#Saw a post I agreed with except it was phrased like 'no one should express this opinion ever' not

[hardoncaulfield]

Everyone should be able to express their small and mean opinions to someone who won't clutch their pearls about it. Being a bitch is a human right

#Saw a post I agreed with except it was phrased like 'no one should express this opinion ever' not #'people ought to consider situation and context when expressing their opinions' #So I'm. Being a bitch about it xoxox #Soliloquy

[undiscovered-horror-icon]

SlipKnot Histrory

[This was from a french blogging website, post original publish in 2009. I think it’s instresting; All credit goes to the original poster. Posted linked at the bottom of this post.] 

[Post copy and pasted below]

Note: This is a long hauled description of events; it shows how fate has brought Slipknot together and how this makes Slipknot more than an everyday band; the music is their life not just a ploy for fame. Slipknot are hard core expression and emotion that WILL rock the music industry! They are a band with an undying passion! Slipknot formed in the year of 1995 as a result of the work of Paul, Shawn and Anders Colsefni (ex-vocalist). (They had originally played with the idea of making a band as early as 1993 and even began writing songs; however the project fell through when Shawn became busy with his welding occupation.) These three along with guitarists Donnie Steele (ex- Body Pit guitarist) and Quan Nong began practising under the name of Meld. However, at some point Quan Nong left, this time is uncertain, but is expected to be following the first six practices due to his following of a more Alternative/Punk style. Following his departure the band started anew, with a project named, "The Pale Ones". During this period Shawn (a.k.a Clown) was the lead drummer. Paul was determined to get Joey involved with his new project, despite failing to receive his interest in earlier projects such as Body Pit. Paul met up with Joey at Sinclair's where Joey worked nights, there he tempted Joey to watch rehearsals within Anders' basement. Joey reluctantly agreed and despite missing two rehearsals due to work priorities, eventually made it down to the basement to view a practice session. This basement, was "largely, open spaced", not only was the area so small and cramped but for soundproofing the members used carpet samples and scraps from a nearby pet grooming centre, these made the whole basement smell of Cat piss. The first song that Joey heard them play was a song known as "Slipknot", followed by "Gently" and "Fur". Joey soon realised that he had to be in this band and soon began to play the drums; pushing Shawn onto percussion. A band had formed. Within the cramped basement new songs were being turned out by the minute, including titles such as "Killers Are Quiet", "Bitchslap", "Do Nothing", "Confessions", "Some Feel", "Part of Me" and "Tattered and Torn". Paul, Shawn and Joey also began to meet up at Sinclair's to discuss ideas and plans for the future. Here they planned everything, here they decided the rules that define the current Slipknot. 1. "We do not answer to anyone" 2. "We do not worry about trends" 3. "We play what we want" 4. "We would not allow people to have any sort of influence on the band" Shawn and Joey also decided that the band would require three drummers to provide a hardcore audio assault. Shawn wanted a drummer to the left and right with one at the back controlling it all, creating a wall of power, a fist layer... . Joey plays the main set and as a result is the main drummer who holds the band together. Shawn is the "Total Power Drummer" and is all aggression. The third element of percussion was often performed by Anders. Within Sinclair's Shawn and Joey also realised that the band would need another guitarist. Josh formerly of Modifidious and Inveigh Catharsis was called and he soon added himself to the band. Now there were six. Soon the band decided on a new title for themselves, they toyed with the name of "Pyg System" however agreed on the more simple name of "Slipknot", the title of their first song. The people of Des Moines knew that a new band was forming and they knew who was in it. However no one had heard or seen them. Soon a small performance was given, the band suited in Kiss styled makeup, fitting the music perfectly with the green glowing lights. This spawned the idea of the masks. This idea evolved and following discussions and Shawn turning up to a practice wearing his legendary Clown mask, the sextet decided almost unanimously, with the exception of Donnie, that masks should be worn. Joey came fully equipped with his moulded and expressionless Kabuki Mask and despite difficulty within practices the idea took off, the whole anti-image appearance which fitted so well with their rule of ignoring trends had a great appeal. Soon Shawn contacted Mike Lawyer, due to an interest in recording some studio work. Mike got an engineer/producer of his named Sean Mcmahon to meet up with them during a practice session. Sean, not only stunned by the wolf skin attire of lead singer Anders, was also blown away by the sheer sound of Slipknot. The band soon started work on their first project, dubbed, MFKR. "Mate Feed Kill Repeat". The band grabbed every available moment to practice, perform and record within the SR Audio Studios, customising the room with posters, lights and many other objects. Many happenings occurred around this studio, including the drawing of corpses on the road outside and a performance in the nude by Joey. Sean Mcmahon: "I was contacted by former members of a band called Body Pit to check out their new band at their rehearsal space. I did. I was Floored! That band was Slipknot." Within February of 1996 a great change occurred within Donnie Steele; he found God. He realised that he could not be within such a band as Slipknot with the beliefs he held and as a result withdrew himself from the group, the others respecting his descision. At this crucial point in time a new member was called up; a former member of Joey's band Modifidious, his name was Craig. He had been recommended by Jordison. During his arrival the MFKR album was already in its mixing stages. The mixing of MFKR was anything but smooth. Each song being remixed many times. Strain was added by different view that each member held and things often got intense. Not only was their problems with the mixing but the band was also unhappy with the mastering that was done on the CD, hence they insisted that Sean should do it. Slipknot's first major show in which they would unveil themselves to the people of Des Moines became booked for the 4th April 1996 at the locally known meeting place pronounced, "The Safari". On the day's arrival the room was packed with 200 people. The band arrived in Joey's car and each member sported their individual garments. Paul with a wore wrapped around his head, weaving in and out of his piercings, Josh showing off an executioners hood while Craig had placed pantyhose on his head. Joey and Shawn each used the masks they had always worn, the Clown and Kabuki. Before the band began to play Joey began to incessantly shout, "I need a little Christmas in my drink" repeatedly with each new phrase increasing in volume, energy and power. The band then slammed into their debut song, "Slipknot". By Slipknot's second performance at the club Paul had found a new "Pig" mask. Within this show the band played with another band named, "Stone Sour", Corey Taylor was the lead singer. The band played a total of seven shows at the club in one month alone. The band carried on playing their shows which were much more "insane" than we see these days (taming of the media,etc...), rather than the same uniform jumpsuits and regular masks the band played in different things, for example Shawn rented out a large purple "Barney" suit and others wore Nun dresses and even ballroom dresses or a Little Bo Peep outfit. The shows were really dark, underground and scary however they still carried an element of humour. The shows would start with strobe lights flashing and a sample from Craig, usually of a mad laugh and "ice cream" man chimes, Shawn would drop a power saw to create a series of sparks to fly over the crowd. Joey still felt that the band was incomplete. He wanted more; a different sound and a greater variety. Craig was promptly shifted onto samples, leaving an empty vacancy. Hence Mick arrived. MFKR was eventually finished on Halloween, 1996. The party had began and 400 people turnt up. The album was sent out to many people and a person named Sophia at a local station managed to hear it and liked it. This lead to the arrangement of Slipknot's appearance in the local battle of the band's contest. The on air tournament that spanned across several weeks soon began with the individual heats. Slipknot faced Corey's band; Stone Sour - they won. Slipknot also defeated "Maelstrom" and "Black Caesar" who came second. Slipknot conquered all. This was one of the band's highlights that fuelled them to their current stardom. The money from the win helped fund the heavily in debt band's new projects and demos. By this time several record companies had investigated the band, one of these being Roadrunner who felt that they should not pick up Slipknot due to their thought that the vocalist required more melody. This rejection continued and no where could they be signed. Sophia became their first manager due to her contacts and love for this new band. Things then seemed to get worse; Shawn bought the Safari which took time away from the band despite being a good investment. The band could no longer play in Anders' basement and things were falling apart. There were often tensions between Joey and Shawn and "Slipknot" had no where to play. However they still managed to make it onto the bill for the local "Dotfest" in June. There they played to the largest crowd in their history, a crowd of 12 000, containing many industry people. Not only was the sound dodgy and kept going out but the crowd began to throw chicken bones on stage. At the show Slipknot came out throwing Tampons into the crowd and had several "gimps". This was the first and last time for the "gimps". The gimps were Frank with a gas mask, Lanny with tribal markings in liquid latex, Greg covered with liquid latex and a ball gag in his mouth and Greg's friend Slick Rick in a latex hood. Slipknot had the original idea of having a professional stunt man, Rick, come out dressed as Shawn and then Shawn would come out and set him on fire. They had all the things to do it (for a long time it set in the cooler at Safari) but the city would not issue the permits to perform it so the event had to be abandoned. The set ended with them being cut off and an almost riot breaking out as Andy cut open his arms and tossed CDs over the fence to the fans. Joey quit. But he reconsidered and came back. Some good things did come out of this though, their performance left a mark, they made new fans and most importantly they discovered Sid Wilson (even though they did not speak to him). Slipknot looked for the success they were not getting and decided to enlist Corey Taylor of rival band Stone Sour, to join the line up. Joey, Shawn and Mick confronted him with the an ultimatum at his work place, "The Adult Emporium". They said, "Join the band or we will kick your ass!" Slipknot provided an opportunity not present in Stone Sour; the band could go places. The music over image policy also appealed. Corey began practising with the band and the first lyrics he wrote were to be used in the song, "Me Inside". This was a very experimental move and everyone was wondering how it would turn out. This change resulted in Anders being pushed back to percussion and back up vocals. Soon this new breed of the Knot performed a show; it turned out it was a charity event for a local hospital. The Safari was packed to the brim. Corey came out wearing a large amount of makeup that gave a dark appearance, this was added to by two latex crosses marked over his eyes. Despite this excitement the show was riddled with technical problems and was the show that resulted in Joey's nickname, "Superball". Their next show was on 17th September, again at the Safari. This show was a great improvement however nearly a year on from the MFKR release an announcement was to be made. Just before Slipknot were about to storm into their final song, "Scissors", Anders made an announcement, "This will be my last show" he stated. This stunned both band members and the audience. Following this sudden change the band returned to the studio to re-record the songs on their untitled second CD - minus Anders' vocals. Of these songs included, "Gently", "Do Nothing", "Slipknot", "Tattered and Torn", "Me Inside", "Carve", "Coleslaw", "Scissors", "Windows" and "May 17th" a song written by Shawn. To cope with Ander's departure a new member was brought in, he was named Greg a.k.a Cuddles (a tattooist @ axiom piercing). Cuddles was extremely insane and very much like Slipknot's DJ, Sid. He would smash up the sets and even throw his drum kit into the crowd. Cuddles joined the band despite warnings from family and friends and he is also responsible for the tribal "S" tattoo on Anders' leg. Cuddles had previously drummed for the "Havenots" a band which Joey and Paul had been in. Cuddles is the naked guy in the MFKR inlet. Cuddles played his lst show in the Summer of 1998, he was the only member of Slipknot to be sacked, this was due to his lazy attitude towards the band. He moved to South Dakota and started up the tattoo parlour, "The Ultimate Prick", this has since been shut down. Following Cuddles' departure there was one show in Malibu which took place wile auditions were occurring, hence there was a replacement and that was Brandon, he played one show and wore the "liar" mask. One night Joey and Shawn checked out a clan named "The Sound Proof Coalition" at the Safari containing the DJs, A-Rock, Loodachris, Phase II, Rek, Sub Two, Iniversoul and Starscream. Starscream, a.k.a Sid Wilson introduced himself to them and told them they rocked at Dotfest, Shawn said they needed a DJ, Sid said he was the man. Following pestering by Sid he was allowed to view a practice and following a session of head butting it was decided he was fit to be part of the group. Auditions were being carried out for a Cuddles replacement, these auditions brought about a person named Chris Fehn, he had seen the band played and had previously asked to become a roadie. He was soon added to the group, despite being put through a vigourous ordeal. This included his initiation test commonly known as the secret track on the self titled album. Soon after this event Slipknot came up with the barcode, number and coverall ideas. A new song was also written; it was called, "Spit it Out". Slipknot now had offers flying in from mainly internet reports. However the band really wanted Ross Robinson to work on the project and he was contacted through Sophia. Robinson checked out the demo tape and flew into Des Moines to view a practice session and a live show. After watching the practice (which very few are aloud to see) he knew the band would go far. Ross not only felt the vide of the music but the vide of the passion; a passion he himself had felt. This was the beginning of a wonderful creation. He then saw Slipknot perform live at the Safari on 2nd February 1998. Word soon got back to Slipknot that he was willing to record the album, label or not. Ross later signed them onto his own label, "I am recordings". Ross then got in touch with Roadrunner and the band publicly signed to Roadrunner Records outside of the Axion Studio (tattoo parlour) in Des Moines. Following a call on the 23rd September, Slipknot drove out to LA to begin the recording of their album. The band practised solid for a week and soon began the recording that left the band sore. They then travelled upto the legendary Indigo Ranch to carry on the recording. To add a necessary expression to this music, Ross got Corey to explain his lyrics to all the other members, so they could "feel it". This took the music to a higher level; it made it raw expression and emotion, it added an element not seen before. Despite the many changes that had occurred within the Knot, another was to occur. This time it was Josh's time for departure, he left due to "family life" and would not have been able to cope with the extensive touring that lay ahead. The band knew instantly who they wanted to replace him, the Atomic Opera star, Jim Root. Jim originally said no to the offer due to his desire to stay true to the band he was currently working in. However after a bad show he called Shawn and essentially joined the band.

Original Post: slipknotmetalmusik. skyrock. com /2381521055-slipknot. html 

[spaces are only there because tumblr is being buggy] 

#slipknot #slipknot history #sid wilson #joey jordison #paul gray #chris fehn #jim root #craig jones #shawn crahan #mick thomson #corey taylor #yeah its instresing i like it #fun to read

[highladyluck]

So I lied, the follow-up to this post about why Mat is so good at spotting Grey Men is not an essay, it’s a little 2K+ word  Mat/Tuon ficlet. Mild innuendo, lots of humor, tooth-hurtingly fluffy.

Mat woke with a start when something soft hit his rump, on the side opposite his once-broken leg. A lone pillow- probably the culprit, he realized muzzily- slid to the floor with his motion. "Hey!" he protested. "I don't sneak attack your right flank."

Tuon's voice came from very nearby. She probably had another pillow waiting. "That is because I don't sleep in when there is work to be done. And don't lie. You have in fact 'sneak attacked my right flank'. Last night, as I recall."

"That wasn't a sneak attack! You knew it was coming, because I know better than to lay hands on the Daughter of the Nine Moons- fine, the Empress!- without permission. Besides, I am an honorable man. I only sneak attack my enemies." He turned suddenly and lunged in her direction, intending to disarm her, or more likely just make it clear that he knew she was armed. Sure enough, she was seated fully dressed at the edge of the bed, the pillow disappearing behind her. Oh well. At least he caught her at it this time. She had no call to look like butter wouldn't melt in her mouth.

"And what's this about work? I wasn't aware I had anything specific to do today," he said, eyeing the imprisoned pillow and calculating angles. Actually... that was odd, he usually had routine military matters and audiences. But Tuon had specifically told him last night that she'd postponed his usual weekly duties. He'd felt his luck running high and it had seemed like nothing more than a typical lucky break at the time. But he should have looked that gift horse in the mouth. Why hadn't he? Oh, right.

He felt his face grow hot, remembering, and he turned away to start looking for a clean shirt. It was embarrassing that her counter-intelligence operation had apparently worked so well. He really needed to keep a clearer head in the future. Not that it was at all easy when Tuon was involved.

Tuon sighed loudly enough to be audible over the sounds of his intense focus on pulling on breeches and wrangling with buttons and buckles. Still, he took his time and didn't turn around to face her until he was completely presentable. Even the tell-tale impatient fingernail tapping didn't speed up the process of chosing his eyepatch for the day. Besides, if she wanted him to choose faster she ought to tell him what he was supposed to be dressing for.

When he finally looked back at her, Tuon was seated at the small table in their room and staring at him sternly over her steaming cup of kaf. "Knotai, I have cleared your schedule this week for the training. You cannot keep putting this off. It is a matter of Imperial security."

Light, not this again! Mat lined up the usual arguments with half his mind while the rest of it tried to come up with a convenient emergency to distract her. Non-lethal, for preference, not least because a lethal one would just prove her point. "But the Dark One's prison has been sealed! We won the Last Battle. Who's going to send Grey Men after you now? All the darkfriends are probably running around like chickens with their heads cut off. They're not going to be organizing assassination attempts, and it's not like Grey Men make decisions by themselves." They couldn't, could they? Surely they were just like little clockwork husks that someone else wound up and let go.

"And as I have told you before, you cannot assume that all the Atha'an Shadar will be incapacitated by our victory. They will likely just be more desperate. You yourself saw that the Trollocs would overrun us regardless of the Dragon Reborn's victory if we did not oppose them on the field. The danger is not over." She paused and looked him in the eye. "And I know we would both like to keep the Deathwatch Guard from a third embarrassment, especially one that is entirely preventable. Your skills are formidable, and there is no one else to teach them."

Hoist by his own petard. Burn the woman, but she was good at this. Mat would have admired it even more if it were someone else's levers she were so deftly pulling, though. If Grey Men attacked her a third time, she would probably find a way to pardon the Deathwatch again- she didn't really believe it was their fault that they kept failing to spot these specific Shadowspawn- but then the odds were good the blame would fall on him instead, and so saving her life again would just get him deeper in the soup somehow. It was just not fair.

The worst part was, he actually did agree with her about the danger. There probably were pockets of darkfriends still out there, and they did so love to send Grey Men after the Empress of Seanchan. All Mat got were run-of-the-mill street toughs jumping out of dark alleys at him. Well, and the gholam- and the flaming snakes and foxes- and apparently bloody flaming evil mist monsters out of his fragmented nightmares- but mostly just regular street toughs and darkfriends, on the whole. He supposed the Empress of Seanchan rated a higher caliber of footpad. Just one of the many downsides of nobility.

"Look, Tuon. I don't even know how I do it!" He scrubbed a hand through his hair and glanced at the box of eyepatches. Tuon followed his gaze. "For all I know, maybe you can only spot them with one eye." It was probably actually because of his luck, but that did him no bloody good if Tuon was convinced it was something that could be learned. He'd have to think of something else that would be remotely convincing and take all week to pull off.

"Then perhaps they will all wear eyepatches for your lessons. Let the quartermaster know if you need to requisition more." Her eyes twinkled in triumph. "You may have any tools you need for this, assuming the Ever Victorious Army or the Empire has access to them."

"Hah," Mat replied drily. "If I did this- and this is not me agreeing to do it!- who's going to find us an actual Grey Man to practice on? And are you volunteering to be part of the demonstration?"

"You will have to find an actual Grey Man, if you think it is necessary. You do have a week. And would you *want* me to be part of the demonstration?" Tuon raised an eyebrow.

He certainly did not, but he wasn't going to tell her that. "If I'm going to catch a Grey Man- which I have not at all promised to do!- I'd need bait, and they don't seem to care about me." He didn't have high hopes for this gambit, but it was worth a shot.

Tuon frowned at his words. "That is not true at all, Knotai. Three or four of them set upon you in the command tent. That time, they were not interested in me, except when I came to your aid. And I was the one who had to be carried out of the tent in the end." She looked rather put out at the memory, full lips pursing in displeasure. She did not like admitting weakness. Well, no one did, but her least of all.

And Mat did not like thinking about how close he'd come to losing her that day, either. Burn it, there was no way he'd actually find a Grey Man or practice with it if he did, but it wouldn't hurt to have better security. He'd come up with something, maybe drills dredged up from the battle memories if he got desperate. She wouldn't let him back out now anyway. "Maybe you should attend. Not as bait, but as a student. If I can actually teach people how to do it- which I'm not saying I can, mind you- I'd prefer you to be there to learn along with everyone else. Or if not you, at least Selucia, if you can spare her."

Tuon's expression softened. "I may not be able to spare the time- or Selucia- during the day this week. But if you have something you want to show me, specifically, I will make time in the evening. This would serve the same purpose as my martial arts practice, so I can substitute your lesson for doing the forms that day."

Mat grinned. "I'll make it worth your while."

She rolled her eyes at him. "Don't get used to interrupting my forms. This is a special privilege."

Light's own truth, he tried not to smirk at the phrase and the memory, but she must have seen it in his face anyway, because she sighed and waved him away. "You are a menace to decency and decorum, Matrim Cauthon, and I despair of you."

"Awww, I appreciate you, too."

***

Later that week he arranged to meet Tuon in the garden, the same place they'd encountered the first Grey Man. It seemed fitting. Not one to waste time, she had already started on the graceful, dance-like movements she used in hand-to-hand combat by the time he arrived. He stepped silently into the circle of lamplight, blocking part of the blue light with his body, and she turned suddenly to face him directly before opening her eyes. "You're late."

"I figured you would want to get a little form practice in before we started. Though actually, we've already started." She raised an eyebrow, inviting him to continue. "How did you know I was there?" he asked.

"The quality of the light changed, so I reacted to it. And I was expecting you."

Mat nodded. "That's basically the trick, I think. Each time I've spotted the Grey Men, it's because there was some movement in the background that I noticed while looking at y-at something else, and it made me expect a threat. It's tricky because the rest of my brain is telling me they're nothing to worry about, but it's like my hands know what to do. I guess I just react on instinct and my thoughts catch up later."

To his surprise, Tuon started giggling. Mat was a little offended by this. "You asked for this information! I'm trying my best to explain!"

"I know," she said, biting her lip and regaining self-control. "I just can't believe that your 'act first, think second' philosophy is now part of the secret military traditions of the Deathwatch Guards. You are going to be the ruin of a thousand years of discipline. But while it's unorthodox, I can't deny that it has been effective."

Mat felt himself relax. "You're always paying attention to your surroundings and looking for omens, so I don't think noticing odd things will be hard for you. But the reacting without thinking might."

"I can practice different strategies for different situations. I am not as inflexible as you seem to think I am," Tuon said, a bit of heat in her voice. Mat raised his hands to fend it off. "Besides," she drawled, "I think I must also reevaluate other aspects of your behavior. It has not escaped my notice that you are often looking at me when you should be paying attention to court matters." Mat froze, his heart pounding like the wings of a startled bird. "But it seems you are just very attentive to my safety, and so perhaps you should be granted leniency."

"What?"

"I know you consider yourself unusually lucky, and I had wondered if that was one reason you were so good at spotting the unnatural assassins. But since you think the skill can be taught, apparently the true secret to your remarkable success is that you've just happened to be looking at me every time one shows up. If luck has nothing to do with it, I have to conclude that you are just constantly staring at me."

Mat had no idea how to respond to that, so he didn't. Tuon smiled at him in pure satisfaction, like a cat that had just proudly dropped a bird at your feet. "But of course, this is just good security! So I suppose I will have to practice by keeping a similar eye on you."

"I- I suppose you will, at that." He was never, ever going to to stop being surprised by her. But the surprises weren't all bad. Light, they were not.

#mat/tuon #Wheel of Time #wheel of time fanfic #tuon paendrag #problematic fave tuon #mat cauthon #guys I'm really proud of myself

[noragami-ru-manga]

For ease of use, abuse

________________

An unnecessarily long, super biased and very spoiler-y analysis of chapter 87-1 ________________

If this isn’t Father’s motto, I don’t know what is. We’ve already seen him use it on Yato and Mizuchi; seems like it’s Hagusa’s turn.

The chapter starts with Yukine’s memories that we already saw at the trial. Except now that the truth about the mysterious “box” is out, Adachitoka aren’t trying to hide anything anymore – it’s painfully obvious that it’s an old fridge that was thrown away. Haru’s father closes the door and says the last goodbye to his son.

Haru is fixing his sleeve – his arms must be hurting. Is it because they were tied? Or is it from the shots? After all, fans have suggested that he may have been ill for a long time. His bare feet and pajamas indicate that the father probably placed a sleeping boy in the fridge. I have nothing but curse words for this man, so I’ll keep my silence.

The chapter is called “The way to darkness”. Since this month’s half-chapter is only 15 pages long, the second part should be longer; that’s where we’ll see the way to darkness in all its glory.

While nothing scary happens in the chapter, it’s still kind of creepy. Father is being very, very nice to Hagusa. We know what hides behind his smile and fake care, but Hagusa doesn’t. His calling Father “father” isn’t the scariest thing here, ‘cause it can be the effect of kotonoha. But it’s unnerving how fast they have bonded, even though there are reasons for that.

Father says that Hagusa is tired from walking all day. It’s not just the fact that the house is very far from the place where he gave the boy his new name (although that seems to be the case, too) – they must have spent the day before visiting places that Father had seen in Hagusa’s memories. Except none of them did the trick – Hagusa recalled nothing about his past life from being in those places. What’s so special about the locations is hard to tell – they seem to be a 1) café, 2) probably a school, and 3) a neighborhood where Haru used to live.

And of course, the house. The building being so run-down that it’s scheduled to be demolished is not particularly surprising – who knows when it was built. The thing that interests me is its location. A house in such a close proximity to the railway is not a nice place to live in. People settle for those when they don’t have better options. In other words, Haru’s family was poor; which is nothing new, it has already been suggested by the fans, I believe. Although Father says it’s Haru’s final place of residence. Maybe the family had to move in there from a nicer house.

Haru’s memories are fragmented because they are 35 years old. Can we trust Father’s words just like that? Of course not, it’s Father we’re talking about. But I think that’s it’s one of those cases where he wouldn’t benefit much from lying, so he tells the truth. And even if there was some other reason for Hagusa’s memories to be fragmented like that, Father probably could have bent it as he pleased. For example, if it had something to do with Hagusa being part-ayakashi, he could have said “I’m sorry, but some of your memories disappeared when you started transforming. I did everything in my power to keep as much as I could”. But turning into an ayakashi is usually accompanied (or rather, caused) by an influx of memories, not their loss. Conclusion: Father isn’t lying, and we’ll come back to this.

