#i chose to say unsettling then horrifying on reflection

[tetsuro-wulf]

The Wulf's Eye: RP Journal #121 | The Fall of Nox

Now that I've actually sat down and reflected on everything-- after a well-deserved few days of rest.. I wanted to finally look back on the whole crisis regarding Nox. We ended up staying pretty late after our doors officially closed for Bounty Call, as I decided to put Lazurite on the spot for recounting our group's happenings to Phyrha while she was away. He's a great storyteller, I'd say. He gets to the point without being overly descriptive, yet still manages to sound somewhat poetic in the processes. I told him food was on me that night. Just so he could eat.

Of course, the sudden lack of spiritual energy that took place within Kugane initially brought alarm. One of the first folk to approach me, outside of Ryuu explaining how professor Yayami escaped prison.. was Lazurite. I could understand why he'd be horribly worried. I've enjoyed learning about his nature through both observation and occassionally surprising him with an abrupt question. But the atmosphere in Kugane was unsettling. I felt it fully well through the Balance, and through Rai whom I sent to scout Kugane in the process. Ryuu met with me privately before the start of Bounty Call though, and she mentioned calling upon Nightraid's Network for aid. So of course, we took it.

I specifically requested those who aid had some semblence of understanding our mission. We were to face the corrupted monstrosity sapping the very energy out of the spirits n' yokai present within Kugane. The team I gathered consisted of myself, Scilla, Lazurite, Ryuu, Minnie, Dani, and Kaie. We all pinpointed professor Yayami and Nox's location upon the bridge, and I asked that Scilla masked the entirety of the bridge for the sake of the people of Kugane. So on the outside.. it was merely a peaceful day. On the inside.. it was a struggle. I focused my energy on pumping out plenty of spiritual essence to my allies, especifically since Nox was notorious from sapping such. A worry I recalled from Lazurite, yet he still chose to show. I admired it.

Though.. the battle proved to be tough. Just when we thought we were succeeding.. Nox suddenly turned on his maker and sapped the very essence of life out of Professor Yayami, leaving him as a husk. Ryuu was horrified, and whilst Nox was battered, he turned to drain us instead. And to this, it resulted in renegerating from his wounds. So just before he fled.. to ensure the safety of my people, I gave the entirely of my supply until I fell unconscious.

Of course after that.. I ordered we rest and regroup with more people. For Nox flew in the direction of Yanxia, according to Kaie. Not only that, but Ryuu seemed horrified by professor Yayami's fate, to my surprise. Though, right to it, she offered to spare us an airship.

The next time we met, we grew our numbers and thankfully, one of them happened to be an extra healer. Shai, ironically, our interviewed newest healer to Bounty Call. After appraising them of the situation, we all set off to Yanxia on Ryuu's airship alongside her crew. It was.. fast. And we were able to catch up to Nox. We battled him as he began to attack until we realized he intended to take the entire ship down with us on it. Which.. truthfully, I partially expected. Ryuu ordered the damn crew to nosedive the ship straight into Nox as we had him pinned at the front of the ship. And then we.. crashed.

Everything between the battle of the ship and the crash was a blur. But.. some quick thinking granted everyone their lives. That was until what we thought was the lifeless Nox Suzaku started morphing into this.. horrific bony creature that forced this dark domain within our surroundings. But what was on our side? The fact that Nox gave off a wafting desperation. I told our people, give it your all. Our last battle resulted in the demise of Nox, and I took the opportunity to unravel the 'wholeness' of spirits remaining within the entity that I tried to save. That we saved. And so they were released.. the corruption was no more.

It was a great feeling, even if everyone was exhausted. Lazurite seemed like the most energetic of our crew, though it's understandable why. He, Shai, and Shasta teamed up to patrol Yanxia for any remaining signs of corruption and to alert the yokai in hiding, whilst we headed back to headquarters to let the yokai who sought refuge under our roof know of the good news.

Yet.. seems some chose to linger for a bit longer.

05.15.2023 - 0.5.26.2023

[archer3-13]

I've seen the argument float around a bit, mostly from edelstans but ive seen it crop up elsewhere, that people who dont like edelgard have been saying edelgard deserves what happens in AG in becoming a mental child.

Now, i have not seen any such argument actually be seriously made in that regard. If someone could link to anything that supports the above claim id be happy to see it, but in terms of areas of 'traffic' where you would expect to see such an assertion made again

i have not seen anything that remotely falls into that line of thinking

which brings me to a more general statement i feel is important to make, and its that what happens to edelgard in AG is indeed intellectually unsettling in its implications in many ways. However, its also not something I, and indeed some others, can feel particularly sympathetic towards edelgard on outside of the intellectual implications of it. That is because the narrative of hopes does not treat what happens to edelgard with the gravitas such a concept would require to work and actually be emotionally unsettling with, instead it is used as a mechanical narrative device in hopes story to expediate edelgard from narrative consequences of her actions by removing responsibility from her person.

in other words, its not that edelgard deserves to become a mental child. the issue is that edelgard should be facing actual narrative consequences for her actions, but instead she is being removed from them through someones infantilization kink.

[silver-blooded-synthetics]

@detective-with-one-arm​ asked:

It was dark. Too dark. Too quiet. Markus was surrounded by faces he had never seen before. People he had never known. But the moment he tried to approach them, they scattered into dust and blew away into the darkness.

Behind where they once were was...himself. How odd. How peculiar. But his eyes were cold. Hard. Blank as he stared back at himself. But there was a hardness to the brow of his reflection. It was unsettling. “Why did you abandon us?” He asked, his voice echoing and loud like a grand judge passing just that. Judgement. “You swore you would protect us. That you would always stand up for us. That you would always do what was right. You always believed us to be people, but when the time came for you to prove your loyalty, your integrity, you ran away and hid while our people were being slaughtered. You could have done something. You could have helped. But instead, you cared more about saving yourself than saving us.”

Blue blood began to pool at Markus’s feet and if he were to look behind him, he would see a horrifying amalgamation of android bodies. Faces, arms, legs, all pieced together haphazardly as the shambling mass moaned in pain. “You left us. You lied to us. You let us die. You let us suffer.”

As the shambling mass of bodies grew closer, the Markus standing behind him pushed him forward to land in the deepening pool of blue blood. “Our people were massacred while you sat comfortably at home, watching us fight for our lives and our freedom when you could’ve been there fighting with us! You chose not to. You’ve turned your back on everything you say you are. You’re nothing but a liar and a coward. You’re worthless. Useless! You’re nothing!”

Looking back at ‘Markus,’ he slammed his foot down on Markus’s shoulder. “Our people died. People you swore to protect and then abandoned to save yourself. What right do you have to live when millions of our people didn’t get to?”

With that, he started pushing Markus into the pool, the shambling mass having gripped tightly to him and tried to pull him under. Eventually, Markus was pulled under and the surface world was swept away with it. As he drifted in the world of cerulean bloodshed, writing began to carve itself into his arms.

Worthless. Coward. Selfish. Liar. Unwanted. Useless. Nothing. Broken.

The shambling mass had disappeared, but in an attempt to breach the surface, it had clearly frozen over. But approaching the frozen surface from underneath, Markus saw his face. It wasn’t his. It wasn’t familiar, and yet...he could recognize that face. Those thick brows, dark eyes, tan skin, and that signature beauty Mark above her lip. But she looked...younger. Like a young teenager.

This wasn’t his nightmare. It was hers.

Breaking through the surface, Markus crawled up onto the ice. It was a frozen lake, surrounded by shadowed conifers and bathed in the light of a clear night sky. It was beautiful, in a way.

But looking in front of him was another twist. It was Connor. With a gun pointed at his head, his expression hard and cold. “So, you’ve somehow managed to survive again.” He said callously. “Typical. Just when you have a chance to pay for your cowardice, you still can’t manage the strength to accept that price. You really are nothing. Worthless. You think you’re so noble. That you’re such a hero, standing up for those with less than you, but when it actually matters, you spit on all of that just to protect yourself.”

Cocking the gun, Connor presses it to Markus’s head. “What right do have to live when we had to die for ours?”

A coldness washed over Markus as he spoke. But it wasn’t in his voice. It was in hers. “You’re right.” She agreed, her voice hollow and defeated. “I don’t.”

Without another word, the RK800 pulled the trigger and Markus slumped against the ice, his blood trickling out of his head and mixing in with the others where he broke out from the ice.

Markus woke up feeling like he couldn’t breathe, his artificial lungs choking for air as his processor filled with static. His audio port crackled and the vision in his blue eye blurred and pixelated, going in and out of focus. When he sat up, he noticed his legs were having a hard time moving as well. The stress of the dream caused the replaced parts to ache and malfunction. Even his thirium pump regulator stuttered in it’s rhythm. 

Pushing the blanket off of himself, Markus let his legs dangle over the side of the bed and put his head in his hands, trouble shooting until he could resolve all the errors and stabilize again. He hated night terrors left over from the revolution, they always did this to him. But this one... this one was different. It wasn’t his. He knew it wasn’t his nightmare. He’d seen her face so clearly in his reflection. Somehow he’d dreamed Rachel’s nightmares, and now he knew what she meant when she told him how she used to see him before they met. 

He was her judge. All of his people, especially the one’s lost, were her jury. And Connor was her executioner. 

No wonder she used to be afraid of him. Even now, she probably had these nightmares, these manifestations of her worst fears, what she could only hope wasn’t reality. No matter how hard Markus tried to tell her it wasn’t true, she was always afraid, and now, after experiencing that fear for himself, he knew why it was so hard for her to accept. It had felt so real. So painful. So scary. So guilty.

But Markus knew these manifestations of guilt and fear were only lucid figments of her imagination. He never thought of her that way. He never blamed her for anything. He only cared about her and wanted her to be happy. 

