#Given how the Brood Father constantly tortures him

[caeca-iustitia]

[ reint. seph verse ] the fire is going, and so is the ongoing companionable silence between them. sometimes this happens: the questions run out, the storytelling runs dry, the night wears on and shadows of their pasts and futures loom ominously over them, like dark storm clouds forming their dreary paths of destruction.

sephiroth dislikes thinking about his future, for it only makes him feel powerless, and powerlessness only carves its way to rage. he shuts the blinds to it, exhaling before it arrives. complacency is healthier for everyone around him, in the end. it is safer.

his attention instead turns to his father, aglow in orange and crimson, stone-faced and thoughtful. cloud says he looks just like them - that he somehow perfected that tortured, brooding expression, but sephiroth doesn't see it that way. while his overwhelming guilt is subject to some scrutiny, his sadness just isn't as profound.

vincent seems to nurse an even more remarkable sorrow that shouldn't even belong to them.

a log in the fire suddenly buckles and tumbles with a crackle and hiss. sephiroth frowns.

" dad, " he murmurs, cutting through the palpable silence. the word still tastes strange in his mouth, but he's trying. " what the professor did to you — to us — that wasn't your fault. you know that, don't you? "

The night was peaceful and Vincent found themself simply watching the stars- their expression neutral verging on sombre. The firelight was not aiding in that perception of their expression as it simply darkened the bags beneath their eyes and accentuated the faint frown lines they bore.

With Sephiroth, things were never awkward and they found it easy to be around their son without needing to constantly talk. Having that kind of relationship with him was nice; the lack of pressure to interact was freeing.

It had been a while since Vincent had truly thought about the sins they bore.

How if they had been braver or smarter, they could have prevented the tragedies that occurred to Cloud, Aerith, Sephiroth and so many others that Hojo had systematically torn apart like paper dolls.

It weighed heavily on them and the taste was bitter in their mouth, the slight tenseness in their shoulders always present regardless of their company or their location.

A reminder of their failure.

They didn't startle when Sephiroth spoke, they had caught the faint inhale he had made before he began speaking. Crimson eyes slowly slide over to lock onto their son's face.

It was hard to deny the warm feeling in their stomach from hearing the other call them 'dad' even if his next words made them feel more like they'd had cold water dumped over them.

Not their fault?

How could it not be their fault?

They had been too cowardly... too pathetic... too weak to save anyone or stop Hojo from causing harm to anyone.

How could their son, arguably the most affected by Hojo's actions, not believe it to be Vincent's fault for not being better and not saving him from what happened?

Why does he not hate them? Blame them?

Surely, given everything that the younger had endured, some part of the boy must blame them for not being there.

The thought of their own suffering didn't even cross their mind.

It never did.

[skeksha97]

About SkekVrie:

In this blog I will be talking about the second skekling from SkekSha’s and SkekSo’s brood; SkekVrie.

Appearance:

Where SkekZi looks so much like SkekSo it scares the other skeksis at times SkekVrie looks like their mother; SkekSha. She shares her facial features and her mother’s beautiful Green eyes. She wears green robes with golden tassels.

Personality:

While her older sister sometimes has a tendency to have their father’s aggressive and spiteful personality (given her birthright claim to the throne) and yet a bit of their mother’s personality as well SkekVrie is much more like their mother and is very down to earth. Despite her later position being The Duelist in the Skeksis ranks she honestly doesn’t like violence at all. She even tries to speak against draining Gelfling of their Essence until their mother is taken hostage (read my fanfic to find out more about this) which turns her world upside down and makes her regret her attempts to do so. Sometimes she feels alone as she very rarely gets her father’s approval unlike SkekZi and SkekVek who almost always get it no matter how much her mother tries to reassure her that she has a purpose in life just like the others do and usually goes to her mother for advice as she really only trusts her with personal matters. It’s SkekSha’s kindhearted and wise nature that saves her at one point in her life where she nearly ends it all after feeling like everyone else is against her for so long.

Teachings:

Since SkekSo viewed SkekVrie more of a weakling, SkekVrie didn’t spend a lot of time with him. Everything she knows she learned from her much more dedicated and loving mother SkekSha. SkekSha taught her how to hunt prey for herself and yet also to respect the creatures of Thra as the Skeksis were never meant to live there. She is the reason that SkekVrie was so against draining Gelfling as she actually made quite a few Gelfling friends and didn’t want to see them die in such a torturous way. She just hates watching anything suffer to be exact just like her mother. SkekSha also taught her how to track both prey as well as the footprints of other Skeksis.

Favorite Parent:

There’s already no doubt who her favorite parent is. SkekSha has always supported her unconditionally. This was especially the case when she discovered she was interested in other Female Skeksis. It was also SkekSha who talked her out of ending her life when she felt alone. If it wasn’t for her SkekVrie might not of had the courage to continue on with her life when she felt like almost everyone except her mother and siblings abandoned her. You know what they say, the bond between a mother and her daughter is very strong and can never be tested.

Closest Friend:

She actually has multiple close friends. Those being her siblings SkekZi, SkekNi and SkekVek. While SkekSo might view her as a weakling due to her views her siblings have always had her back no matter what. SkekZi and SkekVek have even attempted to stand up to SkekSo for her as they know she too tries her best to please him but never gets the chance like they do. They all also accept her being Lesbian and in fact they think it’s pretty cool since none of them have thought about the possibility of liking another Skeksis that is the same gender as themselves before. All in all these four Skeksis are bonded for life.

How She Realized She Was Interested in Female Skeksis:

SkekVrie honestly idolized other female Skeksis since she was young. From her mother to her sisters. However as she grew up she started having feelings for the Mariner; SkekSa. She loved the fact that she was able to break away from the laws of the Crystal Castle and be her own person. When they once met for the first time SkekVrie instantly felt a connection and eventually the two started talking more and fell into a relationship. Constantly writing letters to each other and trying to meet up. Like her older sister SkekZi it seems that SkekVrie has a forbidden relationship of her own since she knows SkekSo would never approve such a thing which would also add onto SkekVrie’s and SkekZi’s strong sibling bond.

I hope you all liked this little info on SkekVrie. Please check out my fanfic to see her in more light.

[smarchit]

Do No Harm pt 4

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Read the whole thing on my Ao3 Here!

"Checking in," came Mando's warbled voice over the comm. He'd been checking in every so often throughout the morning, letting Wynn know where he was or who he saw. Sometimes, it was about what he'd bought or to advise her on how many Imps were hanging around. 

It was now early afternoon and hotter than the sun inside the Razor Crest. The ship, unfortunately, had to stay shut off so it wouldn't show up on any maps for those who might be looking. So no cool air was being pumped in, and no hot air was being pumped out. It was torture.

Wynn was laying in the cargo hold of the ship in a thin top, the metal cold against her skin. Her skirt was bunched around her thighs and she prayed to the Maker for a draft of any temperature to make its way through the vents. She had the comm held loosely in her hand as she brought it to her mouth. 

"Roger," she replied sleepily. 

She raised herself up on her elbows to try and see if the Child was still asleep in his pod. She'd stripped him down to a cloth diaper to try and make him more comfortable, and thankfully, he was still sound asleep. It was too hot for the little guy today.

As she lay back down, she closed her eyes and sighed softly. Her mind started to drift away to thoughts of the Mandalorian, of how quiet he was, how strong he could be. She'd seen him haul crates of supplies onto the ramp single-handedly, so she was well aware of his strength. He was a mystery, wrapped in an enigma, sealed with a complicated lock. Secretive and frustrating all at once.

Wynn found herself wondering once again what he might look like. At first, she wasn't sure what to imagine beneath the helmet, if he was even human at all. To be honest, she still wasn't entirely sure. Her mental image of him changed almost daily, though a few days ago, she saw a sliver of the skin at his wrist when he reached overhead for something. Warm, golden skin now occupied her every waking thought. 

The fact that she even saw a mere glimpse of it felt dirty. Like it was a sin to see something that no one else had in so long. 

Her view of it didn't last long, sadly. Mando had handed her the box and shuffled off past her down the narrow hall to the fresher. She still felt the pressure of the beskar on her hip as he brushed against her. 

Brown eyes, Wynn thought to herself as she rested her hand against her stomach. And dark hair. Yes, that fits. Eyes that look right through your soul. 

She shivered slightly despite the heat and pulled her lip between her teeth.

Again, her mind drifted. She thought of the way he looked in the cockpit the night before, those strong thighs spread wide like an invitation, arms relaxed and carefree. She wondered what his gaze looked like beneath the visor. Intense, probably. Everything about him was intense...

Wynn must've drifted off at some point, because the next thing she realized the comm was crackling against her stomach. 

"---alright in there? Wynnlow, open the kriffing door!"

Wynn sprang to her feet and fumbled around in the dark for the button.

"Kriff, s-sorry!" She mentally kicked herself for the way her voice cracked from sleep. "G-gimme a second!"

She felt around for a moment until she touched the wall of the hold and wormed her way around until her fingers hit the "Open Hold" button.

The ship roared and groaned as the hatch opened slowly. The ramp protested loudly as it was lowered to the ground and landed against the sand. 

Mando was standing there before her, shoulders squared defiantly. He passed her and, though she couldn't see his expression, she knew he was glaring at her.

A Guild worker was also with him, a little data pad in hand. He followed Mando and quickly glanced at Wynn, disregarding her with a scoff. He quickly began to get to work on the filled carbonite chambers, counting them off and scanning in band numbers.

Mando set down a sack with a loud thud and picked up the Child. He approached Wynn carefully, his body language less hostile than before. 

Wynn hung her head and placed the comm back in her pocket. She was suddenly acutely aware of just how she was dressed, her thin skirt and top felt vulgar and bare beside his constantly covered form. She always felt exposed with Mando. Like she wasn't wearing enough to mirror his constant state of coverage.

"Are you okay?" he asked, guiding her chin up with one hand. He looked at her face and held her there for a moment to get a good look at her. "You're flushed. Did you get enough water?"

Wynn's throat felt dry, and not due to dehydration. She nodded weakly and reached out to hold onto a stack of crates. 

"I'm alright," she murmured.

Mando lightly gripped her shoulder and guided her to sit on a lower crate. "It was too hot on here today, wasn't it? I'm sorry, I should have known. Next time... I can take you with me."

Wynn blinked at him in the darkness. "Are you sure?"

He nodded once. "Yes. Go wash up in the fresher. I'll unpack the supplies. We need to leave soon."

Mando watched her as she walked towards the ladder, hoping she wouldn't fall over. Once she was out of sight, he looked down at the Child, who cooed and gurgled in his arms.

"Don't you say a word," Mando muttered to the bundle in his arms as he began to unload the crates of supplies.

After a cool shower and a quick snack, Wynn was feeling much less tired and irritable. She pulled on a pair of compression pants and an old shirt of Mando's he'd given her and made her way to the cockpit. 

"May I come in?" she asked softly when she stopped outside the door.

"Yes," Mando replied.

When Wynn shouldered open the door, she saw the blue-white streak of hyperspace outside the window. The Child cooed and gurgled happily from the seat beside his father as he chewed on a toy.

"Where are we going?" Wynn asked as she picked up the Child and sat him in her lap.

"Small system a few cycles from here," he said, his helmet unmoving in her direction. "Somewhere out of the way."

"Why? Is there a bounty there?"

Mando shook his head. "No. I'm trying to find the little one's people. They're somewhere out there and it's my duty to try and find them. This is the Way."

Wynn looked down at the Child and stroked one of his ears. 

"What if you can't find them?"

"Then I keep looking."

"What if you can't find them ever?"

Mando was quiet for a moment before he slowly turned his head to look at the two of them. "Then I take him in as a foundling. Formally. Protect him, train him... for as long as I am able."

It was Wynn's turn to be quiet then. The gentle rush of hyperspace filled the silence between them. The Child had quieted and had settled himself into Wynn's arms to sleep. 

Finally, the silence grew too loud, too oppressive. Wynn had to speak. She'd been considering it for a few days now and was finally ready to make her piece.

"I want you to train me."

Mando's helmet tipped towards her quizzically. "Why?"

