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janecrockeyre · 3 years

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scum villain is a greek tragedy disguised as a regular tragedy disguised as a comedy disguised as a danmei

this is going to be long, and this is only PART ONE.

a.k.a, Analysing the plot of Scum Villain’s Self Saving System through Aristotle’s Poetics, because I Have Mental Issues

Part One: Introduction and the Tragic Hero

Scum Villain’s Self Saving System is a tragedy disguised as a comedy, unless you’re Shen Yuan, in which case it’s a mixture of a romance and a survival horror. It's a fever dream. It's a horrible, terrible book that made me feel new undiscovered emotions when I finished reading it.

The thing is... SVSSS shares characteristics with some of the most famous tragedies in the West, such as Oedipus Rex, Medea, Antigone, the Oresteia... if you haven’t read these, I’ll explain everything. But the gist of my argument is this: SVSSS is the perfect tragedy. In triplicate.

Tragedy as a genre is old as balls and so it has meant slightly different things to different people over the last few thousand years. I'll be focusing on ancient Greek tragedy, which was performed at the yearly Festival of Dionysus in Athens during the 500-350s BC (give or take a hundred years). Aristotle, when writing about this very specific subset of tragedy, had no idea that one day Scum Villain would be written, and then that I would be using his work as a way to look at Shen Qingqiu’s Funky Transmigration Mistake. Anyway!

Greek tragedy greatly influenced European dramatic tradition. I have a lot of opinions about white academics idolising and upholding the classics as the "paragon of culture" but I'll withhold them for now. I have no idea if MXTX has read Greek tragedy or not, so don't take this as me saying they are writing it.

In my opinion, tragedy is a universal human constant. We are surrounded by pain and hurt and none of it makes any sense, so we seek to process that pain through drama, art, literature, etc. We want to understand why pain happens, and how it happens, and try to make sense of the senseless. The universe is cold and cruel and random. Tragedy eases some of that pain.

On that note: Just because I am analysing Scum Villain through a Greek lens doesn't mean that it was written that way. I'm pasting an interpretation onto the book when there's probably a very rich and deep history of Chinese tragedy that I just don't know about. If you ever want to talk about that, please, god, hit me up, I would love to learn about it!!

Anyway, tragedy. MXTX is excellent at it! Mo Dao Zu Shi? Painful dynastic family tragedy. Heaven Official's Blessing? Mostly romance, but she managed to get that pure pain in there, huh?

But in my opinion, Scum Villain holds the crown for the most tragic of her stories. MDZS was more of a mystery. TGCF was more of a romance. Neither of them shy away from their tragic elements.

Scum Villain would fit right in between the work of Sophocles, Euripides and Aeschylus. How? Let me show you. Join me on my mystery tour into the world of "Aristotle Analyses Danmei..."

Part One: The Tragic Hero

What is a tragic hero? Generally, Greek tragic heroes are united by the same key characteristics. He must be imperfect, having a "fatal flaw" of some kind. He must have something to lose. And he must go from fortune to misfortune thanks to that fatal flaw.

There are two (technically three) tragic protagonists in SVSSS and all of them are tragic in different but formulaic ways. Each protagonist has their own version of “hamartia” or a “fatal flaw”.

Actually, hamartia isn’t necessarily a flaw - rather, it is a thing which makes the audience pity and fear for them, a careful imperfection, a point of weakness in the character’s morality or reasoning that allows for bad things to happen to them. For example, in Oedipus Rex, the king Oedipus has a “fatal flaw” of always wanting to find the truth, but this isn’t exactly a flaw, right? Note: this flaw can be completely unwitting, as we see with Shen Yuan. It can also be something that the protagonist is born with, some kind of trait from birth or very young.

Shen Yuan

Shen Yuan’s “hamartia” is his rigid adherence to fate and his inability to read a situation as anything but how he thinks it ought to be. He believes that Bingmei will grow into Bingge, and it takes several years, two deaths, and some truly traumatising sex to convince him otherwise.

Shen Jiu

Shen Jiu’s fatal flaw is his cruelty. It is his own sadistic treatment and abuse of Binghe which directly leads to his eventual dismemberment. This is kind of a no-brainer. Of course, it isn't all that simple, and as an audience we pity him for his cruelty as much as we fear it because we know it comes from his own abuse as a child. This just makes him even more tragic. Delicious.

Luo Binghe

Luo Binghe’s fatal flaw is a complicated mix of things. It is his position as the “protagonist” which compels him to act in certain ways and be forced to suffer. It is his half-demonic heritage, something entirely out of his control, which sets in motion his tragic reversal of fortune when he gets yeeted into the Abyss. He also, much like Shen Yuan, has the propensity to jump to conclusions and somehow make 2 + 2 = 5.

As well as having their respective “flaws”, all three protagonists match the rough outline of a good tragic hero in another way: they are in a position of great wealth and power. Even when you split the different characters into different “versions”, this still holds true. Yes, Luo Binghe is raised a commoner by a washerwoman foster mother, but his dad is an emperor and he also ends up becoming an emperor himself.

Yes, Shen Jiu is an ex-slave and a victim of abuse himself, but Shen Qingqiu is a powerful peak lord with an entire mountain’s worth of resources at his back.

Shen Yuan is a second generation new money rich kid.

Bingge is a stereotypical protagonist with a golden finger. Bingmei is a treasured and loved disciple with a good reputation and a privileged seat by his shizun’s side.

In a tragedy, having this kind of good fortune at the beginning of your story is dangerous. Chaucer says that tragedy is (badly translated into modern english) “a certain story / of him that stood in great prosperity / and falls out of high degree / into misery, and ends up wretchedly”. If we follow this line of thinking, a good tragedy is about someone who has a lot to lose, losing everything because of one fatal point of weakness that they fail to address or understand.

If we look at Shakespeare, this is what makes King Lear such a fantastic tragic protagonist. He is a king in control of most of England, who from his own lack of wisdom and excess of pride, decides to split his kingdom apart to give to his daughters, favouring his murderous, double crossing progeny, and condemning his only actually filial daughter to death. He loses his kingdom, his mind, and his beloved daughter, all because of his own stupidity.

This brings us to:

Part Two: Peripeteia

This reversal of fortunes is called peripeteia. It is the moment where the entire plot shifts, and the hero’s fortunes go from good to bad. Think of it like one of those magic eye puzzles, where you stare at the image until a 3D shark appears, except you realise the shark was always there, you just couldn't ever see it, waiting for you, hungry, deadly, always lurking just behind that delightful pattern of random blue squiggles.

Each tragic hero has their own moment of peripeteia in SVSSS, sometimes several:

Shen Qingqiu

In the original PIDW, SQQ’s peripeteia presumably occurs when he finds out that Bingge didn’t perish in the Abyss but has actually been training hard to come and pay him back. There’s really not much I’m interested in saying here - as a villain, OG!SQQ is cut and dry, and the audience doesn’t really feel any pity or fear for him. As Shen Yuan often mentions, what the audience feels when they see OG!SQQ is bloodlust and sick satisfaction. There is also the trial at Huan Hua Palace, which I will talk about in Shen Yuan’s section.

Shen Yuan (SQQ 2.0)

One of SY’s most poggers moment of peripeteia is the glorious, terrifying section between hearing Binghe for the first time after the Abyss moment, and getting shoved into the Water Prison.

“Behind him, a low and soft voice came: “Shizun?”

Shen Qingqiu’s neck felt stiff as he slowly turned his head. Luo Binghe’s face was the most frightening thing he had ever seen.

The scariest thing about it was that the expression on his face was not cold at all. His smile wasn’t sharp like a knife. Rather, it showed a kind of bone-deep gentleness and amiability.”

This is the moment of true horror for Shen Yuan, because he knows what happens next: the plot unfurls before him, inevitable and painful, and he knows that death awaits him at Luo Binghe's hands (lol). Compare it with the bone deep certainty with which he faces his own downfall during the sham of a trial later in the chapter (I’ve bolded the important part):

“In the original work, Qiu Haitang’s appearance signified only one thing: Shen Qingqiu’s complete fall from grace. [...] Shen Qingqiu’s heart streamed with tears. Great Master… I know you’re doing this for my own good, but I’ll actually suffer if she speaks her words clearly. This truly is the saying “not frightened of doing a shameful deed, just afraid the ghost (consequences) will come knocking”!”

After the peripeteia is usually the denouement where the plot wraps up and the threads are all tied together leaving no loose ends, but because this tragedy isn’t Shen Yuan’s but the former Shen Jiu’s, it’s impossible to finish.

Shen Yuan cannot provide the meaningful answers that the narrative demands because 1) he doesn’t have any memory of doing anything, and 2) he wasn’t the person who did them. Narratively, he cannot follow the same path as the former SQQ because he lacks the same fatal flaw: cruelty.

This is why Binghe doesn’t kill him - because he loves him, rather than despises him. And this is why Shen Yuan has to sacrifice himself and die for Luo Binghe in order to save him from Xin Mo: because the narrative demands that denouement follows peripeteia, and SQQ’s fate is in the hands of the narrative.

(Side note: I believe that this literal death also represents the death of OG!SQQ's tragic arc. The body that committed all those crimes must die to satisfy the narrative. SQQ must die, like burning down a forest, so that new growth can sprout from the ashes. After this, Shen Yuan's story has more room to develop instead.)

It must happen to show Bingmei that SQQ loves him too. And this brings us to Bingmei.

Bingmei

Bingmei has two succinct moments of utter downfall. The first is a literal fall - his flaw, his demonic heritage, leads his beloved shizun to throw him down into the Abyss. From his point of view, SQQ is punishing him simply for the status of his birth. He rapidly goes from being loved and cherished unconditionally, to being the victim of an assassination attempt.

He realises that he is totally unlovable: that for the crimes of his species that he never had a hand in, he must pay the price as well: that his shizun is so righteous that no matter what love there was between them, if SQQ sees a demon, he will kill it. Even if that demon is Bingmei.

The second moment is when SQQ dies for him. Again, from his point of view, he was chasing after a man who was struggling to see him as a human being. Shen Qingqiu’s death makes Bingmei realise that he has been completely misunderstanding his shizun: that SQQ would literally die for him, the ultimate act of self sacrifice from love: that SQQ loved him despite his demon heritage.

Much like King Lear holding the corpse of his daughter and wailing in sheer grief and pain because he did this, he caused this, Bingmei gets to hold his shizun's cold body and cry his eyes out and know that it was his fault. (Kind of.)

(Yes, I’m bringing Shakespeare into this, no I am not justifying myself)

Maybe I'm a bit sadistic, but that scene slaps. Let me show you a comparison of scenes so you get the picture.

Re-enter KING LEAR, with CORDELIA dead in his arms; EDGAR, Captain, and others following

KING LEAR

Howl, howl, howl, howl! O, you are men of stones:

Had I your tongues and eyes, I'ld use them so

That heaven's vault should crack. She's gone for ever!

I know when one is dead, and when one lives;

She's dead as earth. Lend me a looking-glass;

If that her breath will mist or stain the stone,

Why, then she lives.

[...]

KING LEAR

And my poor fool is hang'd! No, no, no life!

Why should a dog, a horse, a rat, have life,

And thou no breath at all? Thou'lt come no more,

Never, never, never, never, never!

Pray you, undo this button: thank you, sir.

Do you see this? Look on her, look, her lips,

Look there, look there!

Dies

Versus this scene in SVSSS:

Luo Binghe turned a deaf ear to everything else, greatly agitated and at a loss of what to do. He was still holding Shen Qingqiu’s body, which was rapidly cooling down. It seemed like he wanted to call for him loudly and forcefully shake him awake, yet he didn’t dare to, as if he was afraid of being scolded. He said slowly, “Shizun?”

[...]

Luo Binghe involuntarily held Shen Qingqiu closer.

He said in a small voice, “I was wrong, Shizun, I really… know that I was wrong.

“I… I didn’t want to kill you…”

PAIN. SO MUCH BEAUTIFUL PAIN. Yes, I know Shakespeare isn’t Athenian, but he was inspired by the good old stuff and he also knew how to write a perfect tragedy on his own terms. Anyway. I’ll find more Greek examples later.

This post was a bit all over the place, but I hope it has been fun to read. Part Two will be coming At Some Point, Who Knows When. This is a bit messy and unedited, but hey, I’m not getting paid or graded, so you can eat any typos or errors. Unless you’re here to talk to me about Chinese tragedy, in which case, please pull up a seat, let me get you a drink, make yourself at home.

ps: if you want to retweet this, here is the promo tweet!

#svsss #scum villain #luo binghe #shen qingqiu #shen jiu #greek tragedy #hello followers this account has been silent for a long time but today i bring you whatever this is #long post #i am gonna cross post more art here from my twitter i think #you guys really like my shitposts on here

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lady-of-the-lotus · 3 years

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“Had I had eyes, what do you think would have happened when I found you in that ditch?”

“Probably killed me.”

“I would not have killed you.”

Xue Yang laughs, a short harsh bark that's nothing like his usual manic giggle. “Why should I believe you?”

XueXiao - E - AO3! - Tumblr Chapter 1 Chapter 2

Chapter 3 - Blood

They travel for three days before they hit another village.

Villages and farms, they pass, but nothing with an inn.

“They’d take us in if we only asked,” Xiao Xingchen says as they pass the village. It’s nightfall, and foggy and almost chilly. Cheerful yellow lights shine through the fog, and he hears voices and the clatter of cookery.

“I’d rather not.”

“Is this one of the villages I wiped out?”

Xue Yang tightens his grip on Jiangzai. He’s had it out of his qiankun sleeve since leaving Yi City. “I knew you were going to throw that in my face. And no. Happy now?”

Xiao Xingchen looks at the lights. One flickers, goes out, is relit, and he imagines the person behind the candle.

A living, breathing person. Someone belonging to his world. Unlike—

He can’t face that person, he suddenly realizes. Can’t knock on the door, be offered a bed, when he knows the earth should be his bed, the soil his blanket.

Warm in the earth.

He banishes that thought, but it lingers.

Xue Yang smiles at him. It’s an oddly blank smile. “Another mile, so they can’t see our fire, and I’ll make camp.” And he turns and continues walking without waiting for Xiao Xingchen to agree.

He’s been in an odd mood ever since they left the Coffin House, Xiao Xingchen thinks as Xue Yang makes camp. He doesn’t know how to handle a sullen Xue Yang. Or any part of this post-resurrection version of Xue Yang.

Chengmei had never argued with Xiao Xingchen, never offered anything more than teasing chaff. Had that all been an act to win his trust? How much of Chengmei had been real, how much a ruse? Chengmei had been unflaggingly cheerful and helpful, talking almost non-stop, doing everything he could to amuse Xingchen and A-Qing.

And he had known Xue Yang before he’d known Chengmei. Not well, but he’d interacted with him during their game of cat and mouse that ended at the Chang Manor, and this new Xue Yang is darker than that old Xue Yang, moodier, his smile less bright.

Or perhaps Xiao Xingchen can now see through his smile.

He half welcomes it in, a strange way. Xue Yang is treating him how he'd treat anyone else, without any special reverence or politeness or worship, and much as he'd prefer a cheerful Xue Yang, it feels almost good.

“I’m afraid I’m not much help,” Xiao Xingchen says as they warm themselves at the fire. Despite sitting much closer than Xue Yang is, he can still only half feel it.

Xue Yang gazes at him intently through the flames. “So you really did just get welcomed into people’s homes? I never tried that when I was—” He stops. “You could have killed them in their sleep.”

“Why would I do that?”

“I’m just saying they had no way of knowing. I guess you and that meathead priest just looked so honorable and decent they had no choice but to give you their beds.”

Xiao Xingchen rubs his hands together and breaks eye contact. Best not to respond. He’s tired, anyway, worn out from walking all day, the most he’s exerted himself since waking.

But Xue Yang won’t let the subject drop. “I thought you were joking the other night. Have you really never made camp?”

“Not never. I’m just not very good at it. After I lost my eyes, I—”

“Not lost. He took them.” Xue Yang’s eyes blaze as brightly as the fire, compelling Xiao Xingchen to look at them again. “And she let him.”

This Xingchen can’t let slide. “Don’t speak about my master like that.”

“Because you know I’m right? She should have stopped it all. If she really cared about you, she wouldn’t have let it happen. It’s all her fault—” Xue Yang's white face flushes pink, and Xiao Xingchen reaches around the fire to lay a warning hand on his bracer.

“Don’t touch me!” Xue Yang snatches his arm away. “Why the fuck did you something so stupid?”

“You were agitated—”

Xue Yang is on his feet. “I meant the eyes, you fucking idiot! You self-righteous naive fuck—” He kicks at the fire, sending a log into a tree in a shower of sparks. “This is all their fault—”

“ ‘This’?”

“Everything!”

“Had I had eyes, what do you think would have happened when I found you in that ditch?”

“Probably killed me.”

“I would not have killed you.”

Xue Yang laughs, a short harsh bark that's nothing like his usual manic giggle. “Why should I believe you?”

“Because you know me.”

“You saved Chengmei.”

“I saved someone in need.”

“None of it was real. You thought I was someone else!”

“I thought it was someone in need.” Xingchen eyes him evenly. “And I was right.”

Xue Yang’s fists are clenched. “You know what?” he snaps. “Fuck you!”

He storms off into the trees.

Xiao Xingchen turns back to the fire. He’s not sure if he’s pleased at having riled Xue Yang or upset at his reaction.

This is his way of caring—he’s genuinely upset I lost my eyes—

And then, halfheartedly: I shouldn’t care what he thinks.

But pity outweighs disgust, and he’s half numb again, anyway, his mental malaise deadening all confusion.

His fingers are stiff and clumsy the next morning. Xue Yang notices him dropping the razor he uses to shave, but doesn’t say anything, or offer to give him blood.

Or the next day, or the day after that.

In fact, he barely talks at all.

Xiao Xingchen isn’t sure what to do with the silence.

“Where are we going, anyway?” Xue Yang asks finally, the first real thing he’s said all day. They’re night-hunting, or at least trying to. Shuanghua feels strangely unresponsive in his hand. He’s not sure if it’s constantly sensing him as a fierce corpse, blanking out all external demons and ghosts, or if he has lost the right to wield it properly.

"Where are we going?” Xue Yang repeats. “Off to save the world?”

“Something like that.”

“Like you did such a great job the first time.”

Xiao Xingchen stiffens.

Xue Yang smirks, wearing a nastier grin than Xingchen remembers him having ever worn before. “What?” he sneers. “Don’t like hearing the truth?”

“I accomplished more in a single year than you did your entire life,” Xiao Xingchen says quietly.

Xue Yang laughs. Unlike his usual laugh, it’s not a pleasant sound. “You’re right. Slaughtering all those peasants certainly was an accomplishment, all right.”

A stab of anger, but it’s distant, that old malaise having him fully in its grip, and he doesn’t rise to the bait. Too long without blood or yang, but Xue Yang hasn’t offered, and Xiao Xingchen refuses to ask.

“You know what I mean,” he says instead.

Xue Yang looks disappointed at the lack of ire in his voice. “And what does saving the world entail, exactly?”

“Helping people who need it.”

“That’s it?”

“Not murdering people. Doing good where you can. If you truly meant what you said about regretting the things you’ve done, that’s still not enough. You have to perform positive actions as well, not just regret your negative ones. Like what we’re doing now—night-hunting, protecting people.”

Xue Yang doesn’t seem to hear anything after Not murdering people. “Like you’ve never killed anyone? Song Lan was ready to kill me at Chang Manor, no trial, no nothing.”

“And I saved your life, ensured you a trial."

"A trial you knew would end in their gutting me like a pig and hanging my head on Jinlintai's gate as warning. Same as you probably still think I deserve."

"If you want to stop being treated like a monster, simply stop doing monstrous things," Xiao Xingchen says, still with no emotion in your voice. "Twice I saved your life.”

“And did your saving me make the world a better place?” Xue Yang’s voice is rising now. “You hate me. You think the world is worse because I’m alive. How do you know all those people you saved didn’t make the world worse too?”

“I never said I hate you.”

Xue Yang throws his hands up dramatically. Xiao Xingchen thinks he might be doing it intentionally, turning the conversation into something out of a story, a play, something less real, something not involving them as two real people but as two fictional characters.

“ ‘I never said I hate you’!” he mimics, doing a credible imitation of Xingchen’s voice. He was always good at doing the voices for the stories he used to tell nightly. “I suppose you stab people you like, then? You stabbed Song Lan out of affection?”

Xiao Xingchen is about to respond, despite the futility of trying to argue with Xue Yang, but instead he trips over what seems to be nothing, sprawling forward in the dirt as if the earth has reached up to drag him down, claim him, Shuanghua falling from his nerveless fingers.

Xue Yang watches him struggle to his feet, but doesn’t offer his help, and Xiao Xingchen doesn’t ask.

A queasy feeling creeps over him despite his numbness.

He can’t night-hunt. Can’t atone by protecting others.

Can barely stand up.

Useless. One more dead, useless thing.

They encounter a single ghost that night. Xue Yang dispatches it on his own, then turns to grin at Xingchen.

“Guess I’m ahead of you on the saving the world front,” he sneers.

Xingchen refuses to ask for help when he has trouble lying down to sleep that night, or the next morning, when it takes him fifteen minutes to get to his feet, or all that day as he stumbles down the road in an increasingly senseless haze.

They stop at an inn that night. Xue Yang makes all the arrangements while Xiao Xingchen, half-insensible, is propped up at a table.

A familiar huff and, “Do I have to carry you?." Something slipping under his arms, movement.

Something wet in his mouth, someone holding his head up. A finger on his tongue, the taste of copper.

“…most stubborn person I’ve ever met,” Xue Yang is saying as he dabs blood on Xingchen’s tongue. “You should have seen the looks the innkeeper gave me. Like I’d drugged and kidnapped you or something…but no, you couldn’t just ask me. You think I liked traveling around with you tripping over your own feet every two seconds goggling at me like a stunned fish?”

Xiao Xingchen opens his eyes. He’s lying cradled on his back in Xue Yang’s lap on a small bed in a small room. “Where are we?”

“Tanzhou. Here, drink.” He tightens his arm around Xiao Xingchen and holds his other arm up to his mouth. “Stubborn idiot.”

But there’s no venom in his voice. Seeing Xiao Xingchen so vulnerable seems to have induced another of his swift changes of mood. Xiao Xingchen drinks, feeling warmth flow back into his limbs as he greedily sucks at Xue Yang.

“Any better?” asks Xue Yang. He slides out from under Xiao Xingchen and off the bed. “I swear, you’re the most stubborn person I know.”

Xiao Xingchen flexes his fingers. “Do you know many people?”

Xue Yang grins suddenly. It’s his first sincere smile in days. “You have a point there. I’ll be back soon.”

Xiao Xingchen sits up as Xue Yang leaves. He feels stronger than he has in days, but the blood only seems to help nourish his body, not his mind.

He’s too numb to care much about that. He takes out his flute, sits cross-legged on the bed, and begins to play, taking advantage of the nimbleness in his fingers while he can.

He plays until Xue Yang returns. “Don’t stop on my account,” Xue Yang says, seating himself on the edge of the bed. He’s holding a tanghulu and a candle. He sets the candle on the rickety little table wedged beside the bed and starts taking his shoes off. “I mean, you could use more practice, but it’s not terrible.”

Hesitantly, Xiao Xingchen lifts the flute back to his lips. Too many good memories attached to the flute to want to sully them with Xue Yang’s presence. Being taught by Baoshan Sanren, playing for A-Qing and Chengmei—

But he’s still too numb to care much. Or to even enjoy playing, really. He does it anyway, mechanically fingering the holes and producing music without soul.

Xue Yang frowns, noticing, but again doesn’t say anything.

A flicker of thought: I’d rather him yell again.

But he doesn’t care enough to rile Xue Yang, and he’s not about to ask Xue Yang to give him yang or take his yin energy.

Let Xue Yang ask him.

But Xue Yang doesn’t speak, just sits there licking the tanghulu. Slides the whole thing in his mouth, sucking the long carrot-shaped candy with more noise than he absolutely has to, making sure it's audible over the gentle sound of the flute. Slides it out of his mouth, runs his tongue along the slick red length, flicks his tongue over the tip.

Xiao Xingchen feels something stir between his legs. Xue Yang must be doing this on purpose—

A banging on the door makes them both jump. “Shut up in there! It’s the middle of the night!”

Xue Yang opens the door. He’s grinning again, a grin full of sharp teeth.

“ ‘Middle of the night’?” he says to the man in the doorway. Burly, frowning, dressed in expensive-looking robes. “It’s barely nightfall.”

“People are trying to sleep! Shut your racket!”

“ ‘Racket’?” Without any seeming movement, Xue Yang’s knife is in his hand. He taps his chin with it, eyes bright. “Step inside, and we’ll discuss it.”

The man is pushing up his sleeves. “We’ll discuss it, all right—”

Xiao Xingchen gets off the bed and lays a hand on Xue Yang’s shoulder. Xue Yang is trembling with excitement beneath his palm, an alcoholic spotting wine. “Don’t.”

“Don’t discuss things like a rational human being?”

“Don’t kill him.”

“I’d like to see him try!” snaps the man. “Little punk upstart—”

Xue Yang starts forward with a little keening sound, but Xiao Xingchen snatches him back into the room and locks the door. “Remember what I said about not murdering people?”

Xue Yang appears to be almost aroused by the near-violence, nostrils flaring, cheeks pink. “The world would be better off without him! Look at him! We’d be doing everyone a favor!”

Xiao Xingchen gives him a little push towards the bed. “Just sit there quietly and finish sucking on your candy.”

He would wince had he not been so numb. Why had he chosen that word?

Xue Yang grins, pique gone. “I’d rather be sucking on something else, if I’m being honest.”

“A first, for you.”

Xue Yang laughs. “I love when you make jokes. Now come on, aren’t you going to offer me an incentive to stay here and not slit that man from dick to throat?”

Xiao Xingchen pinches his temples. He wants to, as badly as he can want anything in his current state—Xue Yang is licking that candy again, grinning at Xiao Xingchen, and Xingchen does want to push along his improved mood—reward good behavior—

He sits on the edge of the bed. “Fine.”

“ ‘Fine’?”

“You can do what you want.”

Xue Yang’s grin turns into a frown. “That’s all you’re going to say? And I’m not getting on my knees for you.”

Xiao Xingchen rises and undresses, taking off everything but his white inner robe. Despite everything, he’s still not comfortable being fully naked in front of Xue Yang, much as he hungers for his hands on his skin, craves sensation. Xue Yang just stands there, watching him undress, but doesn’t move, a smug look on his face.

“I’m not going to beg, if that’s what you’re implying,” Xingchen says, tilting his head.

Grinning again, Xue Yang takes off his clothes, stripping naked almost defiantly. “I can’t decide if I like you like this, or if it’s just annoying.”

Xiao Xingchen lies on the bed, bending his knees slightly. I truly don’t care what you think, he wants to say, but doesn’t want Xue Yang to pick up on the lie and rub his nose in it.

Xue Yang climbs into bed, kneeling between Xingchen’s legs.

“I thought you weren’t getting on your knees,” says Xiao Xingchen.

Xue Yang rolls his eyes. “I’m leaning towards ‘annoying.’ ”

Xingchen can’t hold in a smile. Xue Yang returns it. “First time you’ve smiled in days,” he says. “Just for that, I won’t make you ask for it.” He reaches down for Xiao Xingchen’s inner robe.

“So you’re just going to go for it?”

“What else do you want?”

It’s so…transactional, but Xiao Xingchen doesn’t know how to put that into words. It’s not like he wants to be seduced, but…

He changes the subject. “You want to take my yin energy?”

“It’s not like it’s poison,” says Xue Yang. Not quite the truth, given its tainted nature, but he seems to believe it in the moment. “Everyone has both. Well, not you, unless I give it to you, but—” He peels back Xiao Xingchen’s inner robe, and Xingchen would blush if he could feel shame. “What did you mean before? What else do you want?”

“Just do it.” Suddenly he wants nothing more than to feel the embarrassment he knows he should be feeling at the sight of Xue Yang pulling his cock out from inside his clothes, closing his mouth around it, licking it. Feel more than pleasure at how his tongue glides over the head. Feel the complicated jumble of emotions he knows should be churning through him, heightening everything, turning the act into more than a physical exchange.

He comes in Xue Yang’s mouth, and suddenly he’s very aware of the candlelight gleaming off his wet cock, of Xue Yang licking his lips and looking up at him, making full eye contact—

He winces and snuffs out the candle. Moonlight illuminates Xue Yang, but at least there’s some darkness to hide—hide whatever the hell this is—

“Feel any better?” Xue Yang whispers. He’s moved up beside Xiao Xingchen, nestled between him and the wall. “Want to yell at me now or something?”

Xiao Xingchen takes a deep breath and sits up. “You almost killed that man—”

“But I didn’t!”

“And you—you—” He squeezes his eyes shut. “You said some awful things to me.”

“You mean—that was days ago.”

“You said awful things,” Xiao Xingchen repeats. His heart is beating faster at the memory. “You said—you said—”

“And you to me. We’re even.”

“We’re…” Xiao Xingchen digs his knuckles in his eyes. “How could we possibly ever—”

“Shh. You’ll bring that oaf back, and I can’t make any promises about not gutting him like a pig.”

"What is it with you and pigs?" And suddenly Xiao Xingchen is laughing. He doesn’t know why. But he is. He hates himself for laughing, and he relishes the disgust, the thousand emotions coursing through him, good and bad.

He feels something against his leg, realizes it’s Xue Yang, making no attempt to hide his arousal.

“What about you?” Xingchen moves his leg slightly against Xue Yang.

“I’m fine.”

“I could use yang energy, not just getting rid of the tainted yin…”

Xue Yang’s voice is suddenly teasing. “Ask nicely.”

“Oh, stop that already!”

Xue Yang laughs, vibrating against Xiao Xingchen’s body. “I don’t know, maybe I do like you like this, daozhang. Feisty.” He slides a hand around Xiao Xingchen, tracing the muscles of his chest. “What do you want to do?”

Xiao Xingchen blushes. He’s not sure why it’s more embarrassing to be asked what he wants than to simply have things done to him without discussion, but it is. This is how it’s supposed to be, he knows. But he still can’t bring himself to speak.

He bites his lip as Xue Yang’s hand drifts lower. He’s still sensitive, and he grabs Xue Yang’s hand before it can reach his cock. Xue Yang pulls away and begins tracing circles on his stomach, fingers soft through the silk.

“What do normal people do?” Xingchen asks.

Xue Yang laughs. He’s nuzzling Xiao Xingchen’s throat, and Xingchen, after days of numbness, enjoys the little puff of warm air on his skin. “How should I know?”

“What have you…what have you done before? With other people?”

Xue Yang’s hand stops moving. “You wouldn’t want to hear about that.”

“Because you did something terrible?”

“Am I the only one in the world who’s capable of terrible things?”

Xingchen feels a pang of pity. He savors the pity, savors the irritation at himself for feeling pity, then savors the annoyance at his own irritation, because he should feel pity, should feel mercy. “Why don’t you try the things you wanted them to have done?”

“I don’t want to stop.” The way I wanted them to stop.

Xingchen feels a chill, then turns and kisses Xue Yang softly on the lips. “How about that?” he murmurs. “Those other times I did that, did you want me to stop? That time in the stream, I…” I have no framework to work in, he wants to say. You were my first and only. You had something I needed, and I didn't care about hurting you, after everything you'd done to me. I should have known better, never should have done something like that—

“I could have stopped you if I wanted," says Xue Yang.

“I still…I still shouldn’t have—”

"I liked it. Stop talking about it." Xue Yang kisses him back, long and deep, hands tangled in Xiao Xingchen’s hair. He moves to straddle Xiao Xingchen, laying his full weight on him, gently exploring his mouth.

“You can do more if you want,” Xingchen whispers.

“You’re really after my cum, aren’t you.”

“Don’t say it like that. And no. I just feel like…well, it should be reciprocal. I don’t like the idea of you losing yang, not that I like the idea of giving you tainted yin, either—”

“I brought you back, you’re my responsibility now. Like owning a chicken.”

Xiao Xingchen laughs. “A chicken?”

“A tame dove. That better?”

“A crane, I would think.”

“A crane,” Xue Yang corrects himself. Xiao Xingchen wants to say something about how he wouldn’t trust Xue Yang to take care of any living thing but then remembers how tender he was taking care of him. Besides, he doesn’t want to hurt Xue Yang, not right now.

Selfish, most probably. Most definitely.

This is Xue Yang.

I have to do this, he reminds himself. I have no choice. My dying now would help nobody...

A flimsy excuse, and he knows it.

But perhaps he can afford to be selfish.

Just for a few minutes.

He traces the sharp ridges of Xue Yang’s collarbones, distinct in the blue moonlight. The same face that was the last thing countless people had ever seen.

The last thing Song Lan had ever seen.

“I have some oil in my sleeve,” Xue Yang says.

“Of course you do... What do you want to do?"

“I’m already in you. My blood, I mean. But I’d rather you be in me…” Xue Yang stops. “Fully, I mean, not like just now…”

“I can, if you want, but not tonight. You already took enough yin.”

“Whatever you want.” Xue Yang is stroking the skin on Xiao Xingchen’s inner thigh, hesitantly. “Can I…”

“Yes.”

Xue Yang’s finger brushes Xiao Xingchen’s entrance. “That alright?”

“It…” It feels nice, Xiao Xingchen wants to say, but is suddenly bashful. They’d done this before, but somehow this time feels different.

But Xue Yang hesitates again, as if he too feels that something has changed.

“Here.” Xiao Xingchen rolls him over on his back, looking down at him in the moonlight. Xue Yang seems more comfortable looking up at him, relaxing under him. “Better? Here…” He grips Xue Yang’s cock gently, sliding it inside him. “That feel alright? I forgot the oil—”

Xue Yang takes a deep breath. “It’s fine. You’re already kind of slippery. Must be from me earlier.”

Xiao Xingchen thinks about that for a fraction of a second. He’s been taking a sponge bath every night, ridding himself of the soft, sweet-smelling film he keeps finding on his skin, finds clinging to his razor after shaving.

What if that odd film is inside him too?