Some of the partial memories that Father saw are: a letter, this time addressed to the sister; a symbol on a building (school?) – a flower; Haru’s father’s face; a door handle. That’s doesn’t seem to be a lot of information, but… If you’d hoped that somehow Father didn’t get to see Haru’s last moments, then I’m sorry to disappoint you. The lighting on Haru’s father’s face seems to be similar to the one in Yukine’s memories from the trial / the beginning of the chapter, so it’s probably the same memory. Father saw it, and he’s planning to use it to his advantage.

Apparently, there’s a minor translation error on the top left frame. Hagusa’s facial expression doesn’t match the phrase, and the speech bubble isn’t coming from him. It’s Father suggesting that he plays a game of finding his real name somewhere in the house, which Hagusa happily agrees to do. What Father’s doing with this little “treasure hunting” game reflects the bigger picture: he’s nudging Hagusa to look for answers about the boy’s past without actually causing any suspicions towards his intentions. What can I say, Father loves giving his kids something to play with; ask Yato, he’ll confirm that.

Hagusa discovers his nickname from when he was alive – Haru – near some height marks that belonged to him and his older sister Yuka. The smallest number that has Haru written beside it is 3 (years). It means that even if the family moved here from a nicer house, it had happened long before the boy’s death. The names Yuka and Haru are written over semi-erased names of some other children. It isn’t at all surprising, since the house is very old.

So the name Haru was useless to Father’s plan after all, since it turned out to be a nickname. For the next three pages he’s quietly seething, trying to understand why Hagusa is so happy to learn little bits of his past. Maybe Father is comparing him to Mizuchi who (until recently) has been always so reserved (too reserved) when it came to her being dead. Or maybe it has to do something with Father thinking that all humans are monsters whose real appearance starts to show when they are nudged in the right direction. In stark contrast to that idea, Hagusa is simply happy to learn that he had a sister, and a home, and the cutest nickname.

Father’s words about giving Hagusa a little push to discover the truth on his own are pretty interesting. It means that he’d planned that by this point, the boy would start getting angry at the life he could have lived. But something went wrong, so Father has to revise the plan on the go.

Hagusa asks a reasonable question: if Yato never told him anything, why is Father being so nice to him – giving him a tour, playing “treasure hunting” with his name as the treasure? Father’s answer is… intriguing.

Father manages to tell a truth and a lie within the same sentence. Hagusa, for example, finds the answer honest and not needing any further prying, so he happily goes on a walk around his neighborhood in hopes of finding someone who knew him when he was alive. And technically, the things Father says aren’t a lie. What he’s been revealing so far can hurt Hagusa, and he does trust that the boy will be able to survive. However, he’s withholding the most important part – what is this all about. His words aren’t a lie. but his intentions are.

Hagusa recalls something while looking at the door but is distracted by the ayakashi wolf. I originally assumed that the door itself could have somehow reminded him of the dreaded fridge, but the thing that actually caught his attention is obviously the door handle. It’s the same one that appeared in the bits of memories that Father saw when naming him. I’ve already made a separate post about that door handle, but I’ll repeat it here anyway. So here are a couple of things why it could have appeared in the fragments of memories that Father’s received.

1) Haru’s father was abusive to the point where the boy would be afraid to come home. So he would just stand at the front door looking at the handle, too afraid to pull.

2) Some kind of trauma could have occurred. Haru could have fallen on the handle and got an injury, either by accident or with the help of his father.

This last page shows that Father’s intentions are very serious. He’s done being the game master; he’s going to be a full-fledged player from now on and will be actively involved in the further events – and for that, he needs Hagusa. Up until this point, despite Yato’s concerns that Father was a bit too flattering when talking about Yukine, I assumed that Father only needs Yukine as a pawn; a hostage of sorts that could be used to bring Yaboku back to his “loving family”. However, Yato made it clear that that’s out of question when he tried to kill his father in earnest. So now Father has another plan – to turn Hagusa into an unbelievably strong weapon; and the one wielding it will be him, not Yato. Except Hagusa’s buoyancy has been ruining this plan so far.

As for the fragmented memories that I’ve promised to return to, I really believe that Father wasn’t lying and has only seen bits and pieces of Haru’s life, not the whole thing. It has to do something with the boy being a sudama when he was first named and not a regular ghost, like Daikoku, for example. Nora said it in the previous chapter that when Haru’s memories were intact, he had a form of a person. It means that he either started turning into a sudama after his memories began to fade, or, conversely, started losing his memories because he began turning into a sudama.

The important thing here is that if Father only saw fragmented memories, then so did Yato. Nothing in the manga suggests that the new master gets fewer of a shinki’s memories than the previous one. When Yato named Kazune, he saw Kiotsugu’s entire life from birth to death – well, maybe not all of it, but definitely the important parts. So I assume that the information Father and Yato got was identical.  

And this shows once again just how much Yato cared about Yukine from the very start. Think about it: throughout this chapter we’ve been getting more and more proof that Father initially wanted to break Hagusa as soon as possible. He dragged the boy around potentially familiar places, urged him to look for his name in the house – nothing. Only after that Father decided to change his tactics and let Hagusa discover the GGS on his own, so he allowed the boy to walk around the neighborhood looking for other clues. But if he needed an immediate result, why not take Hagusa to the place of his death, which was bound to be the best trigger?

Because Father doesn’t know where it is.

Do you see it now? Father, who needed something that would break Hagusa for sure, wasn’t able to figure out the most suiting place from the bits of memories he’d received – or didn’t bother. But Yato did everything in his power to find that damn fridge, only with completely different intentions – to keep Yukine safe from that place and everything that discovering it entails. Who knows how many bridges and dumps he had to visit before finding the right area.

Nevertheless, Hagusa is with Father now, not with Yato where he belongs. As I said, the chapter isn’t frightening – by which I meant “we haven’t been shown more horrifying things from Haru’s life yet”. It’s scary in an entirely different way, because it shows how easily Father was able to earn Hagusa’s trust. He exploited everything. He turned the kid’s natural curiosity into a game – “find your name”, “go talk to the neighbors”. When Hagusa complained that Yato never told him anything, Father didn’t say a single bad word about Yato, didn’t try to turn them against each other. Instead, he focused Hagusa’s attention on himself – how he’s ready to “help” Hagusa, even if it’s dangerous, because he “cares” for him and “trusts” him – the two things Yukine has been missing lately. And the background to all this is his terrible inner monologue: how come a dead person is enjoying his “life”? It should be rectified, and the result should be used to my advantage. For ease of use, abuse.

Get ready; we’re on a path to darkness.

#noragami #noragami manga #theories #fujisaki kouto #yukine #yato #noragami meta

[lovelyirony]

this is just a re-do of a post with a prompt from anonymous, so don’t worry if it looks a bit familiar! 

As Bucky is running away from government agents trying to snipe him for killing a politician, he supposes Natasha’s argument for him being suicidal might have the tiniest bit evidence behind it, which he previously argued it didn’t.

As he slides underneath a car, he debates whether or not she’ll find out about this one. He feels a buzz from his phone in his pocket.

Yeah, she knows.

He shoots one of the agents, nicking him in the knee. Oof, that’s gonna be a fun story to tell his grandkids about why they can’t climb on his lap. But he needs to get away, and that involves potentially shooting through a car.

Potentially turns into definitely and there’s enough of a distraction that he can commandeer a car, drive at least ten blocks away, and ditch it to run on foot, calling Natasha.

“You got my location, right?”

“Of course, you fucking idiot,” Natasha curses. “You…god I hate you sometimes. The job’s at least done, right?”

“Yeah. I’ll have to lay low, though. Which sucks because my apartment is right in the city.”

“I already have a punishment and idea for you in one.”

“I…what is it?”

“Sam’s picking you up. Tell you when you get to base. Bye.”

Bucky groans.

She must be really pissed at him.

Sam picks him up in the shittiest economy car in the world.

“I hate you for picking this one,” Bucky groans.

“A stupid decision grants a stupid car, that’s why you’re getting picked up in the 1995 Ford Fiesta of shame,” Sam says. “Nat’s real mad. And I also think you’re going to hate your next assignment.”

Bucky’s not sure what’s gonna happen. He’s hoping he’s not on latrine duty.

-

Oh, it’s so much worse.

“Protection detail?” Bucky asks. “And undercover? All at once? Nat, come on. I bet we don’t even need undercover.”

“You both are doing undercover because you both fucked up,” Natasha says. “And since apparently you don’t know how to act, maybe this will get you better lessons.”

“Cold,” Sam hisses.

“I will legally ask you to shut the fuck up,” Bucky growls out.

He packs his things. Realizes that Sam got to choose the name so his name is Roger Stevens. Fucking shit. (Steve, of course, approved this. Because Steve is an asshole.)

“Why does she even need a protector?” Bucky growls out, driving to the house. It’s in suburbia.

“Because she fucked up and whoever she pissed off might send more than she can handle,” Natasha says.

“We’re hinging my being here on a ‘maybe’?”

“And because you got caught by government agents, which would be a rookie move,” Natasha says. “There’s a reason that I can still go my same nail salon for five years and now you have to get your hair cut somewhere else. And why you got a wedding china set and you have a backstory of being married.”

“I hate you.”

“A lot of people do, take a number.”

If it helps (and it mostly doesn’t), Sharon Carter is also not happy. She is in the house with the most dangerous look Bucky has seen.

“So I’m stuck in this fucking hell house with him?” Sharon asks.

Maria Hill is her boss. Woman is a scary, competent human. Bucky wouldn’t cross her.

(Then again, you also shouldn’t cross a certain redhead who could make you disappear within twenty minutes, maybe thirty if it’s a surprise. But he did.)

“Keys are by the front door, hope you know your address! Bye!” Natasha says. “Don’t kill each other or we lose the deposit!”

Maria Hill smiles. Of course the only time Bucky’s ever seen her smile is at the suffering of others. How typical.

So then they are left alone.

“Let’s read the cover story,” Sharon says. “And I don’t need protection, Maria’s just paranoid.”

Bucky snorts.

“Yeah, okay, let’s go with that.”

Sharon sends him a sharp look.

They meet while on a cruise.

Bucky fucking hates his life.

“A fucking cruise,” he mutters. “As if I would ever step foot onto any of those fucking–”

“We had a beach wedding?!” Sharon cries out. “Oh my god, I can’t believe it!”

They are both in a bad mood.

It’s also awkward because this is a house. They have decorations. They have tea towels.

And a neighbor comes to visit.

“Welcome to the neighborhood!” she says brightly. “My name is Karen Tent, so lovely to meet you both!”

She then invades the house with her Tupperware. Literally speeds past them and it’s not like Sharon judo-chop her throat or anything.

“What a lovely house you two have!” Karen cheers. “Of course the color palette is a little bit drab, but I’m sure you’ll change that soon enough. When Linda told me we had new neighbors, I could hardly believe it myself, but here you are! Now, how did you two meet? Have you married yet? If not, I hope that you are living apart, you know.”

“The rings are in boxes,” Sharon answers smoothly, noting that they’ll need to ask Maria where the fuck the rings are. “You know how move-ins are. I’m Melanie Stevens, this is Roger Stevens. How nice to see you so very unexpectedly.”

“Well, that’s what neighbors are for!” Karen answers, her voice shrill as ever. “I brought over my famous cookie bars. Everyone says they’re good, and I believe they always are. Tell me Melanie, what do you like baking most?”

“Yes dear, tell her,” Bucky answers, smiling. “I seem to remember…lemon bars?”

“That’s right,” Sharon says, sending Bucky a smile. “They are really good. Just delightful.”

“Oh you’ll have to bring some over!” Karen responds. “Now, let me tell you a little bit about the neighborhood…”

She talks for a fucking hour. Bucky wants to drink. So badly. He saw the wine on the counter.

Sharon, to her credit, keeps trying to use certain “end” phrases. Karen either knows it and knows she won’t be budging, or will not ever take a hint in her lifetime.

“And you simply must not ever play loud music in your backyard,” Karen says. “We’ve had a couple of problems with the Richardsons, but nothing a few calls won’t fix.”

“You called the police?” Sharon asks.

“Well yes!”

“Oh my god,” Bucky mutters.

“I am sure that’s not exactly the measure I would have done,” Sharon says. “But I am tired and don’t want to get into it now,” she says quickly, noticing Karen’s “confused” expression.

“I say we need some time to rest, today is gonna be a lot of moving,” he says. “So nice of you to stop by, Karen. I’ll return your dish as soon as possible.”

Karen is ushered out the door, placated with two waves, and they both groan.

“I’m gonna fucking hate everything after this,” Sharon mutters. “My name is fucking Melanie. Maria knows…” she trails off, facing the very real boxes that were obviously packed with dishes and miscellaneous items.

Bucky finds four spatulas. He doesn’t know why there are four.

“What the fuck,” he mutters, noting the incredibly cheesy salt-and-pepper set.

“Welcome to married life,” Sharon says sarcastically. “We’re gonna have a blast.”

Dinner is spent with Sharon trying to convince Bucky that she’s “fine” and in “no danger” at all.

“Who did you piss off?”

“Sitwell.”

“Oh my god. You’re screwed.”

“He’s a lapdog, I’m not screwed.”

“He’s the lapdog of Pierce. You’re screwed.”

Sharon thunks her head on the table.

“Can we at least repaint the bedrooms? They suck.”

“If you think I’m sleeping in a separate room you’re dead wrong,” Bucky says. “You have a target the size of New York on your back. Uh-uh.”

“You will sleep on the floor and get out when I shower or change,” Sharon threatens.

“Of course.”

“Good. Then it’s settled.”

Married life is not so bad. Except when Karen and the rest of the neighbors tend to visit or talk to them for about fifteen minutes on the lawn.

“It’s your turn to cut the grass,” Sharon groans, flopping on the couch. “If I have to hear Kevin tell me one more time that you should be treating me better, I’m going to explode. He’s trying to lecture me on how to cut grass.”

“On it,” Bucky says. “Your turn to go get groceries, I ran into Karen and her kid last time. I think she wants me to stop buying so much hummus.”

“Not our fault it’s good,” Sharon mutters.

-

And then, of course, avoiding the various assassins that are sent out at random intervals and at public locations (including their own house) while convincing the neighbors that there’s nothing going on.

This involves pretending an agent of Hydra is their cousin.

“This is Jen, she’s visiting for the day!” Sharon says, squeezing “Jen’s” wrist hard enough to make her stay quiet. “We have so much to catch up on, you probably won’t see me or–or Roger again for the day! Ha ha!”

“Well where’s her car?” Linda asks, looking around the neighborhood. “I don’t see anything…”

“She’s a hippie environmentalist, she walked,” Bucky answers. “Jen, let’s go catch up in the house, yeah?”

“Yeah,” the agent squeaks out sadly, knowing exactly what is going to happen.

She’s delivered tied up in rope on the steps of Maria’s office with a note of “please stop this from happening we’re planting azaleas.”

Maria snorts.

Bucky starts to think they’re getting too attached to this. It’s been four months.

He started a garden. They’re growing tomatoes.

He also notices Sharon a little bit differently.

Because she drags him out of bed.

“Legally? You have to go to brunch with me. Illegally? You like the breakfast burrito too much.”

She’s scarily competent with anything that could be classed as a weapon. Or their groceries.

“Are you kidding me?” Bucky yells at her as she throws the jar of tomato sauce. “I am not cleaning that up!”

“Tough shit!” Sharon answers, dodging a bullet. “It wasn’t even the good kind of tomato sauce!”

“It was fine, sweetheart!” Bucky growls out.

“Don’t ‘sweetheart’ me in the middle of a battle!” Sharon yells. “Strictly after!”

“You’re the weirdest fucking married couple,” one of the agents wheezes out as Bucky is holding him as a sort of shield.

“Thanks,” they say in unison, grinning.

-

The punishment for them both doesn’t exactly turn out as planned, both Natasha and Maria agree. In fact, it is almost worse.

They are both reckless, subvert orders, and get along like a house on fire by the end of it.

“You can still be together, we just need the house back,” Natasha says.

“Thank god,” Bucky groans. “I get to stop being Roger and I get rid of Karen in one fell swoop.”

Sharon untenses her shoulders while she’s sitting at the kitchen table.

“Can I keep the knife set?”

“No,” Maria says. “I’ll send you a link to where I got it.”

“Why can’t I keep it if you can get another set?”

“Steal it,” Bucky stage-whispers. Sharon grins back at him.

“You have the best ideas, babe.”

“You are not stealing anything,” Maria scowls.

“Sure we aren’t,” Bucky says easily.

“You stole my heart,” Sharon sing-songs, knowing damn well it’s going to make Maria barf.

“Aw babe…” Bucky says, holding her hand. Natasha fake-retches.

“I hate you both,” she declares. “And I won’t be there for your actual wedding.”

“You made us tell people we had a wedding on a beach, were you assuming that you were getting an invitation?” Bucky asks.

Sharon snickers, getting the last of her bags out into the car.

“Where to now?” she asks him.

“I think that there are some apartments we can look at…”

-

“We’ve made a collective monster,” Maria decides, blinking. “We Frankensteined this.”

“We did,” Natasha says, staring at the house. There are still little bits of glass. An unfortunately busted can of beans where someone had been knocked out and they had “conveniently” forgotten to clean it up from yesterday.

Well. Sharon and Bucky are going to cause havoc on the world. Maria and Natasha just hope they can cover the other while doing so.

#fake married au #fake marriage au #sharon carter #bucky barnes #winter13 #winter soldier #agent thirteen #lovelyirony writes #maria hill #natasha romanoff #yes i made the shitty neighbor a karen what else would i have done #AND YES THEY DID START A GARDEN AND PLANT AZALEAS #I SAID WHAT I SAID

[thebmatt]

FFXIV Write 2021 prompt #21: Feckless

Feckless – lacking initiative or strength of character; irresponsible.

Since confessing to her how she had felt about her daughter all those years, ago, F’lhaminn had insisted that Fearless have a meal with her at least one time a week, unless she had world-saving that she couldn’t get away from. Aside from their exile to Ishgard, where F’lhaminn herself had to flee to Radz-at-Han, the pair hadn’t missed one yet.

F’lhaminn often told stories of Minfilia growing up or of her own exploits as a younger woman. Fearless passed on stories of the sights she saw in the far east or crazy tales of living with two girlfriends. F’lhaminn loved those, happy to laugh at the trio’s exploits or give advice when they encountered problems.

Today the pair were sharing a meal over the cafe’s Doman specialities. Fearless had been curious to see just how good Raulf had gotten with his wife’s traditional dishes, mostly to see how well Makoto would enjoy herself if Fearless would ever be able to bring her here.

Her first taste of the ramen had convinced her that he had gotten really good.

She was just about the comment on it to F’lhaminn when a Lalafell approached their table. “Feckless Willow?”

The two women shared a look, then Fearless turned to angrily address him. “It’s Fearless. Now what do you want?”

“Oh, Twelve, I’m so sorry! The writing on this envelope is atrocious, I honestly could not tell what the name said! I meant no offense, I swear!”

Fearless sighed. “It’s fine. You have something for me?”

“Yes, ma’am. Please sign here.” He handed her a clipboard. Fearless looked it over, but she only grasped a few phrases such as “signee agrees that parcel was delivered intact” and the like before she wrote her name on the line indicated.

She handed it back to him. “Excellent, ma’am, thank you very much. And here you are!”

He passed a thick envelope to her. She frowned. “Why have someone deliver this to me? Don’t most people rely on the Moogle Post?”

The Lalafell smiled proudly. “Afraid the Moogle Post hasn’t quite caught on in Aerslant, ma’am. People over there still trust Mariner Couriers to handle their mail and deliveries! After all, moogles are known to get distracted occasionally, not to mention become prey for any number of vicious predators! Wouldn’t you rather trust a professional?”

His beaming expression was met with expressions of distaste from the two women, but he either didn’t notice or didn’t care as he spun smartly on his heels and walked off.

Fearless turned to look at the envelope, inwardly sighing. Aerslant doubtless meant her parents. She’d thought that chapter of her life was over when Rheika had stopped their final attempt to bring her home against her will. What the hells did they want now?

“Are you going to see what it is?: F’lhaminn asked.

“I don’t know if I really want to. It’s probably from my parents” Fearless replied.

F’lhaminn looked at her with a mixture of concern and curiosity. “You…haven’t spoken of them. Not with me, at least. Unless I’m not recalling it?”

Fearless shook her head. “No, I prefer talking about good things with you. They…are very much not.” She tore open the envelope. Inside was a literal ream of parchment, all bearing very official looking printing, except the top sheet, which was handwritten in her father’s very blocky, no nonsense writing style.

To: Ms. Syhrwyda Ahldblaetwyn aka ‘Fearless Willow’ Re: Rights of Inheritance and Succession

This letter is to inform you that, per your wishes, as expressed via one Rheika Aliapoh, your status as legal inheritor of the Lost Mountain Shipping Company and of the personal fortunes of its owners, Master Ahldblaet Fyrilberksyn and Lady Usynwyda Holaszirnwyn has been rescinded.

Attached is a copy of the paperwork that has been filed with all relevant government bodies.

Signed, Ahldblaet Fyrilberksyn

Fearless reads it then wordlessly hands it off to F’lhaminn. She reads through it, then looks up to Fearless in horror. “What…what happened, Fearless?”

Fearless tells her the full story. How her parents showed her nothing in the way of love, unless she met their exacting, strict standards. How they’d removed her from school far too early and into an apprenticeship with her father. How when she’d failed to meet his even more exacting standards over his business within mere weeks of the new arrangement, he’d declared her useless. How her mother had forced her in etiquette c lasses following that debacle, intending only to marry her off so that the company could pass to a son they would trust to lead the company when they could no longer do so.

She’d kept her head down for most of it. When she finally was able to look up, she saw something she’d never witnessed before.

F’lhaminn was furious.

“That is….I just….Oh, my GODS what a horrible pair of fools! How…how does someone value a living person they created so little as to not care about them beyond what they can do for you? Useless? USELESS? Literally, look at what you have accomplished with the love and support of your friends! And….and they not only can’t be bothered to be proud of you, they don’t even believe it? I…I’m sorry, Fearless, but your parents are absolutely the worst. You don’t deserve what they’ve done to you, and they don’t deserve the brilliant, compassionate, and stalwart daughter they were given.”

Fearless smiles, eyes watered. “T-thank you, Lhaminn. That means a great deal, coming from you.”

The pair hugged. When Fearless did finally let go, she wiped a tear from her eye that had managed to escape. “You know, it’s rather funny, but my mom was quite the admirer of yours. You were popular even that far from Ul’dah, and her friends were all devotees of your songs, so of course she had to be. My father considered your music…frivolous, I think he said, but he couldn’t ever deny mother anything, so all of your orchestrion rolls eventually made their way into our home.”

*”Is that so?” Lhaminn’s face smiled into an evil grin

“And you’re certain of the identity of the sender, creature?”

“Absolutely, kupo! Any moogle worth his pom that’s worked in and around Ul’dah would know the Songstress by sight, and I have for a good number of years! It was definitely her that gave me this letter and bade me make the journey to you, kupo.”

Ahldblaet looked at the letter. A missive from this Songstress of Ul’dah his wife was always raving about. Well, used to, he supposed. She’d retired some time ago, and while she was still somewhat popular, other, newer performers had come to occupy most of the conversations of the social elite. Still, this should make her happy. “Thank you, moogle. Now begone before you shed on my floor or something.”

“How rude! Very well, a good day to you!” With a huff, the moogle activated a teleportation spell and then winked out of sight.

“Wife! We’ve a letter!” he called

His wife, Usynwyda, soon joined him in his office. “Who is it from?”

He simply handed her the sealed envelope. She gasped “The Songstress herself?? What….whatever could this be? Oh, perhaps she is touring again and has given us a personal invitation? Or maybe we are to be her guests at a formal dinner?”

He nodded. Certainly it would be something of that nature, they were quite important people after all. “Well, go on then. Open it and let us find out!”

She opened the envelope and began reading. Her gleeful expression soon turned to shock, then slid into horror as she made her way through the letter’s contents. She dropped the letter and fled the room, screeching in abject horror.

Perplexed, Ahldblaet picked up the letter and began reading.

To Ahldblaet Fyrilberksyn and Usynwyda Holaszirnwyn,

It has come to my attention that the pair of you are great admirers of my performances. I was thus inspired to pen you this missive to express my feelings on your contributions to the world.

Unfortunately, I am but a well trained vocalist, and have little knowledge on the worlds of business or cargo shipping, so I feel I am unqualified to speak on your successes there. However, there is a challenge that all of us have undertaken that I can speak on, that of parenthood. While I have given birth to no children of my own, I did adopt and raise an orphaned young woman to adulthood to become a brilliant woman determined to see the threats to our star defeated and it’s people saved.

You, on the other hand, have a daughter who has become equally brilliant and determined in spite of your parental failures.

I cannot even begin to comprehend how someone can look at a child that they created and brought into this world and see her as you have seen yours. I have heard the tales of your lack of warmth, of caring for this girl. How you derided her as worthless, useless, in the face of a single failure, regardless of its nature. How you wielded her like she was mere property for any chance it would increase your own profits.

