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angelsndragons · 10 months

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so i think i have too many c3 thoughts right now to be entirely coherent so fuck it, we roll. warning: super long post, i insincerely apologize.

while everyone is getting lost in the sauce about the gods and whether they “deserve to live” and whatnot, i think we the audience (and the players to a lesser extent but that’s just my reading) are missing the forest for the trees. because c3 is not about the gods, it’s about our pcs, moreover, it is about our pcs and their relationships to/with power, control, and responsibility. as conflict avoidant (and avoidant in general) as our party is, we need something big and in your face to really delve into their understanding of their issues and the solutions they believe will solve the problems. the gods are only part of the story because they are the biggest, most in your face representation of these issues. the gods have power; do they use it to control others, to control fate? what are their responsibilities when it comes to what their followers do? does any of that even matter in the face of their annihilation? if they have power and don’t use it, what is their responsibility then? adjacently, is free will even a thing when dealing with time and power on a scale that mortals cannot comprehend? and if we “surrender” to that, if we “just have faith” are we ceding control of our own lives to these far more powerful beings and what would that say about us?

these themes are a continuation of what aabria started in exu where she hammered over and over again that power isn’t inherently good or evil, it’s the choices one makes that matter. and if you choose not to decide, if you choose to avoid the issue, you still have made a choice. and you need to own it.

back in the early days, bells hells were all potential, not quite coming into their power and scrounging around for any semblance of control they could manage. ashton told themself that nothing mattered, that everything was shit, and to care was to destroy themself. they chose to just let things happen. chet believed that the only way he could fully control his own fate was to be a loner. fcg thought they were in control and encouraged others, through admittedly not great means, to make choices and take what small control they could, even as they thought choices were not for them. fearne collected, stole, and held things and others too close to keep them from leaving. imogen fought for rigid control over herself, her powers, and her curiosity about said power. laudna avoided the problem altogether; out of sight, out of mind. if she didn’t think about or care about delilah, it didn’t matter, it wouldn’t hurt her or anyone else. orym ceded control of his future to all the other characters and tried to redo the loss of his husband every time he entered a fight.

nowadays? despite their own perceptions of helplessness, they are undeniably powerful enough to make a difference, to make a real mark on the world. and now they have to deal with the responsibility of that power. while also grappling with those control questions that haven’t yet been solved. they’re level 10 characters- the nein were dealing with the happy fun ball, obann and his cronies, and the citadel, for reference. the hells have power, after spending so long feeling powerless and out of control. and i don’t think any of them is comfortable with this yet. having power has not, and probably will not, solved their problems. ashton still has the hole in their head and chronic pain. fearne keeps losing people. imogen is still being drawn to the red moon. laudna still compartmentalizes and is desperately disengaged with her own power and choices. power and control are ultimately separate factors and beasts, is what i am getting at, and having one doesn’t necessarily equate with having the other.

it’s a lot, is what i’m saying. the hells by and large haven’t solved their personal control and power issues so it’s no wonder they are flailing about and rehashing the god question over and over and over again. because the question isn’t really about the gods, the question is about them.

chet and orym have the most straightforward relationships with power and control in the party. orym is regaining control of his life, regaining the ability to lay down what he wants and expects, gaining the ability to lead in the process. chet’s reconciled the betrayal of his authority figure and more than that has consistently and repeatedly owned up to his screw ups and when his lack of control has fucked him or others up. and i think that’s why the pair of them most successfully separate the gods’ power from the gods’ control over the world.

fcg, he who was made to care for others and who now chooses to do so, has gained a relationship with his goddess. not for nothing was the first major breakthrough the one where fcg made a choice, owned it, and followed through. fortune favors the bold, after all, and the changebringer encourages mortals to seize their fates with both hands. through the tentative first steps of self-care, they have also gained more control over themself and their future. they figured out that murderbot doesn’t have to kill or hurt anyone. through the power of someone else helping them, fcg was able to retain enough control to not spiral. and that’s how fcg sees their new mission: the gods have the power to help others (and use it) so he wants to help them. simple, straightforward.

but here it gets murky. because ashton and laudna in particular see power and control as the same thing. they aren’t separate as far as these characters are concerned. if you have power, why wouldn’t you use it? why wouldn’t you control every single thing you could? why wouldn’t you stop this horrid thing? why would you let this happen? where the pair of them differ is that ashton, practically possibility incarnate, has decided to act. has decided that they have been stuck in a cycle of self-pity and wallowing and, well, if the gods aren’t going to act, even on their own behalf, then fine, they will. fuck it. someone has to. he will put ludinus into the ground for what he’s done and then...well, they’ll be a hero (don’t think i didn’t notice your word choices all episode, taliesin, i am watching ashton like a hawk here). through this decision, this acknowledgement of their own vulnerability, of how much they actually have to lose and how much they will have to fight to keep it, ashton has sent themself on the path towards regaining some control over their life. not for nothing have they been so focused on what power and possibilities their head could bring lately. but don’t think they’re doing it for the gods, oh no. they’re here for all the people like them.

but laudna? oh, laudna feels completely out of control. has for a while. her typical avoidance and compartmentalization strategies were completely failing her in issylra. in the face of all of this, she feels powerless. so what does she do? reach for control the only way she knows how: by using someone else’s power and giving them another foothold with which to control laudna’s own life. again. and after? laudna’s overwhelmed, she’s guilty, she’s worried about what everyone else will think. notice that she doesn’t yet seem worried about what delilah could do to her; it’s the betrayal to her friends, how they see her that worries her most. that she wasn’t strong enough, powerful enough, big enough to find another way (never mind that the facts of the situation were overwhelmingly on her side, especially before she called down delilah). that she lost control again. she’s a puppet on delilah’s strings so long as delilah has power that laudna wants or needs, why would the gods be any different in her eyes?

so, strangely in the middle, we have imogen. imogen, who intimately knows that power and control aren’t the same. but unlike chet and orym, in imogen’s experience, the more power she has, the more out of control she becomes. the more power she gets, the more she’s drawn to that damn moon whether she wants to be or not. sure, the circlet helps now but it’s a band-aid, a temporary measure, and imogen knows it. and even it couldn’t completely block out her dreams. the cost she pays for her powers continues to climb (she lost her mother, her best friend and two of her party members were murdered for it, this solstice could end the world because of ludinus and ruidusborn like her, she can’t tell how overwhelmed laudna is without her powers). imogen, who questioned whether the bad guys have a point before any of this really kicked off.

and fittingly outside this strange intersection is fearne. fearne has no interest in the gods, really. she doesn’t seem to care one way or the other. however, she did just receive a vision from the duskmaven which honestly almost seems tailored to her specifically. the duskmaven’s champion, her person, is trapped in unending agony, caused by his love for his person. that fearne understands all too well. what she really cares about is her people, her new family. and so, she’s caught in the middle. because right now, all the group can agree on is that they want to stick together to take down ludinus. so where is that going to leave them, exactly, once he’s gone? where will that leave her, with a potential chet/orym/fcg vs laudna/ashton/imogen split, when she wants them all, when they are all hers? and how will her newly found sense of responsibility play into the next stage of the hells’ fight?

so i think that intersection between power, control, and responsibility is why certain characters are moving forward and why others are stumbling backwards. and why certain characters are gung-ho about saving the gods, others indifferent, while others are finding non-god reasons to involve themselves in the plot.

#bells hells #critical role #cr campaign 3 #bells hells meta #critical role campaign 3 #control parties have control issues re-re-redux #my meta #long post #campaign 3 meta #team wildemount #team issylra

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cosmereplay · 7 months

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WIP Wednesday

Tagged by @chaos-monkeyy for a WIP check-in, thank you! 😊

I'm tagging @wanderingchanneler, @ternaryflower53, and @comiclysmic if you'd like to share anything you're working on--no pressure!

I need people to know that yes I am still working on Plausible Deniability and no I didn't expect that my last update was in JULY?? How did that happen? *cough* anyway here's some proof that I'm actually writing something:

(Rated Mature for mentions of sexuality. This is a Shakadolin fic btw)

Do what you’re good at, Shallan, Radiant encourages her. Calm them down. You can work it out. Shallan nods. She takes a breath and opens her eyes, standing to break up a fight. Her head tilts. What she sees isn’t unlike a fight. They’re kissing, Adolin grasping desperately at Kaladin’s waist, and Kaladin fisting Adolin’s uniform, seemingly unable to decide whether to push him away or pull him in closer. They’re twisting around each other, grappling, shuffling, frowning, panting small moans and grunts between smacks of their lips. Her heart starts to pound, putting her on the verge of panic. She feels like she's reacting every way at once. Her husband is kissing another man, right in front of her? Not to mention he's kissing a man she happens to be currently dripping for…storms. Had she seen this a day ago, without these feelings for Kaladin flooding her body, Shallan might’ve been angry. She can see the truth in the way he moves–Adolin doesn’t just want to experiment with other men. He wants Kaladin. And Heralds save her, so does she. She wants in. Shallan stands and coughs, and the men immediately break the kiss. They push each other apart, glancing away with guilty expressions, shamespren falling between them. Adolin’s eyes are wild. Shallan knows he wasn't sure about Veil's plan, and it looks like his night with Kaladin blew him over. When he's unstable he can get impulsive. Has she finally pushed him over the edge into madness? All her lies and deceptions and half truths… Is this what breaks him? She steps forward, her body tingling with mixed emotions, her mind scrambling to find the right words. Adolin speaks first. His voice comes out in gasps, as if he still hasn’t caught his breath from the kiss. “I’m so sorry,” he says, and steps forward, wiping his mouth. “I made a mistake. I’ve broken our oaths. Please don't leave me. I–” he gestures helplessly, frantically. She takes his hands, one wet, one dry. This is real. “No. Adolin, this isn't your fault. We're going to fix this. Together. Like Kaladin said. Right Kaladin?" She nods at him, and he seems to shake himself off. Resolutely, he steps forward, putting a reassuring hand on Adolin's shoulder. "The ardent said we can't…unspill the wine, so to speak," he says, voice gruff and low. "All we can do is, uh, pour it evenly." He slides his thumb up and down across Adolin's collarbone, which focuses the tingling in Shallan's body as she watches. He glances at Shallan and her heart skips a beat. Oh storms, he really believes it. He really is as committed now as he was when we talked about it. Kaladin raises his eyebrows at her, as if to say yeah, but you say it. Fair enough. She meets Adolin's eyes, uncertain whether she is about to calm the storm or add power to its winds. "When we were talking earlier, we came up with a solution. I can put myself in your place, do the same things with Kaladin that you did, and then you don't have to worry about breaking your oaths because I've done it too. We'll be even and we can go on from this together. Like always." Will it be even? Veil asks. What about all those times I– Not now!

#it's a bit wordy and repetitive still but it's a WIP so there's a chance I might fix that still #me? overexplain things? never #shakadolin #WIP Wednesday #tag games #stormlight fanfic #my fic

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pb-dot · 9 months

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So there's this Barbie movie

I find this whole Barbenheimer thing hilarious and encouraging. The fact that people looked at this transparent attempt by one studio to ratfuck the other and just made it a celebration of both movies and their respective aesthetics just pleases me greatly. It's like the moviegoing public doing that thing that queer nerds do when they look a "me vs Other Girls" meme and go "They're dating :)" So how's the movie? It's... good and also not so good, a bit hard to talk about, so I'm going to try. Barbie spoilers and frankly an unconscionable amounts of philosophy below the cut.

Now, when I say the movie is good and also not, I do not mean that as a slight against the director or the actors involved, because those Greta Gerwig and Margot Robbie & Ryan Gosling are frankly delivering some almost unfairly good work.

I always find it hard to decide whether I think a good acting performance is the result of good directing getting the best out of the actors and what comes straight from the actor, but in this case, I am confident in saying that both parties are giving it their absolute all. It might be film nerd heresy to suggest such a thing about a director whose first feature film was nominated for academy awards for both Best Directing and Best Screenplay (in addition to Picture Actress and Supporting Actress,) but this film feels nothing short of career-defining, both in terms of ambition and follow-through.

To talk briefly on one of the film's many achievements, there is an act two twist in this movie that I truly love. Our heroine Barbie travels from her magical idea realm to the messy real world with the mission to help the young girl whose ideas and play inform her very being. As it often goes with these kinds of things, Barbie encounters a snag when she meets Sashsa, an embittered tween whose developing vocabulary for describing the evils of the world is more than poor naive Babs can handle. So we've all seen this movie before right? Barbie has to find a synthesis between her joyeous naivety and the cynical spikes-out bitterness of Sasha, probably also fixing a family problem while she's at it? Sasha, on her end, has to reconnect with the child in her and maybe learn to smile on occasion, right? Well, the movie certainly sets this development up, but wrong. Turns out the thoughts that informed Barbie wasn't that of said tween, but rather her mother Ruth, whose angst comes from her daughter growing distant, as well as the evergreen nemesises of aging and life just being kinda crap.

It's a fresh twist, and part of it works so well is because the movie is really good at projecting the kind of movie you'll think it'll be. I was halfway spoiled on this, but the reveal and subsequent developments of this plot thread was genuinely effective and moving. Much of it is told kind of between the other beats of the story, but it persists, and forms a very hearthy core for the story, even as it gets quite heavy on the philosophical content.

See, I am emphatically not joking when I talk about this movie featuring philosophy, although I will grant that my working title for this portion of the review, "Barbie as Anti-Buddah, or: Humanity As Transcendence" sounds like the absolutely most baselessly pretentious video essay in the world. Even so, I will stand by my convictions and try to explain what I'm on about.

Now, it should not shock the perceptive reader that a summer blockbuster based on a toyline follows Hollywood's favorite structure based on a less than informed reading of the works of social anthropologist and Jung-enjoyer Joseph Campbell, that is to say The Hero's Journey. Gerwig has, however, made several choices to make the journey a lot more interesting.

For starters, the call to adventure is considerably more internal than it usually is in these things. What spurs Barbie into action, ultimately are thoughts of death, and the alienation that follows from her grappling with these decidedly un-Barbielike thoughts in the timeless realm of pastel plastic perfection that is Barbieland.

So, like Prince Siddharta Gautama before her, Barbie leaves her life of comfort to seek answers. Her journey is, however, considerably less empowering to her than these things usually are. This isn't entirely without precendent, Frodo of The Lord Of The Rings, for example, famously had a terrible time of things throughout. What is sort of unique about this whole affair though, is that it isn't evil persisting from lost ages of men, or even any characters in particular who are the sources of Barbie's suffering. She eventually has to deal with this Ken business, yes, but Ken is ultimately wounded and driven into despair by the same things that haunt Barbie.

Simply put, life in a late stage capitalist patriarchy is bad for mind, soul and body alike. The casual cruelty of it all really puts Barbie through the wringer. It could be consider a neccesity of expediency on the pacing side, but I also do think it's not an accident that it doesn't even take an afternoon in the world of man for both Barbie and Ken to be changed forever, perhaps even wounded in a fundamental way. After all, when the dust clears and the Kendom is no more (more on that in a bit), try as she might, Barbie can not even return to her edenic former home, the world of complexity and catcallers and entirely unrealistic expectations placed on women have made the kind of peaceful eternal existence not only impossible, but unbearable.

The way Robbie and Gerwin play this out is fascinating, but heartbreaking, to watch. It starts with little things, slight shifts in Barbie's expression as she struggles with new thoughts and ideas and gradually escalates as Barbie's struggles with her own identity grow ever more overwhelming. The uncaring world of reality makes her doubt everything about herself, leading to the self-image built on being effortlessly happy, effortlessly pretty barbie no longer being sustainable. So who is a barbie who can no longer be a barbie? Who is a barbie who has suffered more than a barbie's supposed to suffer? Although her final surrender to despair, laying down flat like a discarded doll, is perhaps a bit goofier than most breakdowns of that magnitude, it is no less heartbreaking.

I would, however, argue that there is a different kind of empowerment in Barbie's suffering, as the change she goes through also makes her more human, per Ruth's observation that "life sucks for everyone, that's why we make things like the patriarchy and barbie to help us deal with that" (I'm paraphrasing here as I couldn't find the exact quote.) While I have some reservations about this bit, again more on that later, it does also fit perfectly in the decidedly more art film-y ending of this movie, where Barbie literally meets her maker and chooses to not stay in the idea-realm of Barbieland, but instead live a life of a human in the Real World, temporally limited as it might be. It is a powerful sequence that delivers profound catharsis and a swell of emotions that I am still sorting out as I write this.

There is something unique and beautiful about Margot Robbie-Barbie's plotline. For the lack of a better word, she goes through a de-ascenscion, growing from this purposefully flat caricature of a human into a person. She gains depth of character and breadth of perspectives, and the process is mostly marked by unmanageable despair and the odd moment of enjoying just being. As a lifelong anxious depressive, part of me wants to bite back that suffering doesn't make you a person, it just makes you hurt, but I will admit, Barbie does make a compelling case for the argument that some pain is inherent to being human as much as those little moments when you can hear the wind in the leaves and you notice something you've never noticed about the world before.

