#monkey's paw type of situation me thinks

[normalbrothers]

the thing about jason statham being originally the actor knight wanted for tommy is that it WOULD have prevented the world wide phenomenon of men getting that silly haircut because statham is like. bald.

[jo-harrington]

Stranger Than (Fan)Fiction - Chapter 2: Out of Character

Previous Chapter: Alternate Universe

Summary: Things are starting to get weird in Hawkins. Weird for Eddie, especially. (AKA Eddie Munson and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Week)

Word Count: 9k

Pairing: Eddie Munson/Fem!Reader

Warnings/Themes: No-Upside-Down AU, Fluff, Angst, mention of virginity, Smut (male masturbation), sexual fantasies, brief Breeding Kink mention (I SWEAR IT WILL MAKE SENSE bear with me), Isekai, Mentions of FOI-compliant events and characters, Lovesick Eddie, jealousy, satire, a Monkey’s Paw type situation, Cliffhanger, Meta Fiction, Eddie acts a little OOC—it’s in the title

Note: Hey everyone, we're back with hopefully some more regularly posted chapters now that my baby SMVerse is complete. Very sorry for how long this chapter is, the next one is admittedly planned to be shorter. There was just a lot of dough to knead here. Thank you to @dr-aculaaa @powderblueblood and @rosewaterandivy for their contribution to some details of the chapter. IYKYK. And they know. Especially how much it means to me.

You can find my masterlist here.

Please do not interact if you are not 18+.

Enjoy!

It goes without saying that your newfound independence had led to the most fun you’d ever had.

You weren’t afraid to be by yourself; on the contrary, it was almost like you were by yourself for the first time in your life.

That was the thing about living in a small town, everyone knew everyone else and your friends and neighbors always popped in unannounced, usually to a lot of fanfare and excitement.

There was never a dull moment with your friends.

But every aspect of your life in Port Geneva hinged around them, and now you could really focus on you. Realize that you were worth more than what you did to enrich someone else's life. Now you could enrich your own.

You listened to music you'd never heard before. What music had you even listened to before?

You ate foods you'd never eaten before. If you really thought about it, what had you ever eaten but short stacks with strawberries and sandwiches from the deli and cafeteria pizza?

You saw the world; sketched buildings and landscapes that were so different from the ones you were used to. Had you ever seen a house that didn't look like the ones in your cookie-cutter suburb? Or seen grass that wasn't perfectly manicured?

Who knew that wildflowers existed outside of storybooks?

Sometimes you stayed for a while; got a little room at a motel in a town that reminded you a lot of home and nothing like home at all. Too homesick to keep jumping around but not homesick enough to go back. You'd get a job for a few weeks--always lucking out on an opening for a waitressing or babysitting gig or something--pad your pockets, fall in love with the town and sometimes with the people there.

Then the need to leave simmered in your bones once again and you were forced back onto the road.

There was one town you were almost loath to leave. A midwest town and a goofy guy named Ed who made you laugh and called you sweetheart and kissed you shyly; he really understood you, understood the need to march to the beat of your own drum, because his big dream was to get out of his hometown too and make a name of himself.

Which is why he wasn't mad when it was time for you to go.

You'd always remember Stuckeyville.

But it was no matter; the world was yours for the taking. You'd keep going, on and on to the next destination, until you couldn't anymore.

Then one day, a year-or-so into your trip, it happened.

You'd been driving, thinking of the postcards that were burning a hole in your backpack to be sent back home. It was late, and you were tired and ready to make it to your next destination.

That's when you crashed.

December 1985

"Ed..."

"Hmmm?"

"I've gotta get up."

"Five more minutes."

"You're lying on my arm." He could feel the slight movement of something beneath him. "God, you and your big fat head, my hand is numb!"

Eddie groaned as you pushed at him and before long, your finger--cold and wet with spit--slid into his ear, rendering him fully awake and squirming to get away from you.

"Jesus Christ!" he exclaimed as he hopped off his bed and tried to rid himself of the phantom feeling of your invasion. "Gah, ugh, gross!"

"A girl's gotta do what a girl's gotta do," you grinned and got up from the bed to stretch. You put your hands on your hips and glared at him playfully. "Especially when she's gonna be late. You should know how Bev is better than anybody."

Violation quickly forgotten, Eddie watched you run back and forth around his room; a satisfied feeling settled in his chest as you picked bits of clothing up to layer back on, fixed your hair, swept the fingers over the corners of your eyes to wipe the sleep from them as you got ready for your shift at the Hideout.

It was a feeling that he was quickly becoming addicted to.

How many weeks had you been dating now?

Not enough to satisfy his rapidly increasing dependence on you.

Dating.

You even called him your boyfriend. God it still seemed like such a dream to him. One he never wanted to wake up from. But it was real. You had dates and you took naps together and talked on the phone; sure it was just easier to cross Forest Hills and sit on one of your porches to chat until it was past midnight and you were dozing off, but as the cold weather rolled in, the phone was the easier bet.

Racked up a bit of a phone bill but who was he to complain?

He always paid Wayne back.

It was worth it.

More often than not he started the call with the obligatory “what are you wearing” despite having most likely seen you earlier in the night. But you, not one to leave a man hanging, would always come up with a comical response: astronaut suit, Princess Leia’s bikini and a clown nose, pajamas made out of the hide of Big Bird himself.

It was ridiculous and nothing less than Eddie expected from his favorite tv character and the one true love of his life.

Thankfully, the two of you decided that sickeningly sweet was not your style. Not like some couples. There was no you hang up first or schmoopsie pet names. More often than not he just called you sweetheart; it rolled off the tongue. And you? Called him your idiot.

Yours.

He'd worried with Paige once upon a time that he didn't know how to be someone's boyfriend. Turned out, he just had to find someone to be a friend first, then the rest just...fell into place.

And aside from some of the nerves he'd had when you first showed up in town, and the ever-present question of just how you came to be in Hawkins--

There was a knock on the door to his bedroom.

"'Right Ed, I'm heading off to work," Wayne said through the door.

"Wait up," you called out to him as you hopped to pull your boots on. "I'm about to leave too."

You stopped briefly to give Eddie a tender kiss, and he chased after you when you tried to pull away. His lips refused to part from yours, his hands found your waist to tug you closer, and his heart soared when you sighed and gave into him a little longer.

--Everything was perfect.

You gave him a dreamy smile when you pulled away, one that quickly turned into a feral grin.

"I'm gonna be late," you whispered conspiratorially. "And the old man is gonna question whether your innocence is still intact or not if we take any more time."

Eddie froze.

Well. Almost perfect.

You took the opportunity to stick your tongue out at him and reached up to honk the tip of his nose, before you bolted from the room to leave.

Once the door to the trailer slammed shut and Eddie was alone, he fell back onto the bed with his hands over his face; his head spun as he wondered how the fuck he'd gotten here. To this point. This moment in time.

Because somehow...some way...you thought he was still a virgin.

"Somehow," he grumbled to himself after a second. "You're the one who told her you were, you idiot!"

And he had.

It was a funny story; it always was with Eddie.

Except this was anything but funny.

It has been the third date and there was just…a natural progression of things on your sofa after a day out at StarCourt. Music was playing, hands were wandering; he’d gotten a bit excited and rocked his hips against you creating a delicious crescendo of moans from both of you.

Then for some reason, Eddie thought back to Port Geneva.

Besides a few sweet kisses you shared with douchebag Mark Fisher, you never engaged in any…physical show of affection. No one did, actually. There had never been anything heavier than hand holding and kissing—maybe the occasional make out—shown on screen. Which, in hindsight he should have rationalized as being obvious; it was a family show on television, after all.

Instead he’d opened his big mouth and asked “hang on, are you a virgin?”

Rather than answer, you got bashful all of a sudden; you turned the question back on him, stuttering all the while.

“Eddie…a-are you a-a virgin?”

What could he say looking into your big wide eyes and kiss-bruised lips, thinking you were nervous and wanting to fix his gaff—especially considering all the blood had rushed from his brain to his cock—but yes?

Next thing he knew you were cuddling him, coddling him, and telling him that you could proceed with whatever next step he wanted, whenever he was ready.

In that moment how could he admit that it was all a lie? That he was an idiot and a liar trying to make you feel better? That he was no bumbling, blushing virgin; he was only saying it because he thought you were.

He knew if he tried to backtrack, you’d either believe he was a jerk or that he tried to lie again to feel less embarrassed.

So he let it slide.

Whatever. Virginity was a bullshit concept anyway.

The truth would come out eventually. It just made everything a little more complicated in the mean time.

“As if everything isn’t complicated enough anyway,” Eddie huffed.

Speaking of complicated, between napping in your comfortable embrace, your kiss, and thinking of the events that led up to the unfortunate virginity confession, he was in a bit of a situation.

Stiff and aching in his jeans, he did what he always did: Eddie took care of himself.

He unbuckled his belt and quickly rid himself of the barriers of denim and flannel, then scrambled to find the bottle of lotion that he unceremoniously shoved into the drawer of the bedside table. Just like all of the other things he tried to hide whenever you came over.

Other things...including the poster of you that he'd cut out of the TV Guide.

There was a spark of desire in him—of need—at the sight of it. Of you.

"I shouldn't," he muttered as his fingers hovered at the edge of the drawer, ready to close it. He'd already found what he needed. Best just close the drawer and crank one out and be a happy camper til the next time the need arose.

"It's just...not right...right?" he tried to convince himself as you stared up at him from inside the drawer.

He weighed the pros and cons, tried to convince himself that it was a normal thing. How many other times had he jacked off to pictures in magazines, or crushes from school. Shit, he'd even done it to the fantasy of you.

But now you were real and his girlfriend. Wasn’t that some kind of moral dilemma?

On the other hand, he would just be using a picture of his girlfriend to get off. That was normal, right?

Except...well...it was you, but not you you. Rosemary Glass you. The real you just left for work. The you in real life and the you in the TV Guide were not the same. You were full of life and energy and affection and not an ultra posed picture on a page.

There was another beat of debate before Eddie made a decision.

"Fuck it," he groaned and grabbed the flimsy magazine page and then slammed the back of his hand against the drawer to shut it. If he spent any more time weighing the moral implications here, he'd lose out on the opportunity.

So, poster in one hand, lotion well-coating the other, Eddie immediately sought out his hard cock and groaned with the brief sense of relief.

"Yeah," he sighed. His tongue traced the seam of his lips and he locked eyes with yours in the poster. "That's it."

Internal debate forgotten, he lost himself to his imagination with every stroke and squeeze and twist.

You kissed on him and your hand replaced his. No, your mouth instead of your hand. His mouth on you? He knew what your mouth tasted like; what about the rest of you? It was a delicious fantasy to explore.

His eyes roamed over the dips and curves of your body; he focused on the way your legs looked in that skirt as he squeezed the base of his cock and moaned.

What he wouldn't give to rip that skirt off of you. No, wait. You deserved better than that. He would undress you carefully, show how much you meant to him, then skink into your warmth. How would you feel? Like Heaven, he was sure.

His hand moved faster now, his toes curled, as he imagined this scenario and that one. What if he fucked you in the backseat of your car? Or shit, what about if he bent you over it? Take a drive out to the quarry and have his way with you.

"Fuck, fuck," he groaned and stilled for a second, savoring the intense build of feelings, before he bucked up into his fist repeatedly. "Yeah sweetheart just like that."

He focused on that sly smile, that tilt of your head.

Would you smile up at him like that when he was buried deep inside you, finding all the ways he could make you whine and keen for him. Shit, finding all the ways he would whine for you, just like he was now. Would you ask him for more?

"I'll give it to you baby," he muttered and bit his lip as the wave of his pleasure began to crest. He closed his eyes again to savor it. Savor the fantasy of you there with him, rocking and riding the wave with him. He couldn't wait for the day. "All of it. Whatever you want. Whatever you need."

Would you let him cum inside? You'd beg for it. Beg for his cum.

"Yeah? You'd let me?" he asked breathlessly.

"Please, please," you'd whine.

"Uh-huh? Yeah?"

"Please." You'd scrunch your eyes tightly, pull him in as deep as he could go. "Put a baby inside of me Eddie."

Eddie's eyes shot open and he choked on air. He let go of the now-crumpled magazine and his throbbing cock with a shout.

Panic gripped him.

"W-what the fuck?" he panted, rapidly coming down from his high like a man plummeting to the earth with a parachute that simply wouldn't open. "What the fuck? Why?"

His mind raced.

How had he thought of that? Where did it come from? He wasn't...he didn't...he'd never fantasized about something like that before. With anyone. Ever. Not alone either. Shit, he'd even accidentally checked out a porno from Family Video once that had a pregnant...

"Blagh," he gagged at the memory and fully lost the edge of his erection. The need to come was now gone; in fact, he suddenly never wanted to come again. Not if it meant that he was going to think thoughts like that?

With intense clarity, he tried to retrace his metaphorical steps. Tried to remember what exactly got him to those thoughts, to that...well, he could hardly call it a fantasy now could he? Nightmare. But he simply couldn't fathom how it had cropped up.

"Fuck," he groaned and looked down at himself. At his softening cock slick with lotion, at the crumpled picture of you with the sparkling eyes and smile. And he was reminded of the moral dilemma that he'd encountered a short while ago.

"No," he shook his head. "Not her. Rosemary Glass. That's all it is. I just...fucked myself up fantasizing about Rosemary Glass and my mind punished me. Haha Eddie, jokes on you, got the girl of your dreams and you'd prefer a picture. That's it."

Yeah, that's all it was.

All it had to be.

Otherwise...what the fuck was wrong with him?

What the fuck was wrong with Eddie Munson?

That seemed to be the question of the day, every day, for the rest of the week.

Well, that was what everyone seemed to ask Eddie; friends, teachers, bullies. To Eddie, though, it seemed like everything else was wrong.

It all started in O'Donnell's history class the following day after the, uh...fantasy incident.

He was excited to show up to class.

No, that wasn't why things were wrong. He'd been passing History, working hard ever since that first study date, excited to show up and succeed and actually graduate. And that day they were due to get a test back, one that he actually studied and prepared for.

So yes, he was excited.

Imagine his surprise when Mrs. O'Donnell placed the packet face-down on his desk and shook her head at him.

"I don't know what went wrong here Edward," she tutted. "You were making some real improvements. Such a disappointment."

Eddie frowned as she walked away, and he quickly flipped his packet over to the oh-so-familiar sea of red pen scribbles and a big fat F at the top of the page.

Not just an F. A zero.

"What the fuck?" he whispered.

He might not have been a star student but he’s never outright tanked a test before. Especially not one he’s studied for.

He went over every question again and every answer, wracked his brain for the responses he knew to be true—he had several B’s and C’s on quizzes to prove it—and then read the wrong answers on the test for all of them. Written in his obvious chicken scratch with doodles in the margins just like he remembered drawing when he took the test. So it's not like someone just wrote his name on their test.

O’Donnell took pity on him at the end of class and said he could sit for the test again during his study hall, especially since he’d been making some improvement. He’d practically kissed her.

Only for him to fail again.

He burned with self-hatred at first, and then simply turned his rage on O'Donnell, because he knew all of the answers. She must have just been a picky grader.

That was it, right? She just had it in for him.

But then other things just got worse.

Jason Carver might have been a tool bag and an antagonistic bully but he’d never been outright hostile before. Not like some of his predecessors.

Not like Tommy…Tommy H.

On an unrelated note, that bothered Eddie too. He couldn’t remember Tommy’s last name. Tommy who bullied him and his friends viciously. Tommy H…Tommy Hayes? Tommy Hagan? Both existed in his mind. And yeah normally he wouldn't give a shit but what the hell? First the History test and now Tommy H?

Regardless, Jason had been especially brutal lately.

Overly antagonistic, even calling Edde a freak in the middle of class. He and the rest of the basketball team had even begun their physical assault on him and his friends openly. The jocks pushed them into lockers, spit on them, and threw things. Gareth even got a black eye when they "ran into" the jocks after gym on Thursday.

Eddie knew he wasn't well-liked, but it burned him deep inside that no one spoke up, students and teachers alike. It was all out in the open, where everyone could see or report to the faculty. Even his friends kept their mouths shut and endured the abuse.

No one seemed to be bothered though; they kept to the status quo. And Eddie wasn’t gonna try his luck with Higgins on his own.

Cowards.

Friday morning, Eddie thought he had the answer; Chrissy Cunningham—Queen of Hawkins High and Jason’s girlfriend—spoke to him in homeroom. Not only spoke to him, but made moon eyes at him in every class they shared and in the hall between the classes that they didn't.

And it was getting annoying.

“Dude, Chrissy keeps looking over here,” Jeff whispered at lunch.

“I know!” Eddie slammed his hands on the table, startling the others. He took a calming breath and repeated himself, softer, to Jeff.

“What’s her deal? Does she wanna join Hellfire or something?”

“I dunno man, something strange is happening,” he shook his head and picked at his food. “I don’t know if she’s in some…argument with Jason and is trying to make him jealous. Or if she’s just bored and is enjoying his torment of the village idiots or something.”

“Maybe she wants to buy some weed,” Gareth piped up. “Slumber party with the rest of the cheer squad. She is the Captain. It’s her job to score.”

“Nah man,” Dave chortled. “I think it’s more likely that she’s trying to score in a different way. Get Eddie to fall in love with her or something and make a fool out of him.”

The guys all started laughing and making kissy noises, much to Eddie’s growing annoyance. Every puckering noise grated something deep within him. And it only pissed him offs more when the freshman started to get in on the fun, with Mike and Lucas singing about Eddie and Chrissy sitting in a tree—

“K-I-S-S-I-N—”

“Shut up!” Eddie slammed his hands on the table and shouted, voice echoing across the cafeteria, practically silencing everyone at the intrusion.

His shoulders heaved as he glared over at the jock’s table, where a certain someone with a bouncing strawberry ponytail waved hello, even as she sat with her boyfriend’s arm comfortably around her. And said boyfriend was glaring knives at him; if looks could kill, Eddie would be done for.

His thoughts spiraled and his ears started to ring.

What the fuck was going on? Why was everyone trying to fuck with him now? Why was everything suddenly out of control in such a short period of time? Was this karma? He got one thing he desperately needed so everything else was going to shit?

Suddenly he had an out of body experience, or at least…that’s what it felt like. He watched it all happen, felt all the movements and the words fly out of his mouth but he wasn’t in control.

One moment he was sitting at the head of his table, hands tented in front of his face as he contemplated life, and the next he was standing. Standing on top of the table, actually, and while that wasn’t an unusual occurrence, it’s what he did up there that was.

“Hey Carver, you have a fucking problem with me?” He shouted, hands cupped around his mouth. “Why don’t you step into my office and file a complaint!”

His arms swept outwards of their own volition and he bowed over to gesture to the table and to his friends.

“Pretty sure my associates have a few choice words for you too.”

What the fuck, what the fuck, what the fuck…

Jason was on his feet immediately, with Patrick and Andy quick to follow.

“What’s your damage freak?” He chuckled sardonically through gritted teeth. “Trying to have your own little David and Goliath moment? Prepare to get toppled.”

“Wait, do you think you’re David right now? You think you’re a hero?”Jeff scoffed and got to his feet, spurning the rest of Corroded Coffin to do the same, sending jeers and taunts across the room. The jocks did much of the same, name calling and shouting vicious threats.

“I’m gonna kick your ass Emerson!”

“Kick? How about kiss! Just like your mom likes to do!”

It kept going until Eddie took a few steps down the table, leant down, and scooped his fingers through Mike’s gloopy mashed potatoes, ready to fling a handful towards the enemies.

He was prepared for the worst as he witnessed it all from inside his own body, as he felt the gravy slip down his hand and into the sleeve of his jacket. An all out war, the need to protect his friends again—worse this time with the Freshman—the dread of listening to Gareth’s fingers breaking once more…it would all start once the first shot was fired.

If there was a God—or some fate writing this in the books of the universe who was just really bad at writing a fight sequence—now would be the time for them to make themselves known.

“Munson!”

Eddie inhaled the air greedily as he regained control of himself, and he marveled at Higgins' sudden appearance: standing in the doorway to the cafeteria with Coach Palmer and Nancy Wheeler standing behind him.

He’d never been so happy to see them in his life.

“Munson,” Higgins shouted at him. “Get down from there!”

Jeff, knowing what was good for them all, pulled Eddie down from the table and he stumbled on legs made weak from the rapid loss of adrenaline. Lucas passed a handful of paper napkins for him to clean off his hands as Higgins and Coach crossed the cafeteria, Coach to take care of his little minions, and Higgins to take care of him.

Despite their tenuous truce, Higgins grabbed Eddie by the arm and tugged him towards the cafeteria doors.

“Detention,” he hissed in Eddie’s face.

“My fucking pleasure,” Eddie replied desperately, suddenly a devout believer in whatever deity he had evoked.

Man, this was getting to be a habit.

As he was escorted out of the cafeteria, Eddie vaguely heard Dustin over the din of classmate whispers.

“Guys, that was weird. What’s wrong with Eddie?”

“What do you mean?” Gareth answered blithely. “He’s always like that.”

"I can't believe you got detention."

"I mean, Higgins could have expelled me. Or tried to get me to drop out again."

"I really fucking hate that guy," you muttered and reached out to grab a box from the shelf. "How about this one?"

"Seen it, fake blood is obviously fake."

"You're such a horror snob."

"Don't deny it," he whispered in your ear and pressed a kiss to your cheek. "That's your favorite thing about me."

You put the movie back on the shelf in a huff and then the two of you shuffled forward down the aisle.

Saturdays were made to be spent together; Saturday mornings specifically. Eddie would take as much time with you as he could, but Hawkins was Hawkins and there was only so much to do. So you designated Saturdays as mornings out before you went to work and Eddie made the rounds to whatever parties he could safely show his face at and make some quick cash.

You traded off on whoever made plans, and today he had pathetically suggested a movie, snacks, and cuddling on the couch, needing to find a respite in your arms after the abject chaos of his week.