Is it any wonder, then, that the moment she fled your presence, she blossomed? That she has become a hero to people not only across Eorzea, but the far eastern lands of Othard and Hingashi as well? I have heard, however, that you do not believe these claims. That she is a Warrior of Light, chosen by the Mothercrystal herself as a champion. That she has risen to this lofty title multiple times over, slaying summoned gods that would drain this star’s very life, driven Garlean forces out of Ala Mhigo and Doma and other former Imperial provinces, ended a thousand-year war between Ishgard and Dravania, and far more.

I do not comprehend how you can so utterly fail to see the truth of your daughter, but the fact is that I, and many others, are quite capable of doing so. You see, our daughters were became close before mine unfortunately passed, and during our shared grieving, I have come to regard her as my own as well. If you are so willing to discard the absolutely beautiful treasure that is Fearless Willow, then I shall be happy to care for her as best I can. Any mother worth the name would be proud of her for what she has become.

Retired though I am, I still have a number of friends in the publishing business, and I still talk with them often. During these conversations, I will more than likely end up speaking of Fearless. You know how mothers get, we can’t help but gush about our children’s successes and the hardships they’ve overcome. The Warriors of Light are always a newsworthy topic, and I imagine more than a few of them will run stories on her. Of course, they’ll all do their due diligence and dig up as much as they can in the name of getting all of the details right. They’re very thorough that way. Why, I’d expect articles about her in any number of periodicals soon.

Ones that I know for a fact have circulation on your own shores.

I’m curious how your social peers and business partners will react when they doubtless see your names in the story. Aren’t you?

I’d wish you the best of luck, but I would be lying.

Sincerely, F’lhaminn Qesh

PS. I wouldn’t bother saving this missive. I had an alchemist prepare the ink. Within a few minutes of it being opened, it will dissolve entirely. Don’t be holding it when that happens.

Even as he read the postscript, Ahldblaet saw the paper begin crumbling as the alchemical concoction did its work. He threw it to the stone floor, and within seconds, it had vanished as though it had never existed.

He hmphed. They could get in front of this. Who would believe the word of some woman from a far-off land over important people such as they? Perhaps his wife’s social standing might suffer, but eventually those parasites would come crawling back. Their trading partners were intelligent, savvy folk that were well trained in spotting truth from fiction, they’d see through such a ridiculous hatchet job. Honestly, he’d be surprised if anyone would believe this fiction about their runaway feckless former daughter.

Time to go reassure his wife.

#Final Fantasy XIV #FFXIV 2021 Writing Challenge #Fearless Willow #F'lhaminn Qesh #I know I said I was probably done writing about these awful people #But a friend gave me the idea of someone calling her Feckless Willow by mistake and this came out #Plus it was a good excuse to show her relationship with Flhaminn #Do not mess with her daughters #ninja edit sorry for the lack of read more link!

[goyongtrash]

Looking for Juan del Pilar

A long post on what records say about Gregorio del Pilar’s little known relative.

Disclaimer: Any opinions stated in this post are based on my interpretation of the sources I found. If there are more decisive sources, feel free to send them my way. This is also cross-posted as a long Twitter thread, with revisions done on this version.

Very little is known about Juan del Pilar. Even Carlo Cruz, the actor playing Juan, mentioned that material about Goyo’s cousin are lacking. 

In the movie Goyo: Ang Batang Heneral, he was first introduced as the cousin who shot at Goyo’s group swimming in the river.  According to Vicente Enriquez from the Kalaw biography, while some swimming and shooting did happen, the relative wasn’t named.

“I have never seen Del Pilar nervous except once in Dagupan. The following happened: During one of our inspection trips, some Spanish prisoners had attempted to escape in a boat to bring them to an American ship anchored in Lingayen Bay. As a result of this, Del Pilar ordered that from then on the mouth of the river should be guarded.

One day, Del Pilar, Arellano (who was paymaster), and I decided to take a dip in the river. We told nobody about it. From one side, we heard somebody ordering us to halt. But we paid no heed, and instead we jumped into the water. At this, we heard shots, bullets whizzing near us. Obviously, our own men had mistaken us for the Spanish soldiers who have attempted to escape. I saw Del Pilar very pale for the first time. The official who ordered the volley of shots -  who was Del Pilar’s relative - was punished for this imprudence.”

Which first led me to think that Juan may be fictional. I actually asked Direk Jerrold during a Q&A if Juan is fictional or not. To which he replied he’s a real person and pointed us to Simeon Villa’s journals where he was mentioned.

But before we go to Villa’s memoirs, let’s start with the “Juan H. del Pilar” who was listed as the godfather of Goyo’s youngest brother Jacinto (from the Kalaw bio):

On June 30, 1878, between four and five in the morning, Felipa Sempio gave birth to a son who was baptized with the name Jacinto, on the 3rd of July by Father Jose Vera. His godfather was Juan H. del Pilar.

It wasn’t explicitly mentioned but, given the name and date, this “Ninong Juan” was most likely an uncle. 

In fact, Marcelo and Fernando (Goyo’s father) actually had a brother named Juan. An 1895 intel about Marcelo’s associates listed him as a lawyer and a stenographer of the tribunal (probably in Bulakan and yes the Spaniards were keeping tabs on them).

Juan del Pilar: about 42 years of age*, married, scribe and third-rate lawyer, is connected with the Tribunal as Secretary.

Brother of Marcelo, co-worker in La Solidaridad and cousin of Luis del Pilar, propagandist of that paper. [...]

In the last months of the term of the previous municipal administration, he was dismissed from the Tribunal by verbal order of the Provincial Government, which was able to produce complete proof of his anti-friar and anti-religious conduct.

In his dealings, he is cunning and shows that he is not only anti-friar but also anti-Spanish. There should be previous information about him.

*GT admin’s note: I don’t think this Juan was just 42 years old during this time. Juan was an older brother of Marcelo and the latter should be 45 years old by 1895.

Indeed Isaac Cruz (in his Goyo biography) lists “Juan H. del Pilar”, alongside other siblings of Marcelo del Pilar, to have joined the Propaganda Movement. 

And from the same biography, Cruz actually names this “Tio Juan” as a Captain who served on both revolutions against Spain and America *gasp*

Juan H. del Pilar was a fiery Propagandist and worked with his brother Marcelo during the Propaganda movement. He joined the Revolution against Spain and later against the Americans. He served as a Captain.

So does this mean the movie got it wrong in portraying Juan? Perhaps not. Which now leads to the question: Where did Goyo: Ang Batang Heneral get the idea that this Juan was a younger cousin? 

They probably got it from Jose Enriquez, a Tirad survivor and a younger brother of Vicente Enriquez (Jose wasn’t portrayed in the movie). From the Kalaw biography, he said it was him and “Juanchito del Pilar” (Goyo’s cousin) who informed Aguinaldo of Goyo’s death.

“When I heard someone shouting ‘The General is dead!’, I mounted my horse, and escaped. I met Emilio Garcia, Juanchito del Pilar (Gregorio’s cousin) and Inigo de Jesus on the way. Juanchito and I went as far as Cervantes in order to report the incident to Aguinaldo.”

Prior to Tirad, Kalaw already mentioned about a then-Lieutenant Juanchito del Pilar who was enlisted under the Del Pilar Battalion. This means that this Juanchito participated in sieges leading to the Liberation of Bulacan on June 24, 1900. It’s possible he was promoted to a Captain after the liberation. 

“But Juanchito can be someone else!” you might say. 

This is where Vicente Enriquez’s account comes in. Still from the Kalaw bio, Vicente mentioned a “Captain Juan del Pilar” present in Tirad and was with the company of another captain, Emilio Garcia, who was also mentioned from Jose Enriquez’s account. These two were in charge of constructing trenches.

“While the group was in Angake, Captains Juan H. del Pilar and Emilio Garcia constructed trenches in Tirad utilizitng General de Pilar’s plan.”

“As I reached our trenches above, I found Captains Juan H. del Pilar and Emilio Garcia and some soldiers, who informed me that soldiers in the trenches below had heroically and successfully resisted heavy shelling of the American cavalry.”

Unless there were two Juan del Pilars in Tirad, then I am very inclined to think that “Captain Juan H. del Pilar” and “Juanchito del Pilar” are the same. There is no info on who the father of this cousin was but if there were several Juans in the family, the nickname of “Juanchito” makes sense.

Also, Jose Enriquez’s statement (that it was him and Juanchito who told Aguinaldo about Goyo’s death) is somewhat supported by Simeon Villa’s memoirs. He mentioned there were two officers who informed Aguinaldo on what happened in Tirad.

December 2, 1899: At 5 o’clock in the afternoon the honorable president received a verbal report from two officers coming from Mount Tila*, to the effect that the Americans had taken all our trenches in Tila; that General Pilar had been killed by being shot through the head; that other soldiers had also been killed; and they, the officers, were sure the Americans must be in Angaqui at this very hour. According to the statement of the officers, General Pilar died at 10 o’clock a.m.

*Mount Tirad

And speaking of Simeon Villa’s memoirs he mentioned “Captain Juan del Pilar” several times and so did Telesforo Carrasco (the Spaniard) in his memoirs. For the next parts, I’ll be combining entries from both Villa’s and Carrasco’s memoirs.

At the first part of Villa’s memoirs, he mentioned a Capt. Juan H. del Pilar as part of the Sixth Company of the First Bulacan Battalion.

Do note that even if Juan may not have been explicitly mentioned in some entries, he should’ve had the same arduous and perilous experience as everyone who was with Aguinaldo during his escape.

On December 16, 1899, Villa notes that Aguinaldo called for a council meeting and Juan was part of it. Interestingly, he didn’t seem to have an opinion of his own.

At 6 p.m. the honorable president named the following as members of a council to take place this night, viz: Colonel Sytiar, Señor Barcelona, director of the health department; Villa, sub-inspector of the staff; Majors Jeciel and Gatmaitan, and Capt. Juan H. del Pilar. [...] 

Having explained all these things, the honorable president then asked Captain Pilar what opinion he had to express. The latter replied that he had no opinion to express, but that he agreed with the honorable president’s declaration, but Colonel Sytiar answered this, saying that Captain Pilar’s answer was not to the point, as we are all under the honorable president’s orders and ready; what was desired was that the Captain Pilar should freely express his own personal opinion. On hearing this Captain Pilar replied in the very same phrases he had first used.

By February 1900, after a grueling trek, Aguinaldo and his group set up camp somewhere in Isabela. There, they experienced relative peace and have settled into a routine which involved horse racing in the afternoons. And yes, Juan or rather his horse participated in these races.

February 8, 1900: In the second race the horses of Señor Villa. and Captain Pilar were started; Señor V's horse gained from the start and finally, won.

February 9, 1900: The honorable president started out at 9 o'clock in the morning to examine our outposts, being accompanied by his adjutant, Lieutenant Carasco, Senor Villa, subinspector of military hospitals, Captain Pilar, and a squad of cavalry: he returned about 12;30 o'clock, quite satisfied over the good spirits of the soldiers.

At 4 o'clock in the afternoon, as customary, two horse races took place. The first one was between the horses of Señors Jeciel and Pilar. It was hotly contested by both horses, but Señor Pilar's horse won by a length.

February 10, 1900:  Speaking of our life in this camp, it may be reduced to the following: All awaken, on sound of the bugle, at 5 a. m., and arrange everything in order, so that at any given moment we will not have to preoccupy ourselves with anything but our defense. At 7 o'clock we have breakfast, after which each one gives his attention to the duties assigned him. At 12 o'clock, we take dinner or luncheon. Afterwards we rest a little until 3 or 3.30 o'clock, at which hour the horse racing commences. At 6 o'clock we have supper. 

[...]  At 4 o'clock the horse races came off, the first one being between the horses of Señors Jeciel and Pilar, in which Senor Jeciel's horse won.

On March 16, 1900 (probably in preparation for Aguinaldo’s birthday), Juan and his soldiers were tasked to look meat and salt. They came back after 3 days, not only with inadequate meat but prisoners as well.

By the order of the honorable president, this morning at 5 o’clock 25 soldiers, under command of officers Del Pilar and Valentin, set out for the Gullayen settlement to secure in said settlement some 20 carabaos to furnish us all meat, and likewise some salt, since for some days we have been eating neither meat nor salt, though we have never been in want of rice, which exists here in abundance.

March 19, 1900: Our soldiers who, on the 16th instant, went to Guilayen settlement came back this afternoon at 2 o’clock, bringing the honorable president one carabao and one [goat]. They had been unable to secure the twenty carabaos, as was their intention, since these were not to be found. They also brought with them as prisoners two Christians, captured by them in the mountains before reaching Guilayen, and suspected of being American spies.

On March 21, 1900, Carrasco talked about Aguinaldo’s birthday preparations. Juan was to deliver a speech.

Our mess hall has been completed; likewise the mess hall for the troops, which is in the shape of a triangle. I have bidden the head of the rancheria to bring me three or four jars of basi, for the fiesta to be celebrated tomorrow, on the occasion of the birthday His Excellency the President. [...]

Speeches to be delivered by Dr. Barcelona, the marques de los camotes, Señor Bautista, Captain Pilar and Sergeant Luis. In response to all this, as finale, the Honorable President thanking everybody.

On Aguinaldo’s birthday, March 22, 1900, both Villa and Carrasco didn’t mention specifically if Juan was able to deliver a speech but the following entries should give you an idea what happened on this day.

Villa: Then, on account of today being the birthday of the invincible chieftain and liberator of the Philippines, all the officers and soldiers who are accompanying him on these mountain journeys have come to congratulate him since yesterday evening at 5:30 o’clock; and 25 soldiers have organized a band of music, using as instruments the bamboos musicong bombong [sic]. Their congratulations were solemn and imposing, because the honorable president, after receiving them affectionately, offered sweetmeats, cigars, and wines to all [...]

Carrasco: After the meal, Dr. Barcelona and other officers spoke [...] After the speeches the National Anthem was played, and then we retired. 

Still during Aguinaldo’s birthday. Villa mentioned about the Bulacan Battalion getting emotional because Barcelona reminded them of Gregorio’s death. I think it’s safe to assume Juan became emotional because he was a relative.

The happy meeting broke up at 1:30 o’clock, all the soldiers having gone away satisfied as far as their stomachs were concerned, but not so morally, because Señor Barcelona, in his toast, told them that as Bulacan soldiers they ought to imitate him who was their general, the valiant Gregorio del Pilar, who died on Mount Tirad while defending the person of the honorable president. As that general was greatly beloved by all his soldier (the Bulacan Battalion), these on hearing Señor Barcelona’s expression were reminded of how he had died, and many of them burst into tears. 

On April 16, 1900, Carrasco noted that a memorial for Goyo was held. Juan was one of those who read elegies for the fallen general.

As had been agreed on, we held on this day the commemoration in honor of General Gregorio del Pilar. At noon we all gathered in the troops’ mess hall. At the center was the table for the chiefs and officials and at the head of the table was a floral wreath with this inscription: “To the ill-fated General Gregorio H. del Pilar, who died heroically on Mount Tilad during the battle of December 2 last, this offering is dedicated by his brothers and companion in arms.” After the meal, Captain Pilar, Lieutenant Bautista and myself read elegies in honor of the departed general. The Honorable President then pronounced an eloquent oration, after which we all retired to our lodgings.

On May 20, 1900 (or May 21 depending on which journal entry you refer to), Aguinaldo’s group was on the run and had encountered American troops. Some soldiers belonging to the Sixth Company (specifically Lieut. Lucio Valentin), of which Juan was part of, went missing. It is unsure if Juan also went missing during this time.

Villa: The soldiers on the first and second companies of the Bulacan Battalion looked after the safety of the honorable president, and by their bravery prevented the enemy’s advance until he got away. In this fight our casualties were: Second Lieutenant Morales killed, two soldiers wounded, and Lieut. Lucio Valentin of the sixth company and some soldiers of the same missing.

Carrasco (May 21, 1900 in his entry): At around eleven a.m. we moved to the rancheria of Asibanlang, leaving in Sanga an advance guard under the command of Lieutenant Lucio Valentin. At around six p.m. we heard that the enemy was in sight. [...]

Soon after, the firing began where the advance guard of Lieutenant Valentin was; and moments later the firing started in our own line, commanded by Commandant Geronimo Gatmaitan. When the foe saw that all of us on horses were escorting His Excellency the President, they concentrated their fire on us, for which reason the President bade us leave the scene. 

On May 22, 1900, Villa noted that the soldiers who went missing last May 20th were reunited with Aguinaldo’s group. However, they were confronted by Americans who didn’t immediately fire at them. They escaped to the woods.

About 12:30 o’clock, on reaching a river near a mountain ridge, we observed a number of armed men on the top of the ridge. Viewed through the glasses they appeared to be wearing black shirts, but when we saw them deploy as skirmishers in our direction we were quite convinced they were our enemies. So we had to come back and abandon our trip to Magapasi. We then turned off to the left to ascend a mountain ridge which we saw, having left the Fifth and Sixth companies to protect the retreat of our honorable president, who before his leaving placed the soldiers in good strategical positions. The honorable president also gave instructions to the captains of the said companies relative to the direction in which they should retreat in order to find him.

After marching for an hour we saw one of our soldiers following us, and calling to us. Then we waited for him. When he arrived he told the honorable president that the soldiers we had seen deploying as skirmishers on the mountain ridge were our soldiers of the First Bulacan Battalion who had separated from us on the night of the 20th. We returned at once. Great was our pleasure on meeting our soldier companion of the rocks. After chatting for an hour we resumed our former direction toward Magapasi. This was 2 p.m.

On the Americans ambushing them: 

The honorable president did not know what to do, because in front of us were the 300 Americans at Tabog, forming a cordon; on our left 300 more Americans from Tuao, who were also in cordon, and to our right and rear were the 4,000 (sic) who were pursuing us and who had corralled us among the mountain ridges. How were we to save ourselves? While we were going back along the road we had come, the honorable President, Señors Villa, Barcelona and Pilar were engaging in a discussion as to what direction we should take, and whether we should be able to get through the hostile military lines. Each one was meditating on what should be best. Finally, as there was no time for so much discussion, the honorable president said that it would be best for us to simply hide in the thick woods in those places, and that from then on we would travel no more by day, but only by night, so as to avoid being discovered by the Americans.

The next entry from Villa that explicitly mentions Juan was on July 6, 1900. Juan was part of the council of a trial for a deserter. The deserter was given a death penalty.

There came up a trial in the camp this morning the case of Junior Maj. Geronimo Gatmaitan, a deserter from the escort of the honorable president. [...] In view of these grave offenses the honorable president this morning ordered all the field and line officers in camp to form a council to deliberate as to what penalty ought to be inflicted upon the said major. The council was composed of Maj. Raymundo C. Jeciel, Capts. Juan H. del Pilar and Ildelfonso Villareal, and First Lieut. Tomas Magsarile and Teodoro Dayao, Señor Simeon A. Villa presiding. The unanimously agreed that the penalty should be death.

By late August 1900, a major responsibility was given to Juan. Aguinaldo appointed Juan as military commander/chief of guerrilla of Isabela. Carrasco was put under Juan’s orders. And after two months of spending time in the Tierra Virgen camp, it was decided that Juan and other soldiers would not go with Aguinaldo and operate as a guerrilla unit. Here are the following entries supporting his appointment and the change to guerrilla tactics:

August 20, 1900 (A letter from Emilio Aguinaldo, addressed to the commander of forces coming from llocos): On arriving with your forces in these provinces, you may commence operations by guerrillas in any part of this valley with authority to attack and surprise the enemy without waiting for superior orders, establishing your temporary camps wherever military strategy demands. I inform you that the following are chiefs of guerrillas: of the province of Nueva Vizcaya, Captain Joaquin Velasquez; of Isabela, Captain Juan H. del Pilar; and of Cagayan, Major Carlos Ronquillo, each one of whom has the same authority as that which I now confer upon you, without detriment to the preservation of military discipline between you conformably to orders and good harmony as true brothers and defenders of a common cause, and in case of attack acting in combination, should circumstances require it. 

August 20, 1900 (Villa): A report was received from Gamu informing us of the arrival of many Americans at Aparri, and the 8 very large rowboats were en route to this section.

The honorable president, wishing to avoid the attack of the Americans, decided that we should leave here and take the direction for Palanan, carrying only 16 guns, the others to remain in charge of Captains Pilar and Villareal, who stayed behind to engage in a system of guerrilla warfare in this province.

August 21, 1900 (Carrasco): A letter I received from Captain Juan H. del Pilar at seven in the morning declared that he was on his way to the Third Camp on orders of the President. When he arrived there, I presented myself to the President, with whom I had been in conference, and he told me, among other things, that I was to put myself at the orders of Captain del Pilar, who had been told to be at the service of some guerrilla force.

Afterwards we spent a good time jesting with our colleagues in camp; and then I retired, to await the orders to march.

August 25, 1900 (A letter from Emilio Aguinaldo, addressed to the principal chiefs of the Katipunan who command forces in Isabela):  Señor Juan H. del Pilar has been appointed the military commander of the province; you as military commander of your pueblo will place yourself under his orders.

August 27, 1900 (Villa): Everything being conveniently prepared, in order to cause a failure of the Americans’ plan to attack, we at 5:30 a.m., abandoned this camp of “Tierra Virgen,” after having lived there peacefully for two months and twenty-one days. Capt. Juan H. del Pilar, chief, and Señors Villareal, Carrasco, Catindig, Subido, Ruis de Leon, and the greater part of the soldiers remained behind in the province to operate as guerrillas.

Despite the news and shift to guerrilla tactics, the following entries from Carrasco show how he and the other soldiers spent nights chatting and jesting in Juan’s quarters before leaving Tierra Virgen. 

August 23, 1900: In the afternoon I marched with the company of Lieutenant de Leon to the Third Camp, where I had been summoned. On arriving there, I found all chiefs and officials assembled in conference, which I joined. Afterwards we set to composing a circular, which was the purpose of the conference. We spent the night chatting and jesting in the quarters of Señor Juan H. del Pilar, where also lodge democratically the Messrs. Magsarili, Perfecto, Villareal and Subido. There we stayed to sleep. 

August 24, 1900: I have spent the day writing circulars, finishing at six in the evening. Like the night before, we spent this night in the said house and again we had a session of jokes and politics.

From August 28 to September 16, 1900, Juan and his group moved out from Tierra Virgen and carried out operations as a guerrilla unit. Carrasco, for the most part, was ill. 

August 28, 1900: On this day we transferred location, establishing a new camp in the same forest but in a more hidden site, where we have spent two nights.

September 5, 1900: On the 28th of last month, Captain Pilar, Captain Villareal, myself and some other officers, along with 56 soldiers, departed from Tierra Virgen to render service as a guerrilla unit. We fixed our area within the boundaries of the town of Echague and from that point we have delivered correspondence to the principal chiefs of the towns of this province, a service of great importance.

September 13, 1900: In the afternoon Captain del Pilar, Lieutenant Luna and myself went to the barrio of Minal-lo for a change of air and to deliver mail for Naguilian. We returned to camp at two o’clock a.m. completely soaked, having been caught by a storm along the way.

September 16, 1900: At sunrise, after breakfast, we resumed the march on foot, because the road is very bad and we cannot bring horses. We had been marching an hour when I was again attacked by fever. Nevertheless I plodded on until we reached a brook where I got my legs wet. Whereupon the confounded fever attacked me so fiercely I could no longer move a step and had to lie down on the ground. On seeing this, Commandant del Pilar ordered me to return to Minaban, since because of me the column could not move ahead. With God’s help, and clinging to the shoulder of my assistant, I hobbled back to Minaban, arriving there at six in the evening. 

On September 17, 1900, a still unwell Carrasco learned of what happened during the attack and the subsequent death of Juan. An American war report confirms Juan’s death although listed under a different date.

Carrasco’s entry: The column came from Malumi at around eleven in the morning and from my companions I learned how badly the soldiers had behaved. They refused to attack as we had planned, although the detachment was manned by only twelve Americans, as the soldiers knew. In the combat, we suffered the loss of Commandant del Pilar, who was captured by the enemy. We marched back to camp, where I continued to be with fever. 

September 14, 1900 (American war report entry): Corporal Martin, with a detachment of Company H, Sixteenth Infantry, encountered a band of guerrillas under Captain Juan del Pilar, on Palanan road; routed them, killing their captain, wounded 3, captured 1 rifle, 1 revolver, 175 pesos, and important papers. No casualties.

And there you have it. Captain Juan H. del Pilar died at the hands of the Americans and had suffered a similar fate to his famous relative. There is also no info on whether or not his body was recovered. If not, then his remains might still be somewhere in Isabela. 

Whether Juan del Pilar is the uncle or cousin, this shows Goyo’s relative had the same level of grit and resilience as him. Although, I still think this Captain del Pilar is a cousin based on age (because Tio Juan would’ve been 50+ years old by 1900).

Sources: 

An Acceptable Holocaust: Life and Death of A Boy-General by Teodoro M. Kalaw

General Gregorio H. Del Pilar: Idol of the Revolution by Isaac C. Cruz

A Spaniard in Aguinaldo’s Army: The Military Journal of Telesforo Carrasco Y Perez translated by Nick Joaquin

The Flight and Wanderings of Emilio Aguinaldo, From His Abandonment of Bayambang Until His Capture in Palanan: A Diary by Simeon A. Villa, a Member of His Staff translated by Lieut. J. C. Hixson (Published under The Philippine Insurrection Against the United States: A Compilation of Documents With Notes and Introduction by John R.M. Taylor, Volume V)

Letters of Marcelo H. del Pilar published by the National Historical Institute

Annual Reports of the War Department (of the United States)

#juan del pilar #gregorio del pilar #philippine history #kapitan juan del pilar #this is a very long post #pinaghirapan ko ito mga mamser so sana naman po ay informative para sa inyo #about: Gregorio del Pilar

[dust-broken-berry]

Second post for part 6

“I don’t know, but I think we share that luck. Cause somehow I got you, and I want you to know that I’m willing to listen to what you have to say…”

“...”