So in short, what I consider to be the film's A-plot, or perhaps A-character arc is very good. The main dish tastes exquisite and made me think both about story structure and existentialist philosophy. Great. So what's my problem? Why not give this one a solid thumbs up and be on my merry way? What exactly my problem is, is actually an open question in local psychiatric circles, but my problem with the movie more specifically is that the parts that aren't Barbie's personal journey through despair and humanity end up having some annoying problems.

In short, several of the film's B-Plots seem to suffer from the very same problems that the Barbie plot managed to avoid with some dexterity. For one, the entire "Ken learns what patriarchy is and just about destroys Barbieland with it"-subplot ends on a satisfying note for Ken, as he discovers he has to learn to be his own person and not live his life through the lens of Barbie. Granted, he needs his hand held through this realization a little, but he's a Ken, so what else can you expect.

On the wider scale, though, it feels like the movie muddles its way through the aftermath of the Kendom, seemingly determined to have the complete overturning of Barbieland's nature, population, and constitution and the subsequent reversal of the same changing absolutely nothing about the status quo. Well, that's not entirely true, as there is a joke about Kens having the same right in Barbieland as women have in the real world from this point, that one did draw a chuckle from me. It does kind of feel like a cop-out though, like a movie less beholden to Mattel design docs could have made something potentially interesting out of it.

There's also the resolution of the subplot of Will Ferrel's Mattel CEO and his C-suite cadre which just kind of feels like an entirely vestigial branch of exposition delivery. The movie does plenty to inform us about how the world of Barbieland and The Real World interact, and the only other thing of note they do is show up at the end to declare that there will now be #relatable Barbies with real-world problems such as cellulite. Why no, none of the other valid complaints voiced by Sasha earlier in the movie ever addressed, why do you ask? It's textbook liberal "the people in charge only needs a little nudge to not be a part of a terrible problem"-logic, and it's maddening to see in a film that does so much to be smarter than that.

Listen, I'm concerned that I'm entirely too harsh on Barbie because I don't really have an emotional attachment to the toy, and I recognize that some of the stuff I've complained about probably came down as corporate requirements for this film to be made in the first place. It isn't like there isn't a long and storied tradition of Franchise Management and marketing concerns dictating creative decisions in this type of movie, after all. Part of me also worries if I'm holding this movie to an unfairly high standard considering it is, in essence, a feature-length toy commercial.

If I were to argue this point with myself, I would probably point out that part of the reason why I'm so strict is that I feel like there's a better film in this movie, held down by the conventions of the toyline movie. Either way, I can only write about the movie I've seen from the perspectives I have, any attempt to expand that is bound to end up like sophistry. Caveat emptor and all that.

Also, in closing, I would like to add that Kate McKinnon is still one of the funniest women in the world, and her turn as Weird Barbie/Revolutionary Barbie is an absolute highlight of this whole thing. Can't believe I forgot to bring that up, but it's not like I was short on stuff to talk about.

#peebs thinks #barbie 2023 #barbie #long reads #long post is long #movie review #movie

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fallenrepublick · 2 years

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Alright!! Since you gave me the green light about Zabraks request I'm gonna milk it dry!

We've already had Sunder and Brutus thinking they are going to die after their child is born and their s/o comforting them.

And I ask you... When we'll see Riot in this scenario??👀

(I'm so sorry it took me so long to get back to this it's been INSANE)

You're so right though, he hasn't been given this scenario! Ahh his struggles of being in the forgotten one in the trop translates here as well...

However, yes, this is something he must grapple with, just as all the others.

Riot, though... he isn't afraid of it. Not in the way Sunder is, or the way Brutus pretends he isn't. No, rather, he'd come to terms with what would happen to him a long time ago. Brutus could never protect him from everything, really, and things simply... slipped through the cracks. He knew from a young age that it would happen, that he would be forced to come face to face with death in the form of a witch.

In this moment, though, he is not face to face with death, dressed in a witch's clothing, painting on a wicked smile that would decide whether he would be given the mercy of a quick end or a torturous one like his father. Instead, he is standing face to face with you. Death comes dressed in the body of someone he loves unconditionally.

The baby is asleep, and you've got something urgent that requires his presence. A presence, he knows, that will come to an end soon. And so he abides, kneeling before you and staring up. He smiles as if to assure you that he welcomes the end.

"Have you decided how it will go?" he asks, hands clasped in his lap.

"How what will go?" you ask him. He is far too in denial to feel your confusion.

He smiles. And it hurt.

"My father didn't know peace after he was taken," he said, "At least, that's what they told me. The nightsister liked that he was social and bright and... happy. It meant she had more time to cut him down. I don't really know, but... well, at the end of it all... I don't think he was really the same. None of them were, but with him, he... he was the one that everyone expected to be okay. He was the one that no one could fathom being so silent or empty. As if... even if the whole world was dark and destructive... even if the whole village was full of broken souls, he would still be there... finding his own ways to fix everything.

"But in the end... In the end he couldn't walk. She liked pushing him down, crippling him, draining him. And I think when it was all over... he didn't even want to try to stand anymore."

He watches you, and it isn't fear he feels. Only sadness. It would be the last time he would get to do so.

"But... I never had to worry about this," he continues, trying to comfort you, himself, "I am... healthier than ever. I am happy. You offer me something that my family has never had."

He holds up his hands, palms raised to the sky in acceptance of a blessing, requesting yours to hold. "I have done my duty to you, my love. I gladly accept whatever end you have planned for me. It would be the most honorable thing I've ever done."

From your stance, you kneel, still holding his hands, but now sharing his eye level. He is shocked, but brought to silence when you hold his cheek.

"Then here is yet another gift I have to offer you," you tell him quietly, firmly, "You will not find your end here, and you will not find your end with me. Riot. I brought you here, because you deserve better. And I wanted to love you, because I saw a life with you. An entire life, years of watching our child grow, of exploring the galaxy and finding our way back to the home we've made together. I ask nothing of you other than to stay with me, just as I will always stay with you."

"You shouldn't. It's not a fate that my kind are allowed. I must follow in our traditions."

"Tradition does not always mean it is right. Your gods are good, from what you've told me. Would they truly wish for you and your people to suffer at the hands of their mates? The tradition was given to you by the Nightsisters, not your people. It is suffering that I reject."

"I... cannot honor our past brothers who were lost in this way if I don't follow in their footsteps."

"You can. You honor them by living the life they were never given. You may live and thrive, and they may watch and know that their family is finally at peace. Would your father not have wanted that for you?"

And when you hold him close, you feel the tension soothe, the sadness fall away into the floor. He has a future, a chance to choose. It's more than he could ever ask for.

#riot #dlc zabraks #cw: death #kidtalk #tw: abuse #zabrak

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markusdevblog · 1 year

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Conceptualizing being a lizard

What if I am a lizard?

a one off throwaway example for a project idea that I feel needs to explored. Running with a simple idea is good way to begin creating a project idea or theme. So in the same way looking for solutions to make the gist of the original idea work, chasing an idea. The question as to whether I am a lizard stuck a chord with me. Here is a portion of a Game Design Document expanding on that original question.

-Design Pillars Let’s start by creating some design pillars, unsurprisingly I will now list lizard related qualities. lizard sticky scaled sleek wet?

-Sound Design Continuing with this same process, let’s create a theme for the sound design sticky wet scaled hissing? I think lizards hiss

for player related sounds some ideas need to be considered what type of lizard am I? some lizards are sticky, some are wet, but also, sometimes they are not wet and or sticky. the footstep sounds that the player makes while moving could be sticky, the added sound of suction as the player foot lifts of the ground or a claw being dragged along the ground. Additionally, are lizards not quadrupedal? would it be wise or unnecessary to double the amount of footsteps the player takes? This is something that will need to be explored at a later date.

Are tongue related sounds good for pick ups? Anyways once we start meshing these ideas into the level a certain strange mix is created. why is a lizard grabbing a grappling hook and moving boxes?

To save a lot of rambling, this boils down to having to do some world building. So what have ended up with by just having some fun with the idea is a technologically advanced race of lizards who are capable of speech. A lizard operating a grappling hook to solve puzzles? ok.

So to add dialogue between the lizards I will make it a part of the game that dialogue between the player and another character will occur via phonecall. what kind of phone should they use? old Nokia phone. Why those old brick phones? Don’t ask me why I associate lizards with old nokia phones, I’m not sure either. It feels right.

I’ll need to voice direct them and decide the dialogue. So before I decide to go with a really bad Boston accent I’ll need to just pick something I’m familiar with. So my lizards have now become Icelandic. Using this as an opportunity for colorful dialogue, doing something like what is done with german or russian accents like what is done in various movies and games, the dialogue will utilize a possibly over the top accent and unique slang.

Might try my hand at music if i use my time properly, but obviously it would be lizard themed. ok so that’s basically where I’m at with the project concept. I didn’t exactly stick with the starting point but I’ve allowed the project to develop an identity that is it’s own and can provide an interesting challenge to make work as a whole. and yes not all of the things are specifically lizard related things, that’s true.

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thatguywiththetumb1er · 2 years

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Political screaming into the void time? Political screaming into the void time.

People who know me know it’s no secret that I have a lot of... complicated feelings about this thing called “cancel culture.” I mean, hell, my college thesis was largely about me trying to grapple with my feelings on it. Now don’t get it twisted, I am firmly in the camp of believing that survivors/victims of abuse are innocent until proven otherwise and sexual misconduct of any kind is one of the few things that genuinely makes me angry. At the same time though, I hate how a powerful figure assaulting a swath of individuals (that we can only begin to quantify based on those who are brave enough to come forward to admit it) can through one phrase be equated to someone saying something insensitive on Twitter and people act like it’s the same thing.

It is not.

Or... is it?

(It’s not, but I needed a segue.)

After the news about John Mulaney broke, my mind flashed back to when a similar thing happened to another comedian I admire, Patton Oswalt. Patton is a staunch advocate of LGBTQ+ rights who, even when making jokes in his shows, makes the effort to go out of his way and care. It was a wild back but the long and short of it was that Oswalt introduced Chapelle at an event positively and later responded with a really eye opening (for me at least) response on Insta that proved the man’s greatest crime was hopeful naivete (something that I can’t bring myself to punish in someone who otherwise seems to make a genuine effort to do good in the world).

I’m going to make three statements here that is probably going to piss everyone here off.

1. Based on what I’ve heard, Dave Chappelle seems like a genuinely nice person who deeply cares about the injustices done towards black Americans and is committed to stopping it.

2. Dave Chappelle is a massive transphobe who, if given any sort of opportunity will argue against the right of trans people to exist.

And now, most controversial of all: 3. These two things are not mutually exclusive.

I think we all (I mean I do at least) like to have this idea in our heads of bigots as people who are cruel because, well, bigotry generally means denying a whole group of people’s ability to exist. Doesn’t get much crueler than that!

But the truth is a lot more black and white, and the sad truth is that a lot of bigots are probably perfectly lovely people, some of whom are deeply committed to other areas of social justice. Call it the Chick-fil-a effect.

So what do we do? Well, I think that’s where cancel culture comes in.

If cancel culture is going to exist, and let’s be real the right has made it one of their favorite buzzwords so it will, I think that it’s time to give it a definition that encapsulates it in full.

I “cancel culture” should be an acknowledgment that someone may be kind, talented, committed to social justice, or able to make delicious chicken sandwiches.

But they harbor a belief that to paraphrase the great philosopher Borat, “maybe some people should have a little less rights than others.” Or worse.

And therefore it is up to us to look at our friends, the content creators we admire, etc. etc. and reconcile those ideas and ultimately decide whether that friendship or that content or that chicken sandwich is worth being complicit in the dehumanization and possible political destruction of others.

It sucks. It sucks ass. But we are in a culture war and there are two sides:

Side A: “We hold these truths to be self evident, that all humans are created equal and are endowed by their Creator (whoever that Creator may be) with certain unalienable rights including life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness.”

And Side B: “Maybe some people should have a little less rights than others.”

And unfortunately “both” is not an option.

#Politics #thoughts #Things I'll probably regret posting #Anyways I'm gonna go eat some ice cream and feel better

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mariacallous · 3 years

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HEIDI: In 2005, the due process clause of the 14th Amendment was invoked in a case called Castle Rock v. Gonzales. Jessica Gonzales obtained a permanent restraining order against her violent husband. A month later, he kidnapped their three daughters. Jessica, terrified, called the police seven times and went to the station twice in person to beg them to look for her daughters. The police not only refused to help Jessica, they told her to stop bothering them.

By morning, Mr. Gonzales had legally purchased a semi-automatic weapon while their daughters waited in the car, and then killed them.

Jessica Gonzales — who now goes by her original name Lenahan — Jesicca Lenahan very bravely sued the Castle Rock Police Department for failing to show up to protect her and her kids. The state of Colorado had recently passed a law that required police to arrest a person for violating a restraining order. So Jessica sued, she won, and then the city appealed and took the case all the way to the Supreme Court. And this court, led by Antonin Scalia overturned her case, killed the Colorado law, and gutted the Violence Against Women Act by ruling that the police had no constitutional obligation to protect Jessica or her daughters.

I’ve listened to this case so many times and the thing I noticed is that the justices spend very little time talking about Jessica as a human being. They don’t talk about her daughters. Rebecca, who was eight, Katheryn, who was ten, and Leslie, who was seven. Instead, they spend a long time arguing about the word “shall.” As in the phrase “the police shall enforce a restraining order.” And look, I understand even as a layperson that precise language is important in law, but I find the balance of these two things…

At one point, Justices Scalia and Breyer got into a little discussion about whether either of them understood what the word shall meant.

(She looks up to the booth.) Terri, will you…?

Terri plays a clip of the justices debating the definition of the word “shall”:

JUSTICE ANTONIN SCALIA (VO): Wait wait, I thought we were just talking here about state law as to whether shall means shall. Do you think that it’s a matter of state law whether— whether, if it does mean shall it creates a property interest for purposes of the Federal uh, Constitution?

JOHN C. EASTMAN (VO): No, Justice Scalia, I don’t—

JUSTICE STEPHEN BREYER (VO): Suppose shall does mean shall. Fine. But you might have a statute that says the fire department shall respond to fires. And the police department shall respond to crimes. The Army shall respond to… uh uh uh attacks. Even the words shall doesn’t necessarily mean...

HEIDI: Scalia ultimately decided that “shall” did not mean “must.” Which is confusing because Scalia was a devout Catholic. Feminist legal scholars have called this decision the death of the 14th Amendment for women and children. This ruling is most devastating for women of color, transwomen, binary and non-binary folx, women with disabilities, immigrants — people who are less likely to be helped by police than I am. It’s especially devastating to indigenous women, who suffer the most violence in our country.

(She thinks for a moment. She is grappling with a problem in real time, trying to find a way to connect feeling to thought.)

HEIDI: I really wanted to know why they decided this - maybe because of my family history of this kind of violence, I needed to understand it. So I talked to a few constitutional scholars and this is what I learned.

I learned about two kinds of rights: negative rights and positive rights. Negative rights protect us from the government taking our stuff, locking us up, killing us. Positive rights are active rights. They include things like the right to a fair trial, the right to counsel, in some countries to the right to health care. Our Constitution, with some exceptions, is a negative-rights document, and Scalia, an originalist, was adamantly a negative-rights kind of guy, which is in part why he decided that Jessica Gonzales was not entitled to any active protection from the police. I also learned that if the Equal Rights Amendment had been ratified, she might have been protected under that. And I understood for the first time why my mom cried when it didn’t pass.

So, what I’m trying to understand now is…

(Heidi searches for a way to articulate something.)

HEIDI: What does it mean if this document offers no protections again violence of men? Sorry, I don’t mean to— I really have no desire to vilify men. I love men. I do, I fucking love you. I’m the daughter of a father! But the facts are extreme. Here’s one statistic, just one: Since the year 2000, more American women have been killed by their male partners than Americans have died in in the war on terror — including 9/11. That is not the number of women who have been killed in this country; that is only the number of women who have been killed by the men who supposedly love them.

That’s such a staggering figure that I just kind of have to…forget it to get through the day. Except, I think you can’t forget it about. Even if you don’t know the statistics, I think you can feel the truth of that underneath everything… humming. (Unsure) Right?

from What the Constitution Means to Me by Heidi Schreck

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eponymous-rose · 3 years

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Talks Machina Highlights - Critical Role C2E131 (March 30, 2021)

Tonight’s guests are Liam O’Brien and Sam Riegel!

Brian points out that a lot of Caleb’s greatest fears have come to pass. Liam: “It’s funny, because he’d kind of believed for a while that those things weren’t going to happen. After a while, he got complacent.” He notes that it was extra wild because everything with Trent popped up again in the midst of that complacency. And how did it feel to be defiant toward Trent? “I think Trent successfully made Caleb question if Caleb really was in control“ at the dinner party. “I feel like anything that I do is part of his plans for me, or is that just gaslighting? I’m legitimately scared of that dude.” Sam: “Of Matt?” Liam: “Sure.” He highlights the disconnect between knowing that the M9 is mechanically powerful and could possibly defeat Trent in a dice-and-stats battle, versus fearing him in a story sense and being convinced he can do almost anything.