He already felt worlds better, more like himself, because you listened and understood.

He ranted and cursed during the drive and you hung onto every word, only interjecting to offer gentle encouragement. You didn't pity him or blame him--well, you blamed him for almost starting a food fight and since he couldn't explain what overcame him in that moment, he accepted it--but you made sure he knew that you had been in his shoes and understood exactly how he felt.

His dependence on you made itself known when you got into the store. As much as you protested his arms latching around you immediately, he knew you secretly enjoyed the proximity and the sweetness that he lavished you with.

Hobbling down the aisles with him practically attached to you; whispered stories, jokes, and terms of endearment; and an occasional raspberry on your neck if and when you had differing opinions about a movie.

Eddie thought The Outsiders was a good movie. You preferred the book. Which was fine. You tried to tell him Rob Lowe was cute, though; that earned you some punishment.

"Oh come on, don't tell me you never had a crush on a celebrity," you snorted and squealed and tried to free yourself from his grasp. Which you did successfully as your words made him freeze. "Or like...a character from a tv show or something."

You didn't know how close to the truth you were.

He felt his world tilt on its axis as you kept browsing and spouting off names and laughing, and with each celebrity or character you named, the more he thought of Port Geneva with intense clarity.

He could hear the theme song, see the neon text of the closing card, and feel his heart skip a beat when you'd show up on screen and greet your friends "Hey guys!"

"Hey guys!" your same voice rang from the other side of the partition of tapes, same emphasis and volume and cheer as you would on tv, as you greeted Robin Buckley and Steve Harrington. "Are those new?"

"Mmhmm," Robin affirmed. "Technically they were supposed to go out yesterday for the weekend, but someone was too busy flirting with Melanie Hartford."

Steve's embarrassed trip-up over a response was overshadowed as you called out.

"Hey Eddie, come here, I think they're putting out some new movies."

Eddie took a breath to compose himself, carefully placed the mask of cool and adoring boyfriend back on, and then rounded the corner to join you.

"If it's Death Wish 3 on tape, it wasn't that goo--" Eddie trailed off as he stopped in his tracks.

He understood why Steve sounded so embarrassed.

Eddie mainly steered clear of Steve Harrington over the years; yeah he was a shithead and a bit of a bully, but especially since the Freshman insisted that Steve was a nice guy, he'd tried to put it all in the past. Best not think of King Steve and all of the opportunities and advantages that he'd gotten, no matter how good of a guy they claimed he was.

Knowing Harrington's reputation and then fall from grace over the past few months though, he wondered if Steve had ever had some unreciprocated crush before.

Because he was certainly acting like he had a crush in front of you.

A crush on you.

Eddie knew what it looked like when someone had a crush; shit, he'd felt that way plenty of times over the years. The shifting eyes, the nervous stuttering. He'd gotten pretty good at hiding it, being able to put on the cool guy front. But Steve was doing it all out in the open.

Steve watched as you and Robin passed tapes back and forth--watched you more than Robin, actually--threw a comment in every now and again. When he cracked a joke, his eyes slid directly to you, and when you laughed, he beamed brightly.

And Eddie didn't know what he was more grateful for: the fact that you seemed oblivious to it all, or that he was there to witness it and put an end to it.

He tamped down the fire that built up inside of him and closed the distance; he threw an arm over your shoulder with a cool greeting to Robin and Steve.

"I've never even heard of some of these movies, have you?" Robin asked with some bewilderment.

"I don't know, this one sounds familiar," you hummed thoughtfully.

"See that's what I told Rob," Steve interjected and Eddie grit his teeth.

"Yeah, yeah, whatever," Robin scoffed.

"Isn't this the girl from Legend?" You held up a video box to Eddie to show him. He couldn't be bothered to really notice the titles of the movies on display--Ferris Bueller's Day Off, The Lost Boys, Lethal Weapon--and instead he chose to press a kiss to the side of your head and continue glaring at Steve.

You turned back to Robin.

"Do you guys have Legend? I saw it when it came out but it'd be nice to see it again."

"I can show you!" Steve jumped at the chance, but Robin rolled her eyes and pushed him away.

"I've got this dingus," she waved at the tapes on the counter. "If you could finish processing these like you should've done yesterday?"

Steve huffed as you and Robin walked away, but Eddie stayed behind. He leaned over the counter, elbows resting against the edge.

"How've things been Harrington?" he asked nonchalantly.

"Uhh," Steve shrugged but pointedly ignored Eddie's eyes. "Good, fine."

"Did I overhear Buckley right? Going on dates? You finally over Nancy Wheeler," Eddie's voice got progressively louder.

"What the--listen keep your voice down, Jesus," Steve laughed nervously, gaze shifting in the direction that you and Robin had disappeared. "A guy's gotta move on. Can't be lovesick over Nance forever."

Eddie plastered a fake smile on his face and laughed heartily.

"Yeah? Gotta find someone else to obsess over?" The smile dropped almost immediately and he became dead-eyed. "Stop making goo-goo eyes at my girlfriend."

"Hey, Munson, I'm sorry--" Steve held his hands out innocently. "She just came in one day and I thought she was cute; I didn't know that you were--"

"I'm sorry," Eddie mimicked Steve, standing stiff and straight with shaking hands. "I didn't know the freak could have a girlfriend."

He reached across the counter and grabbed Steve by the vest and pulled him forward, close enough so he could get in his face.

"Don't look at her again, don't talk to her again," he hissed. "You can have literally any other girl in Hawkins, King Steve. So you better get over your crush fast."

Yeah, it was harsh, and in hindsight he should have been a little nicer about it. But after everything had compounded on him all week, it was nice to just be a raging asshole like everyone expected him to be.

Unfortunately, you had never experienced Eddie The Villain Munson.

"Eddie, what the hell!" you exclaimed as you appeared in his peripheral vision.

Until right that second.

"Let him go, what are you doing?" you rushed forward and slapped at his hands to get him to release Steve. He did, but continued to glare as he backed away and took several calming breaths.

"Hey, in all honesty," Robin laughed nervously as she returned to the counter. "Dudley Do-Right here probably said something dumb and deserved it."

"What's going on?" you ignored her and whispered to Eddie. "I thought we were just gonna have a relaxing day. You were fine two seconds ago. What's wrong?"

"It's nothing," he deflected. "Don't worry about it."

"We can just go home and hang out like you wanted; you said Wayne has some Bonanza reruns on tape. We can laugh at Hoss and Little Joe and--"

His eyes went wide; the Bonanza tapes were by the TV, mixed up with the Port Geneva tapes.

"No!" he shouted aggressively...defensively; it startled you. "No Bonanza!"

"Oh...kay."

Then your whole demeanor changed.

You crossed your arms in front of you and your eyes went cold and distant; you frowned, deep enough to create lines on your forehead and around your mouth. You suddenly looked a lot older than you were, aged by disappointment and...guilt maybe? He didn't know. He'd never seen you like that before, and he suddenly felt bad.

"Let's uhh...let's just go," you offered quickly, then apologized to Steve and Robin for taking their time.

"Hey wait, I'm sorry," he tried to apologize. "We can still get a movie and hang out. I just...I don't know...I fucked up. I'm sorry."

"No, I...I forgot Bev said she might need some extra help today. Making some changes, I don't know. I need to go in. It's my fault. I'm sorry."

"Sweetheart wait!" he called out as you walked out of the store and towards your car. He looked back at Robin and Steve, who pointedly avoided looking at him, and then huffed a sigh and followed you.

The ride back to Forest Hills was tense and silent.

Eddie knew he fucked up, knew he hurt you, but didn't know what to say or how to fix it.

"What the fuck is wrong with Eddie Munson?"

That was the question of the week, and now even Eddie was asking it of himself. Especially since he couldn't even control himself.

"I'm sorry," he whispered to you when you parked in front of his place. "I don't know...I'm just sorry."

"It's ok," you shook your head. "Seriously Eddie, don't worry about it. You just had a bad week. I need to go to work. We'll hang out another time."

"I'll call you tonight," he promised. "After work."

"Sure," you offered a tight-lipped smile. "Just rest today ok? And feel better."

"Yeah."

"Everything's gonna be ok."

"I know."

He leaned over and gave you a kiss and there was something about the way that you kissed him...that made his heart ache, and he didn't know why.

Eddie watched as you drove away, off to the Hideout to help Bev, or whatever else you could do if it ended up being a lie so you could just get away from him.

He'd fix it; he had to. He just got his wish, got you; he couldn't lose you. It would be the last straw.

He climbed up the porch steps, lost in his own thoughts, but when he opened the door--

"What the fuck?"

--all of his worries were forgotten, because the trailer was trashed.

Wayne was blissfully asleep on the fold-out bed, but there were piles of laundry on the couch, dirty dishes piled in the sink in the kitchen. Empty, crushed beer and soda cans littered the floor; honestly, there was just trash everywhere.

Eddie had only left an hour or two ago, and the trailer...well it might have had some clutter but at least it was tidy. It looked like an atomic bomb of trash had exploded in here.

If he had just been wondering what was wrong with him, he was suddenly wondering what was wrong with the universe again.

"What the fuck?"

The rest of the weekend had been spent cleaning.

Not tidying, literally cleaning.

He'd tried to ask Wayne about it all--maybe some weird trash bandit had come or kids trying to pull a prank, it wasn't like they really locked their doors--but what was even more suspicious was that Wayne didn't blink an eye at the mess.

"I work, you have school," he shook his head and tried to go back to sleep. "Chores pile up kid. That's the way it's always been. We'll get ahead of it again eventually."

And that just made Eddie feel bad; had it actually been this bad all along and he never realized it? Had Wayne done all this cleaning and housework on his own and now the weariness and the years just started to catch up? It must've only gotten worse now that Eddie lived with him.

So Eddie kept his head down and his mouth shut and tried to make it all better.

He cleaned and cleaned, and it seemed that no matter how much he cleaned, everything only got worse. The laundry on the sofa had been put away--more laundry than Eddie or Wayne really even had clothes to be honest. The fridge was somehow both empty--even though he'd just remembered to do a little grocery shopping...or had that been the other day--and full of rotten food at the same time. There was plenty of beer though. The dishes were all cleaned and spotless, only for him to come home from school on Monday afternoon to find them all to be right back again. Has they even used real dishes? Not that he could recall.

Fuck.

He complained to you on the phone late Saturday night--

"I don't know how it happened. It's like suddenly out of the blue it all just...appeared."

"Wayne didn't hold a secret party while we were out?" you asked, although your voice seemed stiff...distant.

"He just rolled right over and went back to sleep."

--but aside from some sympathy, you didn't seem to think anything was weird.

Hell, even his friends didn't seem suspicious.

"The trailer is always dirty," Gareth scoffed at practice on Monday night. "Like...no offense man, it's a trailer park, what do you expect."

It took everything in Eddie not to knock his buddy out right then and there; how many times had he told them how awful and stereotypical that kind of idea was. How hurtful people were when they found out he'd moved in with Wayne. Only for Gare to come back and spit it back at him again?

Instead he put that hateful energy into coming up with some kind of way to make you...forgive him...or love him again or something. He'd floated the idea of a ballad or some kind of love song to the guys at practice, ready to wow you on Tuesday night at the Hideout.

They hemmed and hawed but after he promised they'd all roll with advantage during the following Friday's session, they agreed and even suggested songs to get him back in your good graces.

Now it was Tuesday night. Time had passed by in a flash and he was standing at the door to the Hideout, ready to knock your socks off.

The guys were inside already, setting up, but he'd needed a moment to think of what to say to you.

He paced in the gravel, thought about his apology, thought about the song that he'd picked. The last song of the set, one he'd dedicate to you.

It would be perfect.

He mustered up the courage and walked inside, only to be hit by shock once again.

How many times could someone utter the words "what the fuck" in one week? Eddie had to be going for a world record.

When Eddie had suggested the Hideout when you mentioned looking for jobs, he'd warned you that Bev was a curmudgeon but the nicest curmudgeon you'd meet, and that the bar itself was, affectionately, a shithole. A house turned into a bar on the side of the highway, with a bunch of plywood in the corner that doubled as a stage, a makeshift bartop that was probably older than his uncle, and chipped glasses.

Now, it was almost...nice?

With an actual small, raised stage and a few spotlights hanging from the ceiling, neon signs boasting brands like Old Style and Coors--something Bev had always said was just the glitter and not the gold--and a sleek black bar with a marble top and comfortable-looking barstools. And it all had Eddie wondering if he'd stepped into the Twilight Zone.

That was it right? That had to be it. He'd stepped into the Twilight Zone the minute you'd showed up outside of his trailer and he hadn't returned to the real world since.

"Hey, there you are," you approached him from behind the bar with a tense smile. "The guys were wondering when you'd come in. I got them all cherry cokes to shut them up."

"You didn't have to buy them drinks," Eddie shook his head. "They don't deserve it."

"On the house," you reassured him.

"I'm sorry," he choked on air. "On the...on the house? On the house meaning...Bev's treating? Bev who must've secretly won the lottery or something? Look at all of this." He gestured around the bar and then lifted his feet. "The floors aren't even sticky."

"I told you that she was making changes," you shrugged, but refused to meet his eyes.

"Changes, not...a full renovation, wow." He looked around in awe, then squinted when he saw something on one of the tables. "She even sprung for printed napkins too."

"Yeah," you laughed nervously. "Guess she did. It's as much of a shock to me as it is to you. You, uh, better get the guys before they cause too much trouble."

"Yeah I should," he nodded slowly, but grabbed your wrist when you tried to walk away. "I know I've said it a million times sweetheart but I'm sorry I scared you."

"You didn't Ed, I promise," you tried to smile but it didn't quite reach your eyes.

"Can we talk maybe? After the set? Like really talk? I'll even wipe the tables off for you." You hesitated but nodded, and he gave you the briefest peck on the cheek before running down the back hallway to the little smokers exit to find the guys.

Only to find them in a legitimate green room in what he was sure used to be the storage room where Bev kept the kegs. His friends were all laid out along leather couches that sat along the perimeter of the room, sipping their cherry cokes and chatting. There was a coffee table right in the center laden with snacks and magazines.

"Man," he commented with a whistle, alerting the guys to his presence. "Can you guys believe this?"

"I know," Jeff giggled maniacally and then reached out to grab a bag of peanut M&M's. "Brand name snacks, and not the generic kind we usually get."

"Makes me feel like we're about to hit it big," Dave agreed.

Eddie tripped over his words for a second, not entirely sure that they were as astounded by the Hideout's transformation as he was, but he shook off the bewilderment to tell them it was time to go perform.

They raced back down the hall to the stage, and although the bar had just been empty when he walked in--save for you and some of the regulars slumped in their seats--there was definitely a crowd. Or the beginnings of one. A couple canoodling at a table, a few college-aged people ordering beers, and a group for a bachelorette party or something at the large booth that had been installed in the corner by the door.

"Wow," Eddie breathed out, nerves suddenly overtaking him. They'd never played a crowd like this before. "Hope they like metal."

And they did. They were head banging and once they were familiar enough with the lyrics a few people were singing along.

It was invigorating. Refreshing. Aside from the handful of people who'd been involved in the whole...record label fiasco, he'd really never experienced this many people who were excited for his sound. Their sound.

He wasn't gonna betray his friends, his band, like that again.

There were a few songs that Jeff and Gareth suggested that weren't originally on their setlist, and they really weren't metal technically, but they all knew the songs and the crowd was excited for them, so he couldn't complain.

Towards the end of the set, he felt his stomach churn with nerves again. Worse now, because it was time.

"Uh," he stepped up to the microphone, a little too close as it squeaked with feedback. "Hey guys, thanks for uh...thanks for coming out. Make sure you...tip your bartender...and her lovely assistant." He gestured over to you and a grumpy-looking Bev at the bar.

The audience clapped, even the handful of drunk regulars.

"Now uh, speaking of the lovely assistant, I...um..." he cleared his throat and looked down at his guitar. "I might have messed some stuff up with her the other day, and I know she's still a little mad at me. So sweetheart, without further ado, this one's for you. Corroded Coffin's rendition of..."

He paused. Froze.

The words were right on the tip of his tongue: All Through The Night.

They'd practiced it for hours, really making the cover theirs. They added all sorts of guitar riffs and a sick solo that ended with him sending a kiss across the bar to you. It was supposed to be perfect.

He cleared his throat and tried again.

"Corroded Coffin's All..." He shook, struggled to get the words out. "All...All My Only Dreams. Enjoy."

What the fuck? What the fuck?

He felt that out of body experience again, just like he had in the cafeteria, as his fingers plucked at the strings of his guitar and Gareth and Dave set a slow beat.

It felt like some bad knockoff song from the 60's. Maybe something he heard on one of his mom's records. But he couldn't place it.

What was this song? How did the guys know it? Why had he said that? What was All My Only Dreams?

It was certainly not metal. Certainly not music.

"Every night I pray, I'll have you here someday," he felt himself sing. "I'll count the stars tonight, and hope with all my might..."

He stared at you across the bar as the song continued, out of his control; the couple stood from their table and began swaying back and forth and you stood there behind the bar, wide-eyed with a hand covering your mouth. In shock or disbelief or pain he couldn't quite tell.

"Every waking hour it seems, I only have you in my dreams."

All he knew was, this song kept going and going and he couldn't stop it even if he wanted to. Couldn't stop himself from playing or singing, couldn't stop Jeff from harmonizing with him on certain verses.

Until the song was over.

"If I could have just one request, stay with me girl I'll confess, all my only dreams."

He strummed the last few notes, and as soon as the audience started clapping, he felt whatever puppet strings get cut, felt himself in control again.

Eddie panicked. He didn't even wait for the applause to be over, didn't thank the crowd like he usually would. He just swung the guitar over his shoulder and jumped off the stage with the guys hot on his heels.

"What's going on?" Gareth hollered after him.

"Yeah Ed, where are you going?" Jeff caught up to him and tried to put a hand out to stop him, but Eddie just shrugged him away.

"That was our best performance ever," Dave insisted. "And applause on an original song to boot."

Eddie froze as he reached the green room, and then turned on his friends, hackles raised.

"Original song." He parroted. "Original song? That wasn't an original song!"

"Yeah it was," Jeff nodded. "All My Only Dreams. You made us practice it all night last night so it was perfect."

"We practiced All Through the Night," he laughed dryly. "Are you high right now Jeff? Fuck, am I high right now?"

"Are you?" Gareth exclaimed. "Because I didn't just learn that song so you could make it up to your girlfriend just so you could act crazy like this man."

Jeff walked over to the pile of their stuff in the corner of the room, and fished a folded piece of paper out of the pocket of his backpack.

"Here I'll prove it to you," he grumbled and unfolded it. "All My Only Dreams. By Eddie Munson."

He shoved the paper into Eddie's hands and Eddie stared at it in disbelief. His handwriting, again, with words that he didn't remember writing. A little heart in the corner with your name scribbled inside of it, just like he did in his school notebook sometimes.

"What the fuck..." he muttered to himself, and then looked up at his friends, suddenly lightheaded and sick.

He felt angry, he felt like crying, he felt like...like everything in the world was turning upside down on him and it was some kind of cruel joke that everyone was in on but him.

He opened his mouth to start yelling, when your head appeared behind the guys.

"Hey, 'scuse me guys," you announced your presence and Dave, Jeff, and Gareth all parted so Eddie had a full view of you.

You looked just as sick as he felt. Your face was crumpled in a terrible pensive frown, hands wrung together in front of you.

"Can you give me and Eddie a few minutes alone? While you all break down your stuff?" you asked softly, and Eddie felt his heart drop into his stomach as the others left.

You closed the door to the green room behind you and then took a few deep breaths.

This was it.

You were gonna break up with him.

The universe was cruel to let Eddie have you, only to play these games and lose you in such a short amount of time.

He was so caught up in the panic of possibly losing you that he didn't notice you talking until you were right in front of him. Your hands cradled his face and you stared into his eyes, your own full of worry.

"Eddie, Eddie are you ok?" you asked, voice edged with panic.

"Yeah," he cleared his throat. "Yeah, sorry...I was..."

"It's ok, don't worry," you reassured him. "It's...fuck...it's ok."

"Did you like the song?" he questioned, dumbly.

You let out a snort of laughter and then squished his face between your hands for a second.

"We need to talk," you whispered. "It's gonna be a lot. And it's not gonna be easy to hear, and I know you're gonna have a lot of questions, and I don't...I...fuck Ed...I'm so sorry."

"Are you breaking up with me?"

"I..." You looked lost for a second. "Eddie, I don't know how to answer that question. No...not really."

"Not really isn't no."

"Alright smartass," you scoffed. "No, I'm not breaking up with you. But that doesn't mean...doesn't mean that this thing we've got going on now isn't over. It's...what I'm gonna tell you right now is gonna change everything."

You helped him to sit down on one of the leather couches and then you paced back and forth, nervously chewing your thumbnail and looking for a way to start.

"This..." you began tentatively. "This isn't...real."

"So I am dreaming," he looked around for a moment. "Makes sense."

"No...you're not dreaming. It's just...well, ok, Ed. It's gonna be really hard to understand. But I'm gonna need you to tap into that big imagination of yours. Ok? Because God damn, if there was anyone I could get to understand, it's honestly you. Making up all sorts of stories and fantasies for Dungeons and Dragons.

“I’m sure you’ve started noticing things happening? Weird things, uncanny things, impossible things. And it’s making you go a little cross-eyed, a little crazy, makes you feel like you’re losing your mind because the only person who notices the changes…well it’s you. But it isn’t only you.

"This..." you waved around. "It's all real. It's a real world and we live in it. I'm real, you're real. I can touch you, kiss you. But it isn't. Not really."

He suddenly felt like you were talking down to him, and felt that irrational anger start to build again. You’d made sense up to a point. This was real, but it wasn't real, but it was real enough so he could kiss you? But somehow not real enough because you were bringing up stories he created for DnD, like it was all part of his imagination. But somehow he was also crazy?