“But only if you want to…”

    There was silence for a second again, then PJ said-

“On my way here I thought about something…”

“Ok?..

“And the reason I’m telling is because, I’m planning to do something stupid…”

“Oh what a shocker”

“Fresh I’m serious…”

    Fresh saw how concerned and worried PJ was, so he said-

“It can’t be that dumb...but if you reallly don’t want to then fine. But it may make us both feel better.”

“Both? What, are you worried now?”

“I have a right to worry about you...so ya I guess I am.”

    PJ looked a bit surprised to hear him admit he was actually worried, he sighed.

“Fresh...I want to tell you but-”

“PJ if you're too nervous then it’s fine.”

“Well no it’s just, I don’t want you to try and stop me…”

“I...I’m not gonna lie to you because it depends on what you’re gonna say or do. But if you don’t want me to stop you then I guess I’ll have to try my hardest not you.”

    Fresh smirked and jokingly added-

“Now you need tell me because if you don’t me, then I’ll make sure you won’t do something stupid.”

    PJ chuckled a bit and jokingly asked-

“So it’s either I tell you and you have a chance of stopping me. Or say nothing and have you stalk me for a month until I try and do something dumb.”

“I never used the word stalk.”

    They laughed for a second, then PJ sided and nodded his head-

“Fine I’ll tell you”

“Oh you su-”

“I want to, and besides I shouldn’t make you worry.”

“Well...ok…”

“I…”   

PJ thought about the right way to phrase this, then continued-

“Fresh I know what It does to monsters...and ya on the surface it may not seem so bad but there is a price for what he offers…”

“I would think”

“And I was able to kinda figure out how he thinks...so I think that when Blue has this baby that It will go after it, like mom said. Of Course I have no clue when or where this will happen, but I know that if It wants to be quick then it’ll probably go after the baby in the hospital.”

    PJ went silent after saying that last phrase, Fresh said-

“My guess is the next part you don’t want to say…”

“...”

“Ok look I was messing with you, I won’t actually follow you or-”

“Fresh…”

    PJ took a deep breath and said-

“I’m...I’m planning to switch places with that baby.”

    Fresh looked reasonably surprised and scared as he yelled-

“Wait, isn't that like real dangerous!? I don’t want-”

“It won’t be, if what I’m thinking is right…”

    Fresh stopped yelling, seeing that PJ’s eyes had tears in them. He sighed-

“Ok...I’ll hear what you’re planning… But worried Jammy…”

“I know...I know...just try and hear me out, ok?”

    Fresh sat there quietly for a second, then nodded. So PJ continued-

“Since I was born with no magic, and ever since then I haven’t had any, that just means what I just said, I have no magic. So what I think It does is add more magic to monsters soul, not just make it, or give it but add it to the magic they already have. So for instance if he tried to do this to a human it wouldn’t work, because they don’t have any magic.” 

“So you’re thinking that if you swap places with this kid, then just nothing will happen?”

“Yes…”

    PJ said, leaning on Fresh’s shoulder and wrapped his arms around one of Fresh’s.

“That’s still dangerous, and you don’t know if it’ll work.”

“I know…”

    The thought of it made PJ scared, and because he was scared he cried.

“Woah, woah hey it’s ok, don’t cry.”

Fresh said, hugging and trying to comfort PJ.

“*Hic* But I’m scared…”

“You don’t have to do anything if you don’t want to.”

“That’s the thing I want to but *Hic* I’m scared....”

“Why then?..”

“I want for my brother, for mom because I know you he *Hic* still care about him too. For Blue because he isn’t a bad guy *Hic* just bad things happened to him.” 

“I don’t want those bad things to happen to you.”

    Fresh used his sleeve to wipe PJ’s tears.

“You know I’m not serious about much, but I’m serious when I say I care about you.”

“And thank you for that… I… I don’t know what I’m gonna do anymore. I’m gonna need to think about it.”

    Fresh sighed but nodded and smiled.

“Ok”

    PJ looked up at Fresh and his mood completely changed as he started to laugh.

“What are you laughing at now? Are you feeling ok?”

    Fresh asked, confused, putting a hand on PJ’s forehead. PJ kempt laughing as he shook his head.

“No, no it’s nothing, just yout glasses.”

“Ya what about them?”

“You know how the words change-”

“Oh god what are they sayin’ now? If they can make you laugh at a time like this, you were just crying.”

“Oh so you want me to cry?”

“No, no just uh...tell me what they’re sayin’ please.”

“Pfhaha ok, ok I will”

    After PJ asked there was just silence. 

“Well what do they say? Or did they change already?”

“Uh...ya they changed alright.”

    Fresh stood up to see if he had a mirror anywhere in the house, knowing that if he just took his glasses off they would just revert back to normal.

“What are you doing?”

“Looking to see if I have a mirror.”

    PJ looked at the coffee table and grinned 

“Well you know this did happen last time, and you also went looking for a mirror.”

“Did I find one?”

“Ya you put it on the table in front of the couch.”

    Fresh turned around and he didn’t look happy.

“Ugh, fuck you”

    PJ grinned and laughed again.

“Haha I guess you really could read your glasses.”

    Fresh stood there for a few seconds processing what PJ just said, he blushed.”

“Sorry”

“Pfhahaha why are you sorry?”

“It was an inappropriate time and well uh I don’t know…”

    PJ slowly stopped laughing

“I think you’re one of the only guys that would say that.”

“Well it’s polite… I guess”

“Well for one most men wouldn’t say sorry about that.”

“Ok…”

“And two”

    PJ stood up and went right to Fresh.”

“You don’t have to be sorry…”   

    Fresh happily surprised grinned

“I’m no longer sorry”

“Haha~”

    And with that PJ and Fresh walked away to the other room.

    “But what he didn’t know was that I had already made my decision…

… 

   … 

      …”

    As this was happening, Blue and Dust were just going back to the others, and as he entered he yelled-

“IT WENT SO WELL!”

“So I can hear.”

    Killer grumbled as Dust grinned and said-

“Well we did bet their asses”

    Nightmare’s head perked up-

“Their?”

“Ink brought Cross and Dream with him.”

    Blue said making Nightmare sigh and say-

“He told me alone.”

“I know he said that he ‘didn’t need more of you’.”

“Still no reason to bring any extra men.”

“Ya I agree”

    Dust said agreeing with Nightmare. But Nightmare then had to ask-

“Did you have Dust fight with you the whole time?”

“Ya? That was the plan right?”

    Blue said, confused.

“I know it’s just I didn’t think you would be able to keep Dust there for that long, and fight three monsters at the same time.”

“Well It did give me a decent amount of magic…”

“I mean ya I guess but still. Could you just let me see if anything changed in like your attacks, defense, or even like your own body.”

“Uh ya sure, ok?..”

    Blue said, a bit confused. Nightmare’s hand glowed a dark purple tint as he ran it over most of Blue’s body, surprising Blue a bit but he was fine with it. Nightmare’s expression changed slightly as he stopped, and said-

“Well there are two things”

“Ok...what are they?”

    Blue asked curiously, Nightmare continued-

“One you just over exceeded my expectations, congrats on doing that.”

“Um thanks...so what’s two?”

“That, that’s another thing I would like to congratulate you on. But for a different reason.”

“Congratulate?”

    Blue asked confused, Nightmare didn’t smile very much be he did a little then as he said-

“Yep, congratulations you’re having another child.”

    Everyone was reasonably surprised, and the fact that Nightmare said that so normally was even more surprising. Blue just asked-

“You’re joking...right?”

“You think I would joke around about that?”

    Blue went quiet for a moment, then started crying, Nightmare asked-

“Why are you crying? Wouldn’t this make you happy?”

“It would it’s just *Hic*”

    Blue wiped his eyes, Dust still surprised asked-

“Hey Berry it’s ok, just tell me what’s bugging you?”

“... What if this baby is like us now…what if it gets these powers...this curse…”

“Sadly it most likely will… I probably should’ve thought about that before I said something.”   

    Nightmare said, almost regretting that he told Dust and Blue. Dust had tears beginning to form in his eyes but quickly he tried to wipe them away, still he cried. 

    Outer said-

“You guys...it’s not your fault.”

“Even if it wasn’t it’s still terrible, and what if It tries to go after them when they’re born.”

“I didn’t think about that…”

    Nightmare said followed by Dust saying-

“It should be ok...enough. It probably doesn’t even know.”

“Ya so just relax for now, besides you should be happy, you’re having another baby.”

    Outer said, making Blue nod and start to calm down-

“Ya…I should be happier…”

“*Sigh* Ya...we should be happy...even though it’s probably going to be difficult…”

    Dust said, followed by both him and Blue saying-

“It’s our baby…”

    After they said that and everyone else realised that they started to relax. 

They all began to congratulate the new parents, everyone except Nightmare who was thinking about what Blue said earlier. About It going after the unborn child, he thought and knew that it most likely would happen. But he really didn’t have any of the answers that him, Blue, and Dust wanted. All it was, was scepticism...very scary scepticism... 

#undertale #fanfic #dustberry

[46ten]

AH: marriage and military service should not mix

The summary of this post: A lot of historians have noted how important AH’s marriage to EH was to his future, a true before and after marker in his life. But the strangeness of it has gotten less attention - AH married while the war was going on, and even wrote of not hanging around the army at all in order to setup for his life with his new wife. Once one sees the oddity of that, a lot of other things fall into place in his 1780/81 letters.  

For the past few years, I’ve wanted to work more on the theory that although marriage was generally expected of the 18th century Anglo-American colonial man (see prior posts here and here), the elite in AH’s circle did not marry until their military obligations and other duties were complete. From their examples and a few phrases here and there, getting married seemed to have been frowned upon, perhaps because of the uncomfortable examples of general’s wives and this idea that romantic love with a woman was a weakness that interfered with duty and hindered one’s commitment to military glory. (I am familiar with the challenges faced by Martha Washington, Catharine Greene, and Lucy Knox; Philip Schuyler refused a return to military assignment and presidency of the Continental Congress after the death of a newborn, among other things, in 1778). AH is an exception among his circle, with Meade, in getting married during the war itself - nearly everyone else who is unmarried waits until after their military service is complete (and sometimes well after) to marry. Not enough is made of the oddity of his courtship and marriage, within his circle, while the war is ongoing.

Now to modern thought, the title of this post makes a lot of sense - relationships are often strained when one partner is in military service, and the hows and whys are very familiar to us. But for the 18th century, when adult manhood was tied to matrimony, avoiding matrimony seems odd, as does the length of some of the courtships of AH’s friends: two years for William Jackson, about the same for Tilghman, four years of flirtation for McHenry. At a time when engagements lasted a matter of weeks (and AH notes that his own is unusually long - it’s lasting “an age” in one of his letters to ES), the delay in taking the next step is notable. Even in the prior generation, although Philip Schuyler was sexually intimate with Catharine Van Rensselaer, he continued his military service and did not marry her until it became unavoidable by decency standards (CVR was 4 months pregnant). 

So what’s with AH and ES wanting to get married in such a hurry, comparatively, besides the obvious emotional ones? Maybe he really was 26-27 years old and time was running out! Another obvious possibility, noted then and noted by biographers since, was the benefits of their marriage on a personal and political dynastic level. @aswithasunbeam has noted a contemporary article (sourced from Mitchell) about what Philip Schuyler had to gain through the new attachment between himself and Washington’s aide-de-camp. (And look how quickly P. Schuyler had AH working to get GW to visit them.) The advantages for AH were obvious to, as the Marquis de Fleury stated outright to AH: “ I congratulate you heartyly on that conquest; for many Reasons: the first that you will get all that familly’s interest, & that a man of your abilities wants a Little influence to do good to his country. The second that you, will be in a very easy situation, & happin’s is not to be found without a Large estate.”

I also suspect part of AH’s decision to hurriedly marry was tied to getting a command and spending the rest of his time studying the law.* I agree with most biographers that he never takes the steps of leaving Washington’s family and asking for (Nov 1780) and then demanding (June 1781) a command without being Philip Schuyler’s son-in-law. (I also think the break with GW doesn’t happen without AH feeling VERY confident in his relationship with his new wife. EH should have been a better patriot - as in other times - and seemed less happy in her marriage, or at least not let AH read her letter to her sister.) I think that’s what Laurens knew while on parole in Phil. and causes the minor flurry of letters in late August/September 1780, when P. Schuyler was briefly at HQ and then sending lots of letters about Congress to GW, AH was going on about his planned six month leave, McHenry was writing a love poem about AH and ES and trying to get AH to get P. Schuyler’s help in getting him a command, etc . AH and ES likely intended to marry in October/early November, but both Meade and Harrison took leave instead, and AH had to stay, though he would leave in late November before their return (in fact, Harrison and Meade never returned.)

Take Laurens (left wife and daughter he’d never see in England) and Lafayette (absent from France from March 1777 to Feb 1779 and March 1780 to early 1782). Both of them left wife and child(ren) behind, and here AH was planning a long absence from military service and telling his fiancee that he’ll leave it entirely if that’s her wish. AND Meade is discussing doing exactly that! [So Laurens presumably wrote to AH - we don’t have that letter - that he hopes AH will get over this quickly, and AH wrote back that he won’t, but I’m getting ahead of myself.]

I offered to make a comparison of AH’s letters to Laurens vs Elizabeth Schuyler - while revealing of personal feelings, in content and expression they are more different than they are similar - but I think I first need to set up that major transition that’s occurring in AH’s life in 1780/81. To the extent Laurens may have objected to AH’s excitement about ES and their impending nuptials (and there’s only one phrase in one letter, and that from AH to Laurens, from which it can be interpreted that those were Laurens’ feelings), and AH felt embarrassed about conveying the news of his engagement, it was because it interfered with a (believed to be mutual) sense of military obligation and public duty and dismissal of marriage and its attendant obligations. I touch on it in a response here; I’ll try to elaborate on it in upcoming posts. [I will get into why this makes the most sense, and why claims of AH trying to spare any romantic feelings JL may have felt, quite frankly, do not make sense in a later post. Spoiler: AH wrote absurdly callous stuff re ES and his relationship with her in his letters to JL if he was hoping to spare JL’s feelings.]

I already put some of my thoughts on this in old posts that may have some helpful content and may spare me having to repeat myself too much, and then I’ll also provide some quotes from letters to get started, limited to 1777-1782 and then probably the most famous quote from 1799. 

Hamilton on marriage part 1 (overview)

Hamilton on marriage part 2 (feelings on marriage 1777-early 1780)

Hamilton-Schuyler engagement (early 1780-mid 1780)

Hamilton on marriage part 3 (my breakdown of the July-Oct 1780 letters to ES)

Hamilton on marriage part 4

Reynolds Pamphlet, part 2

And a post (not my own) about how much AH’s military involvement as Inspector General was affecting his family financially. 

Letter quotes [my emphases]: 

You and I, as well as our neighbours, are deeply interested to pray for victory, and its necessary attendant peace; as, among other good effects, they would remove those obstacles, which now lie in the way of that most delectable thing, called matrimony;—a state, which, with a kind of magnetic force, attracts every breast to it, in which sensibility has a place, in spite of the resistance it encounters in the dull admonitions of prudence, which is so prudish and perverse a dame, as to be at perpetual variance with it. AH to Catharine “Kitty” Livingston 11Apr1777

Do I want a wife? No—I have plagues enough without desiring to add to the number that greatest of all; and if I were silly enough to do it, I should take care how I employ a proxy. AH to John Laurens 1779 [likely from mid-April up to July - this letter is actually undated, and the April date is based on other mentions in the letter; both JCH and Lodge dated it December 1779]

The most determined adversaries of Hymen can find in [ES] no pretext for their hostility, and there are several of my friends, philosophers who railed at love as a weakness, men of the world who laughed at it as a phantasie, whom she has presumptuously and daringly compelled to acknowlege its power and surrender at discretion. I can the better assert the truth of this, as I am myself of the number. She has had the address to overset all the wise resolutions I had been framing for more than four years past, and from a rational sort of being and a professed contemner of Cupid has in a trice metamorphosed me into the veriest inamorato you perhaps ever saw. AH to Margarita Schuyler, Feb1780

I would add to this by way of consolation, or rather of countinance, that the family since your departure have given hourly proofs of a growing weakness. Example I verily believe is infectious. For such a predominancy is beauty establishing over their hearts, that should things continue to wear as sweet an aspect as they are now beheld in, I shall be the only person left, of the whole household, to support the dignity of human nature. But in good earnest, God bless both you, and your weakness, and preserve me your sincere friend James McHenry to AH, 18March1780 [this was during the time of AH’s courtship of ES]

Here we are my love in a house of great hospitality—in a country of plenty—a buxom girl under the same roof—pleasing ⟨expect⟩ations of a successful campaign—and every thing to make a soldier happy, who is not in love and absent from his mistress. ... Assure yourself my love that you are seldom a moment absent from my mind, that I think of you constantly and talk of you frequently, I am never happier than when I can engage Meade in some solitary walk to join me in reciprocating the praises of his widow and my betsey. AH to ES, 6July1780  

I hope for a decisive campaign. No one will desire it more than me; for a military life is now grown insupportable to me because it keeps me from all my soul holds dear. Adieu My love. Write to me often I entreat you, and do not suffer any part of my treasure, your sweet love, to be lost or stolen from me. AH to ES, 20Jul1780

Impatiently My Dearest have I been expecting the return of your father to bring me a letter from my charmer with the answers you have been good enough to promise me to the little questions asked in mine by him. ... Meade2 just comes in and interrupts me by sending his love to you. He tells you he has written a long letter to his widow asking her opinion of the propriety of quitting the service; and that if she does not disapprove it, he will certainly take his final leave after the campaign. You see what a fine opportunity she has to be enrolled in the catalogue of heroines, and I dare say she will set you an example of fortitude and patriotism. I know too you have so much of the Portia in you, that you will not be out done in this line by any of your sex, and that if you saw me inclined to quit the service of your country, you would dissuade me from it. I have promised you, you recollect, to conform to your wishes, and I persist in this intention. It remains with you to show whether you are a Roman or an American wife. AH to ES, Aug1780

But now my love to speak of the practicability of complying with both our wishes in this article—There is none, I am obliged to sacrifice my inclination to ⟨my public⟩ ch⟨aracter.⟩ Even though my presence shou⟨ld n⟩ot be essential here, yet my love I could not with decency or honor leave the army during the campaign. This is a military prejudice which while I am in a military station I must comply with. No person has been more severe than I have been in condemning other officers for deviating from it. I have admitted no excuse as sufficient, and I must not now evince to the army, that the moment my circumstances have changed, my maxims have changed also. This would be an inconsistency, and my Betsey would not have me guilty of an inconsistency. Besides this my Betsey, The General is peculiarly averse to the practice in question. If this campaign is to end my military services, ’tis an additional reason for a constant and punctual attendance, if it is not my leaving the army during the campaign would make it less proper to be away all the winter ’till late in the spring. In one case, my honor bids me stay, in the other my love. AH to ES, 31Aug1780

Pardon me my love for talking politics to you. What have we to do with any thing but love? Go the world as it will, in each others arms we cannot but be happy. ...I was once determined to let my existence and American liberty end together. My Betsey has given me a motive to outlive my pride, I had almost said my honor; but America must not be witness to my disgrace. AH to ES, 6Sept1780

I have told you, and I told you truly that I love you too much. You engross my thoughts too intirely to allow me to think of any thing else—you not only employ my mind all day; but you intrude upon my sleep. I meet you in every dream—and when I wake I cannot close my eyes again for ruminating on your sweetness. ‘Tis a pretty story indeed that I am to be thus monopolized, by a little nut-brown maid like you—and from a statesman and a soldier metamorphosed into a puny lover. I believe in my soul you are an inchantress; but I have tried in vain, if not to break, at least, to weaken the charm—you maintain your empire in spite of all my efforts—and after every new one, I make to withdraw myself from my allegiance my partial heart still returns and clings to you with increased attachment. To drop figure my lovely girl you become dearer to me every moment. I am more and more unhappy and impatient under the hard necessity that keeps me from you, and yet the prospect lengthens as I advance. AH to ES, 5Oct1780

I would not have you imagine Miss that I write to you so often either to gratify your wishes or to please your vanity; but merely to indulge myself and to comply with that restless propensity of my mind, which will not allow me to be happy when I am not doing something in which you are concerned. This may seem a very idle disposition in a philosopher and a soldier; but I can plead illustrious examples in my justification. Achilles had liked to have sacrificed Greece and his glory to his passion for a female captive; and Anthony lost the world for a woman. I am sorry the times are so changed as to oblige me to summon antiquity for my apology, but I confess, to the disgrace of the present age, that I have not been able to find many who are as far gone as myself in such laudable zeal for the fair sex. AH to ES, 13Oct1780

How often have I with Eloisa exclaimed against those forms which I now revere as calculated to knit our union together by new and stronger bands...Meade already begins to recant. I have received a letter from him on the Journey2 in which he tells me he finds he must return to the army. This will be a new proof to you that I cannot leave it, as we both so ardently desire. AH to ES, 27Oct1780

You possess a heart that can feel for me; you have a female too that you love. I was reduced at one period to entreat, threat, kiss, but all to no purpose; her fears were for my safety, mine for hers. You must imagine to make out the tragedy all that I am incapable for want of words to express. After placing her with at least Twenty other females & children at a safe distance I immediately returned, & joined the Baron about the time the Enemy left Richmond in order to render him all the aid I could being intimately acquainted with the Country for many miles in the vicinity of the Enemy & on their return down the river I left him to go in pursuit of a residence for a favorite Brother who was driven from his home & obliged to attend to his Wife & a family of little children. Was it not cruel my dear fellow that my matrimonial enjoyments should have been interrupted thus soon; not more than one month had passed when the damned invasion seperated us, & we have yet to meet again, for 60 miles divides us. You know I am a Philosoper my dr fd & prepared to meet much more serious disappointments. This gives me an opening to speak of my return to the army. I have been long wishing your advice in full on the occasion; you are acquainted with the arguments I have used in favor of my stay here. I have now but one to add to them, the experience of that happiness I ever expected to enjoy with the best of Women. She loves not less than your Betsy, & I fear could not bear a seperation. I have not however as yet thrown off the uniform, but I am inclined to believe that it must be the case. Meade to AH, 13Jan1781

I was cherishing the melancholy pleasure of thinking of the sweets I had left behind and was so long to be deprived of, when a servant from Head Quarters presented me with your letters. I feasted for some time on the sweet effusions of tenderness they contained, and my heart returned every sensation of yours. Alas my Betsey you have divested it of every other pretender and placed your image there as the sole proprietor. I struggle with an excess which I cannot but deem a weakness and endeavour to bring myself back to reason and duty. I remonstrate with my heart on the impropriety of suffering itself to be engrossed by an individual of the human race when so many millions ought to participate in its affections and in its cares. But it constantly presents you under such amiable forms as seem too well to justify its meditated desertion of the cause of country humanity, and of glory I would say, if there were not something in the sound insipid and ridiculous when compared with the sacrifices by which it is to be attained.

Indeed Betsey, I am intirely changed—changed for the worse I confess—lost to all the public and splendid passions and absorbed in you. Amiable woman! nature has given you a right to be esteemed to be cherished, to be beloved; but she has given you no right to monopolize a man, whom, to you I may say, she has endowed with qualities to be extensively useful to society. Yes my Betsey, I will encourage my reason to dispute your empire and restrain it within proper bounds, to restore me to myself and to the community. Assist me in this; reproach me for an unmanly surrender of that to love and teach me that your esteem will be the price of my acting well my part as a member of society. AH to EH, 13Jul1781

Don’t think me unkind for not talking of your making a journey to the Southward. It would put us to a thousand inconveniences and would in fact be of no avail; for while there I must be engrossed in my military duties. Heaven knows how much it costs me to make the sacrifice I do. It is too much to be torn away from the wife of my bosom from a woman I love to weakness, and who feels the same ardent passion for me. I relinquish a heaven in your arms; but let me have the happiness to reflect that they ever impatiently wait my return sacred to love and me. Give your Mama, your sisters and the whole family every assurance of the warmest affection on my part. Indeed I love them all.

Yrs. with unalterable tenderness and fidelity AH to EH,  25Aug1781

Early in November, as I promised you, we shall certainly meet. Cheer yourself with this idea, and with the assurance of never more being separated. Every day confirms me in the intention of renouncing public life, and devoting myself wholly to you. AH to EH, 6Sept1781

My heart disposed to gayety is at once melted into tenderness. The idea of a smiling infant in my Betseys arms calls up all the father in it. In imagination I embrace the mother and embrace the child a thousand times. I can scarce refrain from shedding tears of joy. But I must not indulge these sensations; they are unfit for the boisterous scenes of war and whenever they intrude themselves make me but half a soldier. AH to EH, 12Oct1781

You cannot imagine how entirely domestic I am growing. I lose all taste for the pursuits of ambition, I sigh for nothing but the company of my wife and my baby. The ties of duty alone or imagined duty keep me from renouncing public life altogether. It is however probable I may not be any longer actively engaged in it.

I have explained to you the difficulties which I met with in obtaining a command last campaign. I thought it incompatible with the delicacy due to myself to make any application this campaign. I have expressed this Sentiment in a letter to the General and retaining my rank only, have relinquished the emoluments of my commission, declaring myself notwithstanding ready at all times to obey the calls of the Public.4 I do not expect to hear any of these unless the State of our Affairs, should change for the worse and lest by any unforeseen accident that should happen, I choose to keep myself in a situation again to contribute my aid. This prevents a total resignation.