Taking a deep breath, Markus sent a text through to Rachel’s phone, despite it being the middle of the night. “Are you awake? I need to see you. Can I come over? Please. I just need you.” He just needed to hold her and tell her everything would be okay now that he knew what she went through on nights she had nightmares like this. He didn’t know how he’d had one of her dreams, but it didn’t matter. All that mattered was that he comfort her.

[kiame-sama]

Porcelain Queen- Yandere!Muzan x Innocent! Fragile!Reader

Hello Lovies~! I have returned once more to pass out yandere fics!

Warnings; mention of gore, possessive muzan, demons, lower moons, humiliation, death

~~~~~~

For humans, the strong should always protect the weak. Shielding the innocent and standing against all trials, shielding those who cannot protect themselves. For demons, the strong should always kill the weak. Weakness must be weeded out to ensure superiority in all forms.

So why did he protect you the way he did?

He was a superior being, this he knew without question. No creature could hold a candle to his strength and even the strongest of men fell before him. He was the demon above all others. The one that others feared to gaze upon, to whisper his name. 

So why did he choose such a weak and defenseless creature as the one he cherished above all others? Why did he choose someone so fragile and gentle as his mate?

Perhaps it was her soft gaze, or her gentle touch, or perhaps it was her heart of gold, filled with compassion for even the darkest of beings. Whatever it was, the strongest demon of all chose the most humane woman as his mate. 

She sat next to him as he looked over the scum that dared call themselves the Lower Moons. She was wreathed in threads that seemed to reflect and capture the light, like a ray of sunlight in the darkest of nights. Next to Muzan, she was a being of sunlight and warmth bound to a being of night and cold. Her (e/c) eyes practically shone within with a warmth that almost put the lower moons at ease. 

Almost.

Of course, this warm woman was human, so what was she doing with their master? Surely she was some kind of pet or meal. Nothing more than any other human that they have come across.

Kamanue- Lower six- couldn’t help but stare at the woman before him, wondering just who the hell the human was and what her purpose was.

‘Who the hell is she? She’s pretty enough to be a fun plaything, but other than that, what is she? Do we kill her?’

The intense gaze of the pale demon began unsettling the (h/c) woman, making her flinch slightly and hide behind the long sleeves of her elegant Kimono, eyes showing the fear she felt. There was an apparent silence that hung in the air of the dimensional infinity fortress, attention focused on the figures above the rest. 

“A plaything, huh? Is that what you see my mate as?”

The dangerous voice lowly rumbled out in response to the unspoken thoughts, a hiss of rage accenting the question. No one dared speak for a long time, too afraid of the wrath that would result no matter what they may say. It was then that Mukago- the cowardly Lower four- tried to speak up, wanting to protect herself from the rage that may befall her. 

“W-we didn’t know she was your mate, master... if we had known we wouldn’t have thought of her as-” “As what? Choose your words wisely. You have spoken out of turn twice now, and I do not care to repeat myself.”

Mukago began to shake, scrambling to find the right words that would save her hide instead of condemning her to the fate she knew awaited her if she said the wrong thing. Her panic was clear to all as her shaking and whimpering gave away just how afraid she truly was. Her fear and pitiful noises pulled at the heart-strings of the only one who would feel pity for her. 

(Y/n) felt for the demon, sympathizing with the fear that coursed through Mukago, looking up at her lover with large doe-like eyes. He returned her soft gaze, his irises of blood red becoming vaguely gentle as he gazed down at his mate. He would show no mercy to anyone besides her. He knew her heart bled for others, feeling compassion for even the cruelest of creatures, but he refused to allow anyone speak that way about her. And even if it upset his sweet (y/n), her sympathy for others would never extend to him. They didn’t matter. She did.

“Please..?” “No. Disrespecting you, my mate, is a crime that can only be paid for in blood and death.”

Though (y/n) wanted to try and argue in favor of letting the lower moon live, she knew that there was no changing Muzan’s mind. Instead, the delicate human lifted her hands, covering her eyes as she had been instructed to do when he decided to end the pitiful lives of others. He knew she was soft and the things he could do would scare and scar her, so she would cover her eyes to keep her from developing fear towards him. Before the demons could move or respond to the cold words of their master, a large tentacle that was a horrifying amalgamation of blood, sinew, and muscle slammed down, crushing Mukago and erasing her from existence. 

The other lower moons being dealt with just as swiftly. 

(Y/n) flinched slightly at the sounds that met her ears, but she knew that Muzan would never hurt her. No matter how enraged he became, no matter how starved he felt, she would have nothing to fear from him. He would turn her soon enough, but she would always remain his porcelain queen.

[luna-memoria]

Rise from the ashes

For @felixmonth, day 26: Villain!

..

"Your new assignment."

Felix keeps his gaze low and mostly to himself as he takes the file his father handed him silently. There is a soft crinkle of paper as he pulls out the contents for a quick inspection, then proceeding to slip it back in.

"What do you need me to do?" he asks plainly, but with a little more anxiety than usual. It is a Friday night, and Felix is a villain in his father's office taking up a new quest. His father runs most of the city's businesses and also a huge underground organization, and anyone who cares oppose him or stand in his way will be quickly dealt with. Which has somehow become Felix's job, now. He doesn't quite understand why his father would choose him of all people for a job like wrecking havoc - it is simply not in his nature, but the butterfly pendant he received from the man grants him those exact powers, so he eventually chose to go along with the order. It is not wise to go against the Agreste, everyone in town say. You do not want to know what he does when angered.

It is even bigger of a problem that Felix knows- he knows that he's not the greatest- punishment his father has prepared. There is someone else in the shadows, someone who bears even stronger powers that his father chooses to hide from him. It scares him somehow, because there is a lingering, faint thought that his father will eventually come to use that someone on him, which is... an unsettling thought to have.

Gabriel is now in his seat, back against him. The glorious glass-stain window behind his desk forms a bright contrast with the dark, neat office. "The usual."

Felix bits his lip, fingers knotting together tightly in a fist. "I have plans this weekend-"

"I expect you to be done by the usual time as well." His words cut in sharply. They do not even come in a harsh tone - cold, maybe, but still manage to effect Felix internally, somehow. He hates himself a little bit more for that.

His eyes are glued to his feet, and he manages to find his words, "I- understand, sir."

"You may leave."

He bolts, immediately, grip tight on the file. He only stops in the hallway to catch his breathe a brief moment later, and as he does so he comes to face the mirrored glass panel where his reflection is.

He frowns at his pathetic look, bits his bottom lip again until it goes white. "Still so weak," a mumble escapes his lips. Still a teenager, despite what his father says. What his father needs is a capable young adult at his service, but Felix- he doesn't want to work under his father, using these destructive powers he can barely control in a proper manner. It is a Friday night, and Felix is a teenager and also a supervillain in training against his wishes and he has plans for the weekend for once but he has to cancel them because his father will not tolerate failure when it comes to his assignment or anything else, really.

It is times like these that make him hate his life actively. 

Everything else after that comes in a blur, but he is sure that he managed to make it home safely at some point, because the next thing he knows he's on his bed with a copy of A Christmas Carol in his hand. His homework is completed and sitting in his bag, something he's done between periods and during lunchtime because he has been looking forward to the weekend.

Absentmindedly, he unlocks his phone and pulls up the one, lone group chat, sending a simple message describing his night. They don't reply back immediately like they usually do, which is odd.

Both the Allegra and Claude he knew would at least say something. And it's not like Allan or Bridgette to ignore his texts, despite the fact that they very well might have something more important to tend to -

He ignores the memories that come flooding his mind all of a sudden and taking away all his rationality and sense. Isn't that Monsieur Agreste's son? Someone's voice says. Oh, that child, I know him, he goes to the same school as my daughter, she says that he-

Stop it- stopitstopit-

"I have something more important to tend to. You should just go home."

"Stop," he says weakly, book long abandoned on the other side of his bed and puts his arms around his knees. This is where his friends usually step in, when his thoughts become too loud sometimes. 

(His friends - his friends who do more than spend most of their free time with him and trying to help him when they're not. Allegra, who pulled him into this horrifying friend group in the first place. Allan, who texted him in the middle of the night to go and put graffiti on the company walls of his father. Claude, who bought - stole - said graffiti. Bridgette, who stuck around through everything and talked to him when he needed it.)

The next thing he notices is a glass of water being shoved in his face. He looks back up, and sees Allegra sitting next to him in a frown. Behind her are their three friends, all disheveled and messy and sleepy, coats placed over pajamas during their last-minute departure from their homes.

"You gotta stay hydrated," she says, her hand on his shoulder in a gentle grip. "It'll help you feel better." There is a determined look in her eyes, and he thinks that she looks like she really does believe she can release him from his current life. Maybe he does too, a little, maybe, or he wouldn't be here with them right now.

Expect, they don't know who he really is. That's the problem. They wouldn't be here if they knew, he knows that much.

They couldn't know. They'll hate him for it. Allegra will definitely hate him for it. But then they should know, because it's not fair for wonderful people like them to be concerned over a liar like him.

He takes the glass from her, deciding to not dwell over those problems this moment. "Thank you."

"C'mon alley cat, we're heading out," Claude announces with a smirk, pulling on his hood.

"You do realize it's almost midnight."

"Not like, out, dude. You made us rush over near midnight. Of course we're going to raid your kitchen. No objections allowed."

Felix grins. "Never said I was going to give any."

[courtorderedcake]

Hallow : ch ii - CSSNS 2019

—–

