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obae-me · 4 years

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Tail Wagging Wing Flapping Fun

This idea is thanks to @astaroth1357 ! It’s a short guide on how to influence their demon forms to do something...embarrassingly cute. I write this fluff with no regrets. Enjoy.

Sure, it might be a bit disconcerting at first getting used to the sight of humanoid creatures having unusual things like horns and wings and tails (oh my), but it comes with a benefit. While their words and demeanor might suggest otherwise, their demon forms might involuntarily reveal some of their hidden feelings--or not so hidden feelings. Your new mission, should you choose to accept it, is to figure out what sort of scenario sets off these uncontrollable actions. Let’s get some tails wagging and wings flapping, shall we?

Note: Difficulty ranges from 7 being the most difficult and 1 being the easiest.

Extra Note: Seems the brothers happened to come across this guide, hopefully they didn’t mess with it...

Lucifer

Difficulty: (7/7)

Hands down, this man is the hardest one to get a reaction out of seeing as he is always aware of how he is perceived, probably due to that prideful nature of his. Not to mention, he’s only ever in his demon form on rare occasions such as parties or political events. Or, most often, if he needs to use it for intimidation, and you’d rather not get a good look at his wings when he’s ready to obliterate someone or yourself for that matter. So, it goes without saying that this might take some planning or some timely good luck. Perhaps begging if you’re not above it.

When to do it: Your best chance of success is to catch him when he’s either distracted, so sleep deprived he can’t even see straight, or just flat out drunk. If you choose the first option, chances are, once he’s back in his own head he’ll recall the event and make a mental note to never do it again. With the second, he’ll be at the point where he can no longer care as long as he can get his work done, but then there’s the more likely scenario where he’ll decide to kick you out entirely so he can focus. Lastly, if he’s drunk, not only will this be super effective, but he’ll cuddle you all night long. He might not even remember every embarrassing thing he did the following morning--which never happens, just for everyone’s information. Even in an intoxicated state, he’s in complete control with no embarrassing moments to speak of--Anyway, this is your best choice, but even then he only gets really drunk when he’s with Diavolo, not to mention refraining from coming home until the late...very late hours of the night when he knows no one will be awake to watch him stumble to his room. So, you’ll have to be diligent. Maybe take a nap.

How to do it: You might think it would be praise, him being Pride and all, but Lucifer knows after so many years that words can often be hollow. Compliments and sugar-coated phrases are mostly used as a means of manipulation or getting something in return. Don’t get him wrong, he does like them, might even give you a slight smile and a pleased hum if you tell him how stunning he is, but he will know you probably expect something in exchange. So, for him, the best way to get his wings aflutter is to do something for him. Actions speak much louder than words and are much more precious to him, especially if you do so unprovoked. Make him some tea! Bring him food in bed! Dust his record collection! Sweep the floor in his study! The list can go on, it’s all up to you to decide what to do, but make sure he knows it's for him. He likes to be pampered--I mean, served.

What happens: It will take him a moment to register. He’s not used to someone doing something for him so freely before. As a punishment, sure, but of your own volition? You did look expecting, no matter how hard you tried to hide it, but the only thing you were anticipating was his happiness and reaction, nothing else. The wings against his back have no choice but to twitch and shift, and he notices you eyeing them each time they move. As they fluttered, you beamed, and all he could do was roll his shoulders to try and keep the infernal things tucked against his back. The more you smiled, the more they were restless, feathers falling from their place as they twitched with emotion, threatening to wrap around you, to shield you, to envelop you, all like he was a hen protecting a baby chick. Depending on how weakened he is, or how much he cares for you, he might do more than just some shifting wings. He does his best to control himself, he really does, but the joy and warmth flooding his body from all his affection for you can make him do the unthinkable. His entire body will shutter, shaking and rattling him like a wet dog. His wings will jut out from his back, quivering in the air. When all is said and done, the black feathers coating his wings are extremely puffed up, a stunned and embarrassed expression hidden behind his new unruly and disheveled countenance.

Mammon

Difficulty: (1/7)

If Lucifer is the hardest, Mammon rolls in as the easiest to get a reaction from. He’s very expressive in everything he does, and his demon form doesn’t change that. If it’s not gambling, he has no desire to keep himself under control, and he’s very much an ‘actions now, thinking later’ type of demon. In fact, when you’re around it nearly ends up worsening, he ends up being so flustered and distracted he’s usually unaware of the things he does or says, which gets him in a lot of trouble. However, because of this, it’s so easy to get him to do all the cute things you want.

When to do it: Honestly, it does not matter. The only things required are himself and you in the same place, and the two of you are already basically attached at the hip. Truth be told, you don’t even need to be near him to get him sheepish, but that’s a secret he tries to keep to himself. You two could be alone in your bedroom, out for a walk in the garden, in Diavolo’s castle, even in the back parking lot of a cheap run-down restaurant. It is not important to him. As long as he has you, anywhere is a party. Public? Private? No matter. Either way his brothers will find out and tease him about it. Getting him in demon form isn’t an issue either. He’ll transform at the drop of a hat if you asked him too.

How to do it: Much like Lucifer, the most obvious answer is incorrect. You can buy Mammon all the stuff in the world, but his Greed will still want more. Besides, that’s all anyone expects him to enjoy anyway. Everyone thinks just giving him money or gifts will make everything better, but he’s more complex than that! Well, it kinda does make him feel happier, but--oi, that’s not the point, we’re supposed to be gettin’ deep here!--What will really make him melt for you is compliments. This demon loves to be praised, because it doesn’t happen often. Why? Cus he’ll get a big head about it, but that’s Lucifer’s problem, not yours. Tell him how proud you are of him. Let him know how handsome he looks. Assure him you know he’s smart, and how much you look up to him. Tell him how grateful you are that he’s your ‘first’. It’ll get to him instantly and fuel his self esteem for weeks.

What happens: The skin stretched over his wings will contract, causing his wings to fold into themselves only to burst open again. It’s this strange sort of flapping motion that reminds you of an umbrella opening and closing. Mammon won’t even notice, not until you gush over it. After that, he’ll be so flustered by his involuntary movements that he’ll try to chase his own wings, circling around on his feet while cursing. He’ll do his best to keep them hidden from you behind his back, but you can still hear the fluttering. Pretending like he didn’t hear you, he’ll attempt to get you to repeat what you said. This is your chance to take things to the second stage. If you bombard him with enough sweet words, he’ll have no choice but to bounce from foot to foot, shifting the weight on his feet as joy floods his body. The wings attached to his back will then waggle up and down, waving themselves in the air. You’ll be permitted to watch this for a while before realization dawns on him and he goes back to manhandling his blasted demon form. At one point he managed to grab one of them with his mouth and growled even. You have it on video.

Levi

Difficulty: (2/7)

The second easiest. Just above Mammon in difficulty due to the fact that he’s in his room all the time and does his best to get himself out of humiliating situations. However, he’s truly an open book, and an emotional one at that, which is why he and Mammon tend to butt heads so often. They’re more alike than either of them will ever admit--w-which is not at all! How anyone could--could see similarities between Levi-chan and stupidmammon is ridiculous!--Similar or not, you could simply look in Levi’s direction and he would blush, and so of course when he’s in his demon form, there will be no hiding his emotions there either.

When to do it: It will have to be in his room, it’s his safe space and so he’ll be more open to expressing himself when he’s in his sanctuary. There’s no real way around this. It will have to be a good day, so try to prepare by keeping his meddlesome brothers away. Keep an eye on how much internet they’re all using, and then try to monitor them so they’ll use less, making Levi’s loading times effortless. Let Levi know in advance that you want to hang out, that way he can get his mental state in check! This should be good enough to influence a happy tail-wagging Levi for when he permits you to enter his room.

How to do it: Safety and comfort are the name of the game. Let him do whatever he wants and don’t make fun of him for it. It’s hard for him to be passionate about the things he truly enjoys without his brothers picking it apart or ruining it altogether. Let him speak. Be patient with him as he tries to string together a coherent plot with fragmented statements like “Oh, but there was also when-”, or “Oh, and how could I forget this happened! I’ll need to go back a bit!” If he ever says sorry, assure him there’s nothing to worry about. You don’t necessarily have to be interested in the things he likes, but if you listen to him and let him feel safe enough to be vulnerable, you’ll have him in the palm of your hand.

What happens: It will happen the longer he rambles. His tail will start to slowly sway across the floor, the gentle sheer sound of smooth scales brushing across smooth tile. The more he feels safe around you, the more traction the tail will get, happily snaking back and forth as the glint of light off his scales reflect back on the ceiling. Of course, you can’t help but stare, which he notices. He’ll grab his tail in his arms, preventing it from moving as best as he could while being a mortified mess. Although you can still see the tip of it twitching, rattling, and quivering. If you comfort him in knowing you aren’t there to make fun of him, that you think it’s actually sweet and cute he feels that protected around you, he’ll let his tail drop to the floor. Only because his hands are now being used to cover his blushing face. The pounding in his chest is drowned out by the intense thumping of his tail against the floor. At one point you managed to pet it and could’ve sworn you saw Levi’s tongue dart out of his mouth, but Levi denies it ever happened.

Satan

Difficulty: (6/7)

Right under Lucifer as the second most difficult to provoke a physical reaction from. He’s spent millennia doing his best to keep his wrath under control, so controlling other emotions is even easier for him. Although, he’s second in difficulty only because he doesn’t care as much for appearances as Lucifer does. I mean, if his attire is anything to prove--I mean, of course Satan is the bigger man in this aspect, truly. It’s foolish to be so caught up in how you look to other people. He’s not that vain, so if anything, he’s better than his brother. Your main worry is being able to see these emotions in his demon form. Demon form usually equals violence in Satan’s case. Let’s hope it doesn’t get to that.

When to do it: Make sure it’s a day he’s calm, obviously. Ideally, you’ll both be in a quiet place like his room or the library. If you can, make sure it’s a day where there are no distractions and no noise, which in the House of Lamentation unfortunately only comes by once every century. So, if that means paying Mammon to go on a little shopping spree, making Asmo go with him since coincidently he’s run out of his favorite perfume that you totally didn't use for this excuse, informing Beel that there’s a special going on today of his favorite snacks, bribing Belphie to go along since he’s about to get the show of a lifetime, and then ‘accidently’ letting Lucifer know Mammon stole his credit card, well then, that’s what you’re going to have to do to get some peace (sorry Mammon). Just pulling that off alone will get you some extra brownie points with Satan.

How to do it: Be inquisitive! Ask him about anything, and it’s likely he’ll know the answer. In fact, he’s almost amused when you treat it like a game, quizzing him about any obscure and specific topic and seeing what he knows of it. If there happens to be something the two of you are unsure of, he’ll find the book and you’ll both learn together. In return, he’ll have you talk about the human world, about cultures, about topics you’re interested in. Asking questions is your ticket into getting him into demon form as well. If you simply tell him you’re dying to get a closer look at demon features because you’re so fascinated, he’ll be inclined to transform for you. Satan encourages and rewards curiosity. Of course he knows your plan already, but all your efforts just because you were eager to note how his demon form would react? Well, he’s willing to give in just to observe your feedback as well. It’s also worth noting that bringing up Lucifer in the conversation will immediately ruin your plans. Satan wants to feel special, so give him your full attention!

What happens: You had to first coax the tail he so often kept wrapped around his leg to come loose. Once it did, it enjoyed flicking itself back and forth every so often when he was amused, the end curling up and down when you said something particularly enjoyable. They were small simple gestures, but you wondered if you could draw out more. You threw out a sudden ‘psst psst psst’ like one might do to a cat. His tail shot up straight in the air before he glared at you, albeit with a slight smirk. With a new playful expression on his face, his tail whipped back and forth harder, sharper, convincing you that he might pounce were you not careful. Although, he still seems very aware of his movements, which defeated the purpose of the involuntary aspect. So, acting like there was something on his face, you stepped over. You struck by scratching the underside of his chin. His entire tail quivered, trembling, the bony skeleton-like structure of his tail rattled. Pushing you away, he’ll marvel at his own demon form which seemed to have a new mind of its own. It tucked itself between his legs for a few seconds after the initial embarrassment, then continued to shiver and shake anytime he looked at you. This is exactly why he keeps it wrapped around his leg in the first place.

Asmo

Difficulty: (4/7)

Amso is another expressive individual, in fact almost more so than Mammon. However, Asmo is a master of the body, and is absolutely aware of how he moves and acts in front of other people. Every movement he makes is completely intentional, it adds to his charm, to his popularity. Every eye flutter, every finger curl, it’s all purposeful. He can’t accidently slip up in his body language! Who do you think he is? He can’t afford to do anything embarrassing, it’ll ruin his reputation. However if you get him alone--not like that, this is a wholesome guide--he might not have to worry about his image so much.

When to do it: This part isn’t hard, just tell him you want to spend time with him, in private. After thoroughly getting it across to him that, no, it’s not as dirty as he’s making it out to be, he’ll still be happy to squirrel you away for himself. His brothers are running you ragged, they’re such brutes. He’ll make sure to take good care of you...Sometimes you wonder if he can’t control the way his suggestions sound. Perhaps interest him in the idea of a self care day. He’ll be more than happy to paint your nails, style your hair, whatever you feel comfortable doing. You might have to continuously lead him away from the idea of letting him bathe you, but he truly just wants to treat you. However, the more you spend time alone together, the more he acts a bit more like himself. When he’s around you and not in the public eye, he can let himself relax a little, instead of always needing to live up to those social expectations.

How to do it: This is the trickier part. As Asmo is the demon of lust and a certified social media star, he gets compliments daily, several gifts from potential lovers, and all the physical touch he could ever need. At a glance, he gets enough attention than any one person should ever need. However, he secretly craves quality time together, and no not like what you’re thinking--Unless you want it to be, and then he’ll happily oblige~-- He needs time to destress, to wind down, to spend time with someone who doesn’t care if he’s perfect all the time. Make him feel comfortable in his own skin, and I don’t care what he says, because there’s a hidden part of him that isn’t. So sit him down for a movie night, convince him to take off his makeup. Let him relax in his demon form since not only is it truly him, but you’ll need it for your plan. Brush his hair while he tells you about his day. Get him away from social media as best you can so he can “detox”, making sure it’s simply you and him. He doesn’t need Likes to be Asmo, he doesn’t need to be perfect to be worth it.

What happens: He will act like he has no idea what you’re talking about for sure. Imperfections? He doesn’t know them. Truly he’s not so insecure as you think he is? Like Levi? Please...But your words have gotten through to him. The soft actions and...chaste time together that you’ve shown him throw him for a little loop. It’s like aftercare but...all the time with you. His wings can’t quite contract like Lucifer’s or Mammon’s, so they just bob up and down, flapping occasionally which messes up his hair. He looks on in confusion. Since when had he been so focused on you that he forgot how to present himself? It drives him insane, how embarrassing! And of course, the more you convince him he has nothing to be worried about, how it’s actually adorable, the more flustered he gets. You always knew how to compliment with no other motives. Instead of a wagging motion, his wings will move from side to side, hitting against each other. It sounds like light clapping. Asmo hates how his wings move like this, striking against each other when he’s pleased. He’s worked so hard on controlling it, and now he’s doing it in front of you. He’s immediately going to go hide, but it doesn’t prevent you from hearing the adorable sound of tapping.

Beel

Difficulty: (3/7)

The third easiest demon to get those special demon form movements from. He really cares for you, like a lot, and he’s the only one who isn’t afraid to say it and show it. In fact, the only reason why he isn’t ringing up at number one is due to the fact that he’s not overly flustered by his movements, he’s doing them on purpose to show you he cares, which is kinda what you’re going for here. Getting a reaction out of him without him being in full control is going to be a little bit harder, which is why he’s coming after Mammon and Levi. You want to catch him off guard, making him do things he wouldn’t normally do.

When to do it: You don’t have to try to sneak and lie and trick him into doing anything. He’s not worried about a ruined image or anything like that. Just make a day to spend time with Beel, tell him you’re bringing snacks, and tell him it would make you the happiest human in the Devildom to have him be in his demon form. That’s all you have to do, Beel loves your honesty, it lets him know you trust him and in return he trusts you. Super easy.

How to do it: Bringing him food will definitely achieve putting a smile on his face and getting him in a better move, but it won’t bring out the soft side of him, and you want maximum softness. Beel is always taking care of his brothers, being the backup when Lucifer cannot, and just generally doing his best to keep the peace in the family. He’s the big strong bodyguard, the protector. So, to really throw him for a loop, to make him act beside himself, you’re going to protect this boy. Let him feel small even though it’s physically impossible with how large he is, especially in demon form. Let him be weak and vulnerable and safe in your arms even if they’re half the size of Beel’s. Give him snacks, make him sit on the floor and tilt his head back into your lap. You can try to have him sit in your lap-- Just be careful, the last thing he wants is to hurt you, seeing as how you’re so fragile…--He rarely ever drops his guard, so it’s a nice change of pace for him. Plus, he finds it absolutely adorable trying to be his protector, attempting to act three times your size. But he truly appreciates what you’re going for, and he’d be lying if he said it didn’t feel nice to be taken care of for once.

What happens: You’re able to hear the deep buzz of his wings as they flutter against his back. He frowns, immediately causing the noise to halt. He still doesn’t particularly care for these new ones compared to his older ones. However, the pleased look on your face along with glimmering eyes causes a touch of pink to grace his cheeks. Alright, he can’t deny you what you want. So he lets his wings do what they want. They vibrate intensely, a small whirlwind kicking up in your bedroom, the buzz turning into a deep hum. Your eyes go wide, at least until the intense winds almost knock you to your feet. Then the air stops and you’re wrapped up in his arms. You have to squirm out of his arms to prevent him from becoming the shield again. He’ll try to tell you that he’s not cute, so persuade him he is. Sometimes he wishes he had wings like Lucifer’s so he could wrap you up in them, but he supposes his arms will have to suffice. Every so often now, he lets his wings buzz for you, grateful you accept him for who he is. Unfortunately, no matter how hard you try, he always goes back to being the one protecting you. Although, every so often now he’ll come to you to feel safe.

