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rhetoricandlogic · 6 years ago

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B&N SFF ORIGINALS

“If at First You Don’t Succeed, Try, Try Again,” by Zen Cho

/November 29, 2018 at 2:30 pm

Cover illustration and design by

Shirley Jackson

• Edited by Joel Cunningham

A hapless imugi is determined to attain the form of a full-fledged dragon and gain entry to the gates of heaven. For a long time, things don’t go well. Then, it meets a girl. The B&N Sci-Fi & Fantasy Blog presents an original short story by Campbell Award-nominated author Zen Cho.

You can also download this story for free to read on your Nook app or device.

If at First You Don’t Succeed, Try, Try Again By Zen Cho

The first thousand years.

It was time. Byam was as ready as it would ever be.

As a matter of fact, it had been ready to ascend some 300 years ago. But the laws of heaven cannot be defied. If you drop a stone, it will fall to the ground—it will not fly up to the sky. If you try to become a dragon before your thousandth birthday, you will fall flat on your face, and all the other spirits of the five elements will laugh at you.

These are the laws of heaven.

But Byam had been patient. Now it would be rewarded.

It slithered out of the lake it had occupied for the past 100 years. The western shore had recently been settled by humans, and the banks had become cluttered with humans’ usual mess – houses, cultivated fields, bits of pottery that poked Byam in the side.

But the eastern side was still reserved to beasts and spirits. There was plenty of space for an imugi to take off.

The mountains around the lake said hello to Byam. (It was always safer to be polite to an imugi, since you never knew when it might turn into a dragon.) The sky above them was a pure light blue, dotted with clouds like white jade.

Byam’s heart rose. It launched itself into the air, the sun warm on its back.

I deserve this. All those years studying in dank caves, chanting sutras, striving to understand the Way…

For the first half-millennium or so, Byam could be confident of finding the solitude necessary for study. But more recently, there seemed to be more and more humans everywhere.

Humans weren’t all bad. You couldn’t meditate your way through every doctrinal puzzle, and that was where monks proved useful. Of course, even the most enlightened monk was wont to be alarmed by the sudden appearance of a giant snake wanting to know what they thought of the Sage’s comments on water. Still, you could usually extract some guidance from them, once they stopped screaming.

But spending too much time near humans was risky. If one saw you during your ascension, that could ruin everything. Byam would have moved when the humans settled by the lake, if not for the ample supply of cows and pigs and goats in the area. (Byam had grown tired of seafood.)

It wasn’t always good to have such abundance close to hand, though. Byam had been studying extra hard for the past decade in preparation for its ascension. Just last month, it had been startled from a marathon meditation session by an enormous growl.

Byam had looked around wildly. For a moment it thought it had been set upon, maybe by a wicked imugi—the kind so embittered by failure it pretended not to care about the Way, or the cintamani, or even becoming a dragon. But there was no one around, only a few fish beating a hasty retreat.

Then, another growl. It was coming from Byam’s own stomach. Byam recollected that it hadn’t eaten in about five years.

Some imugi fasted to increase their spiritual powers. But when Byam tried to get back to meditating, it didn’t work. Its stomach kept making weird gurgling noises. All the fish had been scared off, so Byam popped out of the water, looking for a snack.

A herd of cows was grazing by the bank, as though they were waiting for Byam.

It only intended to eat one cow. It wanted to keep sharp for its ascension. Dragons probably didn’t eat much. All the dragons Byam had ever seen were svelte, with perfect scales, shining talons, silky beards.

Unfortunately Byam wasn’t a dragon yet. It was hungry, and the cows smelled so good. Byam had one, and then another, and then a third, telling itself each time that this cow would be the last. Before it knew it, almost the whole herd was gone.

Byam cringed remembering this, but then put the memory away. Today was the day that would change everything. After today, Byam would be transformed. It would have a wish-fulfilling gem of its own—the glorious cintamani, which manifested all desires, cured afflictions, purified souls and water alike.

So high up, the air was thin, and Byam had to work harder to keep afloat. The clouds brushed its face damply. And—Byam’s heart beat faster—wasn’t that winking light ahead the glitter of a jewel?

Byam turned for its last look at the earth as an imugi. The lake shone in the sun. It had been cold, and miserable, and lonely, full of venomous water snakes that bit Byam’s tail. Byam had been dying to get away from it.

But now, it felt a swell of affection. When it returned as a dragon, it would bless the lake. Fish would overflow its banks. The cows and pigs and goats would multiply beyond counting. The crops would spring out of the earth in their multitudes…

A thin screechy noise was coming from the lake. When Byam squinted, it saw a group of little creatures on the western bank. Humans.

One of them was shaking a fist at the sky. “Fuck you, imugi!”

“Oh shit,” said Byam.

“Yeah, I see you! You think you got away with it? Well, you thought wrong!”

Byam lunged upwards, but it was too late. Gravity set its teeth in its tail and tugged.

It wasn’t just one human shouting, it was all of them. A chorus of insults rose on the wind:

“Worm! Legless centipede! Son of a bitch! You look like fermented soybeans and you smell even worse!”

Byam strained every muscle, fighting the pull of the earth. If only it had hawk’s claws to grasp the clouds with, or stag’s antlers to pierce the sky…

But Byam wasn’t a dragon yet.

The last thing it heard as it plunged through the freezing waters of the lake was a human voice shrieking:

“Serves you right for eating our cows!”

The second thousand years

If you wanted to be a dragon, dumb perseverance wasn’t enough. You had to have a strategy.

Humans had proliferated, so Byam retreated to the ocean. It was harder to get texts in the sea, but technically you didn’t need texts to study the Way, since it was inherent in the order of all things. (Anyway, sometimes you could steal scriptures off a turtle on a pilgrimage, or go onshore to ransack a monastery.)

But you had to get out of the water in order to ascend. It was impossible to exclude the possibility of being seen by humans, even in the middle of the ocean. It didn’t seem to bother them that they couldn’t breathe underwater; they still launched themselves onto the waves on rickety assemblages of dismembered trees. It was as if they couldn’t wait to get on to their next lives.

That was fine. If Byam couldn’t depend on the absence of humans, it would use their presence to its advantage.

It was heaven’s will that Byam should have failed the last time; if heaven wasn’t ready to accept Byam, nothing could change that, no matter how diligently it studied or how much it longed to ascend.

As in all things, however, when it came to ascending, how you were seen mattered just as much as what you did. It hadn’t helped back then that the lake humans had named Byam for what it was: no dragon, but an imugi, a degraded being no better than the crawling beasts of the earth.

But if, as Byam flashed across the sky, a witness saw a dragon… that was another matter. Heaven wasn’t immune to the pressures of public perception. It would have to recognise Byam then.

The spirits of the wind and water were too hard to bluff; fish were too self-absorbed; and there was no hope of hoodwinking the sea dragons. But humans had bad eyesight, and a tendency to see things that weren’t there. Their capacity for self-deception was Byam’s best bet.

It chose a good point in the sky, high enough that it would have enough cloud matter to work with, but not so high that the humans wouldn’t be able to see it. Then it got to work.

It labored at night, using its head to push together masses of cloud and its tail to work the fine detail. Byam didn’t just want the design to look like a dragon. Byam wanted it to be beautiful—as beautiful as the dragon Byam was going to be.

Making the sculpture was harder than Byam expected. Cloud was an intransigent medium. Wisps kept drifting off when Byam wasn’t looking. It couldn’t get the horns straight, and the whiskers were wonky.

Sometimes Byam felt like giving up. How could it make a dragon when it didn’t even know how to be one?

To conquer self-doubt, it chanted the aphorisms of the wise:

Nobody becomes a dragon overnight.

Real dragons keep going.

A dragon is only an imugi that didn’t give up.

It took 100 years longer than Byam had anticipated before the cloud was finished.

It looked like a dragon, caught as it sped across the sky to its rightful place in the heavens. In moonlight it shone like mother of pearl. Under the sun it would glitter with all the colors of the rainbow.

As Byam put its final touches on the cloud, it felt both pride and a sense of anti-climax. Even loss. Soon Byam would ascend—and then what would happen to its creation? It would dissipate, or dissolve into rain, like any other cloud.

Byam managed to find a monk who knew about shipping routes and was willing to dish in exchange for not being eaten. And then it was ready. As dawn unfolded across the sky on an auspicious day, Byam took its position behind its dragon-cloud.

All it needed was a single human to look up and exclaim at what they saw. A fleet of merchant vessels was due to come this way. Among all those humans, there had to be one sailor with his eyes on the sky—a witness open to wonder, prepared to see a dragon rising to glory.

“Hey, captain,” said the lookout. “You see that?”

“What is it? A sail?”

“No.” The lookout squinted at the sky. “That cloud up there, look. The one with all the colors.”

“Oh wow!” said the captain. “Good spot! That’s something special, for sure. It’s a good omen!”

He clapped the lookout on the back, turning to the rest of the crew. “Great news, men! Heaven smiles upon us. Today is our day!”

Everyone was busy with preparations, but a dutiful cheer rose from the ship.

The lookout was still staring upwards.

“It’s an interesting shape,” he said thoughtfully. “Don’t you think it looks like a… ”

“Like what?” said the captain.

“Like, um… ” The look-out frowned, snapping his fingers. “What do you call them? Forget my own head next! It looks like a – it’s on the tip of my tongue. I’ve been at sea for too long. Like a, you know – ”

Byam couldn’t take it anymore.

“Dragon!” it wailed in agony.

An imugi has enormous lungs. Byam’s voice rolled across the sky like thunder, its breath scattering the clouds—and blowing its creation to shreds.

“Horse!” said the lookout triumphantly. “It looks like a horse!”

“No no no,” said Byam. It scrambled to reassemble its sculpture, but the cloud matter was already melting away upon the winds.

“Thunder from a clear sky!” said the captain. “Is that a good sign or a bad sign?”

The lookout frowned. “You’re too superstitious, captain – hey!” He perked up, snatching up a telescope. “Captain, there they are!”

Byam had been so focused on the first ship that it hadn’t seen the merchant fleet coming. Then it was too busy trying to salvage its dragon-cloud to pay attention to what was going on below.

It was distantly aware of fighting between the ships, of arrows flying, of the screams of sailors as they were struck down. But it was preoccupied by the enormity of what had happened to it—the loss of hundreds of years of steady, hopeful work.

It wasn’t too late. Byam could fix the cloud. Tomorrow it would try again—

“Ah,” said the pirate captain, looking up from the business of slaughter. “An imugi! It’s good luck after all. One last push, men! They can’t hold out for long!”

It would have been easier if Byam could tell itself the humans had sabotaged it out of spite. But it knew they hadn’t. As Byam tumbled out of the sky, it was the impartiality of their judgment that stung the most.

The third thousand years

Dragons enjoyed sharing advice about how they’d gotten where they were. They said it helped to visualise the success you desired.

“Envision yourself with those horns, those whiskers, three claws and a thumb, basking in the glow of your own cintamani,” urged the Dragon King of the East Sea in his popular memoir Sixty Thousand Records of a Floating Life. “Close your eyes. You are the master of the elements! A twitch of your whisker and the skies open. At your command, blessings – or vengeance – pour forth upon all creatures under heaven! Just imagine!”

When Byam was low at heart, it imagined.

It got fed up of the sea: turtles kept chasing it around, and whale song disrupted its sleep. It moved inland, and found a quiet cave where it could study the Way undisturbed. The cave didn’t smell great, but it meant Byam never had to go far for food, so long as it didn’t mind bat. (Byam came to mind bat.) Byam focused on the future.

This time, there would be no messing around with dragon-clouds. Byam had learned from its mistakes. There was no tricking heaven. This time it would present itself at the gates with its record of honest toil, and hope to be deemed worthy of admission.

It should have been nervous, but in fact it was calm as it prepared for what it hoped would be its final attempt. Certainty glowed in its stomach like a swallowed ember.

It had been a long time since Byam had left its cave, which it had chosen because it was up among the mountains, far from any human settlement. Still, Byam intended to minimise any chance of disaster. It was going to shoot straight for the skies, making sure it was exposed to the judgment of the world for as brief a time as possible.

But the brightness outside took it aback. Its eyes weren’t used to the sun’s glare anymore. When Byam raised its head, it got caught in a sort of horrible basket, full of whispering voices. A storm of ticklish green scraps whirled around it.

It reared back, hissing, before it recognised what had attacked it. Byam had forgotten about trees.

It leapt into the air, shaken. To have forgotten trees… Byam had not realised it had been so long.

Its unease faded as it rose ever higher. The crisp airs of heaven blew away disquiet. Ahead, the clouds glowed as though they reflected the light of the Way.

Leslie almost missed it.

She never usually did this kind of thing. She was indoorsy the way some people were outdoorsy, as attached to her sofa as others were to endorphins and bragging about their marathon times. She’d never thought of herself as someone who hiked.

But she hadn’t thought of herself as someone who’d fail her PhD, or get dumped by her boyfriend for her best friend. The past year had blown the bottom out of her ideas about herself.

She paused to drink some water and heave for breath. The view was spectacular. It seemed meaningless.

She was higher up than she’d thought. What if she took the wrong step? Would it hurt much to fall? Everyone would think it was an accident…

She shook herself, horrified. She wouldn’t do anything stupid, Leslie told herself. To distract herself, she took out her phone, but that proved a bad idea: this was the point at which she would have texted Jung-wook before.

She could take a selfie. That’s what people did when they went hiking, right? Posted proof they’d done it. She raised her phone, switching the camera to front-facing mode.

She saw a flash in the corner of the screen. It was sunlight glinting off scales.

Leslie’s mouth fell open. It wasn’t—it couldn’t be. She hadn’t even known they were found in America.

The camera went off. Leslie whirled around, but the sky was empty. It was nowhere to be seen.

But someone up there was looking out for Leslie after all, because when she looked back at her phone, she saw that she’d caught it. It was there. It had happened. There was Leslie, looking dopey with her red face and her hair a mess and her mouth half-open—and in the background, arced across the sky like a rainbow, was her miracle. Her own personal sign from heaven that things were going to be OK.

leshangry Nature is amazing! #imugi #이무기 #sighting #blessed #여행스타그램 #자연 #등산 #nature #hiking #wanderlust #gooutside #snakesofinstagram

The turning of the worm

“Dr. Han?” said the novice. “Yeah, her office is just through there.”

Sure enough, the name was inscribed on the door in the new script the humans used now: Dr Leslie Han. Byam’s nemesis.

Its most recent nemesis. If it had been only one offence, Byam wouldn’t even be here. It was the whole of Byam’s long miserable history with humans that had brought it to this point.

It made itself invisible and passed through the door.

The monk was sitting at a desk, frowning over a text. Byam was not good at distinguishing one human from another, but this particular human’s face was branded in its memory.

It felt a surge of relief.

Even with the supernatural powers accumulated in the course of three millennia of studying the Way, it had taken Byam a while to figure out how to shapeshift. The legs had been the most difficult part. Byam kept giving itself tiger feet, the kind dragons had.