"In case something happens," she said, avoiding his gaze. "I want to be able to protect myself and the Child. I want you to train me."

She felt Mando's gaze on her before he looked away, back out into the vast blackness of space. "No."

"Why not?" she demanded.

"I don't have the proper tools to train you," he replied. 

"That's the biggest load of bantha shit I've ever heard and you know it," Wynn said angrily.

Mando sat as still as a statue, brooding and avoiding her withering gaze.

After a moment, Wynn scoffed and unfolded herself from the copilot seat. She thrust the Child back into Mando's arms and stormed out of the cockpit. She slid down the ladder and walked down the hall to her bunk. 

He won't train me. Why won't he train me?! 

Mando sighed when he heard the door to her bunk slam shut. He let his head fall back against the seat while he pondered what she'd asked him. Why would she ask him to train her? Did she feel unsafe? Or did she want to help?

He sighed and switched the ship over to autopilot. He placed the sleeping Child in his pod and stood up. 

As he made his way down to the living quarters, he stopped by the weapons cabinet and picked up a vibrospear. He tested the weight in his hands for a moment and, satisfied, turned towards Wynn's bunk. 

He sighed and knocked on the closed door. 

"Can I come in?" he asked.

"Yeah," Wynn muttered from the other side. 

Mando slid open the door and stepped inside. He'd only been in her room for a few moments at a time when she first came on board, when it was barren and cold. Now, medical books were stacked up all over, her bed was neatly turned down. The few clothes she had were hung up neatly on a rack above her cot. She had definitely made herself comfortable. The sight of it caused warmth to bloom across Mando's chest. 

Wynn was standing beside the cot, her arms crossed over her chest. Her hands were hidden by the too-long sleeves of her borrowed shirt. 

Something else fluttered to life deep in the pit of Mando's stomach. He liked how she looked in his clothes. He felt his mouth go dry and he swallowed thickly.

"If you want to train," Mando said, "I'll teach you. We'll start when we land, okay?"

He tossed the spear to her and smiled in spite of himself at the way it clattered to the floor at her bare feet.

"O-okay," she said softly. The expression on her face was one of shock. She bent low to pick up the spear in her hands. "Thank you."

Mando cleared his throat and nodded once. "Yeah. Uh. Good. Have a good night."

She smiled and gave him a little wave. "Have a good, Mando."

[aesop1]

clumsy [2]

pirate!chanyeol x reader

a/n: im back! and pleasantly surprised to see that my story actually got notes! thank you to everyone who read it, i appreciate you all so much! ahh!

word count: 3.2k

warnings: some more cursing

(i do not own gif)

1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6

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

a living hell chanyeol did attempt to make of your life, and a living hell chanyeol failed to make of your life. he at first assigned the most useless of tasks to you, the first being scraping the barnacles off the sides of the ship, which resulted in you stumbling off the suspended seat and into the ocean. sehun was forced to fish you out afterwards. the next task was swabbing the deck, which also resulted in you falling into the ocean somehow and sehun rescuing you. chanyeol, desperate to have you complete just one awful assignment he's given you even told you to just watch for land, specifically telling you to look out west (where there was no land for miles). he'd had hoped you would stand there in the brutal sun for hours, but within minutes you were back in the ocean.

"for fuck sakes, chanyeol, give her a job away from the deck," sehun chattered out, shivering as junmyeon wrapped a cloth around him for the third time that day.

"she could polish the canons," jongin suggested, quirking his head to the side for confirmation from his captain.

"she could be in charge of supply management and just write down everything we have laying around on the ship." yixing added in.

"none of those are agonizing enough," chanyeol muttered out, rubbing his chin in thought.

"she could prepare dinner with kyungsoo in the kitchen." everyone turned to jongdae as he spoke, and then to kyungsoo's outraged expression.

"no, I refuse to have that buffoon anywhere near my kitchen," kyungsoo spat out, lowering his voice in case the girl tied to the mast of the ship overheard his aggression.

"that's actually a brilliant idea, jongdae," junmyeon agreed, looking over to chanyeol who was considering the proposition. "it's away from windows and ledges."

"do we know if she's any good at dealing with knives, though?" minseok brought up.

"she worked in a diner with her father." chanyeol explained.

"so put her in the kitchen." yixing agreed.

"look, chanyeol," baekhyun stepped forward, a hand on his captain's shoulder. "we know you're trying to be all intimidating and everything, but let's be honest: her clumsiness is beating you ten fold. just dump her in the kitchen, being around kyungsoo is torture enough--"

"excuse me?" kyungsoo questioned, his cold, dead eyes glaring at baekhyun who continued to speak.

"-- and we'll call it a day, okay? I don't think sehun can handle another rescue mission."

"he's right, I can't," sehun concluded.

"okay fine," chanyeol sighed out. "kyungsoo, she's with you from now on. everyone, back to your stations."

---------

you were sat in the corner of the kitchen on a barrel watching kyungsoo work away at the stove. you were interested, cooking always being a pastime your father and yourself took part in, and his departure did nothing to sway you from your intrigue. kyungsoo definitely was no novice when it came to cooking, his techniques proving his expertise. you didn't know what he was concocting over there, considering he hasn't spoken a word to you since you entered his domain. not that you minded, after three falls into the ocean, you were spent for the day. you could only imagine how sehun must be feeling right now.

kyungsoo finally turned around, shuffling in your direction, yet not acknowledging you. he grabbed some items from the shelves beside you before finally looking at you.

"I need the potatoes that are in that barrel," he explained, pointing to your seat. wordlessly, you hopped off while he scavenged through for multiple potatoes. glancing over to you, he pooled the potatoes in his arms like a swaddled child. "you want to help?" you nodded vigorously, your drowsiness washing away instantly at the prospect of getting back into your routine, just one constant from your previous life. side grinning and nodding over to the counter, he guided you over to his workstation. "I need you to peel and dice these potatoes for me. you up for it?"

"I think I can handle," you snorted. within minutes of being handed the knife, your task was completed and you awaited further instruction from the chef. kyungsoo was visibly taken aback, but chuckled nonetheless.

"alright, that was impressive, I'll give you that." sliding over some more vegetables, he instructed you to dice more, and again you finished before he could even think of what to give you next. in less than 5 minutes, you already acquired your first acquaintance on board.

an hour later, you were both preparing the dinner table, laughing away at the inside jokes you've established together in the kitchen. your giggles halted when jongin entered the dining room. he looked between you two suspiciously before turning to kyungsoo.

"jongdae wanted to know how much longer until dinner?" he asked in a low voice, as if telling a secret to only kyungsoo. kyungsoo's eyes darkened again in irritation and he glared up at his shipmate.

"every night you come in here with a new name, and every night I say the same thing: it'll be done when it's done. now tell jongdae to get back to his duties and to stop pestering me." with a nod and a chuckle, jongin walked out with a hop in his step.

"are you all always this aggressive to one another?" you let out. kyungsoo continued to set plates down and shrugged. "it's just, you all live on the same ship, you all have the same or at least similar desires. I would think you were all like brothers. from the few hours I've been on board, I haven't seen any signs of brotherly love from you all."

"well like you said, we're always together. that's why we act this way to one another. we get sick of each other after a few days out on sea with no escape in sight." he then sighed and looked up, leaning against the ship and grinning. "we do love each other, though. nothing will change that."

a comfortable silence settled in the room and soon, kyungsoo called everyone in.

---------

at the dinner table was the first time you saw their dynamics together and were thoroughly shocked to find these ruthless pirates were so... rambunctious; almost childlike in a sense.

kyungsoo beamed at every little thing baekhyun did, and baekhyun went above and beyond to try and make him laugh. jongdae and jongin were constantly whispering and giggling between each other. junmyeon treated sehun as if he were a toddler, instructing him to wipe his face when needed or to eat something he hadn't piled onto his plate already. minseok and yixing were among the most silent, merely observing their shipmates and giving reactions when needed.

chanyeol was another story entirely. he never spoke one word to the crew around him that night. his arm circled his dish like a predator guarding it's prey from others. he was brooding in every aspect of the word, and the fact that he never took his eyes off of you hadn't helped his case.

it was a near glare, the iciest you've ever seen a gaze been. his locks shadowed his eyes just subtly, giving a hooded and hostile look. you avoided his stare as best you can, pretending like it wasn't affecting you, yet your instinctive recoiling into your seat gave away your clear discomfort. his smirk went unnoticed to your frenzied mind as he was then distracted by jongin beside him.

"kyungsoo told me your stowaway is actually very impressive when it comes to knife wielding."

"is that so?" chanyeol turned in your direction, head cocked to the side in a taunting manner. looking down at your food, you avoided the rhetoric question revolving you. never had you felt so small in someone's presence. chanyeol trumped you like a beanstalk, and you were jack. something in your mind clicked, and you felt the urge to not climb that beanstalk. instead, you were going to chop it down before events escalate.

willing yourself to look up, you glared right back at chanyeol, pursing your lips into a thin line and scrunching your brows together.

"yes, it is," you responded matter-of-factly. "I've been in the kitchen my whole life. I know how to handle a knife or two." he tongued his cheek, a habit of his you've come to realize shows his evident frustration in a matter. leaning further into the table, he threw an arrogantly boyish grin, jaw slack and lifted in your direction.

"could you ever kill a man with a knife?" your eyebrows frowned at the question, a slight grimace seeping into your expression. no, you could never kill a man. you were tenderhearted, a trait you've always lived with. hearing about a neighbor's grandfather who you've never met once in your life brought tears to you. you couldn't imagine yourself standing over someone, their blood staining your hands.

your silence was apparently enough for chanyeol, who snickered and stabbed his fork back into his meal as if ending the conversation. with a tick of your jaw and the narrowing of your eyes, you brushed off the weariness imbedded in you.

"if I must." your outburst attracting everyone's attention. "preferably, it'd be one man in mind whose blood I'd voluntarily shed." your blank stare at him was clear for everyone, who quickly went back to eating, leaving you two in whatever competition had conjured up with your exclamation.

--------

you were to sleep amongst crew members at all times. you were currently housed with sehun and jongin in their room, a drab thing about half the size of chanyeol's quarters. two wooden beds lined the walls, both seeming obscenely small for the two giants. you sat at the useless chair in the corner as they both prepared for bed, disregarding your presence entirely. you paid no mind to their infernal blabber, far too preoccupied in trying to find the sweet spot to sleep in the stiff chair.

"mermaids aren't real, sehun," jongin had sighed out, laying back on his pillow.

"I'm not saying that they are real," sehun answered protectively. "I'm just saying that it's a possibility." exhaustion had found you easily, and you were already dozing off after a long day. "we reach land next week, right?"

"I think so. probably."

you attempted to keep yourself conscious to continue hearing their conversation, but you were too far gone, completely fading away into slumber within the second.

-------

"so do you just intend to keep her as a crew member?" junmyeon leaned against the wall, observing chanyeol who sat at the end of his bed. "this is a new frontier for you. you usually kill people before you learn their name."

silence lingered in the atmosphere, chanyeol staring down at the planks making up the floor of his room.

"chanyeol," yixing sat beside him, wrapping an arm around the man's shoulders. "talk to us. we're not just your advisors, we're your brothers. tell us what's bothering you." chanyeol clenched his jaw and clutched the material of his pants.

"that girl," he spat out, a look of rage mixed with disgust tainting his facade. "she... she..." he took a shaky breathe, arms trembling with vexation. "never... has anyone... threatened me like that." he stood and marched to his desk, dragging his arms along the surface and knocking every item to the floor. junmyeon and yixing cringed at the resounding crash that filled the room as a result. "SHE THINKS SHE CAN INTIMIDATE ME?" chanyeol shouted to the two beside him.

"chanyeol, calm," junmyeon grabbed his shoulder, digging his fingers into his skin to bring the man back to reality. "we reach land next week. you can deal with her then."

"that's the thing," chanyeol leaned against his now barren desk, staring out through the window in front of him. "I have no fucking idea what to do with her."

