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kitsu-katsu · 3 years

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Why c!Wilbur blowing stuff up for shits and giggles as a child makes no sense for his character (and why that would reflect a lot more badly on c!Phil anyways if that were the case):

Warning: c!Phil critical ahead, if you don't like that, skip this post

Now, to those of you that decide to read this: Strap in folks! We've got a lot of ground to cover this from and a ton of quotes ahead!

1) Wilbur’s a pacifist through and through. He always preached words over weapons, only fought when attacked first, wanted to ignore a war until it went away, considered giving up his nation many times, etc. A few examples of quotes to show this thinking:

“Basically, we have such a lower opportunity here that we probably just need to accept the conditions of surrender, just so we can save any more bloodshed, any more destruction on our land. They’ve entrapped our land, they’ve set up bombs on our land, they’ve destroyed all our homes. To stop any more bloodshed, I feel I would be a bad general if I didn’t look for conditions of surrender.” - (Wilbur’s The Revolution is Coming: 30:32, 2nd Aug)

“Tommy, we need you alive. Tommy, this isn’t worth it. Tommy, your life is worth more than the revolution.” - (Wilbur’s The Revolution is Coming: 34:57:, 2nd Aug)

“What has made you do everything you’ve done up to this point?” (Quackity)

“That’s a- That’s a big question. Um. I guess it’s just protection for my people. I mean, I- I- I just want to see them thrive, and I want to see them safe.” (Alivebur)

- (Quackity’s Killing My Enemies: 1:03:02, 12th Apr)

“Look, do you know how long and how much blood was shed to get L’Manberg to the point it was at? You know what would happen if we manage to get L’Manberg back again? More blood would be shed, and we would be the illegitimate rulers of a nation.” - (Wilbur’s video Am I the Villain?: 18:52)

“We don’t win wars with battles and with armour. We win wars with our words, Tommy. We’re starting a revolution, not a war.” - (Wilbur’s The Wall: 4:54, 29th July)

“I’m not a fighter, I’m a writer.” - (Wilbur’s The Wall: 1:48:31, 29th July)

“Fighting is not necessary right now, Tommy.” - (Wilbur’s the election results: 43:42, 22nd Sep)

“Tommy, control yourself. Tommy, control yourself, it’s not worth it. Tommy, do not take your shot! He disrespected me, yes! But we’ve talked about this, Tommy…!” - (Wilbur’s techno and wilbur make cave better: 59:36, 23rd Sep)

2) The reason his thoughts about blowing it all up in Pogtopia even hit as hard, the reason all his allies were so shocked about him going through with it IS his pacifism first mindset (which has only been put second when he’s been attacked first and put in the defensive or in the case of his speech to Quackity after the political debate he genuinely thought, by the previous failure of his philosophy and the war trauma spurred on mainly by the FCR and Eret’s betrayal, that the only way to truly win respect and make a change in the world was through fighting and killing, which he was convinced of but was ultimately always too soft to actually go through with (note how he doesn’t kill anyone in the L’manburg explosion and how in the times during Pogtopia in which he declared he wanted people dead, he got second thoughts, regrets, retracted his statement or protected people with his actions):

“If you want to really help people, you’re gonna need power, Quackity. You can make a movement, you can make a resistance, right, you can go out and you can come back, and they’ll give you a ticker tape parade. They’ll cheer for you in the streets, but you will change nothing.” - (Quackity’s Killing My Enemies: 1:05:42, 12th Apr)

“If you have a revolution, everyone will hate you, you will sacrifice everything, and you will lose everything you’ve ever had, but you’ll come back and everything will be changed.” - (Quackity’s Killing My Enemies: 1:05:59, 12th Apr)

“And power isn’t gaining from diplomacy, and bureaucracy, and giant courthouses suspended in the sky, blah blah blah. It’s gained from swords, Quackity. It’s gained from blades, it’s gained from steel, iron.” - (Quackity’s Killing My Enemies: 1:06:19, 12th Apr)

“We blow up the entire fucking place to kingdom come. I want no survivors. God help whoever’s caught in the fucking crossfire.” - (Wilbur’s video, Am I The Villain?: 17:52)

“And, I know you’re scared, Tommy, I understand you’re scared. And it’s scary, it’s scary, Tommy, but do you know what? You know what? In a time like this, when a man has nothing to lose, do you know what that means? It means we can do what we want. We have a man on our side who literally rigged our nation with TNT. We can do the same to them. We can rig this festival with TNT. We can kill them all, Tommy. ” - (Wilbur’s who are you go away: 1:15:52, 8th Oct)

“Anyone caught in the crossfire is caught in the crossfire. That’s how it goes, you know? - (Wilbur’s who are you go away: 1:41:22, 8th Oct)

“Chat, do I wanna- Chat, do I wanna, do I wanna do it? I’m having second thoughts about the TNT. Chat, I’m having second thoughts about the TNT. Do I wanna kill these people? Seeing that they’re my friends.” - (Wilbur’s The Festival: 34:09, 16th Oct)

“Tommy, I’m getting second thoughts. These are my friends, I don’t- Do I- I don’t know if I wanna [inaudible].” - (Wilbur’s The Festival: 36:17, 16th Oct)

“Just, if you’re gonna kill anyone else, kill me. Don’t kill anyone else here.” - (Wilbur’s The Festival: 1:10:53, 16th Oct)

“You sounded like you were gonna murder another person. You sounded like you were gonna go for Niki.” - (Wilbur’s The Festival: 1:12:34, 16th Oct)

“Oh, yes, sorry, Niki, you missed that part. I was gonna blow up Manberg, I was gonna completely destroy it in a huge fireball. Look, Niki, come to Pogtopia, you’re safer here. You’re not gonna be hurt by anyone.” - (Wilbur’s The Festival: 1:17:59, 16th Oct)

“No you two can escape, I’ll be the… I’ll- I’ll- I’ll be… I’ll be trapped in here…” - (Wilbur’s Speedy Stream Festival What festival: 27:27, 17th Oct)

“I don’t, I don’t, I don’t want to kill you two. I don’t want you two to die.” - (Wilbur’s Speedy Stream Festival What festival: 28:53, 17th Oct)

3) He was inspired by Dream blowing up L’manburg first with Eret’s betrayal during the first revolution. He knew Dream wanted L’manburg out of the picture and had tried it before. It’s why he knew to immediately ask him for TNT, because either way, Dream would benefit from both side’s mutually assured destruction:

“Here’s the plan, right, Dream. Dream is on our side, Dream has TNT, Dream has everything, right. I say we talk to Dream, and we ask him very nicely, very kindly, ‘Dream, give us all the TNT you have’. ” - (Wilbur’s who are you go away: 1:12:22, 8th Oct)

“Remember, how he rigged L’Manberg, like ages ago, during the War? And then he detonated the TNT and destroyed the entire thing? We do that again, everyone, we blow up the entire fucking place to kingdom come.” - (Wilbur’s who are you go away: 1:12:36, 8th Oct)

“The only reason that Dream is working with us, is because of the fact that we are the enemies of his enemies! That’s it! That’s all that joins this!” - (Wilbur’s who are you go away: 1:14:35, 8th Oct)

“Dream, let me be your vassal. Dream, I understand you have a lot of TNT, a lot of the ol’ trinitrotoluene in your possession, don’t you? You do! Dream, I want to be your vassal, I want to set this up, I want to rig the city.” - (Wilbur’s who are you go away: 1:33:27, 8th Oct)

4) Wilbur hesitated a LOT with the detonation, wanted to be stopped, told people his plan in detail and was overall in a deep internal conflict about the whole thing (and didn’t blow it up once to not kill Tommy and Quackity too, this is also the moment in which his suicidal tendencies are the most clear in his lines before the 16th). Ultimately he decided to do it because he was suicidal and deeply suffering from mental health issues, believed himself to be the root of all bad in the server and by extension, L’manburg was too, and by that point his original view for L’manburg had been so twisted by Schlatt anyway that in his POV it’d only be used to hurt more people anyway:

“I- Look, rigging L’Manberg is not gonna help us get it back, I’m aware of that. But sometimes in order to feel comfortable and safe you have to be ready to give up the things that you’re worried you might lose. And in this case, I think I might lose it already.” - (Wilbur’s who are you go away: 1:17:57, 8th Oct)

“I know there’s a lot of people, Tommy! … I’m not telling you where the button is, man. … Tommy, it’s over that hill, it’s over that hill, right there!” - (Wilbur’s The Festival: 28:30, 16th Oct)

“Tommy, I’m getting second thoughts. These are my friends, I don’t- Do I- I don’t know if I wanna [inaudible].” - (Wilbur’s The Festival: 36:17, 16th Oct)

“But this is the opportunity- this is the opportunity. If I don’t blow it up now, when am I gonna blow it up?! When am I gonna blow it up, Tommy? But when do- when do we do-” - (Wilbur’s The Festival: 36:30, 16th Oct)

“If I don’t do it now, what happens if this is the only chance I get. Everyone’s in this close situation, I can do some proper damage. Look, this isn’t a- He needs a consequence for his actions, Schlatt does, he can’t just keep being handsome and powerful and strong all the time. He needs, he needs to be put down a peg.” - (Wilbur’s The Festival: 37:07, 16th Oct)

“I can still call off this whole detonating at the end of the speech, dude. I can call it off.” - (Wilbur’s The Festival: 38:24, 16th Oct)

“Should I show you where the TNT’s laced? ‘Cause in a, in a last ditch effort, we may need to destroy it by hand, okay? So, under the chair, where Schlatt sits, there’s about twenty pieces, right? And then going under, under the main area here, following this red line, there is TNT all the way, and then it jut- and then it- … It darts up here, and over to the dance floor, but it doesn’t touch the water.” - (Wilbur’s The Festival: 38:29, 16th Oct)

“I have to light it, I’ve got to light it, I’ve got to light it.” - (Wilbur’s The Festival: 1:08:17, 16th Oct)

“Yesterday I had the perfect opportunity to blow everything up and finally end it, you know. I had the perfect opportunity to finally blow up everything and end it and just completely save everyone, right, from the tyranny of Schlatt and the tyranny of the existence of Manberg and L’Manberg, right.” - (Wilbur’s Speedy Stream Festival What festival: 25:17, 17th Oct)

“Explain it to me! Give me a reason! Give me a reason!” - (Wilbur’s Speedy Stream Festival What festival: 26:50, 17th Oct)

“Who else is it gonna hurt?! It’s gonna hurt Schlatt, Manberg, and-” - (Wilbur’s Speedy Stream Festival What festival: 26:55, 17th Oct)

“Why did I bring- I should have just done it. I’m such a fucking showman. I should have just done it.” - (Wilbur’s Speedy Stream Festival What festival: 27:18, 17th Oct)

“No you two can escape, I’ll be the… I’ll- I’ll- I’ll be… I’ll be trapped in here…” - (Wilbur’s Speedy Stream Festival What festival: 27:27, 17th Oct)

“I just- I just want to f… I just wanna end it, I wanna end it. I wanna press that button, man.” - (Wilbur’s Speedy Stream Festival What festival: 28:08, 17th Oct)

“I don’t, I don’t, I don’t want to kill you two. I don’t want you two to die.” - (Wilbur’s Speedy Stream Festival What festival: 28:53, 17th Oct)

“Ohh, fuck you! Fuck you, man! Why do you make it so hard?! I should have just- I’m such a fucking showman.” - (Wilbur’s Speedy Stream Festival What festival: 29:29, 17th Oct)

“Tommy, we’ve tried my ideas. I’m willing to listen to you. I’m gonna follow you, Tommy. Whatever you think is gonna be the best way of taking down Schlatt, we’ll do it. We’ve tried my ideas.” - (Wilbur’s Speedy Stream Festival What festival: 32:01, 17th Oct)

“My L’Manberg. My L’Manberg. As long- As long as I know the button is here… as long as I know. As long as I know the button is here. It’s just not today. I just need to know that it’s there for a fall-back. I need to know it’s there.” - (Wilbur’s Speedy Stream Festival What festival: 33:46, 17th Oct)

“I’ve been hasty. But the fact that I know it’s there, and I can just stroke my right mouse button, that’s all I need. As long as I know it’s there.” - (Wilbur’s Speedy Stream Festival What festival: 34:27, 17th Oct)

“You’ve convinced me, I don’t wanna go straight to Plan B, if Plan A fails.” - (Wilbur’s Speedy Stream Festival What festival: 39:02, 17th Oct)

“Look, Tommy, at the end of the day, if this doesn’t go well, I’m gonna blow the place to smithereens. The place will be gone, I’m gonna detonate it and blow it to smithereens, right, if this doesn’t go well. But it will go well…! … ‘Cause it’s literally- there’s no one on Schlatt’s side.” - (Wilbur’s smithereens: 21:00, 16th Nov)

“But none of them have the same anticipatory love of what they’re doing, unlike us. Everyone on our side is fighting for something we’ve loved, and had for ages, right. That’s why we’re gonna win, and that’s why you shouldn’t be afraid. And yes, the whole place is rigged.” - (Wilbur’s smithereens: 21:38, 16th Nov)

“I could, I really could, that’s the thing. That’s the bit that I like. It’s the bit that makes me smile the most is the fact that I definitely could.” - (Wilbur’s smithereens: 26:28, 16th Nov)

“Chekhov’s Gun. Chekhov’s Gun. I’ll be honest with you, chat, I’ve been wondering this whole time if it still works. I’ve been thinking to myself does it still- ‘Cause I fixed it up for today.” - (Wilbur’s smithereens: 1:11:36, 16th Nov)

“Phil, I’m always so close to pressing this button, Phil! I have been here, like seven or eight times I have been here… Seven or eight times” - (Wilbur’s smithereens: 1:14:56, 16th Nov)

“Phil, I’ve been here here so many times.” - (Wilbur’s smithereens: 1:15:13, 16th Nov)

“I don’t even know if it works anymore, Phil. I don’t even know if the button works. I could, I could… press it, and it might-” (Wilbur’s smithereens: 1:15:29, 16th Nov)

5) The one time anything about Wilbur using TNT while young (and here the age isn't as clearly implied as in Phil's thing, this could very well be more of teen Wilbur than kid Wilbur) is mentioned in the actual text is this one maybe-canon-maybe-not-so-canon-anymore line:

“Tommy, have you heard of TNT duplication? The flying machines that dup TNT? Phil taught me about them. He taught me about them- I’m sure he wouldn’t have taught me them if he knew what I was gonna do with them. But, he did teach me about them. … They were very useful, in this.” - (Wilbur’s The Festival: 11:30, 16th Oct)

Now let’s pretend that headcanon makes any sense and that yeah, Wilbur totally just enjoyed building shit to detonate and said tendency encouraged in childhood just up and carried into adulthood and manifested as him internally going “I must blow up this thing I made because that’s what I do” and let’s pretend that he didn’t have a big ass internal conflict about it.

Ok, so Phil said that Wilbur blew stuff up when little, so he’d have connected it to the button room. Now think for a moment: How does that reflect on Phil as a parent? Let’s forget about everything else for this one moment (and believe me, I’ve got no shortage of stuff to critique c!Phil on in regards to his relation with c!Wilbur) and just focus on this one action. A man freely lets his son use TNT to blow up some random stuff presumably made out of toys. Just a little kid playing with TNT, yup, that’s his boy. And it was to such a degree that the same man just went “Oh yeah! It’s totally the blowing shit up thing!” in a fraction of a second after seeing the button… And then yeah, saw all of the hesitation, the breakdown, the struggle, the wishes to die and impaled him with a sword, but we can go deeper into those aspects in another post

Then Phil tried to make it better by saying to chat that all kids just break stuff apart, more implying that little Wilbur wasn’t actually using explosives which… makes the whole thing even dumber, ngl, because at that point c!Phil is just saying “Oh yeah, he knocked over his lego houses when he was four, so when I saw that button I immediately went ‘Oh, of course! He rigged the place! What an obvious connection!’”. You see what I’m getting at?

TLDR: It doesn’t fit with canon and even if we shove it in with its implications, then c!Phil is just an idiot, whether it be from letting his kid freely play with TNT to such a degree that he deduces where his most drastic measure resulting from trauma and breakdowns is going just by seeing the button OR whether it be from him connecting dots where there are none if he tries to save his skin as a father and just say “Oh yeah, no, who didn’t knock over stuff as a kid, what do you mean?” not realizing that… exactly… who didn’t…. so it wouldn’t connect with the button room at all

#dsmp #dream smp #c!phil critical #c!phil negativity #c!wilbur #c!wilbur analysis #wilbur dsmp #wilbur #wilbur soot #pogtopia #l'manburg #Can you sense my saltiness? I hope you can #Did Phil play with explosives as a kid too or was Doomsday just his way of feeling young?#Was he just feeling young and quirky so he decided to go destroy some livelihoods with the bestie?#c!Phil (derogatory)#man wait until I make yet another c!Phil is a bad father and was horrible to everything left of Wil's legacy post #I'm about to destroy a rp old man /hj #I hope you can see how this makes zero sense too #like from so many angles #and the retracting that didn't go all the way is just ???#And this all trickles in from the Dreaded Letters Retcon Stream (derogatory)#Like really if it weren't for those retcons back then this wouldn't have happened #Because then Phil wouldn't need some complicated backstory reason for knowing what the button did #If he had gotten at least SOME info about stuff going awry from Wilbur's letters #And hoooo boy do I have some words to say about the letters stream #Which I have said in posts but I might just remake some #tw suicide #tw suicide mention #tw suicide ideation

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wichols · 4 years

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Angst/Fluff Writing Prompt Fun Wrap Up!

Now that I have finally finished all the submitted prompts I thought it would be fun to do a cute little wrap up in case you might have missed any of the stories along the way, along with some background/thoughts/feels about each one! Duration May 13th - July 15th (that was longer than I expected but cool!) 1. Rain and Confessions (Kyoya X Haruhi WC: 1,662) Prompt: “And yet, you’re still not enough.” Summary: After her graduation from law school, Haruhi and Kyoya pack up her apartment in preparation of Haruhi moving back to Japan. Kyoya has been waiting years for this moment and he is going to let Haruhi know exactly how he feels about Haruhi and isn't going to let a little rain ruin his plans for them. AO3, Tumblr, FF.Net Thoughts: This prompt is a canon insecurity for Kyoya and so it was easy for me to write- considering I posted the prompt list on the 13th and uploaded it on the 14th. But also it was so hard to write because they are my OTP!! It pained me to make them suffer like this. To make Kyoya vulnerable is tough. To bring down his walls in front of someone is a struggle. Upon reading back through it I dare say there is a peep of inspiration from Pride and Prejudice (can you spot the hidden Mr. Darcy-like quote?). Favorite Line: “You say that you will do all these things out of your love for me but it is because of my love for you that I cannot accept your offer because you become less of who you are and more of the person you think I need.” 2. Public Masks for Private Matters (Takashi x Haruhi WC: 1,269) Prompt: “Being alone would be better than being married to you.”

Summary: Haruhi has finally reached her breaking point. After winning her career-defining case her world comes crashing down. Blame has been assigned and trust has been broken between Haruhi and Takashi.

AO3, Tumblr, FF.Net Thoughts: The TakaHaru ship is by far one of the hardest ships to use with angsty writing because of the nature of Takashi. The hurt he could inflict on Haruhi isn’t something so obvious like physical/mental/emotional abuse. I think in my mind that it is his lack of response is the most believable response to causing conflict between them- his inability/insecurity to say the right thing at the right time. At least that is what it would come off to others. Takashi is an introvert/observer. If he was experiencing emotional distress he would probably cave in and bottle things up, holding the burden alone. (Spoliers!!) The real secret behind this fic is that Takashi only ever told her the truth. Haruhi busted a major company for the terrible working conditions of their low income employees. A week after the close of the trial she was jumped by a group of people and was sent to the hospital. They had know she was pregnant for a short while and wanted to keep it a secret because of the high profile nature of the case- not even telling friends or family. They lost the baby and it broke them. To this day they still have not mentioned the loss of their child. So naturally they suffer alone, putting on masks for the public. I honestly thought about writing something more with this background information but it just seemed a little difficult to set up the scene. Favorite Line: “The love I held for you is what blinded me.“ 3. Cameras and Questions (Kyoya x Haruhi WC: 1,181) Prompt: An almost kiss Summary: Yet again Kyoya convinces Haruhi to be his date to another gala event. Haruhi asks a question that gets answered in the most unusual way. Is there more going on between a young no-name lawyer and one of Japan's Top 5 Eligible Bachelors than the public is aware? AO3, Tumblr, FF.Net

Thoughts: This was so fun to write! I love writing snarky Haruhi. I also love writing the back and forth between them. I mean they are my OTP I love the chase. XD I feel like they both can be very up front with each other but that they enjoy the subtleties of their conversations. I love the challenge between them, and how they push and test each other. I think in the beginning I didn’t quite know how to put them in a situation where there was an almost kiss, mostly because I still couldn’t get myself to fully commit to a fluffy piece of writing. But I think with what I did I could classify it as fluff defined by my standards (nobody died and everyone is happy). Favorite Line: “I don’t know any Ootori man to half-ass anything.” 4. Disgust and Devotion (Hikaru x Haruhi WC:1,083) Prompt: “Please don’t cry.” & “It’s three in the morning. What could you possibly want?” Summary: They said that it wouldn't work between them. Are their worlds so far apart that it is impossible? Hikaru is caught up in another scandal and Haruhi has reached her limit. Does she love him enough to stay or is she just too weak to leave? AO3, Tumblr, FF.Net Thoughts: I think at this point in the prompts I still couldn’t get myself to write fluff and this ask was a fluff/angst mix with the two prompts provided. I do enjoy writing the HikaHaru ship even if there is not much out there. Originally when I was working on brainstorming ideas the end game was for them to have angry makeup sex. But I just couldn’t twist what I had in a way that would flow naturally with the base plot. I think I like writing Hikaru slightly drunk. It curves his temper and makes him more mellow. But he is still our impulsive little boy and he still has a ways to grow up. This wasn’t the first time that something like this has come up. Though both times he was not at fault (though in the original idea he totally did cheat one drunk night but couldn’t really remember). If anything the fluff is implied at the end.... Favorite Line: “The media can make it look like anything they want to with a well-timed photo.” 5. Love Over Reason (Takashi x Haruhi WC: 2,102) Prompt: “Are you blushing?” Summary: Loving someone is complicated. Sometimes we feel as though the ones we love deserve more than we can give. Does spending six months apart change Takashi and Haruhi's feelings for the better or for worse? AO3, Tumblr, FF.Net Thoughts: There was about 5 days between this fic and Disgust and Devotion and I still couldn’t really bring myself to write straight fluff... But this turned into quite a piece. I think I was hitting a stride of coffee shop AUs and I just couldn’t help myself. Ever love someone so much you push them away because you think it will be better than dragging them through your mess? Well same. I think the fluff in this fic is subtle. They care so deeply for one another that they don’t want to hurt each other more. And just to be kind I added more fluff at the end. I’m not sure I really like how I used the prompt for this one but what’s posted is posted. Favorite Line: “All I have ever wanted from you is you.” - This line still gets me all sorts of choked up when I read it.

6. Brutality Mixed With Intimacy (Takashi x Haruhi WC: 1,455)

Prompt: 'Please don't cry' or 'You know I have feelings for you, right?'

Summary: After months of following dead ends, the Ouran Association finally has a solid lead to obtaining useful information on the ring leader of a major underground human trafficking organization in Japan. All other hits had gone to plan for Takashi but this one hit too close to home. With Haruhi as their next target, he couldn't handle the risk of possibly losing her.

AO3, Tumblr, FF.Net

Thoughts: Cue the beginning evidence of my current obsession with Mafia AU’s... The mafia au is just the perfect setting for my dark angsty heart! I just couldn’t resist. Especially when fluff was so far down the list of things I still wanted to write. I won’t name names but a certain TakaHaru shipper threatened me that they were going to write a fix it fic so that Haruhi actually ended up with Takashi instead of Tamaki. And of course she would end up with Tamaki, he of all of them would have the least blood on his hands.

Favorite Line: “You were never going to make it to the drop off location.”

7. Fashion and Feelings (Hikaru x Haruhi WC: 2,691)

Prompt: “You know I have feelings for you right?”

Summary: After years of silently watching and pining for Haruhi from afar, Hikaru finally gets the courage to reveal his true feelings for her. With his new spring line debuting in a few short days Hikaru is going to lay his fashion reputation and love all on the line in hopes of having his feelings reciprocated.

AO3, Tumblr, FF.Net

Thoughts: Finally, FINALLY, finally I was able to pull out just the most fluffy fluff I could write! Like it took everything I had to put no angst in this one at all. This prompt sat for weeks and weeks without progress. I didn’t have a clue with what I was going to do with it. Like, it laughed at me with it’s blank doc. I wanted this final prompt to be just fluff so I left it to sit until I finally had a spark of fluff. This can be read alone or as part of the back story for Disgust and Devotion.

Favorite Line: “Most people would be creeped out by someone other than a significant other who bought them lingerie.” Final Thoughts:

Shortest- Cameras and Questions Longest- Fashion and Feelings Combined Total Word Count: 11,443 Title Themes- I really wanted to give this round of prompts a slightly longer title theme. My favorite is probably Brutality Mixed With Intimacy but a close runner up is Public Masks for Private Matters.

Favorite- Fashion and Feelings Least Favorite- Love Over Reason Thanks to everyone who submitted requests! It is always a pleasure writing for you!

#OHSHC #ouran host club #ouran hshc #ouran high school host club #haruhi fujioka #tamaki suoh #Kyoya Ootori #hikaru hitachiin #takashi morinozuka #Takashi x Haruhi #Kyoya x Haruhi #Hikaru x Haruhi

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jq37 · 5 years

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The Report Card – Fantasy High Sophomore Year Ep 15

Love Wins!

Welcome to an insanely chaotic episode of Fantasy High--even by the very high standards of this show. How chaotic you may ask? Well, the first thing that happens is that Bill Seacaster point blank shoots Gilear to death for being in a relationship with Hilariel. Full dead. He is full dead. Strangely, his plan to bring him back as a janky devil does not do much to comfort Fig. Imagine that.

Bill’s pirates are looting the Bottomless Pit (Gorthalax’s domain in Hell) and Vraz orders Fig to make them stop. When she instead orders Vraz to eat her ass, Vraz nullifies all warlock deals Gorthalax made and brings none other than Johnny Spells (and his greaser pals) to join the fight!

Really, this fight is insane and it’s better served by a highlight real than a play by play so I’m just gonna give you some bullets:

All the PCs rolled super low initiative this fight which really kinda screwed them. Like Fabian was down to 16 HP one point and it was like, “Lol, this is the end of round 1.” YIKES.

A big part of this fight was just surviving long enough to get to the second level of hell and rescue Riz’s dad which I think was probably good for morale because the thought of this fight dragging on for more than a couple of rounds exhausts me.

Fabian rolls off against Johnny right off the bat for the Hangman’s loyalty and Fabian wins with a 25 (and by coming out the gate with the word ENSLAVED which isn’t the word *I* would have used but a 25 is a 25 I guess).

He also has to contend with fighting Allistair who has a massive hole in his head filled with fire from Wicklaw eating his brain. It seems like Chungledown Bim is in hell too based on how Allistair keeps saying he’s gonna get him so he can shit in Fabian’s mouth. Of course, Fabian gets the better of him, but not before he deals out a fair bit of damage.

Adaine uses an Arcane Hand plus her portent roll to just whole-ass throw Johnny off the ship. Like, he gets back up but it’s so funny to instead of fighting an enemy to just throw him off a set piece (see eg: Bloodkeep ep2).

Kristen Revivifies Gilear and Bill, the mercurial sunuvabitch is like, “We love the same woman! I just want her happy!” and gives him a gun. Kristen immediately is like, “Bro, you need to hide,” and Gorgug protects him while he does so (in a sarcophagus that has a 50/50 shot of being launched as ammo).

Penelope shows up to the fight, eyes all black, wearing a shredded prom dress, and with shards of silver embedded in her forehead like a crown. Dayne and Daybreak also join the fight as messed up Harvestmen! It’s a veritable Smash Bros lineup of people the Bad Kids have killed!

Adaine and Fabian are christened the “Posh Squad” which is important to me, not to the fight.

Adaine gets to counterspell a counterspell from Penelope, one of the sexiest things you can do in D&D.

Fabian declares toxic masculinity dead. Shortly afterward, he makes Brennan eat a die when Daybreak tries to Frighten Fabian, a condition he is immune to due to his eyepatch I gather based on the table reaction.

Daybreak’s punishment in hell is a complete lack of self-awareness of why he’s there. He still thinks he should be sipping Mai-Tai’s in corn heaven with Helio while Kristen and Ragh are attacking him with gay spit (their words, not mine). Gay spit and, also, a ton of radiant and thunder damage.

Ragh gets some emotional catharsis by getting to body Dayne before Gorgug decapitates him. Very important step in the stages of grief. Decapitating the source of said grief.

Penelope gets Sparta-kicked off the edge of the boat by Fabian after Ayda dispels her protective globe and Riz shoots Daybreak again for old times sake. Unfortunately, Penelope Misty Steps back up and Daybreak is hurt but not killed. Ayda does a cool Dr. Strange teleportation thing and does a bunch of damage to both of them. Fabian finishes off Penelope with a sheet/sword combo and between Booming Blade and a Psionic Blast (does she have this ability as a Bard or as a Warlock? Relatedly, when she felt something leave her was that her Warlock deal being nullified or was she feeling the deals leave her since she is sort of the temporary Gorthalax?) Fig destroys Daybreak. Johnny just falls off the ship with no PC intervention because he sucks.

Bill also falls off the ship but Fig (with an assist from Gorgug) saves him and steals a scroll from Vraz on the way back up. By the by, earlier in the fight, she also had Baby Invisbly steal a random item from her.

Anyway, as they reach the end of the end of the fight, Bill loads Riz into a canon (!) and shoots him into the city, hopefully towards his dad (to the distress of his party). He crashes through the window in a familiar looking building and, when he finds a hallway that he’s pretty sure leads to his dad, he goes towards it.