It could have concealed the feet under its skirts, since no celestial fairy ever appeared in anything less than three layers of silk. But Byam wouldn’t have it. It was pathetic, this harking back to its stupid dreams. It had worked at the spell until the feet came right. If Byam wasn’t becoming a dragon, it would not lower itself to imitation. No part of it would bear any of the nine resemblances.

But there were consolations available to imugi who reconciled themselves to their fate. Like revenge.

The human was perhaps a little older than when Byam had last seen her. But she was still alive—alive enough to suffer when Byam devoured her.

Byam let its invisibility fall away. It spread its hands, the better to show off its magnificent sleeves.

It was the human’s job that had given Byam the idea. Leslie Han was an academic, which appeared to be a type of monk. Monks were the most relatable kind of human, for like imugi, they desired one thing most in life: to ascend to a higher plane of existence.

“Leslie,” crooned Byam in the dulcet tones of a celestial fairy. “How would you like to go to heaven?”

The monk screamed and fell out of her chair.

When nothing else happened, Byam floated over to the desk, peering down at the monk.

“What are you doing down there?” began Byam, but then the text the monk had been studying caught its eye.

“Oh my God, you’re – ” The monk rubbed her eyes. “I didn’t think celestial fairies descended anymore! Did you – were you offering to take me to heaven?”

Byam wasn’t listening. The monk had to repeat herself before it looked up from the book.

“This is a text on the Way,” said Byam. It looked around the monk’s office. There were rows and rows of books. Byam said slowly, “These are all about the Way.”

The monk looked puzzled. “No, they’re about astrophysics. I’m a researcher. I study the evolution of galaxies.”

Maybe Byam had been dumb enough to believe it might some day become a dragon, but it knew an exegesis of the Way when it saw one. There were hundreds of such books here—more commentaries than Byam had seen in one place in its entire lifetime.

It wasn’t going to repeat its mistakes. Ascension, transcendence, turning into a dragon—that wasn’t happening for Byam. Heaven had made that clear.

But you couldn’t study something for 3,000 years without becoming interested in it for its own sake.

“Tell me about your research,” said Byam.

“What you said just now,” said the monk. “Did you not – ”

Byam showed its teeth.

“My research!” said the monk. “Let me tell you about it.”

Byam had planned to eat the monk when she was done. But it turned out the evolution of galaxies was an extremely complicated matter. The monk had not explained even half of what Byam wanted to know by the time the moon rose.

The monk took out a glowing box and looked at it. “It’s so late!”

“Why did you stop?” said Byam.

“I need to sleep,” said the monk. She bent over the desk. Byam wondered if this was a good moment to eat her, but then the monk turned and held out a sheaf of paper.

“What is this?”

“Extra reading,” said the monk. “You can come back tomorrow if you’ve got questions. My office hours are 3 to 4 pm on Wednesdays and Thursdays.”

She paused, her eyes full of wonder. She was looking at Byam as though it was special.

“But you can come any time,” said the monk.

Byam did the reading. It went back again the next day. And the next.

It was easier to make sense of the texts with the monk’s help. Byam had never had anyone to talk to about the Way before. Its past visits with monks didn’t count—Leslie screamed much less than the others. She answered Byam’s questions as though she enjoyed them, whereas the others had always made it clear they couldn’t wait for Byam to leave.

“I like teaching,” she said, when Byam remarked upon this. “I’m surprised I’ve got anything to teach you, though. I’d’ve thought you’d know all this stuff already.”

“No,” said Byam. It looked down at the diagram Leslie was explaining for the third time. Byam still didn’t get it. But if there was one thing Byam was good at, it was trying again and again.

Well. That had been its greatest strength. Now, who knew?

“It’s OK,” said Leslie. “You know things I don’t.”

“Hm.” Byam wasn’t so sure.

Leslie touched its shoulder.

“It’s impressive,” she said. “That you’re so open to learning new things. If I were a celestial fairy, there’s no way I’d work so hard. I’d just lie around getting drunk and eating peaches all day.”

“You have a skewed image of the life of a celestial fairy,” said Byam.

But it did feel better. No one had ever called it hardworking before. It was a new experience, feeling validated. Byam found it liked it.

Studying with Leslie involved many new experiences. Leslie was a great proponent of what she called fresh air. She dragged Byam out of the office regularly so they could inhale as much of it as possible.

“But there’s air inside,” objected Byam.

“It’s not the same,” said Leslie. “Don’t you get a little stir-crazy when you haven’t seen the sun in a while?”

Byam remembered the shock of emerging from its cave for the first time in 800 years.

“Yes,” it admitted.

Leslie was particularly fond of hiking, which was like walking, only you did it up a hill. Byam enjoyed this. In the past 3,000 years it had seen more of the insides of mountains than their outsides, and it turned out the outsides were attractive at human eye-level.

The mountains were still polite to Byam, as though there were still a chance it might ever become a dragon. This hurt, but Byam squashed the feeling down. It had made its decision.

It was on one of their hikes that Leslie brought up the first time they met. They weren’t far off the peak when she stopped to look into the distance.

Byam hadn’t realised at first—things looked so different from human height—but it recognised the place before she spoke. Leslie was staring at the very mountain that had been Byam’s home for 800 years.

“It’s funny,” she said. “The last time I was here…”

Byam braced itself. I saw an imugi trying to ascend, she was going to say. It faceplanted on the side of a mountain, it was hilarious!

“I was standing here wishing I was dead,” said Leslie.

“What?”

“Not seriously,” said Leslie hastily. “I mean, I wouldn’t have done anything. I just wanted it to stop.”

“What did you want to stop?”

“Everything,” said Leslie. “I don’t know. I was young. I was having a hard time. It all felt too much to cope with.”

Humans lived for such a short time anyway, it had never occurred to Byam that they might want to hasten the end. “You don’t still…”

“Oh no. It was a while ago.” Leslie was still looking at Byam’s mountain. She smiled. “You know, I got a sign while I was up here.”

“A sign,” echoed Byam.

“It probably sounds stupid,” said Leslie. “But I saw an imugi. It made me think there might be hope. I started going to therapy. Finished my PhD. Things got better.”

“Good,” said Byam. It met Leslie’s eyes. She had never stopped looking at Byam as though it was special.

Leslie pressed her lips to Byam’s mouth.

Byam stayed still. It wasn’t sure what to do.

“Sorry. I’m sorry!” Leslie stepped back, looking panicked. “I don’t know what I was thinking. I thought maybe – of course we’re both women, but I thought maybe that didn’t matter to you guys. Or maybe you were even into – I was imagining things. This is so embarrassing. Oh God.”

Byam had questions. It picked just one to start with. “What were you doing? With the mouths, I mean.”

Leslie took a deep breath and blew it out. “Oh boy.” But the explanation proved to be straightforward.

“Oh, it was a mating overture,” said Byam.

“I – yeah, I guess you could put it that way,” said Leslie. “Listen, I’m sorry I even… I don’t want to have ruined everything. I care about you a lot, as a friend. Can we move on?”

“Yes,” Byam agreed. “Let’s try again.”

“Phew, I’m really glad you’re not – what?”

“I didn’t know what you were doing earlier,” explained Byam. “You should’ve said. But I’ll be better now I understand it.”

Leslie stared. Byam started to feel nervous.

“Do you not want to kiss?” it said.

“No,” said Leslie. “I mean, yes?”

She reached out tentatively. Byam squeezed her hand. It seemed to be the right thing to do, because Leslie smiled.

“OK,” she said.

After a while Byam moved into Leslie’s apartment. It had been spending the nights off the coast, but the waters by the city smelled of diesel and the noise from the ships made its sleep fitful. Leslie’s bed was a lot more comfortable than the watery deeps.

Living with her meant Byam had to be in celestial fairy form all the time, but it was used to it by now. At Leslie’s request, it turned down the heavenly glow.

“You don’t mind?” said Leslie. “Humans aren’t used to the halo.”

“Nah,” said Byam. “It’s not like I had the glow before.” It froze. “I mean… in heaven, everyone is illuminated, so you stop… noticing it?”

Fortunately, Leslie wasn’t listening. She had opened an envelope and was staring at the letter in dismay.

“He’s raising the rent again! Oh, you’re fucking kidding me.” She took off her glasses and rubbed her eyes. “I need to get out of this city.”

“What is rent?” said Byam.

Which was how Byam ended up getting a job. Leslie tried to discourage it at first. Even once Byam wore her down and she admitted it would be helpful if Byam also paid “rent,” she seemed to think it was a problem that Byam was undocumented.

That was an explanation that took an extra long time. The magic to invent the necessary records was simple in comparison.

“‘Byam’,” said Leslie, studying its brand-new driver’s licence. “That’s an interesting choice.”

“It’s my name,” said Byam absently. It was busy magicking up an immunization history.

“That’s your name?” said Leslie. She touched the driver’s licence with reverent fingers. “Byam.”

She seemed unaccountably pleased. After a moment she said, “You never told me your name before.”

“Oh,” said Byam. Leslie was blushing. “You could have asked!”

Leslie shrugged. “I didn’t want to force it. I figured you’d tell me when you were ready.”

“It’s not because – I would’ve told you,” said Byam. “I just didn’t think of it. It’s not my real name.”

The light in Leslie’s face dimmed. “It’s not?”

“I mean, it’s the name I have,” said Byam. It should never have set off down this path. How was it going to explain about dragon-names—the noble, elegant styles, full of meaning and wit, conferred on dragons upon their ascension? Leslie didn’t even know Byam was an imugi. She thought Byam had already been admitted to the gates of heaven.

“I’m only a low-level attendant,” it said finally. “When I get promoted, I’ll be given a real name. One with a good meaning. Like ‘Establish Virtue,’ or ‘Jade Peak,’ or ‘Sunlit Cloud.’”

“Oh,” said Leslie. “I didn’t know you were working towards a promotion.” She hesitated. “When do you think you’ll get promoted?”

“In 10,000 years’ time,” said Byam. “Maybe.”

This was a personal joke. Leslie wasn’t meant to get it, and she did not. She only gave Byam a thoughtful look. She dropped a kiss on its forehead, just above its left eyebrow.

“I like ‘Byam,’” she said. “It suits you.”

They moved out of the city to the outskirts, where the rent was cheaper and they could have more space. Leslie got a cat, which avoided Byam but eventually stopped hissing at its approach. Leslie went running on the beach in the mornings while Byam swam.

She introduced Byam to those of her family who didn’t object to the fact that Byam appeared to be a woman. These did not include Leslie’s parents, but there was a sister named Jean, and a niece, Eun-hye, whom Byam taught physics.

Tutoring young humans in physics was Byam’s first job, but sometimes it forgot itself and taught students the Way, which was not helpful for exams. After a narrowly averted disaster with the bathroom in their new apartment, Byam took a plumbing course.

It turned out Byam was good at working with pipes—better, perhaps, than it had ever been at understanding the Way.

At night, Byam still dreamt of the past. Or rather, it dreamt of the future—the future as Byam had envisioned it, once upon a time. They were impossible, ecstatic dreams—dreams of scything through the clouds, raindrops clinging to its beard; dreams of chasing the cintamani through the sea, its whiskers floating on a warm current.

When Byam woke up, its face wet with salt-water, Leslie was always there.

Byam got home one night and knew something was wrong. It could tell from the shape of Leslie’s back. When she realised it was there, she raised her head, wiping her face and trying to smile.

“What happened?” said Byam.

“I’ve been – ” The words got stuck. Leslie cleared her throat. “I didn’t get tenure.”

Byam had learned enough about Leslie’s job by now to understand what this meant. Not getting tenure was worse than falling when you were almost at the gates of heaven. It sat down, appalled.

“Would you like me to eat the committee for you?” it suggested.

Leslie laughed. “No.” The syllable came out on a sob. She rubbed her eyes. “Thanks, baby, but that wouldn’t help.”

“What would help?”

“Nothing,” said Leslie. Then, in a wobbly voice, “A hug.”

Byam put its arms around Leslie, but it seemed poor comfort for the ruin of all her hopes. It felt Leslie underestimated the consolation she was likely to derive from the wholesale destruction of her enemies. But this was not the time to argue.

Byam remembered the roaring in its ears as it fell, the shock of meeting the ground.

“Sometimes,” it said, “you try really hard and it’s not enough. You put in all you’ve got and you still never get where you thought you were meant to be. But at least you tried. Some people never try. They resign themselves to bamboozling monks and devouring maidens for all eternity.”

“Doesn’t sound like a bad life,” said Leslie, with another of those ragged laughs. But she kissed Byam’s shoulder, to show that she didn’t think the life of a wicked imugi had any real appeal.

After Leslie cried some more, she said, “Is it worth it? The trying, I mean.”

Byam had to be honest. The only thing that could have made falling worse was if someone had tried to convince Byam it hadn’t sucked.

“I don’t know,” it said.

It could see the night sky through the windows. Usually the lights and pollution of the city blanked out the sky, but tonight there was a single star shining, like the cintamani did sometimes in Byam’s dreams.

“Maybe,” said Byam.

Leslie said, “Why aren’t you trying to become a dragon?”

Byam froze. “What?”

Leslie wriggled out of its arms and turned to face it. “Tell me you’re still working towards it and I’ll shut up.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” said Byam, terrified. “I’m a celestial fairy. What do dragons have to do with anything? They are far too noble and important to have anything to say to a lowly spirit like me –”

“Byam, I know you’re not a celestial fairy.”

“No, I am, I – ” But Byam swallowed its denials at the look on Leslie’s face. “What gave it away?”

“I don’t know much about celestial fairies,” said Leslie. “But I’m pretty sure they don’t talk about eating senior professors.”

Byam gave her a look of reproach. “I was trying to be helpful!”

“It wasn’t just that…”

“Have you told Jean and Eun-hye?” Byam bethought itself of the other creature that was important in their lives. “Did you tell the cat? Is that why it doesn’t like me?”

“I’ve told you, I can’t actually talk to the cat,” said Leslie. (Which was a blatant lie, because she did it all the time, though it was true they had strange conversations, generally at cross-purposes.) “I haven’t told anyone. But I couldn’t live with you for years and not know, Byam. I’m not completely stupid. I was hoping you’d eventually be comfortable enough to tell me yourself.”

Byam’s palms were damp. “Tell you what? ‘Oh yeah, Les, I should’ve mentioned, I’m not an exquisite fairy descended from heaven like you always thought. Actually I’m one of the eternal losers of the unseen world. Hope that’s OK!'”

“Hey, forgive me for trying to be sensitive!” snapped Leslie. “I don’t care what you are, Byam. I know who you are. That’s all that matters to me.”

“Who I am?” said Byam. It was like a rock had lodged inside its throat. It was hard to speak past it. “An imugi, you mean. An earthworm with a dream.”

“An imugi changed my life,” said Leslie. “Don’t talk them down.”

Though it was incredible, it seemed it was true she didn’t mind, and wasn’t about to dump Byam for being the embodiment of pathetic failure.