Xue Yang rocks his hips slightly, making a little keening noise, and Xiao Xingchen forgets about the film. Slowly he begins to move. It’s easier to angle himself properly when he’s on top, and this way he can lean forward and plant kisses along Xue Yang’s jaw, his throat, his collarbone, the sigil on his chest.

Xue Yang grips his arms, craning his neck, exposing it to Xingchen’s lips. He nips slightly at it, sucking bruises into his throat between the bandages covering the mostly healed bite mark on his neck, breaking the skin over his collarbone. A few red pearls of blood rise from the tiny bite marks, and he licks them without thinking—

Then jerks away. “I’m sorry! I shouldn’t have—”

Xue Yang’s eyes are closed. “Go ahead,” he murmurs.

“I should have asked first—”

Xue Yang opens his eyes. “I know you wouldn't hurt me.”

Wincing, Xiao Xingchen reaches down, touches the scar Shuanghua had left on Xue Yang’s stomach. “You’re not a jar of wine. Despite everything, you’re still a human being.”

“ ‘Despite everything.’ ” Xue Yang swallows hard, looking away. The sigil on his chest is glowing, casting an eerie light over his too-pale skin. “Just drink it.”

Xiao Xingchen is still moving, very slowly. He wants to stop, all lust gone, but is suddenly desperate for the yang energy. “Xue Yang, if I ever take too much, or hurt you, you need to tell me.”

If you die, I die, he wants to add. Just to hear the words aloud, make sure he, Xiao Xingchen, the bright moon and gentle breeze, remembers why he’s doing this.

Xue Yang twists under him. “Alright, I get it. Either fuck me, or get off.”

Xiao Xingchen stops. “Why do you have to put it like that?”

“What, are we making love? Fuck, I know that’s not how it works!” He grabs Xiao Xingchen’s shoulder, pulling him deeper onto him, and begins thrusting up into him, hard. “Don’t try to pret—”

“Stop!” Xiao Xingchen pins him back on the bed. It’s an effort, Xue Yang’s thrusting reaching the bundle of nerves deep inside him, and he suddenly craves the friction again. “Did you listen to a word I said? I—oh, just let me do this, all right?”

Xue Yang rolls his eyes, then closes them as if unwilling to look at Xiao Xingchen and bites his lip.

He draws blood.

Frowning, Xiao Xingchen leans forward to kiss Xue Yang, sucking on his lip, relishing the way the blood tingles on his tongue as Xue Yang rocks up into him.

Xue Yang reaches out, slides his fingers through his hair, and suddenly Xiao Xingchen is filled with heat, the world, already sharp, bursting into full color, and he comes again, splattering Xue Yang's stomach with blood.

He rolls over but stays locked together with Xue Yang, drawing his blood out through his lip. They remain like that, Xiao Xingchen lapping gently at the blood welling from his mouth, Xue Yang softening inside him, until Xue Yang’s breathing grows slow and steady. He feels a tendril of contentment that’s not fully his curl into him, soothing him.

“Xue Yang?” he murmurs. “Are you alright?”

He thrills at the sound of his own words. “Xue Yang? Are you alright?” He suddenly wants to have sex again, fully savor the conflicted emotions he can now fully feel—the disgust, the arousal, the pity, the mingled hatred and affection—but despite it all, he’d meant everything he had said before, and is gentle when he eases Xue Yang out of him and touches his shoulder. “Xue Yang?”

Xue Yang is asleep.

Xiao Xingchen lies there for what seems like hours, watching him sleep, that odd, almost external sense of contentment slipping away as his body absorbs Xue Yang’s blood. Again he’s struck by how young and innocent he looks despite him now being older than Xingchen, despite having the blood of countless people under his nails.

Xingchen wakes long before him the next morning. He lets him sleep.

“I took too much blood,” Xiao Xingchen says as they lie there. “You have to tell me when to stop.”

Xue Yang blinks, looking out the window. The sun is high in the sky. He sits up, lip puffy. “Why didn’t you wake me?”

“You looked like you needed the rest," he says, and Xue Yang's eyes widen. He can't remember if he ever let Xue Yang sleep in during the old days in Yi City, that this should have such an impact now. "I told you. You can’t let me take so much blood.”

“I gave it to you.”

Xiao Xingchen sighs. “We should get moving.”

Xue Yang rolls out of bed. “I’ll go downstairs, get some food. Get you some water to wash with. Be back in a second.”

He’s only been gone a few minutes when the man from the other night opens the door Xue Yang hadn’t closed fully. He eyes the tousled bed clothes of the single bed, and grins.

“I thought so,” he said, sniffing the air. “Fucking perverts.”

Xiao Xingchen gets out of bed. “I’m going to have to ask you to leave, sir.”

The words sound alien. This is the first person he’s spoken to other than Xue Yang.

It feels...wrong.

The man laughs in his face. “That all you going to say?”

“Please leave, sir. I’m not here to pick a fight.”

“But I am,” says a voice behind the man, and suddenly the man is on his knees, clutching at his ankles with an agonized cry.

Xue Yang grins, gripping a knife. “He bothering you?”

Xiao Xingchen stares open-mouthed. “What did you do?”

“Just nicked his tendons.” Xue Yang rolls the whimpering man into the room with his foot and shuts the door, then bends down and cuts out his tongue with a quick flip of his wrist. “Good thing I forgot my coin purse.”

“You—you—” Xingchen eyes Xue Yang’s victim in horror. The man is gripping his throat, choking on the blood spurting from his mouth, horrific burbling sounds coming from his throat.

“Oh, please. Killing him would improve the world.”

“Killing him?”

Xue Yang’s eyes are bright, body trembling in excitement. “I thought you wanted to make the world better?”

“Not by killing him!”

“Kind of too late. He’ll bleed out soon. I mean, I can always pin a blood-clotting talisman to him, but it will probably cause a stroke.” He produces a blank yellow talisman. “Or I can fix it so you can absorb his yin before he dies.”

“No! That’s—would that work?”

Xue Yang shrugs. “It’s worth a shot, if you don’t want to take my blood.” He touches the sigil on his chest, as if to say, We’re already bound, but..., and Xiao Xingchen has a sudden flashback to him raising his bound hands after his capture at the Chang Manor: “Don’t forget about me…”

“He wasn’t part of our ritual,” Xue Yang shrugs, “but I can fix it so you can take what he has if you don’t want mine.”

“It’s not that I don’t want your blood, it’s that—what am I saying? This man is bleeding out on our floor! Try the talisman!”

“The yin talisman?”

“The blood-clotting talisman! Quickly!”

“Alright, alright.” Grinning, Xue Yang nudges the man’s throat with his foot. “What’s your name, my fat friend?”

“We don’t have time for this!”

“I need it for the talisman!”

"You’re stalling!”

“I’m not stalling! These are my own design! I need his name.” Xue Yang crouches before the man, who’s lying on his side, blood bubbling over the floor. He pats him cheerfully on the cheek with his knife and pulls him up by his hair. “What’s your name? Wang? Liu? Chen?” He looks up at Xiao Xingchen, innocent as as lamb. “He’s not cooperating.”

“You cut out his tongue!”

“He basically asked me to.” Xue Yang is laughing. He seems more… alive than Xiao Xingchen has seen him in a while. Beautiful, in fact...

Xiao Xingchen takes a second to enjoy the half-arousing feeling of revulsion he’s inspired in himself, then shakes his head. “This is not what we discussed.”

“This is exactly what we discussed!” Little spots of color spot Xue Yang's white cheeks. “I saw his wife downstairs. She has a black eye. Looked fresh. If you had let me kill him last night, that would never have happened!"

It’s too late to save the man, blood-clotting talisman or no blood-clotting talisman.

The man looks up at Xiao Xingchen pleadingly, skin ashen, shaking.

"Who knows when killing someone is wrong? Or right? Nobody can tell, so why bother trying?”

Xiao Xingchen takes the knife from Xue Yang and slits the man’s jugular.

The man bleeds out within seconds, sprawling forward on the floor when Xue Yang releases his hair.

Xue Yang looks up at Xingchen, eyes like stars. “I forgot how beautiful you are when you kill.”

“Why—why would you think that was something appropriate to say to me right now? I—all I want to do is help people, but you—you made me kill again—”

Xue Yang looks confused. “You helped his wife. And he deserved it.”

“You’ve done far worse than what he did! Does that mean I should kill you?”

Xue Yang shrugs. “We’ve already been over this. Are we all packed? Guess we’re leaving through the window. Unless—” He hooks a finger in the neck of Xiao Xingchen’s robe, grinning. “How about it?”

Xiao Xingchen shoves him away. “What is wrong with you?!”

Xue Yang’s grin disappears. “Oh, like you don’t want to!”

“I just killed a man!”

“Exactly. Get off your high horse.”

“It was a mercy killing because of what you did—”

“I guess you’re right. Better hoof it before they notice the blood dripping through these shoddy floorboards.”

Xiao Xingchen doesn’t look at the body as they fly down from the window and head down the road.

Again.

Xue Yang has made him kill again—

He can’t risk night-hunting again, not unless he does it immediately after sex and blood-drinking. Can’t save people like he used to.

Can’t atone.

And now, not only is he useless, he’s actively harming people—

“You should have seen his wife,” Xue Yang says. “Face all puffed up like A-Qing’s when she ate that walnut. Are you angry?”

“Of course I’m angry!”

“Like, angry in a fun way?”

Xiao Xingchen laughs. He doesn’t want to laugh, but he hasn’t had a proper handle on his emotions since coming back to life. Either he’s too numb, or his feelings are too intense, or they’re not fully his own. “No.”

“You laughed.”

Xiao Xingchen gets himself under control. “What you did was wrong.”

“You should have seen the wife—”

“How do I know there even was a wife?” He regrets the words the moment they leave his mouth and the smile disappears from Xue Yang’s face. “I mean—”

“You don’t believe me.”

“I…”

“I did what you asked! I improved the world! Had I killed him last night when I wanted to, his wife would have been spared. So who was really right? Not you. And besides, he called you a pervert. What was I supposed to do?”

“You mean, he called you a pervert. By extension.”

“He called you a pervert,” Xue Yang insists.

Xiao Xingchen rubs his temples. “From now on, if you’re going to kill someone, you get my approval first.”

“Technically, you killed—fine. I’ll be quiet.” Xue Yang walks a bit faster.

He’s back to himself by evening, rattling on as if nothing had happened. Xiao Xingchen doesn’t say another word about the dead man, either. What can he say? If Xue Yang was telling the truth, man’s death had made the world a better place.

He just wishes it hadn’t been him who had delivered that final blow.

Xingchen’s fault, the whole thing. No more letting Xue Yang out of his sight. No more letting him roam around on his own.

If we’re busy having sex, he won’t be off killing people.

Xiao Xingchen has a sudden vision of them having sex in the room with that dead body, drinking from the man's throat while thrusting into Xue Yang, and is confused by the mixture of lust and disgust tingling along his spine. Not at the emotions themselves—lust and disgust have been his constant companions since waking—but at how much the thought of drinking blood from anyone other than Xue Yang repulses him.

He rubs the sigil branded into his chest.

Xue Yang must have known it would repulse him. Must have simply been testing him with the idea of blood from that man—

Xue Yang turns to wave at him to walk faster, and Xiao Xingchen gives up. No point in trying to puzzle it all out, figure out what Xue Yang did not did not know or intend or want. He’s not sure Xue Yang himself knows half the time.

Which is…exciting, if he’s being honest. It was the same way with Chengmei.

Except then there was no perverted morals or internal turmoil. Just companionship tinged with slight confusion over how attached he had gotten to Chengmei, and how quickly.

It hadn’t been romantic, he tells himself. Nothing near it. They had shared a bed, but that was all. They’d had to huddle together for warmth, so waking up with Chengmei wrapped around him was simply out of habit, even in summer. He’d fixed Chengmei’s hair every morning, and Chengmei often touched his arm and waist and knee, but that meant nothing…

Nothing.

They stop for the night in the forest. There’s a village nearby, but Xue Yang, practiced at fleeing from crime scenes, votes not to attempt it, and Xiao Xingchen has no desire to approach people, and not just because of what had happened in the inn.

Xiao Xingchen glances at his hands as they settle down. For now they’re strong enough to grip a sword, but he still wouldn’t trust himself on a night-hunt, and he’s kept Shuanghua in his qiankun pouch.

He hopes Xue Yang doesn’t suggest one. Rub in the fact that Xingchen is near useless…

It’s warm that night, but Xue Yang sleeps in his full robes, with Jiangzai drawn beside him. He’s never quite at ease while sleeping outside, Xiao Xingchen notices. Hasn’t truly been relaxed since they left the Coffin House, except when he was bent over that man.

Lips parted. Eyes sparkling—

He dwells on that thought as he stares up at the stars, glimmering brightly through the treetops against the deep purple sky. How beautiful Xue Yang looked. How animated. The bringer of so much death, yet so alive—

He rolls over and kisses Xue Yang. Enjoys the softness of his lips, the heat of his tongue, the way Xue Yang melts into him.

Enjoys feeling like an ordinary human being, not like a cultivator or a corpse.

Xue Yang often makes him feel like that, he realizes as kisses him. Like an ordinary human being with regrets and wants and conflicting thoughts and feelings. Treats him like an imperfect being, at least in this new second life. Fights with him, yells at him, throws tantrums and argues with him.

He likes it more than he should. He shouldn't relish being seen for the imperfect being that he is—should want to be held to a higher standard—

He dwells on this thought, knows the sex will be made more potent by the disgust he feels at himself, until Xue Yang's tongue and hands drive all thought from his mind.

It’s slow and lazy, with Xiao Xingchen on top. He drinks from Xue Yang’s arm as he rocks into him, letting his lip and collarbone heal. He’s careful not to take too much blood, just enough to keep him balanced the next day.

"You can take more if you want," Xue Yang whispers. "Take whatever you need..."

He falls asleep curled up beside Xue Yang, boneless and relaxed, but Xue Yang still sleeps with one hand on Jiangzai.

They travel for two weeks like that, sleeping under the stars.

Night-hunting, a few times. Or what Xue Yang refers to as night-hunting. Xingchen is of little use, even directly after sex and blood. He can take care of himself, but as far as taking on direct threats, or protecting Xue Yang—

“We’ll get you back up to full strength,” promises Xue Yang after he kills a spirit beast entirely on his own. “We’ll have you laying waste to the local demons in no time.”

Xiao Xingchen nods. He wishes he had put it another way. Laying waste. Destroying things...

He’d never balked at killing creatures that needed killing. Relished it, if anything. Shifu had spoken to him about it a few times, tried to help him reconcile his merciless half with the half that was almost too compassionate.

But now, when he was closer to fierce corpse than a living thing himself—

He wants to give life. Not take it.

But they're both happy enough, for the most part.

The first shadow is cast when they stop by a village to replenish their supplies.

“Take two eggplants,” urges the old man at the produce stall. “You boys look pale.”

“I didn’t ask you,” Xue Yang snaps. Seconds before he had been smiling, looking around for a stall that sold candy, but now his knife is out. “Just give me the fucking eggplant!”

“I beg your pardon, sir,” Xiao Xingchen says quickly, bowing. The words are heavy on his tongue. He hasn’t spoken to anyone other than Xue Yang since that terrible night in Tanzhou, and with Xue Yang there's no need to be artificially polite. He’s feeling jumpy surrounded by all these people, and his gait is unsteady, the world somewhat…not blurred, exactly, but distant. As if his knowing he does not belong where people live has created a physical barrier in the air, something preventing him from reaching out and touching the things around him. “He didn’t mean it.”

“ ‘I beg your pardon, sir,’ ” Xue Yang mimics as they walk away from the stall.

“Why was that your reaction to kindness?”

“He was just trying to make a sale.”

“He was trying to give you one for free.”

“Oh?” Xue Yang glances over his shoulder. “You wait here. I’ll go get another.”

“I’ll come with you—”

Xue Yang forcibly seats him on a broken-down fence in an alley. “You look like you’re about to pass out. Stay here.”

Xiao Xingchen tries to follow him, but it’s so hot, and his legs heavy, as if they’re not attached properly at the joints—

He glances around the alley. The crowded buildings look almost—wobbly—

He closes his left eye. There. Slightly better…

Xue Yang returns, whistling, cheerful again. “All ready,” he says. “Let’s go.”

“What’s that sound?”

Xue Yang glances over his shoulder at the commotion rising from the marketplace. “Oh, just some bandits.”

“Just some bandits?”

Xue Yang hauls him to his feet. “There’s no real government in place around here, not since the war. Just a lot of squabbling little sects. Come on. We don’t want to get caught up in this. Well, you wouldn’t, anyway.”

Xiao Xingchen takes a few steps, but the heat is making it hard to move quickly.

A man appears at the end of the alley, holding a long thin knife.

“Don’t!” says Xiao Xingchen when Xue Yang draws Jiangzai.

Huffing in annoyance, Xue Yang grabs him by the hand and flies over the rooftops. As they fly over the town they have a full view of the bandits ransacking the marketplace—

So Xue Yang had been telling the truth. A part of Xingchen had assumed Xue Yang had done something to cause the commotion.

He takes a closer look as they fly past, squinting. The old man from before lies slumped over his produce stall, blood staining the flagstones.

“Stop!” Xiao Xingchen clutches at Xue Yang’s arm. "They need help!"

“Make up your mind, dammit!” Xue Yang drops him on a roof and remains balanced on Jiangzai. “Are you telling me I can do what I need to do?”

“There has to be a sect around here somewhere, go find them, they can arrest them—”

“Yeah, good luck with that.” Xue Yang dives down into the marketplace, laughing, both of Jiangzai’s blades extended.

Xiao Xingchen drags himself to the edge of the roof. The tiles are like a griddle, and all around him is that same sweet smell from the Coffin House courtyard.

Which is quickly overwhelmed by the scent of blood, thick on the humid air. It envelopes him as Jiangzai whirls around Xue Yang, slaughtering the bandits like he’s harvesting wheat.

Xiao Xingchen watches, left eye covered. He counts eighteen bandits total, rapidly reduced to seventeen, then sixteen, then fifteen—

He wants to cry out for Xue Yang to stop, but all he can do is watch as Xue Yang slaughters them all. Not efficiently. Nowhere near efficiently.

He’s enjoying himself.

This is what he looked like as he turned the Chang Clan and Baixue Temple into slaughterhouses, Xingchen thinks as he watches Xue Yang, Jiangzai spinning so fast his one good eye can’t follow it, deftly cutting and slashing and thrusting with a brutal elegance, lopping off an arm there, a leg there. A predator playing with its food.

This is Xue Yang in his element. Xiao Xingchen can pretend he domesticated him, but he knows it’s a lie.

Xue Yang laughs as he kills the last bandit, his half-hysterical giggle floating up on the scent of blood, wrapping around Xiao Xingchen, and all Xingchen can think of is the last time he heard him laugh like that. Of Xue Yang’s manic laughter as he taunted him: “ ‘Save the world’? What a joke! You can’t even save yourself! Xiao Xingchen, you achieved nothing! A complete failure. You brought this on yourself! You deserve it!”

He drags himself forward, needing to see Xue Yang’s face, see how he had looked as he watched Xiao Xingchen kill Song Lan—

The last thing he remembers is falling off the edge of the roof.

****

Enjoy? AO3!

#xue yang #xiao xingchen #xuexiao #mdzsnet #fymdzs #fytheuntamed #theuntameddaily #lotus writes #Consume Me Slowly

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dweemeister · 4 years

Photo

Kaagaz Ke Phool (1959, India)

Almost a quarter of the way through the twenty-first century, globalization has pierced the remotest corners of the planet. The examples academics and politicians cite demonstrating this globalization are almost always economic, but the most profound examples are cultural. Once known only in South Asia, Indian cinema has burst onto a global stage. Its stars and its most popular directors seem larger than life. Reading on some of modern Bollywood’s (Hindi-language cinema) personalities, I find few of their biographies compelling beyond their unquestionable status as South Asian and international celebrities – I won’t name names here because that is for another time. That is partly a result of not watching enough Bollywood films. It is also because I am making unconscious comparisons between those modern actors to actor-director Guru Dutt. Dutt was a tragic romantic – off- and on-screen – to the point where those personas can become indistinguishable.

As an actor, Dutt can be as charming a romantic male lead as anyone, as well as lend a film the dramatic gravitas it needs. As a director, he refined his sweeping visuals and theatrical flairs over time. That artistic development culminated with Pyaasa (1957) and his final directorial effort, Kaagaz Ke Phool (“Paper Flowers” in English). The latter film is the subject of this piece. Both films elevate themselves to a cinematic altitude few movies anywhere, anytime ever accomplish. They are, for lack of a better word, operatic* – in aesthetic, emotion, storytelling, tone. In Kaagaz Ke Phool, Dutt once again lays bare his artistic soul in what will be his final directed work.

An old man enters a film studio’s empty soundstage, climbs onto the rafters, and gazes wistfully at the darkened workspace below. We learn that this is Suresh Sinha (Dutt), a film director whose illustrious past exists only in old film stock. The film is told in flashback, transporting to a time when his marriage to Bina (Veena) is endangered – the parents-in-law disdain his film work as disreputable to their social class – and he is embarking upon an ambitious production of Devdas (a Bengali romance novel that is among the most adapted pieces of Indian literature to film, the stage, and television). He is having difficulty finding someone to play Paro, the female lead. Due to this conflict, Bima has also forbidden their teenage daughter, Pammi (Kumari Naaz), from seeing Suresh. Pammi is sent to a boarding school far from Delhi (where Bima and her parents reside) and further from Mumbai (where Suresh works), without any sufficient explanations of the spousal strife.

One rainy evening, Suresh generously provides his coat to a woman, Shanti (an excellent Waheeda Rehman). The next day, Shanti arrives at the film studio looking to return the coat. Not knowing anything about film production, she accidentally steps in front of the camera while it is rolling – angering the crew who are tiring of yet another production mishap. Later, while viewing the day’s rushes, Suresh casts Shanti as Paro after witnessing her accidental, but remarkable, screen presence. She achieves cinematic stardom; Suresh and Shanti become intimate. When the tabloid gossip eventually reaches Mumbai and Pammi’s boarding school, it leads to the ruin of all.

What did you expect from an operatic film – a happy ending?

Also starring in the film are Johnny Walker (as Suresh’s brother-in-law, “Rocky”) and Minoo Mumtaz (as a veterinarian). Walker and Mumtaz’s roles are vestigial to Kaagaz Ke Phool. Their romantic subplot is rife with the potential for suggestive humor (she is a horse doctor), but the screenplay never justifies their inclusion in the film.

Shot on CinemaScope lens licensed by 20th Century Fox to Dutt’s production company, Kaagaz Ke Phool is Dutt’s only film shot in letterboxed widescreen. From the onset of his directorial career and his close collaboration with cinematographer V.K. Murthy, Dutt exemplifies an awesome command of tonal transition and control. Murthy’s dollying cameras intensify emotion upon approach: anguish, contempt, sober realization. These techniques render these emotions painfully personal, eliminating the necessity of a few lines of dialogue or supplemental motion from the actor. The effect can be uncomfortable to those who have not fully suspended their disbelief in the plot or the songs that are sung at the time. But to the viewers that have accepted that Dutt’s films exist in a reality where songs about infatuation, love, loss, and regret are sung spontaneously (and where revelations are heard in stillness), this is part of the appeal. Dutt and Murthy’s lighting also assists in directing the narrative and setting mood: a lashing rainstorm signaling a chance meeting that seals the protagonists’ fates, the uncharacteristically film noir atmosphere of the soundstage paints moviemaking as unglamorous, and a beam of light during a love melody evokes unspoken attraction. That final example represents the pinnacle of Dutt and Murthy’s teamwork (more on this later).

As brilliant as his films (including this) may be, Dutt suffered during mightily during Kaagaz Ke Phool’s production. In writings about Dutt, one invariably encounters individuals who believe Dutt’s life confirms that suffering leads to great art. Though I think it best to retire that aphorism so as not to romanticize pain, I believe that the reverse is true with Guru Dutt – his later directing career contributed to his personal tribulations. In some ways, that suffering informed his approach to what I consider an informal semiautobiographical trilogy of his films: Mr. & Mrs. ’55 (1955), Pyaasa, and Kaagaz Ke Phool. Dutt directed and starred in each of these films. In each film he plays an artist (a cartoonist, poet, and film director, respectively); with each successive film his character begins with a greater reputation, only to fall further than the last. The three Dutt protagonists encounter hardship that do not discriminate by caste, professional success, or wealth.

For Dutt’s Suresh, he is unable to consummate his love for Shanti because the specters of his failed marriage haunt him still. He never speaks to his de facto ex, but marital disappointment lingers. Why does he bother visiting his stuffy in-laws when he knows they will never change their opinions about him? Abrar Alvi’s (the other films in the aforementioned informal Dutt-directed trilogy, 1962’s Sahib Bibi Aur Ghulam) screenplay is silent on the matter. Also factoring into Suresh’s hesitation is his daughter, Pammi. Pammi is young, looks up to both her parents, and cannot fathom a parent being torn from her life. Her reaction to learning about Shanti implies that neither of her parents have ever truly talked to her about their separation. Pammi does not appear to blame herself, but it seems that her parents – intent on protecting their child, perhaps speaking to her not as a soon-to-be young adult – are loath to maturely talk about the other. In a sense, Pammi has never mourned her parents’ marriage as we see her deny the tabloid reports about Suresh’s affair and express anger towards her father when she learns the truth.

When Suresh’s film after Devdas flops, his film career is in tatters. But Shanti’s popularity is ascendant, creating a dynamic reminiscent of A Star is Born. In a faint reference to Devdas, Kaagaz Ke Phool’s final act contains anxieties about falling into lower classes. If Kaagaz Ke Phool is contemporaneous to its release date, one could also interpret this as concerns about falling within India’s caste system (reformist India in the late 1950s was dipping its toes into criminalizing caste discrimination, which remains prevalent). Suresh’s fall is stratospheric and, in his caste-conscious, masculine pride, he rejects Shanti’s overtures to help him rebuild his life and film career. This tragedy deepens because Shanti’s offer is in response to the contractual exploitation she is enduring. We do not see what becomes of Shanti after her last encounter with Suresh, but his final scenes remind me, again, of opera: the male lead summoning the strength to sing (non-diegetically in Suresh’s case) his parting, epitaphic thoughts moments before the curtain lowers.

Suresh’s and Shanti’s respective suffering was preventable. Whether love may have assuaged his self-pity and alcoholism and her professional disputes is debatable, but one suspects it only could have helped.

Composer S.D. Burman (Pyaasa, 1965’s Guide) and lyricist Kaifi Azmi (1970’s Herr Raanjha, 1974’s Garm Hava) compose seven songs for Kaagaz Ke Phool – all of which elevate the dramatics, but none are as poetic as numbers in previous Dutt films. Comments on two of the most effective songs follow; I did not find myself nearly as moved by the others.

“Dekhi Zamane Ki Yaari” (roughly, “I Have Seen How Deeply Friendship Lies”) appears just after the opening credits, as an older Suresh ascends the soundstage’s stairs to look down on his former domain. The song starts with and is later backed by organ (this is an educated guess, as many classic Indian films could benefit with extensive audio restorations as trying to figure out their orchestrations can be difficult) and is sung non-diegetically by Mohammed Rafi (dubbing for Dutt). A beautiful dissolve during this number smooths the transition into the flashback that will frame the entire film. That technique, combined with “Dekhi Zamane Ki Yaari”, prepares the audience for what could be a somber recollection. However, this is only the first half of a bifurcated song. The melodic and thematic ideas of “Dekhi Zamane Ki Yaari” are completed in the film’s final minutes, “Bichhde Sabhi Baari Baari” (“They All Fall Apart, One by One”; considered by some as a separate song). Together, the musical and narrative arc of this song/these songs form the film’s soul. For such an important musical number, it may have been ideal to incorporate it more into the film’s score, but now I am being picky.

Just over the one-hour mark, “Waqt Ne Kiya Haseen Sitam” (“Time Has Inflicted Such Sweet Cruelty On Us”; non-diegetically sung by Shanti, dubbed by Geeta Dutt, Guru’s wife) heralds the film’s second act – Suresh and Shanti’s simultaneous realization of their unspoken love, and how they are changed irrevocably for having met each other. Murthy’s floating cameras and that piercing beam of light are revelatory. A double exposure during this sequence shows the two characters walking toward each other as their inhibitions stay in place, a breathtaking mise en scène (the arrangement of a set and placement of actors to empower a narrative/visual idea) foreshadowing the rest of the film.

Dutt’s perfectionist approach to Kaagaz Ke Phool fueled a public perception that the film was an indulgent vanity exercise with a tragic ending no one could stomach viewing. Paralleling Suresh and Shanti’s romantic interest in each other in this film, the Indian tabloids were printing stories claiming that Dutt was intimate with co-star Waheeda Rehman and cheating on Geeta Dutt. These factors – perhaps some more than others (I’m not versed on what Bollywood celebrity culture was like in the 1950s, and Pyaasa’s tragic ending didn’t stop audiences from flocking to that film) – led to Kaagaz Ke Phool’s bombing at the box office. Blowing an unfixable financial hole into his production company, Guru Dutt, a man who, “couldn’t digest failure,” never directed another film. Like the character he portrays here, Dutt became an alcoholic and succumbed to depression in the wake of this film’s release. Having dedicated himself entirely to his films, he interpreted any professional failure as a personal failure.

Kaagaz Ke Phool haunts from its opening seconds. Beyond his home country, Dutt would not live to see his final directorial effort become a landmark Bollywood film and his international reputation growing still as cinematic globalization marches forth. Dutt’s most visually refined films, including Kaagaz Ke Phool, are films of subtraction. The cinematography and music make less movement and dialogue preferable. Kaagaz Ke Phool is a film defined about actions that are not taken and scenes that are never shown. The result is not narrative emptiness, but a receptacle of Dutt’s empathy and regrets. Exploring these once-discarded, partially biographic ideas is not for faint hearts.

My rating: 9/10

^ Based on my personal imdb rating. Half-points are always rounded down. My interpretation of that ratings system can be found in the “Ratings system” page on my blog (as of July 1, 2020, tumblr is not permitting certain posts with links to appear on tag pages, so I cannot provide the URL).

For more of my reviews tagged “My Movie Odyssey”, check out the tag of the same name on my blog.

* I use this adjective not to reference operatic music, but as an intangible feeling that courses over me when watching a film. Examples of what I would consider to be operatic cinema include: Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon (2000, Taiwan); Greed (1924); The Red Shoes (1948); and The Wind (1928). Some level of melodrama and emotional unpackaging is necessary, but the film need not be large in scope or have musical elements for me to consider it “operatic”.

#Kaagaz Ke Phool #Guru Dutt #Waheeda Rehman #Kumari Naaz #Bollywood #Mehmood #Johnny Walker #Mahesh Kaul #Veena Sapru #Abrar Alvi #V.K. Murthy #S.D. Burman #Mohammad Rafi #Geeta Dutt #Asha Bhosle #My Movie Odyssey

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foxofthedesert · 4 years

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A brief RedQueen take on Hades/Persephone

For @loudestdork in response to this incredible post. It’s your fault I’m still up at 6 am.

Also, I haven’t even proofread this, so please blame any errors or general crappiness in quality on either mental fatigue or sleepless mania. :)

Slowly Regina rises from her chilly onyx throne. The flickering embers stirring back to life within her breast had compelled her to rise, and as they burst once more into flame, the line of silver candelabras begin to glow with an intensity that hurts her eyes. Darkness recedes as light suffuses the chamber, bathing her in warmth that steals her breath away.

Equal measures of excitement and dread war within soul, for within the hour she will leave this place for the surface.

Eyes slipping shut, she conjures up an image to quell her fears – it is one she often draws upon whenever the tenacious, insidious claws of despair dig into her psyche during the interminable, desolate months of spring and summer. Rich chestnut hair cascades in waves and curls over shapely shoulders and down a finely arched back. Pale skin lacking scar or blemish, smooth to the touch like the silk produced by Minerva's loom and sweet as honey to the taste, bared to her greedy hands and eyes. Sea green irises merry with youth and vitality and unbridled curiosity that will burn a brilliant amber when angered or aroused and fade into sickly blue while in the throes of anguish. A frame to rival Diana; a visage more comely than Venus; and a smile and laugh even brighter than those of Apollo and Laetitia that alone is capable of banishing the perpetual gloom that drapes the realm of the dead in a curtain of despair; all belonging to the only person in all of existence that truly matters to Regina anymore.

Soon, so very soon, a voice more beautiful than any of the nine Muses will caress her longing ears. She recalls in vivid detail how it sounded upon the first such reunion.

“Oh! How dreary you have allowed our home to become in my absence,” Ruby (for that is the chosen name of Regina’s beloved) had trilled, an effective chastisement delivered in tones so affectionate and gentle that even the Goddess of the Dead cannot summon a word to speak in her own defense. “I shall spend a week at the very least removing cobwebs and dust, no to mention relocating all of the industrious little creatures that have taken up residence in the shadows. Really, love, why must you continually refuse to utilize the resources at your disposal? Sydney is a splendid caretaker, if not an incorrigible gossip, and Maleficent a wise and capable counselor. How many times must I come back home to an unfit abode before you take my suggestions to heart? Honestly, your continued stubbornness on this issue is most disappointing!”

“Bah! Due caution would appear as stubbornness to your disgustingly naive notion that redemption is possible for those whose misdeeds are as numerous and grievous as mine,” Regina had replied, nose curling in rebellious distaste at any suggestion she be so lazy – or efficient depending upon perspectives not her own clearly superior one – delegate the tasks laid upon her by laws more ancient than her fellow deities or the beastly titans who birthed them.

Oh how Ruby had bristled at that well-aimed dart. “Your sarcasm is not appreciated. Nor is your conclusion. I do not believe it is naive to hope for those who have made mistakes so long as they are capable of remorse. I would not be here otherwise.”

“Perhaps that is your great error. You have blinded yourself with optimism to the truth that I am indeed beyond hope and have doomed yourself to an eternity of sorrow by consequence.”

Regina knows how best to hurt with her words. The skill is, according to her peers, the one most responsible for her being an outcast. Her sister had offered an olive branch after their cataclysmic war, but she had refused it in a caustic speech that is recited in worshipful devotion by her Terran acolytes to this day.

