#and it goes together so well with the way he treats Jim

[foodfightnovelization]

ROTTEN: Behind The Foodfight

Holy chips! It's an exciting time to be a Foodfight! fan, because ROTTEN: Behind The Foodfight is finally out! This really is THE definitive documentary on the insanity behind the movie, and it finally answers the question of just what was going on behind the scenes during production. Since I helped out with research (and I even get a short line of dialogue at 45:19) I've already seen everything that was shown off, but had to keep quiet until all the interviews were conducted and the documentary was finished. But now it's out and everything has been made public, the cat's out of the bag (the Fat Cat Burglar?) and I can talk about all the production material that's been shared.

Before I get into any of that though, I'd highly recommend you watch the documentary for yourself. It's insanely well researched and put together, and having worked together with Ziggy Cashmere (the documentary's creator) I know how hard he dedicated himself towards making this all possible. If it weren't for him, the most interesting Foodfight! discovery would've been finding the novelization, and we would have never gotten any real insight into how this movie came to be. It's also a documentary that really speaks for itself- I don't want to say too much about what it reveals since it's all expressed far better through its narrative and the interviews with people who actually worked on the project. My favorite is the interview with texture artist Mona Weiss- she tells such horrifying stories about how she was treated by Larry and other crewmembers, yet does it all with a sense of humor that makes it clear she's enjoying getting to talk about her crazy experiences. It's clear Foodfight! was an unmitigated disaster from start to finish, and there's nobody to blame for that but Larry Kasanoff himself. The movie was rotten from the top down and despite the countless talented animators and artists working on it, nothing could fix the fact that it was fundamentally mismanaged in the worst way possible. I think the quote from producer George Johnsen summarizes it best: "Foodfight! was a good idea that unfortunately lost its way during production. The technology, the art, and the direction were not in sync. Many very talented people gave their all to make the picture, but more understanding of process from the top was needed for it to succeed."

But if you saw the documentary, you already know all that, right? So instead, let's talk about the behind-the-scenes material that's finally been shared! You can find everything I'll talking about HERE on archive.org-

It's worth following the link and checking it out for yourself- there's so much it'd impossible to discuss everything. Artwork, storyboards, bloopers, models, a nude render of Lady X, an interview with Larry Kasanoff, the list goes on and it's still being updated! Despite the documentary already being out, people who worked on the movie are continuing to share new material! It's pretty incredible- for the past year I've ran this blog all I've really had to discuss are two tie-in books, and now there's so much Foodfight! material I can't even keep up with it.

I mean LOOK at all this, isn't it fantastic? The character art by Jim George showing off just how much better these designs originally were, the countless environments showing off just how stunning Marketropolis could've looked as well as the strength of the core idea "what if a supermarket came to life at night", and insanely detailed storyboards for a 7-minute pitch reel that was used to sell the movie to investors. Normally, I'd be ALL OVER this because it's all just incredible, but there's something far, FAR more fascinating than any of it.

There are even multiple drafts of the script (one from 2005 and one from 2007 respectively) and normally I'd be insanely fascinated by those too, making extremely detailed posts explaining the differences between the drafts and how they compare to the novelization, but there's something else that was found that blows ALL of this out of the water and is easily one of the most monumental lost media discoveries of ALL TIME.

That's right, a rough cut of the ENTIRE movie from 2005 has been found, containing nearly ALL the completed animation from earlier on in production. I mean, that's mindblowing right? We first got sent this around a month ago, a little while before the documentary came out, and I literally stopped everything I was doing at work to just sit and watch this. This is the closest we're ever going to get to the "original" version of Foodfight! after all- only 7 minutes of footage was ever actually made before they switched to mocap, made solely for the aforementioned pitch reel, and this workprint contains practically all of it! On top of that there are some great storyboards in here, as well as some truly hilarious ones cobbled together from 3D renders, and the plot is far better than what we ended up with, a lot of the more inappropriate jokes being absent. This rough cut is actually pretty similar to the novelization in that regard, and it also contains scenes that we'd previously only read about in there.

For example, in the novelization there's a snowmobile chase through the mountains, with Brand X soldiers on snowmobiles and a heavy avalanche close behind. This scene was completely left out of the movie itself, but in this workprint it's here! ALL the previously novelization-exclusive scenes are included, and this rough cut is seemingly based on an even earlier draft of the script than that- here Brand X are still defeated by a flood, whereas by the time of the novelization it'd been changed to a lightning storm. There are SO many exciting differences in this workprint, the snippets of original animation we get to see are SO good, and it's SO much better than the movie itself that I think it by far deserves the crown as the DEFINITIVE version of Foodfight! There's so much in it I want to discuss, that there's no way I can fit it all into this one post...so stay tuned, because in the next few days I'll be doing a FULL analysis of the 2005 workprint, pointing out all the extra brand mascots not in the finished film, and generally just gushing about how amazing it is.

I mean, this is it. Just take it all in for a second- the original footage was considered lost media for over a decade, and now it's practically been found in its entirety, embedded in an early cut of the whole movie...isn't that just phenomenal? All the mysteries have been unraveled, all the questions have been answered, and now we can relax, take a deep breath, and watch Foodfight!...the REAL Foodfight! Make sure to enjoy it, and join me next time for my analysis!

[gffa]

ABSOLUTELY EATING THIS UP because I don't think this is just grimdark Batman for the sake of grimdark Batman, there's a thread throughout this issue of Dick teetering on a tightrope of being a child and being a mirror of Bruce's anger and rage. Earlier in the issue, Bruce is refusing to let Dick out onto the street yet, saying that he's not ready, while Dick eavesdrops and looks ready to punch someone in the face about it. Woven in around this, is Jim Gordon asking to set up basically a playdate for Robin with his niece Barbara so they can go trick-or-treating together and Batman legit drops him off, like a kid about to go have fun. It's not until the Batsignal goes off that Dick runs off, and he's actually fairly happy-go-lucky as he's swinging through the air and kicking people in the face. Then this moment. A dark moment where Bruce is beating Julian Day so badly that the artist makes a point of all the blood on his fists, of Dick having a moment of, "I... didn't know he was an orphan." And the WHOLE POINT of the early days of Batman and Robin is that they were both orphans and that's why Bruce connected with him so hard, because he couldn't turn away from that little orphaned boy. And I think that's the point of these scenes, that Bruce isn't ready to let Dick into these fights because he doesn't want Dick to become him and see what Bruce himself has become. Bruce thinks during that fight that it was Alfred who made him wear the Kevlar, that he only agreed if it was thin and light. Bruce thinks about how he knows that kind of gun that was used in the killing. There's a thread running through the issue that Bruce is dealing with Harvey Dent becoming Two-Face, feeling betrayed about it and wondering if he could have saved his friend if he'd told him about Batman, given him a lifeline. It fits so well with what Dick Grayson is to Bruce Wayne--he's not just another orphan, but he's the one that will refuse to be made into a mirror of Bruce, that he will refuse to not be loved, that he will refuse to let Bruce stay in the dark. One of the main points of baby Dick Grayson as a character is that he was angry in the way Bruce was angry, but that he looked at the situation and said, you know what, I'm not going to let us fall into the dark, I'm going to drag us both out of here if I have to. This series comes with the context of Dark Victory before it, where Dick is portrayed as an angry child, but there are moments of adorableness and light. And that's it--you can't have Dick's character without recognizing that there's anger in there, but also you can't have Dick's character without one of the main themes of him is that he chooses to turn back to love and joy. This scene goes as dark as it does because it's a turning point for Dick, a point where he's realizing that he has choices in front of him. Bruce is saving him by giving him training and a home and people he loves, but Dick will be saving him by refusing to stay out of the light. And what a messy, convoluted dynamic that makes between them! A tiny child shouldn't be making that kind of decision, Bruce should be the adult here, but that's just who they are, and in a comic book story, it's really a testament to how incredible a character Dick Grayson is that he had all that anger and rage in him, will always carry it with him, but has the iron will to turn away from it and to emotionally go toe to toe with Batman and win. That child is going to bright laughter and love to Bruce Wayne's life, he's going to bring back the compassion and kindness that Bruce has buried in his heart, and there's nothing Bruce can do to stop him.

[dustykneed]

for context: star trek into darkness (specifically, my take on the implications of bones doing what he had to do and the emotional fallout of those missing scenes) (not that ive seen it!! but ive read enough fic to know the gist of it LMAO) (can you believe this started as an impulse draw to see if i could use pastels to convey heavy emotions and now im writing a very very long headcanon in my notes app.)

...

Leonard goes and he plays god, and injects Jim with that godforsaken blood, and then there is nothing left to do but wait.

He sinks into the chair at his desk, and steeples his fingers together. It occurs to him that these circumstances are the sort that would drive any religious man to bow his head and clasp his hands together, like so, and pray.

--but he is a doctor, and he has never been religious, and he has a duty to do, and he has broken his oath, and there is blood on his hands and flecking his shirt.

Leonard sits very still at his desk and weeps, and he does not pray.

...

sorry to all of y'all who had to find out i was an angst goblin this way <///3 but basically the hc/rough fic is an extension of the angst potential of that one scene where jim wakes up and fixates on spock (and his lack of response towards bones is never addressed afterwards i think? not sure but it's an interesting premise imo)

brief summary: bones never gets closure from jim after he wakes up because jim and spock get together immediately after and it just slips their minds, so bones is stuck in "oh god jim's dying" mode and feels absolutely terrible, but the bridge crew helps a bit by being there for him to hang out with, but still bones does overwork while trying to work through the sense of wrongness of not being able to have his emotional needs met after the whole jim dying fiasco and feeling like his best friend has forgotten him. he admittedly makes good progress (by which i mean he's able to take really big overwhelming feelings and put them away well enough in his daily life to function relatively normally) but the crushing grief is always in the background. about a month or so after spirk gets together, spock accidentally brushes bones' arm and is absolutely slammed by a wave of unexpected exhaustion and emotional pain and is like ??????!!!????????? long story short he drags bones to jim and bones cries for the first time since jim "died" and it is immensely cathartic and then jim blurts out a confession because he has horrible timing and asks bones to join him and spock and obviously bones cries harder and spock is about to smack jim upside the head lmao (bones says its way too much to process and he needs time but hes not exactly opposed, and they all start spending more time together, and then eventually bones is like fuck it and asks for a kiss and they finally get together !!!!!!)

as a treat for reading all of my mildly insane word vomit y'all get a soft bittersweet aos mcspirk scribble<33

gotta love aos jim's majestic eyebrows and aos spock's general sort of >:[ expression!! really growin on me tbh

[albentelisa]

Hi there! So what if when Jim used the Khronosphere to turn back time to Season One, he woke up as his half-troll form instead of his human one?

Hi!

Well, I'd say that the things will be way more complicated for Jim in this kind of scenario.

Because, let's be honest, Jim will freak out if he travels back in time and is back to his half-troll form. The fact that balancing human and troll emotions were complicated to him initially, it's easy to imagine that he might lose control over his emotions again if he ends as a half-troll without any warning. He'll panic for sure, worrying that he may scare his mom and Toby, and that sunlight is deadly once again, so he needs to look for a cover. So, Jim escapes from his house without thinking much about possible consequences.

Only once he is in safety in the forest, some common sense returns and Jim starts to consider his situation. Obviously, going back to inhuman form isn't something he will be that happy about, but Jim has lived through losing some dear people (including his best friend), so he probably will think his humanity and regular life were necessary sacrifices in addition to having the memories of that failed timeline where he couldn't save everyone.

Jim will reconsider his initial plan which was leading Toby through the chalenges of being the Trollhunter as currently he cannot even be sure that Toby will pick the amulet. Jim himself also cannot go to get the amulet because of sunlight. So his only possible action right now is to enter the Trollmarket and assist whoever is the Trollhunter now in their quest. The main issue is that Jim has no horngazel to get inside. He decides to look for Blinky who should be wandering on the surface according to his memories (and Jim seriously hopes that Blinky won't treat him the same way as in Unbecoming episode). After some consideration, Jim decides to invent a fake backstory for himself and pretend to be a troll youngling from a different troll community who decided to move to the Heartstone Trollmarket.

Jim doesn't meet Blinky though. He stumbles upon Draal instead - and somehow it's for better as Draal isn't into conspiracies and is just annoyed that some dumb whelp is roaming around risking to stumble upon Bular. So the first step of the plan is finished.

Meanwhile, Toby, who comes to meet up with Jim and go to school together, realizes that Jim is out already, though he has left his bike home for some reason. Toby is both confused and slightly hurt, but he goes to school alone with a full intent to get all the answers from Jim there. Only that Jim isn't in school too. This is where Toby starts panicking for real, not to mention that Jim doesn't answer his phone as well (simply because he hasn't taken it during his escape from the house).

Toby doesn't wait until his classes are over and ride back to Jim's house, where he wakes up Barbara. Barbara tries to act like an adult initially, but her anxiety wins when she finds Jim's phone in his room. Now both Barbara and Toby believe that something is really wrong and go searching for Jim. They end at the canals at some point and Barbara finds the amulet. Both Barbara and Toby are more invested in finding Jim though, so they don't pay much mind to the talking amulet (which is most likely someone's dumb prank from their point of view). Barbara even throws it away (we all know it won't work, though).

The search leads nowhere, and Toby, seeng how much his best friend's mother exhausted, suggest that they both go home, rest a bit and then continue.

Only that there is no actual rest at home because Blinky and Aaarrrgghh (who have been secretly following them for a while) barge in with the shocking news about Barbara's new sacred obligations, giving both her and Toby the scare of their life. Barbara doesn't pass out like Jim in the initial timeline. Instead she tries to connect dots and ask if Jim's disappearance can be possibly connected to all this troll stuff. Blinky says it can be, but he refrains from mentioning that he thinks that Barbara's son may be not alive anymore (Blinky believes that Bular might be involved, so Jim's survival chances are close to none). Blinky and Aaarrrgghh leave as it is close to the dawn, but they promise to come back the next day.

At the Trollmarket Draal introduces Jim to Vendel (Jim gives them a fake troll name to prevent some questions). Vendel is slightly conflicted, because while he is sympathetic to Jim, he still needs to accomodate an underage troll and probably find a good caretaker for him. Blinky and Aaarrrgghh come back just in time to get the caretakers' position. Blinky tries to argue a bit (any other time he wouldn't mind, but currently he needs to sneak the new Trollhunter into the Trollmarket and having a youngling around might complicate the mission). Vendel doesn't wish to listen to his excuses though.

Jim realizes that Blinky has already contacted the new champion, and starts to guess who it can be (his guesses are Toby and Eli). Blinky doesn't want to take Jim to the surface, but Jim still follows. Let's say he's not happy discovering that his mom is the Trollhunter now (and that Toby is also involved). Not to mention that right now Jim has to play stranger around two people who know him the best.

Unlike Jim in the first timeline, Barbara is motivated to be the champion as she believes it will help her to get her son back. Everyone go to the Trollmarket but Bular attacks amid the way. Jim is scared that Barbara might be hurt and fights Bular barehandedly (Aaarrrgghh ends dragging him away in the end). Barbara scolds Jim for being that reckless. She is both angry and worried even though she cannot explain why.

At the Trollmarket Barbara has an encounter with Draal and Jim nearly starts another fight, which both Barbara and Blinky stop. Draal says he respect Barbara's guts but still won't acknowledge her as the new champion. Jim, however, is in the huge trouble because he's basically challenged Draal and Draal won't let it slip even if his opponent is just a child. So, Jim still ends in a deathmatch with Draal (which is difficult for him, because he remembers Draal from his initial timeline). Jim still wins and spares Draal's life. He thinks that he might be able to keep the timeline stable enough while avoiding some bad events and that it's probably for better that he has to build every single relationship from a scratch.

And there's another complication - Toby figures out that Jim is Jim. It takes him just three days because honestly, Jim just keeps slipping with all the inside jokes and calling Toby Tobes. Toby corners his best friend demanding answers. Jim confesses to Toby that he's actuall his best friend, but keeps the time travel part secret. He tells that he just woke up as a troll one day, freaked out, ran away and ended at the Trollmarket and that he has no idea why it happened. Toby insists that Jim should tell his mom too, but Jim is reluctant. Partially, it's because he still feels responsible for Strickler's death and thinks that Barbara might be able to find her happiness without her son around (especially if the aforementioned son is a troll now). Toby promises Jim not to tell anyone, but he still insists that Jim should tell Barbara everything.

As for Barbara, she never gives up on searching Jim, using both supernatural and human means. She meets Strickler who comes to visit after learning about Jim's disappearance. Strickler also thinks that Bular was involved in that disappearance and is rather upset (as he liked Jim). However, he also wants to use it as an opportunity to get the amulet from Barbara. Unfortunately for him (well, we all know that it's actually fortunately) Strickler falls in love with Barbara again. Toby finds this relationship suspicious, but Jim is supportive (he just hopes that Strickler won't pull some shit this time). As for Barbara she feels really guilty for starting the relationship while her son is still missing.

At school, Eli keeps telling everyone that Jim is missing because creeps got him. No one believes him, but Claire is more open-minded. While she doesn't believe Eli, she thinks that Jim's disappearence is odd. And she cannot get why Toby, who is supposed to be Jim's best friend is seemingly rather chill most of time (yep, Toby cannot fake worry and depression 24/7). Claire starts to try tracking Toby and discovers that he goes out with Barbara during the nights regularly. During one of her spying sessions she got attacked by goblins and Jim saves her. Now Claire knows about trolls as well and Barbara isn't happy about dragging another child into the mess.

Claire also discovers Jim's true identity rather fast as Toby slips this time. She also tells him it's wrong to decive his mother like that (as Claire has seen how much Barbara suffers). Jim starts to waver about telling but simply cannot find the right time.

The events of the second timeline seemed to be similar to the first one (minus grit-shaka though as Barbara has no need for a courage boost). The team discover the hideout in the museum and Barbara kills Gladis. Jim thinks that nothing should be changed there, but when it comes to NotEnrique, he is torn. NotEnrique was a member of team in the first timeline and a second brother to Claire, but Jim hates the idea of Claire suffering from losing Enrique.

In the end Jim decides not to risk Enrique's life and find some other way to recruit NotEnrique. However, he has no idea how to prevent Enrique's kidnapping, so he decides to tell Claire that he has read somewhere that goblins kidnap babies. He hopes that Claire will be more vigilant and goblins won't risk, but they still snatch Enrique when Claire gets a minute break. It's even a more devastating for Claire as she blames herself for losing her brother (and she ends even more hostile towards NotEnrique).

And it's only the beginning of disaster as Barbara learns that Strickler is a changeling after checking him with a gaggletack just in case. The reveal hurts her a lot as she already has genuine feelings for Walter.

Jim decides to bargain with Strickler (and Nomura to some extent), as he know that those two switched sides in the different timeline. What he hasn't predicted is that Strickler doesn't know that Jim is Jim, isn't interested in bargaining with a random troll and that capturing him and using as a hostage seems to be more profitable.

Strickler informs Barbara about his hostage and makes a deal to exchange Jim's life with the amulet. While Barbara still has no idea that it's her son, she still cares about Jim as he was always by her side, comforting and supporting her in time of need. She also understands that he's just a kid and she hates herself for allowing him to suffer.

Barbara comes to the agreed spot but much like in Jim's timeline there's back-up coming in the decisive moment. Jim exposes himself during the battle (yelling 'Mom!' when he sees Barbara in danger). Bular still perishes, and Nomura is trapped in the Darklands, but Strickler doesn't manage to run away as Jim captures him.

There's a lot of baggage to unpack after the battle as Barbara has a really serious talk with Jim and asks him if he doesn't trust her at all. Jim promises her not to keep any secrets from her (which is a half-lie as he still intends to carry the burden of the other timeline knowledge alone).

As for Strickler, it's complicated. He has a captive status, but Jim insists on pardoning him, much to everyone surprise. As Jim cannot reveal his true reasoning, he says that Strickler could hurt Barbara countless times, but didn't do that. Everyone else still aren't convinced, so Jim propose he will observe Strickler's actions.

Strickler himself isn't sure why Jim is so deadset on excusing him even if he now knows that it's his favorite student. Walter decides to investigate a bit as well, but he realizes that now he's basically free from Gunmar's orders. Strickler wonders if he can convince other changelings to change sides. He tells his plan to Jim and Jim is willing to give it a try. Those two don't inform anyone else for now.

However, neither Jim, nor Strickler has anticipated that the Janus Order has freed Angor Rot. And unlike Strickler, who pursued his agenda in the different timeline, Otto is too scared to betray Gunmar. He frees Angor to punish Strickler, kill Barbara and her allies and get both the amulet and Killahead bridge.

Otto agrees to meet up with Strickler only to put him under Angor's curse. And it's not like the binding spell in the original timeline - Otto goes for the deadly one, meaning that Strickler is dying slowly now. Angor, however, has the way to lift his curse - and he bargains with Jim, asking for Inferna Copula in exchange for Strickler's life.

Meanwhile, Barbara learns about the Triumbric stones which she plans to recover to be able to travel to the Darklands and save Enrique. However, she doesn't plan to take any children with her (though she considers taking Draal or even Strickler), be it Jim or Claire and Toby, even though she doesn't tell them about that part.

Jim and Strickler come back from their failed negotiations and tell the team about the current predicament. Barbara is upset because those two acted behind her back, but she agrees to find the way to seize Inferna Copula. Jim begs his mom to let him deal with that one as he's sturdy enough and can fight someone like Otto, but Barbara forbids him (she still has nightmares about the possibility of losing her son for real).

Angor decides to help a bit, accidentally 'losing' the shadow staff when the team was recovering Kill Stone. He gets away with Kill Stone though, using it as another bargain chip (because he isn't sure that Strickler's life is that precious).

Claire gets the staff and Toby goes with Warhammer once again. Jim convinces both of them to team up and go to get Inferna Copula (he is more confident that they pull it because Otto's life isn't bond to anyone else's). Besides, Jim is sure that with Inferna Copula they will get both Angor's cooperation and Kill Stone (which should be the last one as the team already has Birth Stone and The Eye of Gunmar is in Strickler's possession). They succeed, however they didn't manage to slay Otto who escapes. Still, Angor is finally free and he keeps his promise.

[twinkboimler]

idk if you're still doing them but for that minific thing, 15 + la'an/jim ily honey <3

of course my love anything for you! got a little lengthy so I stuck it under a read-more

15. things you said with too many miles between us Post S2E3

She calls him again. She can't help it. It's a bad idea—a really bad idea—and she wonders if she's doing it just because she hates herself.

She manages to hold off on calling him until Sam does something stupid enough to warrant a call. Still, even with her reason in place, she realizes how ridiculous she must look as James finally answers, his brows knitting together as his eyes squint in recognition.

She tenses, sure that he's about to ask her why she won't leave him alone.

Instead, James's eyes soften. He laughs. "Alright, what information is missing from Sam's file this time?"

"Nothing," La'an answers, relaxing a little. "I'm calling because Sam—"

"Oh God, is he alright?"

Genuine worry hardens his gaze and La'an winces. "He's fine. Sorry. Didn't mean to scare you. I just..."

She trails off, realizing that James is studying her. She wets her lips, shaking her head. "Well, now I realize it's—it's silly that I've called you. He just did something kind of dumb today, and—"

James throws his head back, a bark of a laugh so sudden that it jolts La'an. "Sam doing something stupid is absolutely a good reason to call," James says, leaning closer to the screen. "Tell me more."

"He's going to kill me," she starts, and James grins, wide and toothy, and suddenly...

Suddenly it's him again. It's like that day with the hot dogs, when he was just trying to make her laugh. She swallows thickly and tries to match the radiance of his smile.

"He split his pants in front of the entire bridge crew."

James gasps. "He didn't!"

"He did!" La'an answers, a thrill rushing through her at how James is gawking at her now. "He dropped his PADD on the ground right in front of Captain Pike. Bent over to pick it up and BAM! The Captain got a front row seat."