He sees a familiar light coming out of a doorway (the interrogation room light) and a doorway next to it that is slightly open with steel thrones in it. There’s a two-way mirror between the two rooms and if he goes into the open one, he can see who is in with his dad. After checking for illusions and finding none, he stealthily walks in and sees, in the other room, his dad with a hulking pit fiend (30 ft tall, winged, almost dragon-y devil).

The pit fiend is questioning Pok about any regrets he had in life and Pok answers very uncharacteristically from the man we saw in the video saying he had nothing but high hopes for baby Riz. He says he had no regrets, his job was just a job, and that he only had a kid because Sklonda wanted one before going into a snarling goblin rage. The pit fiend smiles at that and says that Pok has promise so they won’t create a lemure out of him (a lemure is a weak, blobby devil). Two devils in the room with them whip him unconscious and then leave the room to go send more people to deal with Bill.

Riz Misty Steps into the room and does a self-imposed Wisdom check to steady himself after what he just heard--Nat 20 baby. Then, he opens his Briefcase of Holding, ready to scoop his dad into it when, the two lesser devils open the door and catch him in the act. But Riz persists in the scooping. They try to grapple him and he rolls a Nat 1 to avoid it. He *still* tries to get him dad. But then he notices, his gun is missing.

BLAM. The devils heads are blown clean off. He turns and he sees his dad has taken the gun--his gun originally--and shot the devils. Pok, who is amazed that Riz is there and no longer feigning apathy for the situation asks for an extraction into an earpiece, causing a halo to appear over his head and a beam of holy light to come down like a tractor beam.

“Wait,” says Riz. “You’re an undercover angel?”

“You got it, kid.”

Murph goes feral. The table goes feral. I go feral. What a way to end an episode!

And now for an all-Dad round of superlatives:

Detention

Bill Seacaster for KILLING GILEAR

I feel like I shouldn’t have to explain myself here.

Honor Roll

Pok Gukgak for Officially Joining the Fantasy Fathers of the Year Club

Here either.

I will, however, add a Hell Yeah!

Random Thoughts

If you haven’t seen it yet, the trailer for S5 of Dimension 20 just dropped and I won’t spoil it but, from the looks of it, it is gonna be a doozy.

“Do not metagame with my freaking Dad!” Oh to have the support of an NPC Emily Axford has decided to imprint upon.

Gorgug: It’s been one year. We’re sophomores.

“We support you as a DM and as your friend but also you’re our enemy.”

I think it’s very interesting that with just a little space and time from his dad, Fabian is finally having the proper reactions to his dad doing what I will charitably call shenanigans.

The level of distress and outrage from Emily when Gilear got shot was just *chef’s kiss*. I aspire to create an NPC that provokes that level of reaction from one of my players. Similar energy in a different direction from Ally when Daybreak attacked Tracker.

“Adaine, the jocks are being feisty! Get out of there!”

Vraz calls Fig “the Faithless” as her devil title and she insists on instead being called, “the InFaethable”. I wanna know how long Emily’s been sitting on that one or whether she came up with it on the spot.

Fabian upon seeing Johnny: Fuck off dude. I have too much going on right now.

Brennan being the eternal DM mood: How do I get out of this?

Very wild how little time has passed since Leviathan. Like, Fabian’s had this whole arc and grown so much but, like, OF COURSE Allistair still wants to murder him! It’s been like two days.

“I want to crumple up Gilear like a wrapper.”

A seven is a Murph 10.

The very specific way Brennan does foley for sword fighting (“Clang! Cling! Clang!”) is so funny to me.

Cannot overstate how much of a power move it was for Kristen to go, “I’ve been PRAYING FOR YOU,” at Daybreak and knock him on his ass.

I feel like I bring this up all the time but I love when Brennan is counting dice for a ton of damage and all the PCs are BSing reasons that it’s not a big deal like, “He’s just getting D4s,” or “Well I should get advantage for the reason just made up,” with everyone else fully playing along. ”

Allistair Ash, man. He is fascinating to me. I am so curious about what Brennan had planned for him originally because I feel like we barely scratched the surface before things took a TURN. He had two little moments in this ep that made my heart break for him a little: (1) When he says to Fabian, “If I die, I just come back a little bit worse but, if you die, you’re stuck down here with me.” and (2) when Fabian kills him and Bill grabs his soul and is like, “You know it’s gonna cost you X gold to revive you,” and he sighs and says, “Put it on my tab I suppose.” Like, I know he spent all ep trying to kill Fabian but I can’t help but be like, poor guy. He just has this pathos in his haplessness. I’m surprised Fabian didn’t make more of an effort to connect with him instead of being like, kind of like, “I will throw hands if I must.” Talking is a free action my dude. Anyway, I would love to see Brennan’s DM notes for this guy.

Lou was really doing some expert D&D with all the second winding and bonus actioning and burning spell slots for extra damage he was doing. He was like, “My initiative is trash so I have to do approximately a million damage per turn.”

Lol at Ayda asking if it’s weird to talk about sex stuff in front of friends in a group that involves both Kristen and Adaine.

Fig wishing she could do something cool in front of Ayda as if Ayda didn’t try to flood Hell on her behalf last week. My girl. You’ve already locked that down.

Not really an issue that’s we’ll run across during the run of FH but tieflings live 20-40 years longer than humans according to the official D&D lore. So lets say Fig lives to be 120 years old. And let’s say she sticks with her high school girlfriend and marries her. It’s possible they die at around the same time and then Ayda has to Deal With That in her next life but that’s not what I’m interested in. What happens if you’re a full elderly woman and your partner phoenixes into a child? What are the ethics of that? How do you deal with that? Chronomancy?

The horrified, “Love wins!” from Daybreak.

Is there a reason the viewing room Riz was in had thrones in it or is Hell just very about the ~aesthetic~

Every time a DM asks for a HP total, my entire being clenches in prep for a Power Word Kill.

“I’m gonna need a Dexter--”/”Counterspell.”

“You guys murdered me too but we hashed it out.”

I totally forgot that the Bad Kids lied that Ragh had shat his pants until the moment Adaine was saying it this episode. Freshman Year was WILD.

Also, just wanna take a second to talk about the elevation of Ragh from this side-note bully to a fully fledged, likeable character with depth and and an arc and gay spit. D&D is crazy.

Summoning Boggy via Bloody Mary is such a delightful image.

So, Kalina is the one that led Riz down the path that led to him finding out Pok is an Undercover Angel (!!!), which means one of three things: (1) She knew but miscalculated hard, (2) she didn’t know and made a different but also big miscalculation, (3) she did know and she’s doing some kind of 4-D chess thing we don’t know about yet.

Ayda hitting Fabian with a portent and then swooping in and saving Adaine. So clutch. What a good NPC to befriend.

Speaking of, I think we all kinda figured, but Brennan officially said on Twitter or the Discord (I don’t remember which) that Ayda is autistic. Like, I was pretty sure but I didn’t wanna assume.

Lol at the absolute lack of respect Kalvaxus got in this episode.

Pok as an Undercover Angel is SO GOOD. Like, I didn’t think he was really bad for a second but I never could have guessed he was an UNDERCOVER ANGEL. That’s such a dope combination of words. Undercover Angel (which my computer keeps trying to correct to undercover agent which isn’t wrong to be fair). Man. I love this. I love this for me and I love this for Riz. Riz deserves this. After so much crap in his life and so many mind games from Kalina and all this turmoil, he deserves to know that not only is his dad a good person who loved/loves him, he’s SO good that he’s an ANGEL and he was such a good spy in life he still is a secret agent in death. God, what a reveal. I can’t believe Riz got Spy Kids-ed TWICE by the same parent. Can’t wait to hear what exactly is going on with him.

Wait, what’s goblin heaven like? Which god is sanctioning this? Who is he working for exactly?

This episode, Kristen and Gorgug rolled 1 Nat 20 each, while Riz, Fabian, and Brennan each got 2. On the flipside, Adaine got 2 Nat 1’s, Fig and Fabian each rolled 1 that was cancelled, and Riz rolled 1 (in addition, Murph rolled two more which were lair actions and one of which was cancelled by a luck point so they don’t really count but it was very funny so I wanted to note it).

#fantasy high #fantasy high live #fantasy high spoilers #dimension 20 #dimension 20 spoilers #wow a recap that isn't a million pages for once #turns out I can do it

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seriouslyhooked · 4 years

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Lost Souls and Reveries (Part 24)

25 part AU written for @cssns. Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6,Part 7, Part 8, Part 9, Part 10, Part 11, Part 12, Part 13, Part 14, Part 15, Part 16, Part 17, Part 18, Part 19, Part 20, Part 21, Part 22, Part 23. Story available on AO3 Here and FF Here. Banner created by the amazingly talented @shipsxahoy!!

Killian Jones is a wolf shifter without roots, without plans, and without a pack. He’s a rogue, someone humans should avoid and shifters should be wary of given his lineage. But one night years back set him on a path he didn’t realize he was taking, a path leading to a future he is destined for. That future is tied up in one woman – a human named Emma Nolan. Together Emma and Killian will find not only answers, but a love that’s truly fated. But will love be enough to set them free, or will past demons win out in the end? (Answer: love always wins – I am writing this so despite some tiny pockets of angst it’s basically a fluff-filled insta-love fest). Rated M.

A/N: Hey everyone. So as you can probably imagine, this chapter is going to be A LOT It’s double the length of a normal chapter because the midpoint was too high stress for me to leave you all on. It’s going to be high emotions and very unstable. That being said, I totally understand if some of you just want to skip it all together. Keep in mind if you do, you will be missing the final show down with George and a lot of final puzzle pieces many of you have been trying to piece together. I promise you I will leave the chapter in a stable place AND I have an extremely fluffy chapter planned for the final installment of this fic. That being said, I hope you’ll all forgive me for the angst, and happy reading!

“So what exactly do you think George has in store for us?”

After a few hours of being holed up in the car together, headed north to face her father’s Uncle, the question from Killian was direct and precise. But there was a reason it had taken hours for anyone to ask. The truth was something strange and unnerving. Without having every detail, they all knew that this was a dangerous man with an unstable mind. George Nolan’s reputation preceded him and his craven desire to do harm was undeniable. Still there was so much they didn’t understand. The only one with first-hand knowledge was her Dad, and every time she looked to him for answers, he appeared grim and stony. To see her father’s light dim, to see his kindness cool, was completely foreign to Emma, and it made her hands tremble slightly with anxious anticipation.

“It’s not going to be easy to get to him when we arrive at this ranch,” Emma’s father said, continuing to discuss the task before them just as he had for the last four plus hours. “My Uncle has never fought in any human war, but his life has been one long series of battles. The stuff he’ll have lined up will be straight from the textbooks.”

“They’ve got textbooks on shifter hunting then?” Liam asked with a tone of feigned amusement that was largely laced in sarcasm. “Well look at that. Learn something new every day.”

“Kidding aside, surely George is more sophisticated than that. He must have some sorts of surprises in store,” Killian offered.

“Oh plenty,” David agreed. “I know many of his habits, his tendencies and quirks, but it’s been thirty years since I left home, and there’s no doubt he’ll have more up his sleeve by now.”

Emma continued to listen to the others discuss, but eventually their voices started to fade. The words became less recognizable, and more a continued thrum of energy in the back of her mind. This mental distance was a defense mechanism, a means of shielding herself until the last possible moment. If she allowed her mind to linger in the what-ifs she’d go crazy. Instead, she leaned her head against the window, her temple feeling the coolness of the glass as her eyes stayed trained out, taking in their surroundings.

As the others shifted their conversation from trap types and weaponry to debate about what the best routes in and out of this park reserve might be, Emma thought back to a time before all of this chaotic uncertainty. Her eyes cast out towards the northern woods, with mammoth pine trees filling in the forests all around them. The world was green and bright. The feel of summer was thick still, and the world, though sluggish from the heat, was very much alive. The further from home they drove, the more altered the land looked. Flat coastal spaces ranged from rolling hills to jagged cliffs. Terrain was denser with brush and canopies. Heck, they’d literally left the country and were now in a totally new place, but Emma didn’t think of that, or even really see the sights before her. Instead she recalled what things used to be like, before she met her soulmate, and before everything went completely off the rails.

Emma’s life in Storybrooke was quiet and subdued for so many years. She had her work, and her friends, and her family. Every day was different, but it was also just the same. The spice of her life came from being a vet, where she might encounter varying pets and animals with a whole host of ailments and injuries, but the ebb and flow of life was rather monotonous. Nothing really strayed from ordinary, and after everything that they’d gone through when Neal was sick, Emma was grateful for that. She lived in a little pond with the fish she’d always known, happy that the big and scary waves of their past seemed to be behind them. Things were small and seemingly unimportant in their little corner of the world, but as safe as she’d felt, and as untouchable as being in Storybrooke once used to seem, it wasn’t all that she truly wanted. Where she had consistency and companionship, Emma was missing passion. She was missing that all-consuming love that comes when meeting one’s perfect match, and in more ways than one, she was missing key insights into who she really was. Pieces of her had been, for lack of a better word, hibernating, and now they were awakened, never to be suppressed or forgotten again.

But so far, these beautiful pieces had come with a tainted set of conditions. She met Killian, igniting a spark that had fanned into unquenchable flames. She fell in love with him, opened her heart to him, and started to believe that a life with real love was something she was meant to be a part of, but then she realized he had secrets and a past still left to face. She learned the truth about shifters, and her family’s place in that world. It was confusing but amazing all at once, yet with that incredible truth came a good amount of fear. There was so much left unknown, and things that could hurt them down the line. Bonding together had made Emma and Killian so much more secure in themselves and in each other. She was meant to be Killian’s fated mate, and he was meant to be hers, and Emma would never ever regret that. But saying yes to each other and taking that step brought the threat of Liam and whatever darkness may consume him. Of course, Killian’s brother was no longer a danger to them, but only a few weeks ago they’d felt differently. Before they saw Liam and understood his intentions and his destined ties to Elsa, he was looming menace that Killian had run from for years. His sickness had eroded critical human parts of Liam Jones, and though Elsa had cured him, nothing could take back the panic, the angst, and the worry they’d all expended in the days and weeks leading up to his return.

When they realized Liam wasn’t truly the enemy, there was celebration and reason for joy. Killian had his brother back, and Elsa too was blessed enough to have a mate. But in a matter of days Emma was forced to face down the risks of fully embracing who she was. The tying together of Elsa and Liam was a gift, but it also thrust Emma into more action than she knew what to do with. In a move that completely defied her past human understanding, Elsa used magic to help Emma merge her souls on some kind of spiritual, other-worldly journey. She’d met Killian’s dead mother in another unknown plane of existence, embraced her inner wolf, all while dying for just a few moments. That was crazy, and obviously something Emma should have had more time to prepare for and come to terms with, but she survived, and after the dust settled from such a stressful moment, she thought things were truly okay. They’d made it through, they’d braved their trials. This was surely enough to merit a good old fashioned happily ever after, but no. Things were nowhere near through. Her long-lost, time-ignored grandmother returned, freed from a magical coma that had robbed her of an entire lifetime with her children and grandchildren. Her brother was approached by a mad man and his safety was thrown into jeopardy. Her town was attacked by a genetically modified monster shifter. And if all that weren’t bad enough, they had not one, but two genuinely evil men hell bent on destroying them. Bad intentions surrounded Emma and the people that she loved, aimed at snuffing out her happiness and their lives, and for all of this she was yet again knocking on the door of danger and bracing for another spat with life and death.

I just want this all to be over. I’ll do whatever it takes, as long as we can go back to something even remotely like normal.

The thought whispered in her mind, but it spoke her deepest truth. All she wanted was for this to be finished. Emma wanted to rid them all of any monsters that were lurking in one final stand, and then she wanted to get to living. She wanted to get married, even though she and Killian were forever bonded already. She wanted a special day just about them and their love and their future. She might not have the determination and unyielding vision of her mother when it came to planning this wedding, but Emma craved a feeling, the sheer happiness that must come when she and Killian would say ‘I do’ for real this time. At the same time, Emma wanted to make her and Killian’s new house a home, and to prepare for the baby who she would hold close very soon. She wanted lazy mornings and sunset walks. She wanted beach days and trail hikes and running in the woods. She wanted days where she and Killian did absolutely nothing except spend time together, and she wanted to know peace again in a way she hadn’t had in what felt like far too long.

“I love you, Emma.”

The whispered words that came from beside her made Emma turn to her mate, and the look of calm and fidelity in his gaze helped Emma breathe easier. She hadn’t realized her agitation was carrying over from her mind, but as Killian pressed a soft kiss to her lips, she felt warmed through. The shadows she was grappling with and the what-ifs that would ultimately do nothing but cause more stress retreated again. For a moment it was just the two of them, and she smiled at him, raising her hand to cup his cheek as she looked into his eyes. God did she love this man. He was so right for her, so good to her. She couldn’t imagine anyone else she’d ever want by her side for a moment like this, and though she hated that they had to be here, she was grateful for their bond now more than ever. In all honesty she was thankful for everything they’d been through, huge and daunting and exhausting as it was. For ultimately they were stronger for their trials, and they had used each obstacle and hardship as a chance to grow together instead of fall apart.

“You let the light in,” she said, her words still soft and spoken only for them. She watched as his eyes lit up with both enjoyment and surprise, and it made her heart clutch in her chest that even after everything he might not know how much he meant to her. “You make me feel like this will be okay, even when hope is scarce. I don’t know how I’d handle any of this without you.”

“You’d find a way,” Killian answered immediately, pulling her closer into his embrace. “But there’s no need. I’m not going anywhere, love. Not now, not ever.”

Emma promised the same back to him, and she allowed that promise to fill her with faith as the final stretch of the drive came and went. Soon enough they were passing into the territory of the mountain lions that had contacted her Uncle, and only a slight ways on they came to the sprawling lands of the long abandoned ranch where George and the shifters were expected to be.

“Taking the car any further will alert nearby shifters or your Uncle of our presence,” Killian said to her father. “We might already have been noticed, but reports from the other clans said this area had largely been avoided by the sick shifters.”

“How far out are we from the cabin still?” Anna asked.

“A little more than a mile. There’s a road that would take us all the way there…”

“But the chances George has lined that with explosives or traps is almost guaranteed,” Emma finished. Killian nodded and her father did the same.

“As it is, we need to all be on high alert. This area might be largely vacant because traps have already been laid here and the shifters can sense it.”

“I don’t think that’s why actually,” Anna said, looking to the tree line. Emma mirrored her movement, but there was nothing there, at least nothing she could see.

“Do you feel something?” Liam asked.

“I’m not sure, but you see that path? The grass is browning there, but everything else is perfectly green.”

“What would do that?” Emma asked, but Anna was already moving. Gently she reached her hand out, a swirl of her magic touching the dying blades and when it did a tint of red blipped into existence before puttering out.

“Gold.”

“He’s here too?” Liam questioned but Anna shook her head.

“Doubtful. This magic is fading, and see the way the blades are bent, they’re heading out not in.”

“But he was here,” David concluded. Anna nodded.

“Definitely. So it would make sense that no one has sensed any shifters. Gold has likely infused his magic in their sickness. Realistically he included a fail-safe to keep any of them from attacking him. They’re probably compelled to avoid him unless he summons them.”

“Do you think it’s a trap?” Killian asked and Anna shrugged.

“Only one way to find out I guess.”

With that they all moved through the forest, careful to stay near Gold’s chosen route without actually setting foot on it. They monitored the area around them for pitfalls and unforeseen complications, but aside from some old and rusted out traps of times gone by, the area was clean. They moved closer and closer to where the cabin was said to be located, but ultimately decided it would be better to take down as many shifters as they could before going directly to George.

“The nearest clan said there were fresh kills from yesterday seen here, here and here.” Emma watched as her father circled three places on the map. They were congregated in clusters around the property, all of them by the nearby river’s edge. “Nearly an entire herd of deer slaughtered up by this bend.”

“A whole herd?”

“These shifters killed mostly for sport, not food.”

Emma’s stomach curdled at the thought. She still felt adamantly that killing as her wolf and claiming an animal to eat was a bit beyond her. Sure, she could technically do it, but it was extremely uncommon. Liam and Killian felt the same way, citing that the only shifters they’d ever known to take advantage of that particular power were their father and some of his closest supporters. As such, the two of them never partook, and only ever killed a wild animal while in their wolf form if the animal was a threat to others.

“That’s where we need to start,” Liam said and they all agreed, leaving the relative safety of Gold’s carved out trail and heading for the nearby waterway.

In another situation, these woods would be beautiful, a place of reprieve perhaps, and an area filled with plentiful wildlife and natural bounty. But now an eerie quiet settled on this land. There were no bird songs through the trees, no rustling of squirrels or smaller wildlife to be heard. In a matter of days, the presence of these shifters had eroded any sense of peace or serenity that may once have existed here, and that unnatural decay left Emma’s nerves even more on edge. Only a subtle wind through the trees and the distant gurgle of running water filled the space around them, and even their footsteps were nearly undetectable, as all of them were taking great pains to stay quiet and unheard.

After a few minutes of steady movement, Killian raised his hand, motioning for all of them to stop as he took in their surroundings. “There’s a hostile shifter, fifty paces out,” Killian said, his head nodding through a canopy of trees. Emma was astonished. She hadn’t heard or sensed anything at all, but then she shifted slightly closer to Killian and she smelled it.

“Mountain lion?” Emma asked, as the ungodly scent filled her nose and left her with a need to gag. It was hard to place the exact shifter when the sickness loomed so large, but from her basic knowledge of shifter scents, she thought it was some kind of big cat.

“No. Jaguar maybe.”

“It could be a panther,” David said as he readied his dart gun, loading it with the intended tranquilizer. “George’s idea of vacation involves hunting in other parts of the world. He had a particular fascination with the amazon. Always said panthers were wily and the hardest to kill. He might have trapped one for his army.”

There was no time to really soak that in, as the element of surprise would soon be lost to them. Instead they fanned out, moving to better circle the beast without alarming it to their presence. Only when everyone was in place having created a semi-circle around the river did it occur to Emma that they had one real potential obstacle – panthers could climb a hell of a lot better than any of them, and if this big cat got in a tree with enough coverage to escape her father’s scope, they’d be in big trouble.

At that exact moment, luck went against them and the wind suddenly shifted, brushing against her skin and headed straight for the clearing at the water’s edge where the shifter lurked. Knowing time was up, she moved quickly, making enough noise that the others would know to move too and coming face to face with a giant black beast a few seconds later.

The growl of the animal was feral and loud, a snarl scratched out in a blatant attempt to intimidate. Emma’s instinct was to shift to her wolf form, but that wasn’t the plan. Liam and Killian were the ones who would be shifting, and Emma, Anna, and her father would try their best to hit the jaguar with enough sedative to put him under. Emma attempted to do just that, aiming her dart gun at the jaguar’s neck, but the animal was too fast, lunging away and charging at Emma.

With lightening speed, a fully black wolf leapt at the jaguar, taking it off guard and grounding it with excessive force. Emma knew this was Killian, and watched as he and Liam both took on the panther. But they didn’t try to kill their foe. Instead, as was the plan, they attempted to corale the big cat to a more open space, in an easy line of sight for her father to hit. They were nearly there when the jaguar changed direction, ambling for a giant tree trunk in an attempt to get away.

“Oh no you don’t!” Anna said, her hands flying outwards as she dropped her dart gun and used her magic, managing to make the tree actually shake, tossing branches down below to swat the big cat away. The animal roared again, hurt to some degree from its fall, but mostly agitated. It now saw Anna and hissed at her, ignoring Liam and Killian and moving straight for her. Emma’s heart caught in her throat and protectiveness flooded her system. She was a split second from shifting and sprinting in her friend’s direction to save her, but then the jaguar let out a pained cry and she saw that he’d been hit. Her Dad had landed the blow, and now the drug was overwhelming the shifter’s system.

“Perfect shot,” Anna said, sounding almost excited at what had just happened, as if her life was in no real danger. Emma just gawked at her friend until her Dad explained.

“Anna knew what the plan was. She was never in any real danger. I’d never let that happen.”

Emma knew her father was sincere, since Anna and Elsa were essentially honorary Nolans. Still, she wished they’d conveyed that to her somehow instead of nearly giving her a heart attack.

“Well that was easy enough. One down, three more to go.”

Tracking the other shifters ended up being a much easier proposition since the noise from this skirmish had sounded through the woods. One by one they came out of hiding, two wolves were first, big, but they lacked cohesiveness in their attack, and after a bit of wrangling Emma managed to hit one while her father got the other. Soon after that the bears came, first a giant black bear and just when he was put down another that was brown, but not as massive as Anna’s grizzly from Storybrooke. These two were a bit more capable than the wolves, but they didn’t manage any lasting damage on Liam or Killian. But just when they were trying to catch their breath back in their human form, a cackling shriek of a final frenzied foe sounded through the forest.

“What the hell was that?” Anna asked, looking towards the tree line for whatever had made that awful sound.

“Wolverine,” Emma’s father and Killian said at the same time.

“Like the weasel things?” Anna asked, thinking as Emma did that this must surely be easy.

“Yeah, but wolverine shifters are five times the normal size,” Liam said bulking up his stance before turning to them. “Be on your guard, this one’s gonna be nasty.”

They watched Liam and Killian shift back again as a giant brown burst of energy scrambled through the brush. With gnashing teeth and a rabid expression, the wolverine was terrifying, and also enormous. Emma lost herself for a second, stunned at the sight of it, but when the beast moved to swipe at Killian she gathered herself back.

“Get him to the river,” David instructed, yelling out the command so all of them could hear it. Emma realized right away that this was going to be a very different fight. Their foe was too fast and it had no instinct for self-preservation. All it did was lash out, aggressively trying to maim Killian and Liam to get what it wanted. With movements like that, she had no chance of hitting her target, so she shifted to wolf form to try and help that way. It was touch and go in a few spots, and more than once the beast almost managed to get a nip at her golden coat, but in a moment where she was one on one with the animal her father yelled for her to duck. She did so without question, and as the best lunged for her, she watched the dart hit him square in the chest, knocking him back and pulling another hellish scream from the animal.

“Nasty buggers, wolverines,” Killian said when they’d all determined the beast was subdued. “Even the healthy ones are horrors.”

“Could hardly tell that he was sick,” Liam joked and Emma let out a barked laugh, shaking her head.

“No way. They can’t be that bad,” she said looking to her father who only shrugged.

“They’re packless for a reason. Put too many together, and well, you just saw what can happen.”

Emma was amazed at that, and thankful that they’d managed to put him down for the time being. All of these shifters would be down for the count for at least a day. If Anna’s bear was knocked out for that long in the test, they’d surely be down longer, what with the difference in size and metabolic rate. As such they’d have time to gather them all together or have the nearby packs lock them down to a secured space. But in the meantime they’re greatest enemy was still before them.

“Did you notice the blood on him?” Liam said, drawing their attention back to the wolverine. “Right paw, encased on the claws.”

“Well someone had to have killed all those deer, right?” Anna asked but Liam shook his head.

“It’s human blood. I caught a whiff of it when he tried to strike me.”

“Human?” Emma asked, worried that these shifters had managed to harm an innocent hiker or something of the like.

“It’s got to be George. The packs were adamant that there are no humans in these parts and they checked with local rangers. There’s a warning out for hikers and campers for a twenty-mile radius and the packs have been circling from a distance for days. No one’s out here.”

“If that beast got a piece of him, then your Uncle’s in bad shape,” Killian said and Emma watched her father’s expression, wondering if anything like remorse would appear. It never did.

“Good. I’m not too proud to admit that we need the advantage. If George is at full health, he’ll be that much harder to stop.”

Heading towards the cabin once more, Emma considered what it would take to stop such a man. No one had said the words aloud, but they all must know that George couldn’t be allowed to leave this cabin. There would be no imprisoning him. He had to die and that was a dark cloud looming over them all. None of them would want to take a life, for Emma it was something she didn’t even think she could do, but in this moment she had to be ready to compromise herself. If it meant protecting the people she loved, she might have to take a life, and though that life would be an evil one, it would still hurt her. But despite that, she would still make that choice. Whatever the fall out, she would see her loved ones protected, no matter what.

“It won’t come to that, Emma,” Killian said, taking her hand as they moved through the woods. “I won’t let your hands be bloodied like that.”

“No we won’t. The person to handle this will be me,” her father said, and Emma looked to him, knowing that burden was something he would struggle with but that he was ready to take on. “I always knew this day might come. He’s my responsibility.”

No one argued with her father, instead allowing the last bit of quiet to consume their journey. They remained alert, moving towards the cabin, finally approaching it from the side. Emma was struck by how the quiet continued, but the air smelled now of smoke and burning wood, and when the dilapidated ranch came into view, there was a hazy gray smog coming from the chimney.

“Someone’s in there,” Anna said with conviction, her hand moving across the air in a wave, her magic feeling out for signs of life. “And they’re in there alone.”

Quietly they circled around the property, until they reached the front door. From the outside it was clearly barricaded closed, but traces of blood adorned the faded wood going up the steps. Fingerprints in scarlet red clung to the doorway, another sign that George was injured.

“We can’t take his weakness for granted. Even hurt, he could have traps in place.”

“So what do we do?”

“Leave it to me,” Anna said, bringing both hands before her and tilting her head in concentration. She held herself tight for a moment and then pushed her arms out with a violent force. As she did a strong gust moved in, visible in its intensity, shattering the windows and pushing in the door. A split-second later arrows shot from each direction, and Emma felt herself pushed behind a wall of muscle. Killian was huddled in front of her, and Liam had gone for Anna, but Anna pushed him away.

“Wait!” she said her hands still suspended. Emma waited for the sound of impact, but nothing came, and when she peaked around Killian she saw at least a dozen arrows suspended in the air, all of them stopped by magic.

“Anna,” Emma whispered, her feeling of awe over whelming her and Anna let loose a smile.

“You can say it, Emma, I’m a bad ass.”

“We can all say it the moment this is over,” Liam agreed, similarly impressed by Elsa’s sister’s show of magical control. But he was right. This wasn’t over.

“Do you think there’s more?” Killian asked, knocking down one of the arrows as he headed towards the door.

“It’s possible,” her Dad admitted.

“There’s only one way to find out,” Anna said taking the lead before whipping back to head off Liam’s impending rebuttal. “And before you say anything, we both know I can handle this. Plus Elsa will kill me if anything happens to you.”

