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scorpia-is-babey · 4 years ago

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Schrodinger’s Scorpion Kingdom

ALT Title:

An Essay Detailing Why I Don’t Believe in Either Theory of Hordak Wiping out the Scorpioni, or that the Former Scorpioni Gave Up the Kingdom Willingly

I often jokingly say that Scorpia’s backstory has to be the most convoluted, jumbled mess of a character I have ever had the misfortune of simping... Uh, I mean, analyzing for. I’m not the type of nerd to get spoon fed information without chewing on it first. Whenever I try to chew on the idea that Hordak miraculously brought the Scorpioni to their knees, or if he was simply given the Runestone and kingdom, I can’t really come to any agreement. Both are equally ridiculous if we sit down and dissect them.

Firstly, we are shown very clear evidence that the Horde (and by extension Hordak) had overthrown the kingdom (that popular screenshot of a few Scorpioni laying face down on the ground, the Black Garnet looming in the center). But there’s never any further explanation about that. How he might have rallied these brand new troops and given them armor; the early bits of technology he used; how he could have possibly discovered that the Black Garnet was a noteworthy piece of power; what the previous relationship between the Horde and Scorpioni was...

Scorpia’s takes or explanations on any of this doesn’t and will never count. She is not only a heavily biased party, but she isn’t a primary source of information. Force Captain Orientation, and therefore, Hordak, is the easiest answer to look towards regarding how she knows the things she knows. Scorpia is always a secondary source of information and it is impossible to take her word for whatever happened before she was born.

The main, primary source we do have is Light Spinner.

Light Spinner was watching the attack in real time and showed young King Micah. Her actions in “Light Spinner” (S2, E6) are desperate and urgent for that reason; there’s no time to be wasted. Through her and the narrative, we have a little bit of information on the Scorpioni, and we can conclude a few things about them:

1) They were doing well for themselves at some point. The entirety of the Fright Zone belonged to them, and there are even larger areas that the audience only gets to see once (Horror Hall) that would suggest opulence. Runestones are the deciding factor of a Princess of Power as well (these being the Elemental Princesses, the fact that there’s canonically only a handful of them). All of the Princesses of Power have very large kingdoms (i.e. Kingdom of Snows, Salineas, Bright Moon, and Plumeria).

2) Nobody gave up anything. If the aforementioned screenshot of the Scorpioni people laying face down on the ground and the looming Black Garnet being tied up wasn’t enough incentive to not believe that this was a peaceful treaty, I bring your attention to the fact that Light Spinner was keen on joining the Horde. She was accepted on the basis that she would be able to use the Black Garnet.

This random Mystacor sorceress, and not, say, the Black Garnet’s actual Princess.

3) They were not an obscure kingdom. Hordak’s arrival was common knowledge. Narrative wise, we don’t get to know this until Catra knows this. Just because Catra doesn’t know it, doesn’t mean that it isn’t a general fact. If there are only six elemental princesses in their entire known world, it would be jarring if the Black Garnet’s Princess was forgotten only after a few years since Hordak’s arrival.

We also don’t have extra confirmation from Light Spinner this time, but from the fact that Scorpia gets a Princess Prom invitation in the Fright Zone. They know where to mail it. They know where Princess Scorpia resides.

Who is “they”?

Canon doesn’t give us an answer to that. For the sake of continuing this point, we’re going to put a pin in it. Leave it for another day.

With all of these inferences of the former Scorpioni Kingdom, this leaves us with the idea that Hordak’s rule over them was, unsurprisingly forceful...

Somehow.

This character spends the majority of his time pursuing his own personal goals. He wants to rejoin Horde Prime by opening a portal and taking the entire Horde army into Etheria to conquer it. When he does end up doing this, it’s with the help of Catra, Entrapta, and indirectly, Scorpia.

He needs repairs to his armor eventually, which Entrapta helps him with; he needs Shadow Weaver to keep the soldiers in line as his second in command; he needs Catra after Shadow Weaver to take that second in command position which she absolutely succeeds in more than either of them could ever have...

How does Hordak overtake the Black Garnet without these characters and resources all of those years ago? Where does he get these soldiers from? Why are these soldiers strong enough to conquer a fully capable, thriving kingdom?

One idea floating around in the fandom space is that the Scorpioni were as non-confrontational, jovial and charismatic as Scorpia is shown to be, therefore allowing themselves to be conquered. That idea is not only unlikely, but it is admitting that somehow Scorpia would have met her people and known them well enough to pick up those traits. If not anything else, that claim is entirely ridiculous.

Although we see Scorpia in a picture with her mothers as an infant, it’s unlikely that she got to know them either and pick up on their traits. There is never any mention of them verbally and no confirmation if they are dead or alive. Scorpia’s mothers not making an appearance or even being mentioned implies that they are dead, but, again, that’s never confirmed... Instead we can conclude that the mother with the Black Garnet connection is, at the very least, disconnected from it. When Glimmer is crowned as Queen and she no longer has to share the Moonstone with Angella, she gets all of its power. When Scorpia connects with the Black Garnet, she gets all of its power. She is not sharing any of its power with anyone at that point.

...

This leaves me, annoyingly, left with more questions than answers. With Scorpia being my favorite character, I am constantly writing, drawing, and discussing her. This makes me acutely aware that she’s got one of the most plot hole-inclined, nonsensical backstories of the entire cast. It spills over into Hordak and the Scorpioni plotline, too.

Fortunately, since I don’t believe in either “Hordak conquered the Scorpioni”, or “the Scorpioni gave up the Black Garnet willingly”, this does nothing to affect how I perceive canon, Hordak, or the Scorpioni.

After thinking about and writing it all down, I genuinely do not care about Scorpia’s background anymore. I will make decisions based on her background when the opportunities arise in discussion or fanfiction writing. Both Scorpion Kingdom theories are ridiculous, leaving us with this paradoxical theory:

“Schrodinger’s Scorpion Kingdom Theory”, is realizing that this plotline doesn’t make sense, and then deciding to fill in your own spaces where it best suits your own understanding of the narrative —because the original explanations are both plausible and implausible, given what we know from the canonical facts.

#LMAOAOOAAOAO #I DEADASS WROTE THIS FOR FUN?#Schrodinger's Scorpion Kingdom Theory #i wrote this ... for fun #I'm going to go sit in my nerd corner now #i hope whoever reads this is having a great day #this is actually not a shitpost #scorpia #hordak #the scorpion kingdom #i'm deathly serious #but it's still funny to me #im willing to discuss further if yall are up for it

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gothhabiba · 3 years ago

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adding onto the ironic use of 😂 I think it's also worth noting the generational divides in humor (mostly in online spaces because while this is also true for the "real" world we can't use emojis there......yet), and this is a bit more slippery to define because it can be the more immediate gen z/millenial and then just gen z and anyone older in general. when I was younger than I am now there was a more conscious mocking of older people who use the 😂 emoji because it was also associated with the things they would find funny. so it was considered uncool to use that emoji because that would be telling people around you that you subscribe to an "uncool" sense of humor as well by association. this plays into it's "ironic" use because a lot of gen z humor is very absurdist? nonsensical? using a random 😂 emoji in certain settings is ironic in an unspoken sense because it adds to the overall absurdity of the current discussion. another anon gave you the "teacher resigned! 😂" example and I wanted to point out in case you didn't know that the meme they're referencing draws from an original creation that was actually completely serious with the premise and punchline that it tells. an "old" person would look at it and think wow yes haha so funny but when it first went viral on here like 6? years ago it was mainly because there was a sense of wow...this is so stupid and unfunny but the way all these elements come together to convey the joke you can't help but laugh at the ridiculousness? birth of a meme format. so essentially you have gen z people who use 😂 ironically because they're already in spaces where they don't have to worry about their intentions being misinterpreted, and using 😂 becomes the joke itself rather than our usual ways of expressing laughter. and then you have gen z people who have basically recycled "uncool" humor for their own purposes and the 😂 emoji has it's own special place in all of that. these lines obviously aren't hard and they go in many different directions. you have gen z kids who were raised on tumblr/twitter and then gen z kids who were raised on tiktok and I find the latter are more militant about this lol. and like I said the online factor plays into it too because I have friends my age from like school who use the 😂 as, you know, a genuine laughing emoji! because they aren't online enough, or online in certain spaces, to be aware of this....etiquette? norm? but at the same time these friends would still look at the original meme I mentioned and find it unfunny or view it through a different humorous lens than the original creator of it intended. sorry for the long ask but I wanted to share my piece and I think these sorts of conversations are always fun!

