#I know it’s not because Davis would never do something so cruel on purpose | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

savvythepirate · 2 years

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Dark Hearts

Pairing: Davy Jones x reader

Warnings: None

Requested by: @spaghetto-rat-chaos

A/N: The request

Literally seconds later I'm back again, heh. Anyway, if this is too complicated or specific feel free to pass on it. Anyway, I wanted to make a request where Davy's heart somehow gets stolen from the chest by the mayor of a town, but said mayor's daughter gets it back(knowing the tale of Davy Jones heart) and sneaks onto the Dutchman to return it but almost gets killed by the crew until she shows she has the heart and insists she returns it to Davy face-to-face? Thank you! And again, have a great day/night! <3 <>

***

“What is your purpose here?” Davy asked you darkly.

For a moment there, you froze. Unable to speak at first until Davy was forced by silence to repeat the same question.

“What is your purpose here?”

This time, you fish your hand through your small bag that you take everywhere with you. As you pull out the beating heart of Davy Jones, the captain himself, along with the crew reacted to it immediately.

You could hardly believe it yourself, having the heart of Davy Jones in your very hand. How you got a hold of it was quite a story per say, and it starts with you being the daughter of the mayor of your hometown. You knew the story of Davy Jones and the heart, it’s become an almost dangerous obsession within you. So, you have never handled something as valuable as the heart of Davy Jones. How your father got a hold of it, was the question everyone was asking and wanted to know the answer to themselves, including you. How you found it was almost too easy for you to find, you were with your father one day and you could hear the heartbeat and you had asked what that sound was and where it was coming from because it didn’t sound like it was that far away. As a response to your question, he told you that he couldn’t hear what you were hearing and brushed it off as just your imagination fooling you.

But you knew better, however you went along with it. The same scenario plays out the following day, but things took a different turn when a ruckus of disturbance pulled your father away from his routinely duties, and this is when you saw this as an opportunity to go in search of the sound of that heartbeat, you immediately take the chance and begin your search. One thing was certain, you were right about it coming from not far, as you pulled a drawer open and discovered a treasure like chest with a key right next to it. As you carefully pull it out to investigate, you look around to make sure the coast was still clear and when you saw it was, you place the key in and open the chest to discover that there was in fact, a heart that was still beating.

Right away, you knew that it was the heart of Davy Jones, and in that moment was when you decided you were going to do something everyone would call crazy. You were going to somehow find the Flying Dutchman and sneak onboard, then you were going to return the heart face to face with Davy Jones. Davy Jones was known as the most feared being of the seas, malicious and cruel. However, you didn’t feel the need to be fearing him, with you not feeling the fear as you probably should, you would be considered to be titled just as crazy as well. Despite knowing the tale of Davy Jones well enough, maybe even knowing it better then anyone else, you didn’t even know where to begin your search for the Dutchman. That was until you met Jack Sparrow and Will Turner, after learning that they themselves were seeking out for the Dutchman as well, you tagged along with them.

The three of you, or rather the four of you counting Gibbs had become really good friends with each other and they all grew protective of you. After making it to the Dutchman, you decide to go with Will onboard claiming that your new friend shouldn’t have to go on alone which was truly how you felt at that moment. None of them knew what you had in your possession until Will witnesses it as you present the heart in front of everyone shortly after you and Will getting captured by the crew. After getting separated from each other, you can feel you were close to nearby getting killed by the crew, so you begin to frantically ask for their captain. Just like anyone else in the exact same situation, you were only mocked as cruelty was being bestowed upon you. Even though there really was no way out of this, you still put up a fight and had even bit a hand that had gone over your mouth to muffle your cries.

Finally, you were able to free one of your hands just enough so that you could pull out what you had in your possession, intending to show it to everyone why it was urgent for you to meet their captain face to face. However, you didn’t have time to even do so much as to shift your eyes to your bag when the utter chaos was stopped by Davy Jones himself.

“What’s going on here?”

“We have a guest here requesting for us to summon you.”

“Do we now?” Davy responds with a hint amusement in his tone of voice.

Looking back at him, it was then when you could see why everyone fears him.

It’s not by the way he looks, but you could see read it on his face he’s more of stone cold with such sad eyes then anything else. Although you don’t feel the need to fear him, you couldn’t help but flinch only slightly when his eyes turn towards you. You feel him examine you with his eyes before the questions begin, the questions having you feel as if the ability for you to speak has slipped away and was lost forever. But just until the second time he asked you in a darker tone.

“What is your purpose here?”

Having you taking a couple of steps back, you fish in your bag for what you had in possession, pulling it out as everyone reacts in unison. That included the captain himself, you watch the expression on his face shift from sadness to anger as he bitterly asks you about it.

“How did you get this?”

“It was in the hands of the mayor of my hometown. The mayor who happens to be my father. I stole it back from him and wanted to return it to you myself… in person, face to face with you.”

That was the last thing Davy had expected for you to say.

Returning his heart to him face to face with such sincerity in this act you choose to take on. He didn’t understand it, it was a little overwhelming for him to comprehend this even though it was happening before him. He hadn’t realize he had gone silent until someone brought him back into reality.

“Sir? What do you suppose we do with her for the intrusion?”

Before Davy could say anything, you extend your same hand that held his heart out to him, as he slowly accepts it back in his possession with only slight hesitation.

“It’s yours again.” You say.

As you wait for what was to happen next, the captain mutters back an order, while at the same time, hoping you were right about what you had just said.

“Release her back to Sparrow, but Turner remains where he is.”

It was hard for you to hear, even as grateful as you are that you were the first one Davy Jones had ever shown just the slightest bit of mercy onto anyone.

At first, you protested against the thought of leaving your friend behind and you had even hesitated in the slightest before Will encouraged you to not stall any longer as he feared that Davy Jones would change his mind and keep you as a prisoner if you didn’t leave in right away. As you finally give in to Will’s plea, you don’t leave without promising him you and everyone would come back and rescue him from his new prison. After Jack Sparrow helps you to step back onboard the Black, you explain to him about having no choice to leave Will behind as you revealed the fact of holding the heart of Davy Jones in your own hands. Jack couldn’t believe it at first, but once he saw how upset you were, that’s what got him to change his mind on that. After Jack and Gibbs helping to comfort you, the three of you hatch plans for a rescue mission to save Will Turner.

“Hold on, Will. We’re coming for you.” You say, looking back at the way you had come in from just moments before.

Giving up was never an option for you, it was always motivation and determination.

It was now or never.

***

Requests: OPEN

@savvythepirate

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nemorialex · 3 years

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I was going to tag something for Davis, not realizing he’d changed his URL... By the time I found the new URL, I lost the post

Now I’ve found the post and lost the URL again...

#I feel as though this was a targeted attack...#I know it’s not because Davis would never do something so cruel on purpose

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weasleylangs · 3 years

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crossed wires - g.w

Pairing: George x Fem!Reader, Platonic Fred x Fem!Reader Summary: George has always felt second best to Fred. He’s never blamed Fred, of course, but the jealousy is getting to be too much when he’s convinced the girl of his dreams is in love with his twin. Warnings: Miscommunication, jealousy, swearing Word Count: 3k

A/N: Oh look it’s Fae who can’t go three fics without writing friends to lovers with miscommunication wah. I combined two requests I got so I hope both of the anons enjoy it!! Also thank you to the lovely Zahra who once again helped me with a title <3

taglist: @amourtentiaa @whizboingies @harrysweasleys @lumos-barnes @weelittleweasley @freds-slut @starlightweasley @weasleyclaw @spacexcowgirl @lumosandnoxwriting @peroxide-prinxcesss (sorry your tag isnt working D:)

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It was a nice, warm spring day at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry and as usual, George finds Y/N sitting by the lake with a muggle book in her hand. Her usual weekend plan was simple, all she ever wanted to do was read, catching up on the story she’d left behind the weekend before.

It was one of the things George loved about her, that she was always able to sneak a book in somewhere and lose herself in the pages no matter what chaos was going on at the time. He stood a bit behind her, admiring her for a brief moment. Her hair was pulled up into space buns, loose pieces of hair falling and framing her face as she shook her head to move them out of her sight. She was curled up on a blanket she’d dragged down from Gryffindor tower and she was leaning against the tree right at the shore of the lake.

“Oi, Y/L/N!” George yelled and while he immediately regretted disturbing her, the cute look on her face she gave him for interrupting it made his heart swoon. “What do you want, Weasley?”

She squints as if she’s trying to work out which twin is standing there but they both know she hasn’t mixed the twins up since she was 12. “Wanted your attention, as always.” He winks and Y/N hides behind her book in hopes he doesn’t see the shy look that overtakes her face. They’ve been friends for seven years, but George’s relentless and joke flirting never fails to make her face warm.

“Have you heard about Lee and Alicia?” George says, sitting down next to the girl and Y/N sighs, accepting she isn’t going to get any further into her book right now. “Did Alicia reject him?” The boy shakes his head as he chuckles.

“Quite the opposite really. Thought she was going to cry of happiness when he’d asked her to Hogsmeade today.”

Y/N ponders his words. Lee and Alicia have always been a hard pair to pinpoint. One second they were flirting and annoying everyone with their public displays of affection and the next they were fighting over something stupid. “Hopefully this stops them bickering over my bacon and eggs in the morning,” Y/N mutters as she closes her book.

She’s acutely aware that everyone in their year is starting to seriously pair up. Fred and Angelina had gone to the Yule Ball together the year before, she knows for a fact Roger Davis plans on asking Patricia Stimpson out sometime this week and with Lee and Alicia seemingly confirming their relationship she gets uneasy.

“How do people do it?” She asks no one in particular, “I’m so scared of rejection I could never just ask someone out.” George knows how she feels, after all, he’s been wanting to ask out the girl in front of him for weeks, months maybe even years at this point. But he’s always been convinced no one sees him outside of the duo that is Fred and George, nothing more than a star quidditch player alongside his brother, a pranking prodigy alongside his brother.

“I don’t know, I barely mustered up the courage to ask you to the Yule Ball last year,” they both chuckle at the memory of George stumbling over his words as he asked Y/N to the ball ‘as a friend’, although George never admitted it to anyone, he so desperately wanted it to be more than friends.

“I want to tell the boy I like that I like him but…” She trails off and George wonders why she’s being so coy. “I don’t know how to go about it.”

George thinks for a moment, thoroughly convinced Y/N is asking him because he’s positive she’s been crushing on Fred since their fifth year.

“Well…” He pauses. Or should he tell her how Fred would like to be confessed to? “Something extravagant, of course. A grand gesture,” he laughs awkwardly and he knows Y/N isn’t fully convinced by the way she looks at him but she hums in agreement nonetheless.

“Really? I wouldn’t have pegged you for a grand gesture romance kind of boy, Georgie…” She trails off and George resists the urge to tell her he actually told her how Fred would like to be confessed too, but before he knows it, she’s standing. “I have to go meet Angie, I’ll see you late George.”

George has been sulking all day at this point that not even a prank on Filch can get him to smile. Fred and Lee have been pestering him all day to ‘fess up what’s bothering him but he refuses to budge. He knows that if he even hints at what’s bothering him, Fred will reject Y/N and while he wants nothing more than to be the one she confesses to, he doesn’t wish the embarrassment of rejection on her.

“I think Georgie’s got girl problems,” Lee says, nudging Fred and puckering his lips as if to kiss him. Fred laughs and shoves Lee away, teasing him with a threat to tell Alicia he’s moving onto a Weasley brother but stops when he realises George isn’t laughing alongside them. “Wait, is it a girl problem, Georgie?”

George can’t meet Fred’s eye for the first time in his life, but he knows he can never keep anything from his twin flame. “Yeah, it is.” The boys beside him whoop and holler, teasingly saying Georgie’s got a crush before they sit down on the couch in front of him. “What’s wrong, then? She rejected you?”

George sighs, “No, no… I’m just positive she likes someone else.” Lee scoffs at this. “As if, you’re George Weasley, mate.” George laughs at Lee’s comment, knowing Lee is being completely honest.

“Well, even if I am George Weasley, I’m just pretty sure she likes a different Weasley,” George says, not being able to meet Fred’s eye. George, admittedly, has no reasoning for believing Y/N likes Fred, it’s just always been the case. He’s never blamed Fred for this though, Fred has always just been the more noticed twin due to the fact he’s more exuberant and honestly, it never bothered him.

Until now.

It’s two days later when Y/N drags Fred by his robes into an empty corridor. George hasn’t even looked in Y/N’s direction since their talk about crushes and she’s starting to get fed up, and what better place to get insider information than from his twin brother who doubles as his best friend.

“Geeze, woman, what is your problem?” Fred asks, fixing his robes that have now fallen off his shoulders. “What’s going on with George?” she demands.

Fred looks at her confused, having not noticed anything different going on with George beside his obvious sulking over a girl but he knows better than to mention anything like that to Y/N. Unlike George, Y/N was very happy to spill the beans regarding her raging crush on George to his twin brother and Fred’s been subtly trying to get them together ever since. When he asked Angelina to the ball last year, he purposely did it in front of both George and Y/N in hopes to inspire George to ask her to the ball himself and he can only hope that Lee and Alicia finally making it official could serve as some inspiration for his oblivious best friends.

But now George has a crush on a girl, and while Fred hopes with everything he has that it’s on Y/N but he can’t be sure.

“I haven’t noticed anything wrong with George,” Fred says, hoping Y/N doesn’t pick up on the lie. “We’ve been working on shop business, maybe he’s just busy?”

Y/N pouts at this, wondering what she’d done for George to only act weird around herself. She plays with the ends of the sleeves of her robe as she thinks back to their last conversation, “I think I made him uncomfortable.”

Fred cocks his head in confusion. George’s best friend beside himself and Lee has always been Y/N, and Fred thinks there’s not a thing in the world she could do that would make George upset, but before he can question her, she speaks again. “I mentioned I wanted to tell the boy I like that I like him but I think… I think maybe he realised I liked him and he’s backing away so my feelings go away.”

Fred notices the tears starting to fill Y/N’s eyes and he quickly pulls her into a comforting hug. “Love, I don’t think that’s the case. George is dumb, but he’s not cruel.” He gently runs his hand through her hair as a comfort, knowing it calms her down. “Maybe… He likes you back, and he thinks you were talking about someone else?”

Y/N ponders his words for a second, genuinely considering it. There’s a chance Fred is right, after all, he knows George better than he knows himself sometimes but Y/N is refusing to get her hopes up. “

What the pair don’t realise is that George has been looking for Fred for the last 10 minutes, after he was late to their meeting at the library to work out the kinks in their Skiving Snackboxes treats when he spots them.

They’re still hugging but George is far enough to not be able to hear anything they’re saying and his heart sinks. He knew Y/N liked Fred and to him, the image in front of him is confirmation he’ll always be second best, even to his number one girl.

He clears his throat as he gets closer and they jump apart, Y/N not being able to meet his eye makes his heart sink so he looks away, barely acknowledging her presence. “You’re late, come on Fred.” He’s blunt and both Y/N and George feel terrible at this moment. Fred senses the tension, quickly composing himself and bidding Y/N goodbye and grabbing George by the shoulder to leave. “What is your problem, mate?”

George makes a noise that’s between a grunt and a ‘shut up’ as he quickly walks to the library, not wanting to confront the current feeling of jealousy rising in his throat.

George is the furthest thing from being on cloud nine as possible. His new lifetime ban from quidditch has made his already sour mood worse and he feels terrible for anyone who has come into contact with him in the last week. He wants nothing more than to fly out of this school on his broom and never look back while he finally opens the shop with Fred.

His mood is somehow worsened when Y/N comes through the portrait hole. It’s 11pm and George was hoping he would have the common room to himself so he could sulk in peace and maybe work on some joke products. But she barely even acknowledges his presence on the couch, taking a quick glance at him and looking away and rushing up the stairs to the girls' dormitory.

The sinking feeling in George’s stomach is back, as it always is when he sees Y/N these days. He’s convinced someone worked out his crush on her and told her, and that her only response to that was to blatantly ignore him. He can’t talk, he knows he can’t. He’s done his fair share of ignoring Y/N over the past week but he didn’t think he was being as obvious as her.

He doesn’t realise how long he’s been sitting in the common room, furrowing his eyebrows and contemplating the situation until Fred waltzes down the boys' dormitory stairs, sleep in his eyes and his messy hair sticking up everywhere. “Why the fuck are you still awake, mate?”

George shrugs. He knows he’s been short lately with Fred too, but it’s not Fred’s fault. Just anything these days brings jealousy to his stomach and he can’t bear the thought of ever being mad at Fred for something out of his control. “Still having girl problems?” George shrugs again.

“Listen, mate, do you like Y/N?” George is taken aback by Fred’s forwardness and he feels his face heat up and he knows he’s bright red. “No,” he squeaks and the look of smugness on Fred’s face tells him he knows he doesn’t believe him. “Okay, fine, I do.”

Fred doesn’t know what to do, he never expected to get this far in his line of questioning for George. He knows he shouldn’t tell Y/N’s deepest secret to George but it’s killing them both not being together and thinking they don’t like each other. Fuck it, Fred thinks as the words spill out, “She likes you too, you fucking git.”

George looks at him, dumbfounded. “No she doesn’t, she likes you.”

Now it’s Fred’s turn to look at his brother dumbfounded. Not even for a second did he ever consider Y/N would have feelings for him, even before she confessed her feelings towards George to himself. It’s always been Y/N and George in his mind, the sun and the moon, the stars and the planets. He can’t ever imagine Y/N fitting so perfectly with someone than his brother and then he starts to laugh.

“You think Y/N likes me? Are you seriously that daft?”

George doesn’t appreciate this, his arms crossed protectively across his chest, “Don’t laugh at me. People always chose you.” He’s quiet in his words but Fred’s heart sinks. “Mate, you know that’s not true.” He takes the seat next to George, fully awake at this point. “It is though. And it’s not your fault, don’t worry. People always prefer the more outgoing twin.”

“I don’t.”

George and Fred’s heads snap up to where the voice came from, spotting Y/N standing on the stairs in an old t-shirt and sleep shorts. She’s picking at the skin on her fingers, the nervousness obvious. “What did you just say?” George asks, timidly.

She walks down the last few stairs, “I said I don’t prefer the more outgoing twin. I’m-” she takes a deep breath as she prepares herself for the confession she didn’t plan on doing- ”quite fond of the shy, only a little bit responsible twin.” Fred is smirking again as he usually is, and quickly leaves the pair in the empty common room.