James raises a hand to cover his mouth, but his eyes sparkle with amusement, and she knows he's struggling to hide his mirth.

"Oh my god. What did his face look like after? Did it go red? It goes red when he's embarrassed, even his neck gets flushed."

"Red as a beet," La'an replies, unable to keep herself from chuckling.

On his end, she faintly hears, "Kirk to bridge," and James gives her a sorry look.

"Shoot. I really have to get going."

"It's fine," La'an answers. She smiles. "You got the good part of the story, anyway."

He laughs, then straightens, sobering up. "Ma'am, I owe you one for the dirt you've given me on my brother. I can't make any promises, but if our paths ever cross..."

She has no way of knowing if they will ever actually see one another. They are galaxies apart, and time and past separates her from the James that she really longs for, but despite everything, she can't help but hope.

"How about you treat me dinner sometime. You eat hot dogs, Mister Kirk?"

James gives her that toothy grin, and La'an thinks she could spend a lifetime chasing after the man behind that smile.

"It's like you just read my mind."

[randomingoftherandomness]

Fic: love, kisses and such; Hua gongzi x Gong Zishang x Jin Fan

—

Zishang gets her Jin Fan and honestly, it’s a happily ever after. Everyone rides off into the sunset and it’s all rainbows and butterflies. The end.

Honestly, Xiao Hei loves that for her. She deserves nothing short of the best that this world can give her and Jin Fan is… Jin Fan is the best person to give her the moon if she asked for it, to treat her well, to love her in the way she needs.

And if he aches to be one person, well. That’s a truth he admits only when it’s just him in the dead of night.

So, he takes himself and his scars, and smiles as their love story unfolds right in front of his eyes. He plays confidante to Zishang when she drags him along to all of her half-baked schemes (mostly involving wheedling her Yuanzhi didi) and her elaborate plans (that somehow also involves Yuanzhi didi and that unnameable thing he has with Gong Shangjue. Xiao Hei tries not think about it too much).

Funnily enough, Jin Fan in his own way starts seeking him out too. Xiao Hei suspects Zishang’s hand in this but the woman seems to be conspicuously missing or otherwise occupied whenever Jin Fan comes over to hang out with him.

In truth, he really doesn’t mind. A discussion about swords over tea and snacks that Jin Fan brings along with him, a stroll around the back hill with Jin Fan close to his side while he hobbles along with his walking stick, time spent with Jin Fan slowly grows to become his most favourite ways to mark the passage of time while he heals.

The Jade Guardian never presumes he needs assistance. For that alone, Xiao Hei is grateful.

So, it’s a little confusing and equal parts terrifying, but also very much joyous and exciting when Zishang comes barging into his room with an exasperated Jin Fan in tow, declaring that she has about had enough of beating the bush. He doesn’t even have the frame of mind to process why, of all things, Jin Fan doesn’t stop her when she grabs him by the shoulders and hauls him close enough to clumsily slide their mouths together in a kiss.

“What—“

“You like me, correct?” Zishang interrupts before he can squeeze another syllable out.

“Yes…”

Turning to Jin Fan, she cocks her head. “And you like me too, right?”

“I’d say we’re a little past that, but for the intents and purposes of this,” Jin Fan levels Xiao Hei with a deep fondness that makes his belly swoop. “Yes.”

The answer seems to satisfy Zishang.

“And I like you, understand?” Zishang’s voice quivers when she speaks to Xiao Hei again. “I like you a lot and some days I’m so scared of how much space I have in my heart for both of you.”

Jim Fan takes pity on him and closes the distance between them to reach for Xiao Hei’s free hand. “What Zishang is trying to say is that she really likes you and me, and is hoping that your feelings for her haven’t changed.”

Xiao Hei chortles. The sound wet and wheezing. Somewhere caught between a heart deflating and inflating with too much warmth. This can’t be happening. What would they even want with a broken body like his?

Jin Fan and Zishang are immediately alarmed.

With tender movements, Zishang leans in to hold him and starts rubbing his back in soothing, gentle motions. Jin Fan doesn’t leave, no, he goes to fix him a cup of tea.

Xiao Hei feels like he stepped on something beautiful. The guilt in his chest is immense, prickling the corners of his eyes.

“You’re alright with this, are you?” He mumbles, looking at him with no small amount of sorrow, only for the man to smirk. As if he has some profound insight into a universal truth that Xiao Hei is missing.

“We are not written for one instrument alone,” Jin Fan says serenely. He lifts the tea cup, urging Xiao Hei to drink. “I am not, neither are you.”

“That’s—“

Zishang cups his cheek, turning his face to hers. “Can you at least let us try?” Her eyes bright and determined.

Xiao Hei can only duck his head, sniffling. “I feel like I’ve ruined something.”

“You’ve ruined nothing we hadn’t wanted you to,” Jin Fan says, voice closer now. Xiao Hei shivers.

He thinks he tastes paradise on Zishang’s lips when she kisses him again the second he says, yes.

[free-for-all-fics]

Part 6/7 💜📸📝

“Hello, Mrs. Skeffington. I’m Dr. David Jaquith. I’m not sure if you remember me, your husband was the one who sought out my services, so we only met briefly in person once, but I was your daughter’s doctor when she was a girl. I got to know her very well while she was at Cascade.”

That Jaquith should come to her help in the difficult was the last thing she had expected. True, Fanny had written him, but there was a part of her that believed he wouldn’t or couldn’t come on such short notice.

“Of course I remember you, Doctor. Come in, come in. Do you still keep in contact with my daughter?”

“The occasional letter here and there. Other than that, Christmas cards and such.”

“Oh…and uh, did she…did she ever mention me in any of those letters and cards?”

Such a simple yes or no question on the surface. But, to Dr. Jaquith, its utterance brought with it memories of one of the more recent and lengthier letters you wrote to him, and the equally lengthy letter he wrote and sent you in response. There was so much you wanted to say, you could never hope to fit it all onto sheets of paper, no matter how many you filled with your writing. The doctor himself faced the same problem, and he wondered if maybe a phone call would’ve been better suited. But there again came the problem of time and always seeming to be short on it, on both your end and his.

November 1939

Dear Dr. Jaquith,

Spring, summer, now autumn again. I won’t say time flies, but it doesn’t crawl as it used to. I’ve been enjoying my time abroad. There’s a man here who’s been nice to me, a man I’ve known and traveled with for almost four years now. A man I can confidently call my best friend. In fact, he’s proposed to me. “Let us settle down,” he said, “For you own a part of my soul as I own a part of yours. That was settled the moment we met, the transfer happening by the hand of fate. I love you. I can live without you, yet every day there would be that pain of a piece missing, the piece I gave to you. It is a loss of part of the self, yet the greatest victory there can be. We won this spiritual lottery. We are free and bound. That is the way real love is. The bond forms and then we learn how to treat one another well, to bring happiness and health, to nurture and be strong in all weathers, protective and kind.” After hearing a proposal so moving, there are no arguments I can think of why I shouldn’t marry him. His name is Jim Masters. He may not have much in way of name, status, or wealth, but he is a fine man. He had a previous wife and has four grown daughters that he’s estranged from. It’s a long and complicated story, but I ask you to trust my judgment of his character. I know what I’m doing. By the time I receive your letter, I will no longer be Miss Skeffington. I will officially and legally be Mrs. Masters. Jim will be my husband, and I will be his wife. We’ve moved. More than once. For work stuff, for money stuff...you know how it goes. Don’t worry, we are still living together and everything is going well! I have a lot of friends here with me. They’re all real nice, and they’re always willing and trying to help.

I don’t know why I tell you this except I tell you almost everything. That’s why I feel I can confide in you about what’s been troubling me as of late. It’s about my family. More specifically, my mother. I wasn’t ready or willing to talk about it before, but I am now. It’s a long story, but with all stories, it’s probably best to start from where we last left off: When I left Cascade and went to Europe at the age of eleven, going on twelve…Mom and Dad…they did it for years…day…after day…after day. All lies… I have nothing against lies. I grew up around lies. Jim is a professional journalist now, more specifically, a travel writer. Making up lies to fit the facts… It’s what he does. It’s what all journalists do, to varying degrees. But now it’s time for the truth to come out, finally… And to do that, I want to tell you a story.

There was an invisible girl. Like everyone, she just wanted to run on the grass, ride a bike, swim in the lake in the summer. But her mother… Oh, her mother had other plans for her. What a beautiful shadow of her mother she had become, in her dark world made of silence and prayer. There shone only two stars: her…wonderful sister, Fanny, and her darling father, Job. Heavenly creatures who told her what a free and strong woman she would become one day. And they were both right. She was like that: Free and strong. At the time, the other kids and even the teachers didn’t understand her dyslexia…she didn’t understand what retard or kike meant…that’s what the other kids called her at school. Her sister, Fanny, wanted to protect her. But she couldn’t. She could hear her cry at night, could hear the bed creak from her father trying to hush and console her sister through whispered words of encouragement.

~

“Is there anything I could say to make it better?”

“No.” You sat up and your father sat next to you on the bed. You looked at your sister. You didn’t want her to see you like this. “Oh, just go. I mean it, go!”

“Perhaps you should go, darling.”

Fanny, though hesitant, left.

You flopped back on the bed with a new bout of tears. “Oh, Daddy.”

Your father leaned over you and covered your hands with his own as you sobbed. “You are being tested. And do you know what they say, my darling? Being tested only makes you stronger. It’s not theory on my part. I’ve been through it. I know everything you’re feeling. Every pain. But be fair to yourself.”

You squeezed his hands as hard as you could as you sniffled. “I don’t think it’s working with me.”

“Give yourself time. You’ll come through it.”

“Just as…just as you came through, Daddy?”

“Yes, darling. Just as I came through.”

“Here’s hoping I’m made of the same stuff you are.”

~

She and her sister used to worry about their looks too...when they were thirteen and all arms and legs. Her sister used to hate that brace she had on her teeth. She hated the acne on her face. But their father would always comfort them. “A woman is beautiful only when she's loved,” he’d say. One day, the invisible girl grew into a woman, a beautiful, luminous creature. And she met someone. A human being that saw her, for real. The beauty he saw in her was the beauty she forgot to see in herself. And what a beautiful reminder, that love was what would see them all through. Yes. And her sister, Fanny, instead became the invisible witness of what happened. A love, simply a love…nothing more…nothing less. But that love was too much and it would be punished. Who paid for that love? They did. We did. Dr. Jaquith— I mean, David, (Can I call you David? It feels so odd to address you by your first name but, since I haven’t been your patient for over ten years, it feels right.) I beseech you for your insight, your guidance. You know my history, you understand me, but I’m asking for your help and your opinion not just as my doctor, but as my friend. We’re still friends, aren’t we? I would hope that we’re close friends now. I know you’re a very busy man, but if you could find it in your schedule to hear me out and write back to me, it would be greatly appreciated. I’m once again at a fork in the road and I’m confused. I need you to show me which path to take.

Your friend,

Miss Skeffington (soon to be Mrs. Masters!) ooo

By the time he responded to your letter and mailed it out, Dr. Jaquith received a card with your wedding announcement. He could only assume you sent the same exact card to your sister and her husband.

December 1939

To our dearest friends and family,

Because your love and friendship have made us who we are, we are very happy to share the news with love in our hearts. We exchanged marriage vows in a private ceremony in Switzerland. While Switzerland wasn’t a complete bust the last time we were there, it was disappointing due to the unexpected storms. But now, getting married in the same country where we first met feels right, like everything has come full circle. As we have given and pledged our troth, each to the other, and have declared the same by giving and receiving a ring and by joining hands, the officiant pronounced that we are man and wife in the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Ghost. Amen. Afterwards, we held a small “reception” for ourselves at the inn. It was just us and dinner with cake and champagne. It felt too quiet, so Jim thought up a song and played it on the piano for me. I forget how it went but it was pretty. I am lucky to have him for a husband. Although we decided to celebrate our love only in the company of each other and you were not there in person, please know that you were there in our thoughts and forever will be in our hearts. We hope you’ll be there to celebrate with us when we renew our vows in the States at a later date.

With love,

Mr. and Mrs. Masters

December 1939

Dear Mrs. Masters (née Miss Skeffington),

I write on what I imagine must be a joyous occasion. Per your last letter, am I right to assume that you are newly married to a wonderful man and have taken his name? I have had more than a little time during my long days and nights at Cascade to consider your past and your family. Since you left for Europe with your father and sister, my thoughts have often lingered on your development and welfare in the ten or so years since we last met. Your marriage gives me much reassurance in this regard. I wish you and your new husband many happy years together. You are always welcome here at Cascade or to visit me and Charlotte in our home in Vermont, though I will understand of course if you cannot accept this open invitation. Now, to address what you spoke to me about in your last letter…

Now, I could tell you that perhaps restlessness has a genetic component. If so, emigrants would be expected to establish populations with more wanderlust in their DNA than those back at home. Scientists have identified one particular allele, called 7R, of our DRD4 gene that may fit this description; it has been linked to attention deficit disorder and attraction to novelty, earning its nickname: the risk gene. Research has documented that people with the 7R allele take 25 percent more financial risk than those without it. Tellingly, the allele tends to be more concentrated in recently established populations (in terms of historic human expansion): Most people in the Americas have it, a few in Europe do, and it is rare in parts of Asia. People with this “wanderlust gene” may be literally hardwired to seek new experiences. I could tell you that maybe you’re one of those very unique individuals. But I won’t bore you with textbook theories.

Sometimes the world around us and everyone and everything in it can move so fast, it feels impossible to keep up. It gives us whiplash. Our senses are overloaded and our brains can’t decide what to focus on. You can’t read a map, but you’re not lost. Consulting maps can diminish the wanderlust that they awaken, as the act of looking at them can replace the act of travel. But looking at maps is much more than an act of aesthetic replacement. Anyone who opens an atlas wants everything at once, without limits—the whole world. This longing will always be great, far greater than any satisfaction to be had by attaining what is desired. You’d rather be given an atlas over a guidebook any day. You’re pulled in all kinds of directions, always eager for the next discovery, the next adventure, the next landmark, that your brain and your body can’t agree on where to go next. But you’re intuitive, and you know that you must go. Somewhere. You often can’t describe the place you’re thinking of, because it’s intangible, but when you get to where you want to be, you’ll just know. But no sooner than that. You were born with full potential to become a great person of integrity. I know this as a psychiatrist. What any of your relations are, or were, means nothing about who you can be. We are built of our choices, tiny decisions in tiny moments. So wherever you are now is only the beginning.

Your mother would’ve accepted any plan that would’ve relieved her of the child who had always been a thorn in her flesh, though the lady would strongly protest if she heard me say so. And your father’s attitude was sympathetic and protective, possibly too protective for your good. Result? Resentment felt by your mother. Your absence from the home became desirable for all concerned. I was highly recommended to your father by a friend of his, so your father placed you in my care and I brought you to Cascade after one too many incidents of violent, emotional outbursts. At the time of your arrival, you had been isolated for sometime. You couldn’t see friends, nor reach out to your family for help as once you could have. If I’m honest, you had so many panic attacks at first, yet, over time, they grew further apart and disappeared. In isolation it was lonely, yet there was an art to surviving it in the best shape possible. Anger from your eyes showed the scared child within, the girl who was taught to fight and starved of the love she craved. I could see the pain beneath it and your soul drowning in this persona you’d carved to fit a world of indifference. But I couldn’t help someone like that, not unless the tears came and you realized what was really going on. And I couldn’t fight it. I wouldn’t. It would’ve taken such a toll on both you and me to do so. The best I could offer you was a void, to let you sulk, brood, meditate, or sleep in your shadow box until you craved the sunlight. When you weren’t picking at your plate, you were picking a fight. Your temper was the knife, a sword you’d fashioned in that wild childhood a part of you had never escaped. Your parents, peers, teachers, and nurses all said you had a temper, but not a soul ever asked why it had developed or what it protected you from. You were so sick of getting stabbed. You were sorry for becoming part of that sick cycle, for stepping into shoes you should have rejected. You could count on one hand the people that you’d lay down your arms for because they were worth it, worth trusting: Your sister, your Uncle George, your father, myself, and, now, Jim.

But eventually, you left your shadow box and came into the light. You found a new joy in nature, in the little things, reveling in bird song and the simple pleasure of warm sunlight upon the skin. It was so very challenging, yet you grew strong. You found that if you could be conscious of your choices and emotions, you could start to ask yourself to make more healthy choices for yourself and those you love. You could choose to dance to music instead of simply sit, or do some exercise instead of simply sleep. You found that if you baked bread rather than just bought it, it felt as if there was more love in your house - that you had a new hobby and the house had the aroma of a bookshop, so homey. Childhood ambitions are the rocket fuel for the rest of our lives when they come from our own curiosity and drive. They are the seeds of a passion that creates a life well-lived. The weird and novel weavings of childhood ambitions and interests, especially when they are a mismatch of glorious nonsense, are the very seeds of genius and invention. They are how our species specializes and discovers entirely new pathways. They are a needed part of a healthy brain. With it comes a healthy self that can make healthy relationships within a community that will come to need the skills they develop, even if they cannot see how at the time. It is these childhood ambitions that are our guide to the path that is ours to explore. Every lifetime comes with an adventure that is our lifeline, and our compass is built of curiosity and love. It is when the unknown becomes alluring and work becomes play. It is how a challenge becomes welcome and the resolve to achieve it arrives as if it were a prompt and well-scheduled train. So when we learn to trust these childhood ambitions and see them as the seeds of greatness, we grow and change.

Yet in all of that, in the seeking of positivity, it was equally important to acknowledge the lonely feelings you experienced, to walk the line between seeing them, feeling them, letting them flood in when necessary, yet then returning to affirmative actions. By learning how to do this, you became a blessing to others and you felt more mature, more self-confident. It was challenging though, very challenging. But by overcoming those challenges, you have reaped many rewards. It is challenging in the darkness to shine a light of your own, yet you have such a light. Your father told me you were born with it, and I’ve seen it for myself many times over since the day you first came to me.

When society functions well our own light is warmed by the lights of others, we are a happy flicker that is part of a communal flame. When society is broken that search for another spark of love isn’t easy at all. If your emotions feel as if they are a roller coaster, the best thing you can do is hang out with someone truly boring who loves you very deeply. In time your brain and body will correlate to their calmness and you will have the cure to your emotional pain. You will become stable, able to reach for emotional highs when you want to, yet in truth, happier because you can access the normal kind of “happy” that humans evolved for. So, love, in these times burns not brightly yet soft and mellow. You told me that you occasionally struggled with intense feelings, or that your once-burning flame of wanderlust was beginning to die down to a flicker. And when adventure begins to lose its appeal, it starts to feel more like adversity. So try to sit back. Wait for someone who shows you real love, the kind that is dependable, endurable, sustainable and - above all - kind. Then you can let your spark burn brighter, because they are truly supporting you, because they bring their own inner fire with which to love you.

Rather than add gasoline to a world in flames, let us together be in the water for a few moments. Imagine a pathway of light glitters out across the waves, from the boat’s prow to the red-orange sun, as it sinks below the world’s edge. The clouds are coral-pink in a darkening sky. Water ripples gently, and that is the only sound. You are taking this bath in life, as you see, floating in infinity, and you are at peace. Let’s just float in the water and look up at the sky above us. In our sessions, you often told me of your fears and anxieties. You expressed concern for how you were living your life, afraid you were somehow doing it wrong. “I don’t know. I think maybe I’ve been wasting my time, just doing nothing. My life is nothing but a repetition of waking up with nothing to live for. Not even a false hope to look forward to this time,” you said. And do you remember what I told you in response? I told you, “I don’t think so. When you find your quest, the reason for your birth - when the song of creation that calls directly to your heart and soul - your journey becomes your source of happiness rather than any destination. That’s the place to get to—nowhere.” One wants to wander away from the world’s somewheres, into our own nowhere. A certain kind of wanderlust can only be assuaged by the acts of the body itself in motion, not the motion of the car, boat, train, or plane. While you were in transit, being unattached was exhilarating, but the moment you stopped, so did the high. You started to feel the withdrawals right then and there. You’d replaced wanderlust with a human. You’d thought that was a terrible mistake. But it’s important to stand still sometimes. Think of it as a little rest in the long journey of your life. This is your harbor, and your boat is just dropping anchor here for a little while. After you’re well-rested, you can set sail again and go onwards feeling refreshed.

Don’t think of standing still as being grounded. Think of it as finding the perfect compromise between standing still and flying. There’s no shame in just taking the time to breathe, to rest, to float. The emotions ebb and flow, thus when they rush in we feel motivated and inspired. The opposite occurs when they recede, as they naturally will. So learn how to sit upon your own beach and watch that emotional tide from a little distance. Close your eyes, breathe deep, focus on what you hear, what you smell. It is a contentment that will come to you simply in the observance of nature, a song, or the chance to dance. You can hear so much more. Things that are great distances away and things that are very, very small, like a mouse’s heartbeat or the wings of a moth, the woosh of passing cars, or the trickle of a stream. Yes, it can be quite overwhelming at first, I must admit. All those sounds are coming at you from everywhere, but that’s perfectly fine. You will get used to that over time. It can be just what you need to keep yourself from going stir-crazy. Be okay with calmness and observing the mayhem others engage in. For in that slight perspective shift exists the ability for true endurance, still feeling your emotions yet knowing what they are and that your reality remains the same.

There is a compromise between passion and directed studying that gets easier as one ages. You were, and still are, largely driven by your own creative passions and curiosities. However, there can be things you need to have a solid comprehension of that fall outside of your “passion drive”. This is when self-control becomes more important. There are times that doing the right thing is the harder thing to do. You needed to be able to sit yourself down and learn a subject even though it felt more like work than play. This was all part of growing up, sure. Yet it was also part of becoming a master at what you do - building in supporting knowledge that is more peripheral to your central aim. So, while it is negative to let directed study suppress your innate passions and creativity - it is also a negative to let your creativity rule the roost and not inform it with study. Balance is key, as ever.

I can now say you’re so much more psychologically mature, that those brutal times built you into who you are today. You can reject hate. You can reject fear. You can accept chances to create loving bonds. You can learn how to see things from the perspectives of others, even those who are very different to yourself. In this, you can become a person of peace and begin to create the kind of world you deserved yet did not inherit. I know it hardly feels that can be true when you’re curled up on the bathroom floor with your heart beating a million miles per hour, but with time, with inner reflection, with the art of emptying the thoughts, even if for just a few moments at a time - a new self emerges. In isolation you will feel at times as if you caught on fire, yet after this, regardless of how broken you feel, I promise you that the phoenix stage will shine from inside your headlamps. So keep on driving. Tina once said to me that she used to take off her glasses while her father would drive on a highway and all the lights would go soft and smudged, a trail of amber behind her like a quiet afterthought. Imagine that, and keep being the best version of you for yourself. I hope you know that you are not alone, and in those hours when you feel that you are, just know there are other people out there - singing the same melodies of wanderlust, climbing over mountains in the dark, and waking in the night to stare at the moon, thinking of this large world and dreaming - just like you.

I hope that these words encourage you to find the best version of yourself and to have the courage to reject the shrill and tempestuous voices of a broken world. The world needs good people. People like you. I hope that in these words, dear one, that you find the encouragement you need, the kind that builds great mountains from pebbles over a lifespan. I hope these words encourage you in a way that is realistic, that helps you towards a sustainable emotional life and protects you from those who lost their spark and would seek to extinguish yours for little more than a toxic ego trip. Protect your flame, keep your inner light safe. If there’s anything else I can say or do to help you, please let me know. If anything urgent comes up and the post is too slow or you need to reach me as soon as possible, I’m just a phone call away.

Your friend,

David

“Yes, but we’ll get to that later. Shall we sit down and get started right away? I hope you don’t mind me saying so, Mrs. Skeffington, but you don’t look very good right now.”

