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cryinginthebackseat · 3 years

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you’ve got more poison than sugar - part ii

part i part iii AO3

Fandom: Call Of Duty

Pairing: Russell Adler x Bell

Words: 2.918

Warnings: some mild sexual content and swearings, like usual

Author’s note: okay, i know this one's a little short but i promise there'll be more coming on the next chapter, i promise.

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The first time Bell showed her face at Langley, it was two weeks after the program. She wore beige, a ruffled high-neck blouse that made her hazel eyes, like charred nut shells, hard and just about indestructible, popped.

She stood at the lobby, regarding the place like she’d waltzed into a wrong banquet hall, the band played in the background, chandeliers dripping like arctic icicles, the bar drenched in opulent gold.

She didn’t belong here.

But Adler met her there, anyway, Hudson in tow.

“Have I ever done something to him?” Bell asked after the rather short-lived meeting, squinting at the vacant spot Hudson left them. She’d yielded very few words. When she did, it’d been all business, crisp, so it surprised him now to hear her uttering something with more than 2 syllables.

“What do you mean?”

“Have I deliberately done something to piss him off?” she elaborated, quieter, but the glower remained.

Adler carefully studied her behind his tinted shades. It still troubled him to a degree that he couldn’t read her. Like she locked herself off. They say eyes are the window to the soul, but thus far, he saw nothing. Fuck the poets.

“No. At least, not as far as I can tell,” he grits out, curious to see where she was heading with the conversation. “Why?”

Bell hummed, but seemingly unconvinced. A beat, then: “He doesn’t seem to like me that much.”

You don’t belong here, he thought and his face went cagier, back stiffer, but no doubt intrigued. Very much so by this mysteriously curious creature.

Perceptive and diamond-sharp intelligent, he pondered. They might have secured the bag after all.

“It's not you. That’s just as warm and fuzzy you’ll see Hudson with everyone, trust me,” he uttered, hoping that she bought the fib. She did. At least, he thought so. “Come on, Bell, we’ve got a job to do.”

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Adler finds her outside the garage the next night, smoking alone, reading in secret. The ground is still wet from the rain, straggling cloud wisps and every artery of this place fucking freezes his bones. Bell ditches her gloves inside, but has her coat on, the collar popped up like antennae.

"You aren't cold?" he asks when she doesn’t notice him. Too engrossed in her own bubble. She does look better, though. Park is right about that one at least.

"I'm good," she answers without looking up. "Am I needed for something inside?"

"No, just thought I could use some fresh air."

He’s studying her, raking her from head to toe. Suddenly, he doesn’t care if she would notice him. Then he steps closer, standing next to her, lifting his cigarette to his mouth.

“What are you reading?”

There’s something about this secret element to her that has him on his toes. Everything about her is curious- frustratingly curious, careful, as Bell rolls her neck to meet him. In the low light, she looks quite new, he learns. And his eyes beg for him to linger.

“Amerika. Kafka,” she says. “Have you read it?”

A subtle shake of his head and, “No.” While Bell nods, silent, like she doesn't know what else to say to him. “Should I? Give it a read?” Adler adds, just to keep the conversation going.

She shrugs, a cloud of smoke escaping her nostrils. “I can’t say that Kafka is ever a favorite of mine, but he really is sui generis. And Amerika is probably the most approachable of all his works? It’s funny too.”

“I never thought I’d hear Kafka and funny in the same sentence.”

“Yeah, well, it’s very subtle. And if only you can understand his nightmarish sense of humor, that is,” she explains, shrugging again, like she’s embarrassed. “I don’t know, maybe you’ll like it.”

Frankly, he hates Kafka. He hates his vatic, dead-eye vision of the world; that acute sense of hopelessness clinging onto his main protagonists like vines, but Adler finds himself nodding, anyway.

“Sure, lend me your copy once you're done with it." If she’s surprised by his answer, she does not tell her. But Adler thinks she’s smiling though- just the barest quirk of her lips, but it’s enough for him to know that she appreciates the gesture.

A brief, unmapped silence ensues.

"I'm sorry, by the way."

Adler arches an eyebrow at her. "For what?"

Bell slots a bookmark into the book, closes it, frowns at it.

"For yesterday. I, uh… I feel like I was being insolent to you.”

He looks sidelong at Bell and tries to read her. Her expression is raw and open, a painting visible through a small tear in the paper. For some reason, that catches him by surprise.

“You already apologized, you know?” Adler teases lamely.

“I know, but still it was uncalled for and very unprofessional of me. You’re my CO, not some random BND agent I’m forced to work with. I shouldn’t have said that," she mumbles softly and sighs, world-weary, heavy, sounding like a woman twice her age. "It will not happen again. I promise you."

"Hey, consider it water under the bridge, kid. You’re in a rather rough place right now, I wouldn’t hold it against you,” he tells her, fond. “What matters is you’re alright. We can’t catch Perseus if you’re green around the gills.”

Her eyes meet his. He meets her back.

“Thank you.” And Bell rotates her body to face him. Mussed brunette hair and sharp cheekbones, mouth kinked up in sympathy as she says, “Is this what you have to put up with all these years?"

He summons a smirk. "With you? More or less."

And then the woman does the unexpected; Bell laughs. She fucking laughs. Delicate sounding, like a tinkling glass, petals wrapped in satin, moonbeams through frosted windows. It dies, too soon to his liking. Adler privately lets the sound of her laughter replays in his head, as if trying to pocket it.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

It’s only after Ukraine when he discovers that she smells different. That wintry floral smell of hers that he’s accustomed to is commingling with something else.

But now-

Now, there's music in the air.

Sims does this sometimes, bringing his Zenith Trans-Oceanic, or as he would call it the Tranny, to the safehouse and they would tune in to international radio stations. Cream's Sunshine Of Your Love is playing- or more specifically, their song is 5 seconds away from being cut off abruptly by the DJ. The song reminds him of Vietnam, regrettably. The root of all madness.

“Next up, is my favorite ever track-to-track transition on an album. This is Pink Floyd’s Brain Damage and-”

Adler stops whatever it is he’s scribbling. He sits up, ramrod straight.

“Mind switching to another station?” he asks suddenly, glances up at Sims quickly who, as Adler suspected, is giving him a rather odd look.

“Why?”

"I've always hated Pink Floyd." Only because he’s out of reason. Only because he can feel Bell’s confused stare, searing into his temple. Only because it’s the only way of escaping this. "Change it, please."

Sims opens his mouth. The unspoken: how about that time in Denver?

The telling jerk of Adler’s lips warns him not to ask.

The other man clamps his mouth shut, seemingly gets the message and switches to a different station. He never brings his radio again.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Frank Woods is exactly how Adler saw him last time- or since Hue City, that is: tigerish and intimidating- a kick in the head voice, a hurricane in the shape of a man and he is making his way to him right now.

“Can I talk to you for a sec?”

"So talk."

Woods shakes his head. "Not here."

Adler looks at him at last now, curiosity creeping over him. He then stubs his cigarette, nods once and leads them both to his office.

Once they’re inside, he locks the door, secures the blinds.

“What is it?” Adler takes a seat behind his desk. Woods remains standing. He paces around the room, a hand on his bearded chin.

“What the fuck is going on with your girl?”

Adler doesn’t know which one is worse, the fact that Woods manages to sniff out something going on with Bell or that he just addresses her as his girl. Either way, it's bad. Either way, Adler should have expected the former issue. Woods is astute as he is dangerous. There's a reason why the CIA gave the green light for Mason and Hudson to save him in Da Nang all those years ago, after all.

"What about her?" Adler asks, even-toned, giving nothing away. Even though he is in the ‘need to know’ column regarding Bell’s brainwashing, this is something Adler initially wishes he could keep under wraps.

“Don’t bullshit me, Adler. She has that look on her face- I see it in her eyes. The exact same look Mason has been wearing since ‘Nam,” Woods tells him, point-blank, never being the one to settle for niceties. After Hudson, Adler thinks he simply can’t tolerate the agency anymore.

“I saw it all, remember? Had a fucking front row seat to his relapse and shit, so don’t tell me she’s alright. Not when it looks like she could snap out of it any moment.” Woods has his hands on the table and looks at him dead-on. “Tell me I’m right. Tell me there is something wrong with her.”

He regards the other man coolly. Woods is no longer asking. Adler is out of move.

“You're right,” he answers simply, eventually, tipping his king over on its side, stopping the clock. "Did you talk to Hudson regarding this?"

"Since when did I report to Agent stick-up-his-ass? Fuck no. That's why I came straight to you.” Woods heaves a heavy sigh, like he’s the one with all these burdens. “Now, what the hell’s wrong with her?”

“She’s suffering from brain damage."

“Shit. All that ‘cause of MK-Ultra?”

“One of the few factors that caused it, yes.”

His mouth goes flat. "How bad is it?”

“Bad. We’re trying to minimize for any collateral as we speak, at least until we finally get our hands on Perseus. But she… she might not make it.” Adler leans back in his chair, like his body feels heavy all of the sudden.

Woods nods. Uncharacteristically silent, looking strangely contemplative, sympathetic even. That should be categorized as an oddity itself, Woods and him, two proud Americans, Vietnam veterans and she’s just another red, another blood they would indubitably sacrifice for their country and they’re sympathizing with her? Yet something deep inside Adler, something resonates like the throat of a storm, sinks its teeth into him, confounds him, every time he thinks of her.

Woods crosses his arms over his chest, glances at the door, as if someone might knock anytime soon, then back to him.

"So, what's the plan?" He quickly adds, "if things go south, what are you gonna do?"

"It won't come to that. She'll come through, I know it," Adler counters, suddenly defensive. Whatever the use of his tone indicates, Woods ignores it.

"You sure about that?”

"Are you doubting me?” Adler spits out a retort. A quiet fury grasps him tight, but he forces himself to keep under a tight lid.

Woods holds his hands up in mock surrender.

"Look, I’m just saying, that woman is a loose cannon- you can’t be too careful."

"We have everything under control, Woods. And this is the least of your worry right now."

"Alright, okay. If you say you and Park have her contained already, then fine. I trust you,” he says and heads for the door.

“Oh, and one more thing,” Woods says again. He’s facing the door, back to him. “Whatever happens, keep Mason in the dark about any of this."

“Of course. He isn’t on a need to know basis from the very start, you know that.”

"Good. ‘cause the less he knows the better." Woods pauses like he's constructing an entire sentence in his head. He peers over his shoulder. "I mean it. He’s been through enough. I don’t know which ground you crawled up from, but up here, some people implement this kind of civility to other people.”

The words sting, yet Adler stares back at him, seemingly unfazed. "What, you’re saying that I’m simply heartless?”

“Nah,” Woods says, satirical and sardonic. “You’re just Adler.” And with that, he’s gone.

1976

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It was eight o'clock on a mid-September evening and Adler found himself coming home to an empty house.

His wife had already left a week prior, crossing the country with a self-proclaimed film critic she'd met at the premiere of The Shining last summer, but Adler didn't know that yet.

He went to the kitchen. Dropped his suitcase, pulled off his coat and scarf. He reeked of cigarettes, cheap air freshener and jet fuel- air travel is simply sickening, in terms of its cost and smell- and in a desperate need of a hot bath.

"Honey?" He switched the lights on. She wasn't here. So Adler headed upstairs, to their room where they would rest their bones every night for the past 15 years. The door was slightly ajar. He expected to see her sleeping from under the duvet, hair splaying all over the pillow.

What he found was a folded note on his bedside table. He stared at it, his heart at his throat, fearing the worst, the unimaginable. He picked the letter and unfolded it.

Forgive me.

Russell,

Live or die, but don't poison everything .

His head did pirouette. So, this was it. This was what it felt like, he thought.

Not heartbreak, not sadness. But a collapse of the world- his world and all he could do was watch from the sidelines.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

1981

Adler stares at the words now, sleeves rolled up, anatomical heart. The paper is fading, wrinkled and it smells like smoke and decay and tears, capped with something akin to regret.

It has his name on it, begins with it, and ends with an apology, written in cursive. Like microscopic snakes dancing around his peripheral vision, hissing in his ears.

Live or die, but don't poison everything.

No one likes to be told that they are sick, but Russell Adler has learned to acknowledge it, embrace it, weaponize it. Her words mean zero shit to him now. You can't condemn someone to the depths of hell when it's the only place he's known all his life.

So, he takes the letter for the last time, remembering how the ink used to smudge his calloused fingers, crumples it up, that satisfying crunch dins in his palm, and tosses it into the fireplace.

The paper crackles. Good fucking riddance. It really takes all this time for him to grow the guts, apparently, and he just stares and stares as the fire begins to engulf everything, wiping away his past failure.

He promises he would never fail again, at anything. No matter what the cost, failure is never going to be an option.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Bell arrives at the garage with frantic eyes, a half-burnt cigarette between her lips and uncharacteristically late. Color peppering her cheeks- red, like an apple bitten into.

“I’m sorry, I overslept,” is her excuse, but she’s looking at the room strangely, he thinks, almost like she’s seeking a particular face.

When she makes her way to her desk, when she whizzes past him by the board and her planet is entering his orbit for the first time in the morning, Adler, as if by accident or by design, inhales deeply.

His breath snags.

She smells like someone else.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

(Someone fucked her last night)

The telephone rings in the distance.

“Sims. Yeah, sure, let me get him. Hold on.” He puts the call on hold. “Doc, you might wanna take this one.”

(Someone was in her bed; beside her, above her, under her. Inside her. He imagines her fingers digging into the mattress as they rolled her onto her stomach, mouth trailing down the ladder of her spine. Their breaths intermingled in the seraphic glow of her hotel room)

Adler mechanically crosses the room and picks the receiver.

“Adler.”

(If he herds her away from prying eyes and pushes down the collar of her shirt, would he see the evidence there, taunting him? If he kisses her, would he taste them instead of her? )

"Perhaps," he says over the phone, his face hard. "But my decision is final. I'm sending Woods and Mason to Yamantau. They'll leave in a few days."

(Did they make her come?)

"Of course. Why do you think I chose them for this mission?"

(If she made them?)

“Most likely, but we're prepared for this- you know we are," Adler says, customer service polite, an old recording on a playback. "Right. Well, that concludes the matter then. Yeah, you have a wonderful day to yourself.”

Adler hangs up the telephone. Breathes out a sigh. He pinches the bridge of his nose for a few good seconds, before remembering that he has an audience.

"Oof. Sounds rough," comments Sims, dark eyes slanting in concern.

(Maybe she likes that, rough. Teeth biting the back of her shoulder, that sweet juxtaposition of pain and pleasure coursing through their veins, his hand curling around her throat from behind as she pants and mewls like-)

(But this isn’t about him. Never about him)

"That's one way to put it."

Someone else fucked her. It shouldn't leave an acrid taste in his mouth, but it does.

#russell adler #russell adler x bell #adler x bell #cod bell #cod #call of duty #call of duty black ops #call of duty cold war #cod cold war #alex mason #frank woods #helen park #lawrence sims #jason hudson #lazar azoulay

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robotslenderman · 3 years

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This post by @nightingaletrash made me think about what would happen if Sullivan and Jonathan switched places.

For those who don't know -- Jonathan Grey is Madeline Jones's brother-in-law, the husband of Meredith. In the 2030's he was ghouled by a Brujah. A Lasombra was fucking with his domitor's ghouls in order to bring her down in the '60s or '70s, and Jonathan hated vampires so much he pretty much went "fuck you" right back, which impressed the Lasombra enough that she tried to Embrace him. It took her four tries. He was the ghoul of a Brujah and ran on pure spite, he was determined to go down fighting. Much to his dismay, his personality makes him popular with other Lasombra.

Jonathan and Sullivan are pretty much the exact same person, but because Sullivan doesn't get Embraced until the mid-late 21st century, I wanted a version of him I could play in VTMNR. They're both Welsh, they were both married to a woman who disappeared, they both had twin girls, they're both trans men. The only differences in their backstory are the names, and that Sullivan was born a couple decades earlier.

As for what would happen if they switched places...

Honestly? I think Jonathan would scare the shit out of Sullivan's family. Jonathan lost his wife, he was a ghoul for 30 years for a Brujah who wasn't cruel but also wasn't nice either, and he had to disown his own twin children in order to uphold the Masquerade as a ghoul. He hates Sabbat. He hates Anarchs. He hates Camarilla. Actually every single Kindred he ever meets is on thin fucking ice just for existing and better get the hell out of his sight.

Jonathan Grey is as cold as ice. Like, he's so cold that he makes Amicia look warm and fuzzy. He might be slightly softer with Evie, but only barely, and his version of "softer" means only saying "not amusing" to her if she tries to prank him instead of throwing her out, and then ignoring that the prank ever happened. He'd tolerate Evie's presence, sort of like a cat that hates you, but everyone else better keep the fuck away from him.

So Sullivan's poor family would suddenly be confronted with a version of Sullivan who is this absolute fucking asshole who couldn't care less if any of them lived or died and would, in fact, be pleased if they did.

However, it is to be noted that Jonathan is actually kinder than Sullivan is in a Good Is Not Nice kind of way. If Jonathan found out his AU self was a human trafficker, he'd pretty much destroy Sullivan on sight. Jonathan is also tightly connected to the ghoul community and works hard to help them out when they're abandoned, orphaned or treated badly by their sires. He is higher humanity, but also he struggles with his Lasombra nature more -- he's disgusted by displays of "weakness" but works hard to not allow that to cloud his judgment, reduce his compassion, or to let himself ever show it at all, whereas Sullivan just gets snarky at most.

Meanwhile Sullivan, in Jonathan's world, would be so put out when he finds out that Jonathan owns a night club and pharmacy. Because yeah, he's a courier in his world and so is pretty poor, but he likes traveling around the place (even if he likes having bodies in the trunk less). He also misses his family terribly, and is sad he doesn't have a chaotic niece. He is also confused by all the ghouls who keep wanting help from him???

I'm also pretty damn sure he'd make Meredith cry if she met him. Because human rights violations aside, Sullivan is much, much closer in personality to the Jonathan Grey she remembers him being. It'd be a pretty stark reminder of how much the World of Darkness has changed Jonathan. She... wouldn't take it well.

#Sullivan would be like ''OH NO PLEASE DON'T CRY I DON'T KNOW WHAT I DID bUT I'M SORRY''#meanwhile Jonathan is probably all-out brawling with Amicia or something #unlike Sullivan #if Amicia tried to scrap with Jonathan #Jonathan would just lose his shit right back at her #(he's... still got some lingering effects from being imbued with Brujah vitae when he was Embraced)#VTM #Jonathan Grey #Sullivan Blackmoore #long post

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keanureevesisbae · 4 years

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Mister Cavill, your dog is kinda fat - Epilogue

Summary: Veterinarian Olivia Tran has zero time for bullshit. After becoming a mom at age twenty three, the one thing she wants is a good life for her daughter Vanessa. Her ex didn’t want anything to do with her nor the baby and she decided that man are officially banned out of her life. But then she meets Henry Cavill at her clinic and her ban slowly starts to crumble apart. Henry on the other hand is looking for one thing: a family. And when he meets Olivia Tran, he finds just that.

Henry Cavill x Olivia Tran (ofc)

Warnings: None

Wordcount: 4.1k

A/N: This will be Vanessa’s pov

Masterlist // Previous chapter //

9 years later

Name: Vanessa Tran-Cavill

Subject: English

Teacher: Mrs. Allen

Grade: 100/100 — Vanessa, you are such a talented writer. You raised the bar for every other essay I’m going to read in my entire career left as an English teacher. You have such a wonderful role model in your life. Please cherish your family for the rest of your life!