"The Goblin King was prepared to host the Darkness, stealing Fae women away to their corrupted lands underneath the ground as concubines. The Darkness chose another in his stead, but not before this selected vessel enacted a devastating attack in its vengeance, revealing its hatred & rage. The battle was a lesson the old kings had forgotten; never underestimate an opponent.

Many more lives were lost as they razed over any who dared defy The Goblin King’s will. Only the pure love of our rulers united in matrimony, breaking the Vorpal Dagger, sealed the darkness and the Goblin menace away. The light flourished under their fair rule, and the queen bore a child as pure as moon beams, swan feathers, and starlight. They lived happily ever after, and shall be written in history as Heroes for All Time.”

This is the history Princess Emma memorizes from the day she is born, paraded about and presented only with the highest protection. The palace is a cage she wishes to escape, desperately. Not careful what wishes she made, Emma discovers history is written by the victors - The Dark One has an entirely different version of the events that took place.

Rated E for explicit themes, Mature situations, and Fae fuckery.

Written for @cssns

Read on AO3 here.

Ch 2 / ?? : in which they meet.

—–

The stairs were uneven, wet, and somewhat mossy under her slippered feet, the scramble downward unending. Under the muted light of a conjured will-o-the-wisp lantern, she stumbled down, the temperature dropping as the bowels of the cave below swallowed her in its vastness. Sometimes the wall broke free on one side, and she could see into the abyss of a chamber, casting a light as far as she could only to see it fall far out of sight without ever hitting a cave floor.

  She gave up counting stairs in the upper thousands, slippers sodden as her toes bitterly complained of chill. Time passed without measure, but long after her lean legs had just begun to feel sore, Emma found herself in a dimly lit antechamber, crystal pillars giving off a dull glow at its entrance while the far end remained blanketed in shadow. She moved further into the murk, seeking more stairs, prepared like Theseus to encounter the purported monster of this labyrinth.

  In the darkness, she caught a flash of her flame reflecting off leather, a hand wearing several rings twitching in the dim light.

  ”Hello?” she called, opening her palm to expand the blue light of the wisp. “Who’s there?”

  The blue light cast an eerie glow on the iron bars built into the cave, lighting upon the sparkle of quartz embedded in the stone walls. She leaned into the dripping cell, trying to see the creature that lurked just out of her sight. Searing heat lit in her forearm as she accidentally touched the iron, hissing in pain.

  ”Careful, Princess,” a voice said drolly. “Wouldn’t want to burn such lovely skin.”

  She threw the light high toward the chamber's ceiling for clarity, conjuring another in her hand as her eyes widened. There in the corner sat a man, dark haired and pale skinned, with sharp angles of shadow playing across a face that was clearly Fae. He looked up, shaggy hair, grown out in an older style sticking to his forehead. He was unshaven and although grime covered his cheeks, his steely blue eyes showed an alert edge that frightened her.

  “Who…” Emma straightened her back and tried to hide her gulp. “Who are you?”

  He laughed darkly, and flicked his hand to extinguish the wisp. It sighed as it sputtered out, and Emma frantically tried to conjure another. She peered into the darkness again, trying to find his silhouette, her light still dim from its poor summons.

  He was suddenly in front of her, stepping into the light cast from her hand, smirking. He stood taller than her, his broad shoulders and muscles not hidden by an out-of-style laced shirt and leather breeches. At one time, there may have been a cravat, but now his neck was bare and dark hair glinted blue in the light with what looked like a waistcoat laying rumpled in a corner. She caught his eye and his eyebrow cocked up, the smirk on his face widening.

  “I’m Killian. Killian Jones.” With another flick of his wrist he extinguished the wisp in her palm, and Emma cursed, summoning another with shaking hands as he laughed at her. 

  When a new blue flame danced in her hand, Emma saw him walking back to the corner where he’d originally sat. Squinting her eyes, she followed his form as he relaxed back against the wall. Through the dim light of the cell, she could see how bare it was, aside from a few books, a chamber pot, and a straw cot that looked mostly unused. The cell was smoothed, all edges almost melted away. He had nothing to end his own life with.

  They were by no means fully immortal. Emma had heard tell of Fae crushed, or wounded by iron swords. The elements were never feared; being friends with the air, the sea, the earth, and even the flame meant that they had no worry of death by them. Immortality only meant they would stay in their youthful form. Even a hard press against the iron would only leave painful burns that healed before death. What had happened to him? Why was he here, rotting away in the rarely used dungeons, in this cell purposefully hidden with such care? 

  “How do you know who I am?” she asked, tentatively stepping closer to the bars again. “Why are you here?”

  His laugh echoed off the walls, surrounding her, making her shiver as if she was chilled to ice.

  “I know many, many things, Princess.” He held the ‘s’ longer, almost snake like, and she felt her chest constrict slightly. He turned over his shoulder, eyes reflecting the blue of the wisp and making them look more unearthly. “I’m here because I once tried to kill your family… and you.”

  “You're… You're the Dark One?” Emma looked him over again, confusion written on her face as she chewed her lip. “That can't be right, you're my age and -”

  “Simply held in a sort of stasis, darling. Immortal and cursed to serve a never-ending sentence rotting down here, while the royal family rules with an iron fist,” he hissed, sneering at her. Darkness flared behind him, shadows moving in snake-like sinews. Emma tried to remain brave, but felt herself tremble at his vitriol. His temper cooled as quickly as it had flared, almost as if he was a different person. “To what do I owe the displeasure of your visit anyway? You weren't expecting to find me, I'm guessing?”

  “I…” Thinking on what even to say, Emma watched the eyes of a predator survey her, trying not to focus on the way he captured his bottom lip between his teeth or the crazy gleam in his pupils. He looked feral, and it unsettled her. Taking a deep breath, she tucked into the familiarity of decorum. “I have been tasked with partnering with you to help defeat a threat, a siege currently taking place above us.”

  Killian Jones blinked twice, and then laughed. 

  Emma had never heard anything like it: the dangerous edge of a low growled chuckle, like the rumble of thunder as lightning lit up a darkened hollow. It was jarring, madness right in front of her eyes on display. 

  “Well. Aren't you a daring lass. What's in it for me, if I should help you?” he asked, and stepped forward, laying his palms on the bars and watching with depraved amusement as his flesh peeled away. 

  “Oh, well -”

  “You didn't think I would do anything for you or your family without payment, did you, Princess?” Her cheeks reddened and he laughed maniacally.

  “Honor, you'd -”

  “What use do I have for bloody honor?” he interrupted, darkness flaring around them as he yelled, the sound echoing through the stone chambers. 

  “Gold, and jewels -”

  “You think money can buy me to save the people who -” 

  Emma's heart raced, and she shouted over his voice. “A deal! A deal. My parents’ freedom for your own.”

  Silence fell in the dungeon, the only sound the low drips of water. The Dark One looked at her incredulously, mouth agape. 

  “You're… You're not joking.” 

  Returning his own shocked whisper, Emma took a step forward. “I'm not. We have a mutual alliance in each other, because of this.”

  Pulling the shard out of her dress, he gritted out a sound of longing. 

  “I'll take the deal. Set me free and you will have your parents’ freedom in return.” He looked at her hungrily, his eyes zeroed in on the silver chain around her neck. 

  “No funny business. If you don't free my parents the deal is off, alright?” Emma shot him a look, and he reached his hand through the iron bars for her to seal their accord with. 

  “Yes, yes. Now free me!” he breathed excitedly, and Emma shuddered. 

  Placing her hand in his, she shook. The bars shimmered, falling away like silver feathers that disappeared into nothingness. At first, he stood as stunned as she did, his mouth open slightly and eyes wide. Emma watched as a smile crept slowly over his face, blackness devouring everything around her, choking her like smoke, the world shifting as if she was thrown into a night sky absent of stars. 

  Emma landed in a graceless heap, hearing sounds of shock from around her as she picked herself up to look around. The man named Killian - or rather, the Dark One, for now she could see the Darkness in its full and horrifying glory as it swirled around him - stood slightly in front of her, his long coat, cravat, and suit clean once more. His beard was not gone but trimmed short, rakish, and his hair was left shaggy in a long style that fell over his kohl rimmed eyes. He looked mad, his smile a half snarl under blown pupils that sparked with insanity. 

  The Goblin King and Prince who stood before them did not seem perturbed by his crazed visage, simply happily surprised. 

  “I've brought your bride as a wedding gift, My Lord,” the Dark One called out like he was presenting some trinket, wrenching Emma forward. She shook her head and tried to protest, but he stared at her with amusement. Cocking his head and clicking his tongue, he spoke before she could say a word. “Don't worry, love. In exchange for a few favors, you can marry this royal annoyance today.”

  “We had an accord you odious, foul, toad's ass! You promised -”

  “Ah, darling.” Turning slightly, he raised a finger and touched her nose in a taunt. “That's why you always check the fine print.” The Dark One grinned, and the Goblins surrounding them laughed. 

  “Dark One! Good to see you again at last. What are your demands for my son's bride to be?” Gold smiled, steepling his long fingers. 

  “I would like the King and Queen of the United Realms freed, a pardon from the new regime, and the dagger and its shard in return for the princess. I'd also like the return and freedom of the person you took from me.” 

  “You ask a lot, Dark One. I say again, this is for my son's bride. I'm afraid that your help will be needed for my sovereignty. The dagger is off limits, so ask once more.” Nil shifted uneasily at his father's words while the Goblin King’s reptilian grin grew larger, as if he was laughing at a joke the Dark One had yet to catch. 

  “His bride… she isn't for you?” The Dark One looked apprehensive. “What happened to Mil-”

  “Ah yes. Ever so perceptive, dearie.” Gold approached them, waving the dagger in his hands. “My first wife. You thought she might have escaped, yes? Thought maybe she might be in hiding? I'm afraid that while your subsequent… descent into the Darkness, as it were, did cause her some distress, we were able to come to our own arrangements after she realized that you were never to return for her. Not that she could have escaped anyway, as many times as she tried until she found herself with child. She bore me Nil, then died. I've taken another wife since, so this will be Nil’s chance at being granted a -”