“I just wish you’d trusted me,” she said.

Her eyes were tender, and worried, and red. They reminded Byam that it was Leslie who had just come crashing down to earth.

Byam clasped its hands to keep them from shaking. It took a deep breath. “I’m not a very good girlfriend.”

Leslie understood what it was trying to say. She put her arm around Byam.

“Sometimes,” she said. “Mostly you do OK.”

“I wasn’t good at being an imugi either,” said Byam. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you. It wasn’t like the name. This, I didn’t want you to know.”

“Why not?”

“If you’re an imugi, everyone knows you’ve failed,” explained Byam. “It’s like wearing a sign all the time saying ‘I’ve been denied tenure.'”

This proved a bad comparison to make. Leslie winced.

“Sorry,” said Byam. It paused. “It hurts. Knowing it wasn’t enough, even when you gave it the best of yourself. But you get over it.”

You get used to being a failure. It was too early to tell her that. Maybe Leslie would be lucky. Maybe she’d never have the chance to get used to it.

Leslie looked like she was thinking of saying something, but she changed her mind. She squeezed Byam’s knee.

“I’m thinking of going into industry,” said Leslie.

Byam had no idea what she meant.

“You would be great at that,” it said, meaning it.

It turned out Byam was right: Leslie was great at working in industry, and her success meant they could move into a bigger place, near Leslie’s sister. This worked out well—after Jean’s divorce, they helped out with Eun-hye, who perplexed Byam by declaring it her favourite aunt.

A mere 10 years after Leslie had been denied tenure, she was saying it had been a blessing in disguise: “I would never have known there was a world outside academia.”

They had stopped talking about dragons by then. Leslie had gotten over her fixation with them.

“I’m fixated?” she’d said. “You’re the one who worked for thousands of years – ”

“I don’t want to talk about it,” Byam had said. When this didn’t work, it simply started vanishing whenever Leslie brought it up. Eventually, she stopped bringing it up.

Over time, she seemed to forget what Byam really was. Even Byam started to forget. When Leslie found her first white hair, Byam grew a few too, to make her feel better. Wrinkles were more challenging; it could never seem to get quite the right number. (“You look like a sage,” said Leslie, when she was done laughing at its first attempt. “I’m only 48!”)

Byam’s former life receded into insignificance, the thwarted yearning of its earlier days nearly effaced.

The years went by quickly.

Leslie didn’t talk much these days. It tired her, as everything tired her. She spent most of her time asleep, the rest looking out of the window. She didn’t often tell Byam what was going through her head.

So it was a surprise when she said, without precursor:

“Why does the yeouiju matter so much?”

It took a moment before Byam understood what she was talking about. It hadn’t thought of the cintamani in years. But then the surge of bitterness and longing was as fresh as ever, even in the midst of its grief.

“It’s in the name, isn’t it?” said Byam. “’The jewel that grants all wishes.’”

“Do you have a lot of wishes that need granting?”

Byam could think of some, but to tell Leslie about them would only distress her. It wasn’t like Leslie wanted to die.

Before, Byam had always thought that humans must be used to dying, since they did it all the time. But now it had got to know them better, it saw they had no idea how to deal with it.

This was unfortunate, because Byam didn’t know either.

“I guess I just always imagined I’d have one some day,” it said. It tried to remember what it had felt like before it had given up on becoming a dragon and acquiring its own cintamani. “It was like… if I didn’t have that hope, life would have no meaning.”

Leslie nodded. She was still gazing out of the window. “You should try again.”

“Let’s not worry about it now – ”

“You have thousands of years,” said Leslie. “You shouldn’t just give up.” She looked Byam in the eye. “Don’t you still want to be a dragon?”

Byam would have liked to say no. It was unfair of Leslie to awaken all these dormant feelings in it at a time when it already had too many feelings to contend with.

“Eun-hye should be here soon,” it said. Leslie’s niece was almost the same age Leslie had been when Byam had first come to her office with murder in its heart. Eun-hye had a child herself now, which still seemed implausible to Byam. “She’s bringing Sam, won’t that be nice?”

“Don’t talk to me like I’m an old person,” said Leslie, annoyed. “I’m dying, not decrepit. Come on, Byam. I thought repression was a human thing.”

“That shows how much you know,” said Byam. “When you’ve been a failure for 3,000 years, you get good at repressing things!”

“I’m just saying –”

“I don’t know why you’re – ” Byam scrubbed its face. “Am I not good enough as I am?”

“Of course you’re good enough,” said Leslie. “If you’re happy, then that’s fine. But you should know you can be anything you want to be. That’s all. I don’t want you to let fear hold you back.”

Byam was silent.

Leslie said, “I only want to know you’ll be OK after I’m dead.”

“I wish you’d stop saying that,” said Byam.

“I know.”

“I don’t want you to die.”

“I know.”

Byam laid its head on the bed. If it closed its eyes it could almost pretend they were home, with the cat snoozing on Leslie’s feet.

After a while it said, without opening its eyes, “What’s your next form going to be?”

“I don’t know,” said Leslie. “We don’t get told in advance.” She grinned. “Maybe I’ll be an imugi.”

“Don’t say such things,” said Byam, aghast. “You haven’t been that bad!”

This made Leslie laugh, which made her cough, so Byam called the nurse, and then Eun-hye came with her little boy, so there was no more talk of dragons, or cintamani, or reversing a pragmatic surrender to the inevitable.

That night the old dreams started again—the ones where Byam was a dragon. But they were a relief compared to the dreams it had been having lately.

It didn’t mention them to Leslie. She would only say, “I told you so.”

For a long moment after Byam woke, it was confused. The cintamani still hung in the air before it. Then it blinked and the orb revealed itself to be a lamp by the hospital bed.

Leslie was awake, her eyes on Byam. “Hey.”

Byam wiped the drool from its cheek, sitting up. “Do you want anything? Water, or – ”

“No,” said Leslie. Her voice was thin, a mere thread of sound. “I was just watching you sleep like a creeper.”

But then she paused. “There is something, actually.”

“Yeah?”

“You don’t have to.”

“If there’s anything I can give you,” said Byam, “you’ll get it.”

Still Leslie hesitated.

“Could I see you?” she said finally. “In your true form, I mean.”

There was a brief silence. Leslie said, “If you don’t want to…”

“No, it’s fine,” said Byam. “Are you sure you won’t be scared?”

Leslie nodded. “It’ll still be you.”

Byam looked around the room. There wasn’t enough space for its real form, so it would have to make more space. But that was a simple magic.

It hadn’t expected the sense of relief as it expanded into itself. It was as though for several decades it had been wearing shoes a size too small and had finally been allowed to take them off.

Leslie’s eyes were wide.

“Are you OK?” said Byam.

“Yes,” said Leslie, but she raised her hands to her face. Byam panicked, but before it could transform again, Leslie rubbed her eyes and said, “Don’t change back! I haven’t looked properly yet.”

Her eyes were wet. She studied Byam as though she was trying to imprint the sight onto her memory.

“I’d look better with legs,” said Byam shyly. “And antlers. And a bumpy forehead…”

“You’re beautiful.” Leslie touched Byam’s side. Her hand was warm. “It was you, wasn’t it? That day in the mountains.”

Byam shrank. It said, its heart in its mouth, “You knew?”

“I’ve known for a while.”

“Why didn’t you say anything?”

“Guess I was waiting for you to tell me.” Leslie gave Byam a half-smile. “You know me, I hate confrontation. Anything to avoid a fight.”

“I should have told you,” said Byam. “I wanted to, I just…” It had never been able to work out how to tell Leslie its original plan had been to devour her in an act of misdirected revenge.

Dumb, dumb, dumb. Byam could only blame itself for its failures.

“You should’ve told me.” But Leslie didn’t seem mad. Maybe she just didn’t have the energy for it anymore.

“I’m sorry,” said Byam. Leslie held out her hand and it slid closer, letting her run her hand over its scales. “How did you figure it out?”

Leslie shrugged. “It made sense. You were always there when I needed you.” She patted Byam gently. “Can I ask for one more thing?”

“Anything,” said Byam. It felt soft and sad, bursting at the seams with melancholy love.

“Promise me you won’t give up,” said Leslie. “Promise me you’ll keep trying.”

It was like going in for a kiss and getting slapped in the face. Byam went stiff, staring at Leslie in outrage. “That’s fighting dirty!”

“You said anything.”

Byam ducked its head, but it couldn’t see any way out.

“I couldn’t take it,” it said miserably, “not now, not after… I’m not brave enough to fail again.”

Leslie’s eyes were pitiless.

“I know you are,” she said.

One last time

They scattered Leslie’s ashes on the mountain where she had first seen Byam, which would have felt narcissistic if it hadn’t been Leslie’s own idea. When they were done, Byam said it wanted a moment alone.

No, it was all right, Eun-hye should stay with her mother. Byam was just going round the corner. It wanted to look at the landscape Leslie had loved.

Alone, it took off its clothes, folding them neatly and putting them on a stone. It shrugged off the constriction of the spell that had bound it for years.

It was like taking a deep breath of fresh air after coming up from the subway. For the first time Byam felt a rush of affection for its incomplete self—legless, hornless, orbless as it was. It had done the best it could.

Ascending was familiar, yet strange. Before, Byam had always striven to break free from the bonds of earth.

This time it was different. Byam seemed to be bringing the earth with it as it rose to meet the sky. Its grief did not fall away—it was closer than ever, a cheek laid against Byam’s own.

Everything was much simpler than Byam had thought. Heaven and earth were not so far apart, after all –

“Look, Sam,” said Eun-hye. She held her son up, pointing. “There’s an imugi going to heaven! Wow!”

The child’s small frowning face turned to the sky. Gravity dug its claws into Byam.

It was fruitless to resist. Still, Byam thrashed wildly, hurling itself upwards. Fighting the battle of its life, as though it had any chance of winning.

Leslie had believed in Byam. It had promised to be brave.

“Wow, it’s so pretty!” continued Eun-hye’s voice, much loved and incredibly unwelcome. “Your imo halmeoni loved imugi.”

Sam was young, but he already had very definite opinions.

“No,” he said distinctly.

“It’s good luck to see an imugi,” said Eun-hye. “Look, the imugi’s dancing!”

“No!” said Sam, in the weary tone he adopted when adults were being especially dense. “Not imugi. It’s a dragon.”

For the first time in Byam’s inglorious career, gravity surrendered. The resistance vanished abruptly. Byam bounced into the clouds like an arrow loosed from the bow.

“No, ippeuni,” Eun-hye was explaining. “Dragons are different. Dragons have horns like a cow, and legs and claws, and long beards like Santa…”

“Got horns,” said Sam.

Byam barely noticed the antlers, or the whiskers unfurling from its face, or the legs popping out along its body, each foot adorned with four gold-tipped claws.

Because there it was—the cintamani of its dreams, a matchless pearl falling through five-coloured clouds. It was like meeting a beloved friend in a crowd of strangers.

Byam rushed toward it, its legs (it had legs!) extended to catch the orb. It still half-believed it was going to miss, and that the whole thing would come crashing down around its ears, a ridiculous daydream after all.

But the cintamani dropped right in its paw. It was lit from the inside, slightly warm to the touch. It was perfect.

Byam only realised it was shedding tears when the clouds started weeping along. It must have looked strange from the ground, the storm descending suddenly out of a clear blue sky.

Eun-hye shrieked, covering Sam’s head. “We’ve got to find Byam imo!”

“It’s getting heavy,” said Jean. “The baby’ll get wet. Get Nathan to bring the car round. I’ll look for her.”

“No, I will.”

“I’ve got an umbrella!”

They were still fighting, far beneath Byam, as the palaces of heaven rose before it. Ranks of celestial fairies stood by the gate, waiting to welcome it.

They had waited thousands of years. They could wait a little longer. Byam turned back, thinking to stop the storm. Anything to avoid a fight.

But the rain was thinning already. Through the clouds, Byam could see the child leaning out of his mother’s arms, thwarting her attempts to keep him dry. He held his hands out to the rain, laughing.

With thanks to Miri Kim, Hana Lee, Perrin Lu, Kara Lee and Rachel Monte.

If at First You Don't Succeed, Try, Try Again

#Zen Cho #If at First You Don't Succeed #short story #long post

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the-ladysilver · 6 years ago

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// MY COMMISSIONS ARE OPEN \\

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NSFW Rules: - You MUST be over 18 or older to order an NSFW commission - There are some fetishes i won’t draw (please ask) - I will NOT draw vore, so don’t ask. - I will draw fanart depending on the fandom and if im familiar with the characters - I have the right to turn down any/all requests.

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#commissions info #art commisions #commissions open #tos #terms and conditions #terms of service #the-ladysilver #my work #my stuff #my art

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beatricethecat2 · 8 years ago

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one step forward, two steps back (v2.0) - 2

Second half of part one, edited for continuity. Hope you enjoy it and the whacky part two that's coming up next!

///////////////

Myka sneaks down the stairs and finds Claudia draped across the couch, fast asleep, snuggled under a blanket. She tiptoes past Steve, snoozing in the lounger, and Pete, passed out on the floor, then crouches behind the sofa and pokes Claudia on the shoulder.

“Claud...” she whispers.

No response.

“Claud. We need to talk.”

“Mmhmm…” Claudia mumbles then shifts onto her side.

“Ssh, you’ll wake them.”

“Okok,” Claudia says, lips barely moving. She peels herself up and trudges dutifully behind Myka. When they reach the top of the stairs, she stops and waits for further instructions.

“Not here. Outside.”

“Like, on the porch?"

“Outside-outside. Away,” Myka says, adding a harried sweep of her hand.

“Ok, crazy lady,” Claudia says. "Lemme put on some duds.”

They dress quickly and meet in the entry hall. Leena appears out of nowhere the minute Myka opens the front door.

“Where are you two going?” she says, with a tinge of annoyance.

“To get some air?” Myka answers, sloppily.

“It’s two thirty in the morning, and it’s freezing outside.”

"I couldn’t sleep,” Myka says.

“Me…neither.” Claudia yawns mid-sentence.

Leena purses her lips and raises a brow.

“C’mon Claud, let’s go for a drive."

---------------------

“Smooth move, Pointdexter,” Claudia says as she curls up in the SUV’s seat. “Leena totally bought that."

“H.G. needs our help,” Myka says, and hands the phone to Claudia.

Claudia sits up. “Give to Claudia,” she reads out loud and taps the phone awake. “What am I supposed to do with this?”

“I don’t know.”

Claudia taps a button, then swipes the screen and scrolls through a document. “Whoa.”

“Whoa what?”

“I need a computer. Let’s go to the Warehouse.”

“No. It’s not safe. For her.”

Claudia continues scrolling. “I’m getting that vibe. Tell me what’s up, and I’ll see what I can do.”

-----------

They drive around for an hour then retire to their respective bedrooms. Claudia says not to worry, she’ll figure things out and text her from a coffee shop in town.

Myka catches up with her after breakfast, huddled over her computer in a dark corner.