“I thought you liked Fred,” George whispers when she takes Fred’s old spot, “I didn’t think I ever had a chance with you.”

She giggles as she softly takes George’s large, calloused hand in her own and she rubs her thumb soothingly along the back of his hand. “You’ve owned my heart for years, Georgie. I thought I made that obvious last week on the lake.”

George thinks back to the moment of the lake and everything makes sense. Why she was being so coy when she mentioned confessing to someone and he suddenly feels very dumb. He pulls her hand up to his mouth and kisses her knuckles. He can’t help but feel incredibly overwhelmed, by the emotion they’re both letting out and how beautiful Y/N looks by the warmth of the fire. “You’ve owned mine for years too. How dumb are we?”

She shakes her head and cups his face in her hands, “We’re not dumb. Just…” she pauses, finding the right words, “Clueless.” She giggles and George realises how badly he’s missed being in her presence.

“I’m sorry for the last week. I’ve been a right prat, haven't I?” She nods and laughs again. “You have, but this just means you can spend the rest of our lives making it up to me.” She teases and George raises an eyebrow at her. He’s quick to wrap his arms around her waist, pulling her into his lap and shoving his face into her neck.

“The rest of our lives, huh? Getting a bit ahead of ourselves, aren’t we Y/L/N?” He teases, but he’s joking. He’d be perfectly happy spending the rest of his life making up for this past week if it meant spending the rest of his life with the girl in his lap.

“Hey, it’s taken us years to get together, I’m not letting you go now, Georgie.” She winks and George wants nothing more to press his lips to hers.

So that’s what he does. She makes a noise of surprise at first, and he almost pulls away out of fear that this isn’t what she wants. But she’s quick to pull him back to her. The kiss is desperate, years of pent up emotions and pining being communicated through it.

Both their hearts felt like they were about to beat out of their chests and Y/N couldn’t help but think this was better than she could ever have imagined. George’s lips were slightly chapped, days of chewing on them out of nervousness would do that but it was so distinctly George that she didn’t care. George pressed against her lips harder, making Y/N let out a slight moan that only he could hear and he couldn’t help but smile.

It was the most perfect first kiss either of them could have ever wished for and when they finally pull apart, Y/N can’t help but admire George. His hair is messy from having her hands run through it, his lips are slightly swollen and his cheeks are flushed red. He looks absolutely breathtaking and Y/N has to resist the urge to pull him into another kiss.

“Does this mean you're my girlfriend, now?” George questions. Y/N pretends to ponder for a moment, both to lightly tease George and to genuinely contemplate her answer. But she knows in her heart, she wants nothing more than to be George’s and a smile slowly overtakes her face.

“Maybe take me on a date first?”

#george weasley x reader #george weasley fanfiction #george weasley one shot #george weasley imagine #george weasley

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akaluan · 3 years

Note

aka i'm still losing my shit at the convo with Yakumo in the pits area. i have a Need to see louis cornering yakumo afterwards and going MC IS A FUCKING AMNESIA MAN FFS WHY WOULD YOU SAY THAT the game has CHEATED us of this prime content -ser

((ASK AND YE SHALL RECEIVE! Technically this probably does need a followup apology/discussion between the three of them when they finish the Howling Pit zone and go back to base, but I'll write that later. Also, in general, consider this canon for.. basically all my versions of code vein Erich, no matter which ending he gets.))

Louis leans against a piece of scrap, contemplating the misty, waterlogged area in front of them; he’s not looking forward to trudging through the morass, and even less to fighting in that morass, but needs must. He’s pretty sure he remembers a Bloodspring out in this direction, and if Erich can revive it — and the mistle in the whole area — it will mean more safety, more hope, for every revenant in the Gaol of the Mists.

He’ll do anything for a brighter future, even if it means wading through hip-high water and fighting the Lost while doing so.

“—we were all human once,” Yakumo is saying behind him, clearly chatting with Erich as they rest.

Louis shifts his stance enough to cast a glance over his shoulder, a touch of amusement curling in him at the sight of Yakumo holding one of his ubiquitous onigiri; Yakumo always has some of the damn things on him, though at least he’s stopped attempting to offer them to Louis.

(Though, Erich hasn’t had the joy of trying them yet, has he?)

(That will be an interesting—)

“If I completely lost the memory of my human past, I wouldn’t be me anymore,” Yakumo continues with, and Louis freezes, dread pooling in his stomach; he knew he should have pulled at least Yakumo aside before they left! He knew how Yakumo felt about memories, about losing them, about holding onto things, but somehow he’d not expected the man to just— just—!

“I would just be… something in the shape of me,” Yakumo says gloomily, oblivious to Louis’ rising panic. “I’d look like a revenant, but on the inside I’d be no different than the Lost. What’s the point of living like that?”

Breath hisses between Louis’ teeth and he turns, desperately hoping that Erich hasn’t taken offense, that Yakumo hasn’t lost them their best — only? — hope—

Erich is watching Yakumo with an unreadable look in his gaze and his expression otherwise calm; Louis would almost think the man completely unaffected, but there’s… something about him, about the way he’s standing, and the way his right hand is slightly curled, that makes Louis wary. It doesn’t seem like Erich’s about to lash out — his stance isn’t correct for that, at least — but if the man internalizes those words, comes to believe that he isn’t any better than a Lost, that his only worth is in fighting and pushing back the miasma—

No. He can’t let that happen. Can’t let the man think that he doesn’t matter when he absolutely does, when Louis would have welcomed him into their group even without the man’s unusual gifts!

Yakumo rises to his feet and shrugs his jacket into a slightly more comfortable position; he’s not looking in Louis’ direction, though, so he entirely misses the sharp ‘cut it out!’ gesture that Louis makes. Erich does, though, his amber gaze flickering away from Yakumo to settle on Louis for a brief, puzzled moment, before Yakumo opens his damn mouth again and pulls Erich’s attention back to him.

“I served in the army, back before I became a revenant. We used to eat these things when we were out on missions,” Yakumo says as he gestures slightly with the hand holding the onigiri. “I guess… it helps me remember.” He pauses, hand curling slightly towards his chest and chin tipping down, and adds, “It was a miserable time, but I made some good friends that I shouldn’t let myself forget. This stuff doesn’t really taste that great, but eating it always reminds me of those friends.”

Louis wrinkles his nose. Doesn’t taste that great is an understatement in his opinion; Yakumo’s onigiri tend to taste like absolutely nothing, not even salt, which is absurd when Louis knows the damn things are salted to high hell.

This time, the look Erich casts him over Yakumo’s shoulder has an edge of amusement to it. Which is… probably good? But at the same time, it makes Louis really want to see the man try to choke down the tasteless, sticky mess that Yakumo calls ‘onigiri’ and see how amused he is then.

“So I guess you could say it helps me stay me,” Yakumo announces a bit more cheerfully, as he walks past Erich towards the ramp down into the waterlogged morass below. “It’s been an important companion in my life!” he adds with a wry grin while turning back towards Erich, who huffs a small laugh and nods a bit, before freezing as he finally catches sight of Louis.

“Yakumo,” Louis says with as much quiet fury as he can. “Can we talk for a moment?”

“Er… sure?” Yakumo flashes a cheerful smile at Erich and says, “Sorry, we’ll be just a moment, alright?” before striding over to Louis, expression wary and fingers tightening on his onigiri enough to start deforming it a bit. “What’s up?” he asks quietly as Louis gestures him into the vague privacy of a nook made by rubble.

Louis quickly checks where Erich is just to be sure the man isn’t close enough to overhear, then quietly says, “Please never, never talk about memories like that around Erich again. This is also on me because I didn’t think to warn you, but… please try to avoid it, if possible.”

Yakumo blinks at him in confusion. “Louis…?”

“He…” Louis grimaces, wrestling with how much he should say, before sighing and running a hand through his hair. “Look, I’m sorry. I should have mentioned it, and I didn’t, but… neither Erich nor Io remember anything.”

He can see the moment Yakumo understands: it’s in the way he stiffens, the way his eyes round and his face blanches, the way the breath stutters in his throat and his chin tucks down towards his chest.

“Nothing?” Yakumo repeats in a horrified whisper.

“Nothing,” Louis confirms wearily. “Best I can tell, Erich has about a day or two of memories from before I found the two of them and Io has a few days more, but neither of them know anything about themselves beyond their names.”

“Shit. And I just… I said… shit…!”

Louis hums in agreement and steps closer, bumping his shoulder against Yakumo’s arm in an attempt at comfort. “Eat your damn tasteless onigiri,” he murmurs instead of saying anything else, content that Yakumo understands now and will do his best to help Louis head off any potential issues.

Yakumo scoffs and drives his elbow into Louis’ side in retaliation, though he does take another bite of his food and chews thoughtfully. “You thought about talking with Davis?” he asks the instant he swallows his bite. “Guy’s lost a bunch of his past, if I remember right.”

“I’ve considered it,” Louis agrees as he leans into Yakumo a bit and tips his head up to stare at the vast hole in the distance. “But I just don’t know…”

“If you should go waving that bit of info in front of everyone? Yeah, that makes sense.” Yakumo shoves the last bit of his onigiri in his mouth and dusts his hands off, chewing and swallowing so hastily that Louis is almost certain he’s going to choke. He doesn’t though, and promptly wipes at his mouth as he wryly says, “Still, might want to figure out how to let everyone else know, just so no one else sticks their foot in it like me.”

Louis grimaces but nods in agreement. He should probably just ask Erich and Io if it’s fine for others to knows about their situation — that will be the least invasive way to handle this, he knows — but he’s definitely not looking forward to that conversation. Not because they’ll fight him or be rude or anything, but because… because Erich will probably just quietly agree, and Io will follow his lead, and Louis will be left once again not knowing if they agreed because they want to or because they think they should.

He’s already having that problem with what they’re doing right now, dragging Erich out into the Gaol of the Mists in search of mistle and Bloodsprings: did Erich agree to help them because he wanted to or because Louis was the first friendly face he met that didn’t end up turning into a Lost? Does he actually agree with Louis’ plans, or is he just following along because he has no other purpose, no other direction, and he might as well go along with it?

(Fuck, if Louis was like some of the larger gang leaders, bright and charismatic and cruel, would Erich and Io still have fallen in with them so easily?)

(Power like Erich’s… almost anyone would do their best to flatter and praise and twist their way into controlling it.)

(Is… is Louis doing the same thing?)

(Is he just using them?)

A sharp elbow drives the breath from his lungs and slams him back into the rubble behind him, snapping him free of his twisting thoughts.

“You back with me?” Yakumo asks with a frown, then reaches out to poke Louis between his eyebrows. “You got all silent and guilty looking. Talk to me here, man.”

Louis groans and bats Yakumo’s hand away from his face. “It’s nothing,” he tries to deflect, then scowls when Yakumo just plants himself in front of him.

Yakumo clicks his tongue, gaze sweeping across Louis and then over at the rubble blocking their view of Erich. “Let me guess. You’re worried about coercing him.”

“It would be so easy,” Louis practically whines, letting his head thump against the rubble behind him. “If I say the wrong thing, give him the wrong idea—”

“Yeah, let me know how that works out for you,” Yakumo interrupts with a snort. “He’s quiet, but he’s got some pretty solid instincts. Er… well… people instincts at least. Not so much the instincts of ‘high places bad, watch your footing’, he absolutely does not have those.”

Louis chokes on his laughter, tears gathering in the corners of his eyes, and futilely drives a foot into Yakumo’s leg in retaliation; it’s not funny, it’s absolutely not funny, but the way Yakumo phrased it—

“Yeouch, hey! Just saying it like it is!” Yakumo yelps as he hops backwards, comically flailing his arms in the process. He casts a quick, surreptitious glance around the edge of the rubble as he does, then signs a quick ‘all clear’ and steps closer again, back thumping against the rubble right next to Louis. “Seriously, though,” he murmurs, all joking gone from his tone, “if he’s just muddling along on instincts and copying us, then you’re not wrong about worrying. Hell, I probably just made things worse without even realizing it.” He huffs and shakes his head, then casts a sidelong look at Louis and adds, “But we also can’t shy away from it, or pretend to be anything we’re not. We just gotta… do our best, you know? Be us. Be honest. Be kind. Try to remember that he doesn’t remember.”

“I know,” Louis agrees with a sigh, rubbing away the moisture from the corners of his eyes. “I know, but I still worry,” he admits softly, painfully, thinking about all the ways he could just… spin a lie around Erich that the man would never think to question. He won’t, not knowingly at least, but the idea that he could sits sour-heavy-horrible in his stomach, like the rotgut Yakumo brought home one day and insisted they share.

Yakumo shifts a bit closer, pressing their sides together, and bluntly says, “You should. Just don’t second-guess yourself too much, huh? Can’t have our fearless leader hesitating on us.”

Louis snorts and gives Yakumo a dark look in response. “When did this become you giving me a talk?” he asks in exasperation, even as he leans into Yakumo, soaking up the offered reassurance and trying to settle his mind; they can’t afford Louis hesitating or having his focus drift at a critical moment, Yakumo’s right about that, but knowing that and avoiding that are two very different things.

(It’s going to take him a while to sort all this out in his head.)

(Hopefully this trip through the pit will be uneventful...)

“Probably when you started having a crisis,” Yakumo answers flippantly, then nudges Louis lightly and asks, “You good now?”

“Good as I can be,” Louis says as he pushes away from the rubble and brushes dust from his pants. Not that it matters, since they’re going to be walking through a mire soon enough—

(Can he skip this area?)

(He’d love to skip this area.)

(Ugh!)

—but it’s something for his hands to do while he finishes collecting himself and getting himself back into the right mindset.

Yakumo steps away and gestures grandly for Louis to go first. “Shall we head out, then?”

Louis rolls his eyes, takes one last moment to gather himself, then steps around the piece of rubble and says, “Okay, all set!”

Erich glances up from the mistle, his gaze curious, but he says nothing as he rises to his feet and steps back expectantly, clearly waiting for something—

Louis flashes the man a smile as he walks forward, hoping that none of his doubts are obvious, hoping that Erich didn’t overhear any of their conversation, hoping-hoping-hoping—

“Let’s be careful as we go,” he says instead of any of the twisting jumble of words — of apologies — that he wants to. “If we get split up in this mist, we might never find each other again.”

Erich nods sharply, casts a calculating gaze out over the watery pit, then slants a wry glance at Louis and says, “Yakumo can take point with me.”

Louis snorts, ignores Yakumo’s snickering by dint of long practice, and says, “Appreciated, even if I still have to slog along behind you.”

“You’ll live,” Yakumo declares as he steps forward, clapping a hand on Louis’ shoulder as he swaggers past with that frankly ridiculous blade of his slung over his shoulder once again. “Come on, let’s go see what lurks in the shallows, huh?”

“I would prefer a bit less lurking,” Erich grumbles as he follows Yakumo down the ramp, his bayonet in his hands and his gaze sweeping across the area around them.

Louis makes an amused noise as he follows them down into the water, then immediately wrinkles his nose at the feeling of water pouring into his boots and making his pants stick uncomfortably to his legs.

(He already hates this place.)

(If it wasn’t for what he could learn here—)

(But no, personal comfort means nothing in the face of a way to help other revenants stuck here in the Gaol of the Mists.)

(He just… wishes everything was a bit less wet.)

(Ugh.)

#code vein #louis #yakumo #code vein mc #fanfic #replies #ser

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omgthatdress · 4 years

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How to make Cats a good movie.

I watched Cats, and once I got over the initial horror, I was actually pretty entertained and found myself enjoying the shit out of it. Like god bless it, for as nightmare-inducing as much as it was, Tom Hooper was clearly *committed* to his vision and you gotta give him credit for that. The scenery was actually really beautiful and the cinematography was frequently breathtaking. Like it really did have a lot of elements that really worked for it. But for every bit of genius, there was something terrible that the movie just couldn’t overcome. So let’s dive in.

First of all, you kind of have to understand Cats: the musical. It’s an adaptation of poems that T.S. Elliott of nihilistic lost generation fame wrote for his godchildren about cats. And the poetry is charming af and totally captures the nature of cats and why they’re so lovable. In the in the 1970s, Andrew Lloyd Webber did a shit ton of cocaine and decided to make a musical out of these poems. As a result, Cats has no plot. It’s a bunch of cats singing their songs about who they are and doing a lot of dancing. The thinnest of narrative devices is created with the “jellicle” ball and the deciding of which cat gets to ascend to heaven or some shit. So yeah. Cats is actually pretty controversial among theater nerds, it’s very much a you either love it or hate it thing. Is it stupid? Yes. Is it going to make everyone happy? No. Does it lend itself well to film adaptation? fuck no. I get the feeling that Tom Hooper was really going for deep, meaningful poetic cinema here and trying to make another Les Mis (which was way overly long and ultimately sank under its own sheer weight as a movie and probably is better viewed as a play). I’m operating under the assumption that Hooper was going for ground-breaking cinema that would have made millions and swept up during awards season and cemented him as a legendary director and gone down in movie history, because every little detail of Cats is clearly meant for maximum impact. You kind of need to drop all expectations going into Cats, so once you’re there, you can have fun with it. So how do you make it a good film?

1. The HORRIBLE hyper-realistic cgi human-cat hybrids. YES, it’s a technical marvel, and the CGI artists who made it all deserve a ton of credit for the work they did. And I understand why the actors were kept in their human shapes: live dance is a huge part of what makes Cats work. One of the smart decisions made was hiring theater veterans for the filler roles in the cat chorus, so when you have the choreographed numbers, it’s really spectacular. It’s just the end result was way too uncanny valley and bizarre for any of the film’s good parts to ever rise above it. I think a minimalist approach would have actually worked best. Cat ears and simple costumes with clean lines that show off the dancer’s bodies. Go for the suggestion of cats, and kind of let the viewer’s imagination take over, and showcase the cat’s personality. A huge part of what I enjoyed was hearing the poetry and imagining these cats and how they all relate to cats I’ve known. The dance and the music helped heighten this experience, but hybrids kept reminding me of the joke: what do you get when you cross a human and a cat? An immediate cessation of funding and a stern rebuke from the ethics committee.

