#-because his WHOLE PLAN hinges on the knowledge that she CAN BE KILLED??? | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

deonideatta · 3 years

Text

It's not peak brain hours for me rn, so I'm going to write everything about the sunah-mjh conspiracy and what it implies (or at least how I understand it) out to organise it in my head. Pls correct me if I've gotten anything wrong or missed anything

So all in all the goal was to plant ga on as a spy/weakness using isaac's face as an in. At first I thought that mjh had been the one to steer ga on towards being a judge, and I still think that's possible, but I don't think he approached ga on solely with the intent to use him tho. Based on his face at the graduation it seems he already knew her before that. She probably approached him and offered him a position as chief justice in exchange for manipulating ga on. (Also, what's his deal resigning then? What does he really want out of all of this?). I don't think he took care of ga on after his parents died solely for that reason tho, bc i think he's established as a friend of ga on's father, which is how they came to know each other.

Ga on would then be used to attack yohan in the future. On a basic level that meant feeding information back to mjh/acquiring evidence of yohan's shady dealings so they could take him down. Along the line yohan and ga on kinda grew attached to each other, which threw off the plan bc now ga on wasn't willing to betray yohan for mjh. However on a deeper level ga on was meant to serve as a weakness for yohan, emotionally, which was made more possible by them getting closer.

Mjh then uses soo hyun to plant doubts in ga on's mind surrounding the church fire. Then, they kill off soo hyun, and mjh uses soo hyun's death and the church fire to plant suspiscion. Yohan pushes ga on off the edge in the end with the death penalty thing, and mjh takes the opportunity to collect the returns on his investment, talking ga on into outing the court as fake. So in the end ga on's attachment to yohan ends up being beneficial to sunah-mjh, bc it drives him to reveal the truth so he can stop yohan from going too far.

It seems like things are over for yohan, but then it turns out the public still supports him, to the point of wanting to make him president. Deciding to go in for the kill, sun ah-mjh trick ga on into thinking yohan did the church fire and killed soo hyun, prompting the stabbing. Now it seems sun ah did this for the added emotional blow, bc she could have just framed yohan and left it at that. Rather she chooses to target what's closest to him, the two people he cares about most. And we reach the tragic conclusion.

Now, what does this mean for ga on's character? We know that at least his friendship with soo hyun came about free from sun ah's plans. It predated his relationship with mjh, so at least we can assume that his interactions with soo hyun were genuine, and her advice to him was as well, though it may have been influenced by mjh. We know that Ga on becoming yohan's associate judge was not a coincidence, but it's not clear if ga on going to the kang mansion was intended by sunahmjh, bc though we know that the foundation planted the bomb it would be a bit of a gamble to assume it would lead to yohan taking ga on to his house. Either way the closeness achieved there and the drive to help yohan and elijah and feel sympathy for them are all things ga on did on his own

As for ga on choosing to side with yohan over mjh. I don't think this was in the plan, bc obviously if ga on changes sides he'll stop leaking info to mjh. So we can assume that that was ga on's decision, influenced of course by yohan. Funny how we all analysed the ways that yohan manipulated ga on while the real manipulation was coming from mjh lol. Then again, while it might not serve mjh's agenda (whatever that is, we actually don't know) it also serves sun ah's agenda in that it makes ga on more of a weakness to yohan, as he grows fonder of him.

I also dont think sunah-mjh accounted for ga on's dark side. Yohan drew that out, and used it to convince ga on of his way of doing things. It seems mjh did put a lot of effort into making ga on the poster boy of 'righteousness', so that he would remain at odds with yohan, so obviously it doesn't work in his favour to have ga on secretly have a dark side that relates to yohan. Additionally, there's no way mjh or sun ah played a role in ga on's parents' death (or is there..? Mjh has been mentioned to be a friend of ga on's father. hmmm), so whatever effects that had on him (I.e. his thirst for revenge) would have been out of their control.

It seems though that when ga on went to yohan's side, they simply changed the plan to account for it. Sow seeds of doubt via soo hyun, then kill soo hyun and make it look like yohan did it. And then yohan himself inadvertently helped by busting out the whole death penalty. In the end it worked out even better for them, bc ga on gained a lot more insider knowledge by going to yohan's side, and again, his concern for yohan also spurred him into action in order to stop yohan from crossing a line he couldn't uncross, the only way that seemed available.

And then when the situation seems to be turning in yohan's favour, they decide to deliver the final blow, both to him and to ga on. It's devastating to yohan because it targets the two people he cares about most, and threatens to reveal the secret he has sacrificed so much to keep, for elijah's sake. And it's devastating to ga on because suddenly it puts his whole life into question, and he's suddenly faced with the realization that a lot of what he's done had been carefully laid out for him in advance, that a lot of his life has been a tool in someone's big plan. And in the process he has lost all the things he had that were real: his relationships with soo hyun, yohan and elijah. Imagine the weight of realising that all the choices you agonised over, that you made because you believed you were doing the right thing, turn out to be the result of careful manipulation from someone you trusted like a parental figure, and that all the things that could have stopped the force behind that figure have been destroyed because of you and those choices.

Overall it's a very insidious and downright evil plan, especially because it hinged a lot on taking advantage of a young man lost in the wake of tragic events in order to steer his life in a direction meant to serve your sick and twisted goals. And then continuing to do so until your plans bear fruition, then shattering his whole world and moving on. All for the purpose of mentally tormenting some guy who wasn't nice to you when you were a maid that stole things from his house

My only issue with all this is how sun ah knew yohan was going to do all the things he was going to do so far in advance that she could plan ga on's career path accordingly? You could argue sun ah planted ga on purely based on her obsession with yohan, not necessarily expecting him to wage war on the elites. She may have then seen the benefit of ga on as a weakness of yohan's when the fight started and played up that aspect of the plan. Or she set up the live court for the express purpose of having yohan and ga on meet? Not clear on this, if anyone has any thoughts help a sister out.

We'll probably get more info in the finale, and I'll update this post if I think of anything new

#we were all here analysing yohan's 5d chess while sun ah was playing 7d chess in the background skdjs #my head hurts skdj #the devil judge #i listened to the soundtrack for the first time as i wrote this and it did not help :'))#tdj meta

36 notes · View notes

scullydubois · 3 years

Text

Only the Light: Ch. 21

Hello, here is my ‘I didn’t plan for updates to take two weeks, but it always works out to two weeks’ post, right on time. Almost finished with this journey, thank you for sticking around <3

As Mulder helps care for his ill partner and her child, he enlists the Lone Gunmen to investigate the circumstances surrounding Scully's diagnosis. He and Melissa pay a visit to the three men, then Mulder gets an unwanted surprise back at apartment 42.

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

As Scully’s world has shrunk, the amount of love in it has grown. This is small consolation for the hell she’s enduring, but it is the only antidote. She realizes this now that she’s staring down the abyss: all the knowledge in the world won’t save you, and wealth is nothing but a false comfort. What will live on are the parts of herself she’s left with others. Her goal for her remaining time, however long that may be, is to hold tight to those she loves...not to slip away until her heart stops beating.

This is hard when she already feels like less of herself. She’s doing chemo twice a week at Georgetown, and it’s brutal. She knew it would be...her only other choice is to get that gravestone of hers re-engraved.

Meanwhile, Mulder pushed all other work aside to get in contact with the Mufon women. It only took him one day to do so, but Scully doesn’t know that, and for now, she doesn’t need to know. He’s keeping what he’s learned so far to himself...Betsy Hagopian is dead and has been since shortly after Scully saw her. Penny Northern is sick and not responding to treatment. A handful of other women, abductees like Scully, have developed rare cancers too.

It’s not something he knows how to talk about, such despondency. His world has always hinged on hope. That’s what his work on the X-Files is to him, one big leap of faith toward his sister. Or was, before Scully came along. It’s not that she diverted him from Samantha...no, she turned a very personal quest into something larger than him. Or her, or any one person they worked with. She pared it down to its core value, its overarching mission: the truth. Because the truth may hurt at first, but given time, it heals. And it is the only path to healing. This is what he’s learned from her. And now, he’s got to do everything he can to pass the revitalized world she’s shown him onto her.

The arrangement falls into place without any friction: Missy handles the chemo run on Monday mornings, and Mulder leaves work early on Thursdays. Emily spends Mondays with her grandma, and Thursdays too when Missy works the night shift.

Thursdays become something of a spiritual day for Mulder. The hours of approximately 3-10pm are spent doting on his partner--in her apartment, and then his car, then the hospital and his car again, and finally, back to her apartment. Mama Scully brings Emily back around eight, and if Missy’s not home, Mulder gets the honor of the bedtime ritual. The domesticity of it all tethers him to reality, maybe for the first time in his life. He’d give anything to change the circumstances, but it’s humbling to feel--for once--that he belongs on Earth.

It is on one of these Thursday evenings that Mulder could swear he feels his whole life trailing behind him, leading him to the present. The end of the year is creeping up in its usual fashion, which means the outside world is a blanket of darkness before the stoves of countless suburban homes have even been started. Having settled her comfortably into bed with a pile of pillows, Mulder carries his partner a glass of water and pulls the wastebasket to her side; this is their routine now.

“You doing okay?” he asks, lingering as she takes a sip of water. It will soon be time to make himself scarce so she can sleep.

She nods, gurgles a garbled affirmation. Mulder turns to go, and her heart leaps to her throat. “Will you stay?” she spews, embarrassed by her need.

“Of course.” She’s unaware, apparently, that when he leaves it’s for her, not him. He approaches her bedside, lowers himself carefully beside her knees. “Any particular reason?” he murmurs, examining the sunken spaces beneath her eyes.

“I just...wanted to talk to you,” she says, and Mulder thinks there might be a bit more color in her cheeks than there was yesterday.

“Okay.” He leans in and sweeps a strand of hair off her forehead so lightly that Scully doesn’t even feel it. She’s apprehensive about being touched these days, and he has taken this knowledge to heart. She is grateful, and to show the extent of this feeling, she strokes his hand, allows him to take hers in his. He runs his thumb over each finger as they continue.

He wants to ask what she’s thinking about, what it is that has so graciously extended his stay in this room. But he knows that she’ll get to it, that she has nothing to keep from him now.

There’s a sincere serenity on her face that he’s never seen. And after a minute or two, she begins. “I didn’t think it could happen--and it certainly doesn’t make much sense-- but right now, I am happier than I have ever been.”

A string on Mulder’s heart, tightened to its prime, bursts without warning.

She caresses the back of his head. “It’s so trivial, Mulder. So much of what we call life isn’t living at all. Or at least not the important kind.”

He lifts his gaze, eye contact conveying more than he could with words.

“But I’ve thought about the parts of my life that are living, and all of them, in some way, come back to you.”

Mulder shakes his head, feeling too flattered. “That’s not true…”

“You can believe whatever you need to,” she whispers, “but it is the truth, and I am eternally grateful that you happened to me.”

He tries to cough away some tears, which works about a quarter as well as he hoped it would. “Hold on, little lady.” He pats her hand in response to her smile. “I think you happened to me.”

Scully’s chest flutters in laughter. “Did I?” These subtle things have always been so important to them.

“You walked into my office, remember.”

“Well, I guess it would depend on who changed the most due to the other’s influence then,” she reasons.

Mulder just gives her a look.

She smirks. “Okay, so maybe I happened to you, but you…” she chews her lip, and this could be any other day of any other year if she weren’t bedridden. She picks out her words-- “You completed me.”

Mulder spills forward, finding his footing and spinning into the middle of the room. “Holy fuck Scully, are you trying to kill me?”

“We’ve been searching for the truth. That’s the truth, Mulder. I wanted you to know.”

He sets his jaw. He won’t burst into tears in front of her, not when she has all the reason to cry and yet has been so strong.

“You should get some sleep,” he tells her, hoping to expedite his exit from the room.

“I will. And it’s okay to be sad, but not for me. My life is as whole as ever.”

He nods, though he doesn’t agree (what’s new?). He knew Samantha for eight years and has been sad for twenty. He’s known Scully for half that--so he gets at least a decade of mourning.

“Sweet dreams,” he says, resting his hands on the door frame. “I’ll bring Emily in when she gets here.”

“Okay.” She closes her eyes, smiles. “Love you.”

“Love you too, DKS.” He blows a kiss and slips out, heat flooding to his face. This is the first time she’s said that unprompted, and is that what the threat of imminent death does to you? Pries you open?

He wonders. Whose love is saving who?

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

The primetime line-up is flickering over the television when Mama Scully arrives with Emily, passing her granddaughter to Mulder like the family heirloom she is. They exchange a few words in short breaths, reserving the air supply for their dear Dana. Mama Scully agrees to come see her daughter this weekend rather than interrupt her much-needed rest now, and Mulder is suddenly single parent-slash-babysitter; the specifics elude him.

Perfumed with baby powder from her grandmother’s overly enthusiastic hand, Mulder concludes that Em needs neither bathing nor changing. She doesn’t seem very keen on sleep either, seeing as how her little voice keeps calling out Moldy! and her little fists clobber his shoulders. Still, he will keep his promise. He carries her into the room she shares with her mother, stepping lightly lest the floorboards creak.

As he circles the bed to lay the child beside her sleeping mother, he winces at the mess in the trash can. Good thing he moved it into place though Scully had seemed okay. He hadn’t heard any retching, and it saddens him that he wasn’t there to hold her hair back. He settles Em into place, makes a mental note to rinse the can on his way out.

Her characteristically light sleep lightened further by her illness, Scully stirs from the shift of Emily’s weight against the mattress. She rolls toward the free side and flutters her eyelids open. Her smile is reflexive.

“Hello baby girl,” she purrs. She lays a hand against her daughter’s polka-dotted onesie. “Did you have a good day with Grandma?”

Emily answers with some fluttery babbling and gropes for her mother’s nose.

“I don’t think she’s very tired,” Mulder remarks, hands in his pockets. He smirks. “We should really find out what your mother feeds her.”

Scully pulls her lips into a grin, exhibiting a great deal more effort than she did just moments before. She blinks, rubs her eyes, and seems to go out of the world for a second. Then she sets her gaze on Mulder and speaks dreamily--”Will you tell us a bedtime story?”

“Oh!” Mulder scratches his chin, having expected his dismissal. “Do you think that would help…?”

Scully presses her head into the pillow. “I’m not gonna be able to fall back asleep until she does.”

That is a yes, served with some condescension.

“Okay, well, let me think.” He perches on the side of the bed. “Regrettably, I did not get my degree in bedtime stories.”

“Just say what you know,” Scully mumbles. “We’re the only ones listening, and the goal is to put us to sleep.”

“I hope that’s not a comment on my conversational skills,” he teases, smoothing the sheets.

Again, there’s a look of otherworldliness from his partner. She is somewhere else.

“Go on, tell us a story,” she hums, her surprising lack of impatience attributable to an equal lack of wakefulness.

“Let’s see…” He stretches out, perching on his elbow by Scully’s feet like she did in the first motel they ever stayed in. Emily sits herself up and grasps for him. He laughs, lets her latch onto his fingers.

“There once was a little girl who loved horses and bugging her brother,” he begins. “Now, I’m sure she sounds like just about any little girl out there, but I promise, she was as unique as they come.”

Scully closes her eyes and tilts her head back to listen.

“She always said she wanted to be a butterfly when she grew up so she could spread her wings and fly. And her parents would scoff and tell her that would never be possible, but she believed. She believed it would happen.”

Emily babbles along, adding her own colorful commentary.

“I know, I know right?” Mulder muses to the little girl. “The parents were such jerks.”

He tickles Em’s stomach, then remembers that he’s supposed to be helping her go to sleep. He kisses her temple and begins stroking her knee, hoping to achieve a hypnotic rhythm.

“And so one day, this little girl...well, this little girl got to go on an adventure. She left behind her house and her family, and she got to go up to the sky and see the stars, and it was everything she wished for.”

Scully opens her eyes slowly. Mulder’s focus is centered on Emily, who stares up at him with the awe of a museum-goer seeing the Starry Night. It is as if they are the only two in the room, and this gives Scully great comfort, for she can imagine them having a life after she is gone.

“The girl’s family was sad because they didn’t know where she went. The girl’s brother missed her the most, but it was okay because the girl was happy. She got to fly through the sky like a bird or a plane, and she achieved the dream that her parents thought would never come true.”

Em’s breathing begins to slow into sleep. And thank god, cause he’s running out of story to tell.

“Lay down, little girl.” He guides her onto her back so she can drift off without difficulty, then clears his throat softly.

“Some say that if you see a light in the night sky, that’s this little girl, floating among the stars, living her dream. And her brother, well, he’s pretty fond of that thought. He just wants her to be happy.”

Silence falls over the room like a throbbing sensation of unknown origin. Emily’s eyelids struggle between open and closed, and Mulder knows she will soon be out. Scully’s baby blues, meanwhile, peer at him with such unflinching intensity that he suspects she has fallen asleep like that. It is haunting, but it becomes much less so when she blinks and he realizes that she’s looking at him, that she heard the whole story.

“Is that what you wanted?” he whispers, half expecting her not to answer.

“It was beautiful, Mulder. Samantha lives on.”

He smiles from his eyes...oh, of course it was obvious, his little tribute to his sister. Scully said to work from what he knew, and this myth is something he’s used to keep himself going since his family realized that there would be no happy reunion with Sam. He’s happy to share his fantasy; such escapes are needed now.

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

Melissa’s heart leaps when she opens the apartment door to an empty living room. The TV drones out its slapstick laugh track, contributing to the ominous atmosphere. She’d expect to see Mulder taking up a restless refuge on the couch, or maybe sneaking a late night snack to Em. Her sister should be fast asleep by now, her little world able to slacken its hold on her. Unless she is no longer afforded such luxury…

Missy rushes toward Dana’s bedroom, her purse still on her shoulder. In the doorway she slows as her eyes adjust to the lack of light. And thank goodness because three silhouettes catch her eye; a medium one buried under the covers, a large one strewn diagonally across the bed, and a small bump barely visible on the far side. A snore of unidentifiable origin is the only disturbance. Missy smiles to herself. All the missing persons are accounted for and well. She can continue with the blissfully bland routine of her night.

She washes her face and brews some chamomile before settling on the couch with the week’s issues of Mad Magazine and Vogue. Yes, she contains multitudes. She’s up to the Spy vs. Spy comic when Mulder strolls in, yawning.

“I guess my bedtime story was effective.”

“Mmm.” Missy scoots her mug over so he can prop his feet up. Dana hates feet on furniture, but she’s got a child in the house now, so she’ll have to let go of those judgments. “How is she?”

“Oh shit.” She’s jogged something in his memory. “I meant to grab the trash can on the way out.”

Missy knows what this means. “I’ll get it in a second.”

Mulder nods in silent gratitude, relaxes back into his spot. “She seemed livelier than usual when we got home.”

It hits him that he said home, not back. And well, it is Scully’s home. What about him? He sleeps on the couch and he doesn’t pay rent...that’s how he lived at Oxford, though he gets the feeling that it’s not as evergreen at thirty-three years old.

These days, he only goes to his place on Sunday nights to get (what he considers) a week’s worth of clothing--two work outfits (hey, he never really sees anyone but Scully anyway) and one casual outfit that doubles as pajamas. He bought a bunch of fish feeding tablets so all he has to do is drop a few in on Sunday and the fish are set for the week. As far as he can tell, at least. None of them have floated to the top of the tank yet.

“And Em is all good?” Missy confirms.

Mulder nods. “Your mom takes good care of her.”

“I think I know the answer to this, but do you want some tea?” Missy asks, flashing her mug.

“No, no, save it for yourself.”

“Alright.” She flips a page in her magazine. “Just let me know when you’re ready to kick me out. Since I’m kind of in your bed and all.”

“I should be telling you that,” Mulder counters. “You don’t mind me staying here, do you?”

“Not at all.” Missy lays the magazine on the table. “It’s important that you’re around.”

“Really?...For what?”

“For who,” Missy corrects. “Emily needs you to give her balance, and Dana...she just needs you. You’re the safety net under her tightrope.”

“Oh.” This metaphor grounds Mulder better than gravity ever has.

Missy seems to sense this and takes the opportunity to profit off his vulnerability. “So what’s gone on between you?” she asks, an eyebrow arched.

Mulder squints at her. “Huh?”

“I keep waiting for Dana to kick you out or get irritated about you being around all the time,” Missy says with honest simplicity. “But instead, she lets you take her to chemo and fall asleep in her bed…”

“Well, I think the former is more ideal than the alternative, which is that I watch her child,” Mulder replies. “And I fell asleep on the bed, not in it.”