Belphie

Difficulty: (5/7)

The demon of sloth is far too lazy to even walk most of the time much less moving his tail. A lot of times, when he is in his demon form, it ends up dragging itself across the floor. Not to mention he’s got a nearly indestructible emotion wall built up around him in the form of apathy and a bit of bratiness. Getting him to become so physically and emotionally moved by you to lose control of himself is going to take some work.

When to do it: He’s asleep during the day mostly, so if you attempt to do it during normal hours, you’ll need to have a crazy amount of luck. So, it’s suggested you approach this demon at night, very late at night. So late, you know you’ll have regrets in the morning, or hopefully no regrets if you manage to pull this off. It will have to be past curfew, because if there’s anything Belphie loves more than sleeping, it’s opposing Lucifer. Get him alone where the sky is full of stars and the house is plunged into slumber.

How to do it: Let him feel validated. Of course, there’s a lot of...grey area around him for some things, but in the here and now, just listen to what he has to say. He has seven older siblings, it’s easy for his voice to get lost in the clamor. Maybe if someone had just listened to his woes before taking action, things wouldn’t have gone the way they did. And, he did spend a lot of time alone, where he wasted countless nights hoping someone would just talk to him. So he appreciates how you can sit there, staying quiet--which nearly every one of his dumb brothers seems to be incapable of except his twin--letting him be heard. Who knows, if you feel vulnerable enough to share some of your deeper problems, he’ll find a newfound respect for you. There’s something about being able to relate to someone, to be able to spend hours just going back and forth where each party just makes them feel accepted. Of course, he’ll act like it’s no big deal, that this isn’t special, that this means nothing to him.

What happens: It’s slow, like almost everything about him. But, you can see his tail lift itself up off the ground, the end curling. It likes to slowly sway, the furry end gently dangling back and forth in a soothing motion, like it was being blown by the wind. That’s all you can really get out of him, since anything more would be too much effort. It’s very subtle, but you notice every detail. Like most things about him, it makes you sleepy somehow, the placid rocking motion. It takes a very long time till he realizes what he’s done. Then his tail will hit the ground with a faint thud. If you ignore it long enough, out of the corner of your eye, you’ll watch it drift back and forth against the ground, a barely noticeable pink hue to Belphie’s cheeks. The more you look away, the more it’ll curl around to where you’re sitting, making the demon of sloth blink, attempting to tug his tail back away from you. It’ll crawl back, moving so slowly you can’t notice the changes anymore, but he does, and he can’t tell why it keeps trying to protect you from behind. Oh well. Best to not think about it. Right?

#obey me #obey me shall we date #obey me headcanons #obey me imagines #obey me lucifer #obey me mammon #obey me levi #obey me satan #obey me asmo #obey me beel #obey me belphie

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muthaz-rapapa · 3 years

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I don't deal directly with fandom often because from experience, they always greatly disappoint more than not. And sadly, I always knew CCS would never be an exception to that, no matter how much I wished it was so I did my best to avoid it. Stay in my own lane, mind my own business.

But there are several things that I can't be complacent with keeping silent on anymore, especially when it comes to certain treatment towards other fans and even the authors themselves.

First of all, CCS and Clear Card are CLAMP's work, not anyone else's. It was their decision to write and illustrate the story they want to tell. As such, their biggest and foremost priority as authors is to themselves. To fulfill their own wish. To expand, convey and preserve the integrity of their message through the narrative they chose.

So whether one or a thousand fans wanted it or not, it's ultimately irrelevant to CLAMP.

They are in no way obligated to listen to anyone's demands on how to write and publish their works, least of all disconcerted readers who don't want to accept them in the first place. CLAMP isn't forcing you to read if you don't like it. They invite people to come enjoy the worlds they created but never have they dictated you should stay if you're not comfortable there.

It is childish for you to blame the author(s) for your own discontent. They are writers with their own ideas, not your mommies.

Secondly, CLAMP is a world-renowned mangaka group with an incredibly large and loyal following and 25+ years of continued success. Sales (and a few negative opinions) are at the bottom of their worries because their fame is established firmly enough to give them that security (so they can focus more on bringing interesting narratives) and there will surely always be someone out there who's eager to read their work.

That's the type of audience that writers truly cherish the most. The ones willing and capable of putting in the effort to understand them through the stories. And the more you invest your attention into it, the more wholly you appreciate and respect their work, the more it'll please the authors, letting them know they didn't publish their stories in vain.

CCS and Clear Card were made for those who connect and resonate deeply with its themes and central topics. They were written for those who believe in its messages. It is those readers who will mean infinitely more to CLAMP than some nobodies who only treat these titles as a superficial indulgences.

Lastly, I know how difficult it is to find decency on the internet which is why I never delude myself into expecting it. Considering that probably 80-90% of fandoms are toxic wastelands severely lacking in intelligence for various reasons, that was the right call.

Don't engage with people who are intent on misunderstanding you, who can't/refuse to set aside their prejudices to try and comprehend your perspective, who seek satisfaction in hurting you (intentionally or not) for your interests in a piece of fiction. If you can't find a safe space anywhere, make your own and cut off/block those who threaten that.

Also, let anyone who approaches you (whether it be on your tumblr blog, twitter account or w/e) know that just because they have an opinion, doesn't mean they're welcome to leave it on YOUR personal space if you never asked for them to share it.

If your blog/social account is used for the purpose of expressing love and appreciation for something and you are truly not harming anyone while doing so, then treat it as if it were your own home. If someone comes in with their head high up their own ass and tracking mud all over your floors, then KICK them out with zero remorse.

Don't be scared to protect and reinforce what's important to you... but also don't go courting hate elsewhere and ruining the experience for others either as some misguided crusade.

Don't be an utter asshole and keep your disgusting, dirty shit thoughts in your own goddamn toilet.

No one asked for them and we already have more than an unnecessary amount of those everywhere. Haters are not special and never will be. They and the negativity they bring ultimately do not matter to anything or anyone. Any time, every time, ALL the time. If you have to fucking smack them across the face to get that through, then DO IT.

And this doesn't go for just the CCS fandom but for other fandoms as well.

I am here to enjoy and have fun with what I love. I don't have to answer or cater to anyone I don't want to.

#this is for me but also for my sissy who's had to endure a lot of unfairness despite all she's done for the community #along with anyone else who felt they need to hide away just for liking/supporting something #the rest of y'all can either absorb this and remember it or if not then go sit on a fucking thistle #i'm done and i won't discuss further #cardcaptor sakura #clear card hen

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terreisa · 4 years

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Love Down the Line: Chapter 4

The last thing Indie musician Emma Swan needs is a gigantic wrench thrown in the workings of her biggest tour to date weeks before its launch. When her backing guitarist that caused the problem says she has the perfect solution Emma is skeptical but left with little choice but to accept. Unfortunately she isn’t really prepared for said solution to be former Rock Star and leading man of Emma’s teenage fantasies, Killian Jones. With no other options and a month of performing across the country ahead of her Emma just hopes she doesn’t come to regret letting Killian onto her stage and into her life.

Ch 1, Ch 2, Ch 3, AO3

~*CS*~

On the road between Boston and New York, May 9th

Emma knew she should be trying to wind down from the night’s show. When they arrived at their hotel she wanted to be able to head straight to her room and get some sleep. She just couldn’t seem to get the adrenaline to leave her system, even hours after the fact. It didn’t help that once they’d finished the encore they’d been ushered straight onto the bus and hit the road without a come down from the rush of performing again. Celebrating the successful start of the tour with Will, Tink and a few drinks probably hadn’t done much good either.

She was sitting at the small table in the little kitchenette of the bus with an open notebook, a leather bound one that was much nicer than the ones she used for her lyrics and bits of melody fragments, absently tapping her pen on the blank page. Will and Tink had gone to their own bunks to do whatever other post show rituals they had, leaving her to hers. Once the damn adrenaline wore off she knew she’d be able to concentrate on writing down her thoughts and feelings on the show but for the moment she was content to dwell in the electric buzz both the show and the alcohol had given her.

The first performance was always the one that made Emma worry the most. To her it set the bar for the rest of the tour. With the internet and social media the reviews were out in the world before the first song was finished. According to Regina one false move could have her right back at the small town bars within a hundred miles of Storybrooke for good. So the first show was always the most stressful up until the moment she began playing. Then it was the most rewarding.

Thankfully, it had been better than just a good show, it had been great. The last minute adjustment she’d made to the set list had worked out far better than she’d anticipated. Up to that point the crowd had sung along with every song, even the ones off the new album, but when she’d played the first few notes of Bite of Iron they’d gone nuts. Their surprising and enthusiastic response had given her the strength she’d needed to play the song without a hitch and gave her a burst of energy that she could still feel in her fingertips hours after the last note had been played.

She smiled at the memory of that initial jolt of excitement. It felt a lot like the burst of shock she’d had at seeing Killian Jones in her rehearsal space for the first time. Her enthusiasm faded a bit as she began to realize exactly what that could be confused for and she wanted nothing to do with anything that could possibly resemble butterflies in her stomach.

“Mind if I join you, Swan?”

Emma jumped in surprise, caught off guard even though Killian had practically whispered his request. She spun to face him with a scowl.

“Don’t do that again.”

He smirked, “Apologies, love. I shall endeavor to announce my presence with a blaring fanfare next time.”

“Or you could wear a bell,” she suggested, “I could even order a little plaid collar to match your many flannels.”

“It’s those flannels that are keeping me from being recognized if I’m not mistaken,” he said smugly as he sat down across from her, a notebook of his own in hand.

She gave him a reluctant nod of agreement. When he’d shown up for the show wearing the same flannel, t-shirt, jeans combo he’d worn to the sound check she’d nearly kicked him off the tour right then and there. While there wasn’t any specific aesthetic that her and the others adhered to it was a little more put together than something that looked like it belonged at a backyard barbeque. It turned out the banality of Killian’s outfit was probably the key to his going unnoticed throughout the whole show. As far as she knew, and Will would have definitely told her, there hadn’t been a single post about Killian being on stage again.

When he had been with Realm of Jewels he had favored tight, black leather pants and dark colored shirts with the buttons undone to the top of the various vests he wore. Instead of well worn Converse he’d had pointy toed boots that reached halfway up his calf and he’d worn more silver jewelry on his fingers and around his neck than she’d ever owned in the entirety of her life. His hair had been longer too, constantly falling over his brow as he played until it was plastered to his forehead with sweat by the end of their shows. It had been a good look, one she’d had fantasies about, but there was something about the flannel and jeans that had a gentle warmth spreading through her veins.

“Yeah, well, whatever,” she grumbled. He smiled widely at her and she rolled her eyes right back, “I still think you should get a bell. Though you wouldn’t need it if you had been sociable instead of sneaking off to your bunk as soon as we got on the bus.”

Killian’s smile dimmed, “It has been quite a while since I’ve played a show, love, and I can no longer indulge in my former habit of having a drink or five to celebrate and relax. It was easier to remove myself from the temptation entirely, rather than testing the strength of my will. Especially when the show was worth celebrating.”

Emma felt as if her stomach had been filled with lead. She had somehow completely forgotten that Killian was a former alcoholic. They had never really talked about it and he’d gone out to the bars with her, Will and Tink after particularly gruelling rehearsals or even some of the more mediocre ones. It just wasn’t something that jumped to the forefront of her mind when she thought of him. Even if she refused to acknowledge exactly how much he actually popped up in her thoughts.

“Shit, Killian- do you or do we- shit-” she looked frantically around the little kitchenette at the empty beer bottles and open bottle of rum on the counter. She scrambled from her seat, “Let me just get rid of this crap and then I’ll let Will and Tink-”

“Swan-”

He sounded amused but she wasn’t sure over the clinking of the bottles she was trying to wrestle into the small trash can under the sink.

“I’ll talk to Regina and have her adjust the grocery delivery-”

“Emma, take a breath, love.”

She did as he instructed but only because he had stood and grabbed her by the shoulders, crouching down to stare into her eyes. He was grinning as he held her in place and she scowled at his amusement.

“I’m glad you think that us being disrespectful about your addiction is funny.”

“I believe you running around this cramped space trying to atone for something I never blamed you for would suggest otherwise-” he let her go only to pull the trash can out of her hands, setting it back under the sink before leaning against the counter with his arms crossed over his chest, “I’ve been sober for nearly ten years, I know what my triggers are and how far I can push myself. Tonight was just a new set of parameters that I had to consider and adjust accordingly to. No need for you to drastically alter everything for the whole tour when I’m only a temporary guest.”

“Well, it’s not fair for us to just fling booze around in front of you like it’s nothing either,” she said hotly, twisting out of his grasp to nab the rum bottle and its cap. She wrestled with closing it as she spoke, “Just because you won’t be here for the whole thing doesn’t mean you should be treated like you don’t matter. You’re in the band, you get a- OW! Fuck!”

She sucked in a breath at the searing pain in her palm. Somehow her hand had slipped and caught on the jagged edge of the cap. The pain was nothing compared to the panic that flared at possibly having injured herself enough to affect her playing. Her vision started going spotty and she could feel her knees starting to buckle.

“Swan? Emma?!” She felt his hands on her shoulders again and his concerned face filled her darkening vision. “Breathe. Deep breath for me. That’s it. Another one. Good.”

Following his gentle instructions she felt steadier and her vision stopped tunneling. With a healthy dose of trepidation she looked down at her hand and was relieved to see the cut wasn’t deep but it was very bloody. Looking around she couldn’t find a single thing to mop up the blood or staunch the slow but steady flow. Then she felt a burning sting as liquid was splashed over her palm followed by warm pressure. She turned to see that Killian was holding a handkerchief in place as he wrapped it around her palm.

“That hurt! What was that?” She hissed, indignant.

“Rum and a perfectly good use of it in my opinion-” he winked before turning back to his makeshift bandage, “It shouldn’t give you too much grief at tomorrow’s- er, I guess tonight’s show. A little super glue will seal it right up. It might be uncomfortable during sound check but by showtime you won’t even notice it.”

He punctuated his assessment by tying off the handkerchief and gently squeezing her fingers.

“That’s a relief,” she said softly, pulling her hand from his. She shifted her weight from one foot to the other, still a little rattled from her injury and disconcerted from the conversation that had preceded it, “Look, I’m sorry if I was out of line or made you feel uncomfortable or something. I just don’t want you to feel- I don’t know, like you have to hide away or something.”

“Thank you, Swan, but as I’ve said you’ve no need to alter how things have always been done just for my sake-” he picked up the rum bottle and twisted the cap on with an ease that had her scowling, “My sobriety isn’t something that you should burden yourself with. That’s what I pay my therapist for.”

She laughed in spite of herself, finally feeling the tension leave her shoulders. He smiled with her as he set the rum back on the counter and pointedly pushed it away from them. Shaking her head she turned and opened the cabinet that was above their heads.

“I’m going to make some cocoa,” she said as she shifted boxes and bags around, “You want some?”

“Sure, I might as well indulge in something to celebrate the start of the tour,” he said jovially, sitting back down at the table. “Though, I’m not quite sure a packet of cocoa mix can be considered an indulgence. Is it the kind with the little marshmallow pebbles?”

“I’m playing to crowds of thousands and you think I wouldn’t pull the diva card to get the good stuff?” She asked with mock haughtiness, still digging through the cabinet for the little tin she was looking for. “I’ll have you know that I’m deadly serious about two things: my music and my hot cocoa- aha!”

Emma held a little tin up triumphantly. It was a ridiculously expensive imported sipping chocolate, the first frivolous thing she’d bought with her first check from her label. It was part of her post show ritual, drinking her expensive hot chocolate and writing about the night until she was falling asleep at the table or they arrived in their next city. She tried not to dwell on the fact that she’d always partook in that particular ritual alone, she’d never even asked Ruby to join her, but she had no reservations about Killian doing so.

“Who knew you sported such a refined palate,” Killian said with feigned shock. “Seeing as I have been privy to what you consider food.”

She glared at him, “Don’t knock the grilled cheese or you’re not getting a cocoa.”

“Are the onion rings fair game? How about the milk dud popcorn? Pop-Tarts?”

She threw the lid of the cocoa tin at him but he caught it neatly, fanning himself with it. Rolling her eyes she turned her back on him to concentrate on making the cocoa and not fixating on how attractive he was when he was being playful. Unfortunately she’d perfected whipping up the drink while on a moving bus years earlier, so she had plenty of brain power left to dwell on exactly how much more unfairly attractive the man became the more she got to know him.

“So, are you writing songs again?” She asked over her shoulder as she stirred the milk that was heating on the little hot plate they had for solely for her cocoa habit.

“Hmm?” He hummed distractedly. When she looked back his eyes snapped to hers almost guiltily before dropping to the notebook in front of him, “Oh, er, not as much now, no. Journaling was a requirement at rehab and despite some initial, shall we say, reluctance it became a habit. A better one for me to have, for the most part.”

“Get the feelings and stuff down on paper instead of shoving it deep down inside and hoping for the best? I get it-” She let her gaze drift to her own journal before looking back at him. “But seriously, no lyrics or chords or anything? I have a whole shelf in my bookcase that’s stuffed with notebooks filled with potential hits.”

He ducked his head and rubbed at the back of his neck, “I haven’t written anything since… well, since before. Haven’t felt the desire to.”

“Oh, right, yeah,” she said lamely, quickly focusing back on the task at hand.

As she divided the milk between two mugs she was hit by the terrible realization that Killian had co-written all of the Realm of Jewels songs and that both of his writing partners were dead. She’d gone and poked at a second vulnerable spot in his armor in less than thirty minutes. At the rate she was going she wouldn’t be surprised if he got off the bus in New York and took the first train back to Boston. Stirring in the chocolate she grabbed onto a shard of that thought like a lifeline.

“You live in Boston right?”

If he was surprised by her abrupt change of topic he didn’t let on.

“I do. I always enjoyed the city when we played there and it oddly reminded me of home. Figured I could do worse when finding a place to settle after everything.”

“Why not L.A. or New York?” She asked genuinely curious as she sprinkled cinnamon over the mugs, grabbing them and returning to the table. “They’re probably way better for recording and what not.”

