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hottestthingalive · 3 years

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just want to extend my sincerest well-wishes to folks living in new england right now. if henri remains a hurricane and makes landfall in new england, it will be the first hurricane to do so in thirty years. in the past few decades, tropical storms and super storms (even the ones where new england only got bands of the storm and never entered the eye) have been enough to devastate the area. speaking from experience, a hurricane is a very different beast, especially in the path of the eye, and henri is predicted to possibly generate tornadoes as well. it’s also happening near a full moon, meaning tides are already high and flooding risks are huge. this is far more serious than many folks are taking it to be.

if you live in the predicted path of henri, please treat this seriously. a hurricane, even a category one, is enough to cause massive amounts of destruction, especially in areas unprepared for such weather conditions like new england. i’m hoping for the best, but i advise all of you to prepare for the worst. have necessary supplies like food, clean water, medication and lanterns stocked and ready, charge all electronic devices now, get gas for cars, generators, stoves, etc. beforehand, and do whatever else you can think of. there’s not much time left to prepare, so here’s a checklist for how to be as safe during the storm as possible:

-make sure you, your family, your pets, and anyone else in your household stay in one area, preferably a single room, as a sort of base. this room should have as few non-reinforced doors, windows, or walls as possible. if you are living in a house, do not go in the basement unless necessary (while the walls are likely more reinforced, it will be more easily flooded) but try to also avoid upper floors unless necessary, as branches and trees falling on or into them is a huge risk, not to mention well tornadoes. if you are living in an apartment, try to stay in a room with as few windows as possible, towards the middle of the apartment or wherever would be most stable in an emergency. in both scenarios, i’d advise bathrooms as generally good bases.

-keep the majority of your supplies in this room with you, including food, water and sleeping materials. ideally, you should be able to stay in this room without leaving it for hours at a time.

-pack go-bags, and keep your stuff organized and ready to tranport. if things get really dire, you will want everything easily moveable, even if you aren’t leaving the house: moving upstairs if your home begins to flood is far easier and safer if you can grab everything in one go instead of having to pack it all up.

-keep valuables in plastic bags. if you’re especially worried, use more than one bag and air-tight containers. make sure they’re still easily transportable, though, and have them packed up at all times. if possible, do this with electronic devices early on: you will not want your phone to die if you lose power, so you should not be using it for any reason but an emergency until you have a guaranteed way to charge it again.

-have an evacuation/escape plan. if things get bad, know where you’re going and how to get there. make sure all paths to your home’s exits are completely clear of obstacles. monitor your state’s policies on the matter of evacuation. if you’re told to evacuate, even if it is beautiful and sunny outside and seems completely fine, do so immediately. if you have to take a car and your tires are worn or not good for driving on slick surfaces, see if you can change them or get another vehicle beforehand. new yorkers and other city dwellers, do not use the subway or other below-ground transport under any circumstances until you know for certain they are completely safe or unless you have absolutely no choice in the matter. however, you should be aiming to avoid moving from your home after the storm starts until it ends: travel is extremely dangerous during hurricanes, and you want to stay in one place for as long as it is possible.

-have money withdrawn from your bank in cash, and keep it on you. make sure your important documents (passports, id, social security card, licenses) are all accessible and safe as well.

-make sure you are able to eat and drink and are doing so. if you will not have safe access to a stove during the storms, make sure you have food with you that does not require such preparation. you should also always have water, medication, and other necessary survival items with you whenever possible.

-if you have a car, make sure it’s not under any branches or structures that could fall on it during the storm. also, try and ensure it is on stable ground and is steady in place even when not braked. if you have immediate, obvious evidence to support the belief that your car could be moved or damaged during the storm, it is not in a safe space. if it is in a garage, ensure it is fully closed up and that the path to it is clear and, if you must enter the garage, try to use side doors or the like.

-do not go out in the storm, even if you think it is abating or gone, until you have full confirmation that it is. if you end up in the path of the eye, remember that the eyewall is a circle: the relative calm in the eye is a prelude to a second round of terrible winds. in your place, i would genuinely not risk going outside until at least 1-3 hours of little to no rain and wind had occurred on Monday (as many predictions expect the storm to last until Monday morning). staying inside is almost always safest.

-tornadoes in hurricanes are dangerous and unpredictable. if you suspect one to be nearby or passing overhead, stay away from all windows and outer doors and walls, and try to hunker down.

-if any property of yours is damaged outside, even if it is your car or house, do not go outside to deal with it until the storm is over unless that damage actively threatens your safety. if your chimney is blown off but no water is entering your fireplace and your roof seems intact, stay inside: however, if a tree breaks through a window, wall or roof and allows wind and rain to enter, address it immediately, although try to do so from inside when possible.

-use ‘oxygen mask on an airplane’ logic. your own safety needs to be your first priority, and then that of your housemates, and then that of anyone else. you are in pure survival mode, and odds are that playing at heroism or martyrism will not only actively endanger you but those around you as well.

-bring a book, a sketchbook, cards, or other forms of entertainment into your base: you’re gonna be waiting out this storm for a while. i’d advise not trying to sleep through the worst parts of the storm unless you have someone on watch, though: you do not want to be caught unawares by flooding or damages. i would also not advise using electronic devices that you may need in an emergency for entertainment (which includes anything that could be used to contact emergency services, even ipads or the like) although things like cd players are viable options. if you have a radio, use it to monitor alerts, and only use it for entertainment if you can be absolutely positive that you can recharge it (via batteries, for example).

if anyone has anything else, please add it. to sum this all up, though:

don’t take risks, be smart, and be safe. you can do this. i believe in you.

#hurricane henri #cinder communicates

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everythingsinred · 3 years

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Let's Talk About NatsuMikan: Natsume (pt. 24)

Hello, friends. The story is rapidly approaching an end. I imagine I'll only be posting for another couple weeks (maybe three at the most) before this essay draws to a close.

Last night we wrapped up the Time Travel Arc. Now we return to the larger parent arc, the Escape Arc. Mikan has made up her mind to escape the school with her mother, and although this breaks Natsume's heart, he'll do all he can to get her out safely without at all complaining. If she's leaving for good, then the only thing that matters to him for the next little bit is keeping her as safe as possible. After that, he's resigned himself to a lonely and imminent death... And then Mikan has an epiphany.

Chapter One Hundred Twenty-Four

They’re finally all back in the present. The room they left is now empty, and they wonder what happened. Undoubtedly the situation is more pressing than ever.

Mikan is concerned about everyone’s safety, but Natsume makes it clear that the priority is making sure she can make it out of the academy with her mother. If she’s going to leave, then he will do everything he can to make sure the process goes as smoothly and safely for her as possible. Her concerns about everyone else have no place here when everyone’s dreams and futures are threatened by the ESP if he ever gets his hands on Mikan’s alices. Besides, his happiness and safety always come dead last to him. He’d act and speak this way, even if it was only Mikan’s well-being on the line.

He will protect her no matter what happens, he says. That’s his priority. This is no different than the way he’s been living for the last year or so.

Yeah, there's the whole thing with the school and protecting the student body and stopping the ESP but Mikan is his priority always.

Everyone else agrees, and Mikan is outvoted. She comes first now.

Chapter One Hundred and Twenty-Seven

Mikan and her friends run into a horde of students, either controlled by Luna’s alice or afraid that they’ll end up being controlled or punished. They all move to attack Mikan in particular, to capture her because maybe they’ll even be rewarded for it.

This is a mistake, because Natsume will not allow anything to happen to her. He uses his alice to fend off the students, but his fire takes a strange shape, unlike anything he’s ever made before. His ability to manipulate the shape better than ever is a result of the stone Mikan inserted into him, which Tsubasa theorizes is psychokinesis.

Ruka pleads with him to stop, concerned about Natsume’s health the more he uses his alice. He immediately stops on the behest of his best friend, but then he uses his new alice to pull everyone over closer to him. Mikan specifically flies into his arms, where he wanted her. He’s able to catch her, whereas the others land on their heads. Now that they’re safer, he tells her to teleport them.

Who cares where the rest of them land? They can deal with it on their own.

Tsubasa comments that this extra power makes Natsume feel like more of a man, more powerful. This isn’t a farfetched theory. We know how much Natsume wants to grow up, to have power. Now that he has this extra alice, he’s more useful than he already was, and that naturally translates into some extra confidence.

Another thing is that Natsume is putting his all into getting Mikan out safe. He’s willing to expend all his energy and alice in order to accomplish his goal. Adding on to that, he knows he won’t see her again after this. He can hold on for a little longer, but to survive the unknowable amount of years before he can see her again? Unlikely. He doubted he’d even be able to graduate, let alone be on standby for possibly a decade and maybe even more. He has no reason to believe he’ll make it. So he keeps her close now. He’ll be right by her side ‘til the very end, take advantage of every touch and interaction he can. So even if everyone else collapses onto the ground after he uses his extra alice, Mikan will land safely in his arms.

Chapter One Hundred and Twenty-Nine

Natsume may have spared Nobara earlier, but he still doesn’t really trust her. She’s been acting weird this whole time and he’s suspicious. When they have a moment, he confronts her, warning her that if she sells them out to Persona, he won’t go easy on her. After all, to him, she’s still the girl who’s always been Persona’s little pet.

But Nobara doesn’t want to sell them out. She wants to stop Persona and her DA friends from hurting the cause and themselves. She wants to stop them so they don’t become a part of the fight.

She stands back so she doesn’t teleport again with the rest of them. She wants to do this for Mikan.

Mikan doesn’t understand. She’s concerned that she left Nobara behind, so she says she’ll go back to get her, but Natsume stops her. She needs to allow Nobara to make her own choice. Even if Mikan doesn’t get it, the only thing that matters is their original mission. Nothing will change that. He won’t be strayed from it, no matter what obstacles come their way. Nobara made the choice, and she’s the best person to confront the DA class. The rest of them should allow her to do as she wants.

They move forward, and Natsume keeps back when he feels his coughing fit coming on. Now that everything is dire, he definitely doesn’t want to slow things down by worrying people with his body. He worries that he won’t be able to properly protect Mikan, considering the shape he’s in, but he would never say that out loud.

Death creeps ever closer... Why isn't he ever concerned for himself?

Even more, Nobara stressed before she left that Natsume was the most important person to stay by Mikan's side, that he should protect her to the end. Though he wouldn't be so bold to say that about himself, he wants to stay 'til the end. But the fact that he might die at any moment doesn't reassure him. However, any insecurities or fears he has must stay in his mind. He wants to be strong for Mikan, to accomplish their goal and keep her safe. He’s pushed any and all feelings of his own out the window. All that matters is their goal.

He can die afterwards.

Chapter One Hundred and Thirty-Four

Mikan needs to go to her mother. She and Ruka are to teleport to Yuka, since Ruka has the barrier alice and he can keep her safe. The rest of them are going to hold off the Fuukitai and other enemies. There’s really no time for heartfelt goodbyes. Natsume might never see Mikan again, but he turns away because there’s no time for anything else. He will fight off the enemies to keep her safe. That’s what he can do. Anything else will just waste precious time.

Except that Mikan has the telepathy alice now. She’s mostly kept it a secret, sharing it with Hotaru and nobody else.

Natsume can stay silent all he wants, but his heart and mind are racing with thoughts and feelings. She couldn’t ignore it if she wanted to. It’s not the time to be lollygagging. She has to get going, and everyone is urging her to move on and teleport with Ruka, but she’s hesitating.

And then Natsume hears it too. She’s saying it back, telepathically, that she loves him too.

Terrible timing, Mikan. You had all night to say it back! (joking)

It’s all he’s never allowed himself to want to hear. Something that would only happen in a delusional fantasy world. Mikan may care about him, to some degree, but he’d never expected she would love him back. She should love Ruka, who is kind and polite, or literally anybody else. He’s always had to push her away, and even if she saw through his insults to see what he really meant, he still wouldn’t be good enough. He can’t be with her, because his life is running out. He shouldn’t be with her, because all he will do is cause her more pain. He’ll never be with her, because he doesn’t deserve to be. He won’t be with her, because she’s running away with her mother and he’ll never see her again.

But she loves him too anyway.

Despite every insult and attempt to keep his distance. Despite their beginnings of mutual disdain. Despite how he’s said he hated everything about her, about how he wanted her out of his sight. Despite acting like she was a pest and nothing more than an annoyance. Despite everything he did, she somehow still loves him.

It’s the worst thing to ever happen to him, to stand there and hear her saying that in his mind and then watch her disappear forever.

He’s said it out loud only one time. He confessed with his kiss at Christmas, with his alice stone, with the borrowing race, with his speech to the ESP. He’s confessed with every time he got in front of her to protect her, with every cruel word forced out of him by the higher ups, with every smile he had just for her.

Now she finally said it back and it’s too late for anything. He can’t kiss her and show her how much he means it, how much it isn’t just hype over nothing. He can’t tell her he loves her to her face and with his whole chest. He can’t take her by the hand and run away with her. He can’t live happily ever after with her.

That was all okay before, when it was just him who was suffering. So his life would be lonely and short. Okay. Who cares? But now he knows she wants all that too.

He’s miserable. He calls out to her but it’s too late. She’s gone now and all he can do is fight the enemies who want to threaten her security.

Natsume has been left behind with Tono and Tsubasa to fight as hard as they can against the Fuukitai. When they finally get away for a moment, Tono tells them to fight for the girls they love. Tsubasa and Natsume both berate him for this, because who was he talking about? Tono argues it wasn’t about him; he was just trying to cheer the two up after they had to break apart from their girls.

Natsume is clearly in emotional turmoil, but he frequently is, so he doesn’t let it show a lot. He may threaten Tono with his alice or tease him with Tsubasa like all is normal, but it’s not. His current circumstances couldn’t be any worse unless Mikan were in danger, and he’s doing everything he can to keep that from happening.

Tono finally admits that he’s been nervous this whole time because Noda is probably the traitor among them, but Natsume realizes the truth: It’s Goshima.

Tsubasa and Tono are going to try and find Goshima, who has the key Yuka and Mikan need to escape. They also need someone to go and tell them that Goshima can’t be trusted, and Tono wants Natsume to do it.

Chapter One Hundred and Thirty-Five

Tono is urging Natsume to go and tell Mikan about Goshima, to go protect her. Naturally, he doesn’t hesitate before taking off. Any excuse to see her again and keep her safe is enough for him.

Tsubasa doesn’t understand why Tono sent him off, though, since Natsume is in such bad shape. Having him run and exert himself further seems wrong.

I just want him to be happy. Is that really so much to ask?

Tono puts it all into perspective. It had to be Natsume. The kid was in a state of absolute misery, even knowing his love is requited and perhaps because of it. He can never see Mikan again. His life will end. The rest of them can talk about decades and decades into the future and still be sure that they will meet Mikan again, but it’s clear that Natsume won’t make it that far. As Tono puts it, it’s important that Natsume has a chance to see her for the last time, to say good-bye properly.

Natsume would go to her no matter what, too, and he does, running with all his might to find her, even though he’s coughing and his body is breaking.

He will use his alice and do anything he can to find her and tell her and keep her safe, and they finally meet again.

He’s standing over the bodies of enemies that he’s just defeated for her, and he finally has a chance to say the good-bye he thought he’d never get.

There are other things that need to be said, but he might not have a chance to say his feelings again if he doesn’t take the opportunity now. He’s sad, because no matter what, their story will end soon. But this is more than he could’ve asked for.

But all of the words that should come out of his mouth don’t. He doesn’t talk about the traitor. He doesn’t tell her he loves her to her face. He doesn’t say anything except her name. None of the feelings he has can be put into words. For the moment he’s speechless.

She is too. She rushes into his arms and they share a quick second of holding each other before they inevitably part forever. The fact that she hugs him might have reminded him that she loves him too. Then again, how could he forget? Either way, he finds the words that were lost to him before.

He’s going to stay with her until the very last second. He won’t leave her or part from her for even a moment again until they have to say good-bye for good.

No, they won't last. She'll leave and he'll die, but they have this moment, even if it's the only thing they'll ever have.

No, he doesn’t mention the traitor even though he was sent to. Natsume very rarely talks about his feelings, but they felt so important this time that he had to say them out loud.

Chapter One Hundred and Thirty-Six

Even though Natsume didn’t say it to Mikan, Shiki got the information from him via telepathy and then conveyed the information to Yuka.

Now that Yuka and Mikan are reunited, they can all go to see them off, fighting Fuukitai and Luna along the way. Narumi and Mikan are trapped in an enemy’s ice alice for a moment, until Natsume melts the ice and takes Mikan’s hand. He wasn’t joking about staying by her side until the very end.

Until the very last moment.

Sure, she needed to reunite with her mother and Narumi, but they’ll be spending forever with her after this night. He only has these next few minutes. He’ll be the one to take her by the hand until he has no choice but to let go. Until then, he will stay by her side.

Lucky for them, Yuka’s plan to wait until the last moment for the key so they can leave with Naru panned out. “Tsubasa” arrives with the key and hands it off. There’s no time to waste; Yuka rushes to open the warp-hole but all that comes from it is an explosion.

Chapter One Hundred and Thirty-Seven

Yuka and Narumi were caught in the blast. Yuka shielded Narumi with her body and took the brunt of the hit. She’s now in critical condition.

No hesitation. That's his only keepsake from his mother, his only reprieve from endless pain, but he'll give it Yuka because he can't not give it to her.