“It’s because I haven’t slept all night,” she hastily explained, trying to hide that she minded.

What she didn’t say, was that she ended up being jostled awake in the middle of the night by you. You had a strange expression on your face, and were wearing a backpack over your shoulders. You were pushing your childhood stuffed toy into her hands, and speaking to her...but of course, Fanny couldn’t hear you. You must have realized that, though. Because you looked like you laughed a little to yourself, and then handed her a slip of paper that said: ‘I promise to write.’ Then you got up, walked out, and closed the door to her room.

“You see how important quiet nights are for women of your age,” he said.

“And for everybody, I imagine,” said Fanny haughtily.

“That is, if you don’t want to be an eyesore.”

An eyesore? Was he suggesting that she was an eyesore? She, Fanny Skeffington, for years almost the most beautiful person everywhere, and for about thirty or so glorious years quite the most beautiful person anywhere? She? When the faces of the very strangers she passed in the street lit up when they saw her coming? She, noble, lovely little Fanny, as poor Jim Conderley used to say, gazing at her fondly—quoting, she supposed; and nobody quoted things like that to eyesores. True, Jim had quoted a good while ago; and it was also true, now that she came to think of it—let her be honest—that people passing in the street had seemed to look at her lately with surprise rather than admiration.

“Will you have a cup of tea?”

“No, thank you. I had coffee on my way here.”

“Well, you see, Doctor—”

“One moment please.” Dr. Jaquith got up to open a nearby window.

“What is the meaning of that?”

“I have sensitive sinuses, and your perfume is a bit heavy for me, that’s all.”

Although she was sure Dr. Jaquith meant nothing by it, Fanny felt slighted. She was reminded of when she paid a visit to Dr. Byles. That odious doctor. His consulting room was fragrant—he called it reeking,—with over-perfumed women. “Oh, my God,” he would mutter under his breath, when a specially scented one came in. Because of the creatures, though, he was growing very rich, and it was worth putting up with their scents and their silliness to be well on the way to the top of his profession at thirty-eight. And every day, when his work was over, he would fling the window open to purge his consulting room of scent, and exclaim: “God, these women!”

“Get your head out of your ass, Mother. You already reek of hypocrisy, so why add notes to the fragrance? I think there’s a word for people like you, a hypocrissist: A narcissist who has their head so far up their ass they can’t hear the hypocrisy coming out of their mouth,” you interjected.

Of course, you weren’t really there. Just a hallucination. But a vivid one. Almost corporeal. If Fanny hadn’t known any better, she would’ve believed you were really there, in the flesh. In the beginning, for Dr. Jaquith to fully comprehend her predicament, she felt she had to tell him all about her illness, and Job, and her visit to Byles, and her fears for the future. She was as natural as it was possible to be with somebody whom one still, when one looked at him, didn’t seem to know very well. But this could’ve been circumvented by not looking at him; she could’ve been altogether natural when she simply listened to his kind voice. And he felt almost exactly the same about her, the difference being that when she looked at him she was sorry, and when he looked at her he was shocked.

“When you wrote to me, you said you’ve been having trouble sleeping, but you went further to explain that your case is not the usual insomnia, nightmares, or sleep paralysis. You believe there’s something else going on.” As Dr. Jaquith pointed out, “significant dreams are the ones you can’t forget—the ones you remember in great detail even after years pass. But beyond that, it really goes back to what you believe and feel is significant. This is one of those ways dreamwork often shows up in therapy: A client has a dream that leaves them feeling distress or confusion in such a way they need help unpacking the feeling. We can find out whether a dream is significant or not when we are deciphering meaning by exploring and unpacking our feelings around the event or image. So, even if at the end of the day, you decide the dream means nothing, you’re still processing the feelings that surround it. But ultimately, I believe that dreams are about what we make of them, the meaning we assign to them, and the attendant feelings that arise along with that meaning. It’s no secret that of the many dreams you may have throughout the night, you’ll typically only remember one or two, if any. Have you ever wondered why you keep dreaming about your daughter, someone you haven’t spoken to for nearly four years? Usually the context of the dream will give you more clues.” Dr. Jaquith took out a notepad and pen. “So, Mrs. Skeffington, can you describe to me the dreams you’ve been having?”

“Yes, Doctor. The beginning is sometimes different, but they usually end the same way. Just last night, my dream began with my daughters in their bedroom. I was just about to send for them, when I overheard their conversation…”

~

“I see why they gave you a scholarship.”

“Yeah, it’s a real tragedy, isn’t it?”

“Yeah, it is. You can be cold to Mother, that’s fine. But I didn’t do anything to you.”

“Won’t you admit that you did something?”

“I admit, according to you, I did something, sure.”

“You dimed me out.”

“I did not dime you out. When the sheriffs asked where you got the car, I said I didn’t know. I didn’t even know it was stolen. You’re blaming that on me?”

“You could have covered for me, huh?”

“You get caught stealing, it’s my fault. You’re resisting arrest, and it’s the cop’s fault.”

“He took a swing at me.”

“Get suspended from school, it’s the principal’s fault. Mother kicks you out of the house, it’s her fault. You can’t keep a job for two weeks, it’s every manager’s fault.”

“I’m surrounded by idiots.”

“So why did you come back? To piss Mother off?”

“Don’t you get it? You’re the good twin. I’m the evil one.”

“Grow up. You are so afraid to take things seriously. And suppose they telephone Mother?”

“Uncle George promised he’ll cover for me.”

“I feel quite nervous and I’m not even going. We must choose the clothes carefully, so you can take them on and off without any help.”

“Well, I’ll have his help.”

“Honestly, sister. You’d better hope I never write my memoirs.”

“There is one thing I’ve got to ask you, Fanny. I’m really sorry, but I must.”

“Go on.”

“I have to be sure there aren’t any...consequences.”

“What sort of consequences?”

“Well, you know.”

“No, I don’t… Oh. Oh, my God. I mean, I beg your pardon, sister.”

“But you see, I can’t just go into a shop and buy something. What if I were recognized?”

“But I wouldn’t know what to buy.”

“I’ve thought of that. I have a copy of Marie Stopes’ book. It tells you everything.”

“Well, won’t he take care of it?”

“I don’t think one should rely on a man in that department, do you?”

“But suppose I’m recognized?”

“But you won’t be. And even if you are, you’re married, with a living husband. Why shouldn’t you buy one?”

The scene did not change but fast forwarded, as if time had passed around Fanny in a blurry whirl while she stood still, unheard and unseen.

“I think I’ve put everything in. Your packet’s here, sister.”

“Thank you.”

“I don’t think there’s anything too difficult to fasten.”

“Jim can always help.”

“For the last time, are you certain you know what you’re doing?”

“I believe so. Fanny, the way things are going, life will be lived in much closer quarters in future. Our parents lived in vast rooms, surrounded by staff. If they disagreed, they’d hardly have known it. But it won’t be like that for Jim and I. I must be sure I’m right to want this man, as my companion, as my friend, as my lover.”

“But not your husband?”

“No. The point is I don’t want to marry, because I absolutely don’t want to divorce. I witnessed - and so did you - so many things a child shouldn’t when our parents were married and when they divorced. They only stayed together as long as they had for our sakes, but I don’t want the same for myself.”

“Well, I think it’s a big risk.”

“Please. I can’t be lectured this evening.”

“Well, I wish you luck, sister.”

The scene changed. Fanny was putting on her glove, headed outside to the car waiting for the chauffeur to take her to a lunch date or something equally innocuous when she spied you and your sister talking in hushed tones in the garden out of the corner of her eye. Instead of getting in the car, she approached, but only far enough to eavesdrop without being noticed by either of her daughters…

“Well?”

“I couldn’t. There’s no point in freaking him out right now.”

“As opposed to when you find out you are pregnant?”

“Fanny, I’m not sure, okay?”

“I think you should have a conversation with him.”

“He’s been looking forward to this trip for months. I don't want to ruin it by starting a fight.”

“Darling, he’s not going to marry you. Mother won’t let him.”

“Who says I want to get married? Besides, I’ve been late before. When I know for sure, I promise to talk to him, okay?”

~

“It sounds to me like you’re afraid she and Jim are sexually active. That she’ll become pregnant and he’ll abandon her the same way he did his wife and daughters. Am I correct in thinking that?”

“Yes. I’m deathly afraid that’ll be what befalls her sooner or later.”

“It could be that your dreams are manifesting your fears as imaginary conversations between your daughters because they feel safe and comfortable enough to confide in one another. They trust and respect each other, and you want to be treated with that same level of trust and respect. But trust and respect aren’t things freely given between a child and their parent. They’re built. You’re her mother, yes, but if you wanted your daughter to trust and respect you, you had to put in the work, the time, and the effort, just like anybody else. Fanny put the work in to get her sister to trust her. Her father and I did the same. It wasn’t easy. It was a long process that often felt monotonous at times. Sometimes it felt as if every time we took one step forward, she took two steps back. But, although we couldn’t always see it or feel it, we were making progress. Good progress. So we kept at it. We worked and we worked hard to get her to trust us, and she worked hard to get us to trust her. We never gave up on her, even when she wanted to give up on herself. You? You never put that work in. Instead you were impatient, entitled. Instead of asking her any of the millions of questions swimming around in your mind, instead of opening up a discourse with her or inviting her to a civil conversation where you could be open and honest with each other, instead of letting her come to you in her own time, you went behind her back and read her diary. You suddenly decided you wanted to try to act as her mother after she was an independent adult already past her twentieth year. In doing so, You violated her privacy and betrayed her trust. If she had any in you to begin with, it’s completely broken now.”

One should trust more, Fanny thought to herself. One shouldn’t, as she had been doing lately, be in such a hurry to despair. But astonished as she was at the ways of providence, she was very nearly as much astonished at the ways of Dr. Jaquith. Who would have thought, she asked herself, that he could doubt her decency to the point of being in what he called a blue funk?

“You see, trust and respect have to go both ways or else there’s no stable foundation in the relationship and the entire thing falls apart. She had to be careful of you. You were the one person in her life who let ‘do as I say, not as I do’ seep into your character and, as she predicted, correctly, that you would, you almost certainly corrupted the trust she granted you. When was the last time your daughter came to you and said, ‘I need you’? When she threw her arms around you, wiping her tears on the shoulder of your blouse, and gave you a sincere ‘thank you’ through her sobs? Or perhaps a better question to ask is: When was the first time?”

“Doctor, I know what you must be thinking, but I did try to talk to her! Many times I tried to have a conversation with her, but she was never receptive to my efforts. She never had anything to say that wasn’t insults. I tried to get her to listen, to understand what I was feeling, especially when she said those hurtful things, but she was so angry and so stubborn that she wouldn’t listen. She shut herself off from me at every turn and wouldn’t let me in. No matter how much I approached her, no matter how I tried to get her to budge, she stood like a brick wall. Firm, unwavering, unrelenting.”

“She wouldn’t let you in, Fanny, because you never let her in. She’s seen that you are of those she can’t love because you don’t respect her and, in return, she doesn’t respect you. If you wanted your daughters to confide in you, to come to you whenever they were nervous, afraid, unsure, or otherwise needed help, you had to be transparent. You were always hiding behind layers and layers of makeup and a mirror. Maybe a part of you wanted to be involved, but you were held back by something or someone at the time. It could’ve been any number of things that acted as obstacles and barriers between you and your daughters. Your reputation, your beauty, your friends, your lovers and admirers, your neighbors, propriety, your upbringing, your beliefs, expectations made by others or yourself… that’s why you’re always the eavesdropper, the uninvited guest, kept at a distance and separated from your daughters, kept out of the loop of what’s going on in their lives. And now, when they seemingly no longer need you because they’ve outgrown you, you suddenly say you need them now more than ever!”

“What more could I have done?”

“I’m not entirely sure yet. I’ll tell you once I know more. For now, Let’s move on. Can you describe to me anything else from your dreams? Spare no detail. Anything you remember, even if it seems irrelevant and insignificant, could be important.”

“Yes, Doctor. In my dreams there are lights, too many to count, dancing on an ocean too vast to envisage. Each one is brilliant, each one unique. I want to look at each one for the marvel it is, for no matter how many there are, no two colors are the same. The light that comes from within is more pure than gold, more light than air - each one a small piece of Heaven. I try to reach out to them - who wouldn’t want to touch something so pure? - but the lights recoil in fright, they don’t even know who they are. They chant that they feel ugly on the outside and worse on the inside. I can’t understand until I take a look at the water, it looks fine but smells like something I wouldn’t want to drink. But they’re swimming in it, bobbing in it like it’s a fine day at the beach. I want to tell them it’s poison but they’ll never listen. They laugh and carry on just as before, each one just as beautiful as the last but disconnected even from their inner light and beauty…”

~

As Fanny recounted to Dr. Jaquith her dreams, she swore she could feel the salt on her lips and the roughness of rope in her hand, hear the loose flapping of a sail. The sail was as a sole that had journeyed upwards to many mountain peaks, worn and dirty, yet all the more beautiful for its travels and ready to ride the brine once more. Into the storm marched the sail in its own silent way, as if by catching the prevailing wind, by being captured within its own serenity, it contained a form of eternal hope. It made such progress atop of the dancing waves, amid the gay sea foam, that every fraction of every moment was the boldest of photographs. The ocean held so many memories for Fanny. It was where she sought solace after her brother’s passing, where she found peace during the devastating years of the last war and the current one. The wind had changed, and she had to turn and head to the shore before the storm came, the nets empty. She was back on the very same boat she was on when she went sailing with Johnny Mitchell. The very same boat where she contracted diphtheria.

“Johnny and I have a date to go sailing. You know, Johnny, if we’re going sailing, we’d better get started. It'’s over an hour’s drive to the sound.”

“Do we have to go? I mean, do you think we ought to? It gets chilly in the afternoon.”

“Chilly? Why, Johnny, you talk as if you were forty... fifty years old or something. But I love sailing. Certainly, we’re going sailing.”

“Hey, Fanny! Fanny! Come on back here. You’ll get soaked up there.”

“I’m loving this.”

“But listen...you’ll catch your death of cold.”

“Don’t you worry about me, Johnny.”

“Well, I do worry about you. Well, I’m heading for home, anyway. Fanny!”

And then Johnny was gone and, in his place, Jim was the one at the wheel, steering. Instead of asking him to explain his unpardonable intrusion of her sailing trip with Johnny Mitchell, all Fanny found she could do was to falter, “J-Jim?”

But he wasn’t looking at her. To him, it was as if she wasn’t even there.

Was it possible—she caught her breath—that he didn’t know who she was? That he, of them all, hadn’t an idea? Shaken by this dreadful suspicion, she didn’t know what else to do other than meekly call out once more, “Jim?”

Finally, mercifully, he turned his head towards her and acknowledged her presence. “Well, if it isn’t Mrs. Skeffington. I didn’t think you’d come. She mentioned her old man and a sister, but she didn’t say anything about her old lady. How come she didn’t mention you? She ashamed of you?”

“Who?”

“That’s funny. I forgot her name. It must be one of your daughters.”

“I have two of them.”

“Well, um… This one, if you stretched the point, you could call cute.”

“They’re both cute.”

“They both photographers and artists?”

“Oh, you must mean...”

“Now that’s the one. Chat her up.”

“Now, Jim, you are a little late. She’s out dancing with some young man who had no trouble remembering her name.”

“There’s a dame for you. Out dancing when she could’ve been with me.“

“Come to think of it, she did mention you. She said she had a sort of a date with a sort of a person.”

“Is that all she said about me?”

“That’s all I remember.”

“Sure she didn’t go into detail?”

“One sentence was all she devoted to. How long have you been here? How long have you been waiting for her?”

“Since we set sail. Well, no harm done. The night is still young. I’ll keep sailing onward and pick me up a mermaid yet. The truth is, I’ll stay in New York until she wants to run away with me.”

“Don’t be ridiculous.”

“You’re too scared to admit it, but your daughter is in love with me.”

“I don’t understand. Why are you here? Why are you on the boat?”

“Because you want me here. When we are lost in emotional seas, we all need a steady captain and a lighthouse to guide our way home. We need outstretched arms to welcome us to the safety of rock so we can bid farewell to stormy waters. You’re lost, Fanny. I’m here to help you navigate these choppy and turbulent waters and find your way back… I will calm the waters back to temperate levels and this boat will provide shelter in your most distressing times, if you’ll let it. Listen. Do you hear that? The foghorn.”

“Yes, I hear it. But what does it mean? What does any of this mean?”

“That is me, your subconscious, trying to reach out. I’m signaling for you to pay attention. Will you? Or will you turn away again?”

By the time Fanny reached the beach, the moon was hovering high in the night sky, casting swathes of silver light across all of the open water. Its reflection wavered on the surface of the beach as Jim’s keen eyes were no longer looking at Fanny. Instead they searched for something else. Or someone else. He spotted you, gliding through the water, every stroke disrupting the liquid mirror around you. The ocean appeared to envelop your form, encompassing you almost lovingly. After a silence which seemed to last forever, the voice she hadn’t heard for nearly four years answered from behind her, very slowly and gently, as though groping its way down the long hull.

“I’m here.”

He was looking at you, and once more she was invisible, a ghost, a silent observer. You were bathed in moonlight, a silver gloss draping elegantly over your skin. Tonight, you appeared to Fanny like an ethereal ghost, distant and untouchable, a curiously beautiful and captivating goddess. Like the moon delivered you to her and had come back this night to steal you away. There were a million words and they were all in Jim’s eyes, for this was a story told at a deeper level. His eyes were filled with so much love that Fanny’s stomach lurched as if she was going to be sick and hurl over the railing. But this wasn’t seasickness. No. This was something far worse. The sickness that came with knowing she was wrong. Guilt. Regret. Stricken, Fanny stood motionless, leaning against the railing, pressed for support against the boat. You swiftly jumped from rock to rock through the water, desperate to reach Jim. Fanny looked back as you hopped your way over the last pile, your heavy-booted feet sinking into a narrow stretch of sand before starting over the next rock bed. Jim grabbed your hand so you wouldn’t slip and fall back into the water as you picked your way over a tricky stretch of kelp-covered rock as you climbed aboard, not seeming to have noticed her yet.

“Sorry I’m late, darling. I took a stroll down the beach and lost track of time. I swam here as quick as I could. It was good luck you weren’t very far out. Just like a foreign watch to stop when you need it the most. Can’t you tell time by the moon? A good sailor ought to.”

“It’s the sun you tell the time by. The moon’s just an ornament. Take the wheel for a minute, sweetheart.”

As soon as your hands were on the wheel, Jim let go and walked over a few paces and lowered the anchor so you wouldn’t drift aimlessly in the water from wind or current. He wrapped a fluffy towel around your shoulders like a shawl so you wouldn’t catch your death of cold and then took your hands in his own and pulled you towards him until your chest was flush with his, then you both lowered yourselves to your knees, then to laying down, leaning against the side of the boat. “You know, seeing you this way, natural face of the time, you look pretty good. Of course, it may be the moon that’s hitting you just at the right angle.”

“No. If the moon won’t tell you the time, it certainly won’t go out of its way to make a girl look beautiful.”

“Whatever it is, you look beautiful.” For a moment, you gazed into each other’s eyes. You both seemed to be thinking about something. The same thing. Jim leaned toward you and looked down at your lips. Surprised to see his resolve waning, you waited for him to give in, but he stopped himself and pulled back. “Ah, I wish I knew another story.”

You sighed disappointedly, “Oh no. You’re not gonna change the subject on me now.”

“What’s the idea?”

“If you’ll kiss me now, we’ll save a lot of time.”

He could take no more. Jim crashed his lips onto yours, feverish and desperate. You draped your arms over his shoulders, and pressed yourself tightly to him. Perhaps the gracious moon would allow the two of you to merge, to live out the remainders of your lives as one being, one body, one soul. Your form bathed in silver moonlight, you were glorious, mesmerizing. A bright star, fallen to earth so that Jim might marvel at your beauty, your mystery, before you ascended to your place carved out in the heavens once again.

You and Jim leaned in to share another kiss, and Fanny had to turn and look away. Although the kiss itself was brief and in no way improper, although none of what was happening was real and just a manifestation of her imagination, she felt it was a private moment between lovers and she would be intruding upon it if she had watched. Fanny began to wonder how different “real” love was from her imaginary affair. In any relationship there was both reality and the perception of reality. As long as she saw the other person as smart or sexy or handsome or good and as long as she could hang onto the feeling of loving and being loved then it was real. But somehow she was able to hang onto those feelings and beliefs even when objective reality diverged. Actions didn’t necessarily alter beliefs and beliefs mattered more. Before you fall in love you begin to imagine the other person. You create your lover by extrapolating on reality and dusting him or her with gold. You embellish to the point of perfection and then fall hard for the image you’ve made. Can one live up to their own expectations? Or are we all fated for hypocrisy? With all your traveling you may have spent more time imagining than others. But a huge amount of all love takes place in the head. In the middle of any relationship we can spend more time hour for hour thinking about the other person than we spend in his presence. And after any breakup there’s no telling how long we might pine for someone. Love itself is in the mind’s eye.

“You know, as you were telling that story, you didn’t impress me one bit. In fact, I wasn’t even listening.”

“It’s true, just the same.”

“Is it? Is it really?”

“Well…maybe I did exaggerate a little. C’mon, help me pull the net up, will you?”

Together, you and Jim climbed on your hands and knees to the large fishing net.

“Boy, Mother must be worried.”

“Why? Doesn’t she know you’re out with me?”

“No.”

“Well, why didn’t you tell her?”

“Mother likes you, but not as a companion for her daughter.”

“Well, Mother knows best.”

“Not her. She doesn’t know a thing about me, let alone what’s best.”

“Who would’ve thought I could make friends with the meanest croc alive with little more than a smile and a laugh. You made me work hard for your friendship, but it was worth it in the end.”

“Did you just compare me to a mean old croc?” you asked, the thread of amusement back in your tone.

“If the tough hide fits,” he said, but not unkindly.

You nodded and gave him a considering look. “True that,” you said, “but you must be misremembering. It was you who made me work for your friendship.” You then added, “Maybe I was trying to save my sister from her own friendly nature.”

“Out four hours. One underaged fish.” Jim held the small, slimy fish in his right hand.

“Oh, he’s cute.”

“Well, at least it’ll show I put the net in the water.”

“Oh, Jim, throw him back. Please.”

“Why?”

“Well, look at him. Doesn’t he seem to be appealing to you personally?”

“He’s barking up the wrong tree.”

“Well, it’d be different if you caught thousands of them, but one poor little fish. Why you snatched him away from his family and friends.”

“All right. Go back to Papa and Mama’s, stinker.” Jim threw the small and skinny fish back into the water with a splash.

“Thanks. Jim, look at us, how we naturally set sail and seek the wind to take us onward to new and pleasant shores. Jim, why don’t we just keep sailing onwards? We can dock someplace far away from here, leave the boat, and then just go from there.”

“Really? If we could sail off today, where would we go?”

You rung out excess water from your hair as you thought about his question. Your face took on a dreamy quality, and your answer, when it came, did not surprise him. “I would go everywhere. Oh, Jim, why do we stay in New York?”

“Your mother seems to think I’m too old for you, darling.”

“That’s the silliest thing I ever heard of.”

“Good. Then you’ll run away with me tonight.”

“I think you mean it.”

“I do. What you want, and what I want, it sounds like a beautiful dream, darling. But it’s not enough to wish, dream, hope. Even children know this. We must set sail into the sea of uncertainty. We must meet fear face-to-face. We must take our dreams as maps for a greater journey. Dreams, to come true, need a good story. So let’s go live one. I will not accept that all we’re meant to be are star-crossed lovers,” Jim stated passionately, his tone filled with a steady resolve. “I cannot accept it. Aren’t we more than just crossing tides?”