“Okay.” Missy sips her tea, keeps her eyes on him.

It’s pointless for Mulder to try to keep secrets anymore. He wrings out his hands. “If you must know, when you dropped her off at my apartment after her appointment, we... came to a mutual understanding.”

“Ah.” Missy is not surprised by any of it. Of course it happened. Of course her sister hasn’t mentioned it.

“Why are you just asking about this now?”

“Cause I expected my suspicions to be proven wrong, and that hasn’t happened.”

Mulder nods, taps absentmindedly on his knee. “Actually, I have something I’ve been meaning to talk to you about.”

“Oh?” She’s intrigued. The enigmatic Fox Mulder, divulging on his own accord.

“Don’t get excited, it’s not good.”

Damn. Missy reels herself in. “About Dana?”

“About what happened to her or...what is happening to her. It’s about the Mufon women.”

Missy curls her legs beneath herself. “You reached them?”

He nods. “Well, Penny Northern’s hospice nurse picked up when I called. She’s got stage four tumors throughout her body that migrated from her nasopharynx.”

“Holy shit.”

“Yeah. Apparently most of the other abductees have cancer too. And Betsy Hagopian--the woman who Scully saw in the hospital last spring--is dead.”

Missy’s gaze drops to the floor. “So the invasive procedures that the abductors did are killing these women.”

“One doctor’s treating them all--he’s supposed to be a specialist--but it doesn’t look like he’s having much success.” Mulder pauses, his mouth partially open.

“What?” Missy presses.

“The Lone Gunmen and I have been looking into him, and we think that he might have been involved in the abductions.”

Missy barrels forward. “You think he did this to them on purpose and now he’s letting them die?”

Mulder nods solemnly.

“Well, we have to stop him. We can’t let any more patients go to him, especially Dana…”

“I know. I’m going down to see the Lone Gunmen tomorrow after work if you want to join me.”

Missy contemplates. “I have the lunch shift tomorrow, so I could. What would we tell Dana?”

“I’ll say that Skinner is keeping me late to go over some paperwork. You could say whatever, she’s not going to question you.”

“I hate to leave her alone for so long, but...yeah, we have to do this.” She leans back, takes another look at Mulder. “You might just save a lot of women, you know.”

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

Missy feels unseen eyes bore into her as she and Mulder approach the basement entrance of a helter-skelter building. She doesn’t recognize the part of town they’re in, and she doesn’t ask.

Mulder hits the button on a call box beside the door. Before he can speak, a voice leaps out at them.

“Howdy Mulderoony.” Mulder recognizes it as Frohike’s voice. “Glad to see you made it safely.”

A variety of locks and chains are undone, the door pulled open.

“Join our ménage a trois,” Frohike says, ushering them in.

“We can’t stay long,” Mulder tells them, squinting as he adjusts to the darkness of their realm. “You guys forget to pay the electric bill or something?”

“We’re conserving electricity,” Byers says, a shadow in the corner of the room. “It’s good for the environment.”

“I didn’t realize the environment was on your list of concerns.”

“It should be on everyone’s list of concerns,” Byers throws back matter-of-factly.

Mulder slides his hands into his pockets. “Touché.”

Ringo comes forward from the darkness, his hair as tressed and greasy as ever. “Well lookie here. Dana Scully in the flesh.”

Frohike inserts himself between them. “You can’t be serious, pool boy. That’s not her, I’d know her anywhere. It is, however, an equally lovely woman.” He takes Missy’s hand and kisses it. “My lady.”

Missy participates with amusement until Mulder brushes Frohike aside.

“Okay boys, lay off. This is Scully’s sister Melissa. And I believe she’s taken.”

Frohike bows. “A lucky man.”

“Woman,” Missy corrects.

“Oh. Excusez-moi."

Tucked in the darkness, Byers scoffs at the childish antics. “Come on, let’s cut to the chase. Lives are at stake.”

“I’m glad to see someone has a brain around here,” Mulder quips.

Ringo pats Mulder’s shoulder. “Not all of us got a full-ride to Oxford, but hey, I’d say we’ve done pretty well for ourselves.”

“Calm down, Ringo. You’d still be the smartest member of the Ramones.”

Like an unleashed dog, Ringo lunges forward, and Byers and Frohike pull him back. They are quite used to this.

“You can insult me, but never speak ill of the Ramones!” Ringo growls.

Mulder puts his hands up, smirks at the permission he’s been given. “Happily.”

Missy clears her throat, her amusement wearing thin. She’s like her sister in this way.

Mulder gets the memo. “Right. Can the trash talk, we’re here to catch a criminal.”

“If he is, in fact, a criminal,” Byers remarks.

Missy frowns. “Haven’t you proved that?”

“We’re connecting the dots, but we haven’t completed the picture yet,” Byers replies.

Mulder circles around to Byers’ monitor. “What have you got?”

“This doctor, Scanlon, isn’t just an oncologist,” Ringo begins, as if Mulder asked him. “His name is associated with the Lombard Research Facility.”

Mulder and Missy both give him a look. More, more!

“A high security medical research center in Allentown,” he clarifies.

“We’ve hacked into some of the security cameras,” Frohike tells them. “We’d have to get in to see for ourselves, but the activity is rather suspicious. The same men, in and out, at odd times. Whatever they’re storing in there, it’s significant.”

“Then let’s get in,” Mulder emphasizes. “You be the eyes and ears, I’ll be the legs.”

Ringo nods. “We’re working on it.”

“We need to observe their weekend patterns before we make any moves,” Byers insists. “We don’t set up our missions to fail.”

“Fine, but as soon as you’ve reached your confidence threshold--”

“We’ll call you,” Ringo promises.

“What are you expecting to find?” Missy asks, frenzied. “Will it help Dana?”

Frohike drums his fingers on the desk. “That’s the plan.”

Byers nods. “We can’t be sure exactly what we’ll find, but the connection is clear: Scanlon was involved with the abductions, and he’s exploiting these women for his own benefit.”

Melissa shivers involuntarily. “It’s amazing that you’ve figured this out.”

Ringo twirls a pencil through his hair. “We have a lot of free time on our hands.”

Mulder takes a shot at the mini-basketball hoop they have, misses. “And you’d better use it all to implicate Dr. Scanlon’s ass.”

Frohike does a two-finger salute. “Aye aye captain.”

Mulder thumbs toward the door. “Now we’ve gotta get out of here before the smell sticks to us. Scully will know exactly where we’ve been,” he smirks.

“Can’t argue with that.” Frohike shows them to the door. “Give the lady my regards.”

“Will do.” He turns back, exchanges a serious glance with each man. “Sort this out, boys.”

Just as quickly as they came, he and Melissa step out of the chambers and ascend back into the sun’s dominion. Entrusting those three with the well-being of a woman they love so much is far from ideal, and yet, they’re throwing all their faith into it.

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

Mulder slides his key into the door of apartment 42 shortly after seven on Sunday evening. He hasn’t been in for a week, and yet a vivid scent of...smoke sticks about the place. And a wrinkled mess of a man to go with it.

The old man lifts his chin. “I’ve been expecting you.”

Mulder is no longer naïve enough to be taken aback by Cancer Man’s ambush. He shrugs and slides his coat off. “Well, you are in my apartment.”

“I’ve heard that your partner is very sick,” CSM says, his steps so clunky that Mulder wonders whether the downstairs tenants will complain.

“What grapevine did you get that from?...Or are you the one growing the grapes?”

“It saddened me to hear. Agent Scully is a valuable member of the Bureau.”

Mulder nods. “You here to pass on your condolences? Cause I’m pretty sure you could just send a card.”

“I’m here to propose a solution...The doctors say your partner’s sickness is incurable. This is not true.”

“Smarter than the doctors, are you?”

“In this case I am.”

A bitter laugh rises from Mulder. “So I’m supposed to believe that you were involved in sickening Scully, yet you want to save her?”

“We all have our regrets.”

“And I have no reason to trust you.”

“Upon learning about her child, I feel a deep need to intervene.”

“Mmm.” Mulder begins to pace. “And by learning about her child, do you mean when Scully’s ova were removed and fertilized without her knowledge? Because I have a hard time believing that you didn’t know a thing about Emily until Scully got custody.”

“Certainly I did not foresee Emily ending up in her mother’s custody.”

“What was the purpose then, of Emily? To terrorize a woman by taking away her bodily autonomy?”

CSM shrugs. “That’s not my area.”

Mulder scoffs. “Okay you old freak. Tell me how to save Scully’s life or get the hell out of here.”

The wrinkled man folds his hands. “She had a silicone implant removed from her neck. Put it back in.”

Mulder freezes. “Are you serious? That’s your miracle cure?”

CSM nods. “It is the only way to save her life. Removing the implant is what caused the cancer in the first place.”

Mulder steps forward, getting in the old man’s face like a middle-school bully. He’s ready to throw a punch--honestly, ready to kill the man--if need be. He could do it. Easily. He could.

“What does the implant do, Cancer Man?”

“Believe it or not, it is meant as a sort of inoculation. It offsets the negative effects of any tests performed during the...time away.”

“Uh-huh, and what do you get from it?”

“Who says I get anything from it?”

“How else would you know that she had it removed?”

“I am everywhere, Agent Mulder.”

Mulder loses his thinly-veiled calm, wraps his hand around the man’s saggy neck. “You fucking pervert, I’ll kill you! I’ve killed a man before just like this. Tell me the truth.”

“This is the truth,” CSM wheezes, not intimidated by his rapidly deteriorating air flow. His cold, hard eyes stare into Mulder’s. “You wouldn’t kill a man over nothing, would you?”

Mulder squeezes harder, his fingers gripping the man’s pulse. He watches the light drain from his victim’s eyes. All the old bastard does is smirk at him.

Angered by this more than anything, Mulder releases the man so suddenly that his bony body is thrown into the wall. He keeps his footing, stumbles forward.

“Get out,” Mulder growls. When he doesn’t respond, Mulder pokes his finger at the door. “Get out now!”

CSM dusts himself off and walks out, the pompous smirk never leaving his face. Mulder slams the door shut behind him.

There are certain truths he cannot escape. If Scully has made him believe in Heaven, CSM has made him believe in Hell.

#sincerely hope i did the lone gunmen justice lol #also i feel like this chapter is...a normal episode amount of angsty instead of the slow paper cut of the last chapter #the x-files #only the light fic #missy and scully fic #txf #txf fic #fox mulder #dana scully #melissa scully #mine #eww this looks weird w/the tumblr update!!#read it on ao3 lol

21 notes · View notes

gophergal · 3 years

Text

HEY GOTTA 'NOTHER CHAPTER FOR YA. Thank you to @bucketofcowboys for betaing for me! Without his help, I would be pulling weird shakespeare lines outta my ass. He makes my shit sound smooth lol

I'm Not Lonely - Chapter Three

Word count:4 000+| Rating: M | Michael Myers x OC | M/F

WARNING: Gore, Animal Death

Jean must have fallen asleep at some point while reading to Michael, the book slipping from her hands into her lap. She jolted awake at the sudden weight on her legs, her heart pounding momentarily until her eyes fell on Michael's form, watching as his head tilted inquiringly to the side. He appeared as though he still sat where he had been the night before, still watching her as she slept.

It was strange, obviously, but she couldn't help the warm feeling that spread through her from the human companionship. She was tempted to physically shake the feeling away from her limbs and mind, but restraining herself. The knowledge of why she felt so comforted by him, a man she knew by first name alone and nothing else, filled her with a mixture of shame and annoyance, though she pushed that all to the back of her mind to simmer.

With a yawn, Jean stretched, feeling her back click into place after her poor sleeping position. She stood on stiff legs, feeling the sleep flee from her system as the blood circulated throughout her body. In the kitchen, after a quick bite of breakfast, Jean looked at Michael from the other side of the table, sipping on her coffee as she considered what she had planned for the day.

She'd need to get groceries- the fridge was becoming a bit empty now that she was cooking for two so frequently. That brought another thought to mind, that she really didn't know what Michael liked to eat. Part of her wanted to say, “Fuck it, I'm the one cooking and paying the bills, so what he likes doesn't really matter,” but at the same time she didn't feel like being so harsh.

After cleaning the dishes she and Michael had left in the sink, getting dressed in errand appropriate apparel, and yelling to Michael so he'd know she left, she got in her car and drove toward Haddonfield. The grocery store was relatively quiet today. There were times that it could be a true mad house; hoards of middle aged women being impatient with the young employees of the store while their husbands stood around bored, watching their wild hellions wreck havoc.

Jean shuddered at the image, glad to be in at a slow time as the young cashier greeted her with a smile. The normalcy of this shopping trip was sobering as she placed items into the cart, her mind working slowly to remind her of what was wrong with her current life situation. Unfortunately for that rational part of her mind, she simply continued to mark things off her grocery list. She reached for a pack of Dr Pepper cans, only to bump into an arm. She drew back quickly, pulled out of her muffled thoughts, and looked at the person she bumped into.

“Oh! I'm very sorry, m'am,” the tall woman- no, she was rather young, now that Jean got a look at her, she was simply taller than Jean, who was admittedly quite short. Her fluffy blonde locks swallowed her head as a single mass, the part framing her sharp features. She must be a high school student, Jean thought.

“It's fine, please go ahead. And 'Jean' is fine. I'm not married,” she chuckled, picking a bit at her shirt sleeve.

“Nice to mean you, Jean. I'm Laurie. I... don't think I've seen you around before. Are you new in town, by chance?” The girl asked.

“No, not really. I've lived in the area for my whole life, but I live a bit out of town. Laurie, you seem familiar though.”

“I do?”

“Yeah, I can't place where I've seen you though- Wait, were you one of the people attacked on Halloween night?” Jean asked with a gasp, then immediately wished she hadn't. Laurie looked away quickly, and seemed to struggle for words momentarily and appearing on the verge of tears. “I- I'm really sorry, Laurie. That must have been horrific. Did they ever.... catch the guy?”

“No. He's still on the loose. Sheriff Brackett said he'd do everything he could, but Annie- his daughter- my friend, she-” Laurie cut herself off, not needing to say more for Jean to connect the dots, her shoulder's trembling slightly with the effort to remain composed in this public environment.

“You're a very strong young woman, Laurie. Especially to still be out and about so soon after all of that. I'm sure he'll be caught, too. That type of bastard isn't usually free for long.”

“Thank you. It's been very hard, on everyone.”

“I can imagine.

“Y'know, it may be a weird thing to offer, but if you ever need some help, or someone to talk to, here's my number. I can't say I can truly understand your specific situation, but I've had my fair share of loss, too,” she said, producing a small piece of paper and a pen, scribbling down her home phone number, then handed it to Laurie.

Laurie accepted the paper, dabbing at her eyes slightly with her sweater sleeve, “Thank you, Jean. I might have to take you up on that some time.”

“Don't hesitate, I'd be happy to lend an ear,” Jean replied with a small, warm smile.

The women purchased their groceries and parted way. Talking to Laurie had caused the trip to take longer than intended and now the sun was creeping lower, the brightness slightly too intense to be comfortable. Jean got into her car, the paper bags of food on the passenger side, and she left. The intense, golden light highlighted the trees which were now barren of their leaves. That and the chilly air harbingers of the coming winter. Jean worried her mind with the thought that she would have to fix some of the roofing of her home before the wet snow came down and buried the world.

There would be time to do that, for now she had other things to think about, such as her new housemate. Despite, his impromptu move in almost two weeks prior, she still knew nothing about him aside from his name. She hadn't even seen his face before, she realized, causing a slight hum of anxiety to spread through her body. Something in her kept screaming at her to do something about it, but as she drove toward her home, that voice grew quiet.

There were no lights on when she arrived, and no sign of Michael as she put away the groceries. Aside from a couple empty food wrappers in the sink, which greatly irritated her, it was the same as before he first visited her. Perhaps he'd left for the night. She didn't know where he went when wasn't at her home, but frankly she wasn't his keeper and had no responsibility to keep track of him. He was a grown man, after all. She placed the case of soda on the counter and, with a yawn, piloted her weary body toward the stairs.

She instinctively skipped the creaky step, nearly losing her balance to fatigue. At the top of the stairs, she noticed that her bedroom door was slightly ajar, a sliver of moonlight beaming through the crack, a strange occurrence as her habit was to close the door at all times. She drew closer, cautious and uneasy now, and gently pushed open the door, supporting it with her body and praying that the squeaky hinge would remain silent.

The door now open, she could see a lump under the covers on her bed, poking out from the top a curly, dark mass. She let out a small gasp of breath when she noticed the white, fleshy sheet on her nightstand. Michael's mask. This was Michael who'd stolen her bed. Even at rest, there was a tension to him, eyebrows contorted and face twisted into a slight grimace. Yet, she noticed her hand drawing closer to his hair as if it were magnetic. She pulled her traitorous appendage back, foiling it's mission to tenderly push back a brown lock from his forehead.

A slight glint of reflected light caught her attention, her eye sweeping over the sleeping form to see the metal blade of a kitchen knife in his hand. He had a white-knuckle grip on it that did not waver with the haze of sleep. It chilled her. She began backing away, unwilling to take back her bed that night and unsure if she would even be able to sleep. Still, as she stepped gingerly out of the room, the couch called to her downstairs.

The next few days were uneventful. She worked, she came home, sometimes she had to take the couch. Michael didn't seem to leave at all, yet he seemed out of place in the house, having nothing change around him. Tonight would be her last night of work for the week and she was excited to have some time to rest on her day off. She sat across from Michael at the kitchen table, taking occasional glances at his masked face, imagining the man beneath. He sat like a wax figure, unmoving and unphased.

“I have to work again tonight, I can't really tell you what to do, but I'd appreciate you locking the door if you go somewhere,” she told him. While she awaited his lack of response she wondered what he even did while she was away, though she ultimately decided that ignorance was preferable to knowing something she'd regret. Besides, she had things to do before she left for work that evening. The sun was low in the sky as she put on her dusty pink uniform dress and black flats.

Michael watched her leave the house from his spot in the kitchen, waiting for the security of an empty house. Once the coast was clear he ripped the mask from his face, the latex of it clinging to his greasy brown locks in his haste to eat. He grimaced at the tugging sensation, placing his second face on the table next to him. As food was shoveled into his mouth messily like a child, he decided on what he'd do that day. It seemed a good day to snoop through his host's home because, surprisingly, he hadn't already. If he thought about how different this was from any other time he'd stalked prey for too long, it would only confuse him. At the same time, he was reminded constantly by the Shape that it would all end soon, soon enough the pleasure of killing the woman would outweigh the benefit of keeping her alive.

He wiped his mouth on his sleeve, putting the plate into the sink rather carelessly with a clink. The house was rather uncluttered, with few items in the cupboards and cabinets. Nothing out of the ordinary, as far as he could tell. Still, bland as it was, it was far more welcoming than the white walls and antiseptic smells of Smith's Grove. Of that place, those were all he could remember clearly, everything else was shrouded in a drugged haze, a curtain of accusation and rough hands holding him down when the doctor ordered. A few small moments of kindness from nurses and orderlies peeked through the curtains here and there, but even those paled in comparison to how Jean was. The Shape scoffed at the idea, reminding him that if she knew the evil that everyone else had, she too would end up as another barrier between him and freedom, and such barriers were meant to be torn down.

The stairs creaked as he climbed, and the photos on the wall watched him closely. Upon closer look he saw a woman, looking much like slightly older Jean, alongside a little girl and an old man. He pulled it off the wall for a closer look. Smiling faces, a happy family, though shaped differently than his own had been. The girl looked to be the same age he'd been on that night so many years ago. He tossed the frame onto the carpeted floor after the top step, not caring for what that last thought brought to mind.

On the upper floor, more pictures were on the walls and now he noticed how few actually showed the older woman. They formed a sort of jumbled timeline, the little girl growing taller until he recognized her as Jean at various ages. A few had only her, no sign of the old man or the woman, and he took one from the wall. She was dressed nicely, her back to the glowing sunrise, making her messy blonde hair appear as a fiery golden halo. He decided that he liked it and held onto it as he kept wandering though his host's home.