They moved up the stairs, through the doorway of the house, all of them on alert, but no more surprises came. The place was bare, but clearly lived in. Dust remained, but there were well worn paths where people had been coming in and out. The kitchen had been used, and so had a bedroom, but they didn’t actually find George until they reached the back of the house. Only when they’d entered the great room, done in the style of a long-forgotten hunters lodge, did her Great Uncle appear.

His back was turned to all of them, though he must have heard the shattering of windows and them moving through the house. He stood facing the fire, unmoving for a while. His left arm hung down, but his right clutched at his side, pressing over a makeshift bandage. Emma could smell the wound from here and see the red beneath the white cloth. His wound was deep, and he had lost a lot of blood, but still he remained stoic and unflinching and uninterested in them all together. Only when he was ready did he pivot, looking back to them all and offering no emotion as he did.

“It’s been a long time, David,” he said, his voice more even and regular than a man with a wound like that should be.

Seeing his face now, Emma noticed that there were some similarities between her father and this man. Their size was similar, and Emma wondered if George had started shrinking in his older age or if he’d willed that nuisance away from sheer grit. Their faces held a similar shape, though there were marked differences, but their eyes were arguably the closest trait they shared. Blue and intense, Emma recognized the color, but all comparison stopped there. For her father was a person filled with life and kindness. It radiated from him, the friendliness, the want to do good. He was a good man, but George… his eyes were hollow and dulled. If eyes were a window to the soul, this man’s was lacking, hardened, and in some ways unknowable.

“I must admit I always saw this reunion very differently when I pictured it,” George continued. His free hand moving to a glass upon the mantel filled with what Emma believed was whiskey. He took a sip, seemed to revel in it and then put the glass aside again, looking back at her father once more and treating the rest of them like they were totally invisible.

“Why you wanted one at all, I’ll never know.”

“Oh but you do, David. The day you ran you ensured that this moment would come. When you betrayed your family legacy for the sake of that fool lion, you wrote this into fate’s design.”

Emma found it difficult to look away from George, knowing better than to take her eyes off a man this malicious, but she needed a better understanding of their surroundings. The room was unlike the rest of the house which was sparse for the most part. This room had clutter, knickknacks hanging everywhere, and though nothing looked overtly threatening, she knew more traps could be anywhere. As if she’d summoned one, a steal trap descended from a rafter above and only Anna’s speedy reflexes and magical ability kept it from getting a part of Liam’s head. The sound of snapping metal against shattering wood filled the space, but when it faded out there was only the sound of the crackles in the fire and Anna’s sharpened breathing.

“Oh joy, another witch,” George said, again looking cold and nonplussed though one of his attack mechanisms had just failed. He didn’t even blink at the wasted piece of equipment, instead reaching for a bottle on the table a few feet away. He poured himself another drink, and they all just watched, transfixed in a way by this clearly dying man. It dawned on Emma that this was their chance to take him out, but then she remembered that they needed answers first. If they were going to crack the code of this serum and cure this artificial alpha sickness, they needed to know more about it.

“Why this way? These sick shifters seem like an unnecessary burden. If you knew where I was you could have just come for me. It would have been a hell of a lot easier.”

“Perhaps,” George acquiesced. “But the trouble with training you in my image as I did, was you learned how to cover your tracks. I had no idea where you’d gone, and by the time I discovered your whereabouts it occurred to me – I could do more than just take you out and destroy your family. I could destroy all of them with one perfected remedy.”

When he said ‘them’ he looked to Liam and then Killian, having figured out their shifter status from the start. It made Emma’s skin crawl to think that this man had wanted to destroy so many people. Because ultimately that’s what shifters were. They were people too. But George clearly didn’t believe that.

“I thought many times over the years that your aid would be most helpful in this venture. You always took to the science so quickly, perhaps you could have been of some use,” George said thoughtfully, looking at her father in a way that told Emma that in some sick twisted way he had some kind of regard for him. George was filled with vitriol, but underneath it there was something else. Respect maybe? “Alas, the Nolan line is old and distinguished, and the stain of your choices could not stand. I could never allow it.”

“It must eat you alive to see what I’ve become,” her father said, standing strong in the face of his Uncle’s condemnation. “To know how many shifters I’ve healed, how many I’ve saved from men just like you. I spent each day doing anything I could to unmake your mess. For every life you ended I would prolong five, ten, or more. I figured I might not be able to stop you, I’d never risk my family to do so, but I could try to make some amends for the shame of what you’ve done.”

“The only shame belongs to your traitor mother,” George snapped out, his words sharp as the lashings of a whip. “You live because of her wicked sins. She bastardized the very fabric of our history. The lineage of our people was destroyed for her disgusting infatuation with filth.”

No one dared speak in the face of those hateful words. Emma merely looked to her father, who stood there unmoving. He didn’t tense, didn’t react. He waited there, almost mirroring his Uncle, unwilling to give anything up by revealing his anger and emotion. Emma heard something, like a wire being pulled and then watched as her father took out his gun and shot two portions of the wall on opposite sides of the room. When he did a bevy of arrows snapped, but were shot to the floor instead of out into the room at chest level as they would have without interference. Emma looked around the room to see if anything else gave away surprise attack, but she saw nothing. Killian however did, and he grabbed a stone paper weight from the pile of mismatched and chucked it at the back wall. Only when the stone thudded to the ground did Emma see the small fuse that had been lit and was now extinguished thanks to the hit of the rock.

“You killed my father,” David said, ignoring the added excitement of the would be surprise attacks, and when she could finally turn her attention from the unrest around them, Emma watched her father and felt how much grief that fact brought him. “You killed your sister’s true love, forced her to run, and to leave her two sons behind. Wasn’t that revenge enough?””

“Maybe it would have been, if his death meant anything to me, but truth be told he was just so… forgettable,” George said, his malice lacing every syllable even as they rang out with control and practiced authority. “I couldn’t even tell you what he looked like. He was nothing. Obsolete. Just another in a long line of shifter trash that needed disposing of.”

“When did you know?”

“That you were of mixed blood? I only discovered that recently. You see I too believed your brother’s illness was just that, and I didn’t think to question Ruth’s death when you were born. I saw it as a gift – two new warriors for the cause that I would raise for greatness. The magic that shielded your true nature was well woven, and it had to be, for if I’d known what you two were there would have been no need for sickness, I’d have finished you myself. But no. It took years to discover the truth. Only when Gold showed me Ruth’s sleeping body in his treasure trove did I discover just how deep her treachery ran.”

“You knew she was alive,” Emma’s father said, anger now beginning to rise as his fist tightened on the weapon in his hand.

“Oh yes. Long before she woke, I knew exactly where she was. Gold offered her to me if we made a little deal. I refused. She had no worth to me. I consider her lucky I didn’t kill her then and there.”

“You are a monster, you know that?” Emma asked, not willing to listen to this anymore.

“Ah, and there she is, the final downfall of the Nolan line. Our dearest Emma,” he said, spitting out the words and glaring at her, as if she was nothing but inconvenience to him. “You had a chance to be worth saving. Half breed as you are, you had Nolan blood and you were still human, unlike your cursed brother. But you couldn’t resist the filth either, could you? No, you had to go and choose to mate with one of those mongrels just like my wretched sister.”

Killian growled low in his throat as George looked his way and let out a choked laugh. It was sinister, and directed, but he quickly dismissed Killian again, looking back to Emma. “And then you let that witch remove your block. You tainted yourself. Your brother was already marked for death, I couldn’t let the Nolan line live on as shifter scum. But you – you I would have spared. You’d have been the legacy. The last hope of the Nolan line.”

“Never,” Emma swore, meaning it with all her might. “I would never have turned my back on my family, and I would never believe all this nonsense you hold dear.”

“Oh, it’s not nonsense, Emma. Shifters are despicable, a plague upon this earth, and there is no remedy for them except removal. You need only look to your mongrel’s father for proof of what I speak.”

“You knew Brennan?” Killian asked, the shock palpable in his and Emma’s mental bond, but his poker face holding firm, giving very little away.

“Did I know Brennan Jones? The single most conceited alpha on the continent? The one who devoured other packs for power and for sport? Yes, I knew the monster. Hell, I owed the beast a debt. Without him none of this would have been possible. In the end, he was the key to everything.”

“You’re lying,” Liam said, disgusted and disturbed. “Our father hated hunters and he’d never help one.”

“The bite hardly makes for a stable mind, but you know that don’t you?” George said with a sick and twisted attempt at a smile. He clearly knew of Liam’s prior ailment, and he was more than willing to use that against him. “Deep down you realize that if I told your father he could have power he’d have given me anything I dared to ask for. All it took was the promise that I would replicate the serum for his pack while making them still submissive to him. He wanted an army, the strongest pack the world had ever known. As if I ever would have let it get that far. Fucking dog. No, I take it back. A dog would be smarter.”

“And so Gold, he was just unimportant?” Anna asked, carefully dragging the conversation away from Killian and Liam’s father for the time being, and to another glaring gap in the fabric of this story. “You want us to believe you did this all on your own?”

“No, I will admit I needed his magic,” George said, as his face darkened for the first time since they arrived, giving away his extreme resentment. “The venom I extracted from actual alpha sickness wouldn’t spread without a curse to bind it all together. But Gold is not to be trusted. He made a mistake, and when the attack with the grizzly failed, he turned on me, leaving me here to die.”

“Why would he get involved? What did he have to gain?” Emma asked and George stared blankly at her.

“You know, I never bothered to ask what he wanted with you and the three witches. Truth be told, I never really cared. But I imagine it won’t be pleasant for any of you. And he assured me you’d never manage to reproduce with that animal, so I didn’t give a damn.”

“Did he promise you that?” Emma quipped, her fury rising in her chest. “Was that part of the deal?”

“Not explicitly, but if things had gone as they should, they would be dead,” he motioned to Liam, Killian and her father, “And you two would be Gold’s.”

“But it didn’t go to plan.”

“No. I could never have anticipated that of all the worthless grizzlies in the world this one would be tied to a witch.”

“Don’t talk about him like that!” Anna demanded, her hands coming up, ready to attack.

“Oh is he yours? I’m sorry,” he said sneering. “Sorry you too are tainted. Such a shame. But perhaps Gold will manage in the end. He’s a patient man, and really, what’s a few years matter? I waited nearly thirty for my revenge. It’s too bad I’ll only have a sliver of it.”

With lightening quick precision, George drew a knife from his hip and threw it towards Liam who dodged it just barely. At the same time more traps came from the wall and the ceiling. It was chaos, with arrows and steel traps and more, and all of it consumed Anna and Killian and her father’s attention. Emma though stayed still, not knowing how to react. She felt herself needing to respond, but then she realized that everyone else was focused on the other things and were missing what was right in front of them. Indeed George was more skilled than they were anticipating. And, having forsaken his hold on his wounded body, he grabbed a pistol from his waist and aimed it at her father.

“No!”

Without hesitation Emma jumped to push her Dad out of the way, successfully managing to force him from the trajectory of the bullet, but then she felt the blow of impact into her shoulder. There was no slowing down of time. This was immediate and instinctive, and the pain of the hot metal piercing through her skin set in just as swiftly. She flinched at the force of it, falling towards the ground as Liam lunged for the gun, disarming George, and Killian grabbed her, holding her close.

“Emma!” he cried, panic clear in his gaze as George’s laughter filled the room. Liam meanwhile, pinned the old man down and let out a ferocious growl. Through the pain of her injury Emma saw the fear in George’s eyes, but her body was chilled, her heart pounding loudly in her ears.

“What did you lace it with?!” Her father screamed and Emma looked down to where she’d been hurt, seeing the black inky lines that used to be her veins. Oh God she was dying. She was going to die.

“Nothing you can save her from,” George said, his voice labored as he lay pinned beneath Liam. “Gold procured it for me. It’s potent and powerful, and cannot be survived.”

The realization that this could really be it settled on her, and Emma felt herself slipping away. This was really the end. She was too far gone. There was no stopping this poison, this toxin designed to extinguish her father once and for all. The pain that flooded her system began to subside and instead she felt cold and numb. This was shock – the last bit of adrenaline before she’d be gone and she looked at Killian, desperate to say goodbye and say she was sorry, but unable to speak.

“Emma, no, you’ve got to hold on! We’ll fix this! We’ll save you!”

“Killian.”

“Don’t leave me,” he begged, his voice and face etched in the pain of what was coming.

Afraid to close her eyes, Emma looked upon the man she loved and she felt such unimaginable grief. She wanted to hold on for him, she wanted his pleas to be right. But she was falling under, the current of this poison too high. This was really it. She moved her hand, reaching for Killian and then she felt it, a flutter from her abdomen. Her hand changed course, and moved towards her unborn baby, tears streaming down her face. She’d failed her child. She’d failed Killian. She…

In an instant, warmth flooded from the space where her hand lay through the rest of her being. The feel of it forced Emma’s eyes to close, but when the warmth grew she opened them again, wanting to understand why she felt this way. Her eyes blinked open and the brightness in the room had totally changed. She was surrounded in a beautiful haze, and she wondered if the light she saw through her tears could be real. It had to be an illusion, right? One last crazy vision before death finally came, but Anna’s gasp filled her ears, and Killian’s whispered words, tortured and yet hopeful filled her ears.

“The baby.”

His hand came over hers, and the light grew stronger. Emma blinked away her tears and watched as an iridescent magic not so unlike Anna or Elsa’s moved over her skin. Swiftly it traced the tracks of the onyx-colored poison, soothing every line within her. Emma felt sensation again, as the magic traced over her, filling her with energy, and with hope she’d thoroughly lost. The cold she was feeling was eradicated, and when the magical light finally reached her initial wound the darkness that marred her once smooth skin ebbed away. The blackness was removed, and most of her pain went with it. The bullet hole was still there, and she was bleeding, but she was alive, and though she couldn’t truly, scientifically know for certain, she felt in her heart that she was going to be okay. She was going to live.

“That’s not possible. You should be dead! You should be… wait, did you say baby? You can’t be pregnant!” George screamed but Emma didn’t even bother to spare him a glance.

“She saved me,” Emma whispered, feeling the sensation that somehow her unborn child had stepped in. She had no rationale reason for it, especially given how early on it was in her pregnancy, but it was suddenly very clear. Their child would be more than a hybrid of a shifter and a human – she had magic in her, for whatever reason, and she had used it, even before her birth, to save Emma.

“You can’t be pregnant! Gold said -,”

“Gold is never going to beat us!” Anna yelled. “You’ve failed, and now you’ll die for nothing.”

“Oh not nothing. I still have my weapons. Mated or not, there is no cure for your wretched shifter, I’ve left no trace. It’s all gone and cannot be recreated. So you see, the secret dies with me.”

The pain on Anna’s face looked just as piercing as what Emma herself felt moments ago, but it culminated even more when Emma’s father stepped forward, raising his gun to deliver a final blow. She cried out for him to stop, but it was too late. The deed was done. Her Uncle was dead, and his secret died with him.

“Why would you do that?!” Anna screamed, and Emma looked to her father for answers. He had ruined her friend’s only chance, but he only nodded to the fire.

“I know George better than anyone, and I am willing to bet my life that he burned the secret away. It’s shifter custom..”

Killian sniffed the air and gave a slight nod. “There’s more than wood in that blaze. Paper – both old and new and a bit of leather.”

“I know that there are spells that can unburn what was destroyed,” Emma’s father explained, seeking to calm Anna and show her he was not forsaking her new mate for an easy kill. “I’ve heard about them while healing other packs. They’re not common, but possible. Call Ruby. She’ll know.”

They did just that, and through the grace of something larger than themselves, Ruby found a spell in great haste. With shaky hands and a wavering voice, Anna recited the incantation Ruby read to her, and low and behold the fire sputtered to a stop and from the flames scraps of paper formed, with scribblings of formulas and multiple solutions. A leather bound book also took shape, and there, within the pages were a scribbling of formulas and well-kept notes.

“This is it,” her father said, looking relieved that his hunch was proven right. “This is what Neal needs to find a remedy.”

“Oh thank God,” Anna said, nearly falling to her knees, but ultimately being caught by Liam. It was finally over, and in the end they had everything they’d set out for.

“We did it,” Emma said, looking up to Killian, taking in his expression of relief and some lingering pain. She could feel through their link that the trauma of thinking she would die yet again had rattled him. He was at wit’s end, and she clung to him, trying to prove to him that she was okay, and that they had both made it through.

“I’m telling you right now, Emma, there will be none of this, ever again.” His voice was stern and his eyes made a silent promise that if she ever even thought of fighting such a battle in the future he would chain her to his side and make it so she couldn’t leave. “We are going home. We are getting married. We are meeting our miracle child when the time finally comes, and we are living happily ever after. There will be no more fighting. There will be no more close calls. We’re done with this.”

“Okay, we’re done,” she promised, resting her forehead against his and soaking in the feeling of their mission being complete. “I love you.”

“And I love you, Emma. Far too much to ever walk this world without you.”

“Emma?”

The voice of her father pulled Emma from her and Killian’s embrace, and she could see in his eyes the pain of all of this. He’d almost lost her too, and he’d just taken a life. Her father, the man who was always a pillar of strength for her whenever he could be, was hurting and she moved towards him, hugging him close.

“You shouldn’t have done that,” her dad whispered, hugging her as tight as he could, with his hand cradling the back of her head like he always had, ever since she was a little girl.

“I’m glad I did. If he’d hit you, you’d be…” She trailed off as she pulled back to look at him, unable to face that he would have absolutely died.

“I know,” he agreed, leaving words that hurt to much to say unsaid. “I love you, Emma.”

“I love you too, Dad.”

Before she could so much as step away from her father, she found herself jostled into Anna’s waiting arms and her friend gave her a vice grip of a hug. Emma squeaked a sound of surprise out, and Killian moved toward her protectively, but she shook her head, knowing Anna needed this. A second later Anna jumped, remembering Emma’s injury.

“Oh crap, I hurt you!” she exclaimed, but looking at Emma’s wound, they could both see it was already looking much better. “I can’t believe it. The baby healed you. She must be a witch, right? But it shouldn’t be possible.”

“Maybe not,” Emma said, her hand coming back to rest on her stomach. “But somehow it is.”

“And every one of us grateful for that.” Liam said, with a warmth in his eyes and a nod of his head that told Emma Killian’s brother was glad for her speedy recovery. “But might I suggest we wrap things up and get back home? We might have slain a few beasts today, but there’s much more that still needs to be done.”

“Aye, brother, you’re right,” Killian agreed, taking Emma’s hand in his and bringing her close as he looked deep in her eyes. “Let’s go home, love.”

Emma couldn’t think of anything she wanted more than to go home and to be done with all of this, and with a swiftness she was grateful for, they managed to contain things as best they could. With the help of the nearby packs, each of the sedated shifters was returned to a cage here on the property. None of them took any pleasure in containing these animals, least of all Anna, who also needed a little magic to really keep things secure, but they knew it was for the best. Sick as they were, there was no telling what these shifters would do, and in the interest of protecting the nearby shifter clans, and any humans who may wander into this area in the future, they left these animals temporarily caged and under the watchful eye of the pack who originally called on Lance.

Driving home after that, Emma was surprised at how quickly the time went by, but that was largely thanks to the sleep she fell into once she was back in the safety of the car and nestled in Killian’s arms. Magical revival from her child or not, Emma was exhausted, and the wound she’d incurred did ache and aggrieve her. Knowing that this pain still lingered, Killian held her close, kissing her anywhere he could and whispering that it would all be all right. She trusted him in this, and slowly gave into the comfort of his presence, falling into a slumber filled with flashes of dreams. Some were blips of the fighting they’d just faced, but there were more that came later that were so much more beautiful and remarkable. Emma would never be able to explain them out loud, but these flashes were of her future, of that she was sure. She saw in them a life that was happy and bright. She saw Killian, her love, standing with her, never far from grasp. She saw her family and her friends also with her and not a one of them saddened or stressed out. And then she saw the children, glimpses of a beautiful baby girl with dark hair like her father and eyes that matched Emma’s to a tee. There were more behind her, but it all came so quickly. These flashes seemed to surround her while also staying just out of reach, but as Emma woke up, she couldn’t help smiling, and the first thought that came to mind was Hope.

“I think we’ve got a name all ready for this little girl,” Killian whispered to Emma as he pressed a kiss to the crown of her head. She smiled, snuggling into him further and knowing her mate had read her mind, quite literally.

“I can’t wait to meet her,” Emma admitted, thinking back on her dreams and knowing in her heart that her child would be a blend of magic and love and endless possibility. “But at the same time, I can.”

“Is that so?” Killian asked, seemingly surprised by her latter admission.

“Yes. On the one hand I love her so much already. I always have, and I always will,” she said, and Killian hummed out a sound of agreement with that. “But on the other, we still have so much to do. We have to get ready.”

“In more ways than one.” Killian teased and Emma felt her cheeks grow warm as she smiled and nodded her understanding. He wasn’t just talking about furnishing their place or baby proofing their new home. Emma could see, hopefully, more than a few weeks spent relaxing, recuperating, and spending every waking moment that they could enjoying each other and strengthening the bond they’d found together.

“Speaking of getting ready, we’re nearly home, and we’re about to have a lot of explaining to do,” Anna said and Emma jumped, not realizing the whole car was listening in on their talking. “Oh sorry, were we supposed to pretend we couldn’t hear you?”

“Seems a bit late for that,” Liam replied, his voice gruff but his eyes sparkling with amusement at Emma and Killian.

“Anna’s right though. It’s best to get our stories straight now,” David said. “Better to frame some of this as, let’s say ‘kindly’ as we can.”

Emma knew her father was thinking of her mother and her reaction to everything. She appreciated that her Dad wanted to spare her Mom any more pain, but she also knew, even if he said this that it would never come to pass. Her parents never held secrets from each other, and this time would be no different.

“No need to bother. Chances are Ruby’s seen most of it anyway. She’s probably told half the tale already.”

Killian’s guess was soon validated, and as soon as they arrived, they were greeted with huge hugs and a million more questions. They might know most of what had happened, but there was so much more they wanted verified and expanded. Ruby had her visions that were helpful, but there were blank spots and things that couldn’t be explained. People wanted details of the shifters, of the fighting, and of George. They wanted to know what they’d learned of Gold and this plan and the evil that was done to enact it. But more than anything they wanted to know how Emma had lived. Emma explained as best she could, and the others stood by her description. One moment she was dying and the next she was cured. There was only one answer to the question, but no real explanation. No one understood how or why, but still it was true. Emma was saved and that was a miracle. Maybe someday they’d understand it, but for now they were just as grateful as could be.

Every query was ultimately answered, despite the exhaustion they were all feeling, and Emma felt it was better to get this done now rather than later. If they put it all out there, then maybe they could put it all behind them. Eventually they broke apart for the night, and by that time it was nearly sunrise of the next day. Just as Liam had said there was still a lot of work to be done and over the next few days they hit the ground running. Her father and Neal made a possible cure in a matter of days, and Emma did all that she could to help them. It was a long, laborious process, but it was made totally and completely worth it when she watched the moment that her best friend truly met her one true soulmate. Seeing that it worked, they made enough to get up north, and her Uncle Lance and Aunt Gwen brought the rest to other packs, making sure every sickened shifter was treated, and reporting back that they all were now freed, and were all on their way back to the homes they’d been forced away from.

In the meantime, Elsa and Ruby and Ruth worked long long days to try and track Gold. Using everything they could ,they sought to better understand the malicious mind of this maddened man. Anything they could learn could be a clue, but Emma knew this was just the start of their long journey. Her Great Uncle’s snide remarks rang true to Emma – Gold would remain hidden for as long as he could, but if they were all patient, surely someday they would find him, and stop him before any more grief could come their way. To this point Emma still didn’t understand his endgame. He wanted Anna, Elsa, Ruby, and Emma could easily understand that. Three strong witches must surely be a threat, but wanting her for her status as a hybrid… it didn’t make sense to Emma. The only thing she could think was that maybe it wasn’t her that Gold was after. Perhaps it was her baby, who would be a hybrid too, and in even more ways than Emma. But the others remained convinced that Gold could not know. He’d sworn to George Emma couldn’t get pregnant, and for now, that secret was protecting them all. And ultimately, despite the danger Gold still posed, Emma knew in her heart that she would never let anyone hurt her child. One life threatening instance was more than enough – and she knew, down to her bones, that there would never come another time when her baby was at risk from these terrible men.

And yet, in the midst of all of this work and all of this progress, Emma found a way to make good on her promise to Killian. She helped the others as best she could, but she also took time for herself and time for her love. They made their house a home, and found many new moments of peace and tranquil calm. They planned for their wedding, and for their family, and for their future. But more than anything they lived every day to the fullest, knowing that they’d never allow anything or anyone to take this away from them again. For love, in the end, was a powerful thing, and fate was a power even stronger than that. And as for Emma and Killian, fate had decided that they were meant to be, and that they were indeed meant to live a wonderful, glorious, happily ever after.

Post-Note: Hey everyone! So I know there’s still so much that I didn’t get to go into detail on. I wanted to do so much in this chapter, like see Neal make a cure and watch Anna meet Kristoff and all that cuteness. But it just wasn’t meant to be. Instead, I am working on the first epilogue of the story (which will include Emma and Killian’s wedding) and I am on track to post it next weekend. As I’ve previously mentioned, I will also be writing a follow up story to this one, that’s not just from Emma and Killian’s POV but the POV of the other central characters as well. In that story I will be including the Anna/Kristoff meeting and probably more of the process of healing Kristoff, so if you can wait you will someday get a snapshot into that. After that there will eventually also be a second epilogue of this story, where you get to see how everyone is doing in the future, and how life has shaped up for CS and the others. Anyway, thanks so much for riding through this with me. I know it was a really heavy chapter, and so much happened, but I hope that you enjoyed and that you trust me to make everything right with a cute and fluffy wedding chapter next time. Thanks so much to all of you for reading, and as always I can’t wait to hear what you think!

Tag list: @jennjenn615, @kmomof4, @winterbaby89, @teamhook, @ultraluckycatnd, @resident-of-storybrooke, @artistic-writer, @snowbellewells, @snarkycaptainswan4, @allofdafandoms-blog

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songfell-ut · 4 years

Text

Chapter 6

In which things get squishy, and a bit longer than usual, pun intended as much or as little as you like. Hope this scratches a bit of the Frans itch, @lostmypotatoes!

Also, I have a very weak punning reflex and had to Google sleep puns, but one of the ones I ended up using here made me laugh so hard that I scared my cat awake. Chapter be here!

Two days later, the royal sorcerer walked slowly down the hallway to the High Priestess' quarters, deep in thought. Before he rounded the last corner, he used a hand to pull out a mirror and check his reflection, and then approached the guard outside the double doors. "How are they this evening?" asked Dr. Serif.

The guard saluted. "Very well, sir," he replied. "There's little to report, except that she's had far more correspondence than usual. The...gentleman took her elsewhere in his usual fashion after dinner, and they returned about twenty minutes ago."

The doctor half-smiled. "His magic is fully functional, then?"

"Yes, sir, but I believe they spend most of their time studying. It's been very quiet and—"

From inside the room came a massive thud, a bellow of laughter, and Frisk's voice raised in shrieking indignation. "Peaceful," the guard mumbled.

Dr. Serif sighed. Rather than summon a hand to raise the bar again, he rapped on the doors.

A full twenty seconds later, the priestess answered, pink in the face. "Good evening, Doctor," she said, sending a death glare over her shoulder as Sans kept snickering. "Please come in."

The cause of the ruckus turned out to be an upturned chessboard in the middle of the worktable, pieces scattered across the carpet and the red queen sitting in the basket on the hearth. "It's a lovely evening to spend cheating," Frisk snapped.

"I don't..." Sans could barely breathe. "I dunno what yer talkin' about, everyone knows...chess pieces like ta pawn themselves off as somethin' else!"

Frisk gave another snrrrk before she could stop herself. "Well, I hope chess pieces like fire, because that's what they'll get the next time I catch you swapping your queen around when I'm finally about to win!" She stabbed a finger at the chessboard. "Now clean up this mess!"

"Why me? Yer the one who threw a fit n'—"

"Children, please." They stopped guiltily as the royal sorcerer picked his way across the floor and seated himself at the worktable. Sans raised a hand, and the chessboard flipped right side up, all the pieces collecting themselves from around the room and landing neatly on their own squares. "I apologize for my absence this morning," said Dr. Serif. "With the Feast imminent, I've had to rush to finish several projects." He pulled two small boxes from his robe, handing one to Frisk and tossing the other to Sans. "Here is another emergency use of Sans' teleportation magic, my lady. I took the liberty of setting it in a piece that will be aesthetically fitting."

Frisk peeked in the box. "Goodness," she said, surprised. "This is beautiful! Thank you, Dr. Serif."

"When are you gonna stop passin' my stuff out like candy?" growled the boss monster.

"You're welcome, Your Eminence," the doctor said over him. "I apologize, but I would like to speak to Sans privately. Would you kindly deprive us of your presence for about ten minutes?"

"Certainly." Frisk took the box and headed to her dressing room. "I may as well lay out my things for tomorrow. Thank you again, Doctor."

The royal sorcerer nodded graciously. The moment her door closed, he plucked at his neck, human facade dissolving into bone. Before Sans could speak, Gaster said crisply, "I have very specific instructions for you. Bring your device into the bathroom. Lock the door. Turn your back to the mirror. Put the device around your neck. Look down at yourself and do not make any noise or otherwise overreact to what you see. Do not touch any part of your body except to remove the device. Do not leave the bathroom until you have removed the device. If any of these things are not possible, skip the remaining steps and remove the device. Do you have any questions?"

Sans opened his box and scowled at the short, neatly coiled chain therein. "Why's it smaller than yours?"

"I meant any good questions. If not, then do as I say."

The boss monster stared at Gaster. Gaster stared back. With an almighty sigh, Sans got up and went into the bathroom, shutting the door and clicking the locks into place.

Gaster glanced at the dressing room. He turned around, selected a few letters from the basket, and began unfolding and reading them, tugging on the chain to resume his human guise.

The air in the High Priestess' workroom was cool and still, smelling of sharp herbs and citrus; the only sound was Frisk humming to herself through the door. The royal sorcerer picked up the next letter, papers rustling gently.

