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ciel-phantomhives-world · 2 months

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My Rants about the 90s TV show Family Matters

I've recently just watched the entire sitcom "Family Matters" & I'm amazed (in a bad way) that when many of us, including myself, absolutely hate Laura, we r immediately referred to as "Myra Stans", but no honey. I haven't seen that many people talk about Laura's BS as much as they love to talk about Myra's red flags and now i just want to get it out of my chest.

I'm by no means what you would call a "Myra Stan" but i hate Laura from the bottom of my heart. Let me tell the reasons why. Many r too blind to see that this biatch is getting away by cheating on Stefan several times. When was cheating ok? And her excuse, u ask? Well, she said that she's confused and got feelings for both Stefan and Steve but is that a good reason to cheat? Absolutely effing not! There's never a good excuse for cheating and leading someone on. She's as horrible as her cheating brother. I thought she was a "goody two shoes", just like her dumb friends turn her out to be, at the beginning, that is. But all that changed, ever since i saw her begging Steve to be Stefan, as far as to ruin his transformation chamber, intentionally, so that Stefan could stay forever. She's shallow, conceited, selfish, fake victim and a gold digger. Why you ask she's a gold digger? Well, she once made a certain comment about how she would marry a guy who would buy her expensive jewelries.

Anyways, this show is my favorite and i admire the good lessons, humors, accepting yourself and loving urself as u r, wholesomeness but many things tried to sabotage this show a lot. I care about this show enough to actually criticize it . 🙂

Some examples include:

1) Harriet being played by a different actress right near the end of the series (believe me, it was so uncomfortable and weird for me to watch Carl kiss and hug a different woman that doesn't even look like harriet at all, even Reginald, Carl's actor, admitted that he felt weird and divorced),

2) then the writers actually took us, the audience, as a total fool, for thinking that we wouldn't notice that Judy disappeared (first, u bring one judy and then replace her with a different actress right after the first episode, but still that was fine by me, since it was only 1 pilot episode and we didn't get attached to that actress like Harriet or anything),

3) then you make richie be a toddler all of a sudden right after season 1 (which feels ridiculous). I know babies feel boring for the show but y bring a baby in the first place then.

4) then u show us Rachel being with one man for one episode and feeling guilty about dating ever since her husband died but again, like any typical sitcom, u make her date multiple guys from time to time without giving any logical explanation as to y did she break up with the first guy or the second, third, fourth and so on (Rachel did seem to have some chemistry with some of those guys too but every one of those guys appeared for only 1 episode ).

5) Next, you make Harriet's long lost dad appear for 1 episode and that's just it. Nobody ever felt the need to introduce him to the whole family or something, of course (and the show is supposed to be showing that family matters 🤦🏻‍♀️).

6) Eventually, u made everybody disappear (although Rachel and grandma appeared occasionally) and bring an annoying boring ass wannabe kid called 3J. Oh for the love of god, please 🙄😒. U removed judy, fired her because u couldn't have given her any sort of significant role and u thought that three's a crowd but yet u managed to add another male kid? It seems sexist to me, honestly, cuz apparently, all i saw was those stereotypical girls (Laura, Maxine )who r boy crazies, would be fine sucking any boy's lips, Maxine being that typical sitcom sidekick friend of the main character, having an obsessive stalker like myra and other than that, u had no idea of how to write that many female teens. It was either because u were stereotyping female teen characters or you were ignorant and lazy or u just didn't like judy at all to give her a different, non boy crazy role. On the contrary, look at how they made many male teen characters, there r a variety like Waldo (being a doofus yet skilled), Weasel, Eddie (being self centered, flirtatious and stupid), Steve (a nerd scientist) and so many more.

7) Also, they never gave any proper explanation as to y did Rachel left her son and went away, or y did Judy disappear (in my opinion, it would have been amazing if judy was kidnapped in s4 for being a cop's daughter and it was a real tragedy for the winslows but in S9, carl manages to finally find her and that would have been a way more amazing way to end the final season rather than that trash getting proposed by 2 guys). You never even seemed to give a proper excuse as to y did Waldo disappear. Ur just too good at making characters vanish from time to time. And yes, I absolutely despise 3j. He had no purpose in being there. It was stupid and annoying.

8) Did I forget to mention that how you ruined Steve character? And no, it's not because Steve became the main character but because of how he treated Myra. Hear me out. He did say at the beginning that if that "thing" ever feels the same way about him, then he's gonna ditch Myra, right at that moment. But, what type of a selfish, cold hearted absurd offer is that? It's like ur saying that I'm just gonna hang out with u, kiss u up until my crush loves me back cuz I'm lonely but if my crush ever return my feelings then I'm gonna ditch u right there, right then. And yes, Myra was insane enough to agree to that but deep down she thought that she could change his mind, which is not okay as well.

You see, it's not just that "offer" or "condition" that Steve offered but he was a cheater as well. Ugh. He was a cheater because he said that if his crush feels the same way, then he's gonna stop dating Myra right? But Steve was cheating way before his so called crush liked him back and he was already taken by Myra. In the prom, he was kissed by that snob and instead of pushing her away, he actually accepted it (even if that's ur crush kissing u, it was cheating nevertheless). It seemed like the writers had a fetish of putting Laura and Steve into compromising or any sort of situations together while make Myra have almost zero romantic moments with Steve where they r both enjoying each other's companion, mutually. Most of the moments we have from Steve and Myra r where Myra forcefully shoves her face down to Steve's throat, lol.

I could tell this right from season 1, that the writers decided to put Laura and Steve together as a couple no matter what (based on all the situations they were enjoying putting them into). You would have to be a dumbass if u actually got shocked that Laura liked Steve or something cuz certainly although there was no romantic tension between them but the forceful situations that they got themselves into was enough to make that happen.

Anyways, Laura kissed Steve while she was under the influence of love potion, alcohol but did he ever said anything about being taken by Myra or being faithful? Well, no, absolutely effing not. He also got kissed by that french girl but even then he didn't push her away and he literally forgot Myra's name. Ouch. All I'm saying is this series highlights many issues on the surface but has a serious problem of normalizing infidelity.

We r supposed to be believing that Steve is not perfect but has a heart of gold but how can we do such when we have seen him break multiple stuff, and isn't that much sincerely apologetic or anything, for most of the time, then even more importantly, being a cheater. Remember, once Steve was dating another girl, back in season 2, well, what did he do that time? That time, instead of being disloyal, he introduced the girl to some hot guy and then the girl left him. Well that's way more better than the way he treated Myra who was so much into him for himself, his personality, attire and Hobbies. Plus, he was so manipulative cuz everytime he broke something, screwed up, instead of properly apologizing and being humble, he would just use some sad pitiful words with the cute puppy eyes and expect the Winslows to forgive him, everytime and if they (Carl) didn't then he would often challenge Carl to a fight or something. And also, Steve was a hypocrite for being pissed at Myra while he himself stalked the Winslows for so many years, even as far as to go in their bedrooms! (and I'm aware that Myra was a bit more extra, didn't respect his personal boundaries but still, he was a stalker too but it's ok for him to do such since apparently he was a main character. ) Ok, well, enough about Steve.

9) Now, the tramp, Laura. Well, what can I say. I just don't know that what did Steve see in her. She's so basic, manipulative little piece of shit. I don't usually hate characters that much to actually write about my hatred on the internet but gosh she makes me sick. Now she was ok in s1, s2 and I still didn't like her at that time but I also didn't hate her but then I started to hate her ever since the Stefan thing happened. She's pathetic. Her character got ruined as well, thanks to the writers.

You see, I lost my patience when I saw her cheating on Stefan with Curtis while Stefan was working and her telling Harriet that she's not gonna be hurt for being a slut and cheating on 2 guys. Like really? That's the first thing that comes to ur mind? Sorry sis, but ur sick. It would have still been fine if u were a kid but no u were about 18 or 19 years old. Steve went through so much to give u a boy toy but u can't even be faithful to him and then all you can think of when being confronted is that u r not gonna be hurt. Talk about falsely victimizing urself. And the fact that she even said yes to Stefan's proposal at Disney world (that may have happened when she was a teen) but the least u could do is be faithful if ur not gonna actually marry him, duh.

She broke up with Ted cuz he complimented/ flirted with another girl. And that's cheating in her eyes. Well then what was she doing with Curtis, Stefan and Steve? And also why didn't she get the karma of being confronted and y didn't every boy that she ever used just ditch her right at the spot? Talk about hypocrisy and main character pros.

Also, she wasn't just a cheating slut but also a very bad friend. She often treated Maxine like trash even though Maxine treated her so good. Once Maxine warned her about a guy who only dates girls for sex and Maxine, herself, dated that guy, once. Yet that conniving bitch didn't bother to believe her, brushed her aside, made her feel like she's nuts, didn't care about her feelings and then saw it happen right then. I mean, it happened in s2. Imagine how mature Maxine was for that age of not being jealous of ur so called best friend dating ur ex and instead give her advice for her wellbeing. And what does this bitch do as an adult? She fights with Maxine cuz Maxine was dating her ex boy toy, Curtis, ridicules Maxine's ambition of being a beautician. Again, an egoistic hypocrite. Also remember how many times, she told Myra that she's her friend, well, which "friend" makes out with their friend's boyfriend while they are still dating each other? She also assured Myra that she's never gonna have romantic feelings for Steve, but lookie here. Not only did she have feelings but she made Steve break up with Myra. Not defending what Myra did, but her fear of losing Steve and going through extreme measures to make sure that it doesn't happen was really reasonable and understandable, especially when Steve started to live with that bitch and everything. I can't blame Myra for being so insecure cuz guess what, eventually, her fears did come true, unfortunately when she was not even being a psycho (back in the prom) and behind her back. 😢

Laura may have good sides (like the times, she stood up for Steve, being patient with Steve although he was being an obsessive stalker, help Maxine once when she was dating a drug dealer in s9) but it's as the saying goes " everybody has some good traits". So, she may had those good traits but that didn't make her an overall good person. Also about the drug dealing bf, I think the writers were just running out of ideas and that's y they thought of repeating that same type of plot from s2 (where Maxine warns about the guy who dates girls for sex) with boring lame S9 (where Laura warns Maxine about an older dude who sells drugs).

10) now about Eddie Winslow. Well, he, like many other characters didn't have that much of a character development. He was always selfish, shallow, surrounded himself with any random pretty girls, had no sense of loyalty or self awareness whatsoever, always got himself into some big troubles for how much stupid and naive he was, was very easy to manipulate and couldn't make time for his dad, many times, apparently cuz of how much "busy" he was despite being a weak student. I got nothing to say about him except him wanting to be a police officer was so fuckin forced. There was no development for that interest whatsoever. Once, back in s1 or s2, Carl decided to take Eddie with him and show him how police force works or something like that. But he didn't go. It was Steve as usual who went (I also felt like the writers wanted to make Carl be close to Steve than his own freaking THREE kids!). Well that's the only thing we know of Eddie ever being close to be a cop and he wasn't interested at all.

When he said that he didn't know what he wants to do with life, in s9, it felt so relatable for me. I also don't have any goals, am 20 years old, still going to boring college, not performing well as I did back in O levels, and have no friends or anything. So for me, it was a slap in the the face when I saw Eddie suddenly thinking that he's gonna be a cop just by thinking about it for 1 night. And the fact that he just started being a cop and yet got shot immediately cuz apparently the fake Harriet was scared that he might get hurt.

All I'm trying to say is that whenever someone warns someone else about something in this series, it just literally actually happens to them right after a few minutes which makes it boring and very predictable.

11) whatever happened to Rachel's place and Steve and Laura working there? It Was never answered. Whatever happened to lieutenant murtaugh? He was a funny good looking guy, in my eyes. I missed him so bad ever since he left and Weasle. Lieutenant was way better than that boring old captain savage or that other old dude, commissioner. Another thing was, Carl was never developed as a character as well. He was always hot tempered, which is ok but also sexist and it remained that way till s9, like come on. Also what happened to Stefan after he proposed that bitch for the second time? Like where did he go without proper confrontation?

12) Stefan character was so boring. I wish we didn't see him at all or if we did, then we saw him only once and not that many times cuz it took all the amusement of watching a nerd turn into a hot guy. We should also note that Stefan, like any other humans, do have flaws, so saying that he's selfish and that's y whatever that bitch Laura did to him was ok is actually never ok. He deserved someone way better than that trainwreck. Also, remember that Stefan is not a normal human but a clone of Steve, an experiment and so he's supposed to be having way more flaws than a normal person but alas, we saw none of that.

All we know is that he was self centered at first but then Steve fixed him and then he just became a one dimensional character who can only sweet talk people, do cool stunts, recite romantic poems and overall be a lover boy. He could be narcissistic or even be a womanizer and cheat on Laura's back while he was modelling. He could also be workaholic but we barely saw any flaws ever since Steve "fixed" him. He did say though that he's not gonna leave Laura ever again after coming back to her (although it was her who insisted that he pursues his career) from France and being fired from his job but yet he went to Italy. See, I really hate inconsistencies. So, that lie is supposed to be his flaw or was making a simple deal with Myra was his flaw? Who knows. But I definitely am not fond of this character, however, I don't hate him and he certainly didn't deserve all that.

13) Myra didn't deserve that treatment but she wasn't a good girl either. She was infact a psycho and I'm not defending any of these female characters. I only love Harriet, Estelle and Rachel (gotta love Rachel's beautiful voice).

Look, I have to give credit where it is due. So, I give it to the writers for showing us the early red flags that Myra had from the very beginning which eventually led up to the events in s9. But still I feel like things were a bit blown out of proportion or got far fetched.

She did have stalking behavior developing as she got older but we also saw that she was trying to befriend Laura and got stabbed in the back. Laura and Steve kissed multiple times but did she know anything about it. Absolutely no. They never told her anything. Two cheaters flocking together. Steve was kissed by a french girl without his consent but he enjoyed it and accepted it and forgot about Myra. Well, did he ever told that story to myra? Absolutely fuckin not. No wonder she went psycho and put a cam on his glasses. Her sudden extreme personality seemed like an exaggeration, even more, since she started to trust Steve and be a bit more less of a stalker ever since that nude art incident. But yeah, that girl got no self respect since she accepted the condition for dating Steve even though she was obviously not ok with it. I would have loved it if at the end Myra and Stefan dated each other or something.

14) last but not least, this series highlights many important issues like drinking, drugs, gang, gambling, racial issues, coercion, peer pressure and so many other stuff but it also portrayed many harmful stuff in a positive way.

For starters, one of them being, you stalking ur crush and helping them would mean that even if it takes years, still they r gonna fall for you. That's a very harmful message. In reality, most of the time, nobody's crush r gonna return their feelings. You trying too hard to impress them, be on their best side is either going to end up with you being used and taken advantage of and being hurt or you being miserable since ur crush barely know that u even exist and r in love with someone else.

I would have loved it if this happened: if Steve was just single at the end of the series. He dumps Myra for being obsessive psycho and maybe that other bitch Laura may come back crawling to Steve but by that time, Steve had already moved on. He was happy being single and he wants nothing to do with Myra and just be friends with Laura. Nothing more than that. Steve realizes that he's too good to love and take someone who rejected him for years and only came back because they got no better boy toy. Steve realizes his worth, he self improves himself not for being more desirable by women but just for himself. He also never cheated on any women he dated, which was mostly one woman and that's Myra. I've seen many say that Myra should have Steve since she accepts him as his true self but she also didn't allow him to breathe, so I don't think accepting someone for themselves is everything that matters.

Another thing I hated and didn't find funny at all was how Steve's parents treated him. We don't see them, again a common thing that happens to certain characters in any sitcoms, but they did abuse him, left him all alone and then we hear a stupid laughing track everytime he mentions something awful that his parents did to him.

All in all, I really loved Steve, at least at the beginning but after seeing him being disloyal but not held accountable in any form, I don't know anymore. I wanted to love him. He's too funny and cute but writers destroyed him and made him whiny and annoying. I hate the writers so much for these drastic changes and decisions. The ratings decreased for a reason. It was their lazy ass's faults. Not jaleel white's or any other actors' fault for that Matter. Jaleel white pulled out so many characters in 1 series and made it seem effortless. I love that guy. He's super talented and I love Jo Marie's sassiness and that savage strong voice. All the actors and actresses did a wonderful job. But not the producers, writers, studios, whatever. I blame them for creating tension between jaleel and other cast mates and the declination of the plot. I, myself came up with Many interesting things that they could do for s9, so obviously they could as well, if not better but they didn't care enough to do such. They really didn't seem to give a fuck about the audience anyways. Since they were ignorant, they could simply stop and end the series while it was still in it's prime like end it after s6 or s7. Anyhow, I just felt like ranting cuz I love this series (at least the first 8 seasons) but not that many characters in it and mainly because I hate inconsistencies and all.

#family matters #steve urkel #90s #sitcoms #american sitcom #harriet Winslow #family matters tv series #my rants #my rambles #my ramblings #my post #longpost #long post #jaleel white #I'm talking to the writers #Laura hater #fuck this ship #fuck that character as well

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almrudolfxiv · 3 months

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dawntrail, l94-96 questing

mandatory tuliyollal image deployed

Before I say anything, let me preface this by mentioning that I told Bern: "No matter what happens when we learn of Bakool Ja Ja, I'm going to be thinking about the Sad Backstreet's Back piano."

Anyways, Mamook!

Lovely place. Tragic place.

Honestly, I had a sinking feeling about what that dark secret was ever since I saw the jars, but I wasn't sure of the nature of it. Just that it's likely a lot of Bakool Ja Ja's siblings did not make it. How, I was not sure.

Seeing him actually start his arc to be on the straight and narrow was heartening, as was the fact that we all know that while Bakool Ja Ja had his reasons, he still has amends to make. Not just to us as Wuk Lamat's groupies, but the people he harmed in his desperation to win. I think he means to do so, really.

Learning of the plight of Mamook, and what we could do to help them, was neat. The mass amount of species amassed for the exodus finally get to be used in a tangible and helpful way on the star that was saved, which is neat. I want to see what the people there have to say once I'm done with the expansion.

I think it's significant he apologized tbh.

(Yes, the entire time, even if the whole thing was tragic, I was thinking about sad backstreet's back piano. Sorry Bakool Ja Ja)

I was surprised by Zareel Ja's willingness to accept the offered solution, somewhat, but I think anyone would be a fool to say no to crops that can actually grow in their forest.

And then, the dungeon. I had a bunch of fun. Then accidentaly killed myself on the last boss the first time he did his punch kb. I honestly did not see the indicator on the floor, since I had placed myself where I could barely see anything with the boss model looming over me. Hilarious first death where I could say 'perfect legend btw'. 10/10. Lots of fresh mechanics here.

The reward, then.

I was super uninterested in the city of gold from the get go, but I was also surprised that we got to actually get to it so soon. I was wondering if we would spend some time in the expansion on this actual search for the city of Gold, and maybe travel north for it as the Yok Huy did, but I should have gone with my gut that it had to be in the south. After all, the legend of El Dorado did start and mostly take place in South America, it'd have made little sense to place it north if you really wanted to base it on that. The revelations that came after the events that transpire while we're doing the spaghetti western bit, though, make it at least a little more interesting. A portal to another shard... some huge shit.

I kind of miss the storybeats already of learning and appreciating the cultures of Tural, but said spaghetti western bit was pretty fun. We officially left the area of expertise I had with pronounciation.. but not by much. I don't really have a hard time figuring out how most is said, frankly. The 'cop is actually part of the bandits' storybeat was one I was expecting from go, but I'm familiar with the genre... particularly the mexican brand of westerns and some spaghetti westerns.

I had fun on this short jaunt where it's just us and Erenville doing some stunts and letting the locals save the day.

And then the shoe dropped. When I saw the quest name as the train was about to depart, I kept telling Bern over call I had a BAD feeling about it. And boy were my expectations not even enough to cover all the shit that went down the toilet once those cutscenes played. With all that tragedy, I was half expecting Source Magnus to lose his wife.

Instead, we got the worse version where the red flags I had been seeing all over Gulool Ja Ja were taken down for a more mournful color. I did not need this so close to my own father's death, honestly. I'm still... taken aback, if anything. Like, I figured it'd happen, but I had hope that we were just getting the rug pulled under us and he'd live a happy and healthy full life (the half of him that was alive, anyway).

PS: I think it's dumb we did not intervene once Zarool Ja cheated death and started to augument himself. We should have. Pride be damned, that's cheating.

Alas.

Here's where I mentioned I thought Zarool Ja's croney would live long enough to attempt betraying him, but I guess the man's not a fool to keep someone so shady around once his use is up. Kinda satisfying to see him go, but the enabling had gone on long enough and now the guy's a threat to everyone. And cheated to kill his dad. Had popped a damn reraise and all. (aside, I could not give less of a shit about that white bitch standing there watching the people get murdered)

Damn was the aftermath heartbreaking. The First Promise wanted to give a message but he sure was brutal about it. We knew him capable, but I did not think him ready to kill children. Parents. At least, not at this juncture.

I, for one, was not happy to see G'raha back. Kinda hoped he'd stay gone and instead we got mom and dad Urianger and Thancred back on the saddle. I'll cope about it, just annoyed I had to tolerate his ass in the Alliance Raid and some of the void storyline. I'll get over it.

Anyway, scene at train and getting that sucker running to blast into the dome? Sick. Love to see folks working together after such a fucking tragic attack. I have a feeling the dungeon is coming up next, but maybe it'll be a duty instead...? We'll see. The speech before we left was also good, and I do like Bakool Ja Ja rising to the challenge to both help defend the city and rally the peoples. He may not have become Dawnservant, but he's coming onto his own!

Sidenote, but Ketenramm why did you keep those dumb rocks in your dumb house. Bury them somewhere or something.

#expansion: dawntrail #screenshots #wulf txt #spoiler warning i think

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actualhumansunshine · 5 years

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Looks like Niall was recording something for Spotify today. Based on the bands post and Jen from his capital team who flew to London and based on her story she was with someone from Spotify in that same Studio today 👀

SPOTIFY SINGLES BABEYYYYYYY!!! bird and jake both geotagging AIR studios, and if you go look in the tag, a producer for spotify singles ALSO geotagged AIR studios. that along with someone from his team being with someone from spotify at the same studio…………….LETS GOOOOOO

but the REAL question here is: what the fuck is he gonna cover? is he gonna be The Worst and cover the same thing he’s doing for live lounge? or maybe something from tour like Eagles’ LITFL or Bruce’s DITD? or something completely new and different????

#all i know is that it better fucking not be 1D ghaldfkjghaklsdjf #fool's gold was acceptable for the time and place and significance #BUT NO MORE glakdjf #ntmy spotify singles #answered #anonymous

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pettyvxbes · 3 years

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Colson Baker x Reader - Ocean Eyes III

This was originally only supposed to be three parts, but I have so many ideas. . . I might be getting a little carried away. If anyone is interested in being included on the tag list for ocean eyes drop me a comment. ❤ Btw, ya'll rock, and I'm so thrilled that you're digging where this story is going as much as I am!!

SUPPORT YOUR LOCAL COFFEE DEALER

Colson had insisted on going to a coffee shop across town, even though there were plenty of great coffee shops near Shaker Square that you two had frequented on your previous Saturday adventures. He initially suggested that you ride with him, but you declined the offer and opted to drive yourself, much to your dismay. You considered making a wrong turn to head back to your sister's house several times as you followed closely behind him but decided against the outlandish idea.

Pulling into the parking lot, you immediately noticed the sizeable pink skull painted on the side of the brick building. It read "Drink. Eat. Work. Meet" arched across the top with "The" on the forehead, a 2 and 7 in separate eye sockets, "club" on the chin, and the most clever part was the nose which was a cup of steaming coffee. The aesthetic was everything, and you quickly understood why Colson had wanted to bring you to this specific coffee shop. It was edgy and artistic, kind of like you, and he knew you would love it.