Words are a weapon to be used with precision, their mother had taught them as youths just blooming into their cosmic powers, for they are every bit as devastating as fire or lightning.

When she was banished from Olympos and cast into Dīs upon a searing bolt a lightning, Regina was robbed of her fire. But they could not take her words, and she has used them ever since in both condemnation and reward to pass judgment upon those who arrive upon her shores. That Ruby is too commonly a target for her verbal pila is a stain upon her conscience that irritates her far more than it should considering who she is and what she has done.

Life would be much simpler the six months per annum they are together if she could learn to hold her barbed tongue in check, but Regina has never been one for simple. And so they are often at odds over the banal. They will quarrel over contentious adjudications. They will spend hours in mutually stubborn silence while offended or emotionally injured. They will disagree on meals, spar over Olympian philosophy and art and politics, and speak to one another in outbursts of raw angry passion wielding razor sharp phrases which leave wounds so deep as to be nearly visible.

But there is also love between them. Immeasurable love. Love that time and distance cannot erase when they are forced apart for half the year. Love that is blind to faults and annoyances, that weathers storms of rage and frustration and misunderstanding, and that forgives trespasses and inspires self-improvement however glacially incremental. A love that twines their immortal essences together so tightly that they share a dreamscape while sleeping, and that they have no use for repose is of no consequence when the aching of loneliness or separation becomes unbearable.

It is that boundless, magical, incomprehensible love which revived Regina’s moribund heart and made her start to care again. For that reason she is grateful beyond description on most days and on her worst regretful she ever laid eyes upon the gorgeous creature who single-handedly turned her entire world upside down.

“If I am blind to love you, then may I never see again,” Ruby had said, those enchanting eyes glimmering so brightly in the faint light that the individual strands of her irises were visible. “And if this is to be my doom as you say, then I accept it with open arms, for it shall be one of bountiful joy. The only sorrow for me will come when we are again forced to part. I spent the past six months yearning for you just as I shall the next six when our bell proclaims the arrival of spring.”

“Well, if not blind then you are certainly foolish,” Regina said, throat choked with so much feeling that she felt as though she might suffocate.

Ruby had merely smiled in that way only she could, playful and loving and sincere all at once. “I am guilty as charged of being a fool, my Queen. Your fool.”

Unable to help herself, Regina felt her lips curl up at the edges. “Well, we cannot all be perfect. Not even the celebrated daughter of Ceres Eugenia, it appears.” So as to change the reverse of their conversation back toward less emotionally distressful directions, she had cleared her throat and then returned to the original topic. “As for your so-called suggestion: it is, quite frankly, absurd. One of the two miserable wretches you mentioned earlier is a driveling sycophant while the other is a maudlin dragoness whose fits of fire-breathing mania lead me question my decision to retain her. No doubt they both would abuse such positions to undermine my authority. Prudence would dictate that I should cast them both into Tartarus and be done with their annoyances!”

Ruby’s gasp of affront was so dramatic that it echoed through the cavernous chamber and caused the nearest candle flames to flicker.

“Morta Plutonia Regina! One of these days I will finally teach you how to be nice to those in your charge, especially those who would call you their friend.”

Regina winced as she always does at her given name and returned the favor in kind with as much snark as she possibly could.

“I need no friends, Proserpina Libera,” she said. “I have the dead to keep me company.”

The story of their first meeting, and incidentally how Proserpina Libera became Ruby, then begins to play through Regina’s mind. Before long, she becomes so lost in the memory that time ceases to have any meaning whatsoever.

Her musings last until a ghostly bell rings in the distance. She emerges from wistful recollection to mournful chiming accompanied by plaintive voices singing an announcement that summer has ended and autumn has begun.

Once, there was no bell to quarterly drone and chant in languid harmony with the turning of seasons. Once, she was painfully alone amongst a swelling sea of souls thrust cruelly into her charge. Once, she was content to nurse her hatred of her elder sibling and ruler of Olympos whose envious betrayal resulted in Regina’s current circumstance, and she had bent that hatred and bitterness toward piling ever-more layers of jagged ice upon the impenetrable fortress that was her irreparably damaged heart. Once, there had been no evidence of life at all in this place that she called home save the frost of her breath and tortured moaning of the damned that plagued her every waking hour. Once, she had believed herself incapable of love and took great comfort in that belief.

But that was before her beloved rosa rubra strolled through the forest she was traversing in secret, and left upon every inch of earth those bare feet trod over a carpet of lush red roses.

The surface back then felt much further away, too far for Regina’s overtaxed attention to be concerned with happenings above yet too near to ever escape hope of being freed from her endless confinement. The only reason she kept up with current events was to better evaluate the lives of those she was constrained by unbreakable law to judge. One day she learned of a scandal detailing how her sister had become impregnated by a mortal man through spurious means and birthed a daughter who was a gifted huntress that won the heart of a princess. Knowing that her unforgivably wicked sibling Zelena would be unable to resist interfering, she arranged a brief excursion to terra firma. It had taken countless hours of planning and work, but she had managed to slip through an isolated section of the great Gates of Dīs while Cerberus was distracted (the brutish if not mildly adorable mongrel had still been hopelessly under the thrall of her sister, an enchantment that Ruby was blessedly able to break) and emerge in the land of the living for the first time in millennia.

At first Regina had been unable to do much more than marvel at the scenery. For thousands of years she had been trapped in a world of darkness that smelled and sounded and felt like death. But the world above was teeming with life, even the air smelled as though it were animate, and the overload of so much sensory input had nearly paralyzed her. Once she recovered, she began picking her way through the forest by foot as using her powers to travel would have alerted the Olympians that she was no longer present at her station.

About halfway through the journey, she was stopped cold by the sound of singing. That angelic verse was carried upon the wings of a gentle breeze straight through the mountainous walls of ice surrounding her heart. In moments so swift she was helpless to react, she physically felt her defenses shatter and her resolve to remain aloof from all emotion crumble. A single verse of that song had accomplished what the assembled armies of Olympos could not upon the bloody plains of Thessaly, a verse that she would eventually decree be recited each year by siren spirits upon the autumnal equinox. She was so mesmerized by the soft melodic quality of the singer’s voice that she would not know the rest of the song until Ruby performed it much later.

Recklessly, like a starving lion desperately trailing its only hope for survival, Regina followed the song to the edge of a tiny clearing. And then Regina saw her. In the midst, haloed by Apollo’s rays, she danced and sang as birds joined in with the melody and branches swayed hypnotically to the rhythm. Clad in a flowing crimson-trimmed dress, draped by a lavish red cloak, crowned by a wreath of fresh flowers with roses crawling up her bare arms; her expression open in untold wonderment, cheeks ruddy with the exhilaration of living; she was – and still is – the very epitome of beauty, and grace, and charm, and hope, and joy. Save for the wedding night, no sight before or since has ever rivaled that first glimpse of embodied perfection.

A deafening rumble shakes the cavernous hall as the earth above lazily yawns as if arising from a seasonal slumber, snatching Regina’s focus away from that first fateful meeting. From above, rubble rains down as mote and stone, and the prevailing sunlight filtering through the haze casts a diluted shadow across the hall.

She turns her eyes up, squinting to mitigate the intense pain of photo-sensitivity, and watches impassively as the detritus begins to mold itself into a great spiral staircase. One by one the steps arrange themselves, each uniform in shape and perfectly spaced out as she had commanded centuries ago via laborious incantation, until they have spanned from polished obsidian floors to vaulted granite ceiling.

With measured steps she ascends the newly formed stairway, her raven-down cloak billowing behind her. She holds her head high, proud and regale, as she ascends. Eager anticipation has caused her heart to thunder and her limbs to buzz with energy, but she is still a Queen. Always a Queen.

The afternoon sun hangs low on the horizon, her cousin having turned his attentions elsewhere in the world, and the air is crisp and clean. Death has yet to arrive in earnest, the foliage of the forest remains mostly verdant, but Regina can feel it approaching from every angle, a stooping, skulking specter whose insatiable hunger is gnawing to the point of agony. For a split second she falters, inundated by the cloying scent of nascent decay which beckons her to turn heel and descend into the realm where such monsters as herself belong.

And then she hears it, the introductory lines of a new song written solely for her:

My love, my love, to thee I call;

My love, the fairest of them all

With raven’s hair and silken skin.

I come at last to thee again!

As if an insect brushed away from one’s collar, death recedes into the back of her consciousness so that life can inhabit the space it has abandoned. Life that reverently whispers her name into the crook of her neck and the flesh of her shoulder, that holds her hand and brushes away the tears that began to fall again after infusing her with vitality she had never before experienced, and that loves her beyond any logical explanation and refuses to ever give up on her. Life that has a name, Ruby, and is currently waiting for her in meadow they both hold so dear.

Squaring her shoulders, Regina strides forward with renewed strength. She has a reunion to attend that she has been awaiting for six very long months. Until Ruby points it out, she will not even realize she is smiling.

#red queen ouat #regina mills #ruby lucas #regina x ruby #once upon a time #fanfic #a red queen take on hades and persephone

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hencethebravery · 3 years

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>> first and last lines writing game <<

I’ve been writing all wknd so I’m going to take advantage of that and play these games that @eirabach has been doing. I love you, boo.

Tagging: @jump-on-winds-back @mymostimaginaryfriend @justanotherwannabeclassic @distant-rose @jadeddiva @soft-october-night

>> 01. last line(s) you’ve written

01. wip, “dearly departed,” spn, deancas: Despite all this, and perhaps in keeping with his own preference for following through on his habits, he has never once stayed for Open Mic Night. It’s not as if he has anything against it in theory, he just never felt especially compelled to do so. And he was never a big fan of crowds generally.

“You should think about staying tonight,” Meg advises, sliding his third cup back over the counter. “I’ve heard this guy before, he’s good.”

02. wip, “the apportioners,” og: Case in point: Never betray a demi-god. Particularly one so unbelievably busted. Who would go so far as to force her to watch the other demi-god she is almost certainly (and regrettably) falling in love with, commit one more atrocity. To force her to watch her son die. Again. To force her to watch him choose between her and his family. Far, far more trouble than they’re worth. And sure—sure. She is angry. She may well always be angry. And yet. There’s the kitchen. The small, warm kitchen with the cream-colored tiled floors, inlaid with red grout. Where Edie makes too much bread and Estelle stores her spelled sourdough starters. Where Greg made her a cup of chamomile tea and described the unique softness of Clemente’s thread—how it curled and straightened and existed. And so she refuses. She refuses to do what some other irreparably broken version of her friend has expected her to do.

So. She lets him go. Again.

>> 02. first lines of my last 20 10 (20 is just... so fucking many; if you wanna do 20 be my guest but i have shit to do today) fics

01. wip, “dearly departed,” spn, deancas: Creative writing is so not his forte and really, what’s there to say about The Lodge that hasn’t already been said? A revolving door of adjectives that infect the collegiate discourse every few years—when some starry-eyed freshman sees the tall, thin door frame in all its carved, unknowable glory and gets it in their sweet, sweet head that surely no one has ever thought to opine on the virtues of a local, now-legendary establishment that seems to have haunted Main Street since long before time began. So, what is there to say that hasn’t already been said?

02. complete, “untitled,” spn, deancas: The two of ‘em establish the somewhat rude habit of bailing during get-togethers without telling anyone. They stop answering their phones at any point before noon shortly after that. He’d call it a side effect of New Couple Syndrome (NCS), but it’s something they continue doing long after any reasonable person would call something “new” (and honestly, he’s not even sure you could say it was “new” when it was new, technically).

03. complete, “untitled,” spn, deancas: There’s a fucking manticore in Memphis. Seriously. Human face, body of a lion, the whole freakin’ nine.

“Certainly one of the more… imaginative of God’s creatures,” Castiel muses, “albeit, unsustainable.”

04. complete, “herbalist’s guide to skyrim,” star wars, reylo: Rey Kenobi really needed to get in the habit of bringing dates to restaurants she had no emotional attachment to. She had already lost an unacceptable number of extremely dear favorites that had been there for her when she’d had less than nothing and now? Blighted by the memory of mediocre men who she knew she had given far too much power. She knew she had an association problem, okay? She and her mildly overpriced therapist were working on it. Had been working on it. For a while. She really missed the dumplings from Hunger Pang.

05. complete, “a grief observed,” star wars, reylo: The presumptive triumph inherent to the return of the self? Painfully short-lived. It is brief and blinding and there is a feeling akin to invincibility singing in his veins. A humming that echoes in the gruff tenor of what could only be his father’s voice. How it must have felt when the heroes made yet another daring escape—against all the odds. The euphoria that occurs when you have begun to think that maybe, just maybe, you’ve finally won. It makes the loss so much worse than he could have ever imagined. Not when you’ve gotten so close to having everything you never even knew you wanted. And that’s half the battle, isn’t it? Knowing what you want. Like it’s easy.

06. complete, “a super solid history of the “good old fashioned lover boy(s),” c. the beginning (or there about) to now-ish,” good omens, aziraphale x crowley: Perhaps one of the cruelest tricks that God has ever played (and the list was indeed long) was in allowing angels to believe they were incapable of love. There is some amount of debate as to whether or not this was entirely by accident. She was a busy woman after all━perhaps that was why it, the question of whether or not angels were truly capable of love, had slipped through one of her metaphysical cracks (of which, admittedly, there were many). Those who managed to refrain from falling had quite an easier time believing this particular theory to be very much the case. A largely unspoken, slightly offended, “She would never,” followed by an affirmation of the belief in the long held assumption that they were above such things anyway, so really, what did it even matter, and can we please return to the task at hand?

07. complete, “first family,” ouat, captain charming: If the chronically thin, awkward, and punk-ass 15 year old version of Killian Jones could have, somehow, opened a portal in time and space; a feat which might have allowed him to peer into the future in an attempt to witness what it might hold, he would have likely imbibed several ill-advised shots of cheap bloody rum, and then quite dramatically flung himself atop the rumpled sheets of his perpetually unmade bed. If the younger Jones had even an inkling of the type of life he’d be living as a 35 year old man─with a full time job, a mortgage, a husband, one wildly photogenic dog─he would have done everything in his power to steer himself off such a disturbingly clean-cut, well-behaved course.

08. complete, “untitled,” ouat, captain swan: Rather predictably (and not without a somewhat inevitable feeling of frustration), Emma Swan was one of those people who had never put much stock in the notion of “vibes.” She had a “freaking superpower,” according to Ruby, which allowed her to suss out the truth about people, but as soon as Ruby suggested that the same might be true of certain places, Emma had chuckled, as if it was some unheard of thing.

09. complete, “untitled,” ouat, captain charming: In the end, he’d chosen the place because to be quite bloody honest it was precisely where you might expect the writer of an obscure indie mag to live. It was an older building (a suitably generous designation), tucked in between the modernist monstrosities of the last 20 or 30 years. Replete with gorgeous, if not ill-kept, accoutrements framing the windows; crumbling steps and a brick exterior in varying shades of red and orange. The aesthetic was rounded out by the kind of neglectful landlord you might expect, a horrid man who frequently enjoyed reminding his tenants that he lived, “out of state,” and they’d have to, “be patient.”

10. complete,” untitled,” ouat, captain charming: There’s an old adage about assumptions that Killian Jones finds physically repulsive. It is so unerringly awful, in fact, that he won’t even deign to repeat the thing in his own head. You know what it is, it’s not as if he needs to speak the actual words. And regardless of the fact that there’s this old, tired saying about assumptions, people still do it, and he’s done it, and ya know what? It kind of worked out in his favor, so, take that.

#@alanabeans #@hencethewriter #attn blogging #i... truly can't spot the pattern #does someone else #not in my brain #see the patterns #cuz i can't see them #also i am so so excited about #(1) this deancas au #and (2) my novel

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theholycovenantrpg · 3 years

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CONGRATULATIONS, LIA! YOU’VE BEEN ACCEPTED FOR THE ROLE OF RAUM.

Admin Jen: Where do I even begin, Lia? Where do I even begin. Your app caught me by the heart the exact same way that Raum has gone on to covet and capture hearts of her own. I think she’s an easy character to undermine when you consider her underlying sentimentality, but you brought her to life in her viciousness and softness alike without letting one of them overshadow the other, and it’s exactly what I’ve envisioned for Raum. Your writing sample in particular was an utter joy to read, as it perfectly showcased that duality, and not only that but it also captured so many crucial aspects of Raum, all tied together in one amazing, heart-wrenching scene. Please continue breaking my heart with her -- I’m begging. Please create and send in your account, review the information on our CHECKLIST, and follow everyone on the FOLLOW LIST. Welcome to the Holy Land!

OUT OF CHARACTER

ALIAS | lia

AGE | twenty-two

PRONOUNS | she/her

ACTIVITY LEVEL | i’m a full time graduate student, so tuesdays and thursdays i’ll most likely be completely absent. other than that, expect me to pop in throughout the week. i can get kind of distracted ngl thx adhd

TIMEZONE | pst

TRIGGERS | REMOVED

HOW DID YOU FIND THE GROUP? | i think i know the admins from somewhere i don’t rlly remember tho

IN CHARACTER

CHARACTER | raum, raym, räum — "space, room, chamber"

there is no grandiose tale to accompany raum's arrival in hell. there had been no rise and no fall— her state of existence could only be likened to tabula rasa, a blank slate, wholly unaffected by a past that was just out of reach. the sum of her existence had been hell and hell alone.

lucifer and lucifer alone. he would never fail to remind her of this. the ceaseless parading of this fact, the whispers, the chilling reminders— all in his attempts to compel her into compliance— and appreciation. perhaps he once sought a more extraordinary use for her. perhaps he'd fallen victim to his own ego, an ego so inordinate that it left nearly every crevice and corner of hell untouched. perhaps he'd convinced himself that raum, empty and unaffected, could be fashioned into the quintessential soldier. re-education was often half the battle, so was raum not the ideal starting point?

while raum held no memories of her prior existence, she'd grown to understand that it was not emptiness that festered inside of her, but absence. she was aware of the memories that she lacked. the knowledge that something was being withheld from raum made all the difference. it gave her something to chase. it allowed her something to fixate on and covet. she knew something had been stolen from her. she was not the vacant expanse that she'd been made out to be.

this was before it all. before heaven. before samael. before eve. before caphriel.

raum— who could lay no claim to an origin, no family, surname, or inheritance— had silently been offered a choice in who she would serve first and foremost— lucifer or herself?

it was easy to choose herself. if she had nothing at all, she had herself and the lack that existed within her. this much she knew, and what she would carry as lucifer banished her to the outskirts of hell to keep guard. finally— raum discovered something akin to recognition.

the darkness, the chasm where hell stopped and nothing began— would be an inscrutability that she recognized within herself. for the first time, raum would come to see the darkness as a possibility— as potential. she'd been a canvas stripped away of its imagery, painted over to be made blank, but the job had been executed poorly, and traces of what once existed in bits and fragments just outside of her reach.

raum, who possessed no right of her own, would invoke her abilities to lay claim to the belongings of others. she began filling herself, the unoccupied room, with any or everything— as long as it was not hers. soon, she would make a collection out of borrowed memories, jewels, and hearts. even the slightest pang of jealously drove raum to action.

yet, what use was filling an empty room with items that don't belong to you? items that don't have that same familiarity or ownership that comes with the rightful acquisition of something. and most of all— she could never figure out how to obtain what she coveted most of all. the things should could not have became what she desired most.

identity. belonging. purpose. history.

—nevermind that, though. damien had anointed her in the flames of the new testament. he’d deemed her his vice of envy, and breathed purpose into her hallowed existence. but what of her past? what of the demon who would swallow heaven in its entirety, even if it devoured her in return?

WHAT DREW YOU TO THIS CHARACTER? | where do i even start?!?!? raum was the first character i fell head over heels for. even as i considered different possibilities, i always found myself right back on raum’s bio. she’s absolutely chaotic to her core, and i adore her all the more for it. from the contempt that took hold of her the moment reached hell, to her almost neverending pursuit of what she believes is owed to her. lucifer had done something unforgivable— and that was stripping her of her personhood. this created a gaping chasm, one she would silently resent him for even in his absence. what i find so fascinating about raum is how young of a demon she is how she deals with the insatiable longing festering within her— how jealously and greed exists in every aspect of her world— even in in her relationships with the few beings that she cares about. she is unapologetic of her possessiveness. she is unafraid to make what she wants known, and unafraid to pursue what she wants. she is fiercely loyal, and it is not easy to gain her trust. while some people wear their hearts on their sleeves, raum cuts a piece of it out for every person she comes to love— if they first offer her a piece of their heart in return. she possesses a passion that’s unmatched, emotions that are not regulated nor fully understood. i would love to bring this agent of chaos to the dash.

WHAT FUTURE PLOTS DID YOU HAVE IN MIND FOR THIS CHARACTER? |

from eden / few mortals have captured raum’s attention in the way that evangeline trame has. she is one of the several beings raum covets, and the only other mortal who'd successfully ensnared her attentions— with the first one being eve. nonetheless, raum wants more than anything for. evangeline to become one of her agents of chaos. she reminds the woman that they share more common ground than she may have liked. she also has a sneaking suspicion that the woman might be eve— this is a dynamic i'm very excited to see play out. will it be a game of cat and mouse? cat and cat? she promises evangeline everything she's ever wanted, but how much trust can evangeline put into the jealous demon? how can she prevent herself from falling victim to raum's tempestuous envy? raum is careful not to underestimate a powerful woman, and i'm excited to see how raum's pursuit of evangeline plays out.

to be alone / samael had been the first being raum intertwined her existence with as. though it is samael who is her foundation— it is caphriel who is her mirror. she shares raum’s deep, inexplicable yearning for something they’d been denied access too, even if they couldn’t be anymore different in that regard. nonetheless, raum would like more than anything than for caphriel to belong to her— in the way samael has professed his belonging. when raum realizes that caphriel has changed him in ways she does not understand, when she realizes that something shared between them, something she is inevitably left out of… well, will derail her sense of self, as dramatic as that is. this is a triangle of chaos that i am excited to explore. will raum succumb to her jealousy, doing everything in her power to drive them apart? or will she come to accept their acquaintance for what it is— embrace it even? this is something i would discuss and plot further with the players, but i’m quite excited for it!

someone new / i want raum to gradually unravel the threads of her existence, but at a cost. what if raum were to discover that her past was not grand in the way that she desires if it does not fufill the emptiness permeating through her? this will be fun to play out on the dash, because there’s no telling when and how a memory will be triggered within her. i saw this as something that would occur sporadically, but eventually i imagine raum growing weary of the unintelligible fragments. she’s already pursued heaven, and who’s to say that she won’t search for answers in other places? perhaps she’ll seek out the priestess for the hundred eyed god, orias, or even caphriel. there’s no telling the lengths she will go to discover herself, and i am excited to play this out, especially as she grows increasingly restless and desperate in her attempts.

ARE YOU COMFORTABLE WITH KILLING OFF YOUR CHARACTER? | yes. my only stipulation is that she learns the truth of her existence beforehand.

IN DEPTH

DRIVING CHARACTER MOTIVATION | the very absence that raum seeks to eradicate is the entity that operates her in her every waking moment. she wants more than anything to grow into her newly ordained role as vice of envy, but she cannot forsake her past and propel herself to the future like she truly desires. having been so close to heaven once, and now being so far, has only caused her fixation with the angels, and their potential associated tenfold. it is important that the distinction between admiration and fixation are made. between longing coveting. it is not love or hope raum sees when hers eyes linger on an angel for a moment too long. it is some parts greed, and every part jealously. they had what she did not— an entire world that was made without her in mind. what was not to want about that? raum’s adoration in heaven lies in her attraction to what is not hers. the farther the divide between her and the objects of her affection, the more she yearns for it. she is the vice of envy after all— and not an inch of the world will be left unaffected by her plundering.

Character Traits |

DEVOTED, PASSIONATE, INQUISITIVE

VINDICTIVE, POSSESSIVE, VOLATILE

In-Character Para Sample | TW DEATH

his hand did not leave the caress of her cheek as he met her forehead with a pillowy kiss. he could feel the entirety of her face turn upwards in delight— a faint blush now visible across her face. eye contact was barely broken, if only for a few moments as if they could not bear the sight of the world without confirmation that the other was there. delight and laughter capitulated through him as she recalled a fond joke, or perhaps a silly memory involving the two of them. nothing else mattered in that moment. not the drizzling rain, or the worn umbrella that was doing a half-assed job at shielding them. nothing mattered when love swelled their entire beings.

raum watched with a curious expression at first. she was familiarizing herself further with the couple seated directly across from her, through a hardened, yet almost inviting gaze. perhaps raum had not been friendly, but there was something about her curiosity that roused something recognizable in others. perhaps this is why the woman’s eyes lingered on raum’s a moment too long. or perhaps it had been her staring at them for an extended period of time.

he plants a kiss to her damp palm.

as she routinely twists the rings that line her each and every finger, raum can feel the curiosity gradually drain from her body, leaving something far darker in its wake. lazily, it begins to expand in her veins— outstretching itself like a lazy feline— finding comfort in the absence that occupied her every edge and crevice. it then begins to suffocate nearly every inch of her, twisting her heart and mind— her stomach now heavy and knotted. she draws the cup shakily to pouting, and downturned lips, eyes never drawing themselves away from the couple now in a loving embrace.

there was no pulling away now, no denying the familiar covetousness that blistered her heart. invisible, excess envy brimmed at each of her edges. soon, raum’s envy would become no longer just a raum problem…

unblinking, she watched as the stranger told a story she could only make out parts of, as she began to center her envy in her core. nothing else in that moment occupied the chasm of her mind. not heaven. not samael. not her eve. not hell. not damien, lucifer— or even caphriel. not the sweat that began pooling at her temples, not the smudging of her lipstick on the brim of the coffee cup.

it was her and her alone.

her heart, more specifically. raum could sense the goodness within her, the unbridled and unpolluted love. the woman had been sure of herself in ways that she was not. she’d been sure of herself and sure of her love— something raum could never begin to understand. she had been a being created for chaos— not a human free to pursue their heart’s desires. in that very moment, that woman possessed everything raum did not have. her grip on the coffee cup tightened, her lacquered hand offering no mercy to the now empty, suffocating coffee cup. had they’d ever been doubtful in their love? it did not appear so. how foolish of them to put so much stock into something as temporary and fickle as human affections.

but why had it been them? why had raum not been her? her body hummed faintly with something terrible, something wicked— something undetected by the naked human eye.why had that not been her? why had what they had not been hers? questions of why occupied her mind. questions she could no control, questions that threatened to burst from her at any moment. if she’d been human, her heart would’ve surely exploded. no other thoughts allowed her a clear exit from this newest fixation. it would take action to free her from this condition, from this longing that threatened to drive her to the brink of destruction. it would consume her if she did not consume it. if she did not feed it. and raum was never one to be consumed by another.

as the coffee cup drifted from her palms, and as raum’s eyes drifted shut, she relinquished all control momentarily to her greed…

it was if raum momentarily exited her body and into the body of the woman. she felt everything she felt, even her subtle resistance, but she knew better than to get caught up in the inner workings of a mortal. that was how she tended to lose focus, and suffer the loss of an object. it did not take long to find her vivacious heart. raum wondered if the people she stole from truly understood what was occurring while it happened. she wondered if they truly understood that they’d fallen victim to the vice of envy. how much every object meant to her, despite how disposable she’d treated the people she’d acquired them from.

she’d uncovered her heart. a heart the woman had no intention of parting with, but whose intentions and needs fell on deaf ears. there was only one way to escape raum when she’d reached this point. diverting her focus or utter resistance was difficult for the mere, average mortal. even with all the love in the woman’s heart, even with her not being ready to let go of the man before her, she lost her will to fight at every moment. death had come for her, in ways she did not yet understand, but perhaps she would soon. her love had not been enough to save her. his love had not been enough to save her.

there’d been no blood in raum’s acquisition, no visible marks left in her wake— only a woman now motionless in the man who’d once caressed her cheeks arms. his pleas, his panic, his perplexion all meant nothing. deep, wounded sobs wracked the entirety of his body, while a foggy, almost drunken haze settled within raum.

her love had not been enough. the temporary high had settled into a residual no. her love had not been enough. it was never enough because it had not her love to have.

disappointment ushered through her veins. one of the stranger’s sobs had been particularly earth-shattering— not enough to draw attention from the empty expanse, but enough for raum’s eyes to flicker from the shadow that caressed her.

had she ever known that sense of loss? she had no way of knowing whether or not she’d been familiar with an unexpected loss. he’d now resorted to attempting to carry her body around the perimeter, searching for someone— anyone to restore his lost love. he paraded his lover around for a white flag— completely unaware that she’d was the most recent victim to the vice of envy. little had he known, but his pleas were no longer falling upon deaf ears.

raum, finally rising from the shadows, approached the pleading man, who now was on the floor attempting to resuscitate his love. it was not pity she felt in that moment. if she ever did feel pity, it was immediately replaced with something more rotten, and she could feel the envy bubble within her once more. she was tired, but not exhausted enough for one more acquisition.

she longed to feel the sense of loss he felt. the recognition that existed in his loss— one that was not present in her lack. though she’d lost her memories, it was difficult to mourn when being unable to pinpoint exactly what she wanted to mourn. how she longed for her sadness to be given direction. how she longed to have a specific entity to pour her grief into.

she drew closer to the man, lowering herself to his level, with his sobs eventually quieting as he met her gaze.

i can make it all go away.

he was silent for several minutes before turning back to raum with a face sullied by grief. he would accept her offer.

part of her wondered if he wholly understood what he was agreeing to. if he truly understood the entity that hummed before him.

a cold palm extended itself, meeting the outline of his chest, and moments later, he would collapse alongside his love, his heart now entirely in raum’s possession.

if only he understood that her love would have never been enough, she thinks as she wearily rises to her feet, beginning the trek back home, leaving the bodies to be discovered by someone unexpected.

samael would not believe her when she told him of the two hearts she’d stolen.

Extras |

(NO GRAVE CAN HOLD MY BODY DOWN / I’LL CRAWL HOME TO HER) » SAMAEL

in the beginning, there had been raum and raum alone. of course, there’d been lucifer, but she held little regard for her reviver. she had no intention of regarding him as her creator. even when being faced with the illegible chasm of her mind. there was purpose in the absence he continued to instill in her. if she could not remember a life before him— then that meant life was meaningless before him, for what use did she have of a life she knew nothing about? an intangible world that she only knew existed because of the lack it left her with— an emptiness she’d grown so familiar with. it was the void that never abandoned her; it was the absence she learned and grew to understand. it was lucifer’s omission that she could comprehend, far better than raum could even begin to understand another demon, with the shadows coming in a close second. and so, it was never raum and the demons, it was never raum and lucifer because she never belonged to them— not to him. that is why samael would become her fulcrum of time— why she conceptualized her existence as life before him and life with him. before samael, she recalls nothing— nothing of importance for that matter.

there were the angels, but they were not hers, heaven was not hers, and she’d arrived at no real solution in her pursuit. what she could not have quickly took a back burner to what she was able to acquire. freshly fallen, with an unmistakable sense of shared loss, it would still take raum several months before she eventually materialized as more than a shadow in samael’s vicinity. inquisitorial to an almost meddlesome degree, she had no way of knowing her scrutiny would warp into something more— into something entirely separate from her fixation with heaven. it was with samael that raum would come to understand what it meant to belong to another being. before him, raum only knew what it meant to covet the possessions of others, whether it be material goods, or a sense of wholeness she could not achieve. she knew how to conquer and consume, but not how to give— never how to belong.

she would joke about stealing his heart, or possibly an eye or two, and samael would remind her how fruitless this pursuit would be, a complete and utter waste of energy when he already belonged to her in his entirety. although, she was free to knock herself out, idiomatically and literally, as that would require a significant amount of her powers, causing an energy shift that made her tired to a humanlike degree. raum would roll her eyes in what had become routine between them, and her stubborn silence would become reminder enough that she belonged to him.

EVANGELINE » (HONEY, YOU'RE FAMILIAR, LIKE MY MIRROR YEARS AGO)

from eden did eve's aura rise, and in the crevices of raum's mind she would remain, sheathed in the carefully constructed shadows where memories once ventured. the universe offered her glimpses of something otherworldly— a being so splendid that raum could not comprehend them in her current condition. raum was first met with her divine fragments as she maneuvered through the dark pockets of the mortal realm. was it by chance that raum focused her sights on evangeline? or had their encounter been woven into the stars, as decreed by the cosmos? or was it because everyone who'd been in their way was now dead? no longer was lucifer or god there to regulate their memories for their selfish gains.

raum knew this— evangeline knew this too. something shared passed between them as their eyes joined. it took only a split second for her to decide against taking anything from her familiar. so much had been taken from them already; she could not bear to see evangeline parting with anything else. not before finding what she was in search of, at least. raum needed the mortal woman as whole as possible— if she wanted to stand a fighting chance at discovering who she really was— whether she’d really been eve. her eve. with each encounter that followed, the mutual ground seemed to increase tenfold. in evangeline, raum recognized a profound chasm; insatiable covetousness left in place of her memories. a desire for something that could not be acquired on a quick whim, something not satisfied with material or capital gain. what raum promised was identity. recognition. this is what she continued to make known to her, through their sporadic encounters— though raum was always cautious about the practiced amount of distance she set forth between them. it allowed her the upper hand, but patience and discipline had never been her strong suits. the more she comes across evangeline, the greater her fixation becomes— as does the urge to unearth what's been kept from her for all these centuries.

what could it possibly be that neither of us were meant to see? evangeline asks as raum's eyes drink in her bronze visage, reeling in her fascination to momentarily ponder a potential response for the mortal's question. i can't give you a specific reasoning unfortunately, raum utters as she frustratingly scans the fragments of her memories for the 1000th time. but why has always been fairly obvious to me. the knowledge we possessed posed a threat to their power structures. and two powerful men couldn't have that, now could they? a triumphant smirk coasts across raum's curious expression. nevermind them though. most kings get their heads cut off in due time.

pintrest: https://www.pinterest.com/BLACKISMS/r-a-u-m/

#accepted #accepted: raum

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nellie-elizabeth · 5 years

Text

Really long and rambling Queliot analysis...