"What the fuck is going on?" he demanded.

"Eddie," you took a breath and closed your eyes for a second. "This right now? Everything you see? This room, that song, me, and you?"

"Yeah."

"We're all fictional. We're all...in a fan fiction."

Next Chapter: Lore Dump

There is no taglist for this series, please follow the STFF Updates tag or check the series out on AO3.

[goodluckclove]

How Clove Gardener Writes (an Overview)

I definitely told myself when I started this blog a billion years ago, at the dawn of human civilization, that I wouldn't make any attempt to tell you how to write. You know - other than saying just do it do the thing write it close the blog open the document type type three sentences bam look you did it good job i love you now go get yourself a treat.

But I've spoken to a few writers who seem to benefit from the insight of me just explaining how I write. So I thought I'd give a little peek into my own mindset. I cannot stress enough that this is what works for me. It's a methodology that I've built up over the course of like fifteen years of trying different things, keeping what works, and throwing the rest right out the goddamned window.

If any of this seems new and appealing give it a try. If it doesn't help I'm wrong and bad as a person (no I'm kidding but seriously if it doesn't work that's fine and we're both fine). If it helps you owe me a picture of a frog drawn from memory.

Let's see how long I ramble. Follow me under the read more!

Okay, so let's get this out of the way. I've never taken a writing class. No, that's not true. I took one when I was thirteen and another one in high school and I don't remember anything either of them taught me. Oh and I took an online creative writing class in college, but I also didn't retain anything and the next year I dropped out of college. So I also don't have a degree in jack shit.

What else? I don't outline. I've written upwards of 15 novels (13-15, I honestly can't remember) and I did not outline any of them. This includes character sheets and worldbuilding lore. My first published novel Blind Trust was born from the concept of the Lover's Knot, which is just like some witchy magic lore. I thought it would be cool so I was like "who could maybe be some guys" and then I introduced some guys and then bam 180k later it was Scott and Edgar.

I do virtually no preparation to write a novel other than the vaguest premise and maybe like one cool scene. I did not have a cool scene for Blind Trust, but I do have one for Migration Patterns. What I don't have is an ending. I don't think I've ever written a novel knowing how it ends.

Literally here's what I do. This is all I do. I sit down and I write until I don't know what's going to happen next, at which point I step away and I listen to some music or I go to the museum or I take a nap until I decide how to continue. That's it.

For me it's going to the zoo every day and seeing the monkeys. And every day they're doing something different. Sometimes they're sleeping, or they're pawing at each other, or they're gathering sticks. I can call out to them and offer to show them a card trick or share my Bugles with them, and they might come up to the wall of the enclosure to see what I'm doing. Or they might not. I do not really have control of the situation, but it doesn't matter because they aren't fully aware of me.

At some point either I have to leave the zoo for some reason. Maybe I'm tired, or maybe the monkeys have been pulled in to be fed their lunch (it's bananas and peanuts). Either way I add that day's behavior to the pile and then come back tomorrow.

Once I find an ending I go back and I read through the book again and trim any fat that's in the wrong places while adding flesh to some naked bones. Then I wait a week or more (usually I can only wait a week) and go back and do it again. By that point it's ready to hopefully have someone read it, after which I make small edits and tweaks.

That's how I do it. Or at least, that's how I do it for longform prose projects that I plan to publish. I've written plenty of novels that just stayed first drafts because I didn't feel like revising them and then I moved on to the next one. I don't regret that. I don't consider it a waste of time.

I would never consider a trip to the zoo a waste of time.

Anyways, that's what works for me. I don't know if all of this will apply to other brains. I don't know if any of it will. I figure it might just be useful to get an in-depth look at what I personally vibe with.

I'm so down to talk writing at any time, by the way. I love to do it. Tell me why you aren't writing and I would be happy to listen and try to help. Or just brainstorm. Seriously, my DMs and inbox are perpetually open. Talking about writing is one of my favorite things to do.

Let's go look at some monkeys together.

[nomsfaultau]

Hello, the asker from the last time here again asking about the lucky charm the Blade once again.

Can I use that ability to like. Get good grades on exams. For example if I say that whoever gets a perfect grade on this specific upcoming exam loses then am I guaranteed to get a perfect grade? And no killing me wouldn't work because well. I can't get a perfect grade if I'm dead.

Could they theoretically use it to get foundation off of their tails? Like what if the rest of the fault crew challenges him individually that like "If foundation forgets about my existence, all files on me dissapear as if they've never existed and the foundation never hunts me down again AND I don't die in the process then I lose". Would that work? Can they also just like change their lifespans like that? Like let's say that someone's dying and they say smtn like "If my wounds magically heal right this instant then I lose" would that just. Happen? That's incredibly op.

Grades: Not likely. (1. The Blood God wants his vessel to be the absolute best. Failing a test doesn't really do that, and he thinks trying to pull an 'opposite day' thing is absurd. He's not obligated to take on every challenge posed. (2. He could just take the test normally, make an imperfect score, and not lose. There isn't particularly cause to make your score better, since his success is not dependent on your loss. The Blood God could perfectly well kill you, or would, but since he wouldn't see this as a real challenge he wouldn't be around to it. The Blade however would be hella stressed about a random exam he didn't study for, since that's textbook nightmare fuel.

As for getting rid of the Foundation problem...It's not a real challenge, is it? By design you're just trying to get The Blood God to help you. Being clever about it, sure, but by it's nature it's not actually something antagonistic to The Blade. It's not a sincere challenge, and so the universe would not twist itself to ensure his victory.

Technically once (chapter 23) we see The Blade in Fault use his power in a wily fashion to force Wilbur to fall asleep safely. That works because Wilbur is resisting, is posing a challenge, and ultimately told The Blade to his face that he was too weak to fight the Foundation alone. It was an actual opposition, and The Blade kinda forced The Blood God to show up, who grumbled and accepted because hey it meant The Blade stopped chaining him to the bottom of a mental ocean for a few minutes. Plus the insult that The Blood Muffining God couldn't withstand pitiful siege warfare.

Still, The Blade isn't keen on using it with his friends, because it does require marking them as an enemy, which is dangerous with as creative as The Blood God can get. Very monkey's paw type situation.

Now.......did The Blade try to bait a few professors in college into swearing up and down he would fail their classes since they directly were the ones who decided his success? Definitely. Did it work? Probably only like. Once. With a prof that loathed his guts and actively was trying to get him failed. Because like if the prof is just warning him that he needs perfect grades on the next exam, and is trying to help that happen, they're allies, not enemies. So battle luck doesn't work.

Yes, the power is very OP. But it's reliant on (1. The Blood God perceiving a threat/trying to get control of The Blade (2. The challenger being sincere in their threat (3. A very direct threat, since the power operates on the individual level otherwise the entire Foundation would be dead. He's ultimately a war god, not a wish god.

Plus, from The Blood God's perspective...yes he doesn't want The Blade trapped in the Foundation. Sure The Blood God liked in there, the constant violence, how worn down The Blade's mental barriers became. The Foundation was the most active The Blood God had been in years. But no, it was really bad for The Blade, humiliating and traumatizing, and The Blood God rescued him over and over because really he does care.

...But also getting constantly attacked by the Foundation (By The Blood God's logic, which is severely flawed) forces The Blade to get stronger through combat, allows The Blood God to actually y'know slaughter people since he's a god of slaughter, and prevents The Blade from trapping him permanently in the voices. In a paradoxical way the Foundation allows him to be free.

To The Blood God, struggle is what defines you. It is through fighting to survive that you truly live. Why would he ever rob The Blade of that?

[stuck-in-the-ghost-zone]

ALSO. HIIII good evening <3 holding microphone up to u. i would love ur scion thoughts post-interlude!! if u have any!! i know u have Opinions on him i wanna know how the redstringing's going!!!!

OH DUDE I HAVE SOOOOOOOOOOOO MANY FUCKING OPINIONS. GOD. WHAT THE FUCK . WAS NOT EXPECTING 2 LEARN THIS INFORMATION WHEN I WAS TIPSY ON CLOWN WINE AT MIDNIGHT BUT ALAS HERE WE FUCKING ARE I GUESS. CASUAL WORM READING EXPERIENCE. FUCK

okay okay okay oka. that interlude was so fucking good it both answered some of my questions and also gave me SO MANY MORE QUESTIONS. as soon as kevin started talking about being the most powerful man in the world i KNEW. i KNEW it was gonna be some scion bullshit. at first i thought it was gonna be like some... witch from beauty and the beast bullshit where he Was Actually scion just. posing as an eccentric homeless guy out of costume. which would have disappointed me i think because i am so dead set on scion Not Being Human.

WHICH. I FEEL SO STRONGLY IN MY HEART THIS CHAPTER SUPPORTED SO WELL. when they described how Simurgh first appeared floating motionless over a city. dude. dude. my first fucking thought with that was "hey that sounds like what people say about scion." he doesnt speak. his face never moves. hes extremely powerful, so far the only person powerful to drive away the endbringers. he's GOTTA be the same type of thing they are. not human, never was human, but for some reason he Looks Human. like... simurgh does too, but shes still huge and has weird proportions and the wings. scion as far as i know is normal sized and looks mostly human besides being gold. i havent figured that out yet

having a LOT OF FEELINGS about . the whole reason scion does what he does is because some miserable man with a heart of gold told him to. side note i reallyyyy really got attached to kevin i liked him a lot :( that brings into question SO MANY fucking things about the endbringers. this is full on mac ghostiezone game theory moment at this point but. i dont know where they came from, but it seems like at their first appearance they were... susceptible to orders? and this just happened to be an extremely lucky right place at the right time moment. I cant even imagine a world where scion wasnt a "hero" and was instead a force of destruction like the endbringers. which brings up the question... did anyone else try to talk to the endbringers at their first appearances? i cant IMAGINE anyone would willingly go near leviathan or behemoth considering their more monstrous dangerous appearance . but what about simurgh? im acting on the assumption that the endbringers are some sort of Creation and i dont know what their purpose is but either option 1: someone DID talk to the other 3 and it was someone with extremely bad intentions and gave them the orders to become what they are now or option 2: nobody said shit to them and theyre acting on base instinct????? idk. im viewing the endbringers more like. animals or natual disasters than anything and i dont know if thats exactly correct to do but its how my brain works. so.

the big difference between them is that... scion acts with a Goal, where the endbringers seem more like forces of nature that dont really act with any sort of. purpose. simurgh is the exception to this though since she went out of her way to obscure the information about power origins from reaching dragon and also the way she acts makes it seem like... she Knows something. i dont know i still have sooo many questions.

im REALLY worried about whats gonna happen now that kevin gave him the new order to kill. im really worried its gonna be like a monkeys paw situation where... maybe one or all of the endbringers will die, but then what the fuck does he do after that. come back to whats her name (is it lisette?) for more orders? theres no guarantee lisette will be anywhere near as. idk. selfless? as kevin? that feels wrong. idk. she seemed scared of that situation and didnt want the responsibility placed on her so what if she avoids it and never gives scion any other orders???? will he just fall back on old programming and start killing other "bad" things???? is THIS how the fucking apocalypse starts. this has gotta be connected to the apocalypse in some way i can feel it in my bones. scion with kill orders makes me feel crazy.

[olderthannetfic]

Having more fandom friends around my age/mindset (context: late 30s, rare fandoms, reads some nsfw but not the type to post about it a lot in my main account) might be nice. I ignored the fandom part of myself a long time due to my RL friends being shitty about it (I dumped the worst of them) and I'm trying to enjoy it more.

But I keep leaving comments on fic and art and don't get any reply, let alone a conversation or follow. When I do get a response, the person stops posting fic in that fandom shortly afterwards. In an earlier more active fandom, I would send requests to people (clearly open for requests!) and 99% of the time I'd be ignored, or they'd draw the request at a level clearly before their usual stuff then delete it because they didn't like it (their words).

I'm not writing anything inappropriate or critical? I try to make my comments more interesting than 'i love this write more thx', maybe they get too confusing and off-putting to read? It certainly isn't because my ship is too weird because even non-shippers ship my current OTP lmao

I am trying to be realistic about it, maybe they aren't replying because they don't have the energy, or they have a life and they can't reply to the comment immediately and forget to, or they moved on, or they think I'm a tit which is totally fine?

The issue is it keeps happening, it's depressing, and the follows I do get are people in the same fandom who only like the parts I'm not invested in at all, have really tired takes and are significantly younger to the point I'm concerned about looking like a creep if I interact with them at 100% of my full power. It feels very much like I'm wishing on a monkey paw.

I have a very small number of friends I can talk to about fandom stuff I will cling onto with both hands. I just wish there were more. This is mainly me venting but if anyone has any suggestions feel free.

--

Hmm... Well, I share your suspicion that if you're the common factor, you're at least somewhat contributing to this situation. It may not be that you're offputting but that you inherently like things most other fans don't like—not just rare ships but also rarer tropes.

Or it may not be rarity exactly but prompt style: while tons of people love found family and slice of life, a lot of prompts for those are so generic and boring that they inspire exactly zero new plotbunnies. Meanwhile filthy kink is not for everyone but often has the seeds of a specific fic in a prompt, so if you do like it, those prompts are super inspiring.

A lot of people are pretty terrible at responding to comments. I'm extremely hit or miss on AO3 myself. I'll respond to a zillion things on tumblr before I remember to actually answer comments on AO3. Partly, it's that I get said comments in my email inbox, not on AO3 itself, so I read them and appreciate them but am not in the space where I'd respond right at that moment.

Sadly, people making one fanwork and moving on just comes with the territory when you're in rare fandoms. It's much easier to make friends who like to vid Asian dramas or who are learning a language for fandomy reasons or who are doing fandom historical preservation than friends who share your exact current taste in blorbos and who will continue to do so.

In my case, I love rare things, but I also love to move from fandom to fandom rapidly, and I find it really stressful to have friends who end up resenting that.

I tend to befriend fans whose overall vibe I find compatible more than people I share ships with: people who will probably be in fandom for life, people who are loud and proud about it, people who are interested in fandom history and pan-fandom meta. I also tend to be drawn to accounts that are not only horny on main but horny for kinky shit that draws haters. It does a wonderful job of weeding out the whiny children and finding me fans with a spine. Hilariously, one of my closest offline fandom friends with whom I share the most character opinions doesn't even like sex scenes. But that's not somebody I'd have gotten to know online.

It's going to vary for the people you're approaching, but that may be one reason they're not as enticed by the sight of another fan of their current rare fandom: they may have totally different types of criteria for fandom friends.

It's hard to know how much of the problem is you without examining your internet presence more, but I get why going "here's my account, plz critique" is not attractive. This ask seems fine. No particular writing style red flags jump out at me.

I've definitely known people who were dicks about my tumblr popularity and wanted to know why I didn't reblog them... but it turns out they interacted with me only once every six months so I don't remember them or their tumblr is entirely shitposts or their writing style is incoherent or they sound angry all the time.

One problem you may be running into is that findable fans in their 30s and 40s are self-selected for Fandom For Life types who already have a bunch of close fandom friends. They're likely doing a lot of socializing in private with people they've known for ages. I like to think of it as people with very full dance cards. They tend to be the most attractive because they're living happy, fulfilling lives, but that same quality makes them too busy. Meanwhile, people who are sad and alone and desperate for friends are often less visible and less compelling. If someone figured out how to connect with them, they'd be a great friend, but fewer people are trying.

It's not that every compatible late 30s fan is too busy for new friends. It's that the fans who are visible enough that you know they exist and know their approximate age are a very specific slice of overall fandom.

As fans age, some of their fandom friends leave fandom or die, so there can be periods where people are going "Shit, I need new friends!" later on, not just in college and such. But I'd say late 30s is a tough-ish period. A lot of people are busy with young kids and/or haven't lost their inner circles from younger years yet.

In general, a lot of my closer fandom friends aren't actually looking for new friends and haven't been in quite a while. Some don't even post publicly anymore. I'm something of an exception because I'm both extremely friendly and always on the lookout for minions to convince to go to Escapade con or take up the banner of fandom preservation yadda yadda. I have a vested interest in remaining open to new people.

Thoughts, everyone? Have you gone through friend-seeking and full dance card phases?

[the-valiant-valkyrie]

I know you deal with Wigfrid but I just HAVE to yell about how done DIRTY Webber was!! Like, Maxwell’s bullshitery was this sort of monkey paw’s “be careful what you wish for” type thing. Oh, you want to be loved again as an amazing actor? Here, you now perfectly capture the character. have fun in the scary dimension asshole. Oh, you want more knowledge? Here! More knowledge! But only when you’re in the scary dimension.

And like! I originally thought Webber wanted to have family again, and that was his wish, and he got it with being able to befriend spiders. BUT HE DIDN’T WISH FOR THAT!!!! HE WISHED FOR A WAY TO TURN BACK!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Sorry for rambling so much but UGH this game has infested my head

oh anon this is really interesting because i actually never knew that webber had a confirmed deal that he made with maxwell. i guess i don't really look at him well enough to know off the top of my head, but i remember that it wasn't addressed in along came a spider at any rate.

usually i think the concept of webber being happier as a human boy again (in like, good endings or hypothetical concepts like that) is a little plain, if only because it removes next to all of webber's character growth and separates him from some of the facets that make him an interesting character, and canonically in present- as addressed in one of his vignettes- that isn't really what he wants

but if at some point earlier on in his lifetime he did want that (which, to be honest, what little boy in a situation like that wouldn't) that would be a very interesting angle to explore with his character arc and how he processes the world

if you were to have asked me what i thought webber's deal with maxwell was, i probably would have said something along the lines of what you thought it was. to be loved, or to not have people be terrified of him, or to have people who would understand him (something that his father didn't even really do💥)

[foulserpent]

i have a lot of additional thots on 3+1 but i dont want to keep talking about it too much but the one thing that i realized upon this viewing...

rei's character arc should have ended in her giving herself a name frankly like having her self actualization still depend on shinji sucks. the og wasnt perfect but her ripping gendo's arm off and saying "i am not a puppet" >>>>>>>> 'uwu thank you for trying to name me i wish i could stay with you forever uwuwuuuwuw (explodes)'. like i think a more fitting variant for the less grim tone of this movie would be her reclaiming/gaining autonomy via self-naming before dying, like no violence but its still a complete rejection of being gendo's puppet and affirmation of her personhood. maybe even leave her death to implication, like we Know its going to happen but she says goodbye to shinji and goes off to die on her own terms.

also on a similar note, i think its fine that we learn gendos little sob story bc its more about shinji coming to an understanding, but again nothing can beat EoE's treatment of him. like the monkeys paw type situation where he gets his wish of reuniting with yui, in the form of her as unit 1 eating him alive. like cmon thats too good to not happen again..............

[clowngremlin]

people told me to cool it with the horror movies and watch something that doesn’t have like insanely graphic gore and people being mutilated but i think that was a monkey’s paw type situation because now i’m obsessed with batman and i’m being super annoying about it like i’m 17-19 years old again and was into gotham

[bevvydraws]

How I Would Fix Miraculous Ladybug

(A Guide That No One Asked For)

I’m gonna break this up into sections. Universe Rules, Main Characters, Setting, and Plot. 

Universe Rules: 

1) There is no “adults can use their power indefinitely”. That’s cheap writing. It doesn’t even make the tiniest bit of sense. 

- Instead, holders gain more power the stronger their bond with their kwami. This can be either through trust (a slow, gradual process) or through fear. Having a kwami’s complete submission to use their powers is what unlocks their “ultimate potential”. Of course, this potential is weaker if you choose to go the fear route. 

2) Guardians do not lose their memory when they give up the box. 

- This is something else that just doesn’t make sense to me. Why would they lose their memories? They’ve been committed to keep a box safe just to lose all memory of their hard work at the end of it? It’s pointless and cruel to the characters. 

3) There’s no other superheroes. 

- The NYC special really upset me because if America has all of these heroes at their disposal, then why are two teenagers the only people trying to stop someone who is obviously a terrorist? Sure it’s in France, but these are supposed to be top-tier heroes like Majestia. And if it’s a “oh well that has nothing to do with them” type of situation then they are pretty terrible heroes. So no, there wouldn’t be any other superheroes. The only way to be a hero was to gain access to a miraculous. 

4) Making the consequences of the wish clear.

- Maybe the wish uses equivalent exchange? Or it answers your wish but in a twisted and grotesque way like the Monkey’s paw? Or maybe the wish is something that completely destroys you? By making the consequences of the wish clear, and making it obvious that Gabriel knows just what the risks are, it makes him seem all the more desperate of a villain. 

Main Characters: 

1) Marinette Dupain-Cheng

- Honestly, I love Marinette’s character. But I wish their writing of her would be more consistent. She’s resilient, clever, quick witted, and charming. She has stood up to Chloe Bourgeois on multiple occasions (something even adults are afraid to do because of her status) and yet she let’s herself get bested by Lila? A practical nobody who’s only power is somehow getting away with lying. It’s inconsistent with what we’ve seen prior. If they want Lila to be a reasonably formidable antagonist and foil of Marinette, they need to make her schemes more believable. Her outright lying and just “magically getting away with it” isn’t good enough writing. 

- Also, I’d like there to be more focus on just how much strain there is put on Marinette. Let her show weaknesses and vulnerabilities. It wouldn’t make her a “weak” character, but it will help add to the seriousness of what she goes through all the time. Make her seem a little more standoffish, or tired, or quick to snap. Let her show her frustration. Let this be something that teaches her that it’s okay to ask for help (a good lesson not only for her as a character, but for those watching.)

2) Adrien Agreste

- I’m sorry but it makes no sense to me for Adrien to be as naive as he is. It’s cute, I admit, but it doesn’t make sense. When it comes to dealing with people his age I can understand the social awkwardness. But he was raised around elite adults and high-standing social circles. There’s no doubt he’s witnessed the ugly sides of the glitz and glamor. If anything, it would make more sense for him to be on the slightly cynical side. 