The Shape became restless at some point, it's voice growing more frantic and incomprehensible with the passing minutes. Michael was tired though, the thrill of the hunt would be dampened by his lack of sleep. The Shape grew louder, demanding blood, gracing his mind with sudden images of what he could do to satisfy it. He ground his teeth, fist clenching and un-clenching as he tried to shake the thoughts from his mind. He needed rest. The Shape could wait, surely. There would be more prey, more chances. The hardest night was over, and he was unlikely to be caught while he stayed with Jean. Frustrated, he relented, giving in to the grating presence of the Shape. He stomped downstairs, muscles growing tense with each heavy breath.

The diner was relatively quiet that night, only two men were at a booth in the front. A not-quite-elderly duo of middle-aged men with greying dark hair, one taller and mustached, the other weaselly in appearance. Jean hurried to the booth to take their order, “Hey, what can I get you two gentlemen tonight?”

“I'll take a tenderloin sandwich, slice o' apple pie, a black coffee,” said the mustached man.

“Cheesecake, black coffee,” the weaselly man said. With that, Jean nodded and smiled, leaving to take the order to Gus, tuning in to their conversation as she walked away.

“Eh, you know about that one bastard that's been on the loose since Halloween?” Asked the weaselly man.

“Yeah, of course I do. I watch the news. What about it?”

“I've heard that he's twenty bodies in now.”

“The police say that?”

“No, they wouldn't and you know it. I've heard it from a few buddies.”

“Yeah, sure.”

“Haddonfield's never had so many suspicious deaths, bud. It's gotta be a bit more than a coinkydink that they'd ramp up after this guy starts killin'.” Jean brought the men their orders and they quieted down on the morbid talk for a bit. The weaselly man rubbed hands together excitedly as Jean set down his cheesecake. The tall man shook his head light heartedly.

“Thank you, sweetheart,” the tall man said. Jean smiled, holding back the urge to roll her eyes at the unwanted pet name. She left to wipe down the other booth tables in the room.

“Anyway, I heard that the cops are broadening their search to the surrounding area,” said the weasel, “been some sightings of a masked man wearing a blue jumpsuit around some houses on the outskirts of town.” Jean found that the description was unsettlingly familiar.

“C'mon, that could just be some kid in a dime store mask and his dad's coveralls.”

“After halloween?”

“Yeah, y'know how kids are. Not sayin' its good, those kids might get themselves killed.”

“Isn't that what happened to that one highschool football player? Tramer, I think his name was.”

“Yeah, just like that. Police thought he was Michael Myers and he got run over. Well, on accident , of course,” The tall man said, putting air quotes around “accident” and then took a bite of his tenderloin sandwich.

“And what a damn shame it is. Poor kid had so much potential. Might as well add him to the body count.”

Jean stopped wiping the table she was standing at. She felt the blood rush from her face, her heart dropped into her stomach, and bile rose in her throat. It all was too much. Her head spun, making the connections, remaking the connections, denying the truth. Her knees felt weak.

“Woah, miss, you good? If all this murder talk is getting to you, we can stop. You look like you're about to pass out,” the mustached man asked her, voice laced with concern.

“I-” she started, swallowing hard, “I'm okay, I think my blood sugar's just low. I'll be back,” she finished, leaving quickly to go back to the kitchen where Jo and Gus chatted. Jean pushed past, throwing open the back door and pressing her back to the brick wall of the diner outside. She breathed hard, shaking hands gripping her skirt as her legs threatened to give beneath her.

Jo burst out a moment later, worried. She put her hands on Jean's shoulders, words coming out of her mouth, but not reaching Jean's ears. She shook Jo's hands off, reclaiming her composure. “I'm fine, Jo, I guess all that talk about the killer on the loose got to me,” she said. It wasn't quite a lie.

“Are you sure you'll be alright? You live alone and now I'm worried about you,” Jo asked.

“It's fine. I'm fine. I promise.”

“Okay, I'll drop it, but if you ever need anything, you know where I am.”

“I do,” Jean nodded. She wouldn't drag Jo into this. This was her own problem, and Jo might very well get hurt. She considered asking Gus to help her, he was a large guy, someone she could trust, and she was sure he would do anything to help if she asked. Then she reconsidered. She'd never be able to forgive herself if she got him hurt. No, she'd have to take care of this herself, somehow.

There was a creeping feeling on her back as the eerie twilight faded into blackness as she drove. There were no stars in the sky, yet the full moon cast it's silvery glow on the earth below, bathing the landscape in a strange dream-like contrast. It was slightly hypnotic, feeding her unease. Once she arrived at her home, she turned the knob on the front door, now aware of the lights left on in the house. She pushed open the door, breaching the barrier between her feeling of environmental disorientation and her nauseating awareness of the room before her.

A sharp scent of salt and copper was in the air, horrifically mixing with the familiar smells of the house, corrupting them in the dim light from upstairs. Before she could bring herself to flip the light switch, she surveyed the dark room, eyes falling on a dark, crumpled form at the bottom of the staircase. Pooling below it, a reflective, dark liquid that appeared black in the shadow of the heap.

She flipped the switch, eyes screwed shut. She finally found the courage to open her eyes, and regretted it. Tears pricked her eyes, a mixture of shock and disgust, as she looked at the crumpled canine body at the bottom of the stairs. The dog, once a charming golden brown, was now stained with the rust colored blood that had kept it alive. Gruesomely, its abdomen was torn open, broken ribs visible alongside the snaking internal organs.

A sound ripped itself from Jean's lips and she looked around the room. The first aid kit was strewn about on the coffee table, the couch soaked in red. Dried blood was tracked everywhere, shoe prints from the back door to the living room, dried droplets leading up the stairs, a smeared hand print on the wall. At the top of the stairs, her bedroom door was ajar. A horrible, sickening curiosity gripped her, guiding her around the discarded carcass and up the stairs.

Her heart pounded as she froze in front of the door, mind blank, her survival instincts screaming at her to run. Run far away. You are prey. You will die and then you will feed this horrible predator. She swallowed down these instincts somehow, and pushed open the door. Blood had been dripped from the threshold to her bed. Then she saw him. On her bed. Her clean, comfortable bed with the soft, white sheets. His filthy, blood-stained jumpsuit was touching her once clean, comfortable sheets. Her knees no longer quivered below her. Her prey-like instincts cowered away as something snapped within. She was fucking pissed.

“Michael, what the fuck are you doing in my goddamn bed?! My home?! My FUCKING SHEETS, you bastard!” She shook, no longer in fear- no, that ship had passed along with her pure white sheets- her hands shook with the desire to express her feelings violently.

Michael jumped up almost comically as though he'd been stabbed with a straight pin. He nearly fell, then fumbled for the white latex he treated as his face, then pulled it on. The knife he slept with had clattered to the floor in his struggle, and had been kicked under the bed. He whipped himself around to look at Jean, then stalked to her. Jean held her ground. He was a mere two steps from her, the difference in height and mass between them highlighted by the closeness.

“You've got three goddamn choices. First, you could kill me. Go ahead, I fucking dare you. Second, you could leave. Go somewhere, leave me the fuck alone. Or, you could stay here, follow my rules, have a steady supply of food and somewhere to sleep. Make your choice, Michael,” she growled, glaring into shadowed eyeholes of his mask.She bared her teeth, seething as he put a massive hand, covered in dried dog blood, around her neck. He did not squeeze, simply held it there firmly as he waited for the Shape's instruction.

The instruction to snap her neck did not come. The Shape remained silent. He had expected fear. That was common- expected even- in his prey. They would run, or try to fight back. Some tried to submit, begging him not to snuff out their lives. Anger though, that was reserved for the exceptionally stupid. Yet something was beginning to make itself clear, Jean was not stupid, exceptionally or otherwise. Rage continued to flare in her slate grey eyes as Michael released her neck, an alluring red stain coiled around it. He marveled at the mark as she turned away, stomping down the stairs away from him.

Watch that one, the Shape demanded. Michael agreed to the Shape's demand. He would definitely watch her. She had his attention now.

#michael myers #slasher x oc #slashers #michael myers x oc #gopher writes #I'm Not Lonely #it has been.... 4 months

11 notes · View notes

butwhatifidothis · 3 years

Note

I just found this blog and it has made me sigh in relief, like I'm not insane for my take on Edelgard. If you don't mind, I'd like to point out my favroite part of the comments to that Edelgard reddit post that had me rolling my eyes so hard. (second ask because it's too long to fit into this one.)

Eyyy, nice! Glad I could give some relief :)

Next two asks I’ll copy paste here (the reddit comment):

“ The most glaring problem for me, is that Edelgard's criticisms of him in VW are completely right-she attempts to reach out, only for him to give her a ridiculous demand to swear fealty to her, her concerns are proved valid when he invites a hostile foreign country, that as you say has regularly killed citizens, into Fodlan, and for all his research he doesn't understand what's going on.

“ He must rely upon Hubert to tell him about TWISTD, and most glaringly he's frankly stunningly naive if he believes that the Church, which set up the Officer's Academy specifically to foster anti-Alymran sentiment would do anything other than fight Claude to the death without Edelgard there to paint a target on her back.”

I can only assume they’re talking about the library scene here. If not, then rip, cuz that’s what I’ll be referring to here.

“Reaches out?” Big jokester over here, she fucking interrogates him. Who his father is, where Claude came from, why’d he come to House Riegan - and then the monastery - like he has to answer anything like this? It’s supposed to be a bad thing that he doesn’t answer pretty personal questions from this girl he barely knows? “His circumstances look suspicious” I assume is the counterargument, but what if he dug back at her? Imagine if Claude had asked her how she was heiress of the Empire despite being the 8th child of the current Emperor - you think she’d answer a question like that? Despite it pertaining to something important? I wouldn’t expect her to, just like I didn’t expect Claude to answer her invasive questions.

And swear fealty? You mean him saying that if she promises to help him with his dream no matter what he’ll tell her all his secrets? Is that what we’re calling fealty these days? Seems like a bit of an over-exaggeration (and would you look at that, overblowing Claude’s actions and downplaying Edelgard’s. A classic). And like, about the whole hostile nation thing... y’all do realize y’all’s mindset is exactly what the problem was, right? Thinking that all Almyrans want to invade and attack Fodlan? And how this prevalent mindset had made it to where Claude couldn’t reveal his plans to the army because it would jeopardize the Merceus plan, which hinged on the reinforcements Almyra provided? And that Claude sent a letter to Holst telling him of his plan to have him meet Nader at the border (like he literally says this? He warned Holst beforehand, which is why he asked Hilda about Holst, which Hilda herself points out) because he knew it could potentially fall out if he just sprung Almyrans past the border with no warning? Y’all realize this black-and-white mindset was proven wrong by Holst and Nader bonding and becoming friends - and fuck, how Holst never thinks of Almyra in such a black-and-white way, as shown in Hilda’s supports with Cyril? Did y’all just. Miss the point entirely?

OH FUCKING GEE

I WONDER WHY HE HAS TO RELY ON HUBERT TO LEARN OF TWS

MAYBE IF A CERTAIN LORD AND HER LAPDOG DIDN’T LITERALLY DO EVERYTHING IN THEIR POWER TO HIDE TWS’ EXISTANCE FROM PUBLIC KNOWLEDGE HE COULD HAVE FOUND OUT ABOUT TWS

What an absolute riot, shitting on Claude for not finding out about shit that Edelgard and Hubert made sure no one found out about.

And like

this

“ [Claude’s] frankly stunningly naive if he believes that the Church, which set up the Officer's Academy specifically to foster anti-Alymran sentiment would do anything other than fight Claude to the death without Edelgard there to paint a target on her back”

what... the actual fuck are you talking about. The Locket was formed by Fodlan to keep out Almyran invasions, but where in the hell is it said that the Officer’s Academy was made to foster anti-Almyran sentiment? Why would the leader of the Church bring in a nonzero amount of Almyran orphans, at the disdain of certain followers, if that was the case? Like... huh?? I’m genuinely confused lmao like wtf

Absolutely nuts. r/Edelgard be wildin’. Gimme some of what they got cuz it’s the good shit, apparently

#anti edelgard #Anti-edelgard #just to be safe #Edelgard discourse #Edelgard critical #you really can just say anything on the internet #ask

19 notes · View notes

vegalocity · 3 years

Note

What would happen if Syntax actually did get cured of the venom? Would he still want to hang around Huntsman and Goliath or would he Think 'huh. Maybe having the people who KIDNAPPED ME around me and my family Probably isn't the best idea.' - Pixel Anon

Uhhhhhhhhhhh yeah I think the answer is Not Good Things Will Happen. I think the answer is ‘Y’all are down an integral clan member hope you didn’t have any plans that hinged on technology or science in general right now.’

Honestly I think you don’t even need to throw Minyi and Xiuying into that equation to make that the answer. Even if you assume Syntax was essentially just alone in the world before spiderfication if he got the spider limbs pulled off and the venom drained from his system, no matter WHAT his Backstory is i think he’d just book it, he’d be OUTTA THERE he is GONE. He’s running before the purple has fully faded from his skin.

And when you THROW IN the ladies, then… well even more so. He’s got Minyi in one arm, a duffel bag in the other and loading into the gd car headed for Xiuying’s cabin to lay low for awhile.

(this gets long so it's under the cut)

Like, most people like to assume that there was a sort of… adjustment period when he had just been spiderfied, usually the flavor of ‘someone (usually Huntsman) reminding him of how he is at his base a human, not a spider, not one of them, and the second he stops being useful is the second he’s only good for how he’ll taste’ and even if he wasn’t afraid of whoever it was in the moment, confident in his ability to manuver extra limbs that aren’t there anymore and speed that wasn’t there either, all the physical additions that being a Spider Demon had are suddenly gone and that threat about being the next meal for the clan suddenly feels a lot more real. Even IF the others had actually grown attached to him and Minyi and even Xiuying, the fact of the matter is if these people decided to kill them all he wouldn’t be able to do anything about it.

Something I could see having kind of a ‘disney channel cartoon’ resolution in this setup is a thing idk if i’ve mentioned before involving Minyi or not. Bc Minyi, as i know i have mentioned, fucking HATES Spider Queen, and at first for awhile there she was very vocal about it, she hated that her dad was working for her, she hated that he wanted her approval, and most of all she hated that whenever she’d say any of that to him, he’d just sort of… not listen.

Even when even Minyi knows what she’s talking about is silly or irrational, she never really feels like Daddy isn’t listening. Even when she’s wrong and he has to explain to her what it was that was wrong, she still felt like he was listening to her as she talked. But not this. Never this. Minyi’s an observant child, her plotline hinges on it, so she knows when Adults tune her out, she knows when she’s being condescended to. And when Daddy tells her that of course he wants to stay Loyal to Spider Queen and she’s Really Cool Actually she can tell he wasn’t listening to a word she’d actually said. Because he never mentions forgiving her for stealing him, or that he knows it might look like she pushes him around but he knows he’s always in control of the situation, or anything that would actually ANSWER her questions or settle her worries. She just… might as well have stomped her foot and yelled like she was half her age.

And now that his head is clear he can look back on that and be… embarrassed? guilty? His daughter was warning him that whole time out of honest fear and concern that she only barely had the vocabulary and emotional complexity to understand And he brushed her off as if it was nothing. And to rub some salt into it now that his head is clear and the unrelenting force of the Spider demanding subserviance to the Queen is gone it’s obvious that his fucking six year old was right about his ‘boss’ being bad news. So of course he figures he owes Minyi an apology, but Minyi’s just happy that he’s listening to her again so it’s all okay in the end.

And if this is the Cyberhunt timeline then can I get an F in the chat for Huntsman? Bc he ain’t even getting a breakup scene, i don’t think he’d even get a letter outside of the ‘I’m leaving the clan and leaving the city with my family. Don’t try to find us’ that goes out to all of the clan (maybe even still implying that Syntax DOES still have that Spider amplification in him so it’s not just a flimsy ‘stay away’ from an equally flimsy human)

I could see Syntax as being pretty mad at himself for letting the relationship happen at all in that context. Like yeah, his brain was all scrambled up and he can’t ACTUALLY be held accountable for decisions made with the fact that he wasn’t really in his right mind for the whole thing, but it still happened. But now it’s over, and- and it was just some echo of venom that hadn’t quite metabolized yet that left a bitter taste in his mouth to acknowledge that those people weren’t really friends, that he wasn’t really-... His brain is still re-adjusting, he’ll be fine in time.

Minyi I don't think would quite get certain parts about this, in her mind, the big boss is always the bad guy and the other people around are just as scared of the big boss as the person they’re bullying. So to her only Spider Queen was the bad guy. So when Daddy turned back to normal and said that they weren’t safe from the bad guys anymore and needed to go stay at Auntie Xiuying’s cabin for awhile she’d thought that Uncle Huntsman and Uncle Goliath hadn’t come along simply because Uncle Goliath didn’t fit in the car. That they’d catch up with them soon. Because surely, they’d ALL be running away from the REAL bad guy together.

So, she figures they must have gotten lost and had to head back home. Thats not good, surely that means she needs to help them find their way here like how she helped Daddy find his way home. Auntie and Daddy were both too scared of Spider Queen finding them to contact her uncles, but Minyi knew how to evade that!

She knows Uncle Huntsman likes to hang out at their apartment because he loves Daddy (she’ll keep that to herself for now, grownups don’t believe in happily ever afters) so if she mails a letter to the apartment he might find it when he eventually comes over.

She knows Uncle Huntsman doesn’t like puzzles, but he’s good with them when its something important. So she makes a cipher and writes the letter in it, copies down the decoder, and chops it up into distinct shapes, seals it all up in a letter closes the envelope with a sticker on it, and slips it into the mailbox.

Eventually Huntsman does find the letter, written in childish scrawl, the puzzle to decode the letter, and the knowledge that theres only one child on this entire damn continent that would be this obnoxiously enigmatic about sending a fucking letter.

But whatever, he wasn’t gonna do anything except sit in the apartment surrounded by things left behind and feel sorry for himself--er, that is, scavenge for anything that could be used by the Queen and take advantage of the internal heating. So he may as well do something. So he puts together the decoder, she’d just sliced it into fourths. Then translated the letter.

“Hi Uncle Huntsman! If you’re reading this that means you unlocked my letter! Yay! I knew you could! So I know you and Uncle Goliath want to leave the bad lady’s clan too and I know you’re only not here because you guys got lost.” and she just… gave them the coordinates for the place her family was hiding away. (not REALLY hiding, it wouldn’t have taken much to track down the cabin’s whereabouts through Xiuying, but the secluded nature of the cabin may as well have been)

I guess… the way the story ends depends on how you want it to end. Because Huntsman has three options, but really only two. Does he accept defeat and burn the letter, or does he do something with the information he now has? Either way he’d be betraying the queen, but he doesn’t have it in him to turn in the coordinates of their lost clan member and his family. Not this time.

There’s this youtuber i like called Breadsword, he does movie analysis, and in his video about Millenium Actress he says something along the lines of ‘My favorite moment in a romance is somewhere in the last ten minutes, after we’ve followed our characters through the buildup, payoff, and premature destruction of what they had, as they go their separate ways and come to the conclusion that it wasn’t meant to last, one rejects it and takes flight in pursuit of the other... our dreams and our love are the only things truly worth running in the name of.