Okay, so I have some Queliot Thoughts that I wanted to write out before the finale murders us all. This isn't discourse about the show's handling of queer rep. I have thoughts about that too, but this is more about the relationship and how I view it in universe, not in terms of the writing/authorial intent. This gets very long so I'll put it under the cut.

Also I wrote this quickly and didn’t really edit for content so seriously please be warned... this is kind of a mess. Here goes.

I'm such a fan of angst and obviously I love all of the angst-y interpretations of everything post-3x05 given the conversation we learn about in 4x05. But before I saw 4x05, I always sort of had this different interpretation of Queliot in the aftermath of the mosaic timeline, and I find it really compelling.

So, Q and Eliot get their memories of the mosaic timeline back, and it's obviously really emotional and intense for them both, but their memories aren't necessarily crystal clear. Some things feel incredibly real and immediate, but other things feel like they happened in a dream, or under water, or just slightly... off. But without realizing it, totally subconsciously, they just sort of... operate like a couple. Not in terms of confessing their love or holding hands or anything obvious like that, but they're just so comfortable and in sync with each other. Their minds are used to living in close quarters, sharing a bed, sharing the little pains and joys of everyday life, and so they just keep doing it without meaning to. We as the audience get to see that play out in 3x06. Eliot doesn't even think about what he's doing, he just straightens Q's clothes for him, and they lean into each other on instinct, El giving Q that little forehead kiss. (Obviously in light of Eliot's rejection, that scene seems super sad to us now, but I also like the idea that it's just an ingrained instinct for them to behave that way).

We know, from a writing standpoint, that the revelation in 4x05 wasn't something that was planned all along, it was developed as they were writing that episode. That means that the majority of season 3 doesn't take it into account. So, when Q is being tormented by the depression key, none of his insecurities or self-loathing are tied back to Eliot, and the rejection he has just faced. But if you go with this interpretation, Q doesn't feel insecure about Eliot. I kind of love the idea that even though Eliot regrets what he said to Q, he wasn't 100% wrong, either.

Now, by that I don't mean that Eliot was right when he said they wouldn't choose each other. That was hurtful, and it sucks that El didn't trust Q to know his own mind in terms of his sexuality in particular. I absolutely think Eliot owes Q an apology. But there's that moment when Eliot reminds Q that they've just been hit by 50 years of emotions all at once. I think there's some truth to the idea that jumping in to a serious relationship would have been a mistake. (I want to pause and say that my head-canon is all in service of an eventual Queliot endgame, OF COURSE). Q and El remember this life they've lived together, but I don't think that those 50 years have stuck entirely in their minds and their development, if that makes sense. This goes back to my theory that their memories, while real, retain a certain element of dream-like or hazy quality to them.

In that moment, if Eliot had said yes to Q in the throne room, they probably would have been so happy. For a while. But I think Eliot would freak out any time something came up that they hadn't had to deal with in the mosaic timeline. I think Q would be too nostalgic for a life they never lived, and I think the pressure to replicate or repeat that life would have torn them up inside. Let's say that in the moment, Q is crushed by Eliot's rejection, and El hates himself so much for being a coward that he locks that memory inside of himself and never thinks about it.

And let's say that the next day, Quentin has had some time to think about it, and he decides that his relationship with Eliot is good. It's always going to be good because it always has been. They can be together, be a couple, or not - and neither option is going to ruin their long and loving life together. Neither option could possibly cause a rift in something so fundamental and true in both of their lives. Eliot and Quentin are not ordinary friends, and that was true long before the quest took them into Fillory of the past, and it will be true long after, no matter what.

Think about their relationship - when they meet in season one, they are both deeply damaged people. They do a very destructive thing under the influence of the emotion potions and Eliot's substance abuse, and have sex with each other and with Margo. And while this causes huge problems for Alice and Q, and while Margo and Q have their falling out over it, Eliot and Q seem... fine. They never really have an on-screen apology or reconciliation, because they didn't have a falling out. Q yells at Eliot in that scene in 1x12, but El is way too fucked up and in his own head to really care. As Eliot heals his own issues, he and Q come out of the whole thing stronger than ever. They've been loving and supporting each other since they met, and I think when you compare their friendship to the other ones in Q's life, it's really the most stable, consistent support system he has. Obviously Alice really loves him, and obviously Julia is awesome and they get to a really good place eventually too... but Eliot is really the only character with whom Q doesn't have a lot of bumpy road to travel.

So Q is disappointed that Eliot doesn't think they should give their relationship a shot, but Q also knows Eliot really well. Maybe he doesn't fully understand that Eliot regrets rejecting him, because Q's not a mind-reader, but I think Q does know that Eliot loves him, and that's something he can be confident about, no matter how that love manifests.

Throughout the rest of season 3, Eliot is repressing the fact that he fucked up and he wishes he could be with Q, but Q is quietly, contentedly, finding ways to move on from the hopes he briefly had that maybe he and Eliot could be together. Q will always love Eliot, and if he knew how Eliot was feeling, he'd probably fight for them and all that... but his heart isn't shattered into a million pieces or anything. He gets to be Eliot's friend. He gets to love him always, and that's enough for him.

The end of season three arrives, and Q makes his choice to sacrifice himself and stay with the monster. So many people have tied this decision to Queliot, saying that Q was willing to give up his freedom because he had nothing to live for, since Eliot doesn't want him. In my less angst-y interpretation, Q is being a hero. He's making a sacrifice. I also think, applying Queliot to the decision, he feels like he's already had a wonderful, full life. He got to experience marriage and fatherhood and growing old. That ties in with his conversation with his dad. He's willing to sacrifice a lot to bring magic back, because in some ways he's not sacrificing anything. It's obviously not a happy thought, spending eternity in a castle with a scary monster, but it's something he's genuinely willing to do. Eliot, on the other hand, is not in the same good place emotionally that Quentin is. He's simmering with love and regret over the loss of his loving partnership with Q, in a way that Q doesn't understand because he took Eliot's rejection mostly at face value, and forgave him and moved on from it in a mostly healthy way. That's why Eliot can't respect Q's choice, and shoots the monster with the god-killing bullet. He can't stand the thought of never seeing Q again.

Flash-forward to 4x05. Q is in a really bad place because his dad is dead and he believes Eliot is dead, not to mention all the drama with Alice suddenly showing up again, and then Eliot does The Thing - he breaks through and he says "proof of concept" and he says "peaches and plums," and Q is so fucking relieved and he loves Eliot so fucking much, and now he has hope, a desperate, frantic hope, of saving Eliot's life. I think the whiplash of losing Eliot and then the potential of getting him back is probably enough to stir up a lot of the emotions that Q thought he had put to rest. But, in keeping with what I've written above, Q hasn't been harboring a broken heart all this time. He's been in love with Eliot, sure, but that was a settled part of him, something true but dormant, if that makes sense. We can't forget that when 4x05 starts, Q believes that Eliot is dead, and hasn't seen Alice since her terrible betrayal. During the course of one single episode, Alice is back in his life, and he talks to Eliot, discovering the chance to get him back. These are his two main love interests of the show, and there's definitely a parallel being drawn with the fact that they're both suddenly back in his life at the exact same time.

I want to take a moment to say that I don't actually have a big problem, character-and-plot-wise, with Qualice. If Queliot had never been introduced in canon, I'd probably root for them. I don't think I would have been an avid and passionate shipper, or anything, but I'd find the story compelling. In fact, I still do find it compelling, I just no longer root for them to end up together. There are so many stories with the will-they-won't-they element, but there's something cool and slightly different about Qualice, in my opinion. We don't have to wait long for the "will they." They do, half way through the first season of the show. And then they break up in a spectacularly dramatic way, and Alice dies shortly afterwards. For the rest of the show thus far, their romantic plot thread has been about seeing if they can crawl their way back to what they once had, and even if they get there, is it what they remember? Are they the same people who fell in love with each other? Often in genre shows, where death is impermanent, the deaths of major characters are there for plot reasons, they're there for angst reasons, but often the lasting effect of something like that doesn't really play out. Here, the ramifications of Q and Alice's relationship from season 1 are only just starting to get unpacked here at the end of season 4. Some people might find that incredibly aggravating, because they're sick and tired of the relationship, but I actually find it compelling, as long as they don't erase Alice's development for the sake of her love for Q.

We also have to remember that the story's not over yet. Q and Alice trying again makes perfect sense to me, given everything that's happened on the show so far. But it also makes perfect sense to me that they finally work out that while they will always love each other deeply, they aren't going to make it as a couple. If we look at how I've imagined Q's inner thoughts and feelings since 3x05 happened, he's not wallowing in misery over Eliot. He loves him, but he loves Alice too, and he doesn't think that Eliot is an option for him right now. Maybe the "proof of concept" thing threw him for a loop, but Q has known all along that Eliot loves him... that was never a question in his mind. He still believes that Eliot decided not to be with him, despite the fact that they love each other. And Alice? Alice was his first love. Alice is someone who he hurt deeply, and who hurt him deeply in return, and Q likes to fix things. He wants to fix this, and I say it makes perfect sense for him to give it a try.

So how would I go from here, if I were in charge of the show? Well, let's assume that Q, Alice, and Eliot all actually walk out of the finale tomorrow alive. I'm not sure I think that's likely, but let's pretend. Obviously we get an awesome reunion hug, and tears and joy and Margo is there and Eliot gets to cuddle with her and with Q and everyone cries.

So now we’re in season 5. Eliot learns that Q and Alice are together now, and while he's disappointed, he decides to follow through with the promise he made to Memory!Q when he was trapped. He pulls Q aside and tells him he's sorry for what happened when Q asked him to be with him. Q is a bit startled at the apology, and Eliot explains that he deeply regrets being so dismissive. Eliot isn't sure if the two of them would have worked together or not, but that's not the point. Q was being open and vulnerable and honest, and Eliot brushed it aside. He downplayed the importance of their life together on the mosaic quest, and he hates himself for making Q think he was alone in his feelings. Q tells Eliot that he understands, and he's happy to think that maybe now they can share their memories of their life together without this barrier between them. Q leaves the conversation at first feeling like he's gotten some closure, and Eliot is wrestling with a totally unfamiliar feeling of jealousy and heartbreak as he watches Q and Alice go on with rebuilding their romance. (In my head-canon, Eliot was never jealous of Arielle and the three of them were in a totally happy, loving, devoted poly relationship, so Eliot has truly never felt jealous of anyone over Q before).

But then, because this is The Magicians, some magic shenanigans brings some stuff to light. We've seen the show do stuff with sex magic before, with Q and Alice, and there was Penny-23 worshiping Julia, so I would want there to be a scenario where maybe sex magic was required, but there's a twist about it being between life-time lovers, or something. Or maybe it's a truth serum that forces people to reveal any and all secrets, so Alice and the rest of the gang finally learn about the mosaic timeline. Something magic-y and plot-important-y happens that forces Q and Eliot to talk and think more about the mosaic timeline, in some form, and Eliot, either out of necessity because of the magic, or because of the emotions it brings up, confesses to Q that he's still in love with him and wants to be with him.

Q is shocked, and confused, because he felt like he had reconciled his love for Eliot and his love for Alice in his mind. He loves them both, and since Eliot doesn't want to be with him like that, it was okay for him to love them both and try to build a life with Alice. But now? Suddenly realizing that Eliot is an actual option for him? It hits him that he really wants that, that he had it backwards. He thought Alice was the love of this life, and Eliot was the love of a life he once lived. But instead, Alice is the memory of something he once had that made him really happy, and Eliot is the here-and-now. But he's made a commitment to Alice, so he's incredibly torn. I want Alice to be the one to dump Q. She realizes that he's thinking about staying with her out of obligation, and she tells him she deserves better than that, and runs into Kady's arms and decides that she needs to be single for a while, and continue to work on redeeming herself and finding her purpose and goals in life.

But now, see, Eliot is insecure because he thinks if Q chooses to be with him now, it's only because Alice decided not to be with him. It goes back to the whole "not when we have a choice" thing. We'd have a couple of conversations, some insecurities and doubts, and then some other dramatic plot-y thing would happen where Eliot or Q are in danger and the other one has to do something heroic to save them, and there's a desperate thank-god-you're-alive kiss, and that leads to an honest conversation and a decision to try and see where their relationship might take them.

Aaaannnd... scene.

This ended up way longer than I thought it would... lol. Congrats if you actually got to the end. I think the reason I felt compelled to write this is that I wanted to see a way of writing Queliot that felt actually true to the character development we've seen on the show thus far. When I'm reading fic, you can bet I LOVE reading about how Quentin is madly in love with Eliot, and Alice is a non-factor, or how Q and Eliot have both been silently pining ever since 3x05... but that doesn't square with the canon of the show. How do we reconcile what we've actually seen on screen, in terms of Quentin's character development, and Eliot's and Alice's as well? I think the above analysis is as sound as any other I've seen, and if the show actually follows through on the Queliot build-up, it would be an organic way for them to start to bring that relationship to the forefront without betraying Q's canonical and on-going love for Alice, and the fact that there's no hard textual evidence to support the idea that Q and El have actually been pining for each other this whole time. Just because they've got other people in their lives, even other loves, doesn't mean they couldn't still end up getting together on this show.

Fingers fucking crossed.

#my posts #queliot #the magicians #magicians #quentin coldwater #eliot waugh #alice quinn #the finale is going to kill me dead you guys

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revengeisalwaysanoption · 5 years

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Can you write something about Niccoli being depressed/ having an episode and boys trying to make him feel better?

He doesn't even know how it started.

Well, he has been feeling low for a couple of days could barely get out of bed to eat something and shower but... It has happened before, and it has always helped to have Martino with him. Not lately.

Usually he blames the weather - it's worse when outside it's all dark and rainy - but he can't even have that, now. There isn't a cloud in the sky, as he looks out the window. It adds insult to injury, as if there was some kind of higher power telling him 'How can you feel so unhappy, when the sun is shining and everything is fine out there?'

Rationally, he knows that it must have something to do with the exams fast approaching in June but it has never been so bad.

He is fucking tired of being told "Stop worrying about the future."

It’s not something he does on purpose, and it’s always too late when he realizes that his mind drifted where it wasn't allowed to.

Does Martino know how exhausting it is to persuade himself that his fears have no reason to exist?

How dumb his inability to take things as they come, minute by minute, makes him feel?

Sooner or later, he will have to choose what to do with this life. Postponing the decision doesn’t make it disappear. It’s always there, at the back of his mind. With all its potential downfalls.

He hasn’t even brought up the topic of moving to Milan, because he dreads both a positive (‘so you can’t wait for me to leave, uh?) and a negative reaction (it’s my future we’re talking about, stop making it about you!’) from Marti.

He can’t see himself living in Rome for another year, but he can't be without Martino.

That's absurd. It's not healthy to be so co-dependent on someone. He needs to learn how to survive without him. Besides, Martino deserves better than dating a nutjob that keeps on dragging him down, with his weird moods and paranoid fears of being abandoned. And it doesn't matter how many times he will tell Nico that he isn't going anywhere. Eventually, he will walk away. Niccolò will do something to fuck this up, like he always does.

Martino will get tired of having to talk sense into him, of his love being doubted and put to test all the fucking time. Of fighting about money, of telling him that he can pay for himself and doesn’t need Niccolò to cover all his expenses.

He will soon understand that they don’t have much in common, that they rarely listen to the same music or appreciate the same movies, books or tv shows. That they don’t even work that well as friends.

He can’t have Marti here, when he’s clearly not taking proper care of himself. Studying when he should be sleeping, eating too little, because babysitting Niccolò is a full time job.

It makes everything worse.

He hates that Martino turn down invitations from the boys just to spend time with him. Hates himself for letting that happen.

"Why don't you just go? Get lost. Stop wasting your time with a depressed fuck like me, Marti! There’s nothing you can do…”

It's a low blow, and he knows it. He regret those words as soon as they are out of his mouth, but it’s too late to take them back. Those are the very same words Martino in that bathroom, all those months ago, when he talked about his own mother. They are like a slap to his face, but Marti still refuses to back down.

“I was wrong, and you know it. Nico, please. Don’t shut me out.”

And he wants to open the door and surrender to his soft touch, to break down in his arms. Put his mind to rest for a while. But he can’t be that selfish.

“Go. I’m begging you, Marti. Leave.” He bites back his tears, holding tighter onto his pillow.

"As you wish." Martino chokes out, defeated, walking away.

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

Martino is persistent, and stubborn.

It's both a blessing and a curse.

He's glad to know that he cares, that he won't give up on him when things get tough. That he can sense when Niccolò is self-sabotaging himself and he won't have any of that.

It's a painful reminder of how little Nico is giving back, how he should be the better man and let Marti find someone who can hand him the world.

He keeps trying to reach out to him, with a few 'hey, call me when you feel better' and a 'thinking about you

'I know you’re trying, but... you're not helping.' He texts back, resorting to half-truths.

It works, but it doesn’t take too long before he starts to regret it.

It has been barely more than 24 hours since he last got a text from Martino, but it feels like a week.'Well done, Niccolò. You drove him away. Mission accomplished.'He mutters to himself, throwing the phone against the wall so violently that its pieces go flying all over the room.

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

Giovanni is the first to show up. He doesn’t ask about their fight, doesn’t even mention Martino.

He sits in front of the door and starts making small talk, telling him about the last movie he has seen and the book he’s reading at the moment.

“I never thought I would like Nick Hornby, you know, but then Eva got Slam for me, because you know, she figured it was about skateboarding… it isn’t, but that’s okay, it’s good… and I actually liked it so much I went looking for more. I bet you’d love Juliet, naked. It’s about music, but it’s nowhere as pretentious as High Fidelity is. It’s a book against pretentiousness when it comes to art, really. I have it here, with me, if you want to give it a try.”

Niccolò doesn’t contribute much to the conversation, but Giovanni doesn’t seem to mind.

He moves on to the latest news from school, about Luchino and how disappointed he was to find out there are plenty of girls crushing on Gio and Elia but none interested in him.

“Can you believe he handed out an anonymous survey?”

“Well. It’s Luca we’re talking about…” They both laugh at that, and Niccolò finally feels comfortable enough to ask if Martino asked him to come and check on him.

“No, zi’… He didn’t have to. I am here for you, is that so hard to believe?” Yes. Yes, it is. “And I’m not leaving until you read this and tell me what you think about this.” He waves his latest essay in front of the yellow tinted glass. He’s just about to try sliding it under the door, when Niccolò finally gives up and lets him in.

“Wow, you look like you haven't slept in a week.”

“Thanks.” He looks up, only to feel crushed by the weight of Giovanni’s concerned glare. How can he be calm, so composed, when Niccolò just broke his best friend’s heart again? “Would you like some coffee, while I read this?”

It’s good. Nico doesn’t agree with half of the things he wrote, but Gio knows how to make a compelling argument and make him go ‘Okay, you have a point there.” His essay is informative, never patronizing or sounding like the same old propaganda. It’s hard to believe he didn’t get a 10 for it. ‘8 for overuse of semi-colons, inconsistencies in style and voice.’

Bullshit. Galante couldn’t give mark that essay with a 10 because he couldn’t stand to read opinions different from his own, couldn’t have students thinking they should pursue writing as a career only to end up like him, teaching Italian literature to a bunch of idiots who couldn’t tell the difference between a metaphor and a metonymy.

“Ha! They keep telling me I’m projecting, that I’m the teacher’s pet but I knew you’d understand! He is lenient with those who can barely write down a coherent and grammatically correct thought, but God forbid if he actually acknowledges excellence! Not that I’m that good, but…”

Hey, hey, hey. No self-deprecation allowed in this room, unless it’s coming from Niccolò himself.

“You are. I mean, I’m no literary critic but I think you’re great. This is great.”

“Says Mr. 9/10.”

“I’m no better than you, I just mastered the art of telling people what they want to hear.”

“Ever thought about getting into politics?”

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

It’s Elia, next.

He doesn’t even knock, just walks in to tell him that he’s gonna cook him something because he looks like death warmed over.

It doesn’t matter if he’s not hungry, at the moment. He can save the food for later, and learn an invaluable life skill in the process.

“I can’t believe you’re losing your shit over moving to Milan, in a couple of months. I mean, if you are afraid you’re not gonna survive due to your non-existent culinary abilities, which is understandable, I am here to help.”

He isn’t bothered at all by Niccolò’s apparent lethargy and lack of focus, he shows him the ropes and then lets him take his time. He slaps his nape when he gets something wrong, but then he smiles at him and helps him fix his mistake. Encourages him to start all over from scratch, if needed.

So what if it takes them hours to bake a quiche, to make an omelette or a tiramisu? It’s not like they’ve got better things to do.

Elia talks much less than one would expect, content to spend an entire afternoon just giving out orders and tips to Nico. Fishing for some advice on how to improve his chances to get laid, by the time they are putting the tiramisu in the fridge.

“Take them somewhere romantic. Cook them a fancy meal. Show them that you never take them for granted and think about the two of you together whenever you are apart.” He has never been one for meaningless one-night stands, and it shows.

“Yeah, yeah. I’m sure that worked like magic with Martino.” Elia sighs, ruffling Nico’s hair. “But I’m interested in making them fall in love with me… I’m trying to get into their pants, here, man.”

“I’m afraid I can’t help you, then.” He shrugs, grinning when Elia flops dramatically into the sofa and demands a FIFA match. If he assumes him to be worse than Luchino, at this game… Well, he’s in for quite the surprise.

“Well, of course. I don’t know what I expected from someone who can take their shirt off and have people falling over him.”

“Maybe you could come to the gym with me, next time?”

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

Luca storms into his room, with a bag full of junk food and a USB in his hand.

“I don’t know what you’re into, so I’m just sharing my favourite ones…” Of course, he would come bringing porn as a gift.

He’s got no filter, so he doesn’t shy away from a topic just because it would be inappropriate to ask Niccolò if he’s got a food kink – no, because there’s a lady on Twitter that could fit an apple in her ass and that got him wondering how does it feel… - and looks a bit disappointed when Nico moves on to another topic without giving him a proper answer.

It’s probably the first time he found someone willing to hear him out, because he can’t shut up for a second. Mooning over Slivia, moaning about his 4 in Physics - “I know you’re gonna tell me that being held back a year isn’t the end of the world, but… My mom is going to kill me, if I fail” – complaining about his little brother and the lack of a girlfriend.

Niccolò finds it invigorating, to finally have a friend who’s like ‘I’m telling you how pathetic my life is and if you wanna share your woes you’re more than welcome to. If you don’t, I can talk for both of us. We’re not here to compare who’s got it worse.’

When Niccolò think he’s done, that he’s run out of things to say… Luca recalls the last time his mother almost caught him and Martino smoking weed and he had to hand him the joint and hide him under his bed. Only for his mother to say ‘Say hi to Martino for me’ before she left.

“Now she thinks I’m dating him, but that I feel too uncomfortable to come out and she’s dropping hints about how she wouldn’t love me or my brother any less if we were into boys… And I can’t bring myself to tell her the truth… But yeah, I’m glad you find this entertaining.” He huffs, but the smile on his lips tell a different story: he’s quite proud of himself, for making him laugh.

He’s the first not to tiptoe around Marti, to say be brave enough to say “You’re miserable. He’s miserable, so why don’t you both apologize to each other and get it over with?”

“It’s not that simple, Luchì.”

“Yes it is. Now give me your phone.”

#skam italia #nicotino #rames #my writing #giovanni garau #elia santini #luca colosio

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justamessyreader-blog · 6 years

Text

So I hadn’t written anything in months, but my attempts to process my feelings on If We Were Villains resulted in my writing this weird and short one shot where previous Dellecher students find out about That Whole Mess(TM) and speculate about what happened. I don’t know.

Read on AO3

It’s the 26th of April 1999 when Lin, Andrew, Thomas, and Grace all sit down in a tiny coffee shop in New York city. It’s the first time they are all together in what, two years? After they’d all been cut out from Dellecher at the end of their second year, they’d kept on seeing each other fairly often at first, but as life went on and they all slowly started to find ways to keep going, with or without theatre, their meetings had become more and more sparse. Now, almost four years after their expulsion from Dellecher, Lin sits near the window with a cup of tea in her hand, watching Thomas across from her and wondering how their lives would have been different if they’d just made that cut. Grace and Andrew make their way over to the table, Grace quiet as always, Andrew’s eyes sparkling with excitement.

“You won’t believe what I found out last year,” he says, as he puts down his cup and takes a seat next to Lin.

“I’m sure you’re about to tell us,” Lin remarks before turning towards him, resting her face on her hand.

“I mean, this is old news. So like, you might know already.” Andrew back-pedals. He used to do the same thing when they were at Dellecher: volunteer for a scene, confident he would do fine, and then suddenly crumble under the weight of his audience’s expectations. If Lin had to pinpoint the reason why he didn’t make it to third year, it would be self-doubt.

“Just tell us, Andy.” Grace cuts in, raising her eyebrows at him. She’s still as regal as she was then, all sharp edges and focused gaze. She’s an English teacher now, and Lin really doesn’t wish to be in her students’ place.

Like compelled by an unstoppable force, Andrew swallows, and eventually says, “You remember that super clique-y group? Those seven who were always hanging out together?”

Lin has a vague idea of what Andrew is talking about. The hot red-head, and the tall guy, and the Disney Prince, and their other friends. Yeah, Lin remembers well enough, so she nods. Who knows what happened to them.

“They ended up killing each other,” Andrew continues, eyes wide, and okay, that wasn’t the answer that Lin was expecting. “Two years ago, during their last year.”

“Shit, do you mean that guy finally snapped?” Thomas asks, looking half amused and half horrified. “What was his name, Dick?”

“I think you mean Richard?” Grace contributes.

Lin remembers him well enough. Tall, dark, and lowkey terrifying. “Well, he was a real dick, though.” She says.

“No, that’s the thing. He’s the guy who got killed,” Andrew continues. He’s making small, contained gestures with his hands, that still betray his excitement.

“Oh, my money is on the redhead. I bet she killed him.” Thomas says.

Andrew shakes his head a second time. “No, no. You will never believe who it was.”

“Who?” Grace says. She’s doing her thing again.

Andrew looks at all of them, then says, dramatically, “Oliver Marks.”

“Who?” Grace repeats, this time more confused than compelling.

Lin is also at a loss. It’s not that the name Oliver Marks doesn’t ring any bells, it’s just that she really can’t quite place him. Oliver Marks, she thinks, trying to remember anything about the guy.

“No joke, I almost couldn’t remember who it was at first. Skinny, dark hair…” Andrew starts.

“Oh, wait, I remember him now.” Grace cuts him off. “He made it to fourth year? Yeah, I’m not surprised there was murder involved.”

Grace has always been quiet and attentive, but most importantly, well, savage. It was one of the reasons why Lin had spent most of their first year harbouring a painfully embarrassing crush on her, and she can still see how a comment like that would have made her heart flutter four years earlier. Now, as Lin thinks of Kelsey waiting for her at home, it just makes her laugh. Which is horrific, by the way. You don’t laugh about murder.

“I still don’t know who you’re talking about,” she says, raising an eyebrow at Grace.

“That one guy…” Grace says, furrowing her brow in concentration. “James Farrow’s sidekick, you know?”

And okay, Lin wonders what she’d been doing at Dellecher, because James Farrow doesn’t sound particularly familiar either.

Noticing her confused expression, Thomas bursts in with, “Oh, come on, you must remember James Farrow.” Lin’s face must remain blank, because he continues, “Blond? Beautiful? A literal Disney Prince?”

And maybe it’s Thomas’s dreamy eyes, or the epithet literal Disney Prince, because Lin finally associates a face to the name. And if she focuses a little…

A memory finally emerges in her mind: a sunny day, towards the end of their second year, when a bunch of theatre students had taken advantage of the wonderful weather to study at the lake, spending more time laying at the grass and studying the occasional cloud than looking at their books. Lin had been sitting with Grace and Andrew, while Thomas had disappeared with whoever his current boyfriend was. She remembered Richard, sitting with the attractive redhead – Meredith, Meredith was her name – and playing with a strand of her hair while her, with her head in his lap, read out loud from whatever book of critical theory they’d been assigned. They’d just started dating, then. Other students threw sideway glances at them, wishing for the most beautiful girl in their year to read out loud to them, instead. And on the dock, sitting with one leg pulled up and the other tucked under him, his blond hair gleaming in the sunlight and making him look like a renaissance painting, was James Farrow, the dream of almost every girl and at least half of the boys at Dellecher. He was meticulously running through his notes, trying to ignore the awed glances that almost every single student couldn’t help but throw at him. Every once in a while he looked up, just to say something to someone sitting in front of him, with a half-smile on his face. And there, responding to or perhaps causing Farrow’s smile, Lin sees Oliver Marks, taller than James and yet somehow smaller. She remembers it clearly, the two of them basking in the sunlight, quietly studying their notes and each other, a perfect picture of friendship and devotion. Perhaps more, she’d thought then. Perhaps more, she thinks now.

The memory, so clear and peaceful, is disconcerting after Andrew’s words. Lin swallows. “Yeah, I remember them.” It’s all she says.

“I think I remember Marks too,” Thomas says. “He was cute.”

Grace rolls her eyes, and ignores him. “So what happened?” She asks Andrew.

“Well, they said Richard had gone kind of crazy after he didn’t get a part he wanted, and that it was self-defence.”

“That’s not that surprising,” Lin says, shrugging. She remembers Richard being temperamental, more than she remembers Marks being a potential murderer.

“But the thing is, Marks tried to hide it for months,” Andrew continues, “at first they thought Stiriling had just gotten drunk and fallen into the lake, and months later Marks confessed that he’d just, smashed his head in with a boat hook.”

“You said that this happened at the lake?” Lin asks, and Andrew nods. The memory comes back to her, Farrow and Marks sitting together on the dock, smiling at each other in the golden light. A moment of frozen perfection, so different from the tragedy that Andrew is talking about. Suddenly, Lin feels sick, and she downs a big gulp of tea, hoping that the warmth will unclench the tension in her chest. It doesn’t quite work.

“Fuck, Marks looked like such a chill guy. You don’t expect him to be the type of person who smashes someone’s head in.” Thomas says, looking down at his coffee.

“Some people think that maybe it wasn’t him,” Andrew says. “Apparently Marks was having an affair with Richard’s girlfriend, Meredith. And no one really knows what happened, so some people think Marks took the blame for her, or maybe for someone else. Rumour has it that when they arrested Marks, they’d planned to arrest someone else instead, and he just went out and confessed. It’s all real fishy, I tell you.”

“How do you know all this?” Grace asks. She’s talking to Andrew, but her gaze is fixed on Lin, perhaps having sensed her discomfort.

“I was writing a piece on theatre schools in America,” Andrew shrugs. Right, he writes theatre reviews now. “Thought I’d include Dellecher. I had no idea what happened, but my editor pulled up all our articles on the case when I showed her my draft. I spent an interesting afternoon.”

“I bet,” Thomas says. “Wow, that was dark. Does anyone know what happened to Farrow?”

Thomas used to have a crush on Farrow, Lin remembers. Which is understandable, it’s just that Lin was always too busy sneakily checking out Grace to even notice.

“There’s not much in the papers about him,” Andrew says with a shrug. “But it must have hit him hard, because he’s definitely not doing any work related to theatre, and we all know that he was too good of an actor to just fail.”

Thomas nods silently, before getting distracted by his phone. “It’s Matthew,” he says as an excuse before getting up to take the call. His boyfriend, the doctor who allows Thomas to still work in communal theatre without having to worry too much about money. It sounds bitchy, but Lin thinks that the truth is that, deep down, she’s a little jealous of Thomas.

“Well, ladies,” Andrew says, picking up his cup. From where she is, Lin can smell the strong aroma of black coffee. Strange, she thinks. Andrew only used to drink Latte. “After that cheerful note, why don’t you tell me how you guys have been doing?”

And after that, the conversation shifts, and Oliver Marks and Richard Stirling are forgotten.

***

It haunts Lin for days, and it’s stupid, because she barely knew them years ago. And yet. And yet she keeps thinking back to that day at the lake, and then about Richard Stirling floating in the cold waters, his head smashed in. Oliver Marks was a sweet boy, not with the potential of a lead actor, but with the kindness of a supporting characters. And Lin can’t see him hurting anyone. For a while, she considers showing up at the penitentiary, and shouting at Marks until he gives her the answers.

Instead, she settles on a letter. Just a few brief lines, explaining her confusion, and asking why. She doesn’t expect an answer.

***

Months later, Kelsey finds a brown envelope in the mail, and passes it to Lin, equally curious and confused. Lin only has to look at the first few lines to recognise the text inside: it’s a Shakespearean sonnet. And it’s signed, Oliver.

Lin reads through the lines again and again, memories of her days at Dellecher surfacing as she does. In the end, she doesn’t quite get what the sonnet is meant to answer. Perhaps, she thinks, she’s not supposed to.

No more be grieved at that which thou hast done.

Roses have thorns, and silver fountains mud;

Clouds and eclipses stain both moon and sun,

And loathsome canker lives in sweetest bud.

All men make faults, and even I in this,

Authórizing thy trespass with compare,

Myself corrupting, salving thy amiss,

Excusing these sins more than these sins are.

For to thy sensual fault I bring in sense—

Thy adverse party is thy advocate—

And 'gainst myself a lawful plea commence.

Such civil war is in my love and hate

That I an áccessory needs must be

To that sweet thief which sourly robs from me.

Sonnet is Sonnet 35, and I apologise for whatever the hell this was.

#my writing #ml rio #if we were villains #iwwv

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mangled-dreams · 7 years

Text

Dealings with a Devil (Part 15)

Reader X Darkiplier

You, Reader, have made a deal with what you believed to be a fantasized version of your favorite YouTuber’s alter ego, Darkiplier after he’d visited you in a dream. You believed Darkiplier to only exist in your dreams and on Markiplier’s YouTube channel, but by some impossible way he’s real and he intends on collecting on your debt to him.

Smiling big you sit down in front of your computer screen, answering the Skype call from Mark and Sean. “Hey guys!” you greet happy to see their faces again.

“Hello!” Mark responds waving from his end.

Sean laughs as he says “hey. How is my favorite artist?”