- Keep his dorky humor. The puns are cute and lighthearted. He can still come off as being jovial, friendly, and “pure”, like in the show. But occasionally he could let a cynical remark slip, or an eyeroll, or a sarcastic remark that doesn’t “fit” with how he normally acts. Show the struggle of him trying to maintain his perfect image to please his father while also trying not to let himself be turned into another upper class asshole. 

3) Gabriel Agreste

- MAKE. HIS. STORY. MORE. CLEAR.

- IT IS LITERALLY ALMOST 4 SEASONS IN AND WE STILL HAVE NO CLUE HOW HE GOT THE MIRACULOUS, HOW EMILIE GOT SICK FROM THE PEACOCK MIRACULOUS, ETC. 

- Also, pick what type of villain he is. Is he meant to be sympathetic? Is he meant to be a villain we feel sorry for? Or is he meant to seem so evil that we never even want to think of redemption for him? The show flips between “sad dad” and “terrorist” too much. Almost like they are trying to make him sympathetic but failing miserably. 

Setting: 

- Obviously it would still be in Paris, there’s nothing wrong with the setting location-wise. It’s more time-wise that troubles me. 

- Like... why would Fu choose teenagers when adults (canonically) have more power? Why would he willingly give heroes the disadvantage? 

- So I would age the characters up a little bit. It makes more sense to give the miraculous to even a 16/17 year old than to a 13/14 year old. I could see Fu not wanting to trust “older generations”, but 14 years old is a little young to be entrusting the fate of so many people to. 

Plot: 

- The plot could be pretty much the same. Only as time passes, more people join Team Miraculous permanently. 

- It starts off with Ladybug and Chat Noir. Eventually, the akumas become so overwhelming that Rena joins permanently. Then Carapace, then Queen Bee (yes, in this rewrite Chloe would get the character redemption arc). There would still be temporary holders (like Viperion would be for extremely dangerous akumas just in case) whose powers aren’t always useful in every situation. But the main five would all be permanent holders. 

- The show actually shows them making an effort to track down Hawkmoth. Of course, it isn’t easy, and it takes them a while to even come up with a method, but they do. 

- Depending on how Lila is written, you could even have Hawkmoth defeated somewhere halfway through the series, and have Lila take up the mantle and be a villain even more dangerous than Hawkmoth. Then they’d have the struggle of fighting even more villains all while dealing with the reveal of Hawkmoth being good-ole-gabe. 

------

And that’s it :D this is mostly just big things, there are little things I would change too, but this is just the parts I would change about the foundation of the show. 

[wisherbysharlight]

I Wanna Get It, I Didn't Get It, Til Now

Word Count: 4084

Pairing: Analogical

The second in a series of different pairings being capital O Oblivious because that’s a trope I will never ever get tired of.

Virgil sits at the same library table every single day, alone, until one day, Logan needs a seat.

They are both kind of idiots.

Warnings: none that I can think of

AO3 Link

Virgil loved his library table. He would get there after his work study shift in the registrar’s office, around 7pm on weekdays and 1pm on weekends, and the section on the second floor would be mostly clear. Second floor was quiet but not silent, so it didn’t feel oppressive, and he didn’t feel insecure about whether his headphones were too loud or not. His favorite table was just to the left of the water fountain, had an outlet built into it, and the chairs were adjustable enough that he could lean back and press his knees against the side of the table while he typed. He loved his table so much that he’d come even if he didn’t have homework to do, just to scroll through endless Tumblr pages or work on his personal writing. He’d had his table for 3 months with no problem at all, which was why he was baffled when someone came up to him while he was reading and stood expectantly next to the table, overly full backpack hanging off his shoulder.

 He recognized the other man immediately, he was another library regular who usually sat two tables away, always messing with his hair and adjusting his tie pushing his glasses up his nose and drawing Virgil’s eye with movement. He took his headphones down and put them around his neck, though he could still faintly hear his music, “Hi? Can I help you?”

 “The outlet is broken on my table, and I was wondering if I could join you and utilize the other half of yours?” mystery-man asked, gesturing to where Virgil was only using two of the four outlets.

 “Oh sure, of course, go ahead. Sorry about your table,” Virgil offered, brandishing his hand vaguely at the chair across from him.

 “You have nothing to apologize for, of course. I appreciate your amenity. I submitted a work order request, hopefully it will be repaired soon,” the other man took the seat and set his things down before extending a hand across the table, “Logan Perry. I believe I’ve seen you here frequently so this is at least a good opportunity to get acquainted.”

 Virgil blinked a bit, trying to process, then hurriedly pulled his hand out of the makeshift paw he’d made out of his sweatshirt sleeve and shook Logan’s hand so he wouldn’t think that Virgil didn’t want to, “Um. Yeah. I’ve seen you around too, I think. Virgil Storme. Nice to meet you.”

 Logan tipped his head to the side curiously when Virgil leaned over, as though he was listening hard, then adjusted his glasses, “Hmm. Interesting melody. I appreciate the solid bass rhythm. Who is the artist, if you don’t mind my asking?”

 “The... Artist? Oh, you mean the band I’m listening to?” he picked his headphones up but only put one ear on, “It’s Arctic Monkeys. They’re like, known, for solid bass lines, which is probably what you could hear.”

 Logan hummed like he was intrigued, then began pulling books out of his bag and… wow. That was a lot of books, each one thicker than the last. Chemistry I, Physics II, Theory of Numbers, Discrete Mathematics… Virgil had a headache just looking at the titles, “Uh… Wow. That’s some collection you’ve got there. What year are you?”

 “I am a first semester sophomore. I struggled choosing a major, so I opted to dual major in Math and Physics and minor in Philosophy and Conservation Studies. Also a minor in Astronomy, but that came with no extra courseload, just strategic choices in electives. I enjoy learning quite a bit, so I opt to stay during break semesters, and I am on track to graduate on schedule with no more than 18 credits a semester,” Logan rattled off, like he’d gone through the spiel before and was expecting certain questions and wanted to head them off, “And yes, before you ask, I do take breaks, I am not a hermit with no friends, and as far as I know I am not a robot.”

 Virgil blinked dazedly again, trying to absorb the bucketful of information being thrown at him, “Cool. Sounds like you’ve got it under control then. I’m dual-major too, but creative writing and interactive media design have a bunch of overlap.”

 Logan nodded, pulling out what must have been the notebook he was looking for with a triumphant noise, “You want to be a game designer then? Very lucrative career to choose, especially with the current market for such employs.”

“I wanna write books, actually, but like you said, markets good for game writers and I wanna have a fall back in case everything sucks, ya know?” Virgil admitted. He’d been told his stories were good, sure, but there was always a chance it would all go to shit, and the only way to account for that was to put 110% in and have a backup plan for his backup plan’s backup plan.

 Logan gave him an indecipherable look that passed in a moment before he went back to his neutral expression, “Understandable, I suppose. If you would ever like a second opinion on a piece, please allow me to offer my aid. I may not be as fluent in creative ventures, but I am a fan of such works, and my roommate often uses me as a sounding board for his own ideas.”

 Virgil tried not to let his surprise show, he didn’t want to offend his new… desk-mate? Acquaintance? Study partner? Whatever Logan was to him now. “Sure, uh, that’d be great. I don’t know if I can offer the same, since, ya know, science is really not my strong suit, but I can try?”

 Logan pushed his hand through his hair and pulled a hairtie off his wrist to pull it up into a slightly messy bun that kept his hair out of his eyes. Virgil noticed it actually looked more red than brown as the light hit it, and was so distracted he almost didn’t notice Logan offer a genuine smile, green eyes sparkling and catching Virgil off guard yet again with just how attractive he actually was, and flipped his laptop open, “That would be much appreciated Virgil. Thank you.”

 They worked together in silence for the next hour and a half, then both headed back to their dorms. Virgil felt even more productive with just Logan’s presence and aura of concentration, and he found himself hoping the work order took a while to be completed.

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

The next day, Virgil arrived at his table to find Logan already there, two coffee cups in front of him, studying a tome of a textbook raptly. Still, he looked up when Virgil took his seat across from him and pushed one of the coffee cups his way, “I made myself a tea downstairs and figured I’d make a second in case you wanted one. It’s a vanilla flavored English black tea, not the garbage they serve in the dining halls.”

 Virgil grabbed the cup greedily, “Oh shit this is perfect, I had an 8am and desperately needed caffeine.” He took an experimental sip and groaned a bit as it hit his tongue, closing his eyes as the warmth passed through him like a calming fire, “Thank you, Logan, it’s delicious.” He thought he heard a choking sound, but when he looked up, Logan was looking back down at his notebook. He thought he saw a slight flush to his face, “Hey, you alright?”

 “Oh yes, I’m fine. I just needed to clear my throat,” Logan insisted, though he did not look up from his book and his cheeks got even brighter. Virgil supposed he was probably a little embarrassed since he was normally so poised and put together.

 “Ok, if you’re sure!” He opened his laptop and checked his to-do list, and was thrilled to realize he didn’t have anything urgent in terms of schoolwork. He opened his novel document instead, and immediately remembered why he’d left off where he did as the frustration resurfaced. Well, he thought, now was as good a time as ever to see if Logan meant it when he said he was willing to help. “Hey, Lo, could you help me find a word for what I’m trying to say here?”

 Logan finally looked up from his book, sticking a bookmark in and closing it before adjusting his glasses and giving Virgil his full attention, “Absolutely, I could do with a break from formulae. Go ahead.”

 Virgil felt a little off balance with the full weight of Logan’s stare, and his brain suddenly chose this moment to remind him that he was very, very gay. He cleared his throat and looked back down at his laptop so he wouldn’t be distracted, “Oh. Um. Thanks. So this guy is looking at his friend who he hadn’t really noticed in a romantic sense before, but i need a word for ‘‘momentary gay panic at how pretty he is’ without saying it like that. Like more poetic? Or just less casual.”

 Logan cleared his throat, face flushing again, and Virgil had a moment of alarm when he realized he didn’t even know if Logan was ok with LGBT stuff, and oh god, what if he was a homophobe and yelled at him or he just made him super uncomfortable or - “While romantic language is typically much more my roommate’s forte, I can certainly, er, relate, to the situation you are describing, and attempt to describe it as Roman would.”

 Virgil let out a breath he hadn’t even realized he was holding, relaxing once he realized the source of Logan’s hesitation was not derived from intolerance but instead from hitting a little too close to home. Then, in a moment of emotional whiplash, his breath caught again as he realized it hit a little too close to home and that meant Logan was likely attracted to men and that was nerve-wracking in an entirely different way. He forced himself to relax, knowing that Logan was likely waiting for an answer, and stammered out, “Y-Yeah, that would be good. Anything would help.”

 “I believe a good way to phrase it would be ‘Suddenly caught unaware by the realization that he may be attracted to this man’. You could also describe side effects of the feeling itself, such as flushed skin or quickened heartbeat or what I believe my friend Patton calls butterflies?, rather than spelling it out explicitly.”

 Virgil couldn’t hold back a grin as the inspiration hit him, “Oh! Duh! Show don’t tell would work perfect here, thank you Logan you rock!”

 He didn’t miss the way Logan looked momentarily shell-shocked and made a mental note to be sure to give him more compliments in the future, if he was that maladjusted to them.

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

 Virgil hissed as his pencil broke again, clicking the end to get more lead a bit more aggressively than he probably needed to. Calculus was the devil, he’d decided. He was in hell and series and sequences were his instrument of torture.

 Logan cleared his throat and Virgil’s head shot up in surprise. When had Logan gotten there? Oh good, tea, that was always welcome. He grabbed the cup Logan extended towards him and started chugging before Logan could even give him the usual background on what kind it was like he had every day for the past month. The other table was definitely fixed by now, but the two of them had gotten so used to the company that they’d just kept sitting together. “Virgil, are you… alright?” Logan asked tentatively, and Virgil looked up again, guilty and a bit crazy eyed.

 “Fuck that was so rude. Yes. Yes, I’m fine, sorry, thanks for the tea Lo, I’m just stressed about this godforsaken calc II exam I have Monday. I don’t understand any of this stuff,” he gestured to the packets and notebook and textbook spread out on the table.

 “That’s quite alright, I’m familiar with the stress of midterms. Though I may be able to help alleviate some of yours? I am a junior TA for Calc II, I could potentially provide assistance,” Logan offered.

 Virgil let out a breath of relief, twisting one of his rings in an attempt to quell some of his nervous energy, “Oh that would be incredible. My Grad TA’s office hours are during when I have work, and he’s kinda a dick anyway.”

 Logan exhaled heavily like he was trying not to laugh. “Chad, I assume?” he asked and Virgil nodded, “Well I can definitely be more helpful than that glorified orangutan.” It was Virgil’s turn to be startled into laughing, “Here, let me see what you’re working on....”

 An hour and a half later, Logan was watching him work carefully and when he tentatively circled his final answer he gave him an encouraging nod and a smile, “You’ve got it now. See, it’s all about the rules and the patterns.”

 “Oh Logan I could kiss you,” Virgil enthused, still looking in amazement at his own work, “You just saved my entire life, thank you.”

 Logan cleared his throat and turned away, though when Virgil looked up he could see that the tips of his ears were red. Ugh, you’d think after a month he’d be used to being complimented by now. “Well, if that was all, I, er, I need to work on some of my own assignments.”

 “Yeah, yeah, of course, I can do more practice myself,” Virgil told him, waving him away with a smile, “You’ve absolutely helped enough,  I’ll get you that jam you like so much or something. I owe you so much.” 

 Logan mumbled something in return but when Virgil asked him to repeat it he stammered, “I’ll be right back!” and ran off to the bathroom. Virgil shrugged and went back to puzzling through the rest of his study guide.

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“-so, theoretically, there could in fact be another planet in this solar system, but it would need to be far enough away or small enough to not affect the gravitational pull of Pluto’s moons in a significant way or just in a way which is balanced by another gravitational pull which forced our equations to not identify any irregularity.”

 “Well shit,” Virgil breathed, “So, theoretically, how possible are aliens?”

 “Damn close to guaranteed,” Logan told him with a grin, “Intelligent life, that’s another story, but I still believe they are highly likely-”

 Virgil set his head in his hands, pushing his work to the side so he could simply listen.

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“I’m going to head down to the cafeteria to make another cup of tea, would you like to join me?”

 “Sure thing, Lo, I desperately need to not look at this anymore.” Virgil felt a teeny bit of pride when Logan choked on nothing in what Virgil assumed was shock as he stood up to stretch and revealed his outfit, his heels giving him the extra three inches he needed to be what Remy called scary tall, which was actually enough to effectively tower over Logan, and the confidence to leave his sweatshirt unzipped over a mesh crop top and ripped jeans that he knew looked good, as he had been assured so around 100 times before he agreed to go to the library in it in the first place, “Sorry, forgot you got here after me, my friend’s playing a show tonight after this and I told him I’d hang with his boyfriend and make sure no one gets obnoxious. So I got a little dressed up, cuz I didn’t wanna have to go back to my apartment in between. Besides, when I’m this tall no one fucks with me in general, not just in the mosh pit.”

 “That is… certainly an outfit,” Logan wheezed, then took a sip of his water in an attempt to wash it down.

 “You ok L? You’re all red, I don’t need you dying on me,” Virgil asked, concerned his friend was actually drowning on his own water bottle.

 Logan waved him off, gulping water down like he’d been stuck in the desert for days. “Yes, yes, just a little, erm, parched. Got a bit too focused and forgot to drink and you startled me.”

 “Whatever you say, Professor,” Virgil teased, stretching his arms up to try to roll his shoulders, “Just don’t get too enthusiastic there. Last thing we need is you to choke to death cuz you were thirsty.”

 Logan seemed to make a concentrated effort not to choke again, adjusting his tie and turning on his heel quickly to head down to the cafe, and Virgil considered it a win.

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There was someone else at their table. The new man was broad shouldered, with dirty blonde hair that had just a bit of a beachy wave to it, skin tanned perfectly like he’d never spent a day out of the sun. How was that even possible? They went to school in Massachusetts and it was January. He was gesturing wildly while he spoke and Logan was doing that half-laugh he did when he thought something was funny but didn’t want to admit it and Virgil felt… something… pang deep in his stomach. Of course, Logan was ridiculously hot, Virgil had no chance at all, even if he’d been starting to feel like there was something between them. He definitely didn’t have a chance if Logan wanted someone that looked like that. He couldn’t help but be a little vindictive though as he plastered a smile onto his face and headed over, setting his bag down with a resounding thump, “Wow, this quiet corner just keeps getting more crowded, huh?”

 Logan startled a bit, and Virgil could have been imagining it but he thought he saw a flash of hurt at Virgil’s tone, “I-I suppose. This is Roman, he needed some assistance with his screenplay and I suggested he come here, but we can go back to our apartment if it will be too much of a nuisance for you.”

 Virgil would have eaten his own shoe to take back his original words, but he couldn’t, so he covered up as best he could, “R-Roman. Your roommate. Of course. Hi, I’m Virgil, you can definitely stay. Sorry, just had a long day at work, I’m a little - er- cranky, or whatever.”

 Roman gave him a smirk that was just a tad too knowing for Virgil’s taste, “Don’t worry, Mr. Prince of Darkness. I’ll be out of your hair soon and you two can get back to doing whatever the hell it is you do every day. Just need the human thesaurus here to help me out a bit, and it’s not like he’s ever home anymore with how often he hangs around here for your little study-”

 “Roman,” Logan hissed quickly, and Virgil saw Roman shoot him an unimpressed look.

 “Study sessions.” Roman finished, “Now come on Pocket Protector, what’s another word for pining. I’ve already used it twice, and longing and yearning are both not quite a right fit.” Virgil had a momentary thought that Roman should be very glad looks couldn’t kill, with how Logan was glaring him down. “Nothing? How about some flowery language for black hair or blue eyes, hmm? Think you can help me there?”

“Roman Michaels.” Logan bit out, and Roman gave him a bright, shit-eating grin.

 “No? How about helping me with a sweatshirt sharing scene, how about that? I mean, it’s a cliche, sure, but I’m sure we can put a spin on it, like make it clearly well used and important...”

 “I will dye your hair fluorescent orange in your sleep Roman, I swear,” Logan seethed, and Virgil was stock still, eyes wide as they darted between the two roommates.

 ”Maybe some music recommendations then? Those are slightly less cliche…”

 “Destroy your conditioner and hide your blow dryer, add cheap hair gel to all your shampoo,” Logan continued, attempting to speak over him.

 “I know you’ll suggest a height difference, I believe I can fit that in,” Roman’s voice was rising too, and the new occupants of Logan’s old table were firing dirty looks at them.

 “Guys?” Virgil asked quietly and both of the roommates stopped immediately, turning to him with fire in their eyes, “Um. I guess this is like... a touchy subject? But people are staring cuz you guys are sorta… loud.”

 Roman and Logan both flushed brightly, turning to give awkward waves to the other table while Virgil tried to comprehend what had just happened, “So like… Logan you’re pretty passionate about Roman’s screenplay, huh?”

 Roman groaned dramatically and shoved his laptop in his bag, standing abruptly. “I can’t believe there’s two people as oblivious as you,” he muttered like a curse, then almost literally flounced off with a clearly meaningful look shot at Logan that Virgil couldn’t quite figure out but made Logan flush brighter.

 It was silent for a couple minutes, just the taptaptap of Virgil’s pen against his notebook sounding out through the space between them, before Virgil couldn’t take it and spoke up, “You wanna talk about why that was a thing for you or nah?”

 “Y-You don’t know? Seriously?” Logan looked incredulous, then laughed a little to himself, “Virgil. He was teasing me.”

 “Teasing you? About what?” Virgil asked, trying to think through what it could possibly be, “You that against, like, cheesy romcom cliches?”

 Logan shook his head, still looking like Virgil had amazed him in some way, “Virgil. Please. Think about it. Black hair, blue eyes, height difference, well-worn sweatshirts and music recommendations. You don’t have any idea what he could possibly be mocking me for?”

 Virgil’s brow creased in thought, and suddenly it hit him and he audibly gasped, making Logan swallow nervously, and the word pining soared to the front of his mind, “Y-You. You mean?”

 “I am… Interested in you Virgil. Romantically. I have been since far before I ever sat at your table, the broken outlet just provided a good excuse for me to finally attempt to talk to you. Roman was… blunt but he had informed me that he was, and I quote, ‘Coming to see what the fuss was about’ after I got, I admit, a bit too in depth in lamenting my inability to ask you out on a date. I had no idea he would be so infuriatingly obtuse about it, I hope he did not make you uncomfortable. Obviously, you do not share the sentiment-”

 “Whoa whoa. Hold on there. Who said I didn’t?” Virgil cut in quickly before Logan could keep babbling, recognizing social anxiety when he saw it, “Cuz I sure didn’t.”

 “...I’m sorry?”

 “You should be. Can’t go assuming stuff about people, L. Now why don’t you ask me, straightforward, if I am interested. Because I can guarantee you will like the answer.”

 Logan cleared his throat, then swallowed thickly, his cheeks lightly pink, “Well then, Virgil, I like you very much and would like to know if you would like to accompany me to dinner this Friday night? As a date?”

 “I’ll do you one better, since I also very much like you back, and I don’t think my anxiety could take waiting that long. Let’s go get some food right now. I’m starving and I would very much like to kiss you and I want to get at least one date in before I totally ruin your opinion of me and do that right here in this library, and Friday can be our second date, deal?” Virgil offered, extending his hand across the table to Logan.

 Logan grasped his hand and brought it up to his lips, pressing a kiss to his knuckles with a heady glance up through his glasses, “V, I think you will find that there is not much that you could do which I would not fully endorse at this moment. But I absolutely accept this proposal. Let’s go.”