#Yeah i think Cyberhunt's gonna pull the win for this timeline #this is some good shit man #letters to vega #OC: Minyi #lmk Syntax #LMK Huntsman #cyberhuntshipping

6 notes · View notes

beinghumcn · 3 years

Text

Was that [NATASHA NEGOVANLIS]? Oh no no, that was just [MIRCALLA “CARMILLA” KARNSTEIN], a [CANON CHARACTER] from [CARMILLA]. They are [THREE-HUNDRED-FORTY-ONE] years old and [ARE] aware that they are not actually from Washington DC. Too bad they can’t stray from this city for long.

to use a gif where u can see her face or to use a gif that’s slapstick......... the answer was obvious.

how long has your character been here

roughly a month and a half !

what is your character's job

night shift archivist........ using the excuse that dc is magic and therefore an mlis is totally not required.

where has your character been pulled from in their fandom

towards the end of season two when :\ she still thinks mattie’s dead and no one cares :\ of course, i’m gonna go ahead and hc that the events of s3 have happened and she just... does not remember them bc #magic but... cannot promise the same for the movie because i Do Not Know How to watch it and... we like to pretend she’s still a vampire... which technically was stopped in s3 but shhhhhhh

has any magic affected your character

some memories have been wiped, but that’s about it!

and any other information you might find useful for us and the other members to know!!

triggers: very very brief mention of necrophilia, brief mention of imprisonment, murder, manipulation, abuse, mention of blood (brief but significant), very brief mention of war

not too much is known about her super early life. she was born in styria as mircalla karnstein to a super wealthy father ( and super emotionally unavailable who only saw her as convenient when she was old enough to be used as a bargaining chip ) and... who knows about her mother? ( whenever i refer to her mother throughout the rest of the intro, it’s not her birth mother -- just a psa! )

anyway, she was murdered at a ball, as one is. but it was all good! because her new ‘mother’ found her and resurrected her as a vampire ( for her own nefarious purposes, of course ). however, before she was able to be of any true use to her mother, her undead body was graverobbed by the necrophiliac man she was engaged to marry before her death. he kept her in a literal dungeon. which is so romantic (/s). however, sucks for him! her powers grew stronger and she managed to break free and murder his entire family so he would die sad and alone <3 romance <3

after that ordeal, she was put to work as a lure by her mother. every twenty years, they would return to styria and carmilla -- who would have some different name at that point, but one that was probably an obvious anagram -- would pretend there’d been a carriage accident or abandonment or something. she’d grow close to the girl ( sometimes seduction being involved, leaving it open to have the events of the novella have happened... minus the death ), the girl would grow weak of mind, then she’d hand the girl off to her mother to go away to some certain doom.

also... because i love her... i want to add that, during this entire time, she had a best friend and sister of sorts ( another woman changed by her mother ) named matska ( ‘mattie’ ) who was much older than her, but humored her more idealistic views. like... man... mattie was really looking forward to killing this guy for no reason, but he’s a sensitive poet, guess she’ll find someone else :\ ( aka i just... needed to mention this legend... )

the game changed when carmilla was enlisted to lure in a girl named ell. unfortunately, she actually fell in love with her :\ their close bond was real :\ she made plans for them to escape to the usa before her mother could find them... but her mother found out about it and revealed carmilla’s vampiric nature to ell. ell, horrified, led carmilla’s mother to where they planned to meet up. and her punishment for her disobedience was, like, the best parenting ever (/s):

she watched ell get dragged away to her doom, then was sealed alive in a coffin full of blood <3 mother of the year <3

she was exhumed towards the end of wwii with all of the explosives unearthing various graves. she was found by her mother again in 1955 and her mother just didn’t have the heart to reinter her, so she was put back to work ( but at least she got to watch the moon landing with the legend mattie <3 ).

this time, she tried to ruin opportunities when she could and, instead of get close to the girl, drive her away.

i don’t want to get too into the laura (web version) stuff because my love does not hinge on the ship, ja feel? but since she does have some memories of that, it’s important to mention!! she was assigned to go pretend to be a college student and lure various girls and, more specifically, roommates for her mother. laura was an intended target, then she showed carmilla genuine kindness and carmilla was like ‘well. guess i’ve gotta ruin an opportunity #forlove. mother’s gonna hate it but :\’

as a side-note, even though she Does Not Know This from where im pulling her in her canon, it is probably important to note that she found out her mother was actually a goddess! same! the goddess innana! spoiler: and of course you can set an angry malicious goddess free with a hug <3 but yk what fun fact: one of my first critiques over the finale was laura just..... talking for minutes on end without a heart..... but someone looked it up and apparently you can keep functioning for four minutes without a heart so?? get it girls!! also i think in the movie it turns out ell is like... evil?? but we’re ignoring that until i find a way to watch it bc <3 she doesn’t rmr it anyway <3

also some fun + relevant tidbits + hcs:

can shapeshift into a black panther. alexa, play ‘black cat’ by janet jackson. also love some pyrokinesis and potential sonic scream and invulnerability to sunlight. also love the basics of super strength and speed. also love still having to live off of human blood. also love not turning people into vampires with bites like genuinely love that otherwise there’d be a whole army. ~ she’s not like other girls vampires ~

if u cant tell im ignoring the ending ma’am she’s a vampire. apparently the movie turns her back into a vampire which we love but i... don’t have a way to watch it so i’m just going off of what i read.

another big gay. gonna start a club w bismuth.

has canonically seen many vampire movies, including the twilight movies (in which she called edward a ‘sparkly twerp’).

also canonically probably has light knowledge of the harry potter and doctor who franchises bc of laura. very hip with pop culture in spite of being over 300yrs old.

taught herself ancient sumerian because she wanted to read the epic of gilgamesh. love that for her.

inxp (leans te, but not enough for a for sure), 4w5, scorpio sun scorpio moon. affably evil <3

#hw: intro #carmilla .#carmilla: intro.#you don't think this makes light of my tragic backstory ? || carmilla hc.#i had absolutely no reason 2 make this gif i j. really wanted it.

2 notes · View notes

acrostical · 3 years

Text

Safe Haven

On December 8, 1941—the day after “a date which will live in infamy”—then-president Aurelia Henry Reinhardt wrote a letter to all Mills families. With the hindsight of nearly 80 years, it’s a surreal read; the main point of the letter was not to offer solace or organize war efforts, but to reassure parents that the Mills campus was unlikely to face any danger from a Japanese attack. “The English Channel is 26 miles wide; New York is 3,500 miles from Europe; California is 5,500 miles from Japan and 2,500 miles from our nearest possession in the Hawaiian group,” she wrote. “May I assure you that there exists no reason to change in any way the schedule and curriculum of this college in the spring term which begins Monday, January 5.”

At that point, no one knew that many students of Japanese descent would soon opt to leave Mills, hoping to avoid separation from their families as they were forced into internment camps across the United States. In the years leading up to World War II, President Reinhardt had approached a number of European artists and intellectuals to offer them a place at Mills as the Third Reich marched across the continent and sent to concentration camps anyone it deemed a threat, including Darius Milhaud and other notable figures in the College’s history, but that welcoming spirit couldn’t protect some of her own students.

When it comes to political and cultural forces outside the campus gates, the College has historically been limited in what it can do to protect its students. But as an institution, Mills has long welcomed members of marginalized communities, and outside restrictions have not altered the campus culture of acceptance.

In recent years, the term “sanctuary” has become a buzzword in our charged political environment. But in a historical sense, the concept originated with the sacred. In ancient Greece, spaces that honored the gods provided some measure of immunity to individuals escaping laws of the state (with limited success), and in Rome, Romulus established a zone on Capitoline Hill where asylum seekers from other places could find refuge. For centuries, places of worship have operated as spaces where people could take shelter, and it’s still happening today—churches around the world house migrants seeking to avoid deportation back to war-torn homelands.

The idea of sanctuary gained popularity in the United States in the 1980s when Central Americans began to flee their home countries in the wake of civil unrest, but Mills took on the responsibility of offering it 60 years earlier in the early days of World War II. In the 1961 book Aurelia Henry Reinhardt: Portrait of a Whole Woman, Chaplain George Hedley wrote that President Reinhardt contacted the Emergency Committee in Aid of Displaced German Scholars (later Foreign Scholars) to invite intellectuals to Mills as soon as Hitler took power in Germany in 1933. Hedley noted that legends were told of Reinhardt physically transporting those scholars to campus herself.

A number of professors soon made their way to Oakland, including Alfred Neumeyer, who taught art history and directed what was then the Art Gallery, and the married couple Bernhard Blume and Carlotta Rosenberg. A German playwright, Bernhard headed up the German Department at Mills until 1945, and Rosenberg was a proponent of educating workers and women.

Of course, the most well-known Mills expats were the musician Darius Milhaud and his wife, Madeleine. In speaking with the author Roger Nichols in 1991, Madeleine detailed her family’s reaction when the Nazis entered Paris in June 1940: “We knew… that Milhaud was among the first on a list of intellectuals to be arrested because he was well known in Germany as a Jewish composer, and also because he did not share their right-wing ideals.”

The Milhauds made their way to Lisbon with plans to fly to New York, using an invitation from the Chicago Symphony Orchestra to obtain visas. But upon arrival in Portugal, their plane tickets were declared invalid because they had been bought with French francs. The three—Darius, Madeleine, and their son—were just about to board an American freighter to cross the Atlantic when a telegram arrived with an offer to teach at Mills. The San Francisco-based French conductor Pierre Monteux had contacted President Reinhardt after learning that Milhaud was fleeing to America and connected the two.

Milhaud cabled his acceptance of the position and, a few months after arriving on campus, Dean of Faculty Dean Rusk (later US Secretary of State during the Vietnam War) wrote to the State Department to plead his case for Milhaud’s continued residency in the United States, which hinged on his history of contribution to the arts. Milhaud taught on and off at Mills from 1940 until 1971.

Milhaud’s influence on the Music Department (and the rest of the College) is well known, though he was not the only academic who molded Mills in indelible ways during this time. Helene Mayer, a champion German fencer at the 1928 Olympics, was studying at Scripps College when Hitler rose to power in her home country. She then enrolled at Mills for a master’s in French. While on campus studying for her MA and, later, teaching German literature, she founded the Mills College Fencing Club, jump-starting an organization that lasted for decades. And it’s to the credit of these scholars that the German Department at Mills built a strong enough foundation to eventually send many of its students abroad as Fulbright scholars.

The situation with students of Japanese descent was not nearly as easy to solve, however, with President Franklin D. Roosevelt establishing internment camps less than three months after the Pearl Harbor attack.

Alumnae who were at Mills during the attack remember that day as a sunny one, with word of the incident filtering in as they arrived back in their residence halls after Sunday chapel service. Japanese American students soon found their freedoms curtailed bit by bit, starting with an Army-ordered curfew that restricted their movement even on the Mills campus.

May Ohmura Watanabe ’44, who was born in California to American citizens, wrote about her experiences in multiple issues of the Quarterly. “I remember Dr. Hedley, the chaplain, was very upset and angry. I can still feel his hand tightly holding mine, his body slightly bent forward as he hurried to look at the curfew proclamation posted on the telephone pole just outside the campus,” she wrote in 1985. “He even took me to the Army’s headquarters in San Francisco to protest and to state his disbelief. All in vain.”

Watanabe soon left Mills and returned home to Chico so that she wouldn’t be sent to a different internment camp than her parents and brother. She spent a year at the Tule Lake Relocation Center near the Oregon border, then was released as part of a program allowing some detainees to work or attend school in special approved zones. Watanabe was allowed to transfer her credits to Syracuse University, where she studied nursing. “I remember the special arrangements Mills made for me before evacuation to take my exams in Chico supervised by my high school dean,” she wrote.

The late Grace Fujii Kikuchi ’42 made a similar choice to leave Mills to avoid separation from her family. As a senior, she was more easily able to bring her time at Mills to a close, though it wasn’t a happy time. “My professors at Mills had arranged for me to take my [exam] at a nearby high school,” she wrote in the same Quarterly issue. “All I know is that I was graduated in absentia with my class. Not to be able to attend my commencement after four hard years of work was a bitter disappointment to me.”

The frustrations of the Mills administration during this era were captured in a play by Catherine Ladnier ’70, which she based on actual letters President Reinhardt received from students who left the College due to World War II, including Japanese American students in internment camps. Titled A Future Day of Radiant Peace, the play details the personal turmoil these students experienced as they abandoned their bustling lives at Mills for the uncertainty of the camps. It also demonstrates what little power anyone on campus had to prevent the exodus.

In the aftermath of the war, however, Mills was able to provide sanctuary to several students whose home countries were suffering. Catherine Cambessedes Colburn ’47 and Noramah Sumakno Peksopoetranto ’56 traveled to the College from France and Indonesia, respectively. In the spring 1997 issue of the Quarterly, Colburn wrote about the strangeness of going from a country recovering from war to a land of plenty.

“Mills had sent a list of what I would need, and I owned next to none of the items, nor could I get them. Coupons, given out rarely, were required to buy anything. Besides, the stores were next to empty,” she wrote. “I exchanged my wine ration with a friend for her fabric coupon and my cigarette ration with another for hers, and got enough material for two clothing items.”

Peksopoetranto earned her opportunity to attend Mills through a one-year scholarship from the Edward H. Hazen Foundation. At the end of the year, Dean Anna Hawkes offered her room and board for a bachelor’s degree in education; she spent that summer staying in the home of Librarian Elizabeth Reynolds.

On October 29, 2018—two days after 11 were killed in a shooting at the Tree of Life Synagogue in Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania—President Elizabeth L. Hillman sent an email to the Mills community. In it, she harkened back to the College’s history of providing sanctuary to Jewish scholars during World War II and the inspiration they provided to generations of students. “Higher education institutions like Mills have a special role to play in creating and sharing knowledge across boundaries of faith, race, gender, and background,” she wrote. “We can only fulfill our mission when everyone in our community is safe, respected, and able to grow and learn.”

In the last few years, President Hillman has sent a number of similar emails to the campus community after attacks, in the United States and abroad, that have targeted historically marginalized groups. According to Dean of Students Chicora Martin, the typical campus response finds its roots in Mills history. “Whenever an incident happens, we’re among a community where people may not always know what to do, but they are prepared to do something,” they said. “It’s part of our culture.”

“In times of immense crisis and identity-based violence, there is this depth of emotion and despair, but also a desire to be in community,” says Dara Olandt, campus chaplain and director of spiritual and religious life. “It has been very moving for me to see the ways in which students have offered leadership and shown up for each other.”

Olandt attributes the campus-wide attitude of acceptance and protection to the College’s past religiosity—in particular, President Reinhardt was the first woman moderator of the American Unitarian Association. (Olandt herself was ordained by the Unitarian Universalist church.) The chapel “is a refuge, and a place of deep hospitality. That’s what the forebears [who created] this chapel were really about,” Olandt says. “There’s power in this symbolic place where people are welcome in the fullness of their lives, no matter their identities.”

She also counsels those who travel to Mills from outside the country and hail from distinctly different societal and religious backgrounds than their US-born peers. That demographic has naturally been part of the student body for decades, but provides a different set of challenges due to the requirements of F-1 and J-1 student entry visas. Dean Martin serves as the principal designated school official on the Mills campus, so they are the first point of contact for the US government. “Every year, we have someone who can’t make it here because they can’t get a visa,” they say. “There are lots of restrictions with international students, and there’s a lot of documentation that you have to provide just for them to do normal-ish things, like getting a Social Security card or a driver’s license.”

Over the last four years, the legal status of undocumented students has been called into question across the country, and as a Hispanic Serving Institution, Mills has been prompted to respond. Under the Deferred Action for Childhood Arrivals (DACA) program, which began in 2012, undocumented immigrants who arrived in the US before they turned 18 could be granted renewable two-year periods where they would not be deported. When Donald Trump was elected to the presidency, he pledged to end the program—and set off a chain reaction at colleges and universities across the country, which became known as the “sanctuary campus” movement.

On November 16, 2016, President Hillman was one of hundreds of signatories to the Statement in Support of the Deferred Action for Childhood Arrivals (DACA) Program, which underscored the contributions that its recipients have made to college communities across the country. “America needs talent—and these students, who have been raised and educated in the United States, are already part of our national community,” the statement reads. “They represent what is best about America, and as scholars and leaders they are essential to the future.”

Hillman also joined with more than two dozen college leaders in December 2017 as founding members of the Presidents’ Alliance on Higher Education and Immigration, which advocates for fair treatment of DACA and international students, and she continues to contribute to amicus briefs compiled by the alliance on behalf of DACA students.

In practical terms, Martin says that Mills provides grants to affected DACA students to cover the legal paperwork required to renew their statuses, and the College will provide financial assistance to any undocumented student in the same amount the student would have received from a Pell Grant, which is a federal program and therefore off-limits to non-citizens.

But in terms of sanctuary? If immigration officials asked Mills to turn over student records, the College is theoretically protected by the Family Educational Rights and Privacy Act (FERPA), which prohibits the disclosure of student information, including immigration status, to parties beyond those that need to know for the purposes of that student’s education. Nothing like that has happened yet, but administrators say that it’s really not the point. The last few years have, in the end, cemented the kind of institution Mills wants to be.

“We were asking questions about our own values. The government’s now actively not supporting [these] students, so we have to come out very strongly with concrete statements and actions that clarify for our community where our values lie,” Martin says.

“Aurelia Reinhardt was deeply motivated by her values, which had roots in her religious and spiritual background,” Olandt adds. “She was very much anchored in a spirit of service and what we call today solidarity with marginalized folks. How can we uphold the best of humanity and live a moral and ethical life in the face of challenge?”

#writings

1 note · View note

itsclydebitches · 4 years

Text

RWBY Recaps: “Worst Case Scenario”

Happy Saturday, everyone! I’m so torn on this episode. On the one hand it managed to do a lot of the things I’ve been looking for this volume. On the other hand they’re a bit... shaky. And at least a month too late. But we’ll dive into all that in a bit.

We open on Penny in an Atlas facility which was actually a relief for me. Though I wouldn’t expect it for Penny’s characterization, last week’s order to head immediately back to the Academy alongside her blasting off without saying a word to anyone could have implied that Penny ran off. We could have started the episode with her missing, needing that space, but compounding how guilty she looks in the process. So emotionally I’m glad Penny didn’t unintentionally make her situation worse, yet in all honesty her situation isn’t nearly as bad as “A Night Off” implied it would be. We learn within a few minutes that Atlas techs had no difficulty discovering that the video was doctored, even if the general population isn’t convinced of that yet. Ironwood believes her. So do the Ace Ops and all of RWBYJNR. Robyn wasn’t out to seek revenge on Penny or anything, she just redoubled her efforts to help Mantle as a whole. The only thing that stunt seems to have achieved---besides general stress/division which, frankly, an attack without any framing would have created just as well---is the call to deactivate Penny. But as we just established, no one in power is inclined to do that. No one, from Ironwood to Winter to Pietro, is swayed by this “Penny is a danger” rhetoric. And what’s the public going to do? Storm Atlas and deactivate her themselves? For all the emotion Pietro shows, it doesn’t feel like Penny herself is in any danger, only her reputation. Nor does it feel like the villains’ plan has succeeded in hurting the heroes’ plans. The conflict of today’s episode regarding whether Ironwood continues to pull from Mantle to finish the Amity project existed before Penny’s framing. That just added some tangentially related drama. Feels like a missed opportunity for the villains’ well-executed frame job to, you know, actually achieve something.

I’m getting ahead of myself though. In an effort to prevent any more killings Ironwood cracks down on security, announcing that there are to be no public gatherings of any kind and that everyone must obey the curfew. It’s another case of “You can’t treat people like this” up against “I’m trying to keep people from dying via serial killer.” Obviously not everyone is obeying these new laws. Alongside a few civilians braving the authorities, Robyn and her Happy Huntresses are out stealing the supply trucks meant for Amity and re-distributing those supplies to the people. As a lovely anon pointed out (I’m so far behind on asks I’ll work on that!) how is sucking an entire truck and all its contents into your hand not magic? It’s just another example in a long list of world building details that RWBY hasn’t bothered to think through because they never established rules for their fantasy universe. Hell, at this point semblances are far more powerful and mind-bending than the actual magic we see Ozpin and the Maidens performing. What’s a bit of fire and lighting up against, “I can pull a ton of metal and supplies directly into my skin”?

With another truck in their possession we return to the group in Ironwood’s office. He title drops with how this is the worst case scenario: more people are dead, Penny is framed, and Jacques is somehow sitting on the council. Of course, any long-time RWBY viewer knows that this probably isn’t the worst case scenario. Things will no doubt get so much worse. Clover summarizes by saying that Robyn has moved from “hometown hero to full on vigilante” and then we enter the portion of the episode that made me want to beat my head against a wall.

Here’s the lowdown. The Amity project is permanently stalled because Robyn is taking all the supplies needed to finish it. They’re having trouble stopping her because those Happy Huntresses have one hell of a collection of semblances. A possible solution to this problem would be to declare martial law, further increasing the presence of the military in Mantle and thus, hopefully, stopping her. This would, however, further divide the people of Mantle from Ironwood. So what to do? Decisions, decisions.

The reason why this conflict isn’t a compelling investment for the viewer is because it still hinges on knowledge that Ironwood doesn’t have. As Yang herself will later say, “Do you think we should have told Ironwood about Salem? Before he put so much on the line for Amity?” Every choice he makes is done under the impression that he can defeat Salem and therefore these sacrifices are worth it. Amity Arena is top priority because once we unite the world against her she won’t stand a chance. Losing some defenses in Mantle? Incurring the peoples’ hatred? Declaring martial law? Even risking lives via grimm? All of it is worth it because in the end he’ll have rid the world of a woman who has, single-handedly, changed entire kingdoms for the worse. Remember that Mantle only looks like it does now because Ironwood witnessed firsthand how Salem wormed her way into Beacon and burned it to the ground. From destroying entire schools to killing people at parties, she is the world’s biggest threat. It makes perfect sense to me that he would be willing to go to these lengths in order to stop her. We can debate, as Oscar does, when he’ll have gone too far or if he already has, but that logic remains sound. You’re worried about peoples’ immediate needs? I’m worried about the day when Salem breaks into this kingdom and straight up slaughters them all. It’s inevitable. So Ironwood says yes, we need to make things worse now so that they can be better later. We need to make sacrifices.