Natsume doesn’t hesitate, and he gives Mikan the healing alice stone that his mother got from Yuka. Yuka is Mikan’s mother. Her death would be crushing for Mikan, who’s already had to face so much trauma from watching her father die too. This all was about getting Mikan and Yuka out safely, and all that effort would be in vain if Yuka dies. And after Natsume has seen everything that happened in the past, he respects Yuka too. All Yuka has ever done is suffer, just like he has. To simply die after all that--he doesn’t want that either. Yuka gave his mother that alice stone, something that brought him a little reprieve whenever he had a coughing fit or felt ill. The least he can do now is give it back.

But it doesn’t work. It’s not enough. Yuka has enough time before her death to hug Mikan and apologize to Luna, but then her heart stops.

Chapter One Hundred and Thirty-Eight

The ESP arrives to break the period of mourning. Luna can’t believe that he would orchestrate this, but it’s not much of a surprise to anyone else. The “Tsubasa” decoy reveals himself to be Goshima, who holds Mikan by the wrists. The ESP only needed one person with the stealing alice. Yuka had become extendable, so he eliminated her.

Goshima goes to surrender Mikan to the ESP, but she fights, and Natsume moves to fight too, because that’s his girlfriend and he promised he would keep her safe. But the ESP always has the barrier alice cast on him, always protected, even from Natsume’s strong alice. Even Natsume can’t help Mikan now.

But Shiki breaks the ESP’s barrier and Mikan rushes to her friends’ side.

Z is invading the school and threatening to take the students captive. The MSP needs her successor, Shiki to be appointed so that he can protect the school with his barrier alice. The ESP is in a bind. Shiki can either run away with Mikan as Yuka had intended to, or he will agree to stay and act as the MSP to protect the school.

Conclusion

God this arc is a mess when all you want are the NM moments. How dare they be so scattered! Anyways, Natsume now knows that Mikan loves him too, romantically, but everything has been upside down for a while, specifically tonight, so the future doesn't look bright. In the next part, we'll talk about how Natsume feels about being separated from Mikan when she's locked away.

Sorry this is late. I'm not in a fantastic mood today which affected my motivation. I shoved a bunch of content in here and it might be too much. I don't know. There wasn't a clear way I could cut it into multiple parts without them being choppy and short as hell. I just wanted to get to the next part because this arc was stressing me out.

In any case, I feel like crap right now emotionally, because this day was very draining. I'll try to post tomorrow at a reasonable time. Thank you for reading.

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#gakuen alice #alice academy #hyuuga natsume #natsume hyuuga #natsumikan #sakura mikan #mikan sakura #my meta #ga #mine #ga meta #ga meta: nm #ga meta: manga #ga meta: manga nm #let's talk about natsumikan #let's talk about natsumikan: natsume #run by snow patrol for ur natsumikan song needs #for the last little while its been hard to motivate myself to do this essay when i feel so horrible #i want to NOT feel like this and focus on natsumikan bc they make me so happy but its been really hard #please have patience with me #bully @thesightofworms into paying more attention to me and my mood will improve. this is all her fault for abandoning me #none of this is nm related im sorry for venting here #please have a nice happy day #sry if theres issues here #sorry if it seems rushed. tbh the editing and formatting WAS bc i wanted to post and i felt Bad.#i dont think ill be fixing anything too major so apologies in advance

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kylermalloy · 2 years

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Motel California rewatch!

I actually got excited about watching this episode so here are my liveblog thoughts on it.

K all the shade they’re throwing at this motel when it looks like a lot of motels I stayed in growing up…

Wait, if Scott hasn’t seen Star Wars he shouldn’t have gotten Stiles’s Yoda reference in s1. An Obi-Wan reference is about on par with that. I hate inconsistencies in my MTV scripted shows!

Chris Argent: *lays palm on the ground* something terrible happened here…

This is why Stiles is the best character. “Yeah Boyd just punched through the vending machine glass and didn’t say a word. That’s all kind of unsettling, but I’m still gonna grab a few snacks before running off scared.”

Allison’s “ssslightly naked” is such good delivery. She sells this really creeped-out vibe very well.

The dialogue in this show is…charmingly quirky. “We’re not gonna be on the top of anyone’s list for customer satisfaction” nobody talks like that! Nobody would say that. It’s kinda cute though, in a weird way. Feeds my pedantic self. Thanks, Jeff!

Derek’s scenes are so out of place in this ep. And emblematic of the show’s overall Derek problem

Jennifer sweetheart. His incredible physique? Your first date? Again, not things people say! Especially in such dire circumstances.

I can’t believe Lydia overheard the ending of The Originals in the other motel room

I always look for screaming faces in wood panels too (I’m not even joking)

Also I love how the mystery of this place is never solved. Never explained. It could have something to do with the Darach, but it’s not confirmed or even likely. This is just…a creepy place.

Hi Isaac, your acting talents are almost completely wasted here. Daniel plays vulnerable very well.

Stydia crumbs my beloved 😊 (Need to talk. Just you.)

Is Ethan…threatening Danny? “I really hope you are (a survivor).”

Honestly, Stiles, no. This is nothing like when Lydia poisoned everyone with wolfsbane. No one tried to kill themselves or even hurt anyone else.

Boyd’s unknown backstory…

Out of place in a scene where Lydia’s hearing a murder/suicide involving an infant, but her dress is insanely cute

Stydia detectives!

But guys…his feet…aren’t underwater…

I’ll bet Stiles really enjoyed singeing Isaac (why do they hate each other? It doesn’t matter, it’s funny)

What did they mean to tell us by Scott saying “there’s no hope for Derek” then cutting to Derek getting laid

(Sorry Hoechlin, I’m still not impressed by your bod—or your acting)

Honestly why were we robbed of a proper Sciles hug here

Another suicide pact!

Lydia tackles two fully grown men—I mean, two clearly teenage boys—

Coach: *lays a palm on the bus* A red sun rises. Blood was spilled last night.

I forgot about the wolfsbane in the whistle at the end and I’m choosing to continue to ignore it

Oh hi Gerard, I forgot you were in this

In 1977? Deucalion would have been, like, a teenager? At most?

(Why did I say I loved this episode and then spend the whole time nitpicking it??)

#teen wolf #motel california #kylerrambles #if you were expecting coherent thoughts you came to the wrong place #this is just me being…not even funny #just my weird self #they should’ve done more eps like this

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robininthelabyrinth · 4 years

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How will nmy react to a memory loss jgy how think himself a nie scet member ?

There were murmurs around him when he first started waking up.

“– last few times – appears he thinks that –”

“– need to avoid any disturbances –”

“ - perhaps pretend -”

“Absolutely not.”

That last one was Sect Leader Nie.

His voice was loud and piercing as always, a general accustomed to needing to make himself heard over the din of battle and never quite having adjusted to situations where it wasn’t needed, and Meng Yao found himself relaxing a little bit just at the sheer familiarity of it. Nie Mingjue was as reliable as the sunrise: once you were one of his people, he’d defend you to the death.

If he was here, Meng Yao was safe.

He went back to sleep.

The next time he woke up, the room was empty but for Sect Leader Nie, who was sitting at the desk doing paperwork. Probably paperwork that Meng Yao should be doing, but for the injury that must have led to all of this – he didn’t remember it at all, but short-term amnesia was a common side effect of certain injuries, and his head was wrapped in bandages.

Still, he struggled to sit up. “Sect Leader Nie,” he called, and Sect Leader Nie’s shoulders tensed. “If you want my help –”

“You should be resting,” Sect Leader Nie said. He was staring at the wall in front of him instead of turning back to look at Meng Yao – a sign of guilt? Had he been involved in what happened? “Do not trouble yourself.”

“And let you mess up my filing system?” Meng Yao teased lightly, hoping to lighten the mood. “Don’t forget how long it took me to fix the accounts the way I like it –”

“It doesn’t matter.”

Meng Yao paused, then, abruptly concerned: Sect Leader Nie’s shoulders were curved inwards, as if expecting a blow – afraid of pain. Afraid of him?

Impossible.

And yet, at the same time – unmistakable.

“Why doesn’t it matter?” he asked, keeping his voice level. He always kept his voice level, no matter the circumstances; someone certainly had to, and it wasn’t going to be anyone surnamed Nie. “Are you expelling me from your service?”

It was a joke, of course. Nie Mingjue liked him, respected him, valued him – had made it clear a thousand ways that he would never listen to gossip or to slander, would never judge him by who his mother was, and Meng Yao couldn’t imagine what sort of dire mistake would be necessary to make Nie Mingjue refuse to stand by him, even against the world.

“You’re the one who will leave,” Nie Mingjue said, his voice cutting, but then the anger flowed out of his shoulders and he sighed, closing his eyes, as if he had mistakenly become angry over the wrong thing. “It is not that I didn’t know that your ambitions had always been with Lanling, not Qinghe.”

Bile and panic rose up Meng Yao’s throat, but what could he say?

It was true. He had come to Qinghe because he had heard that they respected talent there, regardless of birth; he had come because he had needed a place to rise to prominence, where he could become so respectable that even his father would be unable to ignore him.

Qinghe had always been a waystation, not a destination.

Or, if one wanted to look at it with less kindness – he had treated it as a stepping-stone.

Had Nie Mingjue discovered how Meng Yao had schemed to get his attention, his sympathy? The little tricks he’d played to get him to agree to take a chance on an unknown, all the ways he’d wormed his way into the man’s life so that it would be impossible to extract him without damage? Or was it something more recent, something hidden away in his lost memories – had his father asked him to betray some confidence of Nie Mingjue’s? Turn over some information, take some secret action…had he done it?

Was that why Nie Mingjue didn’t want to look at him?

“Sect Leader Nie…”

“I’m not supposed to talk to you about it,” Nie Mingjue said bluntly. “The doctors told me to play along, pretend not to…I told them trying to hide it from you was pointless, that you were too smart, that you’d figure it out – I assume you have by now?”

“I’ve lost my memory,” Meng Yao said. He was shivering, and it wasn’t cold. “I woke up and the doctors realized that I’d forgotten a great deal, so they wanted you not to cause me any disturbance…how much time have I lost?”

“The war is over,” Nie Mingjue said, and surely that should be cause for celebration? But Nie Mingjue’s voice was flat and neutral, as if some terrible thing had happened, and his fists were clenched in rage. “You have been recognized by the Jin sect, and now live in Lanling. I cannot speak to the quality of your life, or to your happiness, but you have at least achieved that much.”

It was not that Meng Yao thought he’d be happy in Lanling – it was that he hadn’t thought he’d be happy anywhere, and found to his surprise that Qinghe actually did make him happy. It wasn’t supposed to, nothing was supposed to; it was all supposed to be part of the plan, that was all, a means to an end.

He wasn’t supposed to become fond of Sect Leader Nie, who tried so hard and listened so earnestly; he wasn’t supposed to be friends with Nie Huaisang, a charming waste of space who ought to have been born as a roly-poly kitten instead.

He was supposed to be in Lanling, by his father’s side, and now it appeared he was – and yet the injury he suffered had driven his memories back to his time at Qinghe.

That said something, he thought.

He’d had head injuries before, memory issues, dating back to his childhood; his mother had hired a doctor for him over it, a real one and not some faker, and he’d explained that when injured, Meng Yao’s extraordinary mind would retreat to the place it felt safest, recreating the past out of all those perfectly preserved memories and sinking into it as if it were real. If this injury followed the pattern of the others, there was no need for any treatment beyond time – soon enough, he would start to remember, and reality would gradually reassert itself over fantasy.

In the past, no matter what, his memory would always return to those few months when he was eight years old, when his mother had met a possessive benefactor and they had lived free and easy under his care – it had ended horribly, of course, but at the time he didn’t know that.

This time, his memory had returned to his days in Qinghe.

And Nie Mingjue still wouldn’t look at him.

“What did I do?” he asked.

“You assume that you’ve done something?”

“You don’t want to look at me,” Meng Yao said. A moment of silence, with Nie Mingjue not giving in, stiff and quiet, so he added, quietly, “I warned you in the beginning that I was unworthy of the trust you placed in me.”

In the end, Nie Mingjue turned to look at him. He seemed tired, and his eyes were bloodshot in a way that did not speak well of his health.

“Tell me what I did,” Meng Yao said. “I want to know.”

Nie Mingjue exhaled. “You killed a captain,” he said dully. “Premeditated murder, and you excused it by saying that he had stolen your glory and bullied you; even if it was true, you never once said a word of it to me before, never sought some other means to resolve it. You then defected to the Wen sect, becoming a master torturer and Wen Ruohan’s right hand; you killed my men, tortured me, and then killed him to become a war hero. After that, you were accepted into the Jin sect, and Lan Xichen and I swore brotherhood with you.”

He paused, then, but that was not the end, or else he would not be so angry.

Meng Yao waited, his mind dancing over all the excuses, all the things he could say, belated justifications, things that would cast him in a good light, a better light – what Nie Mingjue had described was obviously a problem, but not an insoluble one, and his future self should have known that. He could still fix this.

But to fix it, he needed to know the full extent of his crimes first.

“My qi became disordered after the war,” Nie Mingjue finally said, continuing. “Lan Xichen proposed a treatment: a Lan melody known as the Song of Clarity. But he is busy, so you took on the responsibility of playing for me…”

No, Meng Yao thought. No.

But at once he knew where the story led, even before the telling of it was done. A story that started with premeditated murder, however his future self had justified it to himself, could only end with the same –

Why would he do something like that? Perhaps because Nie Mingjue turned away from him after the first murder, as he ought to have known he would – Nie Mingjue tried so hard, and thought everyone else did, too; the glimpse at what Meng Yao was really like, the creature of spite and bitterness and hatred, willing to kill the filthy way, hidden in the dark…it would have come as a shock to him.

And yet his former self had obviously salvaged it, somehow; Nie Mingjue had agreed to swear brotherhood with him, to make up with him, to treat him as an equal, and still he –

Surely no prize could be worth this.

“Do you know why I did it?” he asked quietly, staring down at his own clenched fists, hating iron for not being steel. His damaged mind was telling him that what he had had in Qinghe was dearer to him than his own mother, and he had nearly destroyed it with his own two hands.

“The Nie sect and the Jin sect are at a crossroads,” Nie Mingjue said, and at last, at last Meng Yao recognized the flatness of his tone and the lack of visible signs of fury as the signs of medicine, the sluggish pain relief that could help stymie an incipient qi deviation. The poisonous song he played must have come very near to working. “Jin Guangshan wants the title of Chief Cultivator; I think there should be none. Jin Guangshan protects Xue Yang even after he murdered an entire clan; I think he deserves to die – I asked you for his head, and you promised it to me…you never intended to deliver. There can be only one sect ascendant, and you are, as much as he hates it, your father’s heir.”

His heir. Had he done something to Jin Zixuan, then? Unsatisfied with only the name he had promised himself he would obtain, had he coveted the power, too, and sought to achieve it by any means possible?

If he had reached the point of being willing to murder Nie Mingjue, then surely he had done that, too.

“I bashed your head in,” Nie Mingjue said conversationally. “During the deviation that you provoked. Lan Xichen stopped me from actually killing you, and from dying myself, and then you awoke without any memory of what you’d done, calling yourself Meng Yao again as if you were still – as if you still –”

Someone had asked Nie Mingjue to come in here and pretend, Meng Yao realized, and with a start realized also that he was furious about it. Someone had told him to come in here and play pretend with his would-be murderer as if they were still friends.

It might even have been Lan Xichen who’d done it.

There were tears on Nie Mingjue’s cheeks. He did not wipe them away the way Nie Huaisang would have, trying to hide his pain; he only let them fall, his eyes sliding shut once more – he could not look at Meng Yao, and Meng Yao couldn’t blame him.

“I wish I could go back,” he said, and Nie Mingjue opened his eyes to look at him. “Before I made those decisions. I wish I was still Meng Yao, and could do things differently. Is it too late for that?”

With anyone else, he would know the answer already. With anyone else, he wouldn’t have asked.

With anyone else, his mind would still be back in those wonderful days of being eight and alone with his mother for the very first time and last time.

“How can I ever trust you again?” Nie Mingjue asked, shaking his head in denial. “You drove me into a qi deviation – you wanted to kill me, knowing it would leave Huaisang the position of sect leader, knowing how cruel a death it was –”

“Is it too late?”

This was not something that could be repaired easily, with words and a gentle smile. This would take action and sacrifice. But before he committed himself, he had to know if it were even possible.

If Nie Mingjue could still forgive him, even now –

If he was still one of Nie Mingjue’s people, to be defended until death.

Nie Mingjue abruptly stood up, unsteady on his feet, clearly still ill – if I am half the murderer that I appear to be in his stories, I will kill those doctors who prioritized my health, this farce, over his, and if Lan Xichen was involved I will make it clear to him what wrong he has done – and shook his head, but this time it was not a denial.

“I never know what to do with you,” he said, and it was not a no.

It was not a no.

Jin Guangyao smiled.

(At the trial, which happened eventually, Nie Mingjue spoke in his favor, and his would-be murderer was remanded into the custody of Qinghe for whatever punishment they saw fit. It didn’t last long, but it was an excellent alibi for his father’s untimely death, even though it did not solve all the questions that lingered in Nie Mingjue’s eyes. But that, too, was not an insoluble problem.)

#mdzs #meng yao #jin guangyao #nie mingjue #my fic #my fics #Anonymous

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pianomanblaine · 3 years

Text

Be My Guest

AO3 FFN

This had been a horrible mistake. She had known it from the start, and the blinding flash of lightning followed closely by the loud rumble of thunder overhead only confirmed it. Her father should have listened to her when she suggested staying another night at the inn, but they were nearly out of money and had already stayed in the same village longer than they usually would. They needed to move on to a new place where their music would be received by a fresh, hopefully well-paying audience. Gustave hoped to find that in Paris and so he had convinced his daughter not to postpone their departure any longer, despite his deteriorating health. He insisted it was merely a cold and it would pass soon enough. Christine suspected he was in much worse condition than he claimed to be, but Gustave Daaé was a stubborn man.