I am unfortunately online enough to be aware of the "and that person's name? [famous person]" meme and its origin. I think that was my original confusion, actually, because if you're laughing at people who take this style of thing genuinely, then you're actually just... laughing at them. Which to me isn't quite "irony" in the strictest sense of "something is reversed from what you would expect to be the case" (which would be more like, using that emoji in response to something unamusing), you're just laughing at someone because you think it's funny that they liked or made this stupid post... Perhaps it's "irony" in the more general sense of "at one or more levels of remove from sincerity." So the emoji is not itself being used ironically but is instead a marker of irony or a marker of an ironic tone (and I do use that emoji in this way, but also in other ways). This distinction does not matter at all though and I may be foolish for caring 😂

As a point of clarification though: when you say "an 'old' person would look at it and think wow yes haha so funny but when it first went viral on here like 6? years ago it was mainly because there was a sense of wow...this is so stupid and unfunny but the way all these elements come together to convey the joke you can't help but laugh at the ridiculousness"--do you mean "old" as in the gen x / boomer internet users who originated and spread the "the young man's name--Albert Einstein" copypasta in earnestness? Because presumably the point is that they did not find it funny... or are the "old" people the millennials who originated the meme making fun of the boomers? And then gen z-ers are making fun of how millennials used the meme when it first went viral? Because the original usages of the meme were not devoid of irony themselves... Are boomers on facebook making fun of this chain email too? The layers.......

#long post /

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scabopolis · 4 years ago

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the gift of gab, the gift of you

Here it is @thisonesatellite! your 2020 CS Secret Santa gift. It was a complete and total delight to get to be your gift giver this year. That is not hyperbole - you are a gosh dang delight! Each of your message responses left me in stitches and while I will NEVER try and convince you a movie you think is bunk is good, I am delighted at the opportunity to recommend rom coms that don’t make you want to gouge your eyes out.

This fic is heavily inspired by your love of coffee shops AUs (except...you know, a pub), your travel stories (which I shamelessly incorporated into the fic) and I believe rates about a 4 on the reindeer scale of Christmas cheer. You’re a total eagle eye, so I just need to say I am well aware that Colin O’Donoghue’s accent in no way resembles an accent from Cork, but I just need that to be ignored, please and thank you.

Also, I’ve decided we’re fandom friends now. Okay? Okay! Finally, thank you to @cssecretsanta2020 for organizing this exchange and being the actual best and most patient fandom soul.

*** Title: the gift of gab, the gift of you

Summary: Emma needs an Irish man. Wait! No! It’s not what it sounds like. And then the universe just has to go and provide her with the world’s chattiest, flirtiest, blue-eyesiest Irish man in existence.

Available on AO3. ***

Emma is in no position to complain. From where she sits both literally – (perched upon a comfy barstool in the world’s coziest pub) – as well as existentially – (traveling abroad for the first time in her life) — she is fortunate and blessed.

It’s just –

It’s just it would be easier to enjoy it all if she didn’t have to deal with a rather annoying request from her rather annoyingly persistent mother.

Her headphones are in but Emma still takes great care to speak in hushed tones over video chat. There’s nothing she wants less than to be the loud American who shares her private conversation with an entire establishment. The pub she found is at the end of a quiet lane off of Cork’s high street. The customers within the pub appear to be locals well known by the staff who tend the pub. In truth, she wouldn’t even be having this conversation if it wasn’t for —

“Who have you talked to today?” her mother asks.

“Uh, I’m pretty sure I thanked the barista who made my coffee. And I ordered a pint in this pub.”

“That’s not talking.”

“It is by definition talking.”

“That’s not what I meant. How else are you going to get to know the city?” Her mom interrupts before Emma can properly formulate a snarky reply. “And don’t you dare say ‘guidebooks.’ Your father and I raised you better than that.”

“Mom, please don’t make me do this.”

“You said I could have anything I wanted as a souvenir.”

“What about a mug? I bought Grandma Ruth one with a big fat sheep on it.”

“Sounds lovely, sweetie, but no.”

“Mom.” Emma realizes that as a twenty-six year old woman it is probably unbecoming to whine, but her mother is being absolutely ridiculous. Where is her dad when she needs him to rescue her? All he requested was a bottle of whiskey. What a sensible person!

“No. It’s fine. If you don’t want to get your mother the one thing she asked for on this trip that’s okay. I won’t say one word about paying for this celebration trip, or paying for graduate school, or —”

“Shit, mom. Did you take a Guilt Trip 101 class or just Google how to?”

“Oh, this is natural talent. My present, please.”

“Fine.” There’s a group of bearded men, the ones she pegged as locals, tucked into one corner of the pub. They’re probably her best bet, but she just arrived last night, and the combination of jet lag and travel nerves make her feel not yet up for that. Which leaves the staff working the bar.

One of the two men she’s seen pouring pints and serving up food has gone missing. Besides, Emma wouldn’t trust herself in her sleep-deprived state to not say something utterly absurd to the blue-eyed, dark-haired, scruffy bartender. Probably a good thing he’s gone. Much safer is the other man working the bar – the one who refused to serve her Guinness but was very kind about it. While arguably attractive, he is a decidedly less intimidating sort of handsome. Unfortunately, he is in the midst of a heated discussion with one of the patrons, the two of them gesticulating to something happening with a football match on the screen. Which leaves the blonde haired woman currently polishing glasses.

Emma lightly clears her throat. “Excuse me, ma’am?” When the woman turns to look at her, Emma smiles, and signals her over. She sets aside the pint glasses and tucks the polishing rag into her apron. Her mother, on the other end of the video call, is not satisfied.

“Did you say ma’am?”

“Mom,” Emma whispers.

“I said an Irish man, Emma Blanchard Nolan. Man.”

“No. You said person.”

“The man was implied.”

“Then you should have been more specific.”

“Ready for another?” the woman at the bar asks.

Emma looks down at her half-full pint. “Not quite.” She frowns. “And, uh, you’re not Irish, are you?”

“No. Canadian.”

“Ah. Okay.” Emma lowers her voice again and looks at her phone screen. Her mother remains unimpressed. “That’s foreign. Technically she’s a foreigner.”

The sternness of Mary-Margaret’s expression is evident even over the video call. “Emmaline —”

“Not my name, mother.”

“Emmaline Blanchard Nolan, you promised me.”

“I’ll find an Irish person tomorrow.” It’s about this time Emma realizes she’s rudely ignoring the very kind and apparently Canadian bartender. The one she asked to speak with. What’s more, the very kind and apparently Canadian bartender has been joined by the curly haired bartender. Both of whom peer at her with matching expressions of amused befuddlement. Emma removes her headphones and addresses the man. “You’re Irish, right?”

“Well, miss,” and the gentle brogue of his accent, even with those two short words, is quite evident, “you are in Ireland.”

“Excellent! Can you talk to my mom?” She detaches the headphones from her phone and turns the camera around to face the man and woman. “My mom wants to have a conversation with an Irish person.”

“Irish man,” her mother corrects.

“An Irish man. Out in the wild.” The bartenders stare at her, nonplussed. “It’s her souvenir.”

The woman presses her lips together – an obvious attempt to stifle a laugh.

“Well, uh, aye.” The man tugs at his ear. “I guess I could —” He’s interrupted from his stuttering by the return of the blue-eyed, stubbly bartender, hauling a new keg into the back of the bar.

“Actually,” the woman cuts in. “My husband,” she hip checks the curly-haired man, “needs to replace the keg.”

“I do?” he asks.

“He does?” This from tall, dark, and holy hell! also possesses an Irish accent.

“But Killian is in the middle—”

“Shh,” the blonde woman interrupts her husband.

“Yeah. Killian is—”

She goes on to shush the man Emma now knows to be Killian.

“Oh no,” Mary Margaret whispers over the video call, “there’s two of them.”

“What is happening?” Emma’s not sure which of the two men asked, this whole interaction spinning rather absurdly out of control.

“I don’t know,” Emma says.

The woman ignores all of them. “I’m Elsa, this is Liam, and that,” she points to Killian, frozen with a hand on the keg like he’s uncertain what to do, “is my very single, very Irish brother-in-law.” And all at once it becomes clear what Elsa’s intentions are. “Killian, can you come over here and help our lovely patron and her lovely mother?”

“Oh, Emma, Killian even sounds like an Irish name.”

“Mom!” Originally she found her mother’s request to be silly but harmless. The more people who become involved, however, the quicker it approaches mortifying. Emma watches as Elsa whispers something to her brother-in-law, likely explaining the unconventional request.

“I’m very friendly,” Mary-Margaret reassures anyone who might be listening.