  Killian’s face was contorted in rage, as if Gold had smacked him. Emma could see his indignation and disbelief. She backed away and heard her mother's soft voice, finding Snow holding her father's head as he lay unconscious in her lap. He was still bleeding slightly, though much of it had been smeared from his scalp, ears, and lips; a wound on his side was wrapped tightly with strips of petticoat. 

  Crawling to them, Emma tried to heal them, but her magic sputtered. Snow stilled her trembling hands, her pale face swollen and bruised under her once perfectly coiffed hair. Emma had never seen her parents look so haggard. 

  “They've put up some sort of magic dampener. It won't work, Emma.” Snow brushed her fingers through David's hair, watching his brows furrow. 

  “I'm so sorry Mom, I -”

  “It's alright. It's going to be okay, Emma. We will fight to get you safe, I promise.” Snow set her jaw in determination. “I'll die before -”

  “No, no, Mom, no, don't say that -” 

  A crash sounded from the Dark One, his tone filled with incredulous hatred. “I don't believe you, I don't believe she's gone. She isn't - she isn't gone, she can't be! This is another bloody trick -”

  “Trade me your loyalty and the princess for her then, if you believe your ‘twue wove’ lives. Prove your devotion.”

  “The dagger, Milah, the King and Queen’s freedom, and my freedom for her, or nothing!” the Dark One screamed. 

  “Faaaaaather,” Nil whined. Gold looked annoyed, and sighed. 

  “Fine. Fine! Here's your precious Milah.” With a wave of his hand, a crystal casket appeared with a crash near the Dark One. Killian opened the frosted glass cover to look inside, his tense shoulders trembling, and let out an anguished cry as he stumbled to hold the woman's pale body inside.

  While listening to the Dark One’s torment at finding his lost love dead, Emma realized that there were things she knew without having to know them; facts of how the world worked around her presence. 

  The earth beneath her feet spoke in a steady rhythm with her footsteps. Water would always hold her safely in its currents, softly tugging at her curls. The wind carried her like it carried songs, words, and scents to please her fancy. If she climbed high enough in one of her father's beloved trees, the sun's light was unbearably bright; but in that perfect instance of blinding warmth, she lit like a candle.

  There were things she'd had to learn the hard way, even in her safe, sheltered, preciously controlled world. Once, as a child, she escaped to the old palace orchard to climb up into a peach tree, eating the ripe fruit greedily and dropping the pits below. When she'd gone to get down, sticky, her slippery fingers had lost their bearings, resulting in her falling backwards until the ground met her back harshly. She had felt the air forced from her body on impact, the whoosh of it leaving her without even a voice. It felt like her lungs had exploded, and when she finally could get breath, she wailed all at once.

  Listening to Killian’s cries of agonizing pain as he stroked the woman’s face, she wondered if love was like that, too.        

  “So much for your faith, eh? Now accept that you have nothing, accept the fact that you can't escape. I have you, the princess, and the dagger all together, with nowhere for you to run to.” Gold giggled, giving a shrug. “So much for your demands.”

  Killian pulled away finally, and Emma could see the fury rolling off his frame, his hands shaking as he pulled a necklace from the dead woman's neck. Snow shifted, laying David's head down with care before pulling Emma up slowly into a crouch. 

  The Goblin King was too busy laughing at his clever trick to notice Killian pressing his lips to the locket in his palm or the women’s movements. Emma braced herself in anticipation while Nil looked at her stupidly, opening his mouth to say something. Suddenly, Snow pushed Emma forward and on her feet, throwing her towards the Dark One. Emma stumbled forward, looking back at her mother's face, memorizing the bright tears in Snow’s eyes as she blew a kiss farewell. 

  Emma never heard Nil’s words, the thunderous noise throwing people aside all around them as Emma's steps propelled her forward with the shard. Killian had made a portal and was stepping through it when she hurtled into him, throwing them both through the swirling vortex to fall, fall, fall... 

  Wind whipped past her, Emma’s dress catching around her sides as the darkness above and below swallowed them. There was no up or down, only midnight and stars surrounding her until her body broke through the mirror surface of what was below, icy shadow swallowing her, pulling her -

  She couldn't control the water, or the current, or the air and light; it all fought her grip like something feral as she flailed. 

  When she tried to breathe in, her lungs filled with burning starlight, a cold fire that left her vision blurring. This wasn’t to fall, but was to be struck down by an unseen hand of the Gods, like the old texts said had once separated Fae from Fae; taken as an old style sacrifice to protect like in the days before realms, left to burn in elemental fury…

  Emma closed her eyes, and let the cold hand take hers to wherever awaited.

  *✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ

    It took an explosive amount of magic to rip open a portal, his rage over Milah’s fate all consuming as the Darkness fanned it in glee. He had held out hope for all these years that there must have been a mistake; had dreamed of a reunion instead of clawing at the dark heart on his shoulder, the charcoal ash color mocking him. Her name had never changed in its script, never faded, and he had traced it through the worst of doubts. Holding Milah, seeing her as a corpse with no vibrancy, seeing her son in his monstrous glory - it was a crisis of faith that weighed him down while he plummeted. Her locket was clutched tightly in his hand, gripped like a lifeline. 

  You knew she was dead; you knew there was no hope and that she was dead. You knew and you bargained like the fool you are, the fool you have always been. You killed her, and you know it; you knew it before this, but you do so love getting what you fight for -

  It mocked him as he fell through a clear night sky and hurtled towards the lake below. In the corner of his eye, he saw a flutter of white, an unwelcome guest in his misery: the princess, dress and hair wild in the rushing wind, her skirts like the chapel paintings of angels as they swirled. He saw her hit the water below a moment before his own body crashed through the still surface, kicking hard against the current to take a breath of the chilled air. The water and night resisted his control at first, the elements unused to a master for so long. With finesse he manipulated the cold weight trying to pull him down, his movement fluid with no resistance. The princess didn’t appear or rise, and he dove back below without trouble or need for air, pulling her limp body towards the shore with ease. 

  For a brief moment, Killian thought she was dead. Her skin was pale and her lips were turning from pink to blue. He could take the dagger piece and be done with this, leaving her to follow the inevitable fate of anyone who crossed his path. Then again, the blasted thing was probably warded. If he squinted, he could see the slight bit of sparkling light magic shielding it. If it was shielded, the magic would probably tear him to pieces within moments. 

  Reaching for the chain, the Darkness and him together, the smallest voice inside of him protested adding another name to the long list of those dead. Reaching slowly to where the shard had nestled in the hollow of her collarbone, her magic crackled with electricity like intensity. Definitely some ward. 

  Tick tock, Dearie. 

  There would be time to test it later. He reluctantly pressed a few times on her chest instead, to see if there was still life. When she made no move, he tried again more forcefully, still with no success. 

  The Darkness bit and writhed under his skin in its impatience. Killian tried to comfort it and soothe the Darkness - the princess was worth so much more alive, she needed to be alive - but her heart barely fluttered under his prodding. The Darkness growled with agreement, but in its own way sought to continue its torment of its host.

  It’s not working. You’ll have to make a decision on whether you want to do something other than those chest compressions pretty soon… We can handle pain, we can handle being ripped apart or put back together, but magic like this? If she dies the shard most likely will too. Tick tock. 

  Killian had to agree, even though its hateful cackle and his own derision only made his frustration grow. He pushed her wet hair aside, pinched gently on her nose, and pressed his lips against hers with a breath. 

  Emma sputtered almost immediately, turning her head to the side and coughing up water violently. There was a gentle sigh of relief inside his mind, so quiet he was sure he’d imagined it. The Darkness had not noticed or acknowledged it. Instead it quieted, a fact which surprised him slightly. She fluttered her eyes open, and stared up at him, sucking in deep breaths. 

  “What?” Emma coughed, shivering.

  “We’re in the old homeland.” He pointed to the water where chunks of broken ice floated lazily. “Things have moved since I was last here. That used to be much warmer, and the river's current would immediately obey with magic.” 

  “Where?” she whispered incredulously. He looked at her with seething annoyance. 

  “The old lands. You know, the human world? Where we were before your parents decided on peace and love with a side of segregation?” His irritation seeped into his tone, and she scooted back away from him.

  “You tried to use me to broker a deal, and we aren't even in the United Realms anymore? Why would you bring us here, of all places? You lying pig - Ugh! And you kissed me!” She scrubbed at her lips in disgust with the back of her hand, glaring at him. His anger came roaring back.

  “I most certainly did not kiss you, I saved your royal arse! It isn’t my fault your deal was to save your parents, you vain, spoiled, presumptuous brat -”

  “Take me back!” she screamed at him, throwing a fistfull of mud, rocks, and leaves from the shore as she stood. “Take me back this instant! I want no part in whatever working with you entails you bastard son of a sow -”

  “I saved your bloody life! Twice now even, in the last hour!” he growled, as she continued to pelt him with whatever she could get her hands on. “You should be thanking me you stubborn -”

  Emma hit him hard with what he assumed to be a tree branch, his patience now gone. When she came back to hit him again, he caught the branch, pulling her down in the slick mud of the riverbank as she protested, covering her mouth with his hand and pinning her. Her eyes were wide, silvered green in the moonlight, fear keeping her paralyzed beneath him.

  “Right. Here’s your choices. Choice one: I can help you get your parents free of the Goblin scourge we both are clearly enemies with, help you navigate to allies if you have any, all in exchange for that blasted bloody shard holding my freedom around your neck." Emma squirmed slightly and he pushed harder against her, catching her leg with his own to allow no movement. 