“Did you talk to her?” Myka asks, pulling out a chair.

“Her and Emily. A heads up would have been nice. Emily's a handful."

“Sorry,” Myka says, but with a small grin. "Did you find her cat?"

“Crap. I forgot.” Claudia taps her laptop awake and starts typing.

“What about the orb?"

“I checked everywhere I knew, and everywhere H.G. knew, but nada. She thinks maybe the supermarket."

“Let’s go,” Myka says, her chair screeching back as she rises.

“Whoa there, cowgirl, we can’t show up all willy-nilly. Plus, Pete's gotta come if we’re going rogue."

“Pete? Why?"

“Authenticity. Plus, he’d blag his way in better since his mom’s a Regent."

Myka frowns. “H.G. said not to involve anyone else."

“If she wants this fixed, she’s out of luck."

Myka stares at Claudia for a long moment; she doesn’t want to disappoint Helena but what choice does she have?

“And we gotta hurry. H.G.’s getting worse. She said she’s only herself in solid form for a few minutes. And she’s worried Emily’s gonna bolt."

Myka squeezes her eyes shut and grits her teeth.

“Fine. I’ll talk to him."

------------------

“How long till grandpa notices we’re awol?” Claudia says, leaning forward from the back of the SUV.

“Don’t jinx the thing,” Pete snaps, hands still gripping the steering wheel.

“Let’s just...go,” Myka says, already halfway out the door.

They rush into the supermarket and gather the correct items, then are let into the vault by the same terse man as before. Pete locates box and sets it on the table. He looks cautiously at Claudia and Myka before opening.

“Here goes nothin’.”

He opens the box and everyone crowds around. It’s empty.

“Maybe it's in a different box,” Myka says, trying to sound optimistic. She skims a hand over the other drawers in the wall.

“Should we ask the guy?” Claudia suggests.

“It’s not here,” Pete says, with finality.

“How can you be sure?"

“No vibes. Dead end."

Myka falls back against the wall and slides down into sitting position onto the floor. “What are we going to do now?"

“I know,” Pete says, snapping his fingers. “Trace the Regent’s steps after they snagged the orb.”

“Been there, done that, bought the t-shirt,” Claudia says.

“There must be something!"

“Pete, you didn't see her. She just disintegrated while...” Myka trails off.

“We could ask Artie."

“NO!” Myka and Claudia yelp in unison.

“What about my Mom?"

“H.G. said not to involve anyone else,” Myka says, weakly.

“You got a better idea?"

Myka shakes her head.

“Claud?"

“Time to bring in the big guns,” Claudia says.

Everyone jumps as Claudia's Farnsworth bleats. “Uhhh, guys, let's get out of here, now."

-------------------

A raging Artie is fended off, just barely, and Jane read into the situation. Enthusiasm returns when Jane says she thinks she knows where the orb is.

“Kosan had it last,” she explains. “And I know where he’d keep it. Tell Artie I need to see Pete and Myka ASAP. Put Pete on a plane and Myka, find Helena and stay with her. If we find it, we’ll need you there to know if it works. Claudia, monitor things from the Warehouse."

“Thank you,” Myka says, the knot in her stomach loosening ever so slightly.

“Thank me when we fix this,” Jane says. "I’ll see you soon, son,” she says to Pete.

“Love you, Mom.”

The Farnsworth goes dark.

The gang jump in the SUV and speed off to the airport.

“Claud, give me the phone."

Claudia hands it over, and Myka's eyes widen at the list of messages waiting to be read.

“H.G. and Emily are fighting. Emily’s threatening to leave if we don’t give her proof Dickens is alive.” Myka turns to Claudia. “Did you find him?"

“Yeah. His name is Mr. Whiskers now, and he lives with a three-year-old."

“Did you get a picture of him?"

“Negative. It kinda freaked the family out when I got in touch out of the blue."

“We need that cat."

“I-I should stay at the Warehouse like Jane said, but Steve…"

“Not another person."

“But Mykes…"

Myka crosses her arms and looks away. “Do we have to tell him why?"

“Lie to the human lie detector?"

“Fine. But he’s the last one."

“Leena’s super suspicious."

Myka swings around and glares.

“She could run interference with Artie,” Claudia says.

Myka drags a hand through her hair, grabbing a fistful before letting her arm drop. She’s lost control of this situation, but she’ll do whatever's necessary to save Helena.

“Ok, but she’s got to be the last one. I’ll call H.G."

------------------

Myka drives as fast as she can from the airport to Helena’s triangulated position and slows to a crawl in a complex of apartment buildings. They all look the same, but Emily said to look for a large oak tree, and when she finds it, she parks. She texts as she tumbles out of the car then marches to the front door. She texts again when the door doesn’t buzz open and contemplates picking the lock.

“Hello?” a feeble voice cracks over the intercom.

“Which apartment?” Myka grunts. She hears shuffling, then two short clicks.

“5B."

The door buzzes open, and she rushes up the stairs, wishing, by the third floor, she’d looked for an elevator. Upon reaching five, she locates 5B and turns the knob. It’s locked, so she taps twice, and the cover of the peephole lifts then drops. The door opens just a crack, and she pushes her way in, spinning around and latching the lock, then swinging back to face Emily.

She’s surprised to find Emily’s not there when she turns, nor anywhere in the room, but sees the kitchen is her closest option. She stomps in that direction, and Emily shuffles back, distancing herself until her back hits the stove.

“Everything's ok,” Myka says.

“I-I’m not sure I believe you,” Emily says, hugging her arms to her torso.

“Sorry to barge in. Are you hurt?”

“Just my dress sense.” Emily looks down, her lip jutting out into a pout.

“I meant physically,” Myka says, assessing Emily for herself. She's not Helena, that’s for sure. Her shirt’s buttoned too high and her ponytail’s too tight, but it’s fascinating. If "soccer mom" were a body type one could step into, that's how Helena’s muscles tense in Emily's persona. Emily’s genuinely her own person, and genuinely it freaks Myka out.

“I didn’t mean to be brusque.”

“You were rather curt, the last time."

“I’ll try harder,” Myka says, eyes caught by the avalanche of post-its adorning the fridge. “Is this how you’ve been communicating with H.G.?"

“Yes. Your H.G. is rather brusque as well. Rude, really.” Emily wrinkles her nose.

Myka’s lips lift into a small, crooked grin, imagining the sparks that would fly if Helena and Emily were ever to meet. Her mirth fades at the sight of Emily's deep scowl, arms crossed tightly over her chest.

“Here, I brought you these,” Myka says, offering a plastic bag.

Emily swipes it from Myka and pulls out the contents. Her eyes light up. “Oh, thank you, thank you,” she says and scuttles out of the kitchen into the bedroom.

Myka pays little attention, instead focusing on the post-its. Most are questions: what’s going on, where’s Dickens, why is the milk full fat? Several notes read, in bold letters, ‘Where am I,’ and on one, scribbled underneath, 'Paid until Friday.” ‘What happens after Friday?’ is written next, with no response.

As she waits, she studies the rest of apartment, one those "stay in someone’s home while their away�� kind of deals. She looks at the notes again, and wonders what happens after Friday, too.

When Emily emerges, she’s beaming, looking like her old self.

“I wasn’t sure what size you were."

“Everything’s a little off,” Emily says, twirling while tugging on her cardigan. “But those tight jeans and baggy shirt were unbearable. I don’t understand why I was wearing them. I had other clothes, but they disappeared.”

She circles the couch and sits in a corner, back ramrod straight, hands on thighs, as if waiting for instructions from the principal.

“So, Myka. Tell me why I’m here."

Myka opens her mouth to speak, but no words come out. Should she explain this away with something physical like hypnosis, or medical, relating back to her amnesia? She already knows Sykes thought she was the H.G. Wells, a woman who worked for Warehouse 12. She's seen the coin, held it in her hand, felt herself disappear in its presence; she must be aching to make sense of it all.

She sits next to Emily and takes a deep breath then spins the tale of H.G Wells, glossing over negativities, focusing on the fact that Emily is Helena and Helena, Emily.

Emily listens, closely, conscientiously, and without interruption, her forced smile faltering as the details come into focus.

“So that’s why you’re here,” Myka ends as if the matter makes perfect sense.

“Everything you’ve said is preposterous,” Emily replies, without skipping a beat.

“I know. But it’s all true."

“It would certainly explain the odd dreams I’ve been having.” Emily looks down at her hands much like Helena did before. “But if what you’re saying is true, then I’m…” Her eyes begin to twitch, the corners tearing up. “I’m not real."

“You’re real, just part a bigger picture. If this works, you won’t disappear; you’ll be rolled into the, um, larger H.G. Wells,” Myka says.

“That’s not comforting,” Emily says and begins to shake, her breath hitching as tears fall in earnest.

Myka gives Emily a few pats on the back which makes Emily cry harder, so she slides her arm across and grasps her upper arm, guiding her closer. Emily lays her head on Myka’s shoulder and breathes deep, even breaths.

“Everything’s going to be ok,” Myka says.

“Will it?” Emily snaps, her head swinging up.

Myka flinches at the cold look in Emily's eyes, the small sneer on her lips more Helena than Emily. As their gazes stay locked, Emily’s expression softens and Myka’s stomach twists; she’s watching Helena struggling to get out.

“You have really pretty eyes,” Emily says, blinking demurely through her tears, lips quirking up at the ends.

“Um, thanks?” Myka says, gingerly withdrawing her hand and looking anywhere but Emily. Emily sniffles and Myka glances back; she's wiping tears from her face with her sleeve.

“Here,” Myka says, plucking tissues from a box and handing them over.

Emily takes the tissues, but Myka still can’t meet her gaze. She instead slips her phone out of her pocket to check in.

“Huh,” she snorts, then taps the screen and shows the Emily the image. Emily shrieks and shrinks back into the couch, hands flying up to cover her mouth.

“What now?"

“T-that’s the scary man who kidnapped me."

Myka looks at the screen. “He’s a good guy. He was undercover,” she says, a lump forming in her throat at the grim realities of that day.

“Why should I believe you? Believe any of this?” Emily swipes the phone from Myka and enlarges the picture so that only Dickens is showing. She drags a finger across the screen.

“Look at me,” Myka says, running with her gut. “You said you had dreams, dreams that make sense with some of the things I’ve said. Deep down, you know can trust me."

“I know,” Emily says, eyes angling up to meet Myka’s, the inflection of her voice not quite her own. Her lips twist into an awkward grimace, and the phone drops to her lap.

“You’re here,“ Helena says, reaching out to touch Myka, her hand slipping through.

“You’re already…"

“I’m rarely corporeal for more than a few moments,” Helena says, rising. The phone falls to the floor with a thunk, and the screen lights up.

“Is that?"

“Dickens.” Myka nods.

Helena rolls her eyes. “Oh, thank heavens. Now she’ll stop her incessant chatter."

“Do you know how long you stay in any one form?"

“I’ve been attempting to keep track, but the school teacher’s not the most cooperative."

“She’s scared. She doesn’t understand what’s going on."

“None of us do."

“Yeah but she—"

“Do you want me to stay like this? Asomatous. Apparitional. Incorp—what the devil am I wearing?” Helena barks, mouth falling open as she looks down at her outfit.

“I brought her clothes."

“Tell her to change back."

“Helena, calm down—"

“I did not suffer through all that business with Sykes to be damned for eternity as an anesthetized version of myself.” Helena stamps her foot and Emily's ponytail flicks like a horse's tail.

“She’s not that bad,” Myka says, grinning dopily at “angry” Helena. She's pretty adorable in Emily’s clothes.

“Fine. Have her. I’ll go skulk in a wall somewhere until she returns.”

“You can do that?"

Myka’s quip is met with a chilly glare. Helena throws her nose in the air and walks off.

“Don’t go,” Myka says, her grin fading.

Helena slows then stops, shoulders slumping. Myka closes the distance between them and circles in front.

“I’m scared, too,” she says, holding her hand near Helena’s cheek, heart fluttering at a slight thickening of air. “Can you feel that?"

“Perhaps,” Helena says, closing her eyes, furrowing her brow in concentration.

“I can,” Myka says, skimming her hand over Helena's features, grinning wildly at the infinitesimal buzz. “I have something for you.” Myka fishes in her pocket and pulls out Helena’s locket by its chain.

Helena swipes to grab it, but her hand fuzzes right through.

“Here,” Myka says, prying the locket open, lifting it up into Helena's line of sight.

Helena’s fingers slip under her collar, rubbing the spot where her locket usually hangs.

“And, we have a lead,” Myka adds.

Helena’s eyes flick up, meeting Myka’s, her melancholy coloring with a tinge of hope.

“Tell me what you know."

----------------

Myka lips form a dozy smile as faint puffs of breath warm her neck, an open eye confirming Helena’s lying next to her. The arm weighting her chest tightens as she snuggles closer, but loosens and withdraws an instant later.

“P-Pardon me,” Emily sputters, rolling away onto her back.

“Sorry,” Myka says, turning to face Emily. Emily’s cheeks flush, and she looks away. She wonders how much more of this Emily can take before losing her cool.

"Helena must have crawled under the covers last night.”

“I-I didn't know you two were a couple."

“We are. Sort of. I think. It’s complicated."

“That’s sweet,” Emily says, a hint of envy in her voice. “I’ve never kissed anyone, except Dickens. And he doesn’t count."

“Never?” Myka props herself up on one arm. “How come?"

“I thought it was me, from of the accident. Nothing felt right. And it didn't seem, from the pictures, that I’d been involved with anyone before. The doctors weren’t helpful."

“It’s not your fault. None of this is your fault."

“Could I kiss you? Just to know what it feels like? It wouldn’t be cheating because you said I’m her. It’d be like kissing her."

Myka’s lips press into a line but lift slightly at the ends. Emily’s not as smooth as Helena but just as forward, in her own special way.

“Please?"

Emily’s tone tugs at Myka’s heartstrings, the naiveté in her eyes the opposite of the worldliness in Helena’s. “I shouldn’t,” she says, but reaches behind Emily’s ear and slides her hair tie free. She runs her fingers through her hair and fluffs it out, curious to see if that detail changes her appearance.

“Do I look like her?” Emily’s asks as Myka withdraws her hand.

“A little,” Myka answers and grins politely. She threads a lock of hair behind Emily's ear, and as a spark of Helena flickers in her eyes, Emily stills Myka's hand and leans forward, pressing their lips together.

The kiss is tentative at first, unskilled, searching for a connection, but it soon becomes more confident. Myka drops her hand to Emily's shoulder, and Emily tangles her fingers into Myka’s curls. As Emily’s tugs Myka closer, Myka breaks the kiss and sees Helena has arrived.

Helena smiles devilishly then pushes Myka flat, hopping on top and dipping down to reconnect. As their tongues wrestle for dominance, a noise of pleasure escapes Myka's nose and she closes her eyes. Helena growls as Myka’s hands thrust into her hair.

Myka's grip tightens as Helena's silky locks fade, and when her eyes open, Helena is gone.