“You are a flirt, is what you are,” Emma scolds. “And what would dad say if he found out about this?”

“He asked for whiskey. I asked for this.”

“Come on, lass. Don’t deprive me of a dashing rescue.” Killian leans across the bar, his hand reaching out for her phone. All that stubble and the blue-eyes and the accent are worse when directed directly at her. “Besides, your mum sounds like a woman after my own heart.”

“If you’re sure—?”

“Absolutely.”

To her abject horror, the moment she hands Killian the phone, he walks away with it in hand.

“As requested, milady,” he says to the screen, “one genuine Irish man.”

Her mother’s delighted giggle is embarrassing for all Americans everywhere but it seems to delight Killian. She can just makeout her mother’s question about where he grew up when he rounds the corner, out of her hearing.

“Where is he going?” Emma asks, craning her neck. “Where is he taking my phone?”

“If I know Killian, your mum is probably about to get the most thorough oral history of Irish pubs she could have asked for,” Liam says, tossing a towel over his shoulder.

“Oh. Okay.” She drums her fingertips on her glass. “I’m sorry about all the trouble.”

“Nonsense,” he waves her off. “This is the most exciting thing to happen in our pub since Seamus and Willy hosted their wedding reception here.” He jerks his chin towards the group of bearded men she noticed earlier, though which one is Seamus and which is Willy she can’t be certain.

After another fifteen minutes, Emma has finished her pint and Killian still has possession of her phone. He crossed through the room once, merrily chatting with her mother as he regaled her with the story of how he got the scar on his cheek.

Elsa is filling a series of pint glasses for a group of women standing at the bar, and Emma feels the need to apologize again. “This isn’t what I expected,” she explains.

“What’s that?” Elsa asks.

“I was kind of thinking, best case scenario, there’d be an exchange of hellos and that would be that.”

Elsa nods, hands the pints off to the women, and then fills one more. “Are you familiar with the legend of the Blarney stone?”

Emma nods. She has absolutely no intention of kissing the dang thing (her research indicates local teens do all manner of ungodly things to the stone, knowing that tourists intend to kiss it), but it’s on her list to go see.

“Well, Jones family legend —”

“I take it your husband and his brother are Jones’?”

“And me by marriage. Jones family legend has it that Killian must have been birthed upon the stone because never has there been a man more endowed with the gift of gab.” Elsa finishes pouring the pint and sets it in front of her.

“Oh, I didn’t order this.” Right at that moment, Liam returns to the bar and sets a turkey sandwich in front of her. “Or this,” Emma says.

“Knowing my brother, you might be here a while,” Liam explains.

“Gift of gab?”

He nods, pleased that the Jones family lore has reached her. “Gift of gab.”

Liam proves to be correct, which means Emma has ample time to get to know both Elsa and Liam. The two of them are freakishly adept at juggling bartending, interacting with their customers, and keeping up a steady flow of conversation with her. The highlight is hearing the full story of Seamus and Willy (she is able to identify them by their matching navy sweaters – sweaters which Willy apparently handknits for the both of them), two men who worked on the same fishing boat for decades before realizing they were in love.

“Once they sorted that bit out, they got married three weeks later,” Elsa says.

“So which one of them is the designated driver?” Emma asks.

“That whole lot lives down the street.” Liam raises his voice so the group can hear them. “And they do nothing but hassle me every day of my life!” The group all raise their pint glasses and cheer, indicating this kind of teasing is something central to the pub’s dynamic.

Killian returns from wherever it was he was busy flirting with her mother and sets her phone on the bartop. She looks down at the display only to find it blank.

“Uh, your mum had to run to the market, but she indicated she’ll call you later.”

“She didn’t even say goodbye? Unbelievable.” As Emma gears herself up for peak mom-annoyance, she gets a text message. “Speak of the devil.”

4:38 PM - Mom to Emma hubba hubba

“Ah, geez, mom,” she grumbles.

“What’d she say about me?” Killian asks.

“What makes you think that text was about you?”

“Because you have roses in your cheeks.” Emma frowns. She what? “You’re blushing,” Killian says.

“No I’m not.”

“It’s getting deeper, I’m afraid.” He takes away her empty pint glass. “Another?”

“Yes, please.”

He sets another pint of Murphy’s in front of her (Liam was the one to inform her that one drinks Murphy’s when one is in Cork). “Your mother is lovely.”

“Yeah, she’s something alright.” She sips the beer and licks the foam off her lip. “What were the two of you talking about for so long?”

“Oh, just having a chat. She wanted to know about the pub and how Elsa and Liam met.”

“The gift of gab.”

“Ah,” he says, “Elsa told you of that, then?”

“Like my mom didn’t tell you anything about me?”

“It was all good, Emma.”

She snorts. “Yeah, I’m sure.”

“Why a conversation with an Irish man?” Emma frowns at Killian, not quite certain of what he’s asking. “For a souvenir. That’s truly all your mum wanted?”

“Oh, that. In between flirting, did she tell you anything about her and my dad?” Killian shakes his head. “It’s kind of a long story.”

As if waiting for his cue, Liam comes up behind Killian and slings an arm around his brother’s shoulder. “My dear little brother has time.”

“Younger brother,” Killian corrects.

“Shorter brother.” Liam bumps Killian towards the other side of the bar. “Why don’t you keep Emma company?”

“I have another three hours on my shift.”

“I think Elsa and I can handle it until Will arrives.”

“Liam.”

“Don’t make me fire you.”

“You can’t fire me. We’re co-owners.”

“Fine. Don’t make me quit.”

Killian rolls his eyes but slides out from under Liam’s arm. He crosses to the other side of the bar and sits beside Emma. “I’ll take a pint, then.” He raps his knuckles on the bartop. “And make it quick.”

Emma hides her smile in her pint glass. Both Liam and Elsa have been so lovely. There’s no reason to switch allegiances at this point. Regardless of how much she might be tempted by the stubbly-faced, blue-eyed flirty Irish man sitting beside her.

“Between the two of them and my mother,” Emma says.

“Yeah, not the most subtle lot.” Liam shoots Killian a glare as he sets the pint down to which Killian responds with the cheekiest grin Emma has ever seen. The interaction has older and baby brother written all over it. “So, your mom and Irishmen. Go.”

“Oh, that.” Unlike her mother, and even her father, Emma holds the details of her life close to her chest. She’s made the mistake in the past of sharing too much too fast. When people leave her, either by choice or circumstance, it physically pains her to know there are people out in the world with knowledge of her worries, fears and dreams. But maybe it’s the sandwich sitting warm in her stomach, or the jet lag, or simply the buzz of international travel, because she feels inclined to share at least a few details of her life with Killian.

“My mom and dad both took a gap year after high school and met while backpacking across Europe. They met at the Roman Colosseum, decided to match up their itineraries, and by the time they arrived in Budapest five months later they were in love and my mom was pregnant.”

“And they’ve been together ever since?”

“Almost 27 years.”

“That’s quite the story.”

She nods. “They cut their year of travel short, and went to live with my Grandma Ruth, my dad’s mom. They always talked about returning to Europe, finishing their trip at some point, but by the time I was old enough to leave behind with my grandma, dad was in vet school, mom was teaching, and they were running a wildlife rescue from the family farm. They kept making new plans to travel but they just kept getting pushed back and back and back. Until, one day, they decided to put all that money towards sending me on my first trip instead. So, as much as I fight every silly request she has of me, I would do anything if it made her smile.”

“Your mum and dad never made it to Ireland?”

“Nope.”

“Thus the strange request.”

“Well, it gave me a reason to chat with the lovely lass at the bar, so for that I’ll be forever grateful.”

Her Grandma Ruth, Aunt Ruby, and frankly everyone who knows her parents well, routinely comment on the resemblance between Emma and her dad. Apparently in temperament and affectation they are almost identical. But maybe she’s more like her mom than anyone knows because the conversation between her and Killian flows fast and easy. Easy enough that she barely notices when she and Killian finish their pints and Elsa slides new glasses in front of them. Emma’s head is feeling a little buzzy, and that turkey sandwich was more than a couple hours ago. Maybe she can hint at Killian that she wants to go to the Christmas market. Hint even more specifically that she wouldn’t hate if he went with her.

No, she can’t do that. To even think such a thing would be ridiculous.

She can’t possibly ask a practical stranger to walk up and down the stalls of the festive market with her. She can’t expect him to want to sample all the baked goods and food they can handle. Or to hold her hand while they drink spiked apple cider. That kind of thinking is romantic, and hopeful, and not at all her brand.

“This is really your first trip out of the states?” Killian asks.