He did not move, except to close his eyes and sigh, when the peace was shattered by a roar of "Whathefuckisthi" that, to Sans' credit, lasted only a moment before he stopped himself.

"It's all right," the royal sorcerer assured Frisk as she flew out of the dressing room. "Please, High Priestess, calm yourself. I've prepared something for Sans to use tomorrow, and he has done exactly as I said not to do with it. He's a little alarmed, but otherwise fine."

Frisk nodded apprehensively, and obeyed his motion to go back to her dressing room, with many worried looks at the bathroom.

Sans emerged two minutes later, sockets wide and pinpricks showing. "What the—"

"Not only did I warn you, boy, I told you specifically how to avoid what just happened! You've alarmed Frisk and done my ears permanent damage, for which I do not thank you. If I were to give you further instructions for tomorrow, would you pay them any better attention? Or would you prefer to put her life in even greater danger than it already is?"

Needless to say, when Frisk came out, Sans was listening intently as Dr. Serif spoke in low, rapid, urgent tones. The priestess approached, cocking her head, and the doctor nodded to her. "That is what we will likely have to do," he said to Sans, loud enough for her to hear. "I will speak with the captain of the guard and His Holiness to ensure we will not surprise each other. What time will you be at the chapel tomorrow morning, my lady?"

"The service starts at eight o'clock, and I plan to be there half an hour early." Frisk sighed. "I'll probably be awake by five, so if you need anything, I'll be here until about five-thirty."

The doctor folded his hands. "Oh? Why so early?"

Frisk smiled self-consciously. "I agreed to have tea with Lord Owen before the celebration. He asked several months ago, and I haven't seen him since, so..."

"Owen," said Sans. He was scowling mightily, tapping his phalanges on the tabletop. "Wasn't that yer friend's name?"

"Yes, actually. Luke is Mathilda's older brother—I met him when their family visited St. Brigid's." Frisk couldn't keep from glancing at the hearthside basket, and noticed one of the open letters on the table. She gave Dr. Serif a pointed look, picked up the papers, and tossed them back into the basket. "Don't worry, Sans, you can sleep in. I'll be back here by seven o'clock," she said.

He quirked an eye socket at her. "Very funny, kiddo. You're not goin' anywhere tomorrow without me."

"Indeed, my lady," said the doctor. "It's purely a visit between old friends. You have plenty of time to make up your mind whether to arrange a more serious meeting in the future, and in the meantime, safety is more important than etiquette." He abruptly stood and gave them a short bow. "Forgive me for visiting so late. I'll leave you both to your sleep. Remember what we discussed, Sans, and get plenty of rest, my lady. Good night." And before either of them could say anything else, he was gone.

Frisk didn't get plenty of rest, as it turned out. She had finally dismantled her pillow fort that morning, but after their "slumber parties," as Sans termed it, she found the office colder and darker than usual. It was hard to relax without her gigantic apprentice between her and the door; somehow, she even missed him pestering her with "What'd th' mama cow tell her calf at night? 'It's pasture bedtime'" or "If I can't sleep, I hafta eat somethin'. It's a condition called insom-nom-nom-nia" when she was trying to fall asleep. Maybe she shouldn't have insisted on coming back here instead of taking the bed and letting him stretch out in the workroom like he'd wanted. That way, even if they couldn't talk, he'd still be right outside the door.

Did Luke like puns? She couldn't remember. She would probably feel safe with him, though; the last time he'd visited, she had already been surprised at how tall and muscular he'd grown. If that wasn't enough for her peace of mind, they could afford all the guards she wanted, and everything else would be perfect. True, Sans was good company, but he wasn't exactly life-partner material...it wasn't as if he even had a—

Frisk banged her head against the arm of the couch. She had gone so long without thinking that thought right out loud! She'd been doing such a good job! Why now?

...But, if he could use magic to give himself a tongue, why not any other form of soft tissue? And another thing: without lips, did skeletons kiss by bonking their teeth together, or—

No! Stop it! Stop it right now! she screamed at herself. Think about having to sing tomorrow! Being murdered! Literally anything else!

.........How did skeletons combine their magic to reproduce, anyway? Sans had made it sound like an internal process requiring a male and a female, the same as humans, but without the usual mushy male or female parts, how—

NO! It's just magic! Go to sleep, you pathetic, sick-minded degenerate!

Thus, many layers of frustration stood between her and her rest, which came only a few hours before the cuckoo clock she'd barely remembered to set woke her at five a.m. Frisk bleared her way across the workroom, whacking her arm on a corner of the table in passing, and had to stand around squinting for an eternity before her eyes adjusted to the dressing room's soft light.

It was too early for her ceremonial dress, so the priestess changed into a modest dove-gray gown and picked out a pearl-drop pendant, a little pearl bracelet, and matching earrings. The first two went on easily enough, but after poking her earlobes in groggy frustration for a few minutes, she gave up, carried them out to the workroom, and knocked on the bedroom door. "Rise and shine," she croaked, and continued to the bathroom for some water, not bothering to close the door behind her.

To Frisk's surprise, Sans came out in less than a minute. The young woman glanced up from the vanity, head still bent and earring in hand. "Good morning. I'll be ready in a moment." She concentrated fiercely on her reflection, leaning in for another round of futile jabbing. Her hand was shaky with exhaustion, and she had a feeling that it just wasn't going to happen. But she already had one in! What was she going to—

Bones clicked as the skeleton sat on the floor beside her. "Geez. Gimme that," he said, sounding...exasperated, but something else, too. Frisk was too startled to think about it, or to protest as he took the earring from her with a speck of magic and used two fingers to tip her head up and sideways, gentle as always. He never touched her with any more force than necessary, she thought, at least after that first encounter in his prison cell; even when the assassin was after her and Sans was physically maneuvering her to safety, he had been careful not to hurt her. It was incredibly endearing.

Actually, given her principal source of frustration from thinking of skeleton parts and looking forward to conjugal relations, it was better – worse? – than that. Frisk twitched as the earring slid in and the tiny back-piece wriggled into place, and Sans looked concerned. "Don' tell me that hurt."

"No, it didn't, thank you," she said quickly, reaching up to check. It was perfect, secure but not too tight. If she could just stop blushing... "Um. Thank you." She jammed her hands into her hair and began untangling it as fast as she could. "One minute, I just have to get this sorted out."

Sans watched the proceedings, and her occasional facial contortions, as if she was an exotic animal performing some strange function unknown to science. "What's wrong? I thought hair didn't have any feelin' in it."

"It's attached to my scalp, and the human scalp ow is extremely sensitive. The problem is that I haven't brushed it properly in a couple of days." The priestess grabbed a comb from the vanity drawer, opened a jar, dunked the comb in it, and began pulling through the bigger tangles. "This nngh will help. I should've washed it last night, but I had too many letters to send out." Something in Sans' expression made her add, "I haven't even touched any of the proposals."

He stayed silent as she finished with the comb, patted her now-flatter hair, and dug through another drawer for makeup. A touch of eyeshadow, a dab of lip gloss, one more jar of goop for the bags under her eyes, and she was done. Frisk put everything away, washed her hands, and stood up, moving around the giant bones in her way. "Shoes," she muttered, mostly to remind herself.

Sans didn't get up till she re-emerged and said, "All right, I'm ready. Could you take us to the terrace, please? Lord Owen doesn't live far from there."

"Yeah, sure." He looked her over critically. "You forget yer veil thing."

Frisk hadn't expected any compliments, as such, and she wasn't very dressed up, but was tired enough to still be annoyed. "I don't need it today. Don't ask why, because all I know is that we do things differently on holy days." She held out her hand. "Terrace, please."

He grunted. Frisk braced herself, and when the now-usual swooshing sensation came to an abrupt stop, she was pleased to find she was only a little dizzy. They were in the hallway outside the terrace that they'd visited after dinner; the priestess led him further down past the kitchens, heading into the nobles' wing of the palace. "I haven't been up here in a while," she said over her shoulder. "I may have to ask for directions when we get closer."

"Goody," mumbled Sans.

Frisk sighed. "Let's be very clear, Sans. I don't expect you to fawn all over Lord Owen. In fact, if you're too cranky to be civil, please don't talk to him any more than necessary. I didn't want to drag you here in the first place, and I don't want to spend the whole visit worrying about your behavior. All right?"

"...A'right."

She'd have to be satisfied with that. Luckily, at least one problem was solved for her: as they ascended another staircase and came to a branching hallway, Frisk stopped for a moment to try to remember which way to go, only to be approached by a maid who curtseyed and asked, "Your Eminence? My lord bids you good morning. Please come this way."

They followed her to a suite of rooms as big as a couple of houses put together, decorated in white and gold and general wealth, until they reached the parlor. The maid shut the door behind them as a handsome young man rose from a couch ahd held his hands out to Frisk. "My lady?" Lord Owen smiled at Frisk, who found it easy to smile back. "How wonderful to see you again!" He pressed his lips to her fingers, then clasped her hand. "I hope you have been well, Frisk. You're even lovelier than I remembered! I didn't think it possible."

Frisk laughed. "Thank you, Luke. It's been far too long." She turned to see Sans watching them intently, and reclaimed her hand to indicate the skeleton. "Forgive my rudeness, my lord, but I've brought a guest. This is my apprentice, Sans. Sans, please meet Lord Owen."

Sans bobbed his head. "Lord Owen."

When Sans made no move to hold out his hand, the lord bowed to him. "The pleasure is mine, sir. It's an honor to make your acquaintance. Please, have a seat." He hurried to push the couch closer to a little table laden with pastries and tea things, fetching a smaller chair for himself.

The priestess allowed the lord to bow her into another chair by the table, and reflected that her memory had been accurate; Luke was over six feet tall, with fair hair and blue eyes that reminded her of Mathilda. He waited till they were both settled, then pulled up his chair and began pouring tea, bringing an extra cup out from somewhere. "How do you take yours, sir?" he asked Sans.

"I don't know," the skeleton said. "Never had any."

As Frisk had hoped, the young lord was too well-bred to laugh or say anything stupid. "Well, then, may I interest you in trying some? This is a very mild variety of milk tea. It goes well with soul cakes—they're delicious, but quite dry on their own."

"They're named for the day, not a monster or human SOUL. It's mostly cinnamon," Frisk said, knowing he'd take the hint to get out his tongue, and trying in vain to avoid more tongue-related thoughts.

Sans lifted one shoulder. "Sure, I like cinnamon okay." He glanced at Frisk, who gave him a quick smile of approval and willed herself not to look in his mouth.

With the tea and cakes distributed, the lord sat back, steepling his fingers. "If anything, Frisk, I am glad you've brought your emissary with you. You've heard that a sizeable tract of farmland near Mt. Ebott will be available in the near future?"

Sans looked up from examining his teacup. Frisk hadn't expected this, and set her own cup down. "I have. Why do you ask, Luke?"

"Because I am the executor of my late uncle's estate, and the land in question was his. It's my responsibility to oversee the proper disposition of one thousand hectacres, and they're located less than a mile from the no-man's-land between our kingdom and the Underground. The fields haven't been tilled for several years, as my uncle neglected it before his death, so it will require some care. However, under proper management, it will be extremely productive in very little time."

"There ain't many big farms near us. Is it the place by the river with all the maple trees?" Sans asked.

"I believe so," the lord replied. "I went there a few times as a boy, and there were several maples on the river. I doubt there are two farms near the Underground matching that description."

"One thousand hectacres," Frisk mused. "That's a little under two thousand and five hundred acres?"

"Two thousand, four hundred seventy, yes."

Frisk shut her eyes. "I've been looking into the matter, and I know for a fact that good cropland goes for an average of four thousand dinar per acre. Rounding up, that means that the asking price of that tract is...roughly ten million?"

Sans nearly spilled his cup, rescuing its contents with his magic a split-second away from the carpet. Lord Owen watched in fascination as the tea arched into the air and splashed neatly back into the cup. "Yes, my lady, that's correct," he said. "We'll probably sell it at that exact price. The soil is excellent, but most people find the location too remote."

The skeleton grimaced. "It'd be great if we could get ahold of it, even with the stuff I'm learnin' about how to improve the land we already got. But there's no way we could afford that, assumin' you'd even sell it t'us."

"No, it's a bad idea for monsters to try to purchase anything from humans at this point, especially for that much money," said Frisk. "We need to make much more social and legal progress before we can be sure that your rights would be respected." She tried a sip of tea. "That's why I will buy it."

"I suspected as much," the lord said as Sans' sockets widened. "I cannot promise anything, of course, but I will send you the name of the broker we've been using, and details on how to contact her discreetly."

"Thank you very much, Luke." Frisk smiled at him.

"Of course, my lady. ...Are you all right, Sans?"

"He's fine. We'll discuss it later," the priestess said meaningfully.

"Splendid. Now, to better things." Lord Owen picked up a small bell on the side table and rang it. When the maid appeared, the lord instructed her, "Fetch Ruby for us."

"Ruby?" Frisk couldn't help sitting up to peer into the next room as the maid rushed off. "Is she the one you brought along on Easter vacation?"

"She is indeed." The lord grinned. "Hold out your hand, please, Frisk."

Frisk smiled, and raised her hand, turning it sideways.

"If I may—" Lord Owen took her wrist and angled her hand upward. "Well done, my lady. It'll just be a moment longer. And if I also may—" He felt her bracelet for the latch and undid it, placing it on the table. "I don't want this to be destroyed. You know how she is," he added, and Frisk nodded ruefully.

Sans was looking extremely grumpy by the time the maid came back. The lord started to speak, and there was a loud rustle and ducking of heads as something large flapped across the room. "Hello, Ruby," the priestess said gaily to the parrot clinging to her wrist. "Do you remember me?"

It was a beautiful bird with a red crown and glossy green body. The parrot squawked amiably at the priestess, then bent down for a head scratch, closing its eyes as she obliged.

"She remembers everything," Lord Owen declared. "Do you still know 'Rose of May'? If you sing the chorus, she'll follow along. It's her favorite."

"Of course!" Frisk stopped scratching, licked her lips – unaware of keen attention from both man and monster – and began whistling a melody that made the bird's head snap up. Instantly, the parrot started singing along in a strange, creaky bird-voice that made Frisk laugh, and thus stop whistling, at which the bird bobbed its head irritably. "I'm sorry! Here," and the priestess mastered herself enough to restart the song.

Lord Owen watched her, and Sans watched him a little, but mostly watched Frisk, who whistled at the parrot until she was out of breath. "The Owens breed red-crowns as a hobby," she said to Sans, placating Ruby with more head skritches. "It helps to keep people from going out to catch wild ones to sell as pets. Mathilda could talk about them for days on end."

"Yeah, seems kinda cruel to keep 'em caged up," commented Sans.

"Indeed it is," the lord said warmly. "We've converted three bedrooms into an arbor, and we keep two full-time servants solely to look after it. The birds are very attached to them." He chuckled. "We're more like aunts and uncles. Our visits are tolerated, but only if we bring treats."

"Oh." The skeleton poked at a soul cake, which looked even tinier in his massive grip. "Doesn't leave your family a lotta room, does it? This place is pretty big, but..."

Frisk burst out laughing as the parrot swung under her hand and dangled by one foot, calling "Oh nooo" in a tragic voice. Thus encouraged, the bird flapped its way upright, looked Frisk in the eye, and immediately swung down again: "Oh noooo!"

"That's very kind of you, sir," Lord Owen said, sounding a little amused, "but we only stay here when we have business in the palace, or for holy days. My parents are at our winter villa with three of my siblings—I'm the oldest of five, and my baby sister just turned six. They all say hello, Frisk, but my father recently allowed some sick travelers to stay the night, and now the whole family's caught it. There's no real danger, but I can't come home yet."

"I'll bet your mother was thrilled," Frisk remarked. "If anyone was ever generous to a fault..."

"Yes, that's Father," the lord admitted.

Sans tossed back his cup of tea and threw a cake in to join it. Frisk noticed him about to speak with his mouth full and asked loudly, "May I use your powder room? Ruby would probably like to go back as well."

The bell was rung again, the parrot was lured back to the maid with a walnut, and Frisk found herself escorted to an opulent little bathroom. Seized with morbid curiosity as to how the two males would fare when left alone, she took her time, though there wasn't much to fuss about with her appearance; she was just happy to be free of the veil for one day.

When Frisk returned to the sitting room, she half expected to see things broken and/or on fire. Perhaps more surprising was the sight of Sans in deep conversation with the lord, the former leaning down far enough on his elbow to talk to the latter on a nearly equal level. "D'you mind?" the skeleton asked Lord Owen, nodding at Frisk.

"Yes, you'd better," the young man said, and sighed. He rose to take Frisk's hand again. "Your guard has informed me that it's time for you to prepare for the All Souls celebration. Please take this with you." On cue, the maid materialized from behind the chair with a huge basket of cakes. "Thank you for coming this morning, dear lady. May I see you again soon?"

"As my schedule allows," she said politely, accepting the basket. "Thank you very much for having us."

"Yep. Nice to meet ya, bye." Sans took Frisk's free hand, and as she started to warn him not to go anywhere yet, the world swooshed by and she was standing outside her rooms.

"Do we have to make a new rule about this?" she asked tartly. "If my life is not in imminent danger, no teleporting until I say so!"

"Yeah, about that." Sans waved the guard aside and banged the doors open and shut. "D'you know a guy named Fernand?" He took the basket from her, set it on the table, and popped a few more cakes in his mouth.

Frisk had to stop for a moment and redirect her train of thought. "Yes, I do. He's an archdeacon, and my oldest half-brother. Why on earth are you asking?"

Sans slapped his leg in triumph, sending crumbs flying. "Ha! He didn't know that. Here, it's after seven already. Go get yer stuff on, but keep the door open so I can tell ya what's goin' on."

This was not the most polite suggestion she'd ever heard, but time was indeed wearing on, and curiosity was already outweighing her sense of dread, so she listened through the cracked door as she undressed.

It seemed that, the moment she left the room, Lord Owen had asked Sans if Her Eminence was all right after the recent attempt on her life. Knowing extremely well that no one should know it had even happened, Sans had played dumb and asked where he'd heard about it.

The lord had had a good explanation: he'd visited his friend Fernand a few days ago and found him completely distraught that someone had attacked the High Priestess in the night; Fernand was apparently concerned that it was a plot against Church officials and he could also be targeted. Lord Owen found it very strange that no one else was talking about any assassination attempts, and when nothing seemed to come of it, he chalked it up to his friend's general strangeness and tendency to get drunk at odd hours; he was ready to dismiss the matter entirely before he thought to check with Sans, who he correctly assumed to be Frisk's bodyguard.

"So he said he was gonna run and let the captain of the guard know, real discreet-like, an' wished you good luck," the boss monster finished. He paused, and in a different tone, added, "I don't like it, Frisk. If he's lyin' about any of this, I'll rip his eyes out and feed 'em to 'is damn birds."

"Sans," she said patiently, "I'm sure he knows that. Putting aside any personal feelings or influences, there is literally no good reason for Luke to hurt me. His sister cannot become eligible to be High Priestess until spring at the soonest, and everyone already knows I'm getting ready to retire—see the extra letters piling up? Until I announce either my new position or a betrothal, I'll be more useful alive than dead."

Silence, then an extra-loud grunt. "Why doncha just burn 'em? Ya don't have time to read all that crap. We've got way too much stuff t'get through. I think I'm onto somethin' with mixing that alfalfa meal up for better fertilizer, 'n if I can finish analyzing the composition of different kinds'a glycerin 'n distill it a little more efficiently, we could really—"

"Sans."

"...Well, 'm not gonna sort 'em for ya."

Frisk finished tugging on her gown, tried to pluck it looser in the bust, and, with some effort, heaved a sigh. "Fine. Get back, please."

Sans moved away from the door and she stepped out, scratching her collarbone. She had always hated this outfit, which had flagrantly been designed by a man: it covered most of her skin, but not only was it somehow tighter than her everyday High Priestess garb, it was dark violet in color, with a black sash around the waist and a black neckband, almost a choker. Dr. Serif had given her a new brooch to pin to the neckband, this one opalescent and rimmed in silver—a much-needed touch of class, in her opinion. At least her usual black dress muted her curves somewhat; this one looked more like body paint, though it certainly didn't feel like it!

Sans had picked up a small leather bag and was looking at the clock. "Ya wanted to be there at seven-thirty, right? If we leave now, we should—" He glanced at her, did a double take, and made a sound like "Gggk."

The priestess flushed. "I know, all right? I don't have a choice." She went to the worktable and picked up her circlet, then shuffled to the bathroom and, rather than bend herself enough to sit at the vanity, leaned over the mirror to check her makeup. A little eyeliner, a tiny bit more color on her lips, and another comb-through to straighten her hair, and that should do it, she thought wearily, putting the circlet on. It felt so strange without the veil that she could hardly enjoy leaving it off.

Frisk turned back to Sans, who was looking very directly at her, eyes blank. She wanted to punch him again. "Would you stop that? I know it's ridiculous! It's bad enough that I have to wear this the whole day, but then they expect me to sing when I can barely even breathe!" She strained against the dress to sigh again, and Sans' eye twitched. "Now, please, let's go."

The skeleton started violently. "Wait a sec. That's what yer goin' t'church in? You're gonna leave the room like that? On purpose?! Why'd ya even put clothes on if it looks like—"

"Saaaans," she snarled, and he clamped his mouth shut. Frisk grabbed his hand and ordered, "Chapel, now," and he meekly obeyed.

Sans had lived through a lot of crap, including a bone-shredding magical catastrophe, multiple fights for his life and those of others, and enough emotional turmoil to kill most people, human or monster. But somehow, he couldn't think of anything worse than having tea-time with that smug, perfect piece of shit with his smug, perfect hair and perfect courtesy and perfect lots of money and modesty and kindness and nice family she liked who also liked her and cutesy pets that made Frisk laugh and he kept touching her for no damn reason.

Worse, that perfect shithead had to go and make himself useful, too, offering that land by the river—and what the hell was Frisk doing, thinking of buying it for the monsters? Was she on a quest to make every other human in existence look bad, or was she just being her?

Anyway, the guy not only was giving them a leg up on that, he had what Sans grudgingly knew was a genuine lead on whoever had tried to have her killed. With a named suspect and evidence of a plot against her, the palace guard would have the right to search everyone entering the chapel, and they'd have a ring of guardsmen between the altar and the congregation. That would free Sans to enact Gaster's plan without having to keep too close an eye on her, which was probably for the best, given how amazing she looked in that stupid painted-on dress. Seriously, why was she even bothering to wear clothes?

Oh, fuck. Speaking of which, he'd been so distracted that he'd forgotten to tell her what they were planning. Welp, hopefully, it wouldn't come up.

He'd brought her to a small hallway off the main one leading into the chapel, sent her straight to the guardsmen standing ready to meet her, and ducked back into the hall to put on his new silver chain. After ten minutes, he casually fell in behind a party of churchgoers headed to the service, submitted to a search, and allowed someone to direct him to a seat near the middle-front of the chapel.

The place was filling up fast. The boss monster took a hymnal and leafed through it to avoid having to talk to anyone, feeling exceptionally strange as he listened to the people around him chatter. It seemed most of them were planning to visit family graves or altars for the dead, and there would be a festival set up in the castle town's square. At least one small child was already whining about having to sit through church before he got to eat, met with the usual threats of not getting any more food for the rest of his life if he didn't behave.

The only item of real interest was when people noted the increased security, and how the last High Priestess had been shot with a crossbow at this very service. General opinion seemed to hold that the current High Priestess was much kinder and more sensible than her predecessor; it was a pity she'd be leaving soon, though they wished her well in her future marriage. One woman admired how Her Eminence had tamed that horrible skeleton monster, but wondered about the propriety of a pretty young woman keeping a male of any kind in her living quarters, and her husband murmured that it didn't count if the monster wasn't capable of male-specific activities. His wife shushed him, but in a laughing way, and Sans looked around in vain for something he'd be allowed to kill.

There was nothing of the sort until the service started. Murmurs of admiration – and more – arose as Frisk appeared and began reading the opening prayer; the husband behind him was so enthusiastic that his wife thumped him on the arm to shut him up, and Sans caught a few other remarks that did not improve his mood whatsoever.

It was hard not to return to his previous line of thinking that he should get her to the Underground, keep her with him and Papyrus as a new pet human, and call it a "diplomatic mission" or some similar crap. She might object at first, but after all this responsibility and the loneliness of being High Priestess, maybe she'd come to see it as a sort of vacation. How could she object to snowball fights and pillow wars and all the puns she wanted? No more worrying about plots against her, no more having to be ogled by every amorous dipshit in the kingdom, no marrying anyone...

The organist was playing the introduction to the first hymn, and Frisk was stepping up to begin singing. To Sans' absolute rage, that was when the back of his neck suddenly started itching. Gaster had warned him that his new device would react to a certain threshold of magic being used nearby, and this was a lot of magic, very close by.

The boss monster turned and zeroed in on a skinny woman sitting a couple of rows back, holding onto her diamond bracelet and frowning intently at the altar. Sans didn't stop to think: he took a very short shortcut, said "'Scuse me" to the startled people whose legs he was suddenly squishing, grabbed the woman's wrist, and teleported them both away.

Before the woman could react, they were in the King's favorite meeting room, where several armed guards were waiting. "Caught her 'bout to use this," the boss monster said tersely, holding up the bracelet.

Dr. Serif raised his head from his book as the guards took charge of the woman. Sans concentrated on the bracelet for a second and ground his teeth. "You bitch! Where'd you get Snowdrake's magic?" He nearly threw it at the royal sorcerer. "That poor bastard went missing over three months ago!"

"Find the owner of a monster called Snowdrake and bring them here immediately," the doctor instructed a guard. He turned the bracelet over in his long, thin hands. "This was designed to freeze a person from the inside. Ingenius, in a completely amoral and reprehensible way. Well done, sir. Please return to your work."

Sans didn't let himself think. He appeared at the back of the chapel, and to his horror, two more people were already preparing to use magic. He short-cut over to a man sitting near the choir, deposited him in the meeting room, and zipped back to another guy standing by the chapel entrance. He didn't stop to catch his breath, but dropped him off and came right back to check for more.

Nothing. He sank to his haunches against the chapel's backmost corner, head between his knees as a dull pounding filled his ears. He was distantly aware of people applauding around him—he'd missed Frisk's song, damn them to friggin' hell. At least it had distracted people in the midst of random churchgoers vanishing. He had to stay that way for several minutes, but was able to stand up by the start of the next song...performed by some other woman. Dammit.

But as he tolerated the hymn, he felt something else. It started as a tingle on the back of his neck, and he scratched it, cringing at the utter weirdness of the sensation; it got worse, not better, building rapidly to a crescendo of power so strong that he couldn't tell where in the chapel it was coming from. It didn't feel like it was targeting the altar; the attack was being aimed behind it, where the clergy had a series of storage and waiting rooms.

Frisk wasn't on the altar. That meant she was—

Sans had never moved so fast. He thought of her and cut straight to the back room where she was standing. As her eyes widened and her mouth opened, he took her hand: quick as thought, they were now outside her rooms. "Run!" Sans barked at the guard.

The guard promptly dropped his weapon and sprinted down the hall to the stairs. With him out of the way, Sans turned to ask Frisk if she was all right, only to have her twist out of his grip and smack him hard enough to crash him into the wall. "Who the hell are you?" the priestess demanded. She backed away, looking around wildly. "Sans! Sans!"

"Frisk! It's me, you fu—friggin' psycho!" The skeleton yanked the silver chain off and blinked hard, trying to adjust to the sudden height difference. "See? Ta-da! ...Damn, my head!"

"Sans?" Frisk came forward a few steps. "Sans...what...?"

"Sorry, forgot t'tell ya," he mumbled, staying against the wall. "Hol' on a sec, I had ta get around a bunch'a times in a row. 'm worn out."

"Forgot to tell me what, exactly? What just happened? Who was that?"

"That was me, dum-dum. Look." The boss monster slipped the necklace back on, and Frisk yelped as a tall, slim, nearly white-haired human reappeared. The man blinked his dark eyes a few times, then squeezed them shut. "This is so damn weird, you have no friggin' idea," he said in Sans' voice. "Everythin's closer, it feels like the air is attackin' me—and how the hell d'you handle bein' able ta smell things? He said he reduced how much I'd process outside stimuli compared t'the average human, but this is nuts! That actually hurt!" He made a show of rubbing his cheek, then flinched. "Augh, that makes it worse! Can I take this crap off now?!"

"Is..." The priestess still had to look up at him, though it was now only a foot or so. "Did Dr. Serif make this?" Her face cleared. "Ohh, that was what he gave you last night, so you could disguise yourself for the service." She pursed her lips at him. "Yes, you absolutely should have told me about this before you scared me to—"

Boom went something outside, not very far off.

They stood, stunned, for the count of three. Frisk went to one of the windows lining the hall and peered out. "Fireworks? It's too early," she said, watching the colored lights fade in midair. "And why is there so much magic in it?"

"They're not real, that's why." Sans looked at his fleshy hands, touching his fingertips together one by one as he thought out loud. "That's the power someone was buildin' up t'use on you. Guess whoever it was couldn't find ya in time and didn't want to cause a big scene for nothin'. They had to get rid of all that magic, so they got outside and made it look like someone set off fireworks." He stuck his hands in the pockets of his black overcoat. "Pretty smart, whoever they are," he admitted. "That was fast thinkin'."

Frisk was standing a little too still, headdress clinking on the glass as she rested her forehead against it. "If they didn't want to kill anyone else, then all that magic would've been focused on me," she told her reflection. He saw her fists clench; the headdress rattled faintly on the window. "I probably wouldn't even have felt anything. It'd look like I just disappeared."

Sans could have killed himself. He'd done it again, talking about how she could have died as though it was no big deal. "Frisk, I—'m sorry, I didn't mean—"

She turned around with an expression he didn't recognize. "Hold still for a moment," she whispered, and before he could react, the young woman came to him and wrapped her arms around him, burying her face in his chest.

Nothing had prepared him for this. The human-shaped monster froze in place with his arms half raised, feeling her full length pressed against him, her heart pounding and his SOUL fluttering up to meet it. Just existing had already been a sensory overload, and his first cogent thought was that his first real hug was going to be his last.