Sam, on Luc’s death: “That was brutal, man. Matt Mercer is a-- he hates children! Clearly. He actively sought to kill a child in the campaign in as brutal a way as possible. He hates children and wants them dead. Canon. No, but to RP, that was horrible.” He highlights that so much of Veth’s arc has been about trying to get back to her family. “We had to choose something and we thought we were making the right choice. It was all Veth’s fault, and it was pretty rotten. My heart was beating pretty fast, and I certainly didn’t want to have my son die live on the stream. I don’t know what Veth would have done. That’s the end, that’s over. It’s almost worse than when your own character would die. This is something that would also kill Veth.” After the episode was over: “just shaken. I also didn’t know what to do next! That felt like a turning-point moment for my character, weirdly so close to what we assume to be the end arc of this campaign. I texted Matt later that night and was like, that’s it, Veth’s out, I’m tapping out.”

There’s an interlude in which Sam discovers a new dream to record an episode of this show from his Peloton. Dani informs him that she will not be inviting him back.

On Astrid, Liam: “I literally don’t know what she’s doing. I know that she’s dangerous, she always was ambitious, and there’s not been a moment where Caleb let his guard down with her. He’s not trying to reestablish what they had. He cares for the both of them, for Astrid and Eodwulf. He thinks about it a lot, still. He can’t tell how much she buys into everything that she experienced and is now living as a full-grown adult. He suspects that she’s bought in and is not going to change things, because she believes in the system, as much as he’d like to peel her away. He does believe that they want what’s best for the Empire, and stopping whatever wants to come vomiting out of a hole in the frozen north is good for everyone. And they’re powerful. They’re not trustworthy, obviously. But there’s enough at stake to make it worth it. He could imagine a situation where they fight each other to the death.” He was convinced Astrid was going to stop them when they left the tower and was really shocked when she held back. Sam: “Not me! I’ve trusted Astrid since day one. She’s the greatest! I sent a letter to her, she’s very nice, I think you guys would be a nice couple. I believe every word she says.”

On having to decide on Veth deciding to go off and save the world after Luc’s death. “Like I said, I was ready to be done. And then I decided somewhere in there that that’s not very D&D. So I thought I’d leave it up to somebody else, so I asked Caduceus to decide for me, essentially. She knows she’s putting her other family in danger if she doesn’t go. It’s an impossible choice, you know?” Liam: “I love watching you grapple with it, because you’re a lovely father and love your kids.”

On the Sanatorium, Sam: “That was brutal, man. Matt lulls you into a sense of complacency. We’d forgotten that Caleb was a stone-cold killer! It had been a while since he went on a murder spree. Still got it!” Liam: “I never meant for this character to be perfect sunshine.” Brian: “You don’t say.” Liam: “He’s very not-perfect, and I think in his brain, he was going in with the impression that they needed to get in and get out as soon as possible. The place is crawling with people with magic ability, and I didn’t have faith that we wouldn’t be sussed out or something wasn’t going to blow an illusion.” Everything was about getting out of there as fast as possible.

Did the conversation with Yeza help with Veth’s decision? “First of all, every conversation with Yeza is a beautiful one. Every time she talks to Yeza, it makes her feel good. In some ways, she’s gotten to the point now where she knows Yeza’s going to be supportive, she knows he’s going to allow her to do what she wants, but maybe that’s too much. Maybe she needs to not listen to him, basically, and be like, no, you need to be selfish now, dude, you need to say ‘come home, I’m sick of you leaving’. At a certain point, being supportive can turn into being enabling.”

Cosplay of the Week: Jester in the snow! (liljerbear47, photography by kairiceleste on Instagram)

On Trent’s motivations for chasing Caleb: “I really don’t know. The simplest explanation is to just hammer down the nail that’s sticking up. It has crossed his mind that all high-level wizards are in danger of their own ambition and egos, so it’s occurred to him that Trent might have the same kind of ideas that Halas had in the past, and maybe Caleb was always meant to be another body to jump into. Maybe in some sick, disgusting, twisted way, he wants him to be his successor. I am thinking of the next campaign, without getting too deep in, trying to do something that is much more ride-along. Caleb is very, very specific, and I thought long and hard about all the different pieces on the chessboard for him. For campaign three, I’m looking forward to seeing what happens.”

Dani: “Do I need to be keeping lore on your fucking ads?”

On the cursed dagger: “It was a tricky one, because in campaign one, one of the characters was under the influence of a cursed weapon, but it interacted with him and he knew what it was and what it did. And it affected his gameplay as a character. For me, Veth didn’t know what it was, ever. I as a player knew what it was doing, but Veth didn’t know at all. So it was kind of like my dirty, dark secret for many months. I knew this thing was coming perilously close to killing me, but my character didn’t know enough to bring it up to her friends. Nobody ever asked! So I was like, well, I guess this thing’s just going to kill me one day, and it’s kind of going to be a surprise.” Liam: “Sam, you love danger and self-destruction so much, you might as well be Mollymauk.”

On the fight in Yasha’s sequence, Sam: “You gotta put a character in your storm giant creature. It was so fun! It was so great of Matt to involve us in this encounter. It would’ve been fun just to watch, because Matt would have made it amazing and Ashley was sweating bullets, which is always fun to watch.” Sam notes he felt guilty, but Liam was going for the kill. Liam: “Matt’s gotta be careful about giving me that kind of story beat. I do not fucking care, I just fucking flip, I’m like, well, I’m going to destroy you, and I have no qualms about it. It’s too much fun!”

The Beau/Yasha tower date was in part inspired by not being able to give gifts as easily this last year. “This thing that we do together is a gift, but I love finding these moments, like the book for Jester and the tower for Yasha and for Beau. I really just wanted to give both of them a little magic for a night. I wanted them to leave this-- we’re trying to be as entertaining as possible, but shit is having an effect on all of us too, and I wanted them to have an escape, a great place to escape to.”

Fan Art of the Week: an amazing group shot, plus Marion, Yeza, and Luc! (vocaz on Twitter)

On choosing Essek over Trent, Liam: “It would have been so interesting and awful and great! Essek and Astrid and Eodwulf are everything that Bren used to be attracted to that are terrible for him. Essek, hopefully he can with time find a way out of the hole that he dug himself into, but it was only two months ago where he was found out and his ambitions came crashing down around him. Long-term, I have high hopes for him, but I think it’s going to be hard.” In contrast, Astrid and Eodwulf are still “deep in the shit. It would have been really hard to navigate, but fun to play at the table. We made the right choice with what we went with. Essek’s just getting started, and Caleb doesn’t trust him entirely, because he was burned so hard not too long ago. He’s still more trustworthy than the other three. So it’s the better choice. While Caleb has all these ties on the other side, they’re really fucking dangerous. So if you have to choose, you choose Essek. But fuck that die.” Sam: “Veth, much like Sam Riegel, makes instant decisions about whether to trust someone or not and sticks to it forever. Astrid, 100% trust. Eodwulf, 100% distrust. Essek, completely distrust. I still don’t think he’s a good guy. Ikithon? Trust. 100%. Because you know where he’s coming forward, you know what he wants. I still want him dead, but I trust him.”

On Veth’s post-adventuring plans: “Veth is probably still too in it right now to think about what comes next. I, Sam Riegel, have a good idea of what I want Veth to do post-campaign.” Brian: “Maybe you shouldn’t tell us. Save it for the show!” Sam: “All she knows is she can’t do this anymore. It’s very unhealthy to be battle-wounded every other day. It’s fun for a while, but college has to end at some point, and she’s gotta go home.”

On Frumpkin changing appearance and returning to the Feywild: “I don’t know what I’m going to do, but the way it feels now for Caleb is that he feels too enmeshed in everything that has happened, and too much good has happened, and too much needs to happened, that that really narcissistic, selfish goal has the risk of harming everything else, which is more important. And that’s how he looks at it now. So he’s gearing towards letting everything from the beginning of the campaign, and where he started, go, and trying to figure out what use he’s going to be now and what he’s going to do if they’re not all dead. If Matt throws that shit down, I don’t know what I will do, I think about it a lot. But turning Frumpkin white and saying you’re free either way is him preparing to let go of everything he’s been holding on to for a really long time. He’s addicted to that idea that he can fix himself, and we’ll see if that hard choice gets presented, what he might do. But where he stands now, he doesn’t think that’s going to be reality, and he sees a way that he can be of use that he never really anticipated before, so he’s slowly shifting gears towards living with the pain he was trying to remove.”

On the last request scene and confidence heading into Aeor, Sam: “I feel like that’s a good request. I think all of us realized that if we die, that probably bodes badly for the world. I feel like all of us are at a point now as characters and as friends, that the first order of business would be to take care of everybody else’s shit, although we probably have different ideas of how to do that.” Liam: “I want the Empire to be healed, Caleb has all these memories of his parents and what they wanted for the world, and he wants that too. It’s clearly not in place now, the system needs to be broken and replaced. That could be a part of Caleb’s sunset. I don’t want Caleb to die, so maybe he can work on that after. As everything starts to shake out and we start heading towards our destiny, Caleb’s just free-floating. He’s not even going after the same thing he started for. So he’s looking at Veth’s family, and Luc specifically, and seeing that’s me, that’s a little boy in the Empire.”

#critical role #critical role spoilers #talks machina #talks machina spoilers #long text post

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bitsandbobsofwriting · 3 years

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Long Lost Prince Part 2;

Merlin leads his people home and Arthur grapples with whether he should keep his feelings to himself or not.

Part 1

Just like Arthur promised, a portion of Camelot's army mixed with around fifty of Merlin's knights are marching towards the Dragonlands within a month.

Merlin and Arthur lead the way, Sir Thornway, Sir Leon, and Sir Mordred following closely behind. It was decided fairly quickly that Hunith and Gaius would stay in Camelot; they were desperate to get home, but they weren't fighters, and whilst the chance of attack was fairly low considering the army behind them and the two dragons circling ahead, Arthur and Merlin were unwilling to risk it.

At a quick pace, Arthur reckons they could've made the journey in a week, but the army is slow-moving, and it takes them almost three to reach the border. They don't hear a peep out of anyone as they move through the countryside, though Arthur does raise an amused eyebrow at Merlin every once in a while, as and when the Warlock chuckles at Kilgharrah whispering in his head about all the various pathetic mercenaries and bandits running away screaming at the sight of his silhouette against the clouds.

The Dragonland, in comparison to Camelot, was a very small kingdom, but it’s capital city was near the far border, backed by miles and miles of towering mountains. In one of the many sessions of reminiscing that Merlin, Thornway, and Kilgharrah have in the evenings, they discuss the mountains at length. They were mostly uninhabited by people, even before the purge, they were far too treacherous for those without a guide and strong magic, and even then the paths were still dangerous.

The great mountains were where the Dragon’s resided; in a network of twisting tunnels and great caverns carved with fire and magic. Merlin vaguely remembers being taken there a few weeks before... before they left. Thornway told him that retreating into the mountains was one of the back up plans, if Uther’s army was too big and there was no hope of escape through the countryside.

(Arthur frowned at that. He was frowning at a lot nowadays, but Merlin just squeezed his leg under the blanket they were sharing (Leon did NOT smirk and Arthur did NOT blush) and whispered, yet again, that he was not his father.)

The escape through the mountains was planned to be a last ditch effort though, even with the dragons leading them and their strongest sorcerers protecting them, the perilous paths, with their knife edge drops and loose rocks and harsh snow, would have taken too many casualties to count. Though, in the end, escaping through the countryside had been just as deadly.

Arthur also used the journey to think about what Leon had said. Though Merlin and The King stuck close by for the whole trek, conversation was sparse (though the silences were comfortable); Arthur was unsure how to bring up the inevitable change in their relationship, though he knows that, for his own peace of mind if nothing else, he should.

They were deep into the Kingdom, having passed all the now doubly abandoned outer villages (Arthur was right in thinking that two dragons and a marching army scared away all the various mercenary groups and bandits) and now only a day’s ride from the capital, that Arthur asked Merlin the question that had been plaguing his mind for weeks. The two of them were sat against a fallen log, the night flourishing around them. The silence over the rest of the camp was tense, the knowledge that they were close hanging in the air, but the silence between Merlin and Arthur was comfortable, peaceful:

“What are you planning on doing?”

Merlin took a noticeably deep breath and Arthur turned to him, trying desperately to keep the worried frown off his face:

“I don’t know. I didn’t really discuss it with ma, we just... wanted to get home, and work from there, see what happens I guess.”

Arthur nodded, gulping slightly before he responds:

“Do you think she wants the throne? Your mother? Or will you become King?”

Merlin chuckles, but Arthur clenches his hands and looks away at the humourless lilt the noise has:

“I’d love to see her back in her crown, on her throne, but it’s been a long time. She did everything with my father by her side, I don’t know if... if she would want to do it on her own. I don’t know that she would cope.-”

The Warlock turns to face Arthur, and it strikes The King how close they are when he can feel Merlin’s breath on his cheek. He turns to meet his gaze once more:

“-What would you do, Arthur? In my place?”

Arthur can only hold his stare for a few moments before he looks to his lap, shaking his head slightly:

“I don’t know, Merlin. Tell me what’s on your mind, I... I can’t promise that I’ll have the answers, but maybe saying things out-loud will help.”

Merlin nods as he shuffles in his spot slightly, and Arthur likes to think that he was moving closer:

“I... I’m desperate to get home. But at the same time, I waited. I waited for twenty years, I’ve built myself a life in Camelot, I’d... given up on ever returning home, and I was just about coming to terms with the fact that Camelot was my home now. And then... this. I have to lead my people back, I know that, I owe it to them, it’s my job to protect them and give them back their heritage-”

Arthur interrupts quietly:

“Your heritage.”

Merlin sighs:

“-yeah, my heritage. My mother, and Gaius, and my people, and... and I, we deserve to go home. But I was only six when we left, I never got all the lessons on how to be a Politician, a King. Yes, I’m the heir, yes, I remember home and the crown and being a little Prince, but I am not built to be a King, Arthur, I don’t want to- I can’t fail my people, but I fear I will. I... I’ve been putting up a brave front for my mum, for Thornway, but I’m terrified. I have no idea what I’m doing, Arthur. What if I mess up?”

Arthur allows a small smile to slip onto his face as he takes Merlin’s fidgeting hands in his own. He shakes his head as he huffs out a short laugh and Merlin looks at him incredulously:

“You couldn’t possibly, Merlin. I know you well, do I not?-”

Merlin nods his head vigorously:

“Better than anyone.”

Arthur fights the blush:

“-And I’m telling you, that you have nothing to worry about. You may not have had official lessons, but you have the mind for politics.-”

Arthur glances to his lap briefly as he takes a fortifying breath, stroking his thumbs over the back of Merlin’s hands, still clutched in his, and looking up to him again:

“-I had all those lessons. All that training, and practicing, and tutoring. But I was still so... lost when I became King. I don’t think I ever told you, Merlin, but the only thing that got me through was you, always by my side. Because I knew that you would never let me fail, because I trusted you to see my shortcomings and make up for them without fuss, without fault. And you did, without asking for any thanks, or recognition, like you do with everything. To this day, you think I’m a good King because of destiny, but that’s utter bollocks and I’ve always known it. I’m a good King, Merlin, because you made me a good man first. And on days when I doubt my own rule, I remind myself of how much faith you have in me, and it gives me strength, because I know you would never allow me to fail, and on the off chance I fall, I know you would catch me. Every good King who cares about his people has doubts, Merlin, but however much faith you have in me? I have the same amount, if not more, in you. You’ll do just fine.”

Merlin looks at him with wide, teary eyes, and Arthur flushes under the scrutiny. The King goes to say something, maybe a flippant joke to de-charge the atmosphere, but before he can utter even a word, Merlin throws himself at him, wrapping tight arms around his shoulders and burying his face in his neck. Arthur almost falls back, but he holds steady, chuckling slightly as he returns Merlin’s hug with equal intensity. Merlin’s muffled voice from his shoulder has Arthur tightening his grip:

“Will you catch me? If I fall?”

Arthur moves a hand up to cradle the back of Merlin’s head:

“You won’t fall. But I’d spend the rest of my life stood below you with my arms out ready, Merlin, if that gave you just a fraction of the belief in yourself that you should have.”

Neither pulled away for what felt like hours, and by the time Thornway wondered over to check on them, they had fallen asleep against the log, arms still firmly wrapped around each other.

He smiles mournfully as he drapes a blanket over them. You would have to be blind to miss the odd moroseness that had overtaken them both, and the old knight knew that his Prince was dreading having to leave Arthur, and that Arthur was dreading the same. They shuffle in their sleep, and Thornway freezes, worried that he had woken them, but when Arthur just mutters Merlin’s name and moves impossibly closer to the other man Thornway sighs. This is going to be... painful for the two of them, and he’s not quite sure how he can help.

After another day of travel, they find themselves moving through the capital city, towards the castle sitting at the foot of the mountains.

The army was left with orders to methodically clear the city whilst Arthur, Leon, Thornway, and Mordred headed straight for the citadel gates. Though the city had fallen into disrepair, the castle looked like it had barely been touched, even by the elements, and Thornway explained that powerful enchantments laid over the ancient building, preventing it from being invaded or damaged by even the strongest of armies:

“It was meant to be a stronghold, somewhere we could hide and keep our people safe in emergencies, but we knew if we did that we would have backed ourselves into a corner. Uther was taking over more and more of the city every day, if we locked ourselves in... we would have just starved. Trying to escape through the city and out into the wilderness was our only hope.”