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 5 years later, almost exactly to the day, Roman is insufferable during his best man speech about the fact that he is the reason they even got together in the first place, and insists that if left to their own devices they would still be meeting at 7pm on weeknights and 1pm on weekends at a table in the corner of the library with the good chairs and never, ever confessing their love. Logan and Virgil are too busy clinging to each others’ hands and staring into each others’ eyes to dispute it at all.

[solacefruit]

Oh, hey, I’d love to hear more about your opinions on Fairytale/Folklore AUs! Do you have any favourite fairytales or folklore to read as fics, or are there any you’d love to see written about more?

Hello there! Thank you so much for asking such a fun question, I absolutely love to talk about fairy tales and folklore. Unfortunately, I haven’t found a lot of folkore/fairy tale AU fanfiction (in general, or that I’ve loved), but there’s a few I find charming. As for ones I’d love to see more of, well!

Beauty and the Beast. Possibly my favourite of all fairy tales, I could talk about this one a lot. I’ll include East of the Sun and West of the Moon here too, even though they’re different in many ways, because the underpinning concept of marriage to a beast is a crucial element they have in common. I can also recommend Beauty and the Beast: Classic Tales About Animal Brides and Grooms from Around the World (edited by Maria Tatar!) if you want to read more about this one, it’s a great collection.

Tam Lin. As the observant will notice, I absolutely love stories of supernatural transformation and the fey, and this one is iconic and really gets me. The motif of holding the brutally, rapidly transforming lover until he returns to his true shape is so good, and I love it, and when it’s done right I go fully wild. Also I love a bold woman who goes out and gets her dumb man back! It’s all excellent. 

The Pardoner’s Tale. I know this is a weird one but when it’s right, it’s really right. There’s something so darkly delicious to me about this story, and it super hits the part of my brain or heart or whatever that adores the monkey paw type situation of fulfilling the prophecy of your downfall through your own actions. It’s one that’s mostly done in “original” fiction retellings and adaptations--i.e., A Simple Plan (1998) jumps to mind.

Greek mythology. Obviously that’s a bit of a cheat answer, but there’s a lot of stories in this pantheon that really resonate and make for great flavour or foundation for other stories. I think for me a personal favourite is either an interpretation of the Hades/Persephone myth, or one of Apollo’s lovers--Cyparissus, Daphne, and Hyacinthus. 

Sweet Polly Oliver. Although technically precedent is probably more rightfully Twelfth Night by Shakespeare, given the time each was made. Either way, it’s a trope that--at least in the hands of a good writer--is very delightful and I can think of a lot of examples of different twists and spins on this that I’ve enjoyed reading or watching over the years. Monstrous Regiment by Terry Pratchett, for instance.

Romeo and Juliet. This one is another rich potential for building other stories, particularly if you lean into my previous thoughts on enemies-to-lovers, either on part of the lovers and/or their respective familial or social affiliations. The love at first sight part is least interesting to me in the original, because personally lust and physical attraction alone is not a compelling basis for a story, so I prefer interpretations where there is an element of more genuine interest. 

Of course, one of the most interesting things about folklore and fairy tale is that in a creative world dominated by the relatively new invention of IP, they are one--if not the only--remaining forms of acceptable original fanfiction. The nature of fairy tale and folklore is that they circumvent the laws of IP by belonging to no-one, by existing in so many simultaneously true and contradictory forms, by being sort of infinitely recursive and reinventable, which is all deeply fascinating to me. They are the mode in commercial media wherein fanfiction is most legitimised, monetised, and often acknowledged as a meaningful cultural product. 

[courtorderedcake]

Hallow : ch xviii - 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.”

Read on AO3 here.

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

Written for @cssns

Ch 18 / ?? - In which battles almost won are lost.

Emma slept as Killian guided the ship through the portal, and then into the sunlit turquoise waters of a palm tree lined harbor. She had slept the day before in fitful bouts of exhaustion, losing herself in fever as he looked on helplessly, the Darkness snapping its jaws. The black that pooled like ink across her chest had spread, Emma whispering the word parasite in hisses at him between remembering things she shouldn't be remembering. She was hysterical, warning him about 'the parasite', and 'to remember the Dark One', staring at him before begging him for help he could not muster. 

It was clear that he was the cause of Emma's condition, both in action and in reaction to her. His ignorance in not noticing she was sick, throwing away her medicine, listening to the concerns over her cough so they had stayed on the isle for just enough extra time - it all fell on him. 

Alice Jones had been sickly, her disease life long. A spore grew in the dank caves of the Blackwater and its surrounding village, the Ladies Reform Academy, or the Baelfire Hold that caused Lichenlung, a lung disease that took female Fae. The disease itself wasn't deadly, but the fevers caused by weakness generally were. His mother had died from such a fever, her coughing fits and inability to choke down breaths eventually strangling her. He'd studied cures in the Naval academy, his required duties bringing him to the bedside of over two dozen women stricken with the illness. Even Milah had succumbed to it eventually, the message she left him still haunting him. 

Emma sounded and had symptoms like the people he had seen in their last days. He was honestly uncertain that the princess would survive, a thought that thoroughly terrified him and the Darkness. In the secreted corner where he harbored other emotions, terror was an understatement that threatened dire consequences. The Darkness finding he still felt whatever it was that made Emma so much more would break him, and risk it making good on its promises to hurt her. Even as panic gripped the small scrap of light left in him, the Darkness had only just begun to realize its precious shard would disappear. 

How to help her was the issue. The Dark One being loose had most surely made it to places like this . He'd only heard of them in his naval career, been told tales from his Father as a lad when the Blackwater Lord had spared him a glance, and generally been too busy doing the Goblin King's bidding to know too much about his surroundings. But in his understanding of Agrabah's history, it was a blackmarket goods and information brokerage hub. Royalty turned a blind eye on what was good for keeping gold in its coffers and ships in its ports; the thieves, ne'er do wells, and bandits did their best to not rob everyone blind.

He could not bloody well run in the market carrying the Princess of the United Realms in his arms. Were their healers the type to recognize them, or ask questions? Would their ship be inspected? Would he get a knife in his belly or more worryingly, Emma's? Killian didn't have any idea of if they even had healers, or doctors - they knew nothing about the place. It was the blind leading the… 

He found himself at her bedside more than he cared to admit, as if whispering apologies would save her from his spreading filth. As it became clear the waters were placid, he hauled pillows up beside him, laying Emma in the shaded corner. She woke briefly, fluttering her eyelashes against his neck and whispering his name. Steering them into the docks, he threw out his ties to the pier, knotting them with ease. A loud thunk threw off his precision as it reverberated through the planks, Killian on his feet with sword drawn in moments. Two pairs of startled brown eyes looked up at him, Anisapi dressed in embroidered kaftans standing in front of him on a great carpet. 

"We mean you no harm," the first said, his maroon kaftan matching his fez, primate tail whipping back with nervous anxiety. He smiled, or attempted to, but his sharp canines did little to aid his welcome. His voice was slightly scratchy, but it wasn't surprising as he shuffled his body weight between his feet and knuckles. "Our Sultana, may her sight never fail us, summons you to the palace. Come at once!" 

"And who the bloody hell are you, the petting zoo?" Killian flicked his sword upward, motioning for the Anisapi to back away. The monkey scratched at himself, but the jungle predator growled lowly. "I don't know a Sultana. I am here - 

"Be still, Dark One," the larger of the beasts snarled, his whiskers twitching. His eyes were more tawny than the monkey, his orange and black fur bristled in irritation. His large tail flicked wildly, snakelike. "Your lady is in danger. Sultana Jasmine can help your princess."

Killian tried to lunge forward, but the tiger was quick despite its size, pinning him on the deck. 

"How did you -" Killian panted, unable to push off its heavy weight as the Anisapi held him with ease, his paws massive. "How do you know about the princess? Who are -" 

Emma whimpered, Killian turning his head to see the monkey resting its fur covered knuckles against her forehead. 

Thrashing wildly, Killian swore as the monkey reached for her necklace and the shard. "Leave her alone, don't you lay a bloody paw on her  -" 

"Abu!" The tiger Anisapi growled lowly, and the monkey stopped short, pouting. "Don't even think about it. You are in enough trouble as it is." 

"I just wanted to -" The monkey protested, but the tiger snarled viciously. 

"You're upsetting our guests you furry toothpick." 

"To be fair mate," Killian hissed, pressing back against the tiger's hold, "You're the only one who is upsetting me. Get off of me, tell me who you are, and how the hell you knew we were here." 

The tiger's ears pressed lower on his head, but he sprung off of Killian to allow them both to stand. Killian pushed past them to check Emma, the monkey scooting away sheepishly. 

"Our Sultana predicted that you would come, seeking her aid. I am her advisor, Raja." The tiger Anisapi bowed low, his stature even at half height impressive. Emma shivered against him, burying her face into Killian’s warm chest. Raja gestured at the monkey, with a twirl of his claw. "This is her…" 

The tiger exchanged a nervous look with the other Anisapi, before the monkey spoke. 

"I'm her new assistant. Abu, at your service." The monkey winked at Emma with a grin, and she laughed slightly. Turning carefully in Killian’s hold with little noises of protest every so often, he heard her stiff joints creaking from fever. 

All your fault. You made her suffer, you make anyone who you are close to suffer. Imagine, thinking you loved her, or that she could love you! 

You'd destroy her. Ruin her. 

"I'm -" Emma attempted, but could not push any more words past her parched lips. She tried again, but doubled over instead as Killian’s guilt suffocated him without relent. 

Do you think she remembers it was you yet? 

Maybe she won't remember until she takes in her last gulps of air, wouldn't that be poetic? Certainly sounds like our flare for dramatics… 

Imagine her final moments knowing that you were her murderer, the one who she tried so hard to trust. So much for choosing to see you at your best, eh vessel? 

"It's alright. We know who you are, Princess… and we are aware of your companion. The Sultana knew you would be ill. Make haste to the palace, both of you, at once." Raja handed Killian a scroll, Abu unrolling another carpet onto the deck. "We have rooms made up for you both and healers at the ready. Hurry, Dark One."

Abu and Raja moved back to their carpet, which lifted into the air, its gold and royal purple threads shimmering in the sunlight. They sped away towards the city, leaving Emma and him alone again on the deck. She hummed against him, drawing her legs up into his hold before going limp again. 

"I want to go home. I want my mom." Her forehead rubbed against his chest, dampening his shirt. "Please, stay with me. I feel so - please ---" 

Killian couldn't reply, everything caught in his throat or tucked away from the Darkness. Emma didn't seem to notice, to his relief, her eyes fluttering closed. She slept soundly within seconds. Carrying her to the enchanted rug, he pulled her into his lap without comment, noticing how light she had become in only a week's time. 

You knew she wasn't eating, she wasted away in front of you and you knew that it was your fault. You condemned her to die, another reason your love was imagined. You did this to her. You will be her demise. Get the shard, let her - 

"NO!" Killian hissed, the carpet beneath him shuddering to life. It lifted itself, bright reds, oranges and turquoise dancing over the deck. He'd come back and grab their belongings, but for now, Emma needed whatever anyone was willing to give.

It was his hand that had caused this as he squeezed her beating heart, his hands that had tore her from the island, thrown away medicine into the sea, ignored her symptoms, and let her get this bad. 

We get the shard then and we leave, never to hurt her again. She will beg for you to leave her when she learns this is all your fault. The quicker you can get the shard, the better… It would be a shame if she remembered how you crushed her heart with glee. 

Her hair tickled his chin, blowing in the wind as the palace towers appeared. The scroll had been a very easy to follow set of instructions with a map to a far balcony where they would land. Once there, the carpet landed gently on tiled floor, servants appearing in procession. If this was an ambush, it couldn't have been planned better, the group surrounding them against a sheer drop. His neck hair rose, sweat beading there despite his best efforts. The Sultana was draped in blush silks, her dark brown hair seeded with pearls that lay in a golden mesh wrapped plait. She watched Killian warily, eyes darting to Emma as the princess began to wheeze. Taking a deep breath, he hoped beyond measure that they had not fallen into a trap of some kind. 

"She's barely conscious." Killian moved forward, guards raising curved blades to protect the Sultana. "Please, if that's what you brought us here for, the princess needs help." 

The Sultana looked at him, her deep brown eyes narrowing. She stared for a few seconds, blinking with a strange sort of unsure confusion in her eyes before finally straightening. 

"I am the Seer of the Sands, Sultana Jasmine." Jasmine's voice was soft and melodic, accented words clipped with formality. "May my sight be your own, and may we see all."

Her guards lowered their weapons, making the symbol of an eye with their index and middle fingers while muttering some short devotion. Killian glared, grunting at the decorum happening in favor of Emma's health. 

"Great, do you have a healer or help for her, or -" 

"Yes, of course Dark One." The Sultana nodded. "Come, follow me." 

Killian hadn't noticed before, but as he hoisted Emma further against his shoulder, he became aware of why the procession had unnerved him. The Sultana was clearly Fae of some sort, but the group surrounding her was made up of Anisapi, Elves, Fae, Nymphs, Mortals, and more frightening, a few Goblins. His nose wrinkled in disgust as he held Emma tighter to him. 

The Sultana led them nearby, pushing open thick wood doors to reveal a courtyard with a small pool and fountain. A shaded set of chairs were canopied by gauzy linens, with two sets of double doors on the far end. One was open revealing a hallway butted against a balcony looking over the city. The other had linen drapes that blew in the breeze, providing some curtained privacy to another chamber. 

"Down that hallway is your quarters, Dark One. Here," the Sultana opened the first set of doors, motioning Killian to enter, "Is where my Doctors and best healers will treat the Princess Emma."

The room was a polished sand colored marble, bed small but neatly made against a large stained glass window. Strange countertops on wheels were positioned with various bottles and instruments on them, and as Killian eased Emma into the bed he realized that a group of Fae were watching him expectantly in wait. Emma protested weakly when he let go of her to step out of their way, her soft exclaim falling to a sigh when a syringe filled with something the color of mud was injected into her arm. 

"Come." The Sultana linked her arm with Killian’s, his body jolting. She stared deeply into his eyes, ignoring his hatred for her touch, walking him to sit at the pool. "You must have questions, yes? And you must tell us what you know to help save Princess Emma. We must speak."

"Not bloody likely." He wrenched away, pushing back towards where Emma lay still. "What did they just inject her with? I don't care if you're a sodding queen, what are you doing with the princess? How did you know we were coming?" 

"I am Sultana Jasmine, Seer -"

"I know who you bloody are, how did you know!?" 

"If you had listened , rude man in my kingdom, you would know I can see the future. I see its many paths, and I have premonitions. It is how I have kept my Agrabah so safe; the gift of my mother, a Djinn."  She tried to lay a hand on him again, but he backed away, sitting in a corner where he could see Emma clearly. An Elven man with gloved hands was pouring a soft gel over her forehead that glowed a dulled color on contact. Others scribbled notes while a siren carefully peeled away the princess’s sweaty clothes with care, laying down a blanket of sheer silk. The Sultana cleared her throat expectantly, and his eyes flicked back to her with annoyance. 

"A Djinn?" he asked, incredulously. Djinn did not have offspring as far as he knew; they were born of chaos or created. 

"Yes. The premonitions are the reason I knew you would come." The Sultana hesitated, watching him carefully. He stared back, trying to ignore the Darkness and remain impassive. "If you had not come, the princess would have died in three days time. Here, you have a better chance, in the paths I saw."

The news brought an onset of instant relief and elation. He couldn't hide from the Sultana or the Darkness how happy it made him to know Emma would be alright, his words tumbling out without care. 

"So you know she will be healed, and what the future holds -" 

"Oh, God's no." The Sultana laughed, the sound lilting. 

You pathetic simpleton. Your princess is as good as dead, and all thanks to you. 

  "No…?" 

"We will do our best to help her, and she should recover." 

"Ah." He swallowed hard. 

"The paths I see are infinite, and I can only see so many. Like branches on a tree, I can see which direction the limbs go, or how large the tree is from a glance. It's when I need to see the branches and leaves that causes me to focus. You can only take in so much. So no, but I saw some outcomes, and what we are doing now will help prevent what negative outcomes I can." She smiled softly, her brown eyes warm. 

"How can we know that you are trustworthy?" Killian asked, leveling a cold glare at her. Her smile didn't waiver, but grew wider. 

"I suppose you can't, but if we wanted you dead, I have plenty of viper poison at my disposal that could kill you in mere minutes. Since you don't seem to be able to die according to the legend, it would be a painful way to suffer in unending agony, that's for sure." The Sultana shrugged, with a wink. "I suppose we will have to have faith in each other, yes?" 

He nodded slightly, and the Sultana turned, taking her leave. 

After an hour or so of watching different concoctions poured over Emma and watching countless Fae or Elementals write notes, he excused himself to his room. A dwarf with a shocking cobalt beard and studded eyebrows dragged in a large wash basin, not spilling any of the steaming water within. He grunted at Killian, dropping a few bottles and a large towel on a table before leaving. Without a second thought, Killian stripped to dip himself in the tub. The water was hot enough to pink his skin, but the heat felt right in the airy room as he scrubbed himself raw. 

Eventually, Killian felt his thoughts slip to Emma, marveling briefly how well Jasmine and she would get on, even though he had only just met Agrabah's ruler. Of course, Emma loved everyone, because she was too trusting, too bloody good for her own well-being. The Sultana though, seemed genuine. She seemed caring. A person who Emma would find a kinship with. 

If she survives to meet her. 

He buried his head in the steaming water, wishing he could rinse the Darkness and the doubt that ate away at him clean. 

  *✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ

  The Darkness did not let him rest as the hours crept past, plaguing him with all manner of its devices, his teeth grinding as he tried to ignore it. It was easy enough to enjoy the heated water, the silks, the fresh fruit and drink that seemed to appear without end as servants politely knocked to leave tray after tray, even with the whine of it in the back of his head. But the unfamiliar feeling of wrong was wearing on Killian’s last nerve. It felt empty, as if the color was muted or his senses were dampened. 

Your senses are as sharp as ever, you delusional idiot. 

Killian chewed slowly on a date, trying to place the feeling while battling with the nasally voice. When he ignored it too long, it fell back on another of its old stand-by irritants sure to get a rise. 

“You’re the picture of a Lord now, Killian. The Blackwater family name lives on as a Jones.”

He choked slightly, his father’s voice echoing in his mind, the sneer on the man’s face as he glared across his desk flashing in his memories. Brennan Jones, surrounded by stacks of papers in his paneled study. Surrounded by his portraits of their ships, the Jones men of the Blackwater fighting war after bloody war for whoever was warring with who, at the expense of anyone but the royals themselves. Survival was guaranteed at a certain level of nobility, his father all but too happy to have two fit lads he could send away to gain glory while he bought or sold ships of lesser born men. Alice Jones had fought to keep Liam and Killian from the truths of their worth and the world for as long as she could. They had always had her love, and her support.

When she had died, it was like the colors of the world had muted where there was light, allowing Liam and him to see what they hadn’t before. In the shadows, the truth stalked. It bore down on them as they grew - Liam into the serious next in line Lordling that fought with Father over lives lost or cut corners, and Killian, who hid his hatred poorly but was the easier target. Liam couldn’t be everywhere at once. 

Brennan Jones, the master of all things in the Blackwater dominion, was keenly aware of Liam’s every limitation. He was more aware of Killian’s.

“Come now, m’boy. Waiting hand and foot on a Princess, and in the harem den of a Sultana feeding on sunned fruits - You spat on such futures when I presented them to you. You wonder why there is no color, no vigor in your blood… Your answer, is it hard to swallow?”

He threw away the fruit in disgust, the cruel laugh of his father a bellowing echo in his brain. Opening the doors to bring more air into his suffocating suite, he nearly ran headlong into a brightly colored mass of feathers. It squawked in surprise, raising arms ending in long plumess, the red and blue flashing in the light. 

“I’m - My Lord I -” A platter of something clattered to its bird taloned feet, as it stared at him with beady eyes over a mouth that tapered into a beak. More bird than Fae, but not an Anisapi, the reptilian skin and strange stature was wrong. The creature took a step back, its ears poking out under its crest, and the pieces clicked together. 

A spy, a snake, sent to watch you! 

“Why are you here?” Killian snarled, kicking the tray out of the way, the Goblin flinching back further. “Who sent you? Did you think I wouldn’t recognize poison?”

Kill it! Kill it, and kill - 

“My Lord, the kitchens - I simply work in the kitchens, my name is Iago -” The Goblin moved to grab the tray, but Killian was on him faster, wrenching his wing behind the creature’s back. “Please - I - what have I done, my Lord?”

Raja appeared from where Emma’s room lay, to Killian’s relief, moving towards them with purpose.

“This thing tried to -” Killian thrust the Goblin forward , twisting its feathered arm to turn it.

Raja cut him off, roughly tackling Killian to the floor. “Iago, did this Fae hurt you?”

Kill them ALL vessel, get the shard, take it and leave nothing but broken - 

“No, no, Raja sir, I don’t -”

“Did I hurt IT ?” Killian roared, staring in disbelief. “That bloody fucking Goblin -”

“Has been in the service of the kitchens here, since before your enemy was born.” Raja growled lowly. “He served the past Sultan and the Divining Light of the Desert Oasis, the Sultana Aura. He now serves the Seer of the Sands, Sultana Jasmine, and will serve her until the day her sight should ever fail us, forbid it to happen. He is no enemy of yours, Dark One, or your Princess.”

"Do it, do as I command, son! You worthless, whining, awful child. Do it. Liam would have! Liam had honor! He should be alive instead of you."

Killian only grunted in return, Raja standing quickly and offering a large paw. He swatted it aside, glaring at the trembling Goblin as he stood. 

“Do not send it up here again,” he hissed. The Goblin looked helpless, and Raja scowled. 

“He will, or your princess will no longer have me as her guard,” Raja rumbled out, his dark eyebrows raising in challenge as he bared his teeth. “Your choice.”

Killian gritted his teeth, glancing between the two.