When they passed through a small village around midday and the sky was looking darker and more ominous by the minute, Christine once again tried to persuade her father to rest there and travel on the next morning. Gustave would not hear of it. He was convinced that if they pushed on now, they could make it to the city before nightfall. Apparently he refused to see that the weather was about to take a turn for the worse.

Three hours later, they were caught in a downpour, with no village, house or farm in sight. They were both soaked to the skin and freezing. Gustave was exhausted. He could not take ten steps without bursting into another bout of coughing. If they did not find shelter from the storm soon, Christine feared her father might not make it through the night.

Maybe if they had gone left at the last fork in the road instead of right, they would have found a place to stay by now, but they had come too far to turn back. She was growing truly desperate. Someone had to be living around here. There had to be someone who could help them. She could not lose her father like this.

Christine did not believe in miracles, and yet that is exactly what it felt like when they rounded the bend in the road and found that the path they were on led straight to a grand solitary estate. They followed the long lane flanked with beech trees to a large wrought iron gate, behind which lay a manor surrounded by vast, well-tended gardens. At first Christine feared that the gate was closed and that they had come all this way in vain, but with a firm shove the gate gave way.

“We’re saved, papa,” Christine sighed in relief. He was so weakened by now that he could not walk without leaning on his daughter, her arm wrapped tightly around his waist to support most of his weight. In her other hand she carried the most valuable thing they owned: her father’s violin, while the rest of their meagre belongings were tied together in a bag strapped to her back. She was cold and wet and tired, and all that weight she was carrying did nothing to improve matters. If they had not come across the manor, she did not know how much longer she would have been able to go on herself.

She almost had to drag her father towards the entrance. She was about to put the violin down for a moment so she could reach for the brass knocker when the heavy wooden door in front of her seemed to sway open of its own accord. Entering an unfamiliar house without being invited in was not something Christine would do under normal circumstances, but another loud clap of thunder and the rain still relentlessly pelting down on them urged her inside.

The door closed heavily behind them with a resounding bang, making Christine jump. It was probably just the wind, she told herself. She expected the noise would alert whoever lived here, or perhaps a member of the staff, to their presence, but no one came to see what was going on. She called out, but her ‘hello’ simply echoed off the walls.

The hall they found themselves in was so dark they could not see two steps in front of them. There must be drapes covering the windows, she thought, and there were no lamps or candles to be seen. She realized that if they had to walk around the place looking for someone to help them, she would need at least one hand free to feel around for any obstacles, so she untied the luggage from her back and put it down on the floor together with the violin, hoping it would not be in anybody’s way.

She carefully walked forward, her free arm stretched out in front of her, the other still supporting her father, who was now shivering uncontrollably and still coughing. He needed a doctor as soon as possible, or at the very least a fire to warm himself until a doctor could be summoned.

Determined to find someone to help them, Christine carefully took a few shuffling steps forward, feeling her way across the hall until her hand encountered a wall. The chattering of her teeth increased at the feel of the cold stone beneath her fingers as she followed the wall to her left, and she was relieved beyond measure when after a few moments she could see a small speck of light in the distance. Light meant fire, and fire meant warmth.

As they neared the light, she noticed the room they were about to enter was a very large sitting room. She could see a sofa and an ottoman in front of the fire, but not much else. Since the fire burning in the hearth was the only source of light, the majority of the room was cast in darkness. Not that what the room looked like was of any importance to her at the moment. The only thing she cared about was the roaring fire in front of them.

Father and daughter hurried forward as best as they could in their exhausted state, falling to their knees in front of the fireplace and stretching out their hands towards the flames almost close enough to burn their fingers.

It took a while for the warmth to seep into their skin, but eventually Christine’s teeth stopped chattering and she directed her attention back to her father. His shivering had lessened somewhat, but his face had taken on a sickly pale shade and the coughing simply would not stop. She had to search the rest of the house quickly for someone who could help them and hopefully send for a physician, but her father was too weak to go with her and she did not want to leave him alone in his condition.

While she was considering what to do, she felt a shift in the air around her and knew that someone else had entered the room, although they stayed out of the circle of light around the fireplace, remaining invisible.

“How dare you set foot on my property without my consent?”

A thunderous, bodiless voice boomed around the room. Christine shivered – not because of the cold this time – and instinctively gripped her father’s hand tightly in hers. She looked around her, trying to locate where the voice was coming from, but it did not appear to originate from one particular spot, seemingly coming from everywhere at once.

“Apologies, monsieur, we simply wish –“ Gustave managed to croak before another violent bout of coughing forced him to stop speaking.

“I do not care about your wishes, old man. I am not your fairy godmother,” the man bit out. “You are trespassing. I want you to leave. Now.” His voice emanated power. Despite how cold and tired she was, Christine suddenly felt the urge to do exactly what he told her, almost as if he was compelling her to follow his orders with nothing but his voice, but leaving was not an option.

She could not fault the man, whoever he was, for being angry with them. He was right after all. They had entered his house without permission. Still, how could he turn them away just like that, with the storm still raging outside? And could he not see what poor condition her father was in?

“Please monsieur, we only seek shelter from the storm,” Christine pleaded. “We have nowhere else to go, and my father is terribly ill. If he is not tended to soon, he may die.” Her voice faltered at the last word and she had to take a deep breath to steady herself. “He is all I have. I cannot lose him. Please do not send us away, monsieur, I beg you.”

She did not want to cry in front of this stranger, who would not even do them the courtesy of showing himself, but she felt a sob rising in her throat. If he sent them away now, she would lose the only person she held dear in this world, the only family she had left.

The voice was quiet for a while. Maybe she had finally managed to get through to this man, to make him understand how dire her circumstances were and how much his hospitality would mean to her.

When he spoke again, Christine was sorely disappointed.

“And how would you repay me for my extraordinary kindness if I decided to let you stay for the night?”

Although Christine found the question quite impertinent and was astounded by his lack of sympathy, she was so hopeless that she would do anything the stranger asked of her as long as it meant her father was going to be looked after.

“We do not have much money, but whatever we have is yours – “

“Don’t make me laugh,” the voice interrupted. “Did you not take a moment to appreciate the size of this estate before you so carelessly intruded on my privacy?” He let out a dark chuckle that sent another shiver down her spine. “I do not want for money, child.”

Although his arrogance and condescending tone infuriated her to no end, she could not let it show. However unlikable he may seem, he was her only hope. She needed his help.

“What else can I offer you then, monsieur?”

As soon as the question had left her lips, she regretted it. She could not see his face, but she could hear the taunting grin in his voice as he answered.

“Let me see. What could a beautiful young girl like you have to offer me? I am sure we could think of something.”

Young and innocent she might be, but she was not that naïve. She understood perfectly well what he was insinuating. She had to think of something quickly, before the conversation got completely out of hand, and so she blurted out the first thing that came to mind.

“I – I could sing for you.”

“Sing for me?”

Rather than sounding amused or conceited, his voice now carried a hint of curiosity. She had not expected him to be interested in her voice, but apparently her offer had captured his attention.

“My father and I are travelling musicians, monsieur. He is clearly in no condition to play, but I could still sing, if that would appeal to you.”

He seemed to think it over. For a while, all that could be heard was her father’s wheezing and harsh breathing, along with the sound of the rain beating incessantly against the windows.

Eventually, the voice replied. “Well, let us hear it then.”

Singing a cappella was not something Christine was used to. In normal circumstances her father would accompany her on the violin and she would draw confidence from his wonderful melodies, letting them carry and support her voice, but this time she would have to manage on her own.

She drew a deep, steadying breath and began to sing.

It had not been a conscious decision to sing in Swedish. The repertoire she and her father chose from when performing consisted mostly of French songs, which appealed more to a French audience than music written in a language they could not understand. Yet for whatever reason, this particular song from her home country was the first one that came to mind.

It was a folk song about a young girl who fell in love for the first time, only to realize that the object of her affections was already in love with another woman. Although the story was sad and the melody haunting, the song had always been one of her favourites. Her mother used to sing it to her every night before she went to sleep. It was one of the few things she could still remember about her time in Sweden, when her dear mama was still alive.

After she let the last note die out, the voice remained silent for what felt like an eternity. Perhaps she had offended him somehow. Maybe she should have chosen a French song after all, or a more cheerful one, or maybe he simply was not impressed with her voice. If she had angered him in any way, however unwittingly, he would certainly cast them out and they would be a lost cause.

Eventually the stranger broke the silence. “I have a proposition for you.”

For a moment Christine doubted whether she had heard him correctly. That was not at all what she had expected him to say.

“What sort of proposition?” she inquired.

“I will let you and your father stay here for the night. One of my servants will look after him, and tomorrow morning he will be brought to the private hospital in town, where he will receive the best medical care available. You do not need to worry about the expense, I will take care of everything.”

Could he be serious? Two minutes ago he wanted nothing more than to have them removed from the premises immediately, and now he was offering to pay for her father’s medical care? Could one song have caused such a change of heart? If he truly meant what he said, she would be elated, of course. It would be the answer to all her prayers, but given his earlier behaviour she doubted that he would do all of this simply out of kindness.

“I- I do not understand,” Christine stuttered. “What would be in it for you then?”

“I would expect you to stay here with me for the duration of your father’s stay in hospital. As my guest, my… companion, if you will.”

Her father, who had stayed out of the discussion until now, finally spoke, using the little strength he had left in him to voice his concern.

“No. Christine, you… cannot.” He coughed heavily in between words, heaving for breath, but he went on. “You… do not know him… don’t know… his intentions.”

The voice chuckled, seemingly unconcerned about her father’s struggle to breathe, but rather amused by his protests.

“Ah, I believe I can ease your father’s mind in that respect. I can assure you that no harm will come to you while you stay here, and I can also promise that there will be no… untoward behaviour from my side. I will have my lawyer draw up a contract first thing tomorrow morning. Should you find that any of these conditions are not met, the contract will be rendered void immediately and you will be allowed to leave as soon as you wish.”

How could she refuse such an offer? He was clearly making an effort to ensure her safety, even putting everything on paper so she could leave without repercussions if he did not keep his promises. And most importantly, her father would be cared for. There was still no guarantee that he would survive, but at least he would have a chance. He would receive much better care than what they could afford, and all she had to do in return was move in here, into a house that seemed at least ten times the size of her home back in Sweden. It almost sounded too good to be true. There had to be a catch somewhere.

“What if, for whatever reason, I want to leave before my father has fully recovered?”

“Then you will be allowed to do so, of course,” he replied, “although in that case my payments to the hospital will cease immediately.”

“And what exactly would you expect me to do during my stay here?”

“Nothing out of the ordinary. I do not receive many guests here, so I would simply like you to keep me company for a while. I might ask you to sing for me on occasion. I’m sure that will not be a problem.”

He did not strike her as a very sociable kind of man, so she did not understand why he was so interested in her company. Yet if all he wanted was for her to talk to him and sing a few songs once in a while… That did not sound too bad, did it?

The fact that she was even considering this bizarre proposal was a clear indication of how desperate she really was. She simply could not lose her father, so if this was what she needed to do to save him, she would do it. There was only one more thing she needed to ask before she could accept his offer.

“Will you step into the light? If I am to stay here, I believe I at least have the right to know who I am talking to.”

At first, she thought he had not heard her as he remained out of sight. After a few seconds, however, she could discern movement in the shadows to her right, somewhere between the far wall and the fireplace. Ever so slowly, as if he were afraid of making sudden movements lest he scare her away, a tall, imposing figure stepped forward. Christine could not make out the colour of his eyes from this distance, but it seemed for a moment as if they were glowing in the dark, like those of a cat. It must be the reflection of the fire, she thought.

There was something strange about his face as well. It seemed as if his skin was glistening, but only on the right side. It was not until he was standing right in front of her, within the circle of light cast by the fire, that she understood why: a white mask was covering the right side of his face from his forehead over his nose to his jaw and upper lip. Later she would notice other things about his appearance, like how elegantly dressed he was in his black evening suit and how gracefully he moved. In those first few moments she saw him though, all her focus was on his mask. She wanted to know why he was wearing it, what he was hiding underneath, but she knew asking him would be incredibly rude, as was staring, so she forced her gaze away from his face.

It did not matter what he looked like. Her mind was already made up.

“Very well. I will stay.”

Her father made to protest, but she silenced him with a hand on his shoulder.

“It’s alright, papa. You do not have to worry about me. I will be safe here. All that matters now is that you get better.”

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw another figure enter the room, although she had not heard the man summon anyone. It was a woman who seemed to be about her father’s age.

“Madame Giry,” the man addressed her, “have one of the servants take monsieur…”

“Daaé,” Christine answered his unspoken question. “His name is Gustave Daaé, and I am Christine.”

“Have someone take Monsieur Daaé to the servants’ quarters. That way he will not need to go up any stairs. And have a room prepared for Mademoiselle Daaé.”

Madame Giry nodded her compliance and without another word, the man left the room.

She did not even know his name.

#phantom of the opera #poto fanfic #poto fanfiction #phanfic #phanfiction #e/c #eline writes #my fic #be my guest

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sserpente · 4 years

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A/N: Request from @nebulousfishgills and myself. *giggles* Thomas Sharpe is back in time for Halloween season! Also, this is probably one of the cheesiest Imagines I’ve ever written. Be warned and enjoy!

Words: 2329 Warnings: so much fluff

Thomas Sharpe had stepped into your life rather unexpectedly. He had been looking for work in your brother’s mining company and, thanks to his experience, landed a well-paid job soon after. Your brother liked him. He was the true personification of Britishness—polite, considerate, a Gentleman… and he did love his tea.

Every year when the leaves began to grow too heavy on the trees, discolour and fall off, your brother held a feast to thank his employees for their hard work before the mines closed over the winter. You usually helped to prepare and cook and refill empty glasses; and last year you happened to have refilled Thomas’ glass. He had been smitten by you as much as you had been smitten by him and after countless rendezvous where he confided in you about his horrifying past, you now considered yourselves a couple.

It had been almost a year. Autumn was drawing near again and as you drove through a grove in a carriage, able to peacefully take in the beauty of the season, you leaned against Thomas’ strong body. He sighed, his shoulders heaving. In fact, he had been rather quiet for days now.

“Thomas, are you alright?” Looking up at him with a concerned expression on your face, you allowed him to cup your cheek in response.

“Oh, yes. The cold seasons always remind me of home, that is all.“ He confessed, giving you a small smile. A sad smile.

“This is your home now,” you reassured him. “You are beyond welcome here. A new beginning, remember?”

He hummed in response. “A new beginning…”

By the time you arrived at the modest house your brother and you were sharing and you finished cooking dinner for you two, Thomas was still silent. Eerily silent, almost. And it made you worry for him.

Moment after moment passed with only the cutting, chewing and swallowing of food being audible in the cosy kitchen.

“I want to go back to England.” He suddenly stated. You almost dropped your fork.

“You… what? Really?”

“Yes. It is just like you said,” He went on, growing more enthusiastic with a start, “A new beginning. I could start over, restore the house… it does not have to wither away.”

“But… Thomas, I thought you were glad you left this place… that you have so many terrible memories attached to Allerdale Hall. Are you sure you want to be there again?”

Your appetite was all but lost now. Discouraged, you put your fork down and looked him straight in the eye—his beautiful, innocent blue eyes.

“I am. It took me weeks to figure out just why I do not feel complete in this place. I am missing something. I am missing my roots.”

He reached across the table to hold your hand when your eyes filled with tears. “So… you will leave me?”

Thomas shook his head. “No! No, I do not want to leave you. In fact… I meant to ask if you would like to come with me. I do not ask you to leave your home forever. But if I spend my summers here with you, working for your brother and return to England for the winters…”

“Thomas…”

“Please, my love. I want you to be with me. The house is all I have left in my possession and I cannot live at your and your brother’s expenses forever. If I could I would long have purchased us a house here so we can get married and raise our children in our very own home but my savings will not allow it. Instead… if I used them to restore Allerdale Hall…”

Your lips parted. He wanted to marry you. He meant to buy a house where you could raise your children. And he truly seemed to miss his home. Biting your lower lip, you considered his proposal for a moment.

All the work that would come with restoring an entire mansion did not put you off as much as the fact that Allerdale Hall was miles away from your own birthplace. Only if you were with Thomas… did it truly matter where you were? If it meant so much to him… as for you, as long as you could stay with him, it did not matter much to you where you were. It was the change that was scary.

“If this is what you really want…” You finally responded. “…then I will come with you.”

“You will?” His face lit up like a Christmas tree and you nodded.

“I will.” There was no denying your promise, in this very moment, was as significant as a wedding vow.

“Thomas… this house is huge. It’s just the two of us. How will we use all of this space?” Tilting your head back, you took in the gigantic construction towering into the sky.

“We’ll have to have lots of children.” He replied, gently kissing your cheek and hugging you from behind.

There was a gaping hole in the ceiling, letting the cold autumn air come inside, trapping it. It was freezing. Thomas had not exaggerated. The house was in dire need of renovation but together, so you were certain, you would transform this place into an exciting and a cosy living place. A place in which your children could grow up in and, once in adulthood, remember fondly what it had been like.

You worked hard. Your brother knew some good and honest roofers who offered a fair price for the repair of the ceiling, after that Thomas was able to afford two floorers with whom he began figuring out a way to keep the house from sinking into the red clay he had told you about underneath.