“Please tell me they found something yesterday,” Helena says, now standing, arms crossed, next to the bed.

“They’re still looking,” Myka says, pushing back to lean against the headboard.

“Why were you kissing Emily?"

“I was kissing you."

“You kissed her first.”

“She kissed me. She said she’d never kissed anyone before."

“That’s the oldest trick in the book.”

“You would know.”

Helena narrows her eyes.

"She’s only been around for six months."

“And that's reason enough?"

“She was morphing into you, anyway."

“That’s your alibi?"

“You do realize you’re jealous of yourself. Emily is you."

“She most certainly is not."

“Look, if we figure this out and she’s...I don’t know…absorbed back into you, at least she’ll have that memory to hang on to."

“Why would it matter? With your logic, kissing her is equivalent to kissing me.”

“That’s not true, and you know it,” Myka says, fixing Helena with a firm eye.

“Have Jane and Pete gotten back to you yet?”

Helena points with her eyes to Myka's phone. Myka grimaces, but does as instructed, and slides it off the nightstand.

“Nothing yet."

“Tell them to hurry."

--------------

Post-shower, Myka towels off her hair and steps into the living room, smiling at the sight of Helena, sitting comfortably on the couch, immersed in a book.

“Had enough time to change back into your old clothes, huh?” she says, studying Helena closely. "Wait. How are you sitting there?"

She scurries towards the couch and sits, placing a hand on Helena’s arm, ascertaining she is, indeed, solid. Helena’s eyes lower to the first fastened button on Myka's shirt, and Myka knows something's off.

"Emily?"

Emily’s eyes flick up; guilty as charged.

“Why are you wearing Helena’s clothes?”

Emily looks to the side where her clothes lay stacked and folded on a table.

“I-I thought I could be her for you. Or more like her. Until you two sort things out. A-And maybe you’d kiss me again."

“Emily..."

“It was nice, you know. Being kissed for those few seconds. I felt alive in a way I haven’t before."

“Helena wouldn’t like it,” Myka says, lips lifting into a crooked smirk. “You hungry?”

“Starving."

“I’ll make some—"

Myka's phone rings. She scrambles into the bedroom to intercept.

“Pete!"

“We got it, Mykes, we got it! But we have to hurry."

“Ok, let me tell Emily."

She dashes into the living room. Emily looks on worriedly.

“It’s time."

She sits on the couch and places the phone on speaker.

“Ok, I opened the orb and grabbed the coin. Mom has the bag. I’m gonna drop it in."

Myka looks over at Emily, now on the verge of tears.

“3…2…"

“I won’t forget you,” Myka says, placing a hand on Emily’s shoulder. Emily lurches forward, pressing her lips to Myka’s as tears stream down her face.

A splash of static swells across the line and Myka pulls back, watching Emily’s eyes fill with Helena’s.

Helena looks down and examines her hands, squeezing then releasing them, studying their movements as they turn.

“Helena?” Myka asks, more for phone confirmation that her own.

“I feel…whole,” Helena says and looks up, bewildered.

“We’re so out of here,” Pete says.

“Maybe hang onto the orb to make sure it sticks,” Myka says.

“I’m not letting it out of my sight,” Jane says.

Helena's already radiant smile grows wider as she meets Myka’s gaze, her dark, sparkling eyes piercing the depths of Myka's soul. She plucks the phone from Myka's hand and lobs it onto the floor, then lunges forward, pushing Myka onto her back, kissing her, properly, without restraint.

Moments later, Myka's Farnsworth blares. She ignores it until the tug of duty pulls her away.

“Hold that thought,” she says, placing a finger over Helena’s lips, sliding out from under her. She hurries into the bedroom and answers it facing away from the door.

“Claudia,” Myka says, a little breathlessly, relieved it’s her and not Artie.

“Mykes, Pete says it’s a done…hey, what’s up with your shirt?”

“Oh!” Myka says, eyes widening as she looks down. “H.G.,” she mumbles, in a hushed but scolding tone, her free hand gathering the fabric together where her buttons are undone. When her eyes meet Claudia’s, she flashes a sheepish grin.

“I knew it!” Claudia exclaims.

“Knew what?”

“You two—“

“Don’t tell anyone, ok?”

“Why? It’s cool with—”

“Just don’t. Not yet. I want to do it.”

“Ai, ai, captain,” Claudia says with a wink. “But before you get all frisky again, lemme talk to Casanova."

Myka walks back into the living room, but Helena’s no longer there, and Emily’s clothes are missing, too. The bathroom door is wide open and the kitchen unoccupied, the front door left slightly ajar. She runs out into the hallway, but it's deserted, then runs to the window to catch sight of Helena on her way out. After several tense moments, when Helena doesn’t emerge, she lowers her head and closes her eyes.

She sulks back into the apartment and shuffles into the kitchen, laying the Farnsworth on the counter. To its right sits a folded slip of paper with Helena's locket on top. She’s certain it wasn't there before she left.

“I humbly ask you care for this until my return," she reads. "Yours affectionately, H.”

“Myka!”

Myka jumps at Claudia’s tinny voice. She’d forgotten the Farnsworth was open.

“Where’d you go? What's going on?"

"She’s gone again, Claud. Gone."

-End - (part two coming soon)-

#BERING AND WELLS #w13 #fan fiction #season 4 #fix it #Myka Bering #Helena HG Wells #emily lake #I had to write the second part #then go back and tweak the first part #for it all to make sense together

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magicwhiskers29 · 2 years ago

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I had an epiphany whilst writing

#this is garbage i am so sorry #but it was giving me brainworms #and the quality is trash because i don't know how to edit #professor layton #azran legacy spoilers #Whiskers wishes to understand editing #<- guess that's the tag now #now nobody question how exactly this came to me #also hoping this hasn't been done before or something

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bae-in-luv · 8 years ago

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ML 2.01

#mlspoilers

so i binged the first three episodes and ive got 13 minutes to spare lets go

edit: i just went with the first ep because i really need to study now lol

im just so in awe???

marinette is so smart gurl why you aint tutoring adrien agreste

oh right you become a babble when in front of adiren

dont worry bcoz same

also hOLY SHIT HAWKMOTH IS GABRIEL AGRESTE FINALLY

i mean sure we all knew it but when the producers really confirm it. we’re on cloud nine

im shocked at how calm nathalie is

like?????

gurl why u not skerd that hawkmoth is your bOSS?

i aspire to be that indifferent in life

and lol on that note

adrien and that piano on loud speaker

you cannot convince me otherwise that adrien does let his chat noir slip in through his adrien life

anD WAIT

DO YOU REMEMBER WHAT LADYBUG SAID??

GET YOUR WHISKERS OVER HERE

WHEN DID HE GET A NICKNAME MARINETTE!!!!

I DEMAND AN EXPLANATION

chloe crying that adrien cant come to school is us

y’all cant deny this

you and me got a little chloe inside of us when we deal with gabriel and his daddy issues

i wish panic!Gabriel was the real Gabriel

i mean sure i sorta understand that it must be the grief talking

actually he feels like on the ‘in denial’ stage

i hope mama agreste is actually alive

then she sWOOPS IN LIKE A BEYOOTIPULL PEACOCK MIRACULOUS WIELDER AND ATTACKS HIM

“what HAVE U DONE TO MA BOY” “sweetie i can explain” “yOU’RE GROUNDED GABRIEL *FELICIANO AGRESTE DO YOU HEAR ME?”

Marinette confessing her wrongs is what I live for. This is bravery. Tikki said so. This is why she is Ladybug. And to quote the lovely Serafina from Barbie: Princess and the Pauper:

“A girl’s got to do what a girl’s got to do”

Gabriel admitting that the book and by extension Adrien shouldn’t be kept inside the house reveals two things:

one, there is something more important than Adrien. Now, I don’t know much about speeches and everything even if i’m an english major but i do know that the first thing that comes into your find when referring to something is what you consider the most important because that’s what’s you’ve been thinking of always.

if this is not enough proof that something wrong with gabriel then i don’T KNOW WHAT ELSE

Adrien is Gabriel's trigger point. it seems to me that as much as gabriel is hell bent on this “goal,” much of his emotions are also affected by the being that is named Adrien Agreste.

*feliciano is not part of gabriel’s name. it’s just me supplying the blanks because saying GABRIEL FELICIANO AGRESTE angrily sounds better than GABRIEL AGRESTE

#miraculous ladybug #adrien agreste #gabriel agreste #nathalie #marinette dupain cheng #chat noir #cat noir #ladybug #ml season 2 #ml spoilers

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shochmonster · 8 years ago

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TEASER [for my next writing project]

Yeah, yeah, I know I’ve been a little quiet lately, but I assure you it is with good reason! While OLLIE is making its final edits before heading out on submission, and now that I’ve revamped PINTO anew, I started something totally original to follow after. Here’s a snippet of what I’ve written so far. You Downton heads will be happy to find we’re back in the 20′s again :)

When the lads at the pub asked why I did it, I told ‘em it were on account of those tarty London whores. Couldn’t stop thinking about them, I said – what, with their plunging necklines and thick tits and all – who had time for a proper wifey? It would have only been cruel to little Marlene if I’d gone through with it, sharing a bed with her while I dreamed up all the dirty things I’d like to do with a fat-arsed slut on hands and knees. Of course, the boys agreed: they said as much with the two rounds of ale they stood up for me while I made my confession. Besides, it weren’t really that much of a fib. Not really.

In actuality, the truth was dull, and affected me in a nuanced fashion that required the sort of context you don’t talk about – even at the pub. Most of me Liverpuddle mates were shipyard blokes – real salt of the earth, Cammell Laird types – and already liked to have a laugh over how soft a career in service had made me hands, of how nice me nails were. It was unlikely that they’d understand why a plain letter in the post would be reason enough to bin a pretty lass and all the carnal accoutrements that came with her.

“But I seen her, your Marlene,” said Fat Rupert, a riveter from Birkenhead. He was a hefty bloke with an even heftier moustache, which twitched whenever he spoke. “Such a pretty, coy thing. And that small mouth – like a tight, little bud.”

“Bet she were a tight, little virgin, too,” interjected Will, lifting his fourth pint glass high and punctuating his declaration with a hearty belch. “She certainly giggled like one.”

“That’s the trouble,” says I, trying me barmy best to burst over the irrelevant detail.

“How?” Fat Rupert guffawed, slurping at his ale. It were rather disgusting how the head of his beer caked his thick whiskers, like a walrus cutting through seafoam. “Ain’t noffin’ better’n the maiden voyage.”

“I think I prefer the experienced ones,” I offered vaguely, drowning the details in another hearty glug-glug-glug of ale.

“Ohh,” hummed Will; “Hence the whores.”

“Right, the whores,” I agreed distantly, my head otherwise stuffed fat with nostalgia for Quince Orchard Park and the life I used to lead there. Blame it on that infernal letter, anticipated and unexpected all at once. If I were half as clever as I liked to boast, I’d’ve never writ the card that prompted the reply, and I’d’ve married Marlene without ever thinking of old Holly again. The wedding was marked for summer’s end, but all I could think of was how Holly and I once ruled the servants’ hall of Quince Orchard. Smug, oily and bursting with havoc, those had been the days! How spoilt I’d been to take that for granted, and yet, here I was, drowning in hubris and beer. The card were only meant it as a courtesy – the sort of last ditch call that disguises a farewell to times you only just realized were happy ones. What I got mailed in return was the uncorking of the turmoil I thought I’d repressed ages ago, and an onset of verklempt mania.

“I don’t see why you’ve got to choose,” inserted Fat Rupert, moustache sweeping the rim of his pint glass. “Marry the virgin, fuck the whores – that’s what I’d do.”

“What it is, right, is complicated,” I snapped, clutching my own glass so tightly, I thought I might crush it in my fist.

Will snorted, somehow managing wry, idiotic amusement in the halo of my irritation. “All this comin’ from the corker who fucked His Lordship’s daughter. Ain’t you bein’ a bit, well, prude, like?”

“Ain’t prude to be prudent,” I retorted, slamming my glass onto the bar with enough force to startle Fat Rupert. “And if you’ll recall, all that mess got me the sack, and here I am, workin’ the docks with you lousy sods.”

“Sounds like a fat cat whining after his fat lifestyle,” Will simpered. He was a true product of Liverpool – a real Scoucer spawned in the mucky Mersey River and left to crumble in the shipyards like a dried-out barnacle. To Will, anything from the countryside constituted as posh, even if it was only a stiff job in service that had more to do with how pretty your face was than owt else. Lucky breeding made me tall enough, fit enough – and just German enough to pass as goyish. It were the only reason I managed to find work after I came home from France, so I wasn’t about to complain. That was Will’s bit.

Fat Rupert’s empathy was only slightly more reassuring. He clapped me on the back with enough force to bruise. “Sounds more like the cat’s just got cold paws.” he chortled, massaging the welt he’d smacked through my shirt. “Don’t worry, me laddo. Happens to the best of us. You got your whole life to try again!”

But Will wouldn’t let it go – most likely because he couldn’t catch a woman if his life depended on it. “So our Eddie’s man enough to face the Kaiser’s guns, but he can’t hook a gel?” he hiccupped, just short of spilling his ale onto Fat Rupert’s duffle coat, which was disgusting and sooty, but still marked with the chevrons he’d earned after Verdun. The near-accident got Will the full strength of Fat Rupert’s mishegas, which usually spiked after the third drink or so.

“Our Eddie drove a tank through Cambrai whilst you were in convalescence,” Fat Rupert snapped, a hammy finger right in Will’s chest. His mustache bristled, reddish whiskers clashing against his ruddy drunkard’s cheeks.

“Yeah, and me leg’s still dodgy, you jerk’n’bed,” sniffed Will, unperturbed. As if to prove his point, he rapped a creaky knee with the back of his hand, though it was hard to know how much of it was just mithering. Will and Fat Rupert had this particular argument on a weekly basis, as steady as clockwork and about as melodramatic as a radio play. I let them drag on, too lost in me own head to worry about which one of them were goin’ to get laid out first. Besides, it distracted them from their nosy questions about Marlene, and why the mere reminder of Holly warranted such an abrupt change in plan. Not that I’d even got that far in my explanation: the less they knew of Holly, the better. I only wished I could say the same.

I hadn’t heard from old Holly since I got sacked and drudged off to Liverpool – though in fairness, I hadn’t made it easy, either. Any prim intentions to try writin’ got buried in the six months I spent wallowing in me cups over how foolish I’d been. Guilt overwhelmed me whenever I got even half a mind to take a nib to paper, overpacked with all the petty things that had inspired my betrayal. How was I to start up any communication after all that? To write as if I hadn’t jammed the knife in – as if I hadn’t twisted it cruelly at the fore?