You contemplated this for a moment, before leaning your forehead against his. Beneath the cool sheen of water on your skin, Jim felt the heat of your blood flowing strong through your veins. Your strength, your poise in this painful time served as an example to him. He was always put together. You let him fall apart, without judgment. Jim could feel his composure fracture at your next words.

“I think we come from the same ancient waters,” you began, your hands coming to rest on either side of his face. “In some primordial sea, we rode the same tides. Perhaps someday, we shall again. But maybe this time around, we are only meant to flow together briefly, before we part.”

“This cannot be,” Jim whispered, voice wavering and tears beginning to roll down his cheekbones, “I feel your spirit ebb and flow inside of me. You inhabit me in a way that no one else ever has.”

“The sea will carry us to one another,” you began, tears trickling down your cheeks. “Time and again. I will find you, where our tides will be one and the same. I am with you, always. My soul is woven into every fiber of your being. And yours, mine.” With your exhale, warm tears flowed from your bright eyes. “Jim, I love you, body and soul.”

Jim leaned his forehead against yours, allowing his tears to fall freely. “My heart belongs to you, always,” he breathed. “You reside in me, sheltered and safe.”

“You will always find a home in my heart.” You pressed one final kiss to his lips. Your hand lingered in his for a moment, before it slipped from his grasp.

“When I drop you off at home, you go upstairs, pack your prettiest things. I’ll pick you up in fifteen minutes. Now let’s be sentimental about it. We’ll stop by our secret hideout where we made our secret promise. Where I pledged myself to you, and you to me. And then we’ll keep driving, just like you want.”

Fanny was pulled from that painful thought when you turned your gaze away from him and looked off to the side. Your eyes widened and you suddenly scrambled to sit upright, having finally noticed her lingering there. She was somewhat apprehensive, but collected herself. Once Jim realized what - or more specifically, who - you were looking at, he followed your lead as you both stood up.

“How did you find us? How did you know?”

“Never mind that. At least nothing’s happened, thank God.”

“What do you mean ‘nothing’s happened’?” Jim looked at you as you spoke, worried and confused about what Fanny was implying. “I’ve decided to marry Jim, and your coming after me won’t change that.”

That was news to Fanny, news that washed waves of vertigo and anxiety over her. They threatened to drown her, pummel her into the silt and sand until she was nothing more than a smoothed over shell, tossed about in the surf. Fanny steadied herself, taking a deep breath, using your familiar scent, your warmth as an anchor to that moment. “This isn’t the way. Of course I will hate it—”

Jim stepped up beside you confidently. “Why should you?”

“Oh, pipe down. Darling, can’t you let me get used to the idea? Take your stand and refuse to budge, but allow me time. That way you won’t have to break up the family.”

“You would never give permission.”

“You don’t need permission, you’re in your twenties. But you do need my forgiveness if you’re not to start your new life under a black shadow.”

“Don’t listen. She’s pretending to be reasonable to get you home again.”

“Even if I am, even if I think this is mad, I know it would be better to do it in broad daylight than to sneak off like a thief in the night.”

“Better for me or for you? I knew I was going to leave. You all did. No point in breaking hearts.” You held her gaze more directly now, turning back slightly to look at her full on. “I might be a tough old croc, but I’m not heartless, unlike you.”

“I didn’t say—”

“You didn’t have to.” You opened your mouth, closed it again, then took in a slow, steadying breath, letting the deep salt tang tickle the back of your throat and the tart brine of the sea fill your senses. Anything to keep her unbearably strong perfume scent from doing that instead. “I have broken rules I don’t agree with all my life. But, as a rule, I don’t do goodbyes well. I know that about myself. I also know that I have the attention span of a sand fly. A well-intentioned sand fly,” you added, trying to inject a bit of humor, and mostly failing, judging by the unwavering look in your mother’s eyes. “So, given my wanderlusting, nomadic life, I learned early on to keep things friendly and light. Easy, breezy. I’ve made friends all over the world, but none so close that—”

“That missing them causes a pang,” Jim added. “Here maybe,” he said, pointing at his own head. “But not here.” He pointed at his chest, more specifically at his heart.

This was how you were, how you’d been from the start. Finishing each other’s sentences, following each other’s train of thought, even when the exchange of words was a bare minimum. You glanced up into Jim’s steady gaze and thought of when there’d been no words at all. That was why you’d worked so well together. And also why you’d had a tough time keeping your feelings for Jim strictly professional. You’d forgotten how threatening it felt, to have someone read you so easily. Most folks never look past the surface. Fanny—hell, the entire population of Charles Street—hadn’t even blinked at surface you before barreling right on past all of your well-honed, automatically erected barriers.

“Like I said,” you went on, “I don’t do goodbyes well.” You continued walking down the boat deck then, running your hand across the railing of the boat, clinging to it as you gazed up at the distant, twinkling stars above. Crickets chirped in harmony with the nearby ribbits of hot-footed frogs, hiding stealthily amongst the scattered lily pads near the shore. You knew you were avoiding continued eye contact, but it was unnerving enough that she was there, in your personal orbit, in your world. Your home world. Wasn’t that invasive enough?

“Would a postcard or two have killed you?” your mother finally asked your retreating back. “Not for me. I never expected one.”

You didn’t glance back at that, but just as you knew her too well, she knew you the same way. You heard that little hint of disappointment, of long-held hope. Of course the very fact that she was there, on your beach, was proof enough that she’d had hopes where you were concerned. And in that moment, you thought, to hell with this, and stopped. Running halfway around the world apparently hadn’t been far enough to leave her and all of what had transpired between you behind. So why did you think you could escape it along the span of one low-tide beach? “The sea breeze feels nice, doesn’t it? If nothing matters…then all the pain and guilt you feel for making nothing of your life…it goes away. You see it all, don’t you? You can see how everything is just a random rearrangement of particles in a vibrating superposition. But you see how everything we do gets washed away in a sea of every other possibility? You’re everywhere. You’re like me.”

“Please, I don’t care about the money. I don’t care about the engagement. I only care about my daughter. Give me back my daughter and I’ll leave you alone forever.”

“Sorry! No can do.”

“Why not?”

“I am your daughter. Your daughter is me. You can’t separate us. We are two halves of the whole.”

“No.”

“I have felt everything your daughter has felt. And I know the joy and the pain of having you as my mother.”

“Then you know I would do… Only do the right thing for her, for you.”

“‘Right’ is a tiny box invented by people who are afraid and I know what it feels like to be trapped inside that box.”

“No, it’s not like that.”

“You don’t have to hide behind a mirror anymore. You should feel relieved. I - we - will show you the true nature of things. You’ll be free from that box, just like me.”

“No, no. I’m not like you. You’re young and your mind is always changing. I still know who I am.”

“You have no idea what you’ve done. You’re stuck like this forever.”

“No, I’m going back with my daughter, to my family, to live my life. A happy life.”

You scoffed, “Okay. Good luck with that. I was just looking for someone who could see what I see. Feel what I feel. And that someone…is you.”

Jim intervened and put his hand on your shoulder. “Sweetheart, Go. Go.”

“But—” You stared directly at your mother, then looked between her and Jim.

Fanny’s cheeks were flushed and, when she opened her eyes once again, you could tell that she had been crying, though she shed no tears in front of you. She wanted to beg you to stay, to beseech the moon above and bargain that you might grace her just a little longer with your presence. What would it take for the heavenly bodies to allow her just a few hours longer with you? Fanny wondered if this would be the last time she was ever going to see you, a thought that pierced her heart like a vicious barb. She couldn’t help but notice the pile of bags and personal items that you left in the cargo hold, like you were prepared to travel a great distance.

“Go. I’ll take over and handle this from here. You’re beautiful and everything.”

“Okay. I love you and everything.” Jim held your hand and helped you as you stood up on the railing of the boat, very much in a position that looked as if you were going to jump. “Fuck.”

“What’s wrong?” Fanny asked. If she moved towards you, you’d lose your footing and fall. If she stayed rooted to her spot, you’d purposefully jump.

“I’ve been trapped like this for so long…experiencing everything…I was hoping you would see something I didn’t…that you would convince me there was another way.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Do you know why I actually painted those disturbing things when I was a child? Why I appear in your dreams? It wasn’t to destroy everything. It was to destroy myself. I wanted to see if I went into an almost trance-like state, if I dissociated hard enough, could I finally escape? Like, die, in a way. But not actually die. To experience death without the commitment. The closest thing we have to that is sleep. At least this way… I don’t have to do it alone.”

Fanny watched your form grow smaller and smaller on the horizon, before it disappeared behind the cliff sides as you let yourself fall over the edge of the boat and into the water. And like that, you were gone. She was left alone with Jim once again.

“I’ll tell her.”

“About my ex-wife and daughters, you mean? Go ahead. See where it gets you. You’re confident you can bring her around, aren’t you?”

“Fairly. I’ll certainly try.” She wondered if she’d reach you in time before the moon summoned you home again. Fanny turned to leave, but paused when Jim spoke again.

“It’ll be light soon, so I’ll say goodnight. But I can promise you one thing. Tomorrow morning nothing will have changed. Not between her and me, anyway. But her relationship with you? Perhaps, somewhere, someday, our paths may cross each other but aeons of separation would have altered us so much that, we may not recognize each other but just gaze upon each other as strangers. Our next encounter may resemble two ships passing in the night, momentarily sharing the same vast expanse, yet destined for separate destinations. My words no doubt seem strange to you, but they’re true. You won’t believe it yourself come tomorrow morning, until the illusion of dream relinquishes its grasp on your mind and body, instead replacing it with the embrace of reality. It will take hold as you awaken from your slumber and come to, and as you open your eyes, it’ll set in for you once more that your daughter is gone, and it’s all your fault.” Jim climbed up on the railing of the boat and, without looking back, jumped.

When Fanny rushed over to look over the railing, she could see nothing. Just the impenetrable blackness of the waves as the boat rocked gently, held in place by the anchor Jim was considerate enough to drop earlier. You and Jim would follow each other anywhere, even if it meant your bodies became lost in the sea’s endless depths. Fanny would always wake up, gasping for air and drenched in a thin layer of sheen sweat, her heart pounding, her alarm clock ringing in her ears with the intensity matching a foghorn, and the corners of her eyes stinging with unshed tears that tasted vaguely of the sea.

~

If ever a woman was adrift, Dr. Jaquith was afraid poor Fanny was. And she had always been adrift, he now saw, refusing to have anything to do with the innumerable anchors offered her, including—and with what entreaties!—his own. Paradise was always over there, a day’s sail away. But there came a moment when an anchor was essential to a woman’s comfort; he wouldn’t say happiness, because he wasn’t sure happiness existed in that very moment, but comfort. So long as she was young, she might toss about gaily enough on the crest of her popularity. But she wasn’t young anymore and her popularity had waned to practically nothing. It’s a funny thing, escapism. We can dream throughout both the day and the night, we can go far and wide and we can keep moving on and on through places and years, but we never escape our own lives.

“I have woken up from the dream many times, my heart pounding rapidly, and my vision turned into a hazy fog devoid of guiding light. I always wake feeling wretched for my mistakes, only for the blessed relief to come that I didn’t really do those things, it was just a dream. Then, though my heart feels wretched, at least I can face the day. When the dream ends, I’m never elated, just cozy, happy to stay at home. I don’t fear the dream, but… The dream comes often and only a few details change. But the outcome is always the same. I never win and always lose. I lose my daughter.”

“You lose because instead of staying true to the ones who love you and the ones you love back, you betrayed the love and trust of someone you love more than yourself. You may plainly perceive Jim as the traitor through his mask. He is well known everywhere in his true colors; his rolling eyes and his honeyed tones impose only on those who do not know him. People are aware that this low-bred fellow, who deserves to be pilloried in your eyes, has, by the dirtiest jobs, made his way in the world; and that the splendid position he has acquired makes merit repine and virtue blush. Yet whatever dishonorable epithets may be launched against him everywhere, nobody defends his wretched honor. Call him a rogue, an infamous wretch, a confounded scoundrel if you like, all the world will say “yeah,” and no one will contradict you. But for all that, his bowing and scraping are welcome everywhere; he is received, smiled upon, and wriggles himself into all kinds of society; and, if any appointment is to be secured by intriguing, he will carry the day over a man of the greatest worth. Zounds! These are mortal stabs to him, to see vice parleyed with; and sometimes your daughter feels suddenly inclined to fly into a wilderness far from the approach of other men. Even when the dream is bad you should welcome the message it brings. There’s a reason you chose that moment, the moment you contracted diphtheria in particular, to be the setting. Let’s delve deeper into it, discuss its significance. Dreams are symbolic of the self, so if you’re dreaming about your daughter and it seems rather random, then it’s likely that she’s representing some part of you. So ask yourself: What aspects of your daughter’s personality are you currently at odds or resonating with?”

“I don’t understand. What are you asking?”

“What he means, Mother, is that you’ve been dreaming about her on a near daily basis, so there’s likely a situation going on between you two that I, your subconscious, and Dr. Jaquith are trying to help you navigate. I’m not actually here. I’m not your daughter. She’s off galavanting across the world with her husband. I’ve merely taken her form because, whether you know it or not, you want me to. I’m you, a piece of your mind. I’m a fragment of memory, a reminder of an experience you had with your daughter or even a quality she possessed.”

“Well, understood through a more traditional psychotherapy lens,” as Dr. Jaquith put it, “a dream is a conversation between your conscious and unconscious minds—an opportunity to explore fears and the forbidden. Often, this happens when there are unresolved emotions or dialogues that need to be explored. In other words, It means there is unfinished or future business with her, your daughter—”

“—Since you’ve been unable to do this when you’re awake, the dream state, that’s me, has bled into your waking reality and has been stepping in to help you express yourself, resolve conflict, or release emotional baggage. The dream’s purpose, my purpose, has been to motivate you to get closer to her. Whether she is thinking about you or not is difficult to prove, but your confidence should be in the fact that your soul sees pursuit of your daughter as nourishing, to one or both of you. So there’s a good chance that if she’s not thinking about you, she might start thinking about you, if you reach out to her. So, Mother, are we going to sit down and finally have a civil conversation? A chance to explore our fears and feelings?”

Fanny, not realizing she was speaking aloud in front of Dr. Jaquith, turned to look at you. “Oh, Darling. Oh, God, Darling. To see your face again… How could you leave me like that? How could you do this to me? Why didn’t you tell me? Why didn’t you tell me what a bitch I was being?”

Dr. Jaquith sat quietly and watched, letting the scene play out a little longer before he intervened. She needed this.

“But I did, didn’t I, Mother? You didn’t listen. ‘I know you to be a nasty, jealous, scheming bitch! You’re a bitch! Not content with ruining your own life, you’re determined to ruin mine! Go fuck yourself, you judgmental, self-righteous bitch.’”

“Well… I’m listening now, darling. In my dreams, Jim said something about reaching out. I have reached out, many times. All of my letters went unanswered and returned to sender.”

“It was uncharacteristic of me, wasn’t it? I mean, we’ve had fights before, haven’t we?”

“Yes. I just…in the first and last letter you wrote to me after you left home, you told me you were sick of it. Sick of me.”

“And I was. I was so sick of you. And now that sickness has polluted the seawaters in your dreams. Only we can purify them.”

Dr. Jaquith’s voice brought Fanny back to the present moment and she turned to look at him as he spoke. “Am I correct to assume you were talking with your daughter just then, Mrs. Skeffington?”

“Yes. She’s just there, by the window. But you see, Doctor— I’m not crazy, it’s just that—”

“I never said you were. But in your letter, you said you’ve been having hallucinations again, that this happened once before. Before your husband came home, you had hallucinations of him. Now you’re having hallucinations of your daughter. When did these begin, Mrs. Skeffington?”

“I didn’t start to experience hallucinations of her specifically until after Fanny wrote to me, telling me of her sister’s nuptials. Since then, I’ve been most distressed about my daughter. On the same night I read Fanny’s letter, when I shut my eyes, my other daughter suddenly appeared. Then as time went on, even if I didn’t shut my eyes, she appeared. Standing beside me or in front of me, sitting around all day, staring at me...with those soulful eyes of hers. But not just staring like Job did. She’d talk to me, admonish me. She’d say the meanest, vilest things. Dr. Jaquith, I wish you’d write to my daughter and ask her to stop. I find it very disconcerting.”

Light quickly dawned on Dr. Jaquith. Mrs. Skeffington’s husband was home, they had reconciled, made amends. But she was still being haunted. She had you, her daughter on her conscience, and you were behind the new onslaught of hauntings. She couldn’t get you out of her mind because of doubts, and thoroughly well-founded ones, in his professional opinion, as to whether she hadn’t been too hard on you once upon a time. So she had been, and for entirely discreditable reasons. It wasn’t, Dr. Jaquith was sure, from any strictness of principle or wounded love that she had divorced Job, but simply because the opportunity was too good to be missed for getting rid of her little Jew. Then another opportunity came, an opportunity to marry off her vagabond daughter, but that plan backfired horrifically for her. Now she was being punished. Now her conscience, awake at last in a life grown suddenly empty, was gnawing at her. Fanny was soft. Nobody who was hard had a conscience which gnawed. Anyone could see that this woman was living a nightmare. Except that she went through her daily life wide awake, knowing that she could relive her mistakes at any moment.

“I see. You see, Mrs. Skeffington, when the dreaming brain struggles to solve the problems it needs to process it expands its ‘department’ into areas of consciousness, hence the hallucinations. Thus the most logical longterm treatment is a world of less stress, be it auditory, visual, or both. But first, we must get to the source of your stress. How is your daughter? Have you heard from her?”

“No. I mean, I don’t know. She ran away that night, I’m not sure to where. And I never saw her again. I haven’t seen her for years and I’m worried about her. I’ve written her many letters with no answer. At first, I thought maybe she couldn’t possibly have had time to write, that she’s been too busy traveling the world, that she has befriended a French captain or Spanish ambassador or Greek criminal. No doubt Jim is showing her the ways of the world. But now… She does write, as she promised she would, just not to me. If it wasn’t for her frequent correspondence with Fanny, and occasional letter or postcard to George, I would’ve assumed she was dead months ago. This time I have a bad feeling. I’m almost sure my daughter’s dying.”

“Is she sick?”

“She won’t speak to me, so I don’t know. You know that my daughter can be a bit…unpredictable.”

True, you had been home to welcome her when she came back from the rest home after recovering from her illness, and dined with her—once only, though, now that Fanny came to think of it. The first and last time you actually sat down with her at the dinner table was the very night when she told you about your engagement and dismissed Jim from the house. Since then, you always had a tray sent up to your room. And then you broke your engagement and there was that horrible display upstairs in your room as you and she had the row of the century. You left and, since then, she hadn’t once set eyes on you or heard your voice, your excuse being that she was well again and you saw no reason to delay your travels anymore. And now there was always something keeping you away from home, away from her. Art exhibitions, your Uncle Fred, teaching children to paint and draw, the war. Or—her thoughts, before Dr. Jaquith’s fixed and coldly appraising eye, hesitated—was it really all those things that were keeping you away?

“It’s the worst, isn’t it? The not knowing,” Dr. Jaquith’s voice interjected. “Now that Johnny Mitchell and Fanny are married, she has two families who support her life choices now, you know, regardless of their own wants or desires or opinions. She has Fanny and Johnny’s family, and her and Jim’s family. She’s with that husband of hers now and, no matter what anyone says, two people are enough to make up a family. She’s left your life and you’ve been left to wonder about her. Where do she and Jim live? What are they doing? Are they happy? And these kinds of dreams can be the answer to those questions because they give you a snapshot of your daughter, the person you once knew, and insight on how her life is going. The very nature of wondering about her can mean that you feel guilty or miss her… Do you miss your daughter, Fanny?”

“How can you miss someone who’s right beside you?” you said sarcastically.

“Does her leaving hurt you?”

“You hurt me so fucking bad, Mother. You reached into every single insecurity, every single wound you know I have, and poked the fuck around. Sorry, sorry. I shouldn’t use such language. I’ve just grown so used to hating you lately. Those times, just before John and I broke our engagement, and our last conversation we had before I left, you were so hurtful. So hateful. You weren’t the only one left with a broken heart when I left. All of those things I said… They needed to be said. But still, saying them… Leaving the house, leaving you that way… It killed me inside.”

“And our falling out killed me too, darling. Was this all because I made a mistake? A mistake we could’ve so easily rectified?”

“Of course, the saddest thing about the mistakes of one’s youth...is that they can never be rectified. Or can they? It must all be so confusing.”

“I…I wasn’t prepared for all this. I thought I’d led a simple life. I thought this would be easy.”

“It’s never easy. Everyone has secrets. Even John. You’d think he’d be the most boring guy in existence, but he had a lot of skeletons in his closet, let me tell you.”

“And what about John?”

“I’m not here to talk to you about John. Dr. Jaquith and I are here to talk about your favorite person: Yourself.”

“It’s been a sort of a long-distance love, hasn’t it, Mrs. Skeffington? Not dissimilar to how it was during her childhood.”

“That’s not kind of you, Doctor. I never wanted my daughters to leave me. The court even said a child should stay with its mother.”

“Never mind what the court said. What did you say?”

“Well, I thought a child should. It was just that…Well, it was just that...It was just that... Well, they weren’t going to be very happy staying with me. They loved their father so much more. We knew perfectly well that if either of the girls were miserable, I would be miserable too.”

Dr. Jaquith didn’t speak for a while then, well aware that he’d added to the guilt and fear Fanny was already feeling. She supposed, if he were being brutally honest, she’d earned a bit of the guilt where it concerned not staying in touch with you or Fanny as she’d promised, but the rest… Well, it was all water under the bridge now. Or so she thought. He glanced uneasily across, not so much at her as at the chair she was sunk in. It seemed to have grown. Always big enough for two, it now seemed big enough for three. When last he saw her, muffled up in fur, he hadn’t realized how little of her there was left. Poor Fanny, he thought, unable, whenever his eyes rested on this wraith-like parody of the past, to prevent a slight shrinking away, she is like a painted ghost. Was it fair, he asked himself, while again she watched him, her head on one side,—was it fair to give anyone who looked so exactly like an invalid a shock? Hadn’t he better wait till she fattened up a bit? Or at least till she didn’t just happen to have had what she told him was a trying day? No, what he had come for couldn’t wait; what he was doing was, anyhow, so outrageous that there was nothing for it but to plunge ahead and see it through.

“Don’t play the innocent with me.”

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“Yes, you do. You know exactly what I mean. Your reasonings for your actions may seem all very logical and selfless if anyone who doesn’t really know you were listening, but I know you, and I know my field of expertise. My dear lady, the entire basis of psychoanalysis is truth, so don’t lie. Not to me. You can lie to yourself, but not to me. I usually make a show of these things, but if you still insist on playing the fool, I’ll just come right out and tell you what your trouble is. You can’t stop ruining things! For your daughter, for yourself! You’d pull in the sky if you could! Anything to make you feel less frightened and alone!”

“You don’t want to understand me—”

“You all but ruined her life that day!”

“I didn’t mean t—”

“How many lives are you going to wreck just to smother your own misery?”

And then she was on her feet, standing quite close to him, rather like a little girl forced to say a difficult lesson not yet really learned, to a judge she knows will be severe. What she had done seemed to her now, alone with Dr. Jaquith, wholly unpardonable. But then, when she thought of you— Having gulped down the tea, watched by Dr. Jaquith curiously while she gulped, she went on quickly. “I refuse to listen! Is this the tone you encourage? Dr. Jaquith, my constitution simply will not stand this sort of thing.”

“You asked for it.”

“How?”

“Sit down and I’ll tell you.”

“I’ve a dreadful headache, Doctor. This isn’t what I wanted to discuss with you at all. I find all this very distasteful.”

“I’m sorry, Mrs. Skeffington, but your daughter and I have headaches too and I think ours precede yours by quite a few years.”