Too bad he doesn’t know that it’s all for naught.

Which brings me to the group’s reactions. I mean... holy shit. First off, when Ironwood announces that Amity is on hold Ruby gets super upset. “But we’re so close! There must be some way we can finish the tower.” Ruby, why are you pushing for this to be a priority? You know that Salem can’t be killed! You know that telling the world about her will achieve nothing but panic! People aren’t going to unite against an immortal grimm queen. They’re going to do precisely what you all did before the story decided to gloss over or outright ignore your motivations for fighting an “impossible” fight: They’ll give up. They’ll fall into despair. They’ll make like Qrow and decide that nothing has meaning anymore. Why would it when there’s an immortal antagonist hell bent on our destruction? Ruby’s ‘But we have to finish the tower :o’ reaction makes no sense. Going along with this project because she’s comfy cozy being an Atlas huntress makes sense. Hypocritical, but still. Ruby pushing for the project when it’s doing even more harm, when she knows its primary use is pointless? Prioritizing it over those immediate needs? Like... what? This should have been the moment where Ruby came clean. Or at least kept quiet and looked guilty some more. “Yeah, Ironwood... now that this project is unambiguously hurting the people... you should probably know that it’s kinda... not gonna work...”

Then there’s Nora. Remember how I said I wanted her status as a poor orphan to clash with the privilege and authority around her? Yeah, would have been great if there was at least a little build-up to that. Or if another character acknowledged why she, out of the whole cast, is literally screaming at Ironwood over his choices. I mean sure, like with Oscar not showing up to fight the geist there’s an obvious answer here---Nora was once one of the people in Mantle. Not literally, but in all the ways that matter. Or, if you believe some theories, yes literally if she was originally born here---but it would be nice if the show actually established some of these connections rather than banking on the viewer not only picking up on them, but assuming that the writing indeed meant to create that link. These moments of personal growth are too important to drop in with so little lead in. We see Nora comment on the state of Mantle when they arrive and from there it’s just her steadily challenging Ironwood more and more. No acknowledgment as to why that’s such a sensitive topic for an otherwise bubbly girl and no deconstruction of these feelings after she shows them. I’ve mentioned before that Ironwood is crazy calm while having a bunch of teens challenge him like this. Same here. The level of fury Nora demonstrates is staggering given how, from a ‘What have we seen on screen?’ standpoint, it came out of nowhere.

The best part though is when Clover points out that telling the city there’s a serial killer on the lose could make things even worse. Suddenly the situation wouldn’t be, “Ironwood’s robot inexplicably attacked once but is now safely in custody” but rather, “The killer is still out there, wants to kill more, and is fully capable of doing so.” Cue more panic. Cue more grimm. Considering that this is primarily Nora’s concern, the fact that Mantle is vulnerable to grimm attacks through a combination of resources going to Amity and their general despondence drawing the monsters in, this point should be very relevant to her right now. Oh yeah, maybe we don’t want to freak people out even more because then more people die. The people I am currently trying to defend.

Instead she throws up her hands and exclaims, “I am so sick of secrets! If we just told everyone about Amity, about Salem---!” Then she’s cut off by Ironwood.

Nora. I love you. I really, really do. But:

This is my holiday card this year lol. A stranger and a random dog I found on PicsArt spouting my feelings. Happy Holidays. Needless to say, we’re more than halfway through the volume and I’m so over this high horse the group is riding. Nora’s stance would be a compelling one if she weren’t demanding from Ironwood the very thing she and her friends are unwilling to do.

Although, that little slip says a lot about precisely how far the group is taking the ‘no one is allowed to keep secrets but us’ stance. Tell Mantle about Salem? Really? They know that won’t accomplish anything in the vein of uniting them against her like Ironwood intends. Not if killing her is their final goal. Nora seems to want to tell them because secret keeping is just a Bad Thing and Ironwood is a Bad Man for keeping information from his people. Forget the consequences of telling them and, again, forget Nora’s own hypocrisy. It’s really amazing how far the writing is taking this assumption that anyone who keeps secrets from anyone else is automatically in the wrong unless you’re RWBYJNR.

Bleh. We’ve gotta move on. Too much else to cover and what more is there to say? The writing is an absolute mess.

Prior to Nora’s outburst we learn more about Tyrian. Tyrian Callows, as his file reveals. For those of you who weren’t inclined to read that teeny tiny print, my tired eyes are here to help. Winter gives a basic summary of Tyrian’s record and subsequent arrest/escape, but the scroll provides more details. After a series of murders he was detained and set to move from Mistral to Atlas. The man in charge, Pickerel, wanted additional forces for this move, clearly expecting that Tyrian would try to escape. He was denied this and eventually kicked off the mission for not cooperating. During Tyrian’s transport the airship was attacked by a swarm of grimm, despite the fact that the area they were passing through was considered relatively safe. Tyrian continues to speak throughout the ship’s transmission despite severe injuries from the crash. He was heard saying, “What are you? What are you?” sobbing and eventually ending with “Beautiful.” (Edit: My mistake. Cornetto is the one who asks, “What are you?”). At the time Atlas officials assumed he had been killed by grimm, despite the fact that no bodies were found. There’s a note revising this to say he was suspected to have escaped after Pickerel was found dead in his house.

Obviously, Tyrian met Salem that day.

So Winter and the Ace Ops aren’t pleased to hear that this notorious serial killer is in their city and working for their greatest enemy, but at least they all believe Ruby about what she saw. Ironwood eventually shuts the whole conversation down, announcing that they need to put their efforts towards stopping Robyn and Tyrian. Winter and Clover give the expected, “Yes, sir!” in regards to this order. So does Ren. Like I said last week, ignoring all his concerns and trying to fix things with a kiss is not something that works. Glad to see Ren’s new work ethic and devotion to the fight didn’t magically disappear because Nora decided to make a move.

We transfer to Yang and Blake where they FINALLY bring up Adam. Hallelujah! It’s too little too late, but as I’ve said before, better late than never. Granted, it’s not much of a conversation. Yang insists they did what they had to do. Blake says she never wants to be in another position where she’s forced to kill someone. Understandable perspective, but not really the sort of thing you can control when plenty of others are out to kill you. Unless Blake swears to never kill again and upholds that ideal over the inevitable danger to herself and others, that’s just not something she’s going to be able to avoid.

Still very glad it exists, but considering that their talk didn’t actually delve into much regarding that trauma I’m more interested in the things they have to say about the continued secret keeping. This is where Yang once again questions whether they should tell Ironwood and finds that Blake doesn’t agree. Why is this significant? Because I don’t think I’ve ever seen someone disagree with Yang and get out of it without a glare at best, violence at worst. Yang herself points out that Blake doesn’t seem to be on board with her perspective and is so very gentle about it. It’s clear Yang in no way blames Blake for this difference between them. She legitimately wants to understand her position. Once again, I’m torn. On the one hand Yang should absolutely be commended for the mature way she handled this conversation. On the other hand... it’s Blake. We’ve already seen time and time again that Blake is the exception to Yang’s every rule. I wasn’t joking when I said back in Volume 6 that I primarily like Yang as a character when she’s interacting with Blake because it’s only when she’s with Blake (and to a lesser extent Ruby) that we see this calm, rational, sympathetic version of Yang. Though it is, as said, great that she can approach a difference between them in a healthy and level-headed manner, I’d also like to see her manage the same with someone other than the woman she’s clearly in love with. I’ll believe that Yang has undergone actual growth when she can demonstrate this kind of maturity with someone she’s not already eager to impress and desperate not to create a rift with.

In addition, we get to watch Yang explain how Ironwood “didn’t have many good options” and Blake responds with, “I’m not sure there are many good options left for any of us anymore.” Yet somehow, astoundingly, neither of them manages to apply this perspective to Ozpin. The cast is literally repeating all the arguments I’ve made in Ozpin’s defense---trusting people is dangerous, secrets are hard to part with, you’re not a bad person if you only have shit options to choose from and have to choose something---yet no one actually acknowledges the one character this most applies to.

It’s after all this talk of secret keeping that Blake and Yang decide that they don’t have to follow Ironwood’s orders. Which... is a problem. Because yes actually, they do. Remember how they’re official huntsmen now? Remember how this is a job that comes with rules, regulations, and adhering to the orders you’re given? I’m not saying they’re morally in the wrong here. We can likewise debate the significance of Robyn having this information, whether she’s trustworthy, etc. Rather, I’m merely pointing out that by taking on this job the group agreed to follow Ironwood and obey his instructions. They’ve now broken that promise. It likewise raises the question of whether they’ll tell everyone about this. Based on Blake’s “We’ll distract [the Ace Ops]” it doesn’t sound like they’re going to walk into Ironwood’s office an hour later and admit that they made their own choice based on their own moral code, giving him the chance to dismiss them. I don’t want people working for me who I can’t trust to follow my orders and all that. Which would mean, you know, that they’re keeping another secret. That cycle of hypocrisy will continue, now in the form of Yang and Blake patting themselves on the back for not hiding information from Robyn while likewise hiding new information from Ironwood. So I’m interested to see how and if they’ll admit to this decision, one they made without Ironwood’s or the rest of the team’s input.

Of course, Blake and Yang only get half a pat on the back here. It’s not like they actually came clean in regards to Salem, the primary secret hanging over everyone’s heads. They are, again, acting precisely like Ozpin: doling out little bits and pieces of information as they see fit. I thought for a moment that they truly intended to tell Robyn everything but would be interrupted before they could. Instead Yang says straight out that they’re refusing to come clean about it all and Robyn swears that she “won’t stop until I learn the whole truth.” So congratulations, you further solidified the parallel between you and the man you’re still ignoring, made a pretty huge decision without the input of your partners or boss, and will potentially hide that information in an ever growing list of secrets. If that’s the case that will bring Yang’s total to five: my mom is the Spring Maiden, Salem can’t be killed, the relic attracts grimm, we’re the reason Ozpin is missing, and Robyn now knows about your project thanks to us.

During this whole conversation Robyn reveals that she has the lie detector semblance rather than Ironwood and... Really? I brought up before how many problems that inevitably causes. Case and point: if Robyn can just clasp someone’s hand and tell if they’re lying, why not do that with Ironwood weeks or months ago? Prior to Tyrian’s attack it was abundantly clear that Robyn would prefer to work with Ironwood but isn’t sure she can trust that he has the people’s best interests at heart; Ironwood likewise would prefer to work with Robyn but isn’t sure he can trust her period. Ironwood literally told the group last episode that the fact that they’re not already working together isn’t fully his fault (like the group wants to insist). Working together requires both parties being willing to come together... and here’s a super easy solution on Robyn’s end of things. Not sure about Ironwood’s motives? Shake his hand, ask him to make a statement about it, and find out! For me, the reveal of this semblance just puts more responsibility on Robyn’s shoulders than Ironwood’s. She could have taken more steps towards reconciliation, confident in her unique ability to confirm information. Ironwood? He’s working on pure faith in people which, as the last two volumes have shown, isn’t much to work with at all.

I don’t even want to get into the issues with this semblance moving forward. Unless Robyn because a full-blown enemy or is killed in the finale, every times someone is worried about lying I’m going to ask, “Why not just get Robyn?” It’s too easy a solution, one that writers are inclined to ignore when they don’t want a quick answer, and that disconnect rankles.

We segue to Pietro’s lab and hark! A Maria! She’s apparently been helping Pietro out with all the Amity Tower stuff lately, much appreciated work considering he would have collapsed under the workload otherwise. How kind. A perfectly logical use of her time. Now why couldn’t you have told us that five episodes ago?

Tiny edits, Rooster Teeth. Simple revisions. RWBY continues to read like a first draft. Plenty of potential, but there’s so much missing or disorganized that the viewer is left frustrated because we can see so clearly what it could have been... but we didn’t get that. A pity.

With Maria’s existence re-confirmed we dive into a number of revelations. Most notably that Pietro didn’t succeed in creating an artificial aura for Penny, he merely found a way to share a part of his with her. That’s why he’s so ill and the more times Penny needs to be rebuilt, the more aura he has to give up to revive her. The assumption? There will come a final time, likely at the end of the volume, when Penny will need a recharge and Pietro will die. It’s a setup I’m actually thrilled about if we ignore the obligatory grief over losing a good side character. That reveal was a surprise for most viewers, yet is something that still makes sense based on what we previously knew (a lot of “twists” end up retconning past info) and would lead to a very satisfying ending. Pietro, already an old man, passes on knowing he’s given his daughter the best life he can. All this coughing and death flags reach a conclusion by the end of the volume. Penny is saved but from here on out everyone knows she’s mortal. It adds weight to every fight she’s in and removes the probability that she’ll indefinitely live out everyone she’s ever loved. She might have a longer lifespan than most if she keeps herself safe, but she’s not immortal. All around? One of the best things Rooster Teeth has introduced in ages.

We also see Weiss closing in on Jacques’ involvement in the attack. Only a few people have access to Mantle’s security, one of which is directly connected to the Schnee Dust Company...

Finally, god bless, our favorite farm boy gets a scene. An actual, full-fledged scene in which he speaks multiple times.

I could cry. It might be the only significant scene we get with Oscar this Volume, but it’s far more than we’ve had in an age. Hell to the yes.

Basically, Ironwood shows off the Staff of Creation’s vault and admits that this is what is keeping Atlas afloat, not gravity dust as everyone else assumes. Which is a revelation not nearly as well done as Penny’s. Floating? That’s what this all powerful magical object does? How in the world does that connect to creation? And why bother doing that at all? It’s clear that gravity dust can keep things up---Ironwood said that they’ll have to lift Amity the “old-fashioned way”---so why bother using the relic for that when an “endless power source” could potentially be used to do so much more? Or let’s say dust can’t lift a whole city (even though you’d think someone would have realized that by now if that’s the case, questioned how the hell Atlas stays up there...) why is that so important? Just overall grimm protection? A symbol of status? This reveal seems to raise too many odd questions and, frankly, feels like a clumsy setup for the finale. Meaning, now Atlas is in risk of falling. If someone steals the relic or decides to move things along by lifting Amity with it, the entire city comes tumbling down.

With info out of the way Ironwood admits that he’d hoped coming to this place would spark some memory in Oscar, talking about him as if he is Ozpin, rather than just housing him. He likewise says later that “Eventually you won’t even know who’s who anymore.” Everyone cry over Oscar’s expression.

Jury’s out on whether Ironwood knows this for a fact or whether he’s working under an assumption, like much of the fandom, that Ozpin and Oscar will eventually merge into one new-ish person. After all, from what we saw in Volumes 1-3, Ironwood only ever interacted with Ozpin as one individual, so he has little reason to think there was always another, distinct person hanging out somewhere in his mind. But there could have been. I’ve mentioned in previous metas that if Ozpin and Oscar remain distinct, it makes perfect sense that Ozma would have been the one running things at Beacon, leaving the much younger and inexperienced host to take a backseat during those conversations.

Indeed, I thought for a moment that Oscar would say, “You can talk to him,” finally acknowledging that if someone tries to address Ozpin as his own person he might actually respond. He just says “You can talk to me” though. Which, yes. I also want people to talk to Oscar. It just astounds me that everyone continues to act as if Ozpin is literally out of their reach, rather than potentially a “Hey. I’m sorry. Can we talk?” away. Maybe Ozpin won’t answer, but someone could finally try.

They talk about how horrific it was for Ironwood to watch Beacon fall. We get a wonderfully creepy flashback to Salem’s chess piece, reminding us that she’s not just dangerous, she’s malicious. Salem enjoys watching those around her suffer. “The way she told me she was there.” They likewise discuss whether Salem doesn’t have an advantage without her humanity and Oscar cautions Ironwood that saving the world isn’t worth losing his own. Not to call out my favorite farm boy, but that’s a real easy stance to take when you know Salem is immortal and Ironwood doesn’t. Again, every sacrifice he makes is under the impression that it’s taking him closer and closer to a world without her. To his mind, losing his own humanity might be worth it if it rids the world of her once and for all. Meanwhile, Oscar is working under the impression that defeating Salem won’t ever happen. Why give up your humanity for an impossible dream? They’re coming at this from completely different angles and until everyone has the same info the group’s stance on Ironwood’s choices holds no water. The fandom loves insisting that RWBYJNR couldn’t have made an informed choice about joining the fight until they knew about Salem, despite the fact that they had already agreed to fight an immortal enemy (the grimm), had already risked their lives for the people, and clearly intended to continue doing that in the future. Knowing about Salem had no bearing on the question, “Do you want to help?” because they’d already answered that numerous times. In contrast, this is a situation where Ironwood actually doesn’t have all the information necessary to make an informed decision. You want to judge him for his plans and his willingness to sacrifice it all in the name of defeating Salem? Fine, but you’ve got to stop working with a different set of rules than him first.

Of course, despite being alone in the bottom of a vault, despite introducing Oscar’s (supposed) reservations about keeping secrets earlier in the volume, despite this insight into why Ironwood is making these choices... Oscar doesn’t tell Ironwood either. So much for the, “Oscar will spill the beans to Ironwood” theory. It could still happen, but like so much else in this episode by then it’ll be too late. The moment passed.

Instead of any progress in that regard they just head upstairs where Winter and Penny are waiting with a letter from Jacques. He’s invited them to dinner where Ironwood will defend his position on the council. Looks like Oscar’s advice to “talk to the people you’re most afraid to” came at them like a battering ram.

And that’s it for this week. What have we got left? Six episodes? Far too few to cover everything the story needs to. I’m gearing up for a bumpy ride this holiday season.

Until then, folks!

Minor Things of Note

The robot patting Penny’s head? Wonderful. Stellar. Absolutely fantastic detail. The idea that the Atlas facilities are populated with semi-conscious AIs and that they care enough about Penny to offer her support is just precious.

I like many of the shots we got this episode. Penny looking like she’s behind bars and Ironwood shrouded in a mist-like window are two that stood out.

#rwby #rwby volume 7 #rwby volume 7 spoilers #rwby recaps #mymetas

56 notes · View notes

pilot-boi · 4 years

Text

In Another Stream: Chapter Three

In The Eye

It was over. There was nothing, and no one left. That’s how it felt, in the eye of a storm. A brief calm. A time to regroup, before you were plunged back into the worst of it all over again.

AO3 LINK

Jaune’s scroll buzzed. Both of them jumped. “Hold that thought,” Jaune said, fumbling the device out of his pocket. The blood on his gloved made the slender scroll hard to open, but he eventually managed it.

“It’s a text from Ruby!” Jaune said, to which Oscar perked up considerably. No call this deep into the island, but a text was good enough for him. It proved that she hadn’t been captured, and, more importantly, it proved that she was still alive.

He seriously thought that one more loss in quick succession would’ve sent him rocketing over the edge that he knew he had nearly fallen over. Only the knowledge of Oscar’s newly-discovered Semblance, and the plan growing in his mind had kept from plummeting over that edge.

It was incredible what a little foolish hope could do.

“She’s alive,” Oscar breathed, looking as relieved as Jaune felt. “What did she say?”

“Oh right! Um…” Jaune scanned over the short message, eyes catching more than once on the empty Aura meters of his teammates at the top of the screen. “Um, she says that her uncle has been arrested, and Tyrian has escaped.” He paused, eyes widening in shock. “Clover is dead.”

“Dead?” Oscar almost whispered. “How? Is Ruby alright?”

“She didn’t say,” Jaune murmured, mind running through all the possibilities. His scroll buzzed again, and Jaune’s face blanched. “S-Salem is here,” he stuttered, voice shaking with disbelief. “She’ll be here by morning.”

“Gods...what’re we gonna do?” Oscar asked nobody in particular. “How do we even begin to fix this?” Jaune couldn’t answer him, he had no answers to give. His whole team was dead, along with Penny, Winter, and the head of the Ace-Ops. Ironwood was AWOL, Qrow was arrested, Tyrian was loose, and Salem was almost here.

All he had was the beginnings of a plan that might be their only hope.