"This place is fucking awesome." You gushed, taking in the surrounding interior. The walls were painted pink and accented with black. There were skulls in various places throughout the room, and directly in front of you behind a large circular counter were the associates, wearing "Coffee Dealer" tees, waiting patiently to take your order. Capturing every aspect of the shop, you noticed the music playing. It was a synth-pop-R&B beat accompanied by the voice of Chris Brown and Usher.

"You gon' be my baby Love me, love me crazy Tell me you with it Baby, come and get it Maybe try a new thing And let's spark a new flame."

It was one of those songs that stuck in your memory and could take you back to a specific time and place. You looked over at Colson to find him looking back at you, and you were instantly transported to that cold January night eleven years ago, the night you had first met Colson.

The air was crisp, and the night sky was aglow with the bright city lights of Atlanta. You were visiting your best friend for what was left of your winter break at NYU. She couldn't wait to take you out on the town. So naturally, you both ended up at the Gold Room less than five hours after you had touched down in the Empire State of the South.

The Gold Room was fancy. Golden poles were lining a transparent window rail in the main seating area. Each roped-off section donned eccentric gold couches, chandeliers, and splashy tropical lighting, all of which highlighted the significance of those seated there. You happened to find yourself smack dab in the middle of the distinguished crowd, behind the velvet ropes. All thanks to your gorgeous best friend who had been casually seeing one of the Atlanta Hawks.

"Y/n, don't look now, but that guy over there has been staring at you since we walked in." Your best friend screamed into your ear over the loud music.

"Which one?" You questioned, waiting to turn and look.

"The blonde with the tattoos!" She paused, taking a sip of her drink. She could tell you were waiting for a more descriptive answer. "You'll know which one. He's fine as fuck!" She screamed, causing you to chuckle at her bluntness.

You casually turned to the side to look for the mystery guy, and you were quickly met with his blue eyes. You felt your cheeks flush a bit as he maintained eye contact.

You were beautiful in a way that the other girls in the club weren't. You were confident but not cocky, and your attire was modest but still sexy. You didn't need to be accepted by others, which was apparent in how you carried yourself. Your smile was beaming as you looked back at him, and Colson could have sworn it illuminated even the darkest corners of the room. You were authentically you, and the blue-eyed boy was captivated.

Your eye contact was broken by one of the tall basketball players in your section offering you a glass of champagne. You accepted the drink and made small talk for a moment before quietly excusing yourself to the ladies' room. At least that's what you told your friend, but if you were honest, you were actually looking for those blue eyes. You made your way slowly through the horde of people keeping your eye on the VIP section that the tattooed man occupied. You couldn't see him, so you wandered closer until you were stopped by a husky voice.

"Are you looking for something?" You turned, looking up into the blue eyes you had been searching for.

"Not anymore." You smirked. He was taken aback by your forward response, and you could tell by the look across his face that he was speechless. You chuckled at his expression. "I'm sorry."

"I wasn't expecting you to say that, but I was hoping you would" He laughed. "I'm Colson."

"Y/n."

"Y/n, that's beautiful." He smiled at you. You couldn't tell if it was the champagne coursing through you or the fact that he was extremely handsome, but all you could think about was kissing him. The thought was soon pushed to the back of your mind as you began exchanging information about yourselves. Where you were from, what you were doing in Atlanta, your relationship status'. . .the basics. You two eventually found yourselves halfway through a game of 21 questions in a more private area of the club where you could actually hear each other speak.

"If you could have one 'do over' in your life, what would you do differently?" You inquired.

"Ooh, we're going there now?" He chuckled. "That's easy though, I wouldn't do anything over because then I wouldn't be sitting here with you."

“Smooth.” You chuckled at his cheesy answer.

“Yeah? You see what I did there?” He joked "Ok, my turn. . ." He changed the subject, trying to think of a question quickly. "If there was one piece of advice you could give, what would it be?" You thought for a moment before speaking.

"To always appreciate the little things in life."

"The little things?" he questioned, waiting for you to elaborate further.

"Yeah, you know, like early morning sunrises or late sunsets. The ones where you'll see an array of colors in the sky that you wouldn't normally see." You raved. "Or road trips and motorcycle rides, when you have music in your ears and the wind in your hair. Or the days when you're surrounded by your favorite people, the ones who make you realize that the world isn't such a cold, harsh place." You rambled, and he smiled like a fool.

"The little things that make you realize what life is about and what it means to be alive?" He pondered quietly, contemplating what you had said.

"Yes!" You extolled. "Appreciating the little things makes you enjoy where you are, right now, in the present."

"Enjoy where you are right now," He reiterated. "I like that" A comfortable silence settled in for a moment, and you could hear a catchy synth-pop-R&B beat surging through the room. The voices of Chris Brown and Usher were crystal clear.

"Who said you can't find love in a club? 'Cause I wanna tell them they wrong Come on, just baby, try a new thing And let's spark a new flame."

You both let out a little chuckle at the lyrics, and the next thing you knew, his right hand was on the side of your face pulling you into him. The kiss was magic, chaos, and a little bit of poetry. You felt a fire deep in your bones, and he melted every part of you.

"Hey, Colson!" The barista greeted him, pulling you from your memory of the man standing next to you. You hadn't even noticed, but you two were still staring at each other, and you wondered if the same memory had crossed his mind too.

He turned towards the barista as your eyes continued to explore the coffee shop. That's when you saw it—a mural on the wall situated above black leather dome seats. In large pink letters, "Enjoy where you are right now." and it clicked - this was his coffee shop. . .and he still thought about that night, just like you.

Colson glanced back at you, preparing to order, you smiled at him, and yet again, he could have sworn it illuminated even the darkest corners of the room. You were still authentically you, and the blue-eyed boy was still captivated.

II << 💀 >>

TAG LIST @canyoubuymetoast

#colson baker #colson x reader #colson baker fluff #mgk x reader #mgk #x reader #machine gun kelly x reader #machine gun kelly #memories #club 27 #club 27 coffee #mgk coffee shop #sleep when your dead #support your local coffee dealer

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cto10121 · 3 years

Text

The bad Shakespeare takes keep coming, I see. This one had the cleverness to couch itself as a personal narrative (makes it much more interesting, tbh). But as bad Shakespeare takes are my bread and butter, my boon and bane, mamma mia here we go again, with Merchant of Venice.

“But those who thought the play was irredeemably antisemitic were, the consensus went, vulgar and whiny—and, completely coincidentally, they were also Jewish, which somehow magically invalidated their opinions on this subject.”

I’m glad (is that even the right word?) this author found scholars that don’t think this play is anti-Semitic, but my experience with scholarship has been way more mixed than that. Suffice to say, this is literally all the play is known for these days, and views of the play as anti-Semitic are everywhere (Rosenbaum even had a hot take that since the Nazis liked it, it must be anti-Semitic). Didn’t know Harold Bloom thinks this play is anti-Semitic, though. That in itself is a bit of a red flag, as Bloom is a notoriously poor reader of Shakespeare.

“[I]n Merchant, Portia unhappily fulfills her father’s requirements of her suitors, while in Il Pecorone, the lady enjoys drugging her suitors and robbing them blind. By removing this detail, Shakespeare removed the suggestion that malicious schemers come from all walks of life.”

Or, by removing this detail, Shakespeare removed the clear and abhorrent sexism of his original source that turned a woman robbed of her autonomy by her father’s will into a criminal. It’s almost as if you’re damned if you do, damned if you don’t.

“Dr. Lopez, one of the most respected physicians of the 16th century, had indiscreetly revealed that he once treated the Earl of Essex for venereal disease. The earl took revenge by framing Dr. Lopez for treason and arranging for his torture; while on the rack, Dr. Lopez “confessed”—though “like a Jew,” as the court record states, he denied all charges at trial, while the attorney for the Crown referred to him matter-of-factly as “a perjuring murdering traitor and Jewish doctor.”

This is a very twisted account of the Lopez affair and Essex’s motives in going against him, at least to my understanding. For context, Lopez was accused of receiving loads of money from the King of Spain to poison Queen Elizabeth.

According to Stephen Greenblatt, in Will of the World: “Essex had tried some years before to recruit Lopez as a secret agent. Lopez’s refusal—he chose instead directly to inform the queen—may have been prudent, but it created in the powerful earl a very dangerous enemy. After his arrest, he was initially imprisoned at Essex House and interrogated by the earl himself. But Lopez had powerful allies in the rival faction of the queen’s senior adviser William Cecil, Lord Burghley, and his son, Robert Cecil, who also participated in the interrogation and reported to the queen that the charges against her physician were baseless.” Lopez apparently had been taken bribes from various sources, and confessed (freely? under torture?) “that he had indeed entered into a treasonous-sounding negotiation with the king of Spain, but he insisted that he had done so only in order to cozen the king out of his money.” Weird.

Greenblatt isn’t a historian, though, and Essex was indeed an asshole to Lopez, (and for what is worth, I feel Lopez was innocent; I just get those vibes) but so far I can find no other source that Essex actively framed Lopez. Most likely he did some sleuthing, dug up some questionable, compromising stuff, and tried to blow a hearth flame into a firestorm.

“After all, the historical record gives Queen Elizabeth a cookie for dawdling on signing Dr. Lopez’s death warrant; her doubts about his guilt even led her to mercifully allow his family to keep his property, not unlike the equally merciful Duke of Venice in Shakespeare’s play.”

Again, Lopez had powerful allies (doesn’t get much higher than Burghley), and again, re: Greenblatt: “According to court observers, Elizabeth gave Essex a tongue-lashing, ‘calling him rash and temerarious youth, to enter into a matter against the poor man, which he could not prove, and whose innocence she knew well enough.’” A cupcake, then?

“And it is of course entirely unclear whether this trial and public humiliation of an allegedly greed-driven Jew attempting to murder an upstanding Christian, rapturously reported in the press with myriad antisemitic embellishments, had anything at all to do with Shakespeare’s play about the trial and public humiliation of a greed-driven Jew attempting to murder an upstanding Christian—which Shakespeare composed shortly after Dr. Lopez decomposed. Most likely these things were completely unrelated.”

Nearly all the major Shakespeare biographies and articles I’ve read literally and explicitly talks about the possible influence of Lopez’s execution on Merchant of Venice and names it as an inspiration: Greenblatt, (he even headcanons that Shakespeare watched the execution!) Bate, Ackroyd. That’s how Horn managed to ping my BS radar something awful—because I had read about it, many times, even if it was mentioned in passing. It’s solid, legit Shakespearean academic fanon. The sarcasm is really unwarranted, and childish besides.

“It was damned hard to hear the nuance while parsing lines like “Certainly the Jew is the very devil incarnal,” or “My master’s a very Jew; give him a present, give him a halter,” or explaining what Shylock meant when he planned to “go in hate, to feed upon / The prodigal Christian.”

The first two are the fool’s, Lancelot’s, lines, I think. As for Shylock’s hatred toward Christians, while ugly, it’s entirely understandable given the Christian characters’ treatment of him pre-play and during it (Antonio spitting on Shylock’s gaberdine and then asking him to borrow money from him is called out by Shylock himself for its sheer hypocrisy). It also fits Shylock’s character as an unassimilated Jew, resenting Christian hypocrisy and racism.

“The actor began the brief soliloquy that every English-speaking Jew is apparently meant to take as a compliment: ‘I am a Jew. Hath not a Jew eyes? Hath not a Jew hands, organs, dimensions, senses, affections, passions? . . . If you prick us, do we not bleed? If you tickle us, do we not laugh? If you poison us, do we not die? And if you wrong us, shall we not revenge?’

“Wait, that’s the part where he’s more human?”

[…]“Sure,” I told my son, game-facing him back in the rearview. “He’s reminding us how he’s like everyone else. He’s a normal person with normal feelings.”

My son laughed. “You seriously fell for that?”

[…] “What do you mean?”

“Shylock’s just saying he wants revenge! Like, ‘Oh, yeah? If I’m a regular human, then I get to be eee-vil like a regular human!’ This is the evil monologue thing that every supervillain does! ‘I’ve had a rough life, and if you were me you would do the same thing, so that’s why I’m going to KILL BATMAN, mu-hahaha!’ He’s just manipulating the other guy even more!”

And then the crowd applauded, Harold Bloom cried, and the mayor gave the author’s six-year-old son a gold medal for his Brave Hot Take. Honestly, this was the most unbelievable part of the essay I’ve read. Unless this kid has been reading academic essays on MoV that posit this exact same interpretation (“Shylock was just using humanistic rhetoric to justify his ~bloodthirsty revenge!”), this one’s for a fake Internet stories anthology. Shylock may be a dour, miserable pain in the ass, but he is no Barabas, an actual anti-Semitic caricature—he has a character, and a recognizably human one, and the play bears it out that he is right in his anger.

“I reviewed the other moments scholars cite to prove Shylock’s “humanity.” There were two lines of Shylock treasuring his dead wife’s ring, unlike the play’s Christian men who give their wives’ rings away. But unlike the other men, Shylock never gets his ring back—because his daughter steals it, and becomes a Christian, and inherits what remains of his estate at the play’s triumphant end.”

Er, this is a non sequitur—that last has nothing to do with the first. The point is, Shylock doesn’t give away his ring; the fact that his daughter stole it means nothing to his treasuring it. It may be proof of the play’s marginalization of Shylock (which accurately if sadly reflects real-life systematic marginalization), but not his humanity. Shakespeare just doesn’t do backstories, even for major characters, so it is significant that he gave Shylock a wife/beloved in the first place.

“Finally, scholars point to the many times Shylock explains why he is so revolting: Christians treat him poorly, so he returns the favor. But for this to satisfy, one must accept that Jews are revolting to begin with, and that their repulsiveness simply needs to be explained.”

This makes absolutely no sense at all. If one accepts Jews are inherently revolting, then no explanation need be given for when a Jewish character acts revolting! The racist accepts the revolting Jewish characterization without qualm. The fact that the play insists on his grievance is significant.

“We listened together as Shylock went to court to extract his pound of flesh; as the heroine, chirping about the quality of mercy, forbade him to spill the Christian’s blood as he so desperately desired; as the court confiscated his property, along with his soul through forced conversion; as the play’s most cherished characters used his own words to taunt and demean him, relishing their vanquishing of the bloodthirsty Jew.”

YMMV, but to me there are no cherished characters in this play. That’s the whole point! Everyone is so mired in this dreary capitalist materialism that denigrates genuine human connection into mere transaction. Everything to these characters is money, money, money (and class), or at least tainted by it. Shylock is simply the most overt (and honest) of the lot. Love relationships, religion are impoverished; Portia and Bassanio are scarcely more suited than Portia and her other suitors. Shylock and Antonio are Jews and Christians in-name-only: They are capitalists first and foremost. Portia is a smarter, more likable Karen. Lancelot isn’t funny. Jessica is okay, but her leaving her father is framed as a asshole moment at least in one instance. Portia is probably the most lovable, but she has her asshole moments too. There are no truly awful characters, but you don’t need to demonize and dehumanize your whole cast into two-dimensional racists just to make a point.

Merchant of Venice is not the best of plays. It is one of Shakespeare’s experiments, a proto-problem play before his Jacobean era, using dark comedy and a slight bent of farce to explore and elucidate social issues, racism and discrimination, chiefly. At least it tries, anyway. Taming of the Shrew is the first proto-problem play done completely farcical, which at least makes it compelling in a slapstick-satire way; Merchant is much more sociologically astute, but also more dull and coolly distant even from its own concerns. I don’t blame anyone, much less Jewish people, for not liking the play or thinking it a masterpiece. I myself don’t, though for reasons that have nothing to do with the usual ones. I like what Shakespeare was trying to do and I think he did some things very well. It has ambition and thought. But I feel like for most of it Shakespeare was on writing autopilot while mentally looking around for something a bit meatier to adapt and develop. It’s a jogging-in-one-place play; he has a couple of those.

In sum: Author argues for complicated play’s anti-Semitism, ends up just saying the racist slurs by the flawed/asshole Christian characters made her and her son uncomfortable (feat. A distorted and even misleading account of the Lopez affair). Plus some internalized anti-Semitism to sort through, methinks.

#the merchant of venice #shakespeare #cristina metas #shakespeare meta #kind of #cristina reviews #also kind of #merchant is not even one of my liked plays but these takes are just wearying

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inthedayswhenlandswerefew · 4 years

Text

Eccentricity [Chapter 9: Now I Love Your Shadow And I Love Your Curls]

Series Summary: Joe Mazzello is a nice guy with a weird family. A VERY weird family. They have a secret, and you have a choice to make. Potentially a better love story than Twilight.

Chapter Title Is A Lyric From: “Til I Die” by Parsonsfield.

Chapter Warnings: Language, references to sex, violence, and drug use.

Word Count: 7.6k.

Other Chapters (And All My Writing) Available: HERE

Taglist: @queen-turtle-boiii @bramblesforbreakfast @maggieroseevans @culturefiendtrashqueen @imnotvibingveryguccimrstark @escabell @im-an-adult-ish @queenlover05 @someforeigntragedy @imtheinvisiblequeen @seven-seas-of-ham-on-rhyee @deacyblues @tensecondvacation @brianssixpence @some-major-ishues @haileymorelikestupid @youngpastafanmug @simonedk

Field Trip

“You want to go to Chicago with me?”

I coughed, having almost inhaled a chunk of pineapple off my slice of GrubHubbed pizza. We were sitting on the grass outside Forks And Spoons under the shade of the maple trees, which were turning from jade to ruby to amber to fool’s gold, rejoining the earth they once rose from one fallen leaf at a time. It hadn’t rained in almost four days—was that some kind of record?!—and the leaves littering the ground crunched when I stepped on them, which I did purposefully and often. The breeze was soft and whispery and temperate. I could get used to this whole having actual seasons thing. “What, in like a hypothetical, at some point in my life kind of way?”

Joe smiled. His U Chicago hoodie of the day was black. “No, as in this weekend.”

“Really?”

“The Cubs have a game on Saturday, and it’s supposed to be rainy and overcast the whole time, and I just thought...” He shrugged, toying with a piece of pizza crust before tossing it to the squirrels. He’s nervous, I realized. How the hell do I have the ability to make the sexy undead Italian man nervous? “It might be nice for us to be able to get away for a few days. Away from my family. Away from Charlie. Not that I don’t appreciate the ambient noise of his snoring from the living room couch, it’s super endearing, I seriously consider dating him instead of you at least twice a week.”

“Go for it. Charlie could use a rich husband. His pension is pathetic.”

“You wouldn’t miss me?”

“I am not necessarily opposed to clandestinely seducing my sugar daddy stepdad should the occasion arise.”

Joe crossed himself like a nun passing tattooed, cursing, lip-pierced teenagers on the sidewalk. “Lord, protect me from this harlot.”

A weekend away. No Charlie, no constant and chaotic whirlwind of Lees, no Ben. I hadn’t spoken to Ben since our misadventure in the Lee kitchen; if he wasn’t avoiding me of his own volition, he was following orders to stay away. Joe claimed that they’d talked it out. I wasn’t sure if I believed him. “I accept your invitation. Although, truthfully, I’d rather get hit by a bus than watch an entire real-life, no-commercial-breaks baseball game.”

“I accept your acceptance. And I’ll throw in a visit to the Shedd Aquarium, just for you. They have baby sea otters.”

“Sweet.” I checked my iPhone. “I’m gonna be late for Chemistry.”

“Anything fun planned?”

“We’re doing a lab involving hydrochloric acid. I’m highly concerned that Ben will accidentally spill some on himself. The miraculous instantaneous healing thing might raise a few questions.”

“Hm,” Joe replied. But he wasn’t looking at me; he was looking at my bandaged hand. And he wasn’t smiling anymore.

“Joe, I’m fine.”

“Yeah.” He took a preoccupied swig of his Dr. Pepper. Solemnity never seemed right on him; it was like he was wearing somebody else’s skin. “You’ve mentioned that.”

“Hey. Mob guy.”

Now his eyes flicked to mine.

“No more sad spaghetti.”

“Okay.” He surrendered, took my face in his hands, gave me a kiss on each cheek and then one quick parting peck on the forehead. “You win. I’m not sad. I’m ecstatic, actually. I’m gonna be eating my weight in hotdogs and mustard-slathered pretzels on Saturday. What’s there not to be ecstatic about?”

“The fact that your license says you’re only twenty and consequently can’t get a beer?”

Joe blinked, remembering. “Fuck.”

I drained my Diet Coke, flung my pizza crust to the skittering grey squirrels—no eerie albino forest friends today—and pulled on my backpack. “See ya. Have an awesome time in Game Theory.”

“Thanks, I probably won’t!” he chimed, waving, grinning compliantly; and yet did I still sense some lingering menace of disquiet, of fear? I suspected I did. Chicago would cure everything.

Ben tensed when I walked into Professor Belvin’s classroom, ran his fingers through his unruly blond hair, peered fixedly down at his notebook and feigned obliviousness. There was already a metal tray of Erlenmeyer flasks, labeled bottles of solutions, burettes, goggles, gloves, and an unassembled ring stand crowding our small table by the open window. Autumn air poured in like seawater through cracks in the hull of a ship.

“Guess who’s gonna see the Cubs play up close and personal this Saturday?” I announced.

He pretended to have just noticed me. “...You...? But that doesn’t sound like you.”

“It was Joe’s idea. I’m acting like I’m not totally thrilled and freaking out about it, but I am. Don’t tell him.”

Now Ben was the one staring at my bandaged hand. His green eyes were large and unfocused.

“I’m fine,” I insisted.

“Sure,” Ben returned noncommittally.

I started skimming through the packet of lab instructions and setting up our titration experiment as Professor Belvin circulated through the classroom, observing, commenting, offering suggestions and critiques. My wounded hand—still sore in the lull between Advil doses and relatively useless—was quite the embarrassing hinderance; I fumbled with a large glass flask and almost dropped it.

Ben shook his head and reached out to stop me. “Here, oh my god, this is so pitiful, sit down. Please sit down. I’ll set it up. It’s the least I can do.”

“Thanks.” I peeked at his notebook. “Your handwriting is atrocious. Haven’t you had like a century to work on that?”

“Penmanship was never at the top of my to-do list, tragically.”

“What language is that, anyway?” The phrases scrawled in black ink in Ben’s notebook definitely weren’t English. Or Italian. “Elvish? Are you a lowkey Lord Of The Rings fan? Magic and self-sacrifice and nearly insurmountable evil, I could see that being your thing.”

He smirked, struggling with the ring stand. “It’s Welsh.”

“Welsh,” I repeated, perplexed. “Welsh...like how Gwil is Welsh?”

“Precisely.”

Professor Belvin checked in on us, nodded in approval, reminded me that I was always welcome to stop by at bowling league activities, and resumed his wandering.

“Gwil still speaks it,” Ben continued. “The rest of them speak it too. At least enough for basic communication.”

“I didn’t know,” I said, fascinated, examining the long, unfamiliar words riddled with Ls and Ws and Cs. “But that must be very useful.”

“It is. Welsh is nearly a dead language at this point. It’s like talking in code. I always refused to learn it on principle...or maybe I was just being difficult. I would study other languages, Arabic, Japanese...but not Welsh. That was always Gwil’s language. Their language. It was a Lee thing. But now...”

“Now you’re sort of a Lee too,” I finished for him, smiling.

“Whatever,” Ben said, hiding behind his bangs.

I watched him as he at last tamed the ring stand, secured the burette, placed the Erlenmeyer flask. Then he began reading the labels on the solution bottles. “Guess what else.”

“What, Baby Swan?”

I grinned, showing off my unremarkable, entirely benign human teeth. “I’ll bring you back your very own U Chicago hoodie.”

That night, after a pleasantly prosaic dinner with Charlie—burgers, one veggie and one of the conventional variety, and milkshakes at Danny’s Diner—I started packing a small, Arizona-sky-blue suitcase as sparse raindrops pattered against the roof and moonlight streamed in through the open window. Then I ticked off my mental inventory.

“Jeans, sweaters, pajamas, socks...”