You were right in supposing I neglected to prepare what I promised you at Philadelphia. The truth is, I was in such a hurry to get home that I could think of nothing else. AH to Meade, March 1782 (from a JCH transcription)

You were right, My dear General, in saying that a Soldier should have no Other wife than the service...William North to AH, 12Nov1799

AND just for amusement:

I thank you My Dear Sir for the military figures you have sent me. Tactics you know are literally or figuratively of very comprehensive signification. As people grow old they decline in some arts though they may improve in others. I will try to get Mrs. Hamilton to accompany in games of Tactics new to her. Perhaps she may get a taste for them & become better reconciled to my connection with the Trade-Militant. AH to McHenry, 21June1799

__________________________________________

*I broke this down in a prior post too, but I’ll repeat it here again: I think the clearest statement of his plan left to us is from the draft of the letter he sent to Philip Schuyler explaining why he wants to break with GW (18Feb1781): 

As I cannot think of quitting the army during the war, I have a project of re-entering into the artillery, by taking Lieutenant-Colonel Forrest’s10 place, who is⟩ desirous of retiring on half pay. I have not however made up my mind upon this , Start insertion,head, End,, as I should be obliged to come in the youngest Lt Col instead of the eldest, which I , Start deletion,should, End, , Start insertion,ought to, End, have been by natural succession had I remained in the corps; and , Start insertion,at the same time, End, to resume studies relative to the profession which, to avoid inferiority, must be laborious.

If a handsome command for the campaign in the , Start insertion,light, End, infantry should offer itself, I shall ballance between this and the artillery. My situation ⟨in the latter⟩ would be more , Start deletion,substantial, End, , Start insertion,solid, End, ⟨and permanent;⟩ but as I hope ⟨the war will not last long enough to make it progressive, this consideration has the less force. A command for the campaign would leave me the winter to prosecute studies relative to my future career in life. With⟩ respect to the former, I have been materially the worse for going into his family.11

I have written to you on this subject with all the freedom and confidence to which you have a right and with an assurance of the interest you take in , Start deletion,what, End, , Start insertion,all that, End, concerns me.

This letter implies 1) he had a plan post-military; 2) he had discussed with PS what that plan was, and possibly that six month leave (that never happened because of illness and unavailability) was tied to undertaking some of those studies to be a lawyer, to put himself in better shape to support a family. Being able to do so was important to AH - Philip Hamilton was born Jan 1782, and Angelica would not be born until Sept 1784.

#Alexander Hamilton #Elizabeth Schuyler #Elizabeth S. Hamilton #18th century masculinity #Philip Schuyler #John Laurens #I've always found it interesting that he references Achilles to state his willingness to #throw everything away for a woman (Briseis)

[inspired-by-the-music]

y’all know I can’t control myself when shinee loving anon encourages me to do literary analysis! here are nearly 2,000 words of me analyzing my own writing like a weirdo :p because this is not the first time I have done literary alaysis of my own work, and it certainly won’t be the last (I’m already working on a thesis statement that could connect themes from the SHINee universe to at least 2/3 main plots of For You), I’ve decided to make a little banner for these essays lol. 

First, some disclaimers: For You is an ongoing work. It might be an ongoing work for the rest of forever because Lei provides a perfect character through which I can explore S.M. In case you haven’t gathered from scrolling through my blog for a few seconds — I am a huge S.M. fan. With that being said, the main plot of 4 O’Clock is completed. This informal essay will discuss similarities between 4 O’Clock and works in the SHINee Universe.

I think I should begin by expressing my deep attachment to Taemin that is reflected in my writing. He is the first SHINee member that I wrote about; that drabble resulted in my friendship with SHINee Loving Anon and inspired my confidence to write about all five SHINee members. “Beautiful Parts” should be read as what it is: my reunion with my favorite group. Writing that story was therapeutic; it ranks with “Between Souls - Jonghyun,” “Lights - Taeyeon,” and “Orenda - Onew.” All of these works were written with my emotional needs in mind. They are deeply personal, and that’s why I love them. I created them with the intent of bringing myself comfort, and I shared them with the hope of extending that comfort to others. 

“Beautiful Parts” also represents the shift toward Taemin becoming one of my ultimate idols and creative inspirations. When I could not yet write about Jonghyun, I could write about Taemin; when I could not yet listen to Jonghyun or SHINee without hurting, I could listen to Taemin. The image that I created of Taemin comforting someone — an unnamed reader — in “Beautiful Parts” remains with me. I can’t unsee it. It is obviously not a moment that I have lived through, but it feels real to me.

That image is integral to the relationship between Taemin and Lei. Comfort —  the fact that Taemin sat beside her when she cried — is a key component of Lei’s love for him. 

One could and should find similarities between the unnamed character of “Beautiful Parts” and Lei. Granted, “Beautiful Parts” is a part of the SHINee Universe. The character is Minho’s sister; although much of her character is intentionally vague, she is a separate character from Lei. She could and should, however, be read as a precursor to Lei. Both characters seek the company of the moon when they are troubled and cannot sleep. They share a desire — a compulsion, even — to reach for the moon and stars that they know they can never reach. 

“What’s so comforting about the moon and the single star in the sky? How can they be so far, lightyears away, yet feel so close? Why did they convince you to lean against the railing, reaching for them like a child with no understanding of the distance? You couldn’t say, even though you wondered almost every night.” “Beautiful Parts”

“The stars were on full display, and the moon was a sterling crescent so bright that I thought, were my wrists not bound, I could have reached out and grabbed it out of the sky and put it in my pocket.

That was a silly thought I dreamt about often: holding the moon, carrying it around with me in the daylight as if I could protect it better than the sky. I don't know who planted that dream in my mind or why, but I was always grateful for it" (4 O'Clock, Chapter 2). 

If you read 4 O'Clock, you cannot mistake the significance of the moon; Lei will not let you. In third-person or second-person narratives— like "Beautiful Parts"— I think that it would cheapen the story to overtly impress upon the reader the significance of a symbol. Put simply: if the second- or third-person narrator has to explain, "this is significant because," then the writer has failed in their application or execution of a symbol. However, as Lei is a first-person narrator relating her story to her mother, she is permitted to express plainly, "this is important— this is important, and this is why." She does exactly that by referring to the moon, in later chapters, as "our moon," meaning that she has claimed this symbol as hers and Taemin's. 

This claim of ownership becomes especially significant as Lei struggles to confine her love for Taemin to times when it is safe to express— at night in their hotel room or, in post-tour chapters, in her room. This distinction is also expressed in "Beautiful parts" compared to its counterpart "Morning Confessions." I used "Morning Confession" as a guide in writing the morning scenes of 4 O'Clock Chapter 9, Chapter 12, Chapter 14, and part 6 of the Epilogue. In all of these scenes referenced, there is a clear shift between the night— when a character receives comfort— and the morning— when that comfort is reciprocated, usually through some form of affection. 

The exception is the scene from Chapter 9. This part of the story occurs before the New Year's kiss that dispels much of Lei's discomfort about being in a relationship. Within this scene, Lei is torn between the desire to share her first kiss with Taemin and the desire to escape his embrace and start her day. Notice, then, that Lei is imposing this binary of day and night. (Granted, Lei believes that this binary is imposed upon her by external forces. I am inclined to agree that she is limited in self-expression by the pressures of standing in the public eye. Using my author knowledge of her life, I would also argue that her fears and reservations are rooted in real-life experiences; those are always the hardest fears to shake.)

Another interesting observation is that this scene from Chapter 9 is sandwiched between Lei's comforting Taemin post-Jaemin-induced-tantrum and the tense bathroom scene where Lei object to the terms "mine" and "yours" when referring to another person. 

"That's something I've always struggled to accept: the idea of calling somebody— a whole individual— mine. I know some people are infatuated with the idea of ownership, but that kind of dynamic has always made my skin crawl." 

"It's just, those words— mine and yours—" I cringed, and Taemin dropped my hands. "I don't know. I think it's fine to call you my soulmate or my boyfriend, if that's what you are, but the thought of calling you— all of you— mine just seems wrong'" (4 O'Clock, Chapter 9). 

Note: Lei does not yet accept that Taemin is her soulmate. These quotes are indicative of Lei's character as they express her deepest fears. Consider that 4 O'Clock— while it is about Lei's love for Taemin, and it is about Donghae's unrequited (totally requited) love for Manager Kim— is ultimately about Lei's liberation from fear. Certainly, Taemin places a role in that liberation; Lei states far too many times to reference that he was an inspiration to her before she knew him as anything more than an idol. However, one would be remiss in failing to recognize the relationship through which Lei discovers herself: her relationship with her mother. 

(If you need proof of this claim, and I seriously doubt you do, here is a quote from Chapter 10: 

"I had been considering what it meant to be the fulfillment of her dreams, and it meant that I couldn’t be afraid. It meant I didn’t have to be. There was liberation in the fact that I could be confident in the truth that no matter what anybody in that hotel room, in the country, in the whole world even (!) said or thought or did, I now knew who I was. I knew who Mom was. I knew that no matter what— come what may— we would love each other forever. 

All along, I had the forever love I couldn’t admit to wanting. . .") 

The whole "'mine' and 'yours' makes me cringe" scene occurs right before Lei admits to her mother that she knows who she is: the idol who never debuted. Throughout most of the story, Lei refers to her mother as "Mom," capital-M, as if "Mom" is her birth name. There are scattered incidents where Lei writes "my mom," but she usually does so to distinguish her relationship with Mom and the one Lucas claims by using the name. 

"Were I not used to that— Lucas referring to my mother as if she were also his, calling her hot— I might have cringed" (4 O'Clock, Chapter 1). 

This use of the phrase "my mother" should be viewed in contrast to Lei's use of the phrase "my mom" in chapter 9. 

"No. No, I knew my mom. I knew her long before I saw her as the idol who never debuted. She had eyes that found possibilities where others saw none. There was no way that she hadn't considered how the last 21 years of her life had been affected by my existence" (4 O’Clock, Chapter 9). 

By using the word "my," Lei does not take ownership of the relationship— or of her mother as a whole individual— in a way that should make anybody's skin crawl. Rather, she uses that word to distinguish her Mom from the idol who never debuted. "My" is a protective word— a word through which Lei can shield her mother from judgment. Distinction of identities matters deeply to Lei because she feels that she is inadequate in her roles as an idol and as a human being. 

She writes when reflecting on Kai's request to be called Jongin that she has always been hyper-sensitive to the difference between calling an artist by their stage name and their birth name. Considering whether she should have used a stage name herself, Lei wonders: 

"Would that have made it easier to distinguish me (the person) from me (the idol)?" (4 O’Clock, Chapter 2). 

It is crucial to understand these distinctions of identities and their significance to Lei if you are to feel the weight of a post-New Year's- Kiss moment:

"That time, when Taemin whispered, “My Lei,” against my skin, I didn’t cringe at the thought that I— all of me, every thought locked away in my mind, every fear hidden in the darkest corners of my heart— belonged to him. 

Maybe that’s not the best way to phrase it. Maybe I mean to say that I didn’t cringe at the thought that all of me, even the parts that I considered fruitless or dangerous or flawed, belonged with Taemin. I don’t know" (4 O’Clock, Chapter 14)."

There's our Lei, still caught up in things like proper wording! Also significant is Lei's limited use of the phrase "my Taemin." She thinks it for the first time shortly before the scene quoted above; she doesn't say it aloud until the next day. We could take this, I suppose, as another example of the binary of day and night that culminates in Lei's decision to "live in the light," expressed in the closing chapters. 

#literary analysis #shinee universe #for you: 4 o'clock

[solacefruit]

Writing advice meme, 11-20.

I saw this ask meme on this post and I love the concept, so I’m going to take a swing at it myself. The idea is to assess these common pieces of writing advice–i.e., what your interpretation of it, do you like/agree with it, etc.–and as someone who thinks and talks about writing a lot (and is perhaps guilty of giving a lot of advice myself), I have a ton of opinions on what good writing advice looks like and I’m so excited to go through this list with you all. I have to break it up into separate posts because I talk too much, so here’s the second set (11-20)! 

11. Write what you love. This one’s fascinating to me, because I always think: as if you ever had a choice. You’re a writer. Some things are going to sink their claws into you so deeply, and that’s just... how it is. What point is there in fighting that? Certain tropes, or character archetypes, or genres, or concepts, or themes (and most likely: all of the above) are going to resonate with you in profound, gleeful ways, and you’re almost inevitably going to come back to them over and over again, because you can’t leave them alone--or they won’t leave you alone, whichever it is. And that’s fine. That’s normal. My advice is lean into it. Figure out what are your specific brands of weird stuff and have fun! 

12. Never use a long word where a short one will do. Terrible advice. Size doesn’t matter. Function matters. Does the word do what it needs to do in this moment, in this sentence, in this passage, in this story? If the answer is yes, then it’s the right word. You don’t need to swap it out for a skinnier model. 

Side-note, however: if you’re using long words to try to sound smart, or you’re using complicated words but wouldn’t be able to quickly define it if I asked you on the street--don’t do that. Use shorter words that you can use confidently. That’s the key. 

13. Less is more. This is something I broadly consider to be good advice, especially when it comes to world-building. I definitely subscribe to the iceberg theory of world-building, which is that the reader should only see the most necessary fragment of it--but have the unshakeable sense that there’s a huge amount unseen underneath. As a reader, I tend to most love stories that leave me a little hungry, though, so perhaps that’s a big part of why I am usually heavy on the side of wanting a lot of white space in the stories I write as well as the ones I read. It’s more satisfying to me. 

14. Never use the passive when you can use the active voice. I think this is one of those times when people are trying to pass off their personal taste as advice, because I don’t think this is sound. For the most part, my response to this one is the same as twelve (see above): use the voice that suits the moment. Not every sentence has to be active to be good.

15. Show, don’t tell. People should be arrested for saying this phrase without explaining it*. It’s pithy, but that’s so far from the same thing as useful. Here’s the truth: “telling” is fine. There are lots of times when “telling” is going to be more appropriate and better for your story than “showing,” especially depending on the style of story you’re writing and how you’re writing it. What matters is figuring out when to tell and when to show, rather than committing to trying to show everything. 

*Oh, yeah also: “showing” means indirectly world-building, character-building, etc. by allowing the reader to infer or interpret details for themselves. “Telling” means directly providing narration (or other explicit information on the page) that informs your reader of certain facts or details. For example, you could say “he was nervous” (telling) or you could say “his palms were sweating” (showing). Sometimes one will be a better fit than the other. Choose wisely. 

16. Start your story on a train. I really have no strong feelings about this one way or another, except for the fun fact that I actually have a novel concept for a story that starts on a train and then never leaves the train.  

17. Rules are made to be broken. I get what this is often trying to express, but in the case of writing, rules actually are made to ease communication and enable precise communication by providing us with mutual languages and valuable touchstones. The thing about “breaking” rules in this context is it’s actually kind of just another new way of manipulating that mutual language--and often new rules and conduct form around these aberrations. But I guess this is all semantics, so. Sure? Communication is in a permanent state of becoming, and sometimes that looks like broken rules. 

18. The first draft of everything is shit. Firstly, this isn’t advice. Secondly, if it was, it would be bad advice. It’s certainly something I can’t relate to: nearly all my works--academic and fiction--are only an edit or two away from a first draft, and my first drafts are usually quite sound. I’ve found if you do things basically right the first time, it saves a lot of effort. Not to dunk on anyone, but it’s really not that hard.  

19. Write drunk, edit sober. I’ve done this--or at least, written while pleasantly buzzed on a good amount of wine--but I can’t say I’m any more or less effective as a writer than when I write sober. In many ways, it’s in fact a lot easier to write when sober, because the part of my body I use for writing is my brain and when it’s soaked in wine, it’s actually not as good at thinking as my perhaps less-fun-but-more-useful wineless brain. I definitely cannot recommend anyone drink in order to write, because down that dark path lies madness. Have some drinks and talk to other writers who’ve also had drinks about your projects instead, because that is way more fun than trying to write when you’ve had drinks. Also, drink responsibly and in accordance with the laws of your place of residence. 

20. Write stoned, edit stoneder. This isn’t one I’ve done, but my instinct says no. Probably not a good idea. Go watch a bad movie with your friends instead. 

#advice #advice meme

[darklydisturbed]

So if anyone is actually reading this blog you will have figured out by now that with the exception of the last post, this is essentially a blog for me to bitch about my life when things aren’t going my way. Well guess what? It happened again.

I love my new life and the freedoms I have to pursue my own interests and relationships. I love that I see my kids every weekend. I truly believe that I get the best of both worlds. But while pursuing those relationships and interests, I have stumbled into a situation. My Ex is still being her natural self. Without most of the limitations or restrictions from before. This is something different.

I have 3 friends. They are 2 old friends and one new, but I’m fairly sure that I haven’t mentioned any of them before. A lady named D, a man named J and another lady named S. D and J are married and have kids. Do you think you know where this is going? You’re wrong. Don’t feel bad, I was wrong too.

I became aware of the situation after spending time with them socially as a threesome and in individual pairings, D and J, J and S. It seemed to me that the relationship between J and S was something more than simply good friends but I could not quite identify what my brain was nagging at. To the point that J even said to me one day “You know that I’m not cheating on D with S right?” To which I replied “No, I know.” I believed what I said. Cheating wasn’t the right phrasing and have enough respect for the man to give him that doubt. So my mind continued to worry away at the discrepancy. It was only a week or so after, that J came round and explained the situation in all its detail to me. I have since had multiple conversations with J and D on the subject, with only sparing words from S on her take.

D confessed to J that she would enjoy seeing him with other women. Enter S. From what I can tell, this was a very fluid situation where all three parties were engaged in physical acts with each other. Everything seemed to be going great! Happy days, right? Of course not. D began to feel that more was going on between J and S than the agreement allowed for. D became paranoid and angry at the situation, not least because she felt mostly responsible for the situation. If she hadn’t confessed her desires, her marriage to D would have continued as normal, leaving her fantasies as just that.

The situation has reached the point that D has expressed to J that she wants to go back to being just a married couple. J has responded by saying that if that is what she wants, he will comply. But it can not be instant as S has had bad breakups before and he wants to let her down gently. In D’s opinion, he is letting S down far to gently. She feels strung along and marginalized by her husband. To the point that having D, J, and S in the same proximatly is extremely uncomfortable. For everyone who knows or cares to look.

I spend a lot of time with these people and I am a keen student of human nature. The situation has become very tense for all the parties involved. To this, I must now add myself. I have long had feelings for D beyond friendship. Actually going back to High School. And I find that the more time I spend with S, the more I like her, to the point where my feelings have turned romantic. I want to stress that I had reached this conclusion long before the events of this week. I do not want people (the imaginary people who are reading this blog because nobody does) to think that the amount of time since my last female interaction is coloring my feelings.

So to this week. J, S and I have a regular movie night (it’s once a week but the day changes depending on commitments.) Originally it was for horror films but the lack of decent ones have opened the theme up to anything entertaining. The normal protocol is food, film, chat, goodbyes home by 11pm ish. Usually, it takes place at S’s house due to her being a single parent. J has D to look after his kids and mine are with my Ex during the week. 

I went round to S’s house at around the agreed time. She had already had half a bottle of red wine and insisted that I should drink the other half. I had already agreed to have a drink but I don’t drink very often. When J arrived, he had forgotten to get more wine so he went back out for more. I chatted with S while she cooked and when J got back, ( with 3 more bottles of red) we sat in the living room eating, drinking and being merry. We started a horror movie but it was quickly evident that the alcohol had left us feeling more garrulous than usual. We began to have frank discussions about affections, kinks, likes and dislikes in the opposite sex and in sex itself. I confessed to having a thing for ladies underarms, to which S replied by taking off her dress, leaving her in only panties. Her pierced nipples on display. J had obviously seen it all before and much more besides. S confessed to me (J already being fully aware) that he is a sub like likes to be told what to do. I said that I was too and an interesting chain of command revealed itself. J told S what to do and S told me. She did what she was told and so did I. I ended up spending quite sometime kissing S during the evening, mostly after S had received instruction from J. This also lead to S placing my hands on her breast during one protracted kissing session. By the time I left, I had helped consume 4 bottles of red wine (around 1.5 bottles being mine alone) and had 2 bottles of mixed fruit cider. I was more drunk than I have been in 12 years. I said goodbye to S with a long and passionate kiss while my hands found her hair, back, breasts and ass. It was around 1.30am by the time I got home, J walked me but was heading back to S’s to stay the night (with D’s knowledge) as is the tradition after a movie night.

After speaking to J and S separately and together, S says that she does not remember much of what happened but apologized if I was offended at all. It was 2 days later that I was next in the company of S. It was a bit awkward to begin with but we soon fell back into a familiar groove and have been back to normal ever since.

I am not a schoolboy who is prone to romantic flights of fancy. I have my crushes but I know that is all they are. I definitely have feelings for S and I retain my longheld feelings for D. I still respect J but find myself doubting him. I know that what happened between S and me was due to the alcohol and the situation on that night and will most likely never be repeated. That is the problem. I want her more and more each time I see her. She is way out of my league (I know people say that out of false sense of modesty but if you saw the two of us, you’d get it) and she has very strong feelings for J. Even if he manages to tactfully reduce their relationship to that of plutonomy, I still do that see that my relationship with S will get anything but worse.

If not for the kissing and such, I could have continued this as a fantasy. But after kissing her, feeling her close to me, I’m not sure if I can continue to see S and J together, while both D and I sit on the sidelines, waiting to see where the situation goes and how we are affected.

More on this story as it develops. Or not. Can’t be sure. Maybe there will be another blog post. Maybe not.

DarklyDisturbed.

[artemisegeria]

The Picture of the Mind Revives Again (2/?)

Title: The Picture of the Mind Revives Again (2/?)

Rating: T

Word count: 2025

Warnings: None

Summary: Sequel to “A Formula, A Phrase Remains.” Title is from “Lines Composed a Few Miles above Tintern Abbey” by William Wordsworth.

Vision has gone missing after Shuri, Bruce, and Helen revived him. Now they must tell Wanda what they did without her knowledge.

 Wanda was furious.

She was sitting in the cockpit of the Quinjet with Carol. She was forcefully reminded of the first time she’d flown with Carol to Wakanda. Except that time, she was still at the beginning of her grieving process and she didn’t know Carol at all. Now Wanda could not speak to her because Carol was one of her best friends and she had hidden this from her. They had sat in silence for a few hours.

Carol finally made an attempt to speak to her. “I understand why you’re giving me the silent treatment, but we all meant well.”

“I would think you would understand how little good intentions mean in a case like this.” Wanda knew this wasn’t the same as Carol’s situation with the Kree, but her hurt and confusion made her want to lash out.

“Look, Wanda, I’m sorry, but they practically begged me to stay quiet about this. It made sense to me when they explained what they were trying to do. They had good reason to believe something might go wrong.”

“Maybe I could have helped if they had told me.” She could have at least been there to ease Vision’s confusion. Maybe seeing her first thing would have helped him.

“Maybe, but we can’t go back in time.” Wanda and Carol both winced at Carol’s accidental wording. That had been a bone of contention before Steve returned the Stones to their proper places. Why couldn’t they just go back in time to fix everything? It had taken hours to convince those that had not lived through the five years between the Snaps that such a solution was not possible. “I’ll get you there as soon as possible.” Wanda nodded and fell silent.

Shuri, Bruce, and Helen met them when they landed. Some of Wanda’s anger had faded, but she could feel it simmering just beneath the surface. Still, they had worked for over a year to bring back the love of her life. That deserved some consideration.

Carol left them to return to her post in New York. Wanda thanked her for flying her there. She needed some time to get over her sense of betrayal, but perhaps she had overreacted a bit. Carol gave them a final jaunty wave and lifted off.

***

Wanda stood in the middle of Shuri’s lab. Their search had still not revealed any trace of Vision. The cameras recording the process of his revival showed him standing up and leaning against a wall before fading outside. Wanda ached to see the clear distress and confusion on his face, but it did not explain why he just left. Unless he thought the battle in Wakanda was still ongoing. But a search of the forest outside the city had not unearthed any clues either. Even if he was confused, he should soon realize that things had changed.

“How long has he been missing?”

“As long as it took you to get here.” Hours. That means he had been gone for hours. What if something was wrong with the solution that Shuri developed? What if he was injured and in pain?

“Please go over what happened one more time.” Wanda needed to understand everything.

Shuri answered, “We started the upload of his consciousness once his body was fully repaired. The scan showed that it had several hours left before the process was complete, so we felt that it was safe to leave him when we were called away for a time. When we returned, he was gone. The Dora who was stationed outside the lab did not hear anything when he woke up.”

“I know what ‘lost’ means, thank you,” Wanda snapped. “What I mean is how is that possible? You told me that you buried him. You said you had tried everything you could and failed. You said Stark’s notes had not provided the answers.”

“I lied. I am sorry, Wanda, but we were not sure that we would succeed. Bruce, Helen, and I agreed that this was the best way to proceed, but it was my idea at first. Do not blame them.”

“Fine. Just go on, please.” She had far more important things to worry about right now.

“When we returned, the scan from the Cradle indicated that his brain was operational, but he was nowhere to be found. We have been searching for him since that point.”

“How far could he have gone? He is a little recognizable.” Wanda tried to control her anger and panic. She should be thanking Shuri for doing what she had come to believe was impossible. Instead, all she could see was Vision scared and confused somewhere in Wakanda.

“We do not know. None of the palace guards saw him, and we have not heard of any sightings in the city. We have sent people outside to the battlefield and the forest as well.”

Wanda ran her hands through her hair, heedless of how she was messing it up. “I don’t understand why he hasn’t tried reaching out to someone.” Her, why he didn’t contact her.