"well what are your choices?" yixing asked. "you can let her go at the port. you can kill her." he grinned inwardly, once he began realizing where chanyeol's predicament resided. "you can keep her." junmyeon turned to yixing, his eyebrows furrowed at yixing's proposition. "as a crew mate... or as your personal play thing."

"what are you blabbering about?" chanyeol grumbled, rubbing his temple.

"it's a normal thing for great pirates to have women in their crew. there are no rules discrimi--"

"you know what I fucking meant," chanyeol turned, brushing off junmyeon's hand and glaring at yixing. "whatever. I've made up my mind. I'm just going to drop her off at port. she'll probably kill herself in due time when she realizes she has no one and nothing to her name."

the door to his room burst open, revealing a stoic kyungsoo who entered the room and stood before the enraged captain.

"you're a fool," kyungsoo seethed. "for thinking she'd ever kill herself, and for giving her up that easily."

"what are you doing here, soo?" junmyeon bristled.

"you've grown on her in less than a day," chanyeol responded, his voice more mellow now to conceal his confusion.

"I have, I will admit that. she's not as weak as you think she is. she fell off a damn roof, survived three falls into the ocean, and had the bravery to stand up against the pirate who killed her father. she's resilient, chanyeol, and if you can't see that, then you're not the great captain I once thought you were."

"I didn't kill her father," was the only thing that chanyeol thought to say at the end of kyungsoo's speech. with that, kyungsoo shook his head, a smile of disbelief spread across his face. without another word, he left the room.

--------

you awoke to the sounds of whining and shuffling sheets. delirium had made itself present in your sleep muddled mind so you struggled to process your atmosphere. it wasn't until a soft, yet frightened "no" shocked you awake. clearing your blurred vision, you spotted a figure tossing around in bed, tangling himself more and more by the second. you stumbled over to the bed, yanking at the sheets and quietly shushing the frantic man. finally unravelling the blanket, you patted his face, still murmuring reassuring coos to him. with a jolt, he woke up, breath ragged as if just finished running a marathon.

"yn?" sehun gasped out, still in a panicked state. "what are you doing here?"

"you were having a nightmare," you answered, still holding his cheek.

"okay? and?" he was becoming more irritated than frightened, so you assumed that was a good sign. sighing, you pulled back the sheet and laid beside him, causing him to shrink back against the wall. "what are you doing?"

"sleeping beside you. you had a nightmare."

"what does that have to do with any of this?" he hissed out, his irate facade evident in the darkness. "waking me up, invading my bed, what is your motive?" squinting your eyes, you tried to find any evidence of him lying, yet he seemed genuinely displeased.

"have you never had someone hold you after a nightmare?" you whispered out in disbelief. his eyes faltered, trying to retain their malefic glower. you placed the sheet over his slightly trembling body, opening your arms to him. hesitantly, he scooted closer, as if unaware of what you were trying to insinuate. wrapping your arms around his shoulders, you brought him into your person, allowing him to melt in your embrace. the next few minutes were silent, and you swore you felt a tear hit your collar bone, but you weren't too sure. all you knew was that his breathing grew heavier and his body went slack, falling back to sleep before your eyes.

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

you were jostled awake the next morning, detangling yourself from the giant next to you. turning over, you had every intention to confront your assailant.

"kyungsoo?" your aggression faded away, sighing to yourself as you sat up and faced your friend. he grinned before nodding his head towards the door.

"we have to prepare breakfast," he explained softly so as to not wake the other two.

you trailed behind him, through the long corridor of rooms and up to the deck.

"how are you holding up this morning?" he asked once entering the kitchen.

"I'm surviving." he hummed in agreeance at your words and set forth prepping breakfast. a comfortable silence settled between you two, but you felt he still had more to say. you didn't want to push him to speak. you haven't been this close with someone in ages, and you've only known him a day. you felt that had to speak for itself; how accustomed you were to his presence in such a short span. you appreciated his calming aura. he was perhaps the first person to not let your rather apparent flaw affect his perception of you; especially after your many incidents yesterday. you had almost completely forgotten he was a pirate, your worst fear since your adolescence. deciding to change your perception of pirates, you cleared your throat to alert him of your conversation starter. "so tell me about your life. where you've travelled, how long you've been on this ship, when you first started cooking. I want to know everything."

afraid you might've gone too far, you stared down at the stove, the meat you were instructed to cook sizzling away on the stone pan. your hopes sparked within you at the gentle laugh resonating from your friend. turning over to him, you found the rare yet bright, heart-shaped grin which adorned his face.

"alright, I'll tell you about myself," he started, placing down the bowl he had been mixing. "but for every question I answer, you answer one of mine."

you were sure you never smiled wider than at that very moment.

----------

breakfast had a completely different ambience to dinner. maybe it was the exhaustion which ensues with early mornings, or maybe it was just they had gotten rid of all of their rowdiness overnight. what you did know was that it was almost eerily calming. you sat between sehun and kyungsoo. sehun was silent towards you, but you could tell he was trying to show his gratitude. kyungsoo spoke to you and baekhyun all morning, causing you to grow closer to the other man. you didn't really acknowledge the rest of the crew, too distracted by baekhyun's incessant jokes and impressions. sehun joined in with the comedian across from him, bouncing jokes back and forth and nearly causing kyungsoo to choke.

you had assumed your day would continue as well as it had started, but chanyeol's appearance already left you in a sour mood.

"after cleaning, come find me on the deck for what you're to do next," he instructed, standing and leaving the room. cruel and near deadly thoughts circulated through your mind, causing your blood to boil as you assisted kyungsoo in cleaning the dishes. once done, he patted your back and gave you a pitiful grin before you headed towards the deck.

"chanyeol?" you called out, finding a barren ship. it was a cool morning, winds from the seas knotting your already tangled hair more, yet forgivingly stroking your exposed neck and face. you may have been slightly distracted with the lovely weather because you hadn't even noticed the stray rope tied into a loop obscuring your direction. the minute your foot had stepped in it and accidentally dragged it with you, you were yanked back aggressively. with a yelp, you tumbled to the floor, knocking your head against the floorboard and successfully throwing you in yet another state of unconsciousness.

[sharperthewriter]

How the Rockwaller Stole Christmas (1/2)

"How the Rockwaller Stole Christmas" For the first of the two winter poems That you're reading away or at your home Just to let everyone know, the entire selection (including the intro) is in rhyme This is to save everyone, especially Whitem, a whole lot of time It is for his 10th Winter Writing Contest, so it'll be brief I promise that I won't take any Fannies awards for this, or else I'd be a thief It features Bonnie in such a grumpy Grinchy feeling But Junior gives her an idea that is worth...how should I say...stealing Let's see how it goes Will they get away scot-free or get caught? Who knows. The poem is rated T As you can see For some minor swear words (but including a gesture that is obscene) So it is why is it suitable for those over the age of 13. And humor that is crude And for the snark in Bonnie's 'Queen B' attitude Kim Possible is created by Schooley and McCorkle and (c) by Disney This is to (hopefully) prevent the Mouse's lawyers from getting all in a suing tizzy. And as for the Seuss Estate, there will be no feelings of ill will or resentment. For this very poem is parody and satire, and fair use, covered by the First Amendment. So without further ado, Here is this treat of a poem, especially for the reader...which is you.

"How the Rockwaller Stole Christmas" (PART I)

This is the time of year A time of happiness and joy Where there is the spreading of good and cheer For almost every Middletonian girl and boy

As stated before, almost every young citizen Down in Middleton Liked Christmas a lot. But Bonnie Rockwaller, who lived just next door to the Possibles, did NOT!!

She hated how the Possibles celebrated Christmas in their house Giving a low growl that would even frighten a small mouse Every single day of the accursed Christmas season. If you are wondering to try To ask the question of why She does have her reasons.

And no, it wasn't because her head wasn't screwed on right Or that her Country Club Banana boots were too tight Or that a probable main reason of all Could be that her heart was three sizes too small

No, all she had to do was go back years past Of how past Christmases at the Rockwallers sucked when she was a young lass. From the hand-me-downs of her sisters to the infamous photo of her crying in Santa's lap Those winter "memories", she knew, would be crap The only bright spot of her Christmases, if it even would bother Would be the gifts given to her from Donald Rockwaller aka her father But, alas, this year, her dad's gift would be proven fruitless, of course For the Rockwallers are (currently) going through a very tough divorce.

And then there was the part where, a few years ago if one can gleam Bonnie starred as an angel in a Nativity scene They sang songs such as "Silent Night", "Joy to the World" and similar sounds Only problem was that said Nativity scene was played on courthouse grounds Some politically-correct people in the audience pointed out, if they can relate, That this was a blatant violation of the separation of church and state. The Queen, who had enjoyed this, flew in a rage On the Nativity scene stage She shocked the audience, her parents, and her fellow singers, By giving the politically-correct people two middle fingers

So she stared there on Christmas Eve from her bedroom window, Hating the Possibles all the while Middleton was covered in record-setting snow. From the lighted windows of their house, Kim was hanging a mistletoe wreath, Just in case Ron  came,  she can kiss him from beneath.

Bonnie couldn't believe That today was indeed Christmas Eve She continued to growl, her fingers continued drumming "I MUST find a way to prevent the Possible Christmas from coming!" She stood there, brooding and stewed

For tomorrow, she knew... (PART II) All the Possible girls and boys Yes, this includes Ron and Rufus They would all rush for their gadgets and toys. Including, as Bonnie called him, the blonde-haired doofus. She would be rattled and awakened by all the NOISE, NOISE, NOISE!!! All the NOISE!!! NOISE!!! NOISE!!! That was one thing she hated while trying to sleep in her bed On every single Christmas Day The continuing screaming sounds of video games being played repeatedly in her head Unfortunately for her, it had always been this way.

She'll (that being Kim) call and beep Wade on the new Kimmunicator The Tweebs would fly around with their drone, armed with an incinerator Joss would buck around with her large mechanical horse, making bucking sounds Cousin Larry would do roleplay while playing the latest version of Everlot, a quest to be found Kim will also blare the rare $50 Britina CD on her CD player as if she captured the Holy Grail Bonnie had been demanding said CD from her mother all month long...but to no avail. And as of Ron and Rufus, he will play noisy games to get that high score. Like the latest installment of the M-rated gorefest known as Zombie Mayhem IV. Oh...the Queen hated that that noise a plenty When Ron plays it for hours on end on his PSX720.

To her, this was no fair. The comparison of gifts really almost made her tear out her brunette hair. She even tried to get her dad, whom was the chief of police, to stop the squeaks and squeals While the Possibles raced around on ATVs with 4 wheels. Alas, it was no use for her to stop this noise torture from Hell. Bonnie felt as if her house was one big jail cell.

As if this were another reason for her to hate on the Possible's holiday moods, to be quite frank There was Ron turning up the volume, watching "The Six Tasks of Snowman Hank" Oh, if only the Queen had earplugs A type that would drown out the warm clink of Possible cocoa-moo mugs

And then the Possibles, young and old Will then all sit down to a feast And they all feast, feast, FEAST!!! The food from their cabinets and fridge flowed like never-ending gold They devour a large Christmas turkey, which was about as big as a 10-pound Beast Oh, a Christmas Turkey Beast is a feast Bonnie couldn't stand in the very least. In the sweets department, there were the famous lemon squares by her Nana But all Bonnie got was after the Rockwaller Xmas Dinner was a rotten banana.

And then, the Possibles do something that the Queen hated most of all Every Possible in the Possible house, the tall and small. Will stand close hand in hand With Christmas Bells on their phone apps constantly  ringing And the Possibles, standing on their property land... ...they start SINGING!!! And they'll SING, SING, SING!!!!!! That is what will make her the most feral When the Possibles sing their Christmas carols.

And the more Bonnie thought of the Possible-Christmas sing.... ...The more the Queen thought!

She must stop this whole entire thing. "Why, for five years, I've put up with it now!"

"I HAVE to stop the Possible's Christmas from coming....but how?"

(PART III) As she continued to stare outside Bonnie then heard two taps on her door The figure came from the hallway, not making an attempt to hide It was only her rich boyfriend, Senor Senior Junior, nothing more. Junior had come to his first Rockwaller Christmas, being that he was in town This was an attempt by Veronica to try to turn her daughter's frown upside-down Like Bonnie, his heart was three sizes too small. But it was his brain that was tiny, most of all.