“True-” he shrugged, accepting his drink with a nod of thanks, “but L.A. felt like a golden facade, even though I do own a house in Malibu, and New York felt like a concrete abyss. I was still a bit lost at the time and both of those cities would have swallowed me whole. Still, I craved the bustle of an urban landscape and Boston was the right fit”

“So, you did a three bears situation. Did you at least get some quality porridge out of the deal, Goldilocks?” She teased.

He had taken a sip as she asked and glared at her over the rim of the mug. Then his eyes widened in surprise, looking down at the cocoa, “Ooh, this is good, Swan, and no, there was no porridge to be had or golden locks to be seen. I’ve dyed my hair a fair share of colors but blonde was never one of them. I’ll leave that shade to those that can pull it off.”

With a flirtatious wink from him and a responding eye roll from her Emma felt that some kind of balance had been restored. She had never particularly cared what others thought of her, if she had she would have been reduced to a shell of a person by middle school, but for some reason with Killian it was different. There was something a bit broken about him that she recognized from the mirror and she definitely didn’t want to be the one to add to it.

She lifted her mug towards him, “Since you didn’t get to do this earlier: cheers to the start of a new tour.”

“And endeavoring to make every show as successful as this one,” Killian clinked his mug gently with hers, a soft smile on his face, “Cheers, love.”

Emma took a large sip, glad that her large mug hid the blush she knew was in her cheeks. As much as she’d hated the endearment when they’d first met it no longer irked her. She was discovering that there were a lot of things about Killian that no longer irked her and it made her more resolute to keep him at arm’s length. Only it seemed the harder she tried the easier it became for him to slip past her defenses.

Flustered she set her mug down a little too forcefully and pulled her notebook towards her, “I’m just gonna… until we get to the hotel. I mean, if it’s okay.”

“By all means,” he said, bemused. He tapped on his journal, “I have a bit of writing to do myself.”

“Oh, yeah. Good.”

With that less than eloquent response she forced herself to start what she’d intended to do before Killian had joined her. After nearly twenty minutes of alternately writing down some words and stealing glances at the man across from her she chastised herself and focused on the task at hand. It didn’t help that she could feel his eyes on her whenever the scratching of his pen took a pause. However, by the time the bus pulled into the hotel’s parking lot she found that she’d not only written a good chunk of what she’d wanted but that she really didn’t mind Killian’s presence in the least and that maybe the world wouldn’t exactly end if she admitted it.

#captain swan #captain swan ff #cs ff #captain swan fanfic #captain swan fan fic #captain swan fan fiction #cs fanfic #ouat ff #my writing

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yourmandevine · 3 years

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Some stuff that made me happy in 2020, in no particular order

God send you no greater loss. It’s something my grandmother said a lot — a bit of highly Irish Catholic wisdom intended to remind you, warmly but sharply, that whatever you’re currently suffering through isn’t all that bad compared to what lots of other people are dealing with. That it probably isn’t too much to complain about, in the grand scheme of things. That you should, instead, be grateful for what you’ve got, big and small and everything in between.

God sent a great many people a great many unfathomable losses this year, and as hard as it felt at times, our family wasn’t among them; we’re lucky, in the big picture. In the past, people have recommended I try writing those reasons down, to give myself a list of stuff to be thankful for, for the times it’s tough to summon up the gratitude. I figured the end of the year was as good a time as any to make that list, to highlight the stuff that helped me get through this year — the reasons big, small, and in between.

So: here goes.

Peanut butter and jelly

I haven’t counted how many peanut butter and jelly sandwiches I’ve eaten since March 11, which is good, because that would be an absurd thing to do, and a sure sign that I have succumbed to a very specific kind of madness. It’s also good, though, because I would undoubtedly be ashamed by the number; the figure would be titanic, like the unsinkable ship of same name, or the iceberg that sunk it.

Or, at least, I would be ashamed under normal circumstances. This fuckin’ year required whatever flotation device you could find, and you know what I found in the fridge and cupboard? A couple of slices of bread, some strawberry jam, and some goddamn Skippy.

Need a weird mid-morning “brunch” after not having breakfast because you went right from waking up to remote school with the 6-year-old? Crank up a PB&J with that third cup of coffee. Need to pack something in the diaper bag to feed everyone while you’re out at the playground for the afternoon? Stack ‘em up, son. Need a late snack after working the overnight shift filing weird bubble playoff columns? Three letters, one ampersand, one love.

I need to eat better in 2021. But I kind of needed to eat sort of like shit to get through 2020, and time and again, when your man needed it most, PB&J was there.

Sunday night Zoom sessions with college friends

I know that most of us started something like this back in March; I’m not sure how many have stuck with it. I hope the answer is “a lot,” because honestly, knowing that I’m going to end the week by seeing a few friends — some here in Brooklyn but mostly beyond our reach for safety’s sake, some who’ve moved away — has felt like a stabilizing agent on more than a few occasions. It’s important, and no small blessing, to have people in your life who really know you, weird messy ugly bits and all, and in front of whom you can let everything go.

That gallery view’s provided a place to vent, to seethe, to laugh, to cry, and to try to find some semblance of center before heading back into another week. I’m grateful for it, and for the people in those little boxes. Except for the time they reminded me that, when I was 18, I was pretty sure I was a Pacey, and they were all extremely confident I was a Dawson. They were right, but still: a bitter pill to swallow, then and now.

Olivia calling herself “Dr. Bloody”

She took out her little toy doctor kit and just turned into a cackling villain.

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Deeply disconcerting, yes, but also adorable.

All Fantasy Everything

What got me in the door was the conceit: three very funny stand-up comedians (Ian Karmel, David Gborie, Sean Jordan), often with a very funny guest but sometimes without, pick some topic or another and engage in a fantasy draft of their favorite aspects or representations of that topic. (It is, crucially, a serpentine draft. Now what is that? That’s a great question.) Some favorite examples: Mikes; Words That You Think Make You Sound Smart, vols. 1 and 2; Things You Yell After You Dunk on Someone; Fictional Athletes; Crimes We’d Like to Commit. Yeah. It’s that kind of podcast.

What kept me around was the friendship. Listen to an episode and it becomes really clear really quickly just how much the three hosts love each other, how much fun they have being around each other and making one another laugh. The warmth radiates, just pours out of the speakers; in a year where I sorely needed some good vibes, I appreciated my regular check-ins with the Good Vibes Gang to just ... unclench for an hour and a half or so.

Drinking beer

OK, I’ll admit: This doesn’t sound great for me. It’s true, though. I really like beer. (We brewed one in our kitchen, which I realize is something of a “bearded guy in Brooklyn” cliche, but here we are. It was exciting to complete a project, and it tasted OK-ish.) At some points this year, it didn’t feel like there wasn’t much to look forward to, and sometimes drinking some High Lifes or Narragansett tall boys — with my wife in our living room, with friends on the computer, whatever — helped take the edge off a shitty day/week/month/year. I look forward to being able to do that outside with people again.

The Good Place

I am sure some very smart cultural critics and political thinkers and social revolutionaries have forwarded compelling arguments for why this show is Bad, Actually, because that seems to be more or less true about most things, whether because said thing is Actually Bad or because the economics of the attention economy on the internet functionally necessitate the composition and publication of pretty much every position on pretty much every issue, and especially ones that present a counterargument for why you shouldn’t like the thing you like, and might be kind of a piece of shit for liking it. But I liked this half-hour comedy about the way the universe might be put together, why we should try to take better care of each other, and how doing so might be a pretty great way to take better care of ourselves.

Andrew let me write about it a little bit for a big project we did before the series finale aired, which was really nice of him. I found myself thinking about this part a lot this year:

I also thought a lot about Peeps Chili, but that happens every year.

Taking pictures of my dog

Check out this flumpy goddamn champion:

“Lugar is a good boy” is the main takeaway here. They don’t all have to be complicated.

Schitt’s Creek

I know we’re not alone in this, but we inhaled this show this year. A half-hour comedy about people being laid low, learning how to deal with who they actually are, and finding some grace and community and opportunities for growth kind of hit the spot, I guess.

One of the most wholesale enjoyable ensemble comedy casts I can remember; Catherine O’Hara was already in Cooperstown, but what she made with Moira Rose only polishes her plaque. I’ll never be able to describe with any specificity the thing Chris Elliott does, but I know it has made me laugh since I was a child too young to understand the Letterman bits or see Cabin Boy in the theater, and it’s probably going to make me laugh until I am dead.

I love that people who, for years, never got to see themselves or people like them on screen got to see David Rose on screen and maybe recognize themselves a little bit. The idea that seeing the David/Patrick relationship might make them maybe feel a little more at home, a little safer and more whole, makes me happy. Sad, about the before, but happy, about the now and the what comes next.

Past that, I just love how what was ostensibly a family-and-friends production for a Canadian channel just got absolutely everything right—the tone, the look, the sound, the theme song, the cast, the jokes, my goodness, the jokes—and before long, the rest of the world just got it. Like catching a fastball square on the barrel. Something the show clearly knew a little bit about.

Finding new outdoor places it was safe to go

Necessity is the mother of invention, and the need to give the kids a place to be that wasn’t unnecessarily dangerous but also wasn’t inside our two-bedroom apartment led us to do more exploring than we had before. Shirley Chisholm State Park is great. Canarsie Pier was a fun place to spend a Sunday morning; so’s Canarsie Playground. If we got there early enough or made our peace with some rain, the beaches at Jacob Riis Park and Fort Tilden were pretty rad this summer. I lived in Staten Island from ages 8 through 18, and during breaks throughout college, and don’t think I ever hiked in High Rock Park — that’s dumb, because it was nice!

Even if all those little excursions did was kill a little time and reduce the overall stress level of the four humans stuck in our four walls, that’s not nothing. Some days this year, it was everything.

Cobra Kai

I know I’m late here; I didn’t rush to seek it out because I don’t consider myself a huge fan of The Karate Kid, or at least not a big enough fan to sign up for YouTube’s premium service. I checked it out when it came to Netflix, though, and I honestly can’t believe how much I enjoyed this show. Give me “dumb, but with heart” every day of the week.

I believe in Miguel Diaz; I believe in Johnny Lawrence; I believe I will be firing up Season 3 next month, and perhaps drinking some Coors Banquets in its honor. (I cannot, however, believe how the “get him a body bag” thing came back around, but that’s neither here nor there.)

Closing unread tabs

I’m a serial hoarder of links, and I am bad at finishing all of them. I’ve tried to get into Pocket and Instapaper, but I’ve never been able to turn that sort of workflow — open link, save to third-party service, go back to third-party service later to read, then delete from there — into something that felt instinctual, natural, or habitual. So: lots of tabs. Like, lots of tabs.

This was a dicier proposition than usual in 2020, because cutting my work week in half to be able to more effectively coparent two kids who didn’t have school or day care for most of the year meant less time to read things.

I tried to do my best to keep up with the important stuff for work, and to read at least some stuff about how other parents were dealing with their anxiety/anger/depression/frustration at having to be on 24/7 and work, and to stay abreast of (at least some of) what was happening in the world. Sometimes, though, I would wake up and realize I’d been holding onto blog posts about Really Interesting Rotation Decisions on the 11th-Seeded Team in the East or whatever for literally nine months, and I would go against my nature and just hit the eject button on a 25-deep window, and something amazing would happen: I wouldn’t get fired for being shitty at my job. I would move on with my day, and I would feel about 10 pounds lighter.

I still keep too much stuff open. (As we speak, I’ve got three different Chrome windows open on two different laptops. I choose not to count the total tabs.) But I do so knowing that, if it gets too heavy, I can experience the momentary joy of surrendering to the inevitability that I can’t catch everything. In that moment, I feel OK with my decay.

Reading writers I wasn’t familiar with before

Two in particular stand out in my mind: Nekias Duncan, now of BasketballNews.com, who does excellent film breakdowns and statistical analysis, and Katie Heindl, who writes basketball stuff of all types all over the place, and strings sentences together in a way that scratches an itch inside my brain. I’m grateful I got more chances to read them this year, I look forward to bigger and better things for both of them, and I’m hopeful that, if things calm down and our schedules go back to something approximating normalcy, I’ll have more bandwidth to hunt out more new voices in the year ahead.

The time I ambushed my wife as she was trying to break down and put away the girls’ space tent

Pretty good.

Siobhan learning to ride a bicycle (with training wheels, but still)

The moment passed pretty quickly; Not Exactly A Mechanic over here can’t get the training wheels to reliably work right without either loosening them too much or tightening them so much that she can’t pedal it. In that first moment, though, and for as long as it lasted, it was really great to see her get excited about doing something new, big kid shit, for the first time.

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She was proud. I was proud of her. And then we went to a playground for a few hours. Pretty good day.

Tyler Tynes roasting me

Tyler did some incredible work this year — The Cam Chronicles is getting deserved praise as one of 2020′s best podcasts, and his reporting on the Movement for Black Lives was exemplary. It’s hard to top this, though:

You know what the messed up part is? I was excited to tell him what I was doing, just because I knew the reaction would be so violent. Like a body rejecting a transplant. So lucky to have such a dear, dear friend.

PUP

I’m late on everything, so I didn’t start listening to PUP until the spring of 2019, but I haven’t really stopped since. This year has been too sedentary too often; this band is too kinetic to allow me to stay there.

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“Bloody Mary Kate and Ashley Kate” is never more than about 20 minutes away from returning to the front of my mind. I would fucking love for it to be safe enough to watch these guys live at some point, and I am absolutely going to take Steve up on his offer.

Someone sending me a shirt based on a joke I tweeted

First:

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Then:

I’m not sure you should be rewarding my behavior, SnoCoPrintShop, but I appreciate it all the same.

Which reminds me:

Family dinner/family movie night

My wife works in Manhattan and commutes back on the train, and we've tried to prioritize getting the girls to bed early since they were little, so that doesn’t leave much of a window between when she gets home and they go in the tub for us all to connect; before everything shut down, we almost never really ate together. We’re still not great about it, but for a while now we’ve carved out Saturday as family dinner night, where we sit down to eat and talk about our “up” from the day — something that happened that made us feel good or happy, or something we’re looking forward to. (We used to talk about our “down,” too, but that kind of seemed like overkill. Why try to focus on more bad shit right now, you know?)

Then we settle in for a movie, with who gets to pick rotating each week. It’s mostly been Pixar, which has been great but also has its drawbacks; after she caught me crying during one of them (maybe the Bing-Bong scene in Inside Out? or Miguel singing to Grandma Coco?), Siobhan straight up told me, “You need to get yourself together, man.” We just watched My Neighbor Totoro, too, which they loved, so we’re probably going to try some more Miyazaki soon. It’s a really simple thing, but it’s one we rarely made time for before, and it’s been really nice to manufacture something positive that we can share and look forward to together.

Sometimes looking like a shiftless drifter

No shade to anyone who felt strongly about getting a lineup or whatever, but I haven’t really felt like going to the barbershop was worth the risk, and I continue to refuse to believe that my wife can actually pull off the fade she’s long wanted to give me. (It is also possible that she just means she’s intending to run my fade, and that I will before long wind up cold-cocked and slumped by my bride of nine years.) So I’ve just kind of been growing out my hair like it was when I was single, and sometimes been letting my beard get kind of out of control too, and, well, I sort of like looking a little bit like a Wildling, it turns out.

I have since trimmed things up a little. It didn’t go over well with my youngest. Oh, well. I’ll try to do better next time.

My wife and daughter singing the Pixies

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We don’t know all the words to too many lullabies, so we sing the ones we do know the words to. This will probably come back to bite us in the years ahead. For now, though: Pretty good.

Doughboys’ Tournament of Chompions: Munch Madness: Mac Attack

I can’t believe how invested I became in Nick Wiger and Mike Mitchell’s quest to determine the best menu item at McDonald’s in a 64-seed tournament that spawned hours and hours of delightfully funny audio featuring all-time home-run guests like Jon Gabrus and Nicole Byer, who gleefully feed into the often warm, sometimes antagonistic, always entertaining chemistry between the two hosts. I have also never found myself wanting to go to McDonald’s more in my entire life. I have hit the drive-thru a couple of times since, and the boys are right: The McDonald’s fountain Coke does just hit different.

Sound Only

I’ve lost track of whether or not a 38-year-old is considered a millennial, but I’m quite confident that I’m not exactly plugged into “the millennial lifestyle” as my teammates Justin Charity and Micah Peters discuss it on their podcast, which relaunched this summer. Doesn’t matter, though, because I love hearing Charity and Micah talk to each other even if I don’t know what they’re talking about.

Their conversation about Dave Chappelle was great. After listening to their Travis Scott episode, I felt like I kind of understood who he is and why he occupies the space he does in pop culture now. I had no idea how they were going to get me to give a shit about set photos from The Batman, but this they not only got me there, but wended their way toward blaming 50 Cent for needing to know who Groot is to have a conversation on the internet, which is something for which Abraham Lincoln did not die. The show is good, it's getting better, it’s fun to hear them talk their shit, and Charity’s regular bellowing of “I, TOO, AM AMERICA” has made me smile for four straight months.

Siobhan’s letters and notes

She’s in first grade now, and she’s taken to communicating her feelings through the written word. A lot.

I won’t pretend that I loved all of these in the moment. I can only get so upset, though, when she’s already writing with such a clear voice. (And trying to use proper punctuation. (And drawing little cartoons to drive the point home.)

Palm Springs

I’m having a hard time remembering too many specifics about it right now, which probably means it’d be a good thing to rewatch over the holidays. But, as I’m sure many people noted many months before we got around to watching it, a comedy about living the same day over and over again, and about trying to figure out how to make your life mean something when everything seems meaningless, scratched a pretty particular, and particularly important, itch this year. It could’ve been twice as long, and I would’ve eaten up every second of Andy Samberg and Cristin Miloti together.

I’m pretty sure I cried, although this year, that doesn’t necessarily mean much. Also, put Conner O’Malley in more things.