I pawed through the top drawer of my old, scratched dresser—the same one that had once upon a time been Renee’s—and contemplated the bra and panty options. Would my theme be comfort and practicality, or feral impenitent seductress? Friday and Saturday in Chicago would be our first nights alone together. That had to be significant, right? After some deliberation, I gathered a handful of lacy, transparent, and/or exceptionally skimpy lingerie from Victoria’s Secret that Jessica had more or less forced upon me during a shopping trip in Port Angeles last month. As I dropped them into the open suitcase, I glanced up to see the albino owl outside my open bedroom window.

“You never know,” I told the owl, shrugging.

It leered judgmentally back at me with those gory red eyes.

“Oh shut up. How many eggs have you laid in your lifetime, Casper The Unfriendly Ghost? Probably like a bazillion. Freaking feathery trollop.”

The owl had nothing to offer in its own defense.

“Why don’t you ever come around when Joe’s here? I’m sure he’d love to meet you. He’s pale and weird too. Although I like his eyes a little better than yours. No offense, Snowflake.”

The owl blinked, tilted its gaze at me, ruffled its feathers and sent the raindrops that had gathered there flying in every direction.

I slid my iPhone out of my back pocket, spun around, and snapped a quick selfie with the owl in the background. “Say cheese, Marshmallow!”

The owl immediately unfurled its wings and flapped off into the trees, vanishing.

“Huh. I guess homegirl is camera shy.” I texted my selfie to Archer, typing out with my thumbs: I am the Steve Irwin of Forks. Behold, one of my many forest friends.

Archer replied a few minutes later: WOW! Pasty and mildly disturbing. Exactly your type. :)

“Yours too, apparently,” I murmured, smiling in my empty room.

I went to my full-length mirror with the plastic, teal-colored border, briefly appraised my reflection, felt a dull swell of approval for what I saw there. The version of myself that had once been so consumed by fears of inadequacy seemed impossibly far away, maybe even fictitious, a dream so vivid I could mistake it for truth. Three things were taped across the top of the mirror: Joe’s Official Citation!! No More Sad Spaghetti!! post-it, his Official Whatever You Want Pass, and a photo of us dressed up together and standing in front of the limo in the Lees’ driveway just before the Calawah University Homecoming dance. I peeled off the Official Whatever You Want Pass, carefully folded it into a neat little square, and tucked it into my wallet.

When the rain began to pour and thunder rolled in off the Pacific Ocean, I closed my bedroom window; but I remembered to leave it unlocked for Joe.

Departure

“Got your license?”

“Yes, Dad,” Joe sighed.

“Got your airport snacks?”

Joe held up the gallon-sized Ziploc bag filled with pumpkin and white chocolate chip cookies. “We’re ready to rock.”

“Call me when you get there safe,” Mercy fretted, hugging me and then Joe. “And Joseph, sweetheart, you make sure you keep an eye on her. She’s never been to Chicago before, it’s a big city, and O’Hare is an absolute nightmare, it’s so easy to get lost...”

“I don’t think he needs any reminders, love.” Dr. Lee laid a hand on her shoulder, stroked his neatly-trimmed beard with the other, watched us with a vague and wistful smile.

Mercy went back to trimming the flowers she had spread out across the kitchen countertop, white calla lilies that she threaded one by one into a translucent sapphire blue vase. “Now don’t forget to say goodbye to your brother. He’s out back feeding the new ducks. And I expect these ones to stick around for a while, thank you very much.”

“Mom, I don’t need to say goodbye to Rami. I’ll just think it. Really loudly.” Joe rubbed his temples with his fingertips and squeezed his eyes shut. “Peace out, you nosy bastard.”

“Joseph,” Mercy pleaded.

“Okay, okay, I’ll go say goodbye. Don’t get all aggressive. Don’t take it out on the flowers.” Aggressive...what a joke. I doubted that Mercy Eleanor Lee, formerly Martin, had a single aggressive bone in her immortal body; not even the infinitesimal stapes of her inner ears or the sesamoids of her feet.

“They’re calla lilies,” she replied dreamily, tending them like children. “And they symbolize love, and beauty, and fidelity...”

My nostrils itched and burned faintly in dissent. “I think I’m allergic to them.”

“You’re allergic to fidelity?” Joe asked, raising his eyebrows. “That’s it, now you’re definitely not getting my reclaimed virginity. No ma’am. I am not hit-it-and-quit-it material.”

“Oh sweet baby Jesus,” Mercy murmured.

“I’m going,” Joe said, showing his palms in capitulation and disappearing out the back door. I dragged my suitcase to the front one, politely declining Mercy and Gwil’s offers to help.

Lucy—her bleached hair in a high half-ponytail and wearing polka-dotted black tights, combat boots, a plaid miniskirt, and an extremely Octoberish orange sweater—was sitting cross-legged on the roof of Gwil’s Volvo. God, he’s such a dad. “Have a nice time,” she chirped artfully.

I opened the hatch of Joe’s Subaru and threw my suitcase inside. “Why do you sound like you already know I will?”

“I might have some relevant clairvoyant insight.”

“No way.” I stared up at her, stunned, my hands on my waist. “But you can’t see me, right...?”

“True. But this vision wasn’t of you. It was of Joe. You just happened to be there.”

Interesting. Very interesting. “And what transpired in this vision?” A night full of hot, steamy, blissful vampire sex? A girl could dream.

Lucy closed her eyes, recalling it fondly, maybe even cherishing it. “You were sitting in the stands of a professional baseball game. I could hear the crowd roaring, the umpire’s trumpeting interruptions. Blue and white...everyone was wearing blue and white. And you were there together—Joe a vampire, you human, side by side, almost entwined—shouting to each other over the thunderous noise and laughing and pushing nuggets of soft pretzels into each other’s mouths. So happy. I’d never seen Joe so happy.” Her striking pale eyes came open. “And he’s someone who’s already rather prone to happiness, as I’m sure you’ve noticed.”

“I have,” I agreed.

“He’s never been serious about anybody else. I hope you know that.”

“I know that’s what he tells me.”

“It’s the truth,” Lucy insisted. “I would know if it wasn’t. Rami would know, Ben would know. Joe...he’s kind of the opposite of you. He’s always been the easiest to read. He’s the one Rami hears most loudly, the one who shows up most often in my visions. He’s clear, you know? Uncomplicated. Authentic. And what you mean to him...it’s something everybody sees. It’s a contagious sort of lightness, of joy. So thank you for that.”

And if whatever mysterious genetic switch that renders me immune to your talents wasn’t flipped, I’m pretty sure I’d look the same way. “I should definitely be thanking you,” I said. “You guys have a pretty cool existence going on here. And I’m so grateful to be invited into it.” For however long this lasts, anyway.

“None of us really invited you,” Lucy demurred. “We just let it happen.”

“So everyone knew I was coming? Because you saw it?”

“Everyone but Joe.”

“You never told him?”

“No. Not even now.” Lucy turned sharply towards the trees, as if she heard something in the soaring western hemlocks that swayed drunkenly in the wind. After a moment, she continued. “I’m not sure if I can even explain why. It wasn’t that I feared changing the timeline or something...my visions always come true regardless. Always. But I guess...” She tugged on her short half-ponytail, pondering. “I guess I didn’t want to cloud any of his decision-making, any of his emotions with the specter of the inevitable. I wanted whatever he felt for you to be completely organic. And it is.”

I considered her. “You are extremely thoughtful for someone who spends as much time shopping as you do.”

Lucy laughed in a high-pitched, almost juvenile trill, netting her fingers beneath her chin, her elbows resting on her bent knees. “I do like to shop. I didn’t always though.” She peered off into the trees again, this time pensively. “Did Joe tell you anything about my life before Gwil saved me?”

“Aside from the copious hippie jokes, not really.”

She nodded, her eyes far-away and still lost in the forest. “Gwil and Mercy are inordinately wonderful people. My biological father and mother, unfortunately, were not. And maybe they couldn’t help it, because from what I understand their parents were monsters too. I don’t think of them very often now, not even to resent them. But when I was alive I burned with it, with all that hatred, with all that bitterness. Every bruise was another log on the fire. Every screaming match or hurled plate was a splash of gasoline. So I ran away and found what I fancied to be a new family, and I lived on basement couches and out of vans and in abandoned buildings, and I explored increasingly inventive ways of putting that fire out.”

The October breeze cascaded through the trees, carrying echoes of birdsong and disembodied distant voices and the scent of pine. It reminded me of Joe.

“Chemically speaking,” Lucy said, “that first hit of heroin, that first high...it’s the best you’ll ever feel in your entire life. Nothing else will ever compare. Not skydiving, not backpacking through Southeast Asia on some Pulitzer-prize-winning journey of self-discovery, not winning the lottery, not the births of your children, not falling in love. And once you accept that, what’s the point in stopping? Everything you ever experience will live in the shadow of that needle. You’re twenty-five and you’ve already seen the endgame. You’re born, you suffer, you catch a glimpse of paradise, you pay bills and push shopping carts down the aisles of grocery stores and insipidly smile your way through your husband’s work parties until you die. What’s the fucking point? So I didn’t stop shooting heroin. And the whole time, I knew it was killing me. That’s what they don’t tell kids when they force them to make those idiotic classroom promises to never do drugs. You know it’s killing you, but you don’t care. Because it feels so goddamn good. Because it becomes the only sliver of your existence that doesn’t cut like glass beneath your skin. Sometimes you love things so much you let them kill you, isn’t that ridiculous?”

I wasn’t sure how to answer her; still, I heard my own voice: “Yes, it is.”

“It took dying for me to see that life is worth living. That there’s magic in the mundane and the frivolous. And that there’s beauty everywhere if you bother to look for it.” Lucy uncrossed her trim legs, leapt gracefully off the Volvo, and—with definite but not unkind scrutiny—pulled at the collar of my thrift shop sweater. “Even in your very, very, very misguided fashion preferences.”

The front door of the Lee house swung open, and Joe jogged out, carrying his suitcase. Gwil, Mercy, Scarlett, Rami, and Ben appeared on the porch to wave us off.

“What’d you do?!” Joe demanded, pointing at Lucy.

“Nothing,” she quipped.

“You guys gotta stop doing this!” Joe exclaimed. “You know what you’re doing, you know exactly what you’re doing, you gotta stop cornering people and forcing them to listen to your creepy tragic backstories! Nobody freaking asked!”

Lucy chuckled patiently and stood on her tiptoes to hug him goodbye. “Have fun.”

“You know it.” Joe tossed his suitcase into the Subaru and opened the driver’s door. “Ready, Baby Swan?”

“Almost.”

I walked to the wrap-around porch, climbed the steps, held my hand out to Ben. My stitches had almost completely dissolved over the past week, and the clunky impediment of bandages was no more. Joe crossed his arms and watched from beside the Subaru with an uneasy frown, but he didn’t try to stop me. He nodded to Rami, so subtly I almost didn’t notice. Rami nodded back.

“I will miss your melodramatic brooding immensely,” I told Ben. “Please do some fun family stuff while we’re gone. I’ll see you soon. Dan eich bendith.”

“Dan eich bendith,” he replied, taken aback. And then, after a moment’s hesitation, he ignored my outstretched hand and embraced me, his grasp so strong and yet so careful. His scent like crisp leaves and salted caramel and autumn sieved into a bottle unfolded in my lungs like an opened book.

“I Googled that especially for you,” I whispered. “You’re welcome.”

“I’m in awe.” His words were characteristically sardonic, but I heard warmth in them as well. When Ben pulled away, I saw that everyone else was smiling. Mercy had tears in her eyes.

I retreated back down the porch steps and met Joe by the Subaru. “Okay, mob guy. I’m good.”

He slid on his sunglasses, shook his head, flashed a proud and toothy grin. “You definitely are.”

All the way down Route 101 to the Seattle-Tacoma International Airport, we listened to Joe’s classic rock mixtapes and my NOAA Ocean Podcast episodes, reviewed the weekend itinerary, ran through the bare essentials for me to understand an MLB game (“Which I am totally not excited about whatsoever,” I informed Joe, who knew enough not to believe me).

When the Boeing 747 ascended above the clouds and unimpeded sunlight poured in from the other passengers’ windows, Joe put on a black sleeping mask over his sunglasses and reclined his seat, tried to nap, passed the time until he would be safe beneath the curtains of the sky again.

Somewhere over the Dakotas, as I leafed through a book about the Great Barrier Reef for my Marine Botany class, Joe’s hand bumped mine. “Hey,” he said drowsily, seriously; and I braced myself for some emotional declaration, some dire warning, some grave realization of the futility of what we agreed—almost always wordlessly, and yet unfailingly—was love.

“Yeah?”

“It’s an emergency.”

“Uh oh,” I replied, smiling now.

“Flag down the flight attendant and get some more of those honey roasted peanut packets,” Joe said. “I’m starving myself back to death over here.”

The Windy City

The bat cracked deafeningly against the baseball pitched at nearly a hundred miles per hour. It was a home run. The crowd erupted into mindless, primal shrieks of conquest; and when Joe jumped to his feet, clapping and cheering and nearly spilling his blue-and-white bucket of popcorn, I found that I did as well. I screamed for the team of a city I’d never lived in, sank back into my seat beside Joe, nestled against his chest as his right arm closed around my waist and hauled me in closer, as his left hand teased me with a soft pretzel nugget hovering just out of reach. And in that moment, I felt like Lucy, snatching Polaroids out of the space-time continuum of the present and the future and the past. There was where Joe and I were right now, of course; the day we had met each other in the nonfiction section of the Calawah University library; the dance floor at Homecoming; the first night he snuck soundlessly into my bedroom window; all those years we still had left to spend together. Not forever, but perhaps long enough.

“I like this baseball thing,” I told him over the roar of the crowd, twirling my fingers around the curling locks of dark hair that stuck out from under his Cubs cap. Or maybe I just like you.

“Whew, thank god.” Joe wiped his forehead with the back of his hand in mock relief. “Now I don’t have to break up with you.”

After the game—a 5-3 Cubs victory, close enough to keep the spectators’ blood pumping throughout—we boarded the L, held onto the metal railings as the packed train car bumped and swerved along, and disembarked in Little Italy. Historic brownstones were interrupted by a freckling of pizzerias, Italian ice stands, and sports bars spilling out shouts of triumph and despair. We were staying in the Four Seasons with a view of Lake Michigan; but we had an hour of daylight—albeit chilled, dreary, and forever threatening rain—left in our Saturday. Tomorrow would be the aquarium, and then dinner before catching our flight back to Seattle, back to the greenery and fog and eternal dampness that I was beginning to think of as my home. Had I really only left Phoenix two months ago? Had I ever really lived there at all?

“So,” Joe said as we walked under shedding green ash and black cherry trees, his arm draped across my shoulders. “Guess what the University of Chicago has. In addition to a killer Economics PhD program, which yours truly will be graduating from in approximately 2027, astonishingly aged not a single day. Maybe he’s born with it, maybe it’s Maybelline.”

“Hideous sweatshirts?” I guessed.

“One of the best Marine Biology departments in the world. And the affiliated Marine Biological Laboratory up in Massachusetts, where they send their PhDs to do research.”

“Wait, seriously?” I stopped abruptly, the heels of my boots squealing against the sidewalk. “You mean...for me?”

He rolled his eyes. “No, for my other girlfriend who is also inexplicably super obsessed with the ocean. I clearly have a type.”

“You want me...to come to Chicago...with you...after graduation? For like...a five to seven year commitment?”

“Sure, why not?”

“Well, that just sounds...serious.”

“Huh. What do you know. I guess we’re serious after all.” He took my hand and pulled me gently forward, leading me down West Taylor Street. He seemed to have a destination in mind.

“How is this going to work for you, anyway?” I asked, beaming uncontrollably now, trotting along beside him. “Living in a place that isn’t Washington or Scotland or Alaska?” Chicago was cold and cloudy for a lot of the year, true, but few cities were Forks-level wet and sunless. Forks-level tyrannically depressing, I would have said two months ago.

He shrugged, unphased. “Night classes. Sunglasses. Faking a chronic illness so I don’t have to leave our house. I’m really good at that one. Plus I can get a doctor’s note any time I want one. I’ve got connections, you know.”

Our house. He said OUR house.

Joe came to halt in front of a stately yet plain brownstone which now operated as a trendy bookstore, the kind that sold six dollar lattes and hosted anarchist poetry slams on Friday nights.

“Is this where we’re going to crack hipsters’ kneecaps as a bonding activity?” I asked.

“This is where I grew up.”

I looked again, studying the earth-colored stone quarried over a century ago, the wrought iron railings that framed the front steps, the rectangular windows revealing the illumination and shadows of other families’ lives. “Joe,” I said softly, leaning into him, searching for my words.

“There were eight Mazzello kids: Joseph, Charles, Mimi, Salvador, Donna, Lucia, Bianca, and Giuliano.” He rattled them off like a jingle from a fast food commercial. “And I was the oldest. So when my dad dropped dead of a heart attack in the middle of his shift at the Zenith Radio factory, it was my job to step up and figure out how to keep everyone fed. I was seventeen and completely hopeless at school back then; Sal was always the smart one, the disciplined one, he ended up as a math professor at Loyola University. I was just some directionless, grieving kid who never shut up. But there was a place for boys like me in Chicago in the 1920s. The mob could get you money. The mob could turn that same incessant chatter that got you bruised at school into something useful. And the mob could give you a family.”

Joe watched the brownstone solemnly, meditatively, his hands in his pockets.

“My mom sobbed for an hour the first time I brought home an envelope full of bills with Hamilton’s face on them. She knew how I got it. But how could she say no, how could she tell me to stop? We’d never seen money like that. All my siblings could finish school. My sisters could have new dresses on days that weren’t Christmas and Easter, my brothers new shoes, Sal the glasses he needed so badly. My mother always had something to put in the offering plate at church. And once you were in the mob, it wasn’t exactly easy to leave. But they took care of their own. After I died, they sent my mother money for years, until her own children were established enough to support her. That’s when I learned that money wasn’t just something that put food on the dinner table or kept the lights on. It’s a way of showing loyalty, of giving people peace and comfort and meaningful choices in their lives. It’s how I’ve been taught to give back to the world. So I guess I shouldn’t have disparaged my fellow vampires back in Forks, because there’s a slice of my tragic backstory, Baby Swan. Now you know. And you should know everything, since we’re in this thing together. Or maybe I just want you to.”

I laid my palm against his cool and flawless face, ran my thumb lightly across his cheek. “You really are serious about me.”

“I am alarmingly serious about you.”

“Even though this thing of ours has an expiration date?” Since I can never become a vampire. Since I will never have the distinction of being a permanent fixture of the Lee coven.

“That’s not a problem for today. That’s a problem for ten or fifteen years from now, whenever you decide you want to settle down and have kids and do the whole Great American Dream bit. You’ll be sick of me by then anyway. You’ll be dying to get away from us. Hahaha, get it? It’s a pun. Dying to get away from the vampires.”

I couldn’t imagine ever being sick of Joseph Francis Mazzello. Still, ten or fifteen years felt almost as good as forever to me. Fifteen autumns, fifteen Christmases, fifteen journeys around the sun that he avoided so deftly. “Why me, Joe?” I asked, incredulous. “You could have anyone. Any human, any vampire. Why me?”

“Because you’re you,” he said simply. And his mystified dark eyes added: What kind of a question is that? “You’re smart and you’re hilarious and you actually care about the world, about where it came from, about where it’s going, about people and places and animals that you’ll never meet. You’re indomitable. You’re fearless almost to the point of recklessness. And yet you’re so kind. You’re even nice to Ben, and humans are never nice to him...they’re either horrified or confused, or they’re too busy fantasizing about him to remember that he’s a real fucking person. But you’ve always tried to see the good in him. Even when he didn’t deserve it.” Joe shook his head, marveling. “And yeah, I’ve...I’ve screwed around, full disclosure. I’ve done the hookup thing. And it was great for what it was. But I never wanted more. I never felt some gnawing, sentimental, Hallmark-channel need for connection, to understand who they were as people. And then I met you, and...I want to know every single goddamn thing about you. I want to know your favorite color, what books you read, what the hell is so appealing about pineapple pizza, what you dream of. I feel like I could never get tired of trying to understand you.”

A refrain circled through my mind like a whirlpool, dragging every other thought down into oblivion: I love him, I love him, I love him. “Blue,” I said at last.

“What?”

“Turquoise blue, like the sky in Arizona. That’s my favorite color.”

The smile, slow and wonderous, rippled across his face. He took my hand again. “Come on.”

Joe led me onwards, down a few blocks and around a corner, as the muted sun receded from the sky and the first stars took its place, pinpricks of celestial light in a blanket of violet, azure, amber, rust. He stopped in front of the Church of Saint Lawrence, established in 1902 according to the sign mounted on the brick wall that faced the street, perhaps the same church that he had once visited with his family as an impatient child, snickering with his brothers and sisters and kicking the back of the pew in front of him with shoes that never fit quite right. There was a fountain bubbling with transparent water, a statue of the Virgin Mary at the center, coins made of copper and nickel and zinc glinting through the water under corridors of silvery luminance cast by the streetlights.

“I lied about not having my own superpower,” Joe informed me mischievously, not at all serious.

“Oh, did you now?”

“Absolutely.” He opened his wallet, rooted around, pulled out a penny and handed it to me. “I can make wishes come true. So go ahead.” He nodded towards the fountain. “Make your wish.”

The penny was worn and nearly indecipherable, but I was just barely able to read that it had been minted in 1928. The same year Joe was turned. “Joe...I can’t just throw this away!”

“You’re not throwing it away. You’re exchanging it for a wish. Now wish.”

I closed my eyes, chose my wish, tossed the penny into the fountain. The plink it made when it hit the water was bright and yet mournful somehow, like windchimes, like flickering candlelight.

“Outstanding job,” Joe complimented.

He was so visibly proud, so content, so faultless. The streetlights threw shadows across the sidewalk, the fountain, the whole world it seemed. I laced my fingers behind his neck, gazing up at him. “What are we doing tonight, mob guy?”

“I’m so glad you asked. You see, we have options.”

“Let’s hear them.”

“Door Number One,” Joe began. “It’s been a long day, and you’re exhausted from the illustrious honor of witnessing a Cubs victory firsthand. So we go back to the hotel, find some shark documentary on tv, order room service, shower, and drift off into a peaceful slumber. Just like last night.”

“Not bad. How about Door Number Two?”

“Door Number Two. You’re tired, but not that tired. We go back to the hotel, find that same aforementioned shark documentary, but totally ignore it and make out instead. Maybe we even round second base, in the spirit of the Cubs. Whatever you’re up for. Then we shower and drift off into a peaceful slumber.”

“Even better,” I said, and I meant it. “And what’s Door Number Three?”

Now Joe became jittery; his eyes darted to the fountain, the church, the cars that rolled lazily by. He was so desperate to conceal his hope, to not impose any undue influence upon me. I felt infinitesimal, almost weightless drops of rain against my cheeks, my collarbones, the downy undersides of my arms. “Well, uh, Door Number Three is...it’s...well...uh...it’s...”

Door Number Three is a home fucking run. “I want Door Number Three.”

“Really? Because you don’t have to say that, you can say no, that’s completely fine, it’s more than fine actually, it’s awesome, it’s totally cool, I’m seriously fine either way, and you can obviously change your mind whenever—”

“Wait.” I broke away from him, yanked my own wallet out of my purse, found the Official Whatever You Want Pass, hastily unfolded it, and presented it to Joe. “I want Door Number Three.”

He barked out a shocked laugh, accepted the pass, studied it in disbelief. “You are full of surprises, ma’am. It took me a hundred years to find a woman like you. And I don’t think I ever will again. Makes one wonder if this whole eternity thing is all it’s cracked up to be.” He tucked the pass into his pocket and kissed me beneath the streetlights, beneath the stars. “So there’s one tiny caveat to my wish-granting superpower.”

“Yeah?”

He smiled impishly, nudging the tip of my nose with his. “You have to tell me what you wished for.” He was joking, as he almost always was; I didn’t have to tell him anything. He wouldn’t press the issue. I doubted that he was really expecting me to answer at all. And yet I wanted to tell Joe; I yearned, for once, to be as clear as Lucy had said he was.