Merlin nods absent-mindedly as he stares up at the main door:

“Can we even get in?”

His voice is quiet and shaky, and Mordred steps forward to put a hand on his shoulder as Thornway replies with a small smile:

“You’re the heir, the doors will always open for you, Little Falcon.”

Merlin replies with a weak smirk and flushed cheeks:

“You know, I’m not all that little anymore.”

Thornway barks out a laugh as he shakes his head slightly, ruffling Merlin’s hair as the younger man pouts:

“Well, you’ll always be littler than me.-”

Merlin goes to retort, but before he can, his knight steps back and gestures to the great doors in front of them:

“-Go on, it’s time for us to finally come home, I think.”

Merlin gulps and nods, and Mordred lets his hand fall back to his side as the older Warlock takes the steps two at a time, hesitating only slightly before he wraps his hand around one of the doors’ metal rings. It twists easily in his grip, and the door swings open. Merlin has to take a step back and cover his mouth with his sleeve as he coughs, the billowing clouds of dust being disturbed for the first time in two decades making it almost impossible to see into the dark hall.

It settles after a few moments and Merlin takes a deep breath, reaching behind him wordlessly and relaxing only when he feels Arthur take his hand. The blonde King gives his hand a comforting squeeze, and Merlin takes his first shaking steps across the threshold.

He walks through the dark corridors slowly, one hand tightly clenched in Arthur’s, the other trailing along the wall next to him. The rest of the group is silent as they follow him, and nothing can be heard bar their muffled steps over the dusty rugs, and the deep breathing of Merlin and Thornway.

Merlin seems to know where he’s going, so no one questions the corners he turns and the rooms he passes without second thought. The deeper into the castle they get, the darker it becomes, until finally Merlin stops, a long hall stretched out in front of him. His eyes flash gold and the torches lining the walls flare up, illuminating the corridor in golden light. Arthur turns to look at the Warlock beside him, empathetic tears gathering in his eyes as he sees tracks on Merlin’s cheeks.

Merlin turns to glance at Thornway, whose in a similar state, before closing his eyes and flattening his free hand against the wall, digging his fingertips into the cracks as his voice comes out quiet and raspy:

“I know these halls, this stone.-”

Thornway takes a deep stuttering breath, muttering Merlin’s name. Merlin steps away from the wall, looking back to his knight with a weak, teary smile:

“-Do you remember? Chambers filled with golden light, vast halls bustling with people and dragons and magic?”

Thornway gulps and nods, slowly moving towards Merlin and putting a hand on his shoulder:

“I remember.-”

He nods down the corridor, taking a deep breath and clearing his throat before asking:

“-You remember what’s down there?”

Merlin smiles and nods, squeezing Arthur’s hand and leading the group down the hall, obviously impatient to get to wherever their destination is, but unwilling to walk any quicker.

Leon and Arthur share a confused and slightly concerned look but don’t say anything, allowing Merlin and Thornway to lead the way. Once again, Merlin hesitates only slightly before pushing the door at the end of the corridor open. and the six of them gather inside the immense chamber. Like the rest of the castle, it was dusty, but untouched; unlike the rest of the castle, it was bathed in colourful light. The walls were high, the ceiling obviously stretching far above the surrounding rooms, and the afternoon sun shone brightly through giant stained glass windows.

Reds and blues and greens and every other colour imaginable were splashed across the stone floor, painting pictures of dragons and flowers and family, but everyone’s eyes skip over the colourful artwork, instead being drawn to the two golden thrones sat on a dais at the other end of the hall. Merlin lets go of Arthur’s hand, walking towards the thrones with wide eyes as the others stay back, watching with a mix of pride and grief. Thornway follows after a few moments and Leon has to put a hand on Arthur’s shoulder, shaking his head slightly when the King looks at him. Arthur clenches his hands and looks away, but stays by the door, wanting more than anything to be with Merlin through this but also understanding that it wasn’t his place.

Merlin finally reaches the thrones.

He wipes the thick dust from the armrests with shaking, but reverent hands before sitting down on the steps, slightly to the side of the golden seats. He runs his fingertips over the stone, remembering every bump and crack and texture, and Thornway stands behind him, in line with the thrones, putting a hand on his shoulder and muttering:

“Now this brings back memories.”

Merlin nods, looking up at him, tears no longer flowing, but still gathering in his eyes:

“I... I don’t remember much, but I still... know. I know this is where I sat, with you behind me, ma and dad next to me on their thrones. I remember dad promising that when I was older, they’d have a throne made for me, so I could sit with them.”

Thornway nods, slowly moving to sit beside him, ignoring the creaking in his bones as he lets his weight fall onto the stone steps:

“Hmm. foreign royalty and dignitaries thought it odd that the King and Queen let you sit in on meetings, even as a young child, but they were always adamant; they didn’t want to hide you away. You were always safe, of course, but they wanted you exposed to the people and the people exposed to you. I suppose they wanted to nurture a natural love and protectiveness of your people in you; how could they expect you to serve the Kingdom well if you were only doing so out of duty, and not genuine love?”

Merlin hums thoughtfully before smiling briefly up at Arthur, still stood on the other side of the room. When Arthur tentatively returns the smile, despite not hearing the hushed conversation, Merlin looks to Thornway next to him, bumping shoulders with a short giggle:

“Probably why I’ve always been so disrespectful to Arthur, everyone in here was equal, no matter what. I guess that’s why the treatment of servants and commoners was such a shock when I moved to Camelot, I don’t really remember much of home, but it definitely felt different.”

Thornway nods as Merlin stands, holding out a hand to the knight and pulling him to his feet. Merlin’s gaze moves around the room, though he stays rooted to the spot, and Thornway asks his question quietly:

“What do you want to do? Do you want to finish clearing the castle and the city first, or fetch your mother and uncle first?”

Merlin gulps before taking a deep breath, staring at the floor and saying in a small voice:

“I don’t know... what do you think I should do?”

Thornway chuckles and shakes his head:

“This is your decision, Little Falcon. You are the Crown Prince, this is your Kingdom, your city, your people, trust your instincts. What should be done?”

Merlin looks to Arthur once again, reminding himself of the King’s promise to catch him should he fall, before looking back at Thornway with a determined expression:

“Send Kilgharrah to fetch ma and Gaius. We no longer need him as a deterrent, and we’ll still have Aithusa. He can make the journey to Camelot and back in a week at most, knights, even on horseback, will take at least twice that. It’s been a while since either of them went flying, but they’ll remember soon enough, and I trust Kilgharrah to keep them safe. We can keep clearing the city and start rough plans for rebuilding whilst we wait.”

Thornway grins and nods proudly:

“Exactly what I would have suggested. See? You’ll be just fine.-”

Merlin returns his grin shyly, blushing slightly as he rubs the back of his neck. Thornway rolls his eyes good-naturedly before gesturing to the others:

“-Come, My Lord, we should let the others know and head out to send Kilgharrah off as soon as possible.”

Merlin pushes the older knight’s shoulder playfully at the use of a title, but Thornway just smirks and waves Merlin ahead of him.

Arthur, Leon, and Mordred were told of the plan as the group made their way out of the castle again, having to cover their eyes when they step into the bright sunlight. They all smiled fondly as they saw Merlin’s growing confidence, though Arthur had to stamp down the growing anxiety swirling in his stomach; he refused to be sad for himself.

Kilgharrah was flying back towards Camelot within the hour, and Merlin was separating the army into groups and assigning tasks with a strong voice and straight back, taking every question and suggestion in his stride and organising hundreds of people without issue.

Arthur knew that there was still a conversation to be had between himself and Merlin, though with every day that passed he questioned whether it was the right thing to do. He wasn’t oblivious enough not to notice the way Merlin always asked for his council, even when he didn’t need it, always searched for his eyes in the crowd when he addressed his people, but that didn’t mean that his... affections, were returned.

Everyone, even Thornway now, kept shooting him pitying looks, and he figured out fairly quickly that he wasn’t as subtle as he’d like to believe. Leon was the only one he could rely on to convincingly pretend nothing was wrong, and Arthur used that to back up his deliberate ignoring of his stupid emotions.

Six days had passed and the clearing of debris from the lower town was well on its way when Kilgharrah landed in the castle courtyard, his two passengers tense and teary. Only Hunith, Gaius, Merlin, and Thornway took the journey through the castle this time; the others continued to help with the work in the town, not quite feeling that they would be welcome on the emotional tour.

Hunith decided fairly quickly that she would move on to become Queen Mother. Merlin would be crowned King (though he put his foot down and insisted that it wouldn’t happen until everything was properly sorted, and the people were settled back in the city), and though Hunith would still be the most senior of the royals, Merlin would technically have the most power.

Arthur had mixed feelings about that.

As King, Merlin would be a lot busier, would have a lot more responsibilities, but equally, he would have much more control over the use of his time; somehow making it both harder and easier to organise visits between the two of them. Though Arthur, of course, didn’t mention such feelings, just pulled Merlin into another tight hug and congratulated him with a grin.

With the help of Merlin and Mordred’s magic, and the few sorcerers scattered throughout the army they had brought, clearing the town of debris and rebuilding what they could with whatever was left went fairly quickly. Soon enough, the blacksmith’s and an infirmary were up and running, and the farms were ready for work to commence, just as soon as the resources from Camelot arrived.

The castle, whilst it had been fully explored by Merlin, Hunith, Thornway, and Gaius, had yet to be opened up to others or cleaned properly, but no one mentioned it. The gang slept happily in homes rebuilt in the upper town, and accepted Merlin’s excuse of wanting to focus on the people’s infrastructure first.

It was a week or so after Hunith and Gaius had arrived, Kilgharrah and Aithusa had disappeared into the mountains with Merlin’s approval, and Arthur once again found Merlin stood in the otherwise empty, still dusty throne room, staring at the golden seats with his hands in his pockets and his face tense.

Years ago, Arthur would’ve been wrong in his assumption that Merlin hadn’t heard him approach, but just this once he knows that he’s right. Arthur had slowly become an expert on picking up Merlin’s ticks, and even in the low light of the evening the blonde could tell that Merlin had no clue he was there.

Arthur didn’t want to feel like he was intruding, so cleared his throat quietly, only walking closer to the other man when his head whipped around, smiling slightly when he saw it was just Arthur.

Arthur stepped up next to him, and they both stared at the thrones in silence, shoulders brushing ever so slightly. Everything had been so busy in recent weeks that, other than the conversation two weeks earlier, Arthur and Merlin had spent barely any time together, just the two of them; every other time Arthur had found Merlin alone in the throne room he had shut the door quietly behind him and left, too afraid to intrude, not quite ready to start a conversation. The conversation.

After a few minutes, he clears his throat again and speaks in a quiet voice, not looking to the Warlock next to him:

“What’s on your mind?”

Merlin responds almost immediately, but like Arthur, he speaks quietly and doesn’t move his gaze from the thrones:

“Nothing, everything. I’m... doing ok, I think.-”

Arthur nods with a small smile, but Merlin continues before he can say anything:

“-But I’m scared that I’m only doing well because you’re here. You have to go back to Camelot eventually and... it sounds stupid, but I... I don’t want you to go. I need you, Arthur.”

Arthur gulps, finally looking to Merlin’s sorrowful face, though the other man refuses to meet his gaze. He takes his hands out of his pockets, fiddling with them roughly, rubbing his knuckles together and scratching his palms harshly. Arthur clenches his jaw, taking one of Merlin’s hands in his own gently and running soothing fingers over the younger man’s callouses:

“I know what you mean.-”

Merlin looks to him in surprise, his eyes widening, and Arthur continues with a small smile:

“-I told you, Merlin, I’m only a good King because of you. I’ve never had to rule on my own before and I’m dreading going back to Camelot without you.-”

Merlin shakes his head roughly, but Arthur continues once again, before he can disagree:

“-No, Merlin, don’t argue, it’s true. I... I need you as well, I don’t want to be without you, and I’ve no clue how I’m going to cope with a week’s ride between us. Leon tried talking some sense into me back in Camelot, and I know he was right, that all relationships take effort and we’ll have to work incredibly hard to stay in each other’s lives in any significant capacity, and I’m absolutely willing to do anything to keep you close, if not physically then... otherwise, but I’m still...-”

Arthur sighs and looks away, his cheeks just a little bit pink as he continues quietly:

“-I’m still scared to be without you.”

Merlin gulps and squeezes Arthur’s hand in his own, waiting for the blonde to finally look up at him again. The Warlock smiles at the eye contact and Arthur returns it weakly as Merlin finally replies:

“The last ten years of my life have revolved around you, completely and utterly, and I know it’s selfish of me to... not want that to change. I know I’m staying here, with my people, as their King. I would never consider abandoning them, not really, but I desperately want to, just so I can stay with you. We... we’ll figure something out, find some way to communicate quickly. I’m magic incarnate, there has to be a way, I... I’ll make a way, if I have to.”

The tears in Arthur’s eyes finally overflow at Merlin’s determined tone, but before the other man can say anything about it, Arthur pulls him into a tight hug, clutching his cloak in shaking fingers and burying his face in his shoulder, for once feeling grateful for the extra inch in height that Merlin has on him. Merlin returns the hug without hesitation, closing his eyes against the tears, though not managing to stop them from falling as he quietly speaks, his voice thick:

“I promised that I would stay with you until the day I died, but I... I have to leave, I... I can’t-”

Arthur tightens the hug as he interrupts him:

“No, Merlin, you owe me nothing, you don’t have to explain. You’ve already given me my kingdom, now it’s my chance to return the favour. I would never ever ask you to leave this behind just for me.”

Arthur can feel Merlin’s body shaking with silent sobs, and he runs a hand through his hair softly, breathing deeply in an effort to hold in his own bawling.

They stand wrapped in each other for a while, neither willing to let go even when their tears dry up and their breathing evens out. Eventually Merlin rasps out a whispered:

“I don’t want to lose you.”

Arthur pulls back at long last, but doesn’t go far, leaning his forehead against Merlin’s and closing his eyes before replying:

“You won’t. We’ll take turns hosting Yule celebrations, and I can visit on your birthday, and there’ll be tournaments of course, and trade routes, and shared patrols near the border. I refuse to let you slip from my grasp, Merlin, you’ll never be without me, not for long anyway.”

Merlin huffs out a gentle laugh, and Arthur thinks the flutter of his breath over his cheeks and through his eyelashes is the most beautiful thing he’s ever felt. Both of them open their eyes, but they don’t move away from each other, even as they stare, becoming increasingly aware of the very little amount of space between them. Arthur’s brows crease slightly but he ignores the concerned question in Merlin’s eyes, instead lifting a hand to gently cup his jaw, gulping as Merlin’s expression falls into a soft smile.

The King takes a deep breath as he summons his courage, eyes filling with tears again as he clears his throat, whispering so quietly that it’s a miracle Merlin hears him, even with only inches between them:

“Merlin, I... you mean a great deal to... I mean I... -”

He cuts himself off with a quiet huff, and Merlin smirks at the slight blush dusting his cheeks, patiently waiting for him to continue. Arthur shuts his eyes tightly, taking another deep breath before opening them with a newfound determination. He meant it, he’d come this far, he was not going to let Merlin slip away:

“I love you, you are the single most important person in my life, and I would go to the ends of this world just to see you smile. I owe you my life, and so much more than that; you’ve been making promises and swearing oaths to my crown for years-”

Merlin interrupts him quietly:

“To you, to Arthur, not the crown, to you.”

Arthur huffs slightly and rolls his eyes:

“I’m trying to confess my undying love here Merlin, and I’m not very good with this whole... expressing shit, so shut up and let me finish.-”

Merlin snorts but stays otherwise silent, raising an eyebrow to prompt Arthur to continue:

“-Like I was saying. You’ve been swearing things for years, and now it’s my turn.-”

Arthur steps back, taking Merlin’s hands tightly in his own as he lowers himself to one knee, pressing his forehead to the Warlock’s knuckles:

“-I swear on my crown and in the name of Camelot, that I will always love you, that I will always be ready catch you, and that I will never stop putting the work in to make sure I don’t lose you, that you don’t lose me.”

The blonde can hear Merlin’s stuttered breathe and barely has time to process Merlin’s whispered-

“I accept your oath.”

-before he’s being pulled to his feet and urgently kissed.

One of Merlin’s hands settles on the side of Arthur’s neck and the other grips his hip. Arthur’s arms flail for only a moment in his shock before he moves to clutch Merlin’s collar tightly, closing his eyes and kissing back, pushing as much of his devotion into the action as possible and wanting nothing more than to sooth the stress-induced bite marks on Merlin’s lips.

They pull back far too soon, as far as both of them are concerned, once again resting their foreheads against each other as they catch their breath. Arthur’s face slowly morphs into a grin as he says:

“And to think I was stressing over whether I should tell you for weeks.”

Merlin rolls his eyes in response, snorting in amusement as he admits, much to Arthur’s chagrin:

“Believe me, I already knew, you weren’t very subtle. You’ve been sulking.”

Arthur lets out an incredulous huff and pulls back, still holding Merlin’s collar but staring at Merlin’s amused raised eyebrow with wide eyes:

“I am a King, Merlin, I do not sulk.”

Merlin chuckles:

“Well so am I, and yes you do.”