"Oh hey, my rich hottie. Wonder why you're doing here in my place!"

Bonnie said with a slight smile on her face. She waited on what her dim BF was trying to say "Hey, my love." Junior replied, "I came here for the food and any games that you usually play."

Bonnie scoffed, "Junior, I know that this is your first time, and you're trying But I suspect that you may be a be a bit...lying.

And I like that," she continued with a salacious grin. For she knew Junior was loaded, a fact she knew he was an instant win. Junior said, "My love, I can bring you anything this year, a fact that my father had taught I can even buy you a multi-million-dollar yacht."

Bonnie sighed, fading away from her smile "Junior, that is all well and good, and I can see..." She continued to stare outside the window for a little while "...but I got issues with the Possibles' Christmas continuing to mock me."

"Today is Christmas Eve, in case if you're wondering Come tumi, I will constantly be irritated by their noises, and that wannabe, I am still trying to think on what to do...in this case...pondering... I guarantee you, Junior, that she will flaunt her gifts for all the world to see."

Junior then suggested something vile "Why not have me dressed as Santa? Like with the coat and hat" Replied the oft-complaining man-child "I can guarantee you that you can steal their Christmas in a snap."

Then the Queen got an idea. An awful idea. The Queen got a wonderful, awful idea. (PART IV)

"Junior, I think I know a way."

Bonnie replied with the salacious grin "Hear me out on what I have to say!" She knew her plan would be as dirty as sin.

"A month ago, my dad arrested a drunk Santa at a mall He confiscated the belt, fake beard, hat, boots and all." She laughed in her throat. But Junior asked "Did he also get the coat?" "Oh yes, he did get that well..." Bonnie remembered. For she saw that incident in late-November.

Junior still questioned "But where can we get that suit in such short time?" "And will it fit this sexy booty of mine?" Bonnie said with a wide grin, "Junior, the suit's a perfect fit for you. It's in the basement by the way under boxes of old shoes."

"But I don't wanna go down the basement!" Junior whined for a while. That was the least of his problems for the overgrown man-child. Unlike his dad, he wasn't used to doing a life of crime Bonnie scoffed at him, "I'll go first and you'll follow behind." Junior whimpered "I hope that I don't look fat in that coat at all."

While his girlfriend held on to her baggy bib-down overall.

So about 30 minutes later, the evil couple found the Santa clothes Junior took a deep breath and said, "Let's see how this goes." To his amazement, they fit perfectly. Right down to the coat, which covered up his muscular belly. Bonnie grinned, "What a great and vile trick.

With this coat, fake beard, and hat, you look exactly like St. Nick.

Junior rightly pointed out. "Now that I am dressed as a Santa and that's all glad,  ..." "...how can we destroy Kim Possible's Christmas so that we can make her sad."

"The solution to that problem is simple." Bonnie said, tenting her fingers "We are going to steal them in the middle of the night, and let nothing linger." "Contractor style trash bags and sacks are the best method to use "They are perfect to take on any trashy weight of abuse. "Once we steal all of the Possibles' gifts "We're going to jam them into a car, 'borrowed' from Cruella De Vil, for a lift."

"And then once we get outside the city limits where the elevation is higher. "We will then burn all their gifts and food in one great big fire."

Junior gasped at the audacity of this crime It would put their relationship to the test If they got caught by Team Possible, it surely would result in their arrest. Then again, he has some added muscle from HenchCo so he had one less thing to whine

"My love, I am ready to do the stealing with you, In case we win, I even reserved a romantic spot on the island for two! Just say the word and I can call upon some strong henchmen It would make our job easier, with me and you times ten."

"Now all I need to complete the look of fear Is that of a reindeer."

Bonnie looked outside her house for any of them, if that is so Unfortunately, a reindeer's habitat did not include Colorado Just as it so happens, her Pit Bull, Queenie, made his way down the stairs He began to drool everywhere His look was so fierce and full of hate Why the Queen named a male dog a female name, shouldn't be for debate But did this stop her? Not at all. She also stared at one of the bucks her father killed, mounted on the basement wall Bonnie simply said, "If I can't find a reindeer, I'll make one instead!"

She instructed Junior to take a saw, duct tape, and some strong thread And tied a couple of big horns to Queenie's head. Junior asked "So when would be the stealing? What would be a perfect time to enter the Possible's main den?" Bonnie replied "I got a feeling..."

....That we will strike at ten!" "I know of a back alleyway That connects to their house But we have to be quiet, nothing more to say Nothing above the squeak of a mouse.

Agreeing to the plan set, Junior and Bonnie called up HenchCo To send in their stealthiest henchmen for at least ten in tow.

__________________________________________________________________________ (PART V) It was now 10pm as Bonnie, Junior and the henchmen started down Toward the Possible house, whose inhabitants lay snoring within town.

Despite the fact that they were sleeping, they thought they were protected By an exquisite alarm system that would blare a loud sound When an intruder would be found And he/or she would be detected

Their windows were also dark and the doors were locked They made sure an intruder's way out would be blocked All the Possibles, especially Kim, were dreaming without a single care When the villains came to their house on Middleton Square

The whole evil team snuck to the den at exactly 10 o'clock In order to undergo their villainous vice Ooooh....stealing Christmas from the Possibles will be quite nice.... ....That is, if they can get through the lock.

"We need to get through this door without causing the plan any harm... ...If we go in, it would surely set off that alarm. "Miss Rockwaller..." the lead henchman said, "...if it may say to suffice"

"This looks like a job for the HenchCo Automatic Disarming Alarm Device!"

The HADAD did it job It cracked the code for the alarm, rendering it useless But now came the issue of the door, still locked at its knob. "Lucky for me, I brought out my hairpin! Surely, it would let us in."

Unfortunately for her, the pin broke as a makeshift key Grunting, but not deterred, the Queen has a plan B She took out Junior's solid-gold limitless credit card Junior then whispered, as if he were doing a Sonnet from the Immortal Bard "Be careful, my love! That is my rarest card of all It's supposed to be used for the World's Richest Mall!"

This time, though, the hack card did work (Oh, if she only could invent the dance known as the twerk) The villainous team entered quietly into the room To begin Operation Villainous Christmas of Doom Bonnie gave a wide open smirk, so evil and so blatant That it rivaled that of the Prince of Darkness, Satan. She then saw all of the Possible stockings hung in a row. "Their stockings..." she grinned, "...are the first things to go!"

She instructed her dim BF to use a magnet for her first method of attack It loosened the nails and the stockings immediately fell in the sack

[sunflowerseedsandscience]

Au Cafe Pequod: Chapter One

ORADOUR-SUR-GLANE, HAUTE-VIENNE, FRANCE EARLY DECEMBER 1943

He has been coming to this tiny corner cafe every night for weeks, and every time he's here, he notices something new about her.

At first, it's superficial things, general things anyone would notice: the red of her hair, the way it constantly tries to escape the kerchief she often ties over it, her narrow waist with her apron cinched around it, her tiny size, the way she barely comes up to his shoulder in the low heels she wears to work.

Later, it's smaller things: the intense blue of her eyes, the little mole above her lip, the girlish dusting of freckles across her nose, the thin brows that arch so expressively.

Now, after two weeks' nightly observation, he's begun cataloguing more minute details. She is markedly cool to the many German officers who frequent her cafe, but never rude, which is wise. Her business is surprisingly well-stocked with provisions, especially given the current food shortages that abound, so she must be a resourceful and savvy businesswoman. He's well aware that many women throughout occupied France have reached "arrangements" with German officers in a desperate attempt to feed their families, but she does not appear to have resorted to such measures. He's heard her addressed by locals as "Mademoiselle Scully," which intrigues him, because Scully is not a French name.

And judging by the way her jaw clenches every time the soldiers dining in her cafe make crude remarks to one another regarding the lovely shape of her ass, he's fairly certain she speaks quite a bit more German than she lets on.

The cafe itself is relatively nondescript, a small establishment in an equally small town. It sits on the corner of the high street, an awning covering a handful of outdoor tables that stand deserted in the winter chill. The swinging sign above the door is white, wooden, and carved in the shape of a whale, bearing the name "Cafe Pequod." He's well-read, quite familiar with Melville's novel, and he'd love to find out how this rustic little restaurant ended up being named for Captain Ahab's famous ship.

Obersoldat Fox Mueller- or Mulder, depending on who you ask- has been in one part of occupied France or another for over three years now, since being on the front lines of the Wehrmacht as it pushed its way into the country. First it was Reims, then Vichy, then Dijon, then Limoges, and now, for the past month, it's been Oradour-sur-Glane. Mulder had thought the worst was over once he was no longer in battle... but in reality, the horrors were only beginning.

Mulder has witnessed true atrocities as a part of the invading army. France has been forced by Germany to pay for its own occupation, and the resulting food shortages are slowly but surely starving many of the country's citizens. Mulder has seen "undesirables" being rounded up, rooted out of hiding, beaten, shot, herded onto trains and shipped to what he knows will be a slow and horrible death. The Resistance has been a constant thorn in the Wehrmacht's side, and in retaliation, Mulder has seen innocent French citizens abducted, starved, and tortured.

He is not sure how much longer he can go on. He had never planned to remain alive this far into the war.

The Mulder family changed its name to Mueller some three or four generations earlier, when they emigrated from their Dutch homeland and re-established themselves in Berlin. Fox had defiantly written "Mulder" on his conscription paperwork, reasoning that in spite of his parents' determination to ignore the past at all costs, he was equally determined to hang onto it. It is as much rebellion as he has been able to muster the strength for, and as he was assigned to a unit commanded by his father's closest friend, who will not refer to him as anything but "Mueller," it has been largely lost. Mulder's captain, on the other hand, a strict but fair man who lacks the predilection for cruelty so evident in their commander, is more than happy to refer to Mulder by any name he wishes, and he counts this as a victory.

Mulder's captain, Hauptmann Walther Skinner, can frequently be found at the Cafe Pequod, though he is not present this evening. Mulder finds himself wishing Skinner were here, because tonight's gathering of soldiers is proving to be rowdier than usual, and he doesn't like the looks some of them are throwing the harried Miss Scully as she threads her way through the tables. One of them, an ugly little troll Mulder knows by sight but not by name, actually reaches out and tries to grab her backside as she passes en route to Mulder's table with his latest cup of coffee. She whirls around, pinning the man (who seems to have visited the tavern before coming here) with a glare so icy, Mulder is surprised the man's cappuccino doesn't freeze in its cup. "Vous garderez vos mains a vous-meme," she snaps, and then switches to German for emphasis. "Do not touch me." She turns and continues to Mulder's table without sparing the man or his companions a second glance. "Votre cafe, Monsieur," she says, her fury effortlessly switched off, her formerly cool and detached manner reigning supreme once more.

"Is that man troubling you?" Mulder asks, his French perfect, his accent almost nonexistent. She raises her eyebrows in surprise. They have barely exchanged ten words until tonight, and always pertaining to his order, nothing more.

"It's nothing I can't handle," she responds with a shrug of her shoulders, and she leaves before Mulder can think of something to say to get her to linger. In her absence he lapses back into brooding silence, watching Miss Scully as she winds her way through the tables, staring blankly out the windows into the cold December night whenever she disappears into the kitchen. The cafe begins to empty slowly around him as the hour grows later, until finally, the only patrons left are Mulder, the troll-faced soldier (who is loudly extolling the virtues of French prostitutes), and three of his companions.

"That's the thing about France now," he's saying, his face red with drink. "When it comes to French women, there's no difference between the whores and the rest of them. This whole country's spread its legs for us, it's ours for the taking!" Scully is facing Mulder, clearing off a table halfway between him and the men, and the way she squares her shoulders at these words removes any remaining doubt in his mind that she understands German. She looks up, catching his eye, her face full, for a moment, of an unfathomable sadness.

"Ashamed" is far too mild a word for what he feels right now.