  "This place’s time moves far differently than your home. What will be a week there, well, it could be years here depending on whatever magic your parents have conjured up. You don’t know a damn thing about this world, but I do. The elements here will be resistant to your magic, but I can help you tame them. Do you understand? Be a good lass, nod your head yes or no.” 

  Emma nodded yes under his hold. 

  “Good. Second choice. I leave you here, go along my merry way until the Goblins catch you - which they will - and we see each other next at your wedding day when the Goblin King gets you and that shard wrapped together in a pretty little bow. The blade becomes whole again, and I lose the ability to control the Darkness at all. Now, which would you rather choose, hm?” He let go of her mouth and Emma sneered at him. 

  “Get off me.” It was hissed, and he felt the Darkness stir even in its muted state inside him. Killian pushed it down, willing patience on it. Pulling himself off of her, he stood and dusted himself off.  

  “Your choice, m’lady?” He offered her a hand, which she refused, standing on her own even with her compromised balance. 

  “You’ll help me? The enemy of my enemy and all of that?”

  “There’s that proper breeding and decorum I expected from a Highborn!” Killian spat sarcastically. “I’m glad you can comprehend something so simple. Yes, I’ll help you.”

  "Why keep me alive? Why save me at all?" He watched her search his face for any answer. Her eyes lit when she realized his greatest weakness was the same as his price: The Dark One was controlled by the shard, and as long as Emma had possession of the piece... "You can't hurt me."

  "The Vorpal blade commands me to do no harm to anyone who holds it, even in pieces. I cannot kill what controls me, for it compels me, as I call it Master. I cannot take what controls me from my Master, it must be given." Intoning the words through gritted teeth, he closed his eyes to drown out the Darkness screeching in frustration, trying to rip him apart from the inside. The Darkness salivated at the thought of bloodshed, wishing it could end her life in a single snap, images of Navy ships burning on dark water intertwined with the greasy voice of a viper.  

  It would be so easy, and we'd revel in the destruction. We’d sit on a black throne in a dark castle, you could have everything - 

  “Fine. Choice one.” Emma's voice cut through the noise, Killian’s ears ringing as the Darkness settled. 

  He turned from her, and nodded his head in a direction. “This way then- Ow!”

  She hit him a few more times with the tree branch before chucking it aside. 

  “Don’t ever, and I mean ever, touch me like that again, or I will gut you like a codfish,” Emma hissed, eyes slitted. “And never in your life expect to kiss me again - that was most definitely a one time thing, buddy.” She stalked off in the direction he pointed. The Darkness swirled back to life, smoke filling his veins. 

  Stubborn wench deserves what we'll do. Just bide your time and hatred - we'll be free soon, free to wreak havoc and seek revenge. 

  Killian hummed in a half hearted agreement, surprised to feel challenged by the pluck the woman had. 

  The sky was dark and the starlight helped very little as she stumbled through the forest. Killian watched from behind her with a low chuckle, and the Darkness mused at how it had lost its footing so easily in its host. It wasn't of real consequence. The foolish girl had never been in this world, and even if it was completely different, there were truths that were well known.

  “If it gives you that much trouble, Princess, light a guide for yourself or a palm lantern. Even a will-o-the-wisp.” 

  “You're not,” Emma huffed in exertion, snapping back a branch, “making much use of anything but that mouth of yours. Why don't you do it?”

  Annoyance filled his lungs with the gritted breath he took. That wasn't expected. Killian wanted her tired, her magic completely expended, with no hope of fighting to keep the shard around her neck as long as he could withstand the ward's pain. The princess needed to do magic to do that, to exhaust the limited supply that this world had. He tried a different tactic: pushing her to annoyance. 

  “Ah, but we both know that you don't want me to use my mouth in other ways -”

  “Could you not?” Emma made a disgusted noise, and summoned a blue flame in her palm. It didn't drain her as much as he needed, to his overwhelming frustration. The Darkness cursed. 

  “Fine. We need to get somewhere safe regardless, and you're freezing. Help me with my magic, I know a safe place.” If all went well, he could potentially leave the wench outside of town and charm someone to steal the Dagger piece for him. It would have to be outside of town though. Motioning her over to him, he positioned them facing a certain way, whispering what sounded like a transportation spell. 

  Emma looked at him quizzically, but approached, any wariness replaced by the small beginnings of trust. She was a foolish thing. If he could feel pity, he might have been sympathetic towards her leap of faith. 

  Taking her hand and putting it reluctantly in his, Killian whispered words, taking the magic he needed as smoke poured around them. She had more than he ever expected, he realized, an overflowing basin of light that swept in tendrils around their touch. It filled him with heat and warmth, thawing ice away, his body unable to stop its pull as it sent the Darkness skittering into a deep part of him. Light spilled into his veins with a power deliciously strong but somehow fluidly soft.

  The ground was leaf litter and river clay, until it wasn't - At first Killian thought his calculation was off, but the swell of power as the air crackled was enough to know the truth. He had not accounted for her power. In an instant they were not just in the town, or near the house as intended. Instead, they were in a flour coated kitchen as if it hadn't changed through the whole stretch of his captivity as Emma wobbled forward from the jump. 

  “Bloody hell,” he whispered, and Emma held her head, unsteady and confused. Killian let go of her, noticing how delicate her wrist was, the honeyed floral smell of her magic in the air over the scent of bread, vanilla, and sugar making him sway for a moment as well. He felt alive; the view from his cell had never been enough, but now that he was here, reunited with his - 

  Emma's quiet voice broke into his thoughts, her swaying getting worse. “I feel so…”

  “I forgot, magic here wanes. You’ll have to use it sparingly until the full moon.” Killian tried to hide his glee at her weakness, but when she stumbled and fell against him, he was shocked to feel her magic still swirling inside of her. The Darkness gave an involuntary shudder. 

  This is a… This is a trick, a fluke. She has only been in this realm for minutes, her power will weaken and fade soon enough. 

  “When, tomorrow?” Emma asked, exhaustion heavy in her tone.

  Killian shook his head. “A full moon here takes time to come back.” 

  Emma tried to stand, this time falling back hard into his arms. 

  “Whoa, easy there, Princess. Easy, easy, love.” Emma felt his arms around her, a deep tiredness settling in her body. His embrace was strong on the wooden floor where they stood, and Emma felt dizzy when the smell of apple pie hit her hard on top of the room spinning. 

  “Killian, I… Did I…?” Her mouth was beginning to feel full of sand and straw, her tongue too big, her tiredness unrelenting. “Safe?”

  He nodded, and Emma tried to focus on his face, the haze of her fatigue causing him to look younger, an imagined phantom of his brows knit in worry for her. “Yes, we're safe. You're safe,” he soothed. 

  The hallucination made him look like a different person, the worry on his face so clearly caring and empathetic. She reached up to touch his shoulder and felt the sharp zap of her magic meeting an angry force, like a shaken wasp’s nest, the buzz causing her to yelp. 

  A woman burst in, white hair in disarray under a knit sleep cap. She was wielding a baseball bat in one hand, propped on her shoulder, while the other hand crackled with icy magic. Both her magic and the bat fell away when she saw the two intruders. 

  “Killian! You're here, you're free, oh Killian, what has it made you do? Why… why are you here? Did you kill her?” she asked, horrified. 

  “Nothing Ingrid, the lass fainted from using magic,” Emma felt him shift her as she laid her head in the crook of his neck. In her delirium, she noted that he smelled wonderful under the smell of forest. “I know that you must think the worst, but I need help. We need help -”

  Emma tried to listen to their blurred voices, but it was too much and she was too weak. Opening her eyes she gazed up, letting her head flop back as her muscles gave way. Killian’s expression was back with no empathy in sight, dark and impassive, the shadowed scowl the last thing she saw as she fell into unconsciousness. 

  *✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ

    The Darkness squirmed under its vessel's skin, demanding and impatient now that the royal brat lay still in a bed under a thick quilted comforter. It was all it could do to get Ingrid to stop her incessant nagging and simpering over their arrival, to believe the tale of his freedom and the alliance the princess had forged in good faith. 

  Ingrid was too shrewd and calculating in her own right, and the Darkness hated her for it. She was off limits to the Darkness completely, which it hated, and with the addition of the strange magic that the princess radiated, it was difficult to maintain control. 

  “So you're freed, and you come here with Snow Margueryte's - Er, Queen Snow’s daughter? And you truly thought I would not ask questions or have concerns about your intentions? Killian, you have learned nothing from your exile; don't think I cannot see this Darkness controlling you.” 

  “If the Darkness controlled me, you would be dead, Ingrid,” its host replied simply. It was true, the Darkness mused. As long as it had inhabited this man, it was unable to exact punishment on the older woman. She was off limits, no matter how annoying.

  All family, for as long as we coexist. I will never again harm them. 

  “How long will you be here?” Ingrid asked, and its host sighed. “Have you brought danger down upon the last remnants of your family? You were not to come without warning.”

  “Time there is slowed once more. I don't know, and I cannot say for certain that we bring danger, but I suspect we do. The princess is being pursued in marriage. I had nowhere else to go, no time to give warning, and she… I need her cooperation if I'm to maintain my freedom.”

  “I'm glad you're here, then. I'm glad you are safe, that both of you are. I'm not glad that buzzing maniac still inhabits you, and I stand by that. You're being watched, Killian. I won't let you hurt the girls, or this princess.” Ingrid stood, as tall and noble as she had been as a duchess. “I have to sleep to open the bakery in time, but remember your brother's words: ‘In this home, you are not what they think you are.’”

  “Fine,” he whispered solemnly. Here Ingrid wasn't Fae nobility, he wasn't the Dark One, and the princess was just a woman. Liam had been just a man, sitting at the table with them and laughing over toast. The memory made him hurt, and Killian felt the Darkness push at that pain like a finger in a wound. 