Marlene turned up somewhere in that grim season of self-pity, intruding upon my vulnerable existence right when it was particularly sore. Every working day, we both took the Mersey Railway into Lime Street – even got on at the same ingress and all. Our casual salutations, the gentlemanly tip of a flatcap, her polite dip of the chin, went on in silence for about a month. I only knew she were a nurse on account of the starch pinafore she wore over her dresses, her hair always neat and pinned beneath the same little bonnet. She wore the uniform proudly – a bleeding heart that had tended to shell-shocked veterans all through the war, and then onwards, after the hun stuff finally kicked her papa underground. That was the second detail she ever shared with me, the first being her blushing shock that I knew where she lived. I told her it was because I was desperate to meet her; in truth, I’d only discovered it by drunken happenstance, stumbling home with Will and Fat Rupert as she blazed through the night like an airy pixie, her hospital whites aflame with moonglow. If I had to surmise it, convenience mainly dictated my evolution with her: she wanted another man to dote on, and I needed the cooing.

I let it go on for nearly a year, which is roughly how long it takes to stitch up a cracked heart. The afternoon I put a ring on Marlene’s finger followed the morning I’d dropped that damning and wistful missive into the post, Quince Orchard Park emblazoned beneath Holly’s full and proper name. Procuring a positive response to one of those tasks was significantly simpler than the other. Interestingly, destroying that same progress is just as easy – and a method which I am excellently schooled in. Marlene will mend: she’s a fixer, after all.

“So did you tell her all that when you broke it off?” Fat Rupert interrupted my musing with a rude elbow to the ribs. “About the whores and such?” The pinkening of his cheeks had intensified with his desire to hear more saucy chat, his ginger moustache delineated only by the creamy foam dotting the whiskers. Oy, but Fat Rupert gossiped like a girl.

“I’m not a complete schmuck,” I snapped, folding my arms over my chest so that I could feel the thin shape of the letter that had triggered it all inside my coat pocket. “There’s just some stuff you can’t say that plainly. Especially to women,” I explained further, certain the paper envelope would burn through the lining in my jacket, tattooing its neatly typed communiqué into my flesh. Cold, regimented and not written by Holly at all, the note came from the new butler at the Orchard and very cordially informed that Holly had moved on. It might have been binned straightaway if the message ended there, but no.

Dear Mr. Finch:

Please be informed that Hollingsworth has accompanied His Lordship’s second daughter, the Lady Catherine, to London for the purposes of establishing her own household, and is now in her direct employ. Any further business or inquiries can be directed to the enclosed address. Congratulations on your nuptials.

When arranged in the formation of Lady Catherine’s new residence, the common alphabet read like hieroglyphs, strange and vaguely mystic. The idea of His Lordship’s mousey shrew of a daughter doing anything on her own was laughable, furthered only by how uncharacteristic it seemed for Holly to have followed her there. The big manor house at Quince Orchard had been as much Holly’s castle as His Lordship’s, and seemed a rather large sacrifice to make for the boring sister, who never went out and was about as interesting as a histrionic sigh. The address didn’t even mark a particularly fancy neighborhood, neither, so there was either something to hide, or the war had gouged the aristocracy more than the papers would let you believe. I chose to believe there was a little concoction of both.

TBC

#writing #thommy #new projects #not sure how else to tag this since it's not got a solid title yet

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chicagoindiecritics · 6 years ago

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New from Every Movie Has a Lesson by Don Shanahan: MOVIE REVIEW: Gemini Man

(Image: polygon.com)

GEMINI MAN— 2 STARS

Ang Lee’s new actioner Gemini Man is the cinematic embodiment of the figure of speech “chasing your tail.” A reminder from The Free Dictionary, defines that idiom as “to take action that is ineffectual and does not lead to progress” and “refers to how a dog can exhaust itself by chasing its own tail.” Boy, is that ever this movie. You have a multiple Academy Award-winning filmmaker chasing a technological benchmark that the industry cannot match. And you have a lead actor exhausting himself (and us) literally, instead of just figuratively, chasing his own tail.

Graying through his temples and whiskers, Will Smith plays his authentic 51 years of age as ultra-professional government asset Henry Brogan. The old guard assassin wants peace after losing his “feel” and growing a conscience after completing his 72nd confirmed kill. Seafront solitude with a little boat awaits Henry in Buttermilk Sound, Georgia south of Savannah. After demonstrating his chops in the opening scene, Smith’s confident exasperation and desire for this slowdown fits the actor’s appeal.

LESSON #1: “TO THE NEXT WAR, WHICH IS NO WAR” — This quote is Henry Brogan’s shared signature toast with his former brothers-in-arms from the old Persian Gulf and Somalia days, which include Jack (Red Sparrow’s Douglas Hodge) and Baron (Benedict Wong of Doctor Strange. The vibe is two-fold. First, there’s a celebration of success in making the world a better place with each dispatched despot and a survivalist wish of someday putting the bullets and triggers away.

Sure enough, retirement is short-lived when Henry learns he was fed spiked intel where the mark he sniped was someone of a less criminal background than he was told. Brogan and Danny Zakarweski (Mary Elizabeth Winstead, bringing only middling sidekick value), the burned babysitter agent who helps him, become loose-ends for erasure by the order of their head government spook employer Clay Verris (Clive Owen, dialed to 50% intensity). Globetrotting from Georgia and Cartagena in the Western Hemisphere to Belgium and Budapest in the eastern one, the chase is on.

The salt-grained rub is Henry’s indomitable opponent at every stop is someone younger, stronger, and faster with recognizable facial features and training. Over 20 years ago when cloning was the rage, Verris used Henry’s DNA as a test to create an experimental line of expendable soldiers packaged with fewer human flaws and more programmed discipline. The force matching Henry’s every movie is his 23-year-old homegrown duplicate raised by Verris as his own adoptive son and following his every command.

LESSON #2: SO MUCH FOR SUN TZU — Paraphrasing, knowing your enemy better than you know yourself is quickly derailed when your enemy is you. Insert the Dramatic Chipmunk, but watch out for the groan-inducing “clones are still people too” and “they get choices too” wet blanket lessons that preach and follow. Gemini Man becomes a battle of seasoned wisdom versus the superior vigor of youth. Brains tend to always beat brawn, and you can see the end result a continent away.

Through de-aging special effects and digital doubles, Smith plays and voices his own “Junior.” This glaze, if you will, is very well done compared to other incarnations we’ve seen with this performance technology. Most of the time, mouths and expressions match with minimal, though noticeable, creepiness. It takes some getting used to, but it’s still Will Smith. Like most of his duds over the course of the last decade, the fit action star is never the movie’s problem.

Plenty of keen and sleek aesthetics are fair to compliment here. The team of stunt coordinator Brad Martin (Batman v. Superman: Dawn of Justice) and fight choreographer Jeremy Marinas (The Fate of the Furious) executed action sequences that are kinetic and often clever. Two-time production design Oscar nominee Guy Hendrix Dyas (Inception, Passengers) and the art departments created vast arenas for these battles out of the worldly locales. Academy Award-winning cinematographer Dion Beebe (Chicago) shot them bright and tight while long-time Lee editing collaborator and fellow two-time Oscar nominee Tim Squyres (Life of Pi) stitched the work together with deft pacing.

Much ballyhoo is being made about the high frame rate shooting used to enliven all this action. Matching his 2016 effort on Billy Lynn’s Long Halftime Walk, Ang Lee shot this film in full 4K HD for large scale 3D at a 120 fps clip, exponentially higher than the standard 24 fps rate. Good luck finding a theater or setting that can do Gemini Man full justice. There’s not a single theater screen in the country that can perform all three of those specifications and only 14 than can hit the 3D and the frame rate without the 4K HD. Cue your shrug of disappointment.

We can admire Lee for aiming towards new technological heights, but this reeks of hubris over smarts. Upwards of $136 million is a great deal of money and effort to waste on what amounts to an artistic STEM experiment where the intended visual detail and sensory effect will be lost on over 99% of audiences. If home viewing is the second wave of hope for this wannabe blockbuster to make an impression, even the current 4K HD televisions will have a difficult time hitting those technical specifications.

It is unfortunately understandable that this film probably could not be marketed to the masses without revealing the younger doppelganger crux. What a shame. Such a discovery should have been built as a jarring jaw-dropper rather than a foregone conclusion. The trouble is too often production secrets like that cannot be dependably kept safe in this day and age of scoop culture. That and, if you hold your bucket of popcorn to your ear, you can probably still hear the short-sighted marketing gurus at Paramount clamoring that two Will Smiths are better than one. This is not the 1990s or early 2000s Will Smith anymore. He was lucky with Aladdin but he’s not an A-list draw.

Gemini Man could have been something far greater if it traded much of that polish for punch. Other than the inventiveness of the action, there is zero to few potential thrills to be had when you can see every spot coming. The look is all there, right down to the close-up shot selection framed to capture the steely moments ripe for emotional stamping. There’s just no storytelling strength behind those hard stares. One of the mano-y-mano moments in the movie lets loose the clunker of a line “none of this is necessary” and it feels self-incriminating.

This original premise, scripted out by Game of Thrones czar David Benioff and Goosebumps writer David Lemke with a revision from Billy Ray of Captain Phillips, feels very much like a low-end Philip K. Dick concept. A hero is in minor peril wrapped in easy clues with the lightest whiff of unexplored science fiction floating in the background. There is a market for that to a degree. Preposterousness can work around being ambiguous and ill-defined if it has an interesting edge (look no further than the best of Dick). Gemini Man, with all its finely sharpened pixels, cannot lacerate our enthusiasm.

LOGO DESIGNED BY MEENTS ILLUSTRATED (#830)

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theotherbackgrounder · 8 years ago

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Can you summarize the Class of Classics, please?

Story One:

Students are in the Castleteria, talking about how excited they are about their parents coming for the reunion, these students are:Raven, Apple, Maddie, Darling, Cerise, Dexter, Daring and Melody. Some are really excited, but others like Dexter and Darling are nervous.

That night Raven and Apple talk about their thoughts and opinions regarding what their mothers were like in highschool and they get the the idea of visting the yearbook orchid.

Using a spell to get into the orchid, Raven and Apple starts searching for their mother’s books. But as every book they find the corresponding student disappears (Raven’s spell states “All I desire is for this gate (Book) to open and let us in!”), Everyone that disappears is of course part of the list I gave, all save Daring…They theorize that it may be because that Daring already understands his father, but may be more along the line that since each book is connected to their parent/child bonds, as Daring is The Beast, he isn’t a generic charming like his father (my theory of course)

Raven and Apple grabs the pied piper book again and they disappear into the book.

Story Two: Pied Piper

Raven and Apple soon find themselves in a void of nothingness, only to find Kitty and Melody there as well. The void begins to fill out and they see a young man, Pied Piper. Raven tries to interact but realizes they can’t (Apple: I guess this is a Show-Don’t-Tell sort of scenario.)

Pied Piper is looking through the intruments figuring what he wants to play when an old man with a horn appears (His style is very much older pied piper, I believe this is his father, Melody’s grandfather)

Pied chooses a flute and rats come out and surrond him (Apple: Well, I think they’re adorable.) The rats won’t leave him alone and so he asks Charming and Goldilocks to help as he wants to ask out Rose Red. Goldilocks suggests asking Cheshire Cat.

Cheshire Cat agrees but only if Pied agrees for one favor. Pied says “Okay. That’s fine with me. I always repay my debts” and with that Chshire went “Boo!” and all the rats ran away (Raven: That’s all it took?/Kitty: What? It worked didn’t it?)

Meldoy has a bad feeling about this…

The Next Day:

Cheshire Cat appears and gives Pied a near heart attack. Cheshire has appeared for that “favor” from yester day.

“I want to name your first child!”

“Go, Mom!”

Pied was surprised, thinking it was going to be something about doing homework for her (”Nope. That’s what I want.”) Pied agrees to it, saying it won’t be for a long time, but sure. Cheshire says she is going to choose the weirdest, bestest, most wonderlandian name of all time.

“Maybe (mom)’ll pick Brillig!”

“I want your child to be named Frumious! or Gree! or Manxome!”

Melody is afraid, she is thinking that Melody isn’t her real name. Pied is nervous and Cheshire asks if one in particular speaks to him.

Before Pied can answer, Cheshire laughs and just says she is just pulling his whiskers! (Melody lets out a sigh of relief). Cheshire mentions that if she would name Pied’s kid, she would pick something like Melody. She always loved names that ends in “Y.”

“Melody! I like that! I like that a lot!”

Raven, Apple, Melody, and Kitty all smile saying that Melody has Cheshire to thank for her name.

“I do love my name.”

“And your dad does, too!”

“I guess we are in sync after all!”

and with that, Melody and Kitty disappears and things get mad.

Story Three: Mad Hatter!

Now we are here with Maddie, Apple, and Raven and another story unfolds.

It’s a boring day in the castle-teria and no one is really feeling it. Mad Hatter has the best idea and turnes everything mad and woder-riffic. Milton storms in and asks for Mad to come to his office.

Milton gets onto Mad for being “disruptive” and Mad Hatter says no one is happy unless there is a big of chaos. Milton appreciates it and asks if he could tone it down a bit, Mad says he will be true to his nature but he’ll put a mouse hat onthe bandersnatch’s wig…er… i’ll try my best. Even mentions his one day of school in wonderland.

Mad asks why not consider a more wonderlandian way of doing things. Milton says he will take it under advisment, but just asks at least a day’s notice if he plans on throwning another tea party.

“I think I can manage.” and then proceeds to let Milton know about another tea party he plans for the next week. A bit of organized chaos if you will..

Maddie and Apple both fade and Raven is alone.

Story Four: Red Riding Hood

Cerise appears with Raven and it is there time together. Apple appears back in the orchiad, but can’t move (“Oh for crying out wolf!”)

The Story begins and Cerise and Raven sees Little Red Riding Hood eating lucnh (”Wow, my grandparents are right - I really do look like mom!”)

Big Badwolf appears and starts showing off, standing ontop of a chair on it’s hind legs and beats his chest - and almost instantly the legs break and falls. Students laughs and Big takes a bow.

“Thank you, thank you! I’ll be here all week!” he looks at Red with a grin, she rolls her eyes in irritation and returns to sandwhich (Sad Badwolf face #1)

Later back in class, an assignment starts and students have to partner up. These are the groups. Groups have to create their own “Tall Tales!”

Cheshire + PiedCharming + GoldieBadwolf + Red R. HoodCinderella + Sleeping BeautyBeast + Blue Fairy

Sadly, none of the characters in the room seem to stick out on which one would be the last four, if anyone was wanting to know.

Big is excited, but Red is nervous (Sad Badwolf face #2)

At the library Red and Big meets up and Big makes a joke about all the books that Red carried to their table. Red gets onto him and tells him to be serious as this project is 50% of their grade. Big says he wants a good grade as well and if she is so worried, than she needs to remember that a “fairy-fail” on this assignment will ruin his reputation as a performer. Red sighs

“So…do you have any ideas?”