The one who taught me everything - an essay about Olivia Tran-Cavill, the greatest inspiration for me.

I was raised by the toughest woman alive. I know that a lot of kids say that about their mom, but allow me to explain why Olivia Tran-Cavill is the toughest woman I know in my life.

Her boyfriend left her when she told him she was pregnant with me, her own family (meaning her parents and her two brothers) practically disowned her, and on top of that she just started a job as a freshly minted veterinarian.

If I were in her shoes, I’d be terrified, struck by multiple breakdowns on a daily basis, but not my mom. She raised me all by herself, barely having a break or a moment of her own. I was her number one priority. She told me to be kind, to be honest and polite: personality traits that provide me with the best today and for all the days to come in the future.

There was only one thing that I desperately wanted and that was a family. I wanted a dad like the kids in my class. I wanted grandparents. I wanted aunts and uncles. I wanted to have little siblings, because I knew that I would be a great big sister.

Unfortunately that wasn’t in the stars for me and my mom told me that. It takes a brave woman to say to her young child: ‘Your real dad doesn’t want you. Your grandparents kicked me out the second they found out I was pregnant with you. Your uncles never spoke to me again.’

It hurt obviously. There were people walking around here that shared DNA with me, that were family, but they made it pretty clear that they didn’t want me nor my mother. To this day they still haven’t reached out and they honestly don’t know what they are missing out on. At least, that is what my mom always tells me.

But my mom always told me that family wasn’t all about sharing DNA, it was about finding people that you want in your life. You can choose who your family is.

Despite that wonderful piece of advice that I definitely took to heart, I continued to make her a drawing every single day. My mom and I inside our house and outside there is a man with a dog, waiting to be allowed into our life.

Waiting to become a dad.

My dad.

One day my mom was on call and had to go to the clinic at night. She took me with her and that’s the day we met Henry and his dog Kal. Little did we all know that at that exact moment, our lives drastically changed.

Henry was more of a dad in the first hour that I had met him, then my real dad was in my entire life. For the first time in life, I had a dad figure. A man who cared not only about me, but also about my mom.

Being with Henry never drastically changed my mom. She was still the bad ass mom I always had, but it did softened her up. It made her relaxed. Henry gave her what she deserved all those years of raising me by herself. Letting someone take care of her too. There is only so much a six year old could give back to a powerhouse like her mom, but there is so much more a man like Henry Cavill can give her.

He provided us with a family. A grandma, a granddad and four lovely uncles.

And for that I have to thank my mom. She allowed Henry into her life, thus into my life and gave us six amazing Cavill family members, who cared about us and loved us up to this day.

Now, I admire her every single day. The way she takes care of not only me, but also my three sisters, is something I feel like I can never live up to. Whenever some of us walk into the room, her face lights up and she drops everything to give us her full attention.

And for that I am so incredibly thankful. She taught me so much. How to love, how to catch more flies with honey than with vinegar and she taught me that it is okay to be scared, but that it should never stop you from pursuing what you want to achieve.

I know my mom was scared when she got pregnant and was dropped by all the people she thought she could trust and rely on, but it never stopped her from pursuing what she wanted: to be a great mother and an excellent veterinarian. Knowing that, I’m going to try to be the best version of myself, though I know damn well that I can never be as amazing as her.

For me, my mom is the most influential person in my life and I wouldn’t trade her for anything in the world.

≫≫≪≪

With my freshly graded essay, I walk towards my locker. This is such a great way to end the week. I worked my ass off on this essay and the fact that mrs. Allen gave me the full hundred out of hundred points is unbelievable. She never gives people higher than ninety points probably. I feel like I’m the first student in her entire career to score the highest grade possible.

‘There she is.’ I look up to see Trey walking up to me, already undoing his tie. He always tells me that he hates that thing with a passion and while I suggest he uses a clip on tie (like half the school does), he keeps on wearing the regular one. I think it’s so he can continue to bitch about it. ‘You’re going to Jimmy’s party tonight, right?’

I shake my head. ‘I’m sorry, Trey, I can’t. I have plans with my family.’

‘The entire family?’ he asks, as he leans against the row of lockers besides mine.

‘Yes, the entire family.’

‘And there is absolutely no change at all that you can ditch them?’

I can’t stop my chuckle. Usually I go out on Friday, especially if Trey invites me, but right now I really can’t go. ‘It’s important,’ I say to him. I see him fake pouting, causing me to roll my eyes. ‘Come on, don’t pout. Jimmy has parties every two weeks. I’ll be at the next one.’

Trey grins. ‘I’ll hold you to that, V. Tell your mom I said hi and also say that to your dad, because I’m afraid he’ll kick my ass next time he sees me. Oh, and say hi to your sisters, will you?’

A few weeks ago Trey came over to my place, because we were going to do algebra homework together (and because we wanted to spend time together). Dad was ready to embarrass the shit out of me (I think he has been waiting for this moment since he adopted me to be honest—he seemed to well prepared), but mom swooped right in and Trey felt instantly at ease. Ever since then, he asks me how she is doing when I see him at school.

I know it’s tough for Trey. He wasn’t raised with a mother, since she passed away during his birth, but her three brothers raised him. He loves them dearly and because of that, he can handle my dad’s antics just fine. However it’s nice for him to have a motherly figure in his life, since his uncles never dated (they would get along well with my uncles) and my mom is the right person for that.

After that algebra homework moment we had, he has been coming over a lot more often and just a few days ago, I saw him giving my mom a hug. When I asked her about it, she told me that he always likes it when he is here and it turns out, that he told her all about growing up with only his uncles and how she feels like a mom figure to him. I like how he is welcomed into my family. My sisters are absolutely smitten with him and they love it when I bring him over, since they wished I was a boy, so they could have a brother.

It’s always nice to know that your sisters love you for who you are.

‘You know, you can come over too,’ I say, not wanting Trey to leave. ‘If you want to of course.’

‘Are you sure?’ he asks, but he already has a telling smile on his face. ‘I just don’t want to intrude an important event.’

‘You won’t,’ I laugh. ‘It’s been ten years since my dad officially adopted me. We’re going to celebrate at my grandparents’ place. My uncles will be there, my aunt, nephews and my sisters.’

Trey smiles. ‘Well, if you invite me.’

I close my locker and say: ‘We are going to celebrate this whole weekend, but you can only stay today if you want to, so you won’t miss Jimmy’s party.’

‘I don’t really care about Jimmy’s party,’ Trey admits. ‘I only wanted to spend time with you.’

It’s obvious that we have a crush on each other, it’s just that I’m afraid of committing. He doesn’t seem to mind though, that pull my hand back when he wants to hold it and that we haven’t kissed, though we’ve been on a few dates.

‘So,’ Trey says as we walk out of the school, ‘your dad adopted you ten years ago.’

I nod. ‘Yeah, he made me an official Cavill from that day. If I’m being completely honest, I never thought I’d have a dad. I always thought that it was going to be me, my mom and my pleads for a dad. For such a long time I thought it was enough, though deep down I wanted a dad, but sometimes it’s just not meant for everyone, right?’

Trey nods. ‘Right.’

‘I still remember the day we met him and Kal,’ I say. ‘And I just knew that I wanted that man as my father. I was six and though I need saw my mom with a man, I just knew that they were meant for each other, you know. We were standing around the examination table, because Kal was sick and I thought to myself that this was the man that not only I wanted in my life, but my mom needed as well.’

Trey’s fingers brush against mine and I hold onto his hand, for the first time in the weeks that we are circling around each other.

I think back to the times where it was just my mom and I. She was so strong for all those years of raising me, telling me the painful truth about my biological dad, my grandparents and uncles from her side of the family, arranging all different sorts of shifts at the animal clinic and bringing me to work when necessary.

I admire my mother and the way she carefully picked out a man that was worthy of becoming my dad, of adopting me and giving me his last name. I had been Vanessa Tran for so many years, but becoming Vanessa Tran-Cavill, had been such a blessing and for the first time in seven years, I had a dad, someone who cared about me.

Someone who loved me.

And right now, I have seen how much he loved my mom, me and my sisters. I admired the way dad took care of us, while still having an acting career. He played in seven movies since I met him and five of those were being filmed here in the UK, since he didn’t want to leave us for too long.

He posts about us on Instagram sometimes, but always disables the comments. A lot of people know that I’m his daughter, but they mostly find out when we’ve known each other for a while.

Trey and I get out of the bus, but I stop him, before we walk off to my grandparents’ house. ‘I just want to prepare you. I have four nosey uncles and a granddad who just starts to talk, not knowing when to stop.’

‘It’s nothing I can’t handle,’ he laughs. ‘Remember, I grew up with three uncles and their friends. This will be peanuts.’

I smile. ‘Yeah, you’re right.’ I squeeze his hand. ‘Trey, before we go into the backyard, I have to admit something.’

‘I like you too,’ he says. ‘And I don’t mind taking it slow.’

My eyes widen. ‘How did you know I was going to say that?’

‘You’re predictable, Tran.’ Trey smiles and I roll my eyes. ‘It’s honestly no big deal. I really like you and your family and though I feel comfortable enough to go at my pace, I don’t want to force you into stuff.’ He gives me a squeeze back in my hand. ‘Your pace and no one else’s.’ He pulls me to him and wraps me up in a tight hug. I feel his chin on top of my head and I let out a sigh, before I close my eyes, nuzzling my face in his chest. This feels nice, I could get used to this.

I pull back a little, to carefully press a kiss on his jaw. ‘Come on, let’s go,’ I say, pulling him with me to the gate at the back of the yard. Together we walk into the backyard and I see everyone is already there. Uncles Piers, Niki and Charlie are standing near the barbecue, as my nine year old sister Elodie is poking Charlie in his sides. Belle has wrapped her arms around uncle Simon’s neck, giving him tons of kisses. Belle’s two year old son Hugh is trying to kick the ball, but he misses and falls flat on his bum. He waddles over to Belle, who is currently expecting another boy in four months.

My five year old sisters Chloe and Heather are the first to notice me. ‘Vanessa!’ they scream in unison, rushing towards me and wrapping their arms around my waist. ‘We missed you.’

‘I missed you guys too,’ I chuckle.

‘And you brought Trey!’ Chloe notices, jumping in his arms. ‘You are staying here for the barbecue?’

‘Of course,’ Trey says with a smile. ‘I wouldn’t miss it for the world, munchkin.’

Everyone looks up and gives me hugs and introduce themselves to Trey if they haven’t met him already. Grandpa Colin gives me a big hug and slips fifty pounds not only in my hand, but also in Trey’s hand. ‘So you can take her out on a date, young man,’ he tells Trey.

When we walk over to my parents, Trey says: ‘Damn, I get fifty pounds for showing up here. Should I tell your grandad when my birthday is?’

‘Don’t,’ I say sternly, pinching his side.

Kal licks my hand and I scratch him on top of his head. He is not fat anymore (as if my mother would allow that). He is also not as active as he used to be when I met him, but he is still the most loyal and biggest sweetheart in the world, always taking care of me and my sisters.

My mom holds out her arms and Trey doesn’t hesitate for a minute to be engulfed in her arms. Dad wraps his arms around my waist and bumps his nose against my cheek. Elodie, Chloe and Heather often wonder why we do that, but it’s our thing and it’ll always be our thing. ‘There you are, sunshine,’ he says.

‘It’s a special day today,’ I say. ‘You have any regrets?’

He scoffs. ‘Are you kidding me? As if I could have regrets.’

‘You still have the receipt?’

He laughs. ‘Like I would ever use that.’ He gives me a kiss on my cheek and says: ‘You brought your boyfriend with you, I see.’

Normally I’d protest against his antics, but now… I actually don’t mind. I quite like it actually. I like the idea of Trey being my boyfriend. ‘Well, yeah.’

Dad gives me a big kiss, before he places me on my feet again. Trey wipes his hands clean on his jeans, before he extends his hand to my dad. I don’t quite know what happens after that, because mom pulls me into a hug. Though I’m seventeen now and my mom is reaching the forty already, she barely aged.

It’s admirable, really. After she gave birth to Elodie and she lost that much blood, it was the scariest experience in my life. I thought, with the way everyone was looking at each other when dad called, my mom would die. It took her six months to recover and I helped out the best I could, but I knew that asking for another sibling too soon, wouldn’t help. Four years after she had Elodie, she became pregnant with twins and after that she did not want more kids. Ideally she wanted three, I remember her saying that to dad, but now she had four and though she loved it, it was enough.

‘How was school?’ mom asks.

‘It was great. I got my English essay back.’

‘Oh really? How did you do?’

‘I’ll tell you in a minute.’

Mom tilts her head when she looks at Henry and Trey, who seem to hit it off actually. ‘You chose a good one,’ she tells me. ‘So proud of you, sweetheart.’ Mom wraps her arm around my waist and gives me a kiss. ‘Oh no, mom!’ she yells to grandma Marianne. ‘Wait, don’t carry everything.’ Mom rushes off to the kitchen and I can’t hide my smile.

I’m happy that all these people are my family. From the looks of Trey, he actually is a bit nervous. I walk up to him and my dad and wrap my arm around his hips. He is tense, but wraps his arm around my shoulders. ‘You’re not bugging him, are you, dad?’

‘No, of course not,’ he says, but I cock my eyebrow, causing him to say: ‘Just asking him what he will do with that fifty pound your grandpa gave him.’

Of course my dad noticed that.

He excuses himself, walking up to the barbecue, lifting up Elodie in the process. I look up at Trey and I ask: ‘I thought you said this would be peanuts?’

‘It will be peanuts,’ he tells me. ‘Just have to warm up a bit.’ He smiles, pearly white teeth framed by his full lips. ‘This definitely helps.’

‘Okay, love birds,’ uncle Niki yells, ‘come on. We’re getting ready to eat.’

I feel a blush creep up on my cheeks, but despite that, I still chuckle. He laces his fingers through mine, as we walk to the big table in the backyard under the parasol. ‘I just want to say one thing,’ grandma Marianne says, ‘and that is that I want to thank my son for overfeeding his dog, so he met the greatest veterinarian of all times, who—together with her oldest daughter—brought so much joy and happiness into the family.’

‘Mom, it has been ten years!’ dad says. ‘Please, let it go. I’m not overfeeding Kal anymore.’

It has been an ongoing joke, every time my dad gives Kal a little snack, at least one of the entire Cavill Clan says something along the lines of that we have to hide the other snacks.

‘But anyways,’ grandma says, ‘I am so happy that now we are this big and happy family. It’s all I really wanted.’

Everyone takes a deep breath, because we all realize that it could’ve gone so differently. I clear my throat and say: ‘I got my English essay back and got myself a hundred out of a hundred points.’

‘Shut up!’ uncle Piers says. ‘You got a perfect score? When was the last time something like that happened with us?’

‘None of you boys ever got a perfect score,’ grandpa Colin says. He sometimes can’t remember how to use the remote, what my sisters or my name is, but this he knows.

‘Anyways,’ I say, ‘it does have something to do with what happened ten years ago. I mean, becoming officially a Cavill has been the greatest thing ever. I watched my life do a complete one eighty and though I have to thank my dad for that, there is one woman who absolutely changed my life and is such a wonderful role model for not only me, but also my sisters, that I decided to write my essay about my mom.’

Mom’s eyes widen, before she scrunches up her nose. ‘Why?’

This is such a typical reaction from her, so I cannot stop my laugh. ‘Because mom, you are amazing. Everything that I have, started with you. Everything I understand, I do, I think about, is because of the way you took care of me and raised me. I know that I tell you this a lot, but mom, I love you so so much and everything you did for me, it’s so admirable. I owe so much to you.’

Mom clears her throat. ‘Oh sweetie,’ she mumbles. ‘You don’t owe me anything.’

‘You did so well, mom,’ I whisper. ‘I’m so lucky to have been raised by you.’

She grabs my hand and gives me a loving squeeze. ‘Sweetheart, could you come with me for a second?’

The two of us walk inside of the house, as we hear conversation strike up behind us. The second we are out of sight, she wraps her arms around me. This is what she always does, not wanting to cry in front of the other Cavills, always going to a secluded place. ‘I love you, Vanessa,’ she whispers. ‘I think I’ve done a pretty good job with you.’

I can’t help but laugh. ‘You did an excellent job, mom. You are honestly the biggest power house I’ve ever met.’

‘Could you imagine what would’ve happened if Belle was able to baby sit you?’ mom asks. ‘Because you, my love, charmed yourself a way into your father’s heart.’

I chuckle. ‘I kinda did, didn’t I?’

Mom smiles, as she holds tightly onto my hands. ‘I know you always thank me for giving you the family you always wanted, but remember: if you weren’t so instantly in love with your dad, I don’t know if I had given it a shot to be honest.’

That is such a weird thought, I think to myself. I always stop myself when I want to think about the ‘what ifs’ and my entire family never really brought it up. Maybe when I was younger, but never with me. But what if indeed I were to stay over at Belle’s place, I would’ve never known that Henry was there probably. Imagine the life that we would’ve had. Maybe I had given my biological father Wesley a chance and then I didn’t have my three wonderful sisters.

‘What are you two doing here? Poor Trey is being questioned by Niki, Charlie and grandpa and the old man is not holding back.’ My dad walks in and though he has reached the ripe age of forty eight, he is still the tall and bulked up man that I met in the examination room. He is still the man that loved me like I was his own.

‘Just thanking my daughter for being such a lovely girl, who charmed her way into your heart.’

‘Oh, you sure did,’ dad says with a smile. ‘My lovely sunshine, I love you so much and I can’t believe it’s been more than ten years since I met you and your mom.’ He wraps his arms around us and says: ‘Though I still feel the fear of Kal vomiting on the carpet with blood, I am so grateful that you picked up and the other clinics didn’t.’ He presses a kiss on my mom’s forehead.

‘Dad, when did you realize you were in love with mom?’

‘Well, I told myself that I shouldn’t have a crush on someone that I barely knew,’ dad says, ‘but I can tell you that deep down in my heart I knew that this beautiful woman stole my heart the second she said the seven words that I’ll never forget. Mister Cavill, your dog is kinda fat.’

≫≫≪≪

Bonus instagram posts:

Elodie and Vanessa

Elodie with Olivia

Pregnant with twins!

Pre teen Vanessa showing Henry that he is an actual boomer

Chloe and Heather

Vanessa as a teenager

Elodie as a teenager

Chloe and Heather as teenagers

A/N: soooo this is the end of this wonderful story, though I wish this would go on forever. Thank you so much to all the people who have been reading this, leaving lovely comments. Thanks to this story I gained so many new followers. I never expected it to blow up like this haha. Not to self promote but will do anyway, but please check out my other works if you haven’t already (and if you want to of course, I’m not going to force you to read my other fics) and of course I’ll be back with other fun projects, that I obviously will announce like usual 🤗

#henry cavill #henry cavill x ofc #henry cavill x oc #henry cavill fanfic #henry cavill fandom #mister cavill your dog is kinda fat #henry cavill x Olivia Tran

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drake-the-incubus · 3 years

Text

This is a gift for @striderhell from the Homestuck Secret Santa 2020 (@homestuckss). I was aiming for 3000 words but uh, Dirk as a muse didn’t want to continue exploring the concept of gender given his rigid but philosophical nature.

I hope this was good, and if not just gimme a shout and I’ll try and come up with something better.

Word Count: 1521 Fandom: Homestuck Characters: Dirk Strider, Roxy Lalonde Relationships: Dirk Strider & Roxy Lalonde (Platonic/Friends)

Additional Notes: Roxy uses He/Him and They/Them, I’ve never finished the epilogues but I love NB Rox. Dirk uses no pronouns in this, as I wanted to try that out.

Please enjoy Dirk exploring his gender.