  Emma slept soundly as Killian sat on the edge of the mattress. She barely moved except to burrow further into the quilted blankets she had wrapped around herself. Her body was so still, and his temptation was goaded by the pulsing voice that told him to take the shard, make sure it could not be taken. Silky pitch and charcoal whispers that refused to be ignored. 

  Killian reached the hollow of her throat, fingers gently trying to pull the blade’s tip. The shock that exploded when he gripped the steel sent him to the floor, every muscle taut, then released in burning pain. The Darkness ripped at itself, tearing at the searing sensations that clawed at it, fighting to survive the flames that erupted through its vessel. The bloody wench didn't even stir as its host fell back twitching. 

  The damned piece of blade was enchanted with her parent's ruddy love far too strongly. The Darkness vibrated with rage, formulating new plans and strategies. They would have to keep the brat alive, the shard now tied to her heart, the embodiment of the True Love that bound it. Spitting and cursing, it needled under the flesh of its host until he returned to consciousness with a snarl. 

  For now, they would wait. The shard would be theirs eventually. 

[laularlau8]

‘Success couldn’t fix our insecurity’: Gillian Anderson and best friend Jennifer Nadel on why they’ve written a ‘manual for life’

Who do you turn to when you’re struggling to cope? After counselling each other when the going got tough, Gillian Anderson and her close friend Jennifer Nadel have written a tried-and-tested ‘manual for life’ on the issues that affect us all

Ten years ago, Gillian Anderson met Jennifer Nadel, a neighbour in West London’s Notting Hill, and, sensing a kindred spirit, made that classic mummy mistake of thinking how lovely it would be if their children could be friends. They arranged to meet at a local café, where Gillian’s 12-year-old daughter Piper and Jennifer’s 13-year-old son Jack sat in stony silence. ‘They just didn’t get along,’ laughs Gillian. ‘We took a stroll through Hyde Park and they shuffled along, saying absolutely nothing. It was hideous.’‘But we ended up being friends, which was the blessing,’ says Jennifer. Gillian nods in agreement as she sips coffee.

The star of The X-Files and The Fall has turned up to the YOU photo shoot in tight-fitting black jeans and dizzying stilettos, looking immaculate even though she is about to go into hair and make-up. For the first few minutes she’s glued to her phone, sending anxious texts. The premiere of her new film, Viceroy’s House (a drama set during the partition of India, which opens on Friday), has changed, ‘so I’m trying to work out how to get my kids home from swimming’. Jennifer arrives late to many hugs and greetings in a big, curly wool jacket, colourful necklace and chunky rings.

From their first conversation – one that has never really finished – Gillian and Jennifer realised they had a huge amount in common. Not just a shared sense of humour, but also of having dealt with pretty much everything life could throw at them: a fractured childhood, broken relationships, being a single parent, serious illness in the family, money worries, depression, anxiety and a creeping sense of insecurity that seemed impossible to shake off.

They became each another’s go-to adviser when things got tough.Now they have distilled their thoughts and experiences into a manual for life. We: A Manifesto for Women Everywhere might sound grandiose, but it is a practical guide to getting to know yourself, your strengths and weaknesses, and learning to cope in a world that sometimes seems overwhelming, even if you are beautiful and successful. ‘This book doesn’t come from lofty heights,’ as they say in the introduction. ‘It comes from two friends who have stumbled along together, trying, failing, crying, laughing, learning and trying again.’ 

It seems incredible that two such able and successful women could feel so unsure of themselves, but no one is immune to stress and anxiety. Gillian, 48, says she suffered daily panic attacks when she first became famous as FBI Special Agent Dana Scully in The X-Files. Jennifer, 54, suffered a breakdown – ‘a glorious, full-blown burnout’ – when she was home affairs editor at ITN. From the outside, both had enviable lives but ‘no amount of external success could fix the way we felt inside…it made us feel guilty that even with the gifts and luck we’d been given we couldn’t make life work’.

Their recipe for finding peace of mind includes reflection, meditation and self-examination – looking at where your problems come from and how to fix them, without resorting to alcohol, drugs, work, food or abusive relationships, as they have done at times: ‘You name it, we tried it,’ they write.

Between them, they have clocked up many hours of therapy and distilled the best of what they have learnt into nine ‘principles’: honesty, acceptance, kindness, courage, trust, peace, humility, love and joy. Their aim is to get women working through the principles not just as individuals, but in groups that will use their new-found strength to campaign against injustice and create a more compassionate world.

‘It’s about women coming together to share troubles and joys without feeling we are in competition,’ says Gillian. ‘There are so many fundamental things we have in common. Who isn’t horrified by rising suicide rates among teenagers, the degree of self-harm and the impact social media is having on women of all ages?’

Gillian’s daughter Piper, now 22, is ‘quite grounded’, she says, but that’s partly due to luck. ‘There are times when I’ve gone waxing on about something or other and times when I’ve just let her be. She’s very self-aware, reflective and honest, so the good stuff must have had some impact, although I’m sure there’s plenty of negative stuff that’s been passed down as well.’

By contrast, both her and Jennifer’s early years were blighted by depression and anxiety. Jennifer first had therapy aged 15: ‘I beat you, I was 14!’ chips in Gillian.  Jennifer grew up in an eccentric, alcoholic household in the English countryside with a very young mother and a reclusive, academic father. The house was divided into a children’s half and an adults’ half, and visits between the two were regulated.

Gillian’s upbringing was more conventional, but perhaps moving around unsettled her: she was born in Chicago, but her parents soon moved to Puerto Rico, then London – where they stayed until she was 11 – before settling in Grand Rapids, Michigan. Aged 13, she ceased to be an only child when her brother Aaron was born (he had neurofibromatosis, a congenital condition that causes tumours to grow on the nervous system), followed by a sister, Zoe.

Gillian says there was ‘a lot of stuff to deal with’ in her childhood. She went off the rails, became a punk, dyed her hair, experimented with drugs and was voted ‘girl most likely to be arrested’ by her classmates – and actually was arrested and charged with trespass on the night of her graduation for trying to break into her school. ‘There was a point where it was highly recommended that I see a therapist because I was struggling in school. I guess that was the beginning of self-reflection and looking at behaviour patterns and historical stuff.’

Gillian’s father, who ran a film production company, tried to persuade her away from acting, or to at least learn word processing (her mother was a computer programmer), so she could earn money in the down times. ‘Good advice, but I didn’t listen,’ she says. 

Instead Gillian moved to New York and worked as a waitress between theatre roles until she was cast in The X-Files, aged 24. She thought it would run for 13 episodes. Instead, it dominated the next ten years of her life. She met her first husband, Piper’s father Clyde Klotz, on set (he was assistant art director).

Having therapy as a teenager helped Gillian cope with fame, but she still felt overwhelmed at times. ‘There were occasions during that series when I wasn’t sure whether I could go on. I started having panic attacks on a daily basis while we were shooting, around the time Piper was born. It was a mixture of not having dealt with childhood problems, the work being intensive, living in the spotlight and the expectation on me, as well as not knowing how to get balance or properly take care of myself. The panic attacks forced me to start practising meditation, just to eke out a tiny bit of space for myself, and that made it possible to continue.’ Gillian and Clyde divorced after three years (she later said she had been too young and has encouraged her daughter to travel and ‘make the most of her life’ before getting seriously involved with a man), and she was briefly married to Julian Ozanne, a filmmaker. She then fell in love with Mark Griffiths, a businessman, with whom she has two sons, Oscar, ten, and Felix, eight.

Despite achieving fame on both sides of the Atlantic, she remained insecure: ‘For years I was very self-centred and focused on my body, my weight, and it caused so much sadness. That really moves me now, just how much of my younger life I missed out on because I was so focused on my thighs or my outfit; it was such a waste of time.’

Obsessing about appearance is part of the career she chose, Gillian concedes, ‘but it’s becoming the world we all operate in because of social media. Facebook and Instagram have made all women focus on how they look and how they’re represented.’Jennifer agrees: ‘If we get a knock in life we rationalise it by telling ourselves we’re not good enough or pretty enough, and that’s a form of self-harm. You wouldn’t talk to your child or someone you love like that and yet that’s how we talk to ourselves, almost automatically.’

Jennifer, who is on her second marriage and has three sons (Jack, 23, Theo, 21, and Arlo, seven), channelled her teenage woes into academic success: she trained as a barrister, then swapped to journalism, spending five years as a senior correspondent at ITN.

Television was almost as demanding as acting in terms of appearance and long hours. ‘I felt obliged to don the uniform – power suit and heels – that my editor and the industry expected. I felt trapped. One morning I woke up and realised I couldn’t go on. I called the news desk and said I was very sorry but I couldn’t come in – not that day and, as it turned out, not ever.’ Jennifer was diagnosed with severe depression which dogged her for the next ten years. ‘I never thought I would work again.’

Motherhood brought its own pressures, especially for Gillian, who finds the noise and chaos of young boys unbearable at times. Maybe other mothers have ‘tougher nerve endings’, she says. She does the ‘right thing’ and gets down to play Lego but ‘my kids can sense it’s not easy for me. I struggled when Piper was little as well. I remember getting restless and feeling this pressure that I should be doing something else, but when I was doing something else feeling this pressure that I should be with my child. It’s that constant tug of war…and I don’t think I’m alone with that. I try to be tolerant and patient. How I am in the house depends on my time of the month: I’m either embracing of the noise or it’s nails on a chalk board. But they know that it’s just Mum. There’s an acceptance and a lovingness.’