You roll your eyes at his remark in mock disinterest, but really it makes you very happy. “I'm doing fine, how is Ireland?” you ask as Mark coos to Chica. You chuckle just slightly at seeing him dip in and out of frame as he tries to get his beloved dog to lay down.

“Wet.” he responds laughing in a ways only unique to him.

“Hey, congratulations on the charity stream, Mark. It was a huge success.” you say remembering you wanted to congratulate Mark on another wildly successful live stream for his favorite Make-A-Wish.

“Awe, did you get to watch?” Mark asks happily. You nod your head to him.

“Of course.” you respond.

“Just kiss already!!” Sean grouses rolling his eyes. You laugh at his mock irritation.

“Oh, if only! Mark he's seen through my womanly desire for you!” you says pressing the back of your hand to your forehead and pose dramatically.

“How could I have not seen?” Mark asks in the same dramatic tone. You laugh along with Mark. “Alas, I cannot return your affections, for my heart is taken by another.” Mark says looking torn for a few seconds.

“Oh, har, har, very funny.” Sean says clapping slowly.

“Thank you, thank you.” you remark bowing a little laughing. Sobering up you look at your spit screen and ask, “what's the occasion for the Skype call? Not that I'm not tickled pink to talk with you two again, but Mark didn't give me a lot of context.” you say watching Mark and Sean's smiles widen.

“So, Sean and I were talking it over and we want to feature you on our channels, not on like a weekly basis, but have like a 10-20 minute video with you show casing your art and personality. We got a lot of great feed back about you.” Mark says happily.

Your face instantly feels hot. “What? Really? B-But, I...I'm not good with stuff like that.” you instantly say but know it's not the truth. Of course you're good with stuff like that. The convention showed you just how good you are with talking to people you don't know, not to mention everyone said you're a natural behind the camera.

“You really are. You don't have to come to LA or even visit Ireland to make the videos. You can record in your free time and send me or Jackie Boy the unedited video and we'd take care of the rest.” Mark says creating a very compelling argument for agreeing.

“I don't play games though. You guys are known for your Let's Play videos.” you counter quickly.

“You don't have to agree, but Mark and I see something special in ya. We just know it can be hard to get your name out there. You have a talent and can easily make a living out of it.” Sean quickly says. “Besides, we're known for more than just Let's Plays. Even if you don't want to do these kind of things for a living, you can still have a few hours of mindless fun with some friends.”

You hate it when others have good points. You smile. “Would you eventually want me to play actual games with you?” you ask already making up your mind about the whole thing.

“Eventually. Maybe in a few months we can have you fight out and we'll do a series or teaching Let's Play videos. We can do like a “for beginners” series to help YouTuber's that are just starting out.” Mark says getting excited about the prospects. He does regularly get questions about starting out and how to do their videos. “We could even do behind the scenes kind of thing too. Show them how to self-edit their videos. I know you had a real interest in that.” Mark adds.

His excitement is infectious. “Oh, does that mean I can visit Ireland too?” you ask looking at Sean.

“Fuck yeah! I'd love for ya to see my homeland!” Sean shouts shaking his camera with his enthusiasm. You laugh, leaning back in your desk back.

“Excellent! I've always want to visit Ireland! Oh, could I visit England and Scotland when I visit? I've love to see as much of Europe as possible and I know how close the two islands are to each other!” God this is going to be exciting!!

“Going to Ireland?” Dark asks appearing behind you as you work on a commission for a new customer you'd gotten while at the convention. Your influx of commission requests had really tripled, hell, quadrupled since the convention. Not to mention you'd earned nearly twenty thousand dollars in sales of your posters. A few of the guys offered their posters in their online stores and half the proceeds had gone to you for those ones. You'd ended up donating half to Mark's charity stream and put the rest into a savings account for future use.

You'd never earned so much money for simply doing what you loved. You'd thought Mark and Ethan were pulling your leg when they told you how much you earned, but then you actually saw the check and nearly fainted.

“Eventually. I spoke with Mark and Sean today on Skype and they want to feature me a few times a month. Mark even pitched a beginner's guide to Let's Play videos. I think it'd be really cool!” You say happily. Dark on the other hand does not share you happiness. “What?” you ask letting your smile drop quickly.

“You realized that that...boy, Sean, is Anti's host. You are in complete danger if you are near his host.” Dark says continuing to frown at you. You frown right back.

“Dark, I can't stay afraid of Anti forever. As much as he may want me to be, I just wasn't raised that way.” You say standing up. Dark gives you a look you can't quite read before nodding.

“I expected nothing less of you.” Dark says smirking at you. “Are you hungry? Or are you in the middle of your work?” You feel torn at his questions. Dark is an amazing cook, but you can't eat and draw at the same time.

Hesitantly you say, “sorry, Dark. I have to finish what I'm doing. I finally got the pose I wanted and the body to limb proportion is finally on point. If I stop now I'm going to regret it.” Dark nods, leans down, brushes a kiss to your temple, and tells you he understands.

“Perhaps next time. I will be gone for a few days. There are...annoyances causing problems in the Void. I must attend to my duties there.” Dark tells you and it's your turn to nod.

“Don't get hurt again, come back whole, and I'll see you in a few days.” You tell him seriously before smiling softly. “I'm sure we can go out to dinner when you return home.” You add giving him a wink.

Dark smirks again, his eyes closing as he shakes his head at your antics. “Do not get into trouble while I am gone.” he tells you.

You smirk and salute Dark. “Sir, yes sir.” You laugh at the look he gives you. “Hey, you chose me, remember?” you say laughing still. Dark yields just a little, his wall coming down as he pulls you into his arms.

“Yes, I did. I would not change this choice for anything in the world.” He tell you, you both know it's the ultimate cheesy thing to say, but it makes you happy none the less. “I will return to you, dove.” he add before kissing you. It's snow and completely sets you on fire. You love his kisses. He's so through and..and...and...

You can't remember what you'd been thinking about by the time he releases you. He steps away, your body swaying slightly at the loss of contact. Your eye hooded as he bids you goodbye and disappears. Giving a limp wave goodbye you fall back into your desk chair and sigh happily. God, why is that man so amazing?

“What? Is the show already over?” Anti's voice crackles like static all around you. You shriek and shoot to your feet.

“Anit? What are you doing here?” You try to demand but your resolution to show no fear cracks, as does your voice.

Anti doesn't respond right away, leaving you to look around with a slight panic setting in. What is this entity, this demon going to do this time?

Part 16

#darkiplier #darkiplier x reader #mark fischbach #sean mcloughlin #antisepticeye #He's BACK!!#Here's Anti #Fluff before the storm #what will happen #having fun #Another Chapter down #Where is this going?#What will Anti do?

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tisfan · 7 years

Text

To Victor Goes the Spoils

A/N: My goodness, it’s been a while since I’ve worked on this fic... that being said, I have the next 2 chapters pre-planned and I know what’s going to happen. Because chapter nine will end on a bit of a cliffhanger, and I don’t want to leave you guys hanging that long, I’ll get both chapters done before I post. Thanks to all of you for your patience. I do love this pairing so much! (This chapter picks up EXACTLY where chapter seven left off)

Chapter Eight -- Voice of Doom

“You admit this?” That wasn’t even Steve, that was Nat.

For a brief, glorious moment, Tony thought he’d actually shocked Captain Self-righteous into shutting up.

“The evidence seems fairly compelling to me,” Tony said. “And I’ve never claimed to be a hero; that was something fantastical and kinda cool in the beginning label that I got stuck with. I know who I am. Hero’s not one of the words. So… theoretically speaking, I can’t really stop being something I never was.”

Clint crossed his arms over his chest and scoffed. “You’ve been soakin’ up the hero gig since the beginning, Stark. Tell it to someone who wasn’t an assassin.”

Tony didn’t even bother to grace that with a reply. As the Merchant of Death, he’d been responsible for so many more deaths than Legolas could have hoped, even with an army of Gimlis to compete with.

“It doesn’t matter what you call yourself,” Steve said, tapping the page. “This is unacceptable. You’re compromised, Stark.”

“You’re probably right.” Tony took another sip of his coffee.

“All right, then,” Steve said, blinking in surprise. He wasn’t used to Tony agreeing with him. Or even being less than wordy about his agreement. “So, what are we doing about it?”

Tony very placidly drank the last bit of his coffee. Placed the cup on the counter, just so. Blinked. “I don’t know what you’re doing, Captain. I don’t think I’m part of we anymore.” He made a general hand-circling motion, indicating the Avengers. He wasn’t sure he’d ever, really been a part of we, but he’d pretended for a while, and sometimes the rest of them had gone along with it. “As a decent landlord, I’ll have your termination of lease written up, sixty days. That should give you time to find new digs, or negotiate with SI for continued rental of the building. I’m sure the UN will come through with funding for you anytime now.”

“You’re kicking us out?” That was Bruce and Tony felt a pang at that; Bruce had never done anything to him, aside from vanish just when Tony needed the support, and truly, Tony didn’t blame him for that. (Mostly.)

“Well, some of you may have an easier time negotiating use of space than others,” Tony said. He’d make a note in the file.

“You can stop being pedantic any time now, Stark,” Steve said. “What do you plan to do about Von Doom being in the Tower. I assume you invited him here.”

Tony nodded. “I did,” he agreed. “We needed to talk, and this was a convenient neutral ground. Although perhaps less neutral than I’d expected at the time. I was, mistakenly, it seems, under the impression that I could have whatever guests I wanted in my home.”

“I didn’t know villains counted as guests.”

(More below the cut, or read the whole fic at A03 [cha 8])

“This is pointless,” Victor said. He appeared out of nothing. There was no flash or portal or dramatics. One moment he wasn’t there and the next second it was like he had been there since the beginning of the conversation. For all Tony knew, he had been. Invisibility was probably one of the first things a person learned in Magic 101, World Conquering for Beginners. Just because Victor was no longer pursuing a job that utilized his degree, it didn’t mean he couldn’t use the skills he’d developed.

Tony jerked, ready to defend, to protest, to--

What the actual fuck?

Steve was standing, mouth still open like he was arguing. Unmoving.

“The hell?”

“We are between the moments, love,” Victor said. “Time here… is infinite. Were it possible to age here, you could grow old, die, and be dust all before the good captain here could draw another breath.

“Is this how you’re so fast, when you fight?”

“No,” Victor said. “As pretty as it might seem, this ability takes too long to use. And, for most things, it is useless. We cannot interact with anything in the momentary stillness. No door will open, no glass will break. You cannot harm anyone. All it can be used for is time to think, and to move yourself.”

He waved a hand. “They have not seen me. When I break the spell, you will simply vanish in front of Captain Rogers.”

“How’d you know we were arguing?”

Victor chuckled. “I am a very smart man, my love. I did not know. I merely surmised. I came down here, between the moments, that I might not attract attention and saw the way they were all turned on you.”

He drew Tony aside, showing what the scene looked like from the outside; every single one of the Avengers was firm-focused on the spot where Tony had been, expressions everything from mildly concerned (Bruce) to furious (Clint.)

None of them looked like his friend, anymore.

“Huh,” Tony said. He poked at Steve, curiously. The man’s skin was like marble; hard, cold, unyielding.

“They seem a school of sharks that have scented your blood,” Victor said.

Not entirely an inaccurate, although possibly unfair, assessment. “Well, can you blame them? I’m consorting with the enemy.”

“No,” Victor said. “You are becoming the enemy.”

“Iron Man, yes,” Tony murmured. “Tony Stark… not recommended.”

“They are not fools, and I do not blame them,” Victor said, and instantly Tony wanted to put his arms around his lover, because he knew exactly what self-loathing looked like. He saw it most days… in the mirror.

Tony waved a hand around at the group. “So few of them have clean hands. You’d think they’d be more understanding.”

“I have only stated my intentions,” Victor said. “I have much to atone for, and many suspicions to allay before they will begin to trust. And even then, I may never make much headway.”

None of us have.

Steve with his sneer, his conviction that Tony was trying to pull a fast one. Nat, who even now, he couldn’t trust. She might have his back today, but as soon as the wind shifted, her ultimate goal, her loyalty, that was something he hadn’t earned. Clint’s rage… well, he’d probably never burn that down.

Tony sighed.

“Plan B?”

“Plan B.”

Victor took his hand, and Tony followed him out of the room. By the time Steve realized he wasn’t there anymore, they’d be gone.

There was no Avenger badge for Tony to leave on a desk somewhere. No one who would want a snippily worded resignation letter.

Tony Stark. Exit, stage left, without fanfare.

“You know that magic works, my love. You’ve seen mine, from all sides,” Victor said. “Do you not trust the evidence of your senses?”

Tony scoffed. He was perched on a stool in the alchemy lab, his toes resting on the metal bar as if the very floor itself offended him. “Your senses can deceive you, do not trust them.”

Victor raised an eyebrow. “Do you not see the irony in using Star Wars quotes to explain to me why you can’t believe in magic?”

“Magic is just a fancy word for technology that we can’t explain,” Tony said.

“Well,” Victor said, agreeably enough, “that’s quite possible. Magic does have rules, and they’re both very exacting and have particularly dire consequences if you fuck around with them too much.”

“Science does that, too,” Tony said. “I mean, the first people to mess around with x rays found out the hard way, there’s just some stuff you shouldn’t fuck with. Close up, without proper protection.”

Victor nodded. “Well, consider that Newton wasn’t the first scientist, but one of the last magicians. Jumping off from his studies is the base of modern magic. The interesting bit, however, is that magic is so very old, there’s always more to learn. From our own shamans all the way back when we were beating on drums made from wooly mammoth hide and praying to the gods in the storm, all the way to the pinnacle of magical achievement. Strange, myself, a few others…”

“More others,” Tony muttered. Whatever respect -- or lack thereof -- that Tony might have for magic, he was at least mostly restraining himself. He wasn’t picking stuff up randomly and shaking it. (Although Victor had done a thorough inspection to make sure that Tony couldn’t atomize himself in mere milliseconds by poking at something that might take it unkindly before Tony was even allowed in the alchemy lab. There was extending courtesy to his lover, and there was reckless foolishness.)

Not that there weren’t still a half-hundred ways to die, just in arm’s reach, but at least the things that remained Victor could fix, or he could warn, or… well, it was Tony, and if anyone was going to accidentally figure out that the painajainen could be called up by mixing horsehair with the dust of dreams, it would be Tony. (Tony was a good source for that dust, a thing that Victor hadn’t yet told him, but would. Very soon. Once he’d topped off his stores.)

And what Victor would do about a nightmare demon on the loose… well, he had some defenses against it, and given time, he could catch it and banish it again. In the meanwhile, the damn thing would sit on Tony’s chest every time he went to sleep, and Tony had more than enough trouble with sleeplessness without demonic interference. But Tony was being cautious, which meant despite his tone, there were parts of him that believed.

“So, what is it you do, down here, when you’re not trying to convince me that hocus-pocus exists?”

“We can call it pataphysics, if it makes you more comfortable. The science of impossible solutions,” Victor said. “And what I do down here, mostly, is prepare magic. Think of magic as a cookie; I have to mix all the ingredients together before I can have a cookie. There are certain incantations that have only verbal or mental components, but even those require study, strength. A certain mental fortitude. Casting out of nothingness is not possible. Even with magic, you cannot make matter without energy.”

“What happens?”

“Well, if you’re very lucky, mostly nothing happens. You can stand around and yell at a circuit board all day if you like, and end up with nothing but a sore throat, if you don’t have any power, nothing will happen to the circuit board. On the other hand, magic is a little more… molecular than that. Should I, for instance, attempt to lift you from that stool and make you stand inside the casting runes without practice, without proper preparation, I might strain the muscles in my back. I might lose ten pounds in a few seconds, as my body cannibalizes itself for the strength. I may get caught in a feedback loop and unmake myself.” Victor considered that line of thought for a moment, running through all the possible consequences, just from a little bit of unplanned alterological manipulations. “I suppose that��s why there are so few magicians. I would suspect many amateurs of causing their own demise, before they’re able to do damage to another person and thus be made note of.”

“For someone who talks so fancy, and who uses magic to rearrange the world to his liking,” Tony said, “your grammar is shit, Vic.”

Victor laughed. No one ever called him Vic before. He wasn’t entirely sure he liked it, and glancing at Tony sidelong, he was pretty sure Tony was pushing his boundaries, trying to see where the line was at acceptable behavior.

“Criticizing my grammar?” Victor asked. He flipped a few pages through the grimoire -- one of his underlings had discovered it, hidden deep inside a castle in northern Ireland -- to see if there was aught inside worth preserving. “Are we sparring on the internet now, that you resort to childish tactics?”

“Do you practice being annoying, or is it just natural skill?”

Tony wasn’t looking at him, studying, instead, a stoppered bottle full of sunlight. Good defense against vampires and other night creatures, and the easiest thing in the world to harvest, as long as you could get to the arctic circle, and that the day wasn’t cloudy. Seven years previous, they’d had good weather, and Victor had laid out over a thousand bottles. Might have been telling, the sort of company he kept, that he was down to his last dozen or so. He checked the calendar absently. Huh. Less than two weeks until the solstice. “Does your suit keep you warm?”

Tony didn’t even blink; it was one of the nicer things about being in love with someone else who was also a genius. He could track Victor’s change in conversation without a moment’s thought. “Of course,” Tony said. “Thirty-thousand feet isn’t what you’d call super comfortable without some sort of heating system. Some particular reason?”

“I’m reminded that I need to harvest more sunlight and I thought you might like to watch.”

“Harvest sunlight.” Tony’s voice was flat, skeptical. Victor found himself a little giddy at the process of being there when Tony witnessed magic. Real magic, that he couldn’t explain away with science or as mere illusions. The opening of one’s eyes to a larger realm of possibility was always awe-inspiring.

“It works well in battles against vampires.” May as well shock him all at once.

Tony spluttered. “Vampires aren’t real,” he said. Then hesitated. “Are they?”

“‘If there is a well-attested history in the world, it is that of the Vampires. Nothing is missing from it: interrogations, certifications by Notables, Surgeons, Parish Priests, Magistrates. The judicial proof is one of the most complete. And with all that, who believes in Vampires? Will we all be damned for not having believed?’ So spoke Jean-Jaques Rousseau, in 1764.”

“That quote was in Twilight, too,” Tony snapped. “Doesn’t make it any more true now.”

“Again, call them something else if the word offends you, but they are, by all real criteria, vampires. Humanoid, but non-human sentients who feed off hemoglobin. Some of it is hollywood sensationalism, of course, but the fact remains, there are predators who look human enough that will drink your blood.”

“Gross,” Tony declared. “Do they spread it around?”

“No, that’s a movie invention; they’re a whole and separate species of sentient and self-aware organisms. They’re close enough to humans that, theoretically, we could engage in sexual activities with them, but we’d have better luck actually procreating with a daisy,” Victor said. There were some people, he knew, who’d like to fuck a vampire, but really, the vampire was going to eat them, and even vampires were pretty dubious about the whole thing. Well adjusted humans didn’t fuck their cheeseburgers, after all.

“So, like, disgusting aliens?”

Victor shook his head. “No,” he said. “That would imply extra terrestrial or perhaps, transdimensional beings. They’re not. They’re born here, live here. They’re no more alien to us than we are to chickens. They just see us as food. Very, very hostile food, these days. You can communicate with them, sometimes. Some of them keep humans as pets, or cows, of sorts. They’ve been close to hunted to extinction. If they weren’t from here, I imagine they’d leave.”

“If they think of you as a meal, why would you talk to them?”

Victor’s mouth twitched. “They are masters of illusion,” he explained. “Those that live, they walk among us, and most of the time, no one notices. You can bargain with them, for lessons. It’s… exciting.”

Victor could tell, by the faint curl of Tony’s mouth, that he was going to be one of those skeptics for whom everything needed to have a rational explanation. And magic was just one of those things; physics need not apply. Tony would believe, eventually. Or he wouldn’t. Magic, at least, wasn’t shamanism; it required no faith to work, nor to have an effect. His magic would work whether Tony believed in it, or not.

“You want to learn?” Victor asked, suddenly. He remembered an old cantrip his mother had taught him, years before he even knew what he was doing. A fuzzy, comforting thing that even a child could master with time.

Tony scoffed. “I don’t think I have what’s required to learn magic.”

“Nonsense,” Victor said. “It’s a simple working.”

He came up behind Tony, folded Tony into an embrace and rested his chin on Tony’s shoulder. “Here, give me your hands,” he said, tracing his fingers down Tony’s arms. “Hold them like… so, there, no, wrist just a little higher.”

“I feel like I’m at a heavy metal concert,” Tony said.

“Perhaps,” Victor said. It could be true, the metal concerts evoked great emotions in their listeners, perhaps at one time, a spark of magic had danced along those fingers. “How are you feeling?”

“Little bit silly,” Tony confessed.

“Deeper, how do you feel?” He pushed, a little of the command voice. It wouldn’t work on someone as strong-willed as Tony if he fought it, but just a nudge to get him talking.

“Tired,” Tony said. “Always tired, these days, really. Still angry, sad, frustrated with Steve and the others. Worried, what’ll happen.”

“Remember how you feel now,” Victor said. “Now, think about your body. Imagine, for just a moment, that your whole body is limned with light. Close your eyes if you need. Visualize it.”

“Meditation, your pain is a ball of healing light mumbo jumbo,” Tony said, but he closed his eyes. Victor opened his inner eye, watched as the energy of Tony’s vitae pulsed over his skin. Every living, breathing thing was made up of it. Spark of life, soul, manna, whatever name was placed on it; the core power of the living.

“Hmmm,” Victor said. He breathed, slow and steady and Tony followed him into it, without really being aware of what he was doing. Victor scraped the thinnest bit of his vitae off, held it on his fingertip like a dab of sweet from a bowl. “Open your mouth.”

The natural barrier that protected all living things from magic, hostile or otherwise, was thinnest inside the mouth. From this knowledge came the origin of kisses, sharing strength, love, healing. It was also why many magical potions and poisons had to be drunk. Certain sects had taken to sewing their mouths shut, although that was extreme, to protect themselves.

“Here,” and Victor touched the tip of his finger to Tony’s tongue, depositing the trace amounts of his essence, his very existence, to Tony’s.

Tony’s life energy flickered, absorbing Victor’s. Pure, unadulterated energy.

Tony’s eyes flew open and he licked his lip. “What the hell was that?”

“How do you feel?”

Tony stretched under him, moving his shoulders, twisting his neck. “Amazing,” he said. “Like I woke up from a restful sleep.” His eyes were wide. Victor wondered how long it had been since Tony actually had a dreamless sleep. “What was it?”

“My life energy,” Victor said. “Only a tiny, tiny amount. I have shared it with you. In time, you can learn to do the same.”

“Does that… hurt you?”

“It can,” Victor said. “Like the difference between a drop of blood and a million drops. It is a way of sharing strength, energy. It is… vitae. The course of your life. It is what fuels magic, what makes it possible. And everyone has it.”

Tony was watching him with heavy-lidded eyes. Watching him with intent. “Does something else, does it, aside from sharing strength?” Desire pulsed off him in waves, an almost physical force.

“It amplifies,” Victor said. “When my mother showed it to me, I felt like… my birthday morning, and eating cookie batter raw from the bowl, and listening to her read bedtime stories at night. When you consume my vitae, you feel… what I feel for you.”

Tony’s mouth curled up into an inviting smile. “So… what you feel involved that little sofa over there and you naked on your back?”

“Oh, it certainly could.”

“Pep, no, come on,” Tony said. It was o’fucking dark thirty and Castle Doom was quiet and a little gloomy if Tony was being honest. He walked around on the parapets, because really, that just seemed the thing to do if one was in a castle. He kinda wanted to have a big pointy weapon of some sort, just for the atmosphere. “Look, all these arrangements were made when I thought I was going to die, and there’s no reason why-- yes, I know the company has my name, but it’s okay, if you want to rename it Potts Industries… okay, no, yeah, that sounds like a cooking company or something. Well, I’m sorry about that, you’ll just have to marry Rhodey and put his name on-- kidding, Pepper, oh god.”

Sometimes Tony thought there was no depths of boredom to which business affairs could sink and every time he gave voice to that thought, business had to say challenge accepted! Seriously, Pepper was the CEO, and Tony owned a good deal of stock, and when he was in between Avenger’s missions or handling exceptionally hostile press and corrupt politicians, he was the head of the R&D. A job, he might add, he’d still be able to do in Latveria, because of this nifty little invention called the Internet, some of the assholes on the Board of Directors might have heard of it, maybe, if they got their heads out of their asses once in a while and looked at something more impressive than the bottom line (or their mistress’s bottom, whatever. Did Tony look like he cared?)

Nothing had changed that was important to business, as if clean energy and symbionic prosthetics were utterly dependent upon Tony being both in the United States and presenting information to the Board in the same room on a weekly basis.

Which was just stupid.

Tony could do what he did in the comfort of the workshop that Victor was setting up for him; in fact, he would probably be bothered significantly less, all things considered.

“Look, the United States doesn’t need me, Pep,” Tony said. “And the Avengers need me even less. I’ll still be around if the world decides Iron Man is required, but until then, I think I’ve earned a partial retirement with someone I love.” That was a little painful; Pepper had wanted to him to retire, begged him to, in fact, and he couldn’t do it. He couldn’t do it until all his mistakes were rubbed in his face, and he came to admit it. Iron Man getting involved was the nuclear option. Last resort.

“All right, Tony,” Pepper said. “I reserve the right to call you, though.”

“You’re the best,” Tony told her, and that was true. He was leaving his legacy in her very capable hands.

He disconnected the call and dropped his phone into his sweatshirt’s kangaroo pouch. That was another nice thing about Latveria; no one cared what he wore on a regular basis and so he was getting a lot of wear out of jeans, tees, and hoodies.

Tony was pretty sure that Latveria would wear on him eventually. He’d get bored with it. But right now, in the middle of Victor’s modernization projects, with his lover to keep him warm and the weird feeling of being an actual hero to the Latverians, all of whom knew who he was, and what he’d done… they didn’t treat him like an American hero, either, didn’t expect him to be perfect or have a witty sound byte or endorse certain products.

They… thanked him for his courage. Their lives. Invited him to dinner, and were kind and cheerful on the few occasions that he went. Minimal fuss, maximum hospitality.

It was weird.

And nice.

Sometimes it made him uncomfortable, wondering how much of Victor’s reputation he was leaning on; the man had been a fascist dictator for decades -- according to some sources. Which made him wonder how accurate that assessment had been, but Victor openly admitted he’d made mistakes, carried on traditions. That his people were used to unquestioning obedience.

“Honestly,” Victor had said, “I’m shocked there hasn’t been a rebellion, given that there’s so much more leeway. It would be the perfect opportunity.”

“What will you do?”

“Let them,” Victor had responded. “Don’t fret, love. I won’t let them hurt you, and I’ve a refuge awaiting us. It will not be luxurious, but we will have each other.”

“That’s all I need.”

Which might have been a little bit of a lie, because Tony was pretty sure he needed a cheeseburger once in a while. And coffee. Coffee was stone-cold necessary.

A spill of light illuminated the courtyard below and Tony shifted into the shadows; the staff in Castle Doom were often a little overly solicitous of his comfort and he didn’t feel like being fussed over right now if the baker’s assistant found him wandering the walls at some ungodly hour.

No servant or staff, that. The man who strode out into the courtyard had the same arrogant walk that characterized a person who knew their own value far exceeded others around them. He wore an emerald green cloak that swirled around his boots and he wore a sword strapped to his back. Tony closed his eyes and tried to see, the way Victor had been teaching him. He’d never managed it, but at the same time, lab was always different from field work.

For a long moment, Tony saw nothing but the insides of his eyelids and he felt nothing but the same niggling embarrassment that happened every time Tony tried to work a spell. Like his high school classmates were going to jump out and laugh at him or something. And then--

It wasn’t light, not the soft glow of vitae that Victor had described, but rather a pulsing, pulling darkness that surrounded the shape of a man. Clawing, angry, and cold, so cold. Tony opened his eyes and pulled back into the shadow with a strangled gasp.

The man turned, eyes going immediately to Tony’s hiding spot without hesitation.

“An apprentice, VonDoom? Surely this one is too old,” the man said.

“Are you not left yet, Mordo?” Victor’s voice, and a moment later, the man himself came into the courtyard. He followed Mordo’s gaze and saw Tony. Victor’s eyes widened briefly, then, “No, not an apprentice. He is my pleasure-love, and you would do well to remember not to touch that which is mine. Go, Mordo. We have no more business here this night, or any other.”

“We’ll see,” Mordo said, dismissing Tony with a sniff. “We all fall prey to the weakness of being human in the search for power. You know where to find me, if you change your mind.”

The man spun a hand in a gesture reminiscent of actions Tony’d seen Dr. Strange perform before and he disappeared into one of those swirling purple portals.

Tony waited until he’d descended the stairs into the courtyard and found himself at Victor’s side. “What was that about?”

“The desperate grasping of a man who believes he has the right to rule the world,” Victor said. “It is nothing we need dwell on.”

“Is he looking for your help?”

“In a way,” Victor said. “He fails to understand that the world and the rulership thereof holds no appeal for me. Stay far away from him, love. He will not have your interests in mind, and he is no small talent. I would avenge you, but I’d prefer not to need to.”

“Yeah, I think I’m pretty well done with avenging, myself.”

#irondoom #tony x victor #quitting the avengers #not a fix it fic #latverian refugee #tony stark #victor von doom

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mikegomez73-blog · 4 years

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Sacred Memoir & Beginnings By: Michael A. Gomez

DECEMBER 1994: IT WAS JUST DAYS AWAY FROM MY TWENTYFIRST BIRTHDAY, WHEN I HAD HEARD THE SONG,”HOW GREAT THOU ART”, AS IF, FOR THE FIRST TIME. THE SPIRIT OF GOD HAD EMBRACED ME, AND I HAD BEEN OVERCOME BY THE GLORIOUS PRESENCE OF THE LORD, UNLIKE ANYTHING I HAD EXPERIENCED BEFORE THAT DAY. 1 -WINTER OF 1995 BY MID WINTER OF 95′,MY UNCLE ROBERT EDGAR HAD PASSED AWAY. HE WAS MY MOTHERS HALF BROTHER.IT IS WITH HIS PASSING THAT I BEGAN TO ANALIZE THE PURPOSE OF LIFE AND THE MEANING OF DEATH. AT THE WAKE IN THE GLOOM AND DESPAIR OF THE FUNERAL PARLOR, MY UNCLE ROBIN WAS HANDING OUT SALVATION TRACTS, TO THE MEMBERS OF OUR BROKEN FAMILY. TO AUNTS, UNCLES, NIECES, NEPHEWS, COUSINS, AND FRIENDS OF THE FAMILY, WHO ALL CAME TOGETHER TO THIS SOMBER FINAL PASSAGE. IT WAS THAT VERY TRACT THAT UNCLE ROBIN GAVE ME THAT CULMINATED MY JOURNEY,LEADING TO MY SALVATION ON THAT WEEKEND OF FEBRUARY 19TH, 1995. THE TRACT WAS BASICALLY DESCRIBING WHAT IS CALLED “THE ROMANS ROAD” AND I WAS ON IT LIKE PAUL ON THE ROAD TO DAMASCUS AND JESUS SAVED ME. I REPENTED AND CONFESSED MY SINS AT THE CROSS OF JESUS CHRIST WHERE HIS BLOOD WAS SHED FOR THE PAYMENT OF MY SINS AND I WAS FORGIVEN FOREVER. FROM THAT DAY FORWARD, I BEGAN TO SENSE THE PRESENCE OF THE LORD, HE WAS GUIDING ME WITH EVERY PASSING DAY, WORKING SOMETHING MIRACULOUS INSIDE, AND I COULDN’T RESIST HIM. IN FACT, I HAD AN INSATIABLY INCESSANT NEED FOR THIS NEW FOUND SOURCE OF LOVE, I HAD NEVER KNOWN. A PEACE,I HAD NEVER FELT, AND A HOPE, I NEVER HAD. MUCH OF THE ANSWERS THAT WOULD COME TO ME WOULD DERIVE FROM MY NEW FOUND FAITH. THE BIBLE ITSELF BECAME MYGUIDE AND TEACHER, AND MY MOM NOTICED MY AVID INTEREST IN ABSORBING ITS MESSAGE, SEEING ME READ IT EVERYDAY, AND ASKING ME, IF I WAS GOING TO BECOME A PRIEST? I SOON BEGAN ATTENDING SUNDAY MASS AT ST. BENEDICTS. WHERE I HAD STUDIED CATECHISM AND GRADUATED FROM EIGTH GRADE. SPEAKING OF WHICH,AFTER GRADUATING, I HAD ENROLLED INTO EAST SIDE HIGH, A PUBLIC SCHOOL IN NEWARK, JUST ACROSS THE STREET FROM INDEPENDENCE PARK. MY ONLY CONCERN DURING MY HIGH SCHOOL YEARS WAS EVIDENT,AS I CARRIED AROUND A SPORTS PAGE WITH ME FROM CLASS TO CLASS, BEING WELL INFORMED BY INCESSANT DIURNAL UPDATES, CHECKING TO SEE THE SCORES IN LAST NIGHTS GAMES OR HOW MANY POINTS DID JORDAN SCORE, AND DID STRAW HIT ANY HOMERS? AS FAR AS FAITH & ACADEMIC SKILLS, I WAS COMPLETELY OBLIVIOUS TO THESE FACTORS AND THEIR RELEVANCE TO LIFE AND ONES FUTURE. I GUESS I WAS LIKE MOST KIDS MY AGE IN THAT SENSE, BUT I NEVER HAD A MOMENT OF URGENCY, IN WHICH, I FELT COMPELLED TO TAKE GOD OR EDUCATION SERIOUSLY. ALTHOUGH, LITTLE DID I KNOW OF GODS PLAN TO RAISE ME UP OUT OF THE ASHES OF SIN & SPIRITUAL DEATH,TRANSFORMING ME INTO A NEW CREATURE IN JESUS CHRIST WHO IS GROWING IN KNOWLEDGE,AND WISDOM AND IN SPIRIT EVERY BLESSED DAY. SITTING IN THAT PEW AGAIN, AFTER NEARLY AN EIGHT YEAR HIATUS, I REMEMBERED THINKING ABOUT THE HYMNS I USED TO SING, WHEN MY NOTE WAS DROWNED OUT BY THE CACOPHONY OF VOICES THAT SANG IN UNISON. WITH ALL THE CHILDREN REPEATING THE REFRAIN OF “PEACE IS FLOWING LIKE A RIVER”, BRINGING A HEARTFELT SMILE TO THEIR CREATOR, WHO HAD SHONE HIS GLORIOUS FACE UPON THEM. NOW HOWEVER, IT FELT DIFFERENT, THERE WAS A GENUINE AFFIRMATION FOR ME THIS TIME, AND I FELT IT DEEP DOWN INSIDE, UNLIKE WHEN I WAS A CHILD I SANG BECAUSE I THOUGHT ITS WHAT YOU WERE SUPPOSED TO DO, BUT NOW I WAS A YOUNG MAN AND I SANG, BECAUSE IT WAS THE SONG IN MY HEART, AND UNDOUBTABLY GOD WAS SMILING AGAIN, BECAUSE HE MISSED ME, AND HE WAS GLAD TO SEE ME HOME. WHILE MUSIC HAS ITS PROFOUND WAYS OF TOUCHING THE HEART, THE WRITTEN WORD HAS ALWAYS BEEN AN EFFECTIVE WAY TO EXPRESS THE VICISSITUDES ON THE HIGHWAYS AND THE LOW ROADS OF LIFE, WHICH HAS BEEN A TWO WAY STREET TO SELF DISCOVERY,GOOD AND BAD THROUGH ITS PERIL AND PLEASURE, FINDING OUR TRUE IDENTITY UNDERNEATH THIS SKIN, UNEARTHING THE MYSTERIES THAT LIE BELOW THE COARSE PLAIN OF MERE FLESH, INTO DEEPER COMPLEX MATTERS OF THE SPIRIT, AND TO DISMISS ONES OWN PERSONALLY & PUBLICLY IMPOSED CARICATURE THAT PALES IN COMPARISON TO OUR TRUE IDENTITY IN JESUS CHRIST, AS GODS CHILDREN.WHICH IS WHY IM WRITING THIS MEMOIR TO SHARE A LIFE TIME TESTIMONY WITH YOU HOW JESUS CHANGED ME AND MY LIFE AND ALL TO THE PRAISE AND GLORY OF HIS NAME.THANK YOU JESUS. 2 *1997 THE ROMAN CATHOLIC CHURCH, FAITH BASED ON THE BIBLE, UPBRINGING, & THE EFFECTS OF TIME* EVEN AS I FOLLOWED MY HEART AND STARTED ATTENDING A NON-DENOMINATIONAL CHURCH IN THE WINTER OF 97, MY MOTHER ATTEMPTED TO DISSUADE ME FROM GOING A DIFFERENT PATH THAN ROMAN CATHOLICISM. MY REASONS FOR THE CHANGE WAS THAT I SAW DRAMATIC VARIANCES BETWEEN THE TWO.ONE OF THE DIFFERENCES WAS CONFESSION TO A PRIEST TO OBTAIN FORGIVENESS, WHICH IS UNBIBLICAL ACCORDING TO NEW TESTAMENT STANDARDS.ANOTHER WAS PRAYING THE ROSARY TO MARY AND PRAYING TO THE SAINTS, WHICH IS ALSO UNBIBLICAL ACCORDING TO NEW TESTAMENT STANDARDS.THIRDLY, ANOTHER GREAT CONTRAST WAS THE SERVICE AND WORSHIP. CATHOLICISM IS A BIT LETHARGIC AND LIFELESS IN ITS SABBATH PRACTICES, WHILE A NON-DENOMINATIONAL CHURCH IS LESS CONSTRICTING, WHERE EXHUBERANT SINGING AND DANCING IS EXPRESSED WORSHIPPING IN A MULTITUDE OF WAYS, AND THE TRANSMITTING OF THE MESSAGE IS PASSIONATELY CONVEYED IN AN ARRAY OF STYLES, FROM CHARISMATIC TO ELOQUENCE. SO THE CHANGE OF RELIGION WAS ACCURATELY BASED ON BIBLICAL NEW TESTAMENT TRUTHS THAT I FELT WERE NOT BEING UPHELD BY THE CATHOLIC CHURCH. MY MOTHER DOES BELIEVE IN GOD AND SHE LOVES HER FAMILY WITH A RELIGIOUS DEVOTION. MY MOTHER WORKED HARD WOULD DO ANYTHING IN THE WORLD FOR THOSE SHE LOVES, WHICH IN A SENSE, WAS A GODLY QUALITY IN AND OF ITSELF. AND I LOVE MY MOTHER VERY MUCH. MY FATHER HAS HIS STRENGTHS, SOME OF WHICH WAS HIS LOVE AND PROVISION FOR HIS FAMILY,MY FATHER DID WHATEVER IT TOOK TO TAKE CARE OF US WITH HARD WORK. I LOVE MY FATHER VERY MUCH. HE IS AN EASY GOING MAN, WHO IS HAPPY TO BE WITH HIS FAMILY. HE BELIEVES IN GOD AND LOVES MY MOTHER VERY MUCH AND COME 2018 THEY WILL BE MARRIED 50 YEARS. I REMEMBER AS A CHILD, GROWING UP HAVING QUALITY TIME TOGETHER WITH BOTH OF MY PARENTS & MY BROTHER JOE, WHERE BONDS OF CLOSENESS HAD FORMED, BUT THE MARCH OF TIME WORE ON IN ITS INDISCRIMINATE STAMPEDE OF CHANGE, AND THE TRIALS OF LIFE HOLD TO ITS HEARTBREAKING VERDICTS, AND THE SOMETIMES OMINOUS JOURNEY DOES SEEM TO ISSUE UNIVERSAL INJUNCTIONS UPON US. A KIND OF COSMOLOGICAL IMPOSITION THAT STANDS IN OUR WAY, TRYING TO BREAK OUR KINDRED SPIRITS WITH ITS OWN SEEMING PRECLUSIONS,BUT I AM HOPEFUL THAT THE GOD OF LOVE AND RECONCILIATION WILL HEAL THE WOUNDS WE ALL HAVE SUFFERED, AND TO BIND ON EARTH THAT WHICH IS BOUND IN HEAVEN.THESE ARE THE THOUGHTS THAT HAD HELPED ME KEEP IT ALL TOGETHER, I BELIEVED. AND SO I HOLD TO THESE FOR LOVE AND REDEMPTION. I LOVE MY MOTHER AND MY FATHER VERY MUCH, I KNOW THEY HAD SACRIFICED MUCH OF THEIR LIFE FOR MY SAKE AND PROVIDED AND CARED FOR MY BROTHER AND I. AS I THINK BACK IN RETROSPECT, I REMEMBER THE BLOOD, THE SWEAT, AND THE TEARS THAT THEY SHED DURING THE TRYING PROCESS OF RAISING TWO CHILDREN, WHO MERELY STAYED OUT OF TROUBLE,AND GOT DECENT GRADES TO GET THROUGH HIGH SCHOOL. 3 -A WORK IN PROGRESS- I HAD BEEN SAVED IN THAT WINTER OF 95’. BUT WHILE THERE WERE A SLEW OF PERSONAL CHANGES FOR THE BETTER, THERE WAS MUCH THAT REMAINED THE SAME LIKE MY HABIT FOR PORN. IN CONTRAST OF THIS I BECAME MORE AWARE OF MY SURROUNDINGS IN WHICH I LIVED.LIKE THE HOMELESS MEN WHO FREQUENTED THE NEIGHBORHOOD PANHANDLING JUST OUTSIDE THE STORE THAT I HAD WORKED. THERE WAS ONE MAN WHO CAME BY THE GARBAGE AREA AROUND THE SIDE BY RECEIVING, I NOTICED HIM LOOKING THROUGH THE DUMPSTER FOR SOMETHING TO EAT AND BROUGHT A SANDWHICH OUT TO HIM AND HE UNABASHEDLY ACCEPTED MY OFFER. ON A NUMBER OF OCCASIONS I GAVE HIM SOME MONEY, KNOWING FULL WELL THAT IT WOULD NEVER SUFFICE HIS DEBT OF SUCH DAMNING DESTITUTION. I REMEMBER ONE DAY I WAS SPEAKING WITH HIM OUT BY THE GARBAGE DUMPSTER; I HAD SAID “JESUS LOVES YOU” AND HE RESPONDED WITH” I HOPE SO.” EVEN NOW I THINK ABOUT THAT DAY AND HIS RESPONSE, BUT NOT IN DOUBT OVER WHAT HE SAID, RATHER I QUESTION WHAT I HAD SAID AND THE INTANGIBILITY OF WHAT I SAID TO HIM AND THE REALITY OF HIS LIFE.DID HE FEEL GODS LOVE THE WAY I HAD EXPERIENCED IT? WAS MINE A HALLUCINATION, A FALSE HOPE WRAPPED UP IN ANCIENT MYTH THAT IS OUTDATED? HAVING DREAMS OF A NEW LIFE, A FRESH START,OR WAS IT A REPRESSION OF FEAR TO QUELL THE NEED OF HAVING TO FACE THE TRUTH AND INSTEAD LIVING A LIE THAT ONLY BROUGHT ON MORE DISCONTENT,RATHER THAN FINDING TRUE INNER PEACE. MAYBE I SAW MYSELF IN THE NAMELESS PANHANDLER AND WAS CONVICTED WITH MY OWN GUILT BELIEVING HIS POVERTY WAS DUE TO MY NEGLECT OR AT LEAST DUE TO MY INCAPACITY. STILL AT THAT TIME I BELIEVED WITH CONVICTION AND MOVED FORTH IN FAITH HOLDING TO CHRISTIANITIES MANDATE OF AGAPE LOVE. A SELFGIVING LOVE THAT JESUS MODELED.AN EXAMPLE IN PERFECT REPRESENTATION OF GODS LOVE AND JUST HOW JESUS GAVE HIS LIFE FOR US WE SHOULD LIKEWISE HELP OUR FELLOW MAN IN NEED. HE BECAME POOR SO WE MIGHT BECOME RICH SPIRITUALLY. HE WAS IMPOVERISHED SO WE WOULD ABIDE IN THE ABUNDANCE OF HIS PROVISION IN THE MAJESTIC ROOMS AND HALLS OF GODS KINGDOM. I STILL HOLD TO THESE BELIEFS, BUT I GUESS IT’S WHEN I TAKE MY EYES OFF OF HIM IS WHEN I SINK INTO THE WATER AND SPLASH AROUND IN FAITHLESS DESPERATION. THERE WAS ANOTHER HOMELESS MAN, WITH WHOM I HAD ESTABLISHED A FRIENDSHIP. WHO AT FIRST, PANHANDLED IN THE AREA, UNTIL THE OWNER OF THE RESTAURANT ACROSS THE STREET; FROM WHERE I WORKED, HAD HIRED ANTHONY TO BE A PARKING LOT ATTENDANT. IT WAS DURING THIS TIME WORKING THERE THAT WE WOULD ENGAGE IN SMALL TALK, AFTER MY SHIFT AT WORK. SOME OF THE CASUAL DISCOURSE THAT WE AIRED OUT ON THOSE WARM SUMMER DAYS, SPOKE OF WHAT ETERNAL LIFE MEANS AND WHILE HE SHARED HIS VIEW BY EXPLAINING,” IT IS ONLY THROUGH OUR MEMORIES OF THE INDIVIDUAL AND WHEN WE TALK ABOUT THE LEGACY OF THE PERSON, THAT THE SPIRIT OF THE DECEASED IS RESURRECTED.” I DIDN’T NECESSARILY AGREE WITH HIM BUT I LISTENED IN SILENCE, AND GAVE HIM A SMALL NEW TESTAMENT BIBLE. HE APPRECIATED THE GIFT AND WE CONTINUED TO BOND. ONE NIGHT WE HAD STOPPED IN ONE OF THE LOCAL STRIPBARS HAD A FEW DRINKS AND CHECKED OUT THE TOPLESS DANCER ,WATCHING HER DROWNED OUT THE PAIN & LONELINESS FOR ANTHONY & MYSELF. IT WAS A SINFUL MOMENT OF ENTICING PLEASURE THAT HE AND I BOTH ENJOYED. BUT THIS WAS ONLY FOR THE MOMENT. IT WAS SUCH A FLEETING JOY, AND LATER I DROPPED ANTHONY OFF AT HIS RELATIVES HOUSE IN THE PROJECTS NOT FAR FROM THE OLD HAYES POOL. IN THOSE MONTHS, I HAD SHARED A DREAM OF MINE WITH HIM. I REMEMBER TELLING HIM I WANTED TO START SOME SORT OF RELIGIOUS COMMUNITY ORGANIZATION CALLED, SOLDIERS FOR CHRIST.I RECALL HIS WORDS IN RESPONSE TO MINE SAYING,” IF YOU CAN DREAM IT, YOU CAN ACHIEVE IT, NOTHING CAN STAND IN YOUR WAY.” I THINK BACK ON WHAT I SAID AND WONDER HAD I REALLY MEANT IT, I THOUGHT I BELIEVED IT AT THAT TIME, BUT NOW I HAVE DOUBTS ABOUT IT BEING TRUE AND I JUST SAID IT WITHOUT HAVING A SOLID MENTAL FOUNDATION TO BUILD UPON THAT DREAM AND SO LIKE PAPER WEIGHT DEBRIS MY EMPTY WORDS WERE BLOWN AWAY IN THE WIND. THERE WAS NO ROOT, ONLY A SEED THAT WAS NEVER PLANTED AND A MOMENT THAT WAS NOT SEIZED. SOMETIME DURING THE SUMMER OF 98 ANTHONY HAD COME INTO THE STORE WHERE I WORKED LOOKING FOR ME. BECAUSE HE NEEDED MONEY TO PAY A COURT FINE OF SOME SORT.HE TOLD ME IF HE DIDN’T PAY IT HE WOULD WIND UP IN JAIL, BUT I HAD TOLD HIM IT WAS TOO MUCH MONEY, THAT I COULDN’T AFFORD TO GIVE HIM A COUPLE HUNDRED DOLLARS TO SAY THE LEAST HE WAS DISAPPOINTED. I KNOW HE BELIEVED I WAS GOING TO COME THROUGH IN HIS TIME OF NEED, BUT ON THE OTHER OCASSIONS, IN WHICH I GAVE HIM MONEY, IT WAS A MERE PITTANCE,MAYBE TEN DOLLARS, MAYBE TWENTY. WHEN HE LEFT ME I FELT UNCOMFORTABLE BECAUSE MY BOSS WAS PRESENT AND I KNEW HE WITNESSED WHAT HAD JUST TRANSPIRED, BUT I SHOOK IT OFF AND IT DIDN’T HIT ME TILL LATER. A FLOOD OF THOUGHTS PANGS OF GUILT, VISIONS OF ANTHONY IN A CELL BECAUSE I FAILED TO HELP A FRIEND IN NEED. I STILL THINK ABOUT ANTHONY, NEARLY TEN YEARS LATER AND I WONDER WHERE HE IS NOW, AND IF HE IS EVEN ALIVE.I HOPE HE IS ALIVE SOMEWHERE AND HAPPY. I HOPE GODS LOVE FILLS HIS HEART,I HOPE IF HE REMEMBERS ME AT ALL THAT HE’LL REMEMBER HOW I SAW HIM AS A CHILD OF GOD AND A HUMAN BEING WHO DESERVES ANOTHER CHANCE REGARDLESS OF THEIR PAST OR PRESENT MISTAKES. 4 *1995-1998* I HAD MET ANA IN SEPTEMBER OF 1995 THAT’S WHEN SHE WAS HIRED AT THE STORE WHERE I WAS EMPLOYED. I WAS TOO SLOW TO ACT IN BEFRIENDING HER, TOO SHY TO BE SO BOLD AND APPROACH HER. SO AT MY OWN PACE, I WORKED ON GETTING TO KNOW HER, NOT WITHOUT MUCH FRUSTRATION THOUGH. I REMEMBER FIGHTING WITH MYSELF OVER A LACK OF CONFIDENCE AND COURAGE. MY FONDNESS OF HER BORDERED BETWEEN OBSESSION AND FANTASY.SWINGING LIKE A PENDULUM, MY EMOTIONS TICKED LIKE A TIME BOMB THAT COUNTED ITS FINAL SECONDS WITH THE INSATIABLE LONGING,TO BE HER MAN,TO BE HER LOVER, TO BE HER HUSBAND. I CARRIED THESE FEELINGS FOR HER FOR THREE YEARS AND DURING THAT TIME FINALLY MADE MY FEELINGS KNOWN.THOUGH WHEN I DID SHE ONLY HURT MY FEELINGS WHEN SHE ASKED ME WHAT KIND OF FUTURE WOULD WE HAVE? AND IN 1998 I TRIED TO SHOW HER HOW SERIOUS I WAS BY ENROLLING INTO A TRADE SCHOOL, BUT AS THE END OF THE FIRST SEMESTER DREW TO A CLOSE, I HAD MADE A TRUTHFUL CONFESSION TO MYSELF. THAT I HAD NO CLUE AS TO WHAT I WAS BEING TAUGHT. I COULD HARDLY EXPLAIN CURRENT FLOW AND FELT BURDENED BY THE COUNTLESS FORMULAS NECESSARY TO PROVE THE EQUATION MATHMATICALLY. THE LINE BETWEEN THE CLASSROOM AND THE FIELD BECAME BLURRED, AND I LOST MY NERVE TO CONTINUE, AND COULD NOT RISK FAILING, WHILE PAYING TEN THOUSAND DOLLARS AND THAT WAS THE ONLY EQUATION THAT I UNDERSTOOD. OF COURSE, WHAT IF I HAD PUSHED ON, MOVED FORWARD AND DIDN’T THROW UP MY HANDS IN SUBMISSION. MAYBE IT WOULD HAVE BEEN A DIFFERENT OUTCOME, AND MAYBE ANA WOULD HAVE COME AROUND TO MY COURTING ATTEMPTS, EVENTUALLY WINNING HER HAND. INSTEAD, AFTER I QUIT RETS INSTITUTE, WE WERE SPENDING MORE TIME TOGETHER. I MEAN, IT WASN’T EXACTLY WHAT I HAD HOPED FOR,BUT I THOUGHT AT LEAST I WAS HANGING OUT WITH HER, YOU KNOW, IT FELT GOOD AND EXCITING LIKE THERE WAS A CHANCE THAT I WOULD BE ABLE TO HOLD HER IN MY ARMS ONE DAY. SHE HAD BEEN TRANSFERRED TO THE KEARNY LOCATION AND I STAYED IN NEWARK. BUT WE STILL KEPT IN TOUCH CALLING EACHOTHER FROM WORK, AND HER VOICE WOULD DRIVE A STAKE THROUGH MY HEART TELLING ME NO, WHILE HER STEALTHY SELFISH MOTIVES WOULD NEARLY LURE ME INTO HER TRAP. AFTER GIVING ME FALSE HOPE ON THOSE HOT SUMMERS DAY WHEN SHE PUT HER ARMS AROUND ME FROM BEHIND, SHE HAD ME BELIEVING THERE WAS A POSSIBILITY BETWEEN US. BUT SHE WOULD BURST THAT BUBBLE WHEN SHE ASKED ME TO MARRY HER, MERELY, FOR IMMIGRATION PAPERS. I DROVE HER HOME FROM WORK NEARLY ON A DAILY BASIS AND WE EVEN WENT OUT TO THE MOVIES AND NEAR THE END OF OUR PECULIAR FRIENDSHIP, WE WENT TO GREAT ADVENTURE. ON THE DAY OF THE GREAT ADVENTURE TRIP JULY 4TH WOULD BE THE BEGINNING OF THE END OF ALL THE HOPES THAT I HAD HAD. ALL THE FANTASIES THAT WOULD EVAPORATE INTO THIN AIR RIGHT BEFORE MY EYES. WHERE MY BEST FRIEND CHUCK MET ANA THAT DAY AND WOULD FORM A DATING RELATIONSHIP THAT EVOLVED OVER TIME INTO THE CONSUMMATION OF MARRIAGE JUST TWO YEARS LATER. AS I LOOK BACK IN RETROSPECT, I COULD SEE HOW WE WERE BOTH WRONG. I WAS WRONG IN MY ABSURDITY, IN WHICH I SOUGHT TO ANTE UP AND PUSH THE HAND OF DESTINY IN MY FAVOR, INSTEAD OF UNDERSTANDING THE HAND OF FATE AND HOW WE JUST WERE NOT MEANT TO BE. AND ANA WAS WRONG IN HER PROPOSAL TO ME, TO MARRY HER JUST FOR IMMIGRATION PAPERS.SHE KNEW HOW I FELT ABOUT HER AND NO ONE WOULD EVER AGREE TO SUCH AN OFFER KNOWING THEY WOULD ONLY END UP HURT IN THE END. NOT TO MENTION HOW IT HURT ME TO KNOW SHE DIDN’T FEEL THE SAME WAY ABOUT ME AS I DID ABOUT HER. IN THE FINAL WEEKS OF MY TENURE WHERE I HAD WORKED, FOR NEARLY SEVEN YEARS, OUR FRIENDSHIP THAT HAD BRIEFLY PEAKED WOULD QUICKLY COLLAPSE. AS I FOUND OUT ABOUT ANA AND CHUCKS RELATIONSHIP, LEAVING A MESSAGE ON CHUCKS PHONE SAYING THAT OUR FRIENDSHIP WAS OVER AND I NEVER WANTED TO SEE HIM AGAIN. I ABRUPTLY QUIT MY JOB ON ONE WEEKS NOTICE, WHERE I STILL HAD NOT RECEIVED THE PAY INCREASE PROMISED TO ME FOR THE LAST MONTH OR SO. I HAD APPLIED AT A MATTRESS COMPANY THE SAME DAY I QUIT IN ECKERT AND WAS HIRED.I ONLY WORKED THERE FOR THREE WEEKS BEFORE THEY LET ME GO. AND FOR ALMOST A MONTH I COLLECTED UNEMPLOYMENT BEFORE MY FORTUNES WOULD CHANGE, AFTER MUCH COAXING FROM MY MOTHER TO APPLY AT FORTUNOFF. I FINALLY DID AND WAS CALLED IN FOR AN INTERVIEW AND WAS HIRED. 5 -WORKING @ FORTUNOFF- IT WAS RIGHT AROUND HALLOWEEN TIME IN THE FALL OF 98’ WHEN I STARTED MY NEW JOB AFTER ALL OF THE EVENTS THAT HAD TAKEN PLACE.IT WAS EXACTLY WHAT I NEEDED, A CHANGE OF ATMOSPHERE, A NEW PLACE WITH FOREIGN FACES, A NEW WORLD FULL OF INFINITE POSSIBILITIES AND A SMORGASBORD OF POTENTIAL FRIENDSHIPS. MY FIRST FRIEND I WOULD MAKE AT FORTUNOFF WAS ERWIN TEJANO. AND IT WOULD BE THROUGH ERWIN THAT I WOULD HAVE MY FIRST ENCOUNTERS WITH THE FILIPINO CULTURE AND COMMUNITY. DURING THE SHORT TENURE OF OUR FRIENDSHIP, I HAD TAGGED ALONG TO MANY OF THE PARTIES IN THE FILIPINO COMMUNITY THAT HE WAS INVITED TO. AND IT WAS DURING THIS PERIOD THAT I BECAME FRIENDS WITH CELESTE AND JOLINA, TWO FILIPINAS WHO ALSO WORKED AT FORTUNOFF. ON A NUMBER OF OCCASIONS ALL OF US WENT OUT TO CLUBS, POOLHALLS, AND PARTIES. 6 -LOOKING FOR MY PRINCESS IN ALL THE WRONG PLACES- IN THE SPRING OF THE FOLLOWING YEAR ERWIN INTRODUCED ME TO A YOUNG AND BEAUTIFUL FILIPINO GIRL, MICHELLE BRAGOLI, WHO HAPPENED TO BE LIVING HALF WAY ACROSS THE GLOBE IN CEBU, PHILIPPINES. WE BEGAN CHATTING OVER THE INTERNET, SENDING INSTANT MESSAGES TO EACH OTHER, GOING FOR HOURS UNTIL THE FIRST LIGHT OF DAWN. IT DIDN’T TAKE LONG THOUGH BEFORE I STARTED CALLING HER, BUYING TEN DOLLAR PHONE CARDS ALMOST EVERY OTHER DAY. MICHELLE HAD SENT ME NUMEROUS PICTURES, WHICH I DO NOT HAVE ANYMORE. SOLO SHOTS, PICTURES WITH HER FAMILY AND FRIENDS, EVEN A HOMEMADE VIDEO OF HER HANGING OUT WITH ERWIN, HANNAH AND HAZEL IN CEBU DURING ERWINS SUMMER VACATION. WHEN HE HAD RETURNED FROM P.I. HE GAVE ME THE VIDEO AND OTHER SOUVENIRS THAT HE AND MICHELLE WANTED ME TO HAVE. DURING ERWINS VACATION JOLINA AND I HUNG OUT A BIT. AS WE WENT OUT TO THE MOVIES TOGETHER A COUPLE OF TIMES.WE SAW THE MUMMY AND THE MATRIX AND I REMEMBER WANTING TO MAKE AN ADVANCE TOWARDS HER, BUT MY COURAGE FAILED ME AND SO, IT WAS JUST ANOTHER CASE OF WHAT MIGHT HAVE BEEN. KEEP IN MIND THOUGH,I WAS IN A LONG DISTANCE RELATIONSHIP WITH MICHELLE,WHO I NEVER MET IN PERSON. CELESTE WAS ANOTHER FILIPINA I WAS FRIENDS WITH SHE WAS TALL AND THIN WITH LONG LEGS AND SHE WOULD WEAR SUCH SHORT SKIRTS THAT LEFT VERY LITTLE TO THE IMAGINATION. I REMEMBER MY ATTRACTION TO HER, WHICH WAS MORE SEXUAL THAN ROMANTIC AND HOW SHE WOULD LATER DISCOVER THIS THROUGH ERWIN, WHO HAD TOLD HER OF MY FONDNESS FOR HER.WHICH HAD EVENTUALLY LEAD TO HER PROPOSITIONING ME,ONE WINTER NIGHT IN 2001 AT JOEYS CLUB IN CLIFTON. BUT I IGNORED THIS PROPOSAL,BY ACTING AS IF I DIDNT HEAR HER AND TURNED THE CONVERSATION IN A DIFFERENT DIRECTION. NOW I WONDER IF I HAD ONLY SHIED AWAY FROM HER BECAUSE, I WAS TURNED OFF BY SUCH AGGRESSION OR WAS IT DUE TO MY OWN RELIGIOUS INCLINATIONS THAT GAVE ME THE IMPULSE TO RETRACT OUT OF REVERENCE AND OBEDIENCE TO GOD OR COULD IT HAVE BEEN DUE TO MY ENGAGEMENT TO A YOUNG LADY NAMED CLARISSA, WHO WAS WORKING IN NORWAY. 7 *ENGAGEMENT & MARRIAGE* I WAS INTRODUCED TO MY WIFE BY A FELLOW COWORKER, HER BROTHER IN LAW, LEO BAUSA. SHE WAS WORKING FOR THE AMERICAN EMBASSY IN MICHIGAN. WE HAD SPOKEN A NUMBER OF TIMES OVER THE PHONE, STARTING IN AROUND MID SEPTEMBER OF 99′ AND IN OCTOBER, ON THE WEEKEND OF THE FIFTEENTH SHE CAME TO NEW JERSEY TO MEET IN PERSON. IN THAT TWO DAY ENCOUNTER THINGS WENT QUITE WELL AND WE BOTH KNEW FOR SURE THAT WE WOULD BE SEEING EACHOTHER AGAIN SOON.THOUGH THINGS HAD CHANGED AND SHE WENT BACK TO NORWAY TO WORK FOR THE EMBASSY THERE AND WE HAD TO PUT OFF SEEING EACHOTHER TIL EARLY 2000. SO OUR NEXT TIME AND PLACE TO BE TOGETHER WOULD BE TO GO TO HER HOME COUNTRY IN THE PHILIPPINES.ON THIS TRIP I HAD MET MY INLAWS TO BE. AND ALL I CAN REMEMBER IS BEING TREATED WITH SUCH HOSPITALITY AND SUCH A WELCOMING THAT I FELT I HAD FOUND A BIT OF HEAVEN HERE ON EARTH CERTAINLY I HAD NEVER EXPERIENCED ANYTHING LIKE IT BACK HERE IN JERSEY,MAYBE IN VERY SMALL DOSES.BUT I REMEMBER FEELING LIKE A KING IN PARADISE. I ALSO REMEMBER THE ATTENTION I GOT WHEREEVER I WENT,I FELT LIKE A CELEBRITY.EVERYONE WOULD LOOK AT ME LIKE IT WAS THE SECOND COMING. THIS HAD BEEN MY FIRST TIME TRAVELING ANYWHERE OUT OF THE US.NOT TO MENTION CLARISSA AND I HAD GONE IN FEBRUARY SO I WOULD GLADLY MISS 2 AND A HALF WEEKS OF WINTER. LATER ON IN 2000, I WOULD VISIT CLARISSA WHERE SHE WORKED AT THE AMERICAN EMBASSY IN OSLO, NORWAY. I WOULD ALSO PROPOSE TO HER THERE ON THURSDAY, AUGUST 17TH. 8 -2001:WHAT A YEAR- MY WIFE AND I MARRIED ON APRIL 19TH 2001. A DAY I WILL ALWAYS REMEMBER AND CHERISH.I CAN HONESTLY SAY I HAVE CONTENTMENT AND PEACE IN MY LIFE. CLARISSA IS A GIFT FROM GOD. SINCE OUR UNION,THERE HAS BEEN MUCH LEARNED ABOUT HER, WHICH HAS ONLY LED ME TO APPRECIATE HER EVEN MORE WITH EVERY PASSING DAY.HER LOVE AND HER CARE FOR ME IS SIMILAR TO GODS INFINITE LOVE. HER FORGIVENESS FOR MY MISTAKES AND SHORTCOMINGS IS NOTHING SHORT OF GODLINESS. SURE EVERY COUPLE HAS THEIR OWN CHALLENGES,TESTS AND TRIALS,BUT GOD HAS BROUGHT US OUT BETTER AND STRONGER THAN WE WERE BEFORE. GODS GRACE HAS BEEN THE DIFFERENCE IN OUR LIVES AND THE REASON WHY OUR LOVE REMAINS TO BE A LIVING TESTAMENT TO OTHERS AROUND US TODAY. I WOULD LIKE TO PICK UP IN 2001.WHEN MY WIFE TO BE CAME IN TO VISIT ME AROUND THE BEGINNING OF THE YEAR FOR A WEEK. AT THIS TIME THE PETITION TO BRING HER HERE AND MARRY HER, HAD BEEN FILED SINCE OCTOBER OF 2000. IT WAS BY MID FEBRUARY 2001 THAT WE WERE INFORMED OF THE DATE THAT SHE WOULD FINALLY COME TO AMERICA. ON MARCH 30TH, WHAT AN AWESOME DAY, I COULD NOT WAIT FOR IT TO COME. YET IT CAME, IT SEEMED AN ETERNITY TO DO SO.BUT SHE IS WELL WORTH THE WAIT. AND NOW, IT IS FOR ETERNITY WITH THE CONSUMMATION OF OUR LOVE THROUGH THE SACRED BIND OF FAITH AND GODS LOVE THAT UNITES US IN THE SAME SPIRIT. IN THE SAME YEAR, MY GRAND FATHER JOSEPH GOMEZ WOULD PASS AWAY ON JUNE 1st, AND MY MOTHER LOST HER JOB THAT SUMMER, WHICH LED TO HER SELLING HER DREAM HOME THAT SHE LOVED SO, AND THE TRAGEDY OF 9/11 THAT SHOOK OUR NATION, CHANGING OUR WORLD, AND THE BIRTH OF MY FIRST NEPHEW FROM MY FAMILIES SIDE, MY BROTHER JOES SON, MATTHEW ON SEPTEMBER 26TH. THE PAIN AND HEARTACHE MY MOTHER AND FATHER ENDURED FROM LOSING HER JOB AND THEIR HOME, AND THE TERROR OF 9/11 WERE FOLLOWED BY THE BIRTH OF MATTHEW. A NAME WHICH MEANS (GIFT OF GOD) WAS BEAUTIFULLY AND PERFECTLY TIMED AND ORDAINED BY GOD. AT SUCH A TIME AND OUT OF SUCH DESPAIR WOULD COME SUCH A BLESSING. WHO CAN EXPLAIN THE HEARTBREAK AND THE AGONY OF LIFE SOMETIMES EXCEPT THAT EVIL IS REAL AND MISFORTUNE IS ALSO REAL BUT SO IS THE LORDS BLESSING AND THE LORDS FAVOR. EVEN WITH SOME OF THE PAINFUL AND TRAGIC EVENTS THAT TRANSPIRED IN 2001, THERE IS NO WAY I WOULD TRADE IT FOR ANYTHING IN THE WORLD. WHY? BECAUSE, I MARRIED THE LOVE OF MY LIFE, AND ALSO FOR THE BIRTH OF MY NEPHEW MATTHEW. I ALSO HAVE COUNTLESS NEPHEWS AND NIECES IN THE PHILIPPINES THROUGH MY INLAWS. WOW! BLESSED INDEED!. 9 -2002-2005:THE PASSING OF MY IN-LAWS, FAMILY MATTERS, LIFE GOES ON- AS MY WIFE AND I SET OUT ON OUR OWN MOVING INTO AN APARTMENT, IM SAD TO SAY THAT MORE GRIEF WOULD COME IN 2002. WHEN MY MOTHER IN LAW WOULD PASS AWAY. THIS WAS HARD FOR MY WIFE AND EVEN HARDER,BECAUSE OF THE MILES THAT SEPARATED HER FROM OUR FAMILY IN THE PHILIPPINES. IT WAS NOT A HOP,SKIP, AND A JUMP AWAY. NEVERTHELESS, WE MADE THE SOMBER JOURNEY TO BE THERE FOR THE WAKE AND THE FUNERAL. OVER THE NEXT FOUR YEARS I ADMIT MY SELFISHNESS IN REGARDS TO MY WIFES FINANCIAL CONCERNS AND PROVISIONS FOR THE FAMILY IN THE PHILIPPINES. I HAD DISPUTED WITH HER OVER THIS ISSUE BECAUSE I FELT IT WAS TOUGH JUST TO TAKE CARE OF OUR OWN NEVER MIND SUPPORTING EVERYONE ELSE THERE. I WAS SELFISH IN MY ATTITUDE AND FAILED TO SEE IT OR REFUSED TO.THIS LED TO A NUMBER OF DISPUTES ABOUT MONEY AND FINACIAL ISSUES. BUT IN REALITY, I THINK ALOT OF COUPLES HAVE DISAGREEMENTS ABOUT MONEY IN MOST RELATIONSHIPS. ITS NOT EASY TODAY,BUT GOD IS GOOD AND HIS ABUNDANCE OF SUPPLY HAS NO LACK. THIS PERIOD WAS FROM 2002-2006. SINCE THEN I HAVE CHANGED MY WAYS OF THINKING AND ACTUALLY ENJOY THE FACT THAT IM HELPING OTHER PEOPLE, PARTICULARLY FAMILY. IN 2003 WE BOUGHT A NEW CAR,A HONDA CIVIC LX. BUT I MADE A MISTAKE AND LOOKED AT CARS WITHOUT MY WIFE AND INCLUDED MY FAMILY TO HELP ME WITHOUT HER. IT WAS NOT INTENTIONAL ON MY PART. I JUST DID NOT THINK ABOUT WHAT I WAS DOING. AND FAILED TO REMEMBER A PROMISE I MADE TO HER ABOUT GOING OUT AND LOOKING AT CARS TOGETHER. THIS MISTAKE CAUSED SOME TENSION AND DISPUTES AND SURELY I WILL NOT LET THIS HAPPEN AGAIN. IN 2004, MY WIFE WAS LET GO FROM HER JOB AND UNEMPLOYED FOR 2 MONTHS UNTIL JC PENNEY HIRED HER ON JUNE 29TH. THIS SAME YEAR,MY NEPHEW JOSEPH WAS BORN ON SEPTEMBER 28TH. DURING THIS YEAR I TOOK UP WRITING THROUGH 2007. ANYTHING FROM STORIES, TO JUST EXPRESSING MY FEELINGS, TO PROSE, POETRY, ECT. IN 2005 MY FATHER IN LAW WOULD PASS AWAY IN THE PHILIPPINES. I REGRET NOT GOING WITH MY WIFE TO HIS WAKE AND FUNERAL. IT STILL BOTHERS ME TODAY. I REMEMBER MY WIFE AND I ARGUED ABOUT IT BEFORE SHE LEFT AND HOW HORRIBLE I FELT WHEN SHE DID LEAVE.I FELT SO GUILTY ABOUT NOT GOING WITH HER. I HAD 2 WEEKS TO THINK ABOUT IT. WHEN SHE CAME BACK, I APOLOGIZED AND THINGS WENT BACK TO NORMAL BUT I STILL HAD ISSUES WITH SENDING SO MUCH MONEY TO THE PHILIPPINES AT THAT TIME. 10 -2006-2009:TRIALS, CHALLENGES & WANDERING- IN 2006 I BECAME UNHAPPY AT WORK OVER NOT GETTING THE LEAD POSITION OF MY DEPARTMENT.NEEDLESS TO SAY IT SHOWED IN MY ATTITUDE AND HOW I CARRIED MYSELF. I DID GET OVER IT QUICKLY THOUGH. SEE, I HAD MET THIS PASTOR WHO WORKED AT THE SAME BUSINESS I WORKED FOR AND HE WOULD SHARE THE WORD OF GOD WITH ME AND I DID LIKEWISE. SOON, WE BEGAN HAVING BIBLE STUDIES TOGETHER. HIS NAME WAS NATHANAEL AND HE KNEW THE BIBLE LIKE THE BACK OF HIS HAND. IF I ASKED A QUESTION ABOUT A CERTAIN VERSE BUT DID NOT KNOW THE VERSE OR BOOK HE WOULD KNOW AND MANY TIMES SAY IT OUT LOUD FROM MEMORY. SOON WE WOULD HAVE A THIRD MEMBER, HER NAME WAS IESHA. ON A FEW OCCASIONS THE 3 OF US PRAYED TOGETHER AND IT WAS AN EMPOWERING AND YET PEACEFUL MOMENT. WHAT A COMFORT, PEACE AND ASSURANCE I RECEIVED THROUGH THE GRACE OF GOD. HOW GOD BROUGHT THESE PEOPLE INTO MY LIFE FOR A SEASON IN WHICH I NEEDED IT MOST. THANK YOU LORD. I LOVE YOU. THE FALL FROM GRACE IS A HARD ONE INDEED, AND I FELL HARD.SEE I HAD BECOME FRIENDS IN 2006,WITH THIS LADY NAMED HEATHER. THIS FRIENDSHIP BECAME AN UNHOLY ALLIANCE THAT WOULD NEARLY DESTROY MY MARRIAGE. AS A WISE MAN ONCE SAID: “WOMEN ARE THE RUINATION OF A GOOD MAN”, PATRICK WAS RIGHT, AT LEAST IN THIS CASE. I HAD HORRIBLE JUDGEMENT AND GOT CAUGHT UP IN HEATHERS PERSONAL CONFLICTS WITH OTHER PEOPLE AT WORK AND SOON WE WERE HANGING OUT AT KARAOKE BARS. I MUST SAY NOTHING EVER HAPPENED BETWEEN HEATHER AND I.WE NEVER KISSED.WE NEVER HAD ORAL SEX. WE NEVER HAD SEX OF ANY KIND. THE WORST THING TO HAPPEN WAS MY LAPSE OF JUDGEMENT AND CAUSING MY WIFE TO LOSE TRUST IN ME AND NOT BELIEVE ME. AT THAT TIME SHE DIDNT BUT I DONT BLAME HER. OVER TIME THOUGH I HAVE GAINED HER TRUST BACK,ONLY TO LOSE IT AGAIN. FROM KARAOKE TO CLUBS IN 2007 AND 2008. WHILE MY WIFES TRUST IN ME WAS RESTORED, IT DID NOT TAKE ME LONG TO LOSE IT ONCE AGAIN. I BEGAN GOING TO CLUBS WITH MY BROTHER AND JUNIOR.DURING THIS TIME MY BROTHER WAS GOING THROUGH A TOUGH DIVORCE AND SPENDING TIME WITH HIM WAS IMPORTANT TO ME BUT IN THE MIDDLE OF THIS CALLING I BEGAN TO HEED OTHER VOICES OF DECEPTION. MY PRIORITIES WERE TURNED UPSIDEDOWN YET AGAIN, AND MY WIFE CLEARLY NOTICED.UNDERSTANDABLY, MY WIFE DID NOT TRUST MY BROTHERS NEW GIRLFRIEND MARIA, WHO MY BROTHER MET AT A CLUB AND DID NOT LIKE ME GOING TO CLUBS WITH JOE AND MARIA COMING ALONG BECAUSE MARIAS GIRLFRIENDS WERE THERE TOO.I UNDERSTAND MY WIFES FEELINGS ABOUT THIS NOW BUT I DID NOT SUBMIT TO THESE FEELINGS BACK THEN,WHICH CAUSED PASSIONATE TENSION BETWEEN US AND NUMEROUS FIGHTS. TODAY, I COMPLETELY UNDERSTAND HER FEELINGS AND RESPECT HER FEELINGS ABOUT THIS MATTER. I ADMIT I WAS WRONG IN BOTH CASES, WITH HEATHER AND MARIA. I had posted this on facebook regarding that time. it was just a few years ago, when i was living in rebellion and darkness. i was living in the bondage of sin as a child of god. my life style had become one of addiction to night life, a carousing heart, a wandering eye and i was wandering so far from the lord and hurting the person closest to me. i was close to throwing the most important relationship in my life away because of my wandering heart. then soon, i had lost my job in 2009 and it was during this time that the lord began working on me and brought me to a place, where all i would focus on was him, learning more about him, his love for me and everything jesus had done for me on the cross and the power of his blood. while i was out of work and right on through to today the lord has continued his wonder working power within me in my life and the lives of others, transforming my mind and changing my heart. i didnt deserve gods grace, mercy and forgiveness but what an awesome god we serve. in his word it says…”quench not the spirit” this verse right here speaks volumes to me about our complete dependence upon “the spirit of christ, the hope of glory” within, “greater is he that is in us than he that is in the world” and “Even the Spirit of truth; whom the world cannot receive, because it seeth him not, neither knoweth him: but ye know him; for he dwelleth with you, -“AND SHALL BE IN YOU”. jesus’ very promise to us to send the comforter, the holy spirit and that he will be IN YOU.what an awesome gift from god, the holy spirit is doing miracles and wonders in our world today, and what a miracle god has done in my own life. QUENCH NOT THE SPIRIT! brothers and sisters in christ jesus who is the word become flesh and our lord and saviour!the king of kings and lord of lords! his word is our spiritual food. 2009:OUT OF WORK FOR 9 MONTHS *GOD MAKES ALL THINGS NEW* -BEGINNINGS: 2011-2015- I could begin in so many places but i would like to start on august 21,2011. it was during this time,i joined the worship team at church. little did i know at the time but it was the beginning of a new period of my life. where i was discovering the depth of my faith and who God is. it was a calling of service to God through worship & music. Andy Jelliffe was our worship leader, along with nick porcaro and michael giffone. susan soesbe was one of the vocalists along with myself. who would have known that i would be on the worship team not just singing though but worshiping God. since i was a teenager, i wanted to sing, i wanted to be a part of music but who would have thought it would be for worshiping God. the Lord was growing me in my faith through my relationship with him more and more. -Green Pastures Without A Pastor?- Even though our congregation would lose our pastor Don Flynn, who stepped down at the beginning of the new year in 2012, the Lord had other plans. i myself believed there were great times ahead looking forward to what the lord would do at riverside and behold the lord moved mightily. pastor hector ramirez, david jensen and other guest speakers began preaching at times but soon it would be clear in the coming months that it would be PASTOR hector who God would call to our church as pastor, soon becoming interim pastor later that year and finally become senior pastor in 2013. -Growing In The Word & In Prayer- In march 2012,i joined the mens group that meets every tuesday to study Gods Word and Pray together and we still meet today, Pastor Hector, joe, fred and myself. we met mostly at Fellow Elder Richard Wilsons house,who recently passed away on december 25,2015 and went home to be with the lord. I learned with these men that a consistant daily study of the Bible is one of the foundations of the christian life, as well as our daily prayer life are essential in our relationship with Jesus Christ. -Surrender & Serve- On june 3rd,2012,i would be baptized and through the summer of 2012, he also called me to serve in the soup kitchens, the poor of our communities. in september,he would then call me to be an elder of the church. on october 7th, my wife and i of 11 years renewed our marriage vows. the next year,i was installed as an elder on february 10th,2013. over the next 2 years, i would actually lead or co-lead 3 mens meetings and in 2015 i would lead worship 3 times. Serving on the worship team has been a blessed experience along side, vocalists: Susan, Amanda, Christina, Cheryl, Gail, and Jessi. musicians: Andy, Nick, Michael, Roland, Andrew, James, Fred, Al, Ron, Jayson and Billy. Serving God with my wife has been a tremendous blessing. Clarissa is an usher and a greeter and also helps in cleaning up at the end of service. our marriage has become stronger and we have faced many challenges but the Lord has strengthened us and blessed us,keeping us through all of them and bringing us through all of them. we will be married for 15 years on april 19th and together we have learned its alot like serving the Lord being that the more you surrender to the relationship, the closer you grow to the other and your values begin to align to the one you surrender to becoming more and more alike. Selah. *YESTERDAY,TODAY & FOREVER* 1994 – 2016 – -Rewind 2009-2010 In 2009,i would be out of work for 9 months from june until february 2010. the longest time period out of work since after graduating high school in 1991, which was 5 months. during the time i was out of work in 09,i began reading the bible more and seeking God again. its important to say that before 2009, i was on and off with the lord. -Rewind-Forward-Selah- while my new found faith in Jesus Christ began in 1995 and my seeking was more evident to others at that time. come 1996, i began wandering but in 1997 i drew closer to Jesus only to wander again on and off through 1998-2001. in 2001 another resurgence of faith began into 2002 though on and off again. in 2004 was another resurgence,in 2006 was another. when i lost my job in 2009, it helped set me on course to begin to seek the lord again, only this time over the next 7 years my faith and walk with the lord jesus would grow deeper into the roots of stronger faith and spiritual growth and maturity, all to the glory of God. Selah. 2016 – Revelations now and into The Future OH WHAT Jesus has done for us once and for all by his sacrificial death on the cross where his blood was shed for our sins, for the forgiveness of our sins The Bible does tell us that when the redeemed in Jesus Pass Away and enter into the presence of the lord in heaven that we shall be with him & we shall be like him but we shall be like him now as well. once were with Him in eternity and have come to know him face to face he is simply All We Will Desire, Worship, Love and Adore in Heaven for All Eternity. He is this now to us, by the presence of His Holy Spirit, while we have Glympses, portions and doses of his glorious presence. He is everything and more to us in our lives now yes we in Christ can stand sure on his promises found in his word, that we experience the glory of his presence in wonder and awe -Fully- in his awesome presence here and now in the kingdom of heaven within us and in the coming glorious eternal Kingdom of Heaven,we will be unfettered without sin, hindrance or distraction of any kind, just Him in all his Glory, Beauty, Splendor and Majesty. Selah Sacred Memoirs 2007-Present Beginnings 2015-Present

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mattbrothersscriptwriter · 4 years

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My Top 20 Films of 2019 - Part One

I’m back and prising open this tomb of a blog like I’m Lara bloody Croft, let’s do this thing.

2019 was a huge year for movies and thanks in part to my ever obsessive Letterboxd account, i chalked up 150 total 2019 movies seen, which is... too many. Thanks again in part to the rise of Netflix originals, broader theatrical releases and a handful of festival showings (Sundance London, Edinburgh International Film Festival, Frightfest etc), I saw as much as I could. STILL some I didn’t catch (Rocketman, Shazam... Cats...) but as always, for my full breakdown, jump over to my Letterboxd ranking here - https://letterboxd.com/matt_bro/list/films-of-the-year-2019/

20. The Death of Dick Long

I honestly didn’t know what to expect from this, partly because it’s from one half of the ‘Daniels’ duo, who made the equally expectation-defying Swiss Army Man and also because I saw it at Sundance London back when there was no poster, trailer and barely a logline. Some vague word of mouth from Sundance proper was about it. And that’s how I’d recommend seeing it - as blind as you can - as it’s many surprises are unlike anything I’ve really seen before.

It’s a triumph of carefully balanced tone and pitch perfect black humour. Essentially a Fargo-esque tale of two idiot hillbillys who get involved in the mysterious, titular death of their friend Dick Long (played in a cameo by director Daniel Scheinert), things slowly unravel as they realise that in reality, covering your tracks and getting away with a crime is, actually, pretty damn unlikely. The tension that mounts as hidden truths inevitably begin to come to light can rival any straight thriller and the humour always comes from a place of character. But the genius comes in the film’s ability to maintain said tone with a straight face once a very specific spoiler comes to light. It’s deliberately absurdist but you still find yourself swerving from laughing at it to being wholly invested at the sincere pathos and tragi-comedy on display. The film, for all it’s surreal trappings, never punches down at it’s characters, treating them as flawed and vulnerable as any of us, and the leads Michael Abbott Jr and Andre Hyland remain a wholly tragic and relatable pair - against all odds.

19. The Farewell

Lulu Wang’s immensely crowd pleasing indie sensation manages to be many things - a witty comedy, an ode to family, an examination of another culture’s traditions and a character study of the American-Asian experience. Like most really great movies, it’s universal appeal comes from it’s specificity - telling a unique story based in a human truth that taps into themes we can all relate to: alienation from one’s own family, feeling like you don’t belong, truth and honesty within our closest relationships and our own mortality. Or more specifically still; how we would want to face death should we be fortunate/unfortunate enough to know that is is coming.

Awkwafina really is a revelation here, showing off her dramatic chops with a heartfelt performance that utilises her strengths as a funny everywoman and as a tortured individual trying to understand not only her own relatives but herself as well. The whole cast are equally impressive, especially Chen Han and Aoi Mizuhara as the clueless couple getting married and of course, Zhao Shuzhen as Nai Nai - delivering a touching portrayal of a grandmotherly figure we can all recognise. Definitely one of the most moving films of the year for me, it’s a marvel that never succumbs to easy schmaltz or signposted resolutions.

18. Pain and Glory

I’m a big admirer of Pedro Almodovar’s body of work, having studied him since college but I’d be hard pressed to say I was a proper fan. I went into this off the back of it’s buzz and came out more profoundly moved than I first predicted. This very self reflective piece tackles a lot of Almodovar staples - Spain throughout the decades, the pain of love, film-making, mothers! - but is so strongly rooted in a career best Antonion Banderas, here playing a thinly veiled and somewhat fictionalised version of Almodovar himself.

Like The Farewell, it is deeply personal but incredibly universal, dealing with life long regrets and suppressed trauma and memory. Cruz the Muse is back in magnetic form and the tenderness in both the flashbacks and present day make for a surprisingly comforting watch about an awful lot of self-examination. It also cannot be understated how strong Banderas is here, possibly the most human I’ve ever seen the man known for playing gun toting mariachis, sword wielding masked heroes and... sword wielding, um... cats. It’s possibly his most mature and unflashy role in years but he reminds us why he’s such a consistent and evergreen movie star ten times over here.

17. Dolemite Is My Name

Eddie Murphy is back baby! This was hands down one of the most joyful and life affirming films this year, so much so that I’m gutted I didn’t see it in a packed cinema instead of on Netflix. Still, it’s a huge win for the streamer. Before now, it’s been easy enough to write off a ‘Netflix’ movie as one of three things - the modern equivalent of going ‘straight to video’, a blank check passion project for a headline grabbing filmmaker (Noah Baumbach, the Coen Brothers, Martin Scorsese) or a big blatant push for awards glory (Roma). But this breaks through and hits the sweet spot, being the sort of mid-budget biopic the studios used to put out, a comeback vehicle for one of our most missed stars and as a straight up killer piece of film making all round.

From the writers of Ed Wood and the director of Hustle and Flow, Murphy stars as Rudy Ray Moore, a true over-the-hill underdog who stubbornly chases his dreams of reaching stardom as a middle aged man, who refuses to be put down in the face of mass criticism and overwhelming odds. It’s an empowerment story about pursuing what you believe in and saying fuck you to the haters. It understands that the only judge you need to answer to is yourself. It’s a testament to the power of a minority voice, in finding the unstoppable force who will fight to be seen - not just by his peers but by society at large.

I’m a sucker for films about a group of people stretched outside of their natural talents who strive to create something that wasn’t there before. Whether it’s Ed Wood or The Disaster Artist, Brigbsy Bear or Bowfinger - these movies never fail to strike a chord with me. I think championing a belief in yourself, often in the face of huge pessimism or swarms of naysayers, is so incredibly important and seeing these central figures who probably shouldn’t have succeeded, manage to do so, is so touching. The scene in the limo when they read the shitty reviews of their movie and all take a moment to arrive at the conclusion of ‘fuck them, we made a movie, it’s ours’ is an antidote to everybad review any creative endeavour may end up receiving. If it’s important to you, that’s all that matters but like all art, even if you reach one person and affect their life for the better, then it’s all been worth it.

Shining a light on the rise of Blaxploitation also helps to champion an era of outsider art that reflected the lives of millions and gave many more than chance to see themselves represented on screen as their OWN heroes and not just reductive stereotypes. Plus... Snipes is also back baby! Cripes it’s Snipes!

16. Monos

What a gargantuan feat this film is. Shooting in some of the most inhospitable locations ever seen, this tense, survivalist story of a band of young soldiers slowly imploding whilst they guard an American hostage is elemental and animalistic - a 21st century Lord of the Flies for sure.

Moises Arias is unrecognisable here as the eventual alpha Bigfoot. A former Disney star, he is most fondly remembered by me as the polar opposite Biaggio in one of my other favourite films of the decade, The Kings of Summer. The rest of the cast are fantastic too, from the captured Dr Watson (Julianne Nicholson) to the morally torn Rambo (Sofia Buenaventura). With some of the most breathtaking cinematography of the year to yet another stunning Mica Levi score, this feels like a lost Herzog masterpiece from the 70s. In other words, the kind of impossible thriller that you see all too rarely these days.

15. Once Upon a Time... in Hollywood

Any new Tarantino is a cause for celebration, especially as he approaches his long-threatened ‘final’ 10th movie. I’m a massive western guy so I’d been loving his detour into the genre through both Django Unchained and The Hateful Eight but was definitely looking forward to his depiction of 1960s Hollywood. And Tarantino being Tarantino, the western influences manage to find their way into most, if not all, of his filmography.

OUATIH certainly ended up a divisive piece. Too much of an aimless character hangout for some, not enough dramatic bite for others. I was initially left a bit cold myself, knowing I’d enjoyed what I’d seen but wondering if it would go up or down in my estimations upon a second viewing. While that second viewing still hasn’t taken place yet, I tend to believe it will be even more favourable knowing where it’s all heading. I’m in the camp that loved where this film ended up and thought it stuck the landing wonderfully and in DiCaprio and Pitt, the film found a truly dynamic and compelling central friendship fuelled by two A-listers back on A-list form. The two veterans instantly deliver some of their best work in years (DiCaprio is 10x more alive here than he was in his Oscar winning turn in The Revenant) and 2019 would go on to be Pitt’s year, alongside Ad Astra. Margot Robbie is luminous in her limited screentime and while some were disappointed she wasn’t more of a major player, he Tate is arguably the lynchpin of the whole piece. Perhaps more as a symbol than a person, sure, but the scene where she gets to witness the joy her big screen clowning brings others (complete with tactfully judged real life Tate footage) is magic.

At first glance, this could seem like QT regressing somewhat but there are moments in here that stand out as some of his best work, from DiCaprio’s stroppy meltdown to Pitt’s visit to Spahn Ranch to the whole bloody climax. If it ends up being the odd duck of his filmography (Four Rooms aside) then it will end up all the more interesting and I am already captivated.

14. Stan & Ollie

Easily the most underrated film of the year in my eyes, I sort of understand most people’s dismissal of this charming biopic as grey pound fodder and even I admit that it falls into a sub-genre quickly approaching cliche: ageing Golden Age Hollywood movie stars have one last stab at fame and redemption by reviving a stage act in the UK - see also Film Stars Don’t Die in Liverpool and Judy. But this is so sweetly put together in every sense and manages to transcend the biopic trappings to create a more loving portrait of two old friends accepting that they love each other. It’s about male, platonic love and that in itself is rare enough.

Steve Coogan and John C. Reilly are incredible as Laurel and Hardy respectively, both disappearing into the roles completely. Shirley Henderson and Nina Arianda provide brilliant comic support as their two very mismatched wives. The decision to focus on the duo’s later years, rather than to speed chronologically through their early days and movie making prime (glimpsed in the opening flashback) means that the film is free to draw pathos from a life long lived. There are mere hints at the history between them; chasms of time that hold so much importance yet are left to us (and to the actors) to speculate about, to draw from and to imagine. The performances are so strong that you can feel the weight of their professional careers in a sideways glance or a barbed retort or an exasperated sigh. It’s so much more interesting and allows practically the whole film to feed off this feeling that their entire lives are about to reach an impasse that we’re about to witness. This is the emotional resolution to the story of Laurel and Hardy and it’s wonderful to know that this is how it went down in real life too - that two lifelong colleagues couldn’t see how much they meant to each other until it was all about to come to an end.

Ultimately, it’s a story of loyalty and friendship in the face of a fast approaching curtain call. It’s bittersweet and truly sad, watching these two iconic titans perform to tiny crowds and hopelessly chase the dream of a comeback they both know, deep down, is long dead. It also contains two of the most tear-jerking scenes of the year: the very public bust up after one of their shows (”You loved Laurel and Hardy... but you never loved me”) and the ‘turn’ in the climax that wrong footed me so suddenly, despite it’s arguable foreshadowing, that I was almost immediately weeping. A truly touching British film of the highest calibre, it’s much more affecting that you might believe.

13. The Favourite

How does it feel like a million years since I saw this? Man, 2019 was long! Yorgos Lanthimos’ biggest hit yet, this is full of wild, punk energy and gives the period piece a real anarchic streak. Easily the best three hander in years, the ever evolving dynamic between Rachel Weisz, Emma Stone (hot off an Oscar win) and QUEEN Olivia Coleman (heading directly into an Oscar win) is a joy to watch. The dialogue is biting, the visuals sumptuous and the debauched attitude running through it makes it a wicked fun time. It’s influence is already being felt too - just check out that teaser trailer for the new Emma!

12. The Art of Self Defense

Unfairly shafted to VOD, I caught Riley Stern’s follow up to the ace Faults on the big screen whilst in Edinburgh, along with a fellow filmmaker and we had an absolute blast. Playing like a capital D dark comedy mash up of Fight Club and The Foot Fist Way if directed by Yorgos Lanthimos, Jesse Eisenberg utilises his weedy, beta male persona into an effective portrayal of a guy sick of being shit on in life, who takes up karate lessons after a traumatic mugging and slowly descends into a cult-like world of aggressive toxic masculinity.

It’s a fantastic satire of perceived manliness, with some of the funniest stuff I’ve seen all year instantly flipping into something completely shocking. It’s another great showcase for Imogen Poots, who seems to be most often caught playing students despite being in her 30s (looking at you, Black Christmas) but it’s Alessandro Nivola who utterly owns this movie as the intimidating dojo leader; a truly twisted creation that, in a just world, would be generating some serious awards buzz. Mark my words now that by the time the Sopranos prequel movie The Many Saints of Newark lands later in 2020, we’ll suddenly all be talking about him.

11. Us

Another one that feels about three years old already, Jordan Peele’s Get Out follow up finds him with free reign to really get crazy (”you wanna get crazy?”) as he uses his blank check on another bitingly original horror social satire. Leaning a bit more heavily into both the straight up genre elements AND the often-times confusing social allegories, Us is a cabin in the woods slasher that evolves into a Twilight Zone ‘what-if’ scenario before going all out with it’s underlying metaphor.

The results can occasionally be mixed but the sheer ambition on display here is invigorating and it’s captivating to sit back and let a writer/director present something to you as unique and multifaceted as this. His love for horror fuels a tense plot that constantly looks to re-shuffle the stakes every twenty minutes, Lupita Nyong’o is mindbogglingly good as two very different versions of ‘one’ character and Elisabeth Moss is the supporting standout of choice, making 2019 her year with this alongside the brilliant Her Smell... (let’s not mention The Kitchen).

COMING UP - a Canadian stuntman, a wheel of knives, space baboons and every superhero ever

#top 20 #films of the year #films of 2019 #20-11 #the death of dick long #the farewell #pain and glory #dolemite is my name #monos #once upon a time in hollywood #stan & ollie #the favourite #the art of self-defense #us

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distant-rose-archive-blog · 7 years

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Human Coloring Book

Notes: This is a fic in which I combine my love for Dad!Killian with my love for tattooed Killian. I refuse to believe that man only has one tattoo on his person. He's probably not as tatted as I made him in this, but whatever. As always, I have to thank my good friend @welllpthisishappening (if you’re not following her, there is something wrong with you because she is fantastic and she makes ridiculously long but amazing fics that will make you forget that the outside world exists and when they end, you weep because it was so good and you want more.) for listening and giving me feedback on my work. She's the best. All mistakes are mine because I don't have a beta and I am trash. You can also read it here on AO3: [LINK] Summary: Killian Jones is covered in tattoos, including an impressive outline of a full sleeve on his blunted arm. Emma thinks he should get it colored. Killian gets it colored in a rather unconventional way. Rating: T Word Count: 3,500+

Emma nearly gasped the first time she stripped him bare and saw what was underneath all the leather. Nothing had prepared her for the magnificent artwork that lay undiscovered, hidden under numerous layers of black clothing. Killian Jones was covered from head to toe in ink. She had always assumed that he had a few tattoos aside from the heart and dagger that bore another woman’s name, but what she discovered was an entirely different level.

There wasn’t much work on his torso, but there was a tiny, tiny black swan on the far end of his collarbone and it became Emma’s favorite thing to kiss. It was a tribute to her, something that he had gotten while Emma and Henry were in New York. He had taken his vow to remember her everyday seriously and had marred his skin with his promise.

A pair of coordinates with an old fashion looking sextant took up the majority of the space on his left ribcage. It was one of the older looking tattoos on his body, the ink starting to blur a bit with age. Emma knew the moment she saw it that it was another memorial wrought on skin. It was for Liam and Emma sometimes caught him tracing it with a pensive look on his face in the dark quiet moments of the night, particularly on the hard days where one of them almost didn’t make it home.

There was a line of Greek script on his hipbone that was just as old as the sextant and it was what should have cued her in to the fact her pirate had a talent for linguistics. Killian Jones was not the type to tattoo a phrase in a tongue he didn’t speak on his body. On one particular night while she was worrying the letters with her lips and teeth, she asked him what it meant and he choked out it meant ‘freedom.’ It had been his first tattoo; inked only a few days after the Jones brothers had escaped the bonds of servitude.

Less meaningful tattoos littered his body; a feather dancing across the bridge of his foot, a colorful sea monster curled around an ankle and a Jolly Roger flag waved proudly on the back of his left calf. His back is a macabre of skulls and dancing skeletons circling around a very detailed rendition of the Jolly Roger, which upon closer inspection seemed to act as a mask for the uncountable number of scars that littered his back. Unknown constellations that Emma had never seen were sprinkled across backs of his shoulders, accompanied by a familiar golden compass that took up the majority of his right shoulder blade. A part of Emma was smug with the idea he had gotten two tattoos to remember her by instead of just one.

Killian had a lot of tattoos and Emma enjoyed exploring them all, but none quite caught her fascination like the full outlined but uncolored sleeve that took up the entirety of his blunted arm. Even ten years into their relationship, Emma always compelled to trace the lines of it. It was an impressively busy piece of work with ocean waves, sea dragons, sharks, mermaids, ships and anchors curled around his bicep and forearm. It was so intricately detailed, but it always felt unfinished to Emma because of the lack of color.

“Are you ever going to get this colored?” She asked him one night as she snuggled against his chest, tracing over a particular winking mermaid located just above the inside of his elbow.

Killian, who had been half asleep, made a humming noise that Emma felt as it rose from his chest more than she actually heard.

“What’s that, love?” he murmured, cracking an eye open.

“The sleeve,” Emma clarified, pressing down her finger on the mermaid in emphasis. “Are you ever going to get this sleeve colored?”

Killian was silent for a moment and Emma watched his face as he mulled over her question, the wrinkles in his forehead creasing as he thought on it.

“Someday maybe,” he replied with a little shrug of his shoulders, careful not to dislodge her. “Why? You think it needs color?”

Emma placed a kiss on the tiny black swan before answering, nosing a bit at the prominent ridge of his collarbone and pressing a smile against his skin. Sometimes she found it ridiculous how much she loved this man, unfinished tattoos and all. She knew if she said yes, he would without a doubt try to get it done the next day to please her.

“Kinda. I mean you have so many colorful pieces and in comparison, this just feels like an outline. I mean, it’s your body, Killian, and I would never tell you what to do with it and if you want to keep it as is, I wouldn’t blame you. As beautiful as it would be I cannot imagine the number of hours and money it would take to have it done,” she said thoughtfully, glancing back at the sleeve.

Killian brought the arm in question up for them both to further inspect it and Emma couldn’t help but run her fingers across the ink, following the lapping waves and pausing at the curve of one anchor.

“A lot of work,” Killian agreed, watching her fingers. “It would be a lot of blues…some greens…browns for the ships…maybe some whites and grays…Some yellow for the mermaid’s hair.”

“I think she should have red hair,” Emma commented with a small hum. “Red would stand out better than yellow with all the blues and greens…”

“But I like blonde hair so much better,” he remarked with an amused chuckle. Emma snorted as she felt his fingers tangle in her hair, tugging playfully on the strands.

“Flatterer,” she murmured and she pulled back to place a quick kiss on the corner of his mouth.

“Just the truth, Swan,” he responded, gently pulling on her hair in order to tilt her head up for another kiss. This one far more heated than the one prior. She let out a soft sigh and hand abandoning its place on his arm to card into his thick dark hair. There were no more talks of tattoos for the rest of the night.

A few weeks later, Emma arrived home from the store with bags full of ice, freeze pops, ice cream and all the frozen goods she could find. It felt like the hottest summer to hit Maine and, of course, their air conditioning unit was busted. Emma truly loved their old home mainly because it was spacious enough for all of them to live comfortably and they got an excellent view of the ocean, but sometimes she wished that they had chosen a newer, more recently built house with actual central air. Emma felt disgusting, sweat clinging to her like second skin and she wondered if it was inappropriate to walk around in just her bra and a pair of shorts in this oppressive July heat. It wasn’t like they revealed more than a bath suit did…right?

She opened their front door, prepared to deal with overheated children as well as her dramatic and dehydrated husband, but none of her expectations are met when she walked through the door. Instead of moaning about the heat or cheers for popsicles, there was a lot of childish giggling. Curious to see what was so amusing, Emma placed her bags carefully down by the door and looked into the living room.

Her husband was sprawled out on the hardwood, dressed in nothing but a pair of black athletic shorts. Even his blunted arm was naked, no hook, no prosthetic or even his brace could be found; shocking Emma because she knew how self-conscious he was about it, very rarely was that arm bare outside the two of them. All four of her children were perched over him, all in various states of undress. Henry and Harrison were both shirtless and wearing only their swimming trucks. Wes was a little more dressed than his older brothers, wearing a black tank up and blue basketball shorts. Beth, who had laid herself across Killian’s chest, was in a green tank top and butterfly printed underwear. All four of them had markers in their hands and were drawing on her husband like he was a human coloring book.