“For you and me,” I replied in little more than a whisper. “And for forever.”

Home

The only thing that startled me was how profoundly unstartling it all was, how wholly uncomplicated, how effortless.

I didn’t feel like a different person afterwards. I didn’t feel that some latent spark of lust, of carnality had been ignited, had singed through me, had left me forever marked like the heights of children ticked off on a doorframe over decades; I felt neither ruined nor awakened, no wiser, no older, no more enlightened as to the incalculable eccentricities of the vast and enigmatic universe. I felt only happiness, and exhausted satisfaction, and a deep, dreamless peace that engulfed me like frothy fingertips of waves dragging pebbles and shells back into the sea. I felt only a homecoming that was measured not in miles but in soul.

We slept in as the morning sun rose over Lake Michigan, bought Ben a hoodie (black, of course, per his usual aesthetic) from the University of Chicago gift shop, strolled unhurriedly through the dimly-lit, relentlessly blue pathways of the Shedd Aquarium. As I stood in the glass tunnel and watched sawfish and blacktip reef sharks soar by overhead, Joe linked his arms around my waist, tucked his chin into the dip of my collarbone, kissed the slope of my jaw.

“What do you think?” he asked, perhaps a touch apprehensively. “Could you get used to the Chicago life for a few years?”

“I would be tempted to kidnap some of these guys and bring them home to live in our bathtub. But yes.”

And Joe murmured, smiling, his lips to my temple: “That’s illegal, ma’am.”

Our flight back to the West Coast took off after dusk, and there was no blinding sunlight for Joe to avoid; only immense glooms of clouds and gleaming distant stars and the unfathomable void of space, cursed with crushing pressure and darkness like the cervices of the ocean floor.

Fifteen years might not be enough, I thought, resting my forehead against the cold airplane window as the city lights died behind us, as Joe’s hand weaved through mine on the armrest. But forever sounds just about right.

Larkin

There once was a boy born in a stone cottage with a dirt floor in a vanishingly inconsequential village just west of Clifden, Ireland. It was February 9th, 1672, bitterly cold, miserably wet, and the sea was murderous with storms. His mother was illiterate, as her mother had been, and as her mother had been as well, all the way back to people who painted mammoths on cave walls with their fingers; she was thirty-three and already exhausted with living, her seven children forever underfoot, her full and ruddy cheeks perpetually smudged with dirt from the field and ashes from the fire. Her husband was a failure and a drunk, but half a day’s worth of work once or twice a week was better than none at all; and as much as she never would have admitted it, he was a tether for her in a world that was often, as she had learned, both lonely and cruel.

She gave the baby boy a name—a strong Irish name, none of that audacious English rubbish—that meant rough or fierce, just like the sea that rose and ruptured against the rocky cliffs outside. He would need to be rough to survive in this world. He would need to be fierce.

He began like all the other children had been: sweet and yet anonymous, yielding, needful, worryingly small. She rocked him absently with one arm as she stirred the stew pot with the other. She sang to him, told him stories long before he could comprehend them, tales of the Lord and the saints and all their malevolent adversaries: serpents, pestilence, demons, dragons. She tossed stray sticks to him so he could carve pictures into the dirt floor and keep out of the way as she labored with the laundry or the sewing. And he grew, and he grew; and there was nothing remarkable about him at all, that boy speckled with mud and soot and the perpetual bruises of children mostly left to their own devices, that boy with pallid skin like his mother’s and black hair like his father’s and eyes so light and vibrant a brown they were nearly gold.

The boy was a baby, and then a child, and then a young man. And his mother realized one day—all at once, as a mother does when their attention is divided among so many other lives, when the children’s analogous faces bleed into each other and even their names sometimes escape her, even those names that she had chosen herself from the stories her own mother once passed to her through threadbare whispers—that people had a habit of following him, of listening to him. That there was an ether of allure that hovered around him like the mists that clung to the precarious, crumbling cliffs that touched the sea; that there was something like what the heathens called magic. And when the war came, that boy who was no longer a boy left his mother’s stone cottage and enlisted in Clifden, lied about his age, signed his name with an X because that was all he knew how to spell. But he was sure to tell the man who handled the ledger that he did have a real name, a good Irish name, a name apt for a soldier, a name that his mother had told him meant rough or fierce: Larkin.

There are men who join wars out of loyalty, principle, love for their homes; and then there are men who join to escape their homes, perhaps to forget them entirely. If you were to consult that ledger signed in a pub in Clifden, Ireland in 1688, you would read that I fought for Ireland, for the Catholics, for Christ the Lord and all his saints. But what I really fought for was my own resurrection: to take that boy stained with dirt and ignorance, drown him in the blood of other mothers’ trivial sons, and dredge up some greater version of myself that I had always known existed, that was hidden somewhere in the netlike darkness of the marrow of my bones.

People follow me, and they always have. I couldn’t tell you why. When I called them to enlist, when I thrusted swords and pikes into their calloused farmers’ fists, when I told them they could fight and live to see their wretched homes again, they believed me. I climbed the ranks like a ladder, like a mountain made of bones. And all those other mothers’ sons laid down for me so I could walk across the bridge of their spines to what I mistakenly assumed was invincibility.

At the Battle Of The Boyne, my horse was shot out from under me. A Williamite caught me beneath the ribs with his dagger. And as I bled out, staring up at the sky and impatiently waiting for the pain to vanish as my consciousness withdrew like low tide, I became aware that someone was lifting me, holding me, spiriting me through the battlefield and then the wilderness; and that my pain, in a disconcerting turn of events, had swelled to a vicious and unrelenting inferno.

Three days later, I woke to find that I was resurrected again, this time as something more than human. The man who turned me was blond-haired, light-eyed, agile and yet gentle, ancient and yet ever-changing.

“I thought you’d survive,” Nikolai said in a thick Slavic accent, standing over me with a kind smile. Then he helped me to my feet. “You have greatness in you. It sweats out of your pores, it’s in every word you speak. What a shame it would be for all of that to go to waste.”

He taught me everything: how to read and write, how to hunt, how to dodge the sunlight, how to survive an existence that was both theoretically endless and yet forever on the precipice of being cut short. He introduced me to the Draghi, to vampires who were remarkable for their ferocity, or their creativity, or their curiosity, or their cleverness, or all those things at once: Victorien, Honora, Elizabeth, Kestrel, Zhang, Sergei, Ana, Gwilym. And most crucially, Nikolai showed me that my human talents were magnified several times over, that his own followers were not immune to them, that there was power in collecting exceptional individuals like pieces of china stacked in a locked cabinet; and that if I could learn to climb immortal bones, the ladder never needed to end.

You never quite get used to the power, to the invincibility, to the promise of eternity. You never take it for granted. It hits you, again and again, in ceaseless and victorious waves. Once I was a barefoot toddler who sketched dragons and Catholic saints from the stories my mother told me into the dirt floor of our drafty stone cottage. Now I live in palaces with marble floors, with spiral staircases and libraries and gold-dripping ballrooms, with unobstructed views of any sea I choose. Now I am the dragon.

My phone rang, and I checked the name on the screen. Then I answered. “Hello, beauty. How’s the other side of the Pacific treating you?”

And Liesl answered, in a soft and astonished voice: “I don’t think Lucy can read her. I don’t think any of them can.”

I could feel it again. Another wave, crashing through me like the ocean, like the unstoppable rolling of time: power and insatiability and exhilaration. I smiled in my twilight-lit study as long-dead stars rose outside and the wind howled like wolves over the East Sea. “You know what to do.”

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houseki-no-suffering · 5 years

Text

on ch 82 and what the hell is the deal with phos

super long wall of words ahead, you've been warned. also, im not qualified to discuss the emotional effects of trauma, so please correct me where im wrong and don’t hesitate to add on this post

contains an analysis of phos’ character arc, explanation on why and how they snapped and what might happen to our child next:

1. genki phos 2. post winter phos 3. laphos 4. on trauma 5. on snapping 6. speculations about the future

so, first things first, I could not help but notice the sheer number of parallels between this chapter and other significant points of the story. it seems to me that parallels are becoming more and more frequent as the moon arc goes on, and that’s not just because there are simply more chapters to draw parallels from as the story grows in size.

I believe that we’re at a turning point in the story, or even that the turning point has been reached, (aechmea telling barbata to fix phos for the umpteenth time is most likely going to give phos the last treasure, but ill get to it).

so, to try and understand what in the seven hells is going on with our baby at this point (the fandom collectively adopted phos since chapter 2, sign the papers if you haven’t already and donate to the fund to send phos to therapy) let’s retrace phos’ character journey.

1: genki phos

the phos who is too good for this world, too pure, the cinnamon roll who has no idea what the hell is gonna happen to them. oh joy.

hnk sets off as a coming of age story. phos is the youngest, they’re seemingly useless in a society that values usefulness above anything else so genki phos is initially driven by lack of purpose.

i’ve speculated already on the characteristics of the lustrous society, a society that emphasizes sameness over difference and that has no place for outcasts like phos and cinnabar. your value, in lustrous society, is dictated by how much and in which way you can contribute to the survival of the species, with elite fighters (the diamonds) being at the apex of the social pyramid and everyone else coming after.

additionally, while gems live in a highly interdependent and close-knitted society, such interdependence never takes into account emotions, loss, imagination, introspection and free-thinking. the society is extremely practical, apathetic, immobile, and everyone is expected to conform to that.

think about antarc: they’re the poster child of lustrous society: a 3 mohs hardness gem who managed to become an elite fighter out of sheer willpower, who’s blindly loyal to sensei, who sacrifices themselves for the greater good (the group’s interests > the individual’s interests), that does little if any introspection and that is happy about all of this and wants to leave it this way.

phos isn’t like this at all.

since the very beginning of the series we learn that phos is an anomaly. and that’s okay, other gems have been anomalies, like padparadscha, cinnabar, even antarcticite, but while those gems found a way to tip toe to the margins of lustrous society to remain unobtrusive exceptions, or forge themselves into proper, useful members of the group, phos cannot do that. which is ironic, because we know that one of phos’ core characteristics is that they’re able to change and to bring about change in a world that is as immobile and still and stiff as… well.. rock.

like @ruddy-rutile pointed out in a past analysis, phos’ problem wasn’t so much that they didn’t fit in, but that they didn’t fit in the appropriate way: they’re emotional, they’re loud, they’re unreliable, they’re not apathetic. they’re kind. compassionate. imaginative. and imagination is something the other gems lack.

this fuels a deep sense of self-hatred that even at this early stages of the story is lying just beneath the surface and oozes out quite easily, like when phos wants to help ventricosus and mumbles that it’s no problem if they die in the attempt, they’re a good for nothing after all, what difference would it make if they dont come back. at least they were able to help someone, contrary to how they were unable to help cinnabar.

this is the leitmotif of the series: phos is a kind, selfless gem who cultivates a deep sense of self-hatred. the internalized pressure and need to feel useful turns into a necessity for change. they need to save cinnabar, they need to save ventricosus, they need to become a fighter, they need to help sensei.

contrary to most of the other gems, phos loves and loves openly and unconditionally, they’re self-less by nature and that selflessness is a barrier that hides the real reason theyre so ready to put their life on the line for other people: the fact that phos thinks that their own life isnt wort a scrap.

as someone who believes to be worthless, guided by shame and guilt just for being alive and fueled by a deep desire to feel loved and accepted (just like a child), phos is unable to cope with grief and emotion if not by guilt tripping themselves even further.

the fact that the amethysts were almost taken is their fault, the fact that cinnabar is suicidal is their fault, the fact that antarc was taken is their fault, same with ghost’s abduction. the only way phos knows to cope with this guilt is by doing what every other gem does: bury these feelings deep inside their head and throw themselves into work. be useful, like alexandrite, rutile or red beryl.

2. post winter phos

what was a story about purpose, about phos’ coming of age, reaches an end at this very point, with antarc’s death. phos has become stronger at this point of the story, they have agathe legs and gold arms and they have grief to cope with, trauma.

just like alex’s job is studying the enemy and red’s job is making clothes, phos’ job is the one they originally desired for themselves: to fight. because there is nothing as valued as a good fighter in gem society and probably young phos unconsciously hoped to overcome self-hatred by taking on the most useful job there is.

post winter antarc is a skilled soldier, so skilled that bort wants to pair up with them. phos has reached their old goal: through loss and maturity, now they have a place within their society, they’re accepted and appreciated, valued but not loved. because these gems are so, so bad at emotions.

and this is where ms ichikawa begins to fool us all. she had us think that this story would be simple, but now hnk starts its steep and unrelenting detour toward existentialism and phos begins their dance toward madness and bottomless grief.

post winter phos is a soldier, they can fight off lunarians, but theyre still blaming themselves for antarc’s death.

we already said that phos is a very emotional gem and they possess a fervid imagination (probably just like lapis). so what do they do? they start thinking. “maybe i can retrieve antarc if we collect enough pieces. if i can communicate with the lunarians. if i can understand why we’re fighting.”

thinking quickly turns into questioning: why are we fighting? why are we so weak? why am i different? what changed me? is it the new additions, is it just life experiences? can we change? how can we change? antarc told me i shouldnt shy away from life, so im gonna push myself further and further.

that’s when shiro’s arc happens and sensei seems to know something about it, something he won’t tell the gems. phos’ questions suddenly turn to him.

phos is pretty much paranoid at this point of the narrative: they have experienced loss for the first time. consumed by guilt and grief for antarc’s recent abduction (even if phos still doesnt know what death means, we’ll get to that in a while), phos cannot think straight. they can’t be questioning the one authority every gem recognizes, the person phos and everyone else wants to protect, their leader, father, teacher.

phos feels like scum just for even thinking about it, as loyal and young as they are. and yet once you start questioning one minuscule thing about the way you have always lived your life, more and more will follow. it’s a cascade effect and it becomes faster the higher the number of questions, until you’re left with nothing but doubts and you must take into your hands the responsibility to find out for yourself.

this is more or less what happens to phos. they feel awful for doubting sensei the first time, in chapter 27, so they spill their guts to cinnabar, confessing their sins. but what cinnabar says does anything but put phos at ease: of course phos is doubting sensei: he’s shady, everyone knows.

however, while cinnabar is a quiet outcast, extremely prudent (and cowardly if you want) in the way they decide to face life, phos is the total opposite. they just needed a little nudge, they were already on the edge of a cliff of doubts and existential fears. cinnabar’s words are the second, big step that sets phos off on their path to the moon.

chapter 28 is when we see phos self-destructing because of this inner conflict for the first time, a pattern that will be repeated again and again the more phos loses sight of the truth, of a reliable something, a goal to cling onto and find direction.

it is ironic, because phos becomes a direction, a goal, the gems and the moon people’s hope (ch 59 and 72), but in doing so they have no hope left for themselves. let’s not forget that phos is very young by gems’ standards, not to mention in comparison to the moon people. how fair is to expect from a traumatized child to save the world and find answers to questions that run thousands of years deep and give phos nothing in return?

the pressure is enough to break phos and it does, quite literally, over and over and over again.

3. Laphos

lapis’ head comes at a time when phos was literally no longer able to manage this pressure.

it brings a waft of fresh air, it brings what emotional, kind phos needed to detach themselves from grief: coldness, rationality. and yet, it takes something away from phos as well: laphos is the phos that can no longer talk with cinnabar, the phos that brings cairn to reject the gems altogether and launch themselves into their kin’s killer’s arms. laphos is the gems and lunarians’ hope for a brief time, then it becomes the enemy.

i find it interesting how phos feels responsible for goshe and morga’s abduction too, even if phos was unconscious when it happened. phos has no clear boundaries between themselves and the rest of the world. they feel responsible for everything and guilty for everything. whatever they do will never be enough neither to make up for their past mistakes nor to find everyone a clear sense of purpose, safety, truth.

ichikawa plays with truth a lot. truth is that the lunarians are bad people and the gems must defend themselves, truth is that sensei is shady, truth is that the moon people are actually good, truth is that death is real, truth is that sensei is evil, truth is that cinnabar hates phos, truth is that the gems are evil, truth is that sensei is the only one that loves phos. who knows what the next truth will be, but can you call it truth, at this point?

if there is one point, i believe, that ichikawa is trying to make clear is that truth is subjective and that it changes, just like phos’ goal, the more knowledge you acquire and the more mistakes you make. truth is subjective but it must be sought after: you gotta keep fighting, you gotta move on even if you keep making mistakes, even if you cant undo your actions.

and another thing i think she’s trying to say is that you cannot make it alone. the moment phos tried to take it all on their shoulders, they moment they acquired lapis’ head, is the moment everything came crumbling down ten times faster than before.

and the most ironic part is that phos is still kind, even underneath that mantle of aloofness: they tried to do everything by themselves because they didn’t want to put anyone in danger, but in doing so they manipulated the gems just like aechmea. and aechmea knows and he’s been using phos for this.

4. Even more trauma

running after truth and after newer and more nuanced goals, phos has completely lost sight of themselves.

where do their alliances lie? what about their history? phos wakes up in ch 72 after the night raid and immediately breaks into pieces because they’re reminded of how cinnabar attacked them, the one gem they thought was their friend. one of the few truths phos had been clinging to.

phos wakes up after the night raid and asks the enemy “to the lunarians i look like a gem and to the gems i look like a lunarian. what am i?”

they break into pieces because they still believe they’re useless. they couldn't save cinnabar, they couldn't save antarc, they couldn't communicate with the earth gems, they couldn't even see adamant.

this is reminiscent of the very beginning of the manga: phos needs to feel useful, they need a goal, they need to be good at something. and just like they were ready to get lost at sea forever to help ventricosus they’re ready to die for someone else’s cause (not even phos’ own because they have no idea what to believe in at this point) just to be of use. after all, to phos, phos is nothing more than a scrap.

euc disagrees. ch 71 “we need you in our future” is a sentence that phos has probably ached to hear for centuries. “we need you. you are loved, you mean something, you are enough. you belong. we cannot build a future where you aren’t part of the equation. you matter”

and look at the way phos looks at euc. they can barely believe them and in fact they don’t. phos expresses some concern about dying (”after all, those less than 5 includes me”) but they still throw themselves into danger, they still take no care of themselves.

Phos’ self hatred and self-destructive tendencies run deeper than euc’s words could ever cut. those words meant well, but they were too little too late. phos thinks they don’t deserve this kind of hope, they cannot understand it, cannot fathom a world in which they are true and so they will go on believing that they are alone and worthless. next time they go on earth, they’ll go alone and unharmed

it is ironic. they did so much, they went to the moon and back multiple times, put their life on the line multiple times, made more progress toward unveiling the truth about the lunarians and finding a way for them to be free of samsara than anyone else did in hundreds (presumably) of thousands of years. they did it by themselves. in barely three hundred years. that’s impressive. and yet it’s not enough for phos. in their mind, they just keep failing.

so what’s the big deal? they can sacrifice themselves, it’s the least they can do and no one will miss them after all. unfortunately, this is true, at least to some extent.

im appalled by how little even the moon gems care about phos. they’re so self-centered it’s almost funny.

even alex, who has gone through loss and grief if not as much at least in a way similar to phos cannot find enough compassion in themselves to be concerned about phos’ wellbeing after a few months on the moon.

ive heard people mention how this could be a result of the moon people injecting who knows what into the gems or manipulating them someway or another, but i believe that there was no need to. phos is an anomaly after all, their kindness is an anomaly. the lustrous are little more than self-centered children: they are able of little if no introspection and they cannot process complex emotions like grief if not by shutting off those emotions altogether.

the moon gems are still vaguely concerned about phos. in ch 76, when phos departs for earth for the last time, they do tell them to be careful and come back if things get bad, but they do little more than that. it’s little comfort and too little emotional closeness and by no means close to the huge amount of support and (emotional) assistance that phos needs at this point.

phos tries to make do with what they have: a will to end this war and the superficial words of what should be their family, but it’s not even remotely enough. and yet phos, just like any other lustrous, is very bad at introspection: they don’t notice or if they notice they repress it. what’s one more thing down the subconscious after all? it’s fine. phos can take it, until they can no more and they snap without having any idea that they will snap.

phos’ journey, which has made them increasingly more emotional, fragile and human (the last one quite literally) has also made phos even more alone than they were at the beginning of the story. more alone, with the same sense of worthlessness, the same urgency to be good for something or self-destroy, and so much more grief, trauma, guilt and repressed emotions.

5. snapping

“I mustn’t think of anything” phos reminds themselves in ch 76. because thinking never brought anything good and because euc would see right through it.

once again, phos is repressing emotions. here they go, trying to be a cold blooded killer, ready to betray sensei again, the one person who has been good to them and that phos tried to hate with all their heart but just couldnt.

as ive written in a previous analysis, one of aechmea’s lowest blows was to tell the gems he was exploiting and manipulating to reach a salvation he doesnt deserve that if the gems want to acquire freedom they must do so by themselves. talk about coherence.

but that isnt all, he sinks even lower than this: he makes phos and the others question sensei’s affection for them. he says that sensei’s love is fake, it’s synthetic, the gems should totally make him pray or destroy him, no remorse, no strings attached. it’s such a dirty move.

no wonder it confuses phos even more. phos believes it, or tries to, they say they want to break sensei into pieces, but after the night raid they realize that it cant be that simple. sensei never attacked them. he has always been good to phos. and phos feels even more worthless, more of a traitor for daring believe in love, in sensei’s affection, when here they are, on the lunarians’ side, ready to betray him again.

how dare phos hope for anything? they dont deserve love, they dont deserve hope, they dont deserve happiness. they can try to give it to other people, they’ll kill themselves in order to do so, but they have no more hope and no love left for themselves, and they had so little to begin with.

as ive said, phos has little self-awareness and little introspection. i do believe that they had no idea they were going to snap until they did. even in ch 77, when sensei tells them he cannot pray, phos spends their last seconds of consciousness (before being attacked by all of the gems) to kindly ask him to pray. they dont care about themselves, but they dont reflect long enough to consider that reaching out to sensei like that could be interpreted as hostile by the paranoid earth gems. i think this is the first sign that phos is about to snap: they’re quite literally desperate.

tired beyond measure and forced to spend 220 more years in isolation, broken into pieces scattered all over the island, when phos comes to their senses again once kongo reassembles them they’re beyond despair. this war is taking the last toll on them and phos has no more energy to go on.