She turns away, her arms laden with dirty plates and mugs, and heads for the kitchen again, passing by the soldiers, who are laughing loudly at their comrade's crude remarks. Suddenly, the man stands and reaches out, grabbing her around the waist, sending her armload of crockery crashing to the floor as she is yanked back towards the table, landing in her attacker's lap as he resumes his seat.

"Take this one, for example," he says, as she struggles to free herself. "She's turned down every man in here, but when her precious little cafe runs out of supplies, she'll come running. It's all in knowing what they-" But this is as far as he gets before Mulder, a red haze of fury clouding his vision, charges across the cafe and breaks the man's nose with a single well-placed punch. Miss Scully springs free as the man falls backwards in his chair, and Mulder stands over him, fists up, ready to bodily throw this pitiful excuse for a human being out of the cafe if he proves unwilling to leave on his own.

It's a noble, valiant thought, but in conceiving it, Mulder forgot to take the man's companions into account, a fact that occurs to him just as one of them breaks a wine bottle over the back of his head, and the world goes dark.

--------

Bright sunlight assaults his eyes when he wakes, and at first, he can see little. He's aware of lying on a soft surface, far too soft to be his cot at the encampment. There is a dull, throbbing ache at the back of his head, and a piercing pain somewhere above his right eyebrow. It takes a moment for him to realize that the pitiful moaning noise he hears is coming from his own throat.

"Shhhh." A soft hand strokes the uninjured side of his brow. "It's all right," says a gentle voice, in French. He recognizes it immediately, struggles to sit up. A firm hand on his chest stops him. "Just relax," she says. "You've been out cold all night." As his vision adjusts to the bright light, he can make out a pair of impossibly blue eyes set in a pale face. He closes his eyes and swallows hard.

"Mademoiselle," he croaks. His throat is incredibly dry. "Where am I?"

"You're in my apartment, above the cafe," she says. "Do you remember anything from last night?" Mulder closes his eyes. A series of disjointed images come to him slowly- the drunken soldier grabbing Scully, the satisfying crack of his nose under Mulder's knuckles, the blow to his head... then, much more fuzzy, the memory of leaning on the much smaller woman's shoulders, staggering up a dimly lit staircase. As he looks around, his surroundings begin to come into focus. He is lying on a sofa in a small, cozy sitting room, bright sunlight pouring in through tall, thin windows. Scully is sitting on the edge of the sofa, and when she sees his throat working as he struggles to form words, she reaches over and retrieves a glass of water from a nearby table, holding it to his lips.

"Just a little at a time," she cautions him, as he tries to guzzle the full contents at once. "With a head injury, you could be nauseous." He continues to try to sit up, and she removes the glass and supports his shoulders until he's steady. He can feel the warmth of her small hands through the back of his undershirt- his uniform jacket has been stripped off- and he feels the loss when she moves them back to her lap. He tries to swing his legs down onto the floor, but she stops him. "You should rest longer," she says. "That was quite the blow to the head you took, and you hit the other side on your way down, as well."

"Is that what I feel on my forehead?" he asks. He reaches up and touches a strip of bandage wrapped around his head. Scully nods.

"You caught the edge of a chair as you fell," she says. "I had to put in a few sutures. You were quite unconscious by then, thankfully." Mulder looks up at her in surprise.

"You're a nurse?"

"A doctor," she corrects him. "I studied medicine in Paris, before the war." His surprise must be evident on his face, because she immediately admonishes him, "There's no need to look so shocked."

"I'm impressed, not shocked," he says. "I promise." She smiles at him, and his breath catches in his throat. For a moment, the pounding in his head recedes.

She is breathtaking.

"So how did you end up running this place?" Mulder asks. "Instead of practicing medicine?" He hopes the question is not too personal, but Scully doesn't seem to mind his asking.

"My mother owns this cafe," she says. "She became ill about five years ago, and none of my siblings were able to be here to care for her. And once she'd recovered...." Scully sighs, looking out the windows pensively. "I don't think she feels safe working here, not now. After last night I'm sure you can see why."

"I am so, so sorry for what happened," says Mulder. "That man's actions were inexcusable and I feel terrible that that happened to you."

"My understanding, from whatever history I've studied, is that this is what an invading force does," she says with an offhanded shrug, looking away from him. And you are a part of that invading force, she doesn't say, but he hears it as clearly as if she had.

"That doesn't mean I agree with it," he says. She arches her left eyebrow skeptically.

"You volunteered for this duty?" she asks pointedly. "Or were you conscripted?"

"Conscripted," he says firmly. "And assigned to this unit against my strong protests, because the commander is a friend of my father's. I wanted to serve at a military hospital instead." The right eyebrow joins its mate on her forehead.

"You're a doctor as well?"

"A psychologist," he says. He catches sight of the clock on her mantlepiece and groans. "I need to get back to the encampment," he says. "I've missed the morning roll call, they'll think I've taken off." He swings his legs to the floor and spies his boots next to the couch. He begins lacing them up. Scully stands and retrieves his uniform shirt from a nearby chair, handing it to him.

"I'll come with you," she says. "And explain to your captain the reason for your absence. You're under Hauptmann Skinner, correct?" He looks up at her, surprised.

"How do you know that?" he asks.

"He speaks with you when he comes here," she says. "I've overheard you once or twice. He seems a very even-headed man; I'm sure he'll understand once I explain what happened."

"You don't have to do that," says Mulder. The idea of her coming into the encampment, being around the same men who attacked her last night, frightens him.

"I want to," she says, and she smiles at him again. "Your knight in shining armor routine was quite dashing last night. Making sure you don't get in any more trouble for it is the least I can do." Mulder grins.

"It seems a bit late for introductions, now that you've already taken off my shirt and boots," he says, and she blushes, "but my name's Fox Mulder." She raises her eyebrows.

"Fox?"

"Don't ask. Best to just go with Mulder."

"Dana Scully," she says, reaching out to shake his hand. "Pleased to meet you."

"How does a Frenchwoman come by such a thoroughly un-French name?" asks Mulder.

"By having an American sailor for a father," says Scully.

"Ahhh," he says. "Wartime romance?"

"He swept my mother right off her feet," says Scully. "But that's a story for another time, I think. We need to get you back to your encampment before someone comes looking for you." She helps him slowly to his feet, still holding his hand in hers. He's wondering how long she'll allow him this familiarity, but she lets go as soon as he finds his footing. He's unsteady at first, but she is patient, and together they slowly make their way downstairs and out into the cold December morning.

----------

The encampment lies just outside the western edge of town, spread out over a farm that had been confiscated when the region had fallen to Germany. The unit commander and his staff have taken over the farmhouse; the tents of the captains and their men surround it. Mulder leads Scully to his own unit, determinedly ignoring the stares and whistles of the men around him, and finds Skinner sitting outside of his tent, reading a letter. He stands as Mulder approaches, his face unreadable. Mulder salutes him.

"Obersoldat Mulder," he says gruffly. "I was told you were involved in an incident last night."

"Yes, Sir, I was."

"I understand that you assaulted another officer- that you broke his nose- because you were jealous of the attentions he was receiving from a local woman." Mulder and Scully look at one another, eyebrows raised. "I take it that's not quite accurate?"

"No, Sir, not at all," says Mulder.

"Herr Skinner, Obersoldat Mulder defended me last night when another soldier made unwelcome physical advances. He was injured when one of that soldier's friends hit him over the head with a bottle, and I kept him overnight at my cafe to suture his wounds and care for him." Skinner says nothing, only looks back and forth between their faces, as though weighing the validity of their version of events. Finally, he nods curtly.

"Very well," he says. "Mulder, keep that wound clean. I don't feel like losing you to something as stupid as infection, not when you're so determined to find a thousand other stupid ways to die."

"Yes, Sir," says Mulder, smiling slightly in spite of himself.

"And Fraulein Scully," Skinner continues, turning to her, "rest assured that the soldier who bothered you will not be returning to your establishment. If he does, please let me know immediately." He glances at Mulder. "Or perhaps Obersoldat Mulder will keep me informed, since I'm sure he'll continue to haunt that back table nightly." Mulder ducks his head sheepishly.

"I suppose I'll see you soon, then, Mulder," says Scully, smiling warmly at him.

"Count on it, Miss Scully," he says. She laughs.

"I think we'd better make it just Scully, if you're going to make me call you Mulder," she says. "And you should be off your feet for at least awhile yet. That was a nasty knock on the head."

"You heard her, Mulder," says Skinner. "I'll escort Fraulein Scully back to the cafe. Get yourself back to your tent immediately."

Perhaps it's the lingering aftereffects of the head injury, but Mulder makes it all the way back to his tent and is lying on his cot before he realizes that the entire conversation between himself, Scully, and Skinner had been conducted entirely in German. His earlier suspicion was correct: she is completely fluent, and hiding it from most of her customers.

Mulder is drifting off to sleep before he comes to a second realization: none of this was at all a surprise to Hauptmann Skinner.

Next chapter >

[doomonfilm]

Thoughts : Inside Llewyn Davis (2013)

Yesterday, in my continuing efforts to provide various types of content for this blog, I undertook ranking the films of the Coen Brothers.  Usually, when I rank directors, I have the issue of having to list multiple films I have not seen so that they will not be factored into the rankings, but in this case, there was only one film : Inside Llewyn Davis.  The film was already on my list of stuff to watch, as I am a devout and dedicated fan of the Coens, but in the history of unseen films that did not factor into my rankings, no fanbase was as vocal about me seeing the film immediately as this one.  With that bit of ‘friendly suggestion’ in mind, I decided it was time to watch Inside Llewyn Davis. 

Llewyn Davis (Oscar Isaac) is a young seaman with dreams of finding success at a folk singer in 1960s Greenwich Village, New York City.  His previous musical group, Timlin & Davis, found brief success before tragedy visited Mike Timlin (Marcus Mumford in a voice only role), and his current solo release, Inside Llewyn Davis, is not selling.  Llewyn spends his days and nights living off of those he can, looking for any and every opportunity to make money, and making sure that all of his peers know exactly how he feels about their creative abilities.  Jean Berkey (Carey Mulligan), of the many people that Llewyn uses, lets Llewyn know that she is pregnant, though she is unsure if the father is Llewyn or her husband Jim Berkey (Justin Timberlake).  In an effort to make some sort of money to ‘take care’ of Jean and set himself up for a better life, Llewyn chases a series of opportunities, all of which lead him squarely to the realization of exactly how everyone in his life feels about him.

Llewyn Davis is as talented as he is selfish, and the way that he uses others and is driven by the bottom dollar perfectly sets up his oblivious (or possibly uncaring) nature to the wake of destruction connected to his actions.  The pride in his talent lifts his up to a place of entitlement, which manifests in an inability to regulate his opinions about others... sometimes his hurtful opinions are indirect, but usually, they are targeted and hurtful criticisms doled out to strangers and loved ones in equal measure.  It is often unclear (purposefully, I would surmise) if Llewyn’s harsh actions are driven by a sense of jealousy or a sense of spite driven by sociopathic tendencies, but regardless, either read would support the fear of responsibility that clearly sits heavily with Llewyn.  The long and short of it is, Inside Llewyn Davis is a ballad of an antagonist placed in the protagonist position who is continuously feeling forces that are trying to remove him from his comfort zone.

As a narrative, the setup of reflections on an edgy, tortured soul surrounded by the content, the complacent and the commonplace works as a solid foundation.  Llewyn’s presence as an antagonistic protagonist reads as him constantly trying to rock any and every harmonious boat he can find, be it for personal entertainment or as an attempt to drag others down to his realms of pain.  With all of this hurt and resentment fueling Llewyn, the symbolism of the cat as forced responsibility (and the very real unconditional love it needs) plays beautifully, especially as the actual cat switches while remaining familiar.  The tolerance shown to Llewyn by those in his life force the audience to consider the leeway given to the talented, and how many are willing to do things detrimental to themselves in hopes of raising the talented up.  Ironically, all of this is ultimately for naught because, as mentioned previously, Llewyn has a concrete dedication to taking any direction other than the path of least resistance, almost as if he owes a penance of pain.