“I mean, Canada, but that’s so close to home it doesn’t count.” Emma catches herself, eyes darting to Elsa. “Don’t tell your sister.”

“Your secret’s safe with me.” Killian angles his body on the stool to face her more directly. Without Emma realizing it, they’ve drifted close enough together over the past hour or so that the move makes it so their knees knock together. Emma could move away, put some distance between them, but everything is foggy and hazy in that delicious way, and she can’t bring herself to move. “What does that make me, then? The ruggedly handsome foreigner you intend to seduce as a notch on your bedpost?”

“Who said anything about seduction?”

“You’re giving me bedroom eyes.”

“I do not make eyes of any kind. Especially bedroom eyes.”

Elsa jumps in, setting glasses of water down for each of them. “Yeah, but Killian does. And he needs to put them away.”

Emma tries to react quickly enough to Elsa’s teasing to evade Killian’s detection, to turn away and hide her smile in her shoulder so he can’t see, but the gentle tug on the end of her braid indicates he caught her.

“Think that’s funny, do you?”

“You and my mom ganged up against me. I deserve to join with your family against you.”

“Your mum is great.” He shrugs. “Well, based on the little I know.”

“I know she can be a little intense. I hope she didn’t—”

“She was as lovely as her daughter.” Before his words can fully sink in, perhaps bringing that blush back to her cheeks, he’s moved on. “You’ll have to bring her with you when you return.”

She rests her chin on palm, blinking up at him. Okay, maybe she sometimes makes eyes. “What makes you think I have any plans to come back?”

“Ireland gets in your blood. You’ll be back.”

This time they’re interrupted by Liam. He swipes away the pint glasses in front of them, remaining beer and all. “That’s about all I can stomach of that.”

“What do you mean?” Killian asks.

“You’ve been flirting with the kind tourist long enough. Time to go.”

Oh. Emma looks down at her boots. A surge of deep embarrassment heating her cheeks and causing her stomach to churn. “Sorry,” she says quietly, her eyes turned down. “I didn’t mean to—”

“No!” The twin cries from both Liam and Killian startle her. She’s not sure which one appears more stricken by her announcement she intended to leave.

“Apologies, Emma, I wasn’t clear,” Liam says. He extends his hand to Killian. “Apron.” It takes Killian a moment to react but when Liam stays in his place, his hand extended, Killian removes his apron and hands it to him. “See you tomorrow, little brother.”

“Younger.”

“Dumber.”

“Stubborner.”

“Not a word.” Liam stalks back over to Elsa who is shaking her head at the whole display. “They’re both idiots,” Liam says, and Emma is just going to pretend she didn’t hear that, thank you very much.

“Have you been to the Christmas market yet, Emma?” Killian’s voice brings her back to the pub, and this particular bar stool, with this particular man. This particular man who has somehow intuited the secret desire of her heart to go to the town’s Christmas market with him.

“No. No. Not yet.”

Killian jumps down from his seat and extends a hand to Emma to help her down. “Come on, love. Let’s sail away.”

There’s 100 ways Emma could respond to that. She could tell Killian she isn’t his love. She could jump down from the stool on her own. She could insist she’s fine going to the market by herself. But she tries to channel a little magic, that particular magic which for her mom and dad turned one day in Rome into a lifetime, and chooses differently.

(Not that she’s saying she expects—)

She takes Killian’s offered hand and his answering grin is all the confirmation she needs she made the right decision.

And so they go to the Christmas market, and at Killian’s insistence she tries mulled wine but quickly trades it in for a cup of boozy cider. They ride the ferris wheel, the cold stinging her cheeks from the top, the lights of Cork spread out before her, and that thrum of love for this place beats loudly in her veins. Suddenly every travel story her parents have ever told her makes sense and maybe Killian is right – maybe Ireland is in her blood.

They walk together side-by-side and at a point Emma can’t remember – somewhere between sampling whiskey, buying several bottles for her dad, and licking salt and malt vinegar from hot chips off her fingers – they transition to walking hand-in-hand. The heat of Killian’s skin, even through two layers of gloves, is what she blames for the fact that she actually starts humming along to Christmas carols. Where’s that deep cynicism she has been committed to for her life when she needs it?

“Told you,” Killian says after the two of them step away from a stall with handmade ornaments. She must have been channeling her mom because she couldn’t stop herself from striking up a conversation with the vendor. Somehow by the end of the interaction she’d agreed to join him and his wife for their annual holiday pub crawl the following night.

“Told me what?”

“That you would fall for Ireland.”

“You get the honor and privilege of keeping me company on my first full night on my first real trip out of the country and all you can say is ‘I told you so’?”

“I believe what I am trying to say, love, is you appear very much at home here.”

The sentiment makes everything in Emma buzz, but she does what she does best and works to diffuse it. “Well, uh, I don’t know. Does it ever snow here?”

“Eh, we get about 50 mm every year?” At her look of confusion Killian smiles. “Not much.”

“Have you ever had a white Christmas?”

“Can’t say I have. They’re pretty rare in Ireland.”

“In that case, I think this means you should come to Maine. We do a great white Christmas.”

“Maybe I will.”

“Great. Next year sound good?”

Killian laughs and squeezes her hand. “Sounds great.”

She hears the faint echo of advice her dad once gave her. It was right when she was fresh off her heartbreak with Neal and wasn’t sure she had it in her to apply for grad school. He said something to her about moments. About the need to notice good moments even in the midst of bad ones.

Standing here hand-in-hand with a man she met only five hours ago, the glow of Christmas lights dancing in technicolor hues against his cheeks and hair, Emma is absolutely certain this is a good moment.

“Emma?”

She answers Killian’s question by rising up on her toes and kissing him. It’s quick and fleeting, barely a brush of her lips against his, but the look on his face as she pulls away, all bright eyed-wonder, deserves to be classified as a good moment all on its own.

It takes self-control Emma wasn’t aware she possessed to not drop their shopping bags to the ground, grip him by the lapels of his jacket, and kiss the crap out of him. Instead she loops her arm in his.

“It’s getting late,” she says. “Want to walk me back to my hotel?”

He swallows, that poleaxed expression still on his face. “Aye.”

The next morning, Emma is woken up by the sound of her video call alert and boy it was a mistake to not extend her do not disturb until noon. She reaches out and blindly bats at the bedside table until she makes contact with her phone. As soon as she swipes up on her mom’s call, she squeezes her eyes shut again.

“Hello?”

“Oh, sweetie. Are you still jet lagged?”

“And a little hungover.”

“Sounds like you had a very eventful night.”

Killian grumbles from somewhere behind her. “What time is it?” he asks.

It’s right about this moment Emma realizes her error. Her mom goes quiet and Emma considers taking the opportunity to end the call. And then maybe ignore every call thereafter for the next five days.

“Emma Nolan. Is there a man in bed with you?”

“No,” Emma answers, though it’s perfunctory and not at all convincing.

Killian presses closer to her, and shifts so his chin rests on her shoulder. “Hello again, Mrs. Nolan. And this must be Mr. Nolan.”

That gets Emma’s attention and she opens her eyes enough to see her mom and dad sitting beside one another on the couch. While her mom is positively gleeful, her dad looks as though he wishes he could melt into the couch cushions and disappear.

“There are certain things I don’t care to see,” her dad says. “Certain things I don’t care to know.”

Emma rotates in bed and onto her back, holding the phone above her head so both she and Killian are still in view of the camera. “Oh hush, Dad, you and mom did it the first night you met.”

“You told her that?”

In response, her mom shrugs. “She asked.”

“And not that it matters, but Killian and I didn’t have sex.”

Though it didn’t stop them from trading long, slow kisses that left her dizzy and wanting more, more, and more. Killian must have felt the same because it took little to no convincing to get him to stay the night. Perhaps most remarkably, after extending the invitation, Emma had no desire to retract it or pretend it didn’t mean anything.

“Your daughter was far too drunk to have sex.” Emma turns her head so fast in Killian’s direction she hears something crack.

“That, for instance, is one of the things I don't want to know about,” her dad says.

Killian cheerfully waves at the camera, ignoring both her father’s indignation and her glare. “I’m Killian, by the way. Happy to meet your acquaintance, Mr. Nolan.”

Emma elbows Killian. The man is a total menace. “I’ll call you guys back when I’ve had coffee,”

“I want details,” her mom says.

“And I want no details.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah.” Emma hangs up the phone and tosses it in the direction of the foot of the bed. She flips over onto her side and Killian mirrors her, reaching out to trace the freckles on the bridge of her nose. “So that was my dad.”