“I’m so glad you asked. One idea I have is to do a play about a giant who grows to be taller than all the other giants he knows. Or maybe it could be about a princess who comes up with all these hexcellent ideas aof how she can spend her time locked away in a tower. Or I have this other idea…”

“Both of those sound interesting! What abou-”

“Oh, there are more ideas where those came from! I have another oidea about a troll-”

But Bad Wolf stops her and tells her one i idea at a time, Red blushes slightly and apologieses for getting carried away. Badwolf says that it was cool she had alot of ideas and that he wished he had that problem. He mentions that he knows that most don’t take him seriously and he thinks it’s neat that Red got so excited about thronework.

Red frowns and tries to comfort him, saying that the trick with the chair was pretty neat.

“You mean until chair broke and I fell head over tail?”

and they both laugh.

Badwolf says his ending there wasn’t the best, but Red said it was great he bounced back…And sometimes you have to be spontaneous (Forshadowing for night of the red rocket? *wink wink, nudge nudge*

Raven: Awwwww…Cerise, your parents are so cute.

Red asks Badwolf about his ideas for their assignment. Bad wolf says he is bad with words and only get this across through actions, Red says that perhaps that was something she could help with

They both smile.

So they practice together and pass their assignment. both look at one another and looks away, both blushing.

Cerise thanks Raven for letting her see this before she fades away and Apple Returns in her place, missing Badwolf.

and soon Dexter and Darling appears.

Story Five: King Charming

All four appear on a bookball field and trying to figure out where Prince charming is, but no matter how hard they look they can’t find him

“Charming Go Long!” the coach throws the book ball and the young man chases it, but trips literally over nothing and hits the ground missing the book.

“I can’t believe that’s dad.”

“Well, did he tell you that he was a hexcellent bookball player?”

“Now that you mention it, He didn’t… I guess I assumed he must’ve been at it because of the way he talks about it with Daring.”

Turns out that Charming isn’t good with chemistry either as he blows up the science room. We also find out Charming was crushing on Goldilocks bad.

Defeated, he heads off to have lunch with micheal jackson Pinocchio

“It could be worse, Charming. At least you didn’t throw up.”

Pinoccho tells Charming to not torture himself over it and just ask her out.

“What if I ask her out and she says no?” Dexter glances over at Raven. Pinocchio continues pushing until Milton gives an announcement. There is a pig in the back ground…so Three pig’s father and or one of their uncles.

Apparently Goldilocks says that Little Bo Peep and Sleeping Beauty aren’t going to be able to turn in their articles for the school paper and if anyone’s got the inclination to help her with the layout and the editing…

And just like the man Charming is, Pinocchio calls out that Charming himself would do it. Goldilocks agrees.

“You can thank me later,” Pinocchio winks at Charming.

Shenanigans happen at the newspaper room and Charming asks Goldilocks to the Spellebration Formal and they have awonderful time. Goldilocks kisses him on the cheeks and Charming blushes. (”Awwwwwwwwwww!!)

Darling and Dexter both feels like they understand their father just a little bit better now, and that even though he makes everything look so easy but he wasn’t always like that.

Dexter and Darling fade and Raven and Apple were able to find the Evil Queen year book

Story Six: Snow White and Evil Queen

The teacher asks a question and Snow White gets it correct.

“Exactly right, Snow! Well done.” It’s nice to see that someone is paying attention.” She says eyeing Evil Queen and her platinum blond hair. Here, fans only the theory of “Apple and Raven switched at birth” as here we now know that indeed Evil had platinum Blond hair.

Next thing we see is that Evil Queen causes everything around the room to fly around,

Milton Grimm gets onto Evil queen for disrupting class (seriously, you could get away with murder in this world I bet). Milton Grimm asks her why she doesn’t apply herself more, her grades are maginal at best.

“I already know everything I need to know. This place is just where I need to bide my time until I can cut loose and start evilling it up properly after I graduate!”

Apple: I see where you got your boldness from!

and Evil Storms out of Grimm’s office.

Later Evil finds Snow White staring at a dragonsport poster.

“Snow white? Playing dragon sport? That’s a laugh! She is too afraid to try out!” Then she had an evil plan.

At the library in the section for “Future Villains only” Evil finds herself a book for her evil prank, and laughs evilly…and then nearly chokes on her gum.

Then we cut to activity sign up (here we see a female white rabbit. Perhaps the March Hare?) Snow White is looking at all the activity booths but Evil comes up and uses her spell. Snow is possessed and signs her name on the Dragonsport sign-up sheet. Everyone gasps.

Later goldilocks talks to evil going on about how the school is buzzing about Snow trying out dragonsport! and what I love is that she just up and tells Goldilocks about her entire plan and how the spell will wear off just right before her performance.

Snow goes to the dragon games, what is neat is that the lady incharge of the try out has the same hair style as Dragongames Raven. Anow is first and heads for her dragon and Evil can’t wait to see snow just ruin her life. and just as snow gets on her dragon, the spell breaks and she is overcome with fear, but of course she tries to fight it and gets on. and the dragon takes off.

It was a success. as she lands the audience cheers. And Evil Grumbles to herself as Goldie tries to comfort her.

The story comes to a close as Apple and Raven returns to the orchid. Raven offers that she teleports them back to their room. Apple smiles as she closes the year book.

“If it’s all the same to you, I’ve had enough magic for one night. Let’s walk”

and the two of them walk back to the school together arm-in-arm.

Chapter Seven: Reunion

Class of Classics reunion night has arrived and students are with their parents.

Cerise asks red that they just blow the activities off and just spend time together

Melody tells Pied she wants to record some of his music and mix it with some of her beats.

Dexter wants to talk to his father about a girl he likes…Darling wants to run some stuff by him.

Apple wants Snow to tell her a bit of dragon sports (This story is probably placed right there between Evil Queen being re-sealed in the mirror and the ending of Dragon Games when the arena is reopened)

Maddie wants Mad to give her some party tips.

Raven tells Evil Queen that she knows that she is the reason Snow joined dragon sport!

“That reminds me, I must impress upon you the importance of really thinking through your spells.There’s nothing worse than an evil spell that doesn’t work out the way you intended.”

“Okay, mom. But I’m not going to let you forget you did something good once, even if you won’t admit it. Maybe there is a little bit of you in me, ever after all.”

#ever after high #raven queen #apple white #cerise hood #maddie hatter #melody piper

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phanwithextrafluffontop-blog · 8 years ago

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Smudged Whiskers

Summary: While filming Phil is not on Fire, Dan slips and reads a romantic question. Not knowing that Phil shares his feelings with him, he tries to avert what he had said, but Phil won’t ignore it.

Genre: Fluff, Friends to Boyfriends

Warnings: Swearing

Word Count: 1,145

“Make a stupid face!” Phil screeched, sounding vaguely like a mouse. Dan obliged and contorted his face in a way that he never thought possible, minding not to smear the sharpie on his nose and cheeks. It was quite entertaining, but Dan knew it would never make the cut. It was too similar to the “questions” they had answered in past years.

Dan was a secretive boy. He didn’t like interacting with others because sometimes he just “couldn’t be bothered” or “didn’t feel like telling them about himself.” He wasn’t usually open with his emotions. Unless, of course, he was sharing his feelings with his best friend, Phil Lester.

Phil was of course more open with his emotions, but even he hid some of his feelings. He was almost always filled with joy, and trying to steal his happiness proved to be an arduous task. Even when Phil was upset, he put a smile on his face, making him an amazing person to live with. Especially for Dan Howell.

Dan and Phil. Two names that could never be separated. They lived together. They ate together. They went places together. The only thing they didn’t seem to do together was sleep. But, of course, Dan wanted to change that. Little did he know that Phil wanted to change it too.

Dan and Phil. They did everything together, but it never seemed to be enough.

“Phil, ki- Oh I wish-” Dan started to mumble after reading a request on Twitter. He continued to scroll until he realized what he had just did. Dan nearly had a heart attack. Thankfully, he had stopped talking soon enough for Phil not to hear what he was about to say. Or so he thought.

“What?” Phil asked while putting away the cactus they had used for a previous question. “Oh, nothing,” Shit, he heard me. “I know it’s not nothing,” Phil bumped Dan to the side and started to scroll back up to the tweet Dan had tried so hard to dismiss. He knew it was too late. Phil would soon find out what Dan had been on about for the past three years.

Dan still had the slightest bit of hope that Phil wouldn’t find the tweet as it was scattered amongst thousands upon thousands of (mostly silly) questions. Suddenly, Phil stopped scrolling and locked his eyes on a three-word tweet. “Phil, kiss Dan” They had come across tweets like these all the time when filming Phil is not on Fires, but this time it was different. This time, Dan acknowledged one of them.

Phil stumbled across the tweet and knew this would be his opportunity to confess his love to his flat mate. He had always wanted to share how he felt with Dan but could never find the right words. Whenever he thought he was ready, he would just back down and go practice his confession in the shower another time over. I’m not ready, Phil thought. I need more time, I- no. This is it. I have to. “Dan,” Phil turned to his left and stared Dan in the eyes. He took a deep breath and prepared himself to speak. “I- uh… well,” He kept stuttering. The more he looked at Dan, his deep eyes and his perfect nose, the more he fell in love.

Holding a terrified look on his face, Dan continued to shudder. He felt bad for Phil, who had been dragged into a conversation he never wanted to be a part of.

Phil continued to form nonsense words and strange noises as he kept his face completely stationary. All he could think about now was Dan’s walnut-colored eyes and child-like dimples. What was he even trying to say? He abruptly stopped trying to speak and slumped his shoulders. He shut his eyes to focus. Dan, kiss, PINOF. It was all suddenly coming back to him. “Dan-” Phil finally started to make sense, but all of a sudden, Dan got up off of his crush’s bed and raced towards his own room.

Grabbing his wrist, Phil stopped Dan before he could even get through the door. He turned around and slammed it shut. They were both stuck with each other. This was the time to sort it out.

Just say it, Phil. “Dan,” This was the third time Phil had said Dan’s name, but Dan would make him say it again. “It’s alright Phil, I understand,” the younger boy stated with much difficulty. He had lost all hope. Dan plunked himself back down on the bed choking back tears, and Phil followed. This was when Phil got a brilliant idea. He could never find the right words to confess his love to Dan, but maybe he didn’t need words.

Phil turned his head to the laptop and stared at those three words. The words that would soon change his life. Phil, kiss Dan. Okay. Phil grabbed the depressed boy’s face towards his, and without a word, he pressed his lips onto Dan’s.

Phil hadn’t kissed anyone in a long time, so doing this was rough, but slightly familiar. After a few seconds of awkwardness, Phil got used to the delightful taste of Dan’s lips, and he knew he had made the right decision.

Dan, on the other hand, who was nearly crying at this point, jolted up from the surprise. Phil led the kiss, making it easy for Dan to just sit there and move his lips a bit. He was completely confused, but instead of thinking about anything that had just happened, he savored the kiss that he had wanted for so long. It was better than he had imagined it to be.

Once Phil finally released Dan’s head from his hands, he gaped at the boy. Finding a smile and a light chuckle, Phil opened his mouth to speak once more. “So I don’t know if that told you or anything, but I like you, Dan. Or, love. Love you. Yeah,” Phil’s stomach filled with butterflies as each second of silence passed. He had finally admitted his love, but Dan was silent. Eventually, Dan revealed his emotions. He tried to speak but was so excited from the kiss that all he could do was laugh. Collapsing in a hug on top of his new love, he continued to giggle. That was all he could do.

Sitting up on the bed, Phil turned to Dan. “Shall we finish, or…” Phil brought up as he gestured to the camera. That was the one thing they had both forgotten. They were still recording PINOF. Dan spoke while still staring into the camera, checking his smudged whiskers. “We’ll edit that bit out, don’t worry,”

Dan and Phil. They cuddled together, danced together, and now, they even slept together. Dan and Phil: two names that had been connected by a deep friendship. And now, a romantic relationship.

A/N: I hope you enjoyed this one! It took a while longer than some others, but I think it turned out okay. I debated scrapping the idea halfway through, but I worked through the rough bits and finished it. Thanks for reading!

#phan #phandom #phanfic #phanfiction #phan fic #dan and phil #phan fluff #fluff #dnp #fan fiction #fanfic #phan fiction #pinof

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timmtimm78-blog · 6 years ago

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bombhyperfusion-blog · 8 years ago

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Hi, so I am gonna make a Club Penguin island review. A real one. I won’t be saying like “It sucx! Membuship an ul thad” but I will review it by pointing out all the misunderstood, wrong and right things about CPI. Here we go. Misunderstood: 1) Overpriced membership - people are saying the membership is overpriced even though it is cheaper than the original and you even get a 7 day free trial. 2) Bad character models and voice acting -In my opinion, the new designs look better so far. I don’t understand why people hate it. Also, there is nothing wrong with it. Sure, it is a bit generic but this is a game for kids 3) Bad graphics -This one is really confusing. They seemed to have forgotten what the old graphics looks like 4) The lack of igloos, puffles, minigames, etc. -Megg has confirmed that those will be added to CPI in the future There is a lot more but I can’t say them all. Pls tell me why you hate it in the comments because oh boy, I will have a lot.

What they did wrong: 1) Overloaded membership - Now, I know that there will be more non member content in the future but I can’t deny how cruel membership is. Most of it, I can understand but some of them took it too far and the one that bothered me the most is that you need a membership to ride a zipline.

2) Bad advertisement: -I have noticed how bad the advertisements for CPI is. The trailers have a cringey narrator and the cinematic graphics don’t match the gameplay graphics.

3) Released too early -The game seems like it is missing a lot of content. If they released it in May or June, it wouldn’t have the hate that it has currently. They really need to update it fast and good or it would drop further.

4) Lack of areas There are only 3 areas and one secret area that is only available for quests. It is kinda lame but I wish that they would add a new area soon. Afterall, it is a pretty big island.

What they did right: 1) Graphics -The graphics are amazing. Nuff said.

2) Interactability -The amount of interaction of surrounding items are what I really wished for Club Penguin

3) Quests -The quests finally gives you a reason that you should continue club penguin island.

4) The staff are more interactive -before, they don’t seem to care about what you want. Now, if you give a suggestion that is really good for the game, they will gladly accept.

5) Daily Challenges -another reason to login everyday.

6) Clothes customizer -you can now design your own clothes to whatever you want. It is just simply amazing.

7) Party supplies -now, there will be no more monthly parties because you can start your own. If you want a takeover party, you can go to the Disney store or create your own. If you want a pizza party, invite friends, buy a tray of pizza and go ahead. No more forced and lazy takeover parties. No more undecorated so called parties. Only your own parties and events for different dates.

8) Potential There is so much potential that it’s possibilities outlast the original CP.