Fanny turned to look at you, as if gaging how she should respond based on your reaction to Dr. Jaquith’s words. You were leaned against the wall, not looking at her or the doctor. Your eyes didn’t even glance up from the newspaper you were “reading”. “Reading” was an understatement. You were too busy looking at the comics section like you always used to do when you lived in the house. It was the only section of the newspaper you ever bothered with. You didn’t say anything, but you made a hum that couldn’t be interpreted as anything but agreement.

“From the look in your eyes, I can tell you probably want nothing more than to have the pleasure of throwing me out, but I haven’t earned my fee yet.”

“What could you possibly have to say after that?”

“Oh, he has a great deal to say, Mother. You should hear him out. He only wants to help you in the same way he helped me. It shouldn’t be too difficult for you. You should be accustomed to just sitting and listening to men say their piece by now.”

“What I have to offer you is sound advice, and you’ll be grateful for it. Did you want to consult a gentleman or a doctor?”

“You know, there’s a female in this opus who is really not entirely unlike yourself,” you remarked, pointing at the comic, though she couldn’t see it.

She needed a true friend’s advice so badly. Who could give it better than Dr. Jaquith, one of her daughter’s oldest and, certainly for the last three or four years, quite one of her dearest friends?

“All right, I’ll listen quietly. What do you want to discuss with me?”

“Well, for instance,” he said after a moment, diffidently, “this business about your poor daughter.”

You, poor? You, that expert in traversing the great world, seeing and experiencing new and exciting things every single day? Really, she couldn’t believe it. You might be relatively poor money-wise, especially compared with what you used to be, but not actually— Silence. She, trying to believe it. She, struggling with a thought which, if she did believe it, would have an instant effect on her own future. You, poor? That was hard to believe. But Dr. Jaquith wouldn’t lie. Then, that being so, it must be true that you were in a bad way. Fanny sat trying to take it in.

“Why ‘poor’?”

“I expect by now it might fairly describe her. When she first came to me, her heart was an injured thing, pain covered her like skin. She didn’t trust this world or anyone in it. She was completely turned in on herself and, like all of her hound, had to go on living in the strange limbo of an increasing detachment and isolation. I wondered if she had come to know more about herself and shrank, consequently, from association with you, her mother, the It Girl of New York. She couldn’t have been anything but lonely when she was a child. Often the stronger the maternal bond the harder the teenage years are for a daughter, but that wasn’t true for her. What you didn’t understand was, she always felt like a bird in a cage. There were times when you clipped her wings to the point where she was at a serious social and developmental disadvantage. If we were meant to stay in one place, we would have roots instead of feet. She wanted to be without roots. A person does not grow from the ground like a vine or a tree, one is not part of a plot of land. Mankind has legs so it can wander. What a funny old world you once lived in, thinking you could cage her, and make her fear her future.”

“I didn’t want to cage her or make her fearful for her future, I wanted to protect her and keep her safe from—”

“Regardless of intent, I’m afraid that’s exactly what you ended up doing. She sought to break free, to prove who she is, that she is her own person and no replica of you, her mother. And as she grew older, that separation was a trauma she hid within animosity, misread as teenage angst. She leaned toward Mr. Skeffington, the father. Separated by gender there was no danger of confusion between who is who. You may have lost her nearly four years ago, Fanny, but she lost you long before you and Job ever divorced. She rattled around this huge house, growing more and more used to being on her own, resenting your presence and that of whichever gentleman you permitted into the house on any given day more and more, even if they only came back for the weekends or while your husband was away, she felt like you and your lovers were invading her space. Under your own roof, your own nose, you became like strangers, ships that pass in the night, not able to agree on anything, not having any common ground. In time the rift should’ve healed, when she was confident, when she was truly an adult. Then she might’ve returned to you, her mother, and you would’ve become more than any two friends could ever be, the love returning to the surface for each of you. But that hasn’t happened, has it?”

“No. I thought her leaving would be temporary, that maybe if I gave her time, gave her space to blow off some steam, she’d come to her senses and come back home. But months went by, then a year, then…”

“Apparently you didn’t know her well enough. This house was never a home to her. It was a cage. A cage that gave her wings to fly, and she flew the nest the first chance she got. Now she has Jim and is surrounded by people every day, but she can’t be anything but lonely at her age, considering the circumstances of her departure, having lost her family and been barred from her childhood house all in one day. Leaving a house is easy, but leaving a home is so very, very hard.”

“Does no one want to know the truth here, Mother? The real loneliness is living among all these kind people who only ask one to pretend!”

“It must be noted that she is a sympathetic character: You, her mother, were biased and ineffective, which left her alone. She went largely ignored by you, which might be why you put so much effort in trying to impress people. After your divorce, she was forced into the company of others because her father could not leave her or her sister alone in Mexico or Europe. It was frightening, but it was liberating, because she no longer had to suffer the comparisons between your beauty and her own. She began to enjoy herself and moralized over every morning.”

“You speak with such eloquence for a psychiatrist. Maybe you should’ve been a poet instead, Doctor.”

“Don’t try to change the subject.”

“But you make an already dreadful situation sound even worse and I find it even more dreadful to listen to you. I hope you’re not going to suggest—”

“I’m going to suggest many things about your daughter, I’m afraid. My concern is not just for you, but for her as well. It’s all wrong that you should be seeing her in this way.”

“It’s dreadfully wrong, and most upsetting.”

“It shows your nerves are in a very bad state.”

“Yes, Dr. Jaquith. Just what I’ve been suspecting myself.”

“And perhaps a complete change of scene—”

“Well, I did go to Claridge’s.”

The ghost of a giggle, the faintest little sound of rather wry mirth, rose to her lips at the pictures that flashed into her mind; though indeed all this was very serious for her. Adorers had played a highly important part in her life; the most important part by far, really, giving it color, and warmth and poetry. How very arid it was without them. True, they had also caused her a good deal of distress when, after a bit, they accused her of having led them on. Each time one of them said that, and each in his turn did say it, she was freshly astonished. Led them on? It seemed to her that, far from having to be led, they came; and came impetuously, while she, for her part, simply sat still and did nothing. Apparently snug and enviable in her rosy, cozy cave, she lay thinking about those adorers, so as not to think of you.

“Fanny, you must be serious.”

“Good heavens, do you suppose I’m not? I went there to visit my cousin, Martha, and her family and I was…searching for something.”

“Searching for what?”

“I don’t…know exactly. But I found…something. I can’t make heads or tails of it.”

“Then will you listen while I tell you what I really think?”

“Oh, all right. But I can assure you, she’s had many very good reasons for being grateful,” said Fanny, more doubtfully; for to be one of a crowd of miserables, each thinking he was the very man to help her with her particular daughter, and taking up his time, didn’t seem so good. “And Doctor—” she frowned—“I’m not poor and suffering, and I’m quite well off.”

At this he paused. Beneath a lamp he paused in order to face her. “Well off, Fanny?” he inquired. “You think yourself well off? Let me tell you,” he solemnly assured her, “that you are positively poverty-stricken. All of those beautiful things, those pretty presents you gave your daughters… Material possessions could never amount to a mother’s love, which is all they ever wanted from you. But love was something which couldn’t be bought, so you didn’t know how to give it to them. Everything you ever gave them came with strings. And I don’t just mean pretty ribbons and bows.”

But even this only pleased her. How very understanding of him, she was thinking. He wasn’t, after all, completely padded inside. By poverty-stricken he meant her starving soul, and her uneasy, groping mind, and her heart that was well on the way to becoming a skeleton now that you had gone—all the parts of one that begin, evidently, to give trouble after fifty. He had guessed this. He knew it instinctively. Living sexlessly before his marriage to Charlotte, she reflected, he had probably developed feminine intuitions. Pleased, she smiled at him, the light from the lamp overhead glaring down pitilessly on her face.

“I’m so glad,” she said.

“Glad?” he repeated, surprised. “Do you in the least know what I mean?”

“Yes. That I’m a poor, drifting, more or less lost soul” —curious, he thought, how much women liked to be told their souls are poor and lost— “and so you’re going to help me. You can, you know, David. It’s my daughter. She’s worrying me to death. She badly needs something done about her.”

“Mrs. Skeffington, everything that needed to be done about your daughter has already been done at Cascade, with success. I’ve known your daughter since she was nine. I know things about her that even you don’t know. And I know things about you that you don’t know I know.”

“Like what?”

“Like how happy, how relieved you were to be free of the encumbrance of your two children and your Jewish husband. When you discovered your husband’s infidelity, you seized the excuse to divorce him, conveniently ignoring your own behavior. You were a hypocrite, Mrs. Skeffington. Hypocrisy often begins at home.”

As much as she hated hearing it, Dr. Jaquith’s words rung true. Fanny well knew that her reactions to Mr. Skeffington’s infidelities weren’t at all the proper ones, but she couldn’t help that. She was perfectly aware she ought to have gone on growing angrier and angrier, and more and more miserable; and instead, things happened this way: Obliged to forgive the first typist, such was his penitence and such his shame, the second one, though humiliating, didn’t distress her quite so acutely. Over the third she was almost calm. The fourth made her merely wonder there should be so many young persons liking him enough for that sort of thing, but she supposed it must be his money. She went out and bought some new hats. The fifth, Miss Morris, she earnestly inquired of the alarmed and shrinking creature what she saw in him. And after Miss Morris, Job left. Left, and never came back. Left, and she beheld him no more till they faced each other in the Divorce Court. Since then she hadn’t set eyes on Mr. Skeffington, except once, not long after the final kicking free, when her car—his car, really, if you looked at it dispassionately—was held up in Pall Mall at the very moment when he, walking to his club, chanced to be passing. There she sat, such a lovely thing, delicately fair in the dark frame of the car, obviously someone everybody would long to be allowed to love, the enormous hat of the early summer of 1914 perched on hair whose soft abundance he had often, in happier days, luxuriously stroked, and was so completely already uninterested in him that she hardly bothered to turn her head. Wasn’t this hard? Now, wasn’t this terribly hard? Mr. Skeffington asked himself, his whole being one impassioned protest. But Fanny, sideways through her eyelashes, did see him, saw how he hesitated and half stopped, saw how red he grew, thought: Poor Job, I believe he’s still in love with me, and idly mused, as she was driven on up St. James’s Street in the direction of her attractive house—his attractive house really, if you looked at it dispassionately—on the evident capacity of men to be in love with several women at once. For she was sure there were several women in Job’s background at the very moment he was hesitating on the pavement, and turning red for love of her. He couldn’t do, she now thoroughly well knew, without several—one in his home, and one in his office, and one God knew where else; perhaps at Brighton, whither he was so fond of going for a breath, he used to explain, of sea air.

So that when he offered her those repeated chances of honorably getting rid of him, though she began by being outraged she ended by being pleased. How angry those typists had made her, till it dawned on her that what they really were were gates to freedom. When at last she saw them in their true light, as so many bolts shot back and doors flung open, she left off being angry, and began instead—strictly speaking, she did’'t suppose she ought to have to rejoice. No, she oughtn’t to have rejoiced; but how difficult it was not to like being without Mr. Skeffington. And she asked herself, as she went into her flower-filled library—the quantity of flowers that arrived for Fanny every day at this period had to be seen to be believed—and found Jim Conderley of Upswich, an elderly (she thought him old, but he was, in fact, under fifty) and impassioned admirer, waiting to take her out to lunch—she asked herself what other woman would have been such an angel of forbearance. Or was it, really, not so much forbearance as that she didn’t care? Yes, thought Fanny, who was an honest girl, and liked to see things straight, it wasn’t being an angel; it was because, after the third lapse, she simply hadn’t cared. Being an upright girl, who believed in sticking to her marriage vows and giving as good as she got. She, too, had been very kind. Her heart, however, hadn’t been in it. At no time had she enjoyed her marriage. She was very sorry, but really she hadn’t.

A marriage, she found, with someone of a different breed is fruitful of small rubs. Among other things, he was a Jew, and she wasn’t. Not that that would have mattered, since she was without prejudices, if he hadn’t happened to look so exactly like a Jew. It wasn’t a bit necessary that he should. Lots of people she knew had married Jews, and none of them looked so exactly like one as Job (Mr. Skeffington’s name was Job, a name, everybody agreed, impossible to regard as other than unfortunate). Still, he couldn’t help that, and certainly he had been very kind. And she, who was a believer in one thing at a time, fell to considering her patience, her positively angelic patience, over his lapses. Five lapses, before she did anything about them. Why, she might have divorced him, completely justified even in her mother’s eyes, who was all for wives sticking to their husbands, after the second lapse, and started on her delicious career of independence at thirty-seven instead of forty-two. Then she would have had five whole years more of it, with everybody bent on making up for his shameful treatment of her, and for what it was imagined she must have suffered. Five years her patience had cost her; five years of happiness. But that was a long while ago. It didn’t seem long, but it was. Then she was forty-two. Now she had just turned fifty-four. A generation had passed, indeed had flashed by, since she saw Mr. Skeffington that morning on the pavement of Pall Mall, and where were they now? In the parlor where she and Dr. Jaquith sat across from each other, reappeared the flowers, perhaps, or grass that had been eaten by sheep, sheep that could be found in Scotland. Scotland, where you and Jim were. Everything, looking back, had dispersed and vanished, to reappear as something else - This new onslaught of hallucinations. though, had only happened in the last few months, and she was sure would soon, like when she was quite strong again after her illness, pass.

You threw your head back and laughed. Not a charming little ghostly giggle, but a guttural guffaw that broke her out of her concentration. “Hypocrite? Ha! Yes, of course you’re a hypocrite, but then there are two of you. There’s your conscious mind with its high ideals and your subconscious that just wants to ensure the survival of me and you. I pity those who aren’t hypocrites, because all they hear is the screaming of their conscious minds day and night, survive, eat, fear, danger. They have no range of morals to be hypocritical about.”

Fanny looked at you for a few seconds, hands in her skirts. It wasn’t the response she’d been hoping for. She wanted you to walk back your talk and instead you were set on carrying on just the same as those without your insights. One more sheep in the paddock. Or maybe you just saw too much, and how can anyone fix all that?

“You weren’t sure your daughters wouldn’t be a hindrance to you, so when they expressed a desire to live with their father who they loved so much and who were loved by him so much in return, you seized that opportunity too, to be rid of them. After all, you were still young and beautiful. You had a difficult choice to make. You couldn’t be both a beauty and a mother. And every summer, one letter, half a page dedicated to meaningless apologies for not being able - no, not being willing - to see your daughters, hollow declarations of loving and missing them, was all you committed to.”

You began to recite your mother’s letters back to her, making a show of impersonating her as if you were a vaudeville actress. “Scene: The summer of 1929. ‘My darling daughters, I’m terribly sorry that Mother will be unable to see you this summer, but...’ Scene: The summer of 1931. ‘My darling daughters…where does the time go? I thought I could surely see you this summer.’ Scene: The summer of 1933. ‘My darling daughters, it is terrifying to think...that so many years have passed and we still haven’t seen each other...but Mother misses you, and...’”

“You were more than capable of seeing them. You just didn’t want to. You had much better things to fill your days with. As soon as that letter was sealed in its envelope to be mailed, you spared no more thought to your daughters until the next year. Your daughter didn’t listen to you because no matter what you preached, your preaching became hypocrisy. If you are still unhappy now, I dare say you have only yourself to thank.”

“Unhappy? How can you be? What richness! Why, this is a palace! Oh, it’s marvelous! So roomy and so full of things! Oh, and look at the flowers. They’re lovely, absolutely lovely. I call this splendor, I really do! Mother, you ought to be the happiest creature alive!”

“Well, it just looks like a room to me, and it certainly doesn’t make me happy. Don’t be insulting. It isn’t fair.”

“‘It isn’t fair’, ‘it isn’t fair’. You say that so often, Mother. I wonder what your basis for comparison is. Three, almost four years and you still haven’t grown up? Really?”

“If anything in life isn’t fair, Mrs. Skeffington, you must put the work in to make them fair. Justice and fairness didn’t mean much to you before, but they mean a great deal to you now, don’t they? I know of only two alternatives to hypocrisy: perfection or honesty. You must envy your daughter.”

“How do you figure envy?”

“The liberty she has with her thoughts. However misshapen they may be, she has no shame in sharing them. When faced with the choice between perfection and honesty, you chose perfection every time, either because you couldn’t or wouldn’t choose the latter. Your daughter, in contrast, chose honesty every time, no matter how ugly it was. You were pedantic and conceited. You gave up on your daughters quite early on. With their father, however, it was a different story. From the day she and Fanny were born, their father doted on them, far more than he ever doted on you. He read to them, bought them books, games, but he also talked to them, listened to them, played with them, treated them like independent people capable of developing their own thoughts, instead of interchangeable decorative objects or extensions of you or himself… truth be told, you were a bit jealous of all the attention he was lathering on them. You know, Mrs. Skeffington, envy is often a sign of insecurity, yes, but so is longing to be envied.”

“Are you saying I am insecure? That I have shame?”

“How else do you explain your jealousy and need for attention?”

“Maybe I knew... I knew that Jim took an interest in her because she was just like him. But jealousy is a strong creature. It quickly devoured my mind. Soon, anger took control of me. And I just needed someone to be mad at other than myself. Even after she left, anger stayed. It devoured me whole. I envied her happiness. I envied his happiness. I envied Fanny for marrying Johnny Mitchell. I hated Jim Masters. If Manby had a lover, I would’ve despised him too.”

“And the lies you told about not being able to see your daughters when you so very easily could’ve. In nearly ten years, you never once shed a tear while your daughters were living with their father in Europe, yet you were a wet mess, nearly inconsolable and suffocating from your crying when both of your daughters left home again after only living here for a few months. Why hide that from them? Dishonesty breeds dishonesty.”

“They sit in judgment. My daughters were the only ones to say it to my face, but I know Job and George thought it, too. The Trellis wealth was a legend, but it became a myth when my father died nearly thirty years ago. He did leave a considerable estate...but, you see, Trippy insisted on managing it and, within four months of my father’s death, he ran it into a swamp. Trippy and I were stone broke. He went through our fortune and was starting in on Job’s. The house, servants… Everyone was under the same impression... Even the creditors. There was no chance of the money being returned. if I didn’t do something, Trippy would’ve been prosecuted by the DA and we would’ve lost the house and everything in it and—”

“You don’t need to defend yourself to me, Fanny. I know what you went through to keep your family ignorant in their comfort. But seeing your daughter comes out of a subconscious desire to see her. A need for her.”

It was she this time who interrupted abruptly, stung too badly to remember discretion. “And how, pray,” she inquired, flushing and lifting her chin— a gesture which instantly fixed his cold eye on those parts which Henri had said could be enormously helped, “how, pray, do you know? How do you know I’m not relieved to be free of her at this very moment?” For after all, you would come flying to New York any moment, husband or no husband, if she simply lifted a finger. Or—once more her thoughts faltered before that steady eye—wouldn’t you? “What you say is ridiculous. I have no desire to see my daughter. And I’m sure she has no desire to see me.”

“Oh, my poor lady,” was all Dr. Jaquith said to that. He looked as if he wanted to say more, but he stopped himself short and waited.

Then there was silence, while they stared at each other, he with his clean-shaven lips sardonic, and his fingertips neatly fitted together, she too badly stung to speak. Outraged, she stared at this dreadful Jaquith who was daring to pity her, but even while she stared her doubts were beginning to grow more insistent, and crept, like the cold fog outside, into her heart. Suppose now, just let her for a moment suppose, she said to herself, trying to face things sensibly—that the man was right, and she was indeed simply a poor lady deluding herself. Suppose everything that had made life so warm and happy was soon going to be over for her, was perhaps already over; what then? What did a woman do then?

“Well, Dr. Jaquith?” pressed Fanny. “What were you going to say?”

“That you should go off and travel for six months.”

“What? Be put to flight by my daughter? Never.”

“It seems to me she has put you to flight already. Ousted you from your home.”

“Claridge’s isn’t flight. I can go back at any minute.”

“The world is full of travelers. Once in a year go to someplace you have never been before. You will meet confused seekers, hopeful wanderers, enthusiastic storytellers, happy families. Look into their eyes and stuff your own eyes with wonder, live as if you’d drop dead any moment. Look at the world. It’s more beautiful than any dream you’d have ever seen. Make the most beautiful travel diary and open it up for your daughters someday, so you will all understand each other in ways you’ve failed to in the past. If you dislike that idea, I’m rather inclined to agree with—”

“Not with Byles? Don’t tell me you agree with Byles? That man, that Byles man, whose every word was like a slap in the face?” she exclaimed, standing still and facing him.

“If your daughter is behaving like a ghost, she should be laid,” Dr. Jaquith said with decision.

“Laid?” she repeated. “But that’s what Byles said, about Job.”

“Well, he wasn’t far out, I think, when he suggested it,” said Dr. Jaquith, his voice chilling because she was facing him, and he had to look at her. Really she shouldn’t, he thought; really she should not paint so much. “Nevertheless, what I say is true. Talk to her. Ask her to come over for the wedding.”

“No, I can’t. She’s in California, in the countryside somewhere. That’s a six-day train trip. She’d say I was imposing.”

“Ask her to come back, even if it’s just for the day. You can size her up, and she can size you up. It’s obvious you know nothing about your daughter at all. Talking is the foundation for every relationship. If you don’t talk, you drift apart. There’s so much to say when you don’t have a lot of time to say it. So talk to her. It’s your only hope.”

“But, David—” she protested. And staring at him, and at his dark eyebrows, and changed sunken face, she asked herself what right he had to give her advice; any advice; and especially fantastically silly advice. Byles. George. Job. Jim, and now David. The pack of them were being idiotic about you, that castaway daughter of hers. Still, when Fanny thought of what she had done, and where you were at that moment, tact and prudence seemed poor things compared with courage, and out kept coming those damned beads on her forehead. She certainly seemed to be perspiring a good deal. She had positively perspired with fear lest she should fail you. “What ought I to do? Things like that are simply not done,” she said.

“My dear, after a certain age everything is done. There’s no ought about what you should do,” he answered.

“Yes, I forgot. I keep on forgetting how old I am. How old Job and I both are.”

She thought how very disturbing it was if being older, besides its many other drawbacks, included freedom to do what one used to be protected from by the proprieties. For Fanny one thing was true: The heat of summer was not nearly as stifling as the formality of her life. With every passing day the feeling grew stronger. At Dr. Jaquith’s provocations, she was coming closer to the end of something and moving towards the beginning of something new. Change was in the air. It was only a question of when. If what Dr. Jaquith was saying held any shred of truth, she could, then, if she liked, go off alone now with anybody who wanted her to, to Paris or the other places one went off to, just as you had done, and nobody would say a word.

“I keep forgetting she’s gone. I see things in the paper that would make her laugh. I come inside to tell her that her favorite flower is in bloom and then, suddenly...” Fanny had to stop, in order to swallow. Her throat felt all dry and choky. She could hear the clanging of the teacups as she stretched across the table, seized the teapot, and poured herself out some more tea.

Why, what a cold, naked world, with no fences left. How miserable everything was. It had been bad enough for your figment to pervade her life, upsetting her nerves almost into fits, but what was a figment compared to an actual body? The decent impulse she had had of repentance, of asking for forgiveness, went curdled within her. Dr. Jaquith wanted her to make it a warm thing. To make it a kind thing. To talk it over with you. According to him, she had to see you herself, in the flesh. But how could she?

“Say that to your daughter. Please.”

“She doesn’t want to hear it from me.”

“If you don’t, you're a coward, Mrs. Skeffington. Like all bullies, you’re a coward. Knowing the truth is so minuscule compared to having the nerve to say it…and even more to live it. I’m sorry to have to be so uncharacteristically blunt, Mrs. Skeffington. Really, I hate to do it. But I must. You’re most seriously ill, Mrs. Skeffington.”