“He seems a charming fellow.”

“Don’t let the responsible tough guy act fool you,” she says, and snuggles closer to Killian. He responds just as she hoped, by wrapping his arms tight around her. “He once spent all his money on a cross country train ride and stole oyster crackers from the dining car for food. And during a California road trip, my mom almost froze to death sleeping in her wet bathing suit on the side of the road.”

Killian chuckles, the vibrations of his laugh making her feel even warmer. “You’re saying they can deal with a half naked man in their daughter’s hotel room?”

“Yeah, they can deal.” After a moment’s hesitation, Emma slips her hands up and under Killian’s shirt. It’s the one he wore to work, and she can still smell the faint aromas of beer and fried food that linger. She presses her palms against his back and bunches the shirt up, up, and then over his head.

“Emma?”

A girl could get used to the way his voice moves over the syllables of her name. “They might have a problem with a fully naked one, though.” She kisses his bare shoulder.

Killian’s hands move under her shirt to span her waist. Goosebumps breakout across her skin. By the slight twist of his lips, Killian notices. “So you’re saying—?”

“I’m saying you should quit gabbing and kiss me before they call again.”

“As you wish.”

And a week later, when she is back in Maine celebrating Christmas with her family and Killian is in Ireland with his, Emma convinces herself she imagined it. She must have. She must have imagined how safe she felt in the presence of another person. Imagined the comfort she felt as he joined her for a quick road trip to Dublin. Imagined that it could feel like your heart was split in two, half residing in the chest of a person you just met.

But the week of New Year’s Eve, when he arrives in Maine to celebrate with her, she’s startled to find it was all real.

The morning after Killian arrives, she sits with her mom in her parents’ breakfast nook, the two of them sipping coffee as Killian and her dad make waffles.

“Not such a dumb souvenir after all, huh?” her mom whispers.

Emma shakes her head, too happy to even react to her mom’s shameless gloating. “No. Not so dumb.”

#csss2020 #cssecretsanta2020 #cs ff #ouat ff #killian jones #emma swan #cs secret santa 2020 #p: emma x killian #thisonesatellite

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wolfpawn · 5 years ago

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Pride and Prejudice, Chapter 22

Story Summary - Based on an idea I had that I submitted to Imagine Loki. Imagine Loki was raised on Jotunheim as Laufey’s son after the war, but an agreement was then made that he would wed Odin’s daughter so Odin could secure the alliance of Jotunheim through the marriage. Loki, in turn, was raised to be king of Jotunheim, but how he views Asgard is far different from how Odin’s daughter is raised leading to a clash of cultures as well as uncertainty between the pair of betrothed youths.

Chapter Summary - Loki discusses what Ella told him with his father before he discusses certain topics with her, only to get some truths he’s not so sure he can handle.

Previous Chapter

Tags - @peppermint-j @damalseer @perpetual-fangirl @tinchentitri @inspired-snowflace @raphaelaisabella @alexakeyloveloki @caffiend-queen @devilbat @nonsensicalobsessions @skulliebythesea @majoringinlife @salempoe @lotus-eyedindiangoddess

Request if you wish to be tagged

NOTE - Ostara is a Norse celebration of fertility each spring that is the basis for modern Easter.

Loki thought about what needed to be done. He was apprehensive. After everything, this would be so different, but he had to do it, for Jotuheim. He walked through the halls thinking through everything. When he got to Ella’s rooms, he thought over everything for a moment before knocking on her door. There was no response, causing him to knock again. When he was met with no answer, he contemplated his options. Thinking if he should enter and wait for her, wait outside for her, or go in search of her. He turned to leave just as the door opened, revealing a drenched Ella to him. “Oh?”

“Is everything alright?” She ensured only her head was viewable to him.

“I need to speak with you.”

Ella looked both directions before opening the door to allow him in.

When Loki entered, he looked at her confused. She was soaking wet, a light robe over her, the water very much making it somewhat translucent. “I...Is there someone else here?”

Ella looked at him in confusion. “Not that I am aware of?”

“Why are you wet?”

“I was having a bath?” She looked over herself. “I would have thought that to be obvious.” She pursed her lips and sighed. “I must admit, your swiftness to suggest such says a lot. I had begun to think we were past this nonsense.”

Loki thought to make a retort, but he thought better of it. “I apologise. I am negating everything. Please, forgive my foolishness. I do not wish to sabotage this, I came to speak with you on a serious matter.”

“Which is?”

“The Vanir.”

“What of them?”

“They are inviting us to join them for some event, a...Ost…”

“Ostara, yes, a significant festival there. I didn’t realise it was that time of year again.” Ella smiled. She noted Loki’s confused face. “Ostara is a fertility festival. It is to hope for a good year, they have this interesting symbolism for it, eggs, for obvious reasons, and rabbits, because of their high fertility.”

“What are rabbits?”

For a moment, Ella thought Loki to be jesting, but seeing his confusion, she remembered that Jotunheim did not have such a creature. Thinking better than to simply describe it, she used her seidr to conjure one. “This is a rabbit. It is fast and has multiple litters of young a year, each litter containing several young, the gestation period is also notably swift also.” She used her seidr to clothe herself, noting she was starting to get cold. “It is interesting, of course, that they request this now. Why now? Is it for consideration to the differences in heat, Vanaheim of course, being incredibly warm in summer, this is the best time to ask for a visit before the forced delay of several months? Is it because there is something more afoot, I wonder.” She paced as she spoke. “My parents always go. Is it a form of extension through them. Is it to have Vanaheim be the first realm to host Jotunheim after everything, what is their motive?”

“Is the king not some relative of yours?” Loki hampered a guess.

“Yes, but that means nothing. I met him six times in my life, none of those meetings lasting longer than a few days. I know nothing of him. If he walked past me, I would hardly know him. I would definitely think him to not know me.” She shook her head. “No, there is something more to this. Something I cannot think of yet. When are you to leave?”

Loki was startling by her manner of thinking of this. “The end of the week. We need to prepare.”

“Who is to go?”

“Byleistr’s second mate I never knew about is due to come to heat, he will not leave her.”

“No, of course not. They must endeavour to conceive, it could not be expected. May the Norns grant them favour for it.”

Loki nodded, startled again that she thought such a thing, considering she had not conceived and knowing the pressure on them, now more than ever. He had seen other mates get envious when such occurred, even if they were not a mate of those involved, Ella seemed to genuinely wish them luck. “So Bindi, obviously.” Ella smiled at Loki’s affectionate name for his brother. “They do not realise that Father has cast me from being his heir, so I am called upon.”

“Laufey will return your position to you, he is just trying to get you to better yourself first.” She assured him. “Why else would he have you preside over court? No, fear not. You will have your crown.”

“We don’t have crowns.”

“I know.”

“You seem so certain.”

“Father did it with Thor too. Would you believe there was a time my brother was even more immature?” Loki looked at her worriedly. “Yes, he was. He went to Midgard and had something that can only be described as a tantrum, the likes of which little children have, and Father officially declared him not to be his heir, that a law would be altered to make me his heir. That caused uproar, as you can imagine. My brother, however, saw my father was not lying and realised he needed to show my father he could do it. He is not ready yet to take the throne, but he is more mature than he was. He will mature more with time. Laufey will be the same. He knows you are the best choice, he simply wants to teach you a lesson. Figure it out and accept your fault, show him you are fighting to change it and he will declare you as such once more.”

“I wish I had your confidence.”

“What makes you think he will not?”

“I just accused you of having another here even when you never gave any indication of such.”

“You are not perfect, Loki, but you are learning, he sees that.”

“I am sorry.” She gave a small smile. “I have not…”

“I know.” Loki frowned. “I am good at telling when people are being dishonest.” She smirked. “You better prepare to leave.”

“Actually, the invitation is to you too. That is what I came here to say.”

“Oh, I see." She thought for a moment. "It appears I have to prepare for our departure."

"Yes." Loki nodded slightly. "And again, I apologise for that."

Ella gave a polite smile. "For what?"

Loki thought for a moment that she was being ridiculous, but he then realised what she was implying. "Thank you."

"Will I see you for dinner?"

"You will."

Ella gave him a genuine smile. "I look forward to it."

Loki felt a slight gripe in his stomach at her saying that, not knowing why her saying such would affect him like that.

"Norms," Helbindi moaned. "How is anywhere this hot?"

Loki and Ella looked at him sympathetically. With a flick of her wrist, Ella caused a green glow to go around the Jotnar, causing them all to look at her worriedly before they realised what she had done. "Better?" She asked.

"Thank you." Arden bowed slightly.