The second was that she was the softest thing he'd ever touched. The third was how warm she felt, the fourth that she smelled like...of course he didn't know what that scent was, but it was her, so it was the best thing he'd ever smelled.

Frisk was trembling. All he could see was the top of her head, the circlet nearly poking him in the eye. Sans tried to move it aside and had to catch it with a bit of magic as it started to slip off, wafting it over to rest on the windowsill.

She shook her head and burrowed in harder, almost knocking him off balance. Sans reflexively steadied her with one arm, only to encounter the silky material of whatever the dress was, and her body heat coming through it. An answering wave of heat swept through him; he tried to remove his hand, to tell her that that was enough, but it was like his SOUL was stuck in place, refusing to let him move away.

He was dealing with exactly as many feelings as he could handle when she sighed and made a small sound, and yet another damn thing started happening. He didn't understand it any more than the other things this human body was doing, but while it was the most physically pleasant sensation he'd ever experienced, it felt way too personal, probably because of the area in which it was centered. Sans hoped devoutly that it'd go away on its own, and had a strong suspicion that it wouldn't: most of his nerve endings seemed to be clustered down there, and they weren't going to stop doing their job as long as Frisk was plastered against him.

...Okay, now it was getting painful, and he did recognize his rising – ha – urge to grab her as hard as he could. Even in this smaller, fleshier body, she was so tiny that he could very well squish her to death.

The need to spare her from any lasting damage was what gave Sans the willpower to finally get his hands on her also-very-soft shoulders and push just hard enough to move her away. "Sorry, too much," he mumbled, face averted. He shuffled back and reached up to slip off the chain, becoming his normal size and insensitivity. "We probably better getcha back to church 'fore anyone thinks ya got blown up for real. It should be safe now that they used their biggest whatever-it-was," he added.

"Yes, you're right." Frisk picked up her circlet and settled it in place, looking almost as flustered as he felt. "I'm...I'm so sorry about that, I just needed a moment to—"

"S'okay," he said hurriedly. "I didn't really—ya just surprised me, an' I'm not used to bein' able t'feel everythin' all the time. It was just a lot to take in." Sans rubbed at his sternum. His parts might be gone, but his SOUL was still acting up. "Don' worry about it."

Frisk somehow got even redder. "If you say so." She scratched her shoulder, making a scratchy sound on the thin material. "Let's go to the same place we started from last time, please, not behind the altar. We'll say that I felt sick and then we were outside watching the fireworks."

"Sounds like a plan." Sans held out his giant-again hand. "Off we go, boss."

She smiled. "Off we go."

#songfell no idea how long this thing will end up

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rosethornewrites · 4 years

Text

fic: remember the moments when we were together

Relationships: Lán Yuàn | Lán Sīzhuī & Wèi Yīng | Wèi Wúxiàn, Lán Zhàn | Lán Wàngjī/Wèi Yīng | Wèi Wúxiàn

Characters: Lán Yuàn | Lán Sīzhuī, Wèi Yīng | Wèi Wúxiàn, Lán Zhàn | Lán Wàngjī

Additional Tags: Grief/Mourning, Memories, Depression, Implied/Referenced Suicide, wwx needs a hug, Regret, Self-Esteem Issues, Loneliness, Crying, Hugs, Truth, Post-Canon, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Father-Son Relationship, Angst and Hurt/Comfort

AO3 link

Part of the try to praise the mutilated world series

Spectre | leaves eddied over the earth’s scars

Notes: The title is again from the poem "Try to Praise the Mutilated World." I wanted to explore how this would impact SiZhui, who is only just starting to reconnect with his first adopted dad.

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SiZhui feels awkward, standing with trays of food under the magnolia tree behind the jingshi. His father had asked him—almost begged, actually—to have lunch with Senior Wei today. The man wasn’t eating or sleeping well.

‘Grief,’ is all Hanguang-Jun said in explanation.

SiZhui understands grief. He watched his father grieve for 16 years and was blessed to see it end. He himself grieved that same length of time for memories lost to fever and trauma.

It turned out they had been grieving the same person, mostly. Like father, like son.

But now, as he watches Senior Wei sedately pet a rabbit on the porch of the jingshi, his normally sharp eyes distant and red-rimmed, his face pale… SiZhui remembers he’d seen this grief at the Burial Mounds so long ago, as the man had given up his entire world to protect him and the other Wen remnants.

He’s so distracted as to not notice SiZhui’s presence, not even when he calls out.

“Senior Wei?”

SiZhui knows he’s been sitting there, unmoving, for probably the entire morning since Hanguang-Jun left to finish preparations for their journey to Yunmeng. Magnolia petals lay against his robes, contrasting starkly with the black fabric. Enough to account for hours.

He moves closer, repeating the greeting, to no avail.

Surprising Senior Wei is never an excellent idea, would likely result in lunch being all over them. The man has spent too much time despised and fighting to survive, to fail to react if his attention isn’t drawn before SiZhui approaches. Enough of the juniors (including Jin Ling) have learned this by experience. And though the man only moves to defend, never to harm, SiZhui intends for this meal to wind up in their bellies.

“Xian-gege?” he tries, but again meets no response.

SiZhui sighs, not sure how to handle this. He went to Caiyi town for the food, ordering Senior Wei’s favorites, and though the talisman he’s attached will keep it warm, he knows it will taste better fresh. He’s even brewed his favorite spiced tea, the one with cardamom, fennel, ginger, cinnamon, and anise—what most in Gusu and especially Cloud Recesses consider far too piquant. SiZhui himself enjoys it with a little milk.

He takes one step closer, and notices something he didn’t before—Senior Wei has tear tracks on his face.

For a moment he’s seven years old again, peeking from the door of his room in the jingshi late at night, listening to his father play what he would later learn was Inquiry, watching him cry silently.

“A-Die!” wrenches from him before SiZhui can get ahold of himself.

He’s not sure whether the words or the tone do the trick, but Senior Wei jerks and turns to him with wide eyes.

“A-Yuan?”

After a moment, he attempts a smile, but it’s a ghost of what SiZhui knows his smile to be, a mask like the one he wore all those months upon his return, something he hides behind.

SiZhui places his trays on the porch, abandoning them in favor of wrapping his arms securely around the man who started his upbringing.

“I thought I’d have to call you a-Niang to get your attention,” he jokes.

The Yiling marketplace story represents the one time his fathers were together with him as a child, and he hopes to startle a laugh from Senior Wei.

He is disappointed. The smile becomes a shade less forced, but only briefly.

“Sorry, a-Yuan. How long were you calling for me?”

SiZhui reaches up to dab at his cheeks with a sleeve. He wants so badly to address Senior Wei’s behavior, but he doubts he’ll get him to eat if he does.

“Only a couple minutes. I came to eat lunch with you. I even went to Caiyi town for your favorites and brewed your favorite tea.”

He’s unspeakably relieved when he gets a genuine smile from that, even if that smile is still tinged with sorrow.

“Ah, my handsome son is spoiling me so,” Senior Wei teases.

SiZhui laughs and repositions the trays. He pours the tea, then serves him first, then himself, covering the dishes to keep them hot after. Senior Wei’s food is a vibrant red, just the way he likes it, while his own is much blander though still spicier than what is usually preferred in Cloud Recesses.

The movement of chopsticks from plate to mouth is a win, and he doesn’t mind when Senior Wei leans against him slightly, as though taking comfort in his presence. If SiZhui can offer that comfort, he will.

Sitting on the wooden patio, eating in comfortable silence with the man he considers his first father, the man who had been lost to them all for sixteen years, is a comfort to him as well.

SiZhui isn’t quite sure how long he takes to realize the only noise is his own chopsticks against porcelain, but when he realizes he turns to find Senior Wei staring into the distance, a morsel of food suspended between chopsticks halfway to his mouth. His bowl is more than half full still.

“Senior Wei?”

Senior Wei startles, the food slipping through his chopsticks and landing on his robe. He tries to smile again, but SiZhui sees the effort it takes.

“You don’t have to call me so formally,” he finally murmurs, the effort sliding away.

“So I can call you a-Die? Even in front of the other juniors?”

The ghost-smile flits across his face again, and SiZhui wonders if that’s the most he can hope for right now.

“Anytime you like. You can even call me a-Niang if you want.” Senior Wei sighs softly, setting his bowl back on the tray. “I’m sorry you went to such trouble for me, but I’m not very hungry.”

SiZhui has a memory of making a specific face at him as a toddler to get his way. Perhaps it’s Senior Wei’s influence at such a young age, but he’s just shameless enough to school his face into a worried pout.

“I’m worried about you, a-Die.”

He’s horrified when it backfires, and Senior Wei sobs. Where before his tears had been almost disturbingly silent, the raw emotion now is heart-rending.

Immediately he abandons his bowl, not even checking to make sure it stays upright, and pulls him into a hug. Senior Wei doesn’t fight it, just buries his face against SiZhui’s shoulder, shaking.

“I’m here, a-Die. I’m here.”

Senior Wei is murmuring apologies almost immediately, but SiZhui doesn’t dare let him go.

“It’s okay to cry, a-Die. You can cry as much as you need to.”

It was something Father had told him once upon finding him hiding to cry, letting him know that tears were not shameful, and the rule ‘Do not grieve in excess’ did not mean one couldn’t grieve at all. In those days, SiZhui didn’t know what he grieved, but Father had cried with him. It had helped.

“I don’t want to burden you,” Senior Wei whispers.

“You’re not a burden! Not ever. Father and I missed you so much all those years.”

SiZhui is almost afraid to hug him more tightly, he seems so fragile.

“Father played Inquiry all the time,” he tells him, rubbing his back in slow circles. “He never stopped searching for you, even though you didn’t respond.”

From the way Senior Wei stiffens, he wonders if Father never told him that. SiZhui hopes he hasn’t overstepped.

“He never told me that. I never heard it,” Senior Wei finally whispers. “I don’t think I was in any condition to hear it.”

SiZhui feels frozen; there aren’t many reasons a spirit would not hear Inquiry, and one of those is moving on. The others are too horrible to think about. But this is a-Die.

“A-Die… Tell me? Please?”

He almost doesn’t want to know, but he can’t try to help if he doesn’t. He will not let ignorance be an excuse, not with a-Die suffering.

Senior Wei is quiet for several minutes before he finally speaks. “A-Yuan, do you know how I died?”

“Sect Leader Jiang,” he answers immediately.

It was taught to all disciples, something he finds horrible now, that duty calls to kill a brother if he turns to evil. Knowing the truth of everything and regaining his memories, SiZhui wanted to be angry at Jiang WanYin. Only the man looked at his once-brother with complicated emotions that included longing. He knows it is not his place to judge.

But Senior Wei shakes his head.

“After shijie… watching the whole cultivation world fight over the pieces of the seal, greedy for power… Everyone was dead, and I thought you were too, and I just didn’t want to exist in this world anymore.”

Senior Wei shudders, seemingly lost in memory.

“A-Yuan, I was a suicide. I threw myself off a cliff at Nightless City.”

SiZhui can’t stifle a gasp. He feels like the earth has opened up under him.

“Lan Zhan tried to stop me, tried to save me, but I didn’t let him. It’s probably the worst thing I’ve ever done to him.”

His voice hitches.

“I don’t remember the sixteen years I was dead, but I suspect my soul shattered at my death, so I doubt there’s anything to remember. If Mo XuanYu hadn’t forced my soul back together through the ritual, the pieces likely would have eventually just faded away.”

SiZhui hears a sob, and it takes him a moment to realize it’s come from himself. It was too horrible, that a-Die could have gone forever, that Father would forever be without him even in future lifetimes, and that the cost to prevent that was Mo XuanYu’s soul. The grief he carries is so much more understandable now.

“A-Die, please don’t leave us again,” he whispers.

Senior Wei wipes at SiZhui’s cheeks gently with his sleeve, looking at him with regret. “I didn’t want to come back, at first. But I don’t want to leave now.”

He blurts, “Why wouldn’t you want to come back?” before he can stop himself.

A-Die’s tears overflow again. “My shijie was dead, my nephew orphaned, my fault. My shidi hated me. I failed the Wens. The sects wanted my head on a platter. I thought Lan Zhan despised me, too. I was alone, and the world sucked, and I’d just cause trouble again. Why come back?”

“Father never hated you,” is all SiZhui can think to say in response.

He wants to say more, that a-Die doesn’t cause trouble, that he wasn’t responsible for Jiang YanLi’s death or even Jin ZiXuan’s. There’s so much he wants to say, but words escape him. He knows a-Die still blames himself, and there’s nothing SiZhui can say to change that.

“Ah, a-Yuan. I know that now, but I’m, well, an idiot, so that took a while. But that’s why I ran away from Mo manor, and why I wore that mask. I thought nothing good would come from being recognized.”

SiZhui returns a-Die’s earlier gesture, wiping tears from his cheeks.

“But things are better now, right? Why are you so sad?”

A-Die sighs softly. “Shijie is still gone. Jiang Cheng still hates me. It was so long ago for everyone else, but not for me. For me, it will be her first birthday since her death.”

That a-Die missed sixteen years is an ever-present facet of SiZhui’s life, an absence that spanned most of his life, but sometimes it’s easy to forget the impact on a-Die; he’s only been alive again for less than a year, and much of that time was taken uncovering Jin GuangYao’s crimes and then travelling for a few months alone.

“That’s why you’re going to Lotus Pier,” SiZhui murmurs, realizing. “I’ll come with, a-Die. So you’ll have both Father and me with you.”

He knows a-Die hasn’t visited his home but once since he came back, that there are painful memories he must deal with. He doesn’t want him to face them, not alone. And while he’ll be with Father, SiZhui knows it can help to have more people, especially since a-Die feels Sect Leader Jiang hates him.

“You’re not alone, a-Die. You’re not.”

A-Die gifts him with a smile, a genuine one, and SiZhui lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding.

“A-Yuan, you’re such a good boy.”

They stay like that, a-Die draped across his lap, and SiZhui remembers once, long ago, Aunt Qing telling him Xian-gege missed his sister. He remembers lotus seeds and blossoms, and a-Die barefoot with a smile. The memory is vague, pieced together flashes, but it’s there.

Lotuses had grown in Burial Mounds. Surely they could grow in Cloud Recesses, perhaps in one of the grassy areas behind the jingshi, somewhere a-Die could look and be reminded of his sister, even though she’s gone. While at Lotus Pier, he’ll learn how to grow lotuses. He’ll find out what kind a-Die would like best, even if it means talking to Sect Leader Jiang about it.

SiZhui glances down and finds that a-Die has fallen asleep against him, the dark circles under his eyes more pronounced than usual, and he resolves to stay still until Father comes, to let him sleep.

Maybe later, together as a family, they can get a-Die to eat more, help him through his grief, remind him he’s truly not alone.

He won’t ever be alone again.

#the untamed #untamed fanfiction #mo dao zu shi #chen qing ling #wei wuxian #wei ying #lan yuan #lan sizhui #lan zhan #lan wangji #cql #mdzs #my fanfiction

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prorevenge · 6 years

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My friend's ex-wife gets his family's business shut down and burns their lives to the ground (not what you may think)

Sorry for the somewhat misleading title, but I couldn't resist.

This story isn't about me but two people I'm friends with. We'll call one Rae and one Justin. I'm posting this with Justin's permission, and he'll probably be reading the thread.

Pretty quickly after they moved, they decided to get amicably divorced, since they never wanted to be married anyway. They still lived together for a while, and basically became something between platonic roommates and each other's only family. Over time, they started dating other people. Some partners were scared off by the weird relationship between them, but most got it, and understood that Justin and Rae had basically bonded though mutual trauma. I also met both of them during this time, and we became close friends.

This whole time, both their families and other members of their community were relentlessly harassing them. People were showing up at their house at all hours, and they had reason to believe people were trying to steal their identities over the years, though they'd fortunately both put a freeze on their credit, so nothing ever came of it.

Then Justin had a bad accident. A really bad accident. He was on his bike and a car blew through a stop sign without slowing down and plowed right into him. He had to be rushed to the hospital and landed in the ICU. Rae was his emergency contact, and I was with her and some other friends when she got the call. I immediately drove her to the hospital with a couple of other people, and she was melting down (understandably). The hospital staff wouldn't let us all in when we got there, but they let Rae in. She came out periodically to let us know what was going on. Justin wasn't unconscious, but he was totally out of it and didn't seem to know she was there, probably from the painkillers, but she was convinced he had permanent dehabilitating brain damage and basically the group of us were just soothing her and reassuring her it would be fine. A friend of ours who worked at the hospital as an MRI tech was also stopping by when she could on her breaks and calming down Rae. We'd been there all night and part of the day at this point, and the medical staff was giving us reason to be hopeful.

But things got worse. To this day, no one knows how they found out, but 14 hours after Justin's accident, his parents, uncles, and grandfather showed up. They immediately had all of us removed from the ICU, Rae included. Unfortunately, as his ex-wife, she was no longer his legal next-of-kin and had no rights against his blood family.

At this point, she was absolutely hysterical and inconsolable. She was convinced Justin's family would hurt him. I'm ashamed to say all three of us that were there with her thought she was overreacting. We all knew Rae and Justin had left a fucked-up situation, but it wasn't like his own family would do anything to impede his recovery. She was getting angry with us for trying to calm her down, and tried to explain that according to their religion, she and Justin deserved punishment from God, and only the greatest suffering could prompt repenting and redemption. She said their families embraced this thinking and wanted them to suffer, because it would prove that they did the wrong thing by leaving, and suffering would drive them back to the fold. She said as long as Justin was with his family, he wouldn't be safe.

Our friend who worked for the hospital came and found Rae at that point. She made Rae swear up and down she wouldn't tell anyone she told her this, because she could get in deep trouble for releasing privileged information to someone unauthorized, but she'd caught wind that Justin's parents were aggressively demanding the hospital release him into their care, and they were involving lawyers. The hospital was currently refusing, because Justin wasn't stable enough to leave, but our friend warned Rae that as soon as Justin got to be stable, or the lawyers scared the hospital enough, it's possible the parents would be able to take Justin.

This shocked the rest of us. Realizing his parents were not only willing to remove Justin from the hospital that had saved his life in the condition he was still in, but were actively trying to do it made us really "get" for the first time why Rae was going out of her head with fear.

At this point, Rae snapped into do-or-die mode. Convinced that Justin was about to literally die if she didn't act, she decided she would do everything in her power to start a fire at home so that Justin's family would want to run back to put it out. And this wasn't too hard, because she had a lot of dirt on the whole community she came from. Like a madwoman, she started blowing the whistle all over Justin's family. She called the IRS's fraud hotline and detailed all the ways that the family business was committing tax fraud. She submitted an ATF tip about how that same family business was illegally selling firearms without a license and without following any of the proper protocols, and was knowingly selling guns to convicted felons. She reported one of Justin's uncles for owning several guns as a convicted felon. She also reported Justin's mom's unlicensed day care "business," which was apparently extremely shady, including having over 30 children packed into one house, with Justin's mom as the only adult and many of the childcare duties being farmed out to Justin's 12- and 14-year-old sisters. She called CPS on Justin's uncles and his parents for keeping their children out of school, and for physical abuse in one uncle's case. In all of these reports, she provided extensive details.

She finished her calls and emails, and then she waited. We all waited for several hours, and nothing happened. Then, miraculously, Justin become lucid enough to understand what was going on and make his own decisions, and he kicked his family out again. From there began a slow but steady path to recovery.

In all the relief and excitement to see Justin on the mend, we'd almost forgotten about Rae's campaign of desperation, until a couple of weeks later, when the screaming voicemails started pouring in to both of them. First, the business was being investigated by the IRS, then it was being investigated for illegal firearms dealing. Then the daycare was getting investigated. At first, Rae felt a little guilty, but then she was like, "You know what? No regrets. They would have killed Justin."

From what they've been able piece together in the year and a half since this happened, the business has gone under, and the daycare is shuttered. The uncle is six months into a new five-year prison sentence for firearm possession. CPS investigated, which scared the shit out of the family, but nothing really came of it, which is especially sad in the case of the cousins being physically abused. That said, the parents are now too scared to keep the kids home from school, and with the unlicensed daycare shut down, the mom's not exploiting her daughters' labor anyway, so she has no incentive to keep them home. So Justin's little siblings are at least getting their education.

Justin and Rae are both happy and thriving. Justin unfortunately will never fully recover from the accident. He has some permanent neurological damage that results in tremors. But he's pumped to be alive, he can work a full-time job, he can still be pretty physically active, and as far as I'm concerned, he wins.

TL;DR: Kooky abusive family tries to remove my friend from critical medical care because reasons (??), and his ex-wife hits the panic button that burns their lives to the ground.

(source) story by (/u/Throwawayallaway4)

#prorevenge #by /u/Throwawayallaway4 #pro revenge #revenge stories #pro revenge stories #pro #revenge #last10

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seoulsborne123 · 5 years

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The Forgotten Queen: Prologue

The discovery of the ancient city called Yharnam was supposed to be the biggest archeological find of the decade. But perhaps some secrets are best left well alone...

A Ghost Hunt and Bloodborne crossover. Set about two years after the events of Akumu no Sumu Ie.

Prologue

Illuminated only with the dim light of their emergency candles, Joanna couldn’t help but feel the unease creep in. It was not a problem in daylight, or even when they had working lamps that provided a constant source of light, but with the flickering flame the shadows turned the Gothic embellishments on the pillars and doors from being grotesque to outright nightmarish. And despite the roominess inspired by the open archways and the high vaulted ceiling that gave the impression of rising high into the heavens, she couldn’t help but feel stifled.

She shook this feeling away and cleared her mind, trying to focus on the game before her.

"Check."

Her opponent pulled his lips to the side and studied his hand intimately though his eyes seemed to land on nothing in particular. As if sensing her studying his every move, he cleared his throat and feigned confidence, jutting out his chest a little more than usual. Joanna, for the meantime, forgot her unease. He was being too obvious. Normally she would wonder if he was attempting reverse-reverse psychology, but although she’d only known him for a week, she knew that Nick would be too simple and straightforward to consider that option. It could only mean two of the same things: either he had a very low hand, or none at all.

"Yeah, I'll raise the bet," he said, holding up two coins and making a big show of slamming them down on the table. The noise it made echoed obnoxiously loud.

"You do know how poker works, right?"

"Yeah, why?"

She shook her head. "Suit yourself. They’re your chocolate bars to lose..." She threw in another coin to match what he put down.

"Okay, let's see what you got."

Joanna revealed a seven of hearts and a four of diamonds. Counting the community cards on the table, she only had a pair of sevens. It wasn’t exactly the greatest hand, but she knew it would be enough to beat her colleague.

"Damn, again…"

"Oh Nick, you aren't very good at this." She laughed and added three more tick marks on her notebook, the little rush from winning made her completely forget the unease she felt moments ago. "You owe me 12 pieces now. You’ll need to stake another item; I won't care very much for your chocolate bars any more if we keep going at this pace and that'd be a shame."

Nick rolled his eyes and gathered the cards. "Oh be quiet. I've got—" but a sudden loud thud in the distance made the two of them nearly jump out of their seats. They whipped their heads back and tried to search the darkness beyond what their candlelight could illuminate, but saw nothing out of place. Joanna remembered everything again.

"Must have been the wind," Nick mumbled.

"I'm pretty sure the sound came from inside that door and you know there is no chance of wind behind there. "

"Okay, structure settling."

"Stone settles?"

Nick sighed. "'Okay, then what, ghosts?"

"I don't know, maybe," she answered with an edge to her voice. "With everything that's happened, don't you think… don’t you think it may be supernatural after all?"

Nick let out a breath, unsure of what to reply.. "Come on, Jo. You don’t really think that? It's an ancient place. Nothing about… this… screams haunted..." As he said this, the two of them looked warily around their immediate vicinity: ghastly figurine statues of cloaked women interspersed along the edges of the room, hands outstretched towards the heavens in a plea; empty clay jars scattered about, which they thought must have been used to hold wine, though recent findings point to it actually having once hosted blood; a giant lancet window framed with elegant tracery that let in what little of the obscured moonlight there was, which only served to cast formless shadows all around

Nick looked at Joanna again and repeated with less confidence, "Yep, looks normal to me. We should be okay. And it's a holy place. Don’t ghosts fear Jesus, or something?"

"What? Ghosts can be in churches. And churches can be creepy, especially long abandoned ones. Have you not seen any horror movies?" Joanna retorted, wondering how it was possible for this to not be common knowledge.

"No, come on, look let’s be logical about it. Have you been to other dig sites before or is this your first rodeo?”

Joanna deflated and admitted, “No, this is the first.” Although she was only a third year Archeology undergraduate student, her work and track record had impressed her professors and they fully endorsed her in joining this short expedition.

Without turning haughty or dismissive, Nick nodded and simply said, “Then okay, I get it. But let’s consider the facts: a giant city in the middle of a dense forest, abandoned and hidden for over two centuries. Of course it’ll be overwhelming. The buildings here may look like they’re in good shape, but sometimes we can’t see all the damage, which might be causing all the random noises we can’t understand. It could also be rats, or something.”

"But that's the problem, isn't it? We should have at least seen some rats by now. I haven't even seen bugs. Have you?"

"Well it’s a bit too nippy here, probably."

"But rats should—" Once again, their conversation was cut off. This time it was the long, baleful howl of a wolf that made them shudder. Eerily on time, the clouds that obscured the full moon parted and bathed the church in its pale, luminescent light. It only lasted for a few minutes, but it made Joanna question whether she preferred the figures partially hidden in darkness, or exposed fully in the moonlight.

A new thought hit her. "What if this is how it all starts? The last time Professor Gimmel and the others disappeared, wasn't it also a full moon? What if Jon's just the first?"

“Full moon? First ghosts, now you think witches are involved? Or do you mean werewolves?"

"Well, why not?" she snapped, annoyed more at herself, knowing full well how ridiculous she was being. "That was undoubtedly a wolf, and nearby too by the sounds of it, but everyone keeps insisting there are no wolves around here. How does that make sense? Nothing in this place makes sense."

"You know yourself that there's been no signs of wolves around here. None of us have found footprints, or droppings, or old kills in the area. They would have left some kind of trace in the woods outside. Besides even if they were outside, we’re still safe within the city walls since they’re definitely not in here." Nick gathered up the cards and resumed shuffling. "I don't know. Maybe it was an owl."

"That’s just ridiculous. What about that weird singing choir we sometimes hear at night? Kyle and his group heard it, too. I’ve also read mentions of it in the old reports.”

She leaned in closer and whispered, “I think this is a cursed place. Those jars and the bottles we’ve found… I think it’s becoming more obvious that a blood-borne disease led to a slow collapse of this town. Look at those countless graves outside— people had time to bury their dead. The manner of those blood rituals are still unclear, but usually that would point to pagan worship, right? Yet the significance of the Church and religion in this city leads me to think it’s actually something sanctioned by them. To have the Church’s sacrament be twisted... There must have been something seriously wrong with this place.”

“I actually agree with your points, but we can’t just jump to conclusions. I guess we’ll have to wait and see if the lab has been able to transcribe those old texts...”

As if completely unaware he even spoke, Joanna continued her denunciations and was steadily growing in urgency until she reached a fevered hiss, “And that creepy nun! Where the hell did she come from? I don’t trust her. And now Jon’s missing and we could be next. Just remember that three years ago the others investigated this place and disappeared without a trace."

“You don’t need to remind me of that, Jo.”

His tone made Joanna stop and look up. His face was grim.

In her delirium she forgot that Nick was personally connected to the events three years ago. How could she have been so callous? She was trying to formulate a way to properly apologize when to her surprise, he quickly recovered his composure and resumed as if she hadn’t misspoke.

"Jon's always been the kind of 'not always there' type of person though, hasn't he? Maybe he wandered off and got lost. The others will find him and when they do, we'll be right here ready to radio for help."

Joanna groaned. "Nick, something is wrong with this place." She cast another look at her cards and muttered, "I'll raise."

Nick thumbed his cards absentmindedly before calling her raise to stay in the round.

"Again, in terms of its odd history, I agree with you. But to say that what’s happening now is due to supernatural causes? That’s too much, Jo."

He revealed the fifth card on the table and took in a sharp breath as she put down yet another coin to stay in the round. All he had was a pair of twos.

Was it worth to continue on? He shook his head. ”Okay, I fold."

He revealed his cards. She revealed a losing hand.

"Son of a—" but for the third time that night, the sentence was cut off by the sound of the doors opening and heavy footfall fast approaching. It was one of their colleagues who had gone out as part of the search party. He stood before them completely out of breath as if he had sprinted for miles.

He was clearly shaken and quite manic as he gasped out, "They found him! My god, they found him!" Unable to elaborate further, he resorted to gesticulating wildly and pointed outside.

Fearing the worst, Nick immediately stood up and radioed for an ambulance. Unfortunately their heavily secluded location meant that help can reach them twenty minutes at the earliest provided good road conditions. As he spoke to the operator and gave detailed directions, he grabbed one of the first-aid kits nearby and threw it towards Joanna, who caught it and rushed outside with the researcher.

Many scenarios played in Joanna's head, the kind of accidents Jon could have gotten himself into. The current expedition was only meant to go on for two weeks at most and thus their patron did not think it necessary to send out a qualified field doctor with them. At the very best, they had an avid hiker among their group who was trained and volunteered to be their first-responder, but she only knew how to take care of minor injuries. She wondered if Cecile was already at the scene and whether the kit she carried would even be of any use.

However when they reached the plaza, Joanna stopped in her tracks.

It was not Jon.

Most of the group were already gathered, looking on just as surprised as she was. Cecile was already hunched down with him, checking for any serious signs of injuries.

"Who…?" she asked in a whisper, more to herself, and in the still air her voice carried but no one spoke a word.

"What in the--Professor Gimmel!"

Joanna frowned and spun around. Nick had finally caught up. He stood beside her, speechless and confused.

"The Professor? But it's been three years since… Are you sure that’s him?"

Nick finally snapped out of his stupor and slowly approached the sickly, pale man. "Professor Gimmel, are you hurt anywhere? It's okay now. Help is on its way. Are you able to walk further? Our base is at the church nearby." When the professor wouldn't respond, Nick looked to Cecile. "What’s happened? How is he?"

"Shocked, I reckon. Hasn't spoken a word nor looked at anyone in the eye, really. I don't even think he realizes we're here."

Joanna listened to their conversation while her head buzzed with a million questions. She looked the professor over.

He was bony, disheveled, reeked of something foul, but otherwise he appeared unharmed. Where had he been all this time? How had he survived out here for that long on his own? From the looks of it, it didn't seem like he'd had much to eat, and with the absence of any animals and edible vegetation around, how was he able to provide enough sustenance to keep himself alive for so long? But then again, didn't the nun live here on her own as well and was somehow able to survive? Perhaps the nun had known of his whereabouts all along? Where were the others?

She only knew him by name: a distinguished professor from Cambridge who led a team of seasoned archeologists, crewmen, and a handful of graduate students to study the newly discovered ancient city called Yharnam. It was meant to be the next biggest discovery, but in the end it had to be kept hushed up due to the tragic story of the original excavation team. They had been working for half a year before most of the crew, fifteen people including the Professor, suddenly disappeared without a trace.

The case was cold. No leads, no suspects to consider. Work on the site was temporarily put on hold, but eventually another wealthy patron stepped up and fresh, willing workers eager to sign up for an adventure were found. If it weren't for the appeal of the occult and the dig site's macabre history, Joanna would have passed on this opportunity. Alas, though she thought herself not spiritual in the least and refused to believe in supernatural phenomena, the fear of the unknown both excited and scared her. Like a living contradiction, the more outrageous the circumstance, the more she refused to believe, and yet the more mystified she became, the more it terrified and thrilled her to think it could be supernatural.

Her attention switched back to Nick, who, after having no luck extracting any information from the professor, turned to the rest of their colleagues and asked, "Where did you guys find him?"

"It was Adella who found him," answered Thomas. "Karen and I were on our way towards the area below the Cathedral when we came across her and the Professor. She said she found him down there."

"Well where is she now?"

"Slinked off somewhere. You know how she is. The Professor here has been unresponsive to our questions so we just took him here as soon as possible. All he kept talking about was something about some 'big one' or other. Don't seem to realize we're here at all. We need to get him out of here as soon as possible."

As if on cue, the Professor collapsed on the ground, prostrated himself, and suddenly shouted in excitement, "Oh, Amygdala! Amygdala! Oh… what a pleasure it is to see the divine!"

The clouds had cleared once again and the moon illuminated the forgotten city, the towering Gothic buildings, weathered and ancient. The town was a mess: rubble, gravestones, and coffins strewn about, rotted of old age. Though the addition of a new light source was most welcome, the sight of a large, full moon unsettled everybody.

Joanna tried to follow the Professor's gaze. He seemed to be focusing on the rooftop. Whatever he saw there moved him almost to tears, but she saw nothing. A hallucination, perhaps?

The voice of Evan, one of the younger contractors, broke her train of thought. He had just arrived with two others.

“Thomas, we checked the area to corroborate what Adella said, but no one else there, just him."

Thomas whipped around. "What about the Gate? Was it still open?"

“Open?” Joanna interrupted incredulously. The others around her were just as surprised at this information.

"We didn’t venture too close to it, but we saw it was still open."

"Since when and how?"

"Don't know, kid. It wasn’t open yesterday when the others checked.”

Thomas turned to the others. He was the most senior ranking member of the team and was responsible for everyone’s safety, but this new opportunity was just too good to pass up. Previously inaccessible, now its gate lay wide open. What new discoveries could they find in the lower area? Moreover, there was a good chance they could find the remaining missing people there— alive or dead. He shuddered.

“What do you guys think? Shall we take a team down there?"

Nick answered, "I've already radioed in for emergency; they're on their way. The sky's clear now so we can take advantage of the moonlight. Probably best not to venture out too far though, but if the Professor got out, the others may not be far behind."

"Agreed. We'll go with a small team for now. Cecile you're in charge here to make sure evac goes well. Jon might still be out there, too. If you don’t need that kit, we’ll take it with us. Mike, Evan, Karen, Nick, let's go."

“Take me with you!”

Thomas turned around. Beside him, Nick shrugged and said that she wouldn’t make trouble. With a sigh, he also motioned for Joanna to follow along.

The trek was a long one. After climbing several sets of stairs and winding along dark alleyways, they finally arrived at the Grand Cathedral, the tallest, most grandiose building in the city, but instead of heading inside the group turned right, following the narrow pathway around the building and found themselves by a cliff side. Following the long stairway down led them to the central plaza of a small community of decrepit houses, where it's been suggested clergymen and nuns must have once lived. But the trek didn't end there. Further along there were more stairs leading even lower below, leading to a hollowed out, possibly man-made cave. The group was forced to huddle in closer together due to the tight space, the feeling of claustrophobia setting in and making everyone's heart beat a little faster until they all finally emerged on the other side.

From the distance, they could see the atrium that housed the aforementioned gate that sectioned away a part of the town no one had ever managed to step foot in.

Thomas held his hand up, halting their advance. He himself took a few steps forward and frowned.

The Gate, which was the name they've baptized the set of gigantic double doors towering approximately forty feet high, was sealed completely shut as it had always been.

#Forgotten Queen #ghfanfic #ghost hunt #oliver davis #mai taniyama #soulsborne123

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dalamjisung · 5 years

Text

piece of heaven, part two ❃ seo changbin

genre: angst, slight fluff at the end,

word count: 3078

pairing: reader x seo changbing

description: four years is a lot of time for things to happen. Will your relationship handle it all?

(inspired on the song CIGARETTE by OFFONOFF: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AamatUtxev4)

tag: @backtonormalthings

You worked pretty much all of the time you weren’t in school. But this time, you worked with a smile on your face. You had set working hours, so after 6PM you could go out with your boyfriend and get proper sleep. You were in college now, almost done with the process of ‘growing up’ and ‘finding your true self’ in those systematic educational institutes, and already started on the professional world that awaited for you so patiently.

After that one night in the boys studio, it was so clear to you; what you wanted to do with the rest of your free time, and who you wanted right by your side as you ventured this unknown territory. Cigarette ended up not being used as a song in the debut album, as the boys predicted it would, but actually sold to another artist, and that was your first step into adulthood. Once the song hit the charts, Changbin’s company recruited you to be a producer trainee. For two years–your two first years of college– you worked hard, meeting demands and deadlines, producing one song after the other, and although you excelled at that, there was nothing you loved more than sitting down around that one familiar glass table, in a tiny room, with three of your favorite boys; Changbin, Chan, and Felix. Just like you were now.

“Y/N,” Chan whined. “I’m tired.”

“That’s cause you don’t sleep,” You chuckle. “But go ahead to the dorms and I’ll finish up here.”

“I’ll stay with you,” Changbin said smiling.

In four years, a lot happened. Firs you were recruited. Then, after the company president deemed your skills perfect, you were officially hired as a worker. While all of that happened, your relationship with the boys bloomed. Chan and Woojin became older brothers to you; always worried and ready to listen, those two made sure that you were staying healthy and well rested. Minho, Seungmin, and Felix were your best friends; you guys laughed together, and caused trouble together. Hyunjin, Jeongin, and Jisung turned out to be your adored dongsaengs; you’d protect them from any harm, and you were sure they’d return the favor. And finally Changbin… well, Changbin was now your boyfriend of four years.

After that night at the studio, it all happened in a flash, and soon you were both sitting facing his manager, asking permission to date. The condition was that, because the boys signed the dating ban contract, they couldn’t date for one year after their debut, but after that, you two were free to publicly announce your relationship. The boys were so close to the debut at that time that you made sure to work double just so you could speed up the process. The faster they debut, you thought. The faster the one year goes by. And you weren’t wrong. With you training at the company, and him promoting his album, one year went by as if it was one month. Now, it’s three years after that. Three years of happiness, and misunderstandings, and fights, and make up dinners at the balcony of his dorm.

You smiled, remembering all of those good times– the bad ones, too– and reach forward for his hand. He is in the middle of writing a verse when you grab his other hand.

“What?” He mumbles with a hint of smile.

“I love you.” You say and watch as your favorite thing happens: he blushes.

“I love you too,” He says and puts the pen down. “Now where is this coming from?”

You shrug. “Just wanted to let you know.”

“Oh, I know,” He chuckles walking towards you. Leaning down, he gives you a kiss. “I know, love.”

“Good.” You whisper.

“What’s going on in that head of your, Y/N?” Changbin asks crouching down in front of your chair, holding your hands. “You have this one look one your face…”

“We’re growing up, Binnie.” You say. “And that worries me a lot. I’m almost done with college, you’re winning prizes already… what will be of us in a few years?”

This thought had been haunting you for a while now. You saw each other a lot because of work, but you knew that soon he’d have to go on tour again, and that you’d be assigned a new group to work with while they are away. You’d grow to different directions. And there was also the question of your grandparents. Your grandfather hasn’t been well as of lately and you worried about him constantly. You weren’t ready to grow like that; not yet.

“Y/N,” He sighs. “We’ll be fine. Remember? We made a promise; I will be your light. I will shine you bright. We’re here for each other, good or bad, yeah?”

And you nod, hugging your boyfriend, because this is how you wanted to stay.

———————————

The months pass like they mean nothing; and soon you are graduating. Everyone is there, which causes a big ruckus of selfies and autographs, for both your boyfriend and the boys and your grandfather. You guys go out for dinner and drinks and celebrate your initiation into the full-time job life.

Another month passes by and you and Changbin have a huge fight. As you finally had the time to fully dedicate yourself to your job, your name grew quite big in the music industry, resulting on unwanted attention from the media. The fight is about a rumor of you switching companies to work with another boy group. It’s stupid but both of you are hurt and Chan has to intervene; he tells you to go home and sleep it off, and promises to make Changbin call the next day. He doesn’t call for three days and you feel like that was the end. It wasn’t and you both are incredibly proud of the way you overcame that together.

Time goes by just like that; with things happening and things happening over those other things, and you wonder if growing up is just like that; a bunch of things happening all at once and you have to chose which one you will pay attention to.

It’s winter now, and Changbin and the boys are touring. You miss him while you snuggle in the bed, holding his pillow. The boys always asked you to take care of the dorm while they are away, which meant you slept in Changbin’s bed for about three months a year. It was heart shattering to have him gone, but you were so proud and happy for him that the hurt was barely felt.

You are in the middle of a season finally when the FaceTime window pops. You quickly fix your hair, pushes your glasses up your nose bridge, and smile.

“Hey,” You say, hugging the blanket closer to you.

“Hey,” He says back, teary eyes. He is smiling, but as his eyes whine with unshed tears, you can’t help but sigh.

“Changbin…,” You mumble, hand touching his face on the screen. “Are you okay?”

“I miss you.” He laughs. “I miss you so fucking much, Y/N. It’s crazy.”

“I miss you too, my love,” You smile a sad smile. “But it’s just for two more weeks, yeah?”

“It’s still too much,” He whispers. “Too much.”

“It is,” You agree. “But we got this. We got this, Binnie. I’m waiting for you with hugs and kisses, and when you get back we’ll both get off days to just cuddle and sleep, yeah?”

“I can’t wait for that,” He smiles, tears gone and a hopeful glint shines on his eyes. “You’ll wait for me, right?”

“If I didn’t then I’d just be stupid.” You snort, making his laugh. This is all I want, you think, relieved. Him laughing and happy.

You listen to him as he tells you about the concert they just played. The venue, the crowd, the vibe; but your attention is stollen as your phone starts vibrating. You ask your boyfriend for a second and picks it up, thinking that if someone is calling you this late, it must be important.

“Hello?”

“Hello, is this Y/G/N guardian?” The voice asks on the other side and your blood goes cold.

“Yes, who is this?” You ask, feeling as if you could throw up at any moment now.

“I’m a nurse at the Center Hospital, can I ask your relation to the patient?”

“Patient?!” You gasp, eyes widening. “I’m his granddaughter. Is he okay?”

“Ma’am, your grandfather just suffered from a cardiac arrest but we’ve managed to get to him in time and now he is resting. Would it be possible for you to come down here? We have somethings we want to discuss with you.”

Forgetting all about Changbin on the other side of the screen, you shut the laptop and run to the door with only one thought in mind.

Please let him be okay.

He was not okay. You cried as you held your grandfather’s hand. His face was pale and there were tubes everywhere; you’ve never seen his this fragile before, and it broke your heart to know he had been in pain. Your grandmother was in the waiting room, allowing you to have some privacy.

“Grandpa,” You whispered, trying to control yourself. “You can’t leave me yet. I’m not ready to be on my own, and neither is Grandma. It won’t be the same without you…”

“Don’t say that, Y/N,” You hear your grandpa’s hoarse voice. You look at him, raising your head from where it laid next to your joined hands, and saw him frowning. “You’re not alone.”

“I know,” You say feeling guilty. “Grandma is still here.”

“I’m not talking about your grandmother, dear,” He smiles. “Your boy, Seo Changbin. He will take care of you after we’re gone. He promised me he would.”

This was news to you; you never knew they talked about this before.

“What do you mean?”

“I’ve gave him my blessing,” Your grandpa says, smiling. “I gave him my piece of heaven, Y/N. And he promised to take care of it forever.”

At this point, you were crying nonstop. To hear him talking like this was killing you; he talked as if he would be gone at any moment now, and you had to admit, he was old, and time was not a friend, but you weren’t ready. You wanted him to see you get married, and you wanted him to meet your kids. There was so much more that he had to be a part of, that you don’t know what you’d do if he was gone.

“Grandpa, please,” You beg. “Please.”

“You’re my piece of heaven, Y/N.” He repeats, bringing you close and kissing your forehead. “Don’t forget that.”

“You always say that,” You sniff.

“And it’ll alway be true,” He chuckles, and then coughs. “Even when I can’t say it anymore.”

The next week was a blank of mixed days and lost memories; you were always at the hospital so you didn’t really remember anything besides that. Changbin made sure to call you three times– or more– a day, worried about your dark bags and large clothes. You looked like you’d lost so much weight, and honestly, you probably did; your stomach couldn’t hold anything down, except your grandmother’s soup. Work was a mess and it took about three days for your boss to notice what was happening, and then he gave you a couple of weeks of to stay with your family.

My family, you thought, suddenly so angry. It’s not fair. This is not fair at all.

Your phone gets you out of the toxic mindset your were getting trapped, and you sigh in relief. Changbin.

“Hey,” You mumble, looking at his worried face on the the screen.

“Hey, love,” He said softly. Changbin was making sure to be extra soft and careful with you, allowing you to feel safe enough so that you could talk to him easily. “How is it today?”

“He’s not getting better,” You mumble. “The doctors told us to prepare ourselves… they said it could be any day, now.”

“I’m sorry, Y/N,” He sighed. “I’m sorry I’m not there.”

“No, Changbin,” You smile, and this was the first one of the whole week. “You are touring. It’s not your fault. Focus on you, yeah? Grandma and I will get through this.”

He nods and tells you about the concert they had, trying to cheer you up with good news. Some of the boys pop in to say hi and send their support, but you don’t really feel like joking around. You guys say goodbye, and you go back to your grandfather, who is talking to your grandmother. As you watch them from the door, you try to smile, and you take a picture. A last memory together, you think and walk in.

He passes away that night.

———————————

You feel like you are not living anymore, just functioning. You drown yourself in work; writing song after song, but they were all too sad. Your boss, worried about your mental state, gives you another week, so you could stay home with your boyfriend, and grieve without worrying about having to hand in an assignment; but you weren’t really sure about that, because if you didn’t focus on work, you’d focus on him and you weren’t sure that was the best choice. There was no choice, though, and your boss and the CEO all forced you to go home.

I get home tonight, Changbin texted you. Hang on just a little longer.

You were only hanging on because of him; because you knew that he’d soon be with you, and that you could simply give up, and he would still help you get back on your feet. That’s how Changbin and you worked; you weren’t co-dependent, there was no real need for each other, but rather a want. You didn’t need his help, you wanted it. You wanted him in your life because you knew that then you wouldn’t be alone through anything– he’d always be by your side. And you by his. But sometimes, when you were too busy or when he was away, it was hard to keep thinking like that. It was hard to be positive and to keep your chin up, because although he will always be by your side, his physical presence is gone. He can’t hold your hand or caress your hair; there is no hugs and kisses and whispered promises. There is just a cold side of the bed where he’d usually lay, and limited phone calls. You missed him.

You missed him so much, that it was only natural you’s start thinking he didn’t miss you as much as you did, even though he has shown and told you repeatedly that this was a two way street– what you felt would always be reciprocated. As you sat on your couch, holding all tears in, looking through albums and albums of pictures, you started getting angry. Maybe if your parents didn’t leave, you grandfather wouldn’t have died. Maybe if they stayed, they would’ve taken the stress of taking care of you off of his shoulders. You were the type of person that when in doubt of which emotion you were feeling, it would be redirected to anger. Your first reaction was always anger. And then guilt. And only in the end, it would be sadness. You were still in transition from the second to the third when you heard the door opening, the cold winter air rushing in with your boyfriend; his desperate eyes looking for you, examining you, taking you in. You nod– a ‘hello,’ a ‘I’m fine,’ a ‘come here I could really use a hug.’

“Oh Y/N,” He sighs and drops his bag on the ground, walking towards you with arms wide open. You run to him, slotting yourself in this familiar body that felt so strange. “I’m here. It’ll okay. You’ll be okay.”

And you cry. You cry like you haven’t cried in two weeks; words falling out of your mouth, snot running down your nose, and wails of pain echoing in the dorm. You notice that the rest of the boys aren’t there, probably giving you two some privacy, and you are thankful. He holds you tight, not saying a damn thing, allowing you to simply put it all out, let it all go. Your fists were tight against his chest, sometimes hitting him softly, sometimes holding his sweater, sometimes just feeling his heartbeat; a reassurance that he was really there. A couple of hours after, when you have been reduced to a pile of sniffs and apologies, he kisses you, whipping out his phone.

“I’ll tell the boys to come home,” He whispers, kissing your forehead.

“Okay,” Your voice is raspy from the crying and you are embarrassed. You are embarrassed to have been this desperate for Changbin’s presence, embarrassed for being angry at him, embarrassed for thinking he didn’t love you as much as you did him. “I’m sorry…”

“For what?” He asks still typing.

“For everything.” You say and hugs him again.

“Well now you’ve got me even more worried,” He chuckles. “What happened?”

“I had some thoughts,” You say, hiding in his neck. “That you didn’t love me; miss me. I was angry, Binnie, so angry… I hated thinking like that but I just– I just missed you.”

“Hey,” He smiles, grabbing you head and making you look at him. “I missed you too. I get angry too. I feel that way two. It’s so normal, babe, and you don’t have to apologize for feeling. It’s normal to feel needy and angry when your loved one is away, okay?”

“Okay.”

“Don’t you remember?” He asks, smiling a nostalgic smile, and you know exactly what he is talking about.

I wish I be your last

I could be there for you

I could be the one to

I'd be your cigarette

“I do.” You say smiling too. Only him, to make you smile in the midst of your pain.

“I want to hear that again soon, Y/N.” His eyes bore into yours and your heart is racing. “I really, really want to hear that again.”

“I’ll say it how many times you want, love.” You say, arms around him, smell of his perfume on you, warmth of his body on yours. He’s home. I’m home. “We have time.”

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vanessakirbyfans · 4 years

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There’s a singular vision that director Kornél Mundruczó had in constructing “Pieces of a Woman,” and he had the full trust of his actors, particularly Vanessa Kirby and Ellen Burstyn. The film had its world premiere at the Venice International Film Festival where Kirby won the Volpi Cup for best actress. Just ahead of its Venice bow, Oscar-winner Martin Scorsese joined the film as an executive producer.

The phrase “it’s difficult to watch” is often spoken in various cinephile circles when referring to dour, less-than-pleasant movie experiences. I can recall having those same conversations around films like “Requiem for a Dream” and “Son of Saul.” Similar words have been uttered about Mundruczó’s portrait of loss and grief.

The role of Martha, a woman whose home birth ends in an unfathomable tragedy, demanded a lot of the 32-year-old Kirby. She’s received rave reviews for her performance, planting herself near the forefront of this year’s best actress race.

Burstyn has been a staple of the cinematic industry for more than five decades. She’s managed six Oscar nominations over her career, winning best actress for Scorsese’s “Alice Doesn’t Live Here Anymore” from 1974. Her passion and vigor for her craft is as clear as any thespian working today. When discussing her character Elizabeth, and her daughter Martha, who is a third-generation Holocaust survivor, drawn from screenwriter Kata Wéber’s own family experience, she becomes visibly emotional.

“Pieces of a Woman” marks the English-language debut for Mundruczó, who gained a passionate following with his breakout film “White God.”

On Thursday evening, in collaboration with the American Film Institute, Netflix will be hosting a screening with industry professionals, critics, journalists and Academy members.

Variety sat down with both Kirby and Burstyn prior to the screening.

You have had an incredible career, and are still working consistently. Do you have a method to choosing roles at this point in your profession?

Ellen Burstyn: Whenever I’m asked a question like that, I have the impression that people feel I get a million offers and I pick my favorite and that’s not quite true. I don’t have to turn down many films. If I like the director, writers and the actors, I’m prone to take it because in fact, there aren’t many roles written for a woman of my age. So when I get one, I’m usually very happy to get it.

In this case, I saw “White God,” Kornel’s film, and I adored that film. And I have seen Vanessa [Kirby] play Princess Margaret [on “The Crown”] and I don’t watch television very much. When I saw Vanessa, I went “who’s that?” I could see right away she was a special, really accomplished, talented actress. Unusually talented. I was very impressed with her. So when I have a filmmaker I like, a script I like, and an actress like Vanessa where I get to play her mother. It’s a win-win-win situation. That doesn’t happen very often. The roles that are written for a woman my age aren’t plentiful.

This role demands a lot of you, not just as an actress, but as a human. Can you talk about your experience filming?

Vanessa Kirby: Well, firstly, Ellen is one of my heroes. I was so excited that she agreed to do it. She’s always had this trailblazing fire in all of her performances. I so looked up to that, like Gena Rowlands, the same kind of dynamism. I’m so happy to have her in my life now and she’s someone I love very deeply.

How demanding it was on paper, and the idea of knowing that I would need to understand, and go into the psychology of that level of grief, while trying to honor all of the women that I spoke to, and that went through similar things, it felt like a responsibility. I’m always looking for something that scares me and that is seemingly insurmountable, and that alone was the birth because I haven’t given birth myself. I knew I owed to women to try to portray as true-to-life as possible. I was very lucky to watch someone do it for real, which helped me incomparably and I wouldn’t have known how to do it without her giving me the gift of allowing me to be there with her.

The 23-minute one-shot sequence of you giving birth is incredible. How many takes did you do and can you talk about that experience?

Kirby: The actual filming of it was just exhilarating. It was the best film experience of my life. We did four takes the first day and two the second day. I think Kornel used the fourth one. It was like doing a play. Shia is also a real theater animal, so is Ellen, and we all understood what it would require. It was exciting setting up, preparing and then launching into it freefall. And then at the end, to slowly missing word? Out of it – taking a long time to come out of it – and then reset everything. We would blast music around the house and dance around the house just to clear what had happened. By the end of it, your psyche does know any different and you feel like you actually went through this.

Your character is deeply flawed but with a lot of love for her daughter. Did you draw on anything from your own life as screenwriter Kata Weber did?

Burstyn: I always draw from personal experiences. It’s just part of what we do. I don’t know how to not do that. She’s a funny type of character [Elizabeth]. The story Kata wrote about how she was born, with the Holocaust aspect of the film, is from Kata’s family. The idea of being held upside down by your feet and the doctor saying that if she picks up her head, she’ll survive. That’s such a…deeply moving concept how one comes into the world. With the will to live, despite the frail condition of the body. It’s so moving to me. It explains so much about her character and her drive forward. That wonderful introduction of the character that Kata wrote. It’s kind of a pathetic version of whatever it is, make it better, go for it, do it. Don’t be satisfied with blandness. I think she’s a very strong character despite her limitations. She’s not in tune with her daughter but sometimes mothers aren’t.

Talk about Kornel’s vision of the film and how it compares to other directors you have worked with in the past.

Kirby: I knew that the film would be special. I always feel like his movies have a lot of soul and I love movies that have lots of soul. I knew that this was a personal story for Kornel and Kata. He had such a clear vision, and it’s so relaxing when someone has it. He had such a burning vision of Martha and needing that story to be told. It’s not about the loss of a baby, it’s more of a character study of someone that this happens to. How someone reacts to trauma and how individual grief is and he allowed me to really shape that. I felt a lot of respect and trust because of that. It was really profound collaboration.

Burstyn: I just feel his sense of sensitivity and is such a dear human being. Kind and a visionary. I felt like he allowed me to give what I had to give. I never felt interfered with. Sometimes directors come up with an idea and they say “maybe she does xyz” and you say “what?” I deeply fond of him.

If nominated, Ellen Burstyn you will set a record as the oldest acting nominee ever at 88 years and 98 days old on nomination day. How does that feel?

Burstyn: That’s a wonderful thing. I actually have a strong desire to be the oldest person ever nominated. That’s an encouraging thing for me to say to the women of the world, keep on trucking, as long as you can. Don’t give up, don’t retire, don’t sit back and say “well I guess it’s over,” it’s not over, until you declare it’s over. I pray that I get to be that example.

Ann Roth, the costume designer for “Ma Rainey’s Black Bottom,” also a Netflix feature, who if she’s nominated, she will be oldest nominee, of any category, at 90.

Burstyn: I’m jealous.

How do you feel about the reviews you are receiving and the possibility of being in the awards conversation?

Kirby: The film felt so much bigger than any of us. This is a subject about neonatal death. The women I spoke that had stillbirths and multiple miscarriages and it’s still a subject that’s really hard to talk about. The fact that you’re saying this conversation is happening around this [film], that means so much to me. If that means that a few more people watch it or more conversations start happening, and that was everyone’s intention with it. The best moments of my working life was doing that birth. It’s hard to articulate. I’m unbelievably grateful and touched that it’s for this film. It’s my first lead role too and I knew I that was ready. I waited a long time. I watched other people do it and I absorbed everything and felt really ready.

Burstyn: Honey, you’re a glowing example of what a fine actress is. You studied well and you came up the right way on the stage, which as far as I’m concerned, everybody who ever wants to be an actress should learn what is on the stage. You’re an absolute glory as an actress, and as a person I might add.

I wish you were my mother.

Burstyn: I can’t tell you how many people say that to me. After “Alice Doesn’t Live Here Anymore,” I became some type of archetypal mother that people never had and wish they did.

“Pieces of a Woman” will stream on Netflix on Jan. 7.

#Vanessa Kirby #Pieces of a Woman #Ellen Burstyn #Interview #Articles

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theritualofourexistence · 4 years

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Grandmom

When I talk about my family, there are a couple different things I find myself saying often.

First, my family is my most valuable gift. I am so, so grateful to be a part of the family I have, and they mean more to me than anything else in the world.

I’ve also been known to joke pretty casually that divorce runs in my family.

While I usually say that with a smile, it’s not inaccurate. My parents are divorced. My parents’ parents are divorced. Though I would never imply that divorce was easy or straightforward, it has brought some pretty incredible people into my life.

When I was born, I had three full sets of living grandparents and a set of living great-grandparents. On my dad’s side, I had Grammy (his mom) and Pap-Pap, Grandpa (his dad) and Nana, and Grandma and Poppy (his mother’s parents). Today, four of those six people are still living, which is something I treasure beyond words.

My mom’s mom passed away when my mom was only 19, so I never had the chance to meet her. My mom, though, speaks very candidly about knowing that Dotty is still around and has been with her (and all of us, really) during the most important moments in our lives. My mom’s dad, my Pop-Pop, married Irene after he and my mom’s mom divorced. By the time I was born, the drama of that divorce was long gone and my mom’s whole family had developed a very special sort of relationship with Irene, my Grandmom. Irene made this easy. I think loving was a very simple thing for her. Not that it wasn’t a sacrifice, just that it came very naturally.

My mom was sick around my birth so my first home on this whole earth was actually under my Grandmom’s roof.

My Pop-pop had his first major stroke when I was only a couple years old. I wish that I remembered him better when he was healthy, but most of my memories of him are of him in a wheelchair. He could be difficult (that’s putting it mildly), but my Grandmom cared for him through three major strokes and countless mini strokes, right up until he passed away at home in 2004. I remember saying goodbye to him. We didn’t have much of a relationship, but I was old enough to recognize the impact his passing had on my mom and her family. I think he was very, very lucky to find Irene. Really, I think the whole family was lucky that he did.

My Grandmom has been dealing with multiple medical issues including crippling arthritis for a lot of years now. She has never complained about this pain. In fact, I’m not sure I ever witnessed her complain at all. The last few years have been especially hard as she lost her driving privileges and her mobility began to decline. She didn’t like being stuck at home. That did not, however, stop her from continuing to mentor younger members of her church who were seeking spiritual grief counseling. Over Christmas she said that it was harder over the phone but that it was worth it. It made her feel like she was doing good work, that she had some value. I mention this specifically because it goes back to what I said about her ability to love. I don’t know that I would call this fierce. I would call it calm but strong. She managed to love everyone the same way, the same amount, with the same steady current of support.

On Monday, my Grandmom had a stroke.

She began to decline a few hours after reaching the hospital.

She passed away yesterday.

I know she is at peace. And for that I am so, so grateful. I will miss her… really, I already do.

It hasn’t been a secret that she has been ready to go for a while. Not in a morose way, but in a peaceful, acceptance-of-mortality way. Often, at family gatherings, when you asked how she was doing, she would say with a laugh, “Well, I’m still here and I still remember my name!”

I am grateful that my Grandmom didn’t spend more than a few hours unable to recall her name.

Because of this peace she had made with her eventual passing, I had the privilege of saying goodbye slowly, over a couple of years. I’m very grateful for that too.

She was a genuinely remarkable woman and she shared a deep, deep love with a family she didn’t have any responsibility to embrace. We certainly embraced her right back though.

She’s been the matriarch of the family for decades. For those of you who know my love of musicals, it’s funny, but she brings to mind a specific character from one of my favorite shows. I haven’t thought about this until her passing, really, but I find myself thinking about it a lot over the past few days.

I don’t have any claims on an abuela. That is not my story. But Abuela Claudia’s trademark song in “In the Heights” is “Paciencia y Fe.” Though my Grandmom and Abuela Claudia are more different than they are alike, if there is one person in my life who has demonstrated patience and faith, it’s my Grandmom.

It’s no secret that I run hot. A lot of people in my family do.

But my Grandmom was able to care so, so deeply in the most rhythmic, steady way. I’ve used that word “steady” a lot already, but I can’t seem to find a better way to say it. She was a pillar. Unshaking, constant.

For myself, a lot of my personal rhythm is sort of like learning how to drive stick. It’s jarring at times and there is jolting and horrible sounds and stopping and starting and stalling.

My Grandmom was never like that. If I’m learning stick, she was a train on a well-known track. She was the metal core of a building’s supports that takes the vibrations of an earthquake and disperses them safely and evenly. She was the strongest roots of a tree, the calm surface of a deep lake, she was the roof of the house in Glenolden that has been in my family longer than I have.

My family will miss her anchor in our lives. But we will be fine because of how she built us up.

When I was a kid, we would play with my uncle’s old Legos in her basement. She would always get our favorite treats, Yoo-hoo and crumb-top donuts and all the yummy things we didn’t get at home. She and I made our Christmas punch together every year. She iced my finger and put a band-aid on it when I was stung by a bee for the first time. Every Christmas she would leave us a special gift by our bedroom door, either pajamas or slippers to wear when we gathered as a family to open gifts on Christmas morning.

My Grandmom has been a part of every Christmas I’ve ever had.

She was very quick to laugh, even when her physical condition started to decline. It’s her laugh that I know I will remember most often and most easily. Her laugh, and of course, her love.

No one in my mom’s family would be who they are without her. That’s the sort of quiet, strong impact she had. She wasn’t the star on the stage, she was the stage manager—making sure everything went off without a hitch. It seems like the right thing was never a hard thing for her to identify. Not that she didn’t have to make hard decisions, just that she always handled them with grace.

Even when she chided me for misbehaving, she did so in a way that never made me feel bad about myself. I never doubted her love or her pride in me, in our family.

She knew when to push and when to leave something be. She loved to play games, I remember a lot of rounds of Upwords, and she loved to watch the birds in the backyard. I remember quiet conversations at night at the small table in the kitchen with just the light on above the sink. I remember that she came out to the bar with me and my parents when my 21st birthday happened to fall on the eve of my brother’s high school graduation. I have never been a drinker and even that night I don’t think I finished my beer. But she could tell that I was feeling low because I had spent my birthday playing second fiddle and she did what she could to soothe that. I remember just sitting quietly with her, so many times in so many ways over so many years. Being around her was peaceful.

She lived to welcome so many grandchildren and great-grandchildren. I truly just feel so fortunate that I got to be one joint on the web of people she knew and loved during her life. I share no genetic material with my Grandmom but that did not stop her from gluing my whole family together and very gently and carefully holding every piece in place until the glue set firm.

She may be gone but the glue remains, stronger than ever, fortified, eternal.

Thank you, Grandmom. You’ve played an instrumental role in giving me my greatest gift, my family. I wouldn’t be me without you. I’ll keep loving you from here, just like I know you’ll keep loving us from wherever you are now. It’s easy for me to imagine you blending into the bright force of light that is the love flowing in and around and through all of us. I will spend my life striving to have the impact on others that you have had on so, so many people. In a world where peace and love and strength are priceless currency, you were and will always be one of the biggest diamonds I’ve ever seen.

Once you’re done telling Pop-pop all about the Eagles winning the Superbowl, you’ll have to give him a kiss for me.

We miss you, but we’ll be okay down here. Thank you so much for everything you gave to us. It is such a blessing to know you’re now basking in the peace you so often provided for others here on Earth.

I love you, Grandmom.

#family #grandmom

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yes-i-would-like-to-be-stabbed · 5 years

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TDI Part 2 with my OC Kasey.

*Intro plays*

Chris: Okay. Today's challenge is three-fold. Your first task is to jump off this 1,000-foot-high cliff into the lake.

Bridgette: Piece of cake.

Kasey: Oh yeah baby! Cliff Divin’!

*Bridgette and Kasey high five*

Chris: If you look down, you will see two target areas. The wider area represents the part of the lake that we have stocked with psychotic *laughs* man-eating sharks. Inside that area is a safe zone. That's your target area, which, we're pretty sure is shark free.

Leshawna: Excuse me.

Kasey: Can I take my enthusiasm back?

Chris: For each member of your team that jumps and actually survives, there will be a crate of supplies waiting below. Inside each crate are supplies that you'll need for the second part of the challenge... building a hot tub. The team with the best one gets to have a wicked hot-tub party tonight. The losers will be sending someone home. Let's see, Killer Bass, you're up first.

Bridgette: Oh, wow. So, who wants to go first?

Crickets chirp

Owen: Hey, don't sweat it, guys. I heard that these shows always make the interns do the stunt first to make sure it's survivable.

Flashback music starts

Chris: We need to test the stunts first. You know that.

Chef: Do I look like an intern?

Chris: No, but the ones we had are all in the hospital. C'mon, just jump it, you big chicken. *cackles like a chicken*

Chef: I don't get paid enough for this, man. (screaming)

Chef: Hey, I made it. I made it, man, uh. Something just brushed up by my foot. Hey, Chris, man, something ain't right down here. (screaming and runs mid-air as the bongo running noise plays)

Chris: Well, that seems safe enough.

Flashback ends

Eva: So, who's up?

Duncan: Ladies first.

Bridgette: Fine, I'll go. It's no big deal, just an insane cliff dive into a circle of angry sharks.

Bridgette jumps

Tyler: They did it. Yeah! Yeah! I'm next. Cowabunga!

Kasey: Aww what the heck. Cowabunga dude!

They both jump. Kasey lands in the safe zone, Tyler lands on a buoy

Tyler: Oh! Ohhh. Ow.

Bridgette: Ooh.*cringes*

Kasey: Oooohh that was wicked man,

campers start jumping

Geoff: Wooooo! Hahaha!

Eva: Look out below!

Duncan jumps but says nothing

D.J.: Unh-unh. No way, man. I'm not jumping.

Chris: Scared of heights?

D.J.: Yeah, ever since I was a kid.

Chris: That's okay, big guy. Unfortunately, that also makes you a chicken. So you'll have to wear this for the rest of the day.

D.J.: Aw, man. For real?

Chris: Bawk bawk bawk! That means the chicken path down is that-a-way. Next.

Ezekiel: Yee-haw!

He hits a rock and spins before hitting the water as the team cheers.

Harold: Yes. (screams)

Harold does the splits and lands right on his kiwis

AHH!

Everyone visibly cringes even the sharks as his scream rings throughout the camp

Chris: Oh, hate to see that happen.

Courtney: Excuse me, Chris. I have a medical condition.

Chris: What condition?

Courtney: A condition that prevents me from jumping off cliffs.

Chris: You can chicken out if you want, but it might end up costing your team the win. And then they'll hate you.

Courtney: It's a calculated risk. I've seen the other team, and I don't think nine of them will jump.

Chris: All right, here is your chicken hat. So let's tally up the results. Hold on. That's nine jumpers and two chickens. We're missing one.

Sadie: I'm not jumping without Kadie!

Kadie: We have to be on the same team, Chris.

Both: Please! Please! Can we? Can we, Chris? Can we? Can we?

Izzy: I'll switch places with her.

Chris: All right, fine, you're both on the Killer Bass now. Izzy, you're on the Screaming Gophers.

Kadie and Sadie: Yes!

Chris: That means you're up, girls.

Kadie and Sadie: We're coming, Killer Bass! (screaming)

Chris: Okay, so that's ten jumpers and two chickens. Screaming Gophers, if you can beat that we'll throw in a pull cart to put your crates on.

Trent: Nice. Okay, guys who's up first?

*nobody moves or says anything*

Heather: I'm sorry, there's no way I'm doing this.

Beth: Why not?

Heather: Uh, hello, national TV., I'll get my hair wet.

Gwen: You're kidding, right?

Lindsay: If she's not doing it, I'm not doing it.

Leshawna: Oh you're doing it.

Heather: Says, who?

Leshawna: Says me. I'm not losing this challenge 'cause you got your hair day, you spoiled little daddy's girl.

Everyone recoils and backs up from the fight

Heather: Back off, ghetto-glamour, too-tight-pants-wearing, rap-star wannabe.

Leshawna: Mall-shopping, ponytail-wearing, teen-girl-reading, peeking in high school prom queen!

Heather: Well, at least I'm popular.

Everyone either smiles at the fight or is very concerned, except Justin who looks at himself in the mirror

Leshawna: You're jumping!

Heather: Make me!

Leshawna grabs her and holds her above her head, then tosses her over the cliff

Heather: (screaming) Leshawna, you are so dead!

Leshawna: Hey, I threw you into the safe zone, didn't I? Now I just hope I can hit it, too. (screaming)

Lindsay: I thought this was going to be a talent contest.

Chris: (laughs) Yeah. (laughs) No.

The Gophers begin jumping

Lindsay screams

Gwen screams

Cody screams

Izzy laughs ecstatically

Justin jumps

Leshawna: Lookout! Paddle!

Justin is surrounded by sharks, he smiles as angelic music plays and they carry him to shore

Beth: I--I can't do it. I'm too scared. I'm sorry.

Cody and Leshawna cackle like chickens

Lindsay: That is, like, so lame, right?

Heather: Fully lame.

Beth walks away with a chicken hat on

Trent: Let's do this. Yeah! Whoo!

He high fives Owen before jumping

Chris: Okay, campers, there's only one person left. You guys need this jump for the win. No pressure, dude.

Owen smiles, relaxed

Chris: Okay, there's pressure.

Owen frowns, and tenses

His team cheering for him below

Heather: Jump! Jump! Just do it, Owen. Do it!

Owen: Oh, I was pretty darn nervous.

(static)

Owen: See, the thing is, I'm not that strong a swimmer.

(static)

Geoff: I'm looking at this guy and thinking, "there's no way he's gonna make it."

(static)

Gwen: I actually thought, "if he jumps this... he's gonna die."

(static)

Kasey: Bye Bye Mr. Happy Pants. We hardly knew ye.

(static)

Chris: Take a good run at it, buddy. You can do this.

Owen: I'm going to die now. I'm going to freakin’ die now.

Leshawna: Come on, big guy.

Owen: Yeah! Oh, crap. (screams)

Owen jumps and makes a splash that sends a boat and everyone onto the beach in piles

The camera pans to a shark on a pine tree

Owen: Yes! Yeah! Oh, yeah! Who's the man?

Beth: Woo-hoo-hoo!

Leshawna: Yes.

Chris: The winners, the Screaming Gophers!

Trent: That was awesome, dude. What's wrong?

Owen: I, uh, think I lost my bathing suit.

The campers complain about Owen losing his bathing suit in the water

Team Screaming Gophers sing 99 bottles of pop.

Cut to Killer Bass

Courtney: Ow! I think I just got a splinter.

Eva: Shut up and pick up your crate... (Eva throws down the crate) Chicken.

*Kasey snickers as she walks by with a crate. Courtney glares at her.*

Courtney: Hey I'm the only one with C.I.T. camping experience here, you need me.

D.J. and Eva look at each other. It cuts back to the Screaming Gophers signing 99 Bottles of Pop.

Lindsay lags behind to pick up a seashell, before catching back up with the group.

Tyler carrying a crate.

Tyler: Ugh, I've gotta take a wiz.

Eva: Hurry up. We're already behind.

Kadie: Ooh, I hate to go, too.

Sadie: You do? Oh, my gosh, me, too.

Kasey: Ugh, anyone else?

*she sets down her crate and cracks her back, everyone shakes their head*

Sadie and Kadie follow Tyler into the woods.

Cuts to Courtney killing a fly, resulting in her hitting herself.

Courtney: Ow. I think something just bit me.

Back to the Screaming Gophers singing 99 Bottles of Pop.

Beth: Hey, look, there’s the campground.

Owen: That was pretty easy.

Cody: I'm pleasantly surprised.

Cut back to the Killer Bass

Eva: Feel better?

Kadie: Yup.

Courtney: Can we go now? I think my eye is swelling up.

Kasey: Quit complaining! Let’s go!

Kadie and Sadie start pushing a crate.

Sadie: Ew, something's itching me. Are you itchy, too?

Kadie: Totally itchy. Really bad.

Cut back to the campgrounds

Chris: Remember, you guys can only use your teeth to open the crates. I came up with that one.

*Campers are trying to open the crates with their mouths, Izzy has a rope in her mouth*

Izzy: (growling) Hey, I think I got it open.

The crate pops open.

Izzy: Ow, ow, rope burn on my tongue.

Cut back to Sadie and Kadie.

Sadie: Ooh, it's really itching now.

Kadie: Mine feels like it's burning.

Sadie: Okay, I have to scratch.

Kadie and Sadie both start scratching.

Chris rides over on an ATV

Chris: You guys are way behind the other team. Like, way behind. What's the problem?

Courtney: Their butts are itchy.

Chris turns to Courtney and notices her eye

Chris: Ahh! Oh, my boxers, that's bad.

Bridgette: Did you guys squat down when you peed in the woods?

Kadie: Yeah.

Bridgette: Did you happen to notice what kind of plants you were squatting over?

Sadie: They were kind of oval shaped and green and all over the place.

Bridgette: Were they low to the ground, about this big?

Bridgette makes a shape with her hands.

Kadie and Sadie both nod.

Bridgette: You guys squatted on poison ivy.

Kadie and Sadie: What do we do? Oh, no.

They both start yelling and panicking.

Chris: (laughs) No way. That's awesome. (laughs)

Kasey: Oh man that is soooo bad.

Kadie and Sadie begin to drag their butts across the sand.

Kadie and Sadie: Somebody, help us.

Back to the Screaming Gophers.

Owen: Hey, check it out, I got wood.

Trent: I got some tools here and what looks like a pool liner.

Heather and Lindsay walk over to Leshawna.

Heather: I just wanted to say, I didn't mean bad about you being a ghetto, rap-star wannabe, and I love your earrings. They're so pretty.

Leshawna: Straight up? Well, I'm sorry about pushing you over the cliff and all.

Heather: No worries. I needed a push. Truce?

Leshawna: Yeah, yeah, you got it.

Heather and Leshawna fist bump.

Heather and Lindsay walk away.

Lindsay: Did you mean all that stuff you said to Lefonda back there?

Heather: Leshawna. Hah, no. She's going down. And P.S. those are the ugliest earrings I've seen in my life.

Lindsay: Oh.

Heather walks past Lindsay as she looks back before walking up to Heather.

Lindsay: So if you hate her why were you being nice to her?

Heather: You ever seen one of these shows before? Keep your friends close and your enemies closer.

Lindsay: Oh. I'm your friend, right?

Heather: Oh, yeah, for now.

Cut to Izzy, Trent, and Noah building the hot tub.

The Killer Bass finally make it to Camp and drop their crates.

Harold: Finally.

Trent: Hey, what's up, guys?

Leshawna: Hey, aren't you missing a couple of white girls?

Cut to Kadie and Sadie with their pants down in the ocean.

Both: (sighing)

Bubbles come up behind Sadie.

Sadie: Oops.

Courtney: They're getting a drink.

Harold: Yeah, if they drink with their butts.

Ezekiel: Haha, that's funny.

Kasey: Haha! Good one! *high fives Harold*

Courtney walks up to Leshawna. Leshawan stares at her eye. Courtney covers her eye.

Leshawna: Ooh, what happened to your eye, girl?

Courtney: Nothing, just an allergy.

Ezekiel: Think it's getting worse.

Courtney: Shut up. We don't want them to know that.

Cut to Geoff on a bunch of crates.

Geoff: Okay, dudes, it's not too late. We can do this.

Cuts to Harold drooling and Ezekiel picking his nose.

Courtney: Ew.

Ezekiel: What?

Bridgette: That's really gross.

Kasey: Yeah dude. What are you? Five?

Courtney: Okay look, guys, we have a hot tub to complete, and we need a project manager, since I've actually been a C.I.T. before, I'm electing myself. Any objections?

Duncan: Where do we begin, Cyclops?

Courtney: Open the crates. Bridgette, go find those itchy girls. We need all the help we can get.

Kasey: Aye Aye, Cap’N One-Eye! *mocks salutes and high fives Duncan, while Courtney huffs*

Cut to Beth and Justin building a hot tub. Then to Harold, Geoff, and Kasey attempting to build a hot tub. Then it collapses. Back to Trent nailing something in. Then, to Duncan and Tyler fighting for a hammer, then it’s launched into Harold's 'family jewels' then gets accidentally attacked by Bridgette with a plank.

Then to The Screaming Gophers filling the hot tub with water. Then to The Killer Bass's terrible hot tub.

Chris begins to examine the two hot tubs.

Chris: This is an awesome hot tub.

The Screaming Gophers cheer.

Chris inspects The Killer Bass's hot tub and gets sprayed in the face.

The hot tub falls apart and the seagull inside washes away.

Chris: Well, I think we have a winner here... The Screaming Gophers.

Screaming Gophers cheer

Chris: Gophers, you're safe from elimination and you get to rock this awesome hot tub for the rest of the summer. Bonus!

Screaming Gophers cheer

The KIller Bass look down in shame

Chris: Killer Bass, what can I say? Sucks to be you right now. I'll see your sorry butts at the bonfire tonight.

Lindsay: We won! We all get to stay here for another three days!

Heather, Beth, and Lindsay: Oh, yeah. Woo-hoo-hoo.

Owen hops out of the hot tub naked and dances.

Owen: Woo-hoo! Woo-hoo! Ha ha ha. Yes! We get to stay. We get to stay, we are so awesome. We won the contest.

Owen grabs and hugs Heather and Lindsay. Heather is disgusted and Lindsay is smiling.

Main Lodge.

Kadie: So--uh--what do we do now?

Courtney: We have to figure out who we're gonna vote off.

Duncan: Well, I think it should be the princess or the brick house here.

Courtney: What? Why?

Duncan: Because, unless I'm mistaken, you two are the only ones here wearing chicken hats and if we ever have to lift a truck, I like our odds with the big guy.

Courtney: You guys need me. I'm the only one--

Bridgette: We know, who used to be a real C.I.T. so would you pick?

Courtney: What about him?

She points to Tyler and Lindsay stands up.

Lindsay: No! I mean no salt, there's no salt on the table, bummer.

Duncan: Hey, hey, at least he jumped off the cliff, chicken wing.

Courtney: Shut up.

Geoff: Okay, let's just chill out. This is getting way too heavy.

Duncan: I've had enough prison food for one day. I'm gonna go take a nap.

Courtney: You can't do that. We haven't decided who's going yet.

Ezekiel: Well, I just don't get why we lost, eh? They're the ones that have six girls.

Sadie and Kadie: (gasp)

Bridgette: What's that supposed to mean?

Kasey: What did you say, punk? And if I’m not mistaken there are six girls here too.

Eva: Yeah, home school, enlighten us.

Eva, Bridgette, and Kasey surround him with angry expressions.

Ezekiel: Well, guys are much stronger and better at sports than girls are.

Geoff: Oh snap, you did not just say that.

Ezekiel: My dad told me to look out for the girls here, eh? And help them in case they can't keep up.

Eva grabs him and holds him up by his neck.

Eva: Still think we need your help keeping up?

Ezekiel: *choking* Uh, not really.

Geoff: Okay, guys, let's give him a break. I mean, at least he doesn't think that guys are smarter than girls.

Ezekiel: But they are.

Elimination ceremony

All the girls are glaring at Ezekiel.

Duncan: Dude, you've got a lot to learn about the real world.

Chris: Killer bass, at camp marshmallows represent a tasty treat that you enjoy roasting by the fire. At this camp marshmallows represent life.

Geoff flexes for Bridgette. Bridgette and Kasey giggle.

Chris: You've all cast your votes and made your decision. There are only ten marshmallows on this plate. When I call your name come up and claim your marshmallow. The camper who does not receive a marshmallow tonight must immediately return to the dock of shame to catch the boat of losers. That means you're out of the contest and you can't come back... Ever. The first marshmallow goes to... Geoff. Tyler.

Tyler: Woo-hoo-hoo! Yeah! Place at the table.

Chris: Kadie. Bridgette. D.J.. Harold. Kasey.

Harold: Yes.

Chris: Sadie.

Sadie: Oh, yay. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you.

Chris: Duncan. Campers, this is the final marshmallow of the evening.

(Huge dramatic pause)

Chris: Courtney.

Courtney: (sighs)

Chris: Can't say I'm shocked. I saw you picking your nose, dude. Not cool. Dock of shame is that way, bro.

Ezekiel walks down the dock and leaves f o r e v e r.

Chris: The rest of you, enjoy your marshmallows. You're all safe for tonight.

(static)

Gwen: Yep, this camp pretty much still sucks. But now that I'm here I guess I might as well actually try to win.

(static)

Kasey: That Ezekiel got what was coming to him.That no good, misogynistic-

(static)

The camera pans to the Screaming Gophers in their hot tub.

Cody: To the Screaming Gophers.

Team: To the Screaming Gophers.

Leshawna: Go gophers, go gophers.

Noah, Leshawna, and Owen: Go gophers, go gophers. Go gophers, go gophers, go, go, go gophers.

Courtney: Are you recording this? Good. They can enjoy their little part all they want, but I am gonna win this competition and no one is gonna stop me.

Kasey: Uh Courtney? You know I can hear you right?

Courtney jumps and looks startled. Courtney looks sheepish as Kasey raises an eyebrow.

#tdi #total drama island #td #tdi oc #td oc #Kasey #total drama island oc

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bad-puns-and-even-worse-magic · 6 years

Text

The Phoenix of the MCU: How Tony Stark’s Character Rose, Fell, and Rose Again

The Tony Stark of the Marvel Cinematic Universe is a different breed from the Tony Stark that’s seen in the comics and while that’s a good thing in its own right, the movie genre creates an alternate universe compared to characters that exist on the printed page. Similarities between the comics and the MCU exist, but the characters, the stories, and their interactions have just enough familiarity to them to draw in old fans and new ones.

Just like the comics, the movies are written by different people, they’re directed by different people. The MCU is a sandbox that multiple kids are playing in which means that there will be a great influx of characterizations—especially when movies are being completed near or around the same time. For Tony Stark, this means that there is a major rise, then fall, to his characterization that is rebooted in time for Avengers: Infinity War (2018).

In 2008, the superhero genre received a massive shock to the chest with the release of Iron Man. Despite any feelings directed towards the plotline of the story, Tony Stark not only is a major key factor about why the story works, but also was just flat out fun to watch. The armour was badass, his banter with Jarvis was fantastic, and Iron Man was easily the coolest superhero on the big screen.

Until Captain America.

Part One: The Fall of Tony Stark aka How to Bucher a Character in Two Hours or Less by Joss Whedon

The First Avenger wasn’t the best movie—nor was it the worst—and it relied heavily on Chris Evans being incredibly charming, touching, and so impossible not to love that he distracts the audience from its almost cheesey Indiana Jones style plot (looking at you ‘Nazis searching for magical objects’). Evans, as Steve Rogers, proceeds to carry the character through The Avengers and beyond but while his character rises, Tony Stark’s falls.

The Avengers was a cinematic feat that still manages to hold up plot wise with its pacing and story. Its major pitfalls are with the characters. Instead of focusing on the characters as a whole, each of them is given a defining characteristic and then that characteristic is emphasized, expanded, and blown up enough that it becomes nothing more than a balloon waiting to pop.

Take, for example, Steve Rogers suddenly becoming a thundering dumbass who constantly reminds people that he was born in the 1940’s. “I understood that reference”, while funny in the short term, is just a long list of tally marks to make everyone remember that Captain America is Old Fashioned. He says things like “there’s only one god ma’am, and I’m pretty sure he doesn’t dress like that”, wears clothes that look straight out of some grandfather’s closet, and constantly looks confused by the tech around him. This is a far cry from The First Avenger where he learns how to use the Hydra weapons, figures out that he was probably kidnapped based on a baseball game playing on the radio, and immediately disrespected authority to go save Bucky. In the Avengers all that is pushed to the side and Steve Rogers becomes less of the three dimensional character the audiences knew and more one dimension and a half.

In contrast, Bruce Banner benefited from such a tactic by becoming more intense, more regretful, and more nervous. Seeing the guards on the helicarrier, he immediately ducks away as the instinct to hide kicks in despite the fact that he’s allowed to be there and was actually invited by Nick Fury. This is a moment that establishes the character; he feels uncomfortable, he doesn’t want to be there. After The Incredible Hulk, Marvel was looking for a rebound and this was it.

That rebound was not intended for Tony Stark. The same Tony Stark that already had two movies that established his personality and laid a basic groundwork for his character. In The Avengers, Tony is a straight up jackass. This isn’t about his normal asshole-ness where he is sometimes brass and difficult to work with—because that’s just who he is—but The Avengers takes that quirk and runs a marathon with it. He was never a bully in Iron Man and Iron Man 2 so his line to Steve Rogers (“You might have missed a couple things. You know. Doing time as a Capsicle”) is completely out of character, the way he says “I’m a big fan of the way you turn into a giant green rage monster” despite Bruce banner clearly not being comfortable with it, and mocking Nick Fury’s disability in front of the rest of the ‘team’ shows a lack of understanding of what this character has gone through and the growth he’s already had.

Fans at this point would argue the point of Howard Stark. ‘But Tony hates Cap because of Howard’s relationship to Rogers!’ and they can argue that point until their blue in the face but at this point of time—when The Avengers first came out—there was no Agents of Shield to build a backing on and there was no Agent Carter. Iron Man 2 didn’t set up the reasoning for Howard’s neglect; just that it happened. For the Audience simply watching the movie at that time with no comic book background, Tony Stark is being a major jackass.

The mischaracterization doesn’t stop there. It doesn’t even stop at The Avengers. Tony becomes ignorant (“I have a plan: attack”) and rushes in despite stating that he’s a genius and the other movies building up that his mind is his greatest advantage, not the Iron Man suit itself. There’s also the fact that he’s just so rude to people. This is, apparently, the same man who was spooked and horrified by the fact that he was letting people come to harm in Iron Man to the point that he dedicated the rest of his life to righting that wrong. In Age of Ultron he creates a killer AI and his first reaction to when Helen Cho asks “why is it trying to kill us?” is to laugh.

Thor: Do you think this is funny?

Tony: No. It’s probably not, right? Is this very terrible? Is it so...is it so...it is. It's so terrible.

The same guy who wanted his company to have nothing to do with weapons, who halted all manufacturing immediately and was so betrayed by the knowledge that Obadiah Stane was still selling them to both sides, laughed at the threat on other people’s lives. It’s almost as if he’s going out of his way to be a douche bag in this movie.

In Age of Ultron Tony Stark is a jerk who is actually playing with lives. He laughs about the situation he and Bruce banner have put the Avengers in, constantly uses his past trauma as an excuse to be forgiven for all misdeeds (“Does anybody remember when I carried a nuke through a wormhole?”) and while Tony’s intentions are to fight the Big Bad that he believes is coming, the creation of Ultron is not the problem; it is how he reacted, as a character, to the idea that people’s lives were in trouble. Compared to Iron Man, where he is almost visibly brought to tears, the Tony Stark in Age of Ultron is a heartless bastard.

On the same note of comparing Iron Man and Whedon’s Avenger movies, Tony Stark is suddenly ridiculously overpowered. The idea of the Superhero Genre is to take characters who are Good and place them against the Bad. Playing around with the grey area between is where the audience gets to see remarkable character interactions but having a hero who is strong enough that they aren’t challenged by the big bad Baddie means no interesting interactions, means no fun rise of that character overcoming their struggles, and basically means that Tony Stark can apparently overpower the Hulk and blow Ultron into itty bitty pieces.

Granted, blowing Ultron to pieces doesn’t fully work in the end, but there is a massive difference between how Tony has a breeze fighting both the Hulk and Ultron while Steve has to get up again and again and again despite how the odds are against him.

Steve Rogers: Welp! He’s definitely unhappy! I’m gonna try and keep him that way.

Clint Barton: You’re not a match for him, Cap.

Steve Rogers: Thanks. Partner.

That’s what a superhero is. When Tony is so efficient that no other characters can compare and is never getting a good asswhooping he has to rise up against, it’s boring. It’s ridiculous. It’s absolutely a waste of the superhero genre. If I wanted to watch billionaires overcome all the odds so easily I could turn on the TV and watch the news. When a hero is so ridiculously overpowered that you know they’re going to win anyway, it’s hard to root for them. The Nuke scene in The Avengers is probably the closest director Joss Whedon ever manages to get to actually playing with this concept but it’s still not as impactful as the scene in Iron Man where Tony is crawling across the floor of his garage to get to his old Arc Reactor before he goes into cardiac arrest.

That is the kind of moment that has the audience on the edge of their seats, where they are truly rooting for the main character to succeed. Not in a battle with the Hulk where the only actual danger is maybe the Hulk Smashing Armour is damaged. And that’s a big ‘maybe’.

Between the two Avengers movies is Iron Man 3 and while the movie does try to humble Tony Stark through his PTSD, it falls short of actually doing the mental condition justice as he just seems to think his way through those panic attacks. It’s a good example of the after effects of heroism, how something like flying an active warhead through a portal and into space can have an effect on people, but after the last panic attack in the car he just seems to get over it and there’s no mention of it through the rest of the movie.

It seems, however, that Iron Man 3 and Age of Ultron have the same issues plot wise, however, and that’s having a villain that doesn’t necessary challenge Tony Stark in a meaningful way. Killian kidnaps Pepper, but there are no actual challenges to Tony fighting him besides a visibly cool scene involving the different armours and a guy that can regenerate limbs and breathe fire. Obadiah Stane and Vanko challenged Tony in a way he never had before while Killian did not.

Beyond Killian, the only major part of this movie that would have raised the stakes for Tony Stark would if Pepper Potts had died during the climax. While this falls into the glaringly gross trope of Women in Refrigerators, it would have added the emotional baggage that just hasn’t existed for Tony since Iron Man.