“Do you hear that? The doctor says you’re sick, Mother. What with? A bad case of Sitzenlust. Chronic. The opposite of wanderlust. Wanderlust is like itchy feet. It’s when you can’t settle down. But Wanderlove is much deeper than that. it’s a compulsion. It’s the difference between lust and love. It’s a diagnosis often shared between at least two people.”

“And she is most seriously distraught.”

“My daughter is?”

“Thanks to you.”

“Did you say—”

“My dear Mrs. Skeffington, if you had deliberately and maliciously planned to destroy your daughter’s life, you couldn’t have done it more completely.”

“How? By exercising a mother’s rights?”

“A mother’s rights? Twaddle. A child has rights. A person has rights to discover her own mistakes, to make her own way, to grow and blossom in her own particular soil.”

“Are we getting into botany, doctor? Are we flowers?”

“No. But if we were, you would be the rose, and your daughter would be the thorn in your flesh. And vice versa, if I were to ask your daughter how she feels towards you.”

“I am the rose and you the thorn, so I bear these scratches and you smell of perfume. After all, we grew together of the same roots, part of the same blessed garden. Yet as the seasons shift and I grow taller and blossom, we both heal, you and I,” you said as you picked at your fingernails and sucked on your thumb, as if soothing the sting of getting pricked.

“If you’re only here to reprimand me about my daughter, please stop. I’ve already torn myself into strips.”

“Why did you do it?”

“I don’t know. She was so… I never meant to—”

“Yes, you did. Who do you think you’re talking to? One of your suitors? Your maid?”

“How was I to know she w—? Anyway, I’m sorry now.”

“You should be.”

“With her, I just say things and then they can’t be unsaid.”

“She believed you were unhappy. That’s why you lashed out as you did. As much as you’d like to believe otherwise, she’s not the only one who inherited remnants of Trippy’s temperament.”

“Look, if this is about Jim Masters, you should be clear he hasn’t much to offer. Sir John Talbot was a loss, but not Jim. He isn’t well-born, and there’s little money and no position. He grew up in the city in Sacramento.”

“He shoots.”

“Yes, he shoots. Like every social-climbing banker shoots.”

“Well, let’s leave his credentials to one side for a moment and concentrate on what’s important.”

“Which is?”

“She says that he is in love with her, and that she is in love with him.”

“Do you believe her?”

“Do you deny it?”

“Oh, for you of all people to talk as if Jim’s qualifications don’t matter. I don't mean to sound snobbish, but I didn’t want my daughter to marry down.”

“That doesn’t sound stiff or grand at all,” Dr. Jaquith remarked sarcastically.

“I didn’t want my daughter to be grander than her husband. Or richer. If you’re really here to help me, you’d agree with me.“

“It may surprise you, but I agree it’s important to be balanced, that one should not be far stronger than the other. I just don’t think it has much to do with money or position. Was it serious? Was Sir John so very special in that way?”

“He was the owner to Talbot Castle and the surrounding acres of land, and a prominent and well-loved member of his community, he was attractive and nice, and—”

“What I’m hearing is that Sir John Talbot had all that you could wish - birth, money, looks - but he didn’t suit her.”

“No.”

“No, he wasn’t clever enough. He wasn’t strong enough. Jim Masters is both. You see, Mrs. Skeffington, there is no such thing as ‘marrying down’. When you love someone, really love someone, you see them as ‘the one,’ the greatest person you ever met, a divine blessing, a person to cherish for always. Thus, any sense of superiority is a poison to the relationship and there should be no marriage in such cases…because that isn’t love, that’s vanity, ego, pride…that’s vice. I’m not saying everything will be easy for them, but who has a life where everything is easy? Not us. And God knows not her. We simply can’t abandon ship every time we encounter a storm in our marriage. Real love is about weathering the storms of life together. After all, what’s love without a few tribulations?”

As he spoke, her eyes focused on his hands and, for the first time since he’d arrived, she saw the ring that adorned his left hand. Of course, she knew that he was married. She knew it when he first came to the house all those years ago. But it wasn’t until that very moment that she really saw it, and not just with her eyes. Upon his finger was a simple wedding band, an elegant platinum thing. Dr. Jaquith’s wedding ring was the perfect blend of elegance and craftsmanship. But Fanny thought to herself that he probably would be a marvelous lover and husband, and Mrs. Jaquith, whoever she was, was very lucky in love to have him. So his advice wasn’t just coming from textbooks. He was speaking from his heart, from his own personal experiences as a married man.

“Is that how she feels about Jim?”

“To you, she has everything and he has nothing. She’s the great lady, and he’s the man without a home, the man who drove the cars. Even if you never said so before, you immediately thought Jim and your daughter wouldn’t have a lot to talk about, wouldn’t have a lot in common. But that isn’t true for them. She obtained nothing higher because she didn’t think she could do better than Jim. She’s content to be the wife of a former chauffeur and nomad, and to be considered a star in the society of the wayfaring strangers. And that’s what matters. Listen, Mrs. Skeffington, isn’t it about time we started talking a little sense? What is it exactly that’s bothering you?”

“All right, it’s not his poverty. It’s not even his past.”

“Then ask yourself: What’s the issue? Is there some sort of disagreement between you two? If that’s the case, well then, ask yourself: Is there something you’re angry about in regards to your daughter or your relationship with her?”

“You hid your deepest feelings so well you forgot where you placed them. And again, It’s time to wake up, Mother...”

Oh, so boring; oh, so senseless. Should she go in for good works? Or attend lectures? Or learn languages? Or interest herself in the European situation? Bleak, bleak. But wasn’t the alternative even more bleak, indeed grisly, to dribble idly into old age by slow stages of increasing depression and discontent, punctuated—what fun!—by things like rheumatism and being deaf? And she pictured herself turning gradually into her own caricature, an unkind caricature—more than unkind, a highly malicious parody of what she used to be—still going to parties because she couldn’t bear to be alone, and when she got to them hardly able to keep her eyes open, still snatching at invitations and ordering new frocks; an old woman who would be explained to the indifferent young ones as somebody who once was much more beautiful than they could ever hope to be.

“Difficult as it is to imagine,” she could hear the explainer saying, “that old lady over there in the corner, Lady Frances Skeffington—yes, the old lady with the stick, whose head won’t keep still—used to be a celebrated beauty.”

Beauty; beauty. What was the good of beauty, once it was over? It left nothing behind it but acid regrets, and no heart at all to start fresh.

“I couldn’t be alone. I couldn’t. I couldn’t do it. I’d always hoped Job would give me a divorce. But then when it happened… After my illness, all my suitors, all my friends, people who I thought loved me left me without so much as a phone call or goodbye note. People that I surrounded myself with for years, who I thought were loyal to me… They all just dropped out of my life and moved on as if I were nothing. They were never my friends. They only loved what I looked like, never me at all. But you know what I say? It’s called unlovable bitches like me…make the world go ‘round.”

“That’s not true. You’re not unlovable.”

“What are you talking about?”

“There is always something to love.”

“I feel nothing. I…I feel…I feel…”

Doctor Melton had assured George that Fanny was unconscious of the change in her face, that women never did know when their beauty left them, that it was a great pity, and that someone ought to tell her about it; and he had believed him, and taken comfort in the belief that his darling cousin was at least spared what must, to any woman once so beautiful, be a torment. Now, to Dr. Jaquith, it appeared that she hadn’t been spared, and that she was perfectly aware of what had happened to her. Pity washed away the last traces of his anger. She knew all about her darling face. Then Fanny was really angry. She’d been seeing some of the others, some of the ones who used to think they loved her agonizingly too. It should’ve been nice to get all her old friends together at the party that night, for them all to come back after almost twenty years and carry on just like the good old days. But none of them could figure out why she got them together. And when they saw her standing on the stairs…they one and all recoiled. Every man-jack of them. Had she changed much? That is, very much? Her past paramours, they all played dumb and tried to dodge answering the question. But they knew perfectly well in what way, knew perfectly well what she meant. So she pushed for them to answer, claiming that it was so difficult to see oneself as others saw one. Still, they danced around the question, stalled for as long as they could so they could come up with something to say that wouldn’t hurt her too much or put them in the wrong.

“Well, Fanny, you mustn’t forget you were still almost a girl when we were friends. And, of course, since then you’ve grown up,” they said. So they thought she changed. But she knew that already. So she expressed her wish for them to tell her what they really thought. But when they did, all they said was, “You always were and always will be...enshrined in my memory...as the nearest thing to perfect loveliness that I have ever known.”

As if it came from a poet’s pen, it sounded pretty, but very hollow. It was pure vanity. A desire in these waning days of hers to feel the assurance of beauty again. But she found one should never look for admirers...while at the same time one was falling to bits. Her friends were as vapid as the winter snow was cold. An unpleasant nest of nasty, materialistic and aggressive people, careless of the rights of others, imperfectly democratic at home though quick to see the minor slaveries of others, and greedy without end. Their love extended only as far as a telegram, stopping abruptly at the front door of the house. “She used to be so beautiful,” “Simple case of wrong diet,” they said behind her back when they thought she was out of earshot. Their smiles of yellow teeth matched their little yellow faces, and they stopped coming whenever her world fell apart, which was often. From their announcements, their lives were one constant party, wine and meals in fancy establishments. Every newspaper article fed her loneliness, hacked at the tenuous emotional connections she nursed. She remembered a version of herself untrammeled by expectation, unimpeded by ego. She had suffered in the many years since then, seeking to return to that original self, if, in fact, it ever existed. And yet, she was helpless but to regard that unmistakable fear that gripped her in her dream as a sign that her unevenness lent her now to utter incongruity with this specter of past. She used to only feel the cruel bite of isolation in crowds, now it followed her home, an ever present reminder that she was a failure on every front. She had enough of recoilers. She wasn’t going to add you, her poor daughter, to them. After all, you deserved a little extra consideration. That was the only reason she wouldn’t see you— Simply because, if she saw you, you would at the same time see her. And despise her.

“Job was gone and I was afraid that if she left, Fanny would follow suit and I’d lose both of my daughters. Then I’d have no one. I’d have no one. I’d have nothing. I’d have nothing.”

“So you were still afraid Fanny would want to start acting like her, just as you feared when they were nine. Does she know this?”

“I was afraid to tell her. I’m still afraid. If I tell her now, then she’d feel she should give it up, but I don’t want that. She’d resent me.”

And now, Dr. Jaquith realized, they came down to the root of Fanny’s dreams. She dreamed of a boat, of sailing, not just because it was the setting of where she lost her beauty, but because she envisioned her worst fears: You on the rocks, and she with power to rescue you, but you refusing so much as a handout from the likes of her, even if it was a life preserver. She wanted to be kind, and warm, and personal with you, her poor shipwrecked daughter, and she couldn’t, she couldn’t, because it was unbearable to her that you, who had so abjectly despised her, much like the men who once worshipped her beauty, and the women who envied it, should see her as she was now. She was afraid because you hadn’t seen her face for nearly four years. But that didn’t matter.

“You are the only woman I know who likes to think herself cold, and selfish and grand when most of us spend our lives trying to hide it.”

“Oh, please don’t lecture me anymore on sentimental virtues. I don’t think I can stomach another pretty speech, winding up with a bow.”

“I’m sorry if all of that hurt and confused you. But it needed to be said, for your sake as well as your daughter’s. In order for you to get better, Fanny, I must do whatever it takes to make it so. I didn’t say all of that just to make you feel bad.”

“I know,” she said. “But I do, all the same.” She shifted in her seat so she was angled more toward him. “Oh, Dr. Jaquith, I didn’t mind really. Whatever happens between us, I’d like it if— Do you think she’d still want to hear from me?”

He nodded immediately. “She's got a huge heart, as you know, and she misses you greatly. She may not be over the moon, but she’d be hesitantly optimistic. And don’t worry, don’t worry, I believe in rules, and traditions and playing our part. Well, there is something else.”

“And what is that?”

“I believe in love. I mean, brilliant careers, rich lives, are seldom lived without just an element of love.”

“Oh, David, you do surprise me.”

“Oh, I am glad. So my trip wasn’t wasted? I’ve come to address a most pressing matter, but our time is running short so I’ll speak as plainly as I can, foreswearing accustomed frills that decorate my speech. You know where you went wrong, Fanny. We needn’t dwell on that here and now. But even so, you’ve been given a chance of redemption.”

“My daughter would consider…forgiveness?”

“She would consider what she considers to be forgiveness. The repentance of a hypocrite is itself hypocrisy, but it’s a vice that can be forgiven like any other. I would only say this: First, make peace with your daughter and her husband. And then, make peace with yourself. Do you remember that morning during our first meeting, I referred to a poem, remember?”

“Oh, yes, Robert W. Service’s.”

“I had it looked up and typed out on a slip of paper for you. If old Robert didn’t have you and your daughter in mind when he wrote this, he had lots of others like the two of you. He’s put into words what I’d like to say to the both of you now, and far better than I could ever express it. Read it. Bye.”

Jaquith was certainly, from what she had heard, a highly pleasant person, and equally certainly he had broken the ground by that suggestion about reaching out to you, so all she had to do was to feel her way along those same lines with tact and prudence. She found his manner most refreshing. After the sleek, soft ways of the doctors she used to go to, he was infinitely bracing. She loved going to see him. She came away feeling incredibly brisked up, and ready for anything. As hard and taut as prize-fighters she felt, after a two hours’ scrap with Dr. Jaquith. Divine, she agreed, not to be mewed over, but given a clean, straight sock—her very language, after being with him, was virile on the jaw. After Dr. Jaquith said his goodbyes and left, Fanny looked at the crisp white card stock he had given her, and read aloud the poem printed on it in bold black lettering.

There’s a race of men that don’t fit in,

A race that can’t sit still;

So they break the hearts of kith and kin,

And they roam the world at will.

They range the field and rove the flood,

And they climb the mountain’s crest;

Their’s is the curse of the gypsy blood,

And they don’t know how to rest…

Fanny walked slowly down the hallways, headed for Job’s study. Like the Kingdom of Heaven, she wasn’t going to be taken by violence. So justly angry with herself was she, so rightly revolted by her manner, that as she hurried upstairs, it was not till she reached the last step did she remember that she couldn’t possibly show herself to him as she was now, and pulling up short was on the point of turning around and going downstairs again. When she stood in the doorway, she watched as Job gave Miss Cartwright an envelope to mail out.

“Would you to see to it that the postman gets this? Place it directly in his hands if you have to.”

“Certainly, Mr. Skeffington.”

“Thank you, Miss Cartwright.” While Miss Cartwright left, Fanny entered. Job had become attuned to the sound of her footsteps and could recognize them immediately. “Did you and Dr. Jaquith have a productive session?”

“Yes, during his visit, there were lots of things he said that— Well, I won’t go into detail, but he offered me plenty of things to chew on. The most important being that I need to work things out with our wayfaring daughter.”

“So what are you going to do about our wayfaring daughter?”

“That’s still a hard task. Dr. Jaquith said I should invite her to the wedding, ask her to come back even if it’s only for the day. I’ve been objecting her relationship with Jim for a long time. Too long. In doing so, she has been avoiding me. I haven’t been a good mother, but I want to be there whenever she needs me from now on. I’ve been resisting change for so long, but now… I don’t want things to go back the way they were. I’m ready to say I’m sorry. But why should she want to forgive me?”

Soon after that she began to wonder at herself for having behaved so badly like that, and a few miles farther on had arrived at the stage of being thoroughly ashamed. By the time Dr. Jaquith left she was quite overwhelmed by compunction, and decided that never in her life had she heard of conduct more disgraceful. Talk of being inhuman and numb! It was she who had been inhuman, and utterly numb to the feelings of others, only intent on getting away and not caring how many lies she told. Just because she was bored and tired; just because, having stupidly said something bound to rouse you, she felt she couldn’t go through any resulting scene. She was glad Job couldn’t see the look on her face, for she had been thinking, how on Earth had he managed to be so fond of me all these years if the whole time, in his heart, he had never been sure I would behave honorably when put to the test? Doubly astonished, her breath quite taken away by these sudden revelations, she stood looking at Job, unable to say a word, listening in a silence she took as boding no good to what she began telling him about you. The only remaining string your bow would come in, and she would appeal to your pity; and if that was no good, then…then… She didn’t know.

With the help of his cane, Job got up, went around his desk to her, leaned on the edge of it, and put his arm around her. He bent down and kissed the top of her head. This was not only to show he loved her and sympathized with her, but also so that he might have a second or two to think what he ought to say next. She was in great stress of mind. Fanny was still his darling wife, and he was worried about her. “Although it’s painful, you do have a point there, Fanny. Our daughter is well within her rights to never forgive you. But I also agree that she won’t respond to or even read any letter written and sent by you. That’s why, while you and Dr. Jaquith were talking, Miss Cartwright was helping me to write a letter to our daughter. We finished it just before Dr. Jaquith left. Miss Cartwright has just gone to send it out. If she won’t listen to you, hopefully she’ll listen to me and be here for our wedding.”

“Oh, Job. Thank you. Thank you s—”

“Don’t thank me just yet, Fanny. I’ve only done the first step for you, but I can’t help you any more beyond that. The rest you’ll need to do yourself. If she comes, she’ll undoubtedly bring Jim with her, and it’ll be up to you to begin the process of repenting for your past mistakes and making amends with the both of them. It may not be as easy as an apology. It may be a long road. It’s my hope, and your hope too, that she and Jim will forgive you. But you’ll have to be ready for anything, and I do mean anything.”

April 1940

My darling daughter,

I remember a time when I was seventeen and going with Trippy and our parents to my Great Aunt Sophie’s house, someplace where I had never been, and the question of what to wear was a weighty one. I knew it was in the mountains, but was it really cold or just cold for New York? On the other hand, the drive up would probably be on the warm side. What to put on? I finally settled for an olive-green gabardine dress. Once the choice had been made, I considered it inspired and went happily off to the train station and, from there, we were to assemble and be driven up to her house by her chauffeur, who she had waiting for us. Alas, my complacency was short-lived. For as long as I could remember, no matter how pleased I may be with my clothes when I am ordering them, no matter how successfully I may feel they have turned out the day they come home from the shop and are lifted from their boxes, I have only to walk into a restaurant or the theater or a friend’s house to be instantly convinced that every woman there is more appropriately and becomingly dressed than I. That day at my Great Aunt’s house was no exception. I arrived in my gabardine, Great Aunt Sophie was in distinguished tweeds, and my heart sank. Of course, I thought, tweed. Even I, dope that I am, should have known enough for that. Correct and smart. Naturally. And far better cut than this sacking I was draped in. I spent the entire first day in the mountains plunged in gloom and self-disgust. Later that afternoon, Great Aunt Sophie asked me to have a drink with her and her much younger husband. In the course of the visit, I remarked that I liked her dress and that it was the perfect thing for a grand house in the Rocky Mountains. She looked at me in pleased disbelief. “You think so?” she asked. To which I answered, “Yes, of course. I only wish I had one to wear up here.”

She burst into the unrestrained laughter which was characteristic of her. “My God,” she said, “that’s funny. I’d been debating what to wear and I finally settled for this, then you walked in. I took one look at you and thought, of course, Fanny’s no fool. Gabardine. That’s what I should have on! I damn near went back up to my room to change.”

Another celebrated woman who suffered from clothes insecurity was Miss Gretchen Lesnicki, the daughter of one of my Great Aunt’s neighbors, and I got to know her. Miss Lesnicki, to the innocent beholder, was smart as all get out, but she, too, apparently viewed her own reflection with a soured eye, once she had spied the other entrants in the social arena. Moreover, she was harassed by a further ailment common to the fashion-conscious. She had only to see an outfit she had sold or given away worn by someone else to be instantly aware of its outstanding chic and to be moved by a strong impulse to kick herself for having got rid of such a becoming and durable garment. I knew what she went through. During the rest of our stay at Great Aunt Sophie’s house, the clothes problem no longer troubled either Miss Lesnicki or myself, for we were wearing dresses designed for us by “the best of the best” (in Great Aunt Sophie’s words). We had several days of radiant weather, and when not engaged in a ball, dinner party, or any other important outing or social obligation, I used to lie on the grass in her garden and look up through the glittering leaves of the trees or through the dark gleaming needles of the pines, deep up into the sky where the little clouds drifted. I was trying to apply a lesson I knew well but which was hard to put into practice, and that is not to let personal unhappiness blunt for us the loveliness of the external world. When we do, we are a little less civilized. Unhappiness spreads a scar tissue over our perceptions and we rob ourselves of our most intimate wealth, the awareness of nature. Love was my trouble and my woe was unconfined. An emotional orgy is momentarily gratifying to the emoter, but it is sterile and any performance is the more impressive as well as more sincere if there is evidence of intellect. Besides, this sort of sentimental suicide is futile; since we will survive anyhow; we will not induce love where love does not exist and we cheat ourselves out of countless delights by coddling our misery. All this I knew.

Putting it into practice I found virtually impossible, yet my sense of degradation was partially alleviated by the kindly understanding of Dr. Jaquith. Seeing me tearful, he asked what was the matter. Between laughing and crying I told him I was ashamed of myself but that I waited for word which didn’t come. I waited without humor and without courage. I knew I was behaving with self-indulgence and with a marked lack of common sense, with my experience and at my age... I continued to castigate myself, but faster fell the tears. Dr. Jaquith laughed, but his laughter was gentle. “My dear,” he said, “I am many years older than you but I am still capable of disappointment if a letter I am hoping for doesn’t come. Don’t count on age to get you over that one. Realize that when your feelings do not dull you are the more alive. It’s painful but it’s worth it.” Dr. Jaquith is a nice man. I was at Great Aunt Sophie’s only a few days and it was in the season of my discontent, but owing, in large part, to his understanding, I remember with delight the sky and the water and the dark, strong color of the pine trees like a canvas freshly painted. When I was seventeen, for the first time, I saw the world as you see it. It had been so long…so many years passed between the first and last time I went to her house… I had forgotten…what it felt like.

Love,

Your mother

Weeks passed. The wedding was tomorrow, yet not a word was heard from you. Not a letter, a phone call, a postcard, nothing. You hadn’t said anything to your sister either, which was most unusual, since you told her almost everything. Fanny was much happier to marry Job this time around than she was twenty odd years ago, but she was still down in the mouth about your silence. She really hoped Job’s letter would’ve been moving enough for you to break your vow of no-contact. She was really hoping to hear from you, even if it was to tell her of your decision to decline attending the wedding.

“Why so glum?”

“I could use some sleep. I’m not glum, Manby. Just tired. Even a woman of my amazing energy…”

“Go ahead and go to bed. We want you to look beautiful tomorrow. Anybody who says you aren’t, we’ll fight ‘em.”

“I like to think of myself as distinguished looking rather than just beautiful. Goodnight.”

[izzy-b-hands]

Still can't sleep (and I actually want to, but it just. Isn't happening yet) so I'm mulling over edizzy thoughts/fic ideas, but one in particular is sticking hard rn, like-

I sort of want to do a kind of. I don't know the right word for it right this minute, but essentially it breaks down just how close they were/are and how intertwined they are like

In a modern au it would be someone making them do what my old therapist said she sometimes had couples do when they came to her for couples therapy. Not necessarily the first thing, but sometimes among the first things, to help crack the shell open. Have them sit and list all the little things they know abt each other, and the things they find silly to remember abt the other or the endearing things/quirks/habits (that maybe have turned to fond or less fond irritation versus endearment even.) Just write it down, and take a minute or two to reflect on the trust and vulnerability required to learn some of those things abt another person, and remember why you let yourself be that trusting and vulnerable, and ask yourself if you still want/feel that sort of connection or not. One answer isn't better than the other, and it's couple dependent on which answer is the better one for them as unique individuals in a relationship unique to them.