"It would not do to be entirely out of your element. I am just grateful we do not have to come later in the year. It gets far warmer than this. It is not made for Jotnar."

Loki looked at Arden for a moment, who nodded in return. Both wondering the same thing. Was there anything of a comment on her own situation in her words.

They arrived at the location where the Vanir were waiting, both parties looking at one another apprehensively.

Ella urged Loki forward with her seidr, he looked at her worriedly, wondering how she was able to make him move with her magic. She merely smiled politely in return and took a step forward to stand by his side. Taking her lead, he walked forward.

"Prince Loki, of Jotunheim." The man to the front of the Vanir declared loudly. "And Princess Ella of Asgard."

"Sir Gregor Culpepper, King Wilhelm's head advisor," Ella whispered to her husband while they walked towards him.

Loki took on board her words. "Sir Gregor, thank you for meeting us here," Loki replied.

"Well, on a momentous occasion like this, it is imperative that we start right."

"I agree." Loki concurred.

"Though, if I may point out, for announcing our arrival, I would rather be addressed as being of my husband's realm, as is tradition," Ella smiled. The advisor looked at her somewhat confused. "I am now Ella of Jotunheim, not Asgard."

Loki looked at her, slightly startled that she declared such so openly.

"As you wish, your Highness, my apologies. I did not intend to offend."

"Not at all. Tell me, how are the apple blossom this year, have they began to bloom yet?"

Loki felt himself being forced to hide a chuckle as he recognised her polite manner of changing a conversation when she decided she would speak no more on a matter.

The advisor began to speak of the trees she referenced, becoming engrossed in the matter as they made their way to the Vanir palace. Loki, Arden and Helbindi realising fairly quickly that Ella distracting the Vanir advisor from boring them with some other inconsequential matter.

#loki fic #Chapter 22 #Pride and Prejudice

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thattimdrakeguy · 6 years ago

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If anyone’s curious if that bitter anon from yesterday came back, they did.

I’m not gonna directly respond to it, because at this stage maybe they’ll leave it be if I don’t, but just to summarize what they said and how I feel about it to anyone that’s curious, here it is.

The anon starts it off by saying “You must have mental health issues”, which I didn’t really have a response to, because I only really raised my eyebrows and wondered what they were doing on Tumblr if they seemed to be so hateful. This isn’t a website that predominately supports that kind of behavior. They actually do the exact opposite. They frown at that sort of behavior.

It’s also pretty irrelevant too, because that doesn’t change anything I said. That still remains.

So the trend of irrelevant statements is still here.

Then the anon go on to act like and say they weren’t doing what I said they done, even though some of it shows in the asks I did let people see.

They go back to just say “Just thought you should tag your posts”, and they say it like that’s all they said, even though I still have those asks up, and you can still see the part were they tried to call me a coward. So it’s not exactly like that’s all they was saying.

but they learned a bit.

He’s not calling me a coward anymore, they’re calling me a liar, because they doesn’t believe that I don’t tag Damian in critical posts out of respect, but then

why exactly do you think I don’t tag it? I tag the other Batboys when I critique their writing, I think the only other Batboy I don’t occasionally is Jason, because every now and again I see some of his fans in the tag get aggressive, and it’s pretty obvious to see they don’t wanna see it. So why would I tag it for them to see?

Do you just want people to yell at me for having an opinion? That’s sort of a ridiculous point. That’s not very gentlemanly.

If it’s going to upset people why do you want me to tag it?

Maybe you just want it to be more open to response, but it still is open to response if anyone wanted to.

I’ve already talked about the time I became friends with someone talking about our views on Detective Comics Rebirth, even though I sounded more genuinely mad about Detective Comics Rebirth in the post we started talking over and we didn’t even agree on it.

I don’t deny people the opportunity to not respond when I don’t tag it. I could turn off responses. I’m just not gonna make people see a post they don’t want to see in the tags.

I’m aware these may not be your points, but this is how you’re coming off. You don’t seem to actually have a point, and if you did, it’s not a very good one. So that’s the point I’m trying to make more clear.

You even had a chance to response to it in a polite orderly way, but you blew it on saying irrelevant stuff that wasn’t really an argument past the level of superficial.

In the end your argument rattled down to “I personally liked that stuff” and “other people liked it”, it’s not much of an argument to waste the time over, and I’m not gonna yell at you because you liked it.

So don’t think that’s what I’m trying to do to you, I mostly just been trying to point out how you don’t seem to have a logic to your responses.

If someone told me they just liked the stuff that I didn’t? As long as they took the time to read and actually consider what I had to say, who am I to care? I’m not gonna be thinking about it all night because of one singular guy.

Before I went to bed I already forgot about you.

I think they’re just upset that I had enough problems with the writing Damian has that I could fit it in an essay long post, but that doesn’t change the fact I still talked nice about Damian in some spots, and have probably made even longer posts about some of the bad writing Tim suffered.

So it doesn’t feel like his frustration is completely just.

It just boiled down to, they really like Damian, and they wanted me to tag it so more people to see it, but then why does that upset them so much? I explained why I don’t tag it, but they still don’t believe it. Why do they want me to tag it so badly? To open it up to more responses? Sure, but that doesn't take away from the fact that it appeared that more people would be upset than happy to respond. Which I already tried to explain to them. Why would they rather people be more upset? It doesn’t come off like they have a just reason from every viewpoint I’m able to look at. To tag it causes more problems than to not. It’s simple. So let me respect people’s wishes by not tagging it.

I don’t feel like not wanting to upset people with my opinion is something that makes me a coward, and it’s not something I’m lying about. If they aren’t going to understand that, and just continue to call me a liar, than I’m afraid he’s stuck.

If it’s something about believing that the people who enter the Damian tag have the right to see it. Then you’re just ignoring how people told me they don’t want to see it in the Damian tag or maybe you just don’t want to believe that. You continue to call me a liar, so you show you don’t believe it one way or another.

Maybe you’re just trying to flip the coin of my logic around to look more selfish. Thinking that I’m somehow selfish for not allowing people to see them, or maybe you think I’m selfish because I don’t want to be yelled at for my opinions,

but I already told you why I don’t. You just don’t believe it. So again it just comes back to you not believing me, you’re still stuck, and fighting a lost cause, because I know what my reasoning was even if you don’t believe it for what ever reason you have.

You might just have poor connotation for me since I spoke ill about the writing Damian has had, and can’t believe that maybe I’m not as devious as you hoped I was when you started to enter my inbox.

Sorry to let you down if that is the case.

Which I admit I’m not sure of, but I’m seeing enough to show that it could easily be the case.

In the end I’m not sure what your actual logic is. I’m giving out what I can only understand to be the logic, because it doesn’t make sense to me any other way unless maybe you just don’t have any logic because you don’t know what you’re doing.

If your logic turns out to be something I said though, and you’re still angry at me;

Recognize your own behavior first, because you don’t have a good reason to say what you say.

You had a hunch for what ever reason you do, and you rolled with it, and it’s false.

People assume false things all the time. I’m not gonna claim to know everything about you. I’m only trying to understand you, and explain to you why your logic isn’t good as a learning experience, because hasty behavior is something you can still learn from.

I’m still not 100% sure if they read the posts 100% either by the way, because they say they’re not trying to gaslight me, but I already said in one of them that I’m pretty sure they didn’t actually know what gaslighting was, but they were showing that behavior, meaning it was probably a coincidence but they were still inadvertently doing it.

Because it’s either that or they genuinely didn’t know what a lot of words meant or maybe they just don’t know what they’re doing and just saying stuff as they went along.

They could possibly be trying to gaslight me into thinking I’m a liar, at this point though I’m not sure why they’re continuing to say things at all, but if they actually looked at what gaslight means I’m not sure if they’d continue that if they knew what it meant. Id be nonsensical if they did.

So I don’t really think that’s what they’re doing, at least not on purpose (like what I assumed last time), but at the same time when I think about it, I’m not really sure what they’re trying to do, because I know I’m not lying and grating at that point is pointless.

I’m gonna note as well that they don’t bring up straw man arguments to deny that, and they changed their stance from coward to liar.

So it seems like they’re recognizing some stuff at least a touch, it’s just they don’t all the way.

Maybe they genuinely just think I am a liar, and are having a hard time figuring out their words as they’re pissed about it, but they went from coward to liar. So it’s hard to tell what they actually think when I think about it. They make it complicated to follow since they don’t use any logic besides assumptions and nonsequiters.

At the very least they might’ve been trying to make me bandwagon by saying what other people think, but if they think I actually care what random people think, I do not believe they know how I work. I pretty much got this blog popular by being honest and not bandwagoning with other people.