“Please let him stay, Killian.” Emma’s soft whisper was barely audible, but his gaze immediately snapped to look at her. She leaned against the door to her room further up the hallway, the wind blowing the gauzy white curtains behind her. Still pale and flushed, when she stumbled slightly, both Iago and Raja were by her side within moments. 

"You are pathetic. Even Liam knew it, he told you he never cried when he took your lashes because he knew that you would never be anything more than a nuisance if you knew the truth."

“Princess, you shouldn’t -” Iago said softly, his Feathers bristling. 

"Everyone knew you were pathetic, but Liam took the brunt of it so you could try and be something worthwhile. You failed everyone so completely, and now you can't even protect the key to your freedom resting on that chain."

“Iago, you promised me you would help with my dreams,” Emma moaned slightly as they helped her back through the doorway, the curtains tangling around her slightly. “I want you to stay. You are fine, like none of the Goblin folk I have ever met. Please, please don’t stay away. Killian should have been told - ”

"You could take it, you could make someone get it for you. You won't though, will you, son? You know she's going to die because of you. You don't have to be a failure this time, this time you could be free!" 

“He attacked an innocent staff member because he is garbage specist scum,” Raja gritted out, Emma shaking her head emphatically in disagreement. “Iago could have been hurt -”

“I’m fine Raja, really,” Iago insisted. “My wing is fine, I was just surprised. Let’s drop it.”

“I don’t trust that thing, Emma,” Killian hissed. Raja stood taller, squaring his shoulders, but Emma raised her chin.

"She should not trust you. No one should."

“Leave us,” she whispered. Raja and Iago bowed quickly, leaving with a few of her medical team who were watching with confusion. Killian watched her slow movements, his fingers twitching when her hand rubbed hard against the column of her throat. 

Get the shard. 

"Yes, m'boy, get the shard. Get it and you will have everything you ever want."

"Well,” she said with a tired sigh, settling into her cot. She looked exhausted, but he noticed that more unsettling was her irritation with him. “Hey. I know we haven’t - I know we haven’t spoken in a while, but... Can you stop pissing off the staff and abusing them? It’s not exactly making an unpleasant stay anymore pleasant."

She coughed, looking at him pointedly. 

"Nothing has been pleasant with her around."

"Fine,” he grumbled. She nodded and laid back, with a sigh of relief.

“Now… Good morning. Are you alright? I had wondered if you left. I hadn’t seen you in so long.” 

We should have left. We should have taken the shard and -  

Killian scratched behind his ear, frowning.  “Good morning, Princess. If I leave I’ll say my goodbyes to you beforehand, but I - I haven’t made any plans,” he admitted, quietly.  “How are you feeling?"

"Honestly?" Emma whispered, her voice a dry and shrill echo of her normal honey timbre. "Like shit."

Good. Let her perish. Once we get the shard, that is. 

"You must be feeling somewhat better to forego your usual regal manner of speaking," he teased. 

“You are one to talk. What you did - Killian, I can’t -” She pinched the bridge of her nose before violently wheezing into another coughing fit. “I’m so mad at you right now, and I don’t have the energy to be mad. Why? Just -”

“That thing is a Goblin! That’s why!” Killian interrupted, looking at her with disbelief. 

“Just, can you please give him a chance?” When he didn’t answer, she shook her head sadly. “I’m so tired, and I can’t… I can't keep fighting with you. I can't have this dynamic anymore…” Trailing off, he felt a heaviness in his chest, the ache becoming more common. Was he sick as well?

"What is wrong with you?" 

“I said - I said fine! Fine.” He shrugged. “Fine, it’s sodding fine. It’s your bloody funeral.”

“Would you show up to my funeral, just to say I told you so?” Emma chuckled lightly, but he didn’t return her smile. 

“Depends on the menu you serve,” Killian replied dryly, shrugging. She smiled slightly, looking at him expectantly. His frown deepened as he carded his hand through his hair. “I’m just worried for you, and I -”

“I’ve been more worried about you,” Emma stated without irony. The Darkness scoffed in his Father's voice. 

She hummed, eyes closing and a cough rattling her chest. "You've been acting weird, and not just because I'm sick. This whole fight, this attack, how awful you've been lately to me and anyone else crossing your path… It’s not the you I know. I thought honesty and a little bit of snark -" Emma broke into more hacking, taking deep gulps of air. She reached for his hand, but he snatched it away, making a point of not looking at her directly after he saw her face fall. 

This is why you must leave! 

"I'll go get you some more water." He stood, dusting himself off. The ache in his chest was sharper, coupled with a feeling of shame. The Darkness tried to press at him to be angry, to attack her again, to insult and belittle her as he had done on board the ship but he refused. 

"No, wait - please stay, don't leave me here alone already." Emma reached out for him, but he walked away briskly towards a servant. She started coughing again, the steady decline of her health making it harder for her to breathe. "Killian, please?" she whimpered, but he rounded the corner as fast as he could get away from her. It wasn't the first time he had fled from her as she fought whatever illness had taken hold. 

His room sat behind her own, the walk out of the wing putting him in full view of where she rested. It had worried him at first, the open air home to the wind, pests, and sand, but a caregiver had eased his thoughts by mentioning a protective spell around the room. Emma seemed eased by the breezes, which had given way to his taciturn reluctance to be anywhere near where she was. Several times she had called out for him, once even attempting to follow after him until she stumbled into the arms of a nurse. 

When they were forced into conversation by Jasmine's crafty handiwork, Emma continued to question him about what came to pass in their shared dream. She was remembering more and more, specific details that made him squirm in his seat. She believed wholeheartedly they were simply dreams, but as they continued he caught her glances at him more and more. Her lingering looks, the blush in her cheeks that she tried to will away with a bite to her lip, the soft tone she said his name in - it all was entirely too much to be close to. 

It was as if his body wanted her desperately, her closeness addicting, but the Darkness and his common sense screeched at the reaction. Running from her was cowardice, but necessary. 

He spent time wandering the stalls of the market, numbly taking in the scents of foreign spices and the colors of vibrant silks. 

Get the shard and leave. Run away to freedom, take your life back from the hands of the weak Princess. Leave her behind. You're doing her a favor by abandoning her before we break her. 

The Darkness chattered non stop, its grating voice a low hum in the front of his mind. Deeper, there was an echo that he clung too, even if it was in whispers. It pointed at emerald pendants that caught the light, sparkling at him, and the patterns embroidered in the clothing the Agrabah people favored, hung on display. Golden swans swimming in unfurled blooms across damask and silk, a jeweled veil that went along to match made him pause, his fingers sliding along the fabric of their own will. 

"Pretty silks for a pretty woman in your life, yes?" The shopkeeper grinned, eyeing Killian with narrowed eyes. 

"No, I'm afraid I don't have -" 

The shopkeeper scoffed, swatting at his hand with annoyance. "Then look with your eyes, and begone."

He blinked at the man's bluntness, turning away with a snort of laughter. Emma would have loved this. If she were here, she would have charmed the man into giving her the bloody outfit for free, just because that was the beauty of who she was - 

The Darkness whined louder, as if it could sense his weakness. He fled, not to his ship where he had once felt nothing but comfort - no, that was filled with her too, her smell, her laughter; the bed was still a twisted mess of covers from where she had lain ill. He could see her there, or worse still, the images of them together, curled around each other in a gentle doze. Being there was like a candle being smothered, the air taken from every space. 

It took a few days of wandering, but he found a makeshift place to rest away from the palace that suited him. It had been, or was, a home of some vagabond at one point, cloth rags curtaining what had once been a wall, a full view of the palace and sky, while broken produce crates had been placed to use as shelves. A threadbare rug lay on the dusty floor, next to a straw pallet. 

Killian did not use the bed, instead sitting on the edge of the wall, looking out over the view as he tried to lose himself. 

"Who are you and what are you doing here?" 

The voice startled him, his head whipping around to see the man approaching him cautiously. He was dark haired, a true shock of it that was swept back in a messy swipe, his large brown eyes regarding Killian with a wary curiosity. 

"Sorry mate. Don't want trouble if this is your spot; just liked the view," Killian said evenly, not moving save to gesture at the palace. 

The man nodded, moving to sit across from Killian, producing two apples from his pocket. He threw one at Killian, who caught it easily. 

"It is one heck of a view," he said simply. After a long moment of silence, he spoke again. "Do you think that the people who live there are happy?" 

Killian tilted his head, looking out at the gleaming towers of the palace, and taking a bite of the apple. Chewing slowly, he swallowed hard without looking at the man. "No. I don't think there is much true happiness to be found there." 

More silence followed, both men eating their apples. It was broken again by the stranger. 

"Name is Aladdin, by the way." 

"Killian."

"It was nice to meet you, but a word of warning. Trouble is coming for those in the palace - and they deserve every bit of it. You're new here. Stay clear if you know what's best for you." Aladdin wiped his fingers on his patched pants, and Killian frowned. 

"Fair advice, but not very specific," Killian mused, shrugging off his frown before slouching back with false amusement. "What if I like getting into trouble? Is it worth my time to go seeking some fortune in their golden coffers?" 

Aladdin narrowed his eyes, jaw jutting up slightly. Anger rippled across his face. "No. No treasure," he said, the words dripping venom. His anger seemed to dissipate as he frowned, staring at the dirty floor. "There isn't anything there for a common thief of a street rat."

"Then tell me what is worth stealing, if you aren't part of the usual riff raff." Killian smirked. 

Aladdin hesitated, his earlier energy gone. 

"I won't know until tomorrow. I get the orders, and then I grab the object." He scratched his head, adjusting his fez cap. "I just know that any chance I get to punish the Royals is a chance I'm willing to take. The Sultana is heartless. She's a diamond that blinds you before cutting you into ribbons."

Killian arched an eyebrow. "It rather sounds like you and this Sultana are more than intimately acquainted."

Aladdin glared, turning red in his cheeks. "She's much too grand for someone like me," he hissed out. 

Killian nodded slowly. "Fine, I'll stay out of your way. I hope the job is worth it."

"When we're done, it will be." Aladdin grinned. 

*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ

Days passed slowly as Emma begged for company, particularly his. The Sultana and her had taken to each other as soon as Emma began to improve, giggling together as he passed, eating meals together, or talking long into the evenings. Jasmine exerted pressure on him to join them, but Killian dodged her with a practiced finesse he hadn't used since the days before Milah, escaping his father's rages. 

The Darkness still slithered in his mind relentlessly, bouncing back and forth between the voice of his captor the Goblin King, and his accursed father. The lack of rest coupled with the descriptions of his mother or a gory ending to Emma's life in Brennan Jones tongue was enough to turn Killian’s insides. 

It's fitting you lose every woman in your life to tragedy, isn't it? All three, sickened into an early grave. 

"Luckily, your mother never lived to know what you become. You would have her blood on your hands as well."

His mother had died so much like this, her frail body lost among the bedding as a healer sat nearby. 

Killian was beyond relieved at the absence of everyone in the palace upon his return, when he saw the princess hobbling towards him in the hallway with a determined look in her eyes. He tried to find an escape, but beyond leaping out of the window, there were none. She bared down on him, menacing even as he took in her exhausted countenance. 

"We," she gestured between the two of them, "Have a meeting in 5 minutes." 

Killian shook his head. "I don't think - I'm unavailable for any sort of counsel. I'm sorry -" 

Emma cut him off, with an annoyed wave of her hand. "Jasmine has been turning away suitors, and she mentioned that she was housing a sick woman with no known cure. Now, my life is tied to Jasmine's hand in marriage." Her voice broke slightly, but she was quick to cough, looking at him with hard eyes as her words dropped with wry, unhappy sarcasm. "You know, just royal things."

"The Sultana did what?" he hissed, anger beginning to course through him steadily. " Bloody hell , Emma, we need to -" 

"I tried . Jasmine is bound by the law here, and I am bound by… I need a cure. These suitors of hers may have something that can rid me of this. One of them says he knows what this illness is." She pointed to her chest. "The healers Jasmine has blessed us with can keep treating the symptoms of this, but not for long. I - There's nothing else that can be done. I need a cure, and quickly."

"This doesn't concern me, or you. We will stay here while they -" 

"Killian, you're not understanding me. I have no other options. This - this is a last resort that I'll be lucky to have work." Emma bit her lip, looking downcast. She did not meet his gaze as his rage grew into a panicked fury. 

Swallowing hard, she wrapped her arms around her frail frame. "We need to talk, Killian. I've tried - The treatment isn't going to do much more than make my symptoms better until it doesn't. I don't have a lot of hope at this point." The last sentence was whispered, and she closed her eyes before wiping away wetness. "I wanted your input. The situation here just didn't, well, pan out… Therefore, I have named you as my second. Should I die, you will be the shard's owner."

You've killed her, vessel of mine. Maybe I was wrong about your usefulness after all! You've freed us, and the United Realms will fall for it. 

"Your vengeance is finally within sight." 

Killian struggled to breathe, the Darkness triumphantly purring in his mind. The secreted feelings he held close burned, disbelief at the possibility that he might lose her, that he was the cause of her death, of her pain. He stared at her, trying to focus on her words. 

"Jasmine has helped me prepare all the documents that will be needed if Fae law ever returns to the realms." Emma pointed to the space on her chest where the shard had laid, its long chain empty. The absence of the silvery pendant was as jarring as the black bruise-like tinge of her skin underneath. 

WHERE IS OUR SHARD!? 

WHERE HAS THE SICK, SPENT, BITCH PUT IT!? 

The Darkness screeched in many voices at once, each enraged as his eardrums pounded inside his skull. His fingers balled into fists, the urge to bruise, to make Emma suffer for this crushing him under its weight. He couldn't, he would never - 

FIND IT FIND IT FIND IT AND PUNISH HER. FIND IT AND MAKE HER PAY - 

"You gave it to someone else!?" Killian growled as he moved closer, dwarfing her. She took an uncertain step back, her breathing catching in her throat. 

Emma gasped slightly, but choked out an answer with wide eyes. "It's alright. I trust the safety of it. Please -" 

"You trust - You trust ?" Killian laughed darkly, grinning at her with a malicious sneer. "When has your trust ever been worth a bloody damn? Your trust is meaningless, your faith is worth nothing, and now you have forced me to follow by your side if I want my freedom."

RIP HER APART, GET THE SHARD!

"I made the deal, I need the cure. I am sorry, but you have to trust me on this. I wanted to discuss it, but…" She pleaded, but he refused to hear any of it. The Darkness rose like a tidal wave, furthering every bit of him that sparked with hatred. "It's done. I need you to know my funerary needs, just in case the cure fails, but first we have to meet these suitors - "

"I don't care, Princess. When are you going to understand that I don't want to be here? We aren't friends, I am not doing this out of good will or kindness like your naivete expects. I want to be free of you," he snarled, watching her shrink into a coughing fit. "Does it please you to leash me, Princess? Do you relish in having your faithful pet at your beck and call? I don't want to have your blood on my hands, by tether or not, but if you insist, I will make sure that you regret it." 

"Killian, please, I -" 

  "THAT'S IT, M'BOY.

MAKE HER SUFFER."

"I don't want to be your second. I wouldn't want to be your fifth, or even your sixty-third!" Killian spat, his anger pouring out of him. His father's voice taunted him relentlessly, egging him on, and he could barely think over its noise. Something quieter tugged at him too, begging him to stop. It begged him to look at her tearstained face, and her clear horror as her hands rose to cover her mouth in shock. At the way she flinched back when he moved, or made a gesture, obviously in fear. He ignored it, lashing out as his father laughed. "You are an absolutely infuriating and insufferable companion; once you are healthy, you will give me the shard, we will end this alliance, and you will never see me again."

Emma stood in stunned silence for a long moment as he panted, before giving a short, barely there nod. 

"As you wish," she whispered, finally meeting his eyes. They were nearly as bloodshot as his own as she trembled. 

THE PRINCESS DESERVES THIS.

The smallest, barely there whisper was almost drowned out completely as it cried, trying to get him not to listen. 

The Princess does not deserve any of this, or any of this rage. She's scared of you. You hurt her . 

You caused this. You . 

"Now, where the sodding fuck are these suitors? The sooner we get this finished, the better," he seethed, Emma pointing in silence to a set of double doors with thick golden inlay. He pushed them open forcefully, coming face to face with a familiar man dressed in traditional finery.

"Ah, Dark One. Princess." Jasmine gestured from her throne for them to approach. A group of men stood before her, giving bows as Emma was helped to a smaller chair next to Jasmine's, Raja gesturing at him to move so that Killian stood by her side. The men drew closer beckoned by Raja as he stood in front of his Sultana. 

"The kingdom of Camelot has demanded the laws of the open palm be laid out, here forward," Raja boomed out. "The offer stands at a cure for the mystery illness plaguing her guest, given with an open palm, in return for the Sultana's hand in marriage. One by one, please present yourself. Tonight we dine together, and tomorrow you will begin seeking a cure. If the guest is injured, made worse, or dies from a proposed cure, the offer is void. If the guest dies before a cure is found, the offer is void."

"Thank you, Raja," Jasmine stated robotically. Her face was solemn, no hint of any emotion. 

Raja nodded, then set his sights on the first of the four men. 

The first was tall, and somehow sinewy, his fingers long around a golden cane shaped like a snake. His deep, wine and dark garnet robes were elaborately lined in golden embroidery that made his dark skin and eyes seem to glow as if lit by embers. 

"I am Jafar." He bowed low, the deep plum jewel in his tall turban glinting in the light. "I was the vizier of this kingdom at one time, and helped the queen navigate life with her Djinn powers. I have come to seek a place for my wisdom once more."

Jafar's thick, syrupy voice made Killian want to shudder, but what was more unnerving was that the man had spared no glance to his would be bride, or Emma. Jafar had leveled his gaze straight into Killian’s own, blinking slow, and never looked away even as his lips curled into a smirk. 

Killian tore his eyes away with difficulty as the next man began to speak. He was dressed in a grey and blue chiton, the silver clasps accentuating his pale skin, red hair, and matching the ice of his pinched glare at Emma. 

"I am Hades, named for the God and blessed by him to rule the Southern Hills. I conquered the Amazons, defeated the monsters this world let loose, and I alone tamed the great Titans of the old world until they grew too willful. I crushed them, and will crush anything in my path with ease should I gain your foresight." He knelt, dragging his glare from Emma to stare up at Jasmine. "You may not be my Persephone, but you will be a beautiful prize, hard won."

A knight dressed in leather studded mail bowed low next, dark hair and cheerful eyes matched by a blinding smile. He looked between both Jasmine and Emma with a prideful grin. 

"I am Arthur, the reason we are all here, King of Camelot, Holder of the Sword of Pure Truth, given to me by the spirit of Lake Nostros. I come to ask for either of your hands in marriage." Emma visibly tensed, and Killian swallowed back the urge to glare. "I am in need of a queen who loves her people, her kingdom, and her king. I thought I had that once, but betrayal and hardship is not unknown to any of us. I hope to not only heal you, Princess Emma, but potentially bring you or the beautiful desert diamond Sultana Jasmine happiness. You both deserve it, along with the utmost peace."

Arthur's eyes flicked to Killian briefly, and there was a glimmer of something that felt dishonest and unclean. It was gone so quickly it had to be imagined as Killian looked at the last man once more. 

His dark shock of hair was laid under a turban, the bright peacock feather in it held on by a glittering plum jewel. His face was familiar, large dark eyes and long eyelashes full of mirth and trepidation, as if he didn't quite belong. Killian looked harder, trying to place him. Was he a courtier? No, that couldn't be. Had he been in the market? The realization hit him, putting him immediately on edge. Aladdin winked at Killian in his disguise, as he purred out an introduction.

"I am Shah Ali of Ab'dua," Aladdin smirked up at the three of them. "And I will easily win your heart, as well as cure the Princess Emma. It's an absolute pleasure to meet you both."

[zach-the-fox]

Furiends Episode 4: Insensitive Interrogation

“Ah!” Zach yelps as Brook presses some white cream against his burn. “Easy, Brook…”

“Sorry, but I told you it would sting,” the purple rabbit replies. “Now, just hold still.”

Zach tenses up, feeling her paw across his torso. “Ah! Oh, that hurts…”

“Oh sorry!” She ceases. “Um, let me come back to that.” She works her way lower.

Zach keeps still, feeling the rabbit’s paw rubbing him. Brook kneels to apply the medicine to more of the burn areas. Zach trembles a little as he feels her by his lower area. “Woo!” He looks down at her. “Uh, I don’t have any burns there…”

Brook giggles. “Whoops. Well, you’re never too sure.” She stands after she finishes. “Just let the cream do its thing, okay?” Zach rolls his eyes.

Hatboy, on the other hand, isn’t too happy as he’s sweeping the glass in the dustpan by the broken window. “This sucks… Why am I the one cleaning up this mess?!”

“Because,” Brook begins. “You were the one who batted the fireball out the window. Keep sweeping.” Brook sighs, then goes to sit in a chair at the counter. “Man… I’m still a disappointed. We could’ve had our very own demon.”

“I don’t mean to ask,” Zach utters. “But what would you do with a demon?”

Brook shrugs. “Don’t know. Mostly be its friend. Maybe even unleash it on my enemies. That would be nice. Wouldn’t you want a protector against your foes?” Zach points his eyes at the ceiling, reflecting on the times where everyone he encountered thought of him as an enemy. His thoughts are scrambled at the question, thinking if they really deserve being attacked for bullying the fox. “Well?” asks Brook, causing him to snap out of it.

“I… I…”

Knocking against the door catches her attention. “Hold on. Someone’s at the door. Better see who it is.” The rabbit ambles over and looks through her peephole. Standing in front waiting is the wolf with the red armband. Alongside him, is a sheep in a green vest, a monkey whose face is covered with a yellow mask, and a cat dressed in a red top and blue jeans as a flower sits against her ear. “Can I help you people?” she asks through the door.