Everything had remained just like he had left it, even his clay machine. Only the bodies… the bodies must have been removed by wild animals or a decent human being who found and buried them. Thomas himself could not bring himself to bury both his most recent wife and sister himself—and after everything that happened, the remaining villagers were rather out of sorts with the last survivor of the Sharpe family.

The next couple of weeks you spent cleaning and tidying (and sneezing) and building and sweeping and slowly but surely, Allerdale Hall was turning into a wonderful home. Not once since your arrival had you felt the presence of a tormented ghost—not once had either of you been haunted. It was like, ever since Lucille’s death, the many murdered women in this house had finally been able to move on.

His favourite part of the house was still the attic which had remained untouched for the most part. You had merely replaced the sofa and the desks, added some lovely curtains and a beautiful lustre for his late-night crafting.

You were almost done now. Nearly everything was clean and tidy, new furniture adding an elegant touch to the old house. The only thing still missing was the outer front and the lowest level. Thomas had told you he no longer wanted anything to do with red clay mining, for it reminded him too much of his past with Lucille and the horrible deeds he had been forced to be a part of. Instead, he wanted to keep helping your brother develop new machines for his mines.

“I have an idea.” You said, loosening your tight ponytail after another cleaning orgy in the house. It was only time for lunch and you could not wait to retreat to your new bedroom already. It was Thomas’ old room, re-furnished and cosier than you could have ever imagined. Thomas had spent a fortune on the new king-size bed with the softest mattress you had ever had the pleasure to sleep on.

“You have had many wonderful ideas over the last few weeks, my love.” Thomas said with a smile. “What have you thought of now?”

“We should host a party tomorrow night.”

His lips parted in surprise. “A party? For whom?”

“No one in particular. Us. Our new home. Besides, Halloween is right around the corner. We should ask everyone to dress up and have some fun after all the hard work.” Now there was a chance that the villagers would downright refuse to set foot into this building ever again but you were rather sure that most of them were curious as to what had become of Allerdale Hall as well. Thomas would be able to prove to them he was a good and decent man—and that he had finally found happiness.

“I agree. I do believe we deserve some time off.”

You were busy the next morning, sending out invitations and then buying all the supplies you would need for your Halloween party. Thomas had outdone himself with his outfit—he prepared an all-black suit and black polished shoes along with a cylinder and a dark red bowtie, the latter which fit the dress he had insisted on buying you for tonight perfectly.

Now that the first guests began to arrive in their carriages, all wearing fashionable masks as it was Halloween, admiring what had become of the house so far, Thomas’ nervousness infected you. You had decorated where you could, collecting sycamore leafs and carving pumpkins which were now grinning eerily with candles inside of them. You soon realised, however, that your worries were unnecessary. Thomas conversed like the true Gentleman he was, passionately recalling how much fun it had been to restore the house and that he would have never been able to do any of that without your help. That was when all the attention drifted to you.

Thomas had just disappeared upstairs with an old friend who had been happy enough about his return to show him his renovated workshop when an older man, perhaps in his late fifties, approached you with dismay coating his lips. The rest of his face was unreadable given that he too was wearing a mask.

“So I understand it that you will at some point be marrying the baronet then, my lady?”

“Yes, Sir.” You responded with a polite and content smile. The man shook his head.

“Well, good luck. His last few wives all passed away under rather strange circumstances.”

Tensing up a little, you lifted your chin.

“So I’ve heard and that is very unfortunate. Sir Thomas has my deepest sympathy. And I thank you for your concern but I don’t easily perish.” In fact, the very first thing Thomas and you had done was tossing out the poisoned tea Lucille had been using on his former wives. It was still unsettling sometimes to know he had been involved in murders—but you also knew that Thomas was a good man. He had already lost Edith. He would not lose you.

“You sure don’t, my lady. However, the last remaining woman in Sir Sharpe’s life was his sister Lucille and even her body was never found. I am only trying to help. I run a hotel a few miles west of this atrocious place. I can provide shelter for you, my lady, and hide you from him.”

Shit. You clutched your dress tightly so your hands would not shake as much. “Thank you but that will not be necessary. I love my soon-husband-to-be dearly and if you keep insulting him or his intentions, I will have to ask you to leave.”

“Is there a problem?” Relieved, you let out a breath when you felt Thomas’ arm around your waist and turned around to notice his stern gaze. It was not often you experienced him this cold. The older man blinked, fists clenching a few times.

“No. No problem at all, Sir Sharpe.”

“Good.” With that, he reached for your arm, gently pulling you into the living room. A pianist—another good friend of your brother’s—was filling the hall with warm musical sounds as a couple of guests were dancing. “Are you okay?”

“Yes. He was just being… invasive… about your past.”

“I suspected this might happen tonight.”

“Yes…”

You joined the dancers with a sly smile, letting Thomas take the lead and following his elegant movements as you melted into the harmonious music, both your feet gliding across the floor. And when the piece ended and you came to rest in graceful position in his arms… he suddenly went down on one knee and cupped one of your hands with his as you looked up at you like the most blessed man on the planet. Your heart skipped a beat when he spoke your name. All of a sudden, the room went so still one could have heard a needle drop.

“Will you do me the honour and become my wife? Let me be yours as you will be mine and let us fill this house with nothing but love and harmony.” You never realised there were tears swimming in your eyes—not until they rolled down your cheeks and wetted the fabric of the thin crimson mask you were wearing.

“Yes!” You cried out. “Yes!” Thomas smiled. As the party guests started to clap around you with Ah’s and Oh’s, he scooped you up into his arms, capturing your lips in a passionate kiss.

“And tomorrow morning…” He whispered into your ear, “I shall buy you the most beautiful engagement ring that England has to offer.”

“You don’t have to buy me an expensive ring, Thomas. Actually…” Your face lit up. “Now that your workshop is done, would you craft one for me?”

His laugh tore through your heart like a tornado. You were right, of course—a hand-crafted engagement ring would be more personal and precious than anything a jeweller could make.

“Did I tell you that I love you?”

“Many, many times. And I love you too. More than anything.”

Your audience cheered even louder when you kissed once more, hugging so tightly not even a thin piece of parchment would have had any space between you.

A/N: If you enjoyed this story, I would appreciate it so much if you considered supporting me on Kofi! It’s either caffeine or red wine, I’ll take both. ko-fi.com/sserpente ♥

#thomas sharpe #thomas sharpe imagine #thomas sharpe fluff #thomas sharpe x you #thomas sharpe x reader #sir thomas sharpe #sir thomas sharpe imagine #sir thomas sharpe fluff #sir thomas sharpe x you #sir thomas sharpe x reader #crimson peak #crimson peak imagine #tom hiddleston

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aion-rsa · 3 years

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Squid Game’s Scathing Critique of Capitalism

https://ift.tt/3kOEMpF

This Squid Game article contains MAJOR spoilers.

From the very first game of ddakji out in the real world with Train to Busan actor Gong Yoo, Squid Game poses the question: how far would you go for money? How much of your body, your life, would you trade to keep the wolves at bay and to get to live the life you’ve always dreamed? Once you start, could you stop, even if you wanted to? And in the end, would it even be worth it? While Squid Game depicts an attempt to answer these questions taken to the extreme, they are the same essential questions posed to everyone living under capitalism: What kind of job, what terrible hours, what back-breaking labor, what level of abuse, what work/life imbalance will we tolerate in exchange for what we need or want to live? Unlike many examples of this genre, Squid Game is set in our contemporary reality, which makes its scathing critique of capitalism less of a metaphor for the world we live in and more of a literal depiction of life under capitalism.

Squid Game’s Workers

At the most basic level, the entire competition within Squid Game would not exist without extreme financial distress creating a ready pool of players. It’s no coincidence that Gi-hun’s hard times started when he lost his job, followed by violence against the workers who went on strike. Strike-breakers and physical violence against striking workers may feel like an antiquated idea to an American audience. South Korea, however, has something of an anti-labor reputation, with only 10% of its workers in unions and laws limiting unions to negotiating pay, among other restrictions. In the US, the anti-labor fight is alive and well, though transformed, where it takes the shape of the deceptively named “Right to Work” laws, which benefit corporations and make it harder for unions to operate.

As noted in our review, (most of) the players choose to leave and then willingly return to the arena, which separates Squid Game from other entries in the genre like the Hunger Games series and Escape Room. This element of volition contributes to the series’ primary critical goal. As Mi-nyeo and others brought up early on, they’re getting killed in the real world too, but at least inside they might actually get something for their troubles.

As an anti-capitalist parable, the only ways to fight back or upend the game in some small way are through acts of solidarity or by turning down the allure of the cash. The final clause in the game’s consent form states that the game can end if a majority of players agree to do so. After the brutal Red Light, Green Light massacre in the first, they do exactly that. The election might as well be a union vote. It’s shocking that the contract for the game included an escape clause at all, but it seems the host and his ilk enjoy at least allowing the illusion of free will if nothing else. The players who didn’t return after the first vote to leave the game, though unseen in this narrative, are perhaps the wisest of all.

Squid Game’s Most Heartbreaking Hour is Also Its Best

By Kayti Burt

Squid Game Ending Explained

By Kayti Burt

During tug of war, Gi-hun’s team surprises everyone by winning. Their teamwork, unity of purpose, and superior strategy help them defeat a stronger adversary, which is a basic principle of labor organizing, albeit usually not at the expense of the lives of other workers. Player 1 (Il-nam) and Player 240 (Ji-yeong) each find their own way to beat the game by essentially backing out of the competition during marbles. In exchange for friendship and choosing the circumstances of their own deaths, Ji-yeong and Il-nam each make their own, ethically sound choice under this miserable system. Il-nam gets an asterisk since he was never going to die, but he still found a choice beyond merely “kill” or “be killed” by teaching his Gganbu one “last” lesson and helping him continue on in the game.

In the end, Gi-hun confounds the VIPs and the Front Man by coming to the precipice of victory and simply walking away. Under capitalism, this group of incredibly rich men simply could not understand how someone could come so close to claiming their prize, and choose not to. But for Gi-hun, human life always had greater value. Gi-hun followed (Player 67) Sae-byeok’s advice and stayed true to himself, refusing to actively take anyone’s life, especially not the life of his friend.

Squid Game’s Ruling Class

Since the competition only exists because of the worst aspects of capitalism, it’s not surprising that in the end, it is itself a capitalist endeavor. Ultra-wealthy VIPs, who mostly seem to be white, Western men, spectate for a price and bet on the game. In their luxury accommodations, they lounge on silent human “furniture” and mistreat service staff. In one notable example, a VIP threatens to kill a server (who the audience knows to be undercover cop Hwang Jun-ho) if he doesn’t remove his mask, even though the VIP knows it would cost the server his life.

Perhaps most enraging of all is what Player 1, who turns out to actually be the Host, has to say to Gi-hun a year after the game ends. It all circles back to the game’s existential connection to economics; on the one hand, there is the unshakeable link to a population in which a significant portion of people suffer from dire financial woes. On the other hand, there is the Host and his cronies, the ultra-rich who are so bored from their megarich lives that they decided to bet on deadly human bloodsport for fun just so they could feel something again, as though they were betting on horses.

In spite of the enormous gulf between the two, the Host attempts to draw comparisons between the ultra-wealthy and the extreme poor, saying both are miserable. His little joke denies the reality of hunger, early death, trauma, and many other ways that being poor is actively harmful, both physically and mentally. It’s the kind of slow death that makes risking a quick one in the arena seem reasonable. He and his buddies were just kind of bored. Moreover, the Host denies the role of economic coercion in players taking part in the game, insisting that everyone was there of their own free will. But what free will can there be for people who owe millions, with families at home to care for and creditors at their back, when someone comes along and offers a solution, even a dangerous one? Anyone who has taken a dodgy job offer to get away from a worse one, or because they’re unemployed and the rent and college loans are due, knows that there is a limit to how truly free our choices can be when we need money, especially if there’s little to no safety net.

Why Are Squid Game’s English-Language Actors So Bad?

By Kayti Burt

Best Squid Game Doll Sightings

By Kayti Burt

Throughout the series, it is clear that someone had to be funding Squid Game at a high level. Unlike science fiction or fantasy takes, the show is grounded in our current reality, so the large-scale, high-tech obstacles and the island locale must have cost a pretty penny. Of course for any who see it as unrealistic, consider the example of Jeffrey Epstein, a man who bought an island from the US government and ran a sexual abuse and human trafficking ring not entirely disimilar (though far more pedestrian in its purpose) from this one.

The Host is able to pay for everything because he works in – you guessed it – banking. It’s a profession where he gained wealth by moving capital around. Given the Korean debt crisis – South Korea has the highest household debt in the world, both in size and growth – his profession makes him a worthy villain, in the same way the Lehman Brothers were after the 2008 crash. The bank executive calls in Gi-hun to offer him investment products and services, because of course someone with 45 billion won can accrue significantly more money passively, and who wouldn’t want that? Gi-hun’s decision to walk away is a callback to his earlier attempt to walk away from Squid Game when millions of dollars was within his grasp.

Throughout the series, the people running the game actively pit the players against one another in much the same way capitalism pits workers against one another. Whether they’re giving the players less food to encourage a fight overnight, the daily influx of cash every time another player dies, or giving them knives for the evening, the mysterious people pulling the strings want the players to fight each other like crabs in a barrel so they can’t work together to figure out what’s going on or take on the guys in red jumpsuits. Though there are notable examples of the players working together to succeed, it is always within the rules of the system. It is never treated as a viable or likely option for the players to team up and take the blood money literally hanging over their heads or to prevent death, merely to redirect it or choose how they will die. No, to win that, they must play the Squid Game’s rules.

In our society, this kind of worker-vs-worker rhetoric takes the form of employers telling workers their workload is harder or they can’t go on vacation or get a raise because of fellow employees who leave or go on maternity leave.. In reality, these are all normal aspects of managing a business that employers should plan for, and their failure to do so is not the fault of their workers. Much like in Squid Game, it benefits managers and owners if workers are too busy being mad at each other to have time or energy to fight the system and those who make unjust rules in the first place.

Squid Game’s Managers

The Front Man insists the game is fair, gruesomely hanging the dead bodies of those involved in the organ harvesting scheme because they traded medical knowledge for advanced intel on the game. However, like capitalism, there are many ways that the system is clearly rigged, no matter what the people at the top insist. There’s the obvious corruption in the organ harvesting ring, but even at its “purest” form, the game is not equitable. Sometimes the managers and soldiers in red jumpsuits stand by when unfair things happen, like Deok-su and his cronies stealing food. At other times, the people in charge intervene in player squabbles, like enforcing nonviolence during marbles and elections but encouraging violence at other times. They especially set things up to their own advantage, such as cutting the lights so the players couldn’t see the glass in the penultimate game, or the way they set up the election. Everyone knew how everyone else voted, they shared the total amount of money immediately beforehand, in an attempt to sway votes, calling to mind Amazon’s scare tactics before the recent unionization vote.

Culture

Squid Game Competitions, As Played By BTS

By Kayti Burt

Movies

Squid Game: Best Deadly Competition TV Shows & Movies to Watch Next

By Kayti Burt and 3 others

Ultimately, much like any manager/employer, the Front Man’s insistence on fairness has nothing to do with the actual value of equality, but rather the capitalist need to ensure betters are happy with the stakes and their chance at a favorable outcome.

Even the workers, soldiers and managers in red jumpsuits, who seem to be in charge, are ultimately only in power (and alive) so long as they serve the needs of the system. Like so many low-level managers, many wield their tiny amount of power ruthlessly, shooting players with impunity or running their organ harvesting side gig. It soon becomes clear that they’re as expendable as players, if not moreso, and the Front Man shoots them without hesitating. A player asks (and it’s too bad we never learned) what “they” did to the people in red jumpsuits to get them to run this game, but it’s not too hard to guess. They seem to be very young men, who likely needed money and wouldn’t be missed if they never returned.

cnx.cmd.push(function() { cnx({ playerId: "106e33c0-3911-473c-b599-b1426db57530", }).render("0270c398a82f44f49c23c16122516796"); });

The biggest trick capitalism ever pulled was convincing workers it’s a zero-sum game, that anything we want but don’t have is the fault of someone else who “took it” from us. Within the game, that means every player was a living obstacle to the money, and that Gi-hun should kill his childhood friend to succeed and celebrate when he’s done. But as we see after he “wins,” even without taking Sang-woo’s life himself, the money isn’t worth it. The greater success would have been both men walking out of the arena alive.

The post Squid Game’s Scathing Critique of Capitalism appeared first on Den of Geek.