“I do not know, but we will continue searching, Wanda. We won’t stop until we have him back and can determine what he needs.”

“I’m going to the forest to take another look.” She thought it would be the most likely place Vision would go if he were trying to help with the battle that he must think was still ongoing. No one tried to stop her. Wanda passed into the denser part of the forest. After some minutes of calling for Vision, hoping against hope that he would just descend in front of her, she was overcome by all the emotions she had gone through during the last few hours. From shock to hope to rage to joy to confusion. She let herself sob for a time, but then she moved on.

She explored the forest for several hours longer before giving up. She was wrung out and exhausted. When she made her way back to Shuri’s lab, she noted that everyone was struggling to stay awake while they pored over models and security footage. Wanda’s heart softened and her anger did not re-emerge. They were working themselves to death for Vision’s sake. She finally suggested that they all go to bed and get a fresh start in the morning.

Okoye led her to a guest bedroom. Wanda collapsed without even bothering to undress, only peeling off her boots.

***

When they recongregated in the lab the next day, Okoye reported that some of the Dora Milaje had taken shifts exploring throughout the night, but they had not been successful. There was no trace of him. Neither had Shuri’s search of the security footage revealed anything.

Wanda could not imagine how Vision could disappear so utterly or why he wouldn’t have tried to contact her by now unless something was terribly wrong. By lunchtime, they still had not come up with a good solution. Wanda left the others after swallowing down a few quick bites.

She explored the palace as she had not been able to do the first time she was here. She thought that Vision would love the artwork and the architecture. Thinking of him renewed her determination to find him. As Wanda was pacing the halls, trying to think of where to search for Vision next, her phone buzzed with a new text alert. Oddly enough, it did not show a sending number. It only said, “Check your email, please.”

Wanda frowned. She had an official Avengers email account, as everyone else on the team did, but she hardly ever looked at it. The messages she received there ranged from fan mail to questionable requests to death threats that were automatically flagged by the renewed SHIELD to gauge their seriousness. This sounded like a potential scheme to get by the account’s safeguards, polite wording or no. But something told her to follow the instructions regardless.

When she pulled up her email, the first message she saw also had no subject line and no sender. She opened it. She almost expected to have to explain why she opened such a message without showing it to the IT people first, but nothing happened. Somewhat relieved, she scrolled down and began to read.

My dearest Wanda,

I apologize that my abrupt departure from Princess Shuri’s lab caused you distress. I am well. I was not thinking very clearly when I returned to consciousness. My only thought was to rejoin the battle, only to find that the last battle ended over a year ago, and the one I was trying to rejoin over six years ago.

There was so much information to absorb about the last six years. I hid in the forest on the outskirts of the city and scanned what I could from the internet. I am still adjusting to the absence of the Mind Stone, though Shuri’s replacement seems to have restored most of my powerset.

I feel that I must be on my own for a time. I worried that if I spoke to you again, I would not be able to leave you. Please forgive me for my selfishness. I was never able to truly become myself during the first three years of my life. I was so focused on the team and keeping you safe, which I do not regret for a moment, that I forgot to think of what I truly wanted from the life that I was granted. I feel that now is the time to do so.

I have seen your pictures throughout my time alone. It fills me with more joy than I can express that you have built such a strong life for yourself and rejoined the team. I hope that you will welcome me back to become part of it again after I have completed my journey.

If you wish to contact me, you may reply to this message at any time. It will reach me. If you need me for any reason, I will be there.

All my love,

Vision

Wanda sank back against the wall for a moment. She almost thought it was someone’s idea of a sick joke, but it sounded so like him. And it was all of a piece with Shuri’s explanation of what happened immediately before Vision was found missing.

She let the tears stream down her face as she read the message several more times. Part of her wanted to be selfish and beg him to come back immediately. But when she thought about it a little longer, she realized that she could not deny him this chance. It was exactly what she had wished for when she was saying goodbye. Moreover, Wanda’s own time on the run, though undertaken under the worst circumstances, had granted her more strength than any other period in her life, aside from the previous year. She had learned greater control and confidence that endured to this day.

Taking a deep breath, Wanda started to compose her reply.

Vizh,

You’ve got to be more careful how you word your letters. I need you always.

But I understand why you have to do this. Take as long as long as you need, and I’ll wait for you.

Let me know if you have any questions.

Wanda paused at this point. Her message was a paltry sample of what she really wanted to tell Vision, but she thought if she started writing out all her thoughts, she would never stop. The lines of communication were at least open. They could contact each other if need be.

She considered how to sign off. She wanted to tell him that she loved him, but it didn’t feel right to do so by email. They needed to have a real conversation. He needed to hear her voice to believe that she wasn’t simply returning the sentiment because he had said it first.

She settled on:

I’m so happy you’re back.

Wanda

It wasn’t enough, but there would be time to say more later. She rose to go find Shuri and T’challa and get them to call off the search.

  A/N: In the next chapter, Vision does some more exploring.

A word of warning, this was the last of the chapters that I’ve had partially or mostly written for a while. So the next chapter will definitely take longer than my last few updates, but hopefully sooner than two months.

#fanfiction #fix-it #endgame fix-it #wanda maximoff #vision' #scarlet vision #wanda x vision

[cyanpeacock]

Realtalk(tm): Living With Ada Doom

ALRIGHT. so. those of you who have read Cold Comfort Farm know exactly where this is going.

so, when I was a kid, my mum would get drunk, and sad, and tell me about how awful her mum was, all the depressing shit, and she’d cry on me, you know, the works, the kind that should go down with a counsellor, or therapist.

I don’t remember it clearly. I had to like, switch off, you know? Mummy’s sad. I’m sad too. It’s going to be okay. Stroking her hair. That’s about all I remember, apart from the pain I had to hide to make everything better.

Except, it totally wasn’t okay, because I was giving my drunken mother comfort, and the next day she was giving me smacks, and isolation as punishment, and denying me food when I was rowdy, as children are. 

Later, she’d give me a book to read, called Cold Comfort Farm.

It’s a good book. It’s a parody of things along the lines of Wuthering Heights, you know, mopey miserable out-in-the-countryside romance novels where everyone is abusive, but That’s The Way It’s Always Been, Out Here. 

Flora comes along and fixes everything right up.

Some part of her wanted me to be Flora. 

A good, proper, refined young woman. Stately. Observant. Academic. Very sporting. 

I am not Flora.

I was very nearly Ada Doom, the woman who saw something nasty in the woodshed. Well - for a while, I thought I was her, but I didn’t have control over a farm/family. I wasn’t holding all the books. 

This phrase got used against me a lot - “something nasty in the woodshed.” It translated to, “you’re overreacting, be quiet,” in the circles I moved in. Often delivered as a joke, but actually, a warning.

Flora was not, actually, a very nice woman, and she was not, actually, very nice to Ada Doom. 

“Did it see you?”

The point I’m continually making, is.

I didn’t see something nasty in the woodshed, once, when I was a child.

I saw a whole fucking lot of nasty things, all around me, in my own home, that chased me into my bedroom, that physically, verbally, and emotionally abused me, for over a decade. I heard other nasty things going on, in rooms I wasn’t in, but sound carries. I saw and heard even nastier things happening between the only Adult Role Models I had.

This all seemed very normal, until I had an assembly on abuse in primary school, and recognized myself in it.

I told myself, “mummy loves me. It’s not really abuse. Is it?” 

I told myself this for years.

Skip to the future. It’s easier for me.

Later I ran away somewhere a bit cleaner, to live with a racist opioid addict. It was fucking awesome, for a while, but yeah, that’s another post. He’d also use “something nasty in the woodshed” against me, or just say “Ada Doom.”

My mother would chatter things about “he’s brainwashing you! Mind control!” when I did see her at the same time as him, separately. It’s like she didn’t realize he was only using things he’d seen her use on me. She probably didn’t, because they’d probably been used on her, and she hadn’t spotted the conditioning.

So, in this story, what did “Flora” turn out to be?

An angry, inhibited, explosive, snappy, hungry young man, who just wanted to get high, forget about the past, and go to lesson, so he could learn something that would get him out of this shithole, and into a decent home, with a car that runs and a job that pays in the wallet, mind, and heart. 

I hid so much of the pain I was in, because when it was actually expressed, I’d get dismissed, belittled, or outright yelled at, even after the physical hitting had stopped. 

She always said, “you know you can talk to me about anything, don’t you?”

So I’d try, like a kid, who desperately wanted to believe that his mother did “love him” - that is, knew how to give emotionally healthy and nourishing expressions of love. 

And time and time again, I’d get, “I think you’re overreacting.” “Isn’t that a bit extreme?” “It doesn’t mean anything.” “They’re just jealous.” “You’re imagining things.” Or, you know, “I think you’re being selfish.” “Selfish little cow!”

So there I was, my self harm getting worse and worse, the pressure my piece of shit school placed on me getting worse and worse, hearing Mark fucking cussing me out again, becoming increasingly abusive towards myself and people I really, deeply cared about, because I had literally no understanding, no framework for internally and mutually rewarding loving interaction. 

I don’t even remember what happened. Shit went down, mother had got a “boyfriend,” they were going to get married, they split up, I was caught in the middle because I was a kid who never really had a dad and desperately wanted one, I got used as a pawn in a game of chess between two emotionally unwell adults who couldn’t agree to break up without causing an enormous fight and dragging their entire circle of Facebook friends into it. It was really ugly. Like, one of the friends died, and shit like “good riddance” was getting thrown about. It was really ugly. I wanted so badly to get involved and break it all up, but yeah, fuck Facebook, I didn’t use it, still don’t.

So, I ran away to live with the one who’d caused me less hurt, the racist opioid addict, because at least he could see me as a son, while the drunk was still transphobic as hell. That’s the other post, for the future. 

But yes, Ada Doom followed me there, and according to them, I was still living in the woodshed.

But I was supposed to be Flora. I was supposed to be good, nice, and orderly, and I was accepted while I was these things. If I wasn’t, I’d get a verbal slap in the right direction, through this insidious fucking phrasology tied in with a long, long history of emotional manipulation.

This all started with my mother, and her mother, and probably her mother before her, and a whole line of absent fathers. 

I’m the one who noticed this, and decided, “no more of this shit. No more of this shit. I am never bringing a child into this world so full of pain, and I have no idea how to fix any of this on my own, and the people who are supposed to help me don’t, and I don’t fucking trust anybody enough to let them in.”

I’m the one who noticed this was abuse. I’m the one who started reading, trying to understand the inside of my head, getting it wrong, getting it right-ish, doubting myself, always coming back and really thinking “fuck, that is so much like me” to conditions that arise as a result of complex, long-term trauma. 

I’m the one who made the jump into homelessness when the racist opioid addict became unbearable. I’m the one who went into a hostel while I was doing my A-Levels. I’m the one who passed them. I’m the one who saw a counsellor every week and just fucking sobbed because there was nowhere else I could cry like that without killing myself. 

I’m the one who read about psychodynamic theory, and fundamental interpretations of the structures of psyche, and thought about it all myself, how it might apply to my brain in particular. I’m the one who read intently about complex trauma, and healing from it. I’m the one who learned about EMDR, and figured out I could do that with good stereo music, and tapping my hands and feet on the bus. I’m the one who studied very specific parts of the DSM V, over and over, circling and circling until I zeroed in on the places that fit well enough to help me understand, find resources, and recover. 

I’m the one who read very, very, very closely about marijuana, the endocannabinoid system, and its relation to trauma. I understood this was drug abuse, and dependency, and that dependency and addiction are almost interchangeable. I’m the one who knew I didn’t really want to smoke until my mind burned away, unless I couldn’t Make It at university. I’m the one who smashed my pipe in July, and hasn’t wanted to smoke again since, and doesn’t really want to go back, but will if he falls/fails. 

I’m the one who learned to meditate, just drop out into a trance, for minutes or hours, with and without drugs in my system, with silence or with music, and now increasingly with background noise, although that one is REALLY difficult for me. I’m the one who learned all those weird skills like “noting” and “radical acceptance” and other things I’ve forgotten the name of but notice as different states of consciousness. 

I’m the one who knew all this psych work was supposed to be very dangerous, you shouldn’t do this if you aren’t A Professional(tm), but I’m also the one who knew I didn’t trust a single fucking “Professional” to do the right thing, make the right referrals, administer the treatment properly, after being betrayed and forced and dismissed by so many so-called Professionals.

I’m the one who decided, in not so many words: well, fuck, it’s less dangerous for me to do all these things, and make mistakes trying, than it is for me to let somebody in, and receive another injury, at my most vulnerable. 

The thing about Ada Doom is, she’s a character in a fucking parody novel. 

You’re not Ada Doom. You’re not Catherine Earnshaw. 

You can’t live your whole life making sad allegories through books that dig up your old pain without actually resolving any of it, because you’re reading ahead and projecting the romantic, ugly, fantasy conclusion onto what really happened, to your body.

It’s really useful! It’s really useful, for a long time, to connect with your pain through fiction. Forever, actually.

But I’ve got to get angry about being expected to be a character from a fucking parody novel.

“You’ll understand later.”

I understand. I understand why you did what you did. I understand you couldn’t control it. I understand why you showed me this book.

It cannot negate, diminish, or remove any of my anger. 

I had to go to a counsellor, for years, research, for years, think and feel, for years, to find the right language and tone to communicate my experiences. I’m still learning. I’m especially still talking, because I haven’t been able to talk about any of this, because my mother wouldn’t let me. All she did was give me strange, roundabout books, that were good, and annoyingly on the nose, and say “You’ll understand later.”

If you’re saying that, if they’re asking the question isn’t it about time you explained?

Isn’t it about time you realized you need help explaining? 

I can’t keep going back to a sad fucking house full of hurting fucking children. It drags me down again every time, although I really do cherish the moments where I could just pretend it was all normal and painless and easy to be a family. I really do. 

And yes, I know, it’s circular, it’s not that fucking easy, because I couldn’t let anybody in, because I was “normal,” as far as my mother was concerned. I know I’m lucky I’m very quick, I learn well, and I’m completely fucking invested in research and execution. 

I had to become these things for a sick, sick woman, who wanted a kid who would save/change her life. 

It’s not a fairytale. I know it feels like one. I know it feels like Prince Charming is just around the corner, it must be soon, just one more page! The Big Bad Wolf is still lurking!

You gotta make Prince Charming. You have to make the person you want to marry inside your head. I’m getting there. There’s no ring on it. That might be the total illusion of self. It might not be. I don’t know what’s happening to my system, yet. 

That voice in your head who yells at you, but isn’t you, but won’t tell you their name? Give them a fucking name. Think them up a face and a body. Go and learn some emotional regulation skills, slowly, because it’s really difficult. Revise them. Pass them along. Talk to them. They’ll stop yelling at you. You’ll be able to turn to them for comfort, and they’ll get all your jokes, because you’re sharing a brain, and the connections do keep coming your entire life/lives. They can be your partner, if you like, and they do too. 

I don’t know what happens after that, and that is just this body/me/us/the irrelevancy of pronouns astounds me. 

So, I’m very stupid.

I really did take the hood off my car at the side of the road with smoke pouring out. I didn’t know anything about what colour meant “get the hell away” or “it’s fine, just call the recovery van.” I just knew there was a problem, it needed fixing, and I didn’t have insurance.

I did it the stupid way. I touched it while it was hot. I tried using stuff I had in the back of the car. I walked to the garage, and they rang my mum? I walked back to the car and slept in it for a while, resolute in my decision not to go back to the garage again. I walked to the tool shop, and bought something to take that bit on the top off. I walked to the library and borrowed a book on cars. I bought more tools. I borrowed more books, this time on engines, because the car book was only about cars, and I had a problem with the engine. 

I kept getting the wrong fucking tools, and the wrong fucking books, because all engines are different, and different tools fit different engines. I just compared what I had to what was in there, then threw the wrong crap into the boot in a huff, or whacked the engine with whatever size spanner I had at hand.

I went back to the garage. They didn’t know what to do, they couldn’t see the car, just somebody who read too many manuals, and was on drugs. I still knew I didn’t have insurance. 

More tools, more books, still showing up at the garage, still getting dismissed, hating them more every time, them getting more and more bored of me. I was getting closer to fixing the car, but still making mistakes.

I found a mechanic, one who didn’t work with the garage. He let me tell him about the car, slowly, the way I’d figured it out. 

He knew a few things about engines. We spoke about the garage. He was very sympathetic. We spoke a lot about the car. He knew more than a few things about engines, actually.

I got better at fixing the car on my own.

Unfortunately, all this walking was fucking my legs. I’d really like to get back in the car again, and go places quicker. All this work is really slowing me down from what I’d like to be doing. It’s also getting me to a point where I can do what I’d like to.

The car still isn’t fixed. I’m not sure what goes where next, or if this is actually the same engine I started with at all, but I have an idea what might work, and a mechanic who knows he doesn’t know the problem, but actually lets me tell him, unlike the garage. 

So yes. Ada Doom is and is not dead to me. 

The fairytale thing is great, but at some point, you gotta stop reading other people’s, and start reading/writing your own. But only if you’re that way inclined, and I said the bit before in a rude tone because I’m frustrated. 

Long post. That’s enough.

I’m not Flora Poste.

#fliptext #trauma #drugs #abuse #neglect #uh yeah dude it's the whole shebang #lots of anger

[aliceslantern]

Beyond this Existence: Counterpoint, a Kingdom Hearts fanfic, chapter 4

Summary:  After being recompleted, Ienzo vows to do everything in his power to atone for the atrocities he committed in the past. But this life hasn't been easy, and he's plagued with memories and nightmares. When Demyx suddenly reappears, the two discover that they have more in common than they thought, though the secrets in their past might tear them apart. Zemyx (Demyx/Ienzo), post kh3

Read it on FF.net/on AO3

The space Ienzo chose was the one where he’d been taught as a boy. It had good, natural light from the wide windows, and was far enough away from the bedrooms that the noise wouldn’t bother anyone. It was also close enough that they could easily get back for water or tea, or the washroom.

Like everywhere else, it was full of some ten years’ of dust. When Demyx saw it he groaned, and privately Ienzo agreed.

“Well, we shouldn’t shirk,” Ienzo said. “Let’s clean up.”

“It’s not like we have Dusks to do it,” Demyx muttered.

“I’d rather not work in filth, would you?”

“No,” he agreed. “Let’s just get it over with.”

He helped Demyx sweep through the worst of the dust. Even with the windows open, it made them sneeze. Once it seemed to be mangeable, he left Demyx to continue on and started retrieving books that might be helpful. Rune dictionaries, copies of the fairy tales with scholarly annotations, theory and music history (for context on the composer’s life), typical history. The composer had to be from Radiant Garden; how else would it have gotten here?

When Ienzo returned with another load of books, Demyx gave him a droll look. He was doing, surprisingly enough, a good job of it, and the original color of the floor was actually visible again. “For how insistent you were with the cleaning, I figured you’d be helping me,” Demyx said.

“It’s more efficient if we split our labor,” Ienzo said. “I hate to break away from my work once I’ve started. I’d rather be overcautious with materials than not.”

Once the floor was dry, Aeleus and Dilan brought the piano in. Admittedly it was a sorry sight to see, scratched and wobbly. Demyx stabilized it with a few blocks of wood. He looked at it like he might an old friend, with a sort of hazy nostalgia. He pressed the first sour key and flinched.

Ienzo knew he could not really be of help in this case. He watched Demyx as he propped open the old top, armed himself with a pair of pliers, and steeled himself for the work ahead.

He didn’t think he would find it interesting to observe, but he did. Without even use of a tuning fork, Demyx managed to get the keys back towards normal range with only a few delicate twists. And once it sounded more-or-less perfect to Ienzo, he kept adjusting.

“You must have a very good ear,” Ienzo remarked quietly. “To tell such minute differences.”

He seemed unsure of how to take the compliment. “Well, I would hope so.” He rolled his right arm. “We wouldn’t have to do all this if I just had my sitar,” he said bitterly. “That’s about as good as it’s going to get.”

Ienzo touched one of the smooth ivory keys. “Much better.”

“Still a bit flat, but I was afraid to pull much harder, especially on the higher notes. I doubt there’s any spare piano wire hanging around. It’s not exactly a commodity.” Ienzo noted, chastising himself slightly, that he’d never heard Demyx speak so deeply or knowledgeably about a subject and has assumed he’d been unable to. Then again, before now he’d never bothered to listen. Demyx played a chord. “It’s bearable, at least.”

Ienzo nodded. “Shall we get to work, then?”

His expression slipped. “Now? Don’t you want to take a break first?”

“Why? There’s still so much of the day left.”

Demyx rolled his shoulders again. “My arms kinda hurt.”

Ienzo sighed. “I could do with some lunch.”

It ended up being good that they took a break. He changed out of his dusty clothes and saw the room with a fresh eye. In his urgency, he’d left his books in a mess.  “I didn’t realize I left these so… unorganized.”

With a notable hesitation, Demyx sat down on the little old bench. His posture for practice was good, but he looked tense anyway. He played some scales that sounded like they came easily, but there was a furrow in his brow.

“You look uncomfortable,” Ienzo said.

He shook his head. “Just trying to warm up.”

Ienzo turned back to his books. He wasn’t sure what the best way to keep them organized was. Subject? Date? Relevance? Of course he’d brought too  many; he always had. The steadiness of the scales became a sort of background noise that was easy to tune out, at least until he heard Demyx play a sour note. Ienzo saw him flex his injured hand. He’d attributed their early break to laziness, but honestly Demyx was likely in pain. “Is your wound bothering you?” Ienzo asked. He began to wonder how often people had assumed the worst of Demyx, only to have the behavior come from a perfectly logical place. Moreover, why had he let people drag him down like that?

“Just a bit stiff,” he said, with an odd smile. He kept playing scales, gradually letting them vary in rhythm and complexity, while Ienzo continued to get himself organized. Once he was happy enough, he sat in a chair close enough so that he could also see the score.

It was so dense and complex; honestly it looked to Ienzo more like a drawing than a song. At least the runes were legible, but that didn’t help Demyx. Even so, he seemed to sight-read with relative ease, making sense of the chaos and playing a beautiful, melancholic song. While he did made a few mistakes Ienzo noticed, Ienzo would have been more surprised if he hadn’t.

But instead of looking relieved, or at peace or happy, when he got through the first part of the score Demyx pressed his hands between his knees anxiously.

“It’s lovely,” Ienzo commented. “But--rather sad. I wonder what it means.”

“Could just be what was on their mind when they wrote it.”

“Perhaps. We’ll know more when I translate. Keep going. I’ll try to remember the rhythm of the sung phrases.”

For a long time--it was hard to tell how long exactly, but the sunlight in the room was starting to darken--Demyx kept pressing forward. It was all woefully complicated. Looking at the notes made Ienzo dizzy. Instead he watched Demyx’s hands work across the keyboard, surely and competently. He was utterly, completely, and almost painfully focused as they passed from movement to movement, only pausing ever so slightly to turn the page. This was talent, raw and simple, and Ienzo felt a wave of guilt when he thought of how they’d all belittled Demyx for his obsession with his sitar.

This guilt broke his own concentration, and he noticed the bandage on Demyx’s hand was no longer clean and white, but soaked through with blood. He grabbed his shoulder. “Stop. Your hand.”

Demyx looked down, startled. The keys were faintly bloody. Ienzo grabbed one of the cleaning rags and tied it over the first bandage. Demyx did not seem concerned about his hand; he was more worried about the blood on the piano. He started wiping at it with another rag, discordant clangsreplacing the previous melodies.

“Leave it. You probably need stitches,” Ienzo said.

“It’ll get stained if I don’t,” Demyx said. A sharp, anxious edge crept into his voice.

“That’s all right.” It was a very old piano. That would be the least of the damage. “I’m going to get a first aid kit. Put pressure on it. About that much.” He squeezed Demyx’s right hand to demonstrate. He could feel the faint scratch of the thick calluses against his own soft, unweathered hands. He set off. He’d never seen Demyx’s hands without gloves, had never paid much attention to them before. In a way they were quite graceful when not hidden behind the Organization’s uniform.

Why was he thinking about this?

He found the first aid kit in its usual place, still well-stocked with sutures. Ienzo washed his hands meticulously, twice, and returned quickly. He crouched down and took the injured hand.  “Bleeding seems to have stopped. I suppose i must have misjudged how deeply the wound ran the other night.”

“Even did too,” Demyx said weakly.

“That’s odd,” Ienzo said. “I usually trust his judgement with these things.” He unwrapped the bandages and saw why. The wound was narrow but ran deeply. He cleaned it gently, but Demyx still hissed in pain. Then he prepared the sutures. “I’m sorry, this will hurt. But it won’t heal correctly otherwise.”

The needle had barely pierced the skin before he was cringing away.

“Steady,” Ienzo said. He tried to move as quickly and lightly as possible, but even so it took nine stitches to close the wound. The irony of this was not missed by Ienzo, and while he did not believe in luck, he considered adding a tenth. He changed the bandages out for clean ones. “Nine stitches. Rather auspicious.”

He wiped at his eyes. “It fucking kills.”

“I can’t see how it would be… pleasant. Nonetheless, I think you should let your wound heal before we continue.” He sat down next to Demyx. “Of course, I should like to do some translation work. If it’s all the same to you, I can translate, and you can rest. For today… I think this is enough.”

“I couldn’t agree more.” More than anything, he looked exhausted, and he cradled his injured hand.

Did his anxiety keep him awake as well? Ienzo nearly asked. Instead, he said, “I am curious, though. How many instruments can you play? I shouldn’t have assumed your mastery of piano, though you are rather skilled in that regard.”