2. The schlocky, honestly amateurish attempts at slapstick humor. I’m gonna come out and say it and say that Hooper is pretty deeply entrenched in *dRaMa* and has no sense of how comedy works. There was a lot of added in comedic bits from Rebel Wilson and James Corden, and it was honestly terrible. I mean really, a crotch hit? That kind of lowbrow comedy is so crude and base that it’s actually really hard to pull it off well. Slapstick comedy actually lends itself to the whimsical tone, and slapstick done well can be utterly sublime, but Cats seemed satisfied that fat people falling over is the height of comedy and should be left at that. And a second note on the comedy? Weirdly fat-shame-y. A saw a post about how odd it is to see James Corden, who has been very frank about how he’s struggled with dieting and come to accept that his body is fat and can’t be made not fat, playing this role where fat is added to his body, his CGI vest strains at the buttons, and he’s literally stuffing his face with garbage. The theme of fat people as lazy, stupid, and slovenly carried over from Rebel Wilson’s role, in which she also plays a fat lazy cat who is leaned on heavily for comic relief. I know the role is about a fat cat, and gently laughing at a fat lazy cat who loves to eat is fine, but, speaking as a fat person myself, this felt like a gleeful exploitation of a nasty and cruel stereotype. James Corden and Rebel Wilson are both extraordinarily funny people who happen to be fat, and their comedic gifts were tremendously mis-used here, reducing them to simply two fat bodies to be laughed at.

3. Jennifer Hudson. She’s a talented actress who can sing and emote like a motherfucker. And emote she did. She was clearly GOING for that second Oscar. I really don’t want to call her performance bad. The same level of emotion, tears running and snot flowing, in another movie, would have been devastating (Hello, Viola Davis in Fences). But this isn’t Fences, it’s fucking Cats. You need a level of character depth and development that Cats doesn’t afford to make those tears hit. All the crying and misery was an odd maudlin and over-dramatic break in the fun and whimsy. With a subtler performance and a hint of self-awareness, it could have actually brought in an emotional anchor for this light-as-air film, but Cats doesn’t make any attempt at nuance, and as a result the scenes just hit you out of nowhere like a load of bricks.

4. Francesca Hayward. Okay, before we go anywhere, I want to say that this girl is not un-talented. She’s the principal ballerina of the Royal Ballet, and has a very long list of ballets that she’s lead in. So it makes sense that she’d be hired for a role that’s primarily ballet. This girl is a really really great DANCER. But Cats was clearly trying to make an A-list actress out of her. They tried to make her into Florence Pugh, who has been acting for a while and is blowing up right now because she’s very talented. Like everything about Francesca’s role in the film said “This is a star-making role.” A new song was written just for her to sing as an addendum to Cats’s show-stopping signature song. But the song was just okay, it didn’t carry nearly the emotional weight or all-around beauty of “Memories,” and all in all felt wedged-in and totally unnecessary and really just felt like a grab at that “best original song” Oscar. Francesca’s voice is high, thin, and child-like. It’s not unpleasant, but next to the richness and depth of Jennifer Hudson’s voice, it crumbles, and it’s not the sort of voice that I want to seek out to listen to over and over again. As for her overall performance, she largely keeps the same look of wide-eyed wonder throughout her numerous close-ups, so much so that I found myself thinking of the the MST3K “dull surprise” sketch. But I don’t know if that’s really entirely her fault. There was an attempted romantic storyline with the magic cat, but again, because of the nature of Cats and its lack of real character development or depth, the chemistry fell flat. There really isn’t much of a chance to show off a lot of dramatic range, so to keep going back to her character, it kept reinforcing the one-notedness of her performance. Really, I just kept wanting to see Francesca dance. Ironically, I think they really blew an opportunity trying to make an A-list actress out of her. All she really need to make people want to see more of her is one spectacular dance number, but for some reason, she never really gets that show-stopping moment.

5. Dignity? I guess this goes back to the whole CGI cat thing, but there were a lot of moments when I felt this tremendous wave of second-hand embarrassment hit me on behalf of the talented actors in this film. Watching Gandalf lap up milk from a saucer was a wholly uncomfortable experience, like come on, grant the great Ian McKellan some fucking DIGNITY here. Which goes back to whatI said earlier that a suggestion and interpretation of cats would have worked better than all-out just being a cat. Or it could again just be how much Cats just fails its attempts at comedy. But then again there was no fucking reason at all for Idris Elba to be that fucking NAKED. I guess they were trying to make him sexy? But his sexy smolder and just being Idris Elba wasn’t enough they had to make sure that we all saw his chiseled pecs and thick thighs. And then at the end when he’s dangling off of the rope of a hot air balloon and what’s supposed to be a funny scene, I think, I kept thinking “I’m so sorry this is happening to you, Idris.”

There’s a bunch of other small, nit-picky things that I could go into. Those cockroaches would have worked so much better if they weren’t humans with an extra set of arms. Watching them get eaten was some horror movie shit. Taylor Swift’s Macavity song would have worked a lot better if the cat chorus full of cats we’ve gotten to know had sung it, but instead Taylor Swift is brought in as a new cat we don’t know whose only purpose is to sing the Macavity song? but of course a big oscar-bait movie needs to have that pop star that draws in the people who wouldn’t otherwise see it and making her a part of the cat chorus would have had her performing throughout the whole movie and she would have floundered the way pop stars tend to do when performing musical theater around a bunch of musical theater actors. So I guess I get why she was thrown in.

So.... yeah? Is there anyone else who found themselves enjoying it in spite of everything? I’m glad I have dogs and didn’t have to watch this mess with actual cats around me.

#Cats 2019 #Cats

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gloves94 · 4 years

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To Be So Lonely [Draco Malfoy] 6

Rating: PG-13 Pairings: Draco Malfoy/OC Chapter warnings: Bullying!

Raised as an orphan, Nel Saintday, endured years of torture from the Slytherin House. The Dark Lord only allowed her existence for her to serve a very specific vile purpose for him. Her birthright dictates for her to choose a side in the Wizarding War… But what would happen if she dares defy the Dark Lord and his wishes? And what happens when she falls for her tormentor? Will Nel fulfill her life’s purpose? And what side will her tormentor, Draco Malfoy, choose? The light that calls to him or the darkness…

CHAPTER MASTERLIST MY MASTERLIST

It didn't take Nel long to realize that her peers would not warm up to her anytime soon. Her lack of a blood status and the fact that she was a graceless orphan made her untouchable in their eyes. She could still remember the look on Crabbe and Goyle's faces when she was sorted into Slytherin. The two looked as if they were ready to warmly welcome her to the House with a nice shiner.

Vincent Crabbe and Gregory Goyle, also known to Nel as Malfoy's personal bodyguards were rather dull. They never said or did much besides eat and tail after their leader. Honestly, she wasn't sure if either of them actually knew how to read. Both of course, blue blooded lads just like the rest of the lot.

The other girls in her year seemed to go way back to kindergarten. It even sounded like all of their parents seemed to be friends. The girls shunned her out of gossip, gift exchanges and other private gatherings that they had. The fact that she was a Slytherin, and the house tended to have a reputation, made it hard to make friends from other houses. There was also the issue that Nel and Pansy seemed to be constantly butting heads, competing or bickering with each other since day one.

Daphne Greengrass was Pansy's right hand. However, their relationship seemed to be unstable with Pansy consistently wanting to one up the witch with backhanded passive aggressive envious jabs at her. Greengrass didn't seem to notice or care, Nel hadn't decided which one. She spent most of her day narcissistically combing and brushing her enviable blonde hair.

The only person in the girl's dormitory that seemed to be decent to her was Tracey Davis. Tracey's father was a Quidditch commentator because of that the girl was obsessed with the Pudlemere United and was often wearing their jerseys. Her mother was a Muggle which made her a Half-Blood and because of that some of the other girls looked down on her too. She talked about Quidditch constantly and even boasted how she would be trying out for it next year.

The first year Slytherin boys were not much different.

Despite the constant company of Crabbe and Goyle it seemed like Malfoy's best friend was a tall boy with dark features named Blaise Zabini. Blaise was charming and had no issue talking himself in or out of any issue. Even when persuading others do to his bidding. Nel could tell he was smart. It was no wonder that Malfoy kept him close to him. He was also terribly proud of his status as a Pureblood. He laughed at most of his best friend's cruel jokes, but tended to be more serious, opting out to simply look down in disgust at others he deemed to be inferior.

The last boy, Theodore Nott, was the quietest of the lot. He seemed to be constantly withdrawn in his own little world and disregarded most around him. No surprise, he was another Pureblood. The curly haired boy usually had his nose buried in a book. Out of the lot he seemed to be the one most indifference to Nel.

And then there was Malfoy…

The thought of him made her blood boil.

Specially after she had learned what the word Mudblood meant. She had asked Tracey one day during breakfast. "Who called you that?" She gasped a little with both of her dark eyes shot wide open in shock. "To your face?" She looked horrified.

As if it was that so hard to believe. The word was casually thrown around the common room with enough frequency that its ominous meaning lingered on the girl's mind.

Nel was presently on her way to Charms, a class that had so far become a favorite of hers. She clumsily walked with several books in her hands staggering on their weight as she pondered on the questions, she would be asking Professor Flitwick.

For somebody who despised reading she had been doing more than enough of it since arriving to Hogwarts. Not only did she have to keep her grades up, she had also learned she had to educate herself and be stronger and smarter than her peers. Specially if she wanted a fair shot at surviving the rest of the school year. It was even harder for her to keep up considering most of the lot came from wizarding families and had been exposed to spell works and magic since a young age.

Malfoy who was walking with his posse of boys watched her from a far. He had been extra bitter as of the late over the fact that Harry Potter had made Gryffindor's Quidditch team and had become the youngest Seeker in a Century. He of course had to take out his anger and frustrations on something - in this case on someone.

His eyes were glued to her back. Fixed on her horrible haircut.

"Watch this," he smirked at Crabbe and Goyle.

He flicked his wand in her direction. Nel didn't even see it coming. It was almost as if she had tripped on an invisible rope. She let out a loud gasp before taking a nasty spill, the handful of books she had been carrying spilling around her.

She looked at her scraped hands and lightly winced at them. Laughter approached her and then passed her as Malfoy and his friends walked by her the three of them laughing. She felt her head grow hot. Impulsively she reached for a large book and with perfect aim tossed it at the back of his head, hitting his gel helmet making him tilt forward.

"Next time you have the urge to hex me! Do it to my face!" She shouted at him.

"Oh, yeah?" He challenged stepping forward. "What are you going to do about it?" He whipped his wand out advancing towards her.

"Make you regret it, you fathead" Nel rose to her feet, books gathered in her arms. She pulled out her wand and without saying a word hexed him.

Malfoy's head began to grow and inflate like a balloon. He touched it and looked horrified when he realized what was happening. His head swelled up so much his face looked small compared to it. Nel let out a triumphant laugh and turned her wand to Crabbe and Goyle threatening them. The three boys scattered away in panic.

She heard laughter and turned to see Ron bent over with laughter a couple of steps behind her. Harry was next to him sniggering at what he had just seen.

"That's an illegal spell!" Granger stepped forward both her eyebrows turned up in concern. "You could get in serious trouble for that, or worse, expelled!"

Nel huffed humorously and lightly blew on her wand pretending it was a hot gun in one of those Western films she'd watch back at Wool's.

However, Ron shot Granger an irritated look. "Don't listen to her," he stepped forward. "Again, that was bloody brilliant!" He said in awe.

"Thanks," the girl responded as the four of them walked together to Charms class. "Your brothers actually taught it to me." She then turned to Potter, "Also, congrats on making the Quidditch team Harry. Youngest Seeker in the Century? That's pretty wicked," she smiled at him.

"Thanks," Harry flashed her an odd look. "Shouldn't you be upset? Slytherin is our rival team."

She shrugged casually. "I don't see any Slytherins around," she smiled charmingly before walking into potions. It was true. Ever since she found out what the word Mudblood meant - not wanting to be associated with such a disgusting ideology Nel had decided to shed her uniform. Opting out from wearing her emerald and silver tie and her green robes.

It seemed like her classmates had just realized that she wasn't in uniform because the Slytherin girls kept making comments about it or asking her why she wasn't wearing her robes which irritated her to no end.

“You’re going to make us lose House Points!” Bullstrode hissed at her, which made Nel roll her eyes.

Today they would be learning a new spell. One that was known to be most effective during dueling.

"Now, can anybody tell me what kind of spell Expelliarmus is?" Flitwick leaned over his podium eyeing the class.

Granger's hand instantly shot up in the air. Several students rolled their eyes at her. She could really be such an insufferable know-it-all sometimes. She was the kind of student that would remind the teacher to grade homework when it seemed like he or she had forgotten to collect it.

Elowen raised her hand for a change. Surprised Flitwick turned to attend the participation from the usually quiet student.

"Expelliarmus is a disarming charm. It's commonly used during duels to make an opponent lose their wand," she explained.

Flitwick seemed pleased. "Think you can demonstrate Ms. Saintday?"

"Uh…" She shifted nervously ready to cast the spell for the first time when Malfoy walked back into the class with a scowl on his normal sized face. She shook her head and returned her attention to the professor. Nodding, she flicked her wand and Flitwick's own wand flew out of his hand.

"Well done Ms. Saintday, 10 points Slytherin."

There were some low cheers on her side of the room. Nel was about to take her seat when the professor realized she wasn't wearing her uniform.

"Something wrong with your uniform Ms. Saintday?" He asked curiously. "Nope," The girl responded with an innocent smile.

"Then, may I ask why you chose not to wear it?"

The room grew silent expecting her answer. Tracy braced herself already wincing at the anticipated answer. Daphne looked at her oddly.

"Because I will not be associated with a House that prides itself and values bigotry and racism."

Xxxxx

Again, Nel had gotten herself landed in trouble. This time however, she had been sent to the person above Snape. The Headmaster himself.

She was sitting on a sofa chair before the Headmaster's cluttered desk. Her eyes wondered around the cluttered room looking at the many moving portraits on the walls. The mountains of books and artifacts and specially at the phoenix that seemed to be combing its crimson feathers perched on his post. She didn't know it was possible for such a beautiful creature to exist.

She was expecting Dumbledore to come from behind her but the man instead apparated on his desk before her. She flinched at the sudden movement lightly jerking back.

"Ah, Ms. Saintday," he greeted casually. "We haven't chatted since we were at the Three Broomsticks. Have you been adapting well to Hogwarts?" Funny how he used the word adapting. Instead of enjoying. She snorted at his words.

"I've had detention more times I can count and got sent to your office today. How do you think?" She answered rudely with complete lack of regard or respect that came from a lifetime of living under Wool’s thumb.

Dumbledore ignored her crass tone. "I also see you're not wearing your uniform. Any particular reason why?"

He already knew why. Why was he taunting her like this? Trying to tiptoe around her to try and get her to admit it? Suddenly the orphan felt like she was back at Wool's sitting in front of the Matron instead of the Headmaster.

Despite the dancing around the taboo subject he was looking at her with an odd expression on his face. Fascination perhaps? She couldn't quite put her finger on it. It was almost as if he knew something she didn't. As if this was some kind of personal test she had to pass. "You know why," She crossed her arms over her chest. "You'd be surprised to know most of Slytherin's students don't share the believes you are so concerned about. Even then, those same believes can stretch beyond house or even status," he explained in a dismissive tone.

'And what about those who do?' She wanted to ask. How could he take this so lightly?

"I can assure you that this institution does not tolerate or support any beliefs relating or pertaining to the discrimination of others," He reassured her. "I do understand that the Slytherin House gets a particular reputation due to the beliefs of the founder of your house, Salazar Slytherin, a name I'm sure you're more than familiar with."

She starred at him blankly. So? Snape had made her do several parchments on him and the history of Slytherin. Big deal. "However, since you've brought it to my attention," he stroked his beard sagely. "Something will be done," he winked at her with what she felt was the charisma that could move others to do his bidding to him.

She knew what Dumbledore was going to do. Absolutely nothing about it. She knew what those words meant. She had heard Wool say it plenty of times back at the orphanage.

He smiled at her and pointed his want in her direction. She flinched bracing herself to be jinxed or injured, but instead her green tie appeared and tied itself into a knot on her uniform and her green robe appeared from thin air growing on her arms.

"Sherbet Lemon?" He casually raised a glass bowl that contained a handful of lemon drop candies. Her mouth watered at the sight. Manipulative old man, lemon candies were her favorite…

She avoided his gaze before sinking her sticky hand into the bowl and taking a greedy fistful of them. Tongue half sticking out from her lips. She was about to leave when something stopped her before she reached the exit.

"I almost forgot," She returned to the desk. "Sir, I know that communication between Muggles and Wizards, is well, strained for less of a better word… Is there any chance that I can write to my friend Lucy? She's more family, really." She looked at him with hopeful eyes. "I'm afraid I can't make that exception Elowen. If Ms. Bonilla writes to you, what will stop the other children in Wool’s Orphanage from writing to you as well? The less people that know the better."

She slumped her shoulders in defeat. "However," he continued. "I would recommend you write to Ms. Wool to give your letter to Ms. Bonilla," he said kindly. "Is that all?" He crossed his arms behind his back.

Xxxxx

Nel was taken back when she found Tracey waiting for her outside of Dumbledore's office. "What happened?" She instantly asked. She looked more concerned than irritated which the orphan thought was odd.

"Nothing," Nel shrugged carelessly swinging her book bag over her shoulder. "Just talked," she said in a dull tone wanting to finish this conversation and just head directly to the owlery to write to Lucy.

"He wasn't angry?" She piped following the girl to the Great Hall. "No," Nel responded. She had a feeling that Tracey was only going to keep bugging her until she got her answers. "Like I said, we just talked. He offered me some candy," she said before popping one of the sherbet lemons into her mouth. "And made me wear my uniform."

They arrived to the Great Hall and sat at the end of the Slytherin table and helped themselves to today’s lunch rotisserie chicken, with rosemary potatoes, green beans and a split pea-soup.

"I thought what you did was brilliant," Tracey said taking a seat next to her classmate. "I wish I was that brave," she confessed.

Nel's eyebrows arched almost to her hair line in surprise.

"Or stupid," She heard a voice call from the other side.

Both girls turned to face Pansy who was sitting with Greengrass and Bullstrode. "You think just because you mastered one spell, you're better than all of us? That you can go cry to the Headmaster?" Pansy laughed.

Nel really wasn't having it today. She didn't even bother hearing whatever it was Parkinson had left to say.

"Sodd off fathead," She said casting Engorgio Skullus. It didn't take long for her head to begin to swell like a balloon just like Malfoy's had earlier. Students from other houses laughed at the girl's balloon head. Daphne and Millicent looked horrified as they escorted her friend to Madame Pomfrey. "Make that two spells!"

"Saintday," A familiar nasal voice spoke. Grimacing she turned back to see Snape standing behind her. "Detention…" He grumbled glaring down at her before stalking off.