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morningflames · 4 years

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a word of warning

well here’s a post i never thought i’d be making

it’s come to my attention that a Certain Someone is planning on making a comeback to WrA soon and it fills me with nothing short of dread. i spent the day yesterday warning people he terrorized and manipulated that this was happening. you know it’s bad when there’s a literal network of people who share an abuser that have remained in contact for years in the event this happened again.

i am not going to lie and say that making this post does not terrify me but i cannot in good conscience sit back and let him worm his way into the rp scene again and do what he did to me and at least half a dozen others all over again.

to summarize: tarcanus aka tarcanus frostborne is a manipulative, emotionally abusive and predatory individual that should be avoided at all costs.

i am the player behind lyrinel, a former officer of his and someone who was on the receiving end of nearly a years worth of abuse and manipulation. my experiences pale in comparison to those of others who dealt with him and came forward to me after i left his guild, and i cannot speak for anyone who does not feel comfortable coming forward. if you do want to let your voice be heard, feel free to reblog and add your own anecdotes.

my story below the cut.

tw: manipulation, emotional abuse, gaslighting, coercion, grooming

i first joined coram populo in early 2014 after my best friend and fellow survivor (i will refer to her by her character’s name of thradia from here on out) joined the raid team in december of the previous year. we were both just looking for a social place to park our characters and maybe start role playing again, as we hadn’t had a guild or dedicated rp group in a while. things were fine and friendly for the first couple of months, though it’s worth noting that a large part of the office corps had just left or was in the process of leaving when thradia and i joined. we were both 18 at the time.

i made the mistake of reaching out to tarc in the spring, when i noticed him posting to his tumblr about how busy he was. i offered to be an IC assistant of sorts to his character and he was more than happy to toss me into an absolute whirlwind. we still didn’t know much about each other, but in the span of a couple weeks we went from casual contact in guild chat to immensely long (sometimes between 10 and 12 hours) skype calls, constant DMing, and an almost uninterrupted stream of conversation. i was struggling to finish high school at this time (spoiler: i failed to graduate) and found myself suddenly caught in an all-consuming relationship with this man and his guild. from the moment i woke up to the moment i finally hung up and crawled into bed, my time was taken up by tarc and the guild and the game.

i was promoted to officer less than five months after joining the guild. this was overwhelming for a number of reasons, chief among them being the fact that i had never been an officer in a guild like this before and i was very quickly escalated to tarc’s “inner circle.” this was a circle that he evidently didn’t even include his most senior officers in, as he didn’t seem to communicate with them to the extent or abundance that he did with me - and later, when she was ALSO promoted to officer, thradia.

within a few weeks i found myself at the center of dozens of micro-confrontations and venting from tarc about other members of the guild, raid team, and even fellow officers. every time, i would tell him he needed to take it to his co-gm and talk it through with her. she, like him, was a grown woman with a lot more experience and better people skills than me, a teenager barely out of high school, but tarc insisted on beating me over the head with his frustrations and then proceeding to guilt me and tell me i was a terrible friend when i didn’t agree with him or expressed i was uncomfortable being in the center of a vent session that i felt was unwarranted.

tarc was never wrong. he did not apologize. the words “i’m sorry” did not exist in his vocabulary, and if they did, they were almost always followed up with the word “but.” constantly he would be sending multiple messages to me or thradia while we were running events and raids for the guild, ranting about a few particular members that he disliked at the time regardless of how we felt about said members. thradia and i would both be reduced to tears and/or anxiety attacks by his outbursts that all but demanded we take his side even if we didn’t. his feelings and circumstances were paramount. everyone else’s were just inconveniences.

tarc was always the victim. no matter what was going on, no matter who had instigated whatever vein of conversation we were on that had gone awry, he had a way of making you feel like utter shit until you grovelled for his forgiveness, which he rarely gave. instead he would move on without giving any closure or allowing you to discuss your feelings at length. if you tried, you were the insensitive one who he couldn’t go to with his “unfiltered emotions,” which was the entire purpose of his inner circle to hear him say it. i was not allowed to just be his friend or just be an officer, i had to be both and neither at the same time, and it still was not the right course of action. nothing ever was.

tarc was openly manipulative and antagonistic, always citing it as an “inside joke” when called on it. i opened up to him once about my father’s alcoholism and how i was uncomfortable with alcohol culture and being around drunk people. regardless, he would constantly call while drunk (or maybe he was pretending to be to get a rise out of me, i honestly do not know what was genuine and what was put on with him) and make me stay on the call with him for hours. when he was (allegedly) diagnosed with an inability to process certain alcohols that could be life threatening, he continued to drink (or claimed he was drinking) dangerous amounts, which lead to me begging him to stop as i feared for his life. one of the worst anxiety attacks i have ever had was over him endangering his health and me believing i was going to see a friend die. he knew how much this upset me and he did not stop. he held me as a captive audience to his self destruction (or the playacting of it) and let me cry and beg and plead with him to take care of himself.

tarc loves to promote a clean, “family friendly” persona online. he will go on and on about the positive atmosphere his guild provides and how progress and accepting he and his “safe spaces” are. as soon as you are inducted to his inner circle, however, you learn otherwise. he will gladly engage in sexually charged conversation with you, even if you are ten years younger than him as thradia and i were. we were both legal adults, yes, but just barely. i can’t count the inappropriate remarks and jokes made about us, our friends, and even minors all in the spirit of joking “what if” conversation. he has a history of making young LGBT+ people uncomfortable, making their sexualities and identities about him and how he can relate to them.

tarc was the most two-faced and divisive guild leader i’ve ever seen. he would rant to me mercilessly about wanting to kick one of the junior officers and raid team members in private while never saying a word to their face or bringing it up with the co-gm. he would start schisms between people, telling each what they wanted to hear and encouraging both parties not to confront each other about it, allowing the resentment and distrust to grow as he fanned the flames on both sides. he wanted people to stay in the guild and continue to basically work for him while also putting him above anyone else in their friend circles. he told straight up lies to thradia and i, claiming one of us had said things about the other that we never did, driving a wedge and distrust between us.

tarc treats his guild(s) like a business. he is entirely capitalist-minded even in an MMORPG that people play for fun, churning out “content” and keeping up appearances like a machine. he treats his officers and guild members like employees, not people. any time irl would demand attention away from the game, forcing someone to miss or cancel an event, he would subtly guilt them about it until they apologized, even if it was a dire situation or a family emergency.

when tarc wanted to start a wow roleplaying podcast, he approached me about cohosting. he wanted a female voice, and since i was out of school and had no job lined up due to not graduating i was the perfect candidate. i came on to narrate and research the lore segment of the looking for roleplay podcast, which was little more than me paraphrasing a wowwiki article, but i was held to a “professional” standard. i had to have my research done by a certain day, my recording done in advance, etc.

the podcast was a spot of contention for several reasons, one being the mysterious emails tarc would allegedly receive about it. the podcast had a shared email account that all three of us could access and look at, but tarc claimed that people sent emails directly to him since “everything’s under his email.” he would use these strawman emails as indirect criticism of turwinkle and i, reading them aloud or typing up what they supposedly said but NEVER producing a real screenshot or address to verify them. i’m convinced he only did this as a way to make turwinkle and i feel badly and work harder “for the listeners” to appease things tarc didn’t like about our segments. he also insinuated he got inappropriate emails about me specifically at this account but, again, i was never allowed to see them with my own eyes, just hear about them secondhand, which is why i believe they did not exist.

around this time, tarc began recording conversations without mine or thradias consent. he would start recording random sections of calls and taunt us, playing back out-of-context lines and joking that he would make “podcast commercials” out of them. they were often embarrassing, personal, or just wildly out of context lines that we didn’t want played to the public, and i heard only a fraction of what he possibly recorded of me. i have no idea what kind of material he has of me and thradia that was recorded without us knowing or consenting. it felt like blackmail. it still does.

i internalized all of this. i thought this was normal. i thought he was an excellent guild leader and a role model for leadership. i had begun to treat world of fucking warcraft like a goddamn job and i thought that was fine. my life revolved around coddling and entertaining him, socializing and promoting and recruiting for the guild, raiding, running pvp entirely on my own, keeping up IC connections and attending events, recording for the podcast, all of it. i ate, breathed, and slept wow and coram. it was insane. i had been talked into having no boundaries for myself and my time, and any time i tried to correct that and build a boundary i was attacked for it until i backed down. i have never felt worse about myself than i did while i was in this guild. i trusted no one. i was worn thin.

i finally had enough early 2015. at this point this man was trying to get me to come live with him hundreds of miles from my family so that i could attend a technical school in his area. i am still 18. he was 28. i had been trying to step down from my position as an officer, citing if i was going to be LIVING WITH HIM that it was going to give me an unfair bias in my standing in the guild. this set him all the way off. he was planning a trip to atlantic city for me, himself, and thradia, who i had a ticket to visit for my birthday. he was getting frantic because he had been pursuing thradia for months, and i was no longer cooperating.

when i threw this wrench in everything, our relationship devolved in the span of a few hours. within the day i left the guild on all of my characters and pulled myself out of all of his projects. within the month i had frantically faction changed several characters and eventually unsubscribed from the game for two years because i lived in fear of him. he had always alluded to “knowing people” who could hack and track IP addresses and kept tabs on everyone who visited his blogs and websites. i didn’t know what i thought he was going to do - all i knew was his thinly veiled brags and threats were at the forefront of my mind. i have played this game since 2006, but for the first time in my life i couldn’t enjoy it out of fear and exhaustion caused by him. he had ruined my favorite game in less than a year and made me paranoid about my entire online presence, to the point where this blog was abandoned for months before i turned it into what it is today.

and the thing is, tarc’s not a creepy or abrasive guy when you first meet him. he’s funny and charismatic and outgoing. he loves to tell you about his world travels and show you pictures of him petting baby tigers at rescues in southeast asia and go on about these crazy winnings he would have in vegas. he’s larger than life - at least online. he came to visit me twice in the year that we knew each other. the first time was also the first time i had ever met thradia in person, and we had been friends for six years at that point. he has met my family, and that of several other members (both my age and older). no one ever questions why he’s there. no one ever thought it was odd that for a week he hung out with three teenage girls exclusively.

this horrifies me to this day.

thradia and i are still best friends. we compared notes and were sickened at how we were played against each other. slowly, i returned to the game. i reached out to people who had left or been on their way out when i first joined the guild, curious to see if there was a common thread. there was. everyone i spoke with had similar stories: being made to feel like shit, nothing they ever did for the guild was enough, they weren’t allowed to miss events or raids no matter what the reason, they were questioned and joked about inappropriately and made to feel uncomfortable and preyed upon, etc. i was not the only one. thradia was not the only one. at least half a dozen other former members and/or officers had these stories, and tarc just kept getting away with it.

he cannot keep getting away with it.

i am being open with this for the first time in six years because i don’t want to see it happen again. because i don’t want to know that, had i said something sooner, more people could have been protected. i was 18 when this was going on. i had no real world experience. i had no standard for how i should be treated, much less by someone almost ten years my senior and who claimed to be my friend. but he knew better. he should have had boundaries and space and lines he refused to cross. he did not. he crippled my trust in people for a very long time. i have only become comfortable playing wow on horde side again in the past year or so. i finally stopped looking over my shoulder, /who’ing him and his guild, avoiding rp hubs. but now i feel like i can’t do that anymore. the safety i have worked so hard to achieve for myself is now threatened.

i understand my experiences are mild in comparison to what some offenders on this server have done. but at the end of the day, this year was the worst year of my life. to this day, the skype ringtone literally triggers me because i associated it with him and his endless calls that i never knew what to expect from or how to get out of. i can’t look at certain parts of the game without feeling fear. for months i held my breath going online or logging into wow because i was waiting for him to pop up and start accusing me of things or trying to guilt me into coming back.

tarc ran coram populo, a guild that, as far as i know, still staggers along with a few members who can’t be bothered to leave. whether or not he’s planning to return there, i don’t know. he organizes and runs (from what i can tell) the azerothian trade federation (whatever the fuck that is). i don’t know what his plans are. i don’t know what his online presence looks or will look like when he comes crawling back. but i beseech you, do not give him the time of day. do not give him a platform, no matter how nice and “woke” he makes himself out to be. he lures you in with humanist ideals and then sucks the absolute life out of you- and that’s if he doesn’t want to pressure you into a relationship on top of it.

to tarc: if somehow you’re reading this, stay away from me. keep my name out of your mouth. i do not want an apology and a string of half-assed, gaslighting excuses. i have records of past conversations. i have screenshots. i know what you fucking did to me and to my friends. i do not want you back. i do not want you here. i do not want to share space with you. i want you to go away and never come back.

you alone made it so hard to trust myself and other people. thradia and i both have had to seek therapy due to you. and now, you have the audacity to come riding back into the scene on a white horse, being self righteous about abuse and predatory behavior online, and have the utter gall to condemn behaviors you yourself emulated without apology or second thought. i know you think you’re a good guy. that’s what makes you so fucking dangerous. you genuinely don’t think you’ve done anything wrong, and if you do, you’ve buried it and squirreled it away and have covered it up to the point where you can turn any accusation back on the claimant.

do not attempt to contact me. do not try to threaten or appease me. go back where you were. i am finally at home again, and you will not take that from me. go. away.

#wrymrest accord #wra rp #wra community #okay to reblog #i am going to basically go dark on here now and not check on this #i have gotten ohysically ill from dredging this shit up #i will not be engaging past this point so whether you believe me or not i do not care #i know my truth and i know what happened to me even though i was gaslit to hell and back

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shegoesbyarose · 4 years

Text

𝒀𝒐𝒖’𝒍𝒍 𝑨𝒔𝒌 𝑭𝒐𝒓 𝑴𝒆 ⟨𝑐𝑙𝑎𝑟𝑘 𝑘.⟩

Words: 4.5K

Warnings: Some angst and intense scenes

Song Inspo: You’ll Ask For Me by Tyler Hilton

A/N: Lemme know what you think. I have two specific scenes for this pairing in my head. Not much more after that. This is a “whim” fic. OC is a WOC.

❖❖❖

“Do you really live on a plane?”

Artemis smiled as she tucked the brown carry-on into the overhead bin. If only she had a dime for every time she received that question.

Securing the bin, she placed a hand on her hip and wiggled her brows. “Maybe.

His green eyes widened. “Do you have your own room? I share mine with my brother.”

She feigned surprise. “You do?”

“Uh huh.” He nodded enthusiastically. “Do you have a brother?”

She paused and smiled. “I do. He’s around your age, actually.”

“Really? What’s his name? Does he like Pokemon?”

Artemis chuckled. Kids and their litany of questions, not to mention the constant bouncing back and forth between topics.

“His name is Kalep,” she answered, bending down to tap his nose. “And he loves Pokemon.”

“Awesome,” Bailey smiled, revealing the gap between his two front teeth.

Lana walked over and placed her hand on Artemis shoulder. “Bailey, just when I thought we were gonna be best buds. You switching out on me?”

Bailey grinned. “I like a lot of buddies.”

Lana and Artemis shared an amused look.

“You heard him. Stop being selfish,” Artemis taunted. “Be right back.” She moved down the aisle, answering a few questions here and there.

Artemis then moved onto checking the overhead bins. Rest assured, a couple would be incorrectly shut. As she reached for the third bin that needed to be properly secured, she first glanced down to notice that the passenger was being over, digging in a bag.

As she finished closing it and looked back down, she met striking azure eyes crystallized between black, thick rimmed glasses, and a warm smile.

“Sorry,” he apologized.

She returned his grin. “First time flying?”

“You could say that.” He chuckled. “That obvious?”

“Naw.” She shrugged. “I’m just pretty good at reading people, and you, sir, have the look of someone who’s never been privy to being 30,000 feet in the air. You’re in for a treat.”

“Well, thank you, ma’am—”

“Oh god, please don’t. Artemis, my name is Artemis.”

“Well, it’s nice to meet you, Artemis. I’m Clark. Clark Kent.”

Her grin diminished as a flyer placed his hand on the small of her back, quickly shifting it downward to her ass. He gave a light squeeze before continuing his walk to his seat.

She retained an eye roll and resurfaced her grin, even as Clark’s dimmed.

“Nice meeting you too, Clark.”

“I’m sorry.” She paused, confused. He looked surprised too, only for a second. “The overhead bin,” he quickly added.

“Oh.” She waved her hand. “It’s the least of my problems.”

“I’ll bet,” he murmured.

“Let me know if you need anything—”

“Artemis!” Bailey stood on the seat, leaned over so he was grasping at the passenger in front of him headrest. She looked back at Clark. “Or any of us.”

He nodded. “Will do.”

That was the first time they met.

The second time would be under similar but very different circumstances.

❖❖❖

Artemis was a ready reserve for Lana who was set to fly a special first time joint venture with the air force. Artemis didn’t mind. Lana had a family emergency, and they were friends. That’s what friends are for.

The speaker was a bit of a bitch, but that didn’t bother Artemis. She’d come across so many different types of individuals, some nice, some not so much. It never mattered, though, as long as she got her paycheck.

Everything seemed to be going smoothly. Even with the kids on board. She didn’t quite understand why in the hell they had minors on board, but not many things made sense to her when it came to Metropolis.

She was chatting with one of said kids who was fascinated by her name. Apparently, it was the same as one of his favorite characters from some book series. She prepared to ask which one when everything went dark.

Artemis looked around. She’d been trained to respond to countless scenarios, but this was different. She quickly excused herself and stood up, moving down the aisle to correspond with the other attendants.

She knew something was wrong. Hell, she could feel it. This was something that just oozed of malfunction. That much was obvious. However, she felt all of the young, frightened eyes on her. Even though she was concerned, she refused to show it. She had to remain calm, not incite panic among the kids.

Artemis helped children get strapped in. At one point during the flight, they were all secured and yapping among themselves. Somewhere between the taxi and takeoff, they maneuvered out of their seats and moved about.

However, that plan went to hell at the same time the power went out again, and this time, it didn’t come back on shortly after. No, conditions quickly deteriorated. One minute she was helping the children secure their seatbelts, and the next, she was holding them against her body as the plane began to violently jerk.

In the event of turbulence, there was training. There was training for everything, but the fact that she just knew that this was beyond turbulence didn’t help. Still, she managed to keep her emotions at bay. Better than the other attendants who failed to hide their concern.

They too realized that something had gone terribly wrong.

And it only continued to worsen. Infrequent jerking transitioned into abnormal shifts in directions. The plane was moving about like a rag doll, simultaneously, forcing Artemis around and against various seats, walls, and armrests. She bit back her groans and moans of pain.

Help now.

Feel later.