“Hello Swan,” Killian greeted, tilting his head towards her. He looked as sweaty as she felt, his hair matted and sticking to his forehead. However, he didn’t look uncomfortable. If anything, Killian looked amused.

“What’s going on here?” Emma asked, tilting her head to study the scene in front of her.

“Well, Swan, I’m finally getting that sleeve colored by the most delightful team of artists I know.” Killian responded with a grin before turning to their daughter and asking, “is it alright if I pause this production to show Mommy your work?”

“You may,” Beth replied seriously, hopping off her father’s chest and turning to her brothers like some sort of project foreman, commanded: “Take a break boys!”

“But I’m almost done with the anchor!” Harrison protested with a frown.

“You’re taking far too long with it,” Wes replied bluntly with a roll of his eyes.

“That’s because I care about coloring in between the lines,” Harrison replied defensively, gesturing to the ship that Wes apparently had been coloring in with a thick brown marker. “I mean, look at that! You’re getting the brown all over the place! It looks sloppy!”

“Leave him alone, he’s just trying his best,” Henry said gently, placing a placating hand on Harrison’s shoulder and glancing back up at Emma. “Did you get the popsicles?”

Emma leaned back to pick up the bag she had dropped next to the door and gave it unnecessarily exaggerated shake as if to prove that the popsicles were indeed inside it. All four of her children’s eyes zeroed in on the grocery bag, licking their lips before they hopped off Killian in order to receive their frozen treats. Harrison, almost uncharacteristically rude, snatched the bag from her hands and immediately riffled through the contents. He pulled at the popsicle box with savage vigor, nearly ripping it in half.

“Careful there, bud,” Emma admonished him softly.

Harrison looked almost embarrassed as he pulled out a lime popsicle before handing it off to Wes. Wes, who was almost as picky as Harrison when it came to food, frowned as he searched through the box for a flavor he would like.

“There aren’t any blue raspberry ones in here, are there?” Wes asked Emma with a huff.

“Beggars cannot be choosers, Kid. Just be glad I bought you anything,” Emma replied, jumping slightly as Killian came up from behind her and wrapped his arms around her waist. Normally she would lean back in his embrace, but it was far too disgustingly humid for such body contact.

“It’s way too hot for any touching to be happening right now,” Emma groaned, swatting at his arms.

“Sorry, love,” Killian chuckled, placing a quick kiss of apology on the base of her neck before he moved away. Emma shivered. Damn him for being able to make her still squirm after ten years and three kids together. They should be over those shenanigans by now.

Killian moved to join the kids in getting a popsicle, but Emma grabbed his arm, bringing it up in order to examine the coloring job that her kids had started. It wasn’t even close to being finished as there were numerous patches of untouched skin, but the splashes of bright color were definitely striking in comparison to the normal outline. Killian stiffened and gave her a surprised look for a moment, not expecting her to touch him after just complaining about the heat.

“You gave them a break to show me this, remember?” Emma replied with a small smile, giving his arm a gentle squeeze.

Killian chuckled softly in response, relaxing under her grip as Emma looked over all of the marker work. It was clear that some of her kids were better at coloring in between the lines than others and some were a bit more...creative with their color schemes. Whichever child who had started coloring around Killian’s wrist had decided that red was a good color for ocean water and that the neighboring anchor should be purple. The coloring job by his shoulder was the neatest; water an even blue without any spots and the sea dragon’s scales a mixture of green and yellow, no color bleeding over the black lines. Emma was willing to bet three popsicles that Henry was responsible for the shoulder work. The mermaid that had been the subject of discussion the few weeks prior was untouched.

“They better give her red hair…” Emma said, giving the tattoo an affectionate swipe with the pad of her thumb.

“Absolutely not,” Killian said with a shake of his head before turning to their children. “Twenty dollars and ice cream at Granny’s to anyone who gives my lovely mermaid blonde hair, lads and lass!”

“That’s cheating!” Emma exclaimed with a disbelieving laugh.

“All is fair in love and war, Swan,” he grinned, giving her a quick kiss that felt all too brief.

If that was how he wanted to play, Emma was game. She wasn’t afraid to play a little dirty herself. Emma gave her husband a tiny smirk before turning to her daughter and pulling out the big guns.

“Hey Beth, wouldn’t it be cool if the mermaid was Auntie Ariel?” she asked and internally cheered when her daughter’s eyes lit up. “We can draw her a nice purple shell bra too so she isn’t so naked and embarrassed on Daddy’s arm.”

Killian’s ears burned bright red as if he just realized that the mermaid on his arm was topless and that he had impressionable children drawing on his arm while it was in plain sight. Emma silently snickered as he raised his hand up to scratch the back of his neck uncomfortably.

“Who is the cheater now, Swan?” he asked with a shake of his head.

“All is fair in love and war, Hook,” Emma repeated his words back to him.

Killian let out a bark of laughter at her response and if Emma didn’t know better, she would have said that her husband looked proud of her for serving it back to him. He shook his head and grabbed one of the popsicles, tearing the packing up and giving it a long lick while locking eyes with her. She gave him a whack on the shoulder.

“Don’t be obscene,” she harshly whispered at him.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, love,” he replied, giving her a wink. “I think your mind is in an awfully naughty place.”

“You’re both disgusting,” Henry remarked, looking entirely unimpressed with them. “There are children present.”

“Children who want to finish Dad’s arm,” Harrison said, impatiently crossing his arms in front of his chest. It was hard to believe he was eight years old sometimes. Where had the time gone?

“Finish up that popsicle, Dad, so your artists don’t get cranky with you,” Emma laughed softly, ruffling Beth’s hair as she looked excitedly at Killian’s arm.

Killian polished off his treat, picking up all the wooden sticks and wrappers that had been accumulating around them and walking off towards the kitchen to toss them into the trash. When he returned, he picked up the stray markers on the floor and laid them on the coffee table. He then sat down in the armchair, holding out his arm in preparation of the colored marker assault that was about to happen.

While Henry casually approached his stepfather, the three little ones were a whirlwind of sugar and excitement. Harrison picked up a blue marker while Wes took the green and Beth eagerly chose pink. Harrison and Wes’s eyes bulged comically as they took in their sister’s color choice.

“What are you doing with the pink, Beth?” Harrison asked hesitantly.

“Coloring the shark,” Beth responded as if it was obvious.

Killian and Henry shared an amused look at Beth’s response, not even batting an eye at her explanation. Neither of them seemed bothered by her answer. Henry merely took a handful of markers and started coloring along Killian’s shoulder, confirming Emma’s suspicions that he was responsible for the neater patch of coloring.

“Why are you coloring the shark pink? Sharks aren’t pink! They’re grey, stupid!” Wes responded with an unimpressed look.

“Hey!” Killian and Emma shouted at the same time, glaring at their youngest son. Wes’s cheeks flushed at the light scolding, but he made no attempt to take back his words. However, Beth wasn’t waiting for an apology.

“Boy sharks are grey, this is a girl shark!” Beth exclaimed with a roll of her eyes. “And girls wear pink stuff. Grandma Snow said so! She said it was a rule.”

Emma snorted. Her mother so would tell her daughter that. Beth had been so resistant to most things that were traditionally “girly.” She didn’t like dresses. She didn’t like dolls. She certainly wasn’t fan of anything glittery. Her mother must have pulled everything out of her arsenal to make Beth even somewhat receptive to the color pink. She would probably even jump for joy that Beth would even think of using pink to color a “girl shark.”

“Okay,” Wes said, not even refuting the concept that girl sharks could be pink. “But Dad is a boy so he can’t have a girl shark on his arm. That’s just wrong.”

“He already does! He has a mermaid and she’s pretty! If Dad can have a mermaid, then he can definitely have a girl shark!” Beth replied with an impatient huff. Emma could already see the startings of another episode of Hurricane Elizabeth.

“Lads, I’m manly enough that I can handle a lovely pink shark lass on my arm. Just let her draw,” Killian responded with a casual wave of his hand. Emma caught what he wasn’t saying. It was magic marker and would wash off so it didn’t matter anyway.

Harrison and Wes looked like they wanted to grumble a bit more, but didn’t say anything more. Beth happily approached her father and enthusiastically began coloring in the toothy great white with her pink marker. However halfway through her task, Beth let out a surprised gasp and looked at Henry like he had mortally wounded her.

“What’s wrong, love?” Killian asked with a concerned frown.

“You colored the mermaid’s hair yellow!” Beth accused Henry as tears dangerously started to well in her eyes. “I wanted to make the mermaid Auntie Ariel!”

Emma stepped closer to inspect Killian’s arm and sure enough, the mermaid’s hair was neatly colored in with a sunshine yellow. She cut her eyes towards her firstborn son and fixed him with a pointed look, quietly waiting for an explanation for this sudden and unexpected betrayal. At least he had the decency to look sheepish.

“What!” He exclaimed. “Look, its Hook’s body and he wanted her to be a blonde and twenty bucks is like an eighteen pack of Heineken right there.”

“I always knew there was an excellent pirate in you, Henry!” Killian crowed, absolutely delighted with his explanation.

Without even looking at each other, Emma’s husband and her eldest son somehow managed to hit each other with a pretty epic high five that she was mildly impressed with. Beth, on the other hand, was not at all impressed with Killian and Henry, and she continued to look at Henry with a somewhat miserable expression that Emma hoped made both of them feel guilty.

“I wanted to make her Auntie Ariel, Henry,” Beth whimpered.

“Hey, hey, hey.” Henry capped his marker and smoothed his hand through Beth’s hair in hopes of calming her down. “I know you wanted to make her look like Auntie Ariel, but would it make you happy if I let you give her a shell bra and gave you my ice cream at Granny’s?”

“Only if I get a piggy back ride to Granny’s too,” Beth replied, pout slowly but surely disappearing.

“Done,” Henry said with a small laugh and Beth hugged him, forgetting to cap her own marker and slashing Henry across the back with pink ink. Wes and Harrison made a pointed effort to finish up Killian’s arm and ignore the scene going on next to them, but Emma caught Wes rolling his eyes and mouthing ‘faker’ under his breath.

“Little pirates,” Emma heard Killian muttered affectionately as he regarded his stepson and only daughter.

In the end, they all got dressed (Emma opted for a red and white striped cotton summer dress instead of her controversial choice of bra and shorts she had considered previously) and got ice cream at Granny’s. Henry kept his promise and gave Beth a piggy back ride the entire way and Wes, in a fit of jealously, demanded a piggy back ride from Killian. Harrison, thankfully for everyone’s shoulders because he was far too big now to be carried, did not request to be held in any fashion, but grabbed Emma’s hand and swung their arms merrily between them. While they were eating, Granny made a small remark while gesturing to Killian's now fully colored arm, which he had decided to show off to the public by making the rare decision to wear a dark t-shirt.

“That’s a lot of color there, Captain,” she said with a raise of her eyebrows.

“Thanks,” he replied, not caring whether she meant it as a compliment or not. “I had four really good artists work on it.”

#captain swan #cs #cs ff #cs fanfic #cs fanfiction #cs crew #swan jones family #cs babies #captain swan children #daddy killian #dad!killian #little pirates #harrison jones #wes jones #beth jones #my fic #my shit #human coloring book #little pirates fic

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sunset-wishes-upon-hill · 7 years

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Pandora chapter 1 (Re-write)

A/N: As I have said earlier, there will be a bit of plot change and some scenes will be erased. I will be replacing the chapters online tomorrow or so.

Pandora (Not yet replaced with re-written chapters): FF l Wattpad l Quotev

Volterra, Italy.

Population: 11,042.

She always wanted to take some break off school and travel but it wasn't after her rather dramatic break-up with Mark that set her off to the right rail. She couldn't bear to be in Forks – the gloomy, unfamiliar town. She wanted something different for once or she would've gone crazy.

Jessica didn't know what made her choose this beautiful town out of all places she could have chosen; she'd been dreaming about being in Paris, wondering around with all the latest fashions and enjoying the bright night view– not here. Maybe it was because Italy was similar to Paris: both are known as 'City of Love' and both were beautiful in their own ways too.

Now, she was enjoying the quiet night sky as the stars above her head had come out to play and twinkle like small diamonds studded in the dark blanket. Ever since she was young, she found night to be quite calming, beautiful – not scary or fearful like many other children seemed to believe; she wasn't afraid of the dark because she knew there was nothing in the dark that could harm her.

Jessica closed her eyes in bliss as the calm wind blew through her hair; unlike Forks the night was so peaceful. Quiet. Something that was rare in Forks and other places she visited. The beautiful town held that comfortable country side atmosphere unlike the noisy Forks bustling with lousy teenagers wasting themselves away with alcohol and drugs. Not that she had the right to say anything about their chosen lifestyle.

The whole town was asleep, apart from darkly lit street lights, only silent seemed to inhibit here. So silent that she could hear rustling of trees from the outer walls of the town faintly in her ears.

There was a slightly rustling from her left side she normally wouldn't be able hear if it wasn't for the silence. Jessica slowly turned her head, while she wasn't those reckless types and had good survival skills to know a girl shouldn't be sitting on a fountain at this kind of time alone and open, she couldn't say no to this tranquil experience.

She was sure there was someone there hidden in the darkness and the figure stepped into the silvery moon light. From the tall, lean yet lithe stature, she knew it was a male. He wore all black and hood over his face; too dark to make out any certain looks.

For a moment, her and his eyes seemed to meet before he sharply cut and headed toward the tall, clock tower. Good, as long as he kept his distance she wouldn't have to try her feeble kung-fu version from the movie, 'Rush Hour'.

He glanced over his shoulder, as if checking if whether she was giving more interest and attention than normal. Satisfied she shrugged off and went back to watching the evening sky, he opened the doors before stepping inside and closing it behind him.

The next day, she started off her morning with touring around the beautiful town. Pinacoteca (Art Gallery) was the first place she stepped in, admiring the beautiful religious paintings left behind as legacy by famous painters that graced through our history.

The gallery was spacious, huge and maze-like that she could only explore less than half of the whole collections of arts within the time she gave herself. The brief disappointment vanished when Jessica found a family café 'L'Incontro' that was designed in a way that gave off homely atmosphere giving the ease Jessica sought ever since she came here.

She brought one of articulately made pastry and cappuccino printed with heart shape made from milk drops, almost too hesitant to drink such art form. Jessica of course snapped the picture and uploaded on her Instagram for her friends to see and instantly her phone lighted with notifications.

Jessica was greeted by the owner of the place who also acted as manager/employee, Leo – a middle aged man who is married and had a daughter of her age who often helped out his place. Jessica soon found herself laughing at the man's jokes, he was almost like her father – obviously loves his family very much, humorous, very protective of their only daughter and loved to humiliate their daughter very openly.

She soon said goodbye, finishing her meal but with a promise she'll come back to have their famous home-made Spaghetti Bolognese.

Soon enough, Jessica found herself at a strange place when she wondered out the town's wall. Maybe she was being too adventurous on her first day. Now she didn't know how to get out the lovely garden of sorts she found by accident. She doubts the long-time inhabitants even knew this place; she was completely lost.

But those worrying thoughts were repressed as Jessica began to take in the surroundings. It was tranquil and isolated; a perfect place. A haven away from the world.

She took a seat on Gothic designed metal bench, opened her bag and took out her novel she needed to read: 'Tess of the d'Urbervilles' a rather depressing book she heard, not to mention she saw the drama too. Let's say, she prefered happy endings.

Jessica was too engrossed to notice the time flowing as sun start to set, there were groups of murmurs heading toward her directions but it wasn't until the melodic voice tore her away from the world of literature.

"Now, stay together, everyone." The high pitched voice struck through Jessica, definitely making a deep impression on her even before she saw its owner which she was sure was as beautiful as the voice was.

And she was. So so much more.

The woman wore dark crimson dress that flattered and hugged her die-for hourglass figure, long, lustrous mahogany hair and long legs any models would sell their souls to the devils for. The gorgeous woman was beautiful enough to be compared to Rosalie Hale – another girl Jessica knew that was more stunning than any celebrities she saw in the magazines.

Jessica almost flinched nervously when the woman turned to look at Jessica sitting at the side with idiotic gaping looks; mouth wide open and eyes bulged like a fish. The woman looked surprised but quickly replaced it with a smile as she graced – not walk – the floor effortlessly toward her.

"Hello." Her voice rang in Jessica's ears like clarion church bells.

"..Hi.." Jessica's voice was weak and squeaky against the mysterious woman.

"I am Heidi." She had an exotic name too to suit her exotic beauty, "Yours'?"

"Jessica. Jessica Stanley." Jessica wasted no time to shake her head nervously; her name sounded so ordinary and common against Heidi's.

Heidi beamed at her, "Pleasure. You are not from here are you not?"

Jessica nodded, for some whatever reason, she was compelled to tell the truths. Hell, if she asked for Jessica's credit card PIN, she'd gladly give her if it made her happy.

"You don't happen to know the Cullens' right?" Jessica suddenly blurted out.

If there was one thing that constantly reminded her of the Cullens' was their unnatural beauty that outshined all the famous people out there. Many often, Jessica wondered how the hell they weren't famous; just by their looks alone they could make it to the cover page of Vogue with a flick of a finger but instead they settled in a small, boring, rural town for an ordinary life instead.

And the fact she even asked such questions, she chided herself for being stupid. Like, Cullens' have a family in Italy – well to be fair, they never revealed much about themselves to others except Bella and mostly kept to themselves but she came all the way here and certainly did not take 11 hour flight just so her self-esteem could take a punch in the gut.

Heidi's kind face melted away and replaced by something Jessica identified as recognition. So she knew the Cullens'? And from the fleeting emotion she observed, Heidi seemed to have a somewhat strained relationship with them and surprised Jessica knew them.

"You know the Cullens'?"

Jessica nodded.

Heidi once again smiled pleasantly, "What a surprise? If they told us their acquaintance was coming over here, I'd have shown you around the Volterra's most beautiful sides."

"I don't really know them," Jessica told, shrugging her shoulder, "I mean they are not the most sociable people I know. Dr and Mrs. Cullens' kids goes to my school but I don't really talk to them, they are quite weird. Especially Alice."

Jessica saw Heidi relax, "I see. Well, I must get going you see, my groups are getting quite restless but it was a privilege to talk to you. Hope we can meet once again in the future."

Jessica finally noticed who she was talking about. There was probably about twenty or thirty groups of tourists in their very obvious and stereotypical tourist fashion: waist purse, hats, cameras but no souvenir of sorts. Wasn't that what many tourists would actually take with them of their visitation?

She saw Heidi floating toward the group once again and they all look at her with the same star-struck gaze, even the children. She guided them to the front and to the door.

Heidi once more turned her head toward Jessica, "Oh, this is a private property, Jessica, no outsiders allowed. I am sorry for the inconvenience."

Jessica furiously shook her head with red hues spreading across her cheeks, "Um, no! It was my fault for intruding – I-I didn't know. I'll go."

She hastily collected her belongings and speed walked to the way the tourists came but not before giving a last glance over the shoulder as she saw Heidi closing the door after everyone had entered and gave her a final dazzling smile.

Somehow, it unnerved her.

Jessica checked her watch and was surprised to see it was already seven in the afternoon. She should get back to her hotel room now as it was already quite dark. She used her phone light as a flash light to guide her feet to not stumble down the stairs.

She turned and twists through almost maze like ambiguous constructions, she didn't know where she was going but following her pure instinct. Jessica's eyes were down onto her shoes she forgot to look up as she felt herself bump into a hard wall.

But the hard wall didn't felt like wool either.

Jessica gasped when she realised it was someone – not something – and jumped a few feet back, "I'm so sorry! It was dark and I wasn't looking where I was going."

She was hoping it was just a normal person and not some psycho or even a mafia or something like that. Jessica looked back to see the person's reaction. The person had dark coat and a hood over him–

"You look like the person I saw yesterday night…" She blurted out before quickly apologising, "Sorry, random thoughts. I apologise for the bumping into you by the way."

Jessica side stepped and found herself torn with two roads. Which one would lead her to the right road and which one would lead her to the wrong end? Right or Left?

Jessica turned to her right, about to step around the corner until a voice stopped her.

"Left."

She stopped, glancing over her shoulder with puzzled expression.

"You are going the wrong way; left." His voice was suave and smooth with hint of English accent. It was like hearing sirens sing.

"Oh.." Jessica muttered as realisation hit her like cold bucket of water, feeling embarrassed, she turned to the left.

"Thank you." She thanked before disappearing off the corner.

The next few days, she kept her eyes out for Heidi for reason unknown to her. She hoped she could even see few of the tourists that were with Heidi but sadly, she couldn't spot those people in the crowds. Not even Heidi.

Where were all the tourists? Did they all go back?

Ominous feeling tugged the back of her mind and she began to worry. Something wasn't right. She didn't know the reason but somehow, doubtful feelings were rousing inside her.

Jessica stood up from the bench in the town square and trotted into the familiar maze.

Wait–why was she here again? Jessica wondered as she stared at the closed door.

Jessica carefully stepped toward the door, first stepping up the small stairs and she soon stood in front of the door.

"I believe Heidi had told you not to come here again." The familiar voice drawled lazily.

She jerked to the source and found the man standing down the stair, still wearing the dark cloak and hood over his face.

"I was–what's behind this door?" Jessica demanded feebly.

"A matter that is none of your concern." He coldly replied, stepping up to face her.

Jessica narrowed her eyes, darting between the mystery man and the door, "So I can go in? What will happen when I go in?"

She was only replied with a smirk, "If that is your wish," He gestured his arm to the door, "Go ahead."

If this human did step in, it only suited his need rather than hers'.

Jessica's head wearily approached the door, her hand grasped on the door knob. Her mind was screaming there was something much more sinister behind this door that only separated her from whatever dark secrets there was. But at the corner of her mind, the curiosity probed against her better judgement.

Curiosity killed the cat, her conscious said.

But the satisfaction brought it back, her mind retorted.

Ring

The dull, metallic sound of her phone ringtone rang loudly, making Jessica startle. She checked the screen name: Bella.

Swiping the accept call button, she brought the cell to her ear, "Hello?"

"Jessica, are you ok?!"

There was desperation in Bella's voice, deepening Jessica's frown, "Um..duh? Why has someone called you saying that I was kidnapped?" Jessica jokingly laughed. Slight shuffling could be heard before the masculine voice replaced Bella's.

"Jessica, get out of there."

"Edward? What–"

"Get out. Go somewhere that is crowded – anywhere but there!"

Did someone actually called them saying she was kidnapped?

"I don't understand–" The phone was abruptly taken from Jessica's hand as Alec held the cell to his ears and with the smooth but demanding tone overridden with threat,

"Edward, please compose yourself. I am at my most controlled self; you are making her more suspicious."

Jessica could still his shouts of protests over the phone but it was swiftly cut as Alec pressed the end call button and handed it back to her.

"You know Edward?"

"Of course. He had visited us once with..Bella." He smirked, teasingly, "Come. I will accompany you back – if you still wish to."

Jessica realised he was gesturing to the doors and with defeated pride, she backed away.

"Good choice." The unsuspecting human followed behind him as he guided her back to the town square to make sure she didn't linger by.

"I'm Jessica." She introduced, finding the silent too awkward.

"Alec." His reply after a brief pause was short as if contemplating to give her his name or not.

Jessica concluded he had a rather quiet nature but he seemed lively and teasing at times, "So, what's the deal with you and Edward? He sounded like he was talking to his public enemy no.1"

"Feelings are mutual I suppose."

She nodded but there was something that had been bugging her as of recent, "How old are you?" A rude question but hopefully he doesn't mind.

"Fourteen." There was a pause before he answered her.

Jessica halted, shocked, her reply coming out in stutter, "W-wait– fourteen? As in one and four together?"

His lip twitched in emotion she couldn't identify, "Of course. I cannot be old as the number you seemed to have mistakenly heard."

So forty is out then, Jessica thought.

"Well you don't sound very fourteen-ish. You sound older."

"And may I ask yours' since it is a courtesy to answer one's own question as well?"

"Seventeen."

"You don't look like seventeen." He retorted.

Jessica laughed along but quickly placed serious expression, realising his word can be interpreted in both ways, "Wait, like good way or bad? Young or older? If old how old?"

She saw only a calm expression in his half hidden face, leaving her to decide, "Aren't you going to ask why I'm here?"

"It's none of my concern."

Jessica smiled, finding the kid's too-old-for-him-vocabulary cute, "I bet you're home-schooled; you definitely are. You're lucky I'm like really open, but I'm here because I want to make mistakes. You know take the wrong train and get stuck somewhere or just see what life has for me."

"Mistake? I believe you made your first."

Jessica frowned, "No, this will probably be my…hundredth one or more."

She saw she was soon back to where she started, blurry faces passing by, silently ignoring the two teenagers in the alley, "Wanna be friends whilst I’m here?" She turned but he wordlessly faced her to the front. Jessica liked to believe she was initiating friendship purely out of altruistic intention but really she was lonely and also needed a native friend who could show her around so she didn’t make tourist mistakes like spending unnecessary amount of money on something cheap.

"You should not so easily say those words." He whispered with a hint of mocking in his voice.

"Why?" She frowned once again at his outward gestures.

"Because the very thing you are asking for is impossible."

There was a slight breeze of wind passing through her hair and when she turned her head behind, he had disappeared.

Bella sighed as she pocketed her phone, turning around to face the worrying stares of the Cullens', "She seems fine..for now."

Edward stepped forward, holding her hands with his cold ones, "Bella, if she's alright, then she is fine. Stop troubling yourself and relax."

"But Alice saw it. She saw–" Bella couldn't even finish her sentence and Edward understood. He saw Alice's vision as clear as she had.

"Bella, remember my visions are not accurate and change according to people's choice." Alice added with the intention to soothe Bella's worry.

Bella had been with Alice and Edward when she received her vision; the image flashed passed through her eyes in fast speed but it was crystal clear what was happening.

Jessica standing in the centre of the familiar large throne room, Alec grasping Jessica's arm tightly in hold before Aro stepped down with cruel smile..he bites her neck before Alec ravages her in animalistic fashion until the last drop of her blood dropped from his lip and coats the floor with crimson – the colour of his eyes and stared into the lifeless eye of Jessica Stanley.

It was Edward who alerted Bella who immediately acted on her worry and called Jessica to confirm her safety.

Alice saw Bella's fear held gaze relax a little as she heard she was fine until another sort of fear held her and rambled out in almost incoherent words. Edward took the phone, knowing he was more calm and in control at these types of situation. He commanded her to get out of wherever she was to the place with crowds but then her whole form went cold when she heard a familiar drawling voice that wasn't Jessica's. It was Alec's.

Edward shouted out his protest against Alec's more swift and calculating response until the call was disconnected with the dial-tones.

Jessica spent most of her days dreaded with boredom, mostly rolling in her bed and staring up in her ceiling. Empty tube of ice cream sat next to her tattered book, Tess of the D'Urbervilles. Overwhelmed with frustration, she put the empty tube on the bed side table before pulling the sheet up to her face, burying herself deeply into the comfortable abyss she was in.

The peace was short lived.

Ring

Just ignore it.. She hoped the caller would get the idea she was unavailable and cut the call short, praying the other side with the prolonged dial tones will come to realise she had absolutely no will to pick up the mobile. The caller would probably be either her family or friends, and if they knew Jessica Stanley; they'd know she had her phone 24/7, regardless night, day, time or situations; she'd never ignore the phone ringing more than once.

Ring

She could feel her eyebrow twitch with annoyance as the phone kept on ringing, each sound of the ringtone seemed to magnify hundred times in her ears.

Ring

Jessica took in a deep breath, squeezed her eyes shut and concentrated back into her slumber, reminding herself the comfortable world she was in.

Ring–

Her hand clawed the mechanic, swiped the screen angrily and pulled it to her ear, "Hello?!" Her greeting was half shout and half growl.

"Jessica? It's Bella. Are you OK? She sounds OK."

Jessica knew Bella was probably confirming her well-being to those around her; listening to the conversations.

"Yes, Bella. I'm OK, I don't know why you are having a panic attack; I'm gonna have a panic attack 'cuz of you. Whoever called you saying I was dead or drowned or hung or burnt alive or something is probably not true because I sure as hell am not talking to you from my grave."

She could hear sigh of relief over the phone.

"I'm glad...you're safe. Jessica, just..just stay away from people there."

Jessica rolled her eyes, "Yes, mother, I'll say no when someone ask me to follow them to their van for a candy(!)"

"I'm not kidding! Jessica..just promise me you'll-no, come back! Come back to Forks."

"Come back? Bella, the whole reason why I'm travelling is to get out of the Forks, not get back in. Is this the incident about Alec yesterday?"

"Alec? He told you his name?" There was unbelieving tone in Bella's voice as if she didn't believe her ears or the person she was speaking to right now.

"Yes, Bella. Most people do. It's no.1 rule in something called introduction-slash-ice breaker." Jessica bit out the sarcasm, wanting to sleep.

"..So he didn't hurt you?"

Jessica frowned, gawking at the phone as if she was seeing Bella face to face, "Is he suppose to? Did you call me expecting me to be in a hospital or a morgue? Wait, is hurting people some kind of custom in Italy because I heard you can't make V shape with your fingers in front of Italian people because that means their boyfriend or girlfriend is cheating on them or whatever."

Bella laughed over the phone, seems her little nervous tick was passing, "No..well I don't think so anyway. Jessica when are you coming back to Forks?"

"Well..." She bit her lip in thoughtful thinking, "Soon..I guess. Although I have a year to spare and get some experience for my credits but being in Italy is so not helping so I might cut my 'vacation' early."

"Oh that's cool. Well, I'll speak to you soon, OK?"

Small smile appeared on Jessica at Bella's worry for her, "Yea, thanks for worrying though. Better than my parent." She can imagine Bella smiling over the phone. With quick but fond goodbyes, she hung up and closed her eyes.

Bella grew agitated when she wouldn't pick up at the first ring like she always did. To her relief, Jessica sounded fine and normal. She registered no pain or fear in her voice. She knew from Edward, Carlisle's century long happy friendship with the Volturi leader, Aro, and Alice had explained that they never kill the inhabitants of Volterra; tourists or not, they don't like risking even the tiniest chance and brought their 'food' from places that was quite far away. Even so, Bella bit her lip, the nagging anxiety in the back of her mind didn't reside one bit.

Jessica was soon standing in the alley way she and Alec parted, why did she have to be so curious? Just who were they?

"I hope you will not make same mistake."

Those striking voice seemed struck fear in her like a child caught stealing a candy. Jessica twirled to see Alec, hood over his face and leaning against the wall elegantly.

"You scared me to death." Jessica gestured her hands on her heart, pounding violently against her ribs.

"You’re still alive."

“Are you sure you’re not related to the Cullens’ in anyway? Because you remind me of them, like in a weird, creepy way. Not saying you’re creepy or anything, but you’re getting there.”

He didn't reply and stayed silent. Weird human, he thought, just like the other one.

The next time she met the mystery boy again was through pure coincidence. She didn't expect to see him again but when she did, felt an odd sense of happiness at the somewhat familiar face.

"Hey!" She called out from a distance, "Alec!"

The boy stilled at the sound of his name. With the fall of darkness and overshadowing hood, she couldn't see his face but she was sure it was him. Then resumed his gait toward the hill. Jessica raised a brow at the blatant act of snub. Rude she thought as her legs carried toward him.

By the time she reached where he once stood, he had disappeared.

"So rude." She muttered with a disapproving shake and turned back around when a figure emerged from the corner. Her phone clattered to the floor and she prayed her screen hadn't cracked from the collision.

"Who is rude?" He asked, "Is it not considered rude to trail someone?"

"I wasn't trailing!" She denied, "And isn't it rude to ignore someone when they call out your name?!"

"I didn't hear you." He lied.

"Yeah, looks like you didn't hear me(!)"

"What do you want?" He asked audibly impatient. The tone surprised her. He usually sounded friendly.

"I don't know." She honestly said, "Is it weird for me to say you just reminds me of the Cullens'? You're...weird."

"Ah..you said that several times." He tilted his head, "Is that all?"

"You don't really get along with people do you?" Jessica suddenly asked.

"I'm not interested." He shrugged off.

"I don't know...you just got that..lonely vibe, you know."

"You're wrong." His voice changed from a friendly tone to harsher intonation.

It seemed she made him angry and for a moment, she preferred him angry. He seemed..like a person.

"So you can get angry.." The word slipped out of her mouth before she could register it.

The corner of his lip twitched, "What did you say?"

"Huh, oh, shit, no, I wasn't meant to say that." Jessica backed away as he stepped forward, "Sorry, goodnight, bye!"

As she twisted around, one of her leg tangled around her other ankle and knocked her off balance as she felt herself falling. Clenching her eyes and bracing for painful impact, her hands desperately searched for something to grab on. Then something firm hooked around her wrist and pulled her back on her feet.

With incredible speed, his arm shot out to wrap its fingers around her wrist and one thing she noticed foremost was how icy to the touch his skin was against hers'. It was frighteningly cold. Almost like a corpse.

“Are you always this cold?” She asked, noting to his skin temperature rather than his character.

Alec took back his arm just as fast as he reached out and Jessica blinked at the speed which he did. She almost missed it and thought, what a fast reflex.

“I think it’s good if you go.” He said with the absence of his usual friendly tone.

Jessica wanted to see his eyes that was always hidden by his hood and slightly bent down without being too noticeable. He smoothly turned slightly and lowered his chin, barring her catching a potential glance.

She frowned, confused by his actions. What was he hiding? Was he..deformed somehow? Did he have lazy eyes? Could he be blind?

“Look, I know we are basically strangers, but..I’m not going to judge whatever. I knew people who did morally questionable things when they got drunk so..yeah I did low key judged them but it was low key…”

“Go.” He patiently said.

“Okay, goodbye. Just remember that.” She turned and carefully stepped down the stone stairs. When she arrived on the ground, Jessica glanced back and saw that the mystery boy had been standing in the same spot and if his eyes were not covered, they’d have met.

What a weird boy. She thought. There was something unnerving about him like the Cullens’. They looked normal..well in sense that they had two arms, two legs, a nose, a lip and two eyes just like her but there was something that set her apart from them that she just couldn’t identify. It was like they were different -- a world different.

Alec broke the contact, turning on his heels and stalking away.

#pandora story

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