If they weren’t saying it to do that, then they were just speaking random, or maybe just trying to make me feel bad about my opinion.

If not, why bring it up like it adds anything?

Just to see if that’d upset me?

It adds more fire to the idea that they believe I’m more devious than I actually am, or just that they don’t read my posts all the way through to garner a better idea of what my thought processes are like.

Or even maybe they’re just sore that I don’t agree with them and can’t help but say what comes to mind, only to create the mess they made my inbox be.

They also say “Don’t care if you like Damian or any of the other Batboys [not sure why you’re bringing that up]”, and it’s so silly, because it’s just ignoring the obvious at this point.

You gave me now 6 asks that are completely salty about me not liking Damian. Ya kept bringing up stuff like how you felt he was popular, and cute, and all that, when nothing about it was relevant, because I never asked you what you thought, or said he was or wasn’t popular. I’m open for a discussion on it, but nonsequiters in a pissy tone isn’t a discussion. You’re just randomly telling me what you thought while sounding upset. There’s a difference.

It’s the kind of stuff people say when they’re upset.

It wasn’t done to show an actual argument, there wasn’t logic or anything, you didn’t really try to explain it too well beyond what you simply felt. You only felt it, and it’s okay that you have your own opinion that you feel, but when I made a critical post, I gave my own logic, my reasoning, so forth, and you respond with what’s practically nonsequiters. You don’t come off like you’re trying to debate me, or give your own argument.

You just come off like you’re upset at me.

Saying that he’s popular, and that you think he’s cute doesn’t challenge anything I said for it to be a debate/discussion or even argument.

In one of the asks I didn’t share, because I was worried it might’ve been one of the more embarrassing ones for you, there was only one effort at logic.

You said that Damian could have cute mannerisms, but it still feels like a nonsequiter because when I explained the multitude of different things about his mannerisms and behavior that are disgusting and horrific. It comes off again like you didn’t read my posts all the way through before you tried to respond.

It seems like you saw that I didn’t agree with you and got ahead of yourself, and people do that on occasion. Everyone does at one point in their life, but please just learn from it.

Damian’s made several sexual comments towards Steph, has a prison he makes people suffer in, constantly assaults the other Robins, has a nasty attitude towards other people, stalks people, constantly kidnaps people, and insults people even when they’re having a nervous break down,

They said he could have cute mannerisms in the context of me being upset that other characters called Damian cute in some terribly written comics, but when I give the obvious logic of why him being cute doesn’t work, and you ignore that; saying that he could be doesn’t function as an argument, because I already explained why that doesn’t work. It’s not like a real argument when you don’t take the time to listen to the other person.

Which may come off as irony to you, because there’s a possibility that you think I’m replicating the behavior of not listening to you, but you aren’t giving me anything to listen to, and if you’ve been reading my posts (which you might not be), I acknowledge what you have to say, it’s just what you’re saying doesn’t make enough sense to respond to it more head-on anymore.

Your headcanons, or any writing that ignores his behavior without character development isn’t going to make your argument a strong one or give good reasoning.

Your other responses only end up just being random and defensive, like how an upset person would reveal themselves. I.E. the comments on how he’s getting popular. That’s not much to respond too, and doesn’t really make an argument, if that’s even what you’re viewing it as.

So I think they’re just oblivious to their own behavior when it comes to the more random stuff (or they could just be trying to upset me somehow), while there’s a chance they might be trying to play dumb so they can at least seem oblivious.

It’s very ridiculous, because if it’s not something that’s a conscious decision, it’s still a bizarre thing to read when the other person is trying to make a point of some kind.

You can’t say that you don’t care, and then continue to act upset, because that shows you care at least a little bit in some way.

I don’t care a lot about what you have to say, because of reasons I’ve already stated, but I care about giving you to chance to improve yourself and how you present yourself.

They also end it by saying “when Tim gets a new suit I’ll be back to look on you”, like they’re trying to scare me maybe. I can’t tell why they brought that up. I guess because they’re well aware I don’t like Tim’s new suit, but again,

that’s incredibly irrelevant, and only makes you look more frustrated.

I know you’re trying to upset me by reminding me of that, but you’re continuing the same pattern as always.

If I didn’t care about anything you said before I’m not gonna care about that, and don’t try to send me another ask projecting onto me or saying that I secretly am upset at Damian becoming popular (saying that since maybe that was what they was trying to do by bringing that up), because think about it.

At this stage I’m just pointing out what makes no sense about what you say. I’m not really complaining about anything past “stop saying irrelevant and illogical stuff” am I? Something that’s gonna bite you in the butt if you try to say either one of those things basically.

They also said “I’ll be back to look on you” after saying “block me”, so I don’t know how they think they’re going to be able to see any of my posts if I block them.

They didn’t really learn much in the end.

The next time they send me an ask I probably won’t even summarize it, because it’s just gonna be more of the same I imagine, I’m not gonna respond even if it’s funny, because I think that’d be bad taste at that point.

If they learn about how they’re acting, then maybe that’ll warrant a response, but they haven’t so far.

They never even denied they were a kid, and so if it comes to making fun of a kid, I’m not going to do that. I’m just trying to let them know that what they’re saying isn’t logical, and to get them to learn about their behavior. Being aggressive like this over the internet is something a lot of people will regret after a while.

They’re very lucky that they’ve been doing this as an anon, and not showing their full time account, because id only bite them in the future even more that way. They at least have the cool down of knowing that no one knows who they are (unless they told somebody).

The main reason that I haven’t blocked them yet is because I genuinely think that they might have the capacity to learn from what they’ve done, and maybe not even right away, but perhaps sometime they will.

So I just want them to learn, but if they won’t, then I’m not gonna play tutor.

(I’m adding this bit at the end to make it more clear, because maybe I’m beating around the bush too much.

You say one thing to deny something, but then you continue to act in a way that shows the opposite, making it look like you’re either lying, playing dumb, or oblivious to what you’re doing.

You can even deny it again in another ask, but if you read anything I say, it’s incredibly obvious what you’re doing. You might just not be aware of your own behavior yet.

Everyone has to learn about their own behavior at one point or another. It’s a part of growing up and becoming a person. It’s harder for some other people, but a realization can help people grow a long ways.

I know you’re upset that you don’t know what I’m talking about, and believe that I’m misunderstanding you, but look at the proof. People often don’t know what they’re doing at the time until later.

I’m not trying to yell at you.

Just learn about yourself, and improve.)

#I know I'm repeating a lot of what I say in just this post and from other posts #but I'm hoping maybe repetition or explaining it in different ways may help make what I'm trying to say more clear #Discourse

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allthephils · 7 years ago

Text

Repose

Chapter 14/?

Rated M (adult themes, mentions of sex, seeping beauty au)

word count: 2438 / 40,051

Read on AO3

Excerpt: Phil had never felt fear like this. The room closed in, his heart beat in his ears. Tears sat in his eyes but couldn’t spill over. His arms and legs prickled with adrenaline but he felt frozen in place. He ran to his room, pulling out his dresser drawer and dumping the contents onto the carpet. Rifling through, he found Dan’s Versace t-shirt and held it to his chest. Finally, the sobs broke through and he fell to his knees, crying into the shirt with a painful force.

Chapter 14

The morning was beautiful. It had rained overnight and the world outside Phil’s window was clean and bright. He had gone to bed early, eager for a new day to spend with Dan. There was so much he wanted to tell him. He’d found a poem he thought Dan would like and had printed it to bring along and read aloud. He thought he might bring a few books to read as well. He chose the Outsiders to start with. It seemed like the kind of thing they could quote to each other later and he’d never read it so it would be new to both of them. Up earlier than usual, he took his time drinking his coffee and watched Louise’s new video. Everything felt normal, more normal than it had in a while and he basked in it. Picking up his phone, he rang his mum.

“Child.” Kath’s cheerful tone brought Phil right home.

Phil called his mother most weeks but hadn’t done since he’d first got the news about Dan.

“Mum, I’m sorry I haven’t called in a while. I’ve been busy, distracted.” Phil wanted to tell her everything. He wanted to hear her calm reassurances and her inevitable cheer leading. Instead he told her that he wanted to her soon, that they’d have to meet for breakfast because his days were full.

“Breakfast? So around noon then?” Kath jabbed at Phil but he just said, “No mum, I have to be home by noon.”

He told her he wanted to tell her what’s been going on for him, that he had good news but that it was too long a story to tell on the phone. He was done hiding. If he was going to fight this fight, he needed his family on his side. Kath was baffled at the mystery and the serious tone but she agreed and they made a date for the following week. When he ended the call Phil sat satisfied and feeling like today was the first day of something new. Something was going to change, he could feel it in his bones. He absolutely couldn’t wait to get in that car with Dennis. Phil glanced as his kitchen clock. 12:20. He’d talked to his mum longer than he thought, though that always happened with them.

Dennis had never been late before. He ran downstairs to see if maybe he didn’t hear the knock but there was nothing. No car at the curb, no Dennis. Maybe there was an accident on the road, traffic. He went back upstairs and sat on the sofa, waiting.

12:30. 12:45.

He had no way to reach Dennis, no way of knowing what was going on unless someone contacted him. 12:55. Phil’s stomach twisted into knots. He held his breath and opened Twitter on his phone. Just the usual cursed prince tabloid nonsense.

1:00.

If something happened to Dan, how would he know. He felt sick. If something had happened to Dan. What if he took a turn for the worse? They wouldn’t just leave Phil here, not knowing, would they? They wouldn’t let him find out in some awful Twitter headline that Dan had… He stop mid thought, unwilling to even consider the possibility that Dan could be gone.

1:10.

He picked up his phone and called Louise.

“Hey! They let you keep your phone today! Does this mean I get photos?” Louise was her usual chipper self but Phil broke at the sound of her voice.

“Lou, I’m not there. They didn’t come. What do I do Louise? Oh my god, what if he died? What if he died and they just aren’t coming?” Phil was near hyperventilation. He couldn’t catch his breath.

“Phil, listen.” Louise spoke slowly. “I’m on my way. We’ll go together and get to the bottom of this. Phil, breath for me sweetie. I need to know you're safe on your own till I get there.”

Phil took deep, slow breaths, gaining some small measure of control. “Ok, ok. I’m ok. I’ll be ok. Hurry Lou.”

Phil had never felt fear like this. The room closed in, his heart beat in his ears. Tears sat in his eyes but couldn’t spill over. His arms and legs prickled with adrenaline but he felt frozen in place. He ran to his room, pulling out his dresser drawer and dumping the contents onto the carpet. Rifling through, he found Dan’s Versace t-shirt and held it to his chest. Finally, the sobs broke through and he fell to his knees, crying into the shirt with a painful force. He stayed on the floor of his bedroom, playing through all the possibilities in his head. None of them were good. He heard the door slam and Louise called out, “Phil!”

When he look up, she walked past him and set a box on the bed. “This was outside your door. It’s addressed to you.”

Phil swallowed hard and stood. He shook so violently, he found it difficult to pull the tape off the box. For a long moment, he just stared at the still closed cardboard flaps.

“Phil, love, do you want me to…” Louise stepped forward but Phil held up his hand and shook his head. He carefully lifted one flap and then the others. When he saw what was inside, Phil gasped, his hand flying up to cover his mouth. The bottom of the box was littered with dirt from Loki’s pot, which lay on it’s side. The candles were there and the fairy lights, among broken glass from Phil’s terrarium. Everything was here, everything except Buffy. Phil reached in carefully and pulled out Loki, scooping as much dirt back in as he could manage, and straightening the little cactus in it’s tiny red pot. Phil stood tall, pulled his shoulders back, and wiped his tears. He closed the box and walked to the window, setting Loki on the sill, then turned to look at Louise.

“I’m ready. Let’s go.”

Phil had grown accustomed to waking up with Dan in his bed. His body was aware of the absence before his brain was fully awake. He fluttered his eyes open to see a blurry figured leaned against the doorway, arms folded like a catalog model.

“Dan?” Phil said, his voice thick with sleep. He reached for his glasses and put them on, with the sole purpose of seeing Dan. He couldn’t care less if the whole world was blurry so long as Dan came into focus.

“What are you doing?”

Dan’s smile was reserved but genuine. “Watching you sleep.”

“Ok creeper.” Phil joked, though his heart flipped, it’s one of those things people say in romantic stories and you laugh and roll your eyes. It’s not romantic, it’s creepy. Except it was romantic. If only because Phil understood the impulse. If he had a choice, his gaze would always fall on Dan. He had a twisting pain in his neck from sleeping half sitting up with Dan snuggled into his arms. He stretched and arched, cracking and popping, trying to set things back where they belong.

Dan just watched.

“You’re dressed.” Phil stated the obvious, disappointed at what that must mean.

“I have to go. I’m sorry. I didn’t want to wake you, we were up so late.” Dan smirked, a light blush in his cheek.

“OK. Will you be back tonight?”

Dan shook his head, wistful. “I have to spend some time with my grandmum tonight. I promised.”

“Your grandmum? You’re hanging with the queen tonight?” Phil thought he’d never get used to these abrupt reminders of Dan’s actual position in life.

“I am. She wants to discuss university, my future, you know.” Dan shrugged. “I wish I could bring you. You are my future after all. It seems ridiculous to discuss any of it without you.” Dan’s phone rang out and he huffed. “I have to go before Dennis has a literal baby out there. I’ll see you tomorrow after work, ok?”

Phil nodded and smiled into the kiss Dan leaned in for.

Dan whispered I love you and left. The words drifted through Phil’s mind like soft waves at low tide, rushing in, idling out, rushing in, idling out. He heard his front door close and heard himself whisper I love you too to the empty room.

Dan was the kind of person that should listen to jazz and Brian Eno and paint in the middle of the night. He was the kind of person who chains himself to a bulldozer to save a century old tree. That’s how Phil saw him anyway. Designer trousers and penthouse parties and living in a literal castle didn’t suit him. As privileged as he seemed, and he was so careful to own his privilege, his life was oppressive to him. Phil’s free spirit, his self actualized vision for his life, it was more than Dan could ever hope for. He admired Phil and he envied him in a way.

He spent days off poking around the flat, exploring and learning Phil in more and more detail. Phil learned Dan too. He learned how he takes coffee and he memorized what he sounds like when he sleeps. He learned that he’s an incredibly loud and competitive gamer but that he smiles proudly when Phil finally beats him. And he learned that Dan’s circumstance and his family dynamic had invited more demons into Dan’s life than he could handle sometimes. He learned how to hold him and talk him through when those demons got too demanding.

When Dan showed up in the evening, his cheeks were red and he barely held back his tears.

“Dan?” Phil pulled him close held him in his arms. “Baby, what’s wrong?”

Dan pulled away and paced the room, running his hand through his hair. “I can’t fucking do this anymore. I don’t want to. This isn’t who I am.” Phil watched as Dan moved about the room, manic. “But it is who I am, isn’t it? They groomed me like every prince before me, why do I have to want more? Why can’t I just be one of them so it doesn’t have to feel like this?”

“What happened?” Phil asked, trying to keep himself calm in the face of Dan’s distress.

“Paps spotted Dennis outside your place. Who knows how long they’ve been watching. They waited outside the shelter. Obviously, Dennis got me out a different way but they were out there, yelling. Asking what I’ve been up to, am I dating a commoner, am I gay? It always comes back to the gay question.” Dan stopped and sat on the sofa, looking up at Phil, his voice shook, “They stood outside a battered women’s shelter Phil. Shouting. And it’s my fault, because I won’t just grow up and fall into line, I brought that chaos to a place that’s supposed to be safe.”

Phil’s embrace knocked down Dan’s defenses and he sobbed, letting himself be held. Phil rocked and shushed him, fighting back his own tears. “It’s not your fault. I’ve got you. I’m here.”

Dan gathered himself, pulling back to look at Phil. “Phil I’m so sorry, Dennis’ threats will keep them at bay for a couple days but they’ll be back. They’ll wait outside your door. Fuck. This shit just follows me everywhere. I’m fucking poison Phil.”

“Stop it Dan. I won’t let you do that. You didn’t ask for any of this.”

“Well I certainly didn’t do anything to prevent it.”

“You spend every day helping people, every day. Then you come here and you make me happier than I’ve ever been. You’re not poison, you’re everything.” Phil’s voice cracked a bit and he drew in his own shaky breath, trying hard to keep it together for Dan but failing. “Let them wait, I never go outside anyway. In a couple days, we’ll both be gone for Christmas. We’ll wait it out. It’ll be ok.”

Dan cried into Phil’s t-shirt till there were no tears left then followed Phil into bed where he slept. It was the deep sleep of exhaustion and truly letting go, the kind that comes when the one you’re with is wide awake, holding space, helping you carry the heavy load.

They spent the next day their favorite way, in bed. The mood was heavy but they had each other and it was ok. They ordered every meal in and watched their favorite Christmas movies, Gremlins and Die Hