where Connor made her feel as small as Daphne Hood was.

"You were a good Dad. I know you were away a lot, but I still liked having you as a Dad." Penny nodded and swallowed hard, telling herself as much as she was telling him.

"Thanks." Luke ignored that she used past tense and softened. He had been criticized harshly by people who knew him and many who didn't, so hearing from one of the kids he raised that he earned a passing grade was as comforting as the blanket he was half beneath. "I love being your Dad." He informed her as she approaches the first cars outside of the front of the dance club.

"I'm going to go. Goodnight. Well, morning." Once he said goodbye back, Penelope hung up and put her phone back into its bag.

In an effort to save money and work out some of her conflicting thoughts, Penelope requested for the Uber driver to drop her off on the same block as the place she worked at. It was only a ten minute stroll to her home from there and she wanted to stop in to check her upcoming schedule for the rest of the month.

Penelope squeezed in through the kitchen door where four line cooks were smoking and swearing about the busy night they were in the middle of. When the band came on and the cocktail specials were announced was when people started to pour in. It was a very popular after hours spot for their strong drinks and a generous tapas.

Penny wiped off her shoes on the rubber mat and went to the wall by the office. She could hear the music playing, almost recognizing the staccato song playing. Right away though, Penny knew Jules wasn't on the drums. She checked to make sure she was given the day off before her upcoming exam and then forged forward through the boiling and hectic kitchen. Her eyes checked over moving shoulders as she glanced at different meals being prepared or plated. There was always an opportunity for her to learn. All around her, she heard her name and greeting. She felt better already. This was her makeshift home, this was her out of town family.

She moved closer and closer to the perpetually swinging door that separated the fun loving atmosphere for the dining room and jazz club from the stresses out sweat and swear zoo that was the kitchen. As soon as she had curled one hand around it to push it partially open, a waitress she recognized as Ismay flew by with an empty tray and an annoyed expression that could staple itself into anyone's mind. Penny glanced around the busy room and found Jules right away, sitting on a bar stool with an old fashioned and keeping the beat of the song with his hand on his knee. Due to enjoying the band, he swung slightly on his chair and waved over his head almost as soon as he spotted Penelope. He thought about nodding at her to join him, but it struck him as odd that she had left her friend's party and he could tell that something had happened. She was wearing a face he hadn't seen on her before and, while he thought she was ethereally beautiful, he did not particularly care for it. So Jules carefully hopped off the stool and moved to her. Penelope came out of the kitchen entirely, standing behind the bar in her casual wear.

"Why did you leave?" Jules inquired, leaning into the small bar door that came up to his waist and kept them apart. "Were you not having fun with celebrities?" He couldn't resist teasing her, wiggling his brows as he asked. Jules was not impressed by fancy things and name brands. He grew up with a single mother and modest means between himself and his older sister. He played music and worked as a doorman at Le Royal Monceau. Sure, he had dreams, but he was never impressed by anyone who flashed their success and wealth around. Jules just wanted to be happy right before he fell asleep at night.

"No." Penny sighed and rolled her eyes halfway at the thought of it. "It was weird. I'm going to home now, I just needed to check the schedule."

"Want a walking buddy?" It was a term she had coined for him around the third time he escorted her back to her apartment.

"No. I got it." She was worried about getting lost again, but Penelope really did want to be by herself.

"Okay. Well I'll see you...mercredi?" He could never remember the days of the week in English. Jules hoped to see her before, but he knew that was when they would both be working together. He had picked up the habit of checking her schedule.

"Yeah." Penny promised. "Thanks for coming out with me tonight. Did you like the show?" She realized she hadn't asked after the concert.

"Yeah, it was good. Both acts were good." He admitted while waving his hand back and forth to gesture that they were really just 'okay'. Jules wasn't a big fan of folk or pop music. He grew up on jazz and classic since that was what his grandfather that they lived with played. He was the man who taught Jules everything about rhythm and built him his first drum kit. "It was weird watching someone be so in love with you in front of all those people." He half-laughed through his awkward honesty. "Did you two date?" She had always just referred to Connor as her closest friend, but the performance has all three of Penelope's French friends wondering if they had once been more.

"No." She shook her head and reached around to tighten her ponytail. "We kissed once." She said and instantly wish she hadn't. She looked down into her purse to check the time on her phone noticing that it barely had any battery life yet. She was sitting at an uncomfortable 3%. Penny missed that Jules scrunched up his nose at what she said.

"Do you like him?"

Penny puffed both her cheeks out and let them deflate with a long exhale at his question, zipping her bag back and wondering for a second if her feelings for Connor had changed after their fight.

"I have." Realizing it was a strange way to answer, Penny shrugged. "We sort of fought at the club and we've never fought before." Penny explained to Jules, wrapping her fingers around the bar door again. "I don't know."

"What did you fight about? Was it bad?" He wished his English was better or that her French was more extensive in times like these. Jules felt like he couldn't be as good a companion to her when their was a language barrier between them. He didn't realize his hands had curls over hers, but Penny had and she could not stop looking at them.

"It was just bad because it had never happened before." She spoke directly to their hands. "I hurt his feelings and then he hurt mine back." She supposed that she really just described every fight throughout history, but she wasn't quite feeling as smart as usual tonight.

"What did you say?" In a joking manner, Jules scolded her. He narrowed his eyes in and shook his head very slowly.

"You really want to know?" She asked before realizing that she didn't know if she wanted to honestly tell him.

"Of course." Jules laughed and squeezed her fingers under his tenderly. He couldn't imagine her saying anything that he couldn't handle. His bet was that they just misunderstood one another or that her friend was too drunk to think before speaking.

Penelope tightened her throat which made Jules chuckle at how strange it looked and she tried to come up with a lie. She tried to reason with herself and remember how to be the cool girl that she was known as back home on the beaches of Sydney.

"I told him..." Penny looked up into Jules eyes, but that made the truth harder to share somehow. "I told him...I said...well..." She was embarrassed by how tongue tied she felt and just spat it out, "I told him I like somebody else too."

"Okay." Like it was nothing, Jules accepted with a casual smirk that shrugged above his chin. "So he feels a little crushed. Anybody I know? Someone in your classes?"

"You." She had come this far. There wasn't much point in beating around the bush now. Penny sometimes wondered how different things would be with Connor if he had come out and admitted to liking her instead of just trying to tell her through poetry.

Jules hands loosened on hers and his eyes lightened as he gave her a smile she interpreted as pitying.

"Okay, so I'm going to go jump in front of a car." Penelope uttered a sentence she had heard Emmeline say a dozen times before when she didn't get her way. The words didn't feel right in her mouth, but she pushed open the bar door and tried to squeeze past him. Jules tugged on her wrist, but she yanked it away.

"Penelope! Penelope!" He chased her through the kitchen. After she pushed open the back door, she turned and stopped him from going outside with her. He looked concerned and as if his mouth was full of a hundred things to say.

"Don't. It's okay!" She put up her hand to stop him from coming closer or uttering a word. "Cause I like you both and I don't know what to do. So you don't have to say anything and make it more weird." She really needed to work on her eloquence.

"Can I, please, walk you home?" Jules genuinely wanted to and took her hand in his to try and make that clear.

"I'll text you when I'm there." Penelope just assumed he felt obliged to make sure she was safe. She took her hand back and ran into the night, his eyes watching until she became a dot as dark as the sky was.

****************************

After plugging her phone in and taking a pear from her bottom fridge door, Penny ran a hot bath. She soaked in the bubble free water and watched her skin grow red from the heat. It was comforting and removed how perplexed, hurt, and rejected she felt. Penelope only ate half of her pear before her stomach couldn't bare anymore. She felt too upset and her stomach couldn't handle another bite. Once she was starting to drift off into sleep, she rose out of the bath tub and drained the dirty water. Penelope wrapped herself in her favorite multi-color striped beach towel from back home and picked up her phone from in the dry sink since she used it as a DIY speaker for the Soft Cell songs she was playing to drown out the furious pain from the evening. She noticed that she had four texts and read them as she dried off.

"I'll be in Paris soon. MAKE TIME FOR ME AND ROMANCE MY PALE ASS!!!" Emmeline sent with a string of bright coloured emojis that had nothing to do with her sentiment.

"Are you home safe? You didn't text." Jules wrote about twenty minutes after she arrived at her building.

"I'm really sorry, Pen. :(" Connor had sent around the same time as Jules.

However, Penelope only concentrated on her dad's message.

"Your mum and I are really proud of you. Nice to start the morning with your voice."

Once dry, she put on a pair of sweats and a stained 5SOS shirt from their first headlining tour way before she was born and slept on her futon. She was exhausted so she didn't even bring it down from its couch form. Penelope texted no one and fell asleep wondering where her perfect day went.

#5sos au #5sos series #5sos imagine #luke hemmings imagine #luke hemmings one shot #penelope hemmings

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gracia-suficiente · 7 years ago

Text

So here’s a long and detailed post of my 2017!

In years past, I’ve kept a good things jar which is nice because it helps me keep track of all the good things that happened during the year. Something like that would’ve helped a lot this year because although this year wasn’t awful, it was a challenging year. The year started off really great but then slowed down and got stressful. Towards the end though, it came back up and I’m so excited for 2018. I did keep a good things jar the first couple months of 2017, but I stopped soon after the year started. So if the rest of my post after those months isn’t that detailed, it’s because the rest of the year was a blur.

January started off so strong! I spent New Year’s Eve with my cousin Isaac and family and I actually had a lot of fun! I even got a Native American blessing from my cousin’s wife’s grandfather who is Native American! Bailey and I talked a LOT in January; I have an embarrassing amount of good things papers about phone calls and facetimes with him. Speaking of Bailey, the app that we met on, Beme, died in January which sucked but everyone in the beme community spent the last few days sending each other fun reactions. I started my internship with my (now) previous employer on January 3! Even though I started my new internship, I went back in January for an exit interview with my old job at my university and it was so great to see my old coworkers. They were seriously some of my favorite people to work with. Also! The Catholic Campus Ministry (CCM) planning meetings for Awakening retreat began in January (tbh I forgot I served on team this year!) There were also a lot of birthday parties (James, Jayden, Alice) and even a few anniversaries (my parents and my brother’s godparents).

February started off on a sweet note because Bailey was my Valentine and that made me really happy. Speaking of notes, my little brother had an orchestra concert this month as well! My bestie Vivian turned 24 and I had fun at her dinner; I wish I could’ve gone out with them though. I especially hated having a curfew this past year.

March was long and stressful. Work got hectic, school got difficult, and life got hard and depressing. But March ended up being redeeming also; I got asked to be an ash distributor for the CCM campus wide Ash Wednesday mass! I also served on retreat at the end of March and it was beautiful. God’s timing is perfect and that retreat helped me so much; God is good.

April was fun because I went to two concerts! My sister and I saw The 1975 and we were in the pit; I’ve never been so up close for a concert before. I also took my mom to see Chris Tomlin and that concert was so beautiful. It was also fun to do something with my mom! Easter happened right before all of the concerts and Easter is probably my second favorite holiday; I love it so much.

May was a good month; I graduated from college with my master’s degree! All of the graduation festivities were so much fun; there was graduation mass with CCM, the College of Business hooding ceremony, and then the big graduation ceremony. My family and I had a nice graduation dinner after the ceremony with a lot of family. I also got offered a full time position with the accounting firm I interned for. I started working full time after I graduated. I was so grateful for the position because I struggled to find a job when I graduated from undergrad. Job security is nice.

I saw Miike Snow in June! That was a lot of fun! It was also my first time at one of the smaller venues in my city. I racked my brain, and other than that, I can’t remember anything significant that happened in June.

In July, I finally went to the new baseball stadium in town with my family; I say “new” but it’s been open for a couple of years now and I just hadn’t had the opportunity to go. Going to the game made me remember how much I love baseball. We went over the 4th of July weekend so we got to see fireworks too! Speaking of the 4th of July, my family and I went on the military base where my city’s symphony orchestra had a free concert and fireworks show! It was fantastic and the best 4th of July at home I’ve had in a long while. My little brother turned 15 in July! I went to a job interview with Whole Foods corporate in Austin in July and I didn’t get it. But it ended up working out for the better! And lastly, I saw Andrew McMahon in the Wilderness in July and that was probably the best concert I went to this year. I’ve never had so much fun at a concert. Also, I got to meet The Greeting Committee and A R I Z O N A afterwards too!

What happened in August? I have no idea. According to my memory, calendar, and photo albums, not much.

But not to worry! September made up for the lame August I had! My cousin’s cousin (who is my age and I kinda grew up with) got married the first weekend in September! I turned 24 in September and I spent my birthday at my city’s art museum and I had dinner with my grandparents and family at my favorite restaurant. My parents’ birthdays followed soon after and were fun as well! And then came my Richmond adventure with Bailey! Such. a. great. weekend. After that, my sister and I saw Two Door Cinema Club!

October was hectic with work but I did get to see Portugal. the Man on Friday the 13th! Near the end of the month, my other cousin’s fiance had a bridal shower and it was so much fun getting to know her a little more.

November was fun because my sister turned 21! I also began taking Christian Formation classes at my church in order to become a Eucharistic Minister. I loved learning about my faith and getting to interact with other Catholics. My cousin Nicole had her last high school football game EVER (she’s in marching band) so my family and I went to cheer her on. I went to a job interview mid-November for the job that I currently have now. God is so good and I am thankful that He opened up this door for me in Austin. My family and I spent Thanksgiving at my cousin Isaac’s house and it was so much fun!

December was a whirlwind. I saw Pale Waves with my sister on the 4th. I got assigned to a really big audit at work and I put in my two weeks notice. That was rough. My bestie and I took a trip to Santa Fe to go to a museum. My cousin Nicole turned 18! My little brother had his Christmas orchestra concert. I went to my previous employer’s Christmas party and then the happy hour after. I was invited to be a part of my middle school’s career day (how old am I??). My family and I moved all my stuff to my new apartment in Austin. We spent Christmas with my two aunts who live in the area. Then we came back to go to my cousin’s wedding at the end of the month. I visited an old friend in the hospital with my bestie because she had a beautiful baby boy. And we spent New Year’s Eve at my house with my cousins and tias. December was so wild and I never had a month fly by so quickly; there were so many people I wanted to say goodbye to but I didn’t get the chance. I’m so excited for the new year and what the change will bring for me!

A few lists of things I saw/read/listened to in 2017 (probably not complete as my memory is awful and I didn’t keep track of anything):

Movies I saw: The Accountant, The Infiltrator, Lego: Batman Movie, Thor Ragnorak, The Hitman’s Body Guard, The Big Sick

TV shows I watched: Sherlock, Stranger Things, American Vandal, Over the Garden Wall

Books I read: Journal 3 by Alex Hirsh, Colorless Tsukuru Tazaki and His Years of Pilgrimage by Haruki Murakami, The Glass Menagerie by Tennessee Williams

Concerts I went to: The 1975 (with Colouring and Pale Waves), Worship Night in America (Chris Tomlin with Phil Wickam, Big Daddy Weave, and another band I can’t remember right now), Miike Snow (with The Other Half), Andrew McMahon in the Wilderness (with A R I Z O N A and The Greeting Committee), Portugal. the Man, Pale Waves (with The Candescents) [I had tickets to see Foster the People and Atlas Genius but both shows got canceled]

Albums I bought: Gracetown - San Cisco, Harry Styles - Harry Styles, What If Nothing - Walk the Moon, Reputation - Taylor Swift, Sacred Hearts Club - Foster the People, Kaleidoscope EP - Coldplay, Melodrama - Lorde, Unpeeled - Cage the Elephant, GALLERY - A R I Z O N A, Meeting People Is Easy - The Greeting Committee, Gameshow Live at KCRW - Two Door Cinema Club

#2017 #personal #audit life #bailey

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scribbling-scribbles · 5 years ago

Text

Main Story Outline

Black and White (working title)

Part I- Will joins the Black court (White Court)

Who's Red

meeting

remember? Backstory (kinda)

what is the white court? What do you do?

This is abuse. I'm getting you out

I get you have a skewed perspective, but, really!

you don't need to be anyone's soldier

you sold your SOUL?!

Okay, how can we do this? It's time for research!

Introduce Glass Mask sub-plot

A powerful artifact and semi-sentient, produced as the universe’s counter to magic.

Will is intrigued, but ultimately decides the mask would be too dangerous to use.

At some point, Will dips into more magical sources, either on purpose or by accident, and one of the Black Lady’s servants comes to confront him.

A method! Let us execute it!

The Board and the Rites

Preparing

Finding. The damn. Contracts.

Start the Rites

Crap!

Attack! (Battle of the Board)(that's as far as they get before they are caught. The Board has some very powerful magical significance, though, and is usually where part of the contract-making process occurs)

Will sells his soul, and regains some memories.

Part II- Will and Red re-align and plan (Black Court)

Introduction to the court

Infinite apartment building, from a modification on the standard infinite forest. As far as human members are concerned, exits only lead to the Board, the Market, and various points in the human world. These exits are arrayed around the building, almost seeming at random, but there is a pattern somewhere. There is a time dilation, but not a large or consistent one. Like +/- 1 day.

The Black Lady, her rules and ruling

The court and the developers

It appears I need a new name.

Who are you guys? What are we doing

Time passes

Will/Tim befriends the developers and other members of the court

Angst and sweetness with Joe/ Volto

Any’s mech, a subplot

Movie night!

Damn, the Game’s sound kind of even more horrible than I thought.

The Basement, i.e. the torture chamber for Bad Courtiers (maybe run by Steve? Maybe Steve is constantly tortured? Steve is involved)

Tim does R&D

Let’s all go to the Market!

Continuation of the Glass Mask sub-plot

I have modified some cool magic based off of physics because gODDAMNIT, science works!

Tim is slightly obsessed with incorporating iron into anything possible. Iron salts are his new best friend.

Tim and Red (Rose) meet (again)

So I was hoping you would still remember me? No? Well s hit.

Timur should have expected it sooner.

I’m not a Black mage. I just wanted us to be clear on that. I am a developer, there is a difference, I'm not on the board.

I didn't give my whole name. This should give me a bit more leeway in my obedience. I still can't outright harm, but neglect and sedition is much easier than it would have been.

We're friends. I mean, I forgot, now you've forgotten... It's complicated.

We had a plan. Not a good one, but it existed.

No, really, they're evil, I swear

Tim becomes a piece.

Fuck.

After first game

Will and Taylor team up

We are looking for leads a bit deeper in Faerieland and oH SHOOT WE'VE BEEN ATTACKED, but Tim saves the day.

Emma shows up

The hell are you doing here?!/ Nerd?! // What the hell, you remember me?/ What the hell, you're real?

New recruits came all the time

Some more dialogue

"I sold it," Tim said

Some more dialogue

"What did you trade?"

Tim explains what he can/ is willing to.

Emma’s side of it

“I was pretty sure I remembered you, but there was no official documents proving you existed, so that messed me up for a while.”

“Then I decided ‘screw that’ and went to find you anyway.”

There was a sound like discordant wind chimes.

“What you thought I found you all by myself? Heck no, I got help.”

Team includes Stacy (phone friend), a couple other of

Emma’s friends, and Peter, Will’s friend who no longer remembers him.

No one has official connections to either Court except Emma.

(Huh) says Tim (A team sounds like a good idea. Maybe I should look into that)

“And they… believe you?” “Kinda? Some of them do at least. Peter thinks its a government cover up.”

"Well. Hmm. Can I bring my baby sister into this crazy plan?”

Debate

Some internal debate.

Some debate with Red.

Verdict: Hell No.

A nightmare

Part III- A better and more viable plan, i.e. let's do a revolution. (Gray Gang)

Guess who wants to get involved? That’s right, it’s Emma.

“No.” says Tim.

Spectrum

Who are they?

(Was Ash)- royal self-aligned (ineligible for throne) pansexual non binary (genderfluid) (Prince, but non binary, thanks.)

Oh, you didn’t know this is just about succession? Wait, you thought this was about Unseelie and Seelie? Dudes, no.

Someone contaminated me. See the wings? Blue, means I'm impure, unfit to rule.

Also, I'm like, way younger.

What will they do for us?

Legitimate heir to the throne, could challenge their sisters and demand the freedom of all the Bonded.

“I mean, I don't really feel like doing anything, but if you've got something to offer…”

“What do you want?” “I'm loooonely, be my friend.” “Oh, sure.”

Also, say Spectrum, to themself, That is a very cute boy right there and I want to seduce him.

This will not work. At all.

The Gray gang

Emma has weedled her way into this mission.

Does not bring her group, but is in contact with them.

They try to see if they can do anything more mundane for them.

What are you?

Support group for ex-courtiers.

Made of both Black and White.

The Ones That Got Out Too Late

Courtiers who were only able to escape after they had lost a significant portion of humanity. They cannot rejoin human society.

Headed (loosely) by two who joined back in the middle ages or earlier, one from each court, they got immortality, and have honestly lived long enough at this point and soaked up enough ambient magic that they are two thirds of the way to fae already. This would worry them, if they weren’t already beyond the point of caring about pretty much anything.

Umber

Black

Original deal was for immortality, but boy do they regret that now.

Lux

White

They are one of the very few Old Whites, since humans in the White Court tend to lose their humanity through weird, magical osmosis, and the iron in their own blood starts to poison them. The ones who survived made some kind of deal to counteract that.

The Ones That Got Out With Nothing

What it says on the tin

Identity erased, no family, no money, nothing.

Maybe a boon, but it’s a pretty useless one now.

The Ones That Got Out With Trauma

May or may not have returned to family.

But how do you explain that for a while you were a soldier in a war of immortal, amoral beings?

Maybe you killed for them, and if you did, what does that make you?

Maybe you made weapons, and does that make you as bad as a killer?

Who knows! These are not fun questions!

Magic addiction is totally a thing, and very hard to satisfy unless you were born naturally gifted.

Operate under the radar

Apparently, they've been around a while.

Boy, we could have used you in part one.

Yeah, well, we've been trying to keep a low profile. You are not at all low profile.

“Touché, but what is your plan?” “Help the people who actually get out.”

New idea: what if you teamed up with us and help stage a revolution?

Hell no.

We do have this semi-legitimate heir to the throne to utilize?

No, that's worse, we're not working for THEM anymore.

Well, you wouldn't be working for Spec either, they just make the thing binding.

(Also) says Tim to himself, (Glass Mask backup plan)

Fine, I guess.

Hey, Spec, guess what!

Oh sweet, says Spec, also, did some looking, turns out there is a not unsmall faction of fae who also do not like this system.

Hell yes

Turns out they have a similarish set up on my side.

It’s Maren and Mark.

Hell yes

Part IV- Now that we’ve decided to do this thing, let’s do some awesome prep work (my favorite part) and then FIGHT! (Red Army)

Strategy/ inspiring speech montage (best part),

Tim, Red, Emma, and some of her crew hang with the Gray Gang with more frequency.

Tim is a good big picture/big plan guy, but Red is where we really get strategy.

The breakdown goes like this: Tim: Here is a goal/ step that needs to be accomplished Spec: Here are some ways to do that and their cost/benefits. Red: Here is which one is most tactically sound, given out resources and position. GG/Em Folks: Here is what you need to do that, let's go!