“This is Team Rescuers,” shouts the wolf. Zach’s head turns to the door quickly. His ears stand as straight and tall as they could be. “Please open up!”

“Um, just a second…” The rabbit faces her friends. “It’s Team Rescuers…”

“Yeah, we heard,” Hatboy says. “What could they possibly want? I mean, why do are they here?”

“Probably for me,” Zach utters. His breathing increases. “They want to pick on me, I know it…”

“Calm down,” Brook orders him. “You’re acting like an escaped convict.”

“Open the door, now!” demands the sheep, screaming in a female voice. “Otherwise, we will kick it in!”

“Relax, Cindy,” spurts the cat, female in tone as well. “Be patient.”

“Better answer it, Brook,” says Hatboy.

Brook turns to the door and opens it, appearing in the crack. “Hello there. What brings you fine animals around here today?”

“Good day, Ma’am,” the monkey begins, speaking in a baritone voice. “We’re here to investigate some strange event.”

“Strange, you say?” the rabbit asks, forming her creepy smile. “I like strange. Tell me, how strange is this event you are looking into?”

“Well,” the monkey continues. “We’ve gotten reports that a large fireball had traveled across town and burned everything in its path. We’ve talked to eyewitnesses around and we’ve traced their reports to this location, where everyone’s saying this is where it came from. Have you seen anything unusual such as this?”

“Is that so? Well, I’ve not seen anything of that sort, but I did-”

“Hey wait!” The wolf notices Zach inside. “It’s the flawed fox! Why is he in your home?!”

Brook narrows one eye. “Um, what? Why does that concern you?”

“I bet he’s the one behind the whole “fireball” fiasco. Let us in immediately,” he orders. “We need to search this place.”

“Whoa, hold on… What makes you so sure about-”

“Move!” The wolf pushes her aside and enters. Upon walking in, he stops before the fox and red rabbit. “Well, well, well. If it isn’t the flawed fox of Heroto?”

“This is what you meant, Jay?” asks the monkey. “Guess he settled for worst.”

“I know, right, Kenji?” The wolf then turns to Cindy. “Hey Cindy, care to say “hi” to your old boyfriend?”

The sheep steps beside him. “If only he was. He’s more of Miffy’s type.”

“Sorry,” adds the cat. “I only date men who are strong-willed, not little boys.” Zach’s ears droop down as a frown forms.

Hatboy stands beside the fox. “Have you no decency for your citizens, especially those who are unfortunate?”

“What are you going to do, Rabbit?” Kenji asks. “You going to smack us with those large ears of yours?”

“Hey, now that’s uncalled for. What business do you have with us anyway?”

“Listen Chili Pepper,” Jay begins. “We’ve gotten reports a fireball came from this location, and I’d say it’s pretty clear it was from you guys.”

“Hold on…” Brook stands between the team and her two friends, crossing her arms. “What makes you think we were the ones who unleashed the fireball?”

“It seems obvious, Toots.” The wolf crosses his arms. “The whole place has been scorched. We can see the damage here.”

“We weren’t the ones who released a fireball on the town,” Zach claims. “That’s all a lie!”

“Explain the burn marks, then.”

“Simple explanation,” utters Brook. “We were making lunch when it accidentally spilled on the floor and caught fire.”

“Must’ve been a huge fire. Care to tell us why the flawed fox has a huge burn on his torso?” questions Miffy.

Zach tries to muster a good explanation “I… I was-”

“Helping us,” Brook interrupts, after quickly covering the fox’s mouth with her paw. “He was trying to help cook when fire got big. Zach tried to smother the flames, but they whipped him while he was putting it out.”

“So, where’s the fire department, then?” Cindy asks. “Wouldn’t they be here if a fire was raging out of control?”

“We managed to put it out before it spread,” Hatboy explains. “Got it all under control. So, we didn’t need the fire department.”

Kenji rubs his chin. “Likely story… Still doesn’t explain why there’d be a huge fireball spotted across town.”

“Um, we aren’t sure either,” Brook implies. “In fact, we’re just as confused as you.”

“Yeah,” Zach adds in. “Perhaps your rivals, Capital Corp, were the ones who started the whole “fireball” fiasco to lure you away.”

Jay crosses his arms. “I highly doubt Capital Corp would do something like that. Though, you aren’t wrong… They could be up to something! We should get going! Let’s go, Team!” As he exits, the three others follow him.

The sheep stops and turns to the rabbits. “Oh, you two better be watchful of the flawed fox. He’s known to cause trouble wherever he goes.” She then disappears.

Brook closes the door. “Toots?! The nerve of them!”

“Chili pepper?” spurts Hatboy. “What a bunch of jerks… Barging in here and putting the blame on Zach for something that clearly wasn’t his fault.”

“They blamed us, too! Come on, just because Zach’s made some mistakes doesn’t make him a bad person… And just because we’re friends with him doesn’t mean we’re enemies too.”

“And didn’t you hear what she said about “watching ourselves with the flawed fox”? I mean, really? How the hell did they ever become heroes?”

“What a couple of clucks.” Brook turns to the fox, noticing his ears remain drooped as he turns his head. “You okay, Zach?”

“Yeah…” the fox responds. “Fine…”

The purple rabbit places her paw on the fox’s shoulder. “Don’t even pay attention to them. They’re just looking to blame someone for their problems. You’re no flawed fox. Actually, I’m starting to think something’s going on.”

Hatboy narrows one eye. “What do you mean?”

“Didn’t you see the way they came in and just left? They weren’t even concerned about our safety. Real heroes don’t just walk in, look around and assume it was someone they didn’t like, and then leave. They must be up to something…”

“Probably planning on setting me up so all of Heroto can banish me,” Zach suggests. “I’m not surprised…”

“You won’t get banned,” Brook tells him. “We’re going to make sure nothing bad happens to you. You, me, Hatboy, Carly, and Emmy. In fact, we should call them up and let them know about the situation. We’ll need to keep a lookout for those Rescue-jerks. We should also clean this place up before other people come by and get suspicious.”

@carlycmarathecat​ @emmy-the-absolute-goof​ @bendy-bear-15​

[chasseurdeloup-retired]

Honest to Geode || Morgan and Kaden

TIMING: Before Constance does everyone dirty and before casually finding a human head in the dumpster  PARTIES: @mor-beck-more-problems and @chasseurdeloup SUMMARY: Sometimes you have to talk to dirt. Magic.

There were at least some ingredients for ghost-proofing that Morgan could pick up in the shops on Amity Row. A few white pebbles, some fresh brushes and ink for painting runes, some chalking dust, and a little satisfying peek at Vera’s lag in clientele since Natalia slipped her the monkey paw. As a treat. She filled her tote bag carefully, relieved to have something easy and productive to check off in her day. Every morning in the hotel next to Deirdre made her skin turn cold with fear that she was making the wrong move. It didn’t feel like payment enough to shrink her happiness down to the size of a hotel room, and her body, well trained in fear, begged her to run and hide every time she passed Cece’s street on the way back from campus. But ingredients, simple things with a clear purpose and a clear value, she could handle and find solace in. And when she got back she’d work a few jewelry pieces. Measure. Give. Receive. Begin again. She could trick herself into feeling safe this way, nestled in her corner of the universe on a space even her curse couldn’t mess with. She turned down the next aisle for the next item on her list and-- oh, shit. She’d recognize that hair anywhere, even after only seeing it twice, but Morgan still needed to do a double take. “...Kaden?” She asked.

It was strange having so little he could do to help, but the one thing Kaden thought he might be able to get a handle on was Regan’s nausea. Sure, she said that it was only at certain times and shit like that but he was going to try. If medicine wasn’t working, maybe magic would. Only Kaden had no idea where to even fucking start with magic. Beyond, uh, maybe the magic shop. That seemed like a decent start. He’d been wandering up and down the aisles, through the nooks and crannies of the shop for longer than he cared to admit. None of it meant shit to him. Why was nothing labeled? Okay, sure it was labeled, but it didn’t say what it was for. And he wasn’t sure he wanted to ask. Maybe he should just leave. Fuck it, he was bout to head out when he heard a familiar voice. Putain. He turned and saw Morgan. Of all people. Well, that made sense, sure, but he wasn’t sure he wanted to have any deep conversations today. Why couldn’t their whole thing just stayed as in depth as waffles and nothing more? “Hey,” he said, hoping it would be short. But uh, maybe she could help. Did he want that? “So, uh, what are you doing here?” Dumb question. Too late.

It took Morgan another moment to process what she was seeing: Kaden, in a magic shop, looking more lost than a frat boy at Sephora. It couldn’t be more supernatural-killing supplies. He would at least know something about that, right? So it could only be--for Regan. Oh, Kaden. “Just picking up some stuff for my everyday witchy needs,” she said. “And for stopping my curse. As you do.” She quirked a brow and stepped a little closer, peeking around to see what he was looking at. He couldn’t possibly know what he was doing. Nothing on this shelf was fit for cursing or glamouring. Half of it was full of crystals. “You wouldn’t happen to need a hand with finding anything, would you?”

Kaden’s brows furrowed. Curse stopping supplies? Was that how this worked? He wanted to think she was joking but at the same time, he was so out of his depths he couldn’t say one way or the other. No, she had to be joking, she said curses were hard to break, right? Fuck if he knew. He sighed. Clearly she had him pegged as lost. “Maybe,” he grumbled. His hand reached to rub the back of his neck. “I was just trying to find something for Regan. Not the curse thing, I can’t even start there. But, uh, the nausea she’s been having.” He felt like such a goddamn idiot. “She said nothing helped and we both know she’d never touch anything magic so I guess I figured it was worth a shot.” Not that he’d know how to get there to use anything magical but that was step two.

Of course Kaden couldn’t admit to needing help right away. He had to grumble about it and look hangdog and red in the face before he could say what he needed. Morgan couldn’t help but wonder if he was like this all the time, if Regan for all her obtuseness had crafted a gloss for translating him, or if he managed to be more than begrudgingly articulate for her. Lucky for him, Morgan had a sense of what was behind the nausea. She’d heard about the eight-hour limit when she was researching her glamour for Deirdre and how intense the side effects would be. The answer was ‘just don’t wear it too long,’ but that wasn’t what Kaden wanted to hear, and it wouldn’t do much to improve his situation. Morgan sighed and ghosted a hand over his shoulder, as if she’d give it a solid, manly pat. “Kaden, you’re not going to find anything to help there. But I can whip something up for you. You’ll need to get your hands on the amulet for it to work, though.”

“Get my hands on the amulet?” Kaden didn’t even know what it did. And he was too afraid to ask and completely sure that Regan wasn’t planning on telling him just yet. If ever. He sighed and shook his head. “I don’t think that’s possible. She never takes it off. Uh, do you have any other suggestions? Or…” He trailed off and looked away. This whole thing was stupid, he shouldn’t have come. “I don’t-- I mean, if you want to help and all. I’d take it. But I don’t want you to go out of your way or hold it over me or something.” Shit. It struck him that he just walked into the same sort of situation they’d started with. Bartering small favors. Only this time it wasn’t waffles. Definitely still magic, though.

“Relax, Kaden,” Morgan replied, smirking. “I’m not about to extort your for favors over protecting your girlfriend. Besides, Deirdre cares about her too, and she wouldn’t approve of strings attached either, I don’t think. So consider this a genuine favor. I mean it, about the amulet, though. Even the best forged charms need to charge. There’s some ways of doing it faster, cleaner, better, what have you,” There weren’t, not really, not that Kaden knew any better. “Which is something I can help you with. But if they’re mismanaged, they can turn on the wearer and make them sick. Like, you know, with nausea. Ooh, it’s like a mobile battery charger! Only it’ll be a magic one. Does that make sense?”

“Thanks. I guess.” Kaden ran his hand through his hair. This was very much not his wheelhouse. He’d feel in the dark either way, but it was even worse knowing he didn’t have the full scope of the situation. “I don’t even know what the amulet does. And if she knows she’s not telling me. I just know she won’t see me without it on.” The whole thing dropped a pit in his stomach. Whatever she was keeping from him, how bad was it that she didn’t trust him? Fuckng hated this. “Is there a way to, I don’t know, add to the charger? Give it a better one? I don’t know how this works and I don’t even know what’s--” He stopped short and let out a sigh. This was so exhausting. He hated feeling like this all the time. Completely worried and completely helpless.

Morgan looked at the wares thoughtfully. This was maybe not the best time to work some petty mischief on Kaden, especially for what would more or less be her own satisfaction. He did kill supernaturals, even if she didn’t invest herself in the lives of ones she didn’t know. And he was kind of an idiot, perhaps even willfully so at this point. Would it make the mischief called for if she was mostly intending to help him come to terms with himself? It was the only thing she knew of that might override his conditioning as a hunter. Deirdre accepting her own love for her was the only reason they were functioning this long. Maybe this could help everyone, in the long term.

“Does this mean you’ll let me help?” She asked Kaden. “I can whip up something special right now, and I will charge--” She picked up one of the larger crystals from Vera’s shelf. Whistled with mock horror. “A lot less than this. Because I am actually a decent person, Kaden. We’ll say half the price of this overrated magic shop? Twenty five dollars? And I’ll show you how to use it, step by step. No strings. No favors. Just doing a solid for the people we care about.”

Kaden narrowed his eyes at the witch. She seemed to change her tune very fast. There was something suspicious about all of this. But it wasn’t enough to make him worry too much. Morgan was a bleeding-heart type after all. Maybe she did really intend to help. Well, it couldn’t be worse than spending ten more minutes in this shop. And he was desperate to do fucking something, anything remeotely helpful. “Fine. I’ll let you help.” He raised his arm and gestured to the exit of the shop for her to lead the way. “Go on. Work your magic.”

Morgan brightened up, flashing the hunter a bright warm smile. She could make this work for everyone. Extra cash for her, some emotional maturity for Kaden, which would lead to a happier and less-dead Regan, which would lead to a happier Deirdre too. And even if it only worked for a little while, Kaden might still get to keep his maturity, and he’d only be out twenty five bucks. It was a better, fairer bargain than he was going to get at Eye of Newt. She paid for her things and gave Vera a frosty look as she left with her woven grocery bag on her arm, leading them off toward the town common where it was green and lush with easy to transmute materials. “I don’t guess I could ask you not to make fun while I’m working could I?” She asked, turning over her shoulder. “Magic is weird, and you’re maybe not going to like the recipe for this one. Decidedly not for danger reasons! For other, mushier reasons. Feelings reasons. Still on board with me?”

Kaden crossed his arms and waited to the side as she purchased her items. He should really walk away, like he’d been saying to himself this whole time. He wasn’t sure where he expected her to take him but the town commons wasn’t it. His arms were still folded across his chest as he watched her. “Mushier reasons?” his brow shot up. He always knew he hated the hippie dippie shit that came with magic. This was just confirming it. “I’m not going to make fun of you, I’m just going to ask you why this is the only way to do this.” He muttered a few curse words in french under his breath. Why was it always bullshit feelings with her?

“Have you ever considered that I’m like this for a good reason, Kaden?” Morgan asked good naturedly. “Emotional intent is the thing that gives magic its direction, its shape. It’s the most essential component next to the energy of the universe.” She sat them down under a nice tree and started scrounging around for material. There was a very handy looking trash can nearby but transmuting an “amulet charging station” out of garbage was probably a bridge too far with Kaden. “Naturally, sometimes, it can be even more than that. It’s an energy and a power all its own. So--” She gathered the soft earth in her hand until she could gauge the weight in her hands to be just right, enough that it nearly overflowed, and set it between them. “Wait, actually--” She snapped off some twigs within reach and gathered them up with some fallen acorns. “Just, a brief demonstration so you know I’m not completely full of shit.” She pressed her cuff to the mess and turned the many pieces into a miniature wooden sword, then again, and turned it into a slender mini rapier out of steel, maybe the size fit for a mouse. “Nifty, right?”

As he sat down across from her, he scrunched his nose at her explanation of magic, specifically the part about emotions dictating it. Kaden knew damn well there was a reason he didn’t connect with magic at all. Well, beyond the obvious. Still, he watched her intently as she did, well, whatever it was she was actually doing. Beyond playing with dirt. He really did think it was all bullshit at first. Then he watched as she transformed the twigs and acorns into a sword and his eyes went wide. He knew damn well magic existed and he’d been around other witches before, hell he’d been around her doing magic before. Still it wasn’t the same seeing it in  the thick of a fight as opposed to up close and intimate. He could sometimes forget what a good caster could craft out of mostly nothing. “Nifty, sure,” he said, trying to mask his awe. “But what is that good for, anyway? And how is this going to help?”

Morgan could barely contain her pride at seeing Kaden’s awe at her work. It was just a flicker, he was too proud to concede that openly to her face, but it was enough to make her fluff her hair and straighten up with even greater confidence. “Oh, this?” She pinched the hilt between two fingers and poked his hands teasingly, “This was just to see you make that face.” She dropped it on top of the pile of earth she had gathered between them. “But now, hopefully,  you won’t scoff when I say in order for this ‘super charging station’ to work optimally is to speak your heart’s intentions into this earth as I transmute it into a citrine bowl. And then after we’re done, we’ll bind it all together with some sigils.” She looked into his eyes, bright and smiling, almost daring him to back out.

“I have to speak my what now?” he asked, eyes going wider than before. Kaden was now thoroughly convinced this entire thing was a mistake. He should have just picked up some tums and called it a day, taken Abel for a walk, done literally anything else. Instead, here he was sitting on the fucking ground with a witch telling him to grab some dirt and shout his fucking feelings at it. “Heart’s intetions?What the fuck do you mean by that? Intentions for what? This is, this is--” A reedy sigh pushed though his thoat as he debated getting up and walking the fuck away. This couldn’t be worth it, could it? The look in her eyes was so fucking smug, though, like she though he’d back out. Like she knew it. Almost challenging him so that she could say he didn’t really care about Regan. If this were for anyone fucking else, he would have left. Instead he grumbled and settled in. Didn’t mean he wasn’t going to roll his eyes, though. “Fine. What sort of crap do I have to tell the dirt?”

Morgan’s expression softened as Kaden relented to the exercise. It was a good sign that Regan meant more to him than his machismo. She knew he only liked her so far as she was human and useful, and so saving face, saving his honor, might be a different matter of pride, but still. He was willing. He would do this for the girl he cared about. “Take a deep breath for starters, okay? I don’t want your being grumpy with me interfering with what you’ve actually agreed to do. Real deep, with me--” She took a long deep breath, exaggerated for his benefit, smiling peacefully as she exhaled. “And now really think about why it is you want this. What are you giving of yourself, to make this happen for her? Your care, or your kindness, for example. Talk about that while you put your hands over the earth. I’ll make sure it absorbs that energy. Magic isn’t a force that takes bullshit, okay? So be as honest and clear as possible.”

Kaden took a deep breath but his shoulders stayed hunched, asking him to not be grumpy about this was way too much to ask. He could meet her halfway but that was about it. He wasn’t rolling his eyes at least, she should be impressed. He put his hands in the stupid dirt and took another deep fucking breath. “Why I want this… Well I’d like to wake up not covered in puke, that’s for one.” He could sense a glare was on its way from her before he even finished. Putain, he wanted this to work. He really did. It wouldn’t hurt to try and open up a little, right? Plus, she couldn’t embarass him any more than he’d been embarrassed at that fucking mime party. Might as well give in. “Fine. Fine. I, uh, want to help Regan because, you know, uh…” He had to close his eyes to do this, there was no way he could even start this fucking exercise let alone finish if he caught even a whif of judgement from the peanut gallery. “I care about her. A lot. I, uh, I don’t know when that happened but I do. And she’s hurting a lot. And I can’t fix it, any of it. I just… I just need to do something to help. She already lost her dad; that’s hard enough.” He felt his throat tighten a little at the thought of his own loss, even though it was years past. “I guess I.. give my... sympathy? And my…” He fumbled for the words. He wasn’t used to having to describe what he was feeling. He kind of hated it. Labels and words were restrictive and came with expectations. Two things He’d always been better at showing rather than saying. He knew what he felt when he was around Regan. His breath would catch in his chest, his stomach flipped, he could never stop smiling in her presence. What that translated to in words he couldn’t say. Or he didn’t want to admit it. Definitely didn’t want to admit it here. Now. In front of Morgan of all people. “Uh, my love,” he said at a low grumbly whisper. He winced. He’d rather be stabbed by a mime right now. That sounded preferable. Certainly easier to handle.

Morgan watched Kaden, her expression neutral. She nodded along as the hunter struggled to push through his sheepish embarrassment, his fear, his self consciousness. It was endearingly familiar; it hadn’t been so long since she was stuttering in a booth at Al’s and typing and re typing the same soul crushing words in a message. And it looked the same on him, it sounded the same, enough that Morgan could begin to believe it was the same inside him. If it stuck that deep inside his chest, if it frightened him enough that he had to close his eyes, maybe it was real. Maybe it could be truer than the secrets he carried, and the secrets Regan was sitting on.

“That’s perfect Kaden,” Morgan said. “That’s enough to power just about anything.” She passed her wrist over the earth and ran her power through the pathways. There was enough silicon in the earth to make it an easy bargain to strike. Morgan asked it to be beautiful for them, to be strong and sturdy, to have enough facets at the edges and sides to catch all the light that came its way. And the earth said yes, bending into shape, taking in the air and turning into just what she wanted. Morgan looked down at her handiwork and then over at Kaden, warm and only just a little smug. “How’s that for magic?” She asked.

Kaden was relieved she didn’t ask him for anything more and that goddamn embarrassment was over. He opened his eyes and watched intently as she worked her very literal magic. He wasn’t sure what it was she was making but it looked like some kind of bowl made from an orange crystalline rock. He looked it over as he took it from her. It didn’t look particularly special. “So this will work?” He turned it over one more time. “Uh, how do I use it, anyway?” Another thought hit him. Regan’s extreme distaste for “bullshit” medicine. “And how in the fuck am I going to convince Regan to use it?”