There are 12 years between Piper and Oscar, so Gillian’s daughter was an only child for almost as long as she was. ‘I don’t think anything is accidental in life. It wasn’t on purpose but it’s ironic,’ she says.Is there some advantage to having a spell as an only child? ‘I’m not so sure. It was really important to me that Oscar had [another] sibling because Piper felt like an only child, Oscar’s dad was an only child and I didn’t want to repeat that with Oscar. So his relationship with his brother is something new to me. I’ve never observed similar-age sibling relationships before and it’s really fascinating and beautiful. 'Independence-wise being an only child is good, but there are traits that I have seen in other only children: being quite selfish, not really wanting to share. It’s taken a long time for me to push the boundaries of those and be less controlling, less protective of my world and my space.

Relationships with men have been no easier. Jennifer had a ‘horrible’ divorce from her first husband, which was ‘incredibly messy and painful and took many years to recover from, although looking back I can see how it led to transformation. I had to learn to love in the face of anger.’Gillian saw a pattern with her partners: ‘I’d meet someone, instantly fall in love and spend every waking hour with them, but stopped doing the things I enjoyed doing, stopped taking care of myself. I adopted their interests, friends, music, tastes…before long I’d start to resent them, even though it was me who actively let myself go.’

After six years together, she and Mark split up (they didn’t marry) and she has used some of the experience of her dealings with her ex in her book. ‘A spiritual adviser encouraged me to start thinking of [him] as my “beloved”, that regardless of our separateness we will be raising two children together for the rest of our lives and that makes him one of the most important people in my life, whether I like it or not. As you can imagine, this is not easy, but the times I am able to communicate with him from a place of love and appreciation rather than resentment, or as he says “againstness”, the more my perception shifts.

Gillian and Jennifer’s book, We, asks its readers to work through a series of exercises designed to shift their own perceptions. The first is gratitude. Though it seems simple – too simple almost – taking a look at your life and writing a list of things to be grateful for can be transforming however low, angry or despondent you feel, they say. The next is gentleness, the simple act of being kind to yourself. You’re not perfect: don’t dwell on little slip-ups, and banish the self-criticism.

Meditate. This is a tough one: Jennifer says when she first had a go, it ‘felt like I was being put in a torture chamber’. She and Gillian suggest making a quiet space for yourself, with fresh flowers or a candle nearby, but once meditating becomes a habit it gets easier. ‘I had to be facing in the right direction, there could be no distractions, the candle and incense lit, my legs crossed,’ says Gillian. ‘Then at one point I was away working and had none of my usual crutches. Now I can do it anywhere – in a crowd, on a bus, at work.’

All this is preparation for working through the nine principles, which are designed to guide you to a place of ‘acceptance’, where you can switch the spotlight from yourself to the problems of the wider world. They include a guide to choosing a cause close to your heart that you could support or campaign around.Jennifer stood as a candidate for the Green Party in the last general election and is a trustee of Inquest, a charity that supports families of people who have died in custody. At ITN she covered miscarriages of justice and visited prisons: ‘It gave me a harrowing insight into the powerlessness of being incarcerated wrongly and not being able to get anyone to believe you.’

Gillian styles herself on Twitter as ‘Mum, actress, activist’ and has campaigned for women’s and children’s rights (including her own: she made it public last year that she had been offered half as much money as her male co-star for an X-Files revival, a situation that was eventually remedied). She recently spoke at Davos about trafficking and modern slavery: ‘the thing that breaks my heart’.If it all sounds too earnest, remember that one of the principles in We is joy. ‘There have been times when the knocks have felt so hard and all-consuming that I’ve struggled to smile or to laugh, but it’s possible to break through that,’ says Gillian. ‘I try not to chew over or hold on to arguments, make space to lighten things – though, I have to admit, life situations come regularly where I think, “What! This can’t play out like this, are you kidding me?” I forget that I can’t control everything.’So reaching that place of acceptance, even for them, is a work in progress? ‘Absolutely,’ says Jennifer.‘Ongoing,’ says Gillian. ‘Every day.’

Read more: http://www.dailymail.co.uk/home/you/article-4245374/Interview-Gillian-Anderson-friend-Jennifer-Nadel.html#ixzz4ZkIKobPHFollow us: @MailOnline on Twitter | DailyMail on Facebook

[sartle-blog]

The Handmaid’s Tale: Art History goes Atwood!

In her seminal 1985 novel, The Handmaid’s Tale, Margaret Atwood paints a nightmarish picture of a post-democracy America. Christian fundamentalists and misogynist despots have scapegoated radical Islamic terror as a pretext for suspending all civil liberties. Environmental irresponsibility has led to toxic food and water and a drop in fertility rates. Female bodies are commodities controlled by the state, gay people and abortion doctors are prosecuted according to Biblical law, and people of color are deported to uninhabitable “colonies.” In short, it is pure fantasy with no relation whatsoever to our current political climate.

Surely it must be The Handmaid’s Tale’s quaint escapism that has made Hulu’s recent adaptation of the novel into the most hotly anticipated series of the season. It might make a light diversion if, in the words of our supreme leader, you’re “sick and tired of all the winning” we’re doing. To aid your diversion, I’ve compiled some examples from art history that prove the hostile patriarchy presented in The Handmaid’s Tale is just a feminist myth, with absolutely no grounding in Western culture.

Handmaids of the Good Book: you won’t see this on VeggieTales!

Dante’s Vision of Rachel and Leah by Dante Gabriel Rossetti, in the Tate Britain.

Margaret Atwood prefaces her novel with a passage from the Bible:

“And when Rachel saw that she bare Jacob no children, Rachel envied her sister; and said unto Jacob…Behold my maid Bilhah, go in unto her; and she shall bear upon my knees, that I may also have children by her.” – Genesis 30:1-3.

In ye olde Holy Land, Rachel and her sister Leah were sister wives who were also literally sisters. Both married Jacob, patriarch of the 12 Tribes of Israel. The fertile Leah bore him six sons, whereas Rachel had difficulty conceiving. Luckily, biblical patriarchy had a cure for that; namely offering your enslaved women as vessels of childbirth for your husband to inseminate. Rachel’s handmaid Bilhah bore Jacob two sons, who Rachel claimed as her own. Just when everything was going so well, Leah and Jacob’s son Reuben decided he wanted in on the action.

“And it came to pass, while Israel dwelt in that land, that Reuben went and lay with Bilhah his father’s concubine.” – Genesis 35:22

Reuben brought dishonor to the family by plowing with his father’s heifer, but Bilhah, the passed-around handmaid with the “for rent” sign on her womb got the real raw end of this sick family deal.

This ancient stone carving of a woman squatting in childbirth in the arms of midwives invokes Bilhah bearing “upon [Rachel’s] knees,” and Atwood’s description of mistresses holding handmaids between their knees during sex and labor.

There are no new ideas in Hollywood the Bible

Don’t think that Bilhah’s story is unique in the Bible. A similar story has been an inspiration to artists for centuries. Abraham, father of Israel, was married to Sarah, reputedly the most beautiful woman in all the world. After a lot of wandering in the desert, Sarah was getting on in years and was still childless. Solution? Offer up her Egyptian handmaid Hagar to do the dirty deed for her.  

“I pray thee; go in unto my maid; it may be that I may obtain children by her.” – Genesis 16:3

Hagar by Edmonia Lewis, in the Smithsonian American Art Museum.

Edmonia Lewis, a female African American sculptor of the Civil War period, certainly had reason to be interested in the narrative of an enslaved African woman subjected to reproductive abuse. White male European artists had also long been fascinated by the story, possibly more captivated by the bizarre kink factor than issues of subjugation.

Sarah Leading Hagar to Abraham by Matthias Stom, in the Gemaldegalerie.

We’re talking about Western-European art history here, so Hagar is of course an alabaster-skinned blonde. Even Edmonia Lewis used the colorless power of marble to give us a racially ambiguous Hagar. The Bible tells us she was Egyptian. History tells us she may have been black, since Egyptian slaves were typically prisoners of war captured from Nubia and other parts of predominantly black Africa.

Miraculously, Sarah did get pregnant in her old age, and consequently said to Hagar, “Beyotch, get the f#ck out of mah tent!”  so Hagar and her son Ishmael were banished into the desert.

Detail of Hagar in the Wilderness by Camille Corot, in the Metropolitan Museum of Art.

Presumably, Hagar is grieving because she and Ishmael are lost in the wilderness, but her face says, “No, I’m pissed off because this is the thanks I get for all the gross old man sex.”

Sally Hemings: An American “Handmaid”

Thomas Jefferson by Mather Brown, in the Smithsonian National Portrait Gallery (left). This portrait of an eighteenth-century, mixed-race woman (right) gives some idea of what Sally Hemings might have looked like.

Sally Hemings makes a disturbingly cohesive follow-up to the biblical prototype of a captive African woman forced to bear children. Confederate Civil War diarist Mary Chesnut was brutally honest in her assessment of black-white concubinage in the antebellum South, and her association of slavery with patriarchal marriage in Judeo-Christian culture:

“Like the patriarchs of old, our men live all in one house with their wives and their concubines…this is not worse than the willing sale most women make of themselves in marriage…The Bible authorizes marriage and slavery…poor women! Poor slaves!”

Sally Hemings made headlines recently because PBS controversially labeled her as having had a 40-year “relationship” with Thomas Jefferson, whom she bore 6 children. The critics are right that an enslaved person is incapable of a consensual relationship, not to mention that Sally was a minor (by modern standards) when a middle-aged Jefferson started sleeping with her. In the least sinister of a multitude of horrifying scenarios, captive women were coerced into sex with their masters. In the worst cases, they were violently raped. But is it fair to say that Sally’s was the latter case? It should be noted that she chose to leave France, where she was free, to return to Virginia with Jefferson when he promised to free their children. This is not a justification. Slam Poet Clint Smith poignantly asks,  “…did you think there was honor in your ultimatum?” The fact that Jefferson never freed Sally herself, even on his deathbed, speaks to a twisted dynamic of control.

This Portrait of Dido Elizabeth Belle and Lady Elizabeth Murray in Scone Palace, attributed to Johann Zoffany, evokes the conflicted situation in which Sally may have found herself. Dido, though not enslaved herself, was the daughter of a British officer and an African slave. This portrait reflects her experience as a beloved, but not quite equal member of an elite white family.