Tim is able to recruit some folks from the Black Court, those who do not have very constricting contracts, or those that can leave, or those that find loopholes.

Somehow, the Ladies find out about the planned rebellion and the Gang base is attacked.

The base is attacked by fae soldiers and/or loyal bonded humans

Short scuffle where some folks including Tim fight as a diversion while others make an escape route and flee to an inbetween.

Tim gets stabbed.

Shoot! (Hey look, other allies, namely, Jo)

But hey, we have someone who can help!

Really? Say Red and Emma and Spec and any defectors and probably a bunch of GG folks as well.

Yeah, say a small group, now looking slightly sheepish, uh, their name is Jo.

JO!

Bit of their back story, probably starting with “Jo never realized the dangers of lending milk money to strange teenagers…”

Recoup

Hey, Spec, can we stage the final battle yet? We’re asking you ‘cause Tim’s unconscious.

I mean, we wanted to wait until May (or November?) Day? Because of magical significance? That’s not too far off at this point.

Okay, so we need to hold out just a bit longer.

Tim wakes up and he is maaaaad…

He actually seems just a wee bit crazy right now

Like, instead of being ruthless but clean, now he’s plans almost seem, sloppy.

“Okay, so we do this and this...” “Tim, we can’t do both of those things at once for some reason you should really know and may have actually pointed out to us at some point.” “Ah, so we can’t, well-”

He is TERRIFIED and FURIOUS, and that is not the mood you want your teenager general to be in.

This whole time, there have been continuous small strikes at any GG/ defector/ fae ally groups that are out in the open.

Like, any time they need to get food, or when trying to communicate between mortal and fae side groups

One of these missions is headed by some of the fae side operatives, and results in the destruction of a few select contracts, including Red's.

This is not helping anyone, but it is especially not helping Tim.

He feels trapped, like everything is closing in on him.

Hey, Tim, you good?

The other folks are genuinely a bit worried about him now, because this does not seem like him at all

Oops, we lose Tim.

Tim is part of a group attacked by adversaries.

He was probably not supposed to be part of this group because he is recOVERING FROM A STAB WOUND and cannot fight or defend against any members of the Black Court.

Honestly, though, this almost feels like relief, ‘cause some of these folks are definitely Whites and this is SOMETHING as opposed to however long he’s been cooped up doing nothing but planning.

Tim is not typically a man of action, but anticipation gets to even him.

Either just Tim gets taken while providing cover for the rest (look, it’s easy to sacrifice theoretical soldiers, but it’s much harder to abandon the friends in front of you), or the whole group gets taken ‘cause Tim tried to abandon them, or just Tim gets taken for the same reason. (Option one sounds more like Tim, but options two/three fit better with the devolution arc.)

Crap.

Okay, so this is pretty bad; who knows what the Black Lady's doing to him?

We (the readers) do. She's torturing him for information about this upcoming attack and how he has been resisting her commands.

We gotta do something!

It'd be too risky to spring him, says someone, we'd probably just get captured as well.

Hey, Spectrum, when were we planning on staging this whole thing again? In just a few days, Spec says, uncharacteristically grim, He'll have to hold out until then.

This visibly pains Spec, they really like Tim, possibly a crush.

PRE-BATTLE MONTAGE BABEEY!

A reiteration of the basic plan.

People are running around, suiting up however they suit up, saying their "I love you"s however they do.

Big speech, collaborative from Rose Red, Spectrum, Lux and Umber, Maren and Mark, and Emma.

What are we fighting for today?

What we have lost, what has been taken from us.

The many who have not escaped as we did.

A better society in the future.

This is not a rescue mission. They are not going in to save Tim, there are going in to break the system. Saving Tim is just one of the good results of this. As such, this is not a rescue speech, this is a revolutionary's speech.

Battle!

Includes the fantastic line of “talk s hit, get hit!” by someone attacking a chant based spellcaster.