The question seemed to startle him. He exhaled, clucking his tongue a little. “Well, I mean I don’t really know. Sitar, obviously. Stringed instruments tend to come really naturally to me. I don’t have much experience with brass or woodwind, but if I looked at it for a little while, I could probably pick it up. It just seems to make sense to me. You know?”

How Ienzo envied that skill. Nothing, not one little thing, had ever come so easily to him. Except perhaps overthinking. “Fascinating. So you’ve no formal training?”

He shrugged. “Not that I can remember. I mean, some one must have taught me how to read and write music.”

Ienzo blinked. “What else can’t you remember?”

Demyx whistled, a low, strange sound. “Well, I mean, a lot, really. My past is… kind of blurry.”

That made no sense. If he were whole now, he should have all his memories. Ienzo wondered if there was a reason why Demyx hadn’t revealed his true name. “That’s… peculiar. Did you remember your past as a Nobody? The first time you were one, anyway.”

He twitched a little, and a hand went up to his head as if in pain.

“Demyx? Are you alright?”

Demyx breathed shakily and audibly. His eyes were glassy, vacant; without warning, he fell forward in a dead faint.

“Oh, goodness,” Ienzo said. He crouched down next to him and shook him, but he didn’t wake. He reached back into the first aid kit, looking for smelling salts of something of that ilk, but Even usually considered such medicine old-fashioned and didn’t stock it. Ienzo took Demyx’s pulse, noting it was uncomfortably high.

What on earth? Was this some sort of reaction to his questions? Why? Had Xehanort deliberately withheld the vessel’s memory from them?

He tried to lift Demyx’s body, but of course he was too weak. He sighed, more frustrated with himself than anything. He picked up his gummiphone. “Even? I need your help.”

It took both of them, but they were able to get Demyx into bed. Through all of this he didn’t stir in the slightest. Even took some blood, hurried out to run some quick tests, and came back some half hour later. In the meantime Ienzo waited nearby, afraid to stray too far lest something even worse happen. Despite himself, he was worried. It was hard not to feel at fault somehow.

“Well, I’ve check his blood count,” Even said wearily. “Everything is normal but the sugar and iron were low. I’m sure that explains the fainting. What you consider a trigger is no doubt a coincidence.”

Ienzo shook his head. “I’m not so sure. He had mentioned something about lacking memory. Why is it that when I tried to prod, he had this reaction? Roxas was similarly knocked unconscious when he strayed to Castle Oblivion.”

Even wrinkled his nose. “Ienzo, you know as well as I do that Demyx has a bit of a flair for the dramatic. Perhaps he just wanted some attention. Your worry is misplaced.”

He didn’t care for Even’s callous tone. But at the same time, he was the only person who had become human the same way Demyx did. “...Even, do you have all your memories?”

“Of course I do! I think I would know if that were not the case.”

This did not make things any clearer. “How odd. How odd…”

“His heart is not yet complete. That may have something to do with it.”

“I’m going to take a look at my notes regardless.” He’d never heard of such a thing. Was it perhaps a trauma-induced amnesia?

“Still, this brings up the matter of our diet. I had suspected it is somewhat lacking, too high in carbs. Perhaps we can go down to the marketplace and find something more nutritious…”

Ienzo found it strange that, despite having studied memories and hearts for the majority of his career, this was what he was hyperfixated on. “Aren’t you at least a little curious?” he asked in a low voice.

“I am. But at the same time, it’s still so early on. We know now that this recompletion process favors entropy. If we woke with our physical wounds, wouldn’t it make sense to wake up with psychological ones as well?”

“I… suppose.” He sighed.

“He will recover,” Even said, with just the slightest bit of warmth. He reached into his pocket and pulled out two bottles. “This is just some medication for him. Iron and a painkiller for that hand. I should have noticed how bad it was.”

“I’ll bring it to him. Thank you, Even.”

“I’m the only one here with a doctorate in medicine. My burden to bear.” He actually smiled a little, and set off back to his studies.

Ienzo got some water for the pills. He himself was feeling dizzy and achy, and desperately tired. The last thing he needed was to fall ill. When he went back to Demyx’s room, Ienzo found that he was awake. “Oh good, you’re conscious. How are you feeling?”

Demyx was a touch less pale, but didn’t look good. “...Weird,” he said. “I don’t know why that happened.”

“You’re a tad anemic. And your blood sugar was low.” He set down the pills and water. “Even recommended you take some supplements. And I brought some mild painkillers for your hand. No doubt it’s several weeks’ of malnutrition catching up to you. I’m sure it was hard to come by good food when you were hiding.”

He took the pills and water. Ienzo considered leaving, to get some rest of his own, but then he caught sight of the plant on the window. The soft, silver-blue-purple evoked something deep and startling within him. “That’s a lovely illumina plant. Where did you get that?” Pinpricks of memory, vague and faint--his mother, seeming impossibly tall, gently pruning the buds by the light of the full moon.

“Oh. Someone at the marketplace gave it to me. Aerith, from the restoration committee.”

Of course. Aerith was one of the few people in Radiant Garden who actually knew all of the local blooms. She used quite a lot of them in her healing. “Ah, yes. That makes sense. They’re a good group of people. I’ve been keeping in touch with them about Sora.” Demyx must not have known about its properties; in direct sunlight, the plant was slowly dying. “You needn’t leave this in direct sunlight, you know. They grow at night.”

“Did you study botany, too?” Demyx asked.

Another fuzzy memory of his mother, surrounded by plants in her study. ““Not quite. A specialty of my parents’.” He took the plant off the windowsill. At least it seemed well-cared for, other than the sunlight. “Can I see your stitches? I want to make sure you’re healing properly.” The wound had stopped bleeding, and looked to be healing well. He could feel again the warmth of Demyx’s skin like his own had memory. Ienzo didn’t understand. Had he been touched so rarely that it felt odd? Was that what this was?

“Thanks. I’m sorry about earlier.”

He shook his head. “That’s quite alright. I forget that you’re still adjusting. You should use the rest of the day to get some rest. I’m going to go and see what translation work I can get done while there’s still good light. Aeleus is making stew. I’m sure he’ll let you know when it’s ready.”

So Ienzo returned to the study room alone. He settled down with some tea and the papers and bent to study the first line of runes. It was not going to be as straightforward as he thought. The composer was using odd colloquialisms. After an hour or so, he’d barely gotten through one line, and even that was a guess.

Dawn town is a fucking mess. Or maybe they meant Dawn, town? So Dawn, and town is a fucking mess. Unfortunately, the swear was the only part he was really sure of.

With a splitting headache and just his memory to rely on, the melancholic music made the space seem even lonelier. The unbidden thoughts of his mother didn’t help. He’d been incredibly young when they’d passed--five or so--and his memories were blurry and ill-formed.

Ienzo realized for the first time how brief his time at the castle had been as a human. Only three years. In his mind it felt like ages and ages. He’d learned so much, and when he was a mere seven years old the experiments had kicked into high gear. Xehanort had spent more time with him, encouraging him with ideas until he had toddled over to Ansem, tugged the hem of his coat, and asked, “Master, what makes a heart?” And Ansem had said, “why, Ienzo, we’ve been wondering the same thing, what do you think?” And he had said, “People who bond.”

That had given them enough fuel and questions for the test subjects.

Ienzo wouldn’t make it as far as the washroom. He vomited in the kitchen sink. His head ached so badly he thought he might faint as well. Instead of cleaning up his mess, he had to sit down for several moments.

Ansem came into the kitchen, likely to gather him for dinner. “Ienzo, is everything all right? Are you ill?”

“I think so, Master.” To his horror, his eyes were watering. The panic was hot and sticky in his breast. Thin, sharp memories stabbed him. The others, telling him lies, or what they thought was the truth-- Ansem’s gone mad, he’s been experimenting on children . He remembered the faces of the people they’d questioned, remembered questioning them himself, remembered the screams when they felt their bonds being ripped apart--

He jumped up and was sick in the sink a second time. Ansem rubbed his back and he nearly recoiled from the touch.

“You must get to bed,” he said softly.

The tears were hot and salty on his face. He wiped his mouth on a napkin and started to run water over his mess. Xehanort had lied, had turned them all against one another for his own purposes, made them think that casting their hearts off was a choice. You will be free of all fear, of all guilt.

“I shall take care of it. Let us go.” He guided Ienzo back to his room and waited until he had lay down. “First Demyx, now you. We might all catch it.” He touched Ienzo’s forehead. “You don’t have a temperature. Maybe you ate something poorly?”

He couldn’t find the strength to say it wasn’t an illness.

“I’ll get you some ginger tea. That’ll settle your stomach.”

He shouldn’t feel guilty that Ansem was taking care of him. He pulled the covers tightly around him.

“My dear boy. Go to sleep, alright?”

In the silence and stillness of the room, he curled around himself. He tried to hold back the tides of emotion and memory, but they battered him again and again and he couldn’t help but cry, weakly and pathetically, until his abdominal muscles ached.

He didn’t want to be Ienzo. He didn’t want to be anybody.

#beyond this existence: counterpoint #ienzo #demyx #zemyx #demyx/ienzo #beyond this existence

[orangeoctopi7]

Stanswap AU Part 34

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 Part 24 Part 25

Part 26 Part 27 Part 28 Part 29 Part 30

Part 31 Part 32 Part 33

Here it is, the last chapter! Special thanks to @digikate813 and @eregyrn-falls for consistently reading and reblogging, along with anyone else who ever reblogged this story, it’s because of you that this story has spread. Thanks to @blaiddraws and @hntrgurl13 for drawing fanart (even if I did commission hntrgurl13, still grateful) and of course thanks to @busket because even if our AUs were developed independently, I still took a lot of inspiration from them and their way awesome art.

Speaking of which, this chapter draws a lot of inspiration from these posts.

Chapter 34: Hero Complex

The house was still in one piece when the kids got back. There was no evidence whether the shield spell was still holding or not, but they were all just happy to find a familiar structure to hide out in. They were about to open the door when they all heard something inside. Dipper picked up a golf club that'd been sitting on the porch, Wendy pulled out her crossbow, Mabel readied her grappling hook, and Soos took a karate stance.

“Yaaaaah!” The four friends yelled as they kicked the door open.

“Yaaaaah!” A ragtag group of townsfolk and magical creatures from the woods led by Stan yelled, ready to defend their turf.

“Wait, Stan!?” Dipper and Mabel gasped when they realized who it was.

“Kids!?” Stan disengaged the weapons system in his prosthetic, “I can't believe it! I thought I'd lost you two!”

The three of them shared a happy reunion hug. Tears flowed more freely than at least two of them would care to admit. Wendy and Soos soon joined in the hug. Even if they didn't know Stan all that well, it was still nice to see a friend after everything that had happened.

“It's good to have you knuckleheads back.” Stan said as he finally broke away from the hug.

“Why… what's everyone doing here?” Dipper asked as he surveyed the room. There were Candy and Grenda, dressed like Mad Max cosplayers, and Pacifica, who was wearing a pillowcase or something, and the Multibear, who was wearing an eye-patch on his main head, along with some gnomes, a manotaur, and the boy band Sev’ral Timez.

“Welcome to the survivors’ club.” Stan shrugged.

“Whaaa?” The kids asked.

“Eyebat!!” A gnome cried before anyone could explain. Everyone in the house scrambled to put out all the lights and close all the shutters and curtains. Dipper and Mabel couldn't help but peek outside between some blinds. Sure enough, an eyebat was flapping around outside. The sweeping beam of its paralysing gaze was stopped by a shimmering pink shield the moment it looked towards the house.

“So the shield is still working!” Dipper observed.

“Grunkle Stan, how'd this happen?” Mabel asked once the eyebat passed.

“Well, after seein’ my brother turned to gold and thinkin’ Dipper here’d been eaten, I didn't know what else to do except come back here. That's when I ran into possum breath here” Stan jabbed a mechanical thumb towards McGucket, “leading a group of stragglers through the woods. They needed a place to stay, so I took 'em all in and made myself chief. Plan is to stay here and live off Ford's food storage long as we can. Then I vote we eat the gnomes.”

“Hey, I'm short, not deaf!!” Jeff protested.

“Grunkle Stan, we can't just hide out here, there's a town in need of saving!” Dipper protested.

“Look, kiddo, we’ve got a good deal here.” Stan explained. “It ain’t ideal, I know, but we’ve got everything we need in here. A lot of these guys may look like monsters, but they’re actually pretty nice. Bear-bear here even knows Shiatzu!”

“Yes, I’ve been taking some classes.” The multi-bear nodded.

“We can stay here where it’s safe as long as we need to.”

“Grunkle Stan, you don’t actually think if we wait it out long enough Bill will just go away!?” Mabel was scandalized.

“Yeah, what happened?” Dipper asked, “Before you were all about taking the fight to Bill and not waiting a second, and now you just wanna hole up inside as long as you can?”

“Look what trying to fight Bill got us!” Stan snapped, “I wasted my only shot, that shazbot took my know-it-all brother as a literal trophy, and until you kids showed up on the doorstep a moment ago, I thought you all were dead! At least in here we can live some sort of life, out there all that’s waiting for us is death or worse!”

“But… what about our families?” Soos asked quietly.

Stan didn’t have an answer for that. He just looked away, but as his eyes swept across the room, he saw almost everyone wore the same expression: worry for their loved ones. Not long before the kids had showed up, they’d picked up a broadcast on the TV from inside the Fearamid, where they saw most everyone in Gravity Falls frozen in stone and stacked into a throne for Bill.

“Guys, don’t you see?” Mabel encouraged them as she climbed to the top of the stairs where everyone could see her, “Our friends need us, but we can only save them if we fight back!”

“Mabel’s right!” Dipper joined her, “Bill wants us to run and hide. He wants us to think he’s invincible, but Ford told me before he was turned to gold he knows Bill’s secret weakness!”

“Yeah, and then his oh-so-special research Journals were destroyed.” Stan scoffed. “We got no leads kid. I spent twelve years tryin’ to fight against Bill, and never heard nothin’ about any ‘secret weakness’.”

“Then we’ll rescue him!” The boy exclaimed, “If Ford’s the only one who knows about Bill’s weakness then we’ll have to get it from him! If we all work together, we might be able to save Gravity Falls!”

Everyone cheered, except Stan, who still seemed skeptical. “And how d’you plan on doin’ that? This is the only place where we’re safe, and it’s not like we can carry the shield spell around with us.”

“W-whoa! Holey Hootenanny! Flapjacks an’ Tiddlywinks!” McGucket suddenly burst out, his knee bouncing up and down as he thumped his foot against the floor. “Sorry, sorry,” He said sheepishly as everyone stared at him. “Just got excited is all. But I got an idea hows about we can fight Bill an’ rescue Ford! But I’ll need all’a y’all’s help!”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa people, let’s not forget who’s in charge here!” Stan snorted indignantly, “I’ve been on the run from that psycho for the better part of twelve years, and now you want me to just waltz up to the guy’s front door?”

“Grunkle Stan, I’m sure we’re not gonna just walk up to the Fearamid,” Mabel assured him, “Just hear McGucket out!”

“No! There’s no way I’m leaving this house!”

Stan was not particularly happy to hear the plan involved literally taking the house to Bill. Sure, it seemed like a good idea on paper. If the only thing protecting them from Bill was attached to the house, it made sense to bring the house with them. But turning the place into a giant fighting robot!? That was just ridiculous! Nevermind the dimension he’d visited with actual fifty-foot fighting treehouse robots. He was pretty sure that was a spectator sport, and not for actual combat. Certainly not for fighting against the all-powerful ruler of the nightmare realm.

Still, as they began cutting holes in the walls and using leftover parts from the portal to build actual working giant robot arms and legs, Stan began to think this might actually work. Not that he’d ever admit that to anyone.

He’d nearly lost it when people started leaving the safety of the shield spell to try and raid more stuff they needed from outside, but so far everyone who had left for the junkyard and the amber mines had come back safely.

Now the “Shacktron”, as Soos had dubbed it after a comment on the house’s state by Pacifica, was nearly complete, and everyone was enjoying a bonfire as Mabel passed out sweaters, celebrating all they’d already accomplished and what they hoped to accomplish tomorrow.

“Uhg, I go through all this trouble to keep these survivors safe, and they’re gonna risk it all; for what? The chance that Stanford might know Bill’s weakness?” Stan complained to the only person who would listen to him, an ugly gnome who didn’t say much. “It’s a load of… of…” Stan searched his considerable vocabulary of alien swears for an appropriate phrase.

“Shmebulock!” The gnome exclaimed.

“Yeah! It’s a load of Shmebulock!” the old con man agreed. But his rage quickly died into a sigh. “It’s my own fault though. We wouldn't have to go save my brother if I hadn’t talked him into confrontin’ Bill right away in the first place. ...Bill wouldn’t even be in our dimension if my brother hadn’t opened that portal for me….”

“Grunkle Stan, is something wrong?” Mabel asked as she and Dipper suddenly walked into his field of vision. Stan jumped. He was losing his touch in his old age, he hadn’t even noticed they were there.

“Wh-bu-pft-I’m not-- I’m fine!” He spluttered. “How long have you kids been standin’ there listenin’ to me mouth off?”

“We just saw you acting grumpier than usual and wanted to make sure everything’s ok.” Mabel shrugged.

“It’s this plan to save my stupid brother!” Stan harrumphed. “I’ve been working hard to keep everybody safe, and what thanks do I get? Nothin’! But maybe he knows somethin’ about stoppin’ Bill, and suddenly everybody’s ready to risk their lives to save him. No matter what I do, it’s always ‘Stan’s the screw-up, Ford’s the hero’.”

Dipper frowned. He’d heard what Stan was saying to Shmebulock before. “Grunkle Stan, you’re not a screw up. This isn’t your fault any more than it is Mabel’s. Bill tricked you, because that’s what he does! Of course you wanted to come home! Of course you wanted to try anything to stop Bill as quickly as possible! And yeah, things went wrong, but that doesn’t mean you should hide away and beat yourself up for it! We have a chance to fix things now, and yeah, it’s risky, but at least there’s a chance that we’ll be able to save the world, instead of just accepting that this is the way things are now!”

“Yeah!” Mabel agreed, “Besides, you love risk!”

Stan gave a fond sigh and hugged the two of them. “Heh, alright, you kids’ve convinced me. I’ll get on board with Project: Long Odds. Whatever you want me to do, just ask.”

“Yes!” Mabel cheered, “Trust me, guys, tomorrow's gonna be great! We’ll save Grunkle Ford, and then you won’t have to worry about him anymore!”

“What, tch, I’m… I’m not worried about him!” Stan protested, crossing his arms and looking away. “I only care about finding a way to stop Bill, and that know-it-all is our best bet.”

Mabel and Dipper rolled their eyes. “Sure, Grunkle Stan.”

He couldn’t think. He couldn’t feel anything beyond the pain jolting through him. He couldn’t see anything beyond the burning blue light blinding him. He couldn’t hear anything beyond the ragged screaming that he no longer recognized as his own. He couldn’t smell anything beyond the crackling ozone. He couldn’t taste anything beyond the metallic tang that he didn’t have the presence of mind to realize was probably his own blood. This was his world. He knew nothing else.

Then, mercifully, it stopped, and his brain started ticking again. His thoughts and feelings slowly trickled back. He was Stanford Pines, the last one standing between Bill Cipher and destroying the rest of the universe outside of Gravity Falls. He couldn’t break. He couldn’t tell Bill what he wanted to know. He couldn’t let the demon into his mind. He could feel the manacles digging into his skin. He could see Bill and his cronies standing over him like a gang of school yard bullies. He could hear his own labored breathing and the snickering of the Henchmaniacs. He still couldn’t smell much other than ozone, but at least now he knew he was tasting his own blood. It wasn’t nearly as much as he’d expected.

“READY TO TALK NOW?” Bill asked in a bored tone.

“I-I won’t…” Ford rasped. “...I won’t… let you into my mind!”

“WHADDAYA SAY, PALS, ANOTHER 500 VOLTS?” Bill asked his audience. The Henchmaniacs laughed and cheered. Bill was winding up for another blast of electricity when they all heard a thumping noise coming from outside the Fearamid. It grew louder and louder, until… crash! A theropod head burst through the wall and roared.

“WHAT!? I JUST FIXED THAT DOOR!” Bill whined.

Ford squinted to see what was outside the Fearamid. His glasses were so dirtied with soot he wondered briefly if he might see better without them. Was that… was that his house!?

“It’s the Shacktron, dudes!” he more heard than saw Soos cheer. Oh no, what was Soos doing here!? Didn’t he realize the danger? And who else had he brought with him? Ford could only imagine what Bill would do if the triangle managed to nab all his loved ones at once.

“SO THE MORTALS ARE TRYING TO FIGHT BACK, HUH? ADORABLE!” Bill gave a cruel chuckle. “HENCHMANIACS, YOU KNOW WHAT TO DO! TAKE ‘EM OUT!”

It was hard for Ford to see what was going on from his vantage point, but he couldn’t look away. The more he watched, the more anxious he became. He could see Wendy leaping onto an eyebat, he could hear Fiddleford’s distinctive voice calling out commands, and Mabel and Dipper’s cheer after punching out Paci-Fire and Kryptos. He even caught a glimpse of Stan through a window when the Shacktron came near enough to the hole in the Fearamid. But as things went on, his fear was mixed with pride. They were holding their own! Better than holding their own, they were winning! Soon enough all of Bill’s minions were sprawled across the ground, groaning in pain.

“SERIOUSLY GUYS? YOU HAD LIKE ONE JOB!” Bill groaned.

“Bravo, everyone!” Ford cheered defiantly.

Bill sneered at him. “YEAH, ENJOY YOUR LITTLE VICTORY NOW, WISE-GUY. YOU DO REALIZE I’M GONNA GO GRAB YOUR LITTLE FAMILY AND MAKE YOU WATCH ME TORTURE EACH AND EVERY ONE OF THEM UNTIL YOU TELL ME HOW TO REVERSE THE WEIRDNESS MAGNETISM, RIGHT?”

Ford’s heart fell. “No, no you ca--” Bill re-froze him mid-sentence.

“HOW MANY TIMES DO I HAVE TO TELL YOU, SIXER? I CAN DO ANYTHING!”

He didn’t know how long it had been when he was unfrozen. All he knew was suddenly half the town was there, freed from their stony prison, and Bill was still outside fighting the Shacktron. Mabel and Dipper were standing in front of him with identical hopeful grins.

“Kids!” Ford knelt down and hugged them both tightly, “I knew you could do it! That was brilliant!” He caught sight of McGucket just off to the side, apparently trying not to interrupt a family moment. “Fiddleford! Thank you, old friend, I know they couldn't have done it without you.”

“Aw shucks, I'm jus’ glad yer ok.” McGucket smiled as the two old scientists hugged.

“Yeah, nice to see you too, bro.” Stan grunted from behind them.

“Grunkle Ford,” Dipper piped up, “before, you said something about one other possible way to beat Bill. What was it?”

“Yeah, what's Bill's secret weakness?” Mabel asked.

“Oh, right!” The old researcher remembered, and reached for something in his pocket. But be paused mid-motion, looking around the room. “Back when I first learned about Bill, there was a prophecy painted on the cave wall as well.” Ford observed all the people standing around him, and suddenly the puzzle that had eluded him for years finally clicked into place. “Robbie, do you still carry spray paint around with you?”

“Uh… yeah. Why?” the teen asked.

“You'll see.” Ford assured him, grabbing the paint canister and quickly spraying a large circle on the floor.

“Uh, Bill's just outside, I don't know how long the others can hold him off.” Dippy pointed out.

“Yes, yes, good.” Ford murmured in reply, concentrating too hard on whatever he was painting on the floor to really pay attention to what the boy was saying.

“Well, he's finally lost it.” Stan said flatly.

“Like he didn't lose it forever ago?” Wendy asked.

“I'm perfectly sane.” Ford corrected. “And this is how we'll beat him.” He gestured to the finished image: a circle of ten symbols surrounding a simple sketch of Bill Cipher.

“With the world's most confusing game of hopscotch?” Pacifica asked incredulously.

“No… although it would make a pretty fun game of hopscotch.” Ford admitted. “This is what I found painted on the cave wall. Some of the symbols I recognized then, some of them I only recognize now, but the very first people to settle in Gravity Falls, long before any European immigrants, prophesied that these symbols together could generate a force powerful enough to defeat Bill and reverse his weirdnesses. Until now, I thought it was just superstition, but now that I see the ten symbols here in real life, I know that can't be a coincidence.”

“What do you mean?” Dipper asked, “You had this drawn in the Journals and it didn't do anything. Bill still destroyed them!”

Ford smiled and shook his head. “The symbols themselves aren't what's special. They represent people! Dipper: the pine tree. Mabel: the shooting star.”

Dipper's eyes widened as he stood on the corresponding symbol.

“Oh my gosh!” Mabel gasped reverently as she took her place.

“A question mark! This one's unsolvable!” Soos observed, completely forgetting the coin block on the Mario shirt he was wearing.

“And I knew I'd seen that broken heart on your hoodie somewhere before!” Ford said to Robbie.

“Dang man, you've been wearing that thing since the fourth grade!” Wendy pushed her friend forward.

“Whoa, destiny hoodie!” The teen said in awe.

“As well as the star from the Tent-o-Telepathy.” Ford pointed to Gideon, who was standing at the back of the crowd.

“Oooh, don't mind if I do!” The boy took his spot next to Mabel.

“Don't make a big deal about this.” Mabel warned him.

“O-of course not!” Gideon flushed, then chanted under his breath, “Be a person worthy of loving, be a person worthy of loving…”

“And Pacifica: the llama.” Ford pointed to her.