The irony of Thomas Jefferson, who proclaimed in our Declaration of Independence, “all men are created equal,” owning and sexually abusing slaves speaks for itself. We should neither defend nor deny the heinous circumstances of his fathering children with Sally Hemings, but this remarkable woman endured a lifetime of bondage and produced generations of American families. Why not regard her as what she is? One of our founding mothers, as worthy of respect and study as Abigail Adams or Martha Washington.

Is Sally not, in a perverse way, the story of America? Are we a nation founded on freedom, or on concubinage of enslaved women? Michelle Obama is descended from both slaves and slave masters, and as first lady, woke up every day in “a house that was built by slaves,” (the White House). What is that if not a testament to who we are as a nation, at once powerfully inspiring and deeply unsettling. Margaret Atwood’s novel of a crippled American civilization surviving on the backs and bellies of captive women has never been more relevant, yet perhaps it is as much a story of where we are, as where we came from.

Don’t take my word for it, decide for yourself. Tune into The Handmaid’s Tale on Hulu, or better yet, read the book!

By: Griff Stecyk

[larksinging]

maria cd case packet: mix notes

MISSING LINK

notes about my song choices under the cut

first off: i like my mixes to have a sort of progression. often that’s a character arc progression, but in this mix i tried to move from most mainstream/relaxed to more dire and surreal sounding songs. a few more really experimental things could have helped this, but oh well

i. i love you - woodkid

“Whatever I feel for you / You only seem to care about you / Is there any chance you could see me too? / Cause I love you / Is there anything I could do / Just to get some attention from you?”

i picked this song as n expression of how desperate maria wants and needs james’ love and affection, and james’ overall lukewarm response to that. i can’t really say why i put this first, but i feel the melancholy desperation feel of the song sets a nice opening tone for the mix

ii. the wrong year - the decemberists

“Could be that he's into you / Could be that the obverse is true / And he wants you but you won't do / And it won't leave you alone [...]  The spirit's willin' / Flesh is getting bored / Speakers blaring out some long forgotten chord / Some misbegotten, long forgotten chord”

this one i picked because i feel it really hits the maria is inherently stuck in the wrong time and the wrong place, and how things were never really meant to work out for her and how frustrating that is. there’s more hints at the frustration of james’ lack of interest. also continuing the lovelorn sympathetic kind of song to establish in the beginning maria as a sympathetic, human character. 

also: i first considered “make you better” by the decemberists for its mood, but this had more fitting lyrics

iii. black sun - death cab for cutie

“There is an answer in a question/ And there is hope within despair / And there is beauty in a failure / And there are depths beyond compare [...] How could something so fair / Be so cruel” 

aaand here’s where i wanted to start throwing in the lowkey omnious mood of silent hill. after all, maria is technically designed as some sort of temptress (regardless of her own agency). anyway, here’s the “maria is pretty and all, but... what’s going on here” song. things are bad in the town of silent hill

iv. ampersand - amanda palmer

“Has any girl in history said / Sure, you seem so nice, let's get it on / Still, I always shock them when I answer / Hi, my name's Amanda [...]  But you've got the headstone all ready / All carved up and pretty / Your sick satisfaction / Those his and hers matching / The daisies all push up'n / Pairs to the horizons [...]  And I'm not gonna live my life on one side of an ampersand / And even if I went with you I'm not the girl you think I am [...]  I'm not the one that's crazy” 

okay there’s a lot going on here. first off, the sort of bizarre tone of things like the first set of lyrics above that i feel really show silent hill/born from a wish. the second section (daisies) is directed at james and his own issues and ideas which ultimately are projected onto and burden maria. so the last part is the pushback (”i’m not the girl you think i am” “i’m not the one who’s crazy”), and the anger at james for valuing maria only as far as she’s mary. anyway a disjointed chaotic song for a disjointed chaotic situation

i also considered “olly olly oxenfree” or even “trout heart replica” but the relationship troubles at the heart of this song won me over

v. atrophy - the antlers

“I’ve been repeating your speeches but the audience just doesn't follow / Because I'm leaving out words, punctuation and it sounds pretty hollow / I’ve been living in bed because now you tell me to sleep / In your dreams I'm a criminal, horrible, sleeping around / While you're awake, I'm impossible, constantly letting you down.”

how could i make a sh2 mix without including a song off of hospice? i mean REALLY. to be fair most of the songs are more of a james and mary vibe than maria, but i feel this can work. mary still lingers over it, but that kind of works for how mary lingers over maria. so that’s what this is - the shadow of mary over maria, and how james can never really be satisfied with her because of it

vi. bernadette (post romanian storm) - IAMX

“Winding down your emotions / Family and friends  / Becoming ghosts to dream of and pass on  / Time will erase every face every name / We are alone  /No-one to blame”

here’s where the mix starts to take a turn for the darker. i’d say this is maria as temptation, her existence as a means to try and guilt james. i felt it was important to include that because her existence as a temptress stereotype makes maria’s whole story all the much sadder. also, i chose this version because i felt the more subdued version made it feel more intimate and unsettling

vii. oleander - mother mother

“I make a mess and you'll be there to help me undress / I'll be unclean, I'll be obscene, you'll be the rest / And if you leave me, rest assured it would kill me”

i feel this is a bit of a retread of the theme brought up in “i love you”, but far more desperate and toxic. this helps continue the downward spiral of the mix overall. i think it also helps re-contextualize james and maria’s relationship as something deeply unhealthy, and maria’s desperate need for attention as destroying her. 

i also considered “love it dissipates” for this, but went with oleander for the toxic desperation it embodies. also, a poisonous flower seems appropriate. 

viii. closer - the tiny

“I met him when the sun was down / The bar was closed, we both have had no sleep / My face beneath the streetlamp, it reveals what it is / Lonely people seek / Closer, closer”

this one speaks more to the loneliness of silent hill, and the loneliness of maria’s existence. also the theme of “closer” - maria’s desperate need to be close to james.  this is also the first of the doppelganger songs. two songs i felt fit happened to have the same name, and i decided to use both because the whole thing about doubles and whatnot. 

ix. closer - paulina andreeva

“Let me feel no fear and anxiety / I’m not alone [...]  Even if you are my insanity / We’re not alone / We’re not alone / Closer /Closer / Closer / Closer to you”

okay. first off. do you know how hard it was to find a video of this? i didn’t want to use the video i found it off of but this video was literally the only other one of this edit of the song i could find. also i had to write these lyrics myself. fucking obscure russian songs

anyway. the second doppleganger song, and the continuation of the closer theme. this one the tone really speaks more than the lyrics. this captures not only the anxious dread of silent hill (”we’re not alone” could be seen as meaning the monsters), but also the way in which staying with james allows maria to not be alone. this is when the downward spiral kicks up a notch

x. reflektor - arcade fire

“Alone in the darkness / a darkness of white /  We fell in love / alone on a stage / in the reflective age [...]  We're so connected / but are we even friends? [...]  I thought I found a way to enter / it was just a reflector. (Just a reflector) / I thought I found the connector / it was just a reflector. (Just a reflector) [...]  Just a reflection of a reflection / of a reflection of a reflection of a reflection (ah!) / but I see you on the other side / We all got things to hide [...]  Thought you were praying to the resurrector / turns out it was just a reflector”

honestly, i could have quoted the whole song. i think if you had to pick one song to sum up all of sh2, it’s be this song. it captures the confusing, illusionary nature of silent hill, the mary/maria reflection, the feeling of lost love and false love, james’ desire to leave/find something/bring something back that is ultimately nothing but a reflection of himself. maria, after all, is just a reflctor.

xi. missing link - revoluation girl utena OST

“An unconnected me / Yet a connected power  / Oh illusions,  / Why am I  / Here right now? / I never wanted to be born / And yet I was  / My heart is just like / An object to be used /  To be born and die / To be born and vanish / To repeat this / How absurd! [...] Look, now the vanished me is living”

when the song the mix title is from is at the very bottom of one of my mixes, you know it’s a big deal. and it’s an RGU song. so [cracks knuckles] here we go. (i am using the translation from here. most other translations i’ve seen have been pretty similar, give or take a little.) the end of the downward spiral.

this song, i feel, is the ultimate expression of the despair of maria’s existence. to be born from a wish is a terrible fate. maria was only ever meant to be something to fulfill james’ wish and embody his guilt, and that’s what she’s stuck doing despite having her own existence and agency. a tragic fate. 

...but this song has a context, and that too works for maria. she is a bit of a rose bride figure, after all! she exists to embody the male gaze and is an idealized form of male sexual desires. her purpose is not her own, but tied to james. she is repeatedly brutalized for the sake of the male figure and exists only to bear his suffering and cause more. i’m not sure how much more rose bride-y you can get without getting impaled by a few hundred swords, but maria’s been imapled like 4 times so she’s getting there

xii. love psalm - silent hill 2 OST

[instrumental]

i wanted to end with something a little less, uh, existentially horrifying. it was only appropriate to use love psalm, which plays on the credits of born from a wish. more than anything, this is maria’s song, and it felt like ending it with someone that was uniquely hers would be nice. i consdered using the version of this from book of memories with lyrics, since some of them fit. check it: 

“To be forced to feel the hearts break / How much of this torture can I take? [...] If you could rewrite our life any way that you please / Would you tear out the pages of our memories? / Would you take back the pain and all the hurt we create? / Or could you be satisfied with the love that you've made with me?”

...but i felt the original instrumental version, the one actually from born from a wish, was more appropriate an ending. so there you go. 

extra: in addition to the substitutions from bands used i considered listed above, i also considered “careful you” by tv on the radio. i felt the sound of the song didn’t quite gel with the rest of the mix.