Morgan rolled her eyes. Of course Kaden couldn’t bear to show his better qualities for more than a moment. But if he could at least demonstrate them when it mattered, preferably in the form of not killing Regan, maybe even doing something to actually protect her, it was no difference if he acted like a sixteen year old boy in front of her or not. “You put the amulet inside the bowl and you let it rest and recharge. To maintain the energy in the bowl itself, you’ll have to renew your intentions. Hold it under the sun and speak them like you spoke them to me. Shouldn’t have to do it often, just once every couple of weeks.” That would at least remind him that there was something more important than listening to his stupid “duty” rules all the time. “I don’t know how you’re going to get Regan to drop her amulet into this, but that is not my wheelhouse and not my problem. Besides, you know her better than me. What do you think she’ll believe?”

“I have to what?” Kaden almost chucked the bowl across the fucking commons, like throwing it away would get rid of the need to ever do that shit ever again. Then he realized he’d be out one magic bowl, may not get her help again, and if he did, would have to start it all over again. Putain. “Fine. What kind of fucking magic needs you to recharge a fucking charging station?’ he grumbled. Yeah yeah, he shouldn’t look a gift horse in the mouth but it was all so annoying, it was hard not to. Whatever, he could get over the obnoxious feelings crap of it all, that wouldn;t be the hardest part anyway. He rubbed the back of his neck as he tried to suss through where to even start with her. “Great. Guess I’ll have to lie to her. Can’t fucking wait. Maybe I can say Deirdre forgot to send it with the amulet?” He sighed. And gave it to him of all people. Yeah, cause that would happen. “It’s fine. I’ll figure it out. Uh, thanks for the help, though. Hopefully it works. I know she’ll appreciate it. Even if she has no clue what’s actually happening.”

“It’s okay, Kaden. I didn’t just do it for her,” Morgan said. “And if it helps any, I believe in you. Or I want to anyway.” She got off the ground and dusted herself off, shouldering her bag and scanning the area for any signs of trouble. “You don’t have to be afraid of showing people what a good heart you have, okay? And before you make faces, I would still prefer you to Venmo me my twenty-five dollars for the bowl now. Unless you’re ready to trust me with a favor.”

Kaden’s brows furrowed at her words. Then who else was it-- Oh. Huh. He didn’t see that one coming. Though he should have, at least a little, after her whole thing about looking out for him or something. He wasn’t sure why in the hell she had to believe in him or what that was about but at this point, he was too tired to keep asking people what they thought about him or what they assumed he was going to do. It didn’t matter what people thought anyway, right? “I’ll Venmo you. For the fucking dirt.” He wanted to add he wasn’t sure it was worth that much but it was for Regan. He could spare a measly twenty-five dollars. “But hey if this works, I might owe you a favor, anyway, to be honest.”

“It’s not dirt anymore!” Morgan protested. “But, because I almost like you, Kaden--” And because, truthfully she was starting to feel guilty about the charade, and hadn’t expected him to actually pay the full price, or admit that he somehow loved Regan, “You can consider it a friendly gift. No strings.” And then, if he somehow ever did realize her little trick, he might not change his mind about his promise to her. “But, if it keeps things going well between you and Regan, and you’re feeling generous later, I won’t say no.” She smiled at him cheerfully and began to leave on her way. “And that ‘mushy stuff’ wasn’t all bad, right?” She called over her shoulder.

Kaden brushed off and pocketed the bowl, making sure it was safe in his jacket. His mouth pulled into a thin line, ready to argue with her when she agreed to waive the fee. “Thanks.” Now all that was left was somehow smuggling this into Regan’s apartment without it getting chucked out the window. Selling magic to anyone half as rational as her would be a challenge. And he still didn’t even know what was really going on with the necklace to begin with. Good thing he liked a challenge, right? Fucking great. “Don’t tease. It was pretty fucking bad.” He was thrilled to have to rinse and repeat this every few weeks. It better fucking work. He didn’t need to add insult to injury.

[diloph]

Pardon me, but it seemed from some of your posts on KOTM that you didn't like Mark Russell that much. I know he was a cliche everyman type, but what exactly made him any worse than others in these movies?

I apologise if this isn’t my most coherent answer. I’m a little bit stressed at the moment, trying to finish the next chapter of IIID and create relevant, if poorly assembled memes before the Invader Zim movie is released.

To be honest, some of it is a bit tongue-in cheek. Making fun of the most visible character in the film, considering that he hates Godzilla with a burning passion, is just a little bit of fun. It’s like how I refer to Rick Stanton with disdain sheerly because he’s somewhat based on Rick Sanchez, who I don’t dislike either.

The film isn’t about Mark: King of the Fathers anyway, so if I completely despised him, I could just zone out during his scenes, or skip them when the DVD comes out.

But… some of it wasn’t so jokey. He’s still an okayish protagonist, I’ve got nothing against the actor himself and his acting is fine. Still, Mark was loud, abrasive and hated Godzilla; you know, things that grate on my nerves when it comes to a 2+ hour Godzilla movie and that made the character… trying.

We’ve had them before, but Godzilla was generally more villainous and obviously, we feel sympathy and camaraderie with him as the title character and we are here to see him do cool things. Having a human protagonist who hates our cool monster protagonist makes sense in universe, but ultimately, it’s not what we’re here for. We can tune that out.

As for what makes me dislike Mark… for starters, he’s kind of a prick. I once saw somebody describe him as the type of guy who thinks that if he speaks loudly enough, shouts enough, he’ll get his way. I can’t say I blame them, in that first meeting with MONARCH, he’s downright hostile.

He’s also, for whatever reason, the guy that everybody turns to in the crisis. He might have a background in bioacoustics like his ex-wife and animal behaviour besides, but apparently nobody else at MONARCH is capable of doing things without the express instructions or approval of everyman Indiana Jones. Military procedures, common sense, the desperate plan to revive Godzilla; everybody seems to defer to him really quickly.

It took me out of the movie. I understand that he’s meant to be our relatable protagonist, but it’s a little bit jarring and it happens multiple times. Mark is either issuing instructions or is along where he shouldn’t be, given control of a situation where by all rights he shouldn’t have any other than spur of the moment hero stuff.

It’s like he believes that nobody has any common sense and frustratingly, a couple of times the narrative agrees with him or at least proves his actions right. For example, when Colonel Foster tries to brief MONARCH on the actions of Jonah and the terrorists, he shoots down her theory and proceeds to go on a rant as to why we should Destroy All Monsters.

He’s right, as Jonah wants to free King Ghidorah, but he has this frustrating “protagonist only” habit of noticing threads that other characters really should (nobody seems to notice that the Titans are attacking capital cities or at least very densely populated areas until he points it out), then speaks about it like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

Which when MONARCH is meant to be staffed with scientists of multiple disciplines veers back into the incredulous. I can suspend disbelief when it comes to giant monsters, I don’t excuse people not seeing what’s in front of them.

And as for the moments where he really shouldn’t be issuing instructions, take a look at when Rodan is freed by Emma Russell. Serizawa instantly defers to him (I think that Mark might have been his senior before he left MONARCH and BOY do I want to talk about that plan later on) to cook up a plan instead of… himself (Director of MONARCH, or at least I assume so) or again, Foster, who controls the planes and men he wants to send at the giant pterodactyl that just shrugged off a molten lava flow.

Given his characterisation as an angry, driven father who is desperately looking out for his family after being bereaved by monsters and is butting heads with the scientists at MONARCH, I think it was an attempt by Legendary to recreate Joe Brody. Bryan Cranston’s character in the previous film was killed off too early and was featured in a lot of the trailers, giving a wonderful performance. When he died to be replaced by his son, Ford, it caused a backlash as a result.

Mark being that angry, snarky character definitely shares some similarities. But while Joe was a crusader for the truth and more than a little bit obsessive, he was trying to pierce the veil as to why his wife died, without realising that it drove his son away from him. He was trying to reveal this great coverup to the world and spent the rest of his life doing so with such conviction that he appeared crazy.

Mark… doesn’t have this driving force. He lives in a post-San Francisco universe. Monsters Exist and everybody knows it.

Now, that’s not to say he doesn’t have reasons for acting as he did. He lost his son and has driven a wedge in between his family via his drinking problem (but let’s face it, compared to unleashing the Titans by starting off with Space Dragon Satan, he’s taken it comparatively well) but he acts as if he’s the only person who has ever lost something to Godzilla and the rest of the monsters.

Even when that happens to characters in the film, Mark still acts like that and it doesn’t make him look like the grim, determined hero, it just makes him look like an obnoxious dick. It isn’t his way of coping with the trauma of loss, he just… does it.

Part of me does get why he’s annoyed and angry with MONARCH’s attitude towards the Titans. He’s correct that they’ve been keeping secrets, dangerous ones at that, but equally the kaiju are living things. They’re dangerous and unpredictable, yes, but MONARCH have been taking precautions; killswitches are present in even the supposedly benevolent Titan’s chambers like Mothra and as far as they know, all of the Titans bar Godzilla are dormant and those that aren’t are kept in check by him. Had the Ghidorah Crisis never arose, we may never have seen any other Titans for the rest of human history.

But he treats everybody around him like an idiot with little to no prompting. Mark is brought on as a consultant and he then proceeds to dominate the scene, either through his decisions in universe or the part written for him out of it. He gets the last word, the last say on a plan or a witty remark or whatever.

And some of that costs lives. Actually, no, a LOT of it costs lives.

So, to start off, when the operation in Antarctica goes tits up, Mark grabs a handgun and goes into Outpost 32 by himself (though what he and the central nervous system of MONARCH were doing on the ground and not supervising from the Argo remains to be seen, but I digress). He stops Jonah and the terrorists on the walkway… screwing up Foster’s attempt to take down Jonah, forcing her to snipe his henchman in order to save Mark’s life.

This leads to King Ghidorah waking up. Not going to extend him a great deal of blame for this one, as with a sniper present, Emma or Madison would have been forced (or “forced” in the former’s case) to retrieve the detonator and the Six-Eyed, Six-Horned, Flying-Golden-People-Eater would have gotten loose regardless. Hell, I spotted clues that he was gearing up to wake up without Emma Russell’s help.

In a narrative sense, its his character that also sets up Vivienne Graham’s death. If he hadn’t been stuck in the tangle of wires and metal aboard the Osprey, she would never have needed to stay behind to help and subsequently got singled out by King Ghidorah.

I’d definitely agree that this is more of a personal thing on my part, as I’d wanted to see more of Vivienne’s character thanks to her actress’, Sally Hawkins’ work in The Shape Of Water and that in the previous film. But in a way, he is still sort of responsible for her being written out and replaced with the vastly less interesting replacement characters of Rick and Mor- erm, Sam.

That said, I know that Ghidorah is 100% to blame in universe. He killed her because he was a bastard and I wanted to him to be a bastard, so the monkey’s paw curled a finger there, so that’s egg on my face. It certainly did wonders for establishing him as a monstrous villain who we love to hate.

I’m not wholly unsympathetic to Mark. Like I said before, the pain of loss over the 2014 attacks hurt him badly and the film doesn’t shy away from this. Mark’s descent into alcoholism is noted by both himself and his family as a rough time for all involved, part of the reason he left MONARCH in the first place. Having his daughter and ex-wife seemingly kidnapped by dangerous ecoterrorists who plan to unleash giant monsters to mass-cull humanity also wears his patience thin, as you might expect it.

But he keeps this… horrible attitude throughout the movie. The world is literally going to shit, another monster is about to be unleashed and he asks if MONARCH have had enough common sense to evacuate the town of Isla Del Mara and if Rodan has had a cutesy name all picked out from mythology for him ahead of time.

Fuck me, if I was Serizawa, having just lost my protégé and quite a few well-meaning soldiers who were trying to rescue somebody who turned out to be a massive ecoterrorist nutjob, I would have floored him. There is a time and a place for snarky comments and it is not after at least twenty people you worked with are dead and BILLIONS MORE MAY FOLLOW.

But now, one of the points that really got me disliking Mark Russell follows here. The scenes that start at Isla Del Mara and the luring of Rodan to King Ghidorah, all the way up until the detonation of the Oxygen Destroyer.

Rodan emerges from the volcano and asides from spreading his wings and roaring, doesn’t do much. He spots the incoming Argo and its entourage and narrows his eyes. Uh oh! Surely, at this point, the dastardly destruction god would leap from his perch in an attempt to chase this challenger from his territory?

Um… no. No, actually, he stays put.

Now, I get that Rodan might not have stayed that way for very long. From the ensuing chase scene, I can gather that the Monsterverse’s version of Rodan is a bit of a dick, but he still didn’t start the fight.

Instead, what happens is that Serizawa asks Mark what they should do and Mark comes up with the plan to get Rodan to fight King Ghidorah in the hopes that one will kill the other and that would at least solve one of their problems.

Sound in theory, yes, but it is not sound in execution. At all.

So, that little town that Mark kicked up quite a fuss about? As you might have noticed, it’s lying between Rodan and the Argo and is part of the reason that the big ol’ bird should be lured away, to complete the evacuation.

Mark’s brilliant plan has the jets surrounding the Argo to blast Rodan and 180 the superplane in order to get him to chase… without factoring in THE TOWN BETWEEN THEM AT ALL.

I get King Ghidorah was closing in. I get that Rodan is a wild, unpredictable animal who could go off the chain at any moment. But there was absolutely no time to get the ARGO to move a little ways around the island before beginning the attack? At worst, Rodan would make a dive for them anyway, but that’s what the jets are sent in to distract him are for. To grab his attention and then lure him to the Argo, which would then take him to Tricephalopathic Terror Town anyway.

As a result, Rodan utterly OBLITERATES Isla Del Mara simply by passing over it and so many of the people they were trying to evacuate die a horribly pointless death. It never once passes his mind (or let’s not beat him down solely) or that of anybody aboard the Argo that a creature with wings that size that can fly would generate an unbelievable amount of force simply by flapping once to create lift? He’s also dripping lava, so even if the hurricane level winds that follow him weren’t an issue, having something with that amount of residual molten rock passing overhead doesn’t seem like a healthy thing to expose Isla Del Mara to.

Further dislike ensues when one of the miraculously surviving Ospreys issues a mayday during the Rodan/Ghidorah fight and the cargo doors are jammed. Mark the Hero leaps up with gritted teeth and desire to get things done, asking the way to the hangar. After all, he’s had miraculous problem solving abilities so far, why not?

“Which way to the hangar?” he asks.

Sam, a character who I’m even less fond of, stands up and offers to show him the way. Fairly brave, considering that the Argo is rattling like a leaf in a thunderstorm as two daikaiju battle nearby. I found the character annoying and sort of… pointless, but I admire that bit of bravery.

“Anybody else?” Mark asks, making a face.

Dude. The man just offered to help you and people need that help. Get off your high horse, swallow your pride and just go without comment. God knows how many people your stupid plan just got killed.

The two run to the hangar and a crewman explains the door is jammed. Mark decides to drop a hanging Osprey onto the doors to get them off… without suggesting it to the crewman. He just fucking goes for the buttons, expecting his usual “my plan will work” attitude to succeed.

At last, one of Mark’s harebrained schemes is met with reasonable resistance for the first time and the crewman attempts to wrestle him off, before Mark Is Proven Right Again. But even suggesting it, getting a refusal and then doing it is more heroic than just going for the damn buttons like a lunatic.

He would have looked damn stupid if the weight of the Osprey wasn’t enough to open the doors and it instead just blocked them. The falling aircraft also almost hits the airborne one with its civilian payload as it also wasn’t warned, so again, he took an unnecessary risk that came off lucky because he couldn’t find the time to say “I have an idea”.

To round out the trifecta of what makes me dislike Mark in these scenes is what happens when the rest of the scene plays out:

Gravity Beams spew from Ghidorah’s mouth and blast Rodan into the ocean, defeated. Not satisfied with just this victory, the Golden Demise locks his terrible gaze on the Argo and with a sickening, gleeful cackle, closes in on the plane and its freshly arrived civilians.

All are stunned into a horrified silence. Even Mark, who has been having Unreasonable Protagonist Luck up until this point, bricks it.

“Oh, God.” he pleads.

God answers and he erupts from the ocean.

With a deafening roar, the mighty form of Godzilla slams into King Ghidorah with the force of a collapsing mountain. His dynamic, mid-air leap is enough to drag the foul hydra into the depths of the ocean and Godzilla proceeds to hold him there.

Ghidorah attempts to resurface and fly away, or at least lash out at the Argo in spite, but there Godzilla is again, yanking the head back underwater, biting and rolling like some mountainous crocodile, pinning the alien dragon under his weight.

Unbeknownst to our hero (Godzilla, obviously), the military has deployed the terrible Oxygen Destroyer in an attempt to Destroy All Monsters, giving only a cursory warning to the Argo to get out of there and fast. Mark makes his way onto the bridge and is informed of the decision.

“But he… he just saved us!” says Mark.

No, wait, he didn’t say that. Hold on…

“They… they didn’t even let us get clear?” says Mark.

Uh, no, sorry, trying again.

“Well, it’s not the worst idea.” he says.

FFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFUCK. YOU.

I get that you’re mad with Godzilla. I get that as the title character with a long history, we root for the kaiju more than anybody else. I get that he took your son from you, but twice… TWICE NOW, he has saved you and the people around you with PERFECTLY TIMED ENTRANCES. Even if it was just a coincidence, I’d be at least slightly more forgiving of the lion that killed my brother by accident if it jumped in front of a tiger that was slaughtering people left and right before it leapt at me.

Twice.

There’s not even a hesitant “oh, but he did help us”. Not even a shocked disbelief that the military has a weapon that they think will kill not just one, but two (because I’m willing to bet he thought Rodan was dead) Titans, much less them firing it without warning right on top of their position. Just a “well, fuck ‘em” shrug.

Godzilla nearly dies, Ghidorah seizes control of the Titans and sets about starting the apocalypse. Finally, Serizawa says what I’ve been thinking for quite a while and says “Well, it looks like you got your wish, Mark.” with a mixture of anger, sadness and disgust.

I could go on; the Titans are rampaging and Mark goes to leave Castle Bravo to strike out on his own and rescue Madison, despite the fact that he knows that Emma will probably try to keep her safe in whatever secure hidey hole she and the Kaiju Cultists have holed up in. In the novel, he’s outright going to steal one (also his first instinct when confronted by an alpha wolf in the novel, is to blow it away with a sidearm, before realising that’s absolutely callous and horrible and tries submissive behaviour tactics instead. So hey, Movie Mark is a slightly better person than Book Mark).

Mark suggests the nuke plan and goes down with Serizawa, Chen and Rick Sanch- Stanton. Everything goes sideways and he doesn’t even fucking blink when Serizawa decides that somebody’s gotta do it manually.

Back aboard the Argo? How does he break the news to Sam, the only member of the MONARCH team that wasn’t there? Shoving Serizawa’s notebook into his chest, saying that they better not screw this up and not even fucking pausing to tell him what happened.

Mark’s self-centred attitude keeps coming back and it gets people killed. My second time viewing this film, during the two confrontation scenes with Godzilla, I wasn’t getting the “There is a massive threat in my territory!” vibe from the King of the Monsters, I was getting a “Who the hell is this asshole and why does he hate me so much?” feeling from Our Glorious Boy.

It’s a recurring theme too. Mark experiences loss, but he feels as if his loss is the only one that matters. Both he and Emma do this to Madison and it makes me mad that in trying to cope with their own loss, they shunned the one remaining child they had left. By the time they realise that, the world is literally about to end and they’re still bickering at one another.

Don’t get me wrong. I’m very vocally critical of Mark and Emma’s treatment of Madison. Both she and Mark decide to put their own ways of coping with their son’s death (constructing a device to allow for the orchestration of mass human death and convincing oneself that it’s the correct course of action/drinking booze) above Madison’s own well being.

When the chips are down, of course, they care for her and ultimately risk their lives to save her, but… congratulations for the bare minimum parenting, guys? Physically, they want her out of harm, but mentally she should either fall into line with Emma’s thinking or be there for Mark.

Godzilla and Mothra feel more like her bloody parents in this film (Godzilla saving her life when she was facing down the literal fucking devil and Mothra’s gentle interaction at the temple and reviving her from death when she appeared to have died in the novel) than the other Russells do. Both fill the archetypes of “Father” (tough, stern, but ultimately your protector) and “Mother” (gentle, nurturing and wonderful) better than the people do.

…yeah, alright, that one is a stretch, but I had that idea a while ago and I wanted to put it to paper.

In short, I’m mad at Sad Mad Dad because his character shoves the waaaaaaaay more interesting, compelling and sympathetic characters of Serizawa, Graham and his own daughter (and the actual goddamned non-monster hero of the movie), Madison out of the way of main character-ness, just so we can have somebody who is about as pleasant to interact with as a cactus.

King of the Monsters is a film that has a lot of sacrifice in it, good and bad. Emma wants to sacrifice most of humanity to save the planet. Serizawa sacrifices himself to save Godzilla and thus, the planet. Mothra sacrifices her own life to save Godzilla from King Ghidorah and so does Emma, to save her family and as redemption for her sins.

Even Madison was also ready to at least risk her own life to distract the Titans and King Ghidorah if it would even slightly disrupt his efforts to conquer the planet. She goes against terrorists, her own mother and a demonic, nigh-omnipotent being of malicious intent and faces him down with a defiant roar of her own when it looks like the end.

But Mark doesn’t sacrifice. He wants his daughter back, but he never takes a hit. Other people die for him, as a result of him and he doesn’t even recognise it. The world is at stake and he keeps his focus on his own desires, ignorant to the people around him because only his loss matters.

He might not be the genocidal monster in the film that Emma was, that Jonah and of course, Ghidorah certainly were. But he has a very narrow and dispassionate world-view and outside of certain cartoons with comedic circumstances, I don’t care much for that at all.

TL;DR: Madison should have been the central protagonist, because I like her more.