“... This is freaky.” The spoiled girl muttered as she looked between the sweater Mabel had lent her and the symbol on the floor.

“Ok, so some of the symbols are really obvious. But what about the ice? Or the glasses?” Dipper asked.

“They're not all litteral.” Ford explained, “The ice should be someone who's cool under pressure.” The two of them looked over at Wendy. They couldn't think of anyone else in the crowd who fit the criteria, and come to think of it, hadn't Dipped spilt bag after bag of ice around Wendy all summer?

“And the glasses should be someone wise and scholarly.”

McGucket smiled sheepishly and stepped forward. “I dunno 'bout wise…”

“And Stanley, you're the fish.. thing. Whatever that thing on the end of your staff is.”

“You gotta be kidding me!” Stan rolled his eyes. “You realize this is a buncha hogwash, right? You really think a bunch of randos standin’ in a circle an’ singin’ kumbaya is gonna stop that monster!?”

“It's a mystical human energy circuit!” Ford defended.

“You said you thought it was superstition until you saw all these people together!” Stan retorted. “This isn't what you were talkin’ about before, is it?”

“...No.” Ford admitted, “But that doesn't matter now, this will work!”

“How do you know? Just 'cuz some dead guys drew it on a wall!?”

“Come on Stan! I gave your idea with the quantum destabilizer a chance, the least you can do is give this a shot!” Ford yelled indignantly.

“Don't yell at me!” Stan yelled back.

“Come on!” Wendy groaned.

“Dang it, old men, now's not the time!” Gideon exclaimed.

“Alright, fine!” Stan relented and joined the circle. “I'm not the enemy here, people!”

“Everyone else get out of here, this may be dangerous…. Now all of you hold hands!” Ford commanded.

“Oh gee, I'd love to.” Stan said sarcastically, “Except there's the little problem of I haven't got one!”

Ford gritted his teeth. “You know what I meant! Just  give me your arm… stump… whatever you call it.”

“I wouldn't have it if you hadn't abandoned me, you big jerk!” Stan turned on him.

“Really!? Now of all times you bring that up!? Why do you always have to make everything more difficult than it has to be!? Why can't you ever just do as you're told!?”

“What makes you think you can tell me what to do!?”

The elder twins’ argument just devolved into fistfighting from there. Everyone watched in slack-jawed horror. Everyone except Mabel and Dipper, that is, who were desperately trying to pull their Grunkle apart. But it was too late.

“OH NO, IT'S BILL! ...THAT'S WHAT YOU'RE ALL THINKING, RIGHT?”

Bill was back.

“HAHAHAHAH! THIS IS JUST TOO GOOD! DON'T YOU BRAINIACS KNOW THE ZODIAC DOESN'T WORK IF ALL OF YOU DON'T HOLD HANDS? THANKS FOR BRINGING EVERY THREAT TO MY POWER INTO ONE EASY-TO-DESTROY PLACE THOUGH!” the demonic triangle snapped his fingers and the painting on the ground burned away, catching a few people on fire in the process. He then reached out and grabbed the elder Pines twins. “YOU GUYS WANNA SEE WHAT HAPPENS WHEN YOU CAN'T GET ALONG?”

“Oh no!” Dipper cried.

“You give them back!” McGucket demanded.

“You've gone too far, Cipher!” Gideon shouted.

“Yeah, we're not scared of you!” Wendy growled, raising her ax threateningly.

“OH… BUT YOU SHOULD BE.” the triangle grew another arm and snapped his finger. Dipper and Mabel watched in horror as everyone around them floated up into the air and was turned into a tapestry, each one depicting its victim in the middle of a wide-eyed scream. “LOOKS LIKE IT'S TOO LATE FOR YOUR FRIENDS, STANFORD, BUT YOU CAN STILL SAVE YOUR FAMILY!” A glowing blue cage rose up out of the ground, trapping the kids. “LAST CHANCE: TELL ME HOW TO TAKE WEIRDMAGEDDON GLOBAL AND I'LL SPARE THE KIDS.”

“No, don't do it!” Dipper cried from inside the pyramidal cage.

“Yeah, Bill makes bad deals!” Mabel agreed.

Bill leered down at her. “DON'T YOU TOY WITH ME SHOOTING STAR! I SEE EVERYTH--”

Mabel grabbed Robbie's spray paint and sprayed him in his giant eye.

“AUGH! NOT AGAIN! WHY THE EYE!? EVERY TIME!”

“I know that hurts, because I've done it to myself!” Mabel crowed.

Dipper quickly pulled out the flashlight with the size-changing crystal attached to the top and grew the cage until they could squeeze between the bars.

“We'll distract him, you guys run for it!” The boy cried to his Grunkles.

“What!? That's a suicide mission!” Ford protested.

“Don't worry! We've beaten him once.” Dipper reassured them.

“And we'll do it again!” Mabel finished. “Hey, you pointy jerk, come and get us!”

Bill finally got the paint out of his eye. He growled and chased after the kids. Stan and Ford were about to run after them too, but a blue wall of contorted bars blocked their path.

“NOT SO FAST! YOU TWO STAY HERE. I'VE GOT SOME CHILDREN I NEED TO TURN INTO CORPSES.”

The brothers found themselves in a cage identical to the one the kids had just been in. Only they had no means of escape. All they could do was bang on the bars and yell after them to stop. But their pleas fell on deaf ears.

“I can't believe this!” Stan sunk to the ground. “The kids are gonna die, and it's all my fault! All because I wouldn't just link arms with you!”

“Don't blame yourself. I'm the one who made a deal with Bill on the first place.” Ford said sadly.

“Yeah, but I'm the one who got you captured.” Stan lamented, “Dipper went back an’ tried to help you, but I… I just ran. Ugh, dad was right about me, I'm a screw-up.”

“No.” Ford knelt down next to his brother. “That's not true. You never made a deal with Bill, not in all those years he tried to convince you. If anybody's a screw-up, it's me. If I didn't drive away everyone close to me, things would have been solved years ago. I'm sorry I always made you second priority.”

Stan barked a sound halfway between a chuckle and a sob. “How'd things get so messed up between us?”

“We used to be like Dipper and Mabel.” Ford smiled fondly. “The world's about to end, and they still work together.”

“They're working together because the world is ending. That and they're too young to know any better.” Stan observed.

Ford shifted and pulled a strange object out of his pocket. It took a second for Stan to recognize it as the memory eraser from his first day back home.

“What're you gonna do with that?” The old con man asked.

“This is the one last possibility to defeat Bill I was talking about before.” Ford said gravely.

Stan's face lit up as he began to realize his brother's plan. “You mean we could just erase him outta your head the second he goes in there!?”

“Yes… but there's more to it than that.”

Stan didn't like the look Ford was giving him. He looked like a doctor about to tell their patient they had cancer. “Ok, what's the catch?”

“Bill isn't a static memory. He won't just let himself be erased, he'll hide in some remote corner of the mindscape. Unless you were to erase everything.”

Stan's expression sobered immediately. That explained why Ford had been so desperate to try anything else to stop Bill.

“What!? Are you kidding me!? You're honestly telling me there's nothing else we can do?”

“Believe me, if there was another way, I'd do it in a second. We're out of options, Stanley! The only alternative would be to actually give myself up to Bill and hope he'll let you and the kids go.”

Stan snorted. “Like he'd make good on that deal.”

“Exactly.” Ford agreed. “So, we agree on what needs to be done?”

Stan's reply was to wrap his arms around his brother and bury his face into his shoulder. “You and your snarfin hero complex! D’Arvit Ford, I don't wanna lose you again!”

“... Neither do I.” Ford returned the hug. “Don't think of it as losing me. I'll still be around. I'll still be me. I just won't…”

“Won't remember anything about me. Or anyone. Or anything.” Stan finished.

“Y-you might be able to remind me.” Ford encouraged him, “Fiddleford has been regaining his memories after they were erased.”

Stan sniffed inelegantly, failing to hide his crying, but he nodded.

They didn't have long to recompose themselves before they heard the kids’ screams, signalling Bill's return.

“ALRIGHT FORDSY, I'M BACK, AND I'VE GOT THE KIDS! MAYBE I'LL KILL ONE OF 'EM, JUST FOR THE FUN OF IT. EENY MEENY MINEY--”

“Stop!” Ford cried. “I'll tell you! Just let the kids and my brother go, please!”

“THAT'S MORE LIKE IT.” Bill said smugly.

The cage holding them dissolved away and a glowing red arm shot out of the ground, wrapping itself tight around Stan.

“No, Grunkle Ford, don't trust him!” Dipper pleaded.

“It's the only way.” Ford smiled sadly. “I-I love you all. Always remember that.”

“CUT THE SAP, SIXER. DO WE HAVE A DEAL OR NOT?”

Ford's only response was to extend his hand. Bill grabbed it, and blue flames enshrouded them both. Bill's physical form turned to stone as his mental projection jumped straight into the old scientist's head.

“FINALLY!” Bill crowed when he found himself in Stanford’s mindscape. The mental manifestation of the old man was standing there coldly. The light was reflecting off his glasses, making it impossible to see his eyes. Which didn't make sense because there wasn't actually any light. Which meant Ford was looking like that on purpose. The drama queen. “I TOLD YOU I'D FIND YOUR WEAKNESS!”

Ford did his best to ignore the mocking. He held up a book that looked just like one of the Journals. “Here it is, Bill, everything I know about weirdness magnetism.”

“AHAHAHAHAH, FINALLY!” Bill chortled, taking the book eagerly. “YES! NOW I CAN--” the book abruptly caught fire. “WHOAH- HEY!” The triangle could only watch as blue flames rapidly ate away every last page. “WHAT DID YOU--!?”

“It's gone.” Ford said evenly, a cruel grin spreading across his face. The light reflecting off his glasses disappeared, revealing a triumphant glare. “It's all gone!”

“YOU IDIOT, DO YOU HAVE ANY IDEA WHAT YOU'VE DONE!?” Bill steamed, “I'LL MAKE YOU PAY FOR THIS!!”

“On the contrary, Bill,” The scientist said calmly as the entire mindscape around them went up in blue flames, “You're the one who's finally going to pay.”

Bill's eye grew wide as he realized the extent of what was happening.

“GRAH! THE DEAL’S OFF!” He growled, but as he tried to wave his arm and create an exit, nothing happened. If anything the flames rose higher. “WHAT THE-- NO! NO NO NO NO!

“YOU FOOL!” Bill raged, “”YOU'LL DESTROY YOUR OWN MIND TOO!”

“Gladly.” Ford said emphatically. “If it means you'll never do to another living thing what you did to me.”

“YOU'RE MAKING A MISTAKE, STANFORD!” Bill said desperately, “I-I’LL GIVE YOU ANYTHING YOU WANT! MONEY, FAME, RICHES, INFINITE POWER, YOUR OWN GALAXY! JUST--PLEASE!”

“Whatever I want?” Ford echoed fiercely. “What I want is to watch you burn to nothing!” He finally lost his cool and roughly grabbed Bill by his stupid bowtie. “You pretended to be my friend, only to use me and manipulate me!” He wound up and punched the triangle. “You got me to drive my only true friend away!” Another punch. “You took control of my body and used it as a play thing!” And another. “You blackmailed me!” And again. “You tortured me!” Another. “And even worse than what you did to me, you messed with my family!” He wound up one more time and punched Bill right in the eye, harder than he'd ever punched anything before. The demonic triangle gave one last strangled cry in a language Ford didn't recognize, and shattered into a million pieces.

“...It is done.” Stanford said with finality. But… it didn't feel right. He'd been fantasizing about defeating Bill for years now, and he'd finally done it! He was the hero! He'd killed the demon, been able to beat him down with his own hands, and yet… this victory felt hollow. Was it because he was losing his own mind in the process? No… he'd always been prepared to sacrifice himself in order to pay for his mistakes.

As everything burned blue around him, the last thing he found left was a familiar tattered photo of two boys standing proudly atop a rotting shipwreck. Ford realized he didn't regret what he was losing, but what his family would be losing. And even more, what he never was for them.

“I'm sorry.” He murmured as the flames licked at his feet.

Stanley found his brother kneeling in a clearing in the woods not long after all of Bill's Weirdmageddon crap cleared up. Ford was still completely out of it. His eyes were unfocused and his mouth hung open.

“Grunkle Ford that was amazing!” Dipper exclaimed, running up and hugging him. Ford jumped at the contact, surprised and maybe even a little uncomfortable with the boy in his personal space.

“Uh, sorry, are you talking to me?” The old man asked in confusion.

The boy's face fell as he pieced together what happened. “You… you don't remember me…”

“No. Should I?”

“Yes!” Mabel cried, “We're your family!”

Ford just looked at them all blankly.

“It's ok, kids.” Stan tried to reassure them, “W-we just gotta remind him, y’know?” he sat down in front of his brother and looked him in the eye. “I-I’m Stanley. I'm your brother.”

Ford was too fascinated with Stan's arm to pay attention to his words. “Your arm, it's metal!” He observed with an eager smile, “that's not normal, is it? What's it made of? How do you get it to move like that?”

Stan’s eyes welled up with tears. “C-c’mon, Ford, it's m-me, it's Stan… I'm remindin’ you, j-just like you told me to… please Ford, it-it’s me, it's Stan!” He finally broke down crying in to his brother's shoulder. “Why d’you always gotta be the hero!? Y-you jerk! W-we never got t-to make thing right.…”

Ford looked at the two children for help. “What did I say?”

They brought Ford back to the wrecked remains of his house, picking up Soos and filling him in on what had happened on the way. The young mechanic was devastated, and he joined with the others in trying to jog Stanford’s memory. They had many opportunities to try. It seemed every step along the way Ford had another question.

“Did you see that little man in the red hat run into the bushes? What was that?”

“It’s a gnome.” Dipper explained patiently, although there was a pained undertone in his voice, “You used to study them.”

“Why do they wear those little red hats?” Ford wondered, “Are they hiding something under them?”

“I-I don’t know.” Dipper admitted, but it didn’t seem to bother Ford. If anything he seemed more excited, and he made to run off after the gnome.

“Wait! Don’t run off without us!” Mabel grabbed his hand.

This stopped him, but only because he’d suddenly become more interested in the small hands holding his own. He looked around at everyone and an expression spread across his face like he’d just found the greatest puzzle of all time.

“Wait a second, I just noticed something!” He held up Mabel’s hand and compared it to his own. “I’ve got more fingers than all of you! Isn’t that interesting? I wonder why it’s like that?”

“You were born that way.” Stan told him.

“Yes, but why?” Ford asked again. Nobody had an answer for him, which only served to make him more curious.

Stan heaved a heavy sigh. “C’mon Ford, we gotta get home. We’re all tired, you must be too.”

“I’m not tired!” The old man insisted like he was a four-year-old, “I wanna explore!”

Stan looked like he was on the verge of losing his composure again, so Mabel stepped in. “Grunkle Ford, if you come home with us, I’ll show you my scrapbook, and we can teach you everything we learned about all the weird things in Gravity Falls this summer.

“Really?” Ford asked, like she’d just promised to watch his favorite movie with him. She nodded. “Come on, let’s go!” He pulled her ahead toward the dilapidated house.

Dipper had to knock the door in, and despite the building being surprisingly still structurally sound, the place was trashed. Ford didn’t seem to notice; he took the state of the house as normal, and only seemed curious with the books and papers strewn across the floor. Everyone else was in low spirits. For all the questions they were answering and all their attempts to remind Ford of who he was, nothing seemed to be working.

“We saved the world, but what’s the point?” Dipper wondered forlornly, “Grunkle Ford’s not himself anymore.”

“I don’t get it.” Stan sat down and held his head in his hands, “Before, he said we’d be able to remind him…. Well, he said we might be able to remind him. Ugh, I should’ve known he was just sayin’ that to make me feel better. I should’ve known better than to get my hopes up!” He punched the wall with his mechanical arm and left a sizable hole.

“No!” Mabel said emphatically, “I know my Grunkle is still in there! We can’t give up, guys!” She found her scrapbook lying under the entertainment center, and sat Ford down next to her on the old couch. “This’ll work. This has to work!” She opened up to the first page and showed him a picture of the three of them at the bus-stop, not long after they’d arrived in Gravity Falls.

“Here’s a picture of the first day we came to Gravity Falls!” Mabel narrated, “and here’s a macaroni art interpretation of my emotions!” She pointed to a macaroni collage of an unsure smile and a question mark.

“What about that time we went to the lake our first weekend here?” Dipper asked as his sister turned the page again and revealed a two-page spread of photos from their picnic. “Or all those times we’ve played Dungeons Dungeons and More Dungeons together?” He asked on another page.

“Uh, these are all very nice photos, but weren’t you going to teach my what you learned about the weird things in Gravity Falls?” Ford asked innocently.

“They’re photos of you, Dr. Pines!” Soos cried.

“I can see that, but I don’t remember any of this, or any of you!”

That was enough to break Stan down again. The old con man got up abruptly and retreated to the other side of the room.

Ford got up and followed him. “What’s wrong? Why do you keep on crying like that?”

Stan just shook his head and turned away, unable to speak through his sobbing.

“Is it because of me?” Ford asked worriedly, “Is it my fault?”

Stan shook his head again, but Ford seemed to know instinctively that he was lying. “I’m sorry. I’m not sure what for, but…” He trailed off and his expression became thoughtful. “I’m sorry…” he repeated softly. He reached out and hugged Stan awkwardly.

Waddles entered the room, drawn by the sound of crying. The pig found two sad men standing in the corner, hugging. On of them was the source of the crying. The pig tried to comfort them the only way he knew how: snorting in between their feet.

“Waddles, do you mind, we’re having a moment here!” Ford pushed the pig away gently with his foot.

Everyone gasped and stared at the old researcher, a new hopeful glint in their eyes.

“W-what? What did I say?” Ford asked nervously, uncomfortable with all the attention.

“It’s working!” Dipper said excitedly, “keep reading!”

“Skip to my page!” Soos insisted, “He needs to remember being the greatest teacher ever!”

“I think you and Wendy are the only two who would ever call me that.” Ford chuckled.

And so they continued to look through Mabel’s scrapbook. Every few pages, Ford remembered more and more about being a teacher, a great-uncle, a researcher, and even a brother. Once they finished with the scrapbook, Stanley swept the house and found some ancient film-reels: Home videos from the elder twins’ childhood. Everyone couldn’t believe their luck. Perhaps this story could have a happy ending after all.

It was one week later, and Stanford Pines felt like a new man. His memories were more-or-less all back now. Sure, he still had some hazy moments when someone would mention something like he was supposed to know what they were talking about, and he’d have to ask for clarification, but the most important things were all back. He knew his family and his best friend and his students and all the strange, wonderful, occasionally annoying people in Gravity Falls.

Of course, with the return of his good memories came the return of the bad. Just last night he’d had another nightmare about Weirdmageddon. But it was easier to shake off these bad dreams now that he knew Bill was well and truly gone. He’d also had a heart-to-heart with Stanley about some of the darker moments in their past, but he felt so much better now that they had.

Now it was time for the kids’ birthday party, and pretty much the whole town, human and supernatural, had shown up. Mabel and Dipper were giving some short speeches after blowing out the candles.

“Y’know, on my first day here, if you’d asked me what I wanted, I would have said ‘Adventure, mystery, true friends’, but looking out at all of you, I realize that every one of those wishes came true. I’m happy with what I have.”

“If I had one wish, it would be to shrink you all down with the shrink-ray and bring you all home with me in my pocket. But since that’s impossible--” She paused and looked up at Ford, “Is that impossible?”

He shrugged and made a so-so gesture. It was technically possible but really not a good idea. People would probably get squashed or suffocate.

“--Since that’s probably impossible, my only wish is for all of you to sign my scrapbook! I’ll never forget you all!” She paused again, pulled out the memory eraser, and smashed it under her foot. Ford couldn’t believe how relieved that made him feel. “Now I’ll never forget you all!”

As the kids joked around with Wendy and her friends about technically being teens now, Stan pulled Ford away from the crowd around a corner of the house.

“Hey, I wanted to talk to you in private.”

“Why, what’s wrong?” Ford asked in concern.

“Nothin’, just wanted to let you know I’ve made up my mind.”

“About what?”

“About leavin’ after the kids head home. I’m probably gonna start packin’ once this party business is over.”

“What!?” Ford cried incredulously,

“Yeah, see, this I why I wanted to talk to you about it in private.” Stan rolled his eyes.

“But… but I thought…” the old researcher stammered, “We’ve been making progress Stanley! I truly believed things between us were on the mend!” He sighed heavily and regained his composure, “But… if that’s what you feel is best, I won’t try and force you to stay.”

“Uh, thanks…” Stan said awkwardly.

“...where will you go?”

Stan shrugged. “Thinkin’ about gettin’ a ship, sailin’ in search of treasure.”

“Just… just like we always dreamed about. I… I’m happy for you, Stan.” Ford said, sounding the exact opposite of happy.

“Y’know…” Stan scratched the back of his head with his good arm and gestured with his mechanical one. “If I’m gonna hit the high seas, I’m gonna need someone who knows how to take care of this robot arm along for the ride. I’m still gettin’ the hang of it.”

“Y-you mean… you want me to come!?” Ford asked hopefully.

“No I mean McGucket.” Stan said flatly, rolling his eyes again. “Of course I want you to come, genius!”

Ford gaped at his brother for a moment before shoving him playfully, “You’re the worst!”

“I’m the worst!? You’re the worst for making me feel like a rakkpod for jokin’ with you! Why d’you gotta be so sincere?”

The two brothers re-entered the party, their arms around each other’s shoulder.

“If I could have everyone’s attention!” Ford shouted. “I’d like to officially announce my retirement!” He declared once the crowd had died down, “My brother and I have some catching up to do, so we’re leaving on a voyage, and probably won’t be back for quite some time.”

“Woohoo!” One of the teens cheered, “No physics class this year!”

“B-but what about the repair shop?” Soos stammered. “What about preparing young minds to be the scientists of tomorrow?”

“I’m sorry, Soos, but I only ever started teaching and running the repair shop so I would have a steady income while I was working on the portal. Now that Stan and I are together again… I don’t really have any reason to keep it up.”

Soos looked defeated.

“But school starts in two weeks and we’ll need a physics teacher!” A member of the school board complained.

Ford looked at Soos knowingly. “I think I know someone who could take my place.”

“Wh-me?” Soos asked incredulously. “I haven’t even got my degree yet!”

“You should be able to get an emergency teaching licensure.” Ford reasoned. “That’s how I got hired on full-time.”

“But-but you’ve got a doctorate.” Soos protested.

“Soos, you’re much better with people, and especially teens, than I ever was. And you know more than enough to teach high school. I think you’re the perfect man for the job.”

“We’ll see what the school district has to say about that.” The school board member called from the crowd.

A small group of friends and family gathered at the bus stop the next day in the early afternoon. Mabel and Dipper were all packed up and ready to go. Well, as ready as they’d ever be.

“Thanks for wearing my goodbye sweaters.” Mabel complimented her Grunkles. The elder twins were decked out in matching sweaters: Ford’s a deep blue, Stan’s maroon.

“Eh, it’s cold out, I had to.” Stan grunted.

“It’s over eighty degrees out here, Stanley.” Ford teased him. Stan responded by elbowing him playfully.

Dipper and Wendy said their goodbyes and switched hats just before the bus arrived, the ginger teen slipping him a letter as he walked away.

“Looks like we’ve said goodbye to everybody, except…” Mabel looked back at her pig sadly, “Waddles.” She got down on her knees and petted him sadly. “I don’t know how to explain this to you but… Mom and Dad won’t let be bring a pig home to California, so… you have to stay here!”

She got up to leave, but the pig playfully nipped at her skirt. The girl tried to push him away, tears streaming down her face.

Ford frowned. “Mabel, I think you should take him home with you.”

“But--”

“You’re parents will be surprised to find how easy a pet pig is to take care of. Pigs are actually very clean, certainly cleaner than that cat you have, and they don’t need that much space. I’m sure they’d be happy to have another pet! And if not, well, you can tell them it was my idea.”

“Are you sure?” Dipper asked warily, “Mom was pretty mad when she found out you’d offered to let us stay here without asking her first.”

“I’ll take my chances.” The old man assured them.

“Now hold on!” The bus driver protested, “Bringing unauthorized animals aboard a moving vehicle is strictly prohibited!”

Ford not so subtly pulled out his crossbow, and Stan charged up the blaster in his arm.

“Uh… but this, heh, is obviously a service animal, so it’s ok!” The driver chuckled nervously.

The kids gave one last goodbye hug to Stan, and then to Ford.

“I hope you know I’m not exaggerating when I say you two have changed my life.” The old researcher said fondly. “I… I don’t know how I could ever thank you enough…”

“We love you too, Grunkle Ford.” Mabel sniffed back a few tears.

Finally, they’d run out of ways to stall. It was time for the kids to get on that bus.

“Ready to head into the unknown?” Dipper asked.

“Nope.” Mabel said honestly. “Let’s do it anyway!”

Ford and the others ran along the road, waving goodbye until the bus rounded the corner and drove out of sight. The old researcher felt like a piece of his heart was leaving with them. It must have shown on his face, because just a second later, he felt Stan patting him on the shoulder.

“Yeah, I’m gonna miss ‘em too.” the old con man said sincerely, “But hey, it’s not like we’re never gonna see ‘em again, right?”

Ford smiled. This pain in his heart was nothing compared to the joy of having his brother back. “You’re right.”

“Heh, somebody stop the presses.” Stan chuckled. “Now come on Sixer, we’ve got an adventure of our own to start!”

#Gravity Falls #Stanswap Au #Reverse Portal AU #Fanfiction #Take back the Falls #My Writing