Joining our union’s bargaining committee

I won’t say too much about this, but I will say that becoming an active participant in the process of a labor union negotiating its first contract with management has been an extremely educational experience. It’s pushed me to have conversations, sometimes difficult ones, about our priorities as a staff and a company. It's helped me get closer with the other past and present members of the BC, and has led me to start developing relationships with members of our staff that I otherwise might not have had much of an opportunity to get to know.

The organizing work takes time, effort, and energy, but trying to do what I can to help take better care of my colleagues has been well worth all of that. Here’s hoping that in 2021 we can reach a deal that helps make our workplace even better, stronger, and more equitable for all of us.

Publishing a story about Stevie Nicks’ Fajita Roundup

I swear this is true: After I accepted my offer to work at The Ringer, but before I started, I told a friend that one thing I was excited about was that you had the chance to work on offbeat stuff here, in both the “kind of weird” and “not about the NBA” senses. That, I thought, might maybe open the door to me getting to write a story about a Saturday Night Live sketch I saw when I was a teenager about Stevie Nicks from Fleetwod Mac running a cheap Tex-Mex restaurant in Sedona, Arizona — a sketch that I wasn’t sure anyone else remembered, but that was stuck in my head forever.

That story ran on May 26.

A lot of people seemed to like it.

Accomplishing this goal was, as dumb as this might sound, a highlight of my year, and, honestly, a highlight of my career. I’d like to do some more stuff like this next year, time permitting; we’ll see. Whether or not I do, I got to do this. I’ll always have that.

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o5verthinking · 4 years

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((Lads I understand a good fun “haha I want to die” joke (unhealthy, but I understand and would be lying if I said I didn’t partake in it) every so often, but can y’all pls do that on your own blogs and/or Discord servers and not in teenage strangers’ RP blog inboxes??? I realize these aren’t legitimate asks for help but it does get disconcerting please find a healthier place to vent this is a shitpost O5 blog))

((Please talk to your friends you are loved and appreciated and there are people out there who are infinitely better equipped to help you feel that because I, on my shitty Haha Oh Five Command Make Funny Post blog, am not equipped to do that at all.))

((This especially applies if you’re an adult I’m literally 16 years old it says I’m a minor on the info page?? I can’t solve the problems of all internet strangers especially not adult internet strangers))

((Again, I realize no one means any harm by this, but I am begging you to consider the ramifications of the stuff you send me and others on Tumblr, and if it’s appropriate in the context.))

((–mod))

#modspeak #I'm a teenage girl trying to have fun with its hyperfixation... lads please

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pandawritespoorly · 5 years

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With Time: Chapter 7 - The Best Group Chat

Author’s Note: A short chapter - just a quick catch-up. Next update will be Saturday, and oh boy we've got another akuma. If I'm so insistent on writing them I should probably figure how to actually write fights.

Chapter Summary: Some text interactions of the Quantics and Felix and what they've thought of Marinette up to this point.

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Kid Mime: So!!!! Wat do you all think of our new frend that weve had 4 a weeekkkk!!! Because I love herrr!!! We r going to keep her right!!!????

Melodie: Oh you bet we are. I’m a little worried about her though, I mean did you see that bruise?

Melodie: Also she is precious and very sweet. If she doesn’t seem uncomfortable with the arrangement, we should keep hanging out with her.

Felix: Are you referring to the bruise on her face? It did seem unlikely to have been caused on accident.

Melodie: WHAT BRUISE ON HER FACE?!

Kid Mime: SHE HAS A BRUISE ON HER FACEEEEE?! MOMMM SOME1 HURT UR NEWEST CHILD!!!

The Mom Friend: Wait wat? When did you see that Felix? r you sure?

Felix: On Thursday, when she seemed overly tired. She was falling asleep in class and her palm wiped some make-up off of her face. She excused herself to the bathroom when she realized, but I did see a rather concerning bruise on her face, and there seemed to be scratch above it. I assume you were referring to another bruise?

Kid Mime: HOW MANY BRUSES DOES THS PRECIOUS ANGLE GIRL HAVE!!!?

The Mom Friend: enuf that im concerned

Melodie: The make-up means that she’s hiding it, and come to think of it, she is dressed rather warmly for the current weather.

Melodie: I meant the bruise on her arm, it was pretty big.

The Mom Friend: yea long sleeves an pants in early spetember is kinda wierd

Felix: While I find this to be disconcerting, we would do best to avoid jumping to conclusions. It would also be for the best to avoid mentions of her past school - when it was mentioned on Monday, she seemed rather uncomfortable.

The Mom Friend: yea we don’t want to make assuptions and i don’t want to upset her

Melodie: She’d better have just fallen…

Kid Mime: Al’ no murder

Melodie: …

Kid Mime: DOES ANY1 NO HOW 2 GET OUR AMAZING MARI TO HANG OUT W/ US??? I ONLY GET 2 SEE HER AT ACHOOL AND IT SADDENS MEEEEEE

Felix: She may just be shy, it would be best to give her time to adjust to her new environment.

Melodie: I do hope she decides to join us soon though. I think she seems like a pretty cool person, especially if she could get out of her shell.

The Mom Friend: allegra, give er time dont want to force her it might make her uncomforable

Melodie: I know, that’s not what I meant, I just worry about her.

Kid Mime: Im with u there. i wory about her sometimes something just… i dunno

Felix: It is understandable to be concerned. It seems likely that she may have rather low self-esteem, and lacks confidence in herself. That, as well as the fact that we still do not know where she got so many bruises.

Melodie: I think we were right about why she was wearing longer clothes, did you guys notice she’s wearing short sleeves now.

The Mom Friend: poor thing at least she heeled now

The Mom Friend: does anyone no y mari was so tired today

Lovable Grump: I noticed, but she did not mention any reason in particular.

Lovable Grump: …

Lovable Grump: Claude, I’m changing my password again.

Kid Mime: NOOOO pls we all have fun nicknamesssss

Felix: Your nicknames have a tendency to be longer than my actual name, which makes them unnecessary.

Melodie: Accept your fate Felix. Claude can not and will not be stopped. Also Allan, I don’t know know about Marinette. She did seem pretty tired today though….

The Mom Friend: hmm…

Kid Mime: FEEEELLLIXXXXXXX NOOOOO UR NAME IS SOO BORING NOWWWW!!!

Felix: That is unfortunate for you.

Felix: It is not the first time that Marinette has seemed overly fatigued. She does commissions does she not? Perhaps one of her projects kept her up.

The Mom Friend: maybe she should take on les if shes being overworked

Kid Mime: *mom instincts activated*

The Mom Friend: im just concerned about her health

Melodie: He’s got you there, Allan.

Kid Mime: I CANT WAIT IS SCOOL OVER YET

The Mom Friend: only a little longer

The Mom Friend: then to mari’s

Kid Mime: I KNOOOOOOOOO

Kid Mime: I CANT WAIIIIIITTTTTTTT

Kid Mime: AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

Felix: Claude, you should calm down. You do not want to overwhelm her.

Melodie: I’m excited too! She actually wants to hang out with us after school and she invited us over to her house!

Kid Mime: do u think i can finally get her number

Felix: I doubt she’s interested in your memes Claude.

Kid Mime: but i cant even send her cute baby animal oictures

Kid Mime: or texxt her good moring

Melodie: You mean texting her good morning like five minutes before first hour? After you’ve already seen each of us in person anyways?

Kid Mime: YES!

The Mom Friend: all of u guys need to pay attention in class

Kid Mime: :(((((( fine

Melodie: Why did she give us a bunch of pastries and thank us?

Felix: Perhaps she thought we were rather nice guests. Though I will admit I thought it rather odd as well.

Kid Mime: as much as i like baked goods i don’t get it??? I feel like were missing something? It seemed liek she was thanking us for soemthing else????? all we did was come over

The Mom Friend: did anyone notice that there was a school right across the street?

Melodie: Hmmm.

Felix: As much as I wish to get satisfactory answers, it is not our place if she does not wish to share.

Melodie: Fine, switching topics: Thoughts on Adrien?

The Mom Friend: u mean the boy you accused of bullying her

Melodie: >:( I just thought he seemed suspicious

The Mom Friend: u meant well

Kid Mime: PERSONALY I DONT NO Y SHE HID SOME1 SO GREAT FROM US

Felix: Marinette was correct. The two of you should never have been introduced.

Melodie: He seemed nice. (Besides the puns) I liked him

Melodie: He’s got my approval

The Mom Friend: thats good i dont think it wood be good if two of her friends didnt get along. He seems to understand when shes upset so thats cool very good

Kid Mime: does our mom have another child now?!

The Mom Friend: …

The Mom Friend: …maybe

Kid Mime: :)

Felix: Moving on, I’m impressed with the connections she has at such a young age.

Melodie: RIGHT?! WHAT KIND OF BEAUTIFUL TALENTED STAR HAS BEEN GIFTED TO US?!

The Mom Friend: allegra stop snooping on the internet we just agreed not to do that sort of thing

Melodie: …

Melodie: Fine…

Kid Mime: i still didnt get her number :(

Felix: Perhaps you could ask her at school.

Kid Mime: BUT THATS SO FAR AWAY

Felix: It really is not.

The Mom Friend: let him be dramatic

The Mom Friend: its his middle name

Kid Mime: it is

Kid Mime: as my unofficial official mom, he wood no

---

Author’s Note: So basically, they're worried, but want to respect her privacy. I could have just said that, but I love their interactions. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ They're all just such sweethearts.

One thing I forgot to put in the note at the end of chapter 6 was my reasoning for Marinette getting to that point. I forgot one big reason (I'm sorry. This is why i need to write things down.) But for the most part it's that Marinette often takes the blame/apologizes for things that aren't her fault, so I feel she is quick to blame herself. That, combined with how she sees the good in people, I think she could have trouble identifying that she isn't at fault for how things turned out at her old school.

Okay, so this past weekend I was struck with the ability to write - don't ask I don't understand either - so basically now I'm writing chapter 11. Yeah, I managed to write the next 4+ chapters in a day. As much as I'd love to post them all now, I need to keep a regular schedule for the sake of my sanity and still need to edit them a bit. But hey, at least there's no chance of waiting too long now.

I really love seeing your comments so don't be scared to write one! I can assure you that it's one of my favorite parts of this.

Thanks for reading, and constructive criticism is welcomed! See (well, not 'see') you guys Saturday, with an akuma that doesn't like being lied to.

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#miraculous ladybug #transfer #with time #fanfic #chameleon #salt #marinette dupain cheng #quantic kids #ml felix #text interactions

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robbyrobinson · 4 years

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DDLG: Enemies Within (VI)

(A @dokidokiliteraturegirls fanfic)

The girls arrived at the mall as Sayori had told them to. They entered through the double doors of the mall's entrance and scanned the building for any sighting of their missing friend. As they walked, they came upon the map documenting where each department was located. Monika pulled her cell phone out of her pocket beginning to text Sayori. She waited a few seconds before her phone buzzed. Monika immediately opened her messages to read it.

"She says that she's at the food court."

"Which one?" Natsuki asked.

"The one that sells those cute cookie pizzas," Monika clarified. She sighed, her precious little girlfriend and her sweet tooth.

"Well, we should be heading there without haste," Yuri noted.

The group of friends followed the signs leading to the food courts. There was a plethora of food courts to choose from: Philly cheese steak sandwiches; Mexican food; Japanese-style food; the choices were infinite. Waves of people flocked at the food courts. Nothing more but rows upon rows of heads of varying shapes and sizes. Anthy was slightly creeped out by this.

"Do you guys know why all of these people are…shadowy?"

"Oh, that," Monika chuckled, "you know because of the limitations of this game we could not afford to copy and paste random people on the internet into it?"

Anthy shrugged her shoulders. "I take it that they are all NPCs then?"

Monika nodded. "Something like that…just do not look into their soulless eyes for too long; it might drive you insane."

"Whatever." Anthy spotted a taco booth. "I'm feeling like having tacos; you guys want anything?"

"We're fine, thank you," Monika said. Ako had once again forgotten that Monika was a vegetarian. Though to be fair, it was not a topic that Monika would allude to much.

Anthy then turned her attention to Ako. "Anything you want, babe?"

Ako blushed at the sharp-toothed girl. "No, but please come back soon."

Anthy kisses Ako's cheek and started to trot away.

As Anthy walked away, Monika and the other girls slithered through the crowd of NPCs to search for their missing friend. Their movements were met with a rough grunt of annoyance from the customers. "Sorry," Ako said timidly, "we are trying to find our friend."

They rummaged through the waves of blackness until Monika spot the all-too-familiar red bow of her coral-haired girlfriend. "Guys, I found her!"

Sayori was sitting at a table with a big cookie in the middle of it. It was a chocolate chip one that had red icing on it. On the cookie was a message that read "Welcome, Literature Club."

Sayori somehow sensed their presence and looked up. She had a wide smile on her face. "Hey, girls!"

Monika's eyes lit up. "Sayori! I'm so glad you're safe!"

She ran towards the coral-haired girl with her arms outstretched. Before she could scoop up Sayori into an embrace, Sayori inched herself away out of Monika's reach. Monika opened her eyes seeing that she was hugging thin air. It perplexed her.

"Sayori? What's wrong?"

Sayori reflexively reaffirmed her smile. "Oh, it's just that I was worried that you would misstep and accidentally fall on top of our cookie."

Monika stared at the cookie. Monika nodded her head trying to understand but she nevertheless felt hurt by Sayori's sudden coldness with her. "I guess that makes sense. You got the baker to write that down?"

"Yep! Enjoy, everyone."

The big cookie was already sliced up leaving the girls to merely take a slice out of it. It started off with Natsuki taking a piece and eating it. Yuri followed suit, then Ako. Monika was the last one to partake of it. Lifting it to her mouth, she could not help but notice that Sayori was closely looking at her. Sayori's bright, blue eyes became darker. Throughout all this, Sayori said nothing; she just concentrated on Monika.

"Uh, Sayori," Monika said, "you are kinda creeping me out."

Sayori blinked and shook her head. She smiled again, but her smile had become artificial and disconcerting. "Oh, I just hope that you especially enjoy it!"

"Oh, okay then."

Monika bit into her cookie slice. Before she could take a second bit out of it, there came loud rioting. "What the?"

The taco booth was utterly decimated. Anthy was sprawled on the floor in a daze with her tummy bulging out. She felt a nauseous spell wash over her. The owner of the booth was painfully mad shouting different words in Hispanic. From the way he was reacting, they were most certainly obscenities.

"Looks like Anthy ate all of the tacos," Monika groaned. She got up from her side of the table and began to walk over. "You guys, I'll be right back. I have to fix this problem before the mall cops get called in."

With Monika gone, Yuri, Natsuki, Sayori, and Ako were left. "Oh, this reminds me," Ako said, "are you learning how to make cakes now, Yuri?"

Yuri nodded faintly. "That's correct. After a few trial and errors, my cute little girlfriend helped me to master it."

Natsuki nodded. "You're doing great, dear. You came a long way from when you accidentally made a salad from butter, eggs, and the like."

"Wait, how did she make a salad out of eggs and butter?" Ako asked.

"That's—not something I am fond of thinking about," Yuri said. She lowered her head in shame.

"Oh, okay, sorry," Ako replied unaware that it was still a fresh wound from Yuri's end.

Natsuki got up from her seat and allowed her eyes to scan her surroundings. "Since I am here, I need to talk to Sayori for a minute."

Sayori was too invested with eating more of the big cookie, she almost did not hear her. "Hm?"

"Oh, dearest me," Yuri replied, "is it something alarming, cupcake?"

"There's nothing to worry your pretty little head about."

Sayori got up from her seat and followed the pink-haired girl. "What's going on?"

Natsuki turned and looked sternly at her. "Follow me to the clothes department."

A sudden course of events. Sayori batted her eyelashes. "Sure?"

Entering the clothes department, the two girls walked past clotheslines centered around feminine clothing. Sweaters; dresses; summer and winter outfits some frilly, others…somewhat revealing. Natsuki skimmed through some of the clothes her cheeks becoming tomato-red. Sayori did not take much notice, becoming bored immediately.

"Natsuki, what do you want of me?" she finally asked.

"You know that my anniversary with Yuri is coming up, right?"

Sweat beat down from Sayori's forehead. "Sure…sure I do."

"I was wanting to get her something special. Every time we walk with each other, she would notice this scarf." She pointed to a scarf. "It's a lavender colored, fluffy one. It really brings out my darling's eyes, does it not?"

Sayori waved her hand to indicate that she was still listening. Natsuki expectantly responds back. "Do you think she'll love it?"

"Sure. It looks good." Sayori answered.

Natsuki sighs happily. "Thanks, Sayori, I knew I could count on you."

Natsuki takes the scarf of its hook and gathers it in her hands. As they were on their way to the front to check out at the cash register, Natsuki stopped.

"Natsuki?" Sayori said confusingly.

Natsuki's eyes widened. She was lost in spiraling thoughts for before her were some cute clothes that typically would fit her style. Her eyes were glued on the clothes. Natsuki's throat started to close. She gripped at her collar. The clothes were giving her feelings of discomfort, and yet, she was fixated on them.

"Uh, Earth to Natsuki," Sayori repeated. That time it snapped Natsuki out of her trance.

"What? What is it?"

"You seemed to be obsessed with those clothes," Sayori pointed out.

"It's nothing," Natsuki insisted.

"Natsuki," Sayori emphasized.

Natsuki crossed her arms. "Can you keep a secret?"

The two girls walked into the dressing room. Selecting the last open stall, Sayori closed the door behind them. "You aren't going to propose to me?" Sayori snickered.

She stopped laughing when she saw that Natsuki was fidgeting. "Are you sure you want to know?"

"Go ahead," Sayori said, "we are already in this stall, so hurry it up."

Natsuki sighed. "Okay then." She inhaled deeply and exhaled. "The truth is I was biologically born a boy."

Sayori's eyes widened. "Oh my god, does Yuri know?"

Natsuki covered Sayori's mouth. "Shush! Not so loud! But yes, Yuri does not know. We are not that far in my relationship that she knows my dark secret."

Sayori rubbed her chin. "Are you…like having that preop thingie?"

Natsuki silenced her again. "I am hoping so. If you are going to ask about my Dad…he knows that I identify myself as a girl…he is…conflicted about it, but I want to make my own decisions."