There is so much to enjoy but what ruins it is the membership. Overall, I’d give it a 7/10 for now. I will check it again in the future. I think CPI is the most underrated game just because that it destroyed the nostalgia we enjoyed a long time ago. Alright then, bring on the hate comments. I would like to continue talking but right now, I am drowning in an ocean of salt and comments. Waddle on! Blbblbrblrblrrb

April edit: So a new update has come out. They released new mission which are pretty good if you ask me. They made ziplines a non member thing which I am so happy about. They also released more new mascots. IMO, all of them are ok. Well, all exept for rookie and herbert. They made rookie look like a cliche dumb teenager and herbert’s design kinda bothers me. I like the fact that he wears a jacket and a scarf but it is the side hairs that is the problem. If only they removed the side whiskers and made him more bigger. I heard people complaining about Gary. To me, he is ok. His voice fits his personality and his model is ok. It is the feathers on the top of his head that is the problem. April Overall: It is still a 7/10. While they have some bad modeled mascots, they make up for it with creative missions and the zipline being for everyone. Disney is at the right track but if they want to go above 7/10 and recover the love they onced had, they need to up their game.

#clubpenguin clubpenguinisland clubpenguinislandreview notmyclubpenguin

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thecitysorrowbuilt · 8 years ago

Text

United

Matthew Wainwood was not having a very good day.

After the conductor had very rudely woken him from his regularly scheduled morning nap, he came to find that while he had slept someone must have infiltrated his briefcase and nicked his ticket. Despite his protests, the conductor refused to admit that he’d ever seen him before or that he was a regular on this train, which he rode every morning at 7:15 on the way to work. “Sir, I implore you, perhaps this one time you could let me continue on without a ticket? If you should I’ll buy two tomorrow.” “I’m sorry Matt- Ah, sir, but that cannot be. One ticket per passenger is the rules, and see I don’t make them I only enforce them. Barely understand them as it is, but they must be carried out or so I’m understood.” Matthew wheeled sharply as his planted heels came closer and closer to the door at the insistent pushing of the conductor. “There we have it, you do know my name, and you claim to not even understand the rules! What a farce this is - clearly this is the result of deliberate plotting against me. I know not what personal stake you have in all this, but I’ll have you know that I’m a man of good standing in this city, and I won’t suffer lightly such ludicrous behavior. I suggest if you value your own employment, you allow me to return to my seat at once, and we pretend that this little trifle never occurred.” The conductor’s face drew up tight and his whiskers quivered hesitantly. In this, Matthew believed he may have won. It was true he was a man of no small stature, and perhaps with even enough sway to topple a conductor, but before this day he had always considered the two quite fond acquaintances, so he really had no wish to disrupt his life if he didn’t have to. The conductor placed his hands on his hips, and observed Matthew with his perpetually runny eyes, before grabbing him around the midsection and hoisting him up onto his shoulder. At this insult, Matthew beat his fists upon the man’s back and hurled profanities, struggling in vain to escape from the larger man’s clutches. “You brute! You damned monstrosity! If you should not let me go immediately, you will - I say put me down!” “Sir if you would please stop struggling you’d understand that this is not a personal matter, it’s merely the rules is what the rules is, and I have to stand by them. See if there were no rules, there’d be no order, and we can’t have that. We can’t have men just wrestling in the train cars everyday, no one would get to work and the state would collapse.” Struggling to formulate a rebuttal, Matthew tried to twist in such a way that let him see something other than just the ground behind the conductor, as he felt it not only very undignified but also nearly impossible to hold any sort of civil discussion from this position. By being held by the conductor, as if he couldn’t even stand on his own feet, it undermined his stance - who would respect or agree with a man unable to support himself? Who instead relied on larger men to hold him on their shoulder? In such a compromising situation, Matthew had no choice but to just go slack and lie there like a ragdoll while the conductor pulled open the train door and set him bodily outside the train. As soon as he touched the ground, Matthew straightened himself, and made a show of brushing himself off. “My word! You are an uncouth man who has not only made me late to work, but now you have endeavored to ruin my suit and damage my property. I am sure your superiors will find this exchange very interesting, and I will have no choice but to spare no detail in its retelling.”

The conductor seemed entirely unbothered by this threat, and instead handed him his briefcase, gave him a curt nod, and shut the train door. So angry he was, Matthew didn’t even lower himself to tug or touch the door, instead he turned away. He was of course, the larger man here, so why should he stoop to the conductor’s level? Why should he, Matthew Wainwood, care if one day, he was late to work because of the work of an insolent and incompetent railman? At the idea that he put any energy into this, he began to laugh, and take in his surroundings. Whatever stop he had been put off at, it was clearly not one frequently used. There was no pavilion for people to wait under, nor was there any building to buy tickets from. Instead there were only trees, and the dappled leafy ground of a common wood. Matthew was thoroughly confused, and he had to look behind him a few times to make sure there train tracks were still there. He supposed after deliberation that he had simply slept through the part on his daily journey that took him through an uninhabited forest. Brushing himself off once again, and making sure his briefcase was locked up properly, he reflected on what his best course of action from here might be. Should he walk back the way the train had come? Simply go home for the day, and deal with all this tomorrow? Or should he doggedly follow the train, show up to work late, explain his situation, and immediately dive into the business of contacting the proper authorities? While he toyed with the idea of spending a day in bed reading, he knew that his duty was to the Office, and he had no choice but to continue on, for he knew not how far. As he set off following the the tracks it occurred to him that he couldn’t remember how recently he felt he’d fallen asleep, and whatever brigand had taken his ticket had also abducted his timepiece. Because of this had he no way of knowing how long he’d been riding the train, and if perhaps they had only just left. This thought stopped him in his tracks. “Assuming, I am closer to my journey’s beginning than to my destination, than it would be prudent to simply go backwards, and take another train to work, then I should probably be less late than if I were to walk there. But, if I am even a step closer to my destination than from where I embarked, than I should just travel on in that direction.” Matthew looked up at the sky, and could see the sun peeking shyly from between some trees. Perhaps he could read the sun, like the pilgrims of old, and tell what time it was, and so how long he had been aboard the train. Standing there in the middle of the track, he began to stare doggedly at the sun, waiting for it to impart knowledge on him. His eyes began to burn, and though he wanted to blink, he felt too that he was just on the cusp of realization. Finally he looked away, unable to bear it any longer. He blinked his eyes a few times experimentally, and realized that the sun had tricked him, and he was now no more aware of what time it was than before, excepting that he had maybe been standing here for nearly a half hour after being removed from the train. Thoroughly disgusted at the sun, the trees, the conductor, and most of all the thief who had put him into this predicament, Matthew went and sat leaning against a tree, deciding that he had all his important papers here with him, perhaps he might simply work from the wood today. Pulling from his briefcase his most recent set of papers, he set to editing and copying them, as was his duty. Doing this helped to calm him down a great deal, and also made him realize that so long as his duty to the Office was in his heart, no one could strip him of it. From this he derived no small solace.

Matthew Wainwood was not able to labor long uninterrupted however, as after a very short but also, regrettably, indeterminate, amount of time, he was disturbed the sound of approaching horses. Standing up quickly, Matthew grabbed his quill pin as if it were a dirk, and held it defensively, as two riders in full armor approached him. “What ho! Who is this strange gentleman we chance across in our copse Francis?” “I shouldn’t know any more than you Edward,” the other rider responded. “Mayhaps he is merely a lost traveler.” At this Matthew saw his chance, so he lowered his quill and brushed himself off importantly, forcing his papers crumplingly into his briefcase. “Why that’s exactly the sort of it! I’m a lost traveler, and I had only sat down and drawn my pen so that I might do a bit of work while I waited on help to arrive. Which yes, now you have - so if you could please guide me in the right direction, I would be extremely grateful.” The two men at arms regarded him, then each other, then him again. After this long moment, both made a gesture which though hindered by horse and armor could only be interrupted as a bow. “Why of course we will guide you,” the first one, identified as Francis said, “why, we’ll do better than that. Here climb on lad, and you may ride with us out of this fearful dark place.” At this Matthew paused. His mother had warned him of the dangers of strange men on horseback, but now he was a man grown, and he still had his pen, though it was now floating in the pocket of his overcoat. He decided this seemed his best option. “I would be so honored to ride with you, good sir.” Matthew said, adding the last part only because it seemed the right thing to do. He walked over to the first knight, and placed his hands on the horse’s rump and back, struggling to pull himself up. After a few failed attempts, Francis grabbed him under his arms and lifted him with enormous strength onto the animal’s back behind him. “Right ho then!” Edward said, pointing a mailed hand into the treed distance. “Let us ride on then, and meet with our brothers.” “Oh, there are more of your order then?” Matthew chanced. “Scores and scores!” Francis chuckled.

The two took off at a steady speed, and Matthew had time alone to reflect on his predicament. Although pleased he had been rescued, he felt annoyed that he had not been able to get more work done before it happening, and he also felt embarrassed that he had been found alone in the woods by two men ahorse. What could they think but that he was a fool who had got lost and lost his own mount? Nevermind that he’d never ridden a horse in his life, these two need not know that. Surely Francis and Edward believed him a simpleton, when in actuality, he was a man of great importance - a premier copyist, who had not gotten lost, but had truly been displaced, against his will no less, from his rightful spot on his daily commute. More and more these thoughts swam in his mind, and Matthew decided that he must do something to show these men who good breeding and intelligence, less they treat him like a child, instead of the gentlemen everyone at the Office knew him to be. “Do you see that tree there gentlemen?” Matthew began, “That tree is an elm, and the one beside it a poplar.” “So it is.” Edward replied amiably. “I do find it very important to know such things,” Matthew continued, “I think a man is only as good as his knowledge, so I seek to further mine constantly.” Both of his hosts grunted their agreement, and the group continued in silence. Inside of his head, Matthew’s thoughts stormed. Trees! How foolish could he be but to think he could impress anyone with a knowledge of trees! And a rudimentary one at that. Stupid, stupid. If before they had thought him a simpleton, now they felt sure of it, and it was done at his own hands. Matthew decided from that point on he must simply hold his tongue, and hope that an opportunity would present itself in which he could assure his hosts of his status and intellect. “I suppose we should make camp for the night here, and the others will see the fire and come to us.” Edward said. “Splendid idea!” Francis replied. “It does get so late so very early in these woods.” Matthew puzzled on this sentiment for a minute, and started to raise objections, but had only to look up and see that truly, it had gotten very late very early. While surely it must’ve been no more than 8 or 9 in the morning when he had left the train, in the time since it had become at least 10 at night. Secretly Matthew hoped too that night would give him a chance to catch up on his work, as already he could see his disappointed Office mate’s faces when he told them he had finished no work during his unintended sabbatical. The three fellows dismounted, and while Edward went out to fetch wood and stone to make a fire, Francis set up tents and used his colossal strength to drag logs around the area where the fire would be. All in all Matthew was more than a little impressed with their woodsmanship and fervent work ethic. He hoped some of it would rub off on him, as while he tried his best to perform, it was dark and he was very tired, so that the words he sought to copy seemed to change with every glance. Once camp was all made, almost immediately did their expected company begin to arrive. All of them were on horseback, and all wore identical armor to his two knights, but other than that they were greatly dissimilar. While Francis and Edward were near the same height, and of close to the same build, excepting Francis’ great broadness of shoulder and body, now men arrived who were tall, fat, short, and thin, or any combination of the four. Within a very short, although again regrettably indeterminate time, of the fire being lit, at least ten, probably more mounted men had arrived to make camp for the night, and set up their own tents in what could only be record time. For his part, Matthew was frightened. Who could these men be, if not an army? Perhaps they meant to conscript him, or if not, imprison him. When they asked him to join, would refusal mean a cell? He feared that at this rate he would never see the Office again, and all of his colleagues would dreadfully miss him and fear or his safety. Finally he calmed himself down with the idea that since they thought he was simple, surely they’d have no use for a fool in their ranks, and they might just let him carry on as he was.

One of the knights, one who the others had identified as Joshua, had brought several large pheasant with him, while the one called Frederick had brought an elk. As one the company set to cleaning and cooking up their catches for dinner, while Matthew shielded his papers against his chest to protect them from splashing broth or blood. When finally the food was ready, everyone was administered a bowl from a sack one of the men had brought, and spooned out a portion of pheasant-elk-potato soup. They all sat on the logs around the fire, and finally set to removing their helmets. Partially due to the intrigue, and partially due to the food, Matthew at last put his papers away and rejoined the conversation, just in time to hear the tail end of a story one of them was sharing. “And then I says as the pretty maid runs to the kitchen, ‘Don’t forget the coffee!’” With this everyone present roared in laughter, and Matthew forced himself to chuckle along, despite not knowing the setup to the joke. Leaning into the circle, Matthew looked for the ones he could identify as Francis and Edward, for although he had little to no knowledge of the others, he felt he had already made a great friendship with those two, and he wanted to know what they looked like so that he could single them out should he want to invite them for lunch or badminton or the like in the future. Gazing at the collection of faces around the fire however, a sudden realization struck him. They were all identical. Though their heights and shapes differed, and their hair or lack of it, and especially their beards, they all had the faces of twins, or triplets, or twelve-lets. A veritable litter! This was no army, but some sort of reunion. All the men present had identical sharp noses, square cheeks with pointed chins, thin lips that curved up laughingly at the edges, flamingly orange wavy hair, eyebrows like checks, and deep set eyes so amber they seemed almost red or orange brown. Unable to stop himself, Matthew commented. “Why, you’re all brothers.” One of the group looked at him. “Aye.” Another who must have been Edward looked at him smirkingly. “Had I not mentioned we were meeting them?” “Well yes, but, you neglected that you were all identical. All identical brothers.” At this some of the assorted redmen groaned offendedly. One of them laughed and pointed across the fire at one of his fellows whose hair ended below his ears. “I hope not, dead I’d rather be than have a shiny bare head like Robert.” The bald man laughed goodnaturedly and made a swatting gesture towards the speaker. “Dead I’d rather be than as ugly as Harold. Look at the poor bastard, nose like a sundial, eyes like bricks. He looks more statue than a man.” At this the whole group roared again, and returned to chattering on about their days as they had been before the interruption. Matthew buried himself in his stew, only occasionally glancing up to laugh every so often, lest they think he was both stupid and devoid of humor.

After dinner the company sat around, and all quietly gazed into the fire, the embers reflecting in their eyes. Matthew tried to get into it, but he felt like perhaps they were seeing something in there he wasn’t, because it just didn’t appeal to him as it seemed to to all of them. At last he could stand it no more and broke the silence. “So ah, where are we going, then? All of us I mean?” The men looked up as one and stared at him. This moment lingered heavy in the air until one of them shrugged and said as if it were obvious. “To see mother of course.” The rest murmured their assent and returned to the fire. Matthew addressed only the speaker now. “Oh yes, your mother. Should I go there, then too? Would that be a wise course of action?” The lone redman paying attention nodded, smiling again. “Why of course, mother loves company. We simply have to introduce you to her. After that well you could go wherever you like.” This seemed mighty fair to Matthew, and far be it from him to begrudge a group of brothers from introducing a guest to their mother. He himself was not close with his mother, but he understood that most men were, so he made a great effort to affect a great maternal relationship when the topic arose. “I should be so honored,” he said, shriveling his face as if wracked with emotion, “to be able to meet your beautiful and illustrious mother.” The man he was flattering beamed.

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