“please,” they say “pray. do it for no one else but me. grant me mercy,” from one bodhisattva to the other. they’re still somewhat normal, but when sensei fails to pray again phos can’t take it anymore. desperation and rage, fueled by hopelessness, worthlessness, grief and exhaustion make phos launch themselves against sensei, which, ironically, it’s exactly what the story needs.

apparently, phos is human enough to activate sensei but not human enough to make him pray. however, when the two of them join hands, sensei can actually pray. maybe it’s because both phos and sensei are intended to be bodhisattva? maybe because human voice commands are not as strong as contact? i have no idea.

phos has snapped by the way, and it’s weird how they go from “If only you weren’t here” to “sensei actually loves me” in a couple of chapters. in a certain way, we’re seeing phos going back to their roots: they love sensei and trust in sensei’s love, they’re once again openly emotional and impulsive, they’re once again ostracized by the gems (of course, much more violently this time).

i have written about how, after ‘fusing’ with sensei for a brief second, phos doesnt speak for the entirety of ch 81. they look and act like a literal monster, a scared animal, which is ironic since we know that they’re now human. i hypothesized that they might be reborn and that’s why they don’t speak, they’re a literal infant, but in light of ch 82, i think they’re simply hurt beyond measure.

they reversed to their old emotional persona, vomiting out all the emotions and pain and rage and hate they repressed during these 300 years. and yet they still don’t hurt anyone, not as much and as deliberately as they could at least.

they’re conscious enough to recognize the notebook and be reminded of their lost friends, realize how little the earth gems care for phos and for what they’re doing. and, i believe, when phos is rescued and comes back to the moon, they are, for the first time in the whole manga, enraged by the earth gems’ stupidity and sheer ungratefulness.

phos has been fighting for the wellbeing of everyone for centuries, putting their life on the line, never asking for anything in return and always believing that they were doing the right thing. and yet it’s not enough.

aechmea is a clever politician, and like every good politician he’s good at picking up changes and turning them in his favor.

he notices that there’s something wrong with phos and with the way they feel about the gems. maybe he doesnt yet realize that phos is angry at them for being ungrateful, but he senses something so he provokes phos: “you said to leave you on earth last time. did you change your mind?” that is “i’m not your enemy. see? im doing what you want me to do. not quite like those people down there on earth. oh, wait, were those your friends? aw, such a pity. to think they attacked you after everything you’ve done for them. but they’re your family, right? i’ll send you back to them if this is what you want. see? i’ll listen to your wishes. i am grateful.”

look how intently he looks at phos as phos incoherently and obsessively repeats the same thing over and over: “he would have prayed. he would have prayed for me. he loves me. he would have prayed.” if you want, this is also a syìubtle way for phos to apologize: they still feel responsible for their failure, but aechmea must understand: phos did everything they could, it would have worked, it was the gems’ fault.

adamant put phos back together, showing phos that he still cares. he is the only one that loves phos, while the gems (all gems, phos doesnt care much for differences at this point) keep hurting phos even if phos is only trying to help. so they must be killed. to hell with them all. and, notice, phos doesnt include themselves in the ‘gem’ category: they’re no longer a lustrous. they’re a monster, a liminal creature.

with nothing left to believe in if not sensei’s love and a promise to make him pray and then die in peace, phos wants to destroy the only thing that they believe stands between them and finally being useful, but also between them and freedom (freedom from suffering, from guilt, from existing, from their pain, from being): the gems.

this isn’t the first time that phos wants to kill something: in ch 68 they spoke about crushing sensei to pieces. it’s heartbreaking how phos went from “if only the moon people weren’t here” to “if only sensei weren’t here” to “if only the gems weren’t here.” will it turn into: “if only i weren’t here?” who are phos’ allies? who does phos feel kinship with? who is phos? they no longer know, and they’ve not known for a long time.

aechmea has noticed and he’s quick to turn the situation to his advantage. he shakes phos’ hand, he’ll grant them freedom just like phos will grant the lunarians’ freedom. he’ll forgive phos for failing, for their sins, for the bottomless despair and guilt that phos has been living with for centuries. salvation, hope, that is all phos needs.

as @rinboz pointed out, phos’ gold in ch 82 takes the shape of a lotus seed pod, a direct reference to when antarc was abducted and the gold had turned into a lotus flower.

through pain, phos had blossomed into a new character that day, marking the beginning of their long journey toward truth and toward discovering that there is no truth. the day the story changed from a coming of age manga to something much, much more intricate.

phos’ pod is empty, they have nothing left to lose, it’s a dead flower. this is the end of the journey that started with antarc’s abduction. when phos wakes up again, it will probably be with new memories and a new addition to their body, possibly red diamond.

phos’ self destruction has reached its apex because it finally became so intense to extend outwards, to other people that, in their immense grief, phos wants to bring down with them. this might be a minuscule form of progress: anger is better than repressing emotions at least, but phos’ problems are far from being solved.

6. on the future

what will be of phos then? it really depends.

the fact that they’re finally showing all that sufferance and those emotions they tried so hard to repress is good, but aechmea is still there to take advantage of it.

phos will never be free as long as they dont associate themselves with someone that truly loves them and as long as they cant find someone that can help them deal with their emotions. aechmea is just using them and only ichikawa knows what he meant when he told barbata to be careful with those 200 years emotions.

theoretically, phos was unconscious during the timelapse, but if there are emotions to treat carefully maybe they weren’t? maybe the change we’ve seen in phos this chapter depends on what they had to endure during that time. or maybe aechmea simply wants to make sure that his pet is easy to use.

i do believe we’re close to the end. i dont know if it will be the end of the series or just the end of phos as we know them. i could hope for something good to finally happen to them and for them to heal, but it would take a therapist or someone that loves phos.

maybe euclase could side up with sensei, they seemed the most concerned about phos’ status and the most prone to believe them. maybe goshe and cicada could do something again, maybe rutile will fix padpa once more and padpa will talk with the earth gems (not very likely, but im throwing theories left and right at this point), or maybe barbata will refuse to follow aechmea’s instructions, at least in part, and try to help phos.

as always, im afraid we’ll have to wait. in the meantime, please hug phos. if you read up to this point hug phos. hug them now and shower them with love, because no one else will

#houseki no kuni #land of the lustrous #hnk #phosphophyllite #meta #best

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k7l4d4 · 3 years

Text

Blood for Blood: An Owl House Story Chapter 1 Part 4

Here’s part 4! Everybody clap your hands!!

As Luz was whisked back to the tent, and the stand, she had fled earlier, the words of the crazy lady rang through her head.

‘Customer.’

This woman was a saleswoman, and, going by the state of her wares and how she most likely acquired them, probably not a legal one. A soft smile climbed up Luz’s face. Okay, she could work with this. Maybe.

As she was plopped down in front of the stand, Luz finally got a good look at the stand, and it was indeed a huge mishmash of stuff of dubious quality and durability, but the most striking thing was how severely mislabeled some of the things were.

“NOW!”

With a jolt, she turned back to the woman, who she was starting to get the hint wasn’t actually crazy, leaning forward expectantly, giving the kind of grin Luz had been told repeatedly never to fully trust when shopping or making a deal.

“What can I offer a fine specimen such as yourself?” So she knew flattery, good start, but she was laying it on just a shade too thick. “How about a decapitated human foot?” She held up a crock. What?

“A torture device that forces you to chase it forever?” She plopped a slinky on the table. Again, what?

“I know, how about a shadow box that reflects only sadness?” She finally brought over a portable mini-TV, like from the 70′s or 80′s. That’s when it struck Luz, as she glanced around at the stand, taking stock of everything in the blink of an eye.

She literally has no idea what ANY of this stuff is or what it does! While that brought up further questions as to where exactly she was, it also brought up that spirit of adventure and generosity that just wouldn’t disappear.

As Luz couldn’t fight off the soft chuckle, she decided to throw the woman a bone. “That’s not all it can do.”

Glancing around to refresh her memory, Luz spotted a pair of batteries stored in a bowl labeled ‘Human Candy.’ Shudder. Here’s hoping no one was stupid enough to actually buy something from that particular part of the tent, especially when she spotted both a stick of deodorant and a thumbtack within.

Grabbing the batteries, and moving before the lady could protest, Luz deftly opened up the TV and slipped the batteries in, watching as a cringy Disco-exercise video started playing, probably whatever was put in last. As the video blared, a crowd of figures rapidly were drawn to the tent, each and every one clambering for the TV, desperate to buy it, and whatever else was available at the now much more interesting market stall.

As bids flew with greater and greater intensity, the lady turned an impressed glance Luz’s way, a slight hint of gratitude in her gaze; business must of been going pretty slow. “What did you say your name was?”

Realizing she and the strange lady had never exchanged names, which would honestly be common sense because, you know, stranger danger and all, but now Luz just felt embarrassed at her own poor manners. “I’m Luz. Luz Noceda.”

Well, Luz,” The woman began, shifting her weight to better move the goods being sold and the funds being received, which Luz noticed were definitely not dollars, “That was pretty impressive. For a human.”

Hello. If that wasn’t a flag, Luz would eat her lucky knife. It might’ve sounded dismissive, but Luz heard the note of interest, and well, she didn’t have anything better to do. Why not play along?

“That’s a funny thing for another human to say?” Yeah, this lady was definitely no human, but why spoil the fun she was having? Both of them, that is.

“Oh, I’m not like you.” With a dramatic sweep, the woman whipped off her headband, letting her impressive mane of wild grey hair run free, exposing her sharply pointed ears to the world. An elf? Sweet!

“I am Eda the Owl Lady! The Most Powerful Witch on the Boiling Isles!” Okay, so she was a witch. Even Better! This was like every fantasy she had ever had since taking her first life rolled into one! Or, at least, it felt like it could be. “I am respected. Feared!-”

“Busted!” Before Eda could build up her monologue any further, a pair of massive arms crashed onto the stall, goods flying and customers scattering, screaming about the guards.

“Eda the Owl Lady, you are under arrest for contraband, illegal potioneering and enchantments, and demonic misdemeanors!” Ooo... witch criminal! No wonder Luz found herself liking her! Welp, better see where this was going. Not that she would drop her guard. Huh, she punned!

With that thought, Luz quickly palmed one of her knives, ready to spring at a moment’s notice. She grew slightly more agitated at the sight of the guard roughly grabbing Eda by the arm.

“You are hereby ordered to come with me to the Conformatorium.” And there it was, that name just screamed bad news.

With a harsh jerk of her arm and a scowl, Eda easily broke the larger man’s grip on her. “Would you bozos quit following me? I haven’t done squat!”

Luz doubted that, but she wasn’t getting any genuinely bad vibes from Eda, so she thought it was safe to say that the charges were either bogus, or blown way out of proportion.

“And you are coming with us..” Say what? The guard leaned over and grabbed Luz by the back of her hoodie. This was a limited edition darn it!

Steadying herself, Luz, despite not being able to see the face, instantly recognized the type of law enforcement this guard was; corrupt, but not in the way that could be bribed, but the kind that reveled in their power and frequently abused it, seeing themselves as above criminals.

Yeah, she was gonna make this punk hurt. “... for fraternizing with a criminal.” Yep, corrupt, right on the money.

Seeing how this was going, Luz prepared herself to strike, waiting for the opening she knew in her gut Eda was gonna give her. “Ugh, fine, all right, you win. Just let me get my staff.”

There it was. As she reached below the Booth, Eda whipped up in a flash, clocking the guard in front of her. Spotting her opportunity, Luz whipped herself on top of the guard’s arm, knife flashing forward, the guard avoided an interesting scar by the skin of his teeth by leaning back in the nick of time.

As Luz flipped onto the ground, she was quickly scooped up by the overhead Eda, her staff soaring through the air, her stall compressed into an easy to carry sack slung over her shoulder.

Seeing the guards running after them, Luz decided to summarize the situation. “This is crazy. And not the fun kind! My mom is gonna kill me if I die!”

The amused look Eda sent her way was oddly more comforting than Luz thought it should.

Luz looked down, gazing at the rapidly shifting landscape, idly tracing the environment as Eda replied. “Don’t worry, I won’t let those morons hurt you. A human like you is worth more to me alive than dead!”

A bolt of fear rushed through Luz, one she quickly tamped down once she realized Eda would have no understanding of the true significance of what she just said.

Still, she had to ask. “Just what is that supposed to-” Any further words were cut off as the Staff and passengers took off into the sky, leaving the guards to curse in frustration, one in particular bemoaning how Eda got away again.

Eda gave an amused snort at the sight of the human girl’s eyes screwed up shut, but she supposed it was natural considering the sudden acceleration. Didn’t mean she wasn’t gonna tease her though.

“You can open your eyes now, human.” She watched in amusement as the girl’s eyes slowly peaked open, and smirked as the awe at the sight before her came into view. Seeing newbies react to their first taste of the view was always a treat.

As Luz tried to process the sheer bizarre majesty spread out below her, she decided to, once again, summarize her thoughts aloud. “Flying staffs, crazy monsters, YOUR A WITCH!! Just what is this place?”

Eda turns and gives a fierce grin, proudly flashing her gold fang. “This is the Boiling Isles, located in the ever scenic Demon Realm! Every myth your world has is a result of some of our world interacting with some of yours.”

Luz was a little dubious of that, but she wouldn’t start up anything, this was way too awesome to pass up after all. Before she could reply, she caught sight of something overhead. “A griffon!”

And it was, specifically a griffon with a pigeon head spewing spiders from its mouth. Huh, so that book on griffon breeds was right!

Eda smirked, feeling some measure of Isles Pride at the human’s amazement. “Yep. Griffons, vampires, werewolves, giraffes-”

Luz had to question that one, she knew for a fact that giraffes weren’t a mythological species. “Giraffes?” Noting the shudder and creeped out look Eda got at the mention of the long-necked beasts.

“Yep, we banished them a long time ago. Bunch of freaks.” She muttered the last part, easily climbing off the staff with the ease of long practice, not noticing the hand that popped off.

Luz had some questions there, but nothing pressing. Instead, she gently pried the hand off the staff, presenting it to Eda. “Here. You, uh, dropped this.”

Blinking lightly at how nonchalant the human was being about handling a severed hand, Eda had honestly thought they were wimpier than that, Eda never the less graciously accepted, popping hand back into place.

“Thanks kid. That tends to happen every so often these days.” Luz filed that away for ‘Things to Ask Later,’ before turning to the impressive home before her. It wasn’t the biggest or most fantastic she had ever seen, but it was definitely one of the most unique and fascinating in appearance.

Turning to Eda, Luz decided beating around the bush. “So. Earlier you said that you had a use for a “human like me.” I am taking that to mean you want something, either or object or a task, but you need a human to actually get it done. And I also assume you are gonna hold that portal door of yours as leverage. Am I right?”

Luz was a lot of things, but a fool wasn’t one of them. This whole thing smelled shady, but not the kind that she couldn’t get out of.

Eda blinked, both surprised and impressed at just how fast Luz had pieced it together, and how utterly unconcerned she was. It was, frankly, a little scary to the veteran witch how easily the girl was taking this.

But let it never be said that Eda couldn’t roll with the best of them. “Indeed. Let’s take this inside though, make ourselves comfortable before we get into the nitty gritty.”

With her piece said, Eda took the human up to her house, waiting for Hooty to respond. “Password please!”

Ugh, that voice of his! Not wanting to deal with this, Eda lightly jabbed Hooty in both eyes, just hard enough to hurt, but not enough for him to be angry. Hooty was an annoying idiot, but he was a loyal and powerful annoying idiot, and it wouldn’t due to endanger that, not to mention she did actually care about the menace.

“Never mind that Hooty, just let us in!” As Hooty grumblingly did as he was told, Eda noted how Luz never once reacted to the whole exchange. Thist just kept getting more and more interesting, eh?

“Welcome.” Eda intoned, dramatically setting off the lights inside. “The Owl House!” What could she say, she loved dramatics, and she was never gonna be ashamed of it. At least the human looked impressed.

Luz let out a low whistle, taking stock of the beautiful home, cluttered with garbage and knickknacks as it was. “I gotta say, this is a sweet place. I’m assuming the talking door knocker is your security system?”

Sure, its voice made her want to draw blood, preferably its, but it seemed loyal to her if it let her stab it in the eyes.

Once more blinking at how perspective the human child was, Eda quickly smirked, pleased that she didn’t have to explain as much.

“Yep. His name’s Hooty, and he’s as loyal as they come. Here, I hide away from the stresses of modern life,” She plopped herself down in one of her comfier chairs, “Also the cops. Also Ex-Boyfriends. HA!” Luz cracked a smile, appreciating how feisty the older witch was.

Taking a sharper look around, Luz admitted it was a very nice place, even with all the stuff cluttering everything. It honestly kept it from feeling to spacious.

“So, you live out here, all alone?” She was honestly curious, because if anyone could keep up with someone as spicy as the witch in front of her, she wanted to meet them.

Smirking in mischief, Eda decided to have some fun with this, subtly casting some spells that would screw around with the sound and echoes just a bit.

“Well, I do have a roommate...” With her piece said, Eda turned to the sight of said roommate’s seemingly hulking shadow skulking down the steps, footsteps thudding all the way. She looked at the human out of the corner of her eye, expecting at least some nervousness, and was a little put off that all she saw was excitement.

This girl really didn’t scare easy, did she?

“Who dares intrude upon I?” As the deep, rasping voice echoed down, the footsteps rattling, shadow hanging across the walls, Luz leaned forward in anticipation of the majesty about to appear before her. Her expectation slowly shifted to confusion, than curiosity, as the steps seemed to get lighter, and the shadow got smaller.

“The KING OF DEMONS!?” She would not lose control. She would not release her emotions. She would not run over there and hug that adorable little wolf thing for all it was worth. “

QUE LINDO~!” Okay, so she would do all those things.

As she eagerly snuggled the fiercely struggling creature in her arms, Luz couldn’t help but coo. “Whose a widdle guy? Whose a widdle guy? Is it you? Is it you!?”

Luz idly noticed the face of badly suppressed laughter across Eda’s face, and guessed this was something of a trick on both of them, but she didn’t really care.

“GaH! Stop! I don’t know who your little guy is!?” Still struggling, the tiny demon, still clad in his bath supplies, turned to Eda. “Eda, who is this monster?”

Finally getting her laughter under control, Eda decided to bring the situation back under control. Moving over to Luz, and marveling at how someone so composed could get like this so quickly, she deftly pulled her away from King.

“This is Luz, the human. She’s here to help us with our... situation.”

At that, the annoyance faded finally, and King cheered. “Oh, hooray!”

Getting herself under control, if only barely, Luz decided to address the situation. “Yep. But if I’m gonna help, I will need some more info to work worth, you understand, right?” No way was she going into this unprepared, whatever it may be.

Eda grinned, excited at the spunk being shown by the human, and decided to get things going. “Alright!”

With a twirl, she manifested a spell circle, which would detail King’s ‘Story.’ “King here was once a mighty king of demons,” gesturing to the fierce picture in the circle, “before his crown of power was stolen and he became” she turned, and caught sight of Luz snuggling King, an annoyed but resigned expression on his face, “This.”

Luz was having a little trouble believing it, and not just because of how cute King was, but she couldn’t deny she was intrigued. Ah well, better play along and see how this plays out.

“You mean this bundle of joy!?” She made sure to inject just the right amount of skepticism amid her cooing into her voice.

Eda was amused, feeling that the human was more aware of this whole deal than she let on. Still, she could make this work.

“The crown is being held by the evil Warden Wrath, kept behind a magical barrier that prevents anything magical from crossing it. And what do you know, we just happen to have a magic-less human right here!”

She was really glad story time was done, the less she had to talk about that creep Wrath the better. “A human like you. If you help us retrieve the crown, we’ll return you to your realm safe and sound. What do you say?” Feeling she would need a little extra punch, she decided to bring out the big guns: King. “And really, who could say no to this little face?”

King squirmed in outrage; he hated it when Eda tried to weaponize his appearance, it was so demeaning! “No! Please don’t encourage her!” The less time he had to spend in that monster grip, the better, thank you very much!

Luz was far less worried than she probably should be. This whole situation was shady as hell. She was still concerned she might actually BE in hell. But, she couldn’t deny, this was way too fun to stop now! “Where do we gotta go?”

Eda grinned. She knew there was a reason she was liking this kid! “Somewhere super fun!”

Because I am starting to get tired, I’ll upload the last part of chapter 1 tomorrow, peace!

#the owl house #owl house au #luz noceda #eda clawthorne #king the owl house #hooty the owl house #owlbert #Blood for Blood AU

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divine-draws · 4 years

Text

okay i had a whole google doc that i wrote a buncha shit but imma try to CONDENSE it and make my ideas more clear bc there was some wishy washy in there. BUT dabihawks ice skating au bc im gay for that shit. all of it under the cut bc this shit is gunna get LONG. buckle in fuckers. ALSO FEEL FREE TO ASK ME ABOUT this i will be happy to answer shit :3c

SO fair warning before we begin. i know shit about ice sports. im like 1) not THAT educated nor have i legit participated though ive always wanted to and 2) this is just self indulgent so like if i dont get shit right or whatever dont come at me bro. im here to have FUN and live a bit vicariously. also as for location of all this shit i dont know and dont care and am american so my perspective on things are skewed. anyway cw: abuse mention

so dabi (touya) is a previous figure skater

he’s a figure skating prodigy

enji was a pro hockey player (id say figure skating but this man was BUILT like a brick shithouse idk man) has a lot of championships under his belt but doesnt even begin to touch the legacy of his one sided rival yagi toshinori

him and rei meet and marry at a young age. she like.. actually liked him then?? shit was kinda okay but things kinda.... got bad quick. the abuse etc was ... yeah. she ends up having dabi and fuyumi (they’re twins babeyy) at a young age too and kinda doesnt feel like she can get out of her horrible marriage

we wont dwell too much on the bad part of all of this though. anyway rei was a figure skater

p well known and known for her fucking GRACE god she moved so well on the ice.

she was so beautiful and spoke through her movements and enji loved that... and so as a hockey player and with a (now previous) figure skater wife he was like aight my kids WILL take up an ice sport and be the FUCKING BEST

dabi isnt made for hockey. enji tries to get him into it but it’s... nah... fuyumi isnt the best with figure skating. she’s good!! and her and dabi do some pair skating when they’re younger but it’s.. hm. dabi is the one with the clear talent here. (fuyumi is a beast on the ice when it comes to hockey though. will dominate. but she kinda... didnt really continue with it)

enji isnt PLEASED that his son isnt gunna be a hockey player but he still values figure skating and will fucking make sure he’s the BEST at it. and so the brutal training starts. he gets some good coaches and also takes up the coaching mantle

the thing is.. rei was amazing as a skater but her body just... wasnt really made for all of that??? and dabi unfortunately kinda inherited that. his body hates the impacts and such. he’s amazing at figure skating. he has a grace similar to his mothers but there’s something more fierce to him.

and honestly !!! he gets far!!

also natsuo comes around. he’s a bit too clumsy for either sport and resents the fact that him and fuyumi are neglected by their father. he also loves touya and gets so pissed seeing his brother so hurt

and shouto is born and this kid was made to be on the ice. he’s skating from the moment he can fucking stand on his own.

obvs enji’s attention is split but it’s mainly on touya who is winning championships and GOING places but it’s still not good enough

anyway idk how far he goes?? but it’s the biggest competition yet and on ice mid routine he lands wrong

one thing leads to the next and he’s pretty much medically retired from a young age. he can skate. he can still kinda preform but he cant do what he used to at ALL and he cant keep up with the brutal pace enji sets. there’s a lot of trying to push him still and it’s just.. not happening

for all it’s worth dabi is kinda glad he isnt doing it anymore. but he fears for his babies brother. shouto is a natural and while yes being a professional athlete of any sort is brutal on your body, his body is a lot more capable

but like touya before, shouto is pushed to his absolute limits. bleeding and injuries and puking his guts out from being pushed too far

there’s a lotta resentment but he still pushes through w skating.