Arthur narrows his eyes slightly:

“Not yet you’re not. That’s besides the point, if you knew... why didn’t you say anything?”

Merlin’ face falls slightly, and if Arthur had to guess, he’d say that Merlin looked a little guilty. The blonde furrowed his brows but pulls his Warlock close again, stroking his jaw softly with his thumb as he waits for an answer:

“I... I love you, Arthur, more than anything, but... I wanted see if you would do anything about it. I knew I would do anything for you, but I needed... I needed to know if you thought I was worth the distance, the effort. If I said something first, I never would have known... I would always be second guessing if you were about to... to break it off, because you didn’t want to put in the frankly ridiculous amount of effort it’s going to take to keep things... good.”

Arthur smiles and shakes his head disbelievingly, landing a quick kiss to the tip of Merlin’s nose and smirking at the way his face scrunches in response:

“Well, now you do know. I will do anything, everything, to keep you happy and safe and loved. You will always be in my heart, if not by my side.”

Merlin smiles, and the two of them resolutely ignore the tears gathering in their eyes as he whispers his reply:

“As will I. I’ll talk to the Druids, Kilgharrah, Thornway, I’m sure we’ll be able to figure out some magical way to communicate.”

Arthur just smiles and nods, taking Merlin’s hands in his own once more:

“Ready to head to sleep? It’s late, and I know you’re tired.”

Merlin takes a deep breath, glancing to the thrones before walking towards the door, keeping Arthur’s hand securely in his:

“Yeah. Though unless we sneak past the others I doubt we’ll get to sleep for a while. Morgana’s been speaking to me in my head and teasing me for weeks and my mum keeps hinting at how politically beneficial a marriage between the kingdoms would be.”

Arthur doesn’t even try to hide his snort, but nods in agreement and squeezes Merlin’s hand, following him out into the star-lit evening with a newfound enthusiasm to see what the future will bring.

THE END OF PART 2!!!

I think I’ll write one more reeeaally short part, a ten years later sort of thing, just because I have a few more ideas about this, but no real huge plot points, just cute little things I want to add in but haven’t found space for yet.

This took a little longer than I expected to come out, but I hope y’all enjoyed it!!

(and yes, I may have taken a little inspiration from The Hobbit movies, sue me (pls don’t, I’m kidding))

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insomniac-dot-ink · 3 years

Text

Is it wrong to lie to children?

A personal essay on reconciling with a shitty childhood and the question: is it wrong to lie to children?

It’s perplexing to have a shitty “unorthodox” childhood because initially I tried to throw out everything about It. Toss out the plumping and the rafters and the roofing, dispense of every single part of my upbringing I could get my hands on and not look back. Naturally, this approach didn’t work. It wasn’t even a real possibility. You’re still haunted by it, a ghost in the bones of a house, a foundation that remains long after the builders have left. That’s part of recovery too, to look at that ghost, to look at those bones, and keep saying: I see you, I see. I let you in. You sit with it and accept, accept, accept.

The really terrible part of this, the part where I don’t throw away the baby with the bathwater, is that you then have to raise the thing, deal with it. You have to do the hard work of parsing through the endless bits of self and placing them in “keep” piles and “discard” piles. I want to keep my mother’s kindness. I want to keep my father’s sense of humor. I want to discard the isolation. I want to discard the delusions.

But then there are these weird . . . “I don’t know” things. The things I am unsure if they helped me or hurt me. As I’ve gotten older I’ve gotten more and more of those “I don’t know” categories piling up. I’ve worked my way through most of the more obvious ones and now it’s all grey and mushy and as cloudy as a London winter. Recently, more than anything, I’ve been grappling with the fact my mother believed it was wrong to lie to children. She believed, in her flower-child way, that it was unethical in all forms.

I never believed in Santa Claus. I’m sorry to say I was a pretty obnoxious kid too because I would preach on the playground about how there was no Santa and there had never been any Santa. Which was a bit harsh, but in my defense I was under the impression these people were suffering from some sort of collective mass delusion. They were being lied to. And lying was wrong.

Is it wrong to lie to children?

I’ve known about sex since I was around 5 years old. I don’t remember why I asked, but it was something about where babies come from and so on. Most parents talk about a stork or love or some other abstract side-step. My mother described the anatomy to me and showed me a scientific diagram of the process. She told me that a sperm meets an egg and fertilizes it so the baby can grow. I learned most of this in scientific terms and was surprised when none of my middle school friends knew how a penis worked.

Is it wrong to lie to children?

When I was 9 or so our cat was eaten by a coyote. I asked my mom where he went and she said that he accidently got out the night before. She said they looked for him all morning, but it was too late. She didn’t use the word “gone” or “passed on” or “he’s in a better place now.”

She said he was dead. I said oh. She asked if I wanted to see him. I said yes. For the record, I am not actually sure if 9 year-olds should see corpses. That is neither here nor there. It was something that stuck with me though, the body of my cat with his tummy ripped out. I had never seen intestines before. His eyes were open.

But there was something cathartic about digging the grave. About helping pick up his little stiff body by the feet and placing him inside. There was something about piling on the red dirt as the sun set and letting the tears fall.

People on sitcoms hate talking about death. It’s understandable, it’s not funny, it makes for good dramatic irony when the kid asks “Where’s Socks?” and the parents go “Uuuuuh. He ran away.” I’ve never felt more alienated at those points. My cat died. He was eaten. I saw his body, and I buried it. Sometimes I think I wouldn’t want to be told he ran away-- that he had a choice in whether or not he left me.

Is it wrong to lie to children?

For a long time I thought the entirety of my childhood was wrong and bad, because I was miserable and broken at the end of it. I will assure you, my parents fucked up time and time again. But sometimes I have to stop and keep asking: Was this the wrong part? Was this the part where they fucked up? Was any part of this valuable? It’s a hard process to comb through an entire life and decide which bits are worth keeping, and if there are any silver linings.

So here is one: I am an honest person. I am a crooked person too, unsure of where to place my feet in social situations, picking my way through others normalcy. I do not readily share information, I am not forthcoming, and it’s a slow burn for me to open up about anything.

However, I notice time and time again that strangers will share personal things with me. I don’t mean for it to happen, but there’s just this pattern in my life. I once went on a car ride with a girl I barely know from my debate team. She described how she wanted to lose her virginity, she wanted it, but was scared God would be angry. That she’d be dirty afterwards. I told her that that was impossible, sex was just an act, it had no eyes, it had no priestly robes, or bearing on her soul. She cried. She said she hadn’t told me anyone this before.

I had a friend in high school who was struggling with an eating disorder, people had tried to get her to talk about it before, but I was the first person she admitted it to. In the hallway, sitting, just discussing nothing, and out it comes: I’m scared to eat sometimes. I was on a city bus and an old woman struck up a conversation with me. Over an hour or so, and she ended up telling me her fears for her own daughter going away to college. Her fear of growing old and passing on. Her problems with sleeping as she lay awake and dreaded it.

People have told me about their problems with substance abuse, their struggles with sexuality, and childhood trauma. People spill to me and I sit there thinking: Why? Sometimes I think it’s my gender or just how people are, but it always feels like I’m missing some part of the picture. Why do people open up to me, unprompted, all at once? Why me?

Is it wrong to lie to children?

Recently, I was reading a memoir set in 2001 where two young kids ask the narrator, their mother, about 9/11. They asked what happened to the people on television who were jumping off the building. Where did they go? The mother says this: They were caught. There are people-catchers that flew and saved them. Everyone is okay.

This story was meant to be heartfelt and lyrical, relatable. It ended like this: It is the job of mothers to offer gentle lies.

I had to stop reading because I was suddenly lost in a white-hot rage, unexpected, knee-jerk. How could she do that? I found myself frothing. They trusted her with answers and she lied. How could she? I knew it was irrational. It was silly even. This was a sweet story. It was meant to be heart-warming and framed in a way that suggested this is what all mothers do. This was what they needed to do.

I felt my own mother, pumping through my veins, furious that these elementary school students were being betrayed. I stopped myself of course, I knew it wasn’t reasonable. I wasn’t raised “correctly.” I had no legs to stand on.

But still, is it alright to lie to children?

I am once again faced with that unending dilemma: how to throw-out those parts of myself that don’t work and keep the ones that do. It’s difficult to say, because in some ways I agree with my mom. How can I not? But death is cruel. Sex is weird. Santa Claus is a beautiful lie.

And what’s wrong with lying? I still don’t know. What’s wrong with letting them never hurt? Never knowing the pain or gross parts of the world? What’s the harm in letting them make-believe?

But sometimes I think about all those people who have cried to me. All these unprompted confessions come with an unspoken plea: I hurt. I am afraid. I am so scared. It’s all so heavy, these painful truths.

And some part of me stands there, the part my mother raised and says: there is nothing in this life that is too shameful. There is nothing in this world that is unnatural. There is nothing in this life to lie about, even to children.

Is death too painful? Is sex too gross? Would you tell an adult that a man lives in the North Pole and watches them?

I asked my mom, years later, when I was less furious and able to talk with her again without screaming, about why she believed all this. She had told me about it since I was very young, but I never asked why. She shrugged. She said: children are people, aren’t they?

I still don’t know what to do with this.

Children are people, but they are not adults. They shouldn’t be exposed to “adult” things, right? But is that line so concrete? Is the word “adult” just a mask for the greater word, the one we really mean? We all agree: honesty is good. Lying hurts. But it’s alright to lie to kids, because in many ways they aren’t people yet, they aren’t people yet, they don’t count.

I am admittedly an argumentative person. I was on the debate team, mock trial, United Nations, I studied political science in college and fought with every single one of my professors I thought was wrong. And I stood in that playground, age 6, and told every single one of my classmates Santa wasn’t real and I wouldn’t stop. The truth was important. And my mother, no matter what, thought I disserved it.

I often felt tiny and powerless as a kid. Terrified and holding myself together by shoestrings. I often felt there would be nothing better in the world than to be grown up. Not for the money or the dating or the job, I just wanted to feel like the hurricane would end. That one day I could stand on solid ground again. My friend often says: I wish I could be a kid again, ya know? No responsibilities. Just bliss. I want to be a kid again.

I can’t relate. I never have. I’ve been busy weeding through the pipes and lighting and the carpentry of my upbringing and asking myself: is any of this worth keeping? Is any part of me built correctly? There are no right answers.

But still, I am haunted. I sit and ask myself in circles: is it alright to lie to children?

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#personal essay #nonfiction #creative nonfiction #writers on tumblr #story time

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the-ghost-king · 3 years

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love seeing ur tags on my posts it means i get to think 🥰🥰 anyway mostly agree but at least to me nico’s constant need to prove himself is a sign of feeling like he’s not worth other people’s time and effort and he has to MAKE himself worth it. he does all he can in the hopes that people will notice him and tell him that he’s good enough because he relies on the approval of people he loves. he thinks love is something conditional for him and that he always has to be earning it because he doesn’t have enough worth to have it just granted to him. again this is more my own interpretation of his character and possibly a bit of projection

(Post)

I will not fail to acknowledge that I might also be projecting somewhat onto Nico, what is media but self reflection? I think there's a couple ways you can see Nico that are canonically "correct"

What I personally think happened with Nico is that he was aware he was worth more than the treatment he was receiving, but because so much rejection occurred he eventually just assumed he was the problem. There's things on this I would rewrite now but it holds up okay in what I'm about to try and explain.

The thing about being rejected is that the first time you argue it's the other person. And the second time you'll argue it's still them. If you're still arguing it's other people the third time, maybe but it's thin ice... But eventually you just have to accept that you're at fault.

I think this is something that really describes Nico. He is never able to nestle himself in the comfort of sameness after a certain point. He is not given authority in his own story in the beginning, he is thrust into solitude, he is told he is a monster already and if not then he has no choice but to become one.

And he takes this blame upon himself, believing that it's him who has to prove himself. He doesn't acknowledge that maybe other people have their own biases against him, he says "I have to prove them wrong," and then does his best.

It's important to note that Nico is definitely grappling with Childhood Emotional Neglect, he's in a broken situation- and he recognizes that nobody wants him around, and that he's just more stress for an already stressed group of people, so he just backs down and starts to figure stuff out for himself. We see him accept some help and friendship from The Stolls in TTC but eventually he stops doing this at some point.

His leave from camp and time with Minos is when he is used:

you unknowingly wear your heart on your sleeve and people will see this and take advantage of your trusting nature and unconditional love and they’ll never really love you they’ll just see you as an easy tool to be manipulated and used how they see fit and you won’t recognize that this is a bad thing because you don’t believe you’re worth anything more than this

This is something I would say is very true about this time period of Nico's life. Minos emotionally exploits Nico, emotional neglect and abuse (possibly physical abuse, who knows) are defining characteristics of their interactions. Nico talks about how Minos will just randomly leave him for extremely long periods with no assistance, and about how when he's around he's always telling Nico to try harder, to do better, do more. Note the time he tells Nico "you have no power over me", he's definitely holding things over Nico's head. I don't think it's wrong to assume comfort is a part of that, Nico is alone all the time at this point, and I'm sure he's starved for touch, and support, and connection- and he will take whatever he can get whether or not it is good or right.

At first he doesn't do anything against this, and it might be because he was so starved for attention that he was willing to endure abuse to receive somewhat a consistent form of it. I also think there's some evidence that points to the idea Nico was getting something from Minos, training and similar stuff, it's possible he was willing to form and upkeep a toxic relationship with him in order to gain experience.

However, I do disagree with "and you won’t recognize that this is a bad thing because you don’t believe you’re worth anything more than this" because Nico does realize eventually that his situation isn't sustainable and that he has to do something- so he takes his narrative back into his own hands:

“Minos laughed. "You have no power over me. I am the god of spirits! The ghost king!" "No." Nico drew his sword. "I am.” (X)

So Nico, if he ever thought he was worth the treatment of being used for someone elses personal gain, he definitely overcomes some of it here, if not all of it. Nico is manipulated and used for Minos's personal gain, but he recognizes that it's not sustainable and makes a stand for himself. And this is the first time in the series where Nico truly is able to take control of his own narrative, everything before this moment is Nico being forced, or Nico with something looming over him, Nico crowning himself is him claiming his story.

So let's consider Hades in all of this, I don't think Hades manipulated Nico to the extent Minos did- but nonetheless, he did manipulate and abuse him, and this hurt Nico more than when Minos did it. Again, in the situation with Hades this is also true, "you unknowingly wear your heart on your sleeve and people will see this and take advantage of your trusting nature and unconditional love and they’ll never really love you they’ll just see you as an easy tool to be manipulated and used how they see fit and you won’t recognize that this is a bad thing". By the time Nico and Hades truly start interacting, we see that Nico's heart hasn't been fully removed from his sleeve, but it may have been lightened.

Here's the thing about the way Nico approached Hades, it's not naïve to trust family. The text in multiple places implies that Hades was around for at least a handful of years when Nico was a kid, it's not unlikely that Nico may have taken naps on his shoulder, held his hand to cross the street, maybe called him "Papa", "Dad", or "Tata" (Italian, English, old Greek). It makes sense that Nico goes to him, what doesn't make sense to Nico at first is that Hades would manipulate him. Unlike many of the other demigods, Nico knows he was a choice, and that at some point he was something wanted, so he expects some level of okay treatment from Hades. Hades loved his mother, and Hades if not wanting of Nico would have wanted Maria's wishes fulfilled, and Nico probably remembers Hades treating him warmly- or at least not harshly. The way Nico went to Hades makes sense, he wasn't expecting open arms surely, but he also wasn't expecting abuse.

Hades emotionally exploits Nico by using information about Maria, what would a little boy want more than the safety of his mother? He's so starved for human contact, who ever held him more than his mother? Who ever loved him more than her? Once Nico delivers Percy to Hades, his father crushes him, not only by harming Percy but by exploiting Nico's trust through Nico's mother- one of the things he's most desperate for.

We see Nico's heart come off his sleeve at this point, maybe not fully, but enough to where a stranger couldn't recognize it at first glance, and in a way where he has the means to hide it from most.

Except we don't see much of this, because the series is narrated by Percy- and Nico can't hide his heart from Percy.

Almost everything Nico does, everything he tries to do, is for Percy. Nico is so desperate for contact that he is pliant, but in Percy's hands Nico actually wants that contact, he's not interested in imitations of love or substitutes- he's looking for the real thing.

And Mr. Oblivious does-Annabeth-like-me Jackson isn't in any headspace to realize that a boy might like him, let alone Nico. This concern that Nico will join Luke, isn't entirely because Percy is misreading signals, but it's definitely part of it. Nico likes Percy so much that at one point he is willing to go to Tartarus if not entirely for him, then partially for him.

If Percy had realized, and rejected Nico- maybe he would have joined Luke, or at least he definitely would have been more likely to. The perception of Nico we get in PJO from Percy is unreliable, because Percy looks at Nico through the lenses of a concerned older brother, and Percy feels guilty in some way for the situation Nico is in. This gives not only a skewed, but slightly falsified narrative of who Nico is.