Great.

"I thought it was pretty cool."

Neither one of the girls had even noticed that Nott had been sitting in front of them quietly reading a book. He looked up with the smallest of smiles.

The orphan didn't smile back. She gave him an odd look. "Aren't you… Like a fanatic too?"

Nott closed his book lightly and put it down. He did a light shrugging motion with his shoulders. "Sort of ridiculous, isn't it?"

Both girls returned his smile. Happy to have found some common ground and a new friend. Perhaps Dumbledore had been right. Maybe not everyone in Slytherin was terrible.

After lunch, for the first time since she arrived to Hogwarts Nel was happy. She was excited to write home and share the good news with her favorite person. She immediately wrote to Wool (Lucy) telling her everything and anything that she could tell her about Hogwarts and apologized for the lack of communication explaining that the school had no phones and was very particular about communications. Which was not a complete lie.

With that she sent Barberry off with it to London.

Xxxxx

The rest of the school year went as well as it could've gone, especially considering there was a dark wizard out and about seeking to obtain a weapon that was hidden in the school and that their stuttering professor or the Dark Arts turned out to be that dark wizard in disguise.

Nel never received a response a response from Lucy. Not that she was expecting one as her friend didn’t have an owl to respond to her. Who knows maybe Wool was keeping her letters from her. That was precisely the type of emotional torture that the evil woman would play out. The thought made her skin crawl. She prayed that Lucy would forgive her, that she'd understand.

Being a Slytherin wasn’t as unbearable as it had initially been now that Nel had two friends in Slytherin house and even some outside of it.

Much to her surprise she received a letter when the owls were delivering mail the day after swelling up Parkinson's head.

She couldn’t help but smile at the letter.

“Who’d be writing to you?” Parkinson asked while trying time catch a glimpse of the contents of the letter.

“Look,” Nel said leaning over, lowering her shoulder so that she could show the contents of the letter to Pansy. The girl peered over her noisily and let out a shout when she saw Nel’s wand poking out of her sleeve.

A spark went off and Pansy’s head once again began to swell up like a large balloon.

‘Glad to see you’re keeping the fatheads at bay. - F & G’

She couldn’t help but laugh a little and look up to meet the twin’s eyes from across the table. Some students were laughing at the balloon head in the table. Fred and George smiled proudly at the monster they had created.

"Detention Saintday." Snape muttered as he passed by the table. Whatever, it had totally been worth it. So, what if she had to spend a couple of hours polishing ancient trophies at night.

As previously mentioned, Slytherin was at least bearable now. Of course, it wasn't all daisies and roses but in the least bit it was tolerable.

Now she found the most unbearable part to be just how petty and horrible girls could be for each other. Especially when the other girls would comment on Nel's clothes. Since most of her pajamas consisted on oversized t-shirts and mismatching sweatpants that looked worn.

The majority of her clothing was very Swiss looking considering they all had as many holes as the cheese. She didn't even know how many kids had worn them before her.

The orphan built a thicker skin. She tried to push these insecure thoughts to the back of her head. As much as Nel tried not to be materialistic and let it get to her head, it was hard not to. The girl didn't have a single galleon to her name. She looked at all the beautiful things the other Slytherin girls had with green envy. Their pajamas all made out of silk with lovely buttons. Their clothes didn't have holes, lose threads, and weren't washed out, colorless or two sizes bigger than them.

However, the hardest part was watching how blinded they were to their privilege. How they took what they had for granted. She'd watch how they would all mishandle and treat their clothes like rags. Daphne even complained she was sick of having to wear the same thing more than once. Nel’s sticky fingers itched at the thought of taking something from them, it wasn’t like they would miss it. She also considered asking for it when they declared it so "last season" or something amongst those lines, but her pride was too great.

Nel would always be in need of money. Both in this world and the human one. This need awoke a new sense of entrepreneurship in her.

"Oi," She said tossing a crumbled-up paper to the back of Crabbe's head during History of Magic, also known as the most boring Wizarding class. Both him and Goyle turned back to look at her. Professor Binns was a ghost who had died during teaching, the man had not even realized he had died and simply stood up and continued teaching. Nel wondered how can one know they are not dead?

"Have you two done your transfiguration parchment on the difference between switching, vanishing and conjuring spells?" She asked Tweddle-Dee and Tweddle-Dum.

They shook their dumb heads no in unison.

Of course, they hadn't.

"I could help you with it," She implied. Then realized she'd have to be more concise considering how daft the boys were. "I'll do it for you," she clarified. "A Galleon for every 5 inches."

For somebody that despised reading so much Nel couldn't help but be locked up in the library most days doing Crabbe and Goyle's homework. The two didn't seem to care what grade she landed them as long as they were graded with Acceptable. And both were more than willing to pay.

Eventually she started getting other clients with strange request. One afternoon two male Ravenclaws approached her.

"You're Saintday.” One stated. "You're the girl that writes parchments, right?" The other said both seemed nervous as they fidgeted.

"Perhaps," she drawled out eyeing them curiously. They were Ravenclaws, weren't they supposed to be super smart? What did they need her for? "For the right price…"

"You also know how to turn people's heads into balloons, right?"

She arched her eyebrow at this.

And that's how Nel Saintday became the person you went to whenever you needed a favor done. All transactions were done carefully under the table in the musky corridors of the library to keep everything as anonymous and safe as possible. Parchment writing, hexing, you name it. Nel would make it happen. However, if you wanted something from Hogsmeade or Zonko's she'd refer her few clients to her associates in mischief the Weasley twins.

It was greatly frustrating seeing Slytherin lose the House Cup at the end of the year. Especially considering they had lost because of Dumbledore's favoritism to Gryffindor and the special attentions he put on Harry Potter. Nel scoffed bitterly. She liked Harry fine, but his special treatment really wasn't fair to others. Maybe she envied him. Like her he was an orphan, but unlike her, he had fame, he had a fortune, he even still had a family. Whereas she had nothing.

Finally returning to London at the end of the term. Nel wasted no time pounding on the orphanage’s door.

"Dear God, have mercy on me," Cordelia said aghast at the return of the girl he saw as the evil incarnate. Nel didn't bother in greeting the Matron. Wasting no time, she pushed past her, leaving her trunk and owl by the entrance as she rushed to the girls’ dormitory.

"Lucy!" She shouted excitedly her voice carrying over the corridors as she ran with a broad wide smile.

Some kids eyed her curiously, others cheered to see she had returned. Nel continued shouting her best friend's name as she poked her head into every room she could find. Her heart was pounding from the excitement.

"Lucy!" She shouted again entering the dormitory. She rushed over to Lucy’s bed and her heart dropped at the sight. She felt a painful jab on her chest. All of Lucy's belongings were missing, there were no photos on the wall, books on the nightstand or shoes underneath the bed.

She was gone.

End of Year 1

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hollygoeslightly · 4 years

Note

1. I couldn't help but find Sydney's actions at the end to be very deceitful. As much as it's framed as a tragic choice where he comes out a bruised victim unintentionally hurting Charlotte, I feel that his choice is quite like Ms Champion's and he and the audience cannot actually claim that the exact same thing is any better than her cruel choice years ago. They both left their betrothed for money and we have no idea whether her circumstances were dire or not, yet she was painted as a villain.

2. And as much as I fell in love with Charlotte and Sydney, Sydney's actions at the end when it came to his treatment of her, were deplorable. Even Lord Babbington didn't kiss nor touch Ester in that society until he proposed, even when it seemed a sure thing. He respected her dignity in society and understood what it meant to take advantage of a woman before truly providing for her or making a promise. Thus when they finally kissed, it was celebratory.

3. I had a feeling when Sydney kissed Charlotte before asking for her hand, in a sense rewarding the audience prematurely, that it wouldn't happen. Simply because in that society and context, he knowingly skipped the steps of honoring a woman rightfully rather than using her. He made no promises before they kissed. He didn't propose. Also, speaking to Charlotte about marriage is too important to delay for a week later. The fact that he didn't spare a minute to finish their convo spoke ill.

4. All of these little things at the end of the season, the last episode, left a bad taste in my mouth and gave me the sense that it would end badly. Because as much as we know that Sydney loves Charlotte dearly, his actions were irresponsible and spoke otherwise. Even with money, there are many possibilities for something to come through. You don't barter with a person though, risk hurting someone you love especially after promising them a life, or leading them.The irresponsibility is likeOtis!

5. I know that in that society, Sydney is smart enough to know how much his actions would have consequences on a vulnerable young woman who doesn't even have money to her name. He knows that it's important to have promised marriage before touching her. He knows that making such a promise, he mustn't break it, because she will make arrangements pertaining to her entire life and wellbeing, resting on him. He's also experienced the same vile taste of that happening to him! What do you think?

6. Also just to be clear, I don't want to demand anything of you and I don't want to be negative. I love your meta and I put weight on your interpretations which is why I'm asking. I also love the character of Sydney, which is why I'm deeply disgruntled by this. Not the end, bc I saw that coming, but what the last few incidents mean for his character. I trusted that he'd understand his impact; all the parallels to scoundrels, the context of society, and the contradiction to Babbington is not good.

Hey!

Thanks for the question. I hope you don’t mind, but I’m going to break down your question into parts in order to ensure my answer will make some semblance of sense.

Real Life and Reel Life

I’ve spoken about this before, but it bears repeating as it has a significant impact on how I interpret the show – I am not an Austen purist, nor am I a stickler for complete historical accuracy when it comes to my enjoyment of a particular movie or TV show. For instance, I know some people were frustrated by the historical inaccuracy of Charlotte wearing her hair down, but Charlotte’s modern hairstyle was never something that bothered me. Everyone’s mileage varies of course, but as long as the characterisation is cohesive and interesting and the creators have managed to convey the overall spirit of the period of time the story is set, I’m happy.

It’s also worth noting that while Jane Austen was a fairly historically accurate author, her body of work had a very narrow focus – middle class and upper class families in country villages in southern England. And while her body of work is historically accurate, it’s also intentionally sanitised. Regency and Victorian England was a time of significant social, political and economic change – beneath the shiny veneer of tea rooms and good manners was an underbelly of sex, drugs and gambling.

Why am I mentioning this? Because Sanditon was Andrew Davies’ attempt at expanding Austen’s focus – placing Austen’s signature study of manners against the backdrop of a fairly chaotic period in time. Personally, I loved this aspect of the show. Not only did Davies force the audience to confront their preconceived ideas of what a typical Austen character actually is, but it allowed the characters to push against issues outside of love and marriage. Don’t get me wrong, I swoon every time Darcy helps Elizabeth into the carriage after the ball at Pemberley or Anne reads Wentworth’s letter, but it was nice to have a slightly different interpretation of Austen’s work.

Finally, I firmly believe that part of the agreement you undertake when interacting with any form of entertainment is the suspension of some degree of reality. The amount of suspension is dependent on the work of course, but even true stories require some form of suspension (e.g. the amalgamation of characters, timelines sped up) to be entertaining. In the case of Sanditon, the characters inhabit a close approximation of Regency England, but not an exact copy (e.g. Charlotte wears her hair down, clothing is not always period appropriate). This is also the case when it comes to characters breaking a few of the social conventions that Austen routinely explored. For example, while Sidney kissing Charlotte prior to proposing to her in 1x08 would have been frowned upon in the real world, in Davies’ version of Regency England, Sidney kissing Charlotte is not a poor reflection of his character nor does it indicate that he knowingly took advantage of her – it’s simply a way to drive the narrative forward and create an entertaining story. This is supported by the fact that Charlotte’s reputation remains in good standing despite spending time alone with both Sidney and Young Stringer and that Esther faces no consequences for the exposure of her romantic/abusive relationship with her brother in 1x08. So while I understand that for you, Davies’ choice to overlook certain social conventions is frustrating, I think it’s important to acknowledge that the world Sanditon presents us is not 100% historically accurate, and for the purposes of entertainment, I don’t think it can be.

Sidney, Eliza and Otis

Following the fire in the new terrace apartments in 1x08, Sidney is forced to make a choice between love and money – his love for Charlotte and his desire to save his brother (The Worst) from debtor’s prison. Sidney is faced with an impossible choice and in the end chooses to sacrifice his own happiness (I think Sidney believes that Charlotte will be able to move on and find happiness again) for the well being of Tom, Mary and the children. As you’ve pointed out, this is a direct parallel to Eliza choosing money over her love of Sidney. However, I don’t think it’s accurate to claim that both decisions are equal in cruelty – doing so removes all nuance from the situation.

While I understand why some members of the fandom believe that Eliza could have had a valid reason for choosing money over love, I don’t believe the narrative supports that argument (whether this would have changed in S2, I’m not sure). Eliza is described by Tom (1x06) and Arthur (1x07) as intentionally betraying Sidney’s trust, choosing the safety of wealth over love.

Arthur – “Do you know, for years all I knew about my brother, Sidney, was that he was driven to the West Indies with a broken heart.”

Sidney – “And what’s your point Arthur?”

Arthur – “I admire your spirit of forgiveness that is all. If it were me, I do not think I could bring myself to trust her again.”

Arthur speaks of a betrayal of trust that he does not believe he could ever get past, a betrayal he is surprised that his own brother is willing to forgive. The reason Sidney is so damaged by Eliza’s betrayal is not because she was forced by circumstance to marry for money (if that was the case, it would be presented as two lovers torn apart by outside influences e.g. Sidney and Charlotte), but because by choosing to marry for money, she publically declared that Sidney was not enough. The love and future he could offer her was not enough. Eliza’s choice is so cruel, because her decision is so mercenary in nature – it’s a decision made out of choice, not necessity. She made the decision knowing what it would cost and she deemed that cost (Sidney’s self-worth) worthwhile.

This is also the case when it comes to Otis’ treatment of Georgiana. Otis made an active choice to barter with Georgiana’s name in order to extend credit for his gambling debts. He had multiple options available to him, number one being to stop gambling, but he made a decision where he would benefit and Georgiana would be placed at risk. On the other hand, the audience is made aware that Sidney is forced into a position where there are no right choices. Regardless of the decision he makes, someone will be hurt. He is the only one in the position to find the money to keep his brother out of debtor’s prison and as a result, Tom’s failure to insure Sanditon costs Sidney his future with Charlotte. Intention matters. Yes, all decisions lead to people being hurt, but Sidney is the only one who also suffers as a result of the decision he made.

While I understand the audience was upset by Sidney’s decision (I didn’t like it either), I also think an ending where Sidney and Charlotte marry while Tom is sent to debtor’s prison (most likely for the rest of his life) and Mary and the children are made homeless and shunned by society for Tom’s misdeeds, would have also been incredibly unpopular.

Sidney and Lord Babington

On the surface, I can understand why you’ve compared Sidney and Lord Babington. Both fall in love with feisty women and both intend to propose marriage to said feisty women – it’s an easy connection to make. However, I don’t think it’s accurate to say that Sidney’s actions are wholly bad and Lord Babington’s actions are wholly good simply because Lord Babington’s proposal ended in a marriage.

Let me give you another interpretation of Lord Babington and Esther’s relationship (not one I subscribe to, but one that can be drawn based on the narrative). Taken by Esther’s honesty and derision, Lord Babington makes Esther aware that he has feelings for her. Esther in turn rejects Lord Babington and tells him all further attempts on his part would be futile. Despite this, Lord Babington continues to pursue her, writing letters which she never answers – another clear indication that she is not interested. Lord Babington visits Sanditon with the express purpose of seeing Esther (1x05) and requests a private walk without a chaperone where he proposes marriage. Esther rejects his proposal. After hearing Edward speak badly of his sister, Lord Babington visits Esther in private, again without a chaperone present. Following Lady Denham’s recovery he once again goes on an outing with Esther without a chaperone. After discovering that Esther had a romantic relationship with Edward and Esther telling him that she doesn’t love him, Lord Babington proposes marriage for the second time and Esther finally accepts. They marry.

If S2 had gone ahead, I’m fairly sure Esther’s love for Edward and her lack of love for her husband would have been a major plot point. And while I think it would have all worked out in the end, that Esther would have realised she loves Lord Babington, what if it hadn’t? Esther may have come to resent her husband, trapped in a marriage by a husband who knows his wife does not love him, still pining for the one man she couldn’t have because of circumstances out of her control.

Again, I understand why the choice to ignore some social conventions may be frustrating, however in Davies’ version of Regency England, breaking these conventions do not have the consequences they would have had in real life. By judging the actions of the characters by real life rules, you are assigning intention and consequence where there are none.

I think it’s also worth noting, that apart from Sidney and Charlotte themselves, nobody knows that they kissed and only Alison, Mary, Georgiana and Young Stringer are aware that Sidney was intending to propose marriage. Charlotte’s heart may be badly bruised, but her reputation is still intact.

Charlotte’s Agency

Perhaps it’s because Charlotte’s agency is more quietly expressed than other characters, but I think the argument that Charlotte became passive in the final two episodes, overlooks the very active choices Charlotte makes in regards to her feelings for Sidney. Passiveness suggests inaction, and in 1x08 Charlotte chooses to act – she asks Sidney whether she can join him on his walk into town. This may seem inconsequential, but it is anything but. Because Charlotte is not only choosing to trust in her feelings for Sidney and in his feelings for her, but she is telling Sidney his feelings are reciprocated and those feelings are strong enough that they need time alone to discuss their possible future together. The agency lies with Charlotte the whole time.

We began with the scene with a rather inane discussion about the weather and Charlotte’s family – Sidney is both desperate to discuss their conversation from the previous night, but patiently waiting for Charlotte to indicate that this is something she wishes to do. She does, telling him she would rather continue their walk together than return to town for her dress fitting.

Charlotte – “We seem not to be walking into town?”

Sidney – “Ah, yes, your dress fitting. Forgive me, what a fool I am. Should we head back, perhaps?”

Charlotte – “No, there is absolutely no urgency about my dress fitting. A walk along the clifftops is much more to my taste.”

Sidney – “Good. My thoughts exactly.”

Sidney is willing to end their walk and the possibility of discussing their feelings at the slightest hint that this may not be something Charlotte desires. However, following Charlotte’s lead, Sidney admits that he wished to find time alone with her to discuss their conversation while glancing at her mouth every five seconds, and of course they kiss. What is important to note is that Sidney continues to check in with Charlotte at every point in the lead up to that moment. Charlotte only had to say no or ask to return to town for Sidney not to proceed, something she is well aware of and actively chooses not to do. Responding positively to Sidney’s actions is not the same as passiveness. You only have to watch as Charlotte stares longing at Sidney to know that she desired the kiss just as much as he did.