Screams, shouts, beeping, and all sorts of chaos occurred around her. Still, she remained calm. In the kids, she saw Kalep. What if he were there? She’d want whoever was in charge to help him remain as calm as possible, no matter how grim the outcome appeared.

But, things only exacerbated.

The plane was angled almost entirely upward, and Artemis felt the absolute brunt of the trajectory as she continued to be tossed about the plane. Her shoulder was dislocated and the red liquid coating her fingertips after feeling on her abdomen told her that her injuries were becoming more severe by the minute, second, even.

Still, she couldn’t shake the terrified expressions of the children whose cries only increased in volume and intensity.

Even the adults were becoming choked up.

It was utter madness and chaos beyond comprehension.

For a second, she contemplated the most dire and maybe realistic outcome.

Is this how she would meet her maker? Thousands of feet up in the air, bloodied and battered, completely helpless to do nothing but make everyone as comfortable as she possibly could given the circumstances.

When was the last time she FaceTime’d her family? Purchased Kalep a game off of the Playstation Store?

Hell, she hadn’t seen the inside of her apartment for almost a month.

And now, she never would.

It was all a culmination of feelings and thoughts. Regrets at what could have been. Sadness at what would never be. Anger at the finality of it all.

Death.

And then a thought, if this truly was the end, did it mean the beginning of something else? A reunion she’d longed for for over a decade?

If only she knew it would happen like this.

Her eyes slammed shut as wetness pooled and spilled. Consciousness was a battle she was gradually losing.

But nothing had ever come easy, nothing that she really wanted, anyway.

She would hold on as long as she possibly could, as long as was possible.

And she’d spend the last of her energy making the children as comfortable as she could, even if it was only a fragment of comfort.

Plastered against the back of the plane, Artemis turned to the window. Everything was whipping by with such abnormal speed, red heat and flames of the fire lashing against the side of the plane.

She didn’t even want to imagine what the outside looked like, given the bedlam transpiring inside.

But what did still her was the quick flash of something that came and disappeared in under a second.

It was far too large to be a bird, much smaller than a plane, but the speed at which it moved…… It was almost beyond human comprehension.

I think hallucinations are a sign of pending death.

A macabre thought, but not entirely inappropriate.

Her eyes fluttered moments before her body dropped, moving in an unnatural manner. At that point, she’d managed to block out the searing pain that traveled through her body. What point was there in trying to address something she couldn’t fix?

It was meritless and a waste of time.

And energy.

The ability to remain coherent enough to guesstimate just how much time they had left waned with each struggle to keep her eyes fully open. Even when they were opened, she kept looking toward the children. As if she could will them to meet her gaze. Maybe then she could try to assure them that they were going to be okay.

She took a deep swallow.

That was such a lie, but she’d rather their last minutes be filled with hope, even if it was an empty box.

They didn’t need to know that.

As her body dropped to the ground, she took a sharp breath and managed to flex her fingers. They seemed to be the only thing she could use.

Voices called her name. She briefly recognized them as belonging to the attendants.

She lifted her head and saw black shoes and sheer stockings covering tan skin moving closer.

She moaned. “I’m f—fine.” Something caught up, and Artemis choked up something. She blinked. Red. Blood. “Kids. H—h—help them.”

The walking ceased. “Art—”

“No,” she growled, fisting her hand against the ground. Seconds later, she was shifted again, thrown forward, her head colliding with something hard. She blinked several times. Her vision was good and hazy. Artemis was almost certain that she was seeing duplicates.

The descent was steady this time, downward, and fast.

Every breath felt struggled against the invisible weight of the trauma that suffocated her body. Her fingers flexed and wiggled. If only she could bring her arm into her body.

The chain around her neck, the tiny cross that hung tucked into her blouse. Not that it would do anything to help her, physically.

But the emotional comfort, the connection is reminded her of, it would dim everything.

So she attempted to pull her arm inward, a burning shooting through that immediately ceased all movement.

So much for that.

That was when the tears continued. One could only remain strong for so long.

And just like that, everything stopped.

The movement, at least.

Everything was so still.

Too still.

Was this it? Was this how it was? A noticeable void of everything that being alive represented.

It was……subpar. Far from what she’d always imagined the afterward would be.

Halfway unconscious, Artemis missed the noticeable gasps and harsh whispers that spread through the plane as the door was easily ripped and tossed aside.

The question of if everyone was alright followed by heavy footsteps and a shadowed darkness that covered her back.

Hands moved to her side, gently turning her on her back. She gasped violently, becoming somewhat aware of her surroundings.

Eyes. Warm yet cool eyes bore into hers. However, her involuntary reaction was to fight. She struggled, mustering as much strength as she could, attempting to push the person away.

Then she heard it, the quiet whisper of her name.

“Artemis.” She stilled and tried to focus her vision. Everything was just so foggy. “It’s alright.” Artemis continued to moan and groan, determined to fight, so he continued to reassure that it was fine.

But, it wasn’t.

She was dead.

……Wasn’t she?

Artemis calmed herself down enough to stop moving. The stranger took that moment to speak again.

“You’re hemorrhaging internally, and If I don’t cauterize this bleed…..” He trailed off. If Artemis was in the right frame of mind, she would have cursed him. That certainly wasn’t the extent of her injuries. She didn’t like being lied to.

Her brows furrowed. How. Who. What.

All unasked questions he somehow detected.

“I can do things that other people can’t.” She shut her eyes and gasped. If breathing was difficult now, it was unbearable now. “Hold my hand.” He didn’t wait for her to respond, placing his over hers. She calmed down, ever so slightly. “This is gonna hurt.”

It wasn’t as though she was any position to speak, and even if she did, the scream that left her mouth seconds later spoke volumes more than any word could.

To her credit, the pain only lasted for a few moments, having lost the battle to consciousness.

❖❖❖

Hospitals sucked.

Of that, Artemis was 10000% sure of, to the point where she was prepared to defend it to the very end.

Every wall, floor, building, everything about it reeked of death. If not for you, for someone you knew.

Rarely anything good came from visiting one, let alone being admitted. Sadly, that was the case for her.

She’d been stuck at Metro General for over a week, and each day brought her that much closer to seeing if she could make a break for it.

Even though, deep down, she knew that was ridiculous.

She’d been significantly injured. Artemis lost count of how many times she was told that she was lucky to be alive.

More than she’d like to count.

Really, the fact that there were no other fatalities was enough for her. Sure, there were injuries, but nothing as severe as hers. From her knowledge, she was the only one still being held hostage.

And even if the hospital itself wasn’t bad enough, the damn people were just as bad.

Maybe not the doctors and nurses, and the staff. She admired them.

No, the damn people who visited her every hour on the hour, she felt like.

Lana had been at her beside from the moment she was rushed into the OR.

Guilt, she figured.

Artemis focused her gaze on the vase of flowers on the side of the bed. They were different from the one’s she received just this morning. However, the change wasn’t what circulated her mind.

No, it was the reason she was still alive.

Him. Her rescuer. She barely remembered what occurred, but she distinctly recalled his eyes, the way he looked at her, her name on his mouth.

Who was he? What was he?

She’d first thought she’d been dreaming. How could another person do what he’d done?

Flew up into the sky and separated a damn shuttle from a plane, stopped the plane from crashing, cauterized her wound, flew her to the hospital, and who knew what else.It was all too unreal, impossible to be reality.

But everyone else had saw him.

And Artemis heard him.

Whoever, whatever, he was, he knew her name.

And he’d saved her.

She was alive because of him.

For that…..she was beyond thankful. Still very much confused, but thankful.

Unfortunately, the world was also confused, and as the only person to have such direct contact with him, she was highly sought out.

Not to mention, everyone was praising her for being so “heroic.” Whatever that meant.

Reaching over the bed, she grabbed the card and flipped it over to see two letters followed by periods. Initials.

C.K.

Artemis frowned. Who?

A knock on the door pulled her from her thoughts. She prepared to give the same scripted reply to the nurse on duty. She then paused as she was met with the same warm smile she’d first encountered a few weeks ago.

She leaned back against the pillows and paused. “Hi.”

“Hi.” He stood in the doorway. “Is it alright—”

“Oh, yeah,” she waved him in, sitting up as much as she could. Her eyes then fell on the bouquet in his right hand. “Please tell me those aren’t for me.”

He squinted. “What happens if I say yes?”

“Add em’ to the rest,” she sighed and smiled. “Thank you. They’re beautiful. I just don’t know if I’m going to have any room in my apartment if I receive anymore.” He handed them to her. She sniffed and closed her eyes. Lillies. Her favorites.

“Clark, right?”

He nodded. “Yeah.” She leaned and placed them on the remaining free space oo her side table. They were smaller than some of the others, but she wanted them to be the closest to her.

“I’d ask you how you’re doing but—”

“I’m sick of hearing that question,” she finished for him with a small smile. “How did you—you’re a reporter.” The bag on his shoulder, the almost embarrassed expression when she said it, it was obvious.

She prepared to send him away as she did the rest, but there was something different about him. Something genuine.

Artemis was willing to give him something. Not much.

“Look, all I know is that I owe him my life. Me and everyone else on that plane. I don’t know anything else.”

Clark crossed his arms. “I’m sorry?”

“That’s what you’re here for, right? The mystery hero?”

“Not my story.” He smiled and adjusted his glasses. “I’m actually here for you.”

She stilled. “Oh.” Well, that was unexpected.

“I work for the Daily Planet. We’d like to do a story on you. The mystery hero wasn’t the only one who saved lives. They say a lot of those kids are alive because of you.”

She shrugged. “I just did what anyone else would have done.”

“Not everyone.” He frowned.

Artemis picked at the hospital bedding. “You have any siblings, Clark?” He shook his head. “I do. Two. My brother’s name is Kalep. He’s ten. The sweetest and most annoying kid ever.” She smiled softly, remembering his big brown eyes in the FaceTime camera as Artemis reassured her father that he didn’t need to fly down.

Unnecessary money.

“Did you know that the youngest kid on that flight was eight?” She didn’t wait for an answer. “Eight-years old. Hell, you haven’t even started to live when you’re eight. I can’t imagine it all ending so soon. I’ve seen enough of this world. I would have been okay. No matter what happened.” She looked out the window and licked her lips before looking back at him. “I wouldn’t change anything I did. Not a damn thing.”

Clark said nothing, chuckling softly. “Maybe I was wrong. Maybe I am doing the story on the hero.” A beat. “But she’s not a mystery.”

Artemis caught his gaze. There was something both familiar and comforting about him. She couldn’t place her finger on it, though.

“Okay, they sure do know who to send to get a story.” She shifted again. These beds were so damn uncomfortable. “I do hope they find him, though. He deserves it. I won’t even bitch if they throw him a parade or some shit. It’s well deserved.”

They both laughed as Artemis looked down, nodding slowly. “I just want to thank him, you know.”

“You’re not scared?”

“Of him?” She laughed. “No. Why would I be?”

“I mean, a guy who can fly. You don’t see them everyday.”

“There are a lot of things to be scared of in this world, Clark.” A beat. “He’s not one of them.”

❖❖❖

Artemis had never been so grateful to be home.

It was one thing to be away because of work. It was another to be away because she was physically unable to be home.

Thankfully, she’d been cleared and discharged. That was a few days ago, but each moment was more than appreciated.

She’d dusted, rearranged, hell, even cooked more than she had in all the time she’d been in Metropolis. Even whilst ambling around in a boot on her right leg.

Near death experiences tend to have that effect.

Not one for much television, she’d even started to rewatch One Tree Hill and was halfway through Homecoming. However, too much time in front of the screen triggered headaches, so she decided to switch out programming for a book on her wall of books.

She had so many that she’d purchased, started, yet never finished.

One of her new resolutions was to change that.

She loved to read.

It was one of the many fond memories she had. Being read to as she lay in bed, forcing herself just to stay up because no one told stories in such distinct voices as her.

Artemis settled on The Chaos of Standing Still. She noticed a bookmark toward the beginning and pulled it out. She could barely remember the plot, let alone the little that she’d read.

She scratched at her hair and made a mental note to order the bonnets that were waiting in her Amazon cart.

Ooh, she also needed to pay her cell phone bill. Maybe automatic payments weren’t so bad, because if she garnered one more goddamn late fee—

Artemis turned around and nearly fell flat on her ass. Thankfully, the book took one for the team, stumbling on her carpet. The bookmark laid next to it.

Across her room, close to the backdoor that led to the small balcony, he stood, cape lightly flowing behind him. The lighting was dimmed, but even with the lack of illumination, he stood out in the darkness. Representative of who he was, whoever that was.

“Umm, hi,” she blurted, placing her hand on her forehead. “How did you—” Her eyes shifted to the backdoor. “Never mind. Stupid question.” She got the feeling that whether she welcomed him in or not, it made little to no difference.

“Hi.” She waited for more. Nothing else came.

“Can I—get you something to drink?” She asked. “Do you even drink?” Artemis wanted to slap herself. What the hell was wrong with her? Since when did she get so easily flustered?

Maybe that was another side effect of almost dying.

“I do.” He smiled and stepped forward. She remained where she was. “But, I’m okay. Thank you.”

“Okay,” she murmured. “How—why—what are you doing here?”

“I read the interview you gave.”

“You read?” She blurted.

He shrugged. “In my free time.”

“Thank you.” She cleared her throat. “For—for saving me, and everyone else.”

He lifted his a hand. “Don’t. You never have to thank me for that. No one does.”

She tilted her head. “What are you?” She continued. “I mean, you’re not human. I dated my high school’s quarterback, and we were all impressed by his ability to push his truck. Yet, you’re out here lifting planes?” She hadn’t meant to babble. It wasn’t in her nature, but she was so damn intrigued. Not to mention, everyone had been searching for the man who stood a few feet away from her, only for him to find her.

“What I am isn’t important. It’s what I do….that’s what matters.”

“What exactly is it that you do? Save people? There are occupations for that.”

He chuckled. “I think we both know it’s a little more complicated than that.”

“Touche,” she whispered and danced her fingers against her legs. Artemis looked him over. He was solid, muscles rippling against the formfitting material of his….uniform? Costume seemed inappropriate. Costumes were for people who feigned what he really was. A hero. “What’s the S stand for?”

He looked down and then back up. “It’s not an S. On my world, it means hope.”

She bit on her bottom lip. Artemis wanted to ask him where exactly his world was, but she had a feeling he wouldn’t answer. “Well, here, it’s just an S.”

He chuckled. “Noted.”

Her next question was instant. “What’s your name?” He stared at her. Artemis kept his gaze, willing herself to affirm her assertiveness. She was never one to shy away, to back down, to retreat. That couldn’t change. Not even for him. “You know mine.”

His gaze softened, something that didn’t bypass Artemis.

“It’s Kal.”

“Kal,” she repeated, accentuating each letter, despite the shortness. Artemis smiled. “My little brother’s name is Kalep.” She cleared her throat. “So am I your first or last stop?”

He tilted his head. “I’m sorry?”

“You know, on your grand entrance to the world.”

He offered a small smile. “No. What I do….who I am….it’s not of importance.” A beat. “I’m not yet ready to reveal myself to the world.”

She quieted. “But you did with me, and I’m nobody special.”

“I wouldn’t say that. To those kids you saved, the ones you risked your life for, you’re the hero.”

She straightened one arm and grabbed her elbow, shrugging. “The cape takes the cake. Kids are fickle like that. Besides, I just did what was right. No need to make a big thing out of it.”

He nodded slowly, stepping forward. Artemis inhaled subtly. He was so big. “And that’s why I’ve told you….and only you.”

His voice lowered toward the end of his sentence as his gaze focused on her, meeting her eyes. At that moment, she understood. She didn’t know why or how, but he trusted her. Kal trusted her.

“Got it.” A beat. “Okay, I just have to ask. Is this like a disguise? I mean, your….skin….” His eyes crinkled in amusement, tiny lines forming. “You’re not really….like green or something, are you?”

“No, I’m not.”

“Okay, good, cause then that would be really….weird.”

His smile deepened. “You have a good night, Artemis.”

She chewed her bottom lip. “You too, Kal.”

He nodded and prepared to leave.

“Hey, Kal.” He turned to face her, eyebrows lifted. “I—uh—I’m out of work for a while. Recovery and all. So, um, if you ever want. I mean, if you’re ever around.” She pushed her lips together and pushed a hand over her curls. “I’m just here.”

He said nothing, just a smile, and a second later, he was gone.

#superman #dc #superman x oc #superman x reader #man of steel #clark kent #clark kent x oc #clark kent x reader #clark kent fic #superman fanfic

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clean-bands-dirty-stories · 4 years

Text

Unhelpful ~ S.E.

A/n: Tried not to get too triggering with this for my own sake, so I hope it still delivered the characters

Request: “...Could you do a book on Samuel Emerson, Where her mother hate Samuel, and doesn't want her to see him but Y/N meets him when he does his Shakespearean plays, and he walks with him until her mother sees him with Y/N and there is a really big argument with her mum, and Samuel's dad joins in and then it doesn't help at all.” by @disneyqueenpixar63 (for some reason it won’t let me tag you, so I’ll just message it to you when I’m done)

Word Count: 1700+

MASTERLIST

Love was hard enough without life and difficult parents getting involved. It was hard enough when you had to struggle for food and to keep your place in your home, let alone trying to fit some sort of romance in the spare moments there were between the panic and sleepless nights worrying and handling the pressure of a dad that was more a burden than anything.