The Coen Brothers have always been adept at comedy of all varieties, but outside of A Serious Man, it’s hard to think of another one of their comedies wrapped up in so many layers of tragedy.  This is enhanced by the smoky, lived-in, desaturated look that the film employs.  As a period piece, the Coens wonderfully capture a lost, gritty era of New York, and by comparison, the open expansion of the Midwest that Llewyn travels through are a memory of the pre-capitalism boom of the late 1970s and early 1980s.  The ensemble cast is relatively large but extremely well managed, and is chock full of kinetic and dynamic energy that can be found in every combination of interaction presented on the screen.  While the film is extremely musical, it is done so in a very sincere way, to the point where the story is driven by the acting more so than the novelty of having actors who can also sing.

The way that Oscar Isaac makes the most hateful characteristics of Llewyn so lighthearted and entertaining is a testament to his ability to connect on more than a surface level with both other actors and the audience.  By comparison, John Goodman comes in like a freight traing, throwing an amplified version of Llewyn’s worst aspects right back at him.  Carey Mulligan’s pain and frustration permeate off of the screen, settling in a place where they have a true impact with the viewer.  Justin Timberlake brings a sense of optimism and accessible talent that offsets Llewyn’s sense of detachment.  Adam Driver is a naïve light in a jaded darkness, while Garrett Hedlund’s brooding presence brings a quiet, sinister element to the film, like a harbinger of danger.  F. Murray Abraham, Stark Sands, Jerry Grayson, Jeanine Serralles and Alex Kaprovsky make memorable appearances, while support is provided by Ethan Phillips, Robin Bartlett, Max Casella, Ben Pike and more.

I knew going into the film Inside Llewyn Davis that the team of the Coen Brothers and Oscar Isaac was a “can’t miss” connection, and the film proved this theory to be correct.  While being quite the entertaining and thought-provoking work, it’s funny to think a movie considered to be a "strong Coen Brothers presentation" would be a career altering classic if presented by most any other director.  

[mrmichaelchadler]

The Kid

"The Kid," directed by Vincent D’Onofrio, is, in some ways, a modern spin on an old story, one that has been explored in Hollywood many times before. Based on the real-life tale of the showdown between the famous young outlaw, Billy the Kid, and his arch nemesis, Sheriff Pat Garrett, D’Onofrio’s film transforms many of the classical western tropes into a meditation on the lingering after-effects of domestic violence. The story centers on the coming-of-age journey of Rio, a 14-year-old who shoots his abusive father in an unsuccessful attempt to save his mother from being beaten to death. When Rio and his sister Sara attempt to run, they are accosted by their cruel Uncle Grant, played by Chris Pratt, who threatens to take them both. After playing a series of chipper characters, Pratt makes a believable villain.

Both Rio and Sara are traumatized from the violence they’ve experienced, and Rio is afraid to run and unsure of who to trust. When he first encounters Billy the Kid, Rio is both frightened and transfixed by Billy’s swagger, a fact that Billy cleverly tries to manipulate to his own ends. Later, when he meets Sheriff Garrett, we see how Rio is ultimately given a choice to either embrace the life of a bandit or pursue a life of virtue and justice. Ethan Hawke’s portrayal of Garrett is earnest and complex, easily the best aspect of the film, and brings to life the story of a man with violent impulses who ultimately chooses to use his instincts to protect, rather than harm. 

Rio’s journey towards manhood is explicitly tied to his exposure to and enacting of violence, and, throughout the film, we see how male characters grapple with doing the right thing. In contrast, the female characters throughout "The Kid" aren’t given the same agency. In fact, the same violence that propels moral choice for male protagonists leads female characters to lose themselves. Rio’s mother is beaten to a bloody pulp very early in the film and while we hear her soft body being throttled to death, her character remains a plot device for Rio’s journey, rather than a flesh-and-blood person loved by her children. Likewise, Billy the Kid’s pregnant girlfriend’s main roles are crying when Billy is taken away and begging for him to stay with her. The most developed female character is Rio’s sister, Sara, who is constantly trying to navigate a violent world, which sees her as easy prey. But, though Sara is given the opportunity to enact her own violent revenge, her character arc is not one of triumph, or even character evolution. Instead, her character is tortured for what seems to be the sole purpose of inspiring her brother to make better choices.

This relegation of female characters to the sidelines is depressing for a film released in 2019, especially because it seems entirely possible to have a film looking at masculinity without reducing women to archetypes. In the world of "The Kid," there are mothers and virgins and girlfriends and whores, all of whom seem to exist entirely in relation to the men they watch fearfully from the sidelines. I know that a number of viewers will attempt to excuse these choices, saying that they are simply meant to be commentary on the roles that women were afforded in the Wild West, but I think it’s also very possible not to dehumanize female characters even when depicting an inherently sexist world. The men in "The Kid" may spend a lot of time beating and killing, but they also seem to have plenty of time to brood, ruminate, and wax on philosophically about their relationship to the world. Why not give the female characters a moment of self-reflection, of recognition that the female experience also includes making moral choices? 

The decision to flatten female characters into mere archetypes is an odd choice for a film that is clearly invested in considering the nature of domestic violence, which disproportionately impacts women, both in the real world, as well as the world of "The Kid." While the film makes a number of attempts to probe more deeply into the pain that undercuts cruelty, these explorations never go very far beneath the surface, nor do they shed new light on the ways that a legacy of violence leaves its fingerprints everywhere. By the end of the film, we don’t really gain any new moral clarity about what it means to confront a world where might makes right, and what we are left with the discomforting idea that the only thing ultimately protecting women from violence is a good man with a gun. 

from All Content https://ift.tt/2NQRBxl

[cervamater]

Bad health & good intentions

I was in a bad mood, so I wrote ShibiYosh. This is usually what I do whenever I feel down or underappreciated because writing my crack OTP based on long-forgotten characters really has a soothing effect on my nerves. Based on this ask. Songs I got inspired by while writing are this (a playlist orz) and this one.

She wondered if he was really still enjoying stroking her hair or if it had become more of a mechanical gesture he couldn’t help doing not to seem weird. Her eyes were closed, but she was not relaxed, she was just trying to feel better and not only phisically. That was a day of pain and none of them could help it. Her pills had worked zero magic on that New Year’s Eve and she was just left restless and suffering for a good amount of the morning. That same morning he grew worried when he made his usual route among loved ones’ graves and didn’t find her leaning some flowers on her husband’s tombstone, or her aunt’s, or her childhood friend’s he couldn’t recall the name of. He knew something had to be off, if Yoshino skipped her daily rituals, given just how much of a creature of habit she was, so he had showed on her front door in few hours.

Gleaming from the entrance, the Aburame had noticed she was pretending so very hard to be okay: doing small housework, controlling paperwork she was told to finish in three days or so (they both had the same deadline to deliver said documents to the Hokage, but of course she had dragged it out as usual because she found the task to be ‘obnoxious as fuck’, quoting her words on the matter), writing a letter to her son. Yes, he liked observing her when she thought she was alone, a habit many people would find creepy, but he didn’t mind. Not when his absence permitted him to save her from a certain concussion, at least; he saw her stretching her arm out to reach the glass of water she had been drinking from for a while, then her hazel eyes went completely blank as she passed out. Fortunately, he was a ninja still in the best combat shape. He bolted from the place he was standing in total silence and fastened her securely in his arms. When Yoshino opened her eyes, confused from the events occurred before, she found herself to be laying on his couch, a warm blanket gently laid on her tiny frame, a glass full of fresh water on near coffee table. The paperwork she was supposed to complete sat just beside the glass, perfectly polished off in every component, the handwriting employed was even similar to hers. “You shouldn’t have done that” no, of course she wouldn’t thank him. That was so out of character. “I did it, nonetheless” was the simple answer the host gave back, he was holding a bowl full of miso soup that he carefully placed on her lap. “Sit still and eat this. Not a gourmet dish, I must confess, but it’s nourishing and you will find it helpful to recover from this momentaneous weakness.” “I’m not hungry.” “Yoshino” his voice was kept still, but she could hear his scolding. He only spoke one, single word and she was already drinking spoonful of soup, trying to ignore just how loudly her stomach was rumbling. “What time is it?” she dared to ask between sips. She was so obstinate to never look up to him she was staring at her own, pale, yellow-ish reflection. That was of course soup’s fault, but she was sure her real skin color was not so distant from that unhealthy, suffron shade. “It’s a quarter past five pm” he replied, looking at her from behind his shades. She didn’t need to be a fortuneteller to guess he was worried sick, yet he deceived it quite well in his voice tone. “I’ve slept for six hours?” the Nara was shocked and vexed. She hated wasting so much time sleeping, especially when it was due to her damned medical condition. “You needed to rest” he simply stated, controlling she had eaten all her soup. He seemed to be satisfied by the result, because he stood up with his usual poker face and took the bowl to the kitched. She laid back on the couch, still way too irritable to be doing anything else but brooding into that gloomy guilt she was feeling overall. She only meant trouble to him, constantly, and he found himself looking after her like a doting father would do with his youngest. She was a nervous wreck who didn’t know how to express gratitude or being selfless enough to make his wishes come true sometimes, a jealous, manipulative, sick, self-conscious, waspish little woman that never appreciated him enough. Stupid, dumb doe. “Drink” he ordered, then he put another blanket on top of her. “Water will help toxins out of your body and improve your general health, not to mention your dark mood.” Caught. She forced herself not to blush as she muttered some unflattering words under her breath, tips of her fingers dragging the edge of the glass closer so that she could grab it and drink to shut up his stinging mouth. They spent few minutes without saying a word, both too busy understand what the other was thinking or maybe just enjoying the general lack of sounds only the Aburame forest could grant during such a loud day as that was. Surprisingly enough, Shibi broke it: “I’ve done it in your place, I hope you won’t mind.” “The paperwork, you mean?” Yoshino offered a wave of her hand, trying to dismiss his apologies, “well, it’s not like I can whine about it? You know better than me I hate this kind of stuff.” “No, I did not mean your clan head’s duty” that wording he chose made Yoshino bit her lower lip, feeling even more embarassed for her lack of responsibility towards that task. “I meant… fulfilling your mourning obligations.” That made her snap her neck back to look at him in total perplexity. The bewildered expression resting on her feature probably discouraged him to add anything to his sibylline verdict, but he was aware she deserved to get her questions answered. Even more surprisingly than before, he spoke without looking at her: “I’ve offered flowers to your tombs. I sensed there must have been something off with you and I know for personal experience you tend to blame yourself when your health stops you from doing whatever you have resolved to do, and since Shikamaru is out of village as well I thought I could… spare you that pointless torture and inform you your loved ones’ have been cared for today as much as you have.” The warm, modest sentiment filling his tidings had a strange effect on her. Water in her eyes brimmed over and few ickle, humble teardrops went to add weight to her eyelashes, before rolling down her heated cheeks. Tangle in her throat was painful, but she couldn’t bring herself to swallow it down as she would do in any other occasion: even the smallest sound could make her burst in helpless crying and that would destroy the slim chance they had to spend a decent New Year’s Eve. Blindly, she searched up the backrest and little behind the couch to grab onto his hand. By that time, her chin was already pointing straight down. “Would you… come here with me? I think some personal attention would work wonders on my health, at this point.” And there they laid, she was playing with a button of his shirt while he on the other hand kept smoothing down her hair, his nostrils flaring up a bit when he tried to breathe in her luscious, flower-like smell. She wondered if he was really still enjoying it, but she knew he would find it offensive. Instead, as if he had not made him slave enough for that day, she whispered quietly against his neck: “I want to see fireworks.” “We still have a bit of time before midnight” Shibi murmured back, “if you allow me to carry you on my back, we have to leave only ten minutes prior to fireworks spectacle.” She clung tighter to him, her head was still buried in his chest as she shook it in denial. “I don’t want to go to the village. I want us to be alone.” The Aburame head reflected spare minutes on the matter, she felt his long fingers drumming softly on the top of her head. “I know a place… I used to go there when I was younger, when… when life became too chaotic and I needed escape. It was my refuge, somehow… it’s a bit distant from here though. If you want to assist in time to the show, we have to leave now.” She nodded. “I don’t think I can walk for much long though…” “You won’t need to do it” he assured, “I’ll carry you. It will be easier this way and it will cost us less time.”