(side note but there DEF is some todomido/tododeku w hockey player izuku who ends up being coached by THE yagi toshinori and who helps shouto out w making shit his own)

anyway so in the end dabi ends up working at a rink tho lol

it’s p much owned by shigarai and run by the lov (who in this au end up making their own little ragtag unofficial local hockey team p much and play games against other teams like them)

despite his father’s whole career, dabi does enjoy playing hockey with these dipshits

but yeah he enjoys his time working at the rink, fucking around and sleeping in random places and sometimes running the zamboni

he’s also best frenemies with shigaraki. they get along and both deal with a shitty upbringing and despite some slight animosity they both would kill if someone fucked w the other

(also at some point dabi DEF teaches some little kid classes lol)

also dabi does sometimes skate his own routines from time to time. only when he’s alone really. though fuyumi has a pass to be there though he will gripe still

SO HAWKS AM I RIGHT??

now there is a couple ways to go with this and somewhere in me there is an au with hockey player hawks who takes skating lessons from figure skater dabi BUT

i think for this au we’ll just say he was a figure skater from the get go

i think he WANTED to do hockey as a kid. like shouto he’s also a fucking natural and was skating as soon as he could fucking stand and walk. and he looked up to enji and kinda wanted to take up hockey but

listen,,, trans hawks. who wanted to be like todoroki enji and be a pro hockey player. shit just.. didnt work like that though and besides he’s a tiny dude and god he’d be fucking obliterated

he kinda is self taught and the ice is his escape from his shitty home life

idk how this works but listen gotta tie in the commission somehow???

he’s scouted or whatever for figure skating at a very young age and his mom is happy to take the heavy scholarships and happy to sign him over to skate for these ppl and have them push him to be The Best

and this kid is FAST. he’s fast and is insane with his jumps and stg it almost looks like he’s FLYING (which gets him the nickname hawks)

the coaches are brutal and shit sucks and a lot of the time it kinda sucks the life out of the sport but he still enjoys it

he has a love for outfits that legit have flare to them (also im thinking of johnny weir’s one outfit w the feathers but yknow instead of white they are RED) and while he does do routines to boring ass music he mainly likes doing shit different (also dabi was p much forced the whole time to do shit to that boring ass music but on his own he’d use his own music taste to skate to)

and he’s good!! he GOES places. he’s like makes it to the olympics at a young age and is one of THE youngest gold medalists for figure skating

im sure somewhere along the line him and dabi DID meet. it was at some competition and hawks was VIBRATING bc there’s ENJI and he wants and autograph and oH GOD IS THAT HIS SON??? he’s HOT. (and at this time dabi still had his red hair and like no piercings and what little ones he had they were out but this dumbass will not recognize him later on)

but god he needs to chill TF out or he will fuck up in the competition

he hears about dabi’s whole accident and like feels for him but again it’s not like they were friends. there was more of a slight rivalry and they barely spoke if they did

but so idk like.. between seasons hawks finds himself going like nearly every day to this rink.. aka shigaraki’s rink (also sidenote but lbr it’s really run by shirakumo who kinda has to fucking herd the cats w this group)

as frenemies dabi and shigaraki share their distaste for some of these pro athletes (tho some get a pass) and kinda complain about hawks a bit tho like..... shigaraki cant complain TOO much bc of the money from hawks renting out the rink for a few hours almost every day

dabi is too gay for this shit when he actually sees hawks in action. rip him

tbh they dont really interact tho (besides dabi telling him to gtfo the rink or he’ll run him over with the zamboni) until one day that hawks catches dabi skating

he was done and should have been gone but he forgot something on the bleachers and then he sees dabi and.. oh boy he’s GAY AF

and also dabi is RLLY GOOD???

and so hawks makes a FOOL of himself and startles the poor guy and p much presses all the wrong buttons w asking why he doesnt compete or something

and i mean im sure they had some SLIGHT progress w talking before. nothing significant but god the walls go RIGHT THE FUCK UP and dabi is pissed

tbh dabi was gunna get to the point where he LEGIT talked to him and maybe lowkey asked him out (he says this but shigaraki calls his bluff) and now there is no way. he storms off and tries to avoid him so hard

and hawks tries to corner him a bit but after some time he does manage to corner him and be like pls just let me take you out to dinner to make up for that shit????

aaand dabi accepts bc listen okay he cant say no to free food ??? like he’s kinda pissy w this guy but also.. listen he has EYES

anywayyy p much this just leads to them dating

hawks DEF looks him up and watches all the vids of him and like the idiot he is realizes that he met him before ( “oh my GOD i know you” “uh… we’re dating i hope u know me?????” “nO I MEAN WE MET AT (insert comp)”)

but before that dabi did like tell him some shit. mainly about like how he used to skate blah blah and the whole thing that ended all of that

he doesnt really delve too deep into like his shitty childhood until well later

idk what leads to it but the convo finally comes up and it’s so draining for dabi and hawks is horrified and ready to fight his dad (“listen i just sharpened my skates i’ll just-”)

anyway some side things bc this is long and i will answer questions on this tho

rumi is a women’s pro hockey player and fuyumi who actually follows hockey and shit has the BIGGEST crush on her (they end up together)

also natsuo comes to see one of the leagues games (he hasnt really seen them play tbh?? he hears about it from dabi but he lives like at least a few hours away on campus and is going for med school so rip him) and like he meets shigaraki and anyway dabi is losing his FUCKING MIND bc his best frenemy/boss and his younger brother are FLIRTING. RIGHT IN FRONT OF HIM???

dabi and hawks are really gay together and have skated together by this point and made out on ice a few times and shigaraki was miserable and is like “NOW U KNOW!!” and dabi is pissed bc “yEAH BUT THAT”S MY LITTLE BROTHER??? IT”S NOt thE SAME!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!”

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docholligay · 4 years

Note

A THING YOU MUST AT SOME POINT DO: Michiru and Zoisite encountering each other in high society.

There was something rather annoying in the fact that the bulk of her class was exactly as oblivious as she had ever assumed. Play the correct notes, in a semblance of order, and above all else, assure that one is properly dressed for the stage, and not a one among them questions the instrument.

To know that those who shared genetic material could fall for such a farce was all at once appalling and completely expected.

“Zoi, such an unusual name, do you not find?” She pointedly looked across the small limousine at her siblings.

Ryuji looked up at her and arched an eyebrow in a way that resembled Michiru’s own so closely it turned her stomach.

“Our second names are unusual in Tokyo.” he looked back down at his notepad, “Kaioh Michiru Adrienne du Cayard.”

“Yes,” she smiled, “and for all the use it gets outside of a French government form, it is allowed to be so, Ryuji Léonard du Cayard Kaioh.”

“I think Zoi is Greek!” Naoko leaned forward, ever attempted to play peacemaker between the two of them, with nothing more than a pair of sneers to show for it.

“There you are Michiru, you should know this, being so enamored of the continent.” Ryuji chuckled.

“Well, we cannot both be the self-styled emperor of Japan, and I am afraid I must take the world that is left to me.” She turned to Naoko, “In any case, Zoi is a Greek girl’s name, you silly thing. And additionally, Zoi Sato, to have such an unusual name against such a plain one?”

Ryuji sighed. “To what point and purpose is this line of inquiry, my darling sister?”

“I was only considering, my dearest brother, that perhaps we are greater fools all to question nothing about his sudden appearance and seeming generosity.” She inclined her head, “A man comes out of nowhere, has seemingly endless resources and yet, it seems, little free cash, knows the finer points and graces of our class, but has no pedigree we can name. The man is a parvenu at best.” She gave a chuckle. “It seems I am the only proper aristocrat in Tokyo.”

Ryuji considered a moment. He and his youngest sister thought little of each other, but there was a shrewdness in her that he was careful never to deny or discount.

“It is odd that we do not know his people, I suppose.” The car stopped. “Michiru, I leave you to your suspicions, but I will also leave Sato Zoi to his affairs as well.”

“Michiru,” Naoko asked cautiously as Ryuji straightened his suit and went to the door, “What do you think Mr. Sato wants?”

“Of this I have no earthly idea,” she took the hand of the driver and delicately stepped out, “But I shall make it my business to discover it.”

The gala was richly decorated, and it might have been impressive to Michiru if she had not lived all her life in such a gilded cage. Crystal chandeliers sparkled, the finest array of hors d'oeuvres from both Japan and the larger world were served from waiters bearing silver trays, champagne flowed into cut and polished glassware. None of this so much as piqued the interest or impress of Michiru Kaioh, whose eyes swept around the room looking for someone in particular.

It was blessing, then, that Haruka had been unable to attend. She was eager and loving and so very brave, but one this Haruka was not, was canny. She had been built for many things, and absolutely none of the were subterfuge. If she had let spill her suspicions about Zoi to Haruka, Haruka would have him cornered in an instant, interrogated hi8m, and been swiftly thrown out of the gala altogether, while learning nothing and giving up her advantage.

Later, Rei would say something along the lines of sensing an evil energy coming from Zoi, and perhaps that would be true, but Michiru had not needed any sort of Sight to tell that the man was up to no good. It was true, perhaps, that the Sight later tipped her to the idea that it could be Usagi he was after, but on the other hand, Michiru might reason there was no other cause to speak to Mamoru Chiba.

But Zoi was, of course. Mamoru had been in his sights for the last few gatherings, a man with more money than sense. The only saving grace that might be have been given to him was that the majority of his money was held in trust, still, and Mamoru would not gain access to it until he graduated college. Michiru had always wondered how long the Chiba money would hold out, after that occasion. It was perhaps ungenerous to blame Mamoru’s parents for dying, leaving him with no one who seemed to teach the boy a good bit of sense or how best to manage his investments, and so he had grown into an awkward thing, accepted mostly on the quality of his name and the shine of his coin, but Michiru blamed them nonetheless. It seemed careless.

“Chiba,” she gave a delicate bow, “How lovely to see you, as always.”

He responded immediately, and it gave Michiru a slight thrill of pleasure to see his own bow was deeper than her own. He knew his place, at the least. Michiru was imposing, she admitted, in her way, a queenly bearing her mother had taught her from birth. She could bow and look as if she had the upper hand, and the draped-back gown in green satin only accentuated the nobility of her.

“An honor to have you, grace us, Michiru.” Mamoru had never quite figured out the line between his role as Sailor Moon’s paramour and Mamoru Chiba. In a Moon sense, he outranked Michiru or was at least her equal. In a life sense, he would never dare. “Kaioh Michiru, may I please present Mr. Sato.”

“Zoi to you, I would hope, madame.” He bowed and kissed her hand. ‘Or mademoiselle, if I should be so hopeful?”

“Do you often hope of mademoiselles? I had not considered it your manner, but I often find that life is all the more exciting for the things upon which my intuition misleads me.”

He raised and smiled coyly, still holding on to her hand. “I hope of nothing but a rich life and a happy ending.”

“It was been my experience that people often mistake that for a life with riches in it, leading their end to be the happiest for others most of all.”

They stood there a moment, simply looking at each other. Something passed between them in that moment, something Michiru experienced little in her life, and last remembered the first time she met Minako Aino. There is an electricity, when one finds a rival whose skill meets one’s own.

“You are clever.” He laughed, finally “Not the first to say so, I’m certain.”

“Michiru is known for her wit, in these circles.” Mamoru nodded, too deeply. He was making himself look obsequious, and Michiru refused to pity him with a glance.

“Razor sharp, I am sure.” His eyes still locked hers.

“Careful my dagger, Zoi,” she smiled her small smile, “for it may yet kill again.”

“Oh! Michiru!”

It was, there turned out, a worse companion than Haruka in this effort, and Mcihiru could hear her voice echoing off the stone, the click of her too-anxious heels on the marble, the woosh of her dress selected for the way it made her feel a princess and not its seasonable fashion. Michiru clenched her teeth beneath her smile.

“You look so beautiful!!” Usagi was next to her in an instant, a giggling cream puff swatched in an off the shoulder pink gown with too large a skirt and too many ruffles. “But you always look beautiful, of course, is Haruka here? I have extra snacks! I bet she looks beautiful too. ”

Usagi offered the plate, containing an indelicate amount of blinis with caviar and lobster toasts.

“I’m afraid she is not, Usagi, but she will be so pleased to know you asked after her.” She looked to the two of them, “Perhaps you and Mamoru should dance, I know not how long the music will going. The night is waning fast.”

“Oh, but we’ve only just begun!” Zoi stepped forward, a look in his eyes lean and hungry as he looked to Usagi. “And who might this captivating woman be?”

At that moment, Michiru could not have told you that Zoi was going to attempt to take Usagi’s silver crystal. She might have felt a prickling of his malice toward the senshi, if she had concentrated, but in this moment she had not. Michiru did not know that there would be quite the battle between ehr and Zoi, in the end.

But what she did know, was that he sensed something in Usagi, and that he desired her not in the way a man desires a woman, but in the way a starved dog desires a steak. He would consume her bones and all, and she knew that intensely in this moment.

“This is my...my significant other,” Mamoru tripped, “Tsukino Usagi.”

“Hi!!” Usagi gave a graceless bow, still smiling brightly, “I see you met Michiru! She’s like a real princess, I think, but she’s nice too!”

Michiru nearly laughed. She had never been nice a day in her life. Pleasant perhaps, and cordial most certainly, but it was an overabundance of grace in Usagi’s own nature that would cause her to ever call Michiru nice. Chiba was either a perfect idiot or a perfect weakling, and Michiru was not certain wich answer she wished to supply. How could he fail to see the way he looked at her? He was a wolf to a lamb, and he was none the wiser.

It was another facet of Michiru’s personal tragedy, that she had clever foes and foolish allies.

“Oh,” Zoi lowered his voice, “But look at you, so like a princess. A perfect mouthful of cotton candy. Don’t you simply melt with sweetness?”

“Usagi,” Michiru grasped her hand, “I am missing Haruka terribly, and I am so very fond of this piece. WOuld you be so kind as to dance with me? It is a waltz, and very simple, I assure you, so there is no need for shyness.”

Zoi glared at her. “I was hoping--”

“Yes,” she looked at him. “You were.”

She swept Usagi off to the dance floor, putting herself in the perfect position, soldier leading her queen. It was very nearly pointless to warn Usagi off of someone she thought to be kind, and to be flirtatious. She would assume only the best of him, and she would witness the gold of his tongue, the jewels of his cleverness, and never suspect them to be so much gilt and paste. It was foolishness, to attempt to warn her.

But, as she took Usagi into the dance, she knew she had to try.

#drabbles #1800 words #I have no idea what any writing tag I have ever made actually is #If I could fix ONE THING about myself #it would be tagging my writing #at least work-wise #I don't normally bother with name order #as I am a westerner writing to a western audience and like #WE ALL KNOW #but I'm trying to make a point about Michiru and Ryuji's allegiances so #there we be #keyofjetwolf

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enneagramwingmiranda · 5 years

Text

Friends: The actual enneagram types of Rachel, Monica, Ross, Chandler, Phoebe, and Joey

The Protagonist Friend: Rachel Green [Type 3]

“You know what I figure, if I can do laundry, there's nothing I can't do.”

Enneagram Wing: 3w4 (Achiever along with an individualist)

"It's like all of my life everyone has always told me, 'You're a shoe, you're a shoe, you're a shoe, you're a shoe.' And then today I just stopped and I said, 'What if I don't want to be a shoe? What if I want to be a purse, you know? Or, a hat?'"

Core Fear: Of being worthless

Core Desire: To feel valuable

Childhood wound: You must be extraordinary to deserve love.

Rachel’s deepest fear is not reaching her full potential in life and this is the driving force behind all of her actions. The symbolism of her being a runaway bride in the pilot episode demonstrates just that, she doesn’t want to settle or live a mediocre life. In adolescence her need for value and significance is demonstrated in her popularity, being head cheerleader, and holding a legacy of being the mean girl. The mean girl trope in pop culture often shows that the meal girl’s deepest vulnerability is feeling as if she is less than others. Being mean to others is her coping mechanism to continue feeling superior. In adulthood, Rachel leaves behind a life of privilege she finds unsatisfying and chooses the ‘road less traveled’ for individuals of her upbringing in which she must achieve things on her own. We see Rachel start from the bottom and make her way to the top. Her career becomes a big part of her identify in that she even neglects her first true love for it. We see that Rachel’s father instilled this childhood wound of valuing superiority in his mistreatment of the lower class.

The Best Friend: Monica Geller [Type 1]

“And remember, if I’m harsh with you it’s only because you’re doing it wrong.”

Enneagram wing: 1w2 (Reformer along with a helper)

“I've got this controllable need to please people!”

Core Fear: Imbalance

Core Desire: Balance

Childhood wound: You must always be better than you are.

Monica’s defining trait is her need for order in her life and environment. She notices all inconsistencies and errors in not only her home organization but the state of her friends appearances and actions. Her OCD tendencies is a running gag in the series. On the contrary, Monica is very caring and nurturing. She is always there to lend a helping hand and advise her friends. Unlike the rest of her friends, Monica is very aware of where she wants to be and what she wants in life. She feels a sort of instability when her life doesn’t go according to the plan she envisions. She has a hard time adapting to change shown the mourning of Richard and her roommate Rachel. However, she’s not afraid to walk away from things that she knows won’t serve her in the long run even if its hard to do. She cannot relax unless she feels she is living up to the high standards she has set for herself and others. She does not hesitant to let others know where they fall short. Not only does she calls others out but tries to steer them in the direction to what they deserve. We see that Monica’s perfectionistic ways are rooted in her childhood wound from her mom’s constant criticism of her.

The Friend Who Loves Hard: Ross Geller [Type 5]

“You’re means you are. Your means your!”

Enneagram wing: 5w6 (Investigator along with a loyalist)

“You know what the scariest part is? What if there's only one woman for everybody, you know?”

Core Fear: Incompetence

Core Desire: Proficiency

Childhood wound: You must acquire all the knowledge otherwise you are helpless and incapable.

Ross’s defining trait is his intellect. He often annoys his friends with constant talk of paleontological topics and his need to always be right. Ross not only values education and knowledge but also security. He fears being alone and often takes the leap of faith with romantic partners, however, his trust issues get in the way and result in self sabotage. He exposes his childhood wound in later seasons: his father made him feel incompetent due to his love of dinosaurs and playing with dinosaur toys as a child. Ross also struggles with feeling less of a man and this can be linked to his enjoyment of role playing as a woman as a kid and being ridiculed for it.

The Friend Who Opens Up: Chandler Bing [Type 6]

“Until I was 25, I thought that that the only response to ‘I love you’ was “Oh, crap!’”

Enneagram wing: 6w7 (The loyalist along with an enthusiast)

“I’m full and yet I know if I stop eating this I’ll regret it.”

Core Fear: Isolation

Core Desire: Comfort

Childhood wound: You must succumb to your doubts because the world is not a safe place anyways.

Chandler’s defining trait is his pessimism. He uses sarcasm and humor as a defense mechanism for his deep insecurity and fear. Chandler longs for closeness and security in his relationships but often sabotages any chance at lasting love. He sticks with what is known and comfortable because it’s predictable (he constantly reconnects with Janice despite his dislike of her). He knows he is a lot to handle so he greatly values his friendships because they accept him for who he is and provide him support and validation. It makes sense that he ends up with Monica because their foundation being built on the already existing trust from friendship, thus providing him safety to trust and open up. Despite Chandler’s neurotic tendencies, he is a fun loving person. Joey, being a 7 himself brings this out in him.

The Friend With A Heart of Gold: Joey Tribbiani [Type 7]

“I like it. What’s not to like? Custard? Good. Jam? Good. Meat? Good.”

Enneagram wing: 7w8

“You can’t just give up! Is that what a dinosaur would do?”

Core Fear: Being unfulfilled

Core Desire: Contempt

Childhood wound: You must sow all your wild oats or you will be eternally unhappy.

Joey’s personality is defined by his enthusiastic yet easygoing nature. Joey’s main concern is to go out and have a good time. He wants to enjoy life however when things don’t go his way he never lets this get him down. He is quite dimwitted but often acts as the wise fool encouraging his friends and sticking up for them whenever needed. He never really commits to anything, bouncing from job to job and woman to woman. He is essentially always looking for the next big thing and he seems to never find it. Joey’s lack of commitment also demonstrates that he doesn’t really desire the security that comes with it. He subconsciously feels as if he is completely self-sufficient (8). His childhood wound is exposed when discussing his family line. He was the only boy out of 7 sisters and felt as if he had to set up and be the protector. We can assume that his parents having so many children to resulted in him lacking the attention and nurturing a child is supposed to have then.

The Intuitive Friend: Phoebe Buffay [Type 8]

“If we were in prison, you guys would be like my bitches!”

Enneagram wing: 8w7/8w9 (Balanced: Challenger along with an enthusiast and peacemaker)

“That’s not running, let’s goooo!”

“I have to go before I put your head through a wall.”

Core Fear: Being harmed

Core Desire: Self-protection

Childhood wound: You must be totally independent because relying on others only results in harm.

Phoebe shows many traits of several enneagram types, for instance she shows hints of a 7 and 9 but her assertiveness and independent nature stands out from the rest. Her childhood wounding defines her personality traits, quirks, relationship dynamics, and her lifestyle. From a young age she had to learn how to defend herself and take care of herself due to the abandonment of her caregivers. She is the least connected to her friend group and for a long time lived on her own while the rest of the friends were each others roommates. She refrained from developing any long term relationships and we can first think that it’s because she doesn’t want that. It is later revealed that she never put much thought it which suggests that her independence is engrained into her being. It’s simply all she knew. However, Phoebe’s challenging nature is balanced out by her wings. She can stay positive and be fun loving (7). She develops a alias, Regina Phalange to get in and out of mischief. Her wing 7 is why she identifies with Joey so well. She also can play the role of the mediator to help her friends work out their issues (9). Phoebe also desires to be at peace with all, even her sister Ursula who is totally disinterested and uncaring. She desires world peace and advocates for animal cruelty and vegetarianism. Phoebe is probably the most emotionally healthy character despite having the roughest upbringing.

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madlori · 5 years

Text

Unveiled - Chapter 1

Unveiled, Chapter 1

by MadLori Word Count: 3300 Fandom: Men’s Hockey RPF Pairing: Sidney Crosby/Evgeni Malkin Rating: NC-17 (like, heed this, please) Tags: Arranged Marriage, Modern Royalty AU, Mpreg, Not Omegaverse, No Consent Issues, Veiled Sex, Weird Traditions, Don’t Think Too Hard, Handwavey Biology

Read this on AO3

[there will not usually be this many notes, it’s chapter 1]

Biology note: This is mpreg but NOT omegaverse. All genders have both reproductive systems, meaning anybody of any gender can get anyone else pregnant. Men and women exist, but gender presentation is a result of how things are arranged/presented. I'm not super into getting into a ton of details about this. Handwave, handwave.

Note about language: I made the conscious choice not to render anyone's dialogue in a particular accent or dialect, as I felt that in this setting it would be a distraction. We're gonna go with "everyone in the story is fluent in whatever language you'd like them to be speaking."

Note to my existing readers: This is my first story in this fandom. If you have followed me here from Sherlock or another fandom, please take note of the tags - this is unlike anything I've ever written before. My first foray into mpreg or RPF. If those things don't work for you, that's fine, then this fic isn't for you. No need to inform me.

Thank you to burning-up-a-sun and luckie_dee for excellent beta services, and to ljummen and right-of-the-curve for reading and reacting as I banged this out in record time.

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Zhenya had hoped to sleep in on his last morning as a bachelor, but his eyes flew open just past dawn and would not close again.

His wedding day. The culmination of several years’ work -- the selection of his consort-to-be, the negotiations, the contracts, the preparations...all of which he’d had minimal part in, because one simply didn’t arrange their own marriage, let alone their own embargoed marriage.

He lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, going over and over it in his mind. Ceremony, blessing, consummation, and then...life as usual? Regular people had celebrations after their weddings. They gathered together with their friends and families, ate and drank, danced and celebrated along with the person they’d just married. Lots of photos, smiling faces, Instagram posts and hashtags.

For embargoed spouses, such celebrations were pointless. It was hard to rejoice with your new life partner when you weren’t allowed to see or speak to them, or even to know their name.

All that he knew about the consort was that he was from New Scotland, was Zhenya’s age, and of noble blood. It had been tempting to at least Google him, but poking around an embargo like that was inappropriate, not to mention insulting to the significant sacrifice being made by his new consort. This man had agreed to a restrictive situation to become Zhenya’s husband and bear his child -- the least Zhenya could do was respect his decision. Besides, the consort’s entire online presence would have been digitally embargoed by the palace tech team, which was really meant to shield him from the rest of the world’s snooping, but also served to thwart tempted spouses.

Zhenya’s parents had asked for quite a bit of input about what sort of person he hoped for as a life partner. They had already known that he preferred a male spouse, and had accepted his one additional condition for a match, but beyond that, he trusted them. He’d known since childhood that his marriage would be arranged and had accepted it, was even grateful for it. It was difficult to meet people when you were a Prince. Zhenya had dated his fair share of men, but he was never sure about their motives -- was his money a factor? his status? his fame? -- and his dates were often put off by the press attention, not to mention the trappings of royalty. He thought his chances of finding happiness with a spouse selected by his parents were possibly better, and certainly no worse. Besides, he didn’t really have it in him to rebel. Refusing to have an embargoed arrangement would be a serious break with tradition, and the very idea was just -- exhausting.

Sasha, his boisterous, gap-toothed valet, banged into the room at 7:00 a.m. sharp; Zhenya groaned and pulled a pillow over his head. “None of that, now. We have to make you look royal, so God knows we need every last second.” Sasha grabbed the blankets and yanked them off. Zhenya yelped and curled into a tight comma on the bed. “Up, you lazy, posh twat.”