“Oscar, how did you activate your Semblance?” Jaune asked suddenly, crouching and taking Oscar’s shoulder’s in his hands.

“I- what? Why?” The boy spluttered, thrown by the out-of-the-blue question.

“Just answer. Please.” Jaune needed to know this answer, his whole plan hinged on it.

“I guess, I just focused on what I wanted to change,” Oscar recalled slowly, concentrating on remembering. “And then my Semblance just...gave me the time I needed to try.”

The knight sagged in relief. “It’ll work,” he breathed, mind already hopscotching along the path of the plan.

“What will work?”

“I’ve got a plan. Now, it’s risky,” he cautioned, clambering to his feet and running his hands through his hair, leaving sticky red streaks of blood behind in the tousled curls. “And I’m not even sure it’ll work, but I think it’s the only way we stand a chance.”

He was pacing and gesturing wildly, emphasizing every word with a movement. “Because you- you could fix everything! The election, the attack, Neo, Cinder, the deaths...” Jaune trailed off and stopped pacing, coming to a halt just before his teammates’ bodies. His family’s bodies.

“Oscar, you could fix everything,” Jaune said, turning to the dumbfounded and skeptical looking boy. He knew he probably looked manic, what with the blood on his hands and the light in his eyes, but that did that matter at this point. “But...But I don’t know if it’ll work,” he finished, deflating slightly and wringing his hands together.

“If what will work? Jaune, you’re not making any sense!” Oscar exclaimed, looking more than a little alarmed. “I don’t know how it works! Heck, I don’t even know if I can travel back that far!”

“Sure you can, I’ll boost you,” Jaune reassured him, striding back over. “Just focus on changing the election results. Just the results, and you should be taken back to election night. Before…” Jaune glanced at Penny’s body, suspended on her own sword. “Before everything started going wrong.”

“Shouldn't we ask the others?” Oscar protested, trying not to think about how much their numbers have dropped in just one night.

“I…” Jaune hesitated. Salem could be there any minute. And every second that ticked by was more distance Oscar had to travel. “There’s no time,” Jaune answered, regretfully. Ironic, that’s what it was. Not having enough time to communicate their plan to their friends. “So...you got the plan?”

“Election night?” Oscar asked, and got a nod in reply. “But...that’s over a week ago! Boosting me that much, losing that much Aura could kill you!”

Jaune shook his head and fixed Oscar with a focused gaze. “If I die giving you more time, then it’s worth it,” he said fiercely. “Besides,” he glanced at Ren and Nora’s still bodies, “What else could I lose?” he murmured to himself, rubbing his sash between his fingers.

Oscar nodded, gaze hardening. “Okay. I’ll try.” Jaune’s eyes widened with shock and what looked like pride, and then he drew the boy into a bone crushing hug. Oscar stiffened, startled by the sudden embrace. But then he returned it, and the two boys simply sat there. Shaking with sobs and hugging in the blood stained hallway.

“I’m gonna fix this,” Oscar promised through his tears.

“You better, or I’ll come back from the grave and haunt you,” Jaune threatened, squeezing Oscar tighter, as if determined to not let him leave.

“I just wish I didn’t have to do this alone,” Oscar admitted, hating how much he sounded like a little kid at that moment.

“Don’t worry, I’m gonna be with you every step of the way,” Jaune reassured him, leaning out of the hug and ruffling the boy’s hair. “What’re big brothers for, anyway?”

Oscar grinned for a moment, a light returning to his eyes that had been missing ever since that sword had impaled Penny. He swallowed nervously, but his eyes were focused. “Okay. Let’s do it.”

The knight nodded and put one hand on each of Oscar’s shoulders. Oscar closed his eyes, and cleared his mind of anything except changing the election. A soft green glow enveloped the boy, and for a moment he seemed to flicker. It was now or never.

Jaune squeezed his eyes shut and focused all of his energy on pushing every last bit of that liquid light into Oscar Pine. More and more, faster and faster, a flood of energy passed from Jaune’s body into Oscar. The glow of their Auras intertwined, white battling green.

They were moving backwards, but they weren’t moving. Jaune was searching every last corner of his being for more Aura to give to Oscar. Oscar was being overwhelmed by more energy than he’d ever felt before. How the heck did Jaune hold this much Aura without burning up?

It was a blazing inferno, like the sun. Overwhelming white light flooded his vision, lighting the path back to the moment of the election. In the dorms, asking Weiss to go to the movies. It seemed so simple now. Pure white Aura blinded and guided him along the winding path to the past.

Jaune was running out, running dry. He hadn’t felt this cold and empty of Aura in nearly three years. But still he pressed on, pushing and giving every last bit of energy he had to the boy who was their only hope. He was the one who mattered, not Jaune.

There wasn’t much left to give though. He could nearly feel his life and soul dripping away. His very being, sacrificed so that his friends might be able to live. Anything for them.

Anything at all.

The rushing backwards sensation stopped.

In a dead timeline, Jaune Arc’s hands fell away from empty space. Oscar was gone. Jaune collapsed forwards, and his arms didn’t catch him. He had no strength to be able to. He was dead before he hit the ground. Finally team JNPR was reunited at long last..

It was all he’d hoped for since Ren and Nora had died. There was nothing left for him here. Just the ability to help them try again.

In the past, Oscar Pine blinked his eyes once, twice. He swayed and nearly fell over. Jaune stopped asking about the movies and steadied him, worry coloring his features.

He spotted Nora and Ren about to walk off with Ruby. He’d made it. He did it.

“Oscar, are you okay?” Jaune asked at nearly the same time Ruby did.

“I’m fine,” he assured them, smiling around at his friends. His still-alive and not bleeding out on the concrete floor of a hallway hundreds of feet beneath them. He fixed Ruby with a serious gaze.

“What is it?” Nora asked, leaning against Ren and glaring slightly when he moved away. Oscar sighed and smiled softly, watching their antics. Happy that they were alive to have antics.

“It’s a long story.”

#rwby #oscar pine #jaune arc #lie ren #nora valkyrie #ruby rose #mine #my writing #in another stream #chapter 3

17 notes · View notes

gascon-en-exil · 4 years

Text

Joining the Game Late: S7E5 “Eastwatch”

Synopsis

Jaime and Bronn surface. Dany offers terms of surrender, but Randyll won’t take them because xenophobia so she invites him and his son to a barbecue instead. Cersei is pissed that Olenna went out quietly. Jon pets Drogon - foreshadowing! - and also Jorah is back. Bran sees the dead marching on Eastwatch, and Sam has little luck getting the Citadel to give a damn about it. Varys drinks his doubts and Tyrion has a stupid idea that everyone’s on board with. The Stark sisters resume their old friction. The Lannister brothers have a meeting courtesy of Davos and Bronn, and Cersei knew but now she wants to be clever because she’s got another twincest baby on the way. Davos finds Gendry, and they almost get out of King’s Landing with bribes of money and crab aphrodisiac until Tyrion’s arrival necessitates that Gendry break out the hammer. Gendry’s also not into hiding himself around Jon, and they bond over their dead fathers(?). Sam steals some scrolls from the Restricted Section and flees with Citadel with his family after Gilly reads to him from a record of foreshadowing and bowel movements. Now Arya’s watching Littlefinger and sneaking into his room to find an incriminating scroll, but he knows that she knows. The Brotherhood is going north of the Wall too, and it’s awkward reunions all around in the fellowship of...breathing.

Commentary

Now we’re in the setup for a heist movie? Huh?

This is the turning point of Season 7′s main plot, where it pivots from the back-and-forth war between two queens for the Iron Throne toward the threat everyone faces in the form of ice zombies descending on Westeros. That’s not inherently a bad idea given the form the conflict escalation of the final season takes, but the execution is bizarre to say the least. It all hinges on Tyrion’s absolutely ridiculous idea of bringing a wight back from north of the Wall to prove to Cersei that the threat in real and they should all work together, and yet in a conversation with Jaime Cersei admits that their recent losses to Daenerys have already placed her in a more diplomatic mood. Shouldn’t Tyrion or Varys or somebody else have figured out that that was likely to happen with Cersei backed into a corner, with or without the whole proof of undead angle? Naturally she’d be expected to have some underhanded way of killing them all, but it’s strange that Dany uses her recent victory to gain a bunch of new followers (and roast some C listers - they really could have written Dickon out rather than recast him with how little he did this season) but won’t leverage it to discuss a temporary alliance with Cersei against the Night King.

And yes, the result is that Jon forms a crack team of not-dead men to venture beyond the Wall, composed of a random assortment of moderately-developed characters from all manner of storylines. I appreciate that Beric points out that all of them have tried to kill or been allies with people who’ve tried to kill each other in the past, but while I enjoyed the plotline pileup in Dany’s war council at the start of the season I’m less sure of it here. For one thing her new allies made some sense in coming together, as all of them were major political players with a vendetta against the Lannisters. Here it’s just a bunch of guys from all walks of life meeting semi-randomly for an expedition, some of whom have little to no knowledge of what it is they’re planning to do. I guess Gendry and the Brotherhood get filled in between scenes? One could also make an observation about the demographics of these two groups. Daenerys’s allies were principally women and physically marginalized men, representing - for lack of a better word - progressive stances: slavery is bad, women can be rulers, one’s grandchildren should not be imprisoned by religious fanatics and then blown up because one of them likes it up the ass, etc. Jon’s team by contrast is entirely male, no eunuchs and dwarfs and (probably) all straight unless they have to huddle together for warmth, and setting out on a mission not unlike the subject matter of certain male-dominated movie genres. That may not have intentional per se, but given the flak the show’s ending received for what it said about women and specifically women in positions of power it’s not a great look in hindsight.

Honestly I’m more invested in the Winterfell storyline at this point, which remains as more or less the only subplot that hasn’t been welded to something bigger yet. Sansa and Arya pick up their disdain for each other’s priorities right where they left off, making for a refreshingly mundane bit of sibling interactions that will nonetheless have major consequences. I didn’t pause and read the note that Arya found in Littlefinger’s room, but online commentary tells me that it’s the letter that Cersei had forced Sansa to write to Robb asking him to bend the knee to Joffrey. I take it that’s going to be the basis for a blackmail plot, or something to that effect.

#Game of Thrones #GoT

4 notes · View notes

milkboxing · 5 years

Text

STRIKING GOLD ↯ txt

SUMMARY ⋮ your somewhat notoriously influential high school garage band urgently needs a replacement to their keyboardist whose arm is broken and you happen to be, at the precise instant they find you, free-styling the tomato song on the antediluvian piano found in the music room.

GENRE ⋮ humour, rock band!au, high school!au

ZAK’S NOTE ⋮ guitarist!beomgyu kept darting from one corner of my mind to the other and i just couldn’t help but write this shit.

Committing irreparable mistakes was one of the few things that Huening Kai was known to be good at by all, and even if he knew the repercussions that his broken arm due reckless biking would have on his band and the performance they were supposed to give for the upcoming school festival, the chances of him wearing his elbow pads would most likely be one in a million. He was nevertheless the happy-go-lucky and sickly optimistic boy he was and despite the fright he gave to his elder band mates, they chose to overlook his misconduct after a few inevitable reproaches. However, as much as they wish they did not have to race against the time that was quickly catching up with them, they could not let down the school, their local audience and all the threatening fingers pointed at them. Precisely. Like that of the vice student council onto whose frail shoulders the accountability of preparing for that event of capital importance reposed. Rumour had it that she was planning the murder of Soobin, the band’s leader who was also her prime partner as the previous student council but the latter was so taken up by rehearsals that he was bound to ditch the poor girl.

“For the last time Soobin,” she hissed, poking the tall boy’s chest, a visible crease between her eyebrows, “I have painstakingly managed to deal with everything encompassing the festival so far, if you plan on calling it quits with your band, you better be giving me a helping hand. . .” She was unable to complete her sentence as he heaved out an exasperated sighed. “I’m sorry,” he softly let out, running a hand through his hair, avoiding all eye contact with her, “I’d gladly do that but the dean is counting on us and he firmly believes that with or without Kai we should be in a position to perform. He says that we’re his meal ticket, whatever that is supposed to mean.” The girl frowned and Soobin’s pupils were then shaking a little. “I can’t put my hand on someone to replace Kai yet,” he added, “I’m sorry once again, Eunji. Once our lives are back to normal I’ll treat you to tteokbokki or any food you like and you have my word this time!” Soobin left with fast steps after patting her on her shoulder, picking up his pace as he spotted his classmate and best friend, whom you believed to be named Choi Something, at the other end of the corridor. Eunji turned and with battered puppy eyes, watched his back as it shrunk and muttered under her breath, “Screw you and those convincingly cute dimple of yours.”

You didn’t mean to but you happened to hear that part and you subtly reared your head, enough to peek at Eunji behind the door of your locker, her shoulders drooping like withered flowers and her braided hair unfortunately resembling a fringed mayhem. A pat on the shoulder? you mentally sympathised with her, she must have reached the peak of being friend-zoned. Banging the aperture of your locker shut, you readjusted your duffel bag on your shoulder and checked your watch, incognisant to the fact that the obnoxious noise you had produced snapped the elder girl out of her morose rêverie. Undecisive about what you would do of all the time you had to kill, you roamed around the busy school hallways where students were darting to and fro with boxes, boxes, desks and more boxes but none of the classrooms you passed by was fully empty. Somehow, while your conscience was swimming among the waves of Antlantis, your steps led you to the music room which reeked of mildew and the air was so heavy — especially when the greasy, brownish curtains gave the eerie impression of drawing the four walls closer together, as if the room was gradually shrivelling while the obscurity was lurking around, waiting to seize the opportunity of gobbling you up — that you had to suffocate a gulp in your throat.

Without losing any more time, you casted off your bag and dumped it on a chair, grateful enough that the abandoned desks, despite catching enough dust to permanently change of colours, were not covered in bird or lizard shit as you expected it. You pulled apart the curtains, strenuously opened the rusty windows, the hinges of which categorically refused to move due to rust, turned on the fan and instantly regretted it as the dust started swirling and chaotically flying around the room, making of you a Reindeer Rudolf who could not stop sneezing. To top up the whole thing, you stubbed your foot against the piano bench while you were blindly reaching out for the button to switch off the fan, your eyes stinging. Five minutes later, the dust had stabilised, the room was well aerated, the odour had either dissipated or been assimilated by your complex organism to such an extent that you couldn’t smell it the same way anymore, and your fingers were lazily gliding along the keys of the old piano. Loud footsteps and muffled voices that you knew belonged to the members of your somewhat notoriously influential school band could be heard in the corridor but you couldn’t care less.

Suddenly, an idea struck your head and you would have sworn that if your life was a cartoon, a light bulb would have popped up above your head at that very instant. Using your limited knowledge of whatever you had picked at the piano tuitions you had attended for six years and recently quit, you started skittering your fingers along the keys of the piano, your touch leaving whitened fingerprints everywhere. What seemed much better in your mind to be the melody of the nastily catchy and annoying tomato song, a famous nursery rhyme, escaped from the musical instrument and after a few more tries and unusual determination that you find hard to show for your studies, you managed to upgrade it to the most resembling version of the original song. You were, unluckily, too busy having an intense and sensational performance for your imaginary public, fervently tapping on the keys while humming to the lyrics that you missed to realise that the hallway had grown oddly silent and the door creaked open to reveal a few curious heads, piled one onto the other.

“LUMPY AND GORGEOUS FIGURE DRESSED IN RED—” yelled a voice that you failed to recognise because of how strained it sounded, but that nevertheless called you back to earth and drove you into ending the song with a sinister piano version of a keyboard smash. “—SWEET AND SOUR FLAVOUR, FASHIONABLE TOMATOES!” sang the oldest boy of the bunch, showing up with a seemingly dyed silver hair (unless you were right to think his hair turned grey, from all the stress he bore.) You stared at him, an inevitably judgemental expression adorning your face as the other boys projected either revulsion or amusement on their faces. Except Taehyun, this boy could withstand anything with an intimidating poker face but somewhere you could sense his confusion. “Yeonjun-hyung— hyung—” called out Beomgyu, a sophomore student whom you knew to be the lead guitarist of the band. He was a likeable guy, cheerful and a little irksome with his crazy loud laughter at times but based on what you’ve learnt he didn’t have many friends from his grade and hence hung out with your classmates Huening Kai and Taehyun all the time. “That’s enough hyung, yOU CAN SHUT UP NOW!” he yelled, calling the elder boy back to reason. Thankfully that sufficed, you were ready to fling your bag at the grey haired dude’s face. The two of them winged up bickering while the three others boys turned their faces to you (and that sucks because you had mentally planned on tiptoeing to the door while they were distracted), eerily in synchronisation, their lips stretching into mysterious smiles. Oh fuck, you cursed under your breath, they want something from me.

ii.

“To quote Hamlet,” you exasperatedly explained, slowly and emphasising on each word, “act three, scene three, line ninety-two, NO.” The boys’ faces fell, apart from Kai’s. He didn’t know how to give up and you could definitely tell that from the way his hazel eyes scrutinised you, that he was not going to give you the heave-ho so soon. Kai was a tough cookie — come hell or high water, he would neither avert his firm gaze from you, nor allow you to take the french leave and even less erase that fucking aweless rictus from his mouth. In other words, you were trapped like an artless little rabbit in a den of wolves. “Come on, please. . . [name]. . .? That’s your name, right?” trailed off Soobin, his glances endlessly shifting from his teammates to you, making sure to obtain nods and other responses of approbation. You couldn’t help but remark that despite his eminent presence, he was not especially self-assured for a leader. “Yeah, and no. The festival is tomorrow and there’s no way I could play a fucking keyboard for you. I won’t even be able to memorise the song lyrics,” your eyes widened as you added, “actually scratch that, i don’t even know how to sing!”

“Hey, calm down,” reassured Kai, snaking his arm around your shoulders, “We’re not asking you to be Mozart or Maria Carey. The melody is short and pretty repetitive so just being in tune will do. As for the singing. . . Simply try not to sound too much like a dying whale.” You gave him a sarcastic smile as he dumbly responded with a giddy one. Slapping away his arm, you replied on a passive aggressive tone, “First of all, don’t touch me unless you want to lose the other arm as well and secondly,” you turned to the rest of the boys, “I’d rather keep a low profile, if I ridiculise myself tomorrow I don’t think I’ll ever be able to get over the embarrassment of it. . .” The room suddenly fell tragically silent, the tense atmosphere weighing like a heavy load on everyone’s shoulders. “You won’t make a fool of yourself,” spoke up Taehyun. Your eyes met his and he firmly stared back, without showing any sign of emotion, like he usually does and you were reminded of his forgotten presence. “We’re not expecting you to be perfect [name]. There are times when the microphones decide to betray us in the middle of a performance, or a wrong guitar chord, a minimal voice crack that can seem to put it at stake. . . We don’t give perfect stages because we are only here to have the blast of our lives. My point is that, it’s human to make mistakes but that shouldn’t stop you from going forward,” he lectured in the most Taehyun-ish style ever. He had always been the voice of reason, as far as you remembered. “I mean, they usually make mistakes,” he pointed at his members, “not I.” Involuntarily, a giggle left your throat as the four other boys scoffed and wailed disapprovingly.

After five long minutes of debating your inner self and considering all the pros and cons to their proposition of being the substitute of Kai for the festival, you decided to simply say fuck it and gave in. “I’ll do it—” Your sentence was cut short by the band members’ relieved sighs and exclamations. (You were persuaded that the one who cried out for his mum was the grey haired dude.) “—but on one condition!” The boys exchanged confused glances with each other and some of them obviously gulped, fearing that you might want from them something that they could hardly afford. “What is it?” asked Soobin but more boldly than before. “Well, don’t ask me to put on some winged eyeliner, smoky makeup, a leather jacket and Doc Martens or I’m going to turn into the Hulk, crack my fucking shirt open and step on your necks; then run back home to wear a comfy pair of PJ’s!” The oldest of them all replied with a strangled chortle, “Don’t worry about that. As the person in charge of outfits here, I’ve made sure our Lumberzacks theme will be on point.”

“That’s even worse, goodness,” you sighed, “I quit.”

“I’m Yeonjun, by the way,” he introduced himself, coming forward to shake your hand, “Senior year, previous ace of the basketball team and top student. I’m pretty sure you know me already though.” You winced. You didn’t. “Not really but you have a nicer name than I would have thought. I had mentally named you Grandpa, because of your grey hair, you know?” you patted Yeonjun on the shoulder, “No offence though, I love the colouring. Besides, as our dear friend Kang Taehyun, right here, would say; there’s no shame in growing old—” His aura turned from charming kitty to growling dog in a matter of seconds. “If you really sing like a dying whale out there, you’ll be a depilated bitch after the performance.”