Yoshino was smiling under the smaller hood she was wearing (a Shibi’s command for her before going outside, he gave her one of Shino’s old jacket he used when he was younger. It was impressive just how perfectly it fit her): she hadn’t felt the sensation of wind cutting her cheeks in a while. There had been times during her married life when Shikaku used to carry her on his back, mostly when she asked him to do so, but it had been so long since she had last heard the growling sound in her ears. Air was brisk and it had that distinguished scent of snow the Nara mistress had learnt to tell apart and love so very dearly. She knew her lover didn’t like sharp temperatures, either cold or hot might they have been, so she hoped he wasn’t suffering in that moment. She still couldn’t believe he was about to reveil such an important piece of his past to her and it was tingling to her, mostly in her heart zone. She could tell he cared very much for the place he would show her, being it linked to his childhood and teenage, the period of his life he was most secretive about: that made it even more special to her. “Did you think of a resolution for the next year?” she asked him, speaking closely to his ear to surpass the raging sound of the wind. “Well, it’s not so different from the one I make every year” he stated tersely, his eyes were fixed on a point at the horizon she couldn’t see yet. “Prosperity for my family, health for my loved ones, good luck for my clan, happiness for my son…” “And for you?” she asked, somewhat teasingly without even fully realizing it. “There isn’t anything you wish for yourself? Even a small thing counts.” That cracked a dry chuckle out of his coral lips. “The only small thing I wish for myself is the one that is clinging tight onto me right now. Is that what you wanted me to say?” She giggled back at him, resting her head on his shoulder. “Yeah. That is exactly what I wanted to hear.” She wasn’t lying, of course. It always made her proud and confident when people she loved made it explicit they felt the same for her: it didn’t matter she had literally stolen the words out of his mouth, she knew he meant them. He might not have been the most romantic of the men when speaking matters came to play, but he knew how to show his affection quite well. Shibi stopped all of a sudden, adjusting her weight on his back to get a better grip on her body. “Now, I need to close your eyes. No but’s and no questions, have I been clear enough?” She pouted. “Fine. But I’ll punch you as soon as you’ll let me go.” With her eyes shut, she could feel the frozen bites of the wind even better as they sunk their invisible teeth in her uncovered skin and pulled, leaving blood blossom under the thin surface covering her cheeks and her tiny nose. Reverberation of his breath in his lungs was a sweet melody she could listen to to the end of her days: a cavernous lullaby of lightly accelerated inhaling and exhaling. She questioned if there was anything she wouldn’t grow to love about him eventually. Not  so probable. Without any warning, his strides stopped. Or rather, they were replaced by many minute, vertical, roebuck-like jumps. When she realized they were ascending higher in altitude, she couldn’t stop the shriek springing from the depth of her throat: she hated heights and he knew it. That was probably why he had requested her to close her eyes. “Trust me!” he tried to calm her with hyperbole, he had to stop in his tracks before they both would fall off, “I will not drop you, Yoshino.” She tried to catch back on her breath, still too nervous to actually speak a word, may it be to praise him or to attack him for his lack of common sense. Bringing an acrophobiac person up something so tall was a thing only the bravest could dare, or the craziest. She was not sure which category Shibi would be the most adapt to fall into. Few minutes later, a shaky Yoshino was sliding very slowly off her paramour’s back. Although she could feel a rock solid flooring with the tip of her shoes, she wasn’t so sure she wanted to leave his back. With a deep sigh, she was convinced to set her feet down. “Admire” he said to her, still with her eyes shut. There was a feeling she had rarely heard in him now vibrating in his voice as he spoke. “I do not think you have ever experienced a sight so extraordinaire.” As soon as she freed her vision from the black chains her eyelids meant, she was left breathless and stunned. From the higher position they were at the village enrolled under them, the brick red colour of Hokage’s Tower, the colorful buildings they had brought back to life after Pain’s attack, the silver stip of the river illuminated by the moonlight, the different shades of green that marked the separate parts of the forest -east for the Nara, north for the Akimichi, west for the Inuzuka and south for the Aburame. They were distant enough to be completely plunged into a perfect silence: there were no birds, no wild beasts disturbing their personal quietness, only two breaths synchronized to the same rythm. She couldn’t bring herself to believe he would share something so gorgeous and magic with her, but at same time she was bursting with happiness. Now, it was a secret they were both burdened to protect and he would not let him down. “Look at the sky” he slouched a little to point from behind her shoulder at a portion of the ink-black sheet resting upon their heads, filled with luminous stars. She was about to ask what could be so beautiful about the sky when they were literally towering on the village, until she was it: a golden flower blooming in a dark meadow. Firework show had started. Maybe it was the place that turned every thing into one amazing charm, but she felt like those were the most beautiful fireworks she had ever seen in her life. She didn’t remember they glowed with such brilliant colours or that their forms were so splendidly-shaped, she didn’t remember those games of gun powder could make a mess out of her emotions. She could sense him standing proudly right behind her, one large hand of his leaning on her shoulder as he enjoyed the show as well, were his lips curved into a smile? She was not bold enough to turn around and find it out. “What is this place?” she asked instead, tilting her whole body back to feel him against her clother and consequently against her skin. “I don’t know precisely” he answered, one hand went to massage her arm up and down, “according to spare research I made, this is supposed to be ancient Aburame above-ground outpost, dated back before Konoha’s foundation. My ancestors used this tower to spot their enemies before they could reach the clan.” “And now we use it to hide from gossips” Yoshino said with a huff, turning to face him. She loved the way those flamboyant lights mixed with his dark complexion, making him shine with new colors every few seconds. “I would rather say we use it to enjoy such a perfect moment on our own, without bothering with being so secretive and shying away from undesired eyes” he retorted, and yes, he was smiling. A fleeting one that was gone a moment after, but still it managed to make her heart pound faster. “You know I do not care for gossips. The only reason why I reserve my attention to when we are alone is because this would affect your public image.” She was too focused on admiring him to pursue that pointless squabble. “Thank you for being so attentive, then.” They both faced away from each other to look at the fireworks still going on. A triumph of red, white, green and gold spreading light across the sky, and the only thing she had on her mind was his  handsome visage and the smirk he had worn for few instants. “I’ve told you what is my resolution for the incoming year” he won over her attention with a simple statement, she turned to hear what he wanted to tell her, “but you haven’t told me yours.” Yoshino blinked. Well, that was true. She had asked him for information, but hadn’t given any in exchange: that had probably made him rack his brain long enough if he was spitting it out now. She almost wanted to tease him on the matter, but decided that was not the case it would apply. “Well, it’s not so different from the one I make every year” she said with a smile, curling his goatee around her index finger. “Prosperity for my family, health for my loved ones, good luck for my clan, happiness for my son…” “It is fun only when I say it” he replied with a sharp tone. “But tell me… don’t you have anything you wish for yourself? Even a small thing counts.” She thought he was not playing fair, because he wasn’t looking in her eyes when he had to say she was the thing he wished for himself, but she knew that was not the real reason. She could have told it to her by staring straight into her hazel pools, it was her who had no guts when it came to verbally express feelings. Instead, she had more of a knack for action. She grabbed onto his bearded cheeks, pulling him down sweetly to kiss him. His hands rested on her hips, but that remained a chaste kiss given skin against skin. “Not so small, but this is what I wish for my new year. You are my good intention.” As he was allowed to get back at his normal height, he eyed her toughtfully, his hands still laying on her sides. “I was unaware you were capable of having good intentions” he said, tiling his head slightly to a side. “Perhaps, I just need more proof.” Yoshino looked at him for a solid minute, before deciding upon what to do. This time she didn’t gently pull, she dragged him down with her arms encircling his neck, the kiss she gave him was intense and burning with passion. He seemed to get a bit overwhelmed at first, but he was swift to adapt as he lifted her so that she could wrap her legs around him as well and finally be at the same height. Her dainty hands roamed on his chest, then up into his wild hair, their tongues dancing into each other’s mouths until she ran out of breath. She was still convalescent after all, and indeed she rested her forehead against his. “Was it enough of a proof?” she asked, wheezing, holding tighter around his neck not to fall off. “I consider myself satisfied” he smugly stated. He stole a feather-light kiss, before looking back at the sky. Fireworks were over. “We shall head back home, shall we not?” he whispered to Yoshino, who was already finding the comfiest position to nap on her lover’s body. “You are going to catch a cold, it’s freezing here.” “Shibi, you know I love you, don’t you?” She could feel the shock crossing his limbs as he was left frozen still by her sudden declaration. That was the first time she openly admitted her love to him and that was of course something that anyone else would take as a big deal, but not her: it wasn’t a big deal. Working up the nerve to state something which was already pretty obvious only made her feel even more stupid than how she already felt on a daily basis; and he was aware. “Of course I do” he replied, fixing her better in his arms as he prepared to challenge the tower in their way down, “you do not jump into the nothingness with anyone around, do you?” That made her giggle. “No, I don’t. Fortunately enough.”

[nightmareonfilmstreet]

Mother Knows Best: The 13 Worst Mothers of Horror

The horror genre has explored a variety of themes, and often times the complexities, mothers face from conception through death. It’s an analytically heavy topic that can provoke the most fundamental of thoughts, draw out the most genius symbolism, and shape our beloved characters down to even the most minute detail.

Mothers’ Day is the one day out of the year we use as a time to celebrate the most wonderful of idols we have been given. If not for the nurturing care, strong, fertile bodies, and ongoing evolution of women all over the world humankind would cease to exist. The colorful flowers, corny cards, and midday brunches are our attempts at offering a ‘Thank You’ to the ones who raised us, biologically or not, as we’ll do this Sunday, the 13th.

With that, what the horror genre has done so obviously well is show audiences that motherhood might not be as rewarding as it’s cracked up to be. Sometimes motherhood is scary. Sometimes motherhood is not about laser-cut flower petals, warm hugs, and relaxing pedicures. Sometimes motherhood is a bitch. Horror shows us that the most horrifying realization we can come to terms with is that the ones who bring us into this world can easily take us out of it.

Below are the 13 Worst Mothers of Horror. Directly or not, these women prove that parenthood can be a real mother-you-know-what and they’re not here to deal with it.

  Margaret White in Carrie (1976)

    Our titular character, Carrie White, is a shy, quiet, high school oddball who is constantly the victim of her classmates’ taunts and pranks in the novel Carrie written by Stephen King and the film adaptation directed by Brian De Palma. Instead of finding solace when she returns home from school each day she is faced with the Christian-saturated hellfire at the hands of her crazed mother, Margaret White. A mother, especially a godly mother, should use moral and powerful guidance to build Carrie up, but instead she wields that iron fist – clutching a kitchen knife – and spirituality as a device to literally drive her only daughter straight into the ground. Whether she is locking Carrie in a prayer closet for hours or purposely keeping the truths about a normal menstrual cycle from her, Margaret White is the epitome of a hypocritical, overly religious, and everything but Christian mother. Always watch out for the extreme ‘bible thumpers’. I know what I’m talking about, I live in the south.

    Mommy in The People Under the Stairs (1991)

    One of my earliest memories of horror film imagery is straight out of Wes Craven’s campy The People Under the Stairs and it’s one of those snapshots that will never leave my mind. Alice is a young girl kept as a prisoner in her home by her hedonistic parents promptly named Daddy and Mommy. After Mommy, played by fan favorite character actress Wendy Robie, murders an intruder, Alice, clean and nicely dressed, slips and falls in an enormous puddle of his blood at the bottom of the stairs. It’s just one of those scenes that fueled my love for the genre. The contrast of the gore and the beautiful home surroundings is absolutely perfect. Mommy is equally unforgettable as both a character and a portrayal of some real parental evil that exists in the world. Alice, along with many other ‘children’, are isolated from the outside world, physically (and suggestively sexually) abused, and either neglected to the point of death or smothered, well, to the point of death. If Mommy isn’t scary enough for you, check out the documentary The Turpin 13: Family Secrets Exposed for a real, all too recent example of how a mother, and father, like this can torture their children for well over a decade without anyone knowing. The scariest part: this film was released in 1991, the Turpin children were found just this year.