“Why did I make you my valet. Why,” Zhenya said, muffled into his pillow. Sasha had not come up through the ranks of the palace staff, as most valets did. He had been a teammate of Zhenya’s on their university hockey team, and some fit of insanity had led Zhenya to conclude that his total lack of finesse in matters of protocol and politics was appropriate for the job.

“Because you knew I wouldn’t put up with your bullshit and you were right. You’re getting married today, so let’s try and fool all these rubes into thinking you’ve got class, eh?”

Zhenya slumped out of bed, only to be manhandled out of his pajamas by Sasha. “Hey!”

He snorted. “Like I’ve never seen your dick before. And a lot more people are going to be seeing it today, so get over it. Shower, now.”

Zhenya spent the morning being scrubbed, polished, trimmed, neatened, and perfumed to within an inch of his life. Breakfast was brought in, an unusually light meal. “Are they afraid I’m going to throw up?” he grumbled, eating his toast.

“Probably. Are you?”

“No.”

“You’re not nervous?”

“I’m a little anxious. Excited. What’s to be nervous about?”

“I mean…” Sasha made vague gestures all around him at everything.

Zhenya swallowed and sipped at his tea. “Have you heard...anything?”

“I’m gonna need you to be more specific.”

He rolled his eyes. “About my betrothed.”

“Even if I had, I wouldn’t be allowed to share it. If you want to know, you’ll have to hire a hacker to un-embargo his Instagram.” Zhenya just looked at him. Sasha sighed. “All I know is that he and his entourage arrived two nights ago.”

“‘Entourage?”

“His parents are with him, and he’s got his own guards. He’ll have the guards until he’s unveiled. You knew that, right?”

“I know.”

“Other than that they’re all keeping to their quarters. He’s not supposed to be seen until the wedding.”

“He’s not going to be seen after the wedding! Not that anybody knows what he looks like. He could be walking around the palace in a bathing suit eating peaches and nobody would know it was him.”

“The embargo is for your own good, and his. And the kingdom’s.”

“I get it.” And he did, really. If his consort hadn’t conceived within a year, he would be replaced, and that process would be a lot easier for everyone involved if he, and the citizens, hadn’t gotten attached to him. Hence, the embargo. At least, that’s what the clerics said. Endlessly. “I understand the principle. It’s just going to take some getting used to, being married to someone and having sex with him without seeing his face or talking to him.”

Sasha snorted. “C’mon, Zhenya. You’ve had more than your share of hookups.”

“So?”

“How many of their names can you remember, or even their faces? You’re telling me you had deep conversations with them?”

“That’s different. This man will be my husband.”

“I heard that the prince of Patagonia and his consort broke their embargo and fell in love. She didn’t get pregnant so she had to leave, they were both heartbroken, he almost abdicated his throne, it was a horrible mess, he wouldn’t sleep with the new consort and so she had to be replaced, the first consort was disgraced and went into hiding, nobody knows what happened to her and he’s a giant ball of depression.”

Zhenya blinked. “That’s terrible.”

“Honor your embargo, Zhenya.”

He sighed. “I intend to.”

Embargoed marriage ceremonies were small, private affairs. The unveiling was really the big public spectacle, when the kingdom could at last meet their prince’s husband. The wedding was more for the clerical blessing and the witnessed consummation, and a huge gathering for that was considered unseemly. Zhenya had been trained since childhood not to feel immodest for this occasion, but he was still glad that there would only be a few witnesses present.

He walked to the chapel in his custom-made marriage robes, simple but lush as was the current style. Standing outside the chamber were six of his consort’s guards. Their uniforms were pleasingly clean-lined, black and tailored with deep gold trim, and they snapped to attention as he approached, disciplined and in perfect formation. Zhenya nodded to them -- he imagined he’d be getting to know them soon enough -- and passed through.

A heavy drape hung in the center of the dais with a small hole cut in it for their hands to pass through. Zhenya took his place on the left, nodding to the head cleric. He heard rustling from the other side of the drape and a shadow fell upon it; his new consort had taken his place on the other side.

They did not speak during the ceremony, as their embargo forbade them from hearing one another’s voices. The cleric spoke to them; they acknowledged his words with nods of assent to his questions and directives. When he bade them do so, they joined hands through the hole in the drape. Zhenya noted that his betrothed’s hand was square and strong, and gripped his without hesitation, exhibiting no sign of a nervous tremor. A promising start. He shut his eyes and sent up a prayer to whatever deity might be handy...please, let me like him. Please, let him get pregnant quickly. Let him be smart. And if it’s not too much to ask, please, let him be...not hideous.

“You are joined,” the cleric concluded, simply. Two deacons appeared and removed the drape.

His consort was dressed in elegant marriage robes of his own, including a cape and a veil that hid him from view entirely save for his hands. The only new information Zhenya received with the removal of the drape was his consort’s height, about half a head shorter than Zhenya. He smiled at his new husband and they bowed to each other. Zhenya watched as his consort made a silent greeting to his parents, the Duke and Duchess of New Scotland, who Zhenya did not know at all. With over seventeen thousand peerage titles in the world, one couldn’t meet them all, or even a tiny fraction. The consort’s guards had materialized in the chapel and now surrounded their master and escorted him off the dais and off into the chamber where the next and final step would happen.

Zhenya turned to receive his own parents’ congratulations, and a back-slapping hug from Sasha, wildly overstepping his role as a valet as usual. Zhenya’s father rolled his eyes but didn’t chastise him; his parents loved Sasha as they loved Zhenya himself. More, he sometimes suspected.

The cleric hovered at Zhenya’s elbow. “Your Royal Highness, you are awaited in the antechamber.”

Sasha winked at him. “Good luck. Do it right the first time and this embargo can end quickly.”

“I don’t think it’s entirely up to me,” Zhenya said, but he hoped for the same. He couldn’t imagine waiting for months on end, walking on eggshells every day, everyone looking askance at him if it dragged on and wondering at his virility if he failed to impregnate his spouse. As if it would be for lack of trying.

He followed the cleric into the antechamber. His consort would have gone on ahead to be prepared and arranged by his personal attendants, although Zhenya wasn’t quite sure what that meant, beyond the obvious. This situation was generally not intended to produce arousal in both parties, so he damn well hoped that his consort’s “preparation” involved vaginal lubrication of some kind, for both of their comfort. He’d find out soon enough, but first there was still all manner of ceremonial mumbo-jumbo to attend to.

Zhenya wasn’t particularly devout, a fact he kept mostly to himself. At minimum, a visible attention to custom was expected and valued by the citizens, and Zhenya had no wish to disappoint them, or more accurately, to give them cause to distrust him. He respected the beliefs of his parents (mostly his mother) and of the clerics, but he’d have dispensed with the whole rigmarole if he’d had his choice. But this was his duty, so he stood quietly and allowed the clerics to say their blessings over him and waft their burning herbs as his outer robes were removed.

Underneath his robes were his tunic and trousers, which had been made with a flap at the front (“easy access,” Sasha had joked). He wouldn’t undress further than this, at least not for this ceremonial consummation. He’d be expected to achieve a minimum objective today, the most that could be hoped for in these high-pressure and decidedly not private circumstances.

One of the sub-clerics stood at his side. “Your Royal Highness, will you require assistance readying yourself?” he asked, quietly. Sasha, lurking behind him, snorted.

“Assistance?” Zhenya said, puzzled...but then it hit him. He was being asked if he’d need help getting it up. It stood to reason that he might, with people watching and the Fate of the Kingdom Depending and blah blah blah. Anxiety was not typically the friend of erections. The sub-cleric was offering a helping hand, so to speak. Zhenya had heard stories. Supposedly there’d once been a groom nervous enough that the sub-cleric had to use his mouth on him before he could manage it.

Zhenya didn’t think he’d need quite that much assistance; indeed, he hoped he wouldn’t need any. “Let’s...proceed, and we’ll see,” he said. The sub-cleric nodded and went to the door into the main chamber.

It was dim inside, fragrant with burning herbs. Several clerics were lined up at the far side of the room, chanting quietly. Behind a screen stood half a dozen shadowy figures; witnesses, drawn from the nobility and the royal family. Zhenya didn’t know who was back there and he didn’t care to know. He would likely never know; it was considered rude to disclose one’s presence at such an occasion. Zhenya had himself been a witness at his cousin’s consummation five years ago. You really couldn’t see much at all, through the screen and the awkward angle.

At the moment, however, his attention was captivated by the bed in the center of the room, and his consort upon it. He was laid out on his stomach, covered in drapes even including his head -- Zhenya worried for a moment if he could breathe adequately under there. Two of his guards stood at the head of the bed, eyes fixed firmly forward. The drapes extended from over his consort’s head past his feet, and in the center was an oval-shaped cutout exposing what was, without question, the most fantastic backside Zhenya had ever seen in his life, and he’d seen his fair share.

No. He would not be needing assistance. In fact, he felt himself swelling at the sight of just this one part of his new consort’s body. It was odd, and unexpectedly titillating, to be presented with a more-or-less disembodied ass, even if he could see the shape of the rest of the man under the drape -- but, he supposed, that titillation shouldn’t really be unexpected; why else did glory holes exist? Not that he’d ever partaken of such things, in clubs, in his slightly-wilder youth, absolutely not. But this was his husband, not a late night quickie. It wouldn’t be like this all the time, he assured himself. This was just for the ceremonial bit. Future couplings would be much less...ritualized.

They were all looking at him, waiting for him to get to it, but there was a step to be taken first. He glanced at the cleric and nodded. The cleric hesitated, then moved to the head of the bed. This was Zhenya’s personal addition to the ceremonies, and the cleric had been reluctant to deviate from the traditional sequence of events, but Zhenya had insisted.

He had no interest in a spouse who’d been forced into marrying him, as he’d made sure his parents understood before they set out to find him one. “I do have one condition, and it is non-negotiable,” he’d said.

His father had looked surprised. “What is it, son?”

“I require absolute assurance that any consort of mine enters into marriage to me of their own free will, and not under duress.”

His parents had exchanged a glance. “That should not be difficult; marriage into our family is considered very desirable.”

“Be that as it may, I need you to promise me, Father..”

His father had nodded, and seemed even pleased by this directive. “You have my word, son.”

And now, the cleric spoke to the consort on Zhenya’s behalf. “Your Highness,” he said, using the man’s new title -- after the embargo was lifted, he would become His Royal Highness, the same honorific that Zhenya received. “Prince Evgeni wishes me to ask you for your consent before he joins with you.” Zhenya saw the consort’s head turn to the side. “He values your agreement to this consummation.”

The man hesitated. Zhenya saw the surprise in his shoulders. His head turned further, seeming to look back over his shoulder at Zhenya, and he nodded.

The cleric straightened up. “Does this satisfy Your Royal Highness?” There was just a touch of “are you happy now?” impatience in the cleric’s voice which Zhenya chose to ignore.

Zhenya nodded. He removed his gloves and handed them to Sasha, who was being appropriately quiet and invisible for once in his life. He unbuttoned the flap on the front of his trousers; he was half-erect already and filling fast.

He knelt on the bed. He wasn’t supposed to make any unnecessary contact this first time, but he couldn’t help but run his hands briefly over his husband’s smooth, muscular rear. Just like that, he was fully hard and more than ready. He placed his knees within the drapery cutout on either side of the consort’s hips; the man shifted slightly, spreading his thighs a little bit to give him room. Zhenya reached back and tucked his cock down and against the man’s entrance, relieved to find that he was, indeed, slick. He pressed forward and entered him; Zhenya stifled a groan and felt a shudder pass over the man beneath him. He was tight and warm; Zhenya held still for a moment with his eyes closed and hips pressed against his consort’s impossibly plump ass.

He braced on his hands and shut his eyes, making smooth, even thrusts. There’d be time later to investigate what kind of sex his husband enjoyed, but now was the time to be quick about it and get the job done. He tried to visualize success, as the clerics liked to say during their instruction, and picture his seed finding its target and blossoming in his consort’s womb. The minimum embargo time was three months; even if he conceived right now, early pregnancy was so delicate that it wasn’t considered official until the three--month mark. After carrying to three months, the consort was accepted into the family and unveiled, even if the child was subsequently lost.

Zhenya had often wondered about consorts who failed to conceive and were replaced. Who was to say that it was their fault? Both parties underwent pre-marriage medical testing to minimize this risk, but bodies were unpredictable. Of course it might not be the consort’s fault; the would-be sire could just as easily be the one whose biology failed them, but such a thing could not be admitted for a royal scion. He’d heard one tale, possibly apocryphal, of a prince whose consort hadn’t conceived -- unwilling to accept defeat, the prince had asked his consort to get him pregnant, which she had done, and their embargo was released.

The contemplation of such machinations was premature, he knew. He and his new consort had only just begun.

As keyed up as he was, it didn’t take long for him to finish. He thrust in deep and spilled, clenching his teeth against the desire to cry out. He felt his consort sigh and press back against him a little, a welcome signal of acknowledgment. Zhenya let his head droop for a moment, then straightened up and pulled out. Sasha was right there with a cloth for him to clean himself before he refastened his pants.

The cleric stepped forward and blessed the union, prayers for the success of the joining, yadda yadda. Zhenya barely paid attention. Sasha was replacing his robe on him, but all Zhenya could do was look at the draped form of his new husband, especially the one part of it that he could see, and hope that it wouldn’t be too long before he could see the rest of it.

He let Sasha lead him out of the chamber, glad that was over -- but in another, very real sense, it was just beginning. He was now a married man, with a responsibility to his consort, who was at something of a disadvantage in this situation. He hoped he could be a good, supportive husband to him, until at last the day came that he’d be allowed to see his face.

Next Chapter

#sidgeno #sidgeno fic #hockey rpf #unveiled #my writing

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treatian · 4 years

Text

The Chronicles of the Dark One: The Dark Curse

Chapter 216: Romancing Magic

Cora stared at the golden thread he'd spun in his hands and then finally grabbed it herself to examine. He watched as she rubbed it hard between her fingers as if searching for paint or some other trick to explain what she'd just seen. Finding none, she looked back up at him.

"You want to help me?"

"No," he answered honestly. "I want you to help me. And you will, because the future…is my gift. Well, in a manner of speaking." It was the first time since he'd inherited the ability that he actually thought of it that way, but he wasn't willing to relinquish this lead he had on his son now! And better yet, he had the feeling Cora was not willing to relinquish this hope she had that her life might not just be spared but improved. A fine bed over a cot of hay would be appealing to any man or woman…didn't he know.

"What could you possibly get from me?" Cora demanded with a roll of her eyes as if she thought the entire thing was ridiculous. If only she knew just how long he'd waited for this moment.

"Funny you should ask. Can you read?"

With a snap of his fingers, he crafted a contract, one that Cora was eager to take in her hands and begin skimming. The jolt she gave when she got to the fine print was small but still present. But the look she gave him as she held that contract in her hands…it was suspicious.

"My firstborn child?"

He nodded, moving around the little stool to stand beside her. "She is quite important."

"She?"

"Yes, I see the future. Weren't you listening?"

Cora's eyes drifted away from him, and she let out a small sigh, almost one of relief. He supposed it could be emotional for a woman to hear news of her first child and also painful for someone to suggest they would take it away, but fortunately for her, that wasn't what the contract stated and nor would he do such a thing. He wasn't an idiot. Now that he had something of a timeframe, there was too much to do in order to get himself together and find Baelfire. He didn't have time to raise a child. He'd leave that to her mother. All he wanted was the ability to be in her life and teach her magic, that wonderful, glorious power that quivered just beneath her mother's skin. But only if she accepted this deal!

"Anyway, I only get my payment if you live past tomorrow."

"You can turn all this straw into gold by morning?" Cora questioned.

He nodded. "And you can parade in front of the royals and demand the hand of the dimly lit Prince!" he pronounced. "And have them kneel before you. That's what you want, eh? You want them to kneel-"

"No."

"-I… No? What?" he questioned, turning back to her.

No? No, to what? No to his offer? Or no to his deal? It was a critical question! And he was more confused than ever because he couldn't understand the answer of "no" to either of those? No to one and she died, no to the other, and she'd never get the respect she deserved at had to undoubtedly crave after the life that she'd led. No? How could she turn him down?

"Teach me," she finally requested gently but with insistence. "Don't just do it. Teach me. Make it part of our deal."

Well…wasn't this an interesting twist of fate. It was his job as the Dark One to be the tempter, to be cunning and clever to suggest the best deal that would give him what he wanted while letting her feel like she had just won. There were no negotiations involved, and yet…

The power within her burned bright, like a beacon in the distance that issued warnings, it called to him now, tempting, desirable, and the skin on her shoulders didn't exactly hurt either. So, this was what it felt to be tempted, to feel want for someone other than his son. She was a worthy opponent. But he wasn't going to be fooled. He wasn't going to be caught up in her twice. He needed Regina, not Cora. Cora's knowledge of magic would only make the hold she'd have on her daughter stronger than his own, and he couldn't have that. Besides…she was nothing next to his Belle.

He let out another small laugh. "You are a spicy one, aren't you? But look around you, dearie, you're in no position to bargain. It's my way or no deal."

That was what he should have said to her. That was what he should have insisted upon when Cora asked for magic. He shouldn't have taught the bitch as much as he did, he shouldn't have had an affair with her, he shouldn't have ever come so close as to nearly give a piece of himself away that was reserved for his True Love.

That memory with Cora wasn't his best to look back on…but it was certainly one that he wished he'd seen through more than others. Especially because of the heartache she'd caused him but also because he was certain if he'd been allowed to have a hand in training Regina, she wouldn't have been as needy as she was today.

Another visit from the former Evil Queen. It figured. She went around acting as though she was powerful, but at the first sign of trouble, it was right back to him. She'd slipped in with dinner, but this time she hadn't used a camouflage spell, but rather one she'd fixed on the outside. She'd shifted her appearance into that of a mouse, started nibbling on an apple he'd taken a bit of that morning, and then tossed out of the cell.

He knew it was her and not an ordinary mouse because he could smell magic on her, powerful Dark Magic like he hadn't been in the room with for years but would always recognize. It was the same magical signature that his Curse reeked of. He could feel it giving him power, overcoming the magic of the mines. He could leave if he wanted to with that magic. He could end this torment and go back to his castle. Live out these days before the Curse in comfort. Oh, how he longed for the comfort of home! Of anything beyond this! But the magic he had was here for another purpose. He had to store it away.

When the guard left, it was just the pair of them in the cell, but he waited until he heard the footsteps fade farther down the hall. "It's just us, dearie," he muttered. "You can show yourself."

In a cloud of black magic, she was suddenly standing before him again. She moved her neck to one side, excising the last of the uncomfortable magic before she stepped forward.

"That Curse you gave me," she explained, holding the scroll he hadn't been in the same room with for years up in front of him. "It's not working."

And somehow, that made him angrier than anything inside this cage. She had all she needed to cast that Curse; why wasn't she doing it?! What was taking her so fucking long to do it! Oh…he knew, or at least he could take a guess. But with any luck…he could light a fire under her and make it so that she finally moved!

"Oh, so worried," he smiled, tapping his fingers together. "So, so worried. Like Snow and her lovely new husband."

"What?!"

"They paid me a visit, as well," he smiled, stepping up to the bars. "They were very anxious…about you and the Curse."

"What'd you tell them?!" she roared, stepping up to the bars.

"The truth! That nothing can stop the Darkness!" he announced with a flourish before sneering down at her again. "Except, of course, their unborn child." Regina balked, her eyes opened wider, and he felt her heartbeat quicken. Nothing like the promise of losing everything to force the little witch to get a move on it. "You see, no matter how powerful, all curses can be broken. Their child is the key. Of course, the Curse has to be enacted first."

"Tell me what I did wrong."

"For that, there's a price."

"What do you want?"

"Simple," he spat. Being in here had given him time to think, time alone in his own head as he hadn't had for over a century, and he knew what he wanted from it. He never wanted this again. He wanted resources, and he wanted power in any way that he could get it! Fortunately, after a talk with a werewolf about this new place they were going to, he knew how he needed to get it. In a World Without Magic, there were two ways to get what he wanted. The first was money. But the second was to have power over the one who had power in the first place. And his student was suddenly desperate enough that he thought she might give it. "In this new land, I want comfort. I want a good life."

"Fine. You'll have an estate. Be rich."

"I wasn't finished!" he snapped. "There's more!"

"There always is with you," Regina sneered, shaking her head. He ignored her comments and climbed the bars, standing high above her for his final most important request.

"In this new land, should I ever come to you for any reason, you must heed my every request. You must do whatever I say. So long as I say…' please'!" he shrieked, laughing at her, letting her think he was going mad because sometimes he felt like he was. But if she thought he was going mad...the request would seem less harmful than it actually was, less suspicious.

She sighed without interest, unaware of what she was about to give away. The realm may not have magic in it now, but one day it would; the Curse would bring its own magic with it. Not much, not until he'd finally enacted a spell to bring it into that land, but it would be there. And he wanted to use as much of it as he could. "You do realize that should I succeed, you won't remember any of this."

"Oh, well, then...what's the harm?"

"Deal."

He snorted as he backed away from the bars. It was done. All he needed to do was give her answers, and he'd be ready for the new world. He prayed it would come soon.

"What must I do to enact this Curse?" Regina questioned.

He couldn't be entirely positive where she'd gone wrong but seeing as how she was still standing there, without tears in her eyes, he could think of one significant thing she'd either skipped over entirely or chosen to half-ass out of love. "You need to sacrifice a heart," he instructed.

"I sacrificed my prized steed," she interrupted.

He flew at her. Launched himself at the bars of his cage, reached through and grabbed her by the neck, taking in the wonderful sensation of Dark Magic flowing from the Curse, into her, and now into him. Oh, it was just as seductive as the first day he'd touched it. It deserved the finest of everything to come to fruition! If she thought that her horse would do…she clearly had no idea how to romance magic.

"A horse?" he growled, letting the magic flow into him. "This is The Curse to End All Curses. You think a horse is going to do? Great power requires great sacrifice. The heart you need must come from something far more precious."

He'd attacked her, but her heartbeat evened out as she listened to him…but now it was pounding again, pulsing so wildly he could feel it in her neck. "Tell me what will suffice," she ordered with a calm voice.

He grinned, looked her in the eye, and whispered, "The heart of the thing you love most."

She snatched him by the wrist at his declaration and pulled herself free. "What I love most died because of Snow White."

That was true…years ago! Now she was all grown up, and there was one she loved even more, one who had shown her loyalty beyond measure despite what she had become. He smiled, recalling the vision of her looking at her father through the bars of her own cell, "the one I love most." That was where she'd gone wrong. Love made people truly blind.

"Ooh. Is there no one else you truly love?" he asked, dragging the back of his fingers over her perfect cheek. He'd done everything that he had to do to get her ready, but this was the final test he couldn't pass for her because he hadn't! He'd had the Curse in his grasp, and he'd had someone he loved in the dungeons! He'd let her go, let her die because he wasn't strong enough to kill her himself. Regina had to be! She had to want it more than she wanted the man she loved. He was helpless to do anything else but wait.

"This curse isn't going to be easy. Vengeance never is, dearie. You have to ask yourself the simple question. How far are you willing to go?"

The Evil Queen stepped forward so that she put her own face between the bars of his cell. "As far as it takes," she whispered. Good.

"Then please don't waste everyone's time and just do it," he begged. "You know what you love. Now go kill it."

Without another word, she turned, transformed herself back into a mouse, and walked out of the cell, leaving him behind. She'd taken the Dark Curse and all the magic it offered with her, but his skin still hummed with it. Now! He had to do it now! Before he gave in and used that magic to leave before he lost his opportunity.