Why am I mentioning all this? Because in your question, you talk quite a bit about Sidney’s choices and actions, and the consequences they may have for Charlotte, without acknowledging that Charlotte is an active participant. Do I think that means she could have somehow prevented what occurred? No, but nor do I think it’s fair to remove Charlotte’s participation from her own storyline. She may be a victim of incredibly poor circumstances, but I don’t think it’s fair to say she is a victim of Sidney’s poor behaviour. Sidney and Charlotte not ending the season married does not cancel out Charlotte’s agency in choosing to pursue her relationship with Sidney.

Thanks for the question, I hope I made sense!

#askbox #sanditon #jane austen #sidney parker #charlotte heywood #lord babington #esther denham #sanditon meta #mine

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cloverchats · 4 years

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The Crowns (A short story by Nick Davis, me.) Note: This is a peek into my own version of the minecraft world, its mysterious, ambiguous, and not completely explained.

It was after me, I didn't know exactly what or who was chasing me down but I could feel my adrenaline rushing through me. The otherworldly stone beneath me, seemingly making my fleeing so much harder, flatland turning to small hills within seconds. The orange squash surrounding my head feeling pivotal to my survival for no given reason, I don't dare to take it off despite my vision being so narrow.

All of a sudden I hear something flying down, something large, could it be…?

No that’s impossible, I thought, that thing has been gone for centuries and it will never come back.

The reality of the situation ignores my sense of logic as I feel my body batted away by something long and scaly, my back quickly hitting a large pillar, The imitation of a head shattering, its seeds and other contents spilling out and flying all around me, just like what is going to happen to my own head.

I see in front of me the very beast of legend that died long ago, but now in the flesh, she is scarier than any campfire story told of her.

She loudly approached me, purple fire gathering in her humongous maw, almost ready to end my life with one blow,

I scream, exasperated, tears coming to my eyes, “What do you want? What do you want with me?”

Dominance is the last thing I hear whispered right behind me before I wake up with a cold sweat.

The salty fluids of my own fear covered me as if I just took a shower full of it.

My eyes were widened, the world spinning with the radiant glows of a fiery pink, was my mind playing cruel tricks on me or is there something else going on?

I wandered to my forge, right next to my bedroom so I can always get started on my various projects.

Three special tables were set up, the glowing colors emanating from them.

The sources were a special project I was paid riches upon riches to do despite me still not knowing what the purpose was.

A man had somehow broken into my forge and left the money, and the supplies in a box beside his bed, a letter explaining the commission, the instructions, and how the sender would simply pick up the product of the labors later.

Despite being scared of a man who owned artifacts of world history being able to get into my house without a trace, I decided to comply for both the riches and my safety.

I have never had a safe life, I was taken in by bandits that murdered my parents, I had to do horrible crimes and things before they trusted me enough so I could escape, and the journey to find my own place and make a living was even worse, getting robbed, beaten, and almost eaten by the monsters that lurk through the night.

And even now I always get jobs where I have to waste my time and money making some grand weapon or item of value or I get my life put on the line. But this, despite the high pay, might be the most dangerous job I had ever received and I knew barely anything about it.

Laying on each table was a crown, one that supposedly belonged to the first ever king of the overworld, (It's still debated who is the first king), one that belongs to the current king, and one that will belong to the next.

I had been given three glowing shards to imprint upon the crowns, seemingly broken off some form of magical artifact but I wasn't told what. It took a lot of hard forgery but I was able to get them deep inside the metals of the crowns. But the thing is, and I swear I am not insane, like the shards were whispering, but it was all so…. Distorted? Like I wasn't supposed to hear what they were saying.

Magical, Cursed, Possessed or otherwise, the crowns were finished and ready to pickup whenever my mysterious buyer decided to show up. Hopefully soon because I was not trusting that glow.

All of a sudden, I started walking, but not of my own accord, towards the glow, the disorienting whispers becoming more and more clear.

Pick one.

I try to stop my feet, but they keep on going. I think to myself about why the whispers wanted me to take one of the crowns, I came up with nothing beneficial.

Oh it will benefit you, The crowns start floating as I get nearer, The power of one shard can control entire islands, think of what you can do with that power.

I dont trust it, I try to pull away from the nearest crown taking me in.

No one that breaks into your place can hurt you

I stop struggling for a second before resuming

No dragon could kill you

There is no dragon!

And you will be safe for all eternity

I come to a complete stop, was my want for safety now stopping me from having an actual life of safety, can this crown right before me actually give me the power to not just create whatever project I desire but be protected against anything or anyone that wishes me harm?

I grab the crown and visions all of a sudden cloud my mind, the whispers becoming screaming, the world becoming a glow, I was becoming the most powerful man the world will ever-

I hear a swoosh of moments and within seconds I get sliced in half by a mysterious figure, carrying a scythe. My blood and guts spilling out like the pumpkin in my dream, the last thing I ever see is a figure with glowing white eyes, grabbing my crown and putting his fut down on my face as I take my final exasperated breath.

No one will ever harm me again.

#minecraft #short stories #writing

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saintorr · 4 years

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The Most Beautiful Parts

by St.Orr c. 2017

The most beautiful parts of myself glow when I have compassion for myself, for my pain, my joy and solitude; for the craters, bags and wrinkles that attach themselves to my face and body as I age. Along with these come the tears, smiles and feelings (stuffed and unstuffed) that constitute this lovely, divinely starborn (and sometimes stillborn) psycho-bionic being and oh so grounded human entity called myself. There are broken dreams and anger, the shadows of dark and the shadows of gold; both the ashes and the infinite parts of the pieces of the puzzle that make up the me, a man who thought he was a little girl, who then accepted the man he grew into, wrapped in all of the scars of that cocoon woven into a fleece of many colors, of many shadows, and seasons that make up a life.

I can see the grace and beauty of those larger than life stars as they sit at their tables at the great awards shows, the Golden Globes, the Oscars, etc. I sit at home and watch and wonder at their flow, their luminosity, their electric energy broadcast through all the wireless waves and satellites and piped into my monitor; I feed on them, consume them and think to myself because I can see their beauty, their grace, that I have it too! Because I can feel them glistening with unimaginable gentleness, grace, beauty and power, then I too must have those things in me. Or maybe some essence? Well, doesn’t every human being?

When these luminous ones come together to make their art, they overshadow all the neurotic news of bombastic tyrants and terrorist statistics; they shine through the fear, bloodletting, violence and hatred of the current world, circa winter, 2017. But they shine their fake smiles on all the dreamers and poets who still scrawl, write, and scrounge through the bottom layers of silt seeking a chance at the glamour and the gold of this crap game called show business where beauty is elevated to an art form that can inspire and lift. Their beauty too can be a trap—for it is the A-list, in-crowd that the agents and managers feed on and fight over, the stars we worship and adore. For, let's face no one wants or cares to hear about the losers whose dreaming destroyed them.

The only famous person I ever massaged was Clive Davis. Other writers have warned me never NEVER to use real names when I record my memoirs but here I go. My purpose is not to gossip or slander but simple illustrate how the high roads and pinnacles of great success can sometimes meet the everyday world of the common man and produce a strange concoction all its own. I was called to Davis’ black marble penthouse tower on Park Avenue late one Sunday evening. He was an elderly man, he owned his own massage table and after a very anti-climactic session he paid me partially in nickels and dimes. While I stood there, in his kitchen, receiving the coins in open palms, his sick, dying Cocker Spaniel had the audacity to throw-up on my shoe. I don’t think there were any pennies. Clive inspired me to write a song called “Park Avenue” which I later produced, recorded and played for him when he called me for a second massage. He didn’t seem impressed when he heard it. “Meh, it's not a killer” he said, shrugging his shoulders and curling his lips. So much for inspiration.

There was one client who actually did pay me partially in pennies; a forgettable outcall in the West Village truly more deserving of the demeaning label of trick than that of massage client. Besides the backbreaking massage, this arrogant, cold-blooded white snake of a humanoid also demanded that I piss on him in his bathtub. I still recall the hideous, garish Kelly green and shiny silver wallpaper of that awful bathroom; and the urge to throw the carefully counted pennies that he doled out right back in his face as he paid me off, both of us standing by the door. God I so wish I had flung those pennies right back into his satiated, smirking face. This was after I rubbed him and worked him up to a sensual release as the bedside photo of his lover standing on some pristine Hamptons beach replete with foaming waves and pant legs rolled up in the sand looked on, a boyish smile sweetly singing into the camera.

The little boy in me has followed the man to the places where touch replaced sanity as the ultimate actor's “Survival Job” and the worship of the ecstasy of the orgasm was all, was enough, was better, truer and more real than any other form of working in the mundane “real world” could ever be.

Now, I am emerging from that cocoon. Emerging from all my years that are spread out like a long, murky dark night of the soul. Older, wiser, a bit slower and a bit less generous with my body and hands to the hungry, horny minions of men; for what choice does one have when the downtime waves come lasting for a week, two weeks, or two months? In years past, when I was younger, the downtime could be measured in hours or days, there was always an endless supply of male (and sometimes female) clients in and out and up and down the one flight of stairs leading to my one-bedroom East Village flat. Then I recall all the hours spent in spas, the Plaza, the Waldorf, the crème de la crème of the best hotels and spas in the city; those passive aggressive, peach and crème-colored torture chambers with their silken linen smells and serenely smiling blond aestheticians working the front desk, making bookings, taking payments, listening to the complaints of the rich and not-so-famous. How many times was I initiated into the true meaning of the embalmed slave-state of the so-called service industry mentality? The place where New age serenity smiles are glued in place like impenetrable plastic masks. Oh the ache of the pressure of hands on bodies, hour after hour, giving until there’s nothing left to give; to have to smile, to have to fight attitudinal managers over incorrect paychecks, explain yourself like a criminal when some cunt complains about something you did or didn’t do (“too much peppermint oil on my thigh, it started to burn!” "So sorry to rock your bliss lady, but the cap was loose and came off in my hand!” or “During the massage, his fingers felt much too close to my inner thigh;" or "he stole my Rolex watch”). Oh what joy to be jumping like a trained circus dog when the cruel but handsome, Latin bisexual manager snapped his fingers “Room 4-Go!” at the West Village “Nickel-Spa for men.” That was the summer of the blackout I remember. There, in a tiny massage room, in the dark, a client lay prone, waiting. And there, light from outside glowed through a slit in the door like some view into a World War II NAZI gas chamber that "Hector” would peep through to check up on you, his eyes searching and accusing, making sure you weren’t doing anything naughty! In the darkened room while you massaged, sometimes you fantasized about lunch, the end of the shift, fantasizing the clock speeding up so the hour would go faster. Also, sometimes there were mysterious energy shifts and exchanges. You would begin the massage with a sore wrist, back or an upset stomach and simply through the mindful meditation of touching--of giving--your malady would disappear. Miraculous. After many a massage too, the clients would reappear looking pleasantly-sleepy, refreshed and years younger. Healing hands are so underrated. There is a lovely Zen quality to simply touching and being paid for it. It’s a pure physical, intimate work on a much higher level than office 9-5 drudgery. I’m grateful too for all the joys the sexual release work have given me through the years. Talk about “sweet labors of love.” So it almost appears strange that after all this physicality and all this time I wonder why is it that now, when I find myself servicing a client’s sexual needs that an intense nausea rises in my gut and I’m forced to fight the almost overwhelming urge to vomit? Interesting that after what?--some thirty years of doing massage (I started in 1990) that this very ethereal thing called self-integrity that I thought I’d lost or abandoned years ago, (my lost soul perhaps?) has come back to own me with a vengeance. Or maybe I’m owning it, my dear, sweet self-soul, after all these years. Thank you, God. I guess there’s a point where every man grows into his skin and outgrows his tired, cock-heavy adolescence. It’s as if my gut is telling me “You HATE this.” But I ignore the feelings and my urge to puke when repulsion grips me. I know the hour will soon be done and this strange “stimulation/torture/meditation” meshing and merging of energies, fluids and fantasies called M4Mmassage will help me pay yet another month of my over-priced New York rent. In my new vision of this my “third ace,” I see myself fleeing this inflated, over-hyped, hollow, over-populated and all-too-neurotic place called New York City. Please God, soon, I pray, just the vista of the ocean and a small garden and I’ll be fine. Oh, and no more massages please, unless he’s my lover and not a client.

#fabulousfaggotry saintorr stevenorrwriter stevenorr nycmasseur

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unfortunatephantasm · 5 years

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The Grudge Book

Well, that’s what it was titled. It wasn’t actually a book. It was a file on USB, many files, in fact, all in one folder. There were hundreds of files. Each of them carefully labelled, numbered, and all written in notepad.

Sara didn’t know quite what to make of it. She had simply been walking from one class to another when she saw at her feet a plain black USB. On reflex, she picked it up, and then forgot all about it.

When she got home, it fell out of her pocket, and out of curiosity, she plugged it into her laptop. In her school, there were all sorts of people. Bullies and weirdos weren’t uncommon, even druggies were known to hang around. That was the price you paid for going to the only high school for 50 km. That wasn’t private.

She hadn’t hesitated to open it until she saw the USB’s name.

“Homework”

Who would go to the trouble of labelling a USB? Moreso, go to the trouble of calling it “Homework”? Only an OCD freak or an actual freak would bother. Or...

someone with something to hide.

Who would want to look at a USB with nothing but homework on it? Nobody, except perhaps a teacher.

Shrugging it off, she opened the USB and was greeted with two little folders.

“Grudge Book”

“program”

Curiouser and curiouser. Opening the folder; Sara’s jaw dropped. That was a lot of people. She started scrolling. And kept on scrolling. And... scrolling.

Eventually, she reached the end.

“#789- Jared Davies”

789. 789 people had done something to annoy a person enough to put them into a list of people they didn’t like.

The mystery of the USB got even thicker. Who could be that petty? A lot of the girls were very unforgiving, but when they didn’t like someone, they generally went ahead and said so. They wouldn’t do something as ineffectual as this.

Plus, all of those girls wouldn’t need this sort of thing, being capable of bringing to memory the smallest of slights, and the person to blame for it.

So probably a boy then. Sara knew that she didn’t know every kid in the school. That was impossible; there were above one thousand. But she knew faces and names, if not anything deeper. She could look down a hallway and recognise at least 50% of the people walking up and down its cream coloured halls.

So she thought she had a pretty good chance of finding the owner. If she didn’t know, then one of her friends would know, and if they didn’t know, they would know someone who would know. Eventually, they could find the owner.

But Sara didn’t want to share this with her friends. She didn’t want to keep the USB, knowing that someone else had used it so much, and for such a purpose. She wasn’t selfless, but she wasn’t unnecessarily greedy or cruel.

Showing her friends was the last resort, as some of them could be quite mean when it came to strangers. Especially someone as weird as this. They would probably tease the owner mercilessly, earning a place in the USB if they didn’t already have one.

Browsing through it, she looked for some form of ownership of the USB, but, there was only the long, long, list of people.

Opening a couple, she was delighted by the neat layout of each document, if not their contents.

It was simply done, without any extra information. Simply the entry number, the person’s first and last name, and then the date it was first put into the folder. It was then followed by a list of their offences, each one labelled with another date so that the owner could see how long it had been since a person “offended” them.

Some of the entries had some offences marked with a “RESOLVED” at the end, followed by the means of... what exactly? She couldn’t call it “revenge”, because some of them were simply unrelated accidents, not actual action on behalf of the grudge-holder.

“Oh wait! It’s called a “Resolution” when things like this are “resolved”, isn’t it?”

But some of these “resolutions” were particularly vicious. They went from the simple act of scathing insult to anonymous letters containing scary threats and secrets to massive pranks that were seen by many.

The worst part was; many of these “resolutions” were recognised by Sara. She had heard along the grapevine about students receiving these letters, or seen people get caught in the grudge-holders pranks. Some of them were legendary in school history; like the time when the entire football team came back to the locker room after a big loss, itching like crazy. When they opened their lockers, they found them filled with all sorts of bugs and creepy crawlies.

The team was still not in action after that stunt, as the locker room was still being fumigated, due to the rat infestation discovered a week later after the bugs.

This was only one of quite a number of terrible pranks. The guilty party had never been found and had ascended into school myth.

But now... Sara held the only record detailing why these pranks had been done. If she could find the owner, she herself would go down in the history books, as there had never been the slightest shred of evidence that anyone had done, except for the fact that all of the incidents were definitely due to malicious intent.

“Hang on... I wonder if anyone I know is in the Grudge Book? Or perhaps if I’m in it too?” The thought came from nowhere, but now that she was thinking about, it seemed like the obvious thing to do.

After all, she had seen proof that this person was willing to not only get revenge, but also exact terrible punishment upon those who had wronged them.

Entering her name into the search bar, she was greeted with her folder.

“#578-Sara Withersby”

Inside, however, she found only one offence, already marked resolved, due to how minor it was. Apparently, she had simply tripped and bumped into the person, causing them to almost drop their drink. The person had then simply gotten revenge by bumping into her when she had a drink, although their attempt was successful in knocking it onto the floor.

While she didn’t remember doing it to the owner, she remembered dropping her drink one day because someone had bumped her. It had been last month, and she never got to see the perpetrator.

“SARA!!! COME AND GET YOUR DINNER!!”

Her mother’s voice blasted through her door, and she hurriedly ran off to the kitchen, USB forgotten.

---

#shortstory #schoollife #mystery #newauthor

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greekprodigies · 6 years

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Why Shows Like Insatiable Are So Toxic, Despite Their Intentions

As a teenage girl who has only recently grown out of watching Disney Channel, it was safe to say I was intrigued when Netflix released the teaser trailer for their new 12-episode series Insatiable, starring Debbie Ryan, who played the title character of Disney’s Jessie for four seasons. It was a 30-second clip of Debbie Ryan in a hot pink dress, walking down a junk food aisle at a colorful grocery store, smashing everything on the shelves with a sledgehammer. Ryan’s voiceover says, “I’ve heard stories of girls who grew up happy and well-adjusted. This is not that story.” My first thoughts were, based solely on this teaser, that the main character seemed to be the villain, or at least a girl with a grudge. And, based off of this girl’s seemingly bad relationship with food, I also figured it would portray fat shaming in a way that most popular television shows don’t. I was hoping that Netflix would take their power over the teenage demographic and show a perspective that strayed away from the (respectable and still necessary) insecure overweight character still coming to terms with her own body (i.e. Kate from This Is Us or Rachel from My Mad Fat Diary). A perspective that I, an overweight high school senior who has already been through the ringer of despising my fatness, could relate to.