    Rachel Keller in The Ring (2002)

    You know those silly ‘Keep Out of Reach of Children’ disclaimers you see on common, but obviously dangerous, household items? Someone, somewhere was stupid enough to leave a bottle of bleach out on the floor in easy access for their toddler to take that one fatal sip. Rachel Keller of Gore Verbiniski’s The Ring is that mom. After the incredibly strange death of her niece, Rachel comes into possession of a videotape haunted by the spirit of a little girl, Samara, that murders the viewer seven days after watching it. Rachel, of course, watches it and receives the foreboding call from Samara giving her the countdown. Does she destroy the tape or even make an attempt at it? No. Does she hide the tape from her young, curious son, Aiden? No. Does she at least rid the house of all VHS players and leave him to endure cable over dying a horrible death? No. What she does is casually leave the tape out allowing the precocious boy to view it alone dooming him to the same terrifying fate of all of Samara’s victims. Rachel attempts to put all the pieces together to rid her and her son of this curse, but do you think she would ask Aiden, who obviously has a sixth sense when it comes to Samara, a single question as to the girl’s vengeful motive? You guessed it. Nope. Way to go, Rachel.

  Mother in Mother’s Day (1980)

    Acts of murder, rape, and physical abuse should not be impressive to anyone, least of all your mother unless you are Ike or Addley of the cult classic, occasion-appropriate titled Mother’s Day. Mother played by Beatrice Pons, pretty much changes the entire trajectory of motherhood in this extremely campy 1980 film. She encourages her two sons to commit heinous acts against others with the same gusto and enthusiasm as a mom cheering her son on during a little league baseball game. Ike and Addley are basically human trash she has raised into adulthood and the worst part is that she is proud of her unique parenting skills and her sons. The more brutal their acts are, the higher the praise she gives them. Mother certainly has her own twisted spin on the whole positive reinforcement technique. There is absolutely nothing redeeming about this mother nor her revolting offspring. Although, I can’t help but wonder what B.F. Skinner’s thoughts would be on this type of parenting. Operant Conditioning at its best, right?

    Nola Carveth in The Brood (1979)

    One of the bitter pills we must digest as we age is that in ways obvious and subtle, we slowly become our parents. There is always a certain vicious circle that evolves when it comes to our parents, ourselves as parents, our children, them as parents, and so on that is natural and basically unstoppable. In David Cronenberg‘s body horror The Brood, Nola Carveth, played by Samantha Egger, learns just how truly vicious that circle can be. Nola is the product of an abusive mother herself and is being accused of abusing her own daughter, Candice, by her ex-husband causing her to seek therapy. The psychoplasmic methods (and possibly the unexplained discolored bumps she has growing on her arms) produce a handful of strange, dwarfish, creatures that extract revenge out on others based on Nola’s anger and psychic connection the litter has with her. Of all the mothers on the list, Nola isn’t exactly the worst as her story is really a metaphor for hereditary productivity, but we can’t let that be an excuse here. The creatures do attack Candice in the third act proving Nola has some resentment and animosity toward her daughter, proving her inner mentality as a mother is not exactly kosher. The inevitable circle spins on as we see Candice escape the attack fairly unscathed… except for some unusual discolored bumps on her arms.

    Erica Sayers in Black Swan (2010)

    If Dance Moms has taught us anything it’s that stage parents are the absolute worst. Living vicariously through your children is both selfish and utterly creepy. However, the subject of a stage parent is intriguing by an analytical standpoint and simultaneously horrifying to observe. Take Erica Sayers played by Barbara Hershey in Darren Aronofsky’s ballet horror Black Swan as an example. She is the mother to dedicated ballerina Nina, played fantastically by Natalie Portman, and she is about as manipulative and controlling as they come – if you can catch it. Mothers like Erica are masters at using words and seemingly kind gestures to guilt their children into loving them when they really should be running away from them. So much is suggested and hinted at in dialogue and setting to suggest Erica’s control over Nina and her domineering push forcing her to be obsessed with perfection, that if not payed attention to one might think Erica is caring and protective of Nina. The reality couldn’t be further from the truth. I mean, the way she rewards Nina with a cake knowing very well the girl won’t eat it and that she would shame her for it later if she did, then makes her feel guilty for not eating it, is enough to give anyone a bout of bulimia. Mothers like Erica appear perfect and act perfect, but that’s all it is: an act.

    Joan Crawford in Mommie Dearest (1981)

    Speaking of horrible mothers in the entertainment industry…

One of my favorite notions to use is that real life is scarier than any film out there. Nothing could support that more than Joan Crawford and the exploitation of the abuse she inflicted on her two adoptive children throughout their whole lives. While Mommie Dearest is not exactly a horror film, the emotional and physical torment her children suffered under her is sadly the standard by which we measure bad mothers against. Faye Dunaway played the role so well she is almost synonymous with the notorious actress, minus the child abuse, and her image still comes to most of our minds when we think about terrible mothers. The woman was basically the queen of outrageous punishment for minor indiscretions that children tend to make. The accounts from those around her, including the hired help, co-workers, lovers, and her children, Christina and Christopher, are pure parental nightmare fuel. It’s hard to believe this is not a made-up genre story, but it did happen unfortunately, exaggerated or not. I still cringe at the thought of her cutting off Christina’s hair as a distrubing penance for a simple mistake. That wasn’t even the worst of it. Hair grows back. The mental psyche takes a bit longer to heal.  No wire hangers, kids.

    Marge Thompson in A Nightmare on Elm Street (1984)

    The mother of one of horror’s favorite final girls, Nancy Thompson, can be considered both a good mom and a bad mom depending on which one of her actions you’re observing. Marge, played by Ronee Blakely in Wes Craven’s A Nightmare on Elm Street, is part of the original cul-de-sac lynch mob of Elm Street that burn Fred Krueger alive after learning he is behind the series of child murders in town. While we understand the parents’ revenge on Krueger and would gladly light the wick on the molotov cocktail thrown into his warehouse, the nightmarish ongoing result of Krueger returning to murder the kids of Elm Street in their dreams for a number of films is more than likely not what the parents expected the outcome to be. Marge goes on to be a full blown alcoholic and mostly absent minded mother to Nancy. She continuously takes the easy way out by either ignoring the fact that this monster is hunting her daughter and her friends or she drinks reality away being of no help nor support. Our final girl has to maintain her gumption and find her own courage and strength from within to escape the razor-bladed grasp of Krueger all on her own while Marge remains in a pathetic liquor infused stupor. It’s almost a relief when she is pulled through that tiny front door window at the end of the film. Thanks for nothing, Marge! Saddle up for the long haul or leave it to the judicial system.

  Beverly Sutphin in Serial Mom (1994)

    Being a perfect homemaker in the suburbs can be absolute murder and that is exactly what Beverly Sutphin, played by Kathleen Turner, is driven to when those around her get in her way in the dark comedy Serial Mom. Though her bloodlust is born from good intentions (an instructor makes a rude comment about her son), Beverly goes on a spree murdering anyone one she deems as a threat or just a nuisance to her or her family. For the most part, I get it. I actually debated on including her in this list at all. Ultimately, I decided that while annoying, none of Beverly’s victims really deserved to die and her own family remarks, in the humorous way the film is crafted in, to remind themselves not to piss her off for fear of her going on a murderous rampage again. What good is a mother if everyone around her is afraid she’ll put an axe in their head? Beverly best take a chill pill, wash it down with a tumbler full of white wine, and come to terms with the fact that most of us have to deal with on a daily basis: you can’t go around murdering everyone that annoys you whenever you feel like it. That’s what Purge night is for.

    Norma Bates in Psycho (1960)

    Most times no matter how irritating or intrusive our mothers can be, deep down inside we love having them around us. Always. However, should you want your mother to stay with you as long as Norman Bates does you may want to seek some help. The famous slasher’s mother, Norma Bates, is a special case on this list as she never makes an actual living appearance in Alfred Hitchcock’s Psycho. Her voice and actions are all manifested from her son Norman himself who, it is suggested and pretty obvious, is severely dependent on her in all aspects of life whether she is alive or deceased. Norma’s emotional antagonism and violence towards him and the women he encounters paints us a picture of how bad the woman must have been when she was alive, though that is always up for debate. Was she as awful as the voice coming from Norman is or is it something he’s made up himself? Regardless, the psychological haunting linger of Norma is enough to drive Norman into the most serious identity crisis resulting in murder and Norma completely taking over him, mind and body. Life lesson: Stay away from the mama’s boys. Believe me when I tell you: this specific relationship portrayal isn’t too far off from what those guys are truly like.

    MU-TH-UR 6000 in Alien (1979)

    Many would think the Alien Queen would be on this list, but I can hardly count her as a bad mom. If anything, the Queen is a great mom who uses all of her genetic instincts to grow and protect her young when a handful of human incubators make themselves available to her throughout the series. Natural selection is also a bitch.

The real bad mom here is the space ship Nostromo’s mainframe system MU-TH-UR 6000, referred to as ‘Mother‘. The crew relies on MU-TH-UR for information, protection, and most importantly, survival. It is one of many analytical elements in the Alien series that relates back to the theme of motherhood. However, while the crew sleeps and operates under the trusting care of MU-TH-UR, the system is monitoring them to relay details on their activity back to Weyland-Utani and is in cahoots with the highly untrustworthy AI, Ash, on carrying out Special Order 937: collect an alien xenomorph specimen and deliver it back to earth with the crew members being completely dispensable. It’s an unfortunate lesson the crew members learn, but don’t trust technology no matter how long it lets you sleep in its womb.

    Mother in Mother! (2017)

    If there is ever a film so overtly saturated in motherly symbolism, it’s Darren Aronofsky’s Mother! Jennifer Lawrence’s mother character is pure, wholesome, and nurturing. She is all of the things a mother, including that of ‘mother nature’ and ‘woman’ should be. However, when random intrusive guests begin showing up and inviting themselves in to wreak havoc on the beautiful home mother is creating for her narcissistic poet husband Him, and their unborn baby, mother remains so passive to the point that a full on world of war explodes tearing down the establishment from the inside out. She only puts her foot down and embraces her protective instincts when it is far too late for everyone. The fate of her baby is gruesomely tragic and results in mother literally destroying herself and her surroundings only to be born again anew in the name of love for Him. Like any strong mother archetype would destroy themselves for the weak man that betrayed her and caused the death of her firstborn? I think not. This is a pretty sad portrayal of actions not taken by a mother, a wife, and a woman. mother really should have destroyed Him. However, given the subtext of who and what these characters personify, we should be grateful that mother doesn’t really hold a grudge nor seek apocalyptic vengeance… yet.

    Rosemary in Rosemary’s Baby (1968)

    Similarly to mother, Rosemary Woodhouse of Roman Polanksi’s Rosemary’s Baby, adaptation of the novel written by Ira Levin, is another character you just want to grab by the shoulders and violently shake into sense. As beautiful, sweet, and delicate as Mia Farrow is in the iconic role of Rosemary, she is painfully dependent, weak, and totally naive. She is blindly trusting of her pushy neighbors and self absorbed actor husband, Guy (eye roll) all of which have made some deal with the devil and are part of the geriatric cult that worships him. Pregnant with her first child, unknowingly the antichrist, Rosemary falls ill many times, complains about threatening symptoms in her breathy voice, and takes advice from everyone but a trustworthy doctor who isn’t connected to the cult’s inner circle. Of course she isn’t aware of her husband’s involvement and the promises made to the underworld at her expense until it’s a trimester too late, but all of the suspicions and signs are there as plain as day for her to see. Thank goodness mothers and wives, women in general, have come a long way since the 60’s.

  So, kiss your mothers this Sunday and appreciate them for the wonderful women that they are, unless they are anything like the characters in this list because, well, they are the worst. If your mothers are anything like this lot, you might want to start running…

    The post Mother Knows Best: The 13 Worst Mothers of Horror appeared first on Nightmare on Film Street - Horror Movie Podcast, News and Reviews.

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