Sayori nodded her head. "Do you think that it is wrong for you to keep such a bombshell from Yuri?"

Natsuki frowned. "I will tell her. Slowly but surely until I feel the time is right."

Natsuki sighed in relief and reached out to open the door to the stall. The coast was still clear when the two exited the stall. They both walked to the front of the department and placed the scarf on the counter. The cashier scanned the barcode and added the sales tax to it. Natsuki pulled out a pink coin purse to give the cashier the right amount. With that done, the scarf is inserted into a shopping bag and is given back to them. "Have a good day."

Sayori and Natsuki exited the department seeing that Monika had worked her magic again and reassembled the destroyed taco booth. Yuri looked at them and smiled. "Everything is going swimmingly, do not worry!"

Sayori and Natsuki chuckled and walked towards them. Natsuki leaned in and whispered into Sayori's ear. "Remember that it is a secret only me and you know."

"Relax, Natsuki," Sayori assured her, "I would never tell anyone about your secret."

Behind her back, Sayori had crossed her middle finger over her index finger. Yuri naturally noticed the bag in her little girlfriend's hand and inquired her of it. Natsuki simply stated that it was a surprise that she knew she would enjoy.

#ddlc #doki doki is not oki doki #doki doki literature girls #doki doki literature club #anthy #ako #fanfiction

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khowardprotectionblog · 5 years

Text

All That’s Left Are Ghosts

@freetotakeourcrowningglory @the-quiet-winds Here’s my first submission for the angst battle.

They’d all been given copious instructions on how to use the internet, perhaps too much. Their instructors had seemed a bit nervous about the whole thing. Still, eventually the queens had been as well-prepared as they could be and they’d each gotten their own laptops and phones. While Catherine wasn’t as active on social media as some of the other queens (Boleyn and Howard came to mind), she’d come to enjoy the convenience of the internet. Still, there was one subject she’d avoided looking at until now.

Taking a deep breath, she typed ‘Mary Tudor’ into the search bar. Before she hit enter, she paused a moment, her brow furrowing. One of the recommended search results was ‘mary tudor bloody mary’. Feeling a bit uneasy, she went ahead and pressed enter. Wikipedia was the first result and Catherine thought that seemed a good place to start. She settled in and prepared to read about her baby girl’s life.

Almost an hour later, Catherine slammed the laptop shut, shoving it away from her. She took deep shuttering breaths. It was all just too much. To hear how her baby had been mistreated after she'd died, to learn how inconsolable she was due to said death, her desperate failed attempts to have a child, it was all heartbreaking. But the worst thing was to learn how the world remembered her: Bloody Mary.

She couldn’t see it. Her Mary had always been such a sweet child, intelligent and to devoted to her faith. Of course, according to what she’d just read it was that devotion that had driven her to such acts. Catherine’s hands rose to cover her face, a sob breaking free. Her Mary wasn’t a monster, she was a child! She was a beautiful, beautiful child, her gift from God. And yet, she had somehow become a children’s horror story.

There was a knock on her door.

“Catherine? Are you alright?”

It was Parr.

Catherine tried to wipe away her tears.

“I’m fine,” she tried to reply, but her voice cracked before she could finish.

There was a pause and then the door swung open to admit Parr, looking concerned.

“Really?” she said softly. “Because you don’t look fine. Whatever it is, if you want to talk about it, I’ve been told I’m a fairly good listener.”

Catherine paused. Perhaps, it would be good to talk to Parr. After all, she’d known Mary when she was older. Maybe she could offer any insight as to what happened.

“You were a mother, weren’t you?” she asked abruptly. “I heard you say so once.”

“I am, yes,” Parr replied looking a tad confused. “Why?’

“What you do,” Catherine began quietly, “If your child became a monster.”

Parr looked more than a little disconcerted at that.

“I-I’m sorry, but I don’t understand.”

Catherine nodded at her laptop.

“That’s what they all say about her,” she said bitterly. “That she was a tyrant. She burned hundreds in just five years. Bloody Mary, they call her. And while Elizabeth, Boleyn’s Elizabeth, is remembered as the greatest ruler this country's ever seen, with heaps of praise poured upon her at every turn, Mary, my Mary, is remembered as a horror story told children, a monster to be feared.”

Parr opened her mouth, hesitated for a moment, then closed it again. She went to sit beside Catherine on the bed, her hand gently laid upon her shoulder.

“She wasn’t a monster,” Parr said slowly. “She could be, ah, angry at times. Perhaps sometimes bitter, but she wasn’t a monster. I didn’t live to see her coronated, so I can’t speak of her reign, but I did know her character and it wasn’t evil.”

Part of Catherine wanted to take Parr’s words and forget everything else, but she couldn’t it.”

“Do you think it was my fault?” she asked instead.

Parr blinked uncertainly.

“Why would it be your fault?”

“Well, she did burn them in the name of the Catholic faith, my faith” Catherine replied, and, oh, that was still something that hurt so much. She remembered Mary learning Scripture at her knee, so young and innocent. Thinking of her using those same Scriptures as a weapon was too painful.

“What, no!” Parr sounded shocked that she would even think that. “If anyone’s to blame, it’s Henry. He’s the one that hurt her, the one that gave her reason to be angry. He’s the one that ordered so many executions in front of her. If it’s anything, it’s his influence, not yours.”

“Are you sure?” Catherine said looking down.

“Of course,” Parr replied. “Why would you ever think otherwise?”

“Because I wasn’t always a good person,” Catherine said, “Especially not towards the end. Oh, I was careful not to show it in public, but I wasn’t always careful around Mary. I was angry and bitter and-”

Here she had to pause a moment to push back tears, before continuing.

“And I was vengeful,” she said finally. “I wanted someone to pay for what was happening to me, what was happening to my daughter. I never acted on it, of course, but that doesn’t mean Mary didn't see it. She was always so intelligent, you know.”

“I know,” Parr said quietly. But before she could say anything else, Catherine just kept on going, the words pouring out of her like a river whose dam had broken free.

“And those were some of the last memories she would have of her mother,” she said, her voice verging on the edge of hysterics. “Some of her last conversations with me were about the importance of her faith, and how she had to hold on to it and not let anyone stop her. So, no, it’s not just because of Henry. He may have helped it to grow, but I’m the one who first planted that seed of hatred within her. I poisoned my own daughter, and now the only thing she’s remembered as is a monster!”

Unable to hold back any longer, Catherine burst into tears, deep heaving sobs tearing through her. She couldn’t feel Parr’s arms around her, but she knew she didn’t deserve the comfort. Not when this was all her fault. Not when she might be the reason her baby was burning in Hell. Because that was her worst fear. On her deathbed, she had comforted herself with knowing that while Henry would burn, she would eventually be reunited with her daughter in Heaven. But she no longer had that comfort.

Catherine couldn’t remember anything between her death and waking up in modern times. She didn’t know it that time had been spent waiting in the afterlife or not. But now, having read all that she had, she had to face the possibility that she might never be able to see her daughter again. That she had set Mary down a path that would condemn her, leaving them separated forever. Her alive in this shining new world, having been given a second chance. And her daughter made into a monster and left to rot in the shadows. And there was absolutely nothing she could do about it.

Mary was already gone.

#six the musical #catherine of aragon #catherine parr #mary tudor #my fic #so this was fun #also want to clarify #I don't think mary was a monster #but she did make some deeply unfortunate choices

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thebluelemontree · 5 years

Note

Is it right for fandom to frame the conflict as Catelyn's feelings versus Jon's safety? A child's safety is of course a priority, so framing it this means we can't consider what Catelyn is going through at all because what kind of monsters would prioritise an adult's feelings over a child's safety?

No, because framing every conflict as either/or and everyone picks a side is an unproductive conversation with no resolution or gain in understanding. Some people in the fandom need to chill the fuck out. Let’s remember that as much as we love Jon, he’s not a real person. There are no actual abused children at stake here. We can afford to take a step back and look at all the factors in play. Catelyn just doesn’t go around being terrible to everyone. She isn’t a naturally cruel person. Jon is her one sore spot that makes her irrationally paranoid. Of course there is nothing right or okay about that; however, there are more complicated reasons for that than just the fact that he’s a bastard and she has a bastard prejudice. Understanding why something happened the way it did is not a failure of priorities or an attempt to justify Catelyn behavior toward Jon. We can expand our scope to include:

the pressure of fucked up social norms that places a humiliating neon flashing sign over Ned’s infidelity and teaches people to view Jon as having corruption in his “black blood.”

Ned’s overreactive mishandling of Catelyn’s initial attempt to be understanding about the whole thing. How the patriarchy allows him to get away with this and how Catelyn is obligated to submit to her husband even when he’s wronging her. This is a crucial event because Catelyn didn’t start out being irrationally paranoid about Jon. Shocked and disconcerted, yes, but she tried to deal with the situation in a mature, sensitive way, open to being understanding about his reasons so she could at least move forward with the air clear. Ned’s violent shutdown was where those seeds of fervent resentment toward Jon personally really sown.

Ned using his authority to thereafter make Jon’s mother a taboo subject and a crime for which the penalty is catching the lord’s wrath. So Catelyn wasn’t the only one creating a climate of tension and suspicion around Jon.

Ned’s enforced silence keeping everyone in a state of confusion, misunderstanding, and shame that leads BOTH Jon and Catelyn to fill in the blanks with their most fearful assumptions. That’s another thing too. Ned’s refusal to tell Jon anything about his mother is psychological abuse. It fills Jon with a deep sense of shame and guilt about his existence because he believes he is the embodiment of the ONE stain on Ned Stark’s unimpeachable honor.

Ned’s failure to use his authority to intervene on Jon’s behalf so that he is treated with basic human decency and respect by Catelyn.

That the intentions behind Ned’s continued lying and withholding of information are not entirely noble or for Jon’s greater good, especially as years go by. Ned, being a flawed human, doesn’t want to have that hard conversation where he has to confess to his beloved wife that he lied to her, put her through a hell that made her feel like she was never going to measure up to this other woman, and face her potentially relationship-ending anger and hurt. It makes him look like a complete asshole, so his continued silence and avoidance is a way to control Catelyn’s perception of him and the truth. Same goes for Jon.

And all those things feed into the dynamic between Catelyn and Jon because as I stated before Catelyn and Ned’s marital history is intrinsically related to that dynamic. There’s a lot to tease apart, and I don’t believe they can be treated as entirely separate issues. Finding empathy for certain aspects of Catelyn’s position and perspective does not mean anyone is taking any empathy away from Jon or wrongly prioritizing Catelyn’s feelings at the expense of Jon’s safety. Empathy is not a finite resource that must be allocated to a single, totally innocent party. As a fandom, it would be nice if we just took it as a given that most of us are decent people that are aware that all forms of child abuse are wrong and that we do hold abusers 100% accountable for their decision to abuse. I mean, unless we’re dealing with some fruitcake that states explicitly that Catelyn was justified in treating Jon that way. But that opinion isn’t the norm and can be simply ignored as stupid. So while Catelyn is 100% responsible for her decision to abuse Jon, we can still acknowledge how she arrived at harboring these intense anxieties about him that are motivating her actions. Because Catelyn is not normally a cruel, unempathetic, or irrational person. We established she can be very level-headed, calm, and understanding most of the time. She massively fails in this one specific area and we should want to know why. And it isn’t fair to hold Ned, the other adult character who had a direct hand in the situation, to a significantly lower threshold of responsibility. They deserve an equal measure of criticism as well as understanding.

The subject of child abuse is very triggering, and of course, our empathy goes out to Jon first and foremost. As it should. He did absolutely nothing wrong. None of this is his fault. I take it as a given that most people who question extending any empathy and understanding at all to Catelyn are coming at it from a well-meaning place. Child abuse in real life is appalling, and our gut reaction is to paint the abuser as an inhuman monster who isn’t worthy of any consideration. I certainly don’t shed any tears for those people, and I have called DCF on some rotten parents before. But again, Jon is not a real person in need of immediate protection by real people. His abuse is fictional and there are no real stakes here. We can take our time to get at what Martin is trying to say with fundamentally good and decent characters who may sometimes betray their own nature by acting terrible for horrible reasons. Seeking to understand a complicated issue like the tragic dynamics at WF is not akin to abuse apologism if it is handled with temperance and careful consideration. We can still prioritize how we spread around our sympathies. Prioritizing does not mean the top concern makes all other concerns irrelevant or invalid. I do believe most people want to look at the characters fairly and want to have their first-reading assumptions challenged or expanded upon.

What can escalate into nasty behavior and have a real negative impact on people is when some fans accuse other fans as being monstrous for empathizing with a character that they don’t like. This is not coming from a well-meaning place and it happens way too damn often when they’ve spent too much time deep diving into the fandom without coming up for air. Publically calling into question a fandom member’s morality is an attempt to discredit them and the conversation if it smells suspiciously of nuance and humanizing A Bad Person. Framing any conflict as either/or or black and white means you have to pick and side and you are defined by that choice. Sometimes people do this simply out of ignorance, limited perspective, and the desire to be viewed as a good person. We’re unfortunately in an age where people (especially young people) are under pressure to project a spotlessly good and woke online persona because if you fuck up even a tiny bit, strangers on the internet are gonna come for your blood. That’s where things can take a very ironic turn where they become the morality police, interrogating and browbeating other people so they show the world what side they are on. Over fictional characters ffs! If you find yourself turning blue in the face over something, it might be time to come up for air. Just sayin.

#fandom wank #catelyn stark #jon snow #ned stark #fandom negativity #Anonymous #child abuse mention

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welllpthisishappening · 5 years

Text

Playing a Little Extra Defense

Helllloooooo kind internet. Today is a day! A good day! An exceptionally good day because today is @optomisticgirl 's birthday. B is an endless delight and just an overall top notch person who deserves several worlds and is always happy to flail about the length of Chris Kreider’s hair with me. (We’ve got a lot of combined thoughts about the appropriate length of Chris Kreider’s hair) And because she is so wonderful (and a fantastic enabler) here are some words for B’s birthday. Hockey words, obvs. Also about Will Scarlet, obvs. Seriously, look at this guy, whatta babe:

Go tell B how wonderful she is, internet. Happy birthday, love!

She heard the key unlock, a soft clack that sounded like several thousand boulders cascading over a variety of ridges, eyes flitting towards the half-closed door and the baby still sleeping on the other side of the room.

Hopefully still-sleeping baby on the other side of the room.

Emma was going to kill whoever unlocked her front door if that baby was not still asleep.

And, to their credit, they were doing a fairly good job of trying to keep their voices down.

Well, at least one of them.

“Pegs,” Will hissed, and Emma heard the tell-tale signs of a backpack thumping onto the ground. Will groaned. “Oh my God. Margaret.”

There was another noise. Not quite a sneer or a scowl – because those were both expressions, but Emma was also kind of exhausted and she was fairly certain there was a game tonight, but she’d also lost all track of time and Peggy had absolutely collapsed on the couch.

If the sounds were anything to go by.

“C’mon, Uncle Will,” she mumbled, voice muffled by the pillow her face was presumably stuffed against. Emma tugged her lips back behind her teeth.

She was exhausted.

And possibly delirious.

There was definitely a game tonight.

“Nuh uh,” Will said, and it did not sound like this was the first time they’d had this conversation. “Later this week when we’ve got some more time and I’m not going to—“

“—But you said!”

“Margaret.”

She huffed, as loudly as humanly possible it seemed, and Emma’s inhale wasn’t so much that was it was a gasp, eyes going wide when the baby on the other side of the room stirred. “Ah, goddamn,” she grumbled, shifting out from the pile of blankets she’d accumulated throughout the day.

She kept just tossing them on the bed. And occasionally falling on top of them.

Because, well, they weren’t old hat at this per se, but they might have just been older and Emma wasn’t sure any of her muscles were ever going to recover after the first two and a half weeks of Christopher Jones’ life. Add in a nine-year-old going on twenty-six and certain he was the next, best thing to happen to hockey and a six-year-old who was in possession of more energy than the entire Manhattan electrical grid and it was still the middle of the season and—

Chris started crying.

The noises in the living room stopped.

Emma huffed, swinging her legs back onto the ground and mumbling something she hoped were vaguely comforting words under her breath. “Hey, hey, hey,” she muttered, pulling Chris against her chest with fingers tracing absent-minded patterns against his back. It didn’t work.

He was definitely getting louder.

Their neighbors were going to kill them.

And she heard the footsteps almost immediately, which wasn’t the right word either because the footsteps were more like horses hooves and something about a stampede and Emma couldn’t quite mask her sigh when the bedroom door swung open.

It definitely left a mark on the wall. Or, well, more of a mark. God, their kids were menaces.

“Mom, Mom, Mom,” Peggy chanted, rushing into the room with her hair streaming behind her and eyes as wide as saucers. “Can we go to Riverside before the game?”

Emma blinked. And blinked again. And Will sounded incredibly out of breath when he skidded to a stop in front of her, twisted around the door frame with an apologetic look on her face.

“We should just be timing her every time she moves,” Will mumbled. “It’s got to be a record.”

Emma tried not to laugh. She wasn’t sure it was working. And Peggy was still talking and Chris was still crying and she genuinely could not remember where Matt was or who was supposed to pick him up. It was definitely on the schedule in the kitchen. “You doing ok?”

“Are you?”

“Wow, that’s pointed.”

“When’s the last time you took your hair out of that ponytail holder?”

“Why are you so out of breath?”

Will chuckled, letting his head fall onto the door frame, and he might have done something that, at some point, resembled a finger gun. “You win.”

“Was this your schtick?” Emma continued, bobbing on the balls of her feet and her fingers hadn’t stopped moving yet. That wasn’t really working either. “C’mere, babe,” she added, nodding in Peggy’s direction. “You’ve got to stop moving ok? You’re going to give Uncle Will an aneurysm.”

“Ha, ha, ha,” Will drawled, but Emma just smiled and tried to wink. He nearly fell over. “She doesn’t even know what an aneurysm is.”