Sometimes in an effort to define ourselves, we feel trapped to conform to some rigid aspect or label in hopes to reach an understanding of who we are. At times this process can be frustrating and dissatisfying. Other people take weeks or days, and some of them take years or never figure it out.

Perhaps gender, as a construct, can’t be fully understood, but we can understand ourselves as people without it. The tale before you, is only a short of someone who wishes to take a journey many end up doing, and most have never encountered.

Dirk was sitting in a cafe on Earth-C, sipping on a coffee in between tinkering with another pair of shades. The goal was updating and adding a better set of graphics, hoping to add some additional features to make things easier.

It had been a while since the Prince of Heart had seen the rest of the gods. Jake would visit once in a while, and they would have a friendly spar or talk. Roxy would message once in a while, letting Dirk know any spicy news about the rest.

Dave would randomly show up, they would stare each other down before both Striders would give a thumbs up and go their separate ways.

Rose would often come by, trading witty banter and wisdom. Both of them struggled with the massive impact of their god tiers and would often talk about it to one another.

Today though, Dirk decided a change of area would suit this project best, specifically needing to leave the workshop and enjoy some caffeine. Recently a problem developed that would continue to nag at the Prince even through the night. Lack of sleep was the reason why Dirk had picked a coffee shop. It made the most sense.

Gender did not.

Dirk had been going through a lot lately, and when Roxy had come out as trans, it had been taken pretty well by most of them. Not that it would be different if Dirk came out either, but rather that would take knowing what was going on.

This was a laughable moment, since they all had beaten the game, made it out and enjoyed their own little home in the midst of nothing. Creating entire worlds and civilizations with the help of their space and time players, but Dirk was sitting there, in a cafe, trying to figure out what gender even was and how it related to the god’s own identity.

Pronouns were hard, but so was even figuring this shit out. Making a copy of your brain at thirteen was much easier than figuring out if you’re cis or not, and Dirk didn’t know.

The more it was thought about, the more the thought cropped up, what if it turned out the being Cis wasn’t the result. Dirk was absolutely sure about not being a chick, nothing really appealed about that, but then again there was a very similar feeling over the current gender.

Man, agender or woman. Those were the categories that presented themselves currently. Working harder to connect the shades to the newly built chip, Dirk jolted when suddenly Roxy sat down across the table.

“I called out to you, but you didn’t answer.” He said leaning over and looking over the project. “I was wondering what made you change location, you’re pretty adamant to work in your workshop Dirkie.”

“I needed to think, which I was doing when you were calling out to me. Thinking so hard about creating a new line of orange pop with more caffeine than this cup of coffee that the world died out and I was left to only the one set of thoughts for once.”

He raised an eyebrow at that, and crossed his arms. “Really now? You think that I can’t tell something bigger is going on in that Strider head of yours? You’ve come up with projects while having a philosophical discussion with Rose and texting Dave a rap battle. You’re the king of multi-tasking, which also means your attention is usually divided more, and you’re attempting to put a wire on the wrong side of that.”

Dirk frowned and sighed, putting the project down. “Well, I can’t get nothing past you I suppose. I guess one thing that’s on my mind is how much I miss AR, since he was a good source of introspection, then again I have no idea if that would have helped in the first place.” Tapping fingers filled the space between them as the Prince looked outside at the billions of humans and trolls walking over the streets.

“I’ve been contemplating what gender is and how I relate to it since you came out as nonbinary. It’s been making me think about what is my gender, and I’ve come to the conclusion none of them really fit, but that’s also something to worry about since that means I don’t relate to any of the options-“

“Before you go on a long tangent, I want to ask, what are the options?” He interrupted Dirk while cocking his head.

“Agender, man and woman.” Dirk said bluntly, staring at Roxy. The laughter that resulted made the god tip the iconic shades down to stare at Roxy with deadpan orange eyes.

“I get greeted by your eye colour, score! But no, you got it all wrong, gender isn’t rigid categories, it’s a spectrum. You can’t define it by strict labels and there’s too many to count. So you don’t fit in three, there’s millions of genders. Some might not have a word for it right now. I’m nonbinary, but that’s because I’m not a man or a woman completely, I’m somewhere in the middle, closer to a man if I were to describe it as like, a sliding scale. So don’t be in a hurry, and don’t worry if you don’t figure it out.”

“I need to. Not knowing makes things difficult. I know it might be unhealthy to obsess over, but ever since I made Auto Responder, I had the need to understand myself fully and everything about myself.” With an elbow on the table, Dirk took a hand and raked it through the mess of hair. Having done so more than a hundred times earlier, the Prince was sure it was a complete and utter mess at this point, and would need to be taken care of at home.

“Well, I have a list of some of the other more known ones, maybe one of them check out for you?” He offered a tablet.

Dirk took it, and looked over the list of options and each description of it, mumbling under breath before placing the tablet back down with a definite, “I’m going to use Genderless for now and see what happens.” It looked interesting, the excerpt specifically outlined not having a gender at all due to neurodivergence, rather than lacking a gender or having no gender, different from agender. It didn’t feel much different from everything else, but nothing did. Having several of the entries be defined by one’s neurodivergence was weird, but the more thought placed into the concept, the more it felt real to Dirk. Rather it meant that the Prince would have to take Rose up on her offer to get a fully evaluation soon, even if both of them came to the conclusion Dirk was probably neurodivergent and that it wasn’t impactful with how the god had lived life before the game.

“Are there any pronouns I should use for you?”

Pursing lips, Dirk gave a shake of the head. “None preferably. I think I need more time to actually think everything over. I have no positive or negative feelings for anything on there, and so I’m debating on if I’m everything or not. I can figure out how to make an exact replica of my own brain as a teenager, create robots, plot out the exact way I can kiss Jake and even save everyone's lives getting into the game. I’ve designed complex interactions to lead to the outcome I desire, and I can’t even pick a gender. This is quite frankly, ridiculous.”

“You don’t gotta. Dirk, it’s not about just picking a gender, it’s about figuring out a big part of yourself, and something most people don’t do for yours. You figured out you’re gay, now you’re figuring out what else you could be.” He placed a hand on Dirk’s and gave him a smile. “Whatever your result, I’m here for you. Even if you later think you’re a Cis man I’ll still be here for you. We might be siblings but we were friends first and that matters the most to me.”

Dirk gave a snort. “This is so fucking corny, but thanks Rox. I appreciate the love and support. Maybe I can treat you to another coffee since I feel like if I don’t buy one soon I’m going to be kicked out for making a mess of a window table.” Motioning towards the table, and standing up, the god stretched out. “What are you in the mood for?”

“Caramel Macchiato please.”

“Gotcha.”

#homestuck secret santa 2020 #striderhell #I fucking was gonna make this christmas eve but I got busy the past two days #Glad I waited because this Idea was much better #trans nonbinary characters #dirk is amab

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theparanormalperiodical · 4 years

Text

The True Story Behind The Blair Witch Project (1999), And The 13 Real Urban Legends About Witches That Will Make You Lie Down And Cry

It’s been mocked, and it’s been made a cultural icon.

It kick-started a horror trend, and it kicked itself down to the dregs of the film industry.

The Blair Witch Project (1999) is a point of contention among horror fans - you know, a bit like bringing up trans-rights at dinner with your UKIP Aunt sitting two seats down. But, just like trans-rights, we have to talk about it.

(Fuck you, Jane.)

The Blair Witch Project - and her 2 sequels - was the first film to turn on the camcorder and document the search for something supernatural.

This was the OG clickbait, this was the beginning of horror films claiming to document true events (ahem Paranormal Activity ahem), and this was the end of horror films being taken seriously.

But it was also these three things that grabbed everyone’s attention.

The original film was based on the claim that in 1994, 3 students went missing whilst exploring the supposedly haunted woods of Burkittsville Maryland. 5 years later, the footage they captured was found and put on the big screen.

Were these real events being documented?

Did these kids actually go missing?

And was the Blair Witch real?

Spoiler alert: no, nope, and not at all.

But even if this specific case wasn’t true, the film itself is unnervingly accurate. Like, literally last night I was researching all the different urban legends relating to witches in the US and I was convinced I had awoken the spirit of the Bell Witch.

So, considering the solidarity I have with the followers of this blog, I’ve decided to traumatise you, too.

This article is going to provide the summary to the three forgotten ‘n’ fucked-up films that make up the series, tell you why the Blair Witch is an uncomfortably accurate portrayal of witches historically, and finish up with a stroll through the 13 urban legends that are just like the one featured in the film.

Pull on your hiking boots, and hand me the map.

Let’s get spooky.

Here’s A Quick Summary Of The Blair Witch Film Series

Ahh, the 90s.

Will Smith was gettin’ jiggy with it, and Trump wasn’t President. Times were so much easier back then!

Well, not for budding film students Heather, Mike and Josh, who packed up their filming equipment in a car and headed to Burkittsville, Maryland to make a documentary about the urban legend of the Blair Witch. (The Blair Witch Project (1999))

They start off by interviewing locals, and capture a few key details that set up the rest of the film and its sequels. It is claimed that Rustin Parr was a bloke who lived in the woods and kidnapped several children in the 1940s.

Why? Because the Blair Witch told him to do so. Two fishermen confirm the legends of the woods being haunted, and mention some lass called Robin Weaver.

Kidnapped in 1888, she returned 3 days later, claiming the witch was “an old woman whose feet never touched the ground."

Having heard the tales and waited out the warnings, they begin their journey and head to their first stop, Coffin Rock. Supposedly, 5 men were murdered in a ritualistic fashion here in the 19th century, and their bodies disappeared without a trace.

The next day, they continue their travels, and their ordeal begins. They arrive at an old cemetery which is made up of cairns (piles of rocks which turn out to have ritualistic meaning) and camp nearby. Noises are heard round the tent all night, like twigs snapping, but they reduce this to woodland creatures.

The following day, they realise they are lost and cannot find the car. The activity escalates, but is found to be unexplainable.

They then begin to fight between each other, and encounter a section of humanoid stick figures hanging from the trees. Their evening entertainment of weird noises around the tent resumes, but this time the laughter of children is added to the remix. Something then attacks their tent, sending them fleeing from their campsite.

Some people will just never like dubstep.

They return to their tent, and discover that their possessions have been rifled through, and slime covers Josh’s stuff. The fighting ensues, and Josh straight-up fucks-off.

His screams are then heard one night, and Heather and Mike deduce it to be the witch’s fabrication to draw them out of their tent and into her grasp.

Her trap is confirmed when Heather finds a bundle of sticks the next morning containing a ritualistic goody-bag containing what appears to be left of Josh.

That same night, she records her infamous apology video in a style not dissimilar to most YouTubers who have been caught being racist/homophobic/[insert any terrible thing].

Once again, Josh’s screams are heard and they follow them to a house bearing demonic symbols and the bloody handprints of children. Not the aesthetic I myself would go for, but it worked for the Blair Witch...

Mike and Heather stumble into the basement, and we witness our favourite vloggers being killed in the manner described earlier in the film:

One child would face the corner of the basement while the other was being slaughtered. The last shot of the film is of Mike standing in the corner of the basement, suggesting that Heather is the first to die at the hands of the witch.

The second film (Book Of Shadows: Blair Witch 2 (2000)) follows up on these events a year after the footage was found. A gaggle of fans of the original film troop to Burkittsville to explore the legend and the circumstances of the kidnapping of Heather, Mike and Josh.

This film is messy and complicated, and it’s for that reason that I don’t want to waste 8,000 words on a film that is actually ignored by the film series. So, I’m going to give you a tl;dr, instead:

Basics, this film documents the group of fans and tourists being turned against each other by the witch. They go to the house where shit reportedly went down, and set up surveillance cameras to document potential activity.

It’s the first film, but with hell of a lot more activity. And it culminates with the symbolic hanging of someone who appears to be inciting the demonic rituals scattered across the film as they are reportedly possessed by the Blair Witch.

Unfortunately, we don’t learn anything new in this film - we simply see the greater extent of her powers.

Tired, yet?

(Bored, perhaps?)

Our journey is almost over, and it ends with Blair Witch (2016).

This film ignores the events of the second film, and follows a group of documentary makers as they explore the legend of the Blair Witch - but this time it's not about capturing paranormal activity. They go to investigate a peculiar video on YouTube that proves that Heather - the woman from the OG cult classic - might just be alive.

The brother of Heather leads this group, and focuses this documentary on the desire for closure.

Despite skipping out the Book of Shadows, it basically sticks to that exact premise. Surveillance cameras are set up, and showcases the witch’s methods of turning the crew on each other, but on an even greater level. We even see the witch, alongside a couple other creatures in tow...

It finally gives us behind the scenes insight into the paranormal activity, and ends with everyone dying!

Sigh.

The Blair Witch Is Based Off Of Urban Legends - And Is Uncomfortably Similar To The Stories

Despite its many flaws, The Blair Witch Project does one thing right: we never see the witch.

But it’s the way that her control of the woods and those within it is portrayed that points to the terrifyingly accurate nature of the witch when compared to other urban legends.

The film’s fictional legend gives up minimal information regarding the Blair Witch:

We know she was responsible for residents - especially children - going missing throughout the 18th and 20th century, and we know that the locals of Burkittsville claimed that the Blair Witch was the ghost of Elly Kedward, a woman who reportedly practiced witchcraft and was sentenced to death in 1785.

This salem-witch-what-died-but-didnt-really-die-no-one-really-knows is a common basis of the urban legends that will be explored later in this post, but it's the other attributes of the witch that draw her even closer to the claims made around these cases.

The focus of this is that the Blair Witch represents the crone, one of the core concepts of paganism and many other ancient religions. Of the few glimpses we see of a creature that could be the witch and the descriptions of her made by the locals of Burkittsville, we piece together the image of an elderly, monstrous being.

Take this clip from the final film in the saga:

This unnatural-looking humanoid bears a resemblance to the claims of witches in folklore, such as breasts sagging below waistlines, or bones jutting out of their flesh. Add on top of this the animalistic claims from the original movie - like that one woman claiming she saw her arm which was coated with dark hair - and we arrive at a rather monstrous being.

But this animalistic account does not merely echo her ugliness; it forges the link between the witch and her powers over the woods she resides in.

As the maiden becomes the mother, and the mother becomes the crone, her connection with nature grows. It reaches the extent from which her connection with nature is greater than that of her male counterparts, threatening almighty patriarchy and cursing her as the evil witch she is!!1!

Furthermore, it's not difficult to see the links between the woods she controls, and the imagery of life and fertility. Add a smattering of rumours about kidnapped children, and the house of Rustin Parr becomes a womb.

(Less PMS, more blood.)

More so, by harnessing the powers of nature, she blurs the boundaries between the genders. Heck, she even goes as far as to blur the boundaries between reality and the reality she creates for her victims!

She tricks them into falling out with each other, she confuses them by creating this unnavigable wood, and she ensnares them into her invisible trap.

Or, translated into simple terms, the Blair Witch fulfills the concept of the Monstrous-Feminine, a theory conjured up by Barbara Creed. On one hand it suggests women are either portrayed as the victim within horror films, and on the other it suggests that when the woman becomes monstrous, she takes on extreme attributes regarding the female reproductive body.

Guess which one the Blair Witch is.

But this theory didn’t start with Babs sitting in a room and getting her feminist on - Creed deconstructs notions that can be traced back to the era of the Salem witch trials. Each and every urban legend starts here, when it was #on-trend to burn your local witch.

The Blair Witch is the puppet master in these films.

And she is not the only one that is pulling the strings.

The Real Urban Legends About Witches That You Need To Know About

“So, the Blair Witch is some chick who hasn’t shaved in 3 months and has a metaphorical vagina?”

Ok, fair enough.

The Blair Witch isn’t directly based on a specific urban legend, so yes, delete the sage from your Amazon basket and buy those limited edition poptarts, instead.

…

Oh, you thought this post was over?

My little ghoul - this is The Paranormal Periodical. You didn’t think I’d let you leave without informing you of that witch roaming around your local area, would you?

‘Course not. Here are the 13 real urban legends of witches that’ll scare the shizz outta you.

#1 - Naale Baa

We trade in deep woodland in Maryland for Karntaka, India for this local legend. And within minutes of arriving, you’ll spot the word ‘naale baa’ on the walls - a decoration not dissimilar to that seen in Rustin Parr’s crib.

It is claimed that by writing these words on their walls they can deter the witch that wanders from house to house in search of her husband.

Glammed up in full bridal wear, Nale Ba (as she is also known) supposedly attempts to entice the man of the house, and then curse the family with bad luck.

In the 1990s, this urban legend faced a particular resurgence, and even evolved to claim that she would imitate the voices of victim’s family members to encourage them to open the door. But when the door is opened, you die!

How? No idea.

Am I still scared? Hell yeah.

But I’m not the only one concerned about this witch - claims that multiple men in Thailand just disappeared from their beds in the middle of the night were pinned onto this urban legend.

#2 - The Bell Witch

This is probably the most famous legend regarding a witch puppeteering an innocent family’s life.

The story starts in 1817. A family begin to witness signs of paranormal activity on their farm that targets the man of the house and his daughter, Betsy. A variety of large animals are seen across their farm and follow the family and their slaves. Strange noises then begin to fill the house, like invisible chains being dragged on the floor, or dogs fighting. Betsy repeatedly claims that she can see a little girl playing on the swings.

But this friendly ghost then begins to attack the child, slapping her and scarring her with pins.

The man of the house then begins to demand answers about these spooky shenanigans, and straight up asks the spirit what the shit is going on.

The spirit gives ‘em a lowdown of her backstory - a bit like those clips from the X Factor where they use Katy Perry’s Firework over the top of this 16 year old girl’s turmoil regarding GCSE maths - and claims that she is "Old Kate Batts' witch".

‘Couple of convos later and they deduce that the farm rests on a Native American burial ground, and the spirit has been disturbed.

Yet despite the specificity of this legend, the haunting sticks to familial lines we see with Naale Baa and the Blair Witch:

The witch claims she will leave - but she will return in 7 years. She kept her promise, and haunted Betsy when she achieved her womanly purpose of shitting out a baby and having a family of her own.

#3 - The Perron Family Farmhouse

This case was the inspiration behind the original Conjuring movie, founding one of the most iconic horror film series to date - and it’s clear to see why.

I’ve already done a fully-fledged post on this classic tale, but here’s a tl;dr for people hoping not to delve too deep into the haunting…

The Perron family made the mistake of moving onto the land once owned and now haunted by Bathsheba Sherman, a witch from the 19th century.

With increasingly violent activity beginning to haunt the family - which culminated in the possession of the mother of the house - this has earned its place as one of the scariest tales of terror to feature on this blog.

#4 - Mary Evelyn Ford

She was burned at the stake for her witchcraft.

She was buried in a steel lined grave, and her casket was covered with concrete to keep her trapped in.

Oh, and she was 5 years old.

It is claimed that Mary will wander ‘round the cemetery or stand trapped within the protective fencing around her graveside, making faces at mourners and enticing them towards her final resting place. From there she will suck you into the depths where her body now lies, and use your vitality for strength!

#5 - The Three Legged Lady of Mississippi

The American road trip.

A classic coming-of-adventure filled with freedom, spotify playlists you accidentally stream via your data, and running over people that are already dead.

No? Just me?

The story goes that there’s one road in Mississippi which is haunted by The Three Legged Lady. If you honk your horn three times, she will knock on the roof of the car, and race your car to the end of the road, hitting it with her body throughout the short journey.

Why?

Her origins, like most urban legends, have been subject to a lot of dispute, but there are 2 claims which follow this tale:

One side to the story claims she was the innocent victim of a sacrifice by a satanic cult, whilst the other side claims she doesn’t actually have three legs.