The original post of mine I linked, although yes, I would like to rewrite aspects of it now it holds up in the sense that Nico is always trying to prove himself, and this is a bit different than being a puppet. Nico is so starved that it is present in everything, @/arabnico gets it right:

nico’s longing is just so raw it consumes him whole and he cannot hide it at all because it reflects in absolutely everything he does and is nico’s just the means of the way for them and he settles for being it because he doesn’t think he can be much better or even deserves to it is sometting so twisted because nico has this innate utalitarian desire to be useful and to do something and to do the right thing but in the game of things he’s reduced to that puppet in the hands of fate and deities millennia older than him that see a wounded wandering soul doomed to be forever alone by a destiny so cruel it keeps him on his knees

Nico, in PJO especially, has little control over his own narrative. His mother is killed in punishment for his father's "wrongs", Nico is forced to endure this. Bianca grows tired of caring for Nico and leaves him behind, this is not Nico's fault but Nico is forced to endure the consequences of her actions. Bianca's fate is decided on a quest Nico isn't even able to go on, he is forced to endure the results. Nico then breaks the cycle, declaring himself The Ghost King, and dethroning Minos. Nico is forced to endure Hades's manipulation only because he did not see it coming, this wasn't an aspect in which Nico didn't have his narrative (he had already taken ownership of his narrative) but a blind spot in his rational.

The place where we vary is why Nico behaves this way, we can agree that it's because he's starving for human connection- but you believe it's because he has no confidence he is willing to submit himself, while I see his submission as an act of desperation.

Personally, I think to argue that Nico is like this as a result of lack of confidence does a disservice to his narrative (obviously it's fine to view him however you wish, and I wish you all the fun in doing so!). To boil this down to starvation and lack of confidence removes some level of Nico's autonomy in his own life, but also strips him of one of his strongest characteristics- those qualities of him which are like Orpheus.

Nico willing to go to the ends of the earth for love is not a weakness but a strength, his ability to carry on beyond the point in which he needs a rest is not a weakness but a sign of strength. His ability to go to the ends of the earth to right wrongs, and to show his love:

"... Cupid struck, slapping Nico sideways into a granite pedestal. Love is no game! It is no flowery softness! It is hard work- a quest that never ends. It demands everything from you- especially the truth. Only then does it yield rewards."

Cupid is explaining Nico's idea of love in this scene, we see Jason say he prefers Piper's idea of love- but Nico only knows love in the way cupid describes, working desperately for a few moments with Bianca, working just to hear any scrap of information about his mother, always trying to prove himself to Percy- to overcome the way he feels about Percy (and boys in general).

Nico has only known love as something you walk to the ends of the Earth for, but he never stops fighting to be loved and acknowledged. Lesser men would give up and lay down, accept they are unworthy, but Nico keeps pushing to be acknowledged and accepted- to be recognized and loved without having to walk to the end of the Earth, but Nico knows he has to walk to that edge and face it before unconditional love will come to him.

To imply that Nico seeks love the way he does because he's unconfident in his ability to receive love ignores the idea that he's had his life forced into this position because of the fates. It loses acknowledgment to the strength it takes to pick yourself up and walk to the end of the Earth time and time again, because if he was unconfident then he would eventually lay down and accept he shouldn't be loved ever again.

I don't think confidence doesn't play into this at all though, it definitely has some impact on Nico, he does view himself as inherently less (he is overly self sacrificial- think Tartarus :/), and he does try to remove himself from others:

You yourself said: you blame yourself for the way people have hurt you, taken advantage of you, and abandoned you. they exploit your love and your naïveté time and time again. you tell yourself, surely, there must be something wrong with you. because—you are convinced—that people are good. “if they hurt me, it is because i am flawed. it is because i am weak. people will always hurt me—even people i love. it’s an inevitable truth for me.” (X)

And this connects to what I said: "The thing about being rejected is that the first time you argue it's the other person. And the second time you'll argue it's still them. If you're still arguing it's other people the third time, maybe but it's thin ice... But eventually you just have to accept that you're at fault."

I do think there's a reason Nico makes himself so "utilitarian", because he hasn't been handed unconditional love since Bianca. But again we disagree on the why, I see Nico's behavior in his utilitarian example of love as caring, the way more people should be in love. Too many people see love as something given without restraint, and yeah, love should be unconditional but in order for love to be unconditional you have to do the work to lay good foundation. To be utilitarian in loving is not an act of weakness, or a symbol of lack of confidence, it is a showcase of more care in love than most have to offer. We care for things, and place value on them determined by how much love and care goes into those things.

I also don't see Nico's self blaming for what happened as flawed, it's logical in his situation, and a common result of CEN. This self blame shows care and kindness, and this coincides with Nico's arcs, "If I am bad, how do I improve? If I have no choice but to be evil, how do I still be good?". Nico is always fighting not to be recognized for good or bad, but to be recognized for what he is.

Trust is not naivety either, the only reason Nico is regarded as naïve is because of the extreme circumstances of his life. People shouldn't have to expect abuse from people who are supposed to love them, people should have to accept abuse in order to receive love. If Nico's life had turned out different, his naivety wouldn't be viewed as a weakness but a strength- a kindness.

We're not actually viewing Nico all that different, there's this space where his character blurs together, and it becomes an individual duty to determine at what point a flaw becomes a strength, and a strength a flaw. Nico's stubbornness is a flaw if we're thinking about grudges, but it's a strength in his work ethic. Nico's ability to stand on his own is a strength in terms of questing, but it's a flaw when it prevents him from experiencing love in fullness.

#asks #gayleafpool #idk the ending of this is shit but idk how to close ends so hopefully you understand anyhow #also i don't want this to come off as there's a right and wrong way to view something because that's not true #i was just trying to elaborate further on why i view nico a certain way #i can definitely see why you view him how you do #i think we're both definitely projecting a bit because we're both right in a flawed wya #*way #but what is the human mind but flawed?#uhh to tag or not to tag?#i'll tag #nico di angelo #pjo #long post

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sisterspooky1013 · 3 years

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Only One Choice, Part 2, Chapter 23

Read it here on AO3 / Tagging @today-in-fic

It doesn’t feel real until she sees the flutter on the ultrasound, the grey and white pixels flashing erratically confirming a healthy ten-week pregnancy. The doctor gives them a due date of September 17th, and she explains to Mulder repeatedly that the due date is only an estimate, that the baby will most likely arrive sometime in the two weeks before or after that day. Nonetheless, he prints little numbers in the corner of each date on the calendar, counting down.

She is lucky to experience very little nausea, but the time saved clinging to the toilet is instead allocated to bursting into tears at every tiny inconvenience. Mulder comforts her with a confused expression when she cries because she can’t find a Tupperware lid that fits, or her latte has too much foam, or she realizes she can no longer see her toes. She cries because she’s crying, because she feels out of touch with her own body and thrown off by her own emotions. They marvel at the growth of her belly as well as her breasts, which are even more sensitive than they were before. Her libido kicks into overdrive at the same time that she becomes incredibly self conscious about her protruding belly, her fuller face, her swelling feet. This leads to more tears as she grapples with both wanting desperately to be touched and not wanting him to look at her.

He tells her each day how beautiful she is, her hair growing longer and thicker, her skin glowing, her rounding belly housing the perfect little life that they created together. When he’s home, he rubs her feet every night, fetches her countless glasses of water and then helps tow her out of the bed so she can pee ten times in the night. When he’s on the road with Monica, he calls three times a day, asks Missy and her mother to go by and check on her, calls in dinner to be delivered so she doesn't have to cook. As her due date nears, he stops going on out-of-town cases, needing to be close enough to be by her side immediately when she goes into labor. He will not risk missing the birth of his child.

The apartment becomes cramped with a bassinet, changing table, pack n play, and various other baby gadgets. They consider moving, but the idea is too overwhelming for Scully so they decide to stay put until the baby becomes mobile and they really need more space. Mulder breaks the lease on his apartment and moves his fish tank into the living room, putting the rest of his furniture in storage until they buy a house. Priscilla breaks in all the baby gear, sleeping in the car seat and jumping into the swing, covering the tiny onesies with her black fur and making Scully cry yet again. Mulder refuses to let her scoop the litter box, even though she insists it’s safe if she wears gloves and washes her hands afterward. Other tasks she’s forbidden to complete include cleaning the toilet, carrying in the groceries and hauling laundry to the washing machine. When he’s on the road, she misses him as much as she is relieved to be able to be independent, not much caring for being treated as though she’s made of glass.

For the majority of her pregnancy, Scully insists that she doesn’t want to know the sex of the baby, that she wants to be surprised. Mulder respects her decision, even though he would personally like to know, and they create two lists of potential baby names, Scully crossing off “Lisa Marie'' each time Mulder tries to add it to the “girl” column. When she reaches 39 weeks, her pelvis widening as the baby drops into the birth canal, she is so miserable that she has a change of heart, needing to feel connected to this thing that is destroying her body and stealing her sleep. They call the doctor together on a Thursday afternoon as Scully sits on the couch in tears, having woken that morning to find angry red stretch marks marring her previously lily-white belly. When Mulder relays the doctor’s message that the baby is a girl, she sobs harder, and he’s not sure whether it’s because she’s happy or disappointed.

She wakes him at 3:00 am on September 21st, the irregular Braxton-Hicks contractions she’s been feeling for weeks having taken up a predictable cadence, now ten minutes apart almost on the dot. He starts rushing around, scrambling for her hospital bag and his shoes, and now it is her turn to provide comfort, to let him know there’s plenty of time. She doesn’t want to go to the hospital until the contractions are five minutes apart, and so they wait. The progression to nine minutes, then eight, then seven is alarmingly fast, and by the time she agrees that they should head to the hospital she’s starting to feel pressure low in her pelvis. Mulder drives too fast, the streets thankfully still quiet in the early morning, and she is wheeled into labor and delivery with not enough time for an epidural, much to her lament.

Molly Katherine Mulder has blue eyes and a dark shock of nearly-black hair. She barely cries at her entrance to the world, instead searching the room with a curious gaze, squeezing her daddy’s finger with an impressively strong grip and latching like a pro. They are able to go home the following day, Scully wincing as she moves gingerly from the bed to the couch, rinsing her tender stitches with a bottle of warm water and bleeding through entire packages of overnight maxi pads in a day.

Mulder takes off work for two weeks and they spend blissful days curled up in bed with the baby nestled between them as Priscilla curiously sniffs around her, licking her hair with a rough tongue and making them laugh. Each time Scully wakes at night to nurse, Mulder insists she go back to sleep while he changes the baby and walks her around the quiet apartment until she is asleep, singing softly and lulling them both.

When Mulder returns to work, Scully insists that he get a full night's sleep and let her wake up with Molly, reasoning that she can take naps during the day. She does not, of course, take naps during the day. Instead she tries to keep the apartment clean, the clothes washed, the diapers taken out to the dumpster, the litter box scooped. She does too much, and he sees it each day as she grows more and more weary, more and more defeated, the bags under her eyes deepening in color and her mouth rarely hosting a smile. He begs her to let him do more, to ask less of herself, but she is stubborn and strong-willed, the very things he loves about her now keeping her from properly taking care of herself.

They struggle through sleep-deprived arguments over who left the breast milk out on the counter all night, why it matters if he changes the baby on the floor instead of the changing table, why Scully doesn’t want to supplement with formula so he can take some of the night feedings. Her doctor releases her as medically clear to have sex after six weeks and she cries as she tells him that she doesn’t feel ready, that she can’t imagine anything worse than sex right now, and he holds her as he tells her that he doesn’t care, that she should take as much time as she needs, that he can wait.

They struggle, and they thrive. Moments of absolute unadulterated joy are punctuated by intense despair and overwhelm. The gain of a family against the loss of a life where you could pick up and go, stay out until 2:00 am and make love in the middle of the day. They are happy, and they are stressed, and they face it together.

On a Saturday in December, Mulder wakes early and takes care of every conceivable task in the house; the laundry, the dishes, cleaning the bathroom, scooping the litter, buying the groceries. He checks every item off Scully’s to-do list and then takes Molly for a long drive, leaving Scully alone with nothing to do in hopes that she will rest for once. When they return from their excursion, he creeps into the quiet apartment with a sleeping baby in his arms and sets her in the bassinet by the couch. At first he thinks maybe Scully has gone out, but he finds her in bed asleep with soaking wet hair, Priscilla curled up behind her knees. He watches her for a bit, affection clutching at his chest, then changes into sweats and kicks Priscilla out so he can snuggle up behind Scully. It feels so infrequent that they just lay like this anymore; one of them is always about to get up with the baby, about to get ready for work, or doesn’t want to be touched after a tiny person has clung to them all day. He pulls in a deep breath, smelling her lavender bubble bath and feeling the rise and fall of her ribs against his chest. He doesn’t want to disturb her, but he can’t resist pressing a tiny kiss to the side of her neck.

“Mmmm,” she hums in response, twisting her body around so they are face to face.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you,” he whispers.

“It’s okay. Where’s Molly?”

“She’s asleep in the living room.”

She sighs and snuggles closer to him, pressing her forehead into his chest and pushing one of her legs between his.

“This feels nice,” she says contentedly, and he brushes his hand softly up and down her back.

“How are you feeling?” he asks.

“Tired. Frumpy. Like I haven’t put on real clothes or a stitch of makeup in three months,” she laments.

“Well, I’ll give you tired,” he says softly, “but I can’t agree on frumpy. I think you look very beautiful.”

She scoffs against his chest.

“You don’t have to placate me, Mulder. I know I’m a mess.”

“Maybe so, but you’re my mess,” he retorts, pushing his fingers into her hair to gently scratch her scalp.

She tilts her head up to look at him, appraising his face with a skeptical eye.

“Is this what you thought it was going to be like?” she asks, her tone open and vulnerable.

“I don’t know,” he answers honestly, “I guess I didn’t really know what to expect.”

She sighs. “I just wish I knew when I might start to feel like myself again,” she says sadly. “I can’t help but feel like you’re not getting what you signed up for.”

“What do you mean?” he asks with a concerned frown.

He sees her eyes growing glassy, dampening with impending tears. “I mean the woman you asked out in the autopsy bay isn’t the one you’re with now,” she whispers, swallowing against the lump in her throat.

“That’s not even a little bit true,” he implores, cradling the back of her head with his hand. “You are everything you were then, and more. I’m amazed by you every day.”

She closes her eyes, a tear rolling across the bridge of her nose. He feels his chest ache; the need to make her understand is overwhelming.

“Hey,” he says, pulling the blankets back, “come here.”

He pulls her into a sitting position and slides off the bed, towing her along with him to sit on the edge of the mattress. He kneels on the floor between her knees, his hands on her hips.

“If you think for one second that I want to be with anyone but you, you’re fucking insane. I don’t care if you wear giant milk-stained T-shirts and have spit up in your hair for the rest of our lives, Scully. You’re it for me, okay?”

She pulls in a shuddering breath and wipes at her eyes, but won’t look at him.

“Stay here,” he commands, and disappears into the bathroom for a moment. When he comes back, he returns to his post kneeling at her feet.

“We knew this was going to be hard,” he says tenderly, holding one of her hands in his. “You said it yourself before Molly was born, that it would be the hardest time in our lives, and that we’d be at our worst. And I’m telling you that if this is your worst, sign me up, okay? It hasn’t changed how I feel about you.”

He holds up his other hand, a diamond ring perched between his thumb and forefinger.

“If you’re not ready to say yes yet, that’s okay, but I need you to know that I still want to marry you, Scully. I’ll wait forever if that’s what you need, but there hasn’t been a single day since I asked that I haven’t still meant it.”

Her tears have stopped, though her eyes are still wet and the tip of her nose is red. She looks from him to the ring and back, her eyebrows stitched in contemplation.

“I didn’t hear you ask me a question,” she says quietly, and he picks up on the slightest lilt of playfulness in her voice, which makes him break out into a smile.

“Dana Katherine Scully, love of my life, mother of my child, will you marry me?”

She smiles then, and he thinks his heart may burst right out of his chest.

“Yes, I’ll marry you,” she answers, and he takes her left hand, slipping the ring on her finger.

She wraps her arms around his neck and kisses him repeatedly, soft pecks devolving into lingering smooches as he shifts up slightly, pushing her back gently to recline on the bed. He moves over her, kissing along her jaw and down her neck, not going any further, not wanting to rush her.

She brings her hands to his hips, letting the tips of her fingers slip under the waist of his sweatpants, and his cock stirs. It’s been so, so, long, and he wants her desperately, but not until she’s ready. She pushes her hand down the front of his pants, gripping him as he grows hard under her touch. It’s overwhelming in the best way; he feels like a teenager being touched for the first time.

“I wanna have sex,” she breathes into his ear, the words rushing out quickly as though she’s afraid she might change her mind if she waits too long to say them.

He pulls back to look at her. “Are you sure?” he asks, and she nods, bringing her palm to his cheek before glancing at the ring on her finger and smiling.

They move slowly, though still with a sense of urgency that a baby sleeping in the next room brings. He pushes her shirt up and she lets him take it off, then slips the yoga pants off her hips, leaving her in basic black cotton briefs. He sees the hesitancy in her eyes as he looks at her body, now softer than it was before Molly, curvy in different places, purple streaks running from below her belly button to disappear under her panties.

“You’re so beautiful,” he murmurs, kissing her chest, her breasts, her belly, running his tongue along the grooves of her stretch marks. He loops his thumbs under the waist of her panties and tugs them down slowly, quickly undressing before he rejoins her in the bed.

“Tell me if anything hurts, okay?” he asks with a serious expression, and she nods, letting her legs fall open as he settles between them. He lines himself up with her entrance and pushes in achingly slowly, watching her face raptly. Her mouth opens slightly, and she takes in a sharp little breath. He’s about to ask her if it hurts when she closes her eyes and her mouth drops open further as she breathes out “oh,” in a way that he knows means pleasure, not pain. When he’s all the way in, their hip bones pressed together tightly, he stills and kisses her for a while, feeling like he could melt into a puddle for how good everything feels. His heart, his mind, his body, he is all wrapped up in her and it’s exactly where he wants to be.

He begins to move, and she responds with an arch of her back and a little gasp, her hands clutching at his shoulders. Little by little, he increases his pace until he knows he won’t last much longer.

“What do you need?” he asks, and she brings her hand to her breast.

He dips his head, flicking at the hardened bud of her nipple, and feels her clench around him. He plays with the level of pressure, licking and sucking, pleasantly surprised that she is enjoying it even as her breasts have taken on a purely functional role these last few months.

She pulls in a huge breath, arching her back and pressing her head into the mattress and he groans as he feels her tighten around him. She emits a single piercing cry when she comes, stifling it with an arm slung across her mouth. He pours into her, burying his face in her neck, clinging to her like a life raft. She is, in fact, all he needs to survive.

Resting half his weight on the mattress beside her, he stays inside as they both come down, panting and smiling, brushing hands over each other’s skin, reconnecting.

“Ah!” Molly yells from the living room, and Mulder laughs.

“You’re being summoned,” Scully says with a tender smile.

He withdraws from her, handing her his T-shirt to clean up while he slips on his sweatpants and retrieves Molly from her bassinet.

“Guess what, Goose?” he says, using his special nickname for her, “Mommy and Daddy are getting married.”

“AH!” She squeals, flapping her arms.

#the x files #txf #dana scully #fox mulder #gillovny #msr #sculder #x files fanfic #alternate universe

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itoldsunset · 3 years

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rewatching ipytm episode 2: thoughts

apologies in advance for this very messy, very long bullet scene-by-scene commentary!

summary: this was a very hard episode to watch and rewatch. the frustration with teh is real, the hurt for oh-aew is real. but the fear of change and abandonment, and the fear of admitting your own insecurities, is SO coming of age and i love that we get to see teh grappling with what happens when the idealistic vision you had for your life slowly starts to crumble.

also, this episode (and possibly the entirety of part 2) was 100% the writers' and p'meen's love letter to comm arts students/graduates, and even though i am a total outsider to that world, it really touched my heart to see the diversity of experiences and struggles reflected here.

i love that we see how much closer teh has become with jai and khim!! this doesn't translate in the subs, but i thought it was interesting how teh used respectful pronouns with them when he was a first-year and now for the most part uses rude (familiar) pronouns with them as a second-year, even though they're still technically his seniors. i think it goes to show how close they've become since he first joined the drama club.

goy was so fucking CUTE in that scene when she said "oh, lots of boys are peeking at me, i'm shy" i think i'm in love 😭 also the cinematography of that scene!!

this episode does such a great job at making you feel uncomfortable along with the characters. i hated how uncomfortable teh was at the birthday party, and i could feel how out of place he felt there.

when mangpong talks about how easy it is for celebrities to make money and teh is clearly offended by that and speaks up against it (which results in yet another awkward uncomfortable moment), i feel like he's speaking up on behalf of khim who we later realize is basically his idol and the person he identifies the most with. i feel like p'meen and the writing team are really trying to represent the lives of people who go into communication arts, especially those who go in with an interest in performing arts. and for me that scene with mangpong communicates two things: 1) the defensiveness that comes with having your chosen career path misunderstood or reduced into something that's easy money, and 2) how close-knit and protective the drama club is of each other, because teh speaking up in defense of actors to me feels like he's defending this identity they all share as people who are struggling to make it in the industry.

oh-aew is SO sweet. getting a tattoo that resembles your partner's name gives me so much anxiety, but i guess he's 19 and has always been sure of his feelings so it does make sense for him. at first glance teh's reaction really just makes it sound like he's against tattoos, drinking, all that, like he's super old-fashioned, but it's not REALLY about the tattoo and we learn that later when they have their big fight and he blows up with all the nitpicky little things he's noticed about all the ways oh-aew has changed. i thought it was so cute how au basically showed off his tattoo to open the conversation for oh-aew to show teh his tattoo though. we love a supportive friend group!!!

"this tattoo is pretty. thank you." this is teh being as genuine as he can, as someone who is seriously not in touch with his own feelings and can't understand why he's so upset at oh-aew getting a tattoo. because again it's not the tattoo itself that's the problem, but what it represents for teh, which is oh-aew's world slowly expanding to include people and things that are foreign to teh, and he worries that one day that world won't have a place for him anymore.

drunk oh-aew speaking mandarin, and teh taking care of him!!! the only fluff we got all episode and i will cherish it forever and ever, like the aquarium scene from episode one. the fact that teh brought over the stuffed animal, kissed oh-aew on the forehead, and then decided to sleep over on the floor next to him? making him kimchi jjigae? so soft!! our boy has got a lot of issues to work through but he loves oh-aew for sure.

the scene where oh-aew is receiving feedback on his performance from his professor is so... oof. the fact that his classmate got positive feedback for portraying a gay man in a way that isn't stereotypical (read: masculine? i wonder?) and the fact that oh-aew was critiqued for unsuccessfully portraying the tone and mannerisms of a man who doesn't understand gay people? it's a bit subtler than what we hear from the casting director but i swear it's the same shit. and it really doesn't surprise me at all to see oh-aew not believe in himself and his ability to perform because of it.

teh saying "both of us" and being so excited about their casting opportunity!! 😭 and also, khim being such a sweetheart and helping them get this opportunity in the first place!

the contrast with how happy oh-aew looked when the advertising professor told him he had the right answer, compared to how torn down he looked after being critiqued and told he got a C by his acting professor (in front of the whole class!!). which tbh for me is subtle commentary on how much influence professors have on students' self-confidence and whether they believe in their own ability to succeed in their field.

the commentary on sexism and homophobia in the thai entertainment industry!! khim being told she looked too old, not smart enough, not believable, honestly all coded ways of saying she didn't fit in with the beauty standard they were going for. and while khim is saying this we see oh-aew is already getting nervous, because he's already had his confidence shaken by his experiences in class. and then when we get to the scene where the casting director says he's too girly and asks him to act more manly, we see oh-aew's mood shift completely, and honestly it hurts to watch. pp did such an amazing job here because i felt it, like the way oh-aew's eyes change, and then he swallows right after, and how unsettled he sounds trying to deliver the line again after hearing that critique.

oh-aew listening to khim tell teh about how hard it's been for her to break into the industry is so impactful, because you can already tell what he's thinking. is this really worth it? do i want this enough to endure people telling me over and over again i'm not masculine enough for them? is that going to be me in the future, being rejected from hundreds of castings and still not making it?

when teh hugs khim and says "we will get through this together," it's so clear that he identifies with her struggle. teh is someone who has worked his ass off to get to where he is (remember his fight with his mom where she said he lost sleep and was getting sick from all the studying he did?), and he sees himself in khim and her passion and ambition. meanwhile, we see oh-aew really doubting whether this is the right path for him.

i love how teh immediately asked if oh-aew was okay after oh-aew told him about what the casting director said, and how teh reassured him that he liked oh-aew the way he is. it's like, he so clearly cares for oh-aew and loves him so much and sometimes knows how to show it well, and then other times just fucks it up. it's so real??

oh-aew deciding to change majors three months into it is a very oh-aew thing to do, and what i mean by that is, this is a character who is super in touch with himself and his feelings and trusts in himself to make the right decisions. he's not afraid to change his mind (remember when he was testing out his feelings for bas and teh and then turned down bas once he knew?), he's bold and goes for what he wants. and i envy that about his character so much. but it makes me sad to know that the thing that was making him nervous during this scene was the fact that he was worried about how teh would react. like he went through all that questioning and critique himself, to finally discover his answer, only to now have to worry about whether his partner will accept him.

teh, on the other hand, has had his whole life planned out since forever. he feels the need to know and control everything. he has so much fear and insecurity. and he is stubborn and doesn't believe in giving up, which he believes is what oh-aew is doing. and on top of that, he sees this as another way in which he is losing oh-aew. one more thing oh-aew has in common with his friend group that doesn't include him. one more way that he's becoming a smaller part of oh-aew's world. oh-aew looked so small in the bathtub scene and i just wanted to hold him 😔

the 8 month time skip is a little jarring because of all the things we don't get to see, but i guess it makes sense if teh has been bottling up his insecurities about their relationship that it would all blow up in everyone's face in the way that it did at the dinner scene.

it was interesting to me how teh hesitated when oh-aew texted that he would join them for dinner, like teh didn't want oh-aew to come along with his drama club. and then once oh-aew arrives at the restaurant, we see that teh isn't totally happy either. it's like as much as teh feels like an outsider in oh-aew's world, he seems to also see oh-aew as an outsider in his own world too. and when top says he wanted to get into comm arts at anantasart but he didn't get in, we see teh's expression and it's like, a reminder that he gave up that spot for oh-aew, that teh didn't pass the admissions exam either, and that oh-aew who did pass has now "given up" on it (in teh's eyes) to pursue another major. it's like teh also feels betrayed on behalf of all the performing arts kids who are struggling to make their passion into a career.

i feel like i sort of get why teh said all that shit about oh-aew at the dinner table now. i'm not excusing it at all, that was super shitty of him. but i wonder if it's like, this is a thing they deal with in the performing arts, people giving up because it's so hard to make it in the industry. and you watch your friends leave one by one, and it keeps causing more and more doubt in yourself about whether you can make it. and now that teh sees oh-aew as someone who's given up, he doesn't want that energy at the dinner table with his drama friends, like he wants to protect them from that and keep up with this "we can get through this together" mentality that he keeps saying. so it's easier for him to try to dismiss it as oh-aew's personality flaw, rather than a legitimate change in career path, because he's worried about how it might affect his own friends in the drama club. and we see how protective teh is of khim, when he says "what the fuck did you just say?" like he really shares an identity with his drama club and it's clear he thinks oh-aew doesn't understand it or belong there.

needless to say, i was extremely stressed that entire dinner scene which i think means the writers, p'meen, and the actors did an excellent job.

their fight scene was really amazingly done and i am just stunned by teh's response when oh-aew asks him "what if this is who i really am, would you not like me anymore?" and teh thinks about it for a bit, and says "maybe." that's him being genuine, he's not trying to hurt oh-aew in saying that, and we can see him internally asking himself that question. but he doesn't know the answer, because he can't even be honest with himself about why he's upset at oh-aew. so he says the first thing he thinks which is an honest "maybe," and then he immediately regrets his words, and at some point he's going to have to learn that he can't just say the first thing that comes to mind, when other people's feelings are at stake. also, the fucking piano that plays? the violin? goddamn.

khim's character is really here to teach teh, and all of us, some life lessons. she is so real. her struggles are so real. life is fucking hard, and it's not fair, and no matter how hard you work or try you can't have it all. "the conditions for our lives are not the same" holy shit yes. she wants to take care of her family and her dog, she can't just think of herself. i feel like teh, who comes from a relatively modest background but has always had hoon as a father figure to support his mom, probably doesn't feel that same burden.

teh being frustrated and going to the bridge was beautiful. the crying hug scene at the dorm was so beautiful.

i love that in the end, teh finally owns up to his own insecurities and apologizes and admits he was wrong. of course, this was after oh-aew reached out to him first. i think it's totally realistic that we see his growth happening kind of slowly, but before the series ends he's going to need to be the first one to reach out, because oh-aew can't hold all of that on his own.

the last score when they hug under the moonlight, i love it!!

#ipytm #i promised you the moon #ipytm spoilers #textpost #i hope someone sees this lmao i know it's 3am dfslkjghfgjlk

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benjaminthewolf · 2 years

Text

The Story Of P.O.V.: Foolhearty Redux

I REALLY, REALLY, REALLY, REALLY, REALLY WANT YOU TO READ THIS ONE!

SERIOUSLY!

I LOVE THIS PART SO FUCKING MUCH!

(I’m pulling out all the tags for this one haha, so if you haven’t seen me before that’s probably why.)

TW: BLOOD

****

Peter of Verminium was still yet to return home. Mindlessly pacing in circles a mile or so away from Zardy’s maze, the poor guy continuously went over in his head whether or not he should go in, and tell the undead scarecrow what had really happened back in the capitol building.

“Okay, okay, so if I tell him, then I might be able to get his help, but is it really worth the admission? And what if he doesn’t? I’m basically a criminal, why would he ever want to help me when…” Peter was forced to stop his pondering as the event suddenly came back to him all at once, causing him to start shaking slightly. “When…..”

Had it been completely up to him, he probably would have ultimately decided to not go in, mostly due to his anxiety over what would happen if he did tell Zardy that he was esentially an attempted murderer. However, as it would turn out, it ended up not being his decision, as the circumstances would soon force his hand.

Peter of Verminium was suddenly snapped out of his hazy pondering trance by the sound of something whirring above him. At first, he didn't think much of it, that was, until the source of said noise placed itself almost right in front of him in the grassy field surrounding the maze.

Peter let out a rather prolonged groan as soon as he was able to recognize who it was. “Lemme guess, Zardy sent you over to capture me, so I’ll tell him what happened. Tell me I’m fucking wrong.” he grumbled out at the rather seeminly ticked off Cable Crow in front of him.

Cable Crow let out a slight sigh before speaking. “Look, don’t try and pretend like I wasn’t there too.”

“What?” Peter suddenly snapped back. “Yeah, of course you were there, you were the lookout! Thank goodness for that, too, or else we might’ve-”

“Yes I was the lookout, Peter, that was my job! And you know what I figured out because of it?”

“...no.”

“The president’s car never left the parking lot for the entire time.”

Peter was forced to take a few seconds to take in that information as he did his very best to try to respond, sputtering out a: “Wait, wha-?”

“You know very well what that means, Peter! He was in the building the whole time you were, meaning whatever happened to you while you were in there, he probably found out about it immediately after it happened, and you know what that means, don’t you?”

“A…I-”

Cable Crow narrowed his eyes. “You’re a target now, Peter. They’re going to be searching for you.”

Though Cable Crow had spent his entire life in the maze, he still knew the basics of proper communication, and realized that he should probably just stay quiet for a minute or two so Peter wouldn’t feel so overwhelmed. Good thing, too, as it didn’t matter what words were spoken in that time frame, Peter wouldn’t’ve taken any of them well.

“...meaning I have to take you to Zardy, Peter. So we can figure out what to do.” Cable Crow at last decided to say after about two minutes of silence.

After having simply stood there shaking for a few minutes, Peter of Verminium finally did something as well. And that something was bunch up a fist.

“I’m not going.” he slowly growled out.

“Oh really now?” Cable Crow snarkily retorted.

“I. Am. Not. Going.” Peter firmly repeated while staring at the ground and slightly shaking his previously described clenched fists.

“Oh, yes you are!”

“No I’m not!”

“YES, YOU ARE!” Cable Crow cried out before snagging onto Peter by his shirt with one ‘hand’ and grappling onto a nearby wooden pole with the other, thus dragging Peter along as he went.

As you can imagine, Peter wasn’t pleased. At all.

“PUT ME DOWN THIS INSTANT! I AM NOT GOING TO TELL YOU WHAT HAPPENED! I REFUSE TO! I REFUUUUUUSE!” he aggressively screeched out as the two of them advanced upon the maze.

Cable Crow didn’t say anything, as he knew whatever he did would just cause Peter to scream even more.

The writing and struggling form of Peter smoothly whizzed over the maze as Cable Crow made his way deeper into it, searching for the spot Zardy told him to drop Peter off at. At last, he found it, the area that had preemptively been surrounded by vine crawlers. Hooking onto the pole nearest to the area, Cable Crow practically tossed Peter into it, before he was snatched up by Zardy mid-air.

“And now, I shall officially get out of here before Peter hates me even more.” Cable Crow remarked before proceeding to whizz back the other direction, leaving Peter essentially trapped. Trapped within the same firm grip that had once been clenched with aggression, that which was now clenched with determination. Determination to get Peter to confess, assumed to be the best thing to do in the situation, and as Zardy had described it was indeed, “for his own good.”

Thus, as soon as Zardy was sure the rest of the maze characters weren’t anywhere near the area, he cast a glare down at Peter before bringing him up to his face.

“Peter, I don’t want to hear any more screaming, arguing, or any other form of excuse. You are going to tell me what happened, and that. Is. Final.”

Peter, now that he was here, and now that knew his prior defense mechanisms wouldn’t work here, ended up resorting to the next best thing. Having a straight-up mental breakdown.

Peter began audably wincing and whining before placing his hands on his face underneath his sunglasses, as to do what little he could to ebb the stream of tears flowing down his face as that same feeling of being trapped somewhere, weather physically or mentally, that ingrained itself in him after what happened, began to course through his being once more.

“I-I can’t take this anymore! I can’t, I can’t, I just-”

“PETER, TELL ME WHAT HAPPENED!”

“No…no…I can’t! I just can’t, okay? Please…”

“WHY?”

“Why what-”

“WHY CAN’T YOU TELL ME?”

“I….I just…”

“Don’t make me do it, Peter.”

“Do what-”

Without any warning whatsoever, Zardy stuck out his glowing yellow tongue and directly licked Peter, almost knocking off his glasses in the process.

“You know what I mean.” Zardy at last remarked.

“I….I still…”

“Fine then. I’m not going to stop until you tell me, though. I’m sure you’ve figured that out by now.”

With nothing but hesitation and anxiety in his being, Peter was semi-forcefully placed within Zardy’s maw; for the fourth time, so be it. Suddenly, remembering what had happened the last time he was here, Peter almost instantly froze.

There was warmth, and there was softness, yes, but…it wasn’t exactly a comforting one anymore. More so bittersweet. So much had happened to him in here, way too much. Way too much for anybody to bear, much less, Peter. He was so lodged within his memories, in fact, that for a second, he completely forgot that he hated the smell of pumpkin.

“Well? Are you going to tell me?” Zardy demandingly interrogated from the outside.

Peter, after taking five seconds to breathe, was just about, just, about to somehow sew all of his dislodged dislocated, and disattached parts back in place, as so his splotched bloody patchwork body could force a single sentence out of its stitched windpipe, at last sacrificing all it had left, and bowing down to Zardy’s demands. That was, before it was all ripped apart once again.

“Well?”

That was it. That. Was. It. Somewhere, somehow, within that painstakingly prolonged moment, Peter had an epiphany. Why would he force his own windpipe to pull itself together, when he could, much, much easily in fact, force Zardy’s own windpipe apart? In that moment, that was all Peter wished to do, and he knew exactly how to do it. Managing to lift himself up within the half-opened space of the maw, Peter took one step forward on the slick, wet surface of the tongue. Then another. And another. Peter would have taken yet another, had not one unfortunate unknowing move forced Peter’s hand. Zardy exhaled. Thus, the poor tiny was shoved back onto the soft and squishy surface of the tongue with a deafening “SPLAT!”

Peter of Verminium took in a deep breath. Then he let go of that deep breath. Then, he took in another deep breath, but before he could exhale again, Zardy made yet another horrible decision.

“Peter?”

Something somewhere snapped.

“NO MORE!” Peter screeched out louder than anything he had ever screeched before in his life, before practically leaping off the floor of the tongue, banging his head against the roof of the maw, landing back down again, getting up slightly less aggressively, getting into a sprinting stance, before taking in at last, one last deep breath, and exhaling extremely aggressively, bolting instinctually, primitively, savagely, towards the back of the maw, and taking a nose-dive down the gullet, where Zardy made his third, and perhaps final, mistake.

“PETER!”

That was all he needed.

****

Some of you may be wondering if Peter ever saw Senpai before the fated heist even happened. The truth is that he indeed did. Many times, in fact. Let us take a moment to look back on the time that Peter was needed in order to deliver the stabilizing medicine to his currently too sick to move boyfriend, who had forgotten to take his dose today.

“Please don’t beat yourself up over it, it wasn’t your fault!” Peter quivered slightly upon being forced to see his boyfriend in so much pain again as he awkwardly attempted to reassure and console him.

“Stop saying that, of course it was! It was me that forgot to take my dose that the doctors gave me just so this exact thing wouldn’t happen again!” Senpai managed to sputter out despite his current state.

“Yes! You forgot! It was an accident, not intentional! There’s no fault in an accident, Senpai. No fault at all.” Peter continued doing his best to try to ease his boyfriend’s suffering, trying desperately to make him understand. Understand it wasn’t his fault. It wasn’t…it wasn’t…was it?

Suddenly, Peter was able to pick up some sort of muffled screaming noise coming from somewhere. He assumed it was just Senpai yowling out to try to cope with the current pain. Then all of a sudden, he found himself standing in the middle of the stomach, holding the tablet Senpai had forgotten to take. Gently placing it into the still pool beneath him, Peter was only able to watch as the liquids began to melt away at the outside layers of the tablet, while somehow, leaving him intact. Peter never really knew why this was the case, but he never really thought about it either. It was just how it was, no need to dive any deeper. All of a sudden, he realized that ten minutes had passed.

“I think it's working now.” Senpai said with a sigh. “Hey, thanks again. For…everything. I’ve said this before, but nobody else I know at this school would ever go this far for me. They say they love me, but then, when love actually matters…they just…”

Peter gently gave Senpai a pat from the inside. “Hey, you always know I’m here for you. Heck, I had to abandon my work station for today to be here. My superiors are probably pissed as all hell at me, but…in a situation like this, there’s really no other place I’d rather be.”

There wasn’t much discerning it, but Peter could tell that Senpai had started tearing up. He could tell from the irregular breathing.

“Again, I’ll always do this for you, you alone.”

Senapi cleared his throat slightly before speaking again. “No, no, it shouldn’t just be for me.”

Peter’s eyes widened slightly in confusion. “Really?”

“Peter, promise me right now that you won’t just do this for me, okay?”

“I-”

“Please…”

Peter stared down at his currently wet shoes for a while before nodding his head. “Alright. I promise. It won’t just be for you.”

Peter leaned back further into the stomach walls after having verbally uttered his promise before taking in a deep breath through his nose. Before almost immediately rushing to cover it. He almost gagged, that smell was so repulsive! What was that smell? It was quite organic, musky,…pumpkin? Peter at last snapped back to attention when yet another deafening scream was muffled within the enclosed space of the stomach. And that’s when he found himself, not inside Senpai, but inside Zardy.

“OH GOD OH GOD PLEASE DON’T TELL ME THERE’S BLOOD, PLEASE DON'T TELL ME THERE’S BLOOD!” a voice began crying in sudden onset distress from the outside. Peter wasn’t sure who exactly, but it was certainly someone from the maze.

“HEY HEY HEY, BACK OFF, BACK OFF, I’LL CHECK!” someone else instructed to the others.

Peter, doing what little he could to stifle any audible breathing he may be making, gently squished his head against the side of the wall, listening intently despite white noise, and the despite light churning, not even minding that he was almost definitely going to smell like pumpkin goop for a week after this. No. All that mattered to Peter in that moment was that he listened.

“Ooooh, no no no no no, that definitely looks like blood…” someone managed to croak out, pushing through their current agony in order to tell the rest of the group.

It was only right then that Peter was able to put two and two together. With an internal gasp that he just barely managed to avoid articulating out loud, Peter stared down at his hands. Red. Both of them. A deep, dark red. Palms? Red. Knuckles? Red. Fingertips? Red. Fingernails? Peter brought his hand even closer to his face before making his final determination. Redder. Redder than the rest. Underneath them, too. Of course, his left hand was still covered by the glove, but that hadn’t stopped him from trying to redden his fingernails on that hand, as well. No, not at all. Red. All of it was just simply red.

Then, all of a sudden, Peter was able to taste red, too. First, he had touched it, then he had heard it, leading him to then see it and smell it, and now, he was tasting it. Red, not just on the hands, but on the teeth, too.

Pumpkin was a horrible smell, but it wasn’t even in the same universe compared to how red tasted. Peter lurched forward and vomited. That wasn’t the first time he had done this in here, but thankfully, this time, it wasn’t enough to trigger the gag reflex. Breathing in, and then out, in, and then out, Peter knew for a fact that this color would not leave him alone. Red…it was everywhere…everywhere…even the…Wait. The walls? Again, it wasn’t the first time it had happened, but never…in here. However, instead of anything indicative of the prior event, instead, something else happened. Peter wasn’t sure whether whatever, or whoever this redness was had uttered it, or if that “whoever” was merely himself, but only one thing was able to grace his ears in that moment: “You promised him.”

A second after these words had passed, Peter was once again able to discern the indiciperable screams of the terrorized residents of the maze, their beloved Zardy unconcious and injured, in an event that was, to them, completely out of the blue. But now, it was red.

Peter was barely even able to do something so simple as this, anymore. No, no, thinking, moving, even breathing. It was all completely out of the question. At this point, that was the truth. There were no thoughts to think, there were no places to move, and there were no molecules to breathe. No, all of that was gone, and all of that was replaced with red.

"You promised him."

Peter remained still.

"You promised him."

"You promised him!"

"YOU PROMISED HIM!"

And just like that, Peter was gone.

****

All he was doing was breathing. That was it. Breathing. Breathing, breathing. It wasn’t too long, however, before he found himself moving. Moving, moving. Moving where? That didn’t matter, all that mattered was that he was searching. Searching, searching. Searching for what? That did matter. As Peter frantically sprinted about from corner to corner of the room, things started getting detached. Fast.

A single footstep was all that was needed for him to slip through the fine bounds of reality into another plane. Another plane called the void. In reality, it was called the floor. Tearing himself out from the void, Peter began flying through empty space towards a black hole. In reality, he was sprint-jumping, though just barely, over to a drawer. After almost phasing through the event horizon, Peter shoved his hand deep down into it before frantically rummaging around. Somewhere, in this fine collection of collisions, there were cards. Peter needed those cards. And he was going to get those cards, no matter what the universe said.

Soon, Peter realized just how stuipid he was to be messing with an object of such power. Some sort of celestial sierin began blaring out from all directions, before the echoes of supernovae sent him tumbling down once more, however, this time, the black hole came with him, spilling its captured contents everywhere around space and time. Captured contents, that included the cards. Snagging them up without a second thought, mostly because there was only one in there in the first place, Peter, the intergalactic traveler he was, set forth a wormhole. Through that wormhole, lie nothing but more void. More void, and corn. Peter could tell the supernovae were gaining ground, but that didn’t matter. He knew they couldn’t reach him on the other side of reality, and that was exactly where he was going. The supernovae eventually burst open the comparatively miniscule dust ring of protection left between it, and Peter’s little slice of universe he called home. But at that point, it was already too late. Too late to seize Peter, perhaps, but what it had managed to seize was more than enough for the destructive wave to find satisfaction in leaving. It didn’t matter if he resisted or not, the first constellation was already gone.

****

“ALRIGHT, ALRIGHT, LINE UP AND DON’T RESIST AND YOU JUST MIGHT MAKE IT OUT ALIVE!” an officer called out over the megaphone to the terrified crowd.

Nobody in Verminium knew why they, of all towns, of all people, were being searched and questioned, but nobody really felt like asking, so they merely did as they were told. All except two. A rat, and a baker.

“You’re innocent, Alissa! Why must you be so defiant?” Jeff whisper-cried out to the stubborn woman as she continuously refused to let the officers search her house, calling them out, rather spitefully in fact, for having violated her amendment rights, and that they couldn’t come in until they got a warrant. Of course, the officers argued back that you don’t need a warrant if you have a probable cause, and connection of the town to a government heist was most definitely a probable cause. Still, Alissa wouldn’t budge, even after being threatened with gunfire.

Somewhere in between the scuffle, Alissa glanced back at Jeff, who she knew quite obviously to be a prime suspect in the matter. She didn’t say it out loud, of course, but she certainly did think it.

“I’m not stupid, Jeff! I know you and Peter have been sneaking off, and I know it's not just so he can see that boyfriend of his. I don’t know why the fuck the dumbass hasn’t told me, but we tried to kick out our occupiers together, so if anybody is involved in this shit, its him. And where he goes, you follow. I may not know the specifics, but no matter what level of involvement he had, I aint’ lettin’ these bitches find out anything about it, and if I can’t protect his house, then at least I can protect mine, because holly fuck, I know I’ve got my shit to hide. If they find out what I got hidin’ then they’ll definitely know somethin’ sus is going on in this town. At that point, it’ll be over for both you and him, and maybe me too.” After a nice little screaming match that ended with her flipping off the main officer, Alissa glanced back at Jeff. Only to find him, too, surrounded by the cops. “Oh shit! It’s too late! They’ve probably got outside evidence!”

“WHY YOU LOOKIN’ SO SCARED ALL OF A SUDDEN?” one of the officers snarled out after he noticed Alissa’s worried expression.

Immediately snapping back into argument mode, Alissa instantly knew what she needed to say. “Oh, me? Just a little worried that the sun’ll turn you pieces of shit rock hard before shooting me does!”

The main officer gave a low grumble under his breath before he finally understood just how firm Alissa was in her position. After a long drawn minute of solid hesitation, the officer began walking away.“Luckily for you, we’re under orders not to kill.”

There was nothing, absolutely nothing, zip, nada, zot, that pleased Alissa more than these moments. Watching the officers turn away in ordered defeat sent nothing short of euphoria-inducing levels of dopamine through her nervous system.

“Hmph.” she concluded her victory with a slight head nod.

“…”

“ …”

“ OH SHIT, JEFF!”

****

Jeff was but one of many of the citizens being interrogated, yet out of each and every single one of them, Jeff was the only one with something to hide. He never particularly liked lying, but in this case, he was left with no other choice. Giving answers almost exactly the same as many of the answers given by the true innocents of the situation, Jeff was almost completely sure that if he played his cards correctly, he would be able to get by.

Unfortunately for him, such a high level of sureness was not destined to last.

“You’re absolutely sure you had no idea this even happened?” the officer asked him in a bit of a skeptical tone.

“I’m positive! Nobody even said anything about this until you guys showed up! The communication around these parts have slowed down so much because of the war, that we wouldn’t’ve known about it until possibly WEEKS later if you hadn’t stopped by!” Jeff replied rather erratically, doing his best to mimic the tone of a panicking innocent.

The interrogation had been rather long and drawn out, and Jeff was extremely keen on finding a way to just end it already. Apparently, the officer had the same idea. Giving a firm head nod before putting away their notebook, the officer glanced back up at Jeff. “Thanks for giving your word. Your testimony will be extremely valuable to us in this search, it really explains a lot.”

At this point, Jeff was still unsure if his little ruse had worked, and was panicking internally. A lot. So you can imagine his relief when the officer put their hands in their pockets, turned the other direction, and began walking off. Jeff didn’t dare let out a deep breath, but it sure felt as though he had inside.

“Yep. sure does explain a lot.” the officer suddenly spoke once more.

“Uh, yeah…certainly does!” Jeff did his very best to cobble together a response.

“Really does explain WHY SHREDS OF YOUR CLOTHING WERE FOUND AT THE SCENE!” the officer cried out before suddenly throwing all of their weight onto Jeff’s body in order to pin him to the ground.

“JEFF OF VERMINIUM, YOU ARE UNDER ARREST!”

“WHAT? WHAT DO YOU MEAN YOU FOUND MY CLOTHES AT THE SCENE? THAT COULD’VE BEEN ANYONE’S-”

Jeff was silenced almost immediately as soon as the officer pulled out a bag with a tiny flake of black thread inside of it, and judging from how its material reflected against the rays of the ever glowing sun, Jeff knew almost instinctively that it was, indeed, material from his ripped lab coat.

“AND NOT ONLY THAT, BUT YOUR CLAW MARKS WERE FOUND IN THE VENTS!” the officer continued on, before showing Jeff an image of the inside of the air vents, scratched somewhat by Jeff as he was scurrying through them.

It was at this point that Jeff couldn’t even respond if he wanted to, as a few more officers had joined with the one currently on top of Jeff, and they had managed to both handcuff him, and press down on him so hard that he could barely even breathe anymore. His current panicked state wouldn't've let him do much even if he wasn’t being restrained, but regardless, that was the situation that Jeff had now found himself in.

The last thing Jeff saw before he passed out due to the combined stress and lack of oxygen was a police car backing up slowly so they may haul him into the back.

Jeff began to well up slightly. “Oh, Peter, wherever you are, I’m so sorry!”

****

“IS HE STILL ALIVE?”

“OF COURSE HE IS, JUST-HEY WAIT DON’T HOLD HIM LIKE THAT, THAT’LL JUST MAKE IT WORSE!”

Back at Zardy’s maze, not much had changed from the initial moment that everyone realized the poor scarecrow was injured. They had figured out that his windpipe was torn up, and there was even a possibility of vocal cord damage, but what of it? As had been echoed throughout the dark air above the maze to no end since the initial shock, there were no means of outside communication set up within its walls. No phone lines, no radio lines, hell, there wasn’t even a mail system. And since none of the maze occupants had any sort of medical qualifications whatsoever, that just left them with but one option: Panic.

Peter of Verminium re-entered the maze right in the middle of another screaming bout. That didn’t really bother him, sounds were almost null to his being at this point, but it did mean that he was going to have to forcefully pull their attention away from the unconscious body before them so he may at last be seen. Luckily, at this point, he had become an expert at just that. Taking in one of the largest deep breaths he had ever taken in in his life, Peter of Verminium knew that he could not back out now.

“EVERYONE!”

“ONE-”

****

Nobody in the maze dared say anything back as the reality of the current situation began unraveling before them.

“Peter..what…what did-” Pumpkin Jack struggled to ask.

Peter was still locked in a state of heavy breathing after his roaring cry, and was thus unable to respond.

“You didn’t…no…did you?”

Though after Jack’s second half-statement, he had regained enough oxygen to allow him to speak, Peter did not dare respond. Instead, he simply said one. Single. Sentence. And that sentence was:

“This time…THIS TIME…THIS TIME I AM NOT RUNNING AWAY!”

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