“Not good,” Peggy grumbled. She glanced up at Emma – a look that was starting to become more and more familiar because if there was one thing Peggy Jones loved it was running places. And jumping places. And terrifying every adult in a thousand-foot radius at all times. Especially her parents.

And self-appointed protectors.

“See,” Emma shrugged. “She’s a genius.”

Will hummed, one side of his mouth tugging up when Peggy’s head snapped back over her shoulder. “You’ve got to walk forward, kid. Otherwise your mom is going to do something.”

“Wow, that’s way more menacing than I was hoping for.”

“I just assume you’re capable of most maternal things at this point.”

“Was that a compliment?”

“An attempt, at least.”

“Ah, well, that’s something I guess,” Emma laughed, jerking her head because she couldn’t move her hands and Peggy scrunched her nose. She was never going to get over watching her own mannerism reflected back on her kid’s faces. “Babe,” she said, and, that time, Peggy grimaced. Weird, weird, weird, wonderful. “How come you want to go to Riverside? What could you even do at Riverside right now? There’s all that snow on the ground.”

No answer.

Emma wasn’t entirely expecting an answer, but she thought maybe maternal extended to mind reader or something and it was almost disappointing when that came up short as well.

Chris had stopped crying.

“Peg,” Emma continued. The grimace was still there, boring a hole into the ground and, eventually, they were going to have to start packing up all this stuff. She was not looking forward to it. “An answer, kid. Did you get Uncle Will to agree to take you to Riverside later this week?”

“Ah, you make it sound like I’m giving into the kid, Em,” Will whined. Emma didn’t look at him. She took a few steps closer to Peggy, pressing her foot on the top of her toes lightly, pleasantly surprised when that led to a brand-new expression and only slightly stunned to find slightly glossy eyes staring at her.

“And,” Will added, moving away from the door frame to curl an arm around Peggy’s shoulders, “I think I’ve got a few ideas as to why this is happening.”

Emma nodded slowly, realization slinking down her spine and they’d talked about this. More than once. They’d explained about schedules and impending insanity and Matt absolutely did not care because he still had hockey and games and maybe that’s where he was, but Peggy was only six and she’d always been the youngest and now she wasn’t and—

“Damn,” Emma mumbled.

Will coughed pointedly, wide eyes and vaguely disapproving smile. “Maternal.”

“Oh, shut up. Here, c’mere.”

He squeezed his arm before he moved, a quick kiss pressed to the top of Peggy’s head and, eventually, Emma probably wouldn’t be stunned by how good he was with all her kids. Chris stayed silent as soon as he moved into Will’s arms.

Emma took a deep breath, fighting back her own tears because she was still allowed to blame the hormones and she genuinely wasn’t sure the last time she’d taken the ponytail holder out of her hair. She crouched in front of Peggy, fingers curled around both her shoulders.

There was a tear on her cheek.

“I thought we could go run or something,” Peggy whispered, refusing to meet Emma’s gaze and her soft sniffle echoed around the room. Emma moved her hand, wiping away tears with her thumb and her calves absolutely hated her, but she didn’t move, just rested her forehead against her daughter’s.

“It’s cold out, babe.”

“I know, but—“

“Did Uncle Will already tell you that he’d go without you?”

Peggy nodded, bumping her head against Emma’s in the process. “Before the road trip.”

“God, when is that?”

“This weekend,” Will answered, swaying back and forth when Emma twisted around and she would have bet several thousand dollars and the entire cost of a moving service to pack up this apartment that he didn’t realize he was doing it.

She bit her lip. So she wouldn’t cry. It was idiotic.

“Ok,” Emma muttered. She looked back at Peggy, nudging her chin up and, to her credit, the six-year-old didn’t blink. She met Emma’s gaze and almost smiled, a determination about her that was probably genetic and maybe a little learned because this whole, stupid team was so goddamn stubborn and of course Will promised to take her to the park in the middle of February.

Just so she’d have someone focused on her for a few minutes.

“I’ll tell you what, babe, you go with Uncle Will this week and then, when there isn’t any snow on the ground and it gets a little warmer, we’ll go. We’ll walk and run and it’ll be—“ Emma exhaled, some more misplaced emotion of the maternal variety. “It’ll be great.”

Peggy still didn’t blink. That was more disconcerting.

“I can guarantee some Mr. Softee involved too.”

Will laughed, ducking his head to nose at Chris’ shoulder. “That’s a good deal, Pegs, you can’t pass that up.”

“All of us?” Peggy asked, and that was not really the question Emma expected. It took her a moment to realize what it actually meant.

She shook her head. “Just me and you, babe. Maybe Dad if you—“

“—No, no, just you and me.”

Emma’s heart flew out of her chest. Metaphorically. And landed on that pile of blankets. Metaphorically. “Ok, that’s—“

She didn’t finish the rest, far too much hair in her face as soon as Peggy launched herself forward, arms around Emma’s neck and chin digging into her shoulder and it was wonderful and excellent and several other words she certainly would have been able to come up with if she weren’t still using several medicine-based excuses for all of her emotions.

Will was still laughing. And mumbling under his breath to Chris.

The front door opened again.

“Mom,” Matt called, another backpack thrown somewhere and what sounded like a few dozen hockey sticks colliding with the walls.

Emma rolled her eyes.

“Mom! Mom! Mom!”

Matt’s sneakers squeaked past the bedroom door, and he’d never been very good at stopping. “Oh, hey,” he said, jogging back into the room and his eyes flitted towards Peggy almost immediately. There were more footsteps coming.

“Matt, what did we say about—“ Henry started, but his voice cut off abruptly when he took in the scene in front of him. He jerked his gaze towards Will. “Are you supposed to be here?”

Will shrugged. “I had some time and…”

“I thought Gina was supposed to pick up Pegs. Hey, Pegs.”

“Hey, Henry,” Peggy mumbled, still hanging off Emma’s side. Matt’s eyes were like pinballs. And Emma was very confused.

“Wait, wait,” she said slowly. “That’s right, isn’t it? Wait, what time is it?“

“Almost 4:00,” Henry answered.

“Are you kidding me, Scarlet?”

“I had time,” he repeated, flushing slightly and that was a look Emma had never seen before. “And I even went to optional skate, so this is not—Gina, mentioned that she had some meeting come up and she didn’t trust one of the other, this is verbatim by the way, plebes working for her to do it and she was worried she wouldn’t be able to get to school quick enough to get Pegs and—“

He shrugged again, a slight tilt to his head. “She definitely told Cap. I’m sure he texted you.”

“My phone is dead. Somewhere.”

“God, that’s really not safe at all, Em.”

Emma stuck her tongue out at him. And she wasn’t sure who laughed louder – her kids or Henry. He’d pulled Peggy back towards him at some point, chin resting on top of hers with a knowing smile on his face. “Did you volunteer or did Killian ask you?”

“He totally volunteered,” Emma said before Will could answer, and the flush got more pronounced. “You know that’s really stupid, right?”

“I am painfully aware of how stupid it is,” Will promised. “But Cap couldn’t get away and Locksley had to film and Henry was already on his way to pick up Dr. J. It made sense.”

“Yuh huh.”

“It did. Honestly. And it took us—what, Pegs, like not even twenty minutes to get up here.”

“Uncle Will didn’t want to wait for a car,” Peggy added, and Henry definitely laughed the loudest that time.

“Oh my God, you walked up here on a game day? Seriously don’t tell Gina that.”

Emma didn’t say anything, although she couldn’t really pull her eyes away from Will, stumbling back towards the bed and the mountain of blankets and Matt hadn’t taken off his jersey yet. It smelled horrible when he dropped next to her.

“Hey, Henry,” she said, and he didn’t quite snap to attention, but it was close. “What are you thoughts on —“

“—Food? Actually taking a car back to the game because it’s freezing cold out?”

“It wasn’t that cold,” Peggy argued. She was trying to climb up his side.

Henry hummed, almost placating, and he huffed when he tugged Peggy up. “Yeah, yeah, sure it wasn’t. Well, I am not a very impressive athlete who plays on ice, so I will get us a car. Matt, you’ve got to get off those blankets because your pads are disgusting.”

Matt made a disapproving noise, but moved as soon as he caught Emma’s gaze. “Leave the pads in the bathroom,” she called after him, fairly certain the pads were going to be left in the hallway and she could already hear the shower starting to run.

And for half a second none of them moved, but then Henry clicked his tongue, hitching Peggy further up his side and that only ended with more hair in his face and a wide smile and—

“Well, I’m going to get the car, maybe try and find Emma’s phone.”

“You don’t have to do that,” Emma objected, but she genuinely had no idea where it was and she was fairly certain Chris was asleep again. Maybe she’d shower later.

After she did something with those hockey pads.

Burned them, probably.

Henry shook his head. “Uncle Will’s right. You need your phone. I’ll let Killian know what’s going on.”

“I did that already,” Will mumbled, and Emma’s whole soul was going to explode. Or something more possible.

“Of course you did. Ok, well I’m going to find the phone anyway.”

He was gone a moment later, Peggy swinging onto his back, which was probably better for his upper-body anyway, leaving Emma perched on the edge of the bed with Will still swaying back and forth, an unreadable expression on his face.

“I feel like I should buy you something,” Emma said eventually, drawing something resembling a guffaw out of Will. He rocked forward, shifting the baby in his arms with practiced ease. Probably something about skating. Or being an athlete. Or whatever.

She grabbed a blanket behind her.

“You don’t have to do that.”

“I know, I know, I just—“ Emma tugged the blanket over her shoulders. “You know you’re a pretty legit guy. Like. Legit.”

“That vocabulary is expansive, huh?”

“I really don’t know how old this ponytail holder is. And I genuinely forgot Mattie had practice today.”

“I think that should just be your default expectation at this point.”

“Yeah, that’s true,” Emma admitted. “How do you get that smell out of your pads?”

“Burn them.”

She laughed, real and genuine and absolutely exhausted. Will grinned. “Yeah, that’s probably the best idea, honestly,” Emma agreed. “You know they all think the world of you.”

“The hockey pads?”

“Don’t be an idiot.”

The grin got bigger. “You’re getting sentimental on me, Em.”

“Factual. I’m serious. And you don’t have to take her to the park this weekend. That can’t possibly be good for your legs.”

“Eh, I’m not so worried about my legs, honestly.”

“I know you’re not. Hence my compliment.”

“Oh, hence was a good word.” Emma stuck her tongue out again. “And I really don’t mind,” Will continued, “you and Cap are, like, the genetic lottery because your kids are even better than you are and—“

“—These are still not compliments, Scarlet.”

He winked. He, at least, tried. “They are. And you should definitely throw out those pads before you move into the brownstone because that smell is just going to infect everything for the rest of time.”

“I think the brownstone is used to it, honestly.”

“Ah, that might be true, but you know…”

“I do,” Emma smiled. “Seriously, thank you. For—“ She made a noise, not sure if there was a correct string of words for all the decidedly sentimental nonsense she was preparing to spew, but she also knew Will knew and Killian knew and he probably wasn’t surprised by the volunteering either.

“That’s part of the deal,” Will said. “It has been since the start, Em. As soon as Cap started tripping over himself when you were concerned.’

“You’re the pinnacle of romance.”

“Ah, well, I like you more than Cap now, so…”

“I’m going to tell him that.”

“Do it.”

She tightened her hold on the blanket, the shower turning off at the other end of the hall. “If you don’t go in this car with Henry, I’m also going to punch you squarely in the jaw.”

“That’s the most threatening thing I’ve ever heard.”

“I’m serious.”

“Oh, I know you are,” Will chuckled, moving Chris back into the crib with a tenderness that belied a decades-long, on-ice reputation. “Charge your phone. Change your ponytail holder. Tell Cap he’s, like…sixteenth on my list of favorites.”

“Sixteenth, huh?”

“At least.”

Emma nodded, tilting her head up when Will moved into her space and he kissed the top of her hair too. “Deal.”

And she did, eventually, get the ponytail holder out, damp hair on the back of her neck because Chris, naturally, woke up while she was still in the shower, but they bobbed and swayed and mumbled words and he fell back asleep after only a few minutes. So did she, eyes snapping open when the door unlocked and Emma’s brows pulled low when she only heard one set of footsteps.

“Go back to sleep, love,” Killian said, padding into the room and shrugging out of his jacket. He threw it on the ground.

That was probably where Matt learned it. The hockey pads had, at least, made it into the hallway before.

“Shouldn’t you have a small army with you?” she asked.

“Locksley and Gina took ‘em. She felt bad about flaking before.”

“She had to prevent the plebes from messing up.”

“Needs to teach them how to glare better, obviously.”ac

Emma hummed, burrowing further into the pillow and Killian barely got his shirt and pants off before dropping next to her. “We win?”

“We did.”

“Good job, Coach.”

“I’m not sure that’s my victory exactly, Swan, but I’ll take it, particularly when it’s been made very clear that you are beating me in a variety of other categories.”

She scoffed into the pillow. “He’s incredibly impatient.”

“He wanted to make sure I was aware. And I did hear about the park plan.”

“You can come with us if you want.”

Killian made a contrary noise in the back of his throat and Emma was only sixty-two percent certain he kissed the bridge of her nose. She was half asleep again. “No, that’s alright, love. Matt and I have to go buy new pads anyway.”

“And test them I’m sure.”

“Naturally. We’ll bring Chris.”

“Indoctrinate ‘em young.”

“Something like that,” Killian laughed, pulling Emma back against his chest and he definitely kissed her hair that time. “Get some sleep. We’ll update the schedule in the morning.”

They did – all color-coded post-it notes and Peggy perched on the counter, Matt talking a mile-a-minute about practice and games and the phase playoff push was used several time, Emma writing it all down while Killian traced his fingers across Chris’ back.

#cs ff #captain swan #captain swan ff #cs fic #blue line one shots #happy birthday b #you are also a real and true babe #<3 <3 <3

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bluewatsons · 4 years

Text

Patrick W. Corrigan, Where Is the Evidence Supporting Public Service Announcements to Eliminate Mental Illness Stigma?, 63 Psych Services 79 (2012)

Abstract

Advocates and social marketers have used substantial resources to develop public service announcements (PSAs) as a lead strategy in public education and awareness campaigns meant to eliminate stigma associated with mental illness. Evaluations of PSAs are needed to determine whether this is a good investment. The author notes that very few studies have been reported in the peer-reviewed medical and psychological research literature addressing this question. Reports of government contractors suggest that PSAs have some effect as measured by population penetration, but such data provide no meaningful evidence about the impact of PSAs, such as real-world change in prejudicial attitudes and discriminatory behaviors. The author considers reasons for the limited impact of PSAs and proposes that social marketing campaigns could enhance their impact by targeting local groups.

Most advocates agree: life opportunities of people with serious mental illnesses are egregiously impeded by stigmatizing attitudes toward and beliefs about mental illness. For example, stigma undermines vocational goals when employers share these beliefs and attitudes and hinders the search for independent housing when landlords do so.

Advocacy groups have embraced a variety of strategies to erase stigma. Prominent among them are public service announcements (PSAs), issue-focused advertisements featured in television, radio, print, outdoor, online, mobile, and other media. Typically, these are developed as part of a broader public service campaign, a multilevel program designed to tackle stigmatizing attitudes and discriminatory behavior. Some PSA campaigns require significant financial investments. They are comprehensive, multimedia campaigns sponsored by well-established nonprofit organizations or national governments; such campaigns have been undertaken in many industrialized English-speaking countries, including Canada, Australia, England, New Zealand, Scotland, and the United States. Funding these campaigns encumbers resources that might be used for other public health communication efforts. Thus these programs need to be evaluated to inform ongoing PSA development. In this Open Forum, I briefly describe PSAs and then summarize evidence on their influence. PSAs are then framed in terms of broader social marketing principles, which lead to recommendations for ongoing research and development.

Addressing the stigma of serious mental illness

Stigma has been described in terms of prejudice (agreement with stereotypic beliefs leading to hostile emotional responses, such as fear and anger) and discrimination (the behavioral consequence of prejudice, which leads to social distance and the loss of opportunity, such as a good job or nice place to live) (1). For more than a century in the United States, there has been opposition to prejudice and discrimination associated with serious mental illness, with consumer groups having the most organized and strident voice. In 1908 Clifford Beers, founder of the National Committee for Mental Hygiene (now Mental Health America), wrote A Mind That Found Itself, a summary of his experiences in psychiatric hospitals of the era, where he encountered the abuse that was characteristic of the system (2). In 1977, Judi Chamberlin wrote On Our Own, widely recognized as the consumer manifesto for personal empowerment and against stigma (3). Advocacy against stigma's pernicious effects has soared in the past decade with the energy and resources of professional groups (for example, the American Psychiatric Association and the World Psychiatric Association), advocacy groups (for example, the National Alliance on Mental Illness and Mental Health America), pharmaceutical companies (for example, Eli Lilly), and government bodies (for example, the Substance Abuse and Mental Health Services Administration [SAMHSA] and the National Institute of Mental Health [NIMH]).

In the social psychology literature, programs meant to eliminate the stigma of mental illness have been described as educational or contact based (4). Educational programs provide information as a way to challenge prejudice and discrimination. Some research has supported this hypothesis (5–7), although other studies suggest that effects of education are relatively short lived (8). Stigma is further diminished when members of the general public have direct contact with people with mental illness who are able to hold jobs or live as good neighbors in the community. Research shows that members of the community who meet and interact with people with mental illness as part of antistigma programs are less likely to show prejudicial attitudes and some proxies of discriminatory behavior (8–10). Although some PSAs fall neatly into these categories, many combine education and contact; for example, some PSAs feature a person who, in the process of telling his or her story, shares important facts about the illness.

Examples of PSAs

After the 1999 White House Conference on Mental Health, the U.S. government seems to have actively pursued antistigma campaigns in a systematic way. As a result, Tipper Gore and Alma Powell formed the National Mental Health Awareness Campaign in 2001. Among its materials were PSAs featuring adolescents forthrightly discussing their experience with major depression. The advertisements targeted teens with age-appropriate music and graphics and were distributed to teen-friendly media outlets such as MTV.