She’s holding her daughter’s leg, which was severed off when she was run over by a car. It is said that she is still looking for the rest of her daughter.

#6 - The Skinwalkers of Arizona

Our road trip doesn’t stop there, however - this time we are heading for the Navajo region of Arizona.

Supposedly, when you’re sailing down the highway, something will tap on your window, and you’ll catch a glance of a skinwalker. These humanoid, mutated beings were shapeshifters that were the witch doctors representing the evil within Navajo society.

This urban legend even featured in a court case when a woman was found brutally murdered!

Heck, there is actually a specific region of Arizona - Skinwalker Ranch - from which you are sure to these mystical beings.

#7 - Goody Cole, The Witch of Hampton

This urban legend sticks to the minimalist aesthetic, but nevertheless has earned its reputation in Hampton.

The story goes that a woman accused of being a witch was found dead in her house, and thus, to ensure this bitch stays dead, they bury her with a stake and horseshoe. She says six feet under, but her powers prevail; she curses those that happen to go past her grave.

Her curses stick to those sailing on the river by her burial site, including that one time she reportedly brewed a storm for an innocent girl enjoying a summer’s day on a sailboat who just so happened to be mocking her past.

Not a good day for yachting with father, then?

#8 - The Curse of Jonathon Buck’s Tomb

Okay, this one’s fucking creepy.

And I love it.

Jonathon Buck was one of the main lads in charge of the Salem witch trials, and condemned many a woman to death by burning. Unfortunately, his attempts to rid one woman of her alleged powers failed, and she scarred his tombstone with a burn mark in the shape of a leg.

No, seriously.

Whenever the tomb is moved, the mark reappears.

#9 - Mary Nohl’s Witch House

This origins of this tale can be traced to much more recent events, but carries the essence of an urban legend that rumoured witches cannot escape from.

Mary Nohl was a sculptor famed for her wacky art and weird displays that decorated her house and gardens. The local residents petitioned for it to be demolished, but it was placed on the National Register, instead.

It is here that the rumours began to swell:

The legend claims that her husband and son drowned in a nearby lake, so, she created these sculptures to watch out for them and await their return to their home. But it was discovered that she never had any children, voiding the rumours conjured up by teenagers after late night visits to this spectacular house.

#10 - The Pendle Witches

I’ve already covered this gaggle of witches and the legends they’ve left on Pendle Hill, but here’s a quick recap for those that haven’t already checked out that post:

The Pendle witches were a group of peasants who practiced dark and mysterious magic. From neighbours getting ill, to strange effigies being found containing hair and teeth, there was more than enough evidence to send them to trial.

It was on this hill that they were sentenced to death, and it was on this hill that they were hung for their crimes. But their witchy behaviour didn’t stop with their deaths.

Peculiar happenings still haunt Pendle hill…

#11 - The Surrey Witch

Our next urban legend is also resident to the UK, and even takes its form in the same era.

In the 17th century, a white witch lived in a cave in Surrey, and was known for lending things to her neighbours. All you had to do was stand on the boulder outside her cave and ask!

But one day, some bloke tried his luck, and asked for her cauldron. She was chill with it, but said he must return it by a deadline. He missed the due date, and lost 5% off his final mark he fled to escape her potential wrath.

He fled to Frensham church, from which the cauldron has been utilised for centuries. I wonder if the witch is still out there looking for it?

#12 - Tituba, The Voodoo Queen

Okay, so this witch might not have an urban legend tied to her memory, but her past mirrors the Blair Witch’s own story so it’s freakalicious, regardless...

Tituba was actually the first woman accused of practicing witchcraft in 1692. She even confessed to her crimes, and threw two other witches under the bus!

(So much for solidarity, guys.)

But her story follows a unique twist, as she was believed to have come to the colony she later resided in to encourage local children to take up Voodoo. Her focus on children and thus her maternal portrayal is a simplified reflection of the Blair Witches own metaphorical genitalia.

#13 - The Witch House, aka The Jonathon Corwin House

Our final urban legend belongs to one of the most historical buildings in Salem:

No, really, it’s the only structure in Salem still standing that had a hand in the witch trials. Not only has it witnessed dark and twisted histories of innocent people, it’s still home to some of them.

Jonathon Corwin - the former owner of the house - was a judge in the trials, and thus carried the memories of the trials with him back to his home, but with reports of torture in the basement and even his own burial down there after his murder, I think we can safely that many myths and legends will circle this house.

Add in a visit from the Ghost Adventures crew, and we can stamp on the Zak Bagan’s seal of approval.

No wonder it’s considered the most haunted house in Salem!

Now It’s Time To Hear What You Think:

Which urban legend is the winner of tonight’s fuck-off-i-cant-handle-the-spooks-man award?

And will you ever watch The Blair Witch Project again?

😍Up for more spooky stuff? Follow this blog and hear a new real ghost story everyday!😍

(Also this is me now.)

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knives-out20 · 4 years

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Inglourious Boyfriends - Part 7

Fandom: Inglourious Basterds (2009)

Pairing: Joshua Margolis (OC) x Lt. Aldo Raine

Word Count: 3045

Warning: Spoilers For Inglorious Basterds,

Note: This Is Part 7, And OOOH, Is This Where Shit Gets Good! We May Be Drawing Close To The End, But Fear Not. I’m Gonna Be Posting A Series For Donny, And Another OC. A Trans FtM OC, By The Name Of Mordecai Rosenthal. Anyways, Let’s Enjoy The Present.

“You Jerry-bangin', Limburg-smellin'..." Aldo panted, just about feeling Joshua's elbow touch his. He heard a familiar German voice, and suddenly the Nazis let go of both him and Joshua.

“As Stanley said to Livingstone, Lieutenant Aldo Raine, I presume? And the wonderful Lieutenant Joshua Margolis" Hans mocked, sounding like he was standing right in front of Aldo.

"Hans Landa." Aldo said, under the black bag.

Joshua heard a truck engine start from behind them.

"You two have had a nice, long run together, Aldo, Joshua. Alas, you're both now in the hands of the SS. My hands to be exact".

"Yea, yea, and if those oily hands go anywhere on Joshua, I'll break free, right here, right now, and chop you in half like a goddamn wiener schnitzel" Aldo growled.

"Ah, fear not, Aldo. They've been waiting a long time to touch you, first" Hans cackled, tapping where Aldo's nose is."Once I'm through with you, I'll see what I can do with little Joshy boy over here. Certainly nothing like his father's friend did" he giggled, turning to look at Joshua.

Aldo flinched back when Hans touched him, anger bubbling up inside when Hans mentioned Joshua- let alone, when Hans called his Joshua 'Joshy', and mentioned what had happened to HIS Joshy.

"Caught you flinching".

Aldo head-butted Hans aggressively, ending in Joshua and him getting pushed into the back of the truck by Nazis."You had it comin', you had it comin', asshole! Touch me, again, Kraut-burger. So much as mention goin' anywhere NEAR Joshua, and I'll break yer bones!" He threatened, as the Nazis forced Joshua and him to sit down.

Once the truck started to drive off, Joshua leaned his head on Aldo's shoulder, exhausted, and still a little scared.

"Y'okay, sunshine?" Aldo mumbled, turning to where he felt Joshua.

Joshua hummed softly."St-Still, uh, still kinda scared" he confessed."It's not like they'll do...what- what he did to me, right?" He asked, voice cracking.

"Ah, don't worry 'bout it. We'll get outta here in no time, go round the boys up, and make sure all hell truly breaks loose. Baby, I'm right here, okay? I'd hold you if I could, but, clearly I can't...I love you, Joshua" Aldo quietly reassured, his arm grazing against Joshua's.

"I love you too, Aldo" Joshua returned.

After a few beats of slightly-comfortable silence, another voice spoke up. This time, a welcome one."Is that you, Lieutenants? Joshua?".

"Yea- Utivich?" Aldo called, sitting up straight, as did Joshua.

Joshua sighed in relief."Utivich! Ugh, I'm so happy t'see- uh, hear ya. I missed you, brother" he grinned under the black bag.

"Do you know what happened to Donny?" Utivich asked, sniffling."Omar? The woman?" He shakily added, voice wobbling.

"No, we do not. Most we know is that some Nazi named Hans Landa brought her into a room after Donny and Omar entered the theater room" Joshua explained."Utivich, are you...okay? Y'sound like yer cryin'".

Utivich didn't reply.

"Utivich?".

"I'm fine" he muttered."Just- Just as scared as you are" Utivich whimpered.

Joshua cooed softy."Listen t'me, Smithson. We're- We're gonna be fine, alright? As long as we got Aldo, we'll be alright".

"Okay" Utivich whispered.

The truck slowly came to a stop, the three Basterds hearing the front doors open. They heard footsteps come around to the back, unlocking something and felt arms pulling them out of the back, one by one. Individually, Aldo, Joshua, and Utivich were pushed inside some building, into a room and shoved down into three chairs, side by side.

Their black bags were pulled off their faces, Utivich gasping in response while Aldo squeezed his eyes shut and shook his hair out from his face; Joshua inhaled sharply, blowing a stray strand of hair from his eyes. Utivich looked up at the Nazis that escorted them inside, the three men all finally locking eyes with Hans, across the table in front of them.

Hans had a proud smile on his face."Tell me, Aldo, if I were sitting where you're sitting, would you show me mercy?" He asked, quizzically.

Aldo smirked, tilting his head back and squinting, suspicious.

Joshua and Utivich turned to look at him in unison.

"Nope." He blankly replied, giving Hans half of a full head-shake.

Hans sighed, turning to Utivich."What is that English expression about shoes and feet?" The Nazi asked, gesturing to his own feet.

Joshua answered for him, "'Looks like the shoe is on the other foot', I was just thinkin' o'that".

Hans smiled at him."Your looks truly deceive you. Good-looking and smart. Sadly, not smart enough to know that no one would believe those claims you made of what your father's friend allegedly did to you" he shrugged, smile growing when Aldo scowled. Landa gestured for the Nazis to leave, the guards immediately following their orders and exiting the room. This left Hans, Aldo, and Joshua alone, as Aldo craned his head to watch the guards stop to stay alert outside the room.

Aldo, as he turned back around, looked at Utivich, who was holding a dead, empty stare on Hans. He checked on Joshua quickly, wanting to take a look at him first before paying attention to Hans; though, he had his knee pressed against Josh's. The two of them always shared subtle touches like that when they weren't able to directly talk to one another, or be able to get any physically closer.

"So you're Aldo the Apache" Hans nodded in disbelief.

"So yer the Jew Hunter" Aldo returned, not noticing Joshua's gaze on the scar around his neck.

"I'm a detective. A damn good detective. Finding people is my specialty, so naturally, I've worked for the Nazis finding people, and yes, some of them were Jews, but Jew Hunter?" The Colonel snorted as if it were a mildly-funny joke."Just a name that stuck".

"Well you do have to admit-" Utivich started, Joshua cutting him off with "it is catchy".

"Even more catchy than 'Pineapple Bomb'?" Hans shot back, resting an arm on the table as he looked Joshua in the eyes."Tell me, where did that nickname even come from? I will admit, you do appear as fresh as a newly-picked fruit-" he held back a grin when Aldo turned to glare at him, "but I may need some backstory".

"It's 'cause Joshua is skillful at usin' explosives, and looks sweet while doin' it" Aldo replied, eyeing Joshua and his messy hair.

Hans nodded, looking Joshua up and down."I'm sure you do, Joshy" he winked playfully, Joshua looking physically disgusted.

"Don't call him Joshy" Aldo spoke through grit teeth, about ready to free his hands and fist-fight the Colonel.

The Colonel laughed, turning to Utivich to pester him."Do you control the nicknames your enemies bestow on you? Aldo the Apache, Pineapple Bomb, and the Little Man?".

Aldo winced softy, biting his lip as he looked away to not register Utivich's reaction.

"What do you mean the Little Man?" Utivich's voice went soft.

Hans shrugged once again, "Germans' nickname for you".

"The Germans' nickname for me is the Little Man?".

"And as if to make my point, I'll also admit, I'm a little surprised at how tall you are in real life. I mean, you're a little fellow, but not circus-midget little as your reputation would suggest".

"Alright, alright, alright, ugh” Joshua cut in."Utivich, brother-".

"Brother?" Hans looked surprised.

"Not by blood, dumbass" Joshua huffed."He's not serious. I- I mean, c'mon. If the Nazis could rip off the swastika from the Sanskrit svastika for supposed 'good fortune' or 'well-being', surely they could think up a better name than Little Man. Plus, look at Landa. I doubt he’s any taller than you. Why did the Nazis let this short man join, anyway? Guys, he’s built like a dwarf" he sassed. Joshua always jumped at the chance to come at anyone who ever tried Utivich, as he said, the man’s like a brother to him.

Hans tutted, shaking his head."Big talk from a soldier who's nothing without Aldo being able to protect his pretty little face, especially like he couldn't supposedly protect you from your father's friend" he pursed his lips, eyebrows raising as he could feel Aldo give him the dagger-glare."I'll have so much fun tearing you apart".

Joshua raised his head confidently, leaning closer to Aldo.

"Joshua Margolis..." Hans breathed, scanning the Captain."I remember seeing your name cover newspapers around ten years ago. You can't be serious when you say you expected people to believe you, hmm? Such a disgrace, lying for attention. Who would believe that your father's friend would ever have the audacity to do that to you, to ra-".

"Where's my men?" Aldo changed the topic."Where's Bridget Von Hammersmark?".

Joshua turned to look up at Aldo, biting the edge of his lip as his chest grew heavy in a pain of it's own. He may have sounded casual when asking Hans about where Omar and Donny were, but Joshua heard the faint, underlying voice crack in that question. Growing up with Aldo, Joshua knows him, and he knows how much Aldo truly cared for the Basterds, all of them.

Hans inhaled, looking down."Well, let's just say, she got what she deserved. And when you purchase friends like Bridget Von Hammersmark, you get what you pay for" he hissed, Joshua's whole body going rigid in shock."Oh, no, hopefully you weren't too close to her already?" Landa ridiculed, turning to Joshua."Ah, who am I kidding? All night, it's been more than clear where your affections lie..." the Colonel slowly panned his gaze from Joshua, cold eyes landing on Aldo, who stared right back at him."Disgusting. As if you weren't scum of the earth enough, already. No wonder you'll end up burning in hell" he spat, eyes flickering between Aldo and Joshua.

Joshua huffed, stern gaze on Landa."Ugh, l-like we need a malnourished Nazi-fuck tellin' us how to live our goddamn lives".

"Now, as far as your paesanos, Sergeant Donowitz and and Private Omar..." he ignored Joshua, leaning back in his seat.

"How you know our names?" Aldo cut off, Utivich now looking at him.

"Lieutenant Aldo, if you don't think I wouldn't interrogate every single one of your swastika-marked survivors..." Hans adjusted how he sat, shaking his head in shame."Then one, clearly you aren't as bright as your beau over here" he pointed out, looking at Joshua like he was old gum under his shoe."And two, we simply aren't operating on the level of mutual respect I assumed".

"No, I guess not" Aldo agreed.

"Well, back to the whereabouts of your two Italian saboteurs" Hans tapped the wooden table, dusting off his uniform."As of this moment, both Omar and Donowitz should be sitting in the very seats we left them in. Double-zero twenty-three and double-zero twenty-four, if my memory serves. Explosives still around their ankles, still ready to explode, and your mission- some would call a terrorist plot- as of this moment, is still a go".

Utivich and Joshua locked eyes in fear- their best friend, alongside Omar, was going to explode, blissfully unaware that Bridget's dead, and the three of them were captured.

"That's a pretty exciting story, what's next, ‘Eliza On Ice’?" Aldo looked around the room, disinterested, cracking a proud-of-himself smile when Joshua snorted. He swiped his thigh against Josh's, needing a constant reminder that Joshua was right there, that they were together- that's how it always should be.

Joshua may have found what Aldo said funny, but he caught the look of sadness, and pain, that flashed over Aldo's eyes at the idea of Omar and Donny dying.

Joshua and Aldo were all the other one had, until Donny and the Basterds came into the picture; both of their parents died already, so they really had no big family to return to. The Basterds were all they had, now, too. Aldo and him could have had the opportunity to save Wicki, Hicox, and Stiglitz, but with Hans holding them hostage, there was no way they could possible be able to save the others. Sure, their sacrifices could win the war, but if there's one thing Joshua knows, it's that Aldo may as well end up laying awake at night, years after this one, wishing this all could have gone differently.

Joshua knows for a fact that he'll be doing the same.

"However," Hans crossed both his arms on the table, now ignoring Aldo."All I have to do is pick up this phone right here, inform the cinema, and your plan is kaput".

"If they're still here, and if they're still alive, and sadly, that's one big if, there ain't no way yer goin' to take them boys without settin' off them bombs".

"I have no doubt. And yes, some Germans will die, yes, it will ruin the evening, and yes, Goebbels will be very, very, very mad at you for what you've done to his big night. But you won't get Hitler, you won't get Goebbels, you won't get Göring, and you won't get Bormann. And you need all four to end the war. But if I don't pick up this phone right here," Hans tapped the phone on the table between them, "you may very well get all four. And if you get all four, you end the war...tonight".

"Ah, that's all fun and- and games, Dr. Seuss, but ya didn't need t'say it twice. We're not the stupid ones in this room" Joshua insulted, Aldo giving him a pleased glance.

"Whatever. Gentlemen," Hans rolled his eyes, bringing out four wine glasses and pouring red wine equally into all of them."Let's discuss the prospect of ending the war, tonight. So, the way I see it, since Hitler's death or possible rescue rests solely on my reaction, if I do nothing, it's as if I'm causing his death even more than yourselves, wouldn't you agree?".

"I guess so" Aldo blinked slowly.

"How about you, Utivich?" Hans inquired, placing three wine glasses in front of the Jews, who couldn't even drink them, given that their hands were literally tied.

Utivich glanced down at the glass in front of him, then back up at Colonel Landa."I guess so, too".

"And what about you, Prettyboy Basterd?" Hans teased, turning to Joshua.

Joshua silently looked to Aldo, nodding and mumbling "yea".

"Gentlemen, I have no intention of killing Hitler, and killing Goebbels, and killing Göring, and killing Bormann. Not to mention, winning the war single-handedly for the Allies, only later to find myself standing before a Jewish tribunal" Landa paused for effect."If you want to win the war tonight, we have to make a deal" he smiled hopefully.

Aldo leaned back like he was in a spa, Utivich and Joshua not budging."What kind of deal?".

"The kind you wouldn't have the authority to make. However, I'm sure this mission of yours has a commanding officer. A general. I'm betting for...OSS would be my guess" Landa rhymed, annoying Joshua further. He exclaimed in excitement when none of the three men answered, saying "that's a bingo!".

Joshua looked confused; that's not how you say it.

"Is that the way you say it? 'That's a bingo'?".

"You just say 'bingo'" Joshua corrected.

"Bingo! How fun!". The smile quickly vanished from Hans' face."But I digress, where were we? Yea! Making a deal. Over there is a very capable two-way radio" he pointed to the radio in the room behind them, from which they came from."And sitting behind it is a more-than-capable radio operator named...Hermann" Landa remembered, or probably just guessed."Get me someone on the other end of that radio with the power of the pen to authorize my...let's call it, the terms of my conditional surrender. If that tastes better going down".

Aldo sat back up again, leaning in."You know, where Joshua and I are from-".

"Yea? Where is that, exactly?" Hans cut him off in question, as if interviewing him.