In canon time period I'm not totally sure how I'd intro it, so that might wind up more of a 'izzy talking to jim and they wind up discussing these things he knows abt ed, meanwhile stede is doing the same thing with ed, later jim goes to stede like "dude holy shit those two HAVE to talk" and stede's just "yeah they do but i don't know what arts and crafts project to sit them down with so that they might open up enough to go over stuff. Please tell me you have craft ideas" and we end up with some eventual edizzy discussion/also maybe shared art project bc i do like the idea of that mirroring the s1 flag project' thing?

I just. Have so many little ideas for the things ed and izzy know abt each other.

Roach bemoans (in a fondly frustrated for Izzy way, not a because of Izzy way) giving Izzy massages to help him heal post gunshot wound and to just. relax for five fucking minutes. Ed's sat there in the galley snacking, thinking abt how he knows exactly which knots in Izzy's back are worst to work out, but he also knows exactly how to do that. But to tell Roach what to do for that would be an incredibly intimate and vulnerable thing both for him and Izzy and it feels warm and like home but it aches at the same time. When did he last do that for Izzy? He can't remember. He wishes he did.

Stede is fussing over trying to put together better lunches for Ed when he goes fishing with Fang (bc Roach is already making lunch for everyone else by then and has asked Stede to help out by making sure Ed's separate more easily transportable lunch is taken care of) and just. mildly losing his mind bc he can't keep sending jars of marmalade and little else (even if Ed ultimately doesn't mind that too much.) Izzy sits in the overstuffed chair in Ed and Stede's quarters and bites his tongue bc he has an entire fucking multi-course meals menu for Ed that he's memorised without even trying to over the years. But he'd feel like an ass just busting that out; Stede should have the chance to learn these things abt Ed as their relationship progresses. That was part of what made it special for Izzy and Ed, after all. They know each other's safe foods and favourite over expensive treats that they used to only have when they could steal them, and he can't shut off the flow of memories even when Stede asks him why he's tearing up during a discussion abt food.

There's so much. So many little niches. They know which parts of each other's bodies have the worst pains and aches and creaks, some from old poorly healed injuries, others from age and overuse and the way sailing and their work can be so incredibly physical some days. They know just as well how to make the other come undone underneath their hands and fingertips. Be mindful of Ed's knee and back, Izzy should take it slower when his neck and back ache (and now his leg and torso too.) If you kiss directly at the base of the back of Ed's neck while fucking him from behind, leaned over him with him on his hands and knees on the bed, he'll almost always wind up coming untouched. Holding Izzy's hands up over his head while riding him and gently teasing him to let go will at least 8 times out of 10 result in him being instantly undone and an adorably blushy mess abt it.

He could tell you exactly the sort of blankets and quilts Ed prefers between the warmer and colder months, down to designs and the sort of materials used to fill and cover them.

He knows exactly how Izzy likes his clothing to fit, even if he can't ever fucking convince Izzy to buy much of anything new, and he has fucking tried!!

On that note, they can recite each other's current measurements, blood type, allergies, phobias, and more without having to think abt it. it's as easy as breathing or being asked something abt themselves.

Only towards the end of the fic, both modern au and canon time period, do either of them pause and go

"...oh. what happened to us?" with fearful and confused tears in their eyes because it wasn't always like this. Maybe it could be more like it used to be, again. Maybe they can't entirely undo what was done to them or to each other, but they can love and care and look out for each other.

And this time, sitting sobbing and vulnerable they can let themselves admit they never stopped, the love was so interwoven in it all too that they stopped noticing it. They let it become background noise versus a pronounced and acknowledged sound special to them both (and to those who have or might share them, like Jack and Stede.) And that on its own isn't necessarily bad, being comfortable with each other and letting the love sit as it will isn't bad. But everything else going on, their own past unaddressed traumas, and the outside stresses of their lives and trying to survive turned it into something unhealthy and hurtful.

it hurts horribly to lay it all out like that. Feels like being flayed open while alive.

But the next few days after sees them able to talk again, really talk, like they used to. They can be close again and occupy that very particular space in each other's lives, while letting each other have more (ed has stede and in my mind for this fic izzy has at least three or more crew members that have been taking it slow but are absolutely down bad for him)

It's not exactly what they had before. It never will be, it can't be. And they both come to terms with that.

But it's better than what things had become, and they have time and space now to keep working on it.

[kingofthewebxxx]

Answers to a previous meme

Note: Considering I got a few of the same questions I put them together in one post for easier reading!

What’s the lie your character says most often?

He lies many times to get what he wants but can also be surprisingly honest at times. The lie he tells the most would likely be pretending he cares about someone or values them to be able to use them, alternatively, he sometimes continues to make out he isn't impressed with someone in order not to give too much away when in fact he is. 

What’s the most obvious difference between their behaviour at home, at work, at school, with friends, and when they’re alone?

At home, he is slightly more relaxed but always carries a cold air about him, he allows his mask to slip yet since he is a psychopath and he is mainly internal, you have to know what to look for to be able to understand how he’s truly feeling.

When it comes to work he allows his cold and dark soul to emanate from himself, making him seem even more cold and intimidating, yet he always keeps a playful edge and allows it to show, he likes how his mood can make him so unpredictable, it may be a weakness but also a great strength

As a child going to school, he was fairly introverted keeping to himself, however, he had several angry outbursts and wasn't afraid to do anything to make things go his way.

Depending on the definition of friends if we are going with those he doesn't want to scream at after five minutes, then he is much like he is at home but more guarded, yet he tends to be even more playful than usual, that doesn’t mean he won’t play games with them quite the opposite!

What do they tell people they want? What do they actually want?

He often tells people he wants entertainment, to play games, to play the ultimate game that will go down in history. Whilst these are true he doesn’t share that the mean goal of this is to feel something, he wants to feel a euphoric high of some sort in an otherwise plain and dull existence.

When do they feel the most guilt? How do they respond to it?

Guilt is not in his vocabulary 

Would they rather be invited to an event to feel included or be excluded from an event if they were not genuinely wanted there?

Why would he go to an event unless he wanted to be there? 

What’s something they’re expected to enjoy based on their hobbies / profession that they actually dislike / hate?

Most would likely expect he would enjoy a mass gathering of fellow criminals; in fact, he wouldn’t. Considering he views most of them as inferior he would want to narrow it down significantly to those he views as on his level or could be. 

How often do they show their genuine emotions to others versus just the audience knowing?

He very rarely shows completely all he is feeling when with the majority of people, whilst he will always be psychotic as I mentioned earlier since he allows his emotional states to change his behaviour, very small pieces of what really goes on in his mind can be revealed to those who listen carefully. Jim will be the most honest with those with who he has established boundaries with but also where he has more power, for him the game is never truly over.

What belief / moral / personality trait do they stand by that you (mun) personally don’t agree with?

Jim is a believer in doing whatever is needed to achieve goals without taking any notice or caring for the feelings of others. This is something I disagree with strongly, humans are social animals and I believe everyone’s feelings should be valued. As the saying goes “Treat others as you would like to be treated.”

What would you (mun) yell in the middle of a crowd to find them? What would their best friend and/or romantic partner yell?

Well, I know what he definitely doesn’t like to be called, I would most likely yell Jim or Moriarty (I may write him but I would never assume closeness with him, I would wait for him to tell me), I could see a best friend of his depending on their personality either calling him his name or even Jimmy to tease him slightly and perhaps some other words……. 

A romantic partner, now this is interesting considering romance is a topic we know he doesn’t hold much interest in. I would mostly likely assume he would want them to call him “my king” or “daddy”, yes, of course, he would want the latter

What’s something that makes them laugh every single time? Be specific!

People assume that they know how an encounter with him will go because they have ‘dealt with those like him before’ or if they jump straight to the threat if they don’t get their own way with no proper creativity in between, it amuses him for a few seconds and so does the following reaction until he just becomes plainly bored. 

“I would be surprised if anyone met anyone like me and thought what they said wasn’t a cheap copy, standards! I have standards”

How do they put out a candle?

Depends on the situation, unless he is trying to scare someone in which he will blow it out very slowly so it flickers. However, on most other occasions he treats candles as most others, either putting them out with a wick dipper or blowing it until the flame dies out as if it was a birthday candle. 

What subject/topic do they know a lot about that’s completely useless to the direct plot?

How to rewire some of the basic components within a computer to improve processing capacity, as a child he spent lots of time to himself and felt peers not amongst people but machines who seemed to grow with his mind whilst everything and everyone else lagged.

How do they greet someone they like/love?

Most likely calling them a nickname or pet name of sorts, still something we shall have to see for ourselves when it comes to his Tumblr adventures

Who do they keep in their life for professional gain? Is it for malicious intent?

Anyone who serves his purposes or needs or if he needs leverage. Could be for a few reasons including not malicious intent but also to gain power or just to get a kick out of it.

What’s something unimportant/frivolous that they hate passionately?

The kind of paintings and murals you see that read words such as “the day will always get better” or “you are never alone”, he can’t believe people let some words written on something influence their lives so much. He believes it’s just a way of making money and people are too stupid to see that it’s the author just writing back to themselves and selling it on.

Who would / do they believe without question?

Sebastian Moran/ tiger in relevant verses is the only person he has that strength of understanding with, other than that we shall have to see

What’s a simple daily activity/motion that they mess up often?

Arranging mealtimes, he is often so engrossed in his own mind and schemes that he forgets to eat, to him it is mostly a necessity, to really want to taste a meal it has to be truly special.

In a Moran verse, Sebastian sets regular reminders not just on his own phone but Jim’s also, Jim tends to ignore them until Sebastian calls or checks in on him personally, then he will eat, with statements of “I didn’t know you cared” to tease him.

Tagging: @fantasycorrupted @malumxsubest @consultingsister @heretoboogie @tealeavesandthorns and anyone else who is interested!

[hummingbird-of-light]

Against All Odds

Part 331

McCoy

McCoy was content, even if he couldn’t spend his nights sleeping next to Scotty. He walked up the hall with a lightness in his step that had been missing the last couple weeks. He couldn’t help a chuckle thinking how far Robbie had come in his comfort with him. The first time McCoy had met him Robbie had barely been able to speak and now he told McCoy what to do with no problem.

“Mr. McCoy, you’re cutting it close.”

The smile vanished from his face and he saw Mr. Archer in front of him.

“Yes,” he nodded. “Mr. Archer.”

Heat rose on his face as he glanced down at himself. He hadn’t bothered to fully button his shirt, just one or two to keep it on, nor had he tied his shoes, tucking the laces inside as he slipped them on. He couldn’t imagine what his hair might look like after Scotty’s hands had been in it.

“I nearly forgot about curfew after not having one again,” he offered quietly.

“I trust your summer went well?” Archer asked. “I read the news about your father. I was sorry to see that. He’s doing better?”

“Yes sir, much better. He took his duties back up today.”

“And your sister did well in his stead? My understanding was Georgiares had a male line of succession?”

“Correct sir, but my sister is of age and I’m not yet.” McCoy shifted on his feet, wondering how much longer Archer would keep him. He was getting more embarrassed about his appearance by the second. Surely, Archer must know where he was coming from and could put two and two together.

“It’s nice to have you back Mr. McCoy,” Archer said with a nod. “Please remember curfew in the future.”

“Of course sir, thank you.” McCoy hurried past the head of house.

He reached his own door and found it locked. Quickly he knocked and looked back over his shoulder to see where Archer was. When he heard the lock click, he pushed the door open quickly and entered.

McCoy was treated to what, if he had to guess, Robbie had walked in on a few minutes previous. Jim was lying in Spock’s bed and Spock was standing next to it.

“Curfew,” McCoy said to them, and he saw Jim’s eyes widen.

“Shit!” the blond exclaimed.

“Archer’s already in the halls,” McCoy told them, heading for his side of the room and kicking his shoes back off.

“Shit, shit, shit.”

McCoy heard Jim scrambling behind him.

“Just what I need, on Archer’s bad side the first night.”

“Ashayam, I’m sure it will be fine,” Spock said soothingly.

“Which way was he going?” Jim asked McCoy.

McCoy looked up from undoing his couple buttons.

“Towards Scotty’s room.”

Jim let out another string of curses. Jim’s room was at the far end of the hall past the Scott’s.

“I’m done,” Jim moaned. “Pike will kill me, then Frank will.”

“He doesn’t always check inside,” Spock said.

“It’s the first night,” Jim lamented, “he will.”

“Maybe your new roommate will cover for you,” McCoy suggested.

“A Vulcan telling lies? For someone he barely met?” Jim scoffed.

“Well we’ll all get in trouble if he finds you here,” McCoy said slowly.

“Not you,” Jim shot back. “He’s scared of you.”

“No he isn’t,” McCoy frowned.

“Ha!” Jim responded. He was dressed now and sat heavily back on Spock’s bed. “I’m dead.”

“You must hide until he goes by, then it will be fine,” Spock said.

“Just roll under the bed,” McCoy suggested, trying to keep any mirth from his voice.

Jim jumped to his feet, with a new light in his eyes, and stepped over to Spock’s trunk.

“As soon as he’s done his check, let me out. I’ll get in trouble for not being in my room, but he won’t know where I was, so no trouble for you two.”

“Jim!” “K’diwa!” McCoy and Spock spoke at the same time.

“Trust me,” Jim grinned and closed the lid over himself.

“This is the illogic you love?” McCoy asked Spock, gesturing to the trunk.

Spock opened his mouth, but had no answer. McCoy shook his head and climbed into his bed. He turned away from Spock and smiled into his pillow. Jim was a quick thinker, but an idiot. Spock turned out his light and McCoy heard him settle in his bed.

A short while later the door opened briefly, then closed a moment later. McCoy felt himself relax. Jim and Spock’s close call wasn't his problem. No. He shouldn’t think like that. He and Scotty had nearly been in the same situation and would have been if Robbie hadn’t come back in time.

He sat up, when he heard Spock moving.

“Is it safe?” he whispered.

“A few more minutes to let him finish the hall,” Spock whispered back. Their room was close to the stairs after all.

“Spock, if Pike let us, would you be alright switching rooms?”

“Your safety sir…”

“I know, I know, but we wouldn’t have these problems anymore…”

“I will consider it. I doubt Pike will let us sir.”

“I know,” McCoy answered. It would be easier if Jim didn’t have a roommate this year. He wondered what the new Vulcan was like. They’d probably meet him at breakfast.

Spock silently opened the door and peeked out. He moved to the trunk and opened it.

“You may go in safety now ashayam.”

Jim climbed out with Spock’s help, then stretched up to kiss him.

“Sorry ‘bout this Lenny boy,” Jim called over his shoulder and then he was gone.

Part 332

Scotty

The next morning came faster than Scotty had imagined but he was up early. Every minute more he could spend with Leonard was worth it.

He quickly got dressed, waking Robbie before he left for the boy’s dining room. Maybe Leonard was already downstairs too.

Scotty smiled to himself as he thought about the last evening. Finally they had been able to hug and kiss each other again. He had missed his boyfriend just so much over the past three weeks. And he was glad to see him more often again.

Sadly, the Scotsman didn’t find Leonard down in the dining room but someone else. Someone he had only seen once during dinner the day before.

The new student who had been introduced by Pike. Judging by his pointy ears he actually was a Vulcan.

The boy turned around from the window when he heard Scotty entering.

“Good morning, uhm… Su…”

The Scotsman couldn’t quite recall the name, but the Vulcan helped him out.

“Sural. Good morning.”

Scotty walked over with a smile on his face and did the Vulcan greeting before he reached out his hand to offer a human handshake too.

“I’m Scotty. Nice to meet you.”

Sural took his hand after looking at it for a moment and shook it.

“It is my pleasure, Scotty.”

They chatted a while about where both of them came from and why Sural had changed schools.

Apparently his parents would move to Earth soon because of their jobs and they wanted Sural to learn more about humans and socializing with them.

“They’ll kill me. They’ll all kill me.”

Scotty and the new student turned around when they heard a familiar voice.

Jim entered the room, face in his hands, groaning.

Scotty couldn’t help but chuckle. What had happened?

“Who will kill ye?”

Jim let his hands drop to the side and walked over to them.

“Archer. And Pike. And Frank.”

Scotty tilted his head.

“Why? Ye are early for breakfast.”

“Not because of that! I… I wasn’t in my room at curfew.”

Scotty’s eyes widened, before he swore quietly. He could imagine where Jim had been.

“Shit, that’s bad.” He turned to Sural. “Did Archer look into yer room?”

The Vulcan nodded.

“He did.”

Jim ran a hand through his hair.

“And you told him that I’m gone, right? Great!”

To that Sural shook his head.

“I did not. I told Mr. Archer that you were still in the bathroom.”

Jim looked up, eyes wide in surprise.

“What?”

“I thought Vulcans can’nae lie,” Scotty added, just as confused as his blond friend.

“We do not lie in most situations but we certainly are able to. And it appeared to me that you would get in trouble if Mr. Archer found out about your absence. I do not wish for my roommate and possible companion to get in said trouble if I can prevent it.”

Jim blinked a few times before he grinned.

“Thanks man, that’s… wow, I don’t know to say. It’s just pretty cool.”

Sural nodded at him.

“Would you do me the favor of showing me around if you find the time, Jim?”

Apparently they had already exhanged names the day before.

“Sure. Anything for my hero.”

It took only a few more minutes until more students came in, talking about their summer break, laughing.

Scotty was already sitting across from Jim while Sural had taken a place close to the head of the table. He said that he wanted to ask Archer some questions about the school and the schedule.

A smile washed over Scotty’s face when Leonard and Spock finally came in and walked over to them.

Leonard gave Scotty a quick kiss before he sat down beside him.

“Good morning darling.”

“Good morning mo ghràdh. I heard ye had trouble getting into yer room?” Scotty asked with a grin and Leonard chuckled.

“So he told you the story, huh? I-“

“Shh! Shut up!” Jim hissed at them when more students sat down around them. He didn’t want anyone to know.

The boys all laughed but were interrupted.

“May I?”

Scotty looked to the side and saw Khan standing next to him. He pointed at the free chair beside the Scotsman.

Scotty’s eyes moved over to the head. Sural was sitting on Khan’s usual place.

“Uhm, sure.”

He could see the strange look coming from Jim but the blond didn’t say anything. Neither did Spock nor Leonard.

“Thank you.”

[kondensaduhhh]

but like imagine if somehow, there was someone Izzy used to be dedicated to, if not more, before Ed?? perhaps a first love? or a childhood friend he had to left behind? and they greet Izzy as “Basilica”, and Stede is like “?! oh! Izzy’s friend!! oh we simply must invite him to the ship! it’d be rude not to! he is your friend after all :)))”

Izzy’s of course, against it, though reluctantly, almost like he does want to spend more time with said friend, but would rather carve his own tongue than admit that.

and once the friend is on the ship, he tells stories of “Basilica” and how little has changed of him yet still so different from how he’s known as to the crew, how he’s always been a pissy lil fucker, passionate and dedicated and oh so stubborn, with Izzy close beside him, fully making physical contact actually, scoffing and stifling smiles, while his friend is just smiling brightly up at him with a smug and cocky yet so sweet grin. everyone is baffled and freaked out with how Izzy is acting because is he— oh my god Izzy’s smiling.

Stede is ecstatic that their first mate is enjoying himself, Ed is… happy? he is! he’s happy that Izzy is enjoying this man’s company too, yet his eyes keep lingering on where Izzy and his friend’s hips are touching and how is Izzy not protesting? Izzy hates unnecessary physical contact, thinks it’s weak, or how Izzy is just letting this man throw an arm over his shoulders and Izzy doesn’t sigh or roll his eyes.

and of course Stede offers the man to stay for longer, maybe even stay the night bc of some trading shit idk. eventually, the man does stay the night, even with Izzy’s too obvious fake protests. the whole night, it was like Ed and Stede don’t even exist to Izzy, the entire night, Izzy and this guy were practically (well as close as Izzy lets himself to be) attached to the hip.

Stede is happy that Izzy seems so relaxed and at home with this guy, but he’s so confused that he’s getting suspicious and slightly irritated, like how he was with Calico Jack, but unlike Jack, this bloke is actually nice, and seems to be a good influence on Izzy, Stede feels like he should like this guy, but he can’t stomach him for some reason, though he is still The Gentleman Pirate, and will be treating his guests with respect.

, Ed mostly has his shit together, up until Ed asks him to do something simple and mundane, and the guy goes “oh im sure you guys can do that without Baz, yeah?” and Ed nearly flips his shit bc its Izzy, not fucking Baz, but Izzy answers still “ yeah, boss, im sure you’ll manage without me this time,” and Ed starts counting backwards from ten in his head as Izzy gets very willingly dragged out of his sight, like some puppy, a very grumpy looking yet love sick nonetheless puppy.

its story night, but since the guy has so much stories about Izzy could he please please lead storytime just this one time please, captain? of course Stede yields, laughing and sits besides Ed, watching this guy animatedly recall a story of him and Izzy got chased halfway across town bc they decided that it was a good idea to piss off a bull, he tells the story about the ring snug on Izzy’s cravat and that he ‘didn’t think Baz would keep the thing for so long since i gave it to him when he turned 13’ and Ed is just reeled back by how little he actually knows about his Izzy,

then one thing led to another, this fucking guy sees Frenchie’s lute and asks him if he can borrow, of course Frenchie says yes bc he’s simply is a dear, isnt he? “aw man, hey Baz, you still remember that fucking song we made when we were 14?” and Izzy gives him a look that resembles the way he looks at Ed, the eyes that say ‘ i would do anything you ask of me’ but… softer, more sweet, Izzy scoffs and says “‘course i do,” with roll of his eyes,

the crew is in disbelief, Olu and Jim share a look of “ooh shit is he actually gonna do it?” at each other, Pete and Lucius are holding onto each other, “are you seeing what im seeing, babe?” “yeah, babe, i am” and Ed scoffs inwardly, thinking ‘psh Iz would rather throw himself overboard than to sing-‘

but he starts strumming the lute, and Izzy is failing to look annoyed at him, and he starts fucking singing, the crew cheers, and then they start motherfucking duetting. Ed’s annoyance at the guy and his fondness of Izzy singing and smiling are battling within is ribcage. Stede is confused/frustrated bc this guys is nice, but Stede is also nice! why isn’t Izzy like this with him?

the night continues with Izzy following this guy, with the enthusiasm of Ed and the niceness of Stede, around happily, none of that rigidity he has around his captains, and Edward and Stede just aches but they can’t pin point why?

[redhoodedangel]

Black Widow!Batmom!Reader Discovering her son, Jason Todd, is Back from the Dead

Yeah, you probably knew this was coming...

So, this is basically 'How Batmom!Reader, as the Black Widow, discovered that each Jason Todd variant in the multiverse is back from the dead' headcanons. By variant, I mean any version of Jason we've seen over the years in DC and Batman related media.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Comics!Jason Todd

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

-The moment you saw Bruce carrying the body of your wayward son, your world came crashing down...

-You break down as soon as you cradled his limp body next to Bruce

-Jason was so young and he didn't deserve what the Joker had done to him

-You spent countless weeks and sleepless nights, mourning for him

-However, you slowly began to realize that in order to truly avenge your son, you would have to stray from Bruce's moral code

-This leads to an argument between you and Bruce, leading to separation and you donning a new mantle

-The mantle of the Black Widow

-As this new vigilante, you had no moral code

-At least, not one that was heard of

-You started killing criminals of all kinds

-Murders, offenders, drug dealers, terrorists, the list goes on…

-You then met your match, 5 years after Jason’s death, in the Red Hood

-He recently took hold of the drug-related crime groups

-You had a few encounters with him, fighting each other or together

-It wasn’t until one night, he showed up to your apartment, bleeding from his neck and hand… and without his helmet

-That’s because you saw who it is underneath

-“J-Jason?”