SAMHSA has been a major force in antistigma efforts. In 2004, SAMHSA started the Resource Center to Promote Acceptance, Dignity and Social Inclusion Associated With Mental Health (www.promoteacceptance.samhsa.gov), a project designed to counter prejudice and discrimination associated with mental illness by sharing information and by providing technical assistance to help organizations design and implement antistigma initiatives. SAMHSA partnered with the Ad Council to develop a campaign—“What a Difference a Friend Makes”—designed to encourage young adults to step up and support friends living with mental health problems. The PSAs launched nationally in December 2006 and incorporated television, radio, outdoor, print, and Web elements, including a print brochure and new Web site. In an especially poignant television PSA in the campaign, two young men are sitting next to each other in a darkened room playing a computer game (www.whatadifference.samhsa.gov/site.asp?nav=nav00&content=6_0_media). They are seemingly frozen, not pushing the buttons on their controllers, and they appear uncomfortable, stealing sidelong looks at each other. Voice-over: “It can be a little awkward when your friend tells you he's been diagnosed with a mental illness. But what's even more awkward is if you're not there for him, he's less likely to recover.” One of the young men then says, “I'm here to help, man. Whatever it takes.” The PSA fades to the URL for the Web site (www.whatadifference.org).

This campaign is actually SAMHSA's second antistigma campaign with PSAs; the first was called the Elimination of Barriers Initiative (EBI) a three-year pilot project begun in eight states in 2003. One of its PSAs featured a scene with “regular people” (a storeowner, a mother of two, and an honor student) with a voice-over that stated that all the people shown have “recovered from a mental illness.” It ended with the phone number of the National Mental Health Information Clearinghouse and its Internet address.

Another PSA, the most recent when this Open Forum was written, received support from SAMHSA and NIMH. It was released on October 21, 2009, and features film star Glenn Close (bringchange2mind.com). Set in a large train station, pairs of actors wear light-colored T-shirts, half of them labeled in blue print with a mental illness. Each is partnered with another person labeled as a loved one. For example, one man's shirt says “schizophrenia,” and next to him in a similar shirt is “mom.” Another man wears a shirt with “bipolar,” and paired with him is “better half.” Glenn Close's shirt reads “sister,” and standing next to her is real-life sister Jessie with “bipolar” on her shirt. There are definite benefits to this kind of PSA. Close's star power, for example, has had notable effects, as evidenced by the news coverage and online activity created by the PSA.

Evaluating PSAs

Evidence is needed to determine the influence of PSAs, but a search for published studies is a bit disconcerting. There are few on the evaluation of U.S. PSA efforts in the traditional research literature—for example, in searches using via PsycINFO, Google Scholar, and PubMed. In fact, no studies on the effects of PSAs were found in such searches. SAMHSA contractors collect data, but their reports are typically not peer reviewed. General considerations about PSAs from authors in the public health field provide some interesting guidelines. For example, they assess PSAs on the basis of penetration and impact (11,12). Penetration is the extent to which a targeted population is made aware of and otherwise informed about mental illness stigma. Impact is the degree to which penetration leads to important change in prejudice and discrimination.

Penetration might be viewed as a function of recall and recognition memory: can individuals remember seeing or hearing a specific PSA? Consider this self-test of a PSA's effects. Ask how many people in a group of acquaintances recall seeing the Glenn Close PSA, “Change a Mind.” The Ad Council does not measure recall of its advertising per se, but it provided a report with recognition scores for the tracking survey on the campaign “What a Difference a Friend Makes.” An online tracking survey found that 31% of a sample of young adults age 18 to 25 recognized any PSA from the campaign in March 2008, and 28% recognized any PSA in May 2009.

Impact is more difficult to assess. One approach is to examine visits to Web sites listed at the end of many PSAs; this is based on the rationale that viewers are seeking further information to learn more about stigma and to work against it. The Ad Council reported Web site traffic for the “What a Difference” campaign from its launch in December 2006 through September 2008, with a monthly median of 64,098 visits. From the first month of the campaign to September 2007, Web site visits increased to a high of 102,416. Average time spent on the Web site was almost eight minutes.

Findings were a bit different for PSAs from EBI (13). During its eight-month campaign that began in November 2004, monthly visits to the site almost tripled, from 2,743 to 7,627—a highly significant increase. The effect size, however, is quite small. U.S. Census data as of July 2008 reported 124 million residents in the eight pilot states, which means that .000061% of people in these states visited the Web site. Of additional concern, however, was the finding that 88% of visitors exited the Web site in less than one minute; less than 30% of visitors returned to the site in the subsequent months.

Measuring Web site visits is a limited indicator of impact. It does not show whether learning from the Web site leads to any important change: whether employers are hiring more people with mental illness or landlords are more likely to rent property to them. In some ways, addressing the stigma of mental illness is more difficult than targeting the more discrete health goals of other PSAs. The goal of antismoking PSAs is to stop cigarette smoking, and the goal of breast cancer PSAs to persuade more women to get tested. What more or less is sought in the mental illness stigma PSAs? Some social critics have argued that PSAs targeting nebulous social justice goals might lead to “slacktivism” (14). This term refers to feel-good measures that require minimal effort in support of a social cause and that have little meaningful effect other than yielding self-satisfaction. Examples include signing Internet petitions, wearing awareness ribbons for a social justice cause, or joining a Facebook advocacy group. Concern about mental illness stigma may fall into this category. People use their “electronic voice” to express a concern that translates to little effort for real change.

Consistent with the health examples above are PSA efforts that are designed to guide people in need of psychiatric services to seek treatments. A Web site included in such a campaign might be a clearinghouse for this purpose. Unfortunately, data on this kind of impact are absent from the literature.

In sum, research on PSAs is mostly lacking, provides moderate support for penetration at best, and fails to show meaningful impact at this time.

Social marketing for targeted and local change

Who should be the target of antistigma campaigns? For many PSAs, targets are samples of the entire population (for example, all TV viewers in the United States). This can be contrasted with a strategy for narrower, targeted antistigma efforts. Targets are important when they play a power role vis-à-vis people with a psychiatric disability; such targets might include employers, landlords, legislators, educators, and health care providers (15–17). Some employers, for example, agree with the statement, “People with serious mental illness are not able to do real work,” and therefore they do not interview people with mental illness for job openings. Prejudice and discrimination specific to this targeted group provide a good base for a social marketing campaign. For example, a goal of an effort aimed at employers would be to replace myths with contact—“Most people with serious mental illness can work a regular job, especially with legal accommodations.”

Effective stigma change is not only targeted but also local. Antistigma programs are likely to be more effective when they target a power group living or working in a relevant and accessible community. For example, although targeting employers as a group to change prejudice and discrimination may be beneficial, challenging the prejudice of employers working in the Greater Lawn neighborhood of Chicago (a largely African-American area, with residents of low socioeconomic status) is even more potent. Describing a community in terms of diversity (for example, by race-ethnicity and socioeconomic status), economic opportunity (availability of jobs), and resources (availability of mental health or educational programs) will significantly advance corresponding antistigma programs.

A focus on targeted and local antistigma programs might diminish the influence of population-focused PSAs. One of the strengths of the Glenn Close PSA, for example, was that tens of millions of people viewed it during the final months of 2009. Breadth of PSA penetration is narrowed when targeted goals are addressed. Instead of distributing population-focused PSAs to all radio and television media in a market, approaches that target employers might use social marketing plans in venues that are rich in business owners and employers. Service groups such as Rotary International, for example, may be excellent venues for targeting employers. PSAs by themselves may seem cold and distant in such a relatively intimate setting as a Rotary meeting. In these situations, actual contact with a person with mental illness may have the best impact.

Future directions

Given these findings, I propose three directions for future consideration. First, funders of public service and PSA campaigns clearly need to include support of evaluation efforts not only to examine penetration but also to determine whether the PSA yields any tangible positive impact. Second, the PSA campaigns described here are in some ways an anachronism; fewer and fewer people are using television and radio as major sources of the media (18,19). Many Americans, especially younger people, rely on a variety of online resources, including social networking and relatively instant information via Twitter. At this point, however, no systematized or widespread strategies have emerged to address Internet phenomena. Third, population-based approaches to stigma change need to be balanced with more targeted and local efforts. Social marketing efforts should be developed for individual power groups, so that employers will interview and hire more people with mental illness and landlords will rent to them. Funds may need to be diverted from PSA development to advance these kinds of programs. Considerations such as these will help advocates partner with funders to develop programs that have the greatest impact on stigma and that create more opportunities for people with mental illness.

References

Corrigan P : On the Stigma of Mental Illness: Practical Strategies for Research and Social Change. Washington, DC, American Psychological Association, 2005

Beers C: A Mind That Found Itself. Oxford, England, Longmans, 1908

Chamberlin J: On Our Own. New York, McGraw-Hill, 1977

Corrigan P , Penn D : Lessons from social psychology on discrediting psychiatric stigma. America Psychologist 54:765–776, 1999

Corrigan P , River L , Lundin R , et al.: Three strategies for changing attributions about severe mental illness. Schizophrenia Bulletin 27:187–195, 2001

Keane M : Contemporary beliefs about mental illness among medical students: implications for education and practice. Academic Psychiatry 14:172–177, 1990

Penn DG , K , Daily T , Spaulding W : Dispelling the stigma of schizophrenia: what sort of information is best? Schizophrenia Bulletin 20:567–578, 1994

Corrigan P , Rowan D , Green A , et al.: Challenging two mental illness stigmas: personal responsibility and dangerousness. Schizophrenia Bulletin 28:293–309, 2002

Pinfold V , Toulmin H , Thornicroft G , et al.: Reducing psychiatric stigma and discrimination: evaluation of educational interventions in UK secondary schools. British Journal of Psychiatry 182:342–346, 2003

Schulze B , Richter-Werling M , Matschinger H , et al.: Crazy? So what! Effects of a school project on students' attitudes towards people with schizophrenia. Acta Psychiatrica Scandinavica 107:142–150, 2003

DeJong W , Wolf R , Austin S : US federally funded television public service announcements (PSAs) to prevent HIV/AIDS: a content analysis. Journal of Health Communication 6:249–263, 2001

Goldman L , Glantz S : Evaluation of antismoking advertising campaigns. JAMA 279:772–777, 1998

Bell J , Colangelo A , Pillen M: Final Report of the Evaluation of the Elimination of Barriers Initiative. Arlington, Va, James Bell, 2005

Feder B : They weren't careful what they hoped for. New York Times, May 29, 2002

Link B , Phelan J : Conceptualizing stigma. Annual Review of Sociology 27:363–385, 2001

Farina A , Felner R : Employment interviewer reactions to former mental patients. Journal of Abnormal Psychology 82:268–272, 1973

Bordieri J , Drehmer D : Hiring decisions for disabled workers: looking at the cause. Journal of Applied Social Psychology 16:197–208, 1986

Brandtzaeg P , Lüders M , Skjetne J : Too many Facebook “friends”? Content sharing and sociability versus the need for privacy in social network sites. International Journal of Human-Computer Interaction 26:1006–1030, 2010

Vasalou A , Joinson A , Courvoisier D : Cultural differences, experience with social networks and the nature of “true commitment” in Facebook. International Journal of Human Computer Studies 68:719–728, 2010

#stigma #mental illness #public service announcements #media #campaigns #destigmatization

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50shadesofmittens · 5 years

Text

So I went on vacation for a week

Meant I had minimal internet, but more time to write. I’m now happy to say that I’m at the point where unless something goes very wrong, I’m going to be editing the next chapter of Three Times They Don’t for only grammar, purple prose avoidance, and humor. Not at the same time, of course, but it means I’ve gotten more done. Yay!

It also means I have a bunch of stuff I cut from the chapter which I want to post here. So if you’re interested, just bear in mind some of this was cut for good reason:

He hadn’t spoken to me since that night at Ullanor, and I doubted he remembered me at all. And only a few millennia ago I learned that Magnus had been framed for a crime very personal to me.

Ten thousand years had passed for me as well, and I had far worse failures and far greater offenses behind me. I can honestly say I had no idea what to feel about him now beyond ‘potential major security breach.’

…/…/…/…/…/…|…\…\…\…\…\…

“So, you do know where to find it?”

“…Ehh… Iiii… It’s not quite…” The book may not have “I know where they are, but… I don’t keep those books in the library…” And frankly, I didn’t want the nerdy gene-father of the Bloody Magpies anywhere near my oh-so-irreplacible personal library that would be super easy for a bookworm kleptomaniac sorcerer to steal from. Or just steal.

“So where can I find them?”

“I… I keep them in the-” A brilliant realization struck me. ’The Screaming Angel’ was amongst those I did copy down and keep in the palace. The Black Library version had better printing, but there was another option.

“Keep them in?”

“Uh, sorry. I found a special hiding spot for some of the Who books back when their fate was being decided, just incase someone got too… trigger-happy and decided to burn them before a decision was made.” Stored alongside several other books with multiple copies. “C’mon, I’ll show you where they are.”

…/…/…/…/…/…|…\…\…\…\…\…

My standards must have been so low they were underground if mere possession of a wholesome moral code was all it took. Well, that and copious muscles. Admittedly fine muscles. And regularly wearing no sleeves, while still being non-threatening, or at least less threatening than every other pair of bare arms in the palace.

…/…/…/…/…/…|…\…\…\…\…\…

In the silence that followed Magnus’ smile fell, the mood started to creep from enchanting back to awkward, and I decided to break the ice and extend the magical moment. “Anyways, nasty revelations and temper tantrums aside, I’m glad we asked about his past.”

“That was a wide berth of fascinating information.”

“But there’s still so much more I want to know.”

“I’m curious about what it was like when he came into his powers- what sort of impression the various shamen left, if they had any messages or wisdom to impart, if there were any clues as to what he was before then.”

“I want to know what the various cultures of Earth were like, especially the contrasts between them. That’s such a huge range of history, there’s got to be civilizations that rose and fell under similar circumstances with huge, contrasting factors between them.”

“That’s an unusual thing to fixate on.”

“Yeah, but think of it this way- if we know what the differences were between cultures with some constants between them, we can analyze the differences and figure out which were the cause of massive societal differentiation, and which were the results. And with so many centuries, there’s got to be plenty of examples to look at. Like- it’s one thing to get an opinion from scholars who share biases from living in the same era, it’s another to get a first hand account.”

“There are original sources, you know.”

“Yeah, but if we’re going to do a second round of historical tales, it’d be a great time to learn more, well, history. Although, honestly I didn’t think it would be possible for us to get the whole tale of the Emperor’s life in one setting. After all that time, there must be thousands- no, millions of adventures he’s had throughout the eras!”

“Probably less than you think. It would not surprise me if he stayed too far from any local societies to pay much attention, only came out when he sensed a warp predator to vanquish.”

“You don’t think he did anything of interest in those years?” I said.

“Of course not, but you can’t honestly think he just blended in through multiple ages of human history. I can tell you from experience, people tend to notice. And when you have the sort of magnificent presence Father does, it gets even harder to hide.” Magnus said.

I knew then that Magnus would be amazed at how many places an advanced superhuman could hide. How many backwater planets and bustling hive cities we could disappear in. How many places a man could go to get fucked.

“Um.”

For an hour or a year, it didn’t matter to me back in the days when I had escaped from wonderland, but was still falling down the rabbit hole. I had nothing to drag me away. But that’s what happens when someone is betrayed by everyone they-

“Why is your aura all…” I blinked, realizing that Magnus was talking to me, “tense?”

“‘Tense?’” The word came out harsher than I intended, demonstrating his point. Carefully I relaxed my jaw, unclenched my fists, and let out a long breath. It had been a tiring day, and it was better not to let my mind go down a dark route.

“Your emotions are intense enough to…” Magnus trailed off, “Well, they were practically broadcasting themselves just now. But you seem to have calmed down rather quickly.”

It was an acquired skill. One I needed to keep myself from going postal through the palace. “Nothing too bad, I hope.”

“It is a bit disconcerting.” Magnus admitted, “In my experience, one cannot have such an ability without also possessing a warped view of reality.” I thought it a testament to Emperor’s skill with genetics that his son was rather pretty even when he was being petulant.

“Ah.”

“N-not that that’s a bad thing, of course.” Magnus said, quickly. “I just mean- well,” His voice dropped to a mumble, “Oh gods, I’m no good at this.” Raising his voice again, he said, “I mean, hey, why don’t we go, um, find something to distract- I mean, something engaging to do while we wait out Father’s temper tantrum?”

…/…/…/…/…/…|…\…\…\…\…\…

He glanced about at the books on the top shelves and the conspicuously empty bottom rows. “Well the basic principal at the heart of our system is keeping the irreplaceable stuff out of fortress-pillow fights.” I hadn’t meant to be so honest, but the words came out anyways. In my defense, I was not prepared to face Magnus today.

…/…/…/…/…/…|…\…\…\…\…\…

Magnus’ scowl dropped, and he looked at my helmet- not the face of it, but the entire symbol of the Custodes- with wide eyes. Not like he was reading my mind, but like he was reading into me.

…/…/…/…/…/…|…\…\…\…\…\…

Magnus looked away, face flushed slightly. I’d like to think an unspoken understanding passed between us. Magnus eventually turned back to me, but he looked so handsome in the aftermath of that moment of wisdom that I didn’t want to break the spell. Briefly, I wondered if he’d grant me a hug if I asked for one, if only so I could get those muscular arms wrapped around me.

…/…/…/…/…/…|…\…\…\…\…\…

There were more questions I wanted to ask. More things I knew the man I was pretending to be would say.

I wanted to kiss him, right then and there. Wanted it too much for it to be a rational thought. To this day, I’m not sure why you didn’t. Then again I still had my helmet on, and headbutts have never been terribly romantic.

“Erm.” With Magnus’ natural disposition it was hard to tell if he was blushing as hard as I was. “I’ll just… hey, do you want some popcorn?”

“Uh… … I-” He cut me off before I could finish.

“Why don’t I go make some snacks? It’s not like this garbage is going anywhere.”

“I can go get food. Menial tasks are usually my job.”

“No no, I don’t want you to think I can’t take care of myself. It’s fine, I’ll just… go.”