"Maynardville, Tennessee" Aldo smiled, reminiscing the old days of when it was just Joshua and him, growing up, sneaking moonshine liquor while they were too young to drink, and even younger, when Joshua had to teach Aldo how to spell 'Tennessee'. It's better nowadays, because Joshua continuously pulls the "because yer the only ten-I-see" line on Aldo, which makes him a pile of lovey-dovey goo every time."We've done our share of bootleggin’” he explained, Joshua nodding along in accordance."Up there, you can engage in what the federal government calls illegal activity-".

"Which I'm sure you two engaged in a lot" Hans assumed, blinking between Joshua and Hans.

Joshua nodded, very clearly unashamed.

"And which I'm sure Joshua wished his father's friend did to him, seeing as he went as far as to lying about the man rap-".

"He wasn't finished!" Joshua barked, a certain animosity in his eyes. He glanced up at Aldo, quickly forcing himself to calm down. If Hans didn't believe Josh, so what? He remembers that incident, clear as day (much to his distaste), as does he remember how his dad's friend took advantage of him. That haunting memory is more proof than anything that it happened.

"But...But what we call just a man tryin' to make a livin' for his family sellin' moonshine liquor, it behooves oneself to keep his wits" he finished, Aldo nodding for verification."Long story short, we hear a story too good to be true, it ain't" he forced a cheeky smile onto his face.

Hans nodded blankly."Sitting in your chairs, I would probably say the same thing. And nine-nine-nine point nine-nine-nine times out of a million, you two cheeky boys would be correct. But in the pages of history, every once in a while, fate reaches out and extends its hand".

Aldo, Joshua, and Utivich stared at Hans silently.

Hans outstretched his arms, shrugging carelessly."What shall the history books read?".

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thechildoflightning · 4 years

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The Kübler-Ross Model

Title: The Kübler-Ross Model [Masterpost]