It’s obvious, in retrospect, that I was thinking way too deeply into a vague half-minute teaser video. I had gotten my hopes up. Those hopes were soon diminished when the official trailer was released

The video starts off with Debbie Ryan in a fat suit (I’ll get to why that is so grossly offensive later), introducing herself as Patty and showing her constant struggle as a victim of bullying and fat shaming at her high school. Her classmates (who seem to all be thin) call her “Fatty Patty”, and go so far as to spray paint it on her locker. Irene Choi, who plays Patty’s cruelest offender, is shown shouting “Porky! Butterball!” through a megaphone in the cafeteria, pointing to the main character. Then, after what seems to be a fight over a chocolate bar with a homeless man, Patty is punched in the face. Her voice-over tells us, “Having my jaw wired shut lost me more than just my summer vacation.”

Enter Patty 2.0. She’s the sparkling image of every chubby girl’s dream weight after she watches a show like this and vows to cut off carbs. No stretch marks, no cellulite, nothing that reflects what somebody’s body actually looks like after losing a large amount of weight in such a short period of time. The trailer escalates to a montage style of clips of Patty slapping, punching, and even pouring liquor onto some of her classmates before lighting a match.

It feels like a fantasy that’s trying to be relatable. That’s telling us that every bullied teenager, who’s frontal lobe isn’t developed enough to have a lot of perspective, craves revenge from their tormentors. And it’s easy for this narrative to be confused as a realistic depiction of the experience of being a teenage bullying victim. It’s even in the news, shown in the series of article published about domestic terrorist Nikolas Cruz revealing him being an orphan and being described as an “outcast” in interviews following the Parkland shooting. Sure, Insatiable’s revenge plot is meant to be satirical the same way Dexter (which Lauren Gussis, the writer and executive producer of this show, also worked on) is, but because it’s set in a high school during modern day, Patty (possibly, based on what’s shown in the trailer) killing her classmates hits a softer spot.

In the Teen Vogue article that was released with the trailer, Gussis explains how she “felt it was important to look at [bullying] head on and talk about it.” But it’s hard to look at bullying head-on when its changed so drastically over a span of 20 years. It’s past mean nicknames and cruel but clever comments said as two characters pass in a hallway. And more recently, it’s past cyberbullying. Or, at least, the way adults view cyberbullying based off of tone-deaf shows like Glee and dramatized TV movies like Cyberbully (which stars not one, but two former Disney Channel actresses). I’ve never met a high school student who got called a slut or gay 200 times in the comment section of a Facebook post. And, if I am completely wrong due to the fact that I’ve grown up during the social media transition from Facebook to Instagram and Snapchat, that form of bullying died when the Facebook phenomenon did. It is a subtler conversation than the beautiful cool kids versus the ugly losers.The solution is simple: If you’re going to make a show based off of your experiences of bullying in the 80’s, 90’s or even early 2000’s, make the show take place during those decades. Colliding old stereotypes to a character who exists in 2018 is unrealistic and humiliating.

Intention wise, Insatiable can be easily compared to another controversial Netflix original series, 13 Reasons Why. In the warning videos that are shown before watching, the stars of the show say, “By shedding a light on these difficult topics, we hope our show can help viewers start a conversation. But if you struggling with these issues yourself, this series may not be right for you, or you may want to watch it with a trusted adult,” And this message perfectly conveys a show that’s purpose seems heartfelt but is ultimately clueless. Here we have a television program that is produced by a bunch of 30 year olds, where people in their 20’s play high school students (yes, everyone who plays a teenager in 13RW are actually in their 20’s), pretending to understand what it’s like to be a teenager as if the dynamic between young people and mental illness hasn’t changed immensely in just the past couple of years. Just in five, the use of memes and irony has shifted from simply making fun of something, to helping us cope with the fact that our world is on fire. Everybody is laughing at the jokes about depression because, since the rise of social media and the quantification of how many people like us, we all feel depressed. Suicide, though tragic, has now been boiled down to kids saying they want to kill themselves when they have too much homework. We have an education system that teaches us about the anatomy of sex but never teaches us what questions need to be asked about consent during our sexual experiences. So making a show to start a conversation about depression, suicide, and sexual assault that warns it’s targeted audience (who are constantly surrounded by these topics) that the show might not be right for them is simply irresponsible.

But, if I can counteract what I just said, 13 Reasons Why horrifically also is the only show I’ve seen that has the most correct articulation of modern bullying. That’s not to say that anything else with the show is correct, because it’s not. Perhaps what is so wrong about 13RW is that, because they focus so much on the bullying aspect of high school, it provides a direct correlation between bullying and suicide. Well, that, and the graphic/triggering suicide and sexual assault scenes that were used for shock value. Nevertheless, Hannah Baker doesn’t go home and find a bunch of Instagram DMs of her classmates called her a whore. Any secrets that Hannah’s offenders had regarding what could have led her to kill herself were events that happened IRL. And they were just that: Secrets. Because the bullies were ashamed of what they had done. Even before Hannah committed suicide, Jessica Davis didn’t just go around telling people she slapped her ex-best friend because she thought she had betrayed her.

With Insatiable, it seems like everybody in this fictional high school (except for Patty’s best friend and maybe even a popular girl with a heart of gold) is insanely okay with harassing a girl just because of her appearance. It’s insulting, both as a fat girl and an observer of modern bullying. There isn’t one school in the country where 99% of its students just allow this sort of cruelty. Because we have perspectives and opinions that (surprise!) aren’t always swayed by whatever Instagram model is trending right now. Just because Emma Chamberlain is successful and skinny, doesn’t mean that we’re brainwashed to only make skinny people successful. I’m not saying that there isn’t an institutional privilege that skinny girls have, and have always had when it comes to social acceptance. Because they do. But there’s a gray area where most people stand when it comes to issues as new and contentious as body positivity, and Insatiable is ignoring it. You don’t have to be a body-posi activist to know that making somebody feel like shit because of their weight is wrong. And I hope this show can have a character that, without having any relation to Patty, recognizes that what these bullies are doing is outrageous.

After we recognize that the intention of these shows is ultimately flawed, we can then try to take a step forward and look at the impact. 13 Reasons Why, after being loudly criticized by suicide prevention experts, broke virtually every rule of portraying suicide. And as a result, a study shows that searches such as “how to commit suicide”, “suicide hotline number” and “teen suicide” were elevated after the show’s release. The time period for the search ended on April 18th of that year after NFL player Aaron Hernandez committed suicide, which could have influenced data. And any searches related to the movie Suicide Squad were discounted. Sure, the show had increased suicide awareness, but it also unintentionally increased suicide rationalization. And I fear that Insatiable may be on the same path. Regardless of the revenge plot or the bullying, there is still a skinny actress in a fat suit portraying a fat character who only eats, sits on the couch, and feels bad about herself. Then, after a summer of not being able to eat, returns to high school skinny and composed.

Firstly, the use of a fat suit is sickly but overall not surprising. In a world where blackface and yellowface in Hollywood has only just become unacceptable, fat suits seem more defendable for skinny people who don’t understand that there are a plethora of plus size actors who could have played Fatty Patty just as well (and most likely better) than Debby Ryan with pillows stuffed up her shirt. Perhaps the show could have avoided being so oblivious to its fat-shaming storyline if they had an actual fat person weighing in on it.

Secondly, there is the characterization of fat people as losers who do nothing but eat and watch TV. If there were a time and place for these characters to exist, it is definitely not now, where the call for diversity in Hollywood is louder than ever. Plus, we’ve already seen these people before. And it’s the same plot every time. They are only created to provide a funny prequel to a supposedly more stable version of the character. “Fat Monica” from Friends and “Fat Schmidt” from New Girl show a universe where plus size people can’t be taken seriously until they shed the pounds. When in reality, fat men and women are perfectly capable of being successful in their professional and romantic lives. Ironically enough, another New Girl character comes to mind when I think of plus size characters being accurately portrayed: Emily. She’s Schmidt’s ex-girlfriend from college, who dated him when he was her “Big Guy”. After Schmidt reminisces about losing his virginity to her, she resurfaces into his life as a confident woman who goes on dates and isn’t ashamed of who she is. There even seems to be a layer to her character showing that there had been a time where she was insecure about herself and her body but has overcome them. This is an example of a healthy goal for young girls and boys who are self-conscious of their body. Not Debby Ryan’s character, who only gains confidence after losing an obscene amount of weight.

It may actually be the casting of Debby Ryan that could cause a rise in body dysmorphia in young people from watching this show. Since her face is plastered on every poster, teaser and trailer for the show, Disney Channel fans, and former fans might watch simply because she’s cast as the lead role. It’s certainly what sparked my interest in the show. And since Disney Channel’s demographic has gotten younger and younger, there’s a generation that will watch this show and not see it as fat shaming, but a way to become the person they’ve always wanted to be. Skinny, beautiful and confident while simultaneously making all of their classmates' jaws drop as they walk down the hallway. But Patty doesn’t lose weight healthily, she literally could not eat solid food. Depending on how the show addresses this, it is a possible glorification of anorexia. Just like 13 Reasons Why glorified and romanticized depression. But two wrongs don’t make a right, and anorexia and depression can not make anybody beautifully broken.

To make things clear, I am not telling you to not watch this show. And based off of the 100,000 signatures (and counting) on a petition for the show’s cancellation, none of us may even get to. But speaking as a person who fits into all of these groups, Insatiable gets everything wrong about being a high schooler, a teenage girl, and a fat person.

#insatiable #netflix #debby ryan #op ed #fatphobia #fat shaming #body positive #body posititivity #anorexia #depression #13 reasons why #13rw #suicide

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lunaschild2016 · 7 years

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Worth Fighting For - Chapter 1: Begin At The End

Rating: M (violence, smut, language, references to abuse and violence)

Romance/Tragedy

He was ruthless, cunning and completely committed to protecting his city but her arrival to Dauntless called everything he ever thought he believed into question. Duty and following orders were no longer enough. They both found more than they ever thought possible. They both found something worth fighting for. Eric/OC AU M Tragedy/Romance

@kenzieam@ericdauntless@jojuarez26@jaihardy@iammarylastar@captstefanbrandt@captainviolets@badassbaker@readsalot73@fuckthatfeeling@dani5102@beltz2016@beautifulramblingbrains@affabletimelady@irasancti@meganbee15@pathybo @lauraaan182@gylisaa@scorpio2009 @gylisaa

A/N: Posting this here but is also on ff.net site.

_____________________________________________________________

The Choosing age has changed twice since Eric and Four joined Dauntless at sixteen. First it went to eighteen and then two years before our story starts it was changed yet again by the orders of Marcus Eaton to the age of twenty. Eric and Four have been members of dauntless for over eight years at the start of the story. The last two years before choosing the dependents were kept to doing faction oriented duties.

Eric Coulter: 24, Dauntless Leader, transferred from Erudite at 16. (Jai Courtney-original cast member)

Kat Prior, 20, Initiate, transferred from Abnegation at 20 (Chloe Grace Moretz)

Chase Oldham, 24, Dauntless Training Instructor/Intel Ops Officer, transferred from Candor at 16 (Liam Hemsworth)

Tris Prior, 20 (almost 21), Initiate, transferred from Abnegation at 20 (Shailene Woodley-original cast member)

Tobias ‘Four’ Eaton, 24, Dauntless Instructor/Control Room Officer, transferred from Abnegation at 16 (Theo James- original cast member)

Zach Godfrey, 25, Dauntless Legal Liaison Officer, transferred from Candor at 16 (Aaron Taylor-Johnson)

Zeke Pedrad, 24, Dauntless Intel/Control Ops Officer, Dauntless-born had choosing at 16 (Charles Michael Davis)

Uriah Pedrad, 20, Initiate, Dauntless-born (Keiynan Lonsdale - original cast member)

Marlene Banks, 20, Initiate, Dauntless-born (Suki Waterhouse-original cast member)

Lynn Morrison, 20, Initiate, Dauntless-born (Rosa Salazar-original cast member)

Max Cornell, 48, Dauntless Senior Leader, Dauntless-born had choosing at 16 (Idris Elba)

Christina Stevenson, 20, Initiate, transferred from Candor at 20 (Zoe Kravitz -original cast member)

Will Madsen, 20, Initiate, transferred from Erudite at 20, (Ben Lloyd-Hughes-original cast member)

Tori, 32, Dauntless Tattoo Artist, transferred from Erudite at 16 (Maggie Q-original cast member)

Bud, 44, Tattoo Shop Owner/Artist, Dauntless-born choosing at 16 (Sebastian Roche)

So hard to let go

And I still hear the sound

Of your voice singin’ in my head

I can’t surrender

‘Cause the ropes slowly coming apart

But hangin’ by a thread

It’s gone on

�� For too long

And this is it

So take a look into my eyes one last time

So we never forget

The way we were before

When we came alive at the moment we met

This is still worth fighting

Still worth fighting for

A glass that’s half empty

Won’t wash away the mistakes

It only makes a mess

It’s worth defending

A tiny glimpse it would take

To make us better yet

It’s gone on

For too long

And this is it

So take a look into my eyes one last time

So we never forget

The way we were before

When we came alive at the moment we met

This is still worth fighting for

A love that wants to live

I’ll give you all I’ve got to give

So let’s try one last time

So we never forget

This is still worth fighting

Still worth fight for

Now that we know just who we are

Now that we’ve finally come this far

I’m ready for one more battle scar

‘ Cause this is still worth fighting for

[Still Worth Fighting For; My Darkest Days]

Chapter 1 - Begin At The End

Third Person: Candor Complex, Final Justice Annex

In a cold, sterile room made of white marble with swirls of black covering the walls and floor was a chair of black leather. The only piece of furniture in the center of the stark room, similar in shape to that of a dentist chair.

Strapped to the chair was a man clothed all in black. The first time he had been allowed to wear the colors of his faction since his own arrest a week and a half ago. A small gesture from those leaders that disagreed with what would be happening today.

Maybe it was supposed a kindness or a show of support. Just like their insistence that they still be allowed to be the ones to proceed with his sentence, his execution. It was ironic really that at the end of it all he was finally getting the respect from the faction he had always given everything to. A respect he had never received during his close to nine years there, no matter what he did or gave before. In the end...he was giving his life.

But it hadn’t been all for them or even the city. He was still selfish enough to admit that freely.

‘Was it worth it, Eric? Betraying your faction? Your city? Was she worth it, Coulter?’

The bitter and taunting words of a deranged woman from her own cell when his sentence had been pronounced reverberated through his head.

Movement around him draws his attention as the forms of the leader’s council come into view. The Dauntless surround him but the noted absence of one brings to him relief and pain. Four of the five current leaders take their places to either side of him while the rest of the faction leaders take up places on the outer edges.

One Erudite, Cara he thinks as he remembers her name, steps forward to join the Dauntless. In her hand she holds the instrument of his death. A locked box containing the death serum they had pronounced would be used on him instead of being allowed the death of a Dauntless, the customary bullet to the brain. The reasoning was that since all five of the Dauntless leaders had voted Not Guilty that it wasn’t a true Dauntless execution.

It was all just bullshit and another way to try and make him pay for the crimes he committed, yes, but also the ones the other leaders wouldn’t hold themselves responsible for.

“Eric Coulter, for the crimes committed against your city, your faction and humanity; you have been sentenced to death by injection of the Erudite death serum. This will be carried out by one of the Dauntless leaders, per permission of this council. Will the chosen for the proceedings step forward.” Jack Kang’s voice rings out from the side of the room.

Instantly Eric goes tense and a growl erupts from him as the petite blonde steps forward. “Not her!” He barks out commandingly. “Anyone but her.”

“Eric..” She starts to object, tears in her eyes as she continues to step forward.

He tosses his head from side to side, lips thinned and red in anger. “Not happening, Tris. You know you can’t do this. She will never fucking forgive you. Not like this...not after all the shit I…” He stops and takes a deep breath. “She can’t lose her sister too.”

Tris bites her lip and looks away nodding, knowing he is right but knowing her duty.

“Fuck it. I volunteer in her stead.” Four steps forward holding Eric’s eyes showing him he understands and will take care of it. Knowing that he risks losing his oldest and best friend for this.

Eric flashes a grateful look and relaxes back into the chair while Four puts a comforting hand on Tris’ shoulder to move her back but she shakes her head and raises her chin.

Her eyes flash with fire, a look he knows so well and it is comforting to see even if the color of her fire is off from the one he loves so much.

“She wanted to be here….but after the trial and then…” Tris trails off and Eric chuckles wryly knowing exactly why her sister wasn’t allowed into this room.

“Unless you want to add to the body count this was the only way to go.” Eric agrees.

There is a clearing of the throat and then Jack Kang speaks again. “Do you have any last words?”

There is a pause while they allow him to gather himself, or just give him time to speak if he is going to. The words of a deranged and enraged Jeanine Matthews were still ringing through his mind and a slow smile crossed his face. Not the cruel or wicked smile he was a legend for. This was her smile. The one that was only for her and could only be brought forward by her or thoughts of her.

They flooded him now. Their first meeting to their last kiss. And he answers the question that had been in his mind from the day she stepped on his roof.

“She is worth it. She and we, were worth fighting for. I found my reason and my purpose, something greater than myself. I can live with it...the blood on my hands...because I know it all comes down to her and those she cares about being safe.” Then Eric’s face turned hard, more into the expression everyone who knew the ruthless and fierce ex-leader would expect him to have. “Don’t fuck up this second chance.” His tone rings with a command that sends chills through the other leaders but amusement and pride through those in black.

The rest of the world fades away for him as he tunes it all out. He doesn’t see the room around him anymore as the murmured ‘be brave’ motto of their faction comes from the four to his sides. He doesn’t feel anything as Cara and Four begin to prep his neck for the injection.

All his senses and thoughts are on a playback mode. Starting from the day that changed his life forever and the course of the city. It occurs to him during this that it had started for them much earlier than that day she jumped from the train into his life. It began with the promise of a ten year old girl to set things right. Pride and love burn through him along with the pain of the modified serum.

“You did it angel. You kept your promise.” Eric’s final words were a whisper on his last breath and a smile tilted his lips.

#eric coulter #divergent #fanfiction #divergent fanfiction #eric coulter fanfiction #jai courtney #tris prior #four eaton #liam hemsworth

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husheduphistory · 5 years

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James “Pink” Chaffin: Guided by a Ghost

In September 1921 the Chaffin family of Mocksville, North Carolina was distraught. The head of their family, James L. Chaffin, suffered an accidental fall and was now dead leaving behind his wife and four sons - Abner, Marshall, John, and James Jr. Throughout his life Chaffin was particularly close with Marshall, even trusting him with his last will and testament for safekeeping, but when the document was opened most of the family found themselves receiving yet another blow.

The family never doubted that Marshall was Chaffin’s favorite son, but when the sixteen-year-old will was read it was revealed that he was the sole beneficiary without a cent going to Mrs. Chaffin or the three other brothers. Remarkably, none of the remaining Chaffin family members formally contested this seemingly cruel decision. Marshall and his wife Susie took over the 120 acre family farm but if there was any secret animosity between the remaining brothers and Marshall it did not have long to brew, within a year the fortunate son was also dead from a heart condition. With all of their father’s earthly belongings now passing into the hands of Marshall’s widow and their son there was another opportunity for bitterness to boil over, but once again it did not. Mrs. Chaffin and her remaining sons simply went on with their lives.

The grave of James L. Chaffin.

Grave of Marshall Chaffin. Image via Findagrave.com

The reaction of the Chaffin family may paint them as people who did not need to worry about such things as money, but this was not the case. Chaffin’s second son James Pinkney Chaffin, also known as “Pink”, worked his own farm planting cotton and sugarcane with some small supplemental funds coming in from selling his homemade ax handles. Four years went by in the life of Pink Chaffin until one night he began having extremely vivid dreams with his father making unnerving appearances. In the dreams Pink was in bed when the elder Chaffin suddenly appeared at his bedside, looking “sorrowful” and wearing a very familiar black overcoat, but saying nothing. On the evening of June 25th 1925 Pink again encountered his father in a dream, but this time the old man had something to say. He pulled back his overcoat and said to his son “You’ll find my will in my overcoat pocket.”

Pink could not get the dream out of his head. It was so strong and seemed to be heavy with purpose. There was more to this than just a wispy nighttime vision. Pink told his wife about the encounter and said that he firmly believed this was in fact a direct message from his father and that he had been given instructions that he had to follow. He traveled twenty miles to his brother John's home, he knew the overcoat was up in the attic. They found it. The pocket was sewn shut. When they ripped the stitches and reached inside the stunned brothers found a small paper scroll with a handwritten message from their father, “Read the 27th Chapter of Genesis in my daddie’s old Bible.”

Any second guess Pink had that this was a message from his deceased father dissipated and he knew his next move was to go find the old Bible. But, he knew that this strange series of events now needed a witness. It was July 6th when Pink’s neighbor Thomas Blackwelder answered a knock at his door and was presented with a familiar face telling a very strange tale. Pink was asking him to come along to his mother’s house in search of a dead man’s Bible because the dead man himself spoke to him in a dream. Blackwelder agreed to go and when they arrived at Mrs. Chaffin’s home the hunt began for the old book.

After some digging in Mrs. Chaffin’s home the pair finally found the bible, and it showed its age. It was battered and beaten, but Blackwelder opened the delicate pages to Genesis as the overcoat’s note instructed and found that chapter twenty-seven told a familiar tale, the story of how Jacob, son of Isaac, received his father’s blessing which disinherited his brother Esau. At the chapter they found two pages folded into a pocket, and inside there was indeed a paper. It was a will, and it was dated eleven years after the original will that handed everything to their now-dead brother Marshall.

The new will, dated January 16th 1919, had some significant revisions and spoke the words of a man who recognized his original unfairness and wished to rectify it:

"After reading the 27th chapter of Genesis, I, James L. Chaffin, do make my last will and testament, and here it is. I want, after giving my body a decent burial, my little property to be equally divided between my four children, if they are living at my death, both personal and real estate divided equal if not living, give share to their children. And if she is living, you all must take care of your mammy. Now this is my last will and testament. Witness my hand and seal. — James L. Chaffin”

In the fall of 1925 Pink Chaffin was in court to plead his case regarding his father’s secret will. Knowing the story of the will would raise eyebrows, he arrived at the courthouse prepared, bringing with him the neighbor Thomas Blackwelder and ten associates of the senior Chaffin who all verified that the signature and second will were absolutely legitimate. Davie County Superior Court had never heard a case involving a ghost and the newspapers went wild interviewing Pink about his father’s message from beyond the grave. They all came to court ready to fight, but they didn’t need to. During a court recess a settlement was reached with even Marshall’s widow Susie reluctantly agreeing that the signature on the second will was authentic.

Davie County Courthouse shown after it was rebuilt in 1917.

Pink Chaffin and his brothers left the courthouse that day with their inheritance granted, but there was much speculation. Was the will forged out of spite by the forgotten Chaffin brothers? But if so, why wait so many years to bring it to court? If they had simply found the previously unknown will, why make up a story about ghostly messages? If it was a message from beyond why not tell him to go straight to the Bible instead of the extra step leading him to the overcoat?

A year later the case of Chaffin and the ghost caught the eye of the Society for Psychical Research (SPR) and an attorney was sent to speak to members of the Chaffin family and Blackwelder about their claims. In 1927 he came to his official conclusion, that he found no hint of insincerity or fabrication in their accounts and the story was true. He was not fully supported in this decision with other members of the SPR stating their belief that it was all an elaborate hoax carried out by a few brothers who were bitter about their lack of inheritance. Pink himself never once swayed from his story, stating “I was fully convinced that my father’s spirit had visited me for the purpose of explaining some mistake.”

The case of Chaffin and his ghostly visitor remains one of the most intriguing paranormal cases of messages crossing into the land of the living and it continues to be studied to this day.

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wisehowell · 7 years

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just a lot of questions

got tagged by @teatowelhowell to answer these 92 questions- that’s a lot, btw THE LAST 1. Drink: water 2. Phone Call: one of my best friends to rant about something 3. Text Message: hm oh on sc i was ranting about bts to another best friend 4. Song You Listened To: let’s open spotfiy... coming home by tuen/anki. oh that’s a good song. i don’t think anyone knows it exists, but 5. Time You Cried: heh like i remember i probably hit my toe against something HAVE YOU EVER 6. Dated Someone Twice: lol single life (my parents no let me anyway) 7. Been Cheated On: heh 8. Kissed Someone And Regretted It: heh 9. Lost Someone Special: my grandma :( also three best friends bc we went to different high schools and it was too hard to stay together 10. Been Depressed: uhm no i’m too confident it’s kinda insane but yea 11. Gotten Drunk and Thrown Up: yep, at age fifteen. (altho i’m like 19ish days away from sixteen) LIST 3 FAVORITE COLORS 12. teal, green with a hint of blue. not aqua, which is blue with a hint of green. 13. silver (especially if it shimmers) 14. a rich blue IN THE LAST YEAR HAVE YOU 15. Made New Friends: of course! i made about thirty, idk. but i love em all. some graduated high school tho so now i’m sad 16. Fallen Out of Love: what is love 17. Laughed Until You Cried: duhhh 18. Found Out Someone Was Talking About You: nah i’m that “smart, cute girl that’s too loud and follows every rule ever” according to my friends we got no drama 19. Met Someone Who Changed You: my four best friends 20. Found Out Who Your True Friends Are: mhm. for now. but college... 21. Kissed Someone On Your Facebook: do you mean ig or sc bc fb is dead 22. How Many of Your Facebook Friends Do You Know in Real Life: like i have fb no it’s for old people like my parents 23. Do You Have Any Pets: a hermit crab named digger! nickname- diggles 24. Do You Want To Change Your Name: well my name is annoying bc ‘phoebe’ is never in any gift shops and people (guy friends mostly) say it wrong on purpose or spell it wrong. people i’ve known for years spell my name wrong- pheobe. i’d change it to idk what something cool like olivia or kat. 25. What Did You Do For Your Last Birthday: that was a year ago jeez but i think i went to a waterpark 26. What Time Did You Wake Up: 7, altho today was a rarity usually it’s 8ish 27. What Were You Doing at Midnight Last Night: tumblr and anime and sc 28. Name Something You Cannot Wait For: taylor swift’s new album. yes i’m a swiftie. fight me. 29. When Was The Last Time You Saw Your Mother: last night i’m still in bed lol 30. What is One Thing You Wish You Could Change About Your Life: my mom having the job she wants instead of being a librarian. nothing about me tho i’m good. 31. What Are You Listening To Right Now: i paused my music for that other question but okay the same song as before 32. Have You Ever Talked To a Person Named Tom: i know a tommy? but his full name is thomas. 33. Something That Is Getting On Your Nerves: fffffa- i’m not saying 34. Most Visited Website: google 35. Elementary: idk what that is but im assuming you mean primary school? so my favourite memories of primary school was egg-rolling in the park, my first best friend, sandboxes, jumping pig game, the ditch, cleaning fruit baskets, horrible pizza,SITTING ON THE MOTHERFUCKIN BENCHES, the music trolley, the ditch, love tunnel, shirt signing, plimsolls, penguin bar jokes, bringing in an old shirt for art, lunchables, recorder lessons, the shoes from clarkes with the shitty toys in the heel, doughnut socks, the 3d shape bag,PGL/ Residential trips, stuck in the mud, turning the lights off in the toilet, biff and chip, being told we were to big for the play equipment in year 6. (I feel like that was the most british thing I’ve ever written and any americans probably have no fuckin clue what half of these things are)

OKAY BUT I’M KEEPING WHAT @teatowelhowell PUT BECAUSE as an american i have no idea what this says. like jumping pig game? lol is that like the frog jump game kids do? but pigs are frogs bc maybe there’s no frogs over there? altho i don’t think so. i know what a trolley is from british vlogs. but love tunnel? plimsolls? shoes with toys in the heels? biff and chip? huh? girl your language is confusing. as for my elementary it was pretty and i made a lot of friends but they all went to a diff high school & middle bc of boundaries so i only know like ten people from my elementary in high school. 36. High School: should i tell you? my mascot is shark 37. College/University: hm i wanna go to uc davis or uc something. 38. Hair Colour: brown with goldish highlights that are natural bc my dad used to be completely blond and i guess i got some of that 39. Long Hair or Short Hair: like medium 40. Do You Have A Crush On Someone: no bro just jensen ackles 41. What Do You Like About Yourself: i make friends with literally everyone i love it 42. Piercings: no bc i do year round soccer- for like ten years- so i never had time XD also i know why piercings are popular and how it all started with early us- natives- so idk it seems kinda uncivilized to stick a hole in a body part and put a stone in it. so when i’m done with soccer i don’t think i’ll pierce my ears bc it’s kinda weird to me 43. Blood Type: my parents don’t even know. whatever the most common one is, i’m sure 44. Nickname:(phoebe is pronounced FEEBEE) phoebs, phoebster, fo-e-be, phobe wan kenobi, anne (i give other people nicknames usally) 45. Relationship Status: go away 46. Zodiac Sign: leo. roar. 47. Pronouns: she/her 48. Favorite TV Show: Supernatural, Reign, Once Upon a Time, Sherlock, Arrow, Gravity Falls when it still lived 49. Tattoos: no 50. Right or Left Hand: right FIRST 51. Surgery: i had an extra tooth so i had to get that taken out before it grew in. but i also destroyed my elbow in kinder and had to get stitches? idk if that’s a surgery 52. Piercing: we went over my feelings on them 54. Sport: soccer! did flag football with my soccer team too for two years it was fun but all the guy teams beat us bc we weren’t really trying we were just laughing 55. Vacation: uhm my parents take me a lot of places so idr. uhmmm maybe yellowstone? 56. Pair of Trainers: trainers? uhm are those pants? a bra? oh lol i looked it up. they’re tennis shoes. my first pair were probably just nike. 57. Eating: wtf ? is this like the first time i remember eating? << wisehowell agrees with her. 58. Drinking: i’m not old enough to drink legally so 59. I’m About To: eat breakfast? 60. Listening To: uhm whattt i just said i paused the dang song so same oneee but here i’ll rec you a few artists: BANNERS, LIGHTS, and clairity. (those two are supposed to be caps) 61. Waiting For: school to kill me 62. Want: nothing just my friends 63. Get Married: sure 64. Career: that’s confusing YOUR TYPE 65. Hugs or Kisses: hugs 66. Lips or Eyes: eyes altho i have brown eyes and everyone hates brown eyes so idk man. but i’ve never been complimented on my eyes in my life so i feel rude if i say eyes bc as a lame eyed i know how cruel it is to judge by eye color 67. Shorter or Taller: i’m 5ft flat so everyone is taller than me 68. Older or Younger: idc 70. Nice Arms or Nice Stomach: no 71. Sensitive or Loud: idc 72. Hook Up or Relationship: relationship 73. Troublemaker or Hesitant: neither bro 74. Kissed a Stranger: no 75. Drank Hard Liquor: no I’M FIFTEEN usa has strict drinking laws okay like yea my uh fun friends get high and drunk but i’m a valedictorian i gotta keep my rep 76. Lost Glasses/Contact Lenses: i have glasses but i would never lose em 77. Turned Someone Down: when someone turns up i’ll let you know how it goes << I’M LAUGHING 78. Sex on First Date: again do i need to say my age 79. Broken Someone’s Heart: some guys had crushes on me and my friends told me that they told them like a year later so i guess i did 80. Had Your Heart Broken: no 81. Been Arrested: no, i luv rules 82. Cried When Someone Died: wth 83. Fallen For a Friend: nah my guy friends are too stupid to love DO YOU BELIEVE IN… 84. Yourself: yea 85. Miracles: no god isn’t real 86. Love at First Sight: uh we’ll see 87. Santa Claus: nooo not since i was four 88. Kiss on First Date: why not 89. Angels: no if god isn’t real why are his slaves (i’m kidding, i totally respect the religious community) OTHER… 90. Current Best Friend’s Name: i’ll give the first letters of the four. a, a, c, c. (i’m not kidding for whatever reason most of my close friends have a or c names like i had two old best friends with both a. and another with c) here i’ll tag one. @galaxy-searcher 91. Eye Colour: brown (boooooo) 92. Favourite Movie: idk i don’t pick favs but song of the sea is cute

uhm. i don’t want to tag people bc it’s 92 questions. do it if you want XD

#about me #personal #other #tdl?#idk maybe i'll bury it

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towardmyself · 7 years

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in the locked box in the safe in the armed bunker under the basement under the house with all the stuff whose door is always unlocked

i had to go because caroline was almost done with her burrito and i could tell there was something she wanted to say sticking in her throat. i am starting to remember a lot of things i guess i was pretending i didn’t remember i am in my mother’s office and i am crying and screaming and pleading and desperate and needing and i am begging “please look at me please just look at me just say something please just say anything please please” and nothing. sometimes she would get up and leave the room or the house. sometimes a harsh passing lash of the tongue on the way out. i would wail “why are you doing this to me” and she might whip back “don’t worry soon you won’t have to deal with me.” or “can’t you understand how it hurts?” and “i know i am cruel and evil what else is new.” always calm and cold. never looking at me. never raising her voice. but mostly, mostly silence.

i tell caroline that being kind is strong. i tell her i know what it is to not feel anything very much and it sucks, dude. i tell her i wake up every morning and i remind myself that being soft is not weak. i would rather be a chump sometimes than an asshole. i am not scared to love more or first or harder. unfortunately this means i will hurt more or first or harder sometimes. but this is okay. i play the song “you’re no one til someone lets you down” by john mayer for her and we both laugh. i am at the lunch tables at the old elementary school and lucia won’t look at me and neither will anyone else. i do not cry. at least, i try not to. i try to make my voice sound strong and uncaring and i ask “why are you doing this?” and she says nothing. or she laughs. or she says something vague and apathetic. always calm and cold. never looking at me. never raising her voice. but mostly, mostly silence. caroline asks me how i feel about it and i say i don’t know, maybe good, but i don’t know what that means. and she says “you’re a big sofffftttiiieeeee.” and i say i do not want to be hard. i do not want to be hard. i don’t know if it’s a lie or not, but i say it anyway. i am at REI with my dad when this boy texts me saying he can’t hang out because that girl texted him back finally and they are going to the beach or something. i texted back something like “no worries, have fun. can’t wait to hear all about it” and then i cried for six hours alone in my room and never told anyone about it. i tell caroline i don’t want to ever ask anyone to care about me. i don’t want to ever make anyone feel beholden to me. i don’t know how to ask for anything. and she says “the golden rule?” and i say i don’t know. i don’t know. i am sitting outside the whole foods in davis and they are on the phone with another girl and i am pretending i don’t mind or maybe i don’t or maybe i can’t tell what exactly i mind about it so i just don’t say anything. they tell me everything’s okay and then kiss me and we walk home and we have sex and i guess i turned everything off but i always did. i am driving a few weeks later when they tell me they only want me. and that they have broken it off with everyone else. and i feel proud and then like a bird who just suddenly right now became aware of her cage.

i tell caroline i am scared and she says people learn to let go. i am sitting on their couch a week since we last had sex when they tell me they want to be with other people because they need that and i cannot give it to them right now and they say that’s okay but that doesn’t mean they don’t need it and i do not cry and i say that’s okay and it was it was just the timing. i was going to tell them about how i wanted to die but then i thought maybe it was too much to be the girfriend who couldn’t stand to be touched and the crazy girlfriend. a week later i went back to their couch and said i want to i promise i want to and i turned everything off and moved my mouth and my hands and i still wanted to die and i still didn’t say anything about it.

kate says i don’t know, i think i would care.

and there’s more isn’t there. more and more and more of me learning to stop asking. i buried it deep deep deep in me. i promised i would never ask anyone to want me ever again. i promised i would never cry like that again.

i think i love my sister more than anyone because she is the only one who is as afraid to admit this. “i want to be asked. i do not want to have to ask someone to want me.” neither of us wants to be a cage. i think i have hurt my sister more than anyone else because she has never unleashed silence on me. we yell and scream and throw and punch and bite and hurt and hurt but never silence. my biggest fear is silence. is telling someone they have hurt me and them, unable to understand, and me, feeling completely insane and stupid for having wanted too much. my biggest fear is letting myself want too much. and maybe this is why i have always liked being hungry.

kate says it’s interesting, how it doesn’t bother me.

i am sitting on the stoop and listening to the playlist. i am trying to not let it go to my head. i am trying to keep everything where i understand it. i am trying to not let myself want. i am trying to not ask for anything. i am trying to figure out a way to say “it’s not that it doesn’t bother me, it’s just that i wouldn’t be mad, but that doesn’t mean i want it,” or maybe “it never bothered me before but now maybe it would, i can’t tell, i mean i don’t want it but i don’t know if it would bother me,” but then there i am, wanting again. or knowing what i don’t want, which is too close to wanting for comfort.

if i was really really honest, maybe i keep everything just a little wrong on purpose. maybe i like not knowing what i want, because then one ever knows what i want, and then no one can ever give it to me, and then i will never have to hold it, and then the silence won’t hurt when it ends.

if i was really really honest, it terrified me how she knew about the diner. i said “you can’t just do that thing where you say you want something because you think i want it.” she says “don’t you want it?” i say “that’s not the point!”

i tell caroline isn’t that what we all want? to be wanted?

and there i am again. wanting something i don’t want to want, or have convinced myself i don’t want, or feel completely insane for wanting.

i am trying to move slowly. i am trying to not want anything too much. i am trying so hard to not want anything too much. i am trying to keep it all where i understand it, and would be okay with it disappearing all of a sudden.

if i was really really honest, i would tell her i am so scared to be both seen and wanted like that. but it feels good. if i was really really honest, i would tell her it feels good. and i am trying, i am trying to let it.

#words

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sending-the-message · 7 years

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Mr. Handpaw by BroadwayTomboy

Mr. Handpaw, Handpaw, He’s comin’ for you. Livin’ in the garbage world, Eatin’ kiddy stew.

Mr. Handpaw, Handpaw, Looks so mean. Scariest old demon I’ve ever seen!

Burnt-black skin, Lamp-like eyes, He’ll giggle when he eats you, As he hears your dying cries.

That was the rhyme we sang around my town. Disturbing, right? Harrison was only home to a thousand people, so the song had been passed down from our grandparents to our parents and now to us. Little girls sang it as they skipped rope or played clapping games. Boys chanted it as they tormented their little brothers. And others? People who weren’t quite boys or girls, but fell somewhere between both and neither? Well, they had rhymes for us -- by which I mean me -- too. Usually it was just plain words, though: faggot, tranny, hell-bound freak.

Really, I was just a slightly-depressed fourteen-year-old. Like any other high school kid. I did my homework, sulked around the house, drank when I wasn’t supposed to. Usual teenager stuff. The problem was that the year previous, I had denounced my girlhood and decided I was just a person. Not a girl, not a boy. Just a person. I chopped my hair short and asked people to call me Ricky instead of my old name. I wore a healthy mix of flannel and jeans, the unspoken uniform of boys from Harrison, and the girls’ signature crop tops and skirts. This infuriated and confused my classmates. They weren’t exactly a worldly crowd, and while they’d heard whispers of “transgenders,” they’d never met someone quite like what I now was. Someone who couldn’t seem to pick a gender or sexuality, and lived in a cozy gray area between them all.

Hence the taunting.

I didn’t blame them, not exactly. I was confusing to the teens of Harrison. Someone they’d known all their lives, grown up with, hung out with, and kissed, in the case of a few boys (and a few girls, who would never admit it). Then suddenly, I was a new person. A changeling of sorts, who wanted to be called by different pronouns and a new name. I was happier this way, trusted myself more. They did not. With their small-town minds, I had suddenly become liberal and confident, and this nettled them. I stole away the well-liked Rachel and replaced her with the brash Ricky. The bright red curls that made me immediately recognizable were shorn away, in the bottom of a trash bag somewhere. I went from popular to pariah, in short.

As much of a monster as Mr. Handpaw, the demon that haunted our childhoods.

When I’d been living as Ricky for a year, the stinging remarks had settled down somewhat. I still got called names in gym class, or the occasional accidental-on purpose shove, but mostly people ignored me. My parents mourned for their Rachel, and I gritted my teeth and prayed I’d get through each day.

Only two things could make me happy: one was my Dream, the other was Ximena Gomez. My dream was to get exemplary grades all four years of high school, and get a scholarship to some gigantic college. The place didn’t really matter. I would just find the biggest, most liberal city where I would be accepted. Then I would leave Harrison behind for good. And my second happiness, Ximena...she was harder to describe. Not only was she the only student of color in the entire Harrison school system, she was also the only openly lesbian girl in the town. There were queer girls out there (remember the ones I’d kissed?), but they were so far in the closet, they didn’t count. Ximena was my best and only friend. She was one of the girls who had been at our periphery when I’d been popular. She’d moved to Harrison in sixth grade, and therefore wasn’t connected to our shared history. This was a polite way of saying everyone was uncomfortable with a Mexican family. She was a sporty tomboy, so unlike the rest of us. I never made fun of her like other kids, just ignored her.

She had done me the greatest kindness of my life: befriended me when everyone else had turned on me. I owed Ximena great debt, and don’t think I didn’t know it.

One afternoon in the early fall of our freshman year, she asked me about Mr. Handpaw. By the time she’d moved to Harrison, we’d all grown out of the childish fear and the legend had never truly been explained to her. Her six-year-old sister Alba had come home with the story, however, and she was wondering about it. We were in my little attic bedroom when she asked the question. She was on the bed, curled up in my grandmother’s handmade quilt. I was on the fuzzy white carpet, looking at the wooden beams of the ceiling until my eyes blurred. “Mr. Handpaw,” I muttered, and recited the rhyme for her.

Ximena shuddered. “God,” she said, “that’s creepy. And little kids just sing that?”

I nodded. “We grew up with it. I guess it is pretty fucked up, though.” I was flicking through our history text book. Every time I wanted to slack on homework, I would remind myself of the Dream. That always gave me the motivation I needed. I read in silence for a while as Ximena did her math homework. There was clearly something on her mind, though. She always screwed her face up just so.

“Alba acted like Mr. Handpaw is real,” she said at length. “I couldn’t get a lot out of her, but she told me that he used to live here. What’s the story behind that?”

I hadn’t been able to recite the tale to someone who didn’t know it in years. I resolved to make it as colorful as possible. “He did. At least it’s said he did. His name was Alfred McGregor and he was a logger. That’s what Harrison was, a big logger’s camp. All these Irish and Scottish men brought their families and logged the hell out of the forest. You think we live in a thick forest now? You should’ve seen it when our couple-greats grandparents got here. It was completely untamed. Old growth, right?

“But Alfred was a drinker. He was a good man and he loved his family, but he couldn’t stop drinking. So one day, he was handling some equipment and it sliced his thumbs off. Right off. It mangled the rest of his fingers too. His wife patched him up, but she wasn’t a doctor. His hands were so ruined that they were more like paws. A lumpy pair of useless paws. He couldn’t work anymore so his family started starving.

“He had two little daughters and a baby son. His wife was withering away. His only choice was to go digging through other people’s gardens and larders. And when they caught him doing that, they threatened to run him out of town. The weren’t sympathetic because times were hard as it was. So Alfred was still starving.

"The thing was, every month they had a big communal garbage fire. Everyone would take their trash and burn it in a controlled way. Living in the forest, it was more dangerous to burn, so they did it all together. That way, you could put it out all at once instead of individual fires that got out of hand. It seems stupid now, but they really thought it was ingenious. So at the end of the month, the whole town put all their trash in a big pile. Alfred went creeping around, trying to find scraps of food for his family.

“And then they lit the pile on fire. Nobody saw Alfred, but they sure as hell heard his screams. Everyone had buckets at the ready, but they couldn’t find him. He was so dirty, his skin all sooty and black from neglect, that he blended right in. By the time they put out the blaze, he was all twisted and burned. It was like looking at a demon from hell. His hand paws were all shriveled up, hiding his face. And then he jumped up. He was screeching and hollering and he went sprinting away into the forest. They never saw him again. They got a priest to bless the dump, but it was never the same.

“Eventually, some other logger married Alfred’s wife and took care of his kids. But that wasn’t the end of it. The loggers who had chased Alfred away started turning up dead. In awful ways, too. They were eaten from the bottom up so they could watch whatever was eating them. By the time ten men were dead, people realized what was going on. Alfred was something else now, and he was hungry. He had died hungry and came back to life hungry. Some people said it was only his endless rage that kept his hunger alive.

“But here’s the thing that I actually realized: he never killed any kids like in the rhyme. He only killed the people who had been cruel to him. He didn’t kill men who had turned a blind eye to his garden-stealing, and he didn’t kill any women or children. Nobody else will say this, but I always thought that he only killed evil people.” I shrugged. “And that’s that.”

Ximena considered everything I’d said in silence for a while before cracking a smile. “Damn, Ricky. White people,” she said, “are crazy.”

The next few days at school, I thought about Mr. Handpaw. It was said that he still lived at the town dump and would eat anyone who got too close. That certainly discouraged bored small town kids going Dumpster diving, if anything. I was tucked away in a corner of the high school’s front lawn mulling this over when I heard footsteps approaching. I quickly turned up the volume on my headphones and scooted back into the shadows. Footsteps were never good, especially when I was so well-hidden. But here’s the thing: I might’ve cut off my curls, but they were still bright red. It was hard to hide when I was easily spotted in a crowd.

Four pairs of legs filled my vision, and I looked up, terrified. In front of me stood Brayden Trotter, Peter Stewart, Aimee McKenzie, and Davie McLane. Aimee and Brayden were seniors, Davie and Peter were juniors. They were popular, rich, well-liked. Their families each held a piece of our lumber industry, which basically made them celebrities.

Aimee gave me a look that was almost kind. She was beautiful and vicious, all cheekbones and pale blonde hair. She knelt down on my level and gently tugged the headphones from my ears. “I want you to hear what I have to say to you,” she explained, smiling at me like we were best friends. “I’ve got some good advice for you.” She patted my knee. “Oh, so you’re wearing a skirt today, huh?”

I nodded cautiously, eyeing the boys. They were all silent and smirking. Aimee snapped her fingers to get my attention. “There you are!” she said, still smiling. “Look at you, paying attention to me. Good job, Rachel.” I grimaced, and she giggled. “Oh, sorry. Ricky. Honey, my advice is something I want you to listen to. Listen good. Can you do that?”

I nodded.

“Good! I’m glad! Now, what I think you should do is just kill yourself.” She said it with the most brilliant, genuine smile I’d ever seen.

I was stunned. “Excuse me?”

“Well, you’re never gonna fit in here. And I know you’re too poor to go to college. Nobody likes you, even your parents. I mean, the dyke pities you, but it’s not the same. My mom says you’re a tranny blight on the community. Brayden’s dad said you should be locked up. So clearly, everyone just thinks you’re a nuisance. You’re just stressing us all out and we think our lives would be better without you.” Her grin looked psychotic now. Teeth bared, unnaturally white. “So why don’t you go on home, honey, and kill yourself?”

I was so shocked all I could do was gape. “What the fuck?” I said finally. “Who the fuck do you think you are?!”

Aimee stopped smiling, suddenly. “Get out of here,” she snarled. “We want you to go home, and we want you to kill yourself. If we see you in school tomorrow, we’ll do the job for you.”

I laughed, rage and pain all mixed up. “You’re threatening to murder me. Really? Because I’m non-binary?”

The boys bristled. “Don’t make up words!” Davie shouted. “There’s male and female and nothing else.”

Peter nodded, crossed his arms. “We meant what we said. Go home and die, faggot.”

Angry tears pricked my eyes and I shot up. “No! No, I won’t.”

Brayden stepped towards me menacingly. I was abruptly reminded of being in fifth grade and in love with eighth grade Brayden. He’d had acne and big ears, but he was so handsome then. His eyes were so green and his hair was so black. It was like looking at a painting. He was still handsome, but his eyes were burning with raw hate. Hate as black as his hair. He shoved me to the ground and smirked. “She’s being feisty. I think if she spends the night with Mr. Handpaw, she’ll calm down. Hell, maybe he’ll do us a favor and kill her for us.”

I literally couldn’t believe what was happening. My palms and legs were skinned from the fall, my head was pounding. I was so scared, so angry. So confused. “Mr. Handpaw isn’t real,” I managed.

They didn’t have any retort for that, so Peter grabbed me by my shirt and yanked me up. He punched me in the gut and threw me over his shoulder. I screamed and kicked. I hammered his back with my fists and yelled until my voice gave out. They started to take me away, Aimee and Davie leading the way. Brayden took up the rear, smirking at my tears and screams.

“Fuck you!” I howled. “Fuck you! Put me down. I’ll call the police!”

Brayden looked me right in the eyes and laughed. “You brought this on yourself, fag.”

I think I blacked out from fear. The next thing I remember, I was on my back in the middle of the town dump, staring at a starry sky. I didn’t remember how I got there or any parting words, though the bruises on my ribs and the blood on my face suggested there had been parting kicks. The trees surrounding the junkyard nearly blotted out the inky sky. Piles of trash and debris loomed like hulking giants around me. I reached for my phone and found it gone. So was my jacket. I curled on my side and sobbed. Nothing made sense. I’d tried to understand the other side of my gender identity for a whole year. I’d endured hate speech, shoves, taunting. I’d lost all my friends, lost my once-loving parents.

But no one had ever threatened to kill me. No one had ever said, smiling all the while, that I should just die. I staggered to my feet and wandered around the dump for what felt like hours. The hard-packed dirt flew up in plooms under my Converse. My breath came out in frosty white clouds. All I was wearing was a skirt and a crop top. My mind was empty as I went from one corner of the junk yard to another. The fence was too high to climb, and topped with barbed wire to boot. The front gate had been chained shut behind Aimee and the rest. It was almost laughable: they’d brought their own chain. My only hope was that someone else found me before they did. I’d given up hollering a while ago. If someone had heard me, they’d be here by now.

I’d just settled down on a stained old mattress when I heard it: “Poor child.” It was a scratchy whisper, almost inaudible, but I just about jumped out of my skin.

“Hello? Who’s there?” I called. “Can you help me?”

The voice didn’t respond. Just when I thought I’d imagined it and was sinking into sleep, it came again. “Poor child. They’ve hurt you.”

I sat bolt upright. “Who’s there?”

“The young fellows kicked you.”

“Yes,” I responded. It was coming back to me now, in fits and starts.

“The young lady laughed as they did it.”

“Yes.”

“And why did they hurt you, child?” the raspy voice whispered. “Did you do a wretched thing befitting your punishment?” The voice grew hard. “Be honest now.”

I narrowed my eyes, trying to pinpoint the source of the voice. This person had seen me being beaten and didn’t do anything about it. They were questioning me like it could have been my fault! I clenched my fists. “No! I didn’t do anything wrong. All I did was to be myself.”

“So this beating was unwarranted, then?”

“Yes,” I snapped. “These older kids just beat the shit out of me because I’m not a girl or a boy. And they hate me for it.”

“You are young and yet so are they. They’ve done something evil, and at so young an age. Tell me your story, child.”

“If I tell you my story, will you help me?” I asked. “They want me to kill myself. They said if I didn’t do it, they would kill me.”

The voice inhaled sharply, a whistling, painful sound. “These children want you dead over so silly a thing? So trivial. How monstrous. Yes, child, I will help you.”

And so I told the mysterious person my story. I had no idea who was lurking around the dump in the middle of the night, and why they wanted to know my story. I didn’t get the interrogation. But the entire world was topsy turvy. People wanted me dead. People hated me. I choked on sobs as I recounted what Aimee had said to me. “And then I woke up here,” I said, “and found you.”

The voice was silent for some time. “I will admit, I do not understand your plight. I do not understand what you call yourself, child. But to fear you so much that they hurt you, that they revile you. That I do understand. It’s evil in its plainest form. We hate that which we fear. We fear that which we don’t understand.” A few raspy hums came from all around me. I still hadn’t found out where the voice was coming from. It sounded like it was everywhere at once. Atop the mountainous piles of debris, behind them, under them. To the left, to the right, even directly in front of me. “I don’t leave my little kingdom much these days. Isolation suits me, I’ve found, but I promised you I would help you. I will indeed help you, child, to snuff out the evil that surrounds you.”

“Thank you,” I whispered.

“Sleep now,” the voice commanded. “When you awake, things will make sense. After all, I find myself hungry.” And then the voice’s owner emerged. He was tall and stick-thin, with wide eyes as bright as lamps. His skin was oil-black and smelled of burnt meat. He was charred. He limped towards me and held up his hands as if to say: I don’t mean you any harm. They were lumpy masses of scar tissue, so mangled they were hardly recognizable as hands.

“Mr. Handpaw,” I choked.

And then the world was dark and quiet.

When I woke up, I was in my own bed. I shot bolt upright, Mr. Handpaw’s haunting visage still in my brain. I looked wildly around my room. The discarded textbooks, the fluffy white carpet. It was all there. Jesus, I dreamed it all, I told myself. But a dream so realistic. So terrifying and confusing... I yawned and winced. My ribs were protesting and my face felt heavy, swollen.

It was real.

I stayed home from school the next day, claiming a stomach bug. I processed just as much as I could, but spent most of the day watching Netflix and zoning out. I wasn’t sure what scared me more: the thought of my peers wanting me dead or the thought of Mr. Handpaw being real. And not only real, but kind. It was all too much for me. Eventually, my fake stomach bug had to end. After three days at home, my parents forced me to go back to school. I was terrified the entire way there. The idea of Aimee or her cronies finding me scared me shitless. But I got through the day unscathed. No one noticed me save for Ximena, and she was her usual chipper self.

When I got home that night, my mom was pacing the living room. “Rach -- Ricky!” she cried. “Oh, thank God. Honey, I have to ask you something. You haven’t seen Aimee McKenzie, have you? She didn’t come home last night and wasn’t in school today. The McKenzies are terrified.”

Numbly, I shook my head and returned to my bedroom. Aimee was missing. It had to be a coincidence but...

Over the next few days, Harrison had an epidemic of disappearances. First it was Peter, then Davie, and finally Brayden. Four children gone in as many days. They had seemingly disappeared into thin air. Search parties were formed. Tears were shed.

I said nothing.

Exactly two weeks to the day after Aimee disappeared, she and the boys were found. They were hidden under a pile of junk in the town dump. Official cause of death was blood loss. The sheriff said it looked like they’d been savaged by a wolf or a mountain lion, though the amount of flesh gone and the bite marks weren’t...exactly consistent with the species.

My dad was friends with the sheriff, and one night they got drunk together. As the sheriff tipsily told my dad, “Damnedest thing though, the kids looked like they’d been eaten. Eaten from the bottom up.”

And all I could do was smile and thank my demon. He’d made the world a little safer for people like me. He’d eaten the evil. I hoped he found peace one day, but until then, I’d bring snacks by the dump every chance I got. After all, Mr. Handpaw was a hungry man.

#reddit #nosleep #scary #story

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