With that he teleported away. I remained for a moment, and my eyes drifted towards the Aquilla symbol on the walls. mind blank yet already certain of what I was going to do.

Six thousand years ago, I never wanted to leave the palace. One day a little under six thousand years ago, I ran away from the palace with no desire to ever return. That vow lasted until the Imperium fell apart, and nobody else was able to stand in the way of a tyrant. But even then, I barely returned to the palace.

I had to leave the palace and the planet before I could put those ghosts to rest.

I spent centuries running from the pain and betrayal in my past. But the ghosts of my brothers weren’t strong enough to keep me celibate for millennia, even if I’m finding old memories rising from the grave more and more these days. It always happens when I’m back in the palace, or when someone reminds me of all I lost.

It’s been a little under six thousand years since I slept with someone who was stronger, or as strong as I am. I’m not sure if it’s because I was never ready to be vulnerable or because it’s so hard to find someone who fits the bill. Now the palace had someone who was beautiful and sexy, someone who- I was sure- wanted me, but also wasn’t so crazy as to pursue any whim of desire. I thought that ‘Maybe, just maybe, it’s time to reclaim one more lost piece of myself.’

I knew that a psyker could easily make me feel things that weren’t my own. I knew this could be a trick for Magnus to manipulate me. I wasn’t underestimating or discounting the possibility. At the time, I just didn’t care.

Rule one: Always make sure you to full, uncoerced consent. The vast majority of Imperial Citizens don’t feel safe telling a superhuman ‘no,’ I had to make sure to avoid those.

Well I certainly didn’t have to worry about that with a Primarch who could bench-press me

Rule two: Always make sure you want to give your full consent. Especially if you might not be able to back out later.

That was a good point…

Rule three: Make sure you both go into it knowing exactly what to expect from the other. Don’t assume a once-off is the default, and don’t assume you’re promising monogamy.

I could easily abide by rule three.

I reached the kitchens quickly. The nice gold ones that the serfs only entered to clean where Astartes lived out whims of being warrior chefs. I found Magnus with his back turned to me and a bowl hovering six feet in the air. Something clicked into place somewhere deep in my mind.

In the seconds before I spoke, I thought to myself, ‘For someone who’s spent a good deal of time avoiding physical contact with some very fine and eager men, I’m about to be rather forward with my affections.’

What came out of my mouth was, “You know, we never did finish our little… discussion.”

The room had seen enough destruction that parts were constantly being replaced, but throughout all the renovations the floor always had a checkered tile pattern.

//More content here I never included

“Mmmyes, I think that’ll do nicely.” I said, lowering my voice to a purr, letting more of my weight fall against him and perusing his body further.

Magnus responded with jerk and a noise somewhat like an elephant trying to hit all the notes in “Amazing Grace” backwards on a trumpet within three seconds. The pan in his hand flew through the archway opposing me and hit a wall in the hallway with a loud clang.

The sound echoed while the two of us stared at each other.

“I’m sorry, what?” Magnus asked.

“Um-” I look at him. Surely he cannot be serious? Magnus has never-

All at once my world goes cold. Besides me the Magnus of the Tower says, “I mean- I’m not, not complaining exactly, I just want to make sure that you- you said- you were just joking, right?”

He sounded half-bold at first and the illusion of confidence faded away at the end, but I barely processed his babbling. Instead I studied the man in the kitchen. Would I still want him if I hadn’t loved another who shared his name? How much of my desire was genuinely for the person who’d served a Chaos God for ten thousand years and how much of it grew as an extension of what I once had with another Magnus.

Because I still didn’t know how much the different fragments of the Fifteenth Primarch shared together and how much was cultivated by the experiences and memories of each individual. But it only took a few tiny similarities to make the confusion- the way Magnus flicks their hair back when it falls in the pages of a book they’re engrossed in, the way they sway ever so slightly when a story has enraptured them, the way their face goes slack when they see a sight of true wonder.

None of those things had anything at all to do with a person’s humors, temperment, or maturity. I knew that, and yet such small details could easily blind me, make me see an enduring history or a fire-forged bond of trust where none existed.

But as Magnus shifted uncomfortably in the face of my silence, I realized that any proposition from me would be unfair to Magnus. Because I hadn’t finished my rules, and one of them was very important today.

Rule six: Don’t lie about who you are. If you can’t be honest to the people you know, then go find a stranger who’s looking for a stranger.

The rule was mostly an extension of rule one, but in this case the issue wasn’t whatI was so much as whoI was to Magnus.

Should the Crimson King return to Tzeentch, anything he learned would come to the direct attention of the gods. Or what if I told him the truth and he forced me to lead him to the other fragments of Primarch XV, devoured them and made himself whole.

…/…/…/…/…/…|…\…\…\…\…\…

And then a baneblade rode through a hallway just a few dozen meters away from where we were.

“…Well, I’d better get back to work. Please- if you want to take anything else from here, let me know before you do.”

“This should be enough.” Magnus said, levitating roughly three quarters of the books in the closet.

#wip #tts

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jarienn972 · 6 years

Text

The Inbetween - Chapter Four

Got this update for @cssns finished a little later than planned due to some nasty storms here in FL that knocked our internet for a while, but at last, it’s ready to go! This chapter is a little shorter than the previous ones as I had to find a place to break without spoiling the action.

Thanks again to @allons-y-to-hogwarts-713 for the incredible artwork and to all of the event organizers including @kmomof4 for enabling all of us with this outside the box event!

AO3 FF.net Tumblr: One Two Three

After the troublesome spirit agreed to stop interfering with her magic, Emma assumed that they might be left in peace for a while, but it didn't take long to realize just how wrong that assumption had been. She'd sat on the chilly marble tile of the vestibule for nearly fifteen minutes after her father had left to take the three meddling teens home, all the while cradling Killian's head on her lap. She was becoming increasingly concerned the longer he remained unconscious, but while she understood the effect a concussion might have had, she had no gauge to measure damage that spirit possession could have inflicted.

The shadows flitting about them were unnerving, maybe even more disconcerting than her run in with Charlotte, the giant tarantula. This mansion was a free-standing reservoir of both light and dark magic and it was increasingly evident that the ghosts haunting the place knew how to manipulate it. The spirits were already creating physical barriers and manifesting their presence around her in multiple ways. Now that she knew these entities were surrounding her, she could connect the smoky odor in the dining hall to their attention seeking, but what else might they be capable of? What if there was no way to free them from this realm? Halloween was only a little over a week away and if it was true that their power would grow stronger as All Hallows' Eve approached, the entire town might be at risk. Storybrooke had more than enough magic so they'd have no reason to remain cloistered in the mansion.

The encounter with Jeremiah had left Emma so jumpy that when Killian did finally wake, she quite nearly bounced his skull off of the floor with her sudden jolt. At least he hadn't seemed bothered by her skittishness as his eyes opened wide and he sucked in a deep breath, exhaling very slowly while adjusting to the flickering candles. After a few brief seconds, he recognized his wife's features hovering above him.

"Killian?" she asked, hesitantly, not sure who she might be dealing with this time.

"Aye," he moaned as he raised his throbbing head off of her thigh, fighting through a swell of nausea as he pushed himself into a sitting position.

"It's really you this time?" She wasn't entirely convinced.

"Really me? What the bloody hell is that supposed to mean?" he retorted, her question making little sense to his cloudy mind until the memory of falling down these same stairs he was sitting next to came flooding back. He remembered striking his head and hallucinating a conversation with some sort of glowing light beings - a conversation that apparently wasn't an injury-driven hallucination after all. His gaze drew back to Emma's face as it now dawned on him that she wasn't sure who she was speaking to - who was in control. That realization came with the terrifying recollection that one of those spirits had invaded his incapacitated body to deliver a message from the inbetween realm to Emma and the others on this side. "Yes, Swan, it's really me."

"I'm so sorry, Killian," she sobbed lightly as she embraced him. "I shouldn't have brought you here. Those ghosts could have killed you…"

"I'm fine, Love," he assured her, although he doubted that she was any more convinced of it than he was. His thoughts kept reminding him of the torture the Crocodile had put him through, controlling him like a hapless puppet while clutching his heart and threatening to crush it. Having this spectre take over his physical body for even those few, short minutes had been equally invasive, and even though it had departed his body for now, Killian could still hear its voice and feared it may attempt to possess him again at any time. "The spirit departed - so to speak. You're just left with your dashingly handsome, pirate husband in your company."

"Okay, you're fine," she chuckled, relieved that he was well enough to crack a lame joke. "Suggestion though - how about we move off of this ice cold marble and into that parlor instead?"

"Sounds lovely," he laughed as Emma stood up then extended her hand toward him to help pull him to his feet. He accepted her gesture and while she gripped his hook, he pushed himself upward slowly to appease his still aching head, but as soon as he put weight on his left ankle, he received a very painful reminder. "Damn…," he hissed, biting back a yelp at the searing discomfort and nearly collapsing back to the floor. Emma shifted her grip from his hook to his upper arm to steady her suddenly wobbly husband.

"You alright?" she asked, worried this might be a nasty side-effect of Jeremiah's doing.

"Sorry, this may take me a tad longer as I fear that I may have buggered my ankle a bit…"

"Oh - I never thought about your ankle! I'm so sorry... I could feel the bump on your head and the dislocated shoulder, but I didn't think about injuries to your legs…Here, let me fix it…"

Killian held up his hand to quash her rambling. "'Tis fine," he said with an almost-genuine smile. "I'll manage. We've far worse to worry about than my ankle, but I could use a bit of assistance…"

"Of course," she replied, wrapping her arm around his waist as she tugged his hooked arm around her neck so he could lean into her while they hobbled into the parlor. "Hang on, we're going to need some light…" With a swish of her wrist, one of the candelabras lifted off the staircase, eerily floating ahead of them through mid-air as Emma's magic used it to guide their way into the next room where she deposited Killian onto a sofa draped with a dingy sheet. Once he was settled, she guided the candle holder onto a console table that hugged the wall behind them, then casually flopped down onto the sofa beside Killian, careful not to jostle his ankle which he'd propped on a footstool he'd located nearby.

"How long do you figure it will take for Regina to reverse the spell?" he asked after a brief, awkward silence.

"Assuming she actually agrees to help, hopefully not too long," Emma replied with an unintended sigh as she thought about potential consequences. "Of course, I don't have any idea what sort of spell keeps those hearts enchanted so there may not even be a way to reverse it…"

"Remember, the walls do have ears, Love," Killian whispered. " For our sakes, I hope there is a solution as it appears our ghostly hosts are growing restless. Rather impatient for those with eternity before them…"

"So, you really are still able to hear them?" Emma asked. "The ghost, Jeremiah, he said you'd been able to hear their voices, but we couldn't exactly be sure he was telling the truth."

"I can hear them. Apparently as a side-effect of my return from the dead, I possess the ability to hear the disembodied voices of these spirits. It would also be the reason they chose me to deliver their message."

"Yeah, Jeremiah told us that too, but what are they saying?"

"At the moment, it seems their loyalties are divided. Some don't believe that Regina will be inclined help them cross over - and rightfully so. They remember her as a very different woman."

"I can understand that, but it still was not an excuse to hurt you. How's the head anyway? I'm never quite sure about healing head injuries - especially since you seem so prone to them…"

Killian threw back a bemused smirk, unconsciously raising his hand to massage the spot on the back of his skull where the previously swollen bruise had been healed. "Hurts a little - like a dull headache, but it's my ankle that's barking at me at the present."

"Sure you don't want me to heal it?" she offered.

"Well, if the lady insists…," he grinned, knowing it would be pointless to argue. He also conceded that not being mobility-impaired could prove rather beneficial should they find it necessary to run later. So, with a brilliant flash of light and an ever-so-slight wave of her hand, her magic rendered the injury fully healed and Killian quite grateful to be mostly pain-free. "Thank you."

"Anytime. It probably won't be long before they start drawing from my magic again so we should take advantage of it while we still can." Emma started to push herself up from the sofa, but Killian stopped her, his fingers gently encircling her wrist as her eyes took in his confused expression. "What?"

"Where are you going?"

"I was just going to look out the window to see if my dad was back," she assured him. "Not venturing out alone again…"

"I'm quite certain Dave will contact us by radio when he returns. For now, it may be best if we stay put."

"Okay, agreed. But if we're going to be stuck here for a while, I need coffee…" Emma flicked her wrist and a thermos of steaming hot coffee materialized in her open hand.

"Would have preferred rum," Killian grumbled.

"Don't you have your ever-present flask with you?"

"If I had been given more warning, I would have brought it, but someone impatiently roused me from our bed with little provocation…"

"Well, since you probably have a concussion, you don't need rum anyway." She unscrewed the thermos lid then poured a generous amount of the dark brew into the lid, using it as a cup. "I'll share though…" She placed the thermos on the floor next to her feet as as conjured up another treat - a bag of the tiny chocolate bars exactly like the one she'd purchased to pass out to trick-or-treaters on Halloween. Killian cocked a curious eyebrow at her as she tore through the plastic with her free hand and extracted one of the brightly wrapped candies. "What? I'm hungry too." His laugh came out almost as a snort as he shook his head - then snatched a couple of chocolates for himself. This pirate wasn't going to pass up a treat, especially while stuck sitting in a haunted, abandoned mansion awaiting his father-in-law's return with what they hoped would be good news.

Mercifully, it was only a few brief minutes until they heard the crackle of the radio coming to life with the sound of David's voice asking if they could hear him. Emma grabbed the radio from her belt clip and depressed the button to reply.

"Yes, we hear you," she replied.

"Good. I was a little worried that the ghosts might block everything again," David said, relieved that their best line of communication hadn't been severed.

"So far, they've kept their end of the bargain," Emma told him. "Have any news for us? Did you talk to Regina?"

"Yes. She's on her way to the vault. She thinks she might be able to find a spell that will lift the enchantment," David stated, but then he added another comment. "Just don't know how long this might take…"

"Okay, thanks," she responded, fully expecting to settle in for a long night.

"Do you want me to come back inside?" David asked. "Anything you need? More flashlights? Do you need me to wake up Whale and ask him about Hook's injury?" Emma chuckled at her worry-wart of a father, but despite his concern, both she and Killian agreed that he should stay outside.

"Appreciate it, Mate," Killian replied this time, intending to put his father-in-law's mind at ease. "All's well - for the moment at least, so we'd much rather have you out there."

"Acknowledged," David responded without commentary. He understood.

"Let us know as soon as you hear anything from Regina," Emma insisted.

"Will do. Be safe in there," was David's last statement before the radio and the room fell silent once again.

For the next hour, they waited impatiently - Emma and Killian inside the mansion's parlor and David parked out front. As the nighttime temperatures continued to drop, they were all struggling to stay warm. David tugged his jacket tighter around his torso, tempted to turn the engine back on so he could run the heater but he really preferred not to, fearing if he got the pickup's cab nice and toasty, he might also get drowsy. Inside the only slightly warmer confines of the mansion, Emma and Killian sat huddled together on the sofa, finishing off the last of the now lukewarm coffee, and she was doing her best to keep her husband talking. She was leary of allowing him to drift off to sleep until she was certain he was no longer fighting effects of the concussion.

For the moment, she felt relatively safe remaining in the parlor. At least there weren't any stairs around here and the overhead chandelier was smaller than many of the ones found in other rooms. Of course, how exactly did you remain safe from spirits like Jeremiah and his ghostly companions? Would her magic even have the slightest effect on them should they attack or would they entirely renege on their agreement and start draining her powers again?

"What's going on inside that pretty blonde head of yours, Love?" Killian broke the silence after noticing that she'd been staring into the inky, chilled liquid remaining in the bottom of the thermos lid for far too long.

"Just thinking about our ghostly companions here," she replied as she caught sight of a glowing orb off to her right which floated upward and vanished through the ceiling while her eyes followed it. "It's really disturbing to know you're being watched - especially when you can't see what's watching you."

Killian leaned closer to her, nuzzling her ear as he whispered "We could always give them a little show…" She didn't need to see the smirk on his face to know it was there, but instead of indulging him, she gave him a playful smack across his knee.

"Really?" she scowled as he pressed his lips to her neck. "You're impossible…"

"And you love me for it," he grinned as he repeated the words she'd spoken to him after rescuing him from Hades' torture in the Underworld, but any further amorous behavior was stifled by the crackle of static from the radio.

"You two awake in there?" David's voice asked over the static.

Emma reached for the radio that was resting on the arm of the sofa, nearly spilling the rest of the coffee in her haste. "Yes, we're awake," she replied to David's query. "Got news?"

"I do," David stated. "Regina just called and said that she thinks she found a spell that will work, but she's not sure she'll have any way to know if it actually worked on her end. She said the enchantment should fade away from any of the deceased hearts which should then free the spirits, but with all of the hearts in her possession, she isn't able to check every single one."

"Of course not...," Emma muttered sarcastically, but at least, this was some semblance of progress. "Okay… We know the ghosts have been watching us and probably listening to us all night so if anything happens to change, we'll hopefully be able to tell…" She took her thumb off of the Talk button as she turned to face her husband, her brow scrunched in thought. "What exactly do you think we should be looking or listening for?"

"Well, the spirits heard David," Killian informed her. "Their chatter started back up as soon as he gave us the news, but I can't make out precisely what they're saying… They're all just talking at once…" Killian squeezed his eyes shut while he simultaneously drew his arms up over his head, pressing them tightly against the side of his head to cover his ears as if trying to block out the cacophony of voices.

"Hey - are you okay?" Emma asked, growing concerned that the ghosts were preparing to attack should Regina's spell fail.

"I hear them… All of them… It's too much…" In all of their time together, she'd never seen Killian react with such a strong aversion to any sounds - nothing like this and especially not to anything she couldn't hear herself. Would it be considered impolite to tell ghosts to shut up?

But she didn't need to ask after all because before she could open her mouth, a blinding light flashed and lit up the room almost like a bolt of lightning, but without the accompanying thunder. It came and went within a split-second, followed by a gust of wind that came out of nowhere, extinguishing the candles and plunging the room into darkness.

#cssns #captain swan supernatural summer #@cs ff #cs ghost ff #the inbetween

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