Fandom: Sanders Sides

Pairings: background LAMP

~~~

Chapter Title: Depression- Chapter Four

Summary:

Stage Four: Depression- Characterized by intense sadness at the realization that the loss that has occurred is permanent.

In which Remy is drowning in sadness.

Warnings: Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Unhealthy Family Relationships, Intense Sadness, Loss of Appetite, Food Mention

[ao3 link]

Depression- Chapter Four

“Selected: Voicemail. One item. Tab one of one,” Remy’s phone says, strangely subdued. Remy doesn’t even pause to wonder who it’s from. She puts her finger to the screen, sliding it around as she searches for the desired section.

“Voicemail.”

One finger down.

“Daniel Zurko. M-”

Double tap.

“I’m- Remy. I miss you. I worry. I don’t- you won’t even answer my calls, I don’t know how you are, I… Remy I just miss you so much. Please, call. If just to let me know you’re okay. Please. Don’t keep doing this to me Remy.”

Remy doesn’t see Kai or Elliot until dinner. They meet up in the dining hall and find three open spaces. It’s pretty packed, so Cha-Cha slides into a tuck under her feet.

They eat in silence for awhile, the atmosphere obviously a bit tense.

“I’m sorry,” Remy says at last, “It wasn’t fair of me to snap at either of you. Kai, you were just trying to be helpful, Elliot you had no idea anything was even going on. I shouldn’t have done that. I was angry about some stuff, and I shouldn’t have taken that out on you two.”

“Okay thanks,” Elliot says.

“Forgiven,” Kai agrees.

Remy nods.

“And, Remy?” Elliot asks. Their voice sounds anxious, but doesn’t waver. Remy can’t help but feel that whatever they’re about to say is going to be incredibly important.

“Yeah?”

“You don’t- if you want- you know you can talk to us, right?”

It’s such a simple sentence, but it carries a ton of weight behind it. It means that Remy has people supporting her, people on her side. She has these systems around her to help her out. She just has to accept that help, that support.

“Yeah, I know,” she mutters.

Does she?

“Okay.”

“Are we still planning on creating Dungeons and Dragons characters tonight?” Kai asks after a moment, “And then actually getting moving on starting a campaign.”

“I- I think Mitchell wanted to do something tonight?” Elliot voices before Remuy gets a chance to confirm.

“Aww that’s three times in a row now, Elliot,” Kai points out.

“I can tell him no- I don’t have to-”

“No, no,” Kai insists, “If you have plans with your boyfriend that’s okay, that’s alright. You don’t have to feel bad for wanting to spend time with your boyfriend. We can totally work something else out.”

Elliot lets out a tiny sigh and it sounds wrong. Remy doesn’t like it. Remy’s slowing getting to know Elliot on a deeper level, to understand them. She knows they can get anxious about small things, and maybe it’s a sigh of relief.

But it doesn’t sound like one.

“Elliot?” Remy asks.

“Hmm?”

“Do you want to spend time with Mitchell?”

“Of course I do!” they insist, “Mitchel’s my boyfriend. It’s- he doesn’t deserve to be ignored.”

“I mean I don’t think spending one night with your friends would be considered ‘ignored,’” Kai comments, “But it’s not my relationship. So… as long as you're happy.”

Is Elliot happy?

“Yeah,” Elliot says. They hesitate. “This Thursday, okay? Thursday, DnD characters. I’ll be there. Promise.”

“Awesome!” Kai cheers. Remy can’t help but agree with the sentiment.

Thursday has the three of them Kai’s bed in their and Remy’s dorm. Kai’s laptop is in their lap and Cha-Cha has ditched Remy to curl into Elliot’s side. Elliot’s much to happy about this, sweet talking her and giving her all sorts of attention and pets.

Remy’s friends give Cha-Cha too much love and attention. They haven’t spent years with her, they don’t understand how terrible she can be. For example, her horrible sock stealing habit. Okay, Kai knows about that, but they forgive Cha-Cha way too easily. Remy’s just waiting until they start having to replace pairs again and again. Then Kai will understand how truly evil she can be.

“Okay, so with DnD we generally start with race and class.”

“Race: white and Roma, class: upper middle,” Remy responds.

“I… literally cannot tell if you are joking or not.”

“I am. A friend played. I know like, basic basics.”

Remy still hasn’t talked to any of her friends back home. She winces internally and pushes that away. She’ll get to it eventually, just… later.

“All I know comes from Stranger Things,” Elliot admits, which is a great distraction from Remy’s thoughts. It causes Kai to sigh loudly at how inept they are.

“Right. Okay. We have a lot of work to do.”

Kai starts explaining the game and how it works and quickly moves onto characters. They’re telling them about stats when Remy interrupts.

“I still don’t get why I can’t just take everything and put it into charisma and have everything else be zeros,” she says.

“Because that isn’t how you play the game,” Kai says, “Next question. Yes Elliot. And you don’t need to raise your hand.”

“You should let Remy put everything into charisma and have everything else be zeros.”

Remy points to Elliot in agreement. It’s good to know that they have her back in Remy’s quest to completely annoy Kai.

“That’s not a question.”

“Can you please let him put everything into charisma and have everything else be zeros?”

Something twists inside Remy when Elliot uses he/him for him. It’s not Elliot’s fault, Remy knows it’s not. She doesn’t blame them. Remy has’t told either of them yet. She wants to… but it’s hard. She doesn’t quite know how. She hasn’t told anyone besides Patton yet, and she doesn’t know how to start.

“No. Stop asking me that,” Kai groans, “You can’t- no. Maybe if you had more experience I’d let you have more skewed stats, but either way you still can’t have anything that high. But considering you’re both beginners, we're going to start with fairly balanced stats.”

“Can I at least have Cha-Cha?”

“Let Remy have Cha-Cha, Kai, don’t be mean.”

“I- there’s rules for pets- Okay are you blind?”

“Actually no, I’m not blind, I’ve been lying to you both this entire time. I just wanted to bring my dog to college and thought ‘hey yeah, this’ll work,’” Remy jokes. Elliot laughs at that while Kai just sighs even louder.

“In the game, Remy, in the game. Are you blind?”

“I can not be blind?”

“It’s a fucking game I don’t care.”

“Okay yeah sure I’m blind.”

“Then fine- fine you can have Cha-Cha as a guide dog. But she can only use commands she knows. She can’t fight and stuff.”

“What if Cha-Cha knows how to attack people?”

“Does she?”

“Yes.”

The room falls silent.

“So that’s terrifying,” Kai says as Remy calls Cha-Cha to her.

“Cha-Cha, attack,” Remy commands when her dog is at her side. Cha-Cha responds instantly, covering Remy with kisses that are very slobbery and very gross.

“Oh my- Remy I literally thought you meant you trained Cha-Cha to attack people!” Elliot screeches.

“With kisses, attack with kisses.”

Kai groans and shoves Remy lightly, pushing her into her dog who is still trying to lick her. Remy tells her to stop, and Cha-Cha settles at her feet. Remy nudges her lightly with a foot, and Cha-Cha responds by starting to nibble on her sock, most certainly in an attempt to eventually pull it off and hoard it wherever the others are.

“Kiss attacks will not inflict damage in DnD. And speaking of DnD, let’s get back on task, yeah? Elliot, your character, what’s their name.”

“Uhhh….”

“You’ve been staring at the page for like an hour now!” Kai protests.

“There’s a lot of names to choose from! Plus I have the option to make my own so give me time. Ask Remy.”

“Remy, your character, what’s his name?”

“Her,” Remy responds on reflex, because this entire time she’s been thinking of her character as a girl. She quickly realizes her mistake.

“Shit I didn’t mean to say that,” she says at the exact same moment that Kai goes, “Okay, what’s her name?”

Fuck. Remy’s just made things worse.

“What?” Kai asks.

“What?” she responds.

“What?” Elliot joins in.

Remy groans and shoves her face in her hands. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit.

“Remy? Your character can be a girl, that’s totally chill,” Kai tells her, voice carrying hesitance and amusement, “They don’t have to be the same gender as you.”

Remy groans louder.

“Fuck I can’t believe I’m doing this,” she says.

“What?” Elliot whispers again.

“I don’t know?” Kai whispers back.

“I can hear you,” Remy complains, “I’m fuckin’ blind not deaf.”

She sighs once more and pulls her head more. Rip it off like a band aid. It’ll be fine. She’s fine. She.

“I’m a woman. I’m trans. So yeah. That’s a thing. So my character is going to use she/her pronouns too. Like me.”

There’s a second of silence and Remy feels like she's about to burst. What are they thinking? Will they hate her? They wouldn’t. Right?

“Oh. Congratulations!” Elliot says, “We still love you obviously.”

That’s a relief. Remy knows they would. Of course they would. But she was still afraid.

“Yes,” Kai jumps in, “Awesome. My lovely friend is a woman, she’s awesome, all the valid. Also I have to say this is not the first time someone I know has come out during DnD so congrats, you can join the metaphorical club for that.”

Remy glows.

There’s still the nervous energy thrumming through her, because even though she knows they would be supportive this is still terrifying. Hearing them actually support her is gratifying and makes her heart soar.

“Can I ask about your name?” Elliot asks.

“Remy. Still Remy. That’s important to me. And I know that’s not traditional or-”

“That’s fine. All it needs to be is something that you’re happy with,” Kai butts in.

“It is. I am. Uh, so yeah. Remy. Middle name is Eileen. Remy Eileen.”

“That’s really pretty,” Elliot says.

“Thanks. And I’m not- or well- I think I’m sure but I’m not sure? Because I- I do feel like I’m- like I am trans. But I don’t think I get dysphoria? Or not that I’ve noticed. I mean I get social dysphoria. I did the day I met you Kai, which makes so much sense now, but I don’t think I get gender dysphoria. And I’ve been reading-”

“If you’ve been reading, you’ll know that anyone worth shit knows that you don’t have to experience gender dysphoria to be trans,” Kai insists, tone offering no room for debate.

“I know.”

Remy does. There's a lot of exclusionary rhetoric out there, but there’s also so much love and support. Remy’s found whole communities of people with different experiences of being trans. She knows her own experience is just as valid, it’s no less than anyone else’s.

“But it’s still hard?” Elliot offers.

“Yeah,” she admits, because it is. It’s been a relief knowing but it’s also terrifying.

Kai and Elliot both make noises of agreement and Remy feels safe. She feels loved. She feels like she’s home.

Her phone starts ringing.

It’s her dad.

She suddenly feels miserable.

It slams into her like a wave, all at once. Full force and she feels like she’s drowning. It hits so suddenly and the tide just sweeps her right off her feet leaving her floundering.

She’s loved, she’s home, she has a good life, good people around her.

And then her dad calls and he brings all the pain and misery right back up.

Remy denies the call, suddenly exhausted.

“Remy?” Elliot asks.

“Just my dad, let’s keep going.”

“Are you sure?” Kai asks.

Remy’s not. She’s exhausted. She feels like she’s being weighed down, falling and unable to get up.

“Yeah,” she says, “Yeah.”

Elliot and Kai are hesitant, but they go back to conversing and trying to figure out Elliot’s character’s name. Remy just sits with them, pitching in as little as possible, mind drifting away and a heavy sadness in her heart.

Remy’s not doing well and she doesn’t know what to do about that, but it’s time to admit it.

She’s not doing well.

At all.

She doesn’t know what to do about it.

At all.

Because the thing is- the truth is, Remy’s been ignoring this. She’s been ignoring this and she’s been mad at her dad and she’s tried to fix it.

But she can’t. And she can’t move on either. Because Remy- Remy misses her dad.

She misses him and that’s the worst part of all of this.

Because her dad wasn’t a good dad. He made too many mistakes to excuse. He’s suffocated Remy her entire life. He’s manipulative. He took away Cha-Cha. He took away Remy’s freedom. Remy has never been to think about her own wants and needs, she’s always had to cater to her father. He had played on her love for him to keep her by his side for ages. And it worked. It had worked well.

It works well.

Because Remy still loves him and she wants to pick up the phone, and she knows the minute she does she’ll go running home.

Because her father will say he misses her and he loves her and he needs her without apologizing for anything. And then he’ll insist that she can’t do this on her own. He’ll wheedle and he’ll pick at her, saying how he needs her, how she needs him and then she’ll come running back like she always does.

She doesn't want to keep doing that, but it’s hard, because it’s her dad.

And what if this time will be different?

It won’t be. Remy knows it won’t. She lost that last shred of hope when she left home. It’s the reason she won’t pick up the phone, because she knows her father hasn’t changed, isn’t going to change.

She hates it.

It’s- he’s her dad. She shouldn’t be in this situation. He should love her and support her and be there for her. She shouldn’t be fielding calls and running away and struggling through her first year at college alone. This is something he should be doing with her.

Remy wants to call him, but she can’t. Not now, maybe not ever. Not until he changes. Really, truly changes.

She doesn’t know if he ever well. She sighs loudly.

“You okay?” Kai asks from where he’s sitting at his desk, playing a game on his computer.

“Fine,” Remy insists, spread eagle (or as spread eagle as she can get while being six foot and on a dorm room bed).

“You don’t seem fine,” Kai says.

“I’m just tired.”

That’s true. Remy is exhausted, but she knows that isn’t the whole truth. She doesn’t know the last time she told the whole truth.

“Oh,” Kai says.

“Yeah,” Remy agrees.

“Uh- I mean if you’re too tired we don’t have to- but I’m pretty sure they have puppies at the student center today.”

“Holy shit you’re kidding,” Remy says, sitting upright.

Kai laughs.

“Yeah I saw a sign the other day. It’s like a monthly thing? Or something.”

“We are absolutely going. What time is it?” Remy asks, as she reaches for her phone.

“12:14,” Kai answers promptly.

“Cool, cool. We’ll catch Elliot coming out of their lecture? Get lunch in the dining hall and then puppies?”

Puppies will make her feel better, right?

“Hell yeah,” Kai grins.

Hopefully puppies will make her feel better.

“Let’s go.”

If they don’t make her feel better, at least they’ll be a distraction.

“Rem?”

That’s good enough, right?

“Uh, yeah?”

“Are we going?”

“Right, right,” Remy says. She nods and stands and suddenly feels exhausted once more. The excitement of puppies has already started to fade, giving way to the overwhelming sadness that’s begun to engulf her.

“Can we take the bus?” Kai asks. He seems hesitant- presumably because it’s not that far to the dining hall. Only one stop actually. But the bus does get that one stop closer. Remy's learning that for Kai, that can be a significant difference.

“Sure,” Remy says.

“Okay.”

“I think I’m going to leave Cha-Cha here. I think the puppies and her- I mean it’ll probably be fine but I don’t know anything about these puppies or if they won’t want Cha-Cha around them and-“ Remy shrugs, “I’m just gonna leave her here.”

“Okay.”

Remy starts looking for her cane. (She swore it was by the door)? As she does so a thought comes to mind and she significantly perks up.

“Oh- and Kai, guess what that means?”

Kai knows exactly what that means if his loud groan is anything to go by.

“No.”

She locates her cane- it was folded on her desk.

“You don’t have to guide me,” Remy says, “but it’s good practice. And like- let’s be real here. If you’re guiding I’m still going to be somewhat using my cane. I don’t trust you that much yet.”

“Yeah. You shouldn’t,” Kai supports, “I almost crashed you into a pole last time. I did have you trip on stairs.”

“There’s only four stairs from here to the dining hall, not counting the bus and I know where they are.”

“Your funeral,” Kai says, and that settles the matter.

They quickly gather their things together and head for the door.

They make quick progress to the dining hall. Kai forgets to warn her of the first set of stairs, and when Remy points that out he swears loudly. He remembers the second set. They get lunch and sit, texting Elliot when they get there.

“They/them now,” Kai says, just as Elliot sits with them.

“Okay!” Elliot says, surprisingly cheerful as Remy nods in agreement. “Awww, no Cha-Cha, Rem? I miss my favorite person.”

“First off Cha-Cha isn’t a person, she’s a dog. Second of all, glad to know I’m second to my dog.”

“Nah,” Elliot says, “You’re third. Kai’s second.”

“Obviously,” Kai agrees at the same time as Remy’s exclamation of, “Hey!”

They’re joking. Remy knows they’re joking, and it’s funny. It is.

Remy doesn’t know why she has to convince herself of that fact.

They don’t see her as last. She’s their friend. They’re equals and they get along great and things are fine. Everything’s fine.

Remy's entire world is crumbling apart.

She’s miserable.

The others don’t seem to notice her distress, which is a good sign. Remy doesn’t want them to know. She can deal with this herself.

Kai starts to explain the plan with the puppies to Elliot. They seem as equally excited about it as Remy was. Remy smiles, puts on a facade of happiness. She picks at the rest of her food, appetite now lost.

The puppies help. A bit. Remy thinks. Maybe it’s just a placebo effect. (Shouldn’t a placebo effect count still? It should, right? Any happiness is better than now, right? Is she even using the term ‘placebo effect’ correctly?)

The puppies are very cute at the very least. They clamor into her lap and their little bodies are so wiggly. Remy takes a seat on the floor and they immediately cover her. Kai and Elliot seemed equally pleased. Elliot sits next to him, cooing at the adorable little things. Kai was sitting nor far off from them, over on a bench, with a small pup in his lap. Remy assumes they’re still there.

A pup licks her face and a smile spreads across her face. Yeah, she thinks it's helping at least a little bit.

Eventually, they have to say goodbye to the puppies. None of them were pleased about that, but at least they got the experience at all. Kai splits from them to head to the library and so Remy and Elliot head back to their dorm without them.

They fall into easy and comfortable silence when Elliot asks a question that Remy does not want to answer.

“Remy- are you doing okay? You seem- I dunno- off.”

“I’m just tired,” she says, and well, it’s not a lie.

Elliot sighs.

“Are you?”

“Yes?” Remy says, not quite sure what Elliot’s asking.

“I just- I mean, I’m not saying you’re not tired. But is there a reason you’re tired? I- You’ve seemed a bit down lately, so…”

“I’m fine,” Remy insists, “I just didn’t sleep well last night.”

“Okay,” Elliot says, dropping the subject. Remys knows they don’t believe her. Which is fair- Remy wouldn't believe herself either, and Elliot’s concerns were pretty much spot on.

They walk in awkward silence the rest of the way. Elliot goes to their dorm, and Remy to hers. Even though Remy knows that the tense atmosphere is largely her doing, she can’t help but wish that someone will break it. Anyone but her. (She knows it has to be her).

Remy works a bit on a paper, but she’s too unmotivated to do much. She just keeps running her fingers over the same line of braille without editing or adding on. Eventually, she gives up and takes Cha-Cha outside. They play fetch for a while and usually it’s a fun activity but this time Remy just feels empty. She feels lonely.

She feels sad.

She finally knows why.

She misses her dad. She misses life being easy. She hates admitting that the relationship she and her dad had was this fractured.

She’s admitting it all finally. It hurts. It hurts like crazy.

She’s not doing anything about the overwhelming sadness. The truth is, she doesn’t really know what to do about it.

Remy and Cha-Cha go back inside.

Remy still can't concentrate on her paper, so she gives up once more and listens to an audiobook instead. She can’t focus and all the words blur together. She knows she’s going to have to listen to this all again the next time she plays it. She doesn’t turn it off.

Kai comes back at some point. They talk a bit. Kai takes their leg braces off and ices their knees. Remy pretends to do her homework. It’s a normal night all things considered.

Then Kai goes to bed and Remy doesn’t. Not normal, but not abnormal. The two of them tend to head to bed around the same time but not always. It's certainly not unusual.

What is unusual is how late Remy stays up. She always had trouble with sleep cycles and because of that, she does her best to stay consistent. But midnight approaches and passes, and then one, and then two, and then three, and then suddenly it’s four something in the morning and Remy still hasn’t slept.

Her thoughts are just too much. She’s exhausted. She’s so tired. But she can’t sleep. She can’t sleep and she’s so sad and she doesn’t know what she's doing anymore how did she think she could handle this she is drowning and-

And Remy sighs, makes her decision, and pulls out her phone. It’s time for a call.

taglist below

~ask to be added or removed~

@mewithanie @eddies-spaghetti @lemonyellowlogic @savioursailor @goldteethandacurseforthistown @you-betcha-weirdo

#ts remy #ts kai #ts elliot #ts sleep #ts sides #sanders sides #cartoon therapy #colupdate #jksf #angst #hurt/comfort #fluff #grief #platonic #mywriting #my writing #fanfiction #fan fiction #ao3

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ohjohnno · 4 years

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Outrageous Fortune Reviewcap: S1E07 (”Foul Deeds Will Rise”)

Y’know, I never really appreciated how good some of these episode titles were until this second run-through. Foul deeds in-deed. This episode is really something else, and I’m going to enjoy running through it, but before I do I just gotta quickly clarify one thing.

I mentioned, in the first post, that Loretta had a penchant for blackmail and also that she’d found a way to skip school most of the time. Well, I forgot to mention that those two were one and the same. Jethro’s current girlfriend, Caroline (who I misidentified before as the headmistress - she’s actually only deputy principal) has been fucking him since he was fifteen, and Loretta has pictures. She’s using that to blackmail her into letting her skip just about every day at school. I mention it now because it’s about to become very important.

I’m gonna have to do this episode in much the same way as I did episode four. It’s not nearly as dizzyingly densely-written as that one, but it nonetheless eschews the usual separate-plots format to focus on one fairly distinct throughline. There are, I suppose, technically two plots, but they have pretty much total overlap and are both driven almost entirely by the same character: Loretta West.

She gets this episode all to herself, pretty much, though Ted and Jethro naturally play very important roles. This is our deepest look into her psyche yet, and it happens - not coincidentally - to be another of my favorite ever episodes of the show.

We open with all the Wests, except Jethro, in the kitchen. Ted’s about to go off to play bowls with Margaret, and Loretta’s not any happier than she was last episode. Ted mentions that Margaret is on the local committee for the sport, which will be important. Margaret shows up, and cajoles Ted into admitting that the two of them are planning to move away together, which leaves Cheryl pretty much overjoyed. Loretta, though, looks as if Ted just tore out her heart and shattered it upon the ground.

The two of them leave, and Cheryl reminds the rest of them that Jethro’s bar admittance ceremony is coming up (Van’s not enthused about having to go). Loretta, though, doesn’t give a fuck; she follows Cheryl into her room and immediately sets about trying to convince her to stop Ted from leaving.

It doesn’t take one of Loretta’s intellect to work out that Cheryl is just happy she won’t have to look after Ted anymore, and she doesn’t bother trying to deny it. So Loretta turns to her next tactic: she immediately, and without a moment’s hesitation, outs Margaret as transgender to Cheryl, and in the most primally transphobic way she can conjure. “You know she’s a man, right?”, she seethes, making various horrible gestures as she explains it all to Cheryl. And Cheryl is certainly shocked, but it’s the neutral, just-plain-amazed kinda shock, free from any judgement and remarkably lacking in any real prejudice. She has no idea which pronouns to use, but ultimately just doesn’t really care. “Look, Margaret is a very nice woman who used to be a very nice man,” she says, very satisfyingly, and the disgusted Loretta is forced to her last resort: revealing that Margaret is a wanted criminal on the run from the law. But she must have known, on some level, that a woman as seasoned in the criminal world as Cheryl wouldn’t care about that either, and it all ends up with Loretta storming angrily out of the room as Cheryl continues to vocally give no shits about any of it.

Meanwhile, Jethro is preparing for his barring ceremony in the most appropriate way he can imagine.

Loretta’s still present, though, living rent-free in Caroline’s head, constantly grating between her and Jethro as the sandpapery wall that prevents them from living as a regular, out couple. Caroline fantasizes, mildly, about just straight-up killing her; Jethro doesn’t seem to object.

Loretta’s conduct the next day doesn’t help any. A teacher called Smail (poor guy) reminds her that she’s gotta do a speech about her favorite family member soon, a concept that bores her enough that she goes right to Caroline and demands that she call the man off. Caroline points out, really quite reasonably, that she literally can’t do this, which doesn’t faze Loretta one bit. She makes her ultimatum clear: Smail leaves her alone, or she reveals to the world that Caroline fucked a student.

Let’s pause and review for a second. Loretta, less than seven minutes into this episode, has just done two things that are both kind of awful in different ways. Firstly, she outed a trans woman without a moment’s second thought in order to try and serve her own ends, and this becomes more awful when you remember that she fully understands - indeed, is maybe the only member of the cast who does - how much prejudice they face. Indeed, that exact knowledge is what drove her to do it; she was trying to manipulate the prejudice she assumed she’d find in her own mother in order to achieve her own ends. The second is more complicated; threatening to destroy the life of a statutory rapist isn’t really all that objectionable in itself, one might think, and Caroline surely does not deserve much of our sympathy. But Loretta doesn’t give a toss about the morality here, of course. She just views it as a nice, efficient way to realize her aggressive laziness, and we can rest assured that Caroline’s own moral failings are no more important to Loretta than those of any fly she might swat.

We cut to Ted and Margaret enjoying their bowls tournament, all the while surreptitiously taking photos of the place. It is revealed, in a conversation between them, that they’ve gone back to their old ways; the two of them are constructing a meticulous plan to rob the club blind, and they seem to be having great fun doing it. Again, I want to stress this: there is never any suggestion of anything untoward in Ted and Margaret’s relationship, and there’s no evidence of dishonesty, manipulation or anything else. The two really do love each other, and it’s honestly very wholesome. I mean, aside from the whole conspiracy to rob a bunch of their fellow old folks, I guess.

Cut to Ted back in the house, talking to Loretta. She doesn’t want him to go, and she says so. What follows is a conversation that quickly goes down the drain.

It starts out innocently enough; Loretta reminds us all, in case we’ve forgotten, that she’s a teenage girl, and tells Ted that he’s “the only one in this fucked-up family who actually understands me”. But when the various garden-variety guilt trips and whatnot fail to move him, Loretta goes for the jugular: she mentions Rita. Well, I say “mentions”, but it’s really more like she wields her name as a bludgeon, suddenly abandoning all her sweet softness and just straight up wailing on Ted’s weakest point, implying that he’s selfish and the moral equivalent of an adulterer for finding someone new. Ted’s furious, and not a little upset; you can tell it got to him, and it may indeed have accomplished Loretta’s goal of giving him second thoughts. This wasn’t as calculated as Loretta’s usual cruelty, though; you can tell it came from a place of genuine hurt. She really is upset about the thought of her favorite family member leaving, and the truth is that this sort of reaction to the prospect of (perceived) abandonment isn’t actually too out of the ordinary for teenagers. Does that mean we should let it slide? Not really, but this time, I do understand. Anyway, Jethro and Caroline show up before Ted can respond, and they have a private conversation with Loretta in her room.