Culmination of the “Any’s Mech” sub-plot (may be a two pilot mech with Em as the other pilot)

Also includes Albus' redemption, where he does something sacrificial to help/protect Rose Red and by extension The People's Court. (The Rainbow Court? What court is Spec?) Possibilities include Albus refusing to fight when played, kneeling in submission before his opponent. That's all I got right now.

So what does this involve, actually?

This is Spec making a formal claim to the throne and showing they have the manpower to back it up.

They have to fight their way there.

They escalate from “Right to be The Chosen Heir to the Monochrome Court” to “Make Me King Right Now I’ll Fight You”

So they set up a three-way board, each side playing for itself, but also trying to play the other two off each other.

The Black and White Ladies have pieces of various shapes and talents, but they all wear the color of their court. Spectrum's side lives up to their name, it is a riot of color from all of those who have pledged themselves to them.

This might be a no-mercy match, or at least the Ladies might try and play it that way, knowing that whoever wins this game gets all the contracts.

Resolution of the Glass Mask sub-plot

Tim escapes wherever he is because he never gave his whole true name.

Before this though, I want him to have a confrontation with the Black Lady.

"Magic likes a story right? So which one is this, huh? They say there are only seven basic plots, so which one is this?"

He says it's "Slaying the Monster"

Tim sees this as his only chance to fight on the side of what he sees as justice, since by submitting to the mask, he gives up any identity he has, including the identity he “gave” to the Black Lady.

True, he becomes a kind of raging monster, but hey, it means he isn’t fighting for the “wrong” side.

This Ends TERRIBLY.

He takes a deep breath before putting on the mask

Red, Spec, and Emma are understandably freaked the heck out, that’s their friend in that thing, and he doesn’t do this kind of thing! What is happening, and can our dude be saved?

Maybe? Currently, we know of two options: option one, and the better backed option, we try to break the mask, which will collapse this current iteration. This will probably kill our dude. Option two, which is mostly just wishful thinking, is an act of true love, and they don’t really have much there either.

They end up having to go with option one, saving the Faerie dimension from certain doom.

“it’s over we won” *monster slowly staggers up in the background* *comrades point and try to speak* “No, it’s over. We won. We’re done now, everybody go home” *a meteorite drops from the sky, killing the monster* “Will…” “That was not me” “But Will-” “That was nOT ME”

Will may or may not have residual cosmic powers

Freedom for the bonded.

Probably collaborative shenanigans with Will’s maybe cosmic powers and Spec’s new legal ones.

Part V- So, how does one live after all this? (Epilogue)

Going home?

Welp, looks like my mom remembers me now. That’s nice I guess. She’s gonna kill me.

Welp, looks like my dad remembers me now. That sucks, I hate that guy.

I grew up in the nineteen thirties. Does my immortality still apply? If I leave the Faerie dimension do I die? I have no clue how life out there works anymore, and I have no living relatives I can contact for help.

I liked living here, do I have to leave?

Gray Gang to the rescue!

Umber and Lux are fae enough and served long enough to earn themselves actual small estates. They work with Mark and Maren and combine the property and modify it with Spec’s help so that people who need to can stay there.

Some of the people they had helped in the past actually grew up to be pretty successful, like doctor/ lawyer kind of successful. The Gray Gang gets into contact with them, and people who need it get human help (therapy, temporary living, working papers, etc.)

Effect on Faerie society

Specifically, what are our main characters doing?

Probably accomplished through a scene featuring some or all of them, talking about life.

Rose probably stays in Faerie as one of Spec’s most trusted knights, so she doesn’t have to worry about going back to her dad. She is of course welcome to stay with the Gerbers, but that could get dicey legally. She is still free to come and go from Faerie as she pleases, within reason.

A news report, or a scene from Rose’s dad’s perspective. She’s out getting groceries with Will and she sees him and just. Decks him. It’s great.

"Wiiiillllll," Rose whined, tugging on Will's sleeve like a needy two-year-old, "Willll, I neeeed iiiit."

#Writing #Fiction #Fae #Fairies #Outline #Main story #spoilers #long

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