He flew to the wall where the parchment was and held it between his hands, and then he transferred it. He used every ounce of energy and magic he had to push all the magic the Dark Curse had given him into that parchment until it glowed with blackness and burned his hands. He dropped it in the dirt with a shock when it ended. Behind him, he could hear guards walking in the outer corridor. He didn't know what time it was, but he wasn't going to take any risks. He scooped up the burning parchment, took out the magical quill and the squid ink, and retreated to his little alcove. He dipped the quill into the ink, and it provided enough power for the quill to absorb the energy of the Curse and transfer it into him as he wrote one word over and over and over again.

"Emma."

It was his trigger word. Now, when the day came that he heard that word again, it would be in the other world. He would wake. He would help her break the Curse he'd worked so hard to create. Much to Regina's displeasure, he'd remember the deal they'd just made, and he would be sure to use it.

He wrote the name until there was no longer any more space left on the paper, and power buzzed through him, tied him to the curse and now to this cell. The magic spent, there was no leaving now. He had only to wait.

#Rumbelle #Rumple #Rumpelstiltskin #Dark One #Cora #Queen of Hearts #Golden Heart #Regina #Evil Queen #ouat #ouat fanfiction #fanfic

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stars-and-rose · 5 years

Text

emily’s notes on dealing with INTRUSIVE THOUGHTS

so it took me an hour and a half to fulling watch the video because I ended up taking seven and a half pages of notes??? i might make a separate post analyzing the characters/the plot in Dealing With Intrusive Thoughts, but we’ll see. with that out of the way, please note that these notes are in chronological order. spoilers under the keep reading

seven warnings. seven freaking warnings. shit has hit the fan

why is Thomas ME in the mornings

wait no THOMAS BABY AHHHHHH

Virgil and Patton’s expressions when they first come in, oh god, Virgil looks absolutely done and Patton’s playing the ‘nothing is ever wrong’ game again

ROMAN. THERE IS SOMETHING OFF WITH MY SON AND I’M NOT EVEN TWO MINUTES IN

Patton singing to himself is pretty cute not gonna lie

“secrets secrets are no fun, share with me or else we’re done.”-Roman is me yet again

also “i have yet to receive my invite to the pity party” Ro i can’t-

okay so it seems Virgil Patton and Thomas all know something and they don’t want Roman to know

not gonna lie, watching these three play cover-up is pretty damn funny and Ro is on to them

I AM ONLY 2 MINUTES AND 28 SECONDS INTO THIS AND I WANNA C R Y

Roman calling in Logan for back up? WHOOOOOOO we stan

AHHHH SOMETHING IS VERY W RON G

Logan gets one FALSEHOOD a day?

honestly can't tell if they’re trying to protect Roman or they don’t trust him rn and ahhh that hurts

I’M VERY CONFUSED

i feel like i’m witnessing the logince vs moxiety war

so everyone but Roman knows and everyone but Logan is desperate to keep it that way

???????

NO ONE IS OKAY

they’re all coming for Ro’s role as the Extra side, huh? we’re hitting some extremes

“you all are acting fishy.” “so what, i’m acting fishy, sush- sue me.” “don’t pretend that wasn’t on purpose.” Roman and Virgil at their finest

why isn’t Roman allowed to know about Thomas’s intrusive thoughts???

“i’m going to prohibit your breathing if you keep this up.” Virgil NO

Virgil Patton what are you doing

Roman is not going to fall for that distraction

wait no he did

i think everyone is a wee bit high

“have you ever imagined killing your brother”-HOLY SHIT SHIT IS HITTING THE FAN

OH MY GOD THE HANDS BEHIND RO AT 5:58 I JUST SCREAMED

THERE IS A CREEPY RAT MAN BEHIND THE TV

Patton covering his mouth and whispering out evil, and Virgil dropping into his tempest tongue when they see creepy rat man AAHHHHHHHHH

OH MY GOD HE HIT ROMAN HE HIT ROMAN WITH A MORNINGSTAR OH MY IS HE DEAD

“it’s the Duke.” thank you, Logan, BUT WHAT THE EVERLIVING FUCK DOES THAT MEAN

The Duke is so freaking scary i can not-

state farm ad: everything in life is alright with state farm!

me, in hysterics only eight minutes in: nOtHiNg Is AlRiGhT

the Duke’s costume though... the clear elements from Roman but the inverted colors and the Duke feels gaudier

the Duke’s song is so creepy i can’t oh my god he'd been on screen for five minutes and he’s terrifying. The imagery, how dark everything is, how easily he moves around the other sides i’m chilled to the bone

did Roman call the duke bro??? um what???

also isn’t roman unconscious

I WANT MY ROMAN BACKKKKKKK

oh god what happened between Deceit and the Duke

the Duke is fucking terrifying. have i said that yet

i don’t wanna see the dark sides anymore! i’m good

that song is going to haunt me FOREVER

so the Duke is dark fantasies and corrupted creativity definitely Ro’s dark side

i no like

maybe the Duke was able to pop in because Roman’s been hurting recently????

HE JUST PULLED OFF HIS EARS OH GOD

Logan is the only one keeping himself together, i hope he can rationalize the Duke but i fear not

“you’re not creativity!”

“yeah! that’s the brave, handsome (Patton your gay is showing) unbeatable Roman!

*camera cuts to Ro still unconscious muttering about mashed potatoes*

Virgil looked so cute when he blew his bangs out of the way!

back to the angst

‘you’re scary’

*camera cuts to hurt/unimpressed Virgil*

ALSO THE DUKE IS NOT SCARY HE’S TERRIFYING

everyone is pointing fingers ahahhahah

how quickly Patton believed Logan was actually Deceit OOF when the only evidence for this was based on the fact Logan didn’t agree with Patton/Virgil’s method of dealing with the Duke

Lo: *trying to logic through the situation*

Vee and Pat: please shut your mouth

Logan:*talks about how nothing is black and white*

Thomas: *points out the difference between Roman in white and the Duke in black*

which is an amazing visual for character!Thomas’s black and white thinking

and it’s also an amazing detail to contrast Roman and the Duke. i thought the contrast between Patton and Deceit's suits was cool in SvS, but this is another level

Roman is still unconscious on the floor. the Duke is standing over him. alright, trash rat bastard.

wow i can’t believe my favorite side has a twin brother that’s an actual rodent

holy shit Thomas is such an amazing actor i genuinely cannot handle it, applause applause applause

“Wow, I hate him.” YEAH ME TOO THOMAS

the entire side conversation between Logan and Patton regarding the cradle in the treetop is gold

have i mentioned that the duke is disturbing yet? there is an EYEBALL on his shoulder

“...........maybe?” oh Patton bb you are trying but you’re not there yet

wow what happened between the Duke and Virgil, because the Duke really don’t like him

ROMAN YOU CAN G E T U P NOW

okay Virgil, that’s fine, break my heart

we’re still stuck on this “is Thomas a good person thing?”

WHOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO LOGAN YOU GO SMART BABE

the flashback is just as creepy every time it plays gOD

well Vee got in an uncensored curse

Patton is shook

Virgil legit looks at him like,”you’re really hung up on THAT right now?”

“I’m about to smash the hulk!” what is happening.

“One of you is enough!” yes and I’d prefer Deceit right now!!

Deceit is a shit but he’s a shit with a cause

the Duke is just a rat

Patton is really playing the ignore all our problems card,huh

that didn’t work his arc why is he trying it again???

“this isn’t about me wanting to be listened too” SHOT THROUGH THE HEART, AND YOU’RE TOO BLAME @ logan

Logan almost calling Virgil paranoid HURT

that brings me back to the whole “paranoviligant” scene from the Hogwarts video. both Ro and Lo have prevented themselves from calling Virgil paranoid, even though I feel like meaner things have been said. the word paranoid is significant then.

also logan quickly fixing his mistake there damn i love him

Thomas pleading with Virgil and Patton hurt me so much AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH

“well that can’t be where the bar is” WHAT A PARALLEL

Logan’s speech on religious really hit me.

i’m Catholic, but I’m also Pansexual.

watching an openly gay man talk about Religion freely made me feel really happy and accepted and i might have cried

also it was such a good way from Logan to make his point

the Duke really threw Patton and Virgil through a loop, huh

LOGAN IS THE BREADWINNER LISTEN TO HIM G O

okay, theory time: the Duke gets more powerful the weaker Roman gets and vice versa. so to keep the Duke away, Ro needs to get himself in a better place to figuratively defeat the Duke. but how can he get to that better place when it seems everyone is against him?

“i said figuratively. and that is why i say it. THAT *clap* IS *clap* WHY *clap* I *clap* SAY *clap* IT *clap* Lo really went off there, you go you funky little nerd

also Logan claps to emphasize his points a lot and it’s cute

“despite his best efforts, Virgil's could never stop being the bad guy~!” OUCH

you can see the vivid hurt on Virgil’s face when Logan says that it’s his faiult, it looks like he was slapped

and Logan quickly adding “oh and uh Patton.”

“rEcOrD sCrAtCh?” shut up stinky trash man

and Virgil’s shock that he isn’t the only problem, that isn’t not completely his fault?

and logan’s shock in realizing he isn’t the problem??

not like i needed a heart or anything

wow the Duke finally realized that Logan is going to smite him only took 25 minutes

he really just went off on Logan and Lo’s not even fazed

did the Duke just-

yeah he vored the deodorant

i can’t take this anymore

THE DUKE’S NAME

first of all, he just gave it anyway like it was nothing. the others gave thier names at key moments for them, and the Duke is like, yeah I’m Remus

also I SAW the little look he gave Virgil he’s not fooling me

wait is that why he gave his name so early? to spite Virgil? because Virgil hid his name for so long and such?

that’s it I’m voring the stinky trash bastard

second, the significance of the name itself. i’m assuming Remus is named after the Remus in Roman mythology. You know, the twins Romulus (hint hint RO nudge nudge) and Remus, the founders of Rome, but in the end Romulus killed Remus and became the city’s namesake

based on the connection of the names, and hoping that Roman is the Romulus of this story, Ro will be able to ‘defeat’ Remus one day

DID LOGAN JUST BARE HIS TEETH AT REMUS

he did OH MY GOD

Roman, still unconscious on the floor, telling Remus to shut up and defending Lo? we stan (one) creativity twin

well Remus just shuriikened Logan in the forehead

Logan simply falling for a brief moment then fixing the wound? he’s really a badass huh

Logan just summed up this entire shebang by saying,”if things one and two stop fearing the psycho asshole he’ll have no power.” alright Lo you go

LOGAN ALL THE WINS

Remus is really fucking dramatic huh, really seeing how he can be Roman’s twisted twin

really, Ro is chaotic good and Remus is straight up chaotic evil

“is he gone” you can’t be falling for that they’re ten minutes left on the episode

they fell for it

Virgil’s brutal honesty in listening off Thomas’s problems oof

“what if you sniffed your dogs butt?” Remus is getting a bit milder the more Logan talks him down, Lo is truly a king

“just shut up” WHOOOOO THOMAS

Patton and Virgil listening to Lo? GIVE ME AN AMEN

now we just need Ro to jump on the listening-to-Lo-express

AND LOGAN SAYING “IT’S OKAY” AND COMFORTING THE OTHER THREE AND BEING GENTLE WHOOOOOOO NO MORE OF THAT EMOTIONLESS BULLSHIT LOGAN WE KNOW YOU CARE ABOUT THEM

Logan’s speech on therapy? FANTASTIC, GIVE HIM AN AWARD

Patton admitting and realizing his over controlling methods and flaws??? we stan character development

VIRGIL JUST CALLED REMUS A COMMON COLD I CAN’T

but really, Virgil telling Remus off and calling him a pest not worth his time?? a king

“it was just like old times!” the look Patton and Logan share, they definitely are aware of Virgil’s past with the dark sides/ possibly being one and they are done with Vee being harassed

STINKY TRASH BASTARD IS GONE

ROMAN IS NOT DEAD

but his line, “I can see now why everyone was reluctant to tell me what was going on.” confused me

why didn’t the other warn Roman that Remus could be coming? it’s not like Roman didn’t know Remus existed (they are literally twins) and the other knew Remus existed so I'm not sure what all the secrecy was about. if the sides warned Ro, he could have been prepared, and you know, not unconscious for most of the video.

EVERYONE IS SO CONCERNED FOR RO AHHHHH

literally i might have screamed

i definitely did

when Roman used the same insult/nickname as Remus to Logan, how distraught he looked oh god

maybe that’s why Roman’s so much of a perfectionist,,, he’s so desperate to not be like Remus, Roman forces himself to be the exact opposite and it’s causing him pain

the little smiles everyone gives Lo at the end??? AHHHHHHHH

Thomas thanking logan and calling him Cool, and Logan just sinking out in response?????

SOFT SOFT SOFT

the entire like thirty seconds Roman and Remus share the screen, RO looks so uncomfortable

there has to be something else that happened between them,not just they being exact opposites... not sure on what

it also seems like Logan is getting better but Roman is falling down the rabbit hole and getting even worse

the funhouse mirror metaphor HURT

Roman is really coming for Patton’s nothing-is-ever-wrong game huh?

also just noting the parallels between Roman and Remus, the hand gestures, even how they both sink out with the same BYEEEEEEEE!

Virgil babey don’t blame yourself-

holy shit Virgil just dropped the mic

really that scene broke my heart

it wasn’t the reveal itself, but damn the delivery

Virgil looks on the verge of tears,puts himself out there and telling Thomas that he was a dark side and being met by silence???

my HEART

Thomas is such an incredible actor i cannot-

side note, how did Thomas not know? i believe the other sides know (someone please ask me about this so i can rant) and Vee was never exactly sutble about it and Deceit and Remus both taunted him about the past??

is character!Thomas just that dense??

so it seems like Logan is doing better, Patton is decent for the moment, but Virgil and Roman are both struggling right now

it feels like Roman’s arc is very drawn out, so i feel like things are getting worse before they get better

as for Virgil, i REALLY want the next video to be about how the past doesn’t define you and end with the other comforting Vee.

dear G O D why is Remus eating deodorant??

also, i really want to know what is actually the deodorant

or is Thomas actually eating deodorant

SOMEONE PLEASE CALL POISON CONTROL-

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jonlovessansa · 5 years

Text

THE SUMMERWINE

DISCLAIMER: In light of the recent leaks, and some consequent worry, I decided to reveal one of the clues I found in the books that confirms Jon/Sansa and at the same time PoliticalJon. It is neither the biggest nor the sweetest to me... but it is the first one I found, the one that allowed me to discover all the others, and since it basically does nothing but confirm the theory that we all supported in the past months, plus some recent spoilers, I think I won't ruin anyone's party by revealing it. Now, for those of you who rightfully prefer to watch the new season for confirmations, I'm going to put a wall here, you decide whether to look beyond to see the burning candle…

As we all probably know by now, GRRM loves his symbolism, and that often results in wondering what he is really talking about most of the time, what he’s hinting at, even if the answer is right there in plain sight. I’d say confusion is the main key for GRRM!

That's what happens with the wine and the scenes that involve the wine, by which we learn some important things that I think are no news for many of you. The show made some changes, but remaining in the books, I’m going to tell you briefly.

Starting with the ARBOR GOLD, that we find it’s linked to LIES. We’re informed directly by Littlefinger:

“We shall serve him lies and Arbor gold, and he’ll drink them down and ask for more, I promise you... You see the wonders that can be worked with lies and Arbor gold?” (AFFC - SANSA I)

And thanks to him, Sansa learns it too:

“Lies and Arbor gold, she thought. "I am Alayne, Father. Who else would I be?" .

But the examples are numerous: Baelish serves arbor gold while scheming and lying to his guests; Illyrio offers it to Tyrion while telling him the fake story of fAegon; fAegon says Varys gave a jug to fdeadAegon’s father for the hypothetical switching; Sansa and Tyrion drink it during their unconsummated wedding night; it’s the wine of Ramsey and fArya wedding… and so on.

Then there is the ARBOR RED, which is used to hide poisons and poisonous intentions: Joffrey drinks a poisoned cup before dying, Tyrion uses it to drug Cersei, Maester Cressen tries to kill Melisandre with a poisoned cup of it, only to be the one who ends up dead instead...

There’s still so much more to say, but let’s move on to the precise topic of this post.

The SUMMERWINE

RED. DORNISH. SWEET. SUMMER. WINE.

Don’t you think it’s pretty clear what we’re talking about here just by reading that? But in AGOT King Robert spills the truth, GRRM way, to convince Ned to go to King’s Landing:

Flowers everywhere, the markets bursting with food, the summerwines so cheap and so good that you can get drunk just breathing the air. Everyone is fat and drunk and rich." He laughed and slapped his own ample stomach a thump. "And the girls, Ned!" he exclaimed, his eyes sparkling. "I swear, women lose all modesty in the heat. They swim naked in the river, right beneath the castle. Even in the streets, it's too damn hot for wool or fur, so they go around in these short gowns, silk if they have the silver and cotton if not, but it's all the same when they start sweating and the cloth sticks to their skin, they might as well be naked." The king laughed happily. (AGOT - NED I)

The reference is clear for me: in King’s Landing you can find in every corner the easiest version of LOVE, the kind that you can find in one of the many brothels the city seems to be famous for...

With this important symbolism it’s interesting that in the books we have very few mentions of the SUMMERWINE, and only three times they are significant, all in A GAME OF THRONES: JON I, SANSA II, DAENERYS VI.

In both Jon and Sansa’s chapters the setting is very similar: there’s a feast (Winterfell’s Great Hall for King Robert / in King’s Landing for The Hand’s Tourney), the music of the singers (playing the high harp and reciting a ballad /filling the dusk with music), a knight (Jamie, the Lion of Lannister /Loras, a true knight), an uncle (Benjen /Jaime), a dog (the Hound/Ghost) and a fool (Robb, grinning like a fool /Moon Boy, the king's own fool). Among all these common ingredients, the best part is that Jon and Sansa both get drunk on summerwine for the first time.

“(Joffrey) raised his hand to summon a servant with a flagon of iced summerwine, and poured her a cup... The servants kept the cups filled all night, yet afterward Sansa could not recall ever tasting the wine. She needed no wine. She was drunk on the magic of the night.” (AGOT - SANSA II)

Sansa is drunk on summerwine even if she doesn’t actually drink it, which means that she is only drunk on the promise of the beautiful life in front of her, like probably every sweet romantic child in her position. She’s not in love with Joffrey, she doesn’t know him at this point, she doesn’t know what a monster he is. She is in love with the idea of being in love with the Prince, being betrothed to him, becoming a Queen, of all her dreams of princesses and knights coming true. She is only drunk with the idea of summerwine!

But do you know who is realllllllly drunk in love on summerwine? Jon is!

”He settled back in his place on the bench among the younger squires and drank. The sweet, fruity taste of summerwine filled his mouth and brought a smile to his lips... Down here on the benches, there was no one to stop Jon drinking as much as he had a thirst for. And he was finding that he had a man’s thirst, to the raucous delight of the youths around him, who urged him on every time he drained a glass... Jon had started drinking then, and he had not stopped... He swallowed another gulp of wine... Benjen Stark straddled the bench with long legs and took the wine cup out of Jon’s hand. “Summerwine,” he said after a taste. “Nothing so sweet. How many cups have you had, Jon?” Jon smiled. Ben Stark laughed. “As I feared. Ah, well. I believe I was younger than you the first time I got truly and sincerely drunk.” (AGOT - JON I)

The show, again, hid some important clues by not having Jon attending the feast, but what remains the same is his request to uncle Benjen to go with him to the Wall and so have a chance to be a knightly kind of honourable man (like Lord Royce son Waymar, just to pick someone at random...) even if he’s a bastard.

It’s also useful to point out that in this occasion, we see FOR THE ONE AND ONLY TIME IN ALL THE BOOKS, jealous Jon flourishing:

-“Joffrey, younger than Jon or Robb, but taller than either, to Jon’s VAST DISMAY”;

-“Sansa looked RADIANT as she walked beside him”; “Prince Joffrey had his sister’s hair and his mother’s deep green eyes. A thick tangle of blond curls dripped down past his golden choker and high velvet collar… but Jon did not like Joffrey’s pouty lips“; but what he thinks of Jaime, who looks exactly like the young Prince? He was “tall and golden, with flashing green eyes and a smile that cut like a knife… Jon found it hard to look away from him. This is what a king should look like” (if Joffrey looks like Jamie and Jaime looks like a king, then Joffrey looks like a king too... just saying!)

From other POV we also learn that:

- while there’s a hunt with the king to provide a very wild boar for the feast, “Jon and his wolf were nowhere to be found”; “Jon seemed to be angry at everyone these days.” (BRAN)

- when Jon gives Arya “Needle”, he explicitly tells her: “And whatever you do...” Arya knew what was coming next. They said it together “Don’t... tell... Sansa!”. But talking with Sansa about Prince Joffrey Aria says: “Jon says he looks like a girl”. (ARYA) I think he forgot to tell her to shut up this particular time!

How can I say it simply:

JON HAS ALWAYS HAD FEELINGS FOR HIS SISTER

and that’s it! I know many of you don’t like the idea very much and I really wanted to make a post about it to get everyone on board because in the books there are interesting things on the matter (I still have hope for a flashback of little Jon and little Sansa). I didn’t for lack of time and some specific spoilers... (if you want you can read HERE and HERE where I explain it a tiny bit), but remember that they were children, both in love with the stories of chivalry and heroism, it’s easy to think that sweet little Sansa was his precious jewel to protect, like she probably was for Robb; in the purest way, the same way your older brother is your hero when you’re a baby girl.

But then the “bastard” word came in and everything changed: Jon, already rejected from Catelyn, the only mother he’s ever known, was forced to distance himself from both of them, and probably started to develop not less pure but different feelings, born primarily from an instinct of love and protectiveness that he couldn’t possibly satisfy. That’s when it all became muddled. And, well, he has Targaryen blood in his veins…

But let’s see what happens in DAENERYS VI so I can close this case. I sum up the important part because it is too long:

At the WESTERN market Dany comes across a wine merchant: a small man from Lys (known as LYS THE LOVELY and THE PERFUMED SISTER), slender and handsome, his flaxen hair curled, who has a sweet red from Dorne that sings of plums and cherries and rich dark oak; he says: “A cask, a cup, a swallow? One taste, and you will name your child after me”. “I will try your summerwine,” she says. But then the merchant realizes that she is THE MOTHER OF DRAGONS and responds to her: “That? Dornish swill. It is not worthy of a princess. I have a dry red from the Arbor, crisp and delectable. Please, let me give you a cask …there is no finer drink.” She accepts: “You honor me, ser.” But Jorah stops her and says “I have a thirst” and sniffs the wine, frowning. It turns out that the wine is poisoned because King Robert wants her dead: “No. He cannot have my son.. The Usurper has woken the dragon now” she told herself, and her eyes went to the dragon’s eggs resting in their nest of dark velvet… Was it madness that seized her then, born of fear? Or some strange wisdom buried in her blood? Dany could not have said. She heard her own voice saying, “Ser Jorah, light the brazier.”

Sooooo…..

A SLENDER and HANDSOME man with CURLED HAIR and SMALL of stature,

who comes from THE LOVELY and PERFUMED SISTER

offers Daenerys a swallow of his sweet red Dornish wine, i.e. SUMMERWINE, i.e. LOVE, promising her a child named after him.

But knowing she’s the MOTHER OF DRAGONS

what he really intends to give her is a poisoned ARBOR RED, which comes FROM THE REACH.

She has no reason not to trust the courteous man, she is HONORED that he thinks she deserves his most precious load

So she accepts his offer. But Jorah, who has A THIRST like the man’s thirst Jon had the night of the feast when Sansa looked RADIANT and he was jealous,

senses that something is wrong. He is right. So she goes berserk: “HE WON’T HAVE MY CHILD” (I let you decide if she is symbolically speaking of a baby or a dragon), a MADNESS seizes her… and so she decides it’s time to LIGHT A PIT...

Sounds familiar?

Enjoy the new season guys...

Thanks for listening!

P.S. All the gifs are from GOOGLE

#jonsa #jon x sansa #political jon #jonsa meta #sansa stark #jon snow #asoiaf #my meta #mine #JONSA TALES #NO MORE PANIC #HAPPY SEASON 8

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