Jethro tries to convince Loretta to “just do what the nice teacher says”, for once. Loretta is unmoved. She’s generously come up with a solution for her Smail woes, too: she’s gonna accuse him of sexual assault, and Caroline’s gonna get him fired. Even Jethro is a little shocked at the newfound depths of the moral void present in the teenage girl sitting before him, and it’s true that it really is an absolutely awful thing to contemplate, let alone propose as a genuine plan. Blackmailing a teacher who really did commit sexual assault is one thing, but annihilating the life and career of a perfectly innocent one by falsely accusing him of that same thing (except, arguably, worse) just to avoid having to do one fucking speech is something entirely different. It also serves the nicely revealing function of letting us know for certain what we had already guessed: that Loretta doesn’t give a flying shit about the fact that what Caroline did was actually wrong. To her, it’s just another weapon she can use.

Meanwhile, Judd is trying as hard as he can to think of a reason to write a letter recommending that Jethro be denied entry to the bar. We cut, ominously, to Ted and Margaret planning their job. Ted is still thinking about Loretta’s words, and starts getting sentimental; “I swore there’d never be another woman,” he says, and Margaret says something about getting out of that on a technicality which I’m pretty sure no actual trans person would ever actually say, and which does make me wince a little. Ted mentions that Loretta loved Rita, which isn’t the last time that’ll come up.

Jethro is trying to console a very upset Caroline, who is just about at breaking point. Loretta, in her youthful inexperience, has dared to push it too far; Caroline is so distraught by the whole affair that she’s actually pretty much willing to commit career suicide and just let her send the photos, feeling that death (so to speak) would be a better fate than the abominable constant torture of living at the beck and call of a lazy, smug fifteen-year-old girl. So Jethro comes to Loretta in the middle of the night (prompting a very strange quip about incest from her) and leaves her an ultimatum: either she uses the photos now, or the blackmail stops. Loretta tries, in vain, to convince him otherwise, reminding him of the consequences, but he turns it round on her, asking if she’s considered how, exactly, Cheryl will react when she finds out what Loretta’s been doing. Loretta turns it back round against him, threatening to reveal his Maori fraud (and as far as I can tell, she’s the first white person in the show to pronounce the word “Maori” like the Maori do); Jethro simply points out that this would just straight-up break Cheryl’s heart, and has to trust that there’s at least something other than pure void in the girl’s soul that’ll restrain her. He leaves her with that, presumably nervous as anything. After all, he's Loretta’s family, and he knows perhaps even better than Caroline just how low she can go. So this is a tremendously big gamble for him to take.

Cut to the video hut next day. Loretta’s on the verge of tears in the office she commandeered from the real owner, and she’s particularly snappy with Kurt, even by her standards. “Why can’t I just live the way I say? Me getting what I want, is that too much to ask?” It’s not my favorite dialogue in the show - it’s a bit too on-the-nose, honestly - but it’s not exactly out of character. It turns out Loretta doesn’t have the photos; she had stashed them in Ted’s unit, and when it burned down, they went with it. She’s been bluffing ever since, and up until now, it had worked. But she’d done that thing young geniuses like her so often do: she’d overestimated her own intelligence, overplayed her hand. If she hadn’t been so lazy this once, she might’ve been able to keep the charade going until the end, but now everything’s fallen apart and she’s managed to sweep her own legs out from underneath her. She’s going to have to start going to school now. She thinks that’s tragic. And in a way it is. What’s that classic friendlyshark review on Letterboxd? “TRAGIC DRAMA. SHARK DESTROYED BY OWN HUBRIS. MASTERFUL.”

Things don’t get any better for her anytime soon. Margaret shows up when Loretta’s on her way into school, and she’s correctly divined that Loretta is trying to prevent Ted from leaving. She’s not having that at all; she tells her to stay out of the two of their business or she’ll, and I quote here, “rip your fucking tongue out”. And she does it all with a big smile on her face! She also tells Loretta that she’s the spitting image of Rita, which is - again - not the last time we’ll hear that.

What’s shaping up here is a remarkably unusual kind of plot for TV shows outside of the sitcom realm. Loretta sure is the protagonist here, and her challenges, goals, and cast of villains is now all laid out before us. But “villains” here feels weird, because there’s nothing villainous about what Margaret is doing. She’s just protecting a relationship she cares deeply about from ruination at the hands of a selfish, frighteningly intelligent young girl, and there’s still no suggestion that her love for Ted isn’t genuine. If it wasn’t clear before, it’s becoming clear now: this is a plot with a villain protagonist, and Margaret is playing with something dangerous here.

We cut to Van, delicately polishing his toenails before scrambling to hide all the gear when Jethro comes in. He mostly ignores him and makes his way to Loretta’s room, looking for the photos. Loretta tells him she isn’t gonna use them because she “can’t do it to mum”, but Jethro knows her better than that; I don’t think he really expected that gambit he pulled to actually work, and he’s suspicious now that it did. Loretta tries hard not to spill the beans, but Jethro works it out anyway, and leaves gleefully secure in the knowledge that the photos are long gone.

Kia kaha!

This pisses her right off. And sheer rage is what seems to motivate her next move: flagrantly ignoring the old West no-snitching code and putting together an anonymous report about who Margaret really is, posting it to the police. We don’t see the effects of that right away, though - we cut, instead, to Jethro telling the overwhelmingly relieved Caroline that the photos don’t exist anymore. She’s giddily excited at the prospect of her and Jethro becoming a regular couple. Jethro... well, he’s not as excited. You can see the enormity of it washing over him all at once, actually; it hits him, as Caroline is exploding with excitement before him, that he’s actually going to have to be seen out in public with her, and that now their relationship will involve more than just sex. Instantly, in that moment, you can tell this thing is doomed. But he invites her to his barring ceremony anyway.

It’s later, and Loretta and Ted are playing chess. It’s not clear who’s winning. Loretta eventually gives up anyway and tells Ted she’s going to give her speech about him. It’s a tender little scene, actually; Antonia Prebble really brings her A-game to this episode, capturing a very wide range of emotions in young Loretta, and it’s clear she really does love and care about her grandfather very dearly.

He reappears the next morning, as Cheryl is making clear she will attend Loretta’s speech and drag Pascalle along with her (Van declares he isn’t going, and nobody seems to have any objection). Ted expresses an interest in it, too, in his usual feigned-dementia way. The good vibes are interrupted, though, by the demons Loretta herself conjured up earlier; Judd and Hickey turn up talking about “Mark”, making it clear that they’re onto Margaret, even if they don’t actually know where she lives or even really who she is (apparently she’s been savvy enough to keep her real name off any records). Judd not-so-subtly implies that he might use this as a reason to get Jethro denied admission to the bar.

Now Cheryl cares.

She still doesn’t care enough to stop any of their plans, but she does make it clear, as non-maliciously as possible, that Margaret isn’t welcome in the West house anymore. Ted and Margaret, later, have some discussion about whether to continue with the job at all; Ted wants to call it off, but Margaret insists that they continue. The one concession she makes is that they move the job forward and do it tonight. Ted is conflicted, since that means missing Loretta’s speech, but ultimately his love for Margaret wins out.

The Wests, minus only Ted and Van, show up at the school, reminiscing about bygone days. Jethro reveals to the family that he’s dating Caroline, which seems to have Pascalle equal parts disgusted and amused. Cheryl is a bit nonplussed, too, but they’re all interrupted by Loretta, anxious and nervous that Ted hasn’t showed up yet. That’s because Ted is, at that very moment, getting ready to break into the club. He won’t be showing, and poor Loretta is waiting in vain, standing next to the man she would have completely destroyed without a second’s hesitation to get out of doing this very speech.

Loretta has to give her speech anyway, and the stage doesn’t suit her. But she finds her stride anyway, with the help of a jab at lawyers (Jethro very much included). What follows is a nicely efficient mix of character exploration, setting exposition, and plot development.

Loretta’s speech is, as promised, about Ted (”Theodore Francis West”), and she doesn’t pull any punches. The audience is shocked when she proudly mentions that he was once known as “the finest safe-cracker of his generation”, but this only seems to spur her on; offending the polite society with which she feels no connection is clearly instinctively pleasurable to her. We learn a bit about Ted’s early life; he married and had children young, he had a code of ethics he followed almost without fail, he was superstitious, and he was meticulous. This, then, is the origin of the West family profession, and Loretta seems to find it as romantic as anybody else might. But as she speaks - specifically, as she mentions that Ted’s targets always used to include sports clubs - she reaches a sudden, overwhelming moment of epiphany, and we know well what it is, because the whole thing has been intercut with scenes of Ted and Margaret expertly breaking into and robbing the bowls club.

She really is the smartest West. She’s also inherited both her mother’s drive and her father’s clarity of vision; the moment she finishes her speech, she fucks right off, failing to convince Jethro to lend her his car (she “drives like a maniac”, apparently, which isn’t surprising considering she’s fifteen) and thus instead just stealing and hotwiring a random unlocked one she finds in the parking lot. She drives off, coincidentally passing Judd and Hickey (surveiling Margaret’s house, I think, and very much not enjoying each other’s company) while, back at the school, Cheryl fails to get used to the fact that Jethro is dating his old teacher, and Jethro’s blood runs cold when he hears mention of a car stolen from just outside.

She drives quite well, actually, and Judd and Hickey don’t recognise her. Cut to Ted and Margaret, jubilant with excitement at the success of their job. Ted opts to walk home, leaving the money with Margaret, who promises to pick him up tomorrow morning. But as she drives off, she encounters Loretta, and the two have a confrontation in the dark.

Loretta makes it clear: Margaret is to leave, and she’s not to take Ted with her. Margaret, of course, doesn’t see why she should - she loves Ted, after all, and what could be more important than that?

What Loretta says next is important.

“Do you love him enough to go back inside?” she asks. And that’s a threat that confused me at first, because what she’s threatening is basically to snitch, and hasn’t she already done that? But it’s different now, of course, because Loretta knows more. She’s at the scene of the crime; she’s a credible witness who can place her there and identify her car. Her prior act of snitching was limited, being entirely anonymous and based only off a decades-old cold case about a prison runaway; this time, she has real dirt, and the police will be far more motivated to pursue this one. And there’s another implication here, one that makes it all so much more horrible: if she tells the police about this, she’ll be putting Ted in the line of fire too. Is that what Loretta’s implying here? Does she really realise that’s what she’s doing? The dialogue leaves it open to interpretation, which may be intentional. Personally, though? I think she knows exactly what she’s doing. She’s forcing Margaret into a horrible choice: either risk the both of them getting caught and, one way or the other, separated, or just leave now and leave them both separated but, at least, still free. Either way, they won’t be together.

Loretta justifies this to herself as concern for Ted, who, she tells Margaret, is just too old for this sort of thing. Maybe she’s right - I dunno, he still seemed pretty spry when he broke into that safe. But are those really her reasons? Somehow, I’m skeptical. And that doesn’t jive very well with the veiled threat to put him in danger of prison, does it?

Cut to the West home. Loretta’s home already when the others all get back. She says she walked home; Cheryl believes her. Jethro knows better. He’s furious, since Loretta’s little stunt put him in danger; if she’d gotten caught, that might’ve endangered his admittance to the bar. Loretta’s response is as quintessentially teenage-girl as it gets. “I had my reasons, okay? And you wouldn’t understand.”

Next morning, Cheryl hears news of the break-in on the radio. Loretta lies as expertly as ever and reassures her that Ted wouldn’t be capable of such a thing. Ted pops his head out of his room, asking if the phone had gone for him; Loretta says the phone didn’t go. And that is such a quietly, horribly tragic moment - Ted facing up to the horrible beginnings of building, dreadful feelings of betrayal and abandonment; it being mistaken, by anyone present, for just his regular demented-old-man rambling, taken seriously by nobody; Loretta playing along with it, cold and sharp as ice, knowing the enormity of what she’s hiding from him and seeing what it’s doing to him and still displaying absolutely no response to it - that it rips me up inside a little bit every time I see it.

Cheryl doesn’t want him coming to Jethro’s barring ceremony; Loretta offers to stay and look after him. And if, at this point, you feel a sudden cresting wave of appalled, horrified disgust at that little thing, sitting there innocent and contented as a lamb as she awaits the full detonation of that abominable time-bomb of trauma and grief she just planted for her own grandfather, ready to be there with first-aid when it goes - well, that’s only natural.

We cut now to the only part of this episode that really doesn’t concern Loretta at all: Jethro’s barring ceremony. In its own way, that’s kind of horrible in itself, after all, but really Judd had it right earlier in the episode: “have you ever met a lawyer that wasn’t a ratbag?” Jethro’s general scummery ain’t exactly out of the ordinary for his profession, and one expects that he’ll fit right in. The ceremony itself is as big a moment for Cheryl as it is for Jethro, but alas, it isn’t everyone’s cup of tea.

The afterparty contains a couple of pretty great jokes - the head of Jethro’s law firm hesitantly trying to tread the line between admitting and not admitting that he’s seen Pascalle stripping; him also mistaking Van for Jethro and being absolutely baffled by his behavior - but one plot-important thing does take place: Tracy Hong shows up, for unimportant reasons, and promptly and immediately realises that the man she had sex with that one time was definitely Jethro and not Van. That will be important, though not perhaps in the way I’d like.

Judd and Hickey call off their surveillance, though not before Hickey creeps out Judd some more. Elsewhere, Caroline tells Jethro she loves him before they sleep; Jethro doesn’t say it back, and he dreams about Tracy. Uh oh.

And then we’re back in the West household, populated only by Ted and Loretta.

And this one hurts.

This show doesn’t pull any punches, and Frank Whitten (R.I.P) throws into it with all his might. Ted is in two. He’s ripped apart, torn up, absolutely shattered, utterly distraught with a truly awful concoction of grief, confusion, betrayal and pain. It was never in any doubt, and it’s even less in doubt now: Ted loved Margaret. He loved her deeply and truly. And right now, he is in overwhelming agony.

And then there’s Loretta.

A lot of people will talk about fictional characters they hate. Not hate in the sense of critiquing the quality of their writing, but hate in the sense that they just loathe them. Dolores Umbridge and Joffrey Baratheon are the most common names mentioned. But let me tell you that in this moment, when I’m watching this brief, minute-long scene, I have never hated either of them with even a cinder’s worth of the hate that I feel for Loretta in this moment. She’s sitting there, tender and soft, gently caressing Ted with needles concealed within cushions. “She’s not coming, Grandpa;” “Maybe she didn’t really love you.” She leans in close to him and whispers: “but I’m still here.” She looks the desolation and annihilation she has wrought square in his trembling, tear-stained eyes, reaches into his shattered soul, and reconstructs it with threads that all lead back to her. She weaponizes the agony she conjured in him to root him even firmer to the spot, building the moss-encrusted walls of grief that were erected with Rita’s death even higher up round him, constructing a fortress of pain in which the only exit leads to her.

She didn’t do this because “he’s old”, or any other altruistic concern. She did it because she loves her grandpa. She loved him so much, in fact, that she didn’t want him to ever leave her side; he is, as she said in her speech, her oldest and best friend. And she has precious few friends, as we know. She has little to cling to in this world. So when she faces the prospect of losing one of those rocks, she moves heaven and Earth to keep it locked firmly where it is.

“Sometimes you’re so like your grandmother,” says Ted. “So I’ve been told,” says Loretta, hugging him, satisfied that she achieved her goal. She’s not losing Ted. She’s had to shatter him into a million pieces and make him live through the worst pain imaginable once again, but that’s okay with her. If anything, it’s strengthened his bond with her. Things have turned out better than she could possibly have imagined.

I hate Loretta West. I hate her with every fiber of my being. She is, truly and deeply and utterly to her core, a monster. All her excuses, all her alienation, all her teenage rage - all of that just makes it worse. She’s a complex, three-dimensional human being, one of the best-written characters I have ever encountered, laden with layers and depth and commentary on levels I’ve never seen before. And she is, far and away, the blackest, most evil, most hateful and horrible soul I have ever seen on television. Sure, she hasn’t got a body count like Joffrey or Hannibal, but that’s just setting and context, and by that metric the worst monster in television history is some Cylon from BSG. This is a show set in the suburbs in a well-developed country, and it’s not about murderers or wars. It’s about a little suburban family of screw-ups and misfits, and at their core, sitting at the dinner table alongside them every night, is a child whose heart is as black as obsidian, whose capacity for evil is deep as a black hole. And the thing she does in this episode is evil, make no mistake. It’s so evil it’s honestly kind of nauseating. It gets worse the more you think about it, fractally awful, a kaleidescope of blackness.

And she’ll do it again.

Anyway, erm... I don’t really remember what happens in the next episode. It’ll be fun to remind myself. Until next time, I suppose.

#Antonia Prebble #Siobhan Marshall #antony starr #Robyn Malcolm #grant bowler #television #outrageous fortune #Frank Whitten #rachel lang #Gutter Black #nz

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mrswhozeewhatsis · 5 years

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21 Supernatural Questions

Thanks to @sammit-janet for helping me procrastinate tonight!

1. When did you start watching Supernatural?

Early December, 2014. I’d been sick for a month, already, and had run out of other shows I wanted to watch. I decided to watch that show that Misha Collins was on that my goddaughters used to watch. I got through 9.5 seasons by Christmas. That first hellatus was awful, and it’s how I got into the fandom. I needed more, found con videos, then fan fiction, and the rest is history!

2. Who is your favorite in TFW?

It depends on the day. I usually say I’m Winchester-sexual, angel-curious!

3. Who is your least favorite in TFW?

Ugh. I don’t dislike any of them (though I miss BAMF early-seasons Cas who didn’t bleed much and could do things regular hunters couldn’t like see demons’ faces). If I had to rank them, I probably obsess over Cas the least.

4. Tag your top 5 Supernatural blogs.

You’d ask me who my favorite children were, too, wouldn’t you? Not falling for that!

5. Who is your favorite character (not including TFW)?

You’re killing me. You’re really killing me. I CAN’T PICK. Chuck? Donna? Jody? Rowena? I love John and Mary, but I don’t get squishy when I watch them on the show. Charlie? I literally squealed and frightened my husband when we saw AU!Charlie the first time. Ellen? There are too many and you can’t make me pick!!

6. Who is your favorite woman in Supernatural?

Donna. She kicks ass and calls it butt.

7. John or Mary?

Gonna quote @sammit-janet directly, cuz she said it well: “Both. I know people hate one or the other, but you cannot look at these parents with real-world glasses. John had the mother of his children burned on the ceiling and he had no fucking clue about the Supernatural until then. Once he did, he was on a mission to find whatever killed his wife.

“Mary made a deal to save the man she loved. She would have stopped Azazel that night in the nursery too, but Michael erased her memory. Now that she’s come back, well, don’t you think it’s a little disorienting to spend 32 years in heavenly bliss and then get thrust back down to earth and find out her children are living the exact life she didn’t want them to?

“Also, don’t forget, EVERYTHING was stacked against them. Heaven made 100% sure that they got together just so Sam and Dean could be born and play out the apocalypse.”

8. What were your first opinions of Sam, Dean, Cas, and Jack?

Sam: Tall, but the hair, and he’s a baby, I feel like a pedophile.

Dean: Older, still tall, wiseass, heart of gold, if he loves pie, I’m a goner!

Cas: HOLY FUCK.

Jack: If he’s good, I will hold him and love him and squeeze him and call him George. If he’s evil, I will cut him down with the flames of a thousand burning suns.

9. What’s your favorite season?

I really don’t have one. I have seasons I love more, and seasons I love less, but none are my favorites. The writing in the beginning was tighter, and felt like there was an end coming, which made it more electric. But I really love watching the boys grow and change and make better, smarter decisions, or make stupid decisions for bigger, better reasons. I dislike the degradation of angel powers, though. I mean, remember when Cas could smite an entire diner of monsters or demons with just a bright light, but this season he was beaten to pulp by a demon gang? And now that Heaven’s gates are all open, can Cas fly, again? I mean, they couldn’t fly because the closed gates cut them off from Heaven, but now the gates are open, so LET CAS FLY, DAMMIT.

10. What’s your least favorite season?

Season 7, although that season does have an inordinate amount of things I like about it, so it makes no sense. Story-wise, I get it. They had to systematically take away everything the boys valued in order to leave Sam the destroyed mess he was when Dean and Cas disappeared. I don’t like it when my boys hurt, but I understand why they did it. On the other hand, season 7 gave us Charlie, and Frank, and Garth, and Kevin, and numerous dick jokes, and Sam tied to a bed, and Cas naked on Dean’s car covered in bees. So torn, but when I rewatch the series, I take a deep breath when I start season 7. (During my most recent rewatch, I also took a breath when Toni Bevell came onto my screen, so I guess I now put 12 in with 7.)

11. Opinions on Destiel?

Canon - Dean is straight. He’s said multiple times he doesn’t swing that way. I wouldn’t object if the writers decided to change that, but I respect Jensen and the writers in their decision not to go that way. There are more and more diverse characters on our screen every year, and I’m okay with letting Dean be a cis het white male who loves women of all kinds. I would love if they did a Human!Impala episode and the Impala turned out to be John Barrowman, though. On the other hand, Cas is completely unconcerned with gender and sexuality, so I wouldn’t mind seeing him have a romantic thing with a guy. Pretty sure that would break the fandom, though, so not holding my breath.

Fanon - Holy cheeseballs, that boy swings harder than an old-time saloon door, and I love reading about him being so open to everyone. Give me all the guys banging Dean like a screen door in a hurricane. Dean is all the door metaphors and memes, including the memes about Cas loving to destroy doors. Show me these two idiots falling in love any way you got it. They were roommates, you say? YES. There was only one bed, you say? SIGN ME THE FUCK UP. Dean’s a fireman and Cas is a nurse? ARE YOU TRYING TO KILL ME??? BRING IT.

12. Do you believe Supernatural queerbaits?

Not intentionally, or maliciously, but I can see why some folks might think that, sometimes. It’s a fine line the show writers have to balance on when it comes to scenes with Dean and Cas because of the fandom’s obsession with Destiel. They want to show the love between the two characters as brothers, but it can’t be too much love. (However, I sometimes wonder about certain things. I would love to sit down with Jensen, Jerry Wanek, and Robbie Thompson, show them certain moments, and ask why certain decisions were made regarding framing, editing, props, and such. If they weren’t thinking Destiel, what were they thinking??)

13. Seasons 1-7 or 8-14?

You’re asking me to pick my kids, again. 1-7 is Kripke writing, 8-11 is Robbie Thompson writing, NO NO NO YOU CAN’T MAKE ME DECIDE.

14. Favorite villain (plot wise)?

Crowley

15. Do you think they should end the Lucifer plot line?

YES. I’m cool with watching Nick progress into a big bad, but keep Lucifer in The Empty. (I just had a wild thought about The Empty, Lucifer, and The Shadow coming for Jack. Lord, I hope I’m wrong.)

16. Who do you think has gone through more trauma (Sam, Dean, or Cas)?

Quoting Sammit again: “Sam. He found out he had demon blood in him, was one of Azazel’s “chosen”, died by being stabbed in the back, went to hell for 100 years, lost his soul, was driven mad by Lucifer, almost died doing the trials, was possessed by Gadreel…did i leave anything out?”

Dean and Cas have also had their share, but if you want to quantify it, I think Sam has had more.

17. What’s your favorite Supernatural episode?

Baby, Dog Dean Afternoon, Don’t Call Me Shurley, most of the other episodes writing by Robbie Thompson, too.

18. Do you like case episodes?

They are a nice breather in between the episodes where I can’t sit back for moment.

19. Who do you relate most to in TFW?

I switch back and forth between Dean and Sam. I relate to Sam wanting to go to college to get away from his family, I relate to Dean’s eating habits, I understand why Sam’s done all the stupid shit he’s done, and I understand Dean not wanting to delve into things because it’s hard. Oh, and I say awesome almost as much as Dean. Cas, though, is a mystery to me. The only time I relate to him is when he’s confused by pop culture references.

20. Why do you like Supernatural?

The characters. They’re just so fucking interesting, you know? And (with some notable exceptions) the writers have managed to keep them from getting too far away from who they were in the pilot, while showing them growing and changing and improving. I love the world, I love the fantasy, and I love how universal they all are. I mean, if you took characters from another show and put them in a Beach AU, I wouldn’t be able to see it like I can with these characters. They’re awesome.

21. If you could bring back one character and kill off another who would they be?

Keep Lucifer dead, bring back Frank. I also want to see more of Linda Tran. Or Ellen, though I don’t know what they’d do with her with Mary around. I’d say Crowley, but I know that will never happen, and I understand why, so I’m letting him go.

Tag yourselves!

#incoherent babbling by mrswhozeewhatsis

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oracleofapollo · 6 years

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Questions about me

So today is my birthday. 26 and officially over a quarter century. So I thought I’d post questions often asked about myself and how I came to be Hellenic and all. Seems very befitting with my “question” post being what really kick started everything for me. So here we go!

“How old were you when you decided Hellenic Poly was your path?”

A: 14. I had been searching for what religion, if any, fit me since I was 6 and had many run ins with it, such as I found Thanatos when I was 12, but it wasn’t until I was 14 that I really thought of it as a path and wanted to take it.

“Did you ever think you didn’t want to be Hellenic?”

A: Yes. In middle school when I was still searching my world history class went over Greek Mythology but was very... well distorted on the myths and made me legitimately feel “I don’t want anything to do with that craziness”. That changed quickly when I started my own research. Now don’t get me wrong. Even at this time I adored Thanatos and felt very close to many of Hephaestus’s stories but at the same time my teacher did a shit poor job of telling correct versions of the stories and often confused roman stories with Greek stories. When corrected she’d say “same circus” and just continued on. Which made it hard to really get to understand either well.