Between the area of The Avengers and Age of Ultron, there was no growth for Tony Stark. He suffered (a little) became a douche bag (a lot) but he wasn’t really challenged in the way Steve Rogers had been challenged on the other side of the MCU.

Part Two:

The Foil of Steve Rogers, How Captain America Stole the Spotlight, and the Build Up of Tony Stark

Compared to Tony Stark, Steve Rogers went from strength to strength and none more so than in Captain America: Winter Soldier. In Iron Man 3, Tony falsely loses things (his house which he can rebuild because he has that kind of money, his suits which he doesn’t so much as lose as blow up, and Pepper who is still alive after “[falling] thirty feet”) While in Winter Soldier, Steve loses a lot. Peggy Carter, his one last connection to the past, has Alzheimer’s and her body is failing, Shield—perhaps the one true stable point in his life—ends up being a front for a Nazi organization he fought to eradicate in the 40’s, and, perhaps most importantly, he loses his faith in authority. Throughout the movie he’s challenged both ideologically, emotionally, and physically to his limits.

The way this is done is through a triangle of supporting characters. Unlike in The Avengers, Winter Soldier doesn’t depend on inflating characters into caricatures to establish differences between the cast. The supporting characters—Natasha Romanoff, Sam Wilson, and Bucky Barnes—play off of Steve and, in return, help to move the story forward.

Natasha Romanoff forces Steve to broaden his look at the world. She challenges him ideology, teaching him that the world isn’t black and white. The good guys can do bad things and the bad guys can do good things. The world is too grey for the thought of a true Right and Wrong philosophy. Steve Rogers has to choose between doing the good thing and breaking the law or doing the bad thing and not breaking the law. Of course, Winter Soldier is a superhero movie, so doing the good thing while breaking the law wins out in the end.

On the other hand, Sam Wilson fills the role of a new best friend. He’s similar to Steve and they have shared experiences, but his wit and humour plays off well against Steve’s no-nonsense 20th century temperament. Finally, it’s a return back to The First Avenger where Bucky and Steve joke just before getting on that all important train.

Last is Bucky Barnes. He’s a Terminator style antagonist who not only has the very real chance of killing Steve but almost succeeds in doing so. He challenges Steve emotionally and physically to the point of almost breaking the hero, opening a harrowing window to the past that no one else in the movie can quite understand. For the audience it’s watching Tony Stark crawl through his garage all over again except worse because the watchers don’t exactly want Steve to win the fight (as that would mean losing Bucky again) and they don’t want him to lose (which could possibly end in death for Steve).

This triangle of characters forces Steve to experience challenges and emotions in a new and fresh way and it’s what happens to Tony Stark in Captain America: Civil War and Avengers: Infinity War. He becomes bolstered by a triangle of characters that challenge him, change his views, and force him to think about things differently.

The first of these characters is Steve Rogers himself. While most of the driving force between their relationship in the movie is based around the Sokovia Accords, Tony is convinced to support the law due to a run in with Miriam Sharpe. Her son, Charlie Spencer, died in Sokovia and she asks Tony “who is going to avenge my son, Stark? He’s dead and I blame you.” Compared to the scene in Ultron, Tony’s attitude is remarkably different. Rather than laughing about the danger he’s created, bragging about his achievement in making a murderous AI, Tony takes responsibility for his actions and even makes a concerted effort to try and keep the team together. When he says “I’m trying to keep you from tearing the Avengers apart” at the airport, it’s clear from the look on his face that he doesn’t want to fight the people he’s come to respect and doesn’t want to see his friends behind bars looking at him with disdain and hatred.

At the same time, there are two different stories happening in Civil War that are part of the same coin. Steve Rogers is trying to save Bucky Barnes from wrongful imprisonment while trying to bring the actual terrorist to justice, and Tony Stark is struggling with looking Mariam Sharpe in the eye and realizing that there is not justice to be done for the people who died in Sokovia. In fact, for both characters, nobody except for the audience actually know how Tony and Steve feel because we are the only ones who witness both moments.

This is a storytelling trick that helps the audience align with both characters and see both points of view which is why it is so hard to actually choose a side in Civil War and why the argument could be made that the audience was never meant to actually pick one in the first place. Whether or not there is agreement on their stance on the Accords, the movie makes it clear that both Steve and Tony have a point.

Civil War takes it a step further with Tony and forces him out of his comfort zone in a way that he hasn’t been challenged since Iron Man or Iron Man 2 in order to keep the peace. While the movie was about Captain America, it had to do a lot of major patch up work for the character of Tony Stark. He is morose after finding out that his actions directly led to someone getting killed which is a return back to the whole point of why he became Iron Man in the first place: to save people’s lives.

Even when Steve and Tony argue, there is no direct bullying from either side that happens in the posturing in The Avengers and even Age of Ultron. Neither side resort to insults and, even in their disagreements, never resort to the needle-like jabs that Joss Whedon seems to think should be the basis of their ‘friendship’.

Steve Rogers: Protection? Is that how you see this? This is protection? It's internment, Tony.

Tony Stark: She's not a US citizen—

Steve Rogers: Oh, come on, Tony.

Tony Stark: And they don't grant visas to weapons of mass destruction.

Steve Rogers: She's a kid!

Tony Stark: Give me a break! I'm doing what has to be done to stave off something worse.

He’s listening to Steve and they both respect each other to hear the other’s point of view. In this single scene, Tony is far more measured than in both of the previous Avenger films combined. It almost feels like he’s grown up. Steve Rogers and the situation at hand is forcing Tony to look at himself and become better from it.

This isn’t to say that Civil War doesn’t take Tony Stark to his lowest point and possibly the closest we ever will get to the almost villainous Tony of the comics, but it’s a moment that feels, for once, truly earned.

Steve Rogers: Tony. Tony.

Tony Stark: Did you know?

Steve Rogers: I didn't know it was him.

Tony Stark: Don't bullshit me, Rogers! Did you know?

Steve Rogers: Yes.

As a character who is never supposed to lie, this moment is a breaking point in the relationship between Steve Rogers and Tony Stark. As a character who has always told the truth, no matter how big that truth is, Steve keeping a secret means that the information is incredibly important to him. Bucky is enough for Steve to bend his morals and is something that is, understandably, shocking for Tony as he is directly involved. While Bucky was controlled by Hydra, Tony Stark goes through a massive amount of revelations all at once; finding out his parents were murdered instead of dying in a car accident (watching them being beaten and choked to death on a monitor), finding out Bucky was directly involved, and then also finding out that Steve, a man he trusted, kept that a secret from him. All of this is the cataclysm that begins the fight at the end of Civil War and everything leading up to that one key moment make perfect sense.

The fact that the fight gets so out of hand that Tony Stark would have been willing to murder Bucky, the fact that he cowers underneath Steve when the shield is raised thinking that he’s driven Steve to do the same to him; that is what ruins their friendship in the end. The trust is gone and he doesn’t even get to take the high ground in the situation as Steve leaves the shield of his own, free will and walks away leaving Tony completely alone and abandoned by the team he once surrounded himself with.

Suddenly all that humbleness, all that struggle, all that loss that was missing from 2012 onward is dumped across Tony in the biggest way imaginable. Civil War patches up the holes in Tony Stark’s character and refuses to use the frilly Hello Kitty band aids of Iron Man 3 but instead use a whole tub of quick drying cement and sand him down so it’s polished. While I’m sure a lot of his fans would like for him to not have gone through the entirety of Civil War at all, the movie was completely necessary to not only fix Tony for future instalments in the MCU but it’s simply just good writing.

Part Three:

The Unstoppable Force Meets an Immoveable Object

In Avengers: Infinity War, the introduction of Thanos becomes the epicentre of Tony’s entire focus. He now knows the name of the Big Bad he’s feared since the end of The Avengers. Tony Stark, realizing the threat, goes into overdrive. There is an influx of sudden physicality and panic where he stretched against Doctor Strange’s cauldron and argues about what to do with the infinity stone.

During his argument with Doctor Strange aboard Ebony Maw’s ship, it’s clear that, for the first time since Obadiah Stane, Tony has met his match. Out in the universe, there is an entity that can drive him to obsession, give him PTSD, and leave him designing the ultimate nano-tech suit just in the hope that maybe he is prepared enough to face this colossus on the horizon. Up to this point, Tony Stark has suffered from having good, but not great villains. They never actually ever manage to leave their mark on Tony despite having all the right ingredients. The closest would be Ultron, but it’s still Miriam Sharpe who directly impacts him, not Ultron himself.

After so long, after a grand total of nineteen films, the final fight on Titan between Tony and Thanos feels like a culmination of all that waiting and there is finally a villain that can match Tony Stark step by step. Both of them dread it, both of them have to face it, and, when Tony is the last one standing, giving everything he has; Thanos wins.

Every hero failed in Avengers: Infinity War but no one failed as much as Tony Stark. His story was built up around this battle. His suffering after New York, his PTSD in Iron Man 3 and his desperation to keep the team together in Civil War has all led up to the single moment on Titan where Thanos stabs him and walks away with Doctor Strange’s time stone.

While Civil War marked the rise and the beginning of the rebirth of Tony’s character, Infinity War was the fire that set the phoenix ablaze. It was a rejuvenation, a cultivation, and the beginning of a new start for Tony that simply wasn’t there during The Avengers and Age of Ultron. It brought back new love for the character and an appreciation of who he is, what he could do, and why all of this, the entirety of the MCU, started with Iron Man.

#analysis #i put this entire thing behind a cut #so if you had to scroll all the way through i'm so sorry

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nebris · 6 years

Text

We’re Not Done Here

How the MeToo movement became a feminist sexual revolution.

Laurie Penny | Longreads | January 2018 | 19 minutes (4,764 words)

The problem of sexual violation can not be treated as distinct from the problematic of sexuality itself. The ubiquity of sexual violations is obviously related to what is taken to be routine, everyday sex, the ‘facts’ of pleasure and desire. — Linda MartAn Alcoff, Rape and Resistance

This kind of mania will always at some point exhaust itself. — Andrew Sullivan, New York Magazine

***

Oh, girls, look what we’ve done now. We’ve gone too far. The growing backlash against the MeToo movement has finally settled on a form that can face itself in the mirror. The charge is hysteria, moral panic, hatred of sex, hatred of men. More specifically, as Andrew Sullivan complained in New York magazine this week, “the righteous exposure of hideous abuse of power had morphed into a more generalized revolution against the patriarchy.” Well, yes. That’s rather the point.

Sullivan is far from the only one to accuse the MeToo movement of becoming a moral panic about sexuality itself, and he joins a chorus of hand-wringers warning that if this continues — well, men will lose their jobs unjustly, and what could be worse than that, really? The story being put about is that women, girls, and a few presumably hoodwinked men are now so carried away by their “anger” and “temporary power” that, according to one piece in the Atlantic, they have become “dangerous.” Of course — what could be more terrifying than an angry, powerful woman, especially if you secretly care a little bit more about being comfortable than you do about justice? This was always how the counter-narrative was going to unfold: It was always going to become a meltdown about castrating feminist hellcats whipping up their followers into a Cybelian frenzy, interpreting any clumsy come-on as an attempted rape and murder. We know what happens when women get out of control, don’t we?

Charges like this are serious. Too serious to dismiss out of hand. I don’t mean to do so, not least because I am a queer person, and I do not take the notion of sex panic lightly. Why, then, are so many people so anxious to believe that this is one? There is at least one simple answer. It is easier — much, much easier — to manufacture an attack on sexuality than it is to imagine an attack on patriarchy.

Sex is not the problem. Sexism is the problem, along with the upsetting multitudes of men and women who seem unable or unwilling to make the distinction. An attack on sexuality, however, will always find recruits from across the political spectrum as well as from armies of amoral keyboard droppers who just want to read about what celebrities get up to in hotel rooms. An attack on patriarchy, male supremacy, and sexual oppression — that is far harder to accept. It is far harder to allow. Easier to transpose it into a key of prurience and wait for the whole thing to stroke itself into exhaustion. But — forgive me — if you think this movement has blown its load already, you’ve no idea how women work, and you’ve no clue what’s coming.

***

Alright, ladies, you’ve had your fun, and you’ve given us all a fright — but that’s enough now. If we relegate this all-out revolt against male sexual entitlement to the kitchen shelf where it belongs, everyone would be a lot more comfortable — at least, the men in the room would be, and we all know that’s what really matters.

Just look at what happened to poor old Aziz Ansari. They warned us that this sort of thing was coming, and we didn’t listen. A famous and successful man in his 30s goes on a date with an unfamous woman in her 20s, they go home together, he pesters her for a shag, she isn’t strong enough to say no or slap him away like a real woman ought to, like women used to do back in the day, so like the snowflake she is, she gets upset and goes home — and we all know how this one goes. He wins an award, and she decides to take revenge. She goes to the press, the press report the encounter in cringeworthy suck-by-blow detail, the feminazi #MeToo hive-vagina takes over, the hysteria mill rattles into overdrive, and boom — just like that, his career is over. Now everyone’s calling the poor guy a monster and a rapist. He’s blacklisted from every network. He’ll never work again. Another fallen soldier in the sex wars. Predictable. Tragic. Just goes to show how weak modern women really are, how much they hate men and sex, how they always take things too far, how they never miss a chance to play the victim.

At least, that’s what it might’ve gone to show if any of that had actually happened. What actually happened was quite different.

What actually happened was this: A man was rude and sexually entitled, fucked up and hurt somebody, and she told him so. He apologized and took it to heart. An unscrupulous trash publication chased this woman down and got her to tell her story, which it reported in the lurid language of celebrity sex scandal. Babe magazine framed it in a way designed to garner maximum attention, derail important activist work, and humiliate everybody involved. The original piece at Babe magazine is an object lesson in how scummy gutter journalism can be when literally all it cares about is keeping readers salivating. The piece pruriently portrays both parties in the worst possible light: Ansari comes out of it looking like an entitled dick on training-wheels, and “Grace” comes out of it looking not like an honest young person who had an upsetting experience, but like a spiteful child who wanted to hurt a man who hurt her, who wanted to ruin him just like the papers warned us all women do. The reporter makes her look hysterical, which is something she definitely isn’t, because nobody is, because hysteria is a fake disease made up by a sexist medical establishment a hundred and fifty years ago to pathologize women who were traumatized and frustrated and wanted their lives to be different.

Unfortunately for those who were hoping for a crowbar to shove in the wheels of this barrelling machine of social and sexual change, what this moment illustrates is a remorseless and prurient witch hunt failing to happen. Ansari still has his career. He’ll be fine — not because the hand-wringers called time on a movement that went too far, but because this movement is honest. This movement is more than just a ballroom full of fainting maidens who collapse at the sight of their own ankles. It turns out that most women can, in fact, distinguish between sexual assault and a bad date. It turns out that sex is just one more thing we really do not need mansplained to us.

***

You want to talk about sexual repression? About wanting women to act like fainting Victorian ladies? The idea that it’s women who are the enemies of freedom in a world where, for centuries, the very worst thing you can call a woman has been “loose” or a “slut,” where for a female or queer person to be openly sexual is to incite violence or excuse it after the fact — that would be laughable anywhere, but in America? In a nation where legal abortion is all but impossible to access in all but the most liberal states, where conservative lawmakers in every district are going after not just safe pregnancy termination, but contraception? We have not even begun to have a real conversation about creating the conditions for meaningful sexual liberty that works for most human beings. If you want sexual liberation, make contraception, reproductive health care, and pregnancy termination easy to access and free at the point of use. Then, Mr. Sullivan, we can talk about “defending sex.”

If anyone is confused about the difference between sex and violence, if anyone is operating under the assumption that men are always and only animals who cannot be expected to control their erotic compulsions, it’s not women. It’s men, because they’ve been socialized to understand sex and violence as synonymous, and it’s the mainstream press, because stars, sex, and violence have always sold copy.

Part of the confusion has arisen from the obvious glee with which the press has sunk its indiscriminate fangs into individual offenders, luridly repeating details of alleged transgressions and sidelining the experiences of victims and survivors, as if sexual activity itself were the so-called scandal rather than whether or not the sucking and fucking and flowerpot-wanking was consensual. There’s always been a ripe news economy of sexual hypocrisy. The same tabloids that sell millions of issues printing pictures of topless teenage girls will gladly jump on any slut-shaming bandwagon that trundles by on its way to the frigid past.

It turns out that women, largely, are not the ones who are confused between sex and violence — not when the stakes are this high. Which is incredible, really, because most of our lives have been spent, especially if we are straight, being gaslit and bullied into believing that sexual violence is normal and fine. We have been socialized to think we need to be reticent and shy about our own desires — that our bodies are for men to desire and own — and yet we are also the ones responsible for setting the boundaries. We have been told that the absolute maximum we can expect, if we are good and quiet and not too provocative or angry, is not to be violently raped.

We are also supposed to put other people’s comfort before our own in every remotely sexual situation. We must not be rude. We must not upset or threaten the man. We must say no when we mean it, but we must take care not to offend him or threaten his masculinity, because heaven knows what will happen then. That’s where this backlash has backfired. Instead of exposing a movement that has overreached itself, instead of proving that MeToo is simply, as a well-reported letter in the French press put it, an attack on men, the Aziz-and-Grace story has opened up a whole new conversation about what we expect from sex, even when it is technically consensual. It turns out that we’re not done here.

We are far from done.

***

There will always be cowardly and conservative elements in society just desperate to take even one irresponsibly reported story and use it to damn an entire movement, and we must not let them, because this matters too damn much. There’s a reeking double standard in the room. Right now, if a man makes a mistake and hurts someone, it might, just for once, ruin his career — but it seems that if a woman makes a mistake and hurts someone right back, or allows her pain to be twisted to serve someone else’s agenda, she damns not just herself, but all other women by association.

This is what happens when patriarchy is on the run. It gets nasty. The mind games ramp up. Women are always the first to lose. But I have a word of advice for those who tried and failed to use this flashpoint to condemn the entire movement:  Gentlemen, do not test us. Women who love their own freedom are all too used to hearing that we have gone too far — in fact, we’ve been hearing that for centuries, whenever we’ve tried to take a single step. The truth is that we have not gone nearly far enough, and we have very little to lose. Attacking our reputations, calling us liars, trying to humiliate us and drive us apart — we’ve seen all that before. Try it and see. This is not going to go the way you want it to go.

No, really. I have crept across the lines of this messy culture war to give you this advice, so please take it seriously, because it is for everyone’s good.

The terms of this war of sex and power have changed, and so have the weapons. Physical violence and threat won’t work for you here. You are trying to fight against whispers and rumors and inference, against righteous rage, against charges of hypocrisy, exploitation, and crass dehumanization that hit home with career-ending accuracy. And you’re trying to fight this war with an arsenal you don’t know how to use, against an army that has been training with these weapons for generations, because these tools of emotional warfare are the only ones they have ever been allowed, because they are women.

You are going to lose.

I don’t care that you’re fighting on your home terrain, that you’ve always been told that sex and power belonged to you and you could set the terms. You want to fight women over who has been more wronged in the field of sex and power. A lot of people also tried to invade Russia in the winter.

I’m sorry to break it to you, but women are not out of control here. They are very, very angry. There’s a difference. Turns out that this is not a runaway train, that women are still driving this sexual revolution — for that is what it is — and the pain and rage fueling the engines are far more profound than we wanted to imagine. It turns out that women want more. More than the right simply to go about our working lives without being constantly sexually harassed. More from men than just being able to keep their fool hands to themselves in the office. It turns out that this is also about the bedroom. It always has been. It’s terrifying, I know, but yes — women want more, women expect better, and it’s time we got it.

***

Back, if you can bear it, to the Aziz Ansari case. If we believe what Ansari himself has confirmed about that night, three things are true about this story:

Ansari acted in a shitty, entitled way towards a young woman. The way that he behaved was not okay or fine.

He does not deserve to go to jail or be blacklisted for it, but that doesn’t make it okay and fine.

Almost every woman I know has had a similar sexual experience — and no, that still doesn’t make it okay and fine.

That last point inflects the first two. The fact that this sort of experience is so goddamn common is precisely why it deserves attention, and should not simply be filed away in a closet marked “women who make too much of a fuss.” Women don’t make enough fuss about how much sex can suck for us even when it is, technically, consensual, even when no crime has been committed. We’re socialized out of making a fuss, just as men are socialized into thinking about sex as something they have to bully and pester out of women. Shitty, dehumanizing sex is not normal, and it is not okay — it’s just very, very common. And because it is so common, because it is a chapter in so many of our stories, it is easier to write this sort of thing off as a “bad date.” The story of the bad date, the bad fuck, and the bad marriage is easy and comforting to tell — almost as easy and comfortable as the story of the young woman who goes hysterical and ruins a man’s life over a bad date. What a pity it isn’t quite so simple.

Sex is many things, but it is rarely simple. Contrary to the popular narrative that opponents of the MeToo movement have propagated, most women don’t like to think of themselves as victims. Most of us would prefer the version of the story where we were in control the whole time, where the hurt and disappointment were our fault, because that way it’s easier to own the horrible things that have happened to us and make sense of the way they make us feel about our own bodies, and about sex in general. It’s easier to smile and repeat the lines that are required of us every time we stand up and demand that women be treated with a bare minimum of human decency: We don’t hate men. No, we don’t hate sex. We’re not like those angry, prudish feminists of the frightening fictional past with their burning bras and man-skull necklaces, ready to castrate any passing politician who accidentally brushes the wrong knee. We are not fainting Victorian maidens. We don’t hate sex. We love sex, and we love men, ok? All of us love sex and all of us love men, all men, no matter how badly they behave, because that’s what it means to be a good woman — it means loving what you’re told to love no matter how much it hurts you.

Love is such a huge, strange word, a word that stretches to contain all the silence, pain, and longing that crowd around the corners of your bed. To speak personally, yes, I love sex, but sometimes I also get angry at it — and sometimes wish it did not have to hurt so much. That’s something I’ve heard from a lot of women and girls I am close to, in this rare time where we have been able to talk about this with a little less censure. Maybe you love sex, but you wish it did not come at the cost of your dignity, your livelihood, your self-esteem. You wish you were able to have it on terms that you could bear. You wish you could ask for what you wanted and be heard. You wish you could talk about all those times you didn’t really want it but went along with it anyway to keep him happy, or to keep yourself from harm. Maybe you wish you could remember how to be hungry. Maybe you wish you could still feel the pleasure you used to anticipate before abuse and trauma left their fingerprints all over your body. And maybe people have simply used sex as a weapon against you so many times that you don’t love it anymore, not right now, and you know what, that’s fine too. Asking women if they love sex (implied: with men) is like asking the front-of-house staff how they feel about their work when the boss is listening.

Repurposing an attack on sexual injustice into an attack on sex itself is convenient and easy and wildly, wildly wrong. It also works like a dream. Nobody wants to be called frigid, which is the word for women who aren’t sluts. The actress Catherine Deneuve, along with a hundred other co-signatories to an open letter in Le Monde, condemned the women speaking out about assault as enemies of “sexual freedom.” The problem is that sexual freedom is not something that can be enjoyed in isolation when more than half the human race still fights for the basic freedom to choose when and how and who we fuck.

I resent being ordered to declare my love for sex by milquetoast liberal commentators who think that women routinely lie about rape and by slimeball anti-feminist shock jocks who spend the other half of their time trying to ban contraception because Jesus said so. The entire world hates sex. Yes, we do. If we didn’t hate sex, we wouldn’t talk about it the way we do behind its back.

Those fragile Victorian ladies, with their corsets and their smelling salts, they seem to come up in every banal and predictable condemnation of the MeToo movement — it’s worth asking who they were and what part they play in the long, weird story of human sensuality. Why were those women so apparently frightened of sex? They were frightened because not so long ago, sex was legitimately terrifying if you were a woman — as it still is for many women and girls around the world. Sex was dangerous. It could kill you, or ruin you, and the fact that you probably wanted it made it that much worse — when you crave something that could mean disaster, that doesn’t make the desire go away, it just makes it that much more horrifying.

A lot of men don’t quite understand why women policed sexual morality in the first place: not because they did not have desires, but because they were made to pay such a heavy cost for men’s desires before they even thought about having their own. Because sex was dangerous. Within living memory sex was extremely goddamn treacherous for women — and in many places it still is.

In fact, we do not have to choose between fighting against sexual violence and being sexual. Today still, as it has been for centuries, we are told: one or the other. We could not demand the right to have our bodily autonomy respected and still expect to get to be sexual, to dress like that, to walk like that, to suggest that we might want something good girls don’t. Men could be asked nicely not to attack when provoked, but if we actually showed any scrap of sexual desire ourselves, all bets were off.

The fight against sexual violence and the fight against sexual repression are two sides of the same struggle: to divide one from the other is to collapse the whole enterprise. So-called sexual liberationists of our parents’ and grandparents’ generation failed, and failed badly, by thinking they could have sexual freedom without tackling male supremacy and sexist violence, by clinging blindly to the cozy delusion that women aren’t actually sensual beings in the way that men are, that women’s sexual freedom can remain an afterthought, and any woman who acts as if it isn’t can and should be punished.

This is why in so many places where abortion and contraception are strictly controlled, exceptions are made in cases where the person seeking to end a pregnancy has been raped: because the real issue is and always has been sexual control, and the problem is not unborn babies but adult women with the temerity to think they can fuck who they want and get away with it. Only men are allowed to get away with that.

In the real world, nobody has so far been sent into career exile for asking someone out. There’s a difference between a polite invitation and repeated, aggressive pestering or a boss who refuses to keep his hands to himself because he thinks that power and seniority gives him a right to your body. Flirting is still allowed, but judging by the panicked responses to any MeToo narrative that isn’t clear-cut rape, it is not women who are confused about the difference between flirting and aggression, but men. This is, sadly, a predictable consequence of an erotic consensus that constantly associates male sexuality with violence, that tells straight men and boys that their sexuality is dangerous and uncontrollable and that if they fail to persuade women to “take” it, they are not men at all.

Understand that until women’s sexuality is not closed on all sides by a big, ugly wall of violence and intimidation, until we are allowed to actually access our erotic impulses honestly and think about what we want, until our bodies are no longer bargaining chips for the crumbs of power men sweep off the table for us to fight over, women will not be sexually free — which means that nobody will be sexually free. Understand that rape is a tool of sexual repression as well as of sexual oppression, and that a fight against rape culture is a fight for sexual liberation — the foundation without which true sexual liberation is going to fall flat on its face in a pool of its own juices.

***

The MeToo movement has not gone “too far.” We have not gone far enough. We won’t have gone anywhere near far enough, not until we achieve something like actual sexual liberation — for everyone. I believe that the next stage is going to involve a process of truth and reconciliation. Rape culture and misogynist entitlement are the key in which our current chorus of dissatisfaction is sung. What that means is that a lot of sex that is technically consensual is nonetheless dire and disappointing, especially for the women involved. This is why the demand for better sex — for fewer Cat People and coercive hookups and woke boys taking too long to understand when you’re just not into it — is also revolutionary.

As Ellen Willis notes in her seminal essay, “Towards a sexual revolution,” sexual coercion is “a tool of sexual repression.” We aren’t calling out men and condemning them to career assassination for being shitty, inconsiderate lovers, and a couple dozen humans in the Northern Hemisphere will be glad to hear me say that — but it’s worth asking why they so often are. Turns out that unless you pay attention to the needs and desires of the person opposite you — or however you happen to be angled — you’re going to be a bad lay. She might not say so, because she’s worried that if she upsets you or hurts your pride you’ll hurt her in far more measurable ways, and she might not be wrong. But trust me: Treating women as people, people who have wants and desires and messy, meaty insides, people who have to live in patriarchy just like you, people who can change their minds and get shy and sometimes take all their past traumas to bed with them just like you do — that’s the one position that’s guaranteed to win with almost everyone. The trick is that there’s no trick to it.

It’s possible that the best sex of our lives, as my friend Meredith Yayanos told me the other day, does not exist yet. When it does, it will be in a world beyond rape culture. In 10 years of trying to fuck like I lived in the early days of a better nation, I’ve found spaces where it seemed that, for a time, something like real sexual liberation was possible. Usually they were queer spaces, or at least spaces with their own reasons to mistrust received ideas about gender and pleasure. But they were mere cracks in the carapace of violence, little chunks in the brittle social exoskeleton of bitter sexism and shame sealing us off in units of terrified longing, even when the clothes came off. I found myself running up against rape culture over and over again. The retinue of bad and selfish and shitty behavior of grown men in bed. The violent fragility of masculinity that could have been so much more. I wanted more. I still want more. And women who want more are a problem.

I’m not promising that the great consensual anti-sexist revolution to come will mean an end to broken hearts and hurt feelings. I would never lie to you about a thing like that. I would anticipate that it might make the breakage cleaner and the scarring easier, but I have only my own experience to go on there. I have been let down and messed around in my time by a few rare and special snowflakes who managed to find entirely new ways to hurt me — ways that did not involve being sexually violent or at any point treating me as less than human, even though I was female and they were not. You can be anti-sexist in theory and in practice and still be a goddamned brat and a soul-sucking mindfucker, it just takes a lot more work and creative chops. I take my hat off to these rare young men, and I will probably end up taking off other things in the future, because people are fascinating and the flesh is weak.

Only when we consider the possibility that male sexuality might not be inherently violent and exploitative can we ask why so much of it is. Why does the joyless, coercive sex that we so often have to settle for under patriarchy have to be the norm? Can’t we do better?

We can, and we must, for reasons that go way beyond the bedroom. If the main problem with rape culture and sexual repression were the fact that they make sex less satisfying, well, there are simple ways around that, and they plug in at the wall. But the rolling crisis of toxic masculinity does not just kill the mood, it kills human beings. It ruins lives. It is a species-level disaster that causes trauma on a scale most of our tiny minds cannot stretch to comprehend. And it can’t go on like this. There is a bigger and scarier social and sexual revolution on its way, and the fact that it will make fucking a lot more fun in the future is just a bonus.

Buckle up.

Note: The original version of this essay has been slightly amended to provide additional context on the Babe magazine story about “Grace” and Aziz Ansari.

* * *

Laurie Penny is an award-winning journalist, essayist, public speaker, writer, activist, internet nanocelebrity and author of six books. Her most recent book, Bitch Doctrine, was published by Bloomsbury in 2017.

#The Sisterhood

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