It was hard enough to live with a mother who could never approve of your even if you were perfect, let alone trying to get her to approve of a boy as well. It showed when Y/n brought her boyfriend Samuel home. He'd needed a moment away from home and Y/n had been confident her place would have been better. Her mother had quickly dashed that idea by running Sam out and spending hours and hours after he was gone screaming at Y/n for anything she could think of. It didn't matter that Y/n and Sam weren't having sex, or that they'd been sitting int he living room and in plain sight and just talking and obviously not up to anything questionable at all. Y/n had made the decision to give her heart to Samuel Emerson, so her mother disapproved and she was having absolutely none of it.

That, of course, didn't stop them from seeing each other. They'd avoided Sam's dad knowing about Y/n thus far and were keeping it that way. They wanted their parents part of their relationship as little as possible - especially after Y/n's mom's reaction.

So they were apart at nights, unless they snuck out to meet in secret, which was rare and only in dire circumstances when one absolutely had enough and needed the other. Most of the time they met when Sam was performing. It was where they had first met, so it felt fittingly poetic to do so again and again when they were supposed to be banned from doing it at all. Y/n was in a similar situation that Sam was in, except her mother wasn't addicted to alcohol but men. Thankfully the men came with money, but not enough to keep them fed, so Y/n spent time doing small jobs like mowing lawns and babysitting and dog walking. It was a celebration when she'd turned 15 and had been able to get a job at the car wash. All these things helped her to stay out of her house as much as possible and earn money to pay for food and even save some. Her mom handled the rent at the very least.

After Y/n got off her shift, Sam was wrapping up his performances as the sun began to set and the traffic died down and it was therefore useless to perform. There was no crowd. So, he waited for Y/n and then they'd walk home together. Or, as far home as they could get without being seen. Sam had gotten used to taking an alternate path as not to pass by Y/n's house. They'd at first found it amusing that he had walked past her house on his way home every single day without even knowing the other existed, but now it was just annoying and inconvenient and another thing on a long list of things that had been ruined for them by their parents.

Today, Y/n was having a rough day. She was more relieved than usual to end her day, but only because it meant seeing Sam again. That short walk was most of their interaction, though if Sam could pull off taking a break from performing when it was Y/n's break they would often take lunch together as well. Recently they hadn't been able to pull that off and they'd had to rush home a lot because Y/n's mom was needy and Sam's dad was irritable. Tonight though, they took their time.

They defied their parents the best way they could: despite everything, they allowed themselves to be happy. They walked and they held hands and they enjoyed the cool night air and they just talked and nothing could stop them.

Perhaps that was why Sam missed his turn. Maybe that's why he got too far, walking too long with his girlfriend without realizing where he was and just letting his feet take him down the path both his mind and heart wanted to take. The path that he had taken for years, memorizing as a second nature. The path that would give him more time with Y/n, which is what he wanted more than anything.

The walk ended abruptly when Y/n's mother saw the pair walking up to the hose, smiling and holding hands. She wasn't just impossible to get approval from - she was also bitter. She was the kind of woman who saw other people being happy where she was miserable and refused to tolerate it. Usually she just had to walk away. Today, she could lash out.

"Y/n." The world of light shattered for Y/n when she heard her mother's voice. Any good feeling she had withered and weeds of terror grew in their place.

Slowly the young girl looked over to the woman who had birthed her, and Sam watched with a terrible feeling in his chest as Y/n's face drained of color and her hand clung to his like if she let go, she would be pulled into oblivion still kicking. He wanted to make that smile come back to her face but... he knew first hand that lashing out at a nasty parent only got worse results. So he stayed quiet and vowed to make it up to her tomorrow. Perhaps he'd go a bit longer and perform her favorite poem so she could hear it.

That was tomorrow though. Tonight was already bad, and it had only just begun.

"Mom." She swallowed, blinking as she tried to orient herself. "Hello."

The woman's eyes narrowed. "Hello?" There was a threat to her voice that made Sam seize. The teenagers clung to each other, unsure how to undo this disaster. "I told you, Y/n. I TOLD YOU-" She began to approach them, shoving a finger in Y/n's chest so hard that Y/n had to take a step back, wincing from pain. The girl's free hand rose to rub the spot. "What did I tell you?"

Y/n looked at Sam for answers and then saw the boy breaking down. She saw the fear that had been taught to him by situations just like this with a much more dangerous man involved. She saw his fear and helplessness and she felt herself switch from cowering to protective. She stepped forward, drawing the attention to her and away from Sam. "You told me not to see Sam. Why? You never told me why."

"Because he's a boy," Her mother spit. It obviously wasn't the real reason, but as Y/n's mother had been trained to hate men after a life of being only abused by them, it wasn't far from one of the truths she believed at least.

"Sam is different," Y/n insisted. When her mother went to talk, she spoke louder. "He's different! And I know I'm young and it probably won't last because nothing ever does with our stupid species, but he's a good boy and he likes me and I like him and I think I've denied myself of things I want long enough. He makes me happy, and why would I stop that? Just because in the future we might break up?"

The older woman considered that. "I'm just trying to protect you."

"Protect me from what?" Y/n demanded. "Failure?"

"Precisely," the woman responded firmly.

Y/n rolled her eyes. That was not the correct response. Her mother got visibly agitated, but Y/n wasn't done yet. "Well it's not a guaranteed failure, and if you stop me from that then you also stop me from possible success. I'm allowed to make my own mistakes."

The woman scoffed. "Oh, so now you know everything? PLEASE forgive me for trying to guide and love and protect you." Her eyes drifted to Sam and then light with an emotion that Y/n didn't like. "Look at how much he's changed you already. Look at you acting all big and tough and putting on a show for a little boy who can't even defend you. Look at him cower! He's pathetic!"

Their voices had elevated enough that lights had begun turning on. In the distant Y/n heard Sam whimper and it was just enough to draw her attention to what was behind her mother's shoulder.

A man who was unmistakably Mr. Emerson. And from the sway in his path as he walked, he was intoxicated. Y/n made herself bigger as best she could, shielding both adults from the boy who had migrated behind her at this point.

"You talking about my son?" His voice was low and gruff and already aggressive.

"Dad-" Sam began, but he was cut off by Y/n's mother.

"What if I am?" She sneered. "I can't believe this boy you raised is such a coward. Aren't you ashamed of yourself for raising such a wimp? What kind of man raises such a child, who can't even stand up for a girl he's stupid enough to stay with even though I've told her not to be around him. He's okay with the action but not the consequences. He'll never be a man like that."

Sam's dad did not seem pleased by that. "You want to blame me for how he turned out?" He scoffed. "Parents can only do so much. Not my fault if he can't speak up. Though with the likes of you, you're not worth his time and effort."

Very soon, it escalated. Soon it became too much and Y/n turned to Sam and pulled him after her, running off into the darkness.

Tonight they'd be together. On the streets perhaps, but neither could go back to those houses where more arguments would ensue. If they came back tomorrow instead, they wouldn't have to deal with the anger. Their parents would have calmed and after the argument, Y/n's mom might have even moved on and lost interest and let Y/n make her mistakes or whatever. Things would be different tomorrow. Different than tonight.

It was worth sleeping on the streets for one night, so they did. Wrapped in each other's arms, it was far less than it would have been int heir houses, or alone. They could be okay with this. After all, it wasn't anything new. Just another day, another problem. One of many they would handle together.

#samuel emerson #thomas brodie sangster #thomas sangster #my left hand man #phantom halo #samuel emerson imagine #samuel emerson x reader #thomas sangster x reader #thomas sangster imagine #thomas brodie sangster imagine #thomas brodie sangster x reader #my left hand man imagine #phantom halo imagine #phantom halo x reader #my left hand man x reader

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keep-it-i-resign · 3 years

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Fic Writer Asks

tagged by the lovely @vampcoffeegyrl23 I am soooo sorry this has taken over a week! I promise I was just busy away from my computer and using mobile is not the way to go about answering these! 😅

1. How many works do you have on AO3?

6 on AO3 and 6 on ffn.net. I haven't used the ffn.net account in years, i.e 2013 (and therefore my user name isn't even the same) so those 6 stories are different from my AO3 ones. I don't post most of what I write and now that I'm in my mid-20s with a few published papers behind me - I'm much more confident in my ability to write a cohesive and interesting story so expect more posted!

2. What's your total AO3 word count?

17,425 words which isn't bad for only 6 fics with two of those stories having additional chapters coming soon.

3. How many fandoms have you written for and what are they?

On AO3? Just 1, which is The Flash and by extension Stargate SG-1 for the crossover I did for Snowells Week this year. Counting ffn.net that's 3 more with Castle, Doctor Who, and Firefly. Over my lifetime of writing fic for myself? I think only 7 more. Stargate SG-1, Stargate Atlantis, Sanctuary, Harry Potter, Star Trek: Voyager, Star Trek: TNG, and Left 4 Dead. Left 4 Dead isn't much of a fanfic but I did use the zombie types as place holders in an original story until I developed my own.

4. What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

I'll Be Waiting (The Flash - Caitlin/Harry)

Well... This is Awkward (The Flash - Caitlin/Harry, Frost/Nash, Caitlin/Nash, and Frost/Harry)

Rewind Time (The Flash - Caitlin/Harry)

Through the Gate (The Flash/Stargate SG-1 - Caitlin/Eowells)

Harvest Season (The Flash - Caitlin/Harry)

5. What's the fic you've written with the angstiest ending?

I don't write angst much and I haven't posted many stories yet but of the ones posted I guess "I'll Be Waiting" is the angstiest.

6. What's the fic you've written with the happiest ending?

"Well...This is Awkward" has a pretty happy ending with everyone alive and together. Or maybe "Twilight of the Gods" because ReverseSnow/ReverseFrost happens and there is hope of bringing everything lost back and balance the universe again. I guess it depends on your definition of what constitutes as a happy ending. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

7. Do you write crossovers? If so, what is the craziest one you've written?

I've only written one - The Flash/Stargate SG-1 crossover. I don't normally think about crossovers just because the shows I watch are so vastly different they can't really work or they are already in the same universe with the canon crossovers. I'm also not always a fan of reading them because they can get chaotic quick and characterization takes a dive in order to fit characters into other universes/situations. I admire anyone who can write it well though!

As a side note: I did have a thought about a Snowells into the Arkham universe fic just because I have been replaying the Batman Arkham video games which I might give a shot at.

8. Do you write smut? If so what kind?

👀I wrote one smutty story years ago and it's terrible because I was young and naïve. I haven't tried recently but I'm not opposed to giving it a shot now. I have a few ideas on a prompt list I have for Snowells already so it's really a matter of when will I get to it!

9. Do you respond to comments. why or why not?

I do when I can! I like to get feedback from my readers and having an open dialogue of what they liked or disliked is important for me! I want to know what my audience enjoyed and what to improve on! Responding to them also shows them I saw that they said and appreciate what they had to say! 🥰

10. Have you ever received hate on a fic?

Surprisingly - no, even on my old and terribly written stuff. I'm perfectly open to criticism but hate? If you don't like it, you don't like it but others might. Why spend the time spreading negativity when the world has enough of it?

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

As far as I know - no.

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

No but given enough time I could probably translate mine. It would be grammatically atrocious because I rarely translate from English into any of the languages I know. It's normally the other way around! I'd definitely need a Beta who is fluent to correct my mistakes.

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before?

No but it's definitely something I'd try! I co-wrote an original story with a few friends of mine years ago in high school and enjoyed it. I like the idea of getting to talk and bounce ideas off of someone who enjoys the same fandoms and character as me! I haven't really done that since I grew apart from one of my friends from high school who I did that with.

14. What's your all time favorite ship?

What kind of question is this? Do people actually have an ultimate ship? Is that even possible? I have ships from several fandoms and sometimes multiple ships within a fandom. Most of the time I have a main ship from a fandom but that doesn't mean I discount any of the other ones that I or others enjoy as well. I'll throw out a few that I still got out and read for in order of what I read most often (either new stuff or re-reads) to what I read occasionally, at least according to my AO3 favorite tags.

Snowells (all variations) - The Flash

Jack O'Neill/Sam Carter - Stargate SG-1

Helen Magnus/Nikola Tesla - Sanctuary

Harry/Hermione - Harry Potter

William Murdoch/Julia Ogden - Murdoch Mysteries

Phil/ Melinda - Agents of SHIELD

Kathryn Janeway/Tom Paris - Star Trek: Voyager

Kate Fleming/Steve Arnott - Line of Duty

I will occasionally go check what kind of fics the fandom writes when I start a show just out of curiosity. Sometimes you can tell if there is fandom hate between ships by doing so and I know to steer clear, especially if I ship a lesser ship/non-canon ship. Also - the number of canon-divergence or rewrites will tell you if the shows writers start being ridiculous *cough* The Flash *cough* and whether it's worth getting attached at all.

15. What's a WIP that you want to finish but don't think you ever will?

Hoo boy. I have a drive full of them. Most of which aren't even close to being posted. My biggest one right now is a complete re-write of The Flash dealing with a what if scenario of Earth-1 Tess Morgan being pregnant the night that Thawne kills them both and he chooses to birth the kid rather than let it die with her. It's set a few years earlier (so 18/19 years stuck in the past rather than the original 15 that the show has it) so the kid isn't Jesse but it changes how season 1 plays out and definitely how season 2 plays out when Harry finds out about the kid while dealing with the Jesse/Zoom issue. Plus it's Snowells too and I want to deal with Barry's mistakes and the consequences of them better than the show did since the show just kind of brushes them off? For some reason? I wanted things to have a little more consequence because some of the mistakes made are egregious and then they acted like it never happened which bothers me. It's a beast of a project and I'm - unfortunately- a perfectionist and a completionist. I'm thinking an episode per chapter rewrite but right now it's in bits and pieces and a lot of notes on how episodes would play out differently with an added character and dynamic.

16. What are your writing strengths?

Dialogue and scene positioning. I can write out the dialogue for a story quickly with the bare bones of the scene and movements playing out. After that, it takes me ages to expand the scene and fill in the bits between speaking lines because I can see the piece play out in my head and putting that to paper accurately and engagingly without being overwhelming is a multi-layered process.

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

Some of this is normal, you know, like grammar and spelling. My brain moves faster than I type so words or bit of phrases end up missing and I later have to fix it. I'm also a Southerner who grew up watching a ton of British shows so a lot of the way I phrase things isn't commonly used anywhere. I have to spend a lot of time double checking things like that. I think my biggest one is not knowing how to end stories satisfactorily. I haven't posted many fics because it's hard to post them when you don't know how to wrap everything up.

18. What are your thoughts on writing dialogue in other languages in a fic?

It depends on whether it's an established part of a character or story and whether or not I'm comfortable with the language. Like with Sherloque - it's established he'll say something in French and then repeat it in English. I took 3 years of French so I'm comfortable writing it and it fits the character and situation. But take Cisco, we know he speaks Spanish, but it's never really shown in the show. So fics that I've read where he breaks into Spanish can be distracting as we've never seen him do it - even in dire circumstances. I also never took Spanish in school and I only know rudimentary pieces (I took Mandarin and Latin instead), so I'm unlikely to use it in any fic I write unless the circumstances warrant it (say - Cisco is talking to a grandparent or a meta struggling with English).

But again, it depends on the situation, what we know of the character, and how comfortable I am with the language enough to get it correct and in character. Any fic writer who can get the situation and character down while using a secondary language, and not make it distracting deserves applause!

19. What was the first fandom you wrote for?

Hit me with a hard one why don't you? 🤣 I think it was Stargate SG-1 or maybe it was Stargate Atlantis. You're asking me to think back over a decade and a half ago to when I started reading and writing fic at the tender age of 7 or 8. I'm fairly certain it was one of those two fandoms and it might've been a crossover. I do remember writing part of it on an old Gateway computer running Windows '98 with a glass monitor that was mine and my sisters. The other half was written on an electric type-writer that I owned because this was before laptops were widely available and affordable.

20. What's your favorite fic you've written?

It's a tie between "Twilight of the Gods" and "I'll Be Waiting". "Twilight of the Gods" because I got to show off a few of my degrees (History and Classics, I couldn't shoehorn in my others but they are science related and that doesn't quite fit that story). "I'll Be Waiting" is a favorite because it's a big middle finger to whoever / collective group wrote The Flash season 7. I'm still pissed off at how the Wells plotline was dealt with and let's not get started on the whole Chillblaine/Kramer/Forces as kids of WA plots (ewwwwwww 🤢). I'd need a whole new post to talk about how tired I am of the WA kids showing up (because screw how that'll effect the timeline, right?) and the reliance on the future to drive what decisions are made (because, again, screw how bad that would be for the timeline - it's not like we have seen how much that effects things before right?) 😒

Phew.....That was longer than I expected, honestly, but a lot of fun!

Tagging whoever wants to talk about their works because you are all wonderful people who should get a chance to share!

#20 questions #writer asks #fandom things #fanfic #Snowells

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gothealed · 3 years

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NINA GOTHEL - ARCS

inspired by @zzozo <3

𝐀𝐑𝐂 I : 𝐏𝐑𝐄-𝐃𝐄𝐒𝐂𝐄𝐍𝐃𝐀𝐍𝐓𝐒

the youngest daughter of mother gothel , nina grew up isolated and almost entirely alone on the isle of the lost , with only her mother and her older half-sister ginny as company . an introvert at heart , she preferred to keep to herself rather than make allies with other isle born children or dedicate herself to a gang or faction . she reasons that it is too much baggage , that other people are too much weight to carry , but she knows that it is truly because no one really cares about her . when most ask what their opinion of her is , they would say that she is dull and entirely forgettable ; that there was nothing remarkable about her , even with her legendary heritage . she certainly wasn’t comparable to her older sister , that’s for sure .

it isn’t until the day she is fleeing a group of bog boys that she meets james stabbington , the son of sideburns stabbington . and suddenly , something has changed in her ; he tells her she’s beautiful , and unique , and clever , and she can’t help herself . she opens herself up to him , despite the worry in her gut that warns her against it . she’s sure that it couldn’t end too horribly .

𝐀𝐑𝐂 𝐈𝐈 : 𝐃𝐄𝐒𝐂𝐄𝐍𝐃𝐀𝐍𝐓𝐒

she had been wrong . it couldn’t have ended more terribly , in fact . after he had stolen half of nina’s personal belongings , made himself comfortable in her bed , inserted himself into every crevice of her life , the other shoe drops . he tells her that the sex was alright , but that he felt it was time to move on . and it all comes rushing to her head , that she had just been a toy , a plaything , that she had given him everything she had and he had taken it and had no intention of giving anything to her . and he had tried to walk away , but she wasn’t going to let him get away with this . in a blind fit of rage , she grabs the first thing she sees , a baseball bat , and chases after him . when she’s finished , his nose is permanently crooked and scarred , and she leaves him practically unconscious on the ground . she feels empty and used up .

but despite her revenge , he still manages to get the upper hand on her . when he recovers , the rumours begin to spread . how she’s crazy and possessive , how he had attempted to break off the relationship and she had thrown a fit and attacked him , wanting to ruin his face so no one could ever want him again . then rumours spread that she was easy , that she slept with all of his friends while they were together ; in fact , she slept with anything with a heartbeat , according to him . the rumours were nasty and they did not hold back ; and it had its desired effect . no one would go anywhere near nina gothel , not unless they thought they could take her home with them . and the worst part hadn’t even been that , but the aftermath of her mother finding out she had been disobediant and sneaking a boy into the house and seeing him in secret .

with no more privacy , no friends to defend her , and nowhere to run , she watches the limo carry the core four through the barrier and hopes to god that they succeed in taking the barrier down . not for the sake of evil , but so she can run far away from this place , from these people , and never look back . in the meantime , all she has to cope is cheap booze and the cigarette addiction that james gave her .

𝐀𝐑𝐂 𝐈𝐈𝐈 : 𝐃𝐄𝐒𝐂𝐄𝐍𝐃𝐀𝐍𝐓𝐒 𝟐

the barrier doesn’t come down , and so nina is left stuck in dire circumstances that she has no control over . all she can do now is control how she protects herself , how she guards everything about herself . she completely shuts out anyone who tries to get close , and practically stops appearing in public altogether to avoid the unwanted propositions thrown her way at every turn . she carries as many knives as she can possibly hold on her body , all concealed beneath her clothes , perfectly unassuming until someone gets too close . if she had been dependent on booze and cigarettes before , it was ten times worse now ; it’s a crutch now , it’s something she cannot last a day without . the cigarettes calm her anxiety , soothes the shaking in her hands that stems from her exhaustion , her lack of sleep , her shitty life at home . the alcohol tamps down the emotions she so desperately wants to stop feeling , muffles them , makes them harder to pay attention to . it’s the only thing she feels she can depend upon now .

time passes on agonizingly slow . she drinks and smokes like her life depends on it . she wants to hide in her house but can’t stand being around her mother . but going out in public means getting harassed . she lives at an impasse , until the cotillion happens , until uma nearly gives them a taste of freedom once more . stupidly , she allows herself to hope that escape was in her grasp . but it’s all for naught , and uma disappears into the sea like she never even existed . and nina retreats into darkness again .

𝐀𝐑𝐂 𝐈𝐕 : 𝐃𝐄𝐒𝐂𝐄𝐍𝐃𝐀𝐍𝐓𝐒 𝟑

she’s at her wit’s end , it seems . no matter how many people she beats back , she can’t even seem to find the peace she’s desperately searching for . drinking herself into a stupor just makes her miserable , but she can’t seem to stop . the nightmares torment her , and when it isn’t nightmares , she can’t seem to get to sleep without a drink or a smoke . and though a handful of people have managed to at least insert themselves into her life in some way , though there are people that have become a part of her life , she still can’t find the bravery to open herself up to them . it frightens her too much , the thought of letting herself become open and vulnerable to a person who could easily use it all against her . she holds everyone at an arm’s length most days , though they may get lucky if they catch her truly wasted .

and then , to her shock , the barrier comes down . freedom is in her grasp , it’s close enough to touch , and she grasps for it like her life depends on it . it does . she will go anywhere , any place where the traces of her past cannot be found .

𝐀𝐑𝐂 𝐕 : 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐌𝐎𝐎𝐍𝐒𝐓𝐎𝐍𝐄 ( graphic by @magdiron )

unbeknownst to almost everyone on the isle and in auradon , the demon sorceress zhan tiri had been contained and shipped off to the isle to prevent her from every attempting to gain control of the sundrop and the moonstone ever again . as extra precaution , she had been contained in an ancient amulet guarded by yen sid , and even should she break free of her prison , the barrier would have kept her contained . when the barrier came down , clean up crews ventured to purge the isle of anything dangerous that could potentially cause harm . one clumsy crewman accidentally knocked over the case that held zhan tiri’s amulet , causing it to crack open and the spirit to escape without a trace . a mad search occurs to search for the demon , but it’s too late . zhan tiri attempts to immediately go for the sundrop and moonstone , but finds that the museum has barriers in place to prevent spirits like her from entering .

at this point , nina is adjusting slowly to the environment of auradon . she opts into attenting auradon prep for a single year , to fine tune any skills that could potentially get her a decent job to support herself in the adult world . in the meantime , she discovers that she has a second half-sister in cassandra , a close friend of queen rapunzel and prince consort eugene . reluctantly , she accepts cass’ offer to let her stay in her home , and even begins to form a rather pleasant relationship with her . though she is wary of rapunzel and eugene , she does not shy away from them . on one night , after experiencing a crippling night terror involving her mother , she leaves the house and steps into the woods to get some fresh air , but comes upon a shadow with glowing eyes that leaps at her , causing her to black out . the next thing she knows , she’s waking up in a hospital bed after cass found her unconscious in the grass . the following month brings a series of episodes that cause nina to fall into a faint ; every time it happens , she sees a series of flashing images like a flower , an opal , glowing spikes erupting from the floor , beaming golden light , then nothing . she has no memory of any of it upon waking . it would become bad enough that cass would insist that nina come home until they get a diagnosis , but nina asks to at least hold out until the break .

their last day of classes end up entailing a trip to the museum of cultural history . nina isn’t exactly thrilled by it , but she attends anyway , out of sheer curiousity . at the mid-point of the tour , they come across the exhibit for the sundrop and the moonstone , encased in a magical barrier . they seem familiar to her . she begins to feel lightheaded and nauseous , ready to pass out again , but this time , she doesn’t : instead , she feels something take control of her limbs , feels magic crackling at her fingertips , she watches the barrier holding the moonstone drop . her mouth opens and a voice that is not her own spills out , people scream and jump out of her way as she moves forward against her will . her mind screams for help , she tries to fight the possession , but there is nothing she can do ; zhan tiri has taken full control of her body , and she watches her hand grab the moonstone and knows that there may not be a chance for her at redemption .

the moonstone’s magic sears her flesh , but zhan tiri is delighted by this . the transformation is agony for the human vessel , but the demon sings as the black rocks begin to shoot up from the ground , as light blinds every eye in the room . when the dust settles , nina is transformed ; neon turquoise hair , practically glowing along with the eyes to match . the power is electrifying , and for the first time in her life , and entire room of people are cowering in fear of her , but for once , it is the last thing she’s ever wanted . she tries to scream for help , but nothing comes out ; zhan tiri has full control , and the crone’s voice drawls from her lips instead of her own . before the demon can even attempt to reach for the sundrop , the alarms begin to sound , and reinforcements have already begun to barrel into the room to disarm the newly freed demon . zhan tiri decides to leave the sundrop for later , and uses her vessel’s new powers to make their grand escape .

𝐀𝐑𝐂 𝐕𝐈 : 𝐑𝐄𝐂𝐎𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐘

the moonstone debacle nearly kills nina . auradon’s best healers fought to keep her alive in the aftermath of not only the moonstone being ripped away from her , but the process of having zhan tiri exorcised from her body . her body was never meant to wield that much power , nor was it meant to handle being possessed for such a long period of time as well . when she awakens , she waits for the inevitable punishment that will surely be given for what has happened , but king ben seems to have the opposite idea . while she had been preparing for a lifetime of imprisonment , he had already been fully informed on the circumstances of the incident by multiple witnesses , as well as the testimony of rapunzel , eugene , and cassandra . though they barely knew her , they vouched for her innocent and pleaded for mercy on her . and it was granted , much to her complete and utter shock .

the incident had too great of a toll on her body for her to return to school without having to repeat the year , so she opts to instead drop out . her body’s recovery is long ; physical therapy is required for her to regain the use of her legs , and a lot of her fine motor skills are shot for a long time . and unfortunately , the incident has left her with the choice to either drink and smoke herself to death or to choose to become sober , for the sake of her own health and safety . therapy is made mandatory for her recovery as well , much to her chagrin , but she goes because cass asks her to . when she is ready and willing , she already has a position lined up for her in rapunzel’s castle . and she thinks , perhaps , that things might turn out alright after all .

#☾✶☽ ( arc i ) rose-coloured glasses are distorted .#☾✶☽ ( arc ii ) what a shame she went mad .#☾✶☽ ( arc iii ) drink what i want . be what i want .#☾✶☽ ( arc iv ) my past has tasted bitter for years now .#☾✶☽ ( arc v ) plus est en vous ( there is more in you ) .#☾✶☽ ( arc vi ) i'm shattered porcelain glued back together again .#☾✶☽ ( my edits )

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mercyxkilling · 3 years

Text

memory meme

@emptyvictory asked: ☽ - a memory of their father

it was getting dark, the sky painted with the brilliant oranges and pinks, slowly fading into purples as the waning sunlight began to disappear and make way for the night. it was fairly clear with little cloud cover, and the air was warm without being stifling. it should have been a perfect evening.

but mercy couldn’t enjoy any of it. she was restless, anxious, and wanted to be anywhere but home. her mother would still be awake, probably drunk by now, and if she walked through the front door mercy knew that miserable bitch would start in on her. it would escalate and she’d end the night in her room, throat raw from screaming with tears streaming down her face. it was pathetic really. no matter how much she tried to steel herself from that woman and her verbal and physical onslaughts mercy never could seem to find the right kind of armor to wear into battle. it was a shame it was so late; she’d have gone to benny’s house to hang out if she could. there were times that she’d stay over, the two of them awkwardly sharing a bed because they both refused to sleep on the floor, pretending as if the circumstances that drove her there weren’t so dire and awful. and no matter how sad and vulnerable she might have felt, benny never once tried to use that as a foothold to get into her pants. instead he was supportive and respectful, though mercy knew she was toeing a line each time she’d crawl under the covers and ask to be held. there was nothing romantic about it to her, it was only a reassurance that she was capable of being cared for by another human being, but... well. she wasn’t stupid, either. maybe it was better she couldn’t head over there now. there were boundaries she wanted to keep in place and she refused to let their friendship to be breached because she was sending all the wrong signals.

so instead she found herself out in the garage and under the hood of the nova, trying to figure out what needed to be replaced or repaired so she could finally get it up and running. it had sat out on some lot in the midst of weeds and decay and the moment she laid her eyes on it she knew that this was going to be her dream car. most might have thought her odd to have such a fascination with vehicles, but her dad encouraged her and told her she could damn well like whatever she wanted to, and that was good enough for her. his word was law. he was a cop after all.

the sound of a car pulling up into the driveway made her turn to look over her shoulder. speak of the devil. when he got out and thumped the car door shut with his hip, she noticed that he had two cups in each hand, and mercy lifted a brow and cocked her head in confusion. why did he need two coffees? and at this time of night?

“hey, kid i kinda figured you’d still be up, so i got you somethin’. coffee?” he lifted his left hand, then said, “or tea?” and lifted the other.

“uhh. tea?”

after all, she couldn’t imagine her dad ever drinking tea even once in his life. it just didn’t suit him and his gruff demeanor.

“wrong. it’s coffee. they’re both coffee. take it.”

“ugh. daaaad,” she groaned, but still couldn’t help but grin, especially when her father looked so damn pleased with himself and his terrible jokes.

“all right, all right. i’m sorry. now. since you’re out here,” he grunted as he sank down in a nearby lawn chair that they’d had set up ages ago for nights like this. “i assume your mom’s lost in the sauce tonight and you’re tryin’ to ride it out?”

“mmhmm,” she nodded as she sat in the chair next to him, both of them staring ahead at the rusty old nova rather than each other. but mercy was thankful that her dad talked to her this way. something about it made it easier.

“i’m sorry, kid. how’re you holdin’ up?”

“all right, i guess. just tired.”

“hi, tired. i’m dad.”

“oh my god, if you keep doing this i’ll never talk to you again, dad, i swear.”

he laughed and reached out to affectionately pat her on the shoulder. he wasn’t very big on hugs, but at least he made an attempt to let his daughter know that he loved her, regardless of how bad he was at doing it.

“okay, okay. i’m done now. for real this time.” the man cradled the coffee cup in his hands for a moment, then brought it to his lips to take a swig. he grimaced, then spoke again. “terrible stuff. you should try it.”

“i’ve never understood that. why would i drink it now after you just told me it was gross?”

“because i want ya to see how bad it is for yourself.”

“no. that’s stupid.”

“yeah, i guess that’s fair.”

and then they were quiet. it was easy to talk about things on the surface, the superficial and unimportant garbage that surrounded them each day, but... it wasn’t quite so easy to tackle the deeper issues. neither of them knew how to handle emotions, either experiencing them or helping another through them, though it didn’t mean that either of them didn’t want to. it was just starting the conversation that was particularly hard, at least for mercy.

she set the cup down on the concrete floor of the garage and started tugging on a stray dark curl. then her knee started to bounce and she moved on to biting at her fingernails.

“hey, hey, hey. stop that. talk to me. what’s on your mind?”

she didn’t know what to say or how to say it, so mercy just blurted out the first thing that came to mind.

“dad. do you think i’m weird?”

“definitely.”

“no, dad--that’s not--i meant--”

“mercy. of course you’re weird. but i don’t mean that in a bad way. in fact, i think it’s what makes ya goddamn amazin’. when you’re a kid the world tells ya that ya hafta fit in with everyone else. that bein’ different is bad and makes ya a monster or somethin’. but when ya get old the world says, ‘fuck ya, individualism is the way to go,’ and then ya realize... no matter how much ya don’t want it, you’re just as average as everyone else. but you, kid. you,” he reached out and grabbed her hand to pull it away from her mouth, partly to stop her from gnawing what was left of her fingernails off and partly because he just wanted to be supportive. “you got somethin’ special about ya. and i’m so damn proud of ya for knowin’ who ya are this early in life. not a lot of people get that luxury.”

“but mom said--”

“fuck. her. mercy... ya know you can’t believe a goddamn word that comes out of that woman’s mouth. she’s a fuckin’ snake and wants to cut ya down because she’s threatened by ya. that fire that drives ya forward no matter what happens, to keep pushin’ through... she’s jealous of that. scared of it even.”

mercy turned to look at her father askance, hiding behind her thick tresses so he wouldn’t try to conceal anything from her if he knew she was watching. despite all that caustic bite to his tone she could see in his eyes that there was a profound sadness there, and perhaps even a bit of loneliness, too. he had to have loved her once. and she might have been a different person then, someone who wasn’t a cold-hearted bitch capable of destroying others without a second thought. he must have been in so much pain, but he never talked to her about any of it. who was going to be there for him to lean on when he needed it?

mercy opened her mouth to speak, but her father started talking again before she could say anything at all.

“listen to me, kid. ya owe her nothin’. ya hear me? absolutely nothin’. and i know how much ya wanna hang on to the idea that she could change, and i know ya’ve tried to make her proud, but... there’s no pleasin’ that woman. and it doesn’t matter anyway. the one person that ya hafta live with for the rest of yer life is you. not me, not yer brother, not yer mom, not benny... it’s you, kid. so ya need to focus on makin’ yaself happy before anything else. i don’t want ya chasin’ after yer mother’s approval when ya could be spendin’ time makin’ yer mark on the world. and my god, mercy, i know yer gonna change things and leave the world in better shape than ya found it.”

she couldn’t stop the tears that were streaming down her face, but they were happy tears. how long had it been since she could say she’d cried because she felt such warmth, affection, and genuine fucking happiness? her dad had never opened up like this to her before, but she was glad that he did tonight. mercy needed to hear all of that, to know that he believed in her. as long as she had her dad in her corner she knew she could do anything.

“thanks, dad.”

“any time, weirdo.”

“you’re such a dick.”

but she still laughed as she playfully punched him in the arm.

“that is very true. now. while i’m here and we’re both still up...let’s take a look at that engine. i think the camshafts might need replaced. whaddya think?”

that was very much like her dad, to deflect once things got too heavy or emotional to deal with. but mercy was actually pretty thankful for it since she didn’t want to sit in silence bawling her eyes out next to him. she’d rather do something with more purpose. so with that she got to her feet and made her way over to the nova to look under her hood again.

“you’re probably right. crankshafts look all right, though...”

and for a good long while they worked together, dissecting the engine and deciding what needed fixed or replaced, so they could make a list of parts to get in the morning. because that’s what you did when things were broken. you swapped out what didn’t work for the things that did, and you just kept moving forward.

and now she had the extra incentive to do just that.

#emptyvictory #meme #so uh #this #ended up being way longer than i ever intended it to be #but #i've never really been able to write anything about her dad #so #i kinda went ham

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