“When did you first notice your gift as an oracle?”

A: Before I was Hellenic and didn’t realize til after. To clarify. When I was in elementary school I often talked about a woman name Aurora who I said was goddess over light “or something” and a man named Arion, who I said was an ocean god. My mom and a few of my childhood friends remembered me doing this often, but hey every kid has invisible friends, so no thoughts were put into it until I retold the stories to an adult friend and all. We laughed and said it’d be funny if Aurora was the Roman goddess and Eos’s counterpart, but had no idea about any god named Arion. Doing some research we found two results. An Horse gifted with speech who was believed to be a child of Poseidon and Demeter and may or may not have had a human like form, and a myth about Arion and the Dolphins. Looking at it now with the knowledge I have I believe these “imaginary” friends were my first draw to gods outside of what I was raised to know.

“What are you wanting to do as an oracle?”

A: My only real goal with being an oracle is to do what I’m already doing. Helping others connect to the gods and find themselves within their journey through this path, whether it’s for life or only a short period.

“Do you believe in all the myths?”

A: Eh? See these myths have been told for centuries and translated and passed down through word of mouth, which we all know is a game of telephone. So yes and no. There’s no myth that I’ll be like “this has never happened! How dare you think it did!” I don’t know. I wasn’t there for it. But at the same time I wasn’t there so for all I know someone decided to tell a story one drunken night and it was spread like truth. I believe we should take the myths with a grain of salt. No matter what they are amazing stories about the gods that I love dearly and it shows many sides of them. Which is simply amazing to me. If they happened or not they provide a glimpse at history and the lives my beloved gods may have lived. For that I love all the myths dearly. Believe them fully without doubt? I can’t say yes, but I do believe that at least pieces of the stories hold truths.

“How did you family react to your choice?”

A: So i was born and raised Catholic. I was baptized and had a holy communion and the whole nine yards. However neither my mom or dad really cared when I announced I didn’t want to be catholic or when I announced I believed in the Greek gods. My dad was a realist and told me point blank it was probably best not to bring it up in conversation with some family members and my mom “cheered” me on. She kind of doesn’t understand it and often asked me to “ask my goddesses for prayers” when something happens. Like if someone is in the hospital and my grandma starts a prayer line in her church. My mom thinks it works the same way with my gods and I often have to explain that my gods don’t really “answer prayers”. then she gets confused and its a whole explaining that offerings need to be made and they may or may not take interest and that really I doubt a catholic family member wants me asking my “barbarian” gods helping them. Outside of my immediate family I got mixed reactions. My very Catholic, church going grandmother supported me. She understood that everyone thinks differently and let me explain to her the bare minimal just to assure her it has nothing to do with “satan” or “devil worship” and has told me many times she is proud of what I do. My uncle isn’t too keen on it He still loves me and has been the most active family member in my life, but that’s only because when I was 16 me and him were stuck in a care for 3 hours driving to my dad’s and we had nothing but to talk things through to do. I explained where I was coming from, why I believed in my gods, and that in no way does this mean I don’t respect his beliefs or believe my gods are the only gods. He did try to convert me back, but quickly realized I made this choice with knowledge on my side and let it go. Everyone else either doesn’t care or has never cared for me enough to actually ask about my life.

“What was the deciding factor for you”

A: A lot of you who are still on the fence ask me this. What made me go “yes this is my path”. The answer? Well to be honest it had nothing to do with the gods. I love my gods and they helped me find the religion and are helping me through it. But what was the final factor was the morals and beliefs lined up with mine. The belief that the world changes and we need to keep our minds open and allow for philosophy and science to explain things. The belief that we all play a host-guest relationship at all times and should respect it at all times. The belief that yes we have gods and they will always be better than any mortal, but they still have flaws. They still make mistakes and learn and grow. They aren’t all knowing or all powerful. One single god can not rule all by himself. There is always balance. Always multiple powers playing in to make our world and our gods grow. That’s just so amazing and beautiful and made me reveal in the fact that this is the path for me. this is where I fit. In a religion that is equal parts pure belief and cold hard science. In a religion that has something for everyone. Where no one isn’t good enough. Where no life choice or way of being is faulted or looked at as not good enough for our gods. In a religion where you can be a strong minded woman, a proud gay, stunning gender fluid, black, white, yellow, male, female, trans, confident, shy, mentally stable, or fighting an unseen battle. It doesn’t matter because there is a god or goddess who will love you for who you are and there are others who are like you or who are your exact opposite and still adore you and see you as someone deserving of the gods and their love and acceptance. That beauty right there is what made the final choice easy.

#question #hellenistic #hellenic polytheism #hellenic #hellenism #Hellenismos #theoi #oracle #greek gods #happybirthdayme

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mikhalsarah · 4 years

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This is the most depressing “defense” of a liberal by a liberal in I don’t know how long.

Police unions lead the conservative pillory project against anyone standing for oversight on police and respect for suspects’ rights because it’s not in their interests that the police have oversight or that suspects have rights respected...does it magically become slightly more in their interests when a white man says it, than when a Black/South Asian woman does? I can’t fathom how...

The essential message here is that it’s so very hard to be a Black-identified female that it’s sorta ok for anyone who is, no matter how otherwise privileged, to be an ambitious political opportunist who cares more about getting re-elected than about the values they claim to stand for. For a politician to be so is certainly nothing new, but the idea that people should not criticize politicians much for it if they happen to be the wrong colour or gender because “it’s a problem with the system and its racism” is quite new and dangerous, not least because we are essentially caring more about how “unfair” life is to an educated wealthy person because they might not get re-elected, or might get their feelings hurt, than about the people down at the fucking bottom of the dog pile who might get executed or spend decades in prisons for crimes they didn’t commit. “She did what she had to” sounds an awful lot like, “I only did what I was ordered to do”. Except, of course, she didn’t have to do anything. Nobody had a gun to her head, she chose to do it to fulfil her own vaulting ambitions.

And I’m sorry but all that, “but then she wouldn’t be in a position to do so much good as VP in a few months!” is so much bizarre quasi-fascist garbage like Saruman trying to tempt Gandalf into joining with Mordor on the grounds that at some hypothetical point in the future they might “come to direct it’s courses”. Sorry, I’m not “Woke” or morally compromised, I’m Jewish. I may suck at it, but I’m still good enough at it to not hold with the idea of permitting evil now for the sake of some hypothetical good in the future. A good which is by no means certain. First Biden has to win, after all (which is possible)...then Kamala Harris (along with Biden) has to decide doing right is more important than getting a second term, and then there’s the prospect of becoming “the first African-American female president” which two terms as VP might set you up to be tempted by (so I am not holding my breath but who knows, maybe she’ll do a little of that hypothetical good in her final term as POTUS, 12-16 years from now.)

If we’re going to be hypothetical about things, what if Kamala Harris had never made it so far as an election and instead some other candidate with actual moral backbone had been run and now THAT exemplary candidate was just chosen for VP? Would it be just awful if that exemplary candidate happened to be a man and a WASP? Or perhaps she herself, having stood her ground and earned some grudging respect, might have won later on? Or some other worthy minority candidate?

But, as C.S. Lewis put it, “nobody is ever told what might have been”. You ultimately can’t run life based on hypothetical things that might have been or on hypothetical goods that might appear. You make the best choice you can based on the existing evidence and the likely trajectory it shows. A lifetime of opportunism and ambition does not suggest much to me by way of upward moral mobility so I’m gruntled not to be facing this choice as a voter, which resembles the choice I gave to a preschooler who doesn’t like art smocks this morning...do you want the green smock, or the red smock? (Because you’re wearing a smock or you don’t get to paint.)

This is part of the longstanding trope that “the problem is really racism” and all the wars, profiteering and predatory capitalism would stop if only we had more diversity at the top, because self-evidently BIPOC and female people educated and wealthy enough to run for public office would vote totally differently on the issues than educated and wealthy whites and men.

Do they though? I’m still waiting for it to happen.

And wasn’t that the god-damn point of all the diversity we were trying to get into government, that it was going to smash the patriarchy and white-supremacy and the good old boys’ mutual back-scratching club? And here’s Beinart come along to tell us that it’s actually working the exact opposite way and that all our diverse candidates are way too shit-scared of not getting elected to have more morals than the old white men they’re replacing. This is like Wile E. Coyote sent away for the ACME Social Justice Kit and it’s now blowing up in his face.

What was it, “They can’t afford to have Bernie Sanders’ moral purity”? Why, because it’s such a cake walk being a Jewish socialist starting your political career during the Evangelical “Moral Majority” and Reagan cold-war years? And then running as an Independent in what has long been considered an unbreakable two-party system? Not even Bernie Sanders can afford Bernie Sanders’ moral purity...which is why the Dems didn’t run him against Trump when they should have...yet he still has it, and seems to mysteriously prefer sleeping well at night to whoring himself out for a few shekels and an office where ordering new carpets requires calculations involving Pi.

And the loss of that election was basically guaranteed by the fact that the Dems were all pissing about with identity politics trying to get a *vagina into the presidency even if it lost them the election. Which it did, so thus pissed away all the hypothetical good having a female president might have done, which was only ever going to be symbolic anyway. Clearly they have learned absolutely bobkes from that. *And yes, when the only thing you really care about is the genitalia of the person you’re trying to get into office, you’re no longer running a woman (a person who happens to have a vagina) you’re running a vagina.

This all reminds me of my annoyingly sanctimonious sister. She natters on and on about how many tenured professors are BIPOC and then looks at me aghast when I say I don’t actually give a shit how many educated and wealthy BIPOC people get bit more wealthy and secure. I care more about how many people can’t eat and pay their rent, or can’t afford their utility bills and are getting their power and water shut off. I care about people worse off than I am, not better off. The toejam in the toe-cleavage peeping out of Kamala Harris’ pumps is more privileged than I will ever be, (and I’m not so badly off at the moment) and more privileged than 99% of the U.S. populace, so the idea that she needs a horde of people rushing to her defense is patently absurd. If she didn’t get chosen for VP what...she’d be so oppressed she’ll be living out of a rusted hatchback by next week???

This entire drama of the Biden running mate has basically been “which woman of colour should Biden choose to best capture the vote” as opposed to “which of the available candidates is the best possible choice to achieve our progressive goals” and that’s a bit horrifyingly Orwellian.I It’s like a sort of trophy-wife...which one will bring me the most prestige and help me “win” at life. And, echoing my earlier comments, there’s something distinctly disturbing about the degree of emphasis on choosing a racialized woman. I’m not sure how electing a vagina with more melanin to office is an improvement over electing vaginas in general. Women have been complaining for decades about the tendency of some men to view them as disembodied sexual parts. How did it become something progressive women now cheer about? Whereas if he’d said, “All other things being equal, I intend to chose a running mate that will best embody the Democrats’ commitment to diversity and better proportional representation.”, I would not be feeling like women and minorities were just being added to the ticket to make up numbers, like goods in a packing crate; we need 6 of this, and 4 of that...

If the Dems win are people next going to be discussing which Latinx he needs to appoint to the Senate, and which Indigenous person to the Judiciary and which trans doctor will replace Fauci when he retires? You’re laughing now, but let this sit on the floor awhile and see if the cat licks it up. I was right about the moral trajectory of Israel 15 years ago, something Beinart only discovered this summer, and I feel good about my odds on this prediction. Left unsupervised, these “woke” ideologies will do what all ideologies do, and reach peak stupidity, which will, of course, result in a a wild and reactive attempt to correct for them by rejecting everything about them. The only thing stopping that is for people to look at them critically now and correct for extremism and ideological blind spots before an iconoclastic paraxysm. I’m not societies great hope here...I’m just a woman with a tumblr adding my two cents to the critical mass needed to do that.

I happen to heartily endorse more types of people getting into government who currently are kept out, just not at the cost of *good government itself, and not based on the laughable premise that a room full of people all from the same tax brackets, who all went to the same schools, is “diverse”. Honest to God, America should just stop having elections at this point and start mailing out notices to randomly selected citizens. Then they might get actual diversity, as opposed to La Senza diversity, where there’s only one actual bra but hey, it comes in 37 different colours so, hooray for choice.

*whether anything in American (or any) politics resembles actual good government is debatable but we’ve spent the last 4+ years finding out just how much further the GOP can get from the ideal than we’d ever thought it could and Right and Left always mirror each other. To my mind electing and appointing people by identity rather than competence freed from unnecessary stumbling blocks is also a giant leap backward from it.

#politics #things that radicalize me #anti-idpol #anti-woke #democrats #kamala harris #peter beinart #identity politics

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forkanna · 7 years

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[AO3 LINK] [EF LINK]

It'd be nice if that wrapped everything up in a neat bow. But nah. We didn't get our Happily Ever After that easily.

Let's cut to the chase and do some more summary. For the next couple of days, things were more or less about where they were before. We would make out a little, and game, and she'd babble and I'd listen with varying levels of interest. The only real difference was, every now and then I'd ask some question about the whole trans thing and she'd try to answer as best she could. Most of the time she was patient, but once in awhile… yeah, it clearly got on her nerves. Still, it was Knives and she liked me, so she didn't yell at me as much as I thought she should.

Also… kissing was weirder. It was all me, worrying about how I was kissing a trans girl instead of a "normal" girl. My own ignorance making me anxious, I guess. She would notice sometimes and ask if I was okay, and I'd tell her everything was fine and try to get past it. Most of the time, I succeeded. Because I knew, I knew deep down that she was the same person, same bubble of sugary sweetness that I both found annoying and endearing. I was just being weird because…

Knives was the first person like that I'd ever met. It's not much of an excuse, I know. This just wasn't something I'd ever thought about before for more than five seconds. Don't judge me too badly, but most of what I'd thought about was drag queens. When she told me there were guys like that, too — y'know, men who were born women, I was like, what does that even mean?! I'd never even heard of that! But it made sense once it sank in. Just… all new information, crazy to me but old news to her. She was pretty quick to correct me when I said something that made it sound like she was still a guy, or the one time I said "tranny" without even meaning for it to be an insult. Literally had never stopped to think that it was basically a slur, since it almost always gets used to say some chick looks "too manly", or some guy is "too girly". Like… sure, it's easy to see how it could be harmful when you've thought about it, or when you see your girlfriend flinch as if she'd been stabbed, but I hadn't yet. I was in a totally new world and old rules didn't apply.

No sex. You were probably wondering about that, but literally the most we did was make out, maybe squeeze a buttcheek once or twice. If things started to get past that point, one of us would pull back. Just weren't there yet.

Although… we did have a hard conversation one night. We had been bingewatching some anime that Knives had on DVD, I didn't care much but I was starting to get into it toward the end. Bunch of ninjas or whatever. At some point, we got distracted from the TV by each other's faces. Sucking on them, to be exact…

~ o ~

"Hey," I breathed pulling back with a slight smile, gazing into her eyes the moment the opened again. "There she is."

Swallowing hard, Knives glanced down between our bodies, then up again with a slight nervousness. It hurt to see that there, but it hurt because I was such a douchecanoe once upon a time to her. If I wasn't so dumb when I was drunk, maybe she could have been less uncomfortable.

"Sorry," I breathed, my smile gone like the wind. "Just… haven't felt that yet. While sober, I mean."

"Y-yeah," she whispered before clearing her throat. "I try not to let it… pop up, but… you just feel so good sometimes."

My hips shifted a little, and I felt the firm little presence grinding into my hip. She was basically straddling my thigh again, only we were seated on a couch this time. "Mmm, you don't have to hide that now. Let it pop up."

"But I'm still so weird about… you know…"

"Sex?" A small nod, and I kissed her chin. "Shhh. If you're ready, then you're ready. Why hold back?"

"But I'm not ready."

"Then why are you hard as a rock down there?" Right after that, she rolled away and sat down next to me. "What? Knives…"

"Just because I'm hard doesn't mean I want to do anything with it. You do get that, right? Like… I might kind of want to, but that's not the same as being ready for that."

A guilty thrill shot through me, and I pushed a hand into my mouth for a second. This was the same thing that happened when I was drunk, except I hadn't been listening then. "Sorry." That was all I could get out.

Her hand reached down and grasped mine. "I do want to, though. Like… just…"

"Yeah. Like you said, it's a weird thing for you because of… that word. Dis-something."

"Dysphoria."

"That's the one. Makes you feel funny about your body matching your brain."

Her voice really was apologetic as she went on, "I don't want to be the man, banging you like a woman. I'm in lesbians with you, and have no interest in trying to be your boyfriend. And… I don't know, it's stupid."

"Not stupid if it's how you feel. I'm just trying to get this. You have a raging boner that I'm very ready to help you out with. And… I know I fuck up my words sometimes, but I really don't think you're a guy. Promise. So just… what's the problem? Is it me? Because like, I know this is only the second time I've felt-"

"It's not you," she cut me off urgently. "Come on! You rock, Kim, you're so hot! Like, my issues have nothing to do with how attractive you are, okay?"

Going for broke, I whispered, "Let me go down on you. Or jerk you off, maybe. We can try it and see how it goes. And if I do or say something off the mark, you can tell me. Now or later. Feedback helps. And you don't have to do anything for me if you're not ready for it, either."

"What if I'm not ready for anything at all? Is that okay? Or do you really need to do something every time you feel my dick get hard?"

There was a slight accusation in that tone. I felt anger pulse behind my temples. "Excuse me?"

"Well, you did the same thing last time," she sighed, clearly annoyed. "I thought you would be different now that you aren't drunk."

"No, I'm asking, not just doing it and then asking you afterward," I shot back. "And I apologised for that; I still feel like shit, but hey, thanks for the reminder."

"You're kind of doing it again, though. I just… want to make out with you, and if I get hard for it not be an issue, because all it means is that I'm enjoying myself. Not that I'm ready to 'take it to the next level'. If you make out with a guy and your nipples get hard, does that mean you definitely want them to fuck you?"

Running my hands through my hair, I turned away from her. "Fine. Nevermind."

"Answer me."

"No."

"Okay. Sorry for not being ready when you are."

I didn't reply. What was there to say? We had been doing so well up until that point, I was blindsided that it suddenly blew up in my face. And I wanted to tell her that I was okay with this, but it also felt like an insult. My stupid brain was used to a guy getting hard, and right away wanting to have sex. And I know, I know, everybody's different, and she wasn't a guy… I just needed to adjust my thinking. In case you couldn't tell, it was going pretty slow.

"Kim, I'm not a dildo. Like… to be honest, I kind of wish I was. For you. But I don't feel ready, and I think if I push myself to do it before I'm ready, then… neither of us are going to be very happy with the result."

Still no reply. Now I was hurting her. Could I be any more of a fuckup?

"Kim? Oh no… oh God, don't turn to stone again!"

That snapped me out of my daze. She was right; I could feel my limbs and muscles freezing up, getting more solid. "Nhh? Hhh nhh!" My mouth was sealed shut, too.

"Crap… where's that bottle of Soft? What did you do with-"

"Wait… okay… I…" Somehow, little by little, I was able to move again. A few very pale flakes of weird material shattered from my joints, and off my eyelids when I blinked, but it wasn't an actual full layer of rock like the last time. "Ooh… shit, that was close."

Arms looped around me, and Knives pushed her damp eyes into my neck. "I'm so sorry, I- you can touch me, I don't care. I don't care! Just please don't turn to stone, I really can't handle that, okay?"

Every word was like a blade piercing my heart. This wasn't her responsibility. Sure, it made me happy that she cared so much, but it frightened me a little that she was willing to sacrifice her own comfort for me that easily. Since two seconds ago, she had been telling me how important it was that she have the time she needed to get comfortable with the idea of me poking around downstairs.

"Knives…" That was all I could say for now. My hands gripped at the back of her shirt as I hugged her. "I'm sorry…"

"No, really, y-you can go down on me! Do you want to now? I mean… I'm not hard anymore, but I think if you-"

"Please stop," I begged her, the tears in her voice about to make mine start up again. "Just shut up."

But she wasn't having it. Pushing me away to look into my face, which I hated because I didn't like people seeing me without my shields in place, she shouted, "I can't let you be a statue just because I'm…"

Neither of us spoke for a second. Trying to figure out this situation. I wanted to leave, I wanted to run out the door and away from this annoying intensity, because I didn't fucking sign up for it. I didn't even want her as a friend in the beginning, let alone this! But she was also really important to me now. Like, crucial even. Seeing her upset purely because I couldn't figure out my shit made me feel so broken…

"Don't ever do that again," I finally managed to sob. "Don't ever say that y-you'll… that you would force yourself to do something you're not ready for just b-because I'm… a weird gargoyle thing! GOD! Please don't!"

Her lip quivered, but she threw her arms around me again, whispering, "Okay! Okay, I won't, I'm sorry! I'm sorry, Kim, I just don't want to lose you!"

My lips found her neck over and over, and she began to cry more now that the initial panic was gone. We both needed a release, so we let that happen for a little while until the sniffles were outnumbering the sobs. We pulled back and kissed, and then both of us started saying a bunch of sappy shit like "you're so good to me" and "I don't deserve you," blah blah blah.

Not blah blah to me, though. I was falling hard for Knives Chau. Just didn't know how to handle that yet.

~ o ~

"That makes more sense," she said a while later as we snuggled in my bed. Mostly clothed, sharing a bottle of water. "But we still need to figure out what's causing you to turn."

Sighing, I pushed my face up against her shoulder. "Yeah. Probably because I'm a chickenshit."

"Don't say that. You are not, you're just… bad… at feelings? I hope that's not offensive."

"It's accurate. I don't like feelings. They suck."

"Yeah, you do. What you don't like is that they leave you open and vulnerable. But… I'm not going to hurt you, Kim. You know that!"

Nodding, I pet over her stomach as I smirked very slightly. "You're pretty badass, though. Helped take down Gideon. What if I turned into an evil ex? You'd have to defeat me, and I wouldn't stand a chance."

"You won't turn 'evil'. You're such a good, sweet, pure-"

"Lies."

"You ARE. Under all that grumpiness." That made me snort, and she grinned, leaning down to nuzzle my nose. "Didn't say you were a perfect ray of sunshine, just… such an awesome girl! I can see it, even if you can't."

"Should have your eyes checked," I deflected, trying to ignore the pounding of my heart. Like I said, cavity-inducing.

"Maybe. They only seem to see you."

How did she actually top herself that quickly? I already was reeling from how much affection she could show, and then she shows even more without giving me a chance to recover first. So again, I did the thing. I tried to rise to her level of flirting-ness, to not just be the useless lump in the relationship. Here's what I came up with:

"Fuck. I can't believe you like me. You're too cool to date such an asshole."

Points for effort?

"Aww," she cooed as if I had recited some touching sonnet. My cheeks were burning, I could tell when she kissed them and her lips were like ice against the skin. "I think we're both pretty cool."

"Sleep here?" I urged, needing it. Not wanting to show how much, but hoping she would spot it anyway. "Set an alarm, and just… use today's uniform again tomorrow?"

Nodding, she snuggled in close. "As long as you promise not to pounce on my morning wood. Just making sure," she rushed ahead when I winced. "And if you do, it's only gonna mean another talk. Not that I hate you or want to leave you. Right?"

"Right," I groaned, flopping onto my back. She only moved in closer. This time, I felt the warm squish of her soft junk against my thigh; it was kind of nice. I'd never felt that before with a dude, because I never had a relationship with one long enough to include much cuddling. "I promise."

"And we're not done trying to figure out why the statue-thing happens. I… I want you to be safe, and not have to worry that I'll come home and find…"

The ominousness of that idea hung over both of our heads for a moment. I whispered to her, "We will. I don't want it, and you don't want it; pretty unanimous. Not that I have any clue where to start."

"Tomorrow," she yawned as she nuzzled in, already drifting off.

"Knives?" A little hum was her only response. "I'm… glad you're back in my life. Fucking crazy as it's been. Just didn't want you to…"

By that point, I could feel her deeper breathing, and knew I was trying to talk to a snoozing woman. Shaking my head very gently, I settled in to drift off with her.

To Be Continued…

#kim pine's precious little knives #scott pilgrim fanfiction #kim pine #knives chau #pinechau #kim x knives #scott pilgrim vs. the world #forkanna writes #forkanna the writer

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