“Hey, Ma…”

-After dressing his wound, both of you made up for lost time

-Learning of his resurrection due to the League of Assassins and the Lazarus Pit

-You swear you haven’t cried that hard since he had died…

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Arkham!Jason Todd

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

-Seeing that video of what Joker did to Jason tore you apart

-Seeing him get shot sent you spiraling and looking for a way to avenge your lost son

-You cried for days, unable to stop

-Losing Jason led to a wedge in yours and Bruce’s marriage and you ended up splitting up in secret

-You abandoned the Batwoman mantle and dons the new mantle of Black Widow

-You became Gotham’s most merciless and skilled anti-heroine

-Almost three years of you plotting to take down the Joker after what he did to your son, he finally died by his own hubris… how ironic

-However, nine peaceful months after Joker was cremated, On Halloween night, all hell broke loose

-Scarecrow had taken over the city with Gotham’s most wanted… and a new face, the Arkham Knight

-This Arkham Knight character seemed to know you and Batman like the back of his hand

-You grew curious as to how and why…

-During that moment, your mind couldn’t help but drift to Jason

-You decided to find out for yourself if your hunch was correct… you headed to the Old Gotham Mall, where Jim Gordon was being held by the Knight

-Once there, you pulled out your gun and this happened:

AK: “Turn around…”

Y: “I figured you’d be here, waiting for the Bat…”

AK: “You shouldn’t be here.”

Y: “Well, too bad. Besides, you know who I am and I just figured out who you are… so, are we gonna talk this out like we used to… Son?”

-The Arkham Knight then sighs and presses a button on his mask, saying…

“You sure you really want that, Ma?”

-While your heart broke at the sight of the ‘J’ branded on his cheeks and the several smaller scars on his face, you were happy that you had found him again

-Even if it wasn’t how you pictured your reunion being like…

~~~~~~~~~~~

Titans!Jason Todd

~~~~~~~~~~~

-After retiring as Batwoman and Jason’s death, you became the Black Widow

-You had actually been the one to kill the Joker

-Bruce took the blame for you, leaving you to defend Gotham, along with the Titans

-You were aware of how the team treated Jason when he first joined and you took matters into your hands by talking to the group over a phone call

-However, when the Red Hood came along after three months of nothing new, and started causing mayhem, you knew what you had to do

-You had only fought the kid and you knew that he had to be highly trained

-However, you were thrown through a loop when he said this to you:

“A for effort, Widow…”

-You used to say that to Jason every time he felt like he had screwed up on something

-How could he have known what you used to say to your son almost all the time?

-It wasn’t until you received a phone call from your eldest son, Dick

“Dick, sweetie, what’s wrong?”

“It’s about the Red Hood, Mom. I know who he is…”

“You figured it out?”

“Mom… it’s Jason. He’s back…”

-Your heart burns, realizing that you were fighting against your son

-You had to take a few days off from vigilante work to process the new information…

-That’s when you had an unexpected visitor…

“Your stealth’s getting better…”

“Well, I did learn from the best…”

“… You’re here to kill me, aren’t you?…”

“What makes you say that?”

“You’re obviously here for something… and if you’re here like this, then… I did something wrong as your mother…”

-Jason then took off his helmet and drops it to the floor, saying…

“No… you’ve done nothing but help and support me… I would never want to kill you…”

-At this, you quickly got you from your seat and pulled him into a hug

-One you had both been needing for a long time…

~~~~~~~~~

[tizzyizzy]

What’s the Appeal of Izzy Hands? Part I

Some folks in the OFMD fandom have no idea what the fuck is going on. They look at the main romance, with Ed and Stede, and how their blossoming relationship is helping them both grow. They look at Oluwande, who’s great, and Jim, who’s chaotic. They look at Black Pete and Lucius and how cute they are together. And they wonder why an entire section of the fandom is simping for the angry antagonist and calling him babygirl and shit.

Well, wonder no more! I am going to be explaining why at great length.

Reason the First: He’s Not That Bad

“Izzy’s the villain! He’s the bad guy! Why do you like him?!”

Before we get into this, I want to note that there’s nothing wrong with liking villainous characters. They’re fun and cool and dress in black. Simp away for your evil faves.

But Izzy? He’s not much of a villain. He’s an antagonist, in that he gets in the way of the main romance. But an evil guy?

Characters are judged by the context and framing of that story’s world. That’s why in some narratives a single kill can mark a character as depraved while in others heroes mow through swarms of soldiers without anyone batting an eyelash. In stories without violence, even the worst characters never strike out in anger. The audience willingly suspends their disbelief and goes along with this framing.

OFMD is a pirate comedy where we are meant to sympathize with pirates and a great deal of violence is played for laughs. Almost all of the protagonists have behaved in ways that would be egregious or at best questionable in real life. However, those moments are comedic and their actions are often forgiven by their crewmates. What ends up being treated seriously often depends on its emotional importance, as opposed to some objective moral standard.

In ep 8, Calico Jack mentions Ed participating in the burning of an entire ship full of people. Calico Jack also accidently kills a pet seagull by being careless with whippies. Yet the latter is treated as a more serious turning point than the former. But I think we can all agree that killing a seagull carelessly isn’t in the same league as burning people alive. It receives more narrative importance because it is more important to Stede that Ed is participating in shitty behavior on his boat with an asshole than that Ed had a violent past, which Stede already knew about, to an extent. The reveal that Ed participated in a bunch of people being burned to death is literally build-up to the climactic seagull killing and Ed leaving. 

In episode 5, Izzy throws some questionably homophobic language at Lucius and assigns him chores. He also attempts to blackmail Lucius into doing chores by threatening to reveal his supposed indiscretion drawing Fang. This incident is often brought up as proof that Izzy is a bad person.

In that same episode, Ed has a man flayed alive with a snail fork then drowned. Stede engages in passive aggression so ferocious it causes a ship to be set ablaze.

If you actually weigh up Izzy’s sins next to those of the other characters, you’ll find that he’s in the same moral range, maybe lighter than someone like Ed.

There are three reasons he may, however, appear to be worse at first glance.

First, he’s rude, abrasive, and prickly. We rarely see him relaxed or in company he enjoys. The closest might be on the island with Fang and Ivan. This might make him a dick, but considering this is a show about literal pirates, that’s not much of a mark against him. Even though Izzy may not be committing evil acts, he’s still a constant annoyance.

Second, this is a story about Stede and Ed falling in love. It’s their emotions we focus on, their love that’s at stake. The audience is inclined to dislike anyone who gets in the way of that, regardless of their reasons. Izzy is an obstacle to their love. Regardless of how justified or reasonable Izzy’s antagonism, the audience is viewing the story through the perspective of Stede and Ed.  But being antagonistic isn’t the same as being evil or immoral. Just because Izzy’s behavior feels bad for the audience doesn’t mean Izzy’s actually out of line.

Finally, we don’t get to see his backstory. Izzy’s a deep character, but this first season was, understandably, about establishing and developing the main characters and their romance. While there’s plenty of implication and subtext, we aren’t given glimpses into Izzy’s perspective that would humanize his behavior to the same extent as Stede or Ed. Thus, when Izzy behaves shittily, its harder for the audience to be sympathetic or forgiving. 

“Being about as evil as the other characters” isn’t exactly a reason to love Izzy, but if you are baffled why anyone would sympathize with a “villainous” character like him, I hope this sheds some light.

[misticloyal]

Shadowpeach + Calabash = Disaster

Y’all really for this one I don’t think y’all ready

K so normally I don’t ship things in the JTTW setting because I treat it as a separate thing from LMK- HOWEVER

.

Lmk AU where Macaque finds himself mysteriously back when Wu Kong was making his Journey to the West.

But this time when he goes to confront Wu Kong about Tripitakas abuse they deal with it in a MUCH more civil manner.

Although Macaque wants to rip his masters throat out, the Monkey King is trying convince him that Tang San Zang hasn’t done anything wrong, right? So the solution is simple

“六耳 listen- how about you come WITH us?”

“What?”

“You don’t trust my master here, yes? BUT you also cannot kill him, therefore if you want to ensure my saftey come WITH us and you’ll be able to observe our journey,”

“…”

“Cmon you tell me the great 六耳猕猴 is scared to accompany his beloved friend on a journey?”

“Of course not. I will accompany you all as well,”

“Awesome B)”

.

Macaque slowly grows to view Tripitaka in the same way Mei and Pigsy view Monkey King- because of MK (or in this case Sun Wu Kong) they tolerate his mentor (or in this case Wu Kong’s master)

Everything goes all fine and dandy

Obviously Macaque and Sun Wu Kong get along the greatest, they even end up having a few fruity moments per say.

Macaque and Zhu Ba Jie don’t hate each other but they’re definitely not friends. More like ‘only I get to bug Wu Kong to get a rise out of him. It was pretty funny when Ba Jie actually caught on that Macque maybe sorta likes Wu Kong as in he wants him to be his partner and WOO he had a field day with that.

Sha Wu Jing seemed to be the only one to be concerned for Macaque because of some more...weird occurrences he’s seen. For example, there were moments where Macaque would say clearly while right next to a sleeping Wu Kong that he misses him so much, and that he’s sorry.

For what? Wu Kong’s right there, why would the shadow demon miss him? 

So clearly Wu Jing is the one in the future to ask if Macaque is alright and if there’s something going on he would tell the rest of the group. Throughout the whole trip he was the one that made the back of Macaque’s brain yell at him that doing this was not healthy and he was just running away from his problems.

-

When Macaque meets 金 and 银, the world fades around him and he wakes up in the center of the demon brothers dojo.

He was in the calabash.

Immediately his first instinct is to beat the shit out of them and he almost does-

“WAIT- wait wait, 老侯 we have an explanation-“

“What could you POSSIBLY have-“

“You wanted us to do this remember? When you’re inside the calabash ya brain does a little bit of a fuck up and forgets recent events,” says Yin

“Yeah, you’d think we’d put you in there and NOT fear for our lives? Ya see we came in INSURANCE”

“Bullshit. Give me a better reason why I shouldn’t kill you where you stand,”

“MATE- Here have a look for ya self “

Yin tosses him a peice of paper with a dark purple signature on the bottom. It seemed the paper behind the ink was practically whitening just to highlight the words and whisps of shadow curled off the characters 六耳猕猴

Jim continues nodding his head “told us you felt like you were dying. Had to see em right away…”

His expression changed to a sympathetic sadness and he leans his weight on Yin who supports him instantly.

“You need to fix things with him,”

“Shut up”

“My bro’s got a point Boss. Everyone knows the tale of how you two fell out, no one’s how badly it wounded the both of yous. You NEED him back,”

“Shut up SHUT UP- I KNOW”

“Then go out there and fucking fix your problem mate,”

“Easier said then done,” and then Macaque disappears through the ground.

“Gods almighty like father like son, we thought MK and Red Son were bad look at these two idiots”

“Yeah man, it’s not even like one of them messed up, Sun Wu Kong needs to get his shite together,” Jin wheezes

“Well said brother, well said”

[douxie-casperan]

Rise of the Titans and the assassination Hisirdoux Casperan’s character development

I’ve been ranting so much since Wednesday morning that I finally condensed by thoughts of WHY this one subject keeps setting me off namely the utterly diabolical way they handled Douxie and Archie’s relationship in Rise of the Titans and how it wasn’t just enough to hit him with the nerf bat.

Please note I’m at the point where I literally cannot tell the difference between Aaron headcanons, Teny headcanons and my own they are all mixed together in the blender that does funky things. I also apologise for typo/weird wording it’s half 1 in the morning and I’d rather sleep than edit.

~

If asked to sum up Hisirdoux Casperan there are certainly several things that come to mind:

Sees the value in people as a whole and will find do anything if there is a chance of help someone out

Prefers tactics that disable/banish rather than kill an enemy yet willing and able to pull the trigger if circumstances become forced

While not academically inclined he is very capable of thinking on his feet and outside the box calling back to his time on the streets where a split-second decision making is the difference between being caught and not

Terrible at planning he’ll be in there figuring it out as he goes along which is what makes the previous point so vital to literally how he goes through life

A natural charmer that would let him talk his way out of trouble 9/10 providing a perfect cover for his distrustful nature and reluctance to be touched by random people

Very down to earth, humble and never one to brag unless outright sassing someone

Will bang out some hot tunes at the drop of a hat, his love of music has never wavered once since he caught the bug despite instrument hopping ironically becoming a jack of all trades much like his magic style

The earliest memories he can recall are him as a young boy lost in the woods where he was for an unknown amount of time before his soon to be familiar finds him amongst the roots covered in dirt and drying tears, there is nothing before that. Unbeknownst to him is the colour of his magic matches the blue of a lost mother’s eyes and the song that haunts his nightmares as much as fire could well be hers though there is no way to be sure. From that moment on Archibald, shortened to Archie, would become his entire world and their friendship only becoming closer during the years they prowled Camelot together trying to keep themselves in one piece until the fateful day Douxie tricks the wrong person leading him straight into the path of the famous wizard Merlin Ambrosius.

It's no real secret that Merlin is a very closed off person who keeps his emotions as well guarded as his secrets, prefers the style of negative reinforcement over positive encouragement and is a very strict perfectionist in his. At this point in his life he can be very easily described as a disaster that is genuinely doing his best with every little mistake held of his head and his future self when brought back to that time period is belittled by Lancelot (Errand boy) and Arthur (Boy) too meaning it’s hardly a wonder his confidence was very fragile revelling in the times where he could do things without being told off for it. With Morgana largely ignoring him too (Though personally I like to think as he got older she’d occasionally take an interest until the blistering arguments with their master started to talk over daily life) a certain disguised dragon would have remained a lifeline and give that physical affection he craved much like being told he’d done well never seemed able to earn.

With Killahead he’d lose that home and family he made leaving just the two of them behind struggling to figure out their place in the world that had abandoned them.

There wouldn’t have been the words for it back then but the way he had been treated prior was outright abusive instilling very bad habits into Douxie yet by irony he was always willing to give people the benefit of the doubt and help those in trouble without thinking earning a reputation as the Shepard of Fire. He refused to become like him seeking to be better, perhaps not as a wizard (Even though he was learning new charms and spells along the way) but certainly as a person. Despite everything he suffers through or witnesses in the intervening years, the loss of friends and kindling of far newer ones he never loses his good heart 

That said is it any wonder that after rightfully sassing Merlin for resurfacing, ignoring his existence despite being in the same town and only visiting him to run a finding errand that all the confidence he’d managed to build completely from scratch after Camelot wavered causing him to fall back solely into trying impressing his old Master who was acting like his humble apprentice must have coasted the past few centuries who himself fell back into old habits of belittling? It’s only when Merlin started to truly listen and acknowledge that this was not the same Moppet he once knew after Excalibur was fixed that their relationship finally started to become more like equals. After the defeat of Janus the changeling that broke into the castle he touched Douxie’s shoulder with a genuine smile and for a second he simply didn’t know what to do because the old man never did this before his brain kicked into gear and realised he’d finally earned that one thing he’d been so desperate for his entire life: That in Merlin’s eyes he could be more than a failure who only caused problems for the closest thing to a father figure he’d ever had, never solved them.

A staff will be earned, history would be set back on trap by banishing Morgana tag teaming with Archie because they know one another inside and out, as promised he’d get the kids back to the present but soon after things would go badly wrong. They’d lose Jim and because of his very nature he’d make a gamble to try and get him back because that life is worth trying for just for in a moment of surprising selflessness Merlin would be sacrificed to save him. The only constant in his life apart from Archie would apologise, openly express pride and how the greatest thing he’d ever done was saving this orphan, call him son for the first and final time before turning into ash in his arms. There would be no time to grieve for things will barrel into the crescendo of Douxie sacrificing his own life to buy everyone time to escape because if they did that everything he’d ever done would be worth it with one last whispered goodbye.

(Zoe sees him fall, so does Archie – His heart would break if he was conscious just like theirs does when his body crumples into the ground)

On the very fringes of the Light Realm he is gifted one more conversation with Merlin in a truly heart-breaking sequence (THANKS TENY) where they can just talk without any fear of consequence or politics and just be completely honest. Douxie is allowed to stand equal to Merlin, to have the hug he’d needed since he was a child and be allowed to simply let go of every pretense and cry his heart out because this can never happen again. He’s allowed to say goodbye to both his master and Morgana who had both shaped so very much of his life but like the painting he’d always remained firmly in the long shadows of until that moment.

When Hisirdoux Casperan finally leaves Wizards if we just accidently deliberately put the shawarma back in along with checking in with Zoe before departure, it is with having learned to live during his wandering years but this is the point of true freedom because he can finally escape into his own light with Archie by his side to keep Nari out of the hands of those that would see the world harmed. It won’t be easy but it feels possible somehow even with the knowledge everything is simply running on borrowed time.

Then Rise of the Titans happens.

At first everything is genuinely fine! No more running, they engineer a solution shut the Order’s magic down to make them a lot less dangerous and potentially at least incapacitate them until they can come up with a longer-term solution but all the best laid plans and all that. Douxie’s quick thinking stops the train from crushing any of the people below and it’s a very him style move to switch places with Nari to stall for time because for some reason the plot disabled Claire from portaling her or any of the threatened people/heroes to safety. He openly sasses the Order despite knowing the consequences will be bad for him because once again he’s managed to trick them, buy time that at the other end isn’t even slightly utilised until he’s forced back into his own body in excruciating pain. Archie immediately mobs him with comfort just as he has done every single time the wizard is distressed or collapsed with exhaustion without thinking because that is what their bond is like, incredibly close and far more than the Soul Bond mark that connects them together. They’re very alike in that regard, you have to earn the right to touch while equally knowing exactly what form the other needs the most in that precise moment in a way very few others could.

Bar the moment of figuring out that an illusion is in place to hide where the Order is opening the Genesis Seals and the brief insistence on reconnecting with Nari somehow Douxie manages to forget everything that makes him who he is after this point choosing to stand in the background being very no thoughts head empty or can only use the most basic spells of his youthful days not the seasoned master wizard he should be. Nomura is treated like an innocent slip rather than an outright death he did absolutely nothing to prevent (Not to mention the stupid daytime thing) nor seems to care particularly about afterwards yet with Nari’s he’s allowed to openly grieve in a gorgeously animated visual showing how he’d failed to keep her safe despite everything. He did nothing to help here either mind despite allowing himself to be tortured in the same piece of media to keep her safe, just watched another loss happen right in front of his eyes in his conga long line of them.

Then there’s Archie, oh god then there was Archie.

The dragon who even here he’d been shown to have an incredibly close bond with him decides you know what sod that tell him goodbye I’m going to make a joke about having a kingdom now dad and me are trapped in here forever. Douxie on his part looked sad for all of three seconds saying that he hoped he’s happy like it's a pet that wandered out into the world one day and never came back instead of a lifelong companion that has been there for as long as he can remember. He was now completely alone in the world since Zoe was also written out entirely and because every bit of his background had been forgotten about it somehow meant nothing. This wasn’t “I know you miss him, I know you need to grieve but you are running out of time” moment like things had been with Charlie, this was “cool shapeshifting dragon cat is now stuck in a plot hole that’s a shame” with zero pay off or any of the genuine reaction that should have been there or hell even trying to Ohana him back that very second because it never should have happened in the first place. Then even this wasn’t enough somehow, they managed to de-power Douxie even further into uselessness bar the (Admittedly nifty!) sticky feet stunt, the one who fought Skrael and Bellroc to a stalemate was shunted aside with barely a thought and his head would somehow get even emptier.

The one person who knew the danger of time magic the most stood by and said nothing.

The one person who would suffer the most by a reset because the lynchpin to his issues would be asleep if you got it wrong and should have drilled it into Jim’s head the best time to aim for stood by and said nothing.

The one person who had just suffered the loss of his familiar, best friend and only family along with the almost sister like Nari stood by and said nothing.

Then to add further insult to injury the caption when Douxie and Archie is shown says Some go their entire lives living an existence of quiet desperation because every drop of his character growth, his ability to finally start addressing his trauma instilled back in the 12th century, the staff he longed for was instead openly mocked by going “Aww he got his cat friend back how nice!” Everything he’d rightfully earned and had now would be unable to progress until certain criteria are met because it hinges entirely on the Trollhunter going to Merlin’s tomb and there’s only so much your support network of two (One if she’s written out) can do, the root of the majority of his issues all stem from one man.

And this folks is why I’ve been going on multiple rants about Douxie in particular, everyone was hit with the out of character bat to some degree in this film but when they came for him they didn’t just stop after they took his legs out because they wanted him to suffer from something he’s never had any control over to begin with all over again. Abuse survivors deserve better, these characters deserve better and we as viewers deserve far far better writing than we were forced to endure.

[pearwaldorf]

a bit of future fic. probably about 5-6 years after the end of S1

--

"Piece of eight for your thoughts," Ed says. Stede leans against the balcony of the quarter deck, watching Alma spar with Jim. They're about evenly matched, no small feat considering how many years' head start Jim has.

"I used to wonder if I'd ever find ways to relate to my children. They seemed so inscrutable, save when we were playing." Every so often Stede gets thoughtful like this, almost talking to himself. Ed is happy to listen.

"Not that I've had much occasion to spend time with kids, but they don't seem terribly complicated? You listen to ‘em about whatever they're telling you about and try to care."

Stede huffs, a small amused sound. "Darling, I think you misunderstand how incredibly self centered and myopic I could be, especially… before." There's a rueful twist of his mouth, and Ed wants to kiss it away, replace it with something more suited to his disposition.

"You weren't happy. Hard to think straight when you feel like you're drowning on dry land."

Stede pats his hand. "Certainly, but I still should have made an effort. It wasn't their fault I felt trapped in my life, to the point I was a better playmate than father."

"But you made up for it. You're making an effort now."

He nods. "Funny how running away from my responsibilities only affirmed why I needed to take them seriously."

"I hope that applies to more than just your children," Ed says, just to be a shit.

"Fuck you," Stede replies, without any heat. 

(They've had their serious conversations and tearful fights about what happened. Being able to joke about it robs the memory of any power to still hurt, and Ed is so fucking grateful.)

"I was always so concerned I wouldn't understand them, force them into doing things they didn't want but I thought they should." There's a real thread of pain in Stede's voice at this, and Ed would gladly dig up Stede's piece of shit father so Ed can tell him what he thinks about that.

"Mary would never have let you, that I know." Ed doesn't know the (now twice) Widow Bonnet extremely well, but sometimes he sees Alma make a face she definitely didn't learn from her dad, and his heart swells in admiration for them both.

"Not the Mary you’re acquainted with, certainly, but we were both… not our best selves together.” There’s a pinch between his brows, acknowledgement of how miserable it was for both of them. “Social expectation made us play roles that suited neither of us, and it is entirely possible I could have ended up like my father."

"Stede—fuck no! You're telling me you'd look at Louis and decide to treat him the same as you were?" Even after all these years, Ed is frustrated at how little credit Stede gives himself sometimes. But he supposes there’s only so much a person can do to counteract years of being told how little they matter.

"No, you're absolutely right. I would never be that terrible.” 

(Louis is much like Ed imagines Stede was as a boy: gentle, quiet, bookish. The first time they met he looked up at Ed and smiled so sweetly Ed would have burned down the entire fucking Spanish armada for him. They spent the afternoon picking flowers while Louis told him about bones of long-dead creatures dug out of the ground.) 

“But I don't know if I would have been good either."

"People who are shit at things don't tend to worry about whether they'll be good at them, y'know."

"No, I suppose not." 

A roar goes up from the crew, and they look up just in time to see Alma point a blade at Jim’s throat. They yield with a grin. 

“Dad! Ed! Did you see?” Alma looks up at them, sweaty and flushed and eyes shining bright. 

“We did, my lovely, fierce girl. You were absolutely glorious.” Stede looks so proud of her he could burst, and Ed’s mouth curves into a smile before he realizes. 

Alma blows him a kiss before she turns around to receive her congratulations from the crew. Ed leans his shoulder against Stede’s. 

“She’s gonna make an incredible captain one day, just like her dad.” 

Stede presses a kiss to Ed’s temple. “With role models like us, Mr. Teach? How could she not?”