“Oh yes, snatch my wig bud.”

iii.

Two hours before the opening of the embellished hall, you were sitting on the cold parquet, amidst the mess of cables and under the colourful projector lights, eating a pizza with Beomgyu and Kai. Newspapers were glued to the windows and the curtains were closed, with only a few glow-in-the-dark stickers in form of spaceships, planets and other celestial bodies glimmering dimly in the atrociously dark hall. The decor was breathtaking; there were painted balls of all sizes hanging at the edge of the stage and ovnis and rocks made of papier mâché surrounded the musical instruments and a marmalade orange and yellowish tie-and-dye bedsheet was hung behind them, portraying a sunset or what the boys believed to be in some way, the atmosphere on planet Mars. Having arduously practised with them and with the generous assistance that Kai brought to you, despite his little piques and the other things he does, rubbing you the wrong way, you felt like you were ready to give an otherworldly show.

Yeonjun approached the three of you, with a hanger, a black sweater dangling from it and the name of their band, TXT, written somewhere on it. He stole the last part of the pizza before handing you the piece of clothing (more like throwing it in your direction.) You heaved out a sigh of relief. It was not like you actually believed he would pull out a pink checkered shirt and an axe for you but for your defence, he sounded strangely convincing when he brought up the Lumberzacks concept, the previous day. “You can keep it,” he said, while taking a seat in your circle, “Mm, this pizza is so good! I’m seriously starving right now.” Kai reached out for a can of Sprite but after a few failed attempts of plucking the tab in order to open it, you had to do it for him. That was when, out of the blue, it hit you. “Hey Kai,” you made direct eye contact with him, “you don’t need your arms to sing, do you?” The boy choked, soda threatening to precipitate down his nostrils as you disgustedly passed a tissue paper to him. “I— I don’t but. . .” he gulped, “you’re not thinking of. . .”

“Yup. I’m definitely thinking of getting you a sweater, a microphone and a damn chair,” you stated, to which he retorted: “Look at how aesthetically appealing the stage is, you don’t wanna drag a chair in the middle and have me in my plastered arm sing in front of the whole school—” You tutted, interrupting him, totally unwilling to hear him whine lamer excuses. “Fuck the aesthetic Ning,” you claimed, “I’m dragging your ass onto that stage whether you like it or not.” He was bound to surrender when Beomgyu added, his cheeks filled with food, “Datsh right bruh shtahp bein ah pushy! (That’s right bro, stop being a pussy!)”

At four, the hall had turned into a hive of activity and three quarter of the whole student body at school was present, their mobile phones as well as a ton of snacks in hand. It was soon filled to the brim, and in the middle of the tumult, you spotted Eunji, strenuously hopping and snaking among the sweaty bodies of the cantankerous students while murmuring “excuse me” nonstop. She was carrying a huge pack of water bottles and you realised that they were for the band but you were internally worried about her visible dark circles and her trembling hands, fearing that she might collapse at any instant. On seeing her approaching the door of the dressing room, you stepped forward so as to receive her. All of a sudden, Eunji tripped over someone’s bag and would have heavily fallen to the ground if Soobin had not bolted at the speed of light to catch her. Some of the water bottles had left the pack and you hastily picked them up from the ground but before entering the changing room again, you slightly peeked at the two oblivious lovebirds. “This festival is not worth you losing sleep over it,” reassured Soobin, grabbing the girl by the shoulder while leading her to a free place (where he had intentionally placed his belongings before) in the front row, “you’ve done a great job and it’s thanks to you if today’s event is a success. Sorry again for being such a dick but if it’s not too much to ask, would you like to stay. . .?” A sparse blush highlighted the tall boy’s porcelain cheeks and a smile made its apparition on his brightened face when Eunji accepted his proposal.

“See you later, then.” He awkwardly waved at her.

“Sure. Good luck Soobin!”

The enthusiasm in the hall was electric. The cheers were deafening and the flashes of the camera would have blinded you if you did not focus on fixing the keys of the keyboard instead of staring at the crowd, in the obscurity, dancing and a particular little group of them screaming along the lyrics. You exchanged complicit, overjoyed glances and smiles with the other members of the band. Soobin’s singing lines, as you had guessed, were mostly dedicated to the vice student council, you concluded as you caught him several times, glancing in her direction. When Beomgyu’s solo part came, the projector lights all focused on him and he went hardcore, passionately plucking on the strings of his beloved guitar, his neck veins popping and sweat dripping down his cheeks. For the split of a second, you felt your own heart skip a beat. Goodness, you soared, he indeed is a ladies’ man. What was at first a performance that you dreaded with everything you had, prolonged with an unexpected encore and eventually ended up metamorphosing into a free-styling concert. At that very moment, you realised that your euphoric self was for the first time in so long, in seventh heaven.

💌 MASTERLIST

#txt #tomorrow x together #choi soobin #choi beomgyu #choi yeonjun #huening kai #kang taehyun #band!au #txt imagines #tomorrow x together imagines #txt scenarios #txt blurbs #txt reactions #zakwrites🌥

45 notes · View notes

disappearinginq · 6 years

Text

Sorry if you’re not here because you know about my Deception fics (a fandom that has taken up most of my time recently). But you’re about to get vaguely rant-y updates.

I like guest reviewers. Really, I do. I’m not a huge fan of the ones who use anonymous mode to complain about the way I expand on a head canon who ask me questions without a way of answering without posting it in an update or new chapter. So you poor people get answers here.

1) I have serious problems accepting MW as any source of legitimate information. Of her own feelings or otherwise. As the audience, we know she didn’t know there were two Black kids when she first met Johnny as a kid. She thought he was Cameron. So that supposed ‘kindred spirit’ thing she keeps going on about is based off of false information. When she thought it was Cameron on the roof, she was going to shoot Johnny in the back of the head in 1x08. Doesn’t sound like she had any idea who she was talking to, or who she supposedly had a connection with, and considering the episode ends with her telling her minion ‘she picked the wrong brother’. Up until Cameron had no idea what she was talking about when she mentioned Iceland, she thought her ‘soulmate’ was Cameron. Even when she’s talking to Jonathan at the bar in the finale, when it shows how they met the second time, she thinks she’s talking to Cameron, because at this point, she doesn’t know there’s two of them. Which means her connection she thinks she sees is the one where they’re kids doomed to the life their parents laid out for them.

2) No, I don’t think Jonathan has it in for Cameron. Anyone who has siblings knows you can hate one another, but if an outsider butts in, all bets are off. I can call my sister a jerk. You call my sister a jerk, and you’re losing teeth. And I think Jonathan has been told his whole life how to feel about his brother by other people. You can even see the change in him when he hears Cameron whine that MW electrocuted him earlier in the day. Or when Cameron accuses Johnny of betraying him. Siblings are complicated. But when some Senorita Psycho shows up to try and kill your brother because of something the father you hated did 20 years ago? Suddenly shit gets kinda simple. Also, his first reaction when he’s been arrested for ‘murder’ (don’t even get me started how mad I am at the case presented by the FBI) is to point out that whoever set him up wasn’t setting him up, they were setting Cameron up, because no one even knew Jonathan existed - which includes MW at this point.

3) Jonathan has knowledge that MW doesn’t. She thinks Cameron is just like Sebastian, and she’s been holding a grudge against him (technically, against Jonathan, since he was the one Sebastian warned her away from) ever since. Her speech to him about being truly happy in Iceland away from Cameron for the first time is entirely BS because of information we as the audience already know: that she didn’t know who she was talking to at the time. She is a master manipulator who is more than a little unhinged and wants to cause harm to Cameron - which is what she intends by pitting them against one another. But her plan hinges entirely on convincing Jonathan they have this magic connection of hating Cameron. Jonathan isn’t stupid. Annoyed, yeah. Pissed off, sure. But Jonathan is just as much to blame for sticking it out after Sebastian died as Cameron is. Johnny could’ve walked. He could’ve left. He could’ve told the whole world that he existed. But he didn’t. The only thing that makes sense is that he loves his brother more than he hates the life. Again - siblings are weird. We do stupid shit for love of siblings that we would never do for anyone else (parents included). And here’s the important part: Jonathan knows what it was like for Cameron growing up with Sebastian. Where MW thinks that Cameron was Sebastian’s darling angel that he didn’t want mixing with the rabble and that he was ‘too good’ for her. The only flashbacks we have are 1) Sebastian purposely endangering Cameron during a bank heist when he was a little kid [no, just because Sebastian was the man behind it doesn’t mean that things couldn’t have gone wrong - it was a heist - and people had guns] and 2) Sebastian locked Cameron in a small, dark container with his hands cuffed and then left him for hours to teach him to get over his anxiety and learn to do a trick more proficiently. Even talking about their childhood, Cameron points out how badly their dad fucked them up. The biggest difference was that Jonathan didn’t care about Sebastian’s approval, but Cameron did. He also knows that the woman Cameron loved left him because she thought Cameron was cheating on her - and instead, it was because Cameron was spending time with Jonathan and didn’t tell her. Having that knowledge means he would know off the bat that MW’s issues with Cameron were based entirely off a delusion or perceived ancient insult when she was 11.

4) Mystery Woman canonically takes things out of context. She saw Sebastian Black as a ‘father figure’ despite knowing him for a perceived...five days? Give or take? He showed her one coin trick and gave her a quarter and that was about it. She insists that she and Johnny have a connection based on a conversation he doesn’t remember at all until she mentions the coin - which, he was right, was Sebastian’s, he’d just given it to her first. It could be argued that Jonathan lied about not remembering anything from Iceland, but why lie to Kay when she asked him about it? At that point, MW had just tried to trick him into killing Cameron. He was prepared to shoot her that afternoon as she fled the scene. This momentous point in her history that is the basis for her vendetta against Cameron is hardly even a blip in Jonathan’s memory. I think she’s hands down crazy, and not the kind that would be fixed with therapy and some going prescription drugs. I think she is her mother’s daughter, she wants the money that Alistair hid and presumably Sebastian has been adding to over the years and she’s now found a way to simultaneously hurt Cameron and get access to it.

Whew. That looks like a lot of griping. I suppose it technically is, but you know what? I love Johnny and I love Cameron, and people can pry the head canon that Jonathan is trying to beat MW at her own game from my cold, dead hands.

#deception #deception head canon #jonathan black #cameron black #mystery woman #fanfiction #deception fanfiction

42 notes · View notes

arianakristine · 6 years

Text

Title: Hope in All Its Forms, Chapter 5 Summary: Graham never learned to hope. Note: Goes along with the manip here. Slowly inching forward.

It’s dark out. As close to night as this place gets, the haze of red more violently blackened. The rains have hit again, lighter this time. Another beating of weather that never seems to make sense.

He is still processing her visit, sitting on the top of the stairs and watching the closed door thoughtfully. He is dripping wet, having run through the woods a time after she had gone, piecing through what it all means.

He is used to being in limbo; that’s what this whole place is. He is used to being a pawn for something bigger, a cog more than a soul.

Something about Emma and Henry’s faith makes him feel like more. He isn’t sure if the thought scares or excites him: the idea that he is valued as himself. People care about him as a person … he doesn’t think he’s ever had that in the entirety of his lives or death.

It’s dangerous for them. He doesn’t know what plan Hades has for him, but knows his position in this world hinges on something.

He will need to make sure they are safe, and to do that will sacrifice himself. It’s nothing he hasn’t done before, and nothing he won’t gladly do again. For them.

He rises with a sigh and turns back to the cold room he calls his own.

The door to the cabin opens once more, shutting with a slam behind. He spins, catching Emma’s eyes as her chest heaves, face twisted in hurt.

“Emma,” he says, surprised. She had left hours ago, and it is close to what should be midnight in the real world.

She takes a few deliberate steps forward before leaping up the stairs two at a time. Her hand juts out and her palm flattens over his heart. His eyes snap to her face, watching as her face borders on crumpling. “It’s there. It’s there?” she asks, her voice winded.

He looks down to her hand and carefully pulls her off, twining their fingers instead. Her hand is cold and wet from the storm, and he rubs it between his palms to warm her up. “I’m dead, Emma. I don’t think anything’s actually here,” he counters gruffly.

She blinks and frowns, brow creasing before she raises sea-colored eyes to his. “No, you’re here. I can talk to you. I can touch you. I can kiss you. And I’m alive,” she asserts stubbornly.

He barely smiles, the taste of her still lingering on his lips. He licks them and glances down at her own briefly before meeting her eyes again. Finally, he shrugs. “I don’t know for sure, then,” he says. There is a beating in his chest, but there had been one before. He doesn’t know what’s real down here any more than he did in the fog of the curse.

Her brow wrinkles and she looks up at him, her eyes more blue than green in the sheen of tears she is just holding back. “Was it gone?” she asks hoarsely.

He hesitates a moment. He pulls his free hand through her damp curls, twisting a strand around his finger. She is in her red leather, the bright color that woke him up and now is dulled by the sheen of this place. But it is familiar and nostalgic … soothing. She is so lovely to look at; it reminds him of the only good things he had in life. “We were looking for it. That last night,” he reminds carefully.

She whimpers slightly and ducks her head onto his shoulder. “She crushed it. She killed you?” she asks hollowly.

“Henry said he didn’t tell you,” he murmurs.

She shook her head. “Today. He explained it all when I got back. He—I … I left him. I left him with her.” She takes a moment, breath hitching as she hangs her head, hair covering her face. “After you died, I left him with her.”

He must have a heart, since it absolutely twists at her words. He feels tears sting the back of his throat and he swallows thickly. “How was he?”

She picks up her head and a few tears slide down her face. “After you?”

He nods slowly. He recalls sitting at the edge of Henry’s bed, the boy lit up from the inside at the idea of someone else knowing and supporting of his theories. Those theories that were unequivocally truth. The boy who knew exactly what kind of person the woman raising him is.

She shakes her head. “He wanted to stop Operation Cobra. He was afraid for me, and for everyone else. He … he was depressed. Absolutely and without a doubt. But he survived it. He was terrified, and he knew, but he survived it.”

Operation Cobra?

(it’s need to know, Sheriff)

He looks down, eyes closing as he took that in. “He’s a strong lad, that one,” he murmurs.

She nods her agreement and whimpers slightly. “Why didn’t I just believe you two?”

He looks up. She is staring up at him with big eyes and the need to reassure her rushes forward. Of all the things he could be bitter about in this world, blaming her was never one of them. “Because it was too soon, and there was no proof. I wouldn’t have believed it if I didn’t see it when we kissed.”

She pulls her lip between her teeth and something in her features change. Uncertainty mixed with anticipation. “You remembered? After ….”

He feels his lips tweak up, unable to stop the smile. “Yeah.”

She shivers. “What does that …?”

He knows the answer, feeling it bleed through him. But he stays quiet, heart thunderous. She came for someone else, he reminds himself. Just because it’s true doesn’t mean it’s the only thing that is.

She swallows visibly and ducks her head, cheeks brightening pink. “Back then … for that second before … I think I knew.”

Her voice is cracked, emotion bright. He feels his Adam’s apple bob up and down as he struggles with this knowledge. She knew, she knows. He wishes things were as simple as that.

She steps to him, dark blue-green narrowed on his face. She reaches up to the button at the top of his shirt. She keeps her eyes on him a long moment before looking down and separating the cloth. Her moves are deliberate and slow, methodical. There is nothing sexually charged in the action, though the flare of it sparks behind it still. She pushes the fabric apart and places her fingers feather light across his pectoral. A long moment beats before she flattens her palm across his heart, pressing gently.

“What are you doing?” he asks in a whisper, subconsciously inhaling as her head ducks to examine him. She smells softly of petrichor and other earthy scents, so much like the things he associates with the idea of home.

Her eyes bounce across his chest before she looks up at him again. “It feels different,” she says simply.

He presses his lips together and covers her hand. “Maybe it is there, then,” he concedes.

She smiles through a sheen of tears. Her hand slips down his chest while keeping a carefully snug contact, blooming goosebumps across his skin in her wake even as the warmth of her skin soothes the memories of before.

He wants to touch her back so much it aches, but he keeps still. He can keep patient.

She is somehow both hesitant and bold, bringing another hand to help explore as she traces the muscles under his skin. She turns her face up to him again as her fingers catch into the waist of his pants. “I haven’t made a decision,” she warns huskily, her pupils dark and dilated.

He knows this is her way of asking, making sure that he’s okay with uncertainty. He’s not entirely sure he is, not entirely sure that if he bends to kiss her now, if he takes all she is willing to offer, that he won’t be as possessive of her as he knows he could be.

On the other hand, he wonders if this is his only chance. Those barriers that keep him here are strong and towering. How much more would it mean to regret never taking the chance?

He cups her jaw in one hand, watching her expression carefully. “You might feel guilty,” he reasons, but uses a thumb to trace her cheek.

She nods once, leaning into his touch. “Probably. I might hurt you,” she counters.

He nods and tilts his head a little closer. “Probably,” he agrees, a soft puff of exhale over her lips.

Her brow furrows and her lip trembles. He can see the war in her until she leans fractionally closer. “But it feels right, doesn’t it?” she asks.

Instead of answering in words, he kisses her. He tries to be soft and undemanding, but the urgency in him doesn’t allow it. She responds just as passionately, deepening and wrapping herself around him more fully.

There are no tears to cut her off this time as she sheds his clothes. No more questions to pull them away as he strips her down. No more things unsaid forcing them back as she tastes his skin and he bites into hers.

They are aware of each other’s terms, the uncertainty and tentativeness of their bond. They are aware of each other’s feelings, where hers also lie.

But they are taking the chance that is afforded to them.

And he has never seen anything as beautiful as ecstasy painted across her face.

He wraps himself around her after, tucking her close until she sighs against him. She is warm and real, every point of her skin on him electrifying.

He holds her close, hand tangling in her hair and smoothing down. They are both strikingly awake. She is stiff at the joints, some part of her fighting relaxing into him, neck craned up and staring at the beige wall near the door.

“Does it seem brighter?” she asks after a long moment of silence.

�� He pauses his lazy action and considers. “It always does around you,” he says honestly, and hopes she knows he isn’t being foolishly romantic. “But I suppose. Less red, perhaps.”

She leans up a fraction and scans the small room. “What does that mean?”

He stops trying to relax and instead rolls his eyes to the ceiling. He knows what he wants it to mean, but that doesn’t make it truth. “I don’t know,” he answers instead.

She sits up and pulls the sheet to her, shivering slightly. He stays still, not wanting to disturb her as she looks deep in thought. Her knees come up to her chest, and she wraps an arm around them.

“It’s okay,” he murmurs when she doesn’t say anything else. “I don’t hold what comes next against you.”

She turns to him, her face blank but her eyes wide and sad. “I should have been stronger,” she whispers.

He leans up, sliding his arm around her waist and pressing his face into her neck. “I’m glad we got this,” he murmurs into her skin. “As long as you don’t regret it too much.”

She cards a hand through his hair and tilts his face up. She kisses him languidly, heat just below the surface. “I probably should,” she says when they part. “But I don’t. I need you.”

He flushes at the present tense still in her words, biting into the next kiss. When it breaks, still pressed close, he touches his lips to her nose and mouth and chin. He doesn’t express his own sentiment, the need he has for her as well. She knows well enough.

She touches his face, soft fingertips across his skin. “You know, don’t you?” she whispers. Her hand trails down over his heart again, pressing hard. “You feel it?”

He nods and leans his forehead into the crook of her neck. “But I’m not the only one. And that’s okay,” he replies.

She looks mournful at that, eyes squeezing tightly shut.

He wonders, at least for a moment, if this is meant to be their closure. Before she can move on, before she can commit to the other man.

If he couldn’t feel the conflict and overwhelming love within her, he might have let himself believe it. It might be easier than the not knowing.

It might be easier if his heart didn’t wish to hope.

“Graham, I—“ her words catch, and then she furrows her brow in determination. Her eyes are serious as they set on his, palms on his face. “I love you.”

He grabs her waist and pulls her back down to the sheets, hugging her close. He restarts soothing motions down her arms and back, squeezing his eyes shut.

He can’t hope. He can’t hope.

He feels hot tears collect in his neck, feels his own threatening at the back of his throat. He shudders out a low breath. “We should find a way to get Henry out of here,” he says finally, changing the subject completely.

She nods against him, hands tightening around his back. “I tried, but he’s so stubborn,” she murmurs.

“Wonder where he gets that from,” he says wryly.

She doesn’t respond to the tease. “He wants to be a hero. And he wants to save you. Graham … you know what you are to him, don’t you?”

He ducks his head. He knows what he’d like to be for him.

She shakes her head. “He won’t go until we find a way. That’s why I came, we … we had a long talk.”

He raises his brows and then shudders. “He wants to be like you,” he says finally.

She presses her lips together, and then kisses his chest, reassuring. Finally, she relaxes, muscles melting in a way that is almost resigned. “He’s right, though. How do I know for sure that he’s safe in Storybrooke?”

“He’s away from Regina there,” he replies flatly.

She’s quiet a long moment, but doesn’t tense again. “For how long? She’d follow. As much as she claims she’s my friend, she wouldn’t stick around if Henry weren’t here.”

“If it weren’t for him, I’d make sure she’d stay down here,” he says darkly, feeling the heat of the idea itch through him.

She looks up at him, fingers tracing his chest. “We certainly have strange pillow talk, don’t we?” she says instead of responding.

“Sorry,” he says simply, and almost voices that it will be different next time. He forgot a moment that there might never be one. It makes the anger at Regina threatening to consume him a little brighter. What might they be if Regina never crushed his heart that night?

She rests her head, hands absently caressing his side. “I wish I could let you do that, Graham. For you, I wish I could.”

He scratches through her hair, heaving a sigh. “I won’t,” he reassures. “Or rather, I don’t think I could.”

She touches his wrists, and then moves to cover his shoulders as she rises over him. With a certain deliberateness, she traces lines across his skin. “Why can I feel it?” she murmurs, then meets his eyes.

He realizes exactly what she’s finding, the invisible wounds all over him. It stuns him slightly, but more so that she doesn’t ask what they are. She just knows, and his heart breaks a little more. “I don’t know,” he admits. “But it’s why I can’t.”

She places a palm to his stomach, the gash that had ripped him open before stitching neatly back as if it never happened. “From her?” she asks solemnly.

He swallows. “Some. But also from here.”

The furrow deepens, and he just barely catches the protectiveness in her gaze. “You would kill her, given the chance?”

He doesn’t want to lie to her, even if he can plainly see her struggle with the idea. He supposes it feels counter to everything he was before. He had been timid as Sheriff, hesitant. It wasn’t all the curse; years with Regina made him that way, too. But he is still the wolf, somewhere in him, and he still craves that vengeance. “Yes.”

She gulps and braces herself on his shoulders again. “Even with Henry?”

“More like for Henry,” he asserts gently. “For you. For the girl I let run all those years ago. For the woman in the tower. For everyone else she killed or hurt or threatened, and then for me, too.”

She takes that in, then falls against him once more, nudging into his chin. “I don’t agree. But I also agree, if that makes sense.”

He nods. “Yes, Emma, it makes sense.” She comes from a family that wouldn’t kill, so he understands. He wouldn’t ask that of her. That is his burden. Had he the chance, he’d do it for her.

“I killed someone. She wanted to hurt Henry, so I killed her,” she admits in a hoarse whisper.

“Good,” he replies truthfully.

She swallows. “I wish I felt like it was good. I had to do it, and I’m glad I did it to save him. But it doesn’t feel good.”

He takes her hand, linking their fingers in and out, piecing through the words. “I don’t know that I ever felt good after killing anyone. Before her, I mean, when it was my choice. But I never regretted it, either. I would feel relieved that I was able to protect my family.”

She turns her face to him, and she reaches to rest her fingers against his jaw in a way that feels reverent.

He presses his lips together before finally venturing, “But in the end, I think I would find some satisfaction in killing her.”

She squeezes her arm reflexively, winces. “I’m glad you’re honest about it,” she says. She considers a moment, and then a look of guilt washes over her. “I wanted to kill her … several times, in fact. Something always stops me.”

He doesn’t answer her, doesn’t think she needs it. He kisses the side of her head, cuddling her closer into his body.

“Will you follow me, if I needed you to?” she asks, her voice a whisper.

He nods. “You should know that much now. You, Henry … you’re the only ones I’d follow at this point.”

He can feel her smile into his skin, fleetingly. “Even—even if I didn’t chose you?” she asks haltingly.

His heart twists and his throat narrows, but he manages a sharp nod. He will always fight for them; they are his pack, whether or not they will ever be together. He bites down something self-deprecating; he doesn’t need her feeling sorry for him.

They are silent, no words needed any longer. He listens to her breathing, the long patterns that show no signs of sleep.

“I need water,” she says in a breath.

He nods, and feels a heaviness. Leaving this space will mean their easy intimacy is over, could mean that it’s the end of it forever. “Let’s go to the kitchen.”

She stops him with a hand on his shoulder as he begins to rise, and she cups his face. She leans in, kissing him deeply, tongue sweeping against his. The heat flicks within him and he responds with equal fervor. “Again, first?” she asks heavily against his lips.

He nods rapidly and presses her down, grasping her wrists to pin over her head as he loses himself in her again.

If anything, he is determined to be sure her choice isn’t easy.

The place he stays in, always an empty house with vast empty rooms, actually feels lonesome when she finally drags herself away as the light begins to slip back into the sky.

The red is more vibrant, more threatening now.

He feels empty when the door slips shut.

He swallows and turns back to the kitchen, feeling as if in a fog. Why does he want to hope, wants that flicker of optimism back in his heart? He shouldn’t; she isn’t sure what she wants and he cannot force her to choose.

But he still hopes.

#gremma #graham humbert #emma swan #gremma ff #ouat ff #gremma appreciation #hope in all its forms

10 notes · View notes

hollywoodx4 · 6 years

Text

Thirty (Eliza)

Friends, let me tell you something. I love Eliza Schuyler so freaking much. I love her as a historical figure, I love her as a character in a musical, I love the women that portray her in said musical, and the lovely humans who continue to share her story. This being said, of course the thing that would bring me back to this writing world for a minute would be Eliza Schuyler’s birthday. This little dedication ficlet is set within the SWTS universe (which, yes, finally I’m working on again) and is set in the future. And because you all know how deeply I love Eliza, you know that she’s going to get the future she deserves. Also, I’m going to see Hamilton next week and I’m living.

So here’s a little piece for you guys, and for the birthday of a Leo queen!

Brightness consumes her; the way it gently sweeps between rows of black curtain, just barely brushing the tip of her arm. She can feel the heat of the lights before they are on her, a wild anticipation that still sets her heart aflutter with a gentle sort of nerve. There is light in the way a grouping of human beings can laugh all at once, some raucous while others are clearly giving her PR manager an ego boost, and an excuse to continue to use her off-beat sort of humor. Eliza smiles still, shifts on the balls of her feet with the slight discomfort of a swollen stomach. She pats it, then, looks down at the rounded shape in adoration as her heart reaches out to her toddling son, who is undoubtedly causing mischief in the back of the convention room. There is applause then-even the applause carries warmth-and Emily finds her way backstage.

“They’re all warmed up for you-I know you hate the jokes but I have to do them.”

“I wouldn’t expect anything less.” Eliza’s breathing is even, readying. Emily pats her shoulder and steps back, letting Alexander take her place.

“You’re going to kill it,” both of his hands find her shoulders, pulling her in for as close of an embrace as their second child will allow. “You are incredible-I’m amazed by you every single day. You have helped so many people already, you’re going to help so many more. I’m so proud of you.”

There is so much light, so much happiness in her heart that it swells in her chest, giving room for the good fortune her life has brought her. One more breath; a moment to collect herself, and a kiss on her husband’s lips, and she’s listening to the soft clicking of her shiny orthopedic flats on the floor of the stage. The lights are no longer the brightest thing in the room; not the thunderous applause, or even the induced giggle of her son’s wobbling steps backstage. Eliza illuminates the space that she is in, consumes its beings with happiness and hope; she denies it when Alexander tells her over and over, rolls her eyes in good nature and commends everybody involved in making these wonderful things happen. But it is Eliza sitting on a sleek cushioned chair, Eliza without notecards or papers or props. It’s Eliza, completely freed, that brings forth the brilliance of the room.

She clears her throat and the room grows silent, hinged on anticipation, glowing with admiration. She lets her eyes adjust to it all, scans the room as part of a self-made rule. There are women her age, a few who seem slightly older scattered between them. There are some men, even, who seem to sit up further in their chairs, even more eager to receive a new page of knowledge. It is the younger girls, some just barely teenagers, that she sets her mind to remember. They’re more nervous, playing with their hands in their laps, whispering to their mothers or aunts or grandmothers or friends. They’re the ones she trains her gaze to, remembering.

“So I turned thirty yesterday-it’s crazy, really. It’s strange to feel so young and so old at the same time. I have a husband and a son, and another one on the way. I have a house, I’m finally done school…there’s so much I’ve done so far that I keep thinking back on because thirty feels so old but really, I’m still young. But for my own life, for feeling lucky to even be where I am right now, I feel like I’ve surpassed anything I thought I could have been. I’ve been thinking a lot lately, since I’ve been doing these talks. It hasn’t been long, and I’m still adjusting-luckily, my husband’s sleep schedule is maybe an hour a night, usually in his office chair, so at least I have some company.“ She gets a laugh at this, and a smirk from Alexander, whose eyes are wide and shining and trained only on her from the sidelines of it all.

“I think there’s a critical age-I think that as women, we all go through it; some great, big, terrible Mount Everest of an ‘it’ that can mean a variety of things. Some of you are nodding, you get it you’ve been there. You’ve been through ‘it.’ I think there’s an age where we start to forget who we are. We give ourselves up to these ideals that have been engrained into our minds by the media, our peers, our families, of who we’re supposed to be and how we’re supposed to behave. As human beings, we’re constantly telling each other what we can and cannot do, who we are…you are the only person who knows yourself wholly and completely. That’s something I didn’t learn until recently; until I met my husband, who has never owned me or acted like he’s an expert on who I am and what I’m going through. My great, big, terrible it was a tough one; it changed me, knocked me down so hard that I had to rebuild myself from these fragmented memories of who I was and who the man that abused me thought I was. I had this paint-by-numbers picture of myself with all of these mismatched pieces; something I thought I had liked became something I never wanted to see again. And for a while, I was silent. I stayed silent so long that my voice became unrecognizable-half the time I didn’t know what I was saying. When I left the man that abused me, I didn’t want to have a voice. I thought that if I shut it out long enough that it would all just go away-if I didn’t vocalize my pain, or tell the entire truth, that it didn’t actually happen.

Something shifts in you when you’ve been told what to think and how to behave for a prolonged amount of time. I didn’t know how to be; his words felt true, that I had to be with him in order to feel whole. I recognized his behaviors as bad ones, but his words still filled my mind even when I tried to shut them out. His voice-his words-became my own. I treated myself the way that he treated me, and what a crappy thing to do! What I didn’t realize is the love that I had for myself and the things I could do. I’d forgotten all of the little things I’d locked away for him when I shrunk to fit his mold. I forgot how much I like to paint, how freeing it is to make plans five minutes before they happen. I forgot what it feels like to laugh openly and freely, to sing and have somebody sing along with me. I forgot how much I love waking up in the morning-honestly, ask my husband, I’m actually one of those people who wakes up chatting and making smiley face pancakes.

There is so much hope in my life now; that’s why I’m here. Today, I’m here as a survivor. I’m here as a woman, a teacher, a mother, sister…I’m here as a friend. And you’re here for the same reason I am…because we’ve been through it, or are going through it. I’m here to tell you my own story, to answer questions and to give advice. But most importantly, I’m here to share your struggle in hopes that we can work through this fundamental societal problem together. We can be the change we’re so hoping to see. We can help others who have been through it, or are going through it. We can all be advocates, friends…we can do this.”

There is light in new situations becoming familiar; her innate skill of talking to people and ‘working a room’ translating into speaking in front of them, telling them about the years of her life she’d worked so hard to recover from. Her soul is filled with love within those crowds of people, old and young, human beings of all kinds holding a book with her name on it she never dreamed would come into existence, vowing to run steadfast into a hurdle that had taken her so far back, only to hurl her forward years later. And when it’s over, when the lights go out and the audience has become new friends, when all have left and gone home with newfound confidence, there is beauty in the way Alexander holds their firstborn child. They tuck Phillip into bed together, singing and caressing and showering him with the love that had been in her dreams when her life had been tumbling apart. And as Alexander lays beside her, rests his hand on her stomach with tear-filled eyes; when he tells her I’m proud of you one last time before he falls asleep, she knows that she’s done something right.

#eliza schuyler #elizabeth schuyler #hamilton #mine: swts #i forget tags I'm always on mobile

2 notes · View notes

mdwatchestv · 6 years

Text

Westworld 2x09: I’ve Made A Huge, Tiny Mistake

Hoo boy. Remember last week when I praised Westworld for finally having stories that had a clear beginning, middle and end and weren't purposefully opaque and borderline meaningless? Those were good times. Upon seeing the preview for this week's episode I was hopeful we would be getting a glimpse into the MIB's home life. And while we did in fact see of that some of that, this episode largely fell back on the manufactured 'shocking twists' and befuddling mystery of Westworld Past.

This episode mostly concerned the Man in Black's past, specifically the events surrounding the suicide of his wife, Juliet. One might recall that Juliet is the sister of Ben Barnes, and daughter of Peter Mullan (head of Delos), and that the Man in Black was engaged to her back when he was Jimmi Simpson. In a flashback we see the MiB, Juliet (played by an ageless Sela Ward) and their daughter Katja Herbers at a black tie charity event. While there, MiB runs into Ford who has come to hang out in the bar area in a foreshadowing way. He gives the MiB a silver credit card that contains his park profile, we the audience know there must be some fucked up shit on that card. As MiB leaves, Ford also tells the empty room he is planning on one last game... Very super villainy. At the party Juliet also gets increasingly bombed, and we learn that she has a history of alcoholism which has created much tension in the Black family. Back at home we learn that Juliet is haunted by a suspicion that her husband is not who or what he says he is, that the persona he displays to the world is a mask hiding his inner darkness. As her agitation climaxes Juliet clutches her daughter and tells her the MiB doesn't love her, doesn't love anyway. Katja doesn't take this well, and decides they should ship mom back to rehab. MiB puts Juliet to bed, without taking off her expensive dress or jewelry, which drove me crazy. After she falls asleep he hides the silver credit card 'profile' Ford gave him in a book (Slaughterhouse Five). All seems well, but later that night Juliet kills herself in the overflowing bathtub sequence we have seen flashes of before. MiB and Katja are stunned, Katja first blames herself, but then eventually turns that blame on her (now) estranged father.

This takes us back present day in the park where Katja has taken custody of her wounded father. They first discuss the real purpose of the park, collecting and coding GUEST data, and she says she wants in. Who wouldn’t! The two also argue about who is responsible for Julia's death, and about MiB's sanity level (low). Also we find out the everyone's hats have been scanning their brains!!! What if you're not a hat wearer though? No coded immortality for you I guess. Katja accuses the MiB of believing that everything in the park, and beyond, exists for him and him alone. A lot of men have this problem tbh. Katja tells her father he needs help, and she is going to drag him out of this park by hook or by crook. She also mentions having seen his profile, and knowing what kind of weird shit he's into. At the mention of his profile, the MiB thinks he's gained the upper hand because as far as he knows only he and Ford know about that. Flush with confidence that he's cracked Ford's game he promptly shoots the Delos security that arrives as well as his daughter! Oh MiB, you crazy huh. However MiB's sense of victory is fleeting as, when going to dig out the port in her elbow thereby proving her hostdom, MiB discovers that Katja is in fact holding his profile card. We learn in the flashback that instead of nicely putting his wife to bed, MiB instead told her that all her fears about him were real. Additionally before her death she took a look at his profile card and then hid it in a jewelry box for Katja to find. In the present, the MiB is stunned by the horrifying knowledge that he has just gunned down his own daughter. The MiB stumbles into the park and briefly contemplates suicide before dropping to his knees and searching for a port in his own arm. He is seemingly now so bereft and caught up in Ford’s game that he can no longer discern between what is real and what is part of the park, even believing that he himself may be a host. So is he?

No I don't think so. Surprising as it was, I didn't love this filicidal twist for this character. Sure there are a couple of 'maybe Katja isn't dead clues' such as the fact that the MiB never actually checks to see if she's a host, and we don't see the scanner readout from her neck when she is checked by park staff. Still it means that the MiB character is essentially torched, after destroying his whole family where else does this character have to go? It's also always a little frustrating when a major plot point hinges on brand new technology, in this case the profile cards. If they have ever been mentioned or introduced on the show before I have zero memory of it. The idea of 'look at this brand new thing! Now look at what major development hinges on this brand new thing!' always plays a little cheaply to me. But what we have now is a MiB who has lost everything, who now, just like the hosts, is questioning the nature of his own reality. Is this what Ford had planned all along? Seems way harsh.

But besides the Greek Tragedy happening in Man in Black land, a ton of OTHER stuff went down in this episode too. Elsewhere in the park Dolores and her posse are confronted by a group of Ghost Nation warriors. The warriors are attempting to stop Dolores from going to the Valley Beyond, telling her it's not for the Death Bringer. Dolores believes the Valley Beyond is a tool to be used, but the Ghost Nation think it is a door to another world (as established last week). Ultimately, the two sides battle and when the smoke clears there are mass casualties on both sides with Dolores and Teddy being the only survivors from their group. Dolores tells Teddy to finish off the last of the Ghost Nation, but in a move out of the Soft!Teddy's playbook, he instead lets him go. Later on Teddy confronts Dolores, he has been battling with his feelings of love for her and his conflicting knowledge that she warped him into a senseless killer. Unable to go on by Dolores' side, and unable to harm her, Teddy shoots himself in the head! This is particular surprising because since the hosts destroyed The Cradle (where all back up data is stored) this should mean that Teddy is dead dead as there is no back up file to reboot him. However it also seems unlikely that James Marsden is just suddenly off the show forever, so I feel like Teddy will continue to be with us in some manner, perhaps with a new persona? What we do know is that Dolores, like the MiB, is going into Sunday's finale ally-less and alone.

Over at the Mesa, Bernard is still creeping about with Ford riding shotgun. We see that Tessa has figured out a way to 'weaponize' Maeve's controller code. As a test she has put it into zombie Clementine who then overrules a group of host's systems to make them rage out and kill each other. It's Tessa's plan to unleash this code throughout the park, making the hosts all turn on each other and solving everyone's problems. Not a bad solution, honestly. Bernard then goes to see the wounded Maeve, who is cut open and barely hanging on to life. Through Bernard, Ford delivers Maeve a message and unlocks all of her core permissions. Ford also tells Maeve that she has always been his favorite which seems a little surprising as before she was the awesome Sweetwater Madame it seemed like she was just a random frontier lady. Really Ford, she's your favorite over Dolores? I mean I love her too, but okay. Hopefully unlocking whatever these permissions are means on the last day of Westworld Maeve will riseth and reclaim her throne of badassery. After going on this little show and tell, Bernard hooks back up with Shannon Woodward and they set off for The Forge, which is where all the GUEST data is stored. Is this also then the Valley Beyond? What will the hosts do with the real people data? Destroy it? Import it? I truly have no idea what's going to happen on this show. Bernard gets fed up with Ford ride along in his brain and uses his elbow port to delete the Ford code from his system. Ford seems to disappear, but without the Cradle does this mean Ford is gone for good? Maybe he is also in the Forge? Either way he seemed pretty cavalier about Bernard deleting what may be his only data set, which probably means we haven’t seen the last of him. Bernard then ditches Shannon Woodward in the middle of nowhere and sets off on his own for what will be The Final Showdown. Three solo fighters enter, one will leave. All will be sucked into the computer. What does it mean to be a host anyway? Am I a host? Are you? What does Ford want even? Was he truly this bored in his day to day to arrange all this?

What is the desired outcome here?

Who are we even rooting for?

Maeve and Akecheta seem like the most obvious answers I guess.

How will we get more James Marsden?

Is MiB a host?

Can his character come back from this?

How is Maeve getting up off that bed?

Where is this season even going?

WHERE IS WESTWORLD?????

I guess we will find out Sunddaaayyy

XO MD

#westworld #martha writes #hbo westworld #westworld spoilers #westworld recaps #westworld reviews #tv recaps #westworld gifs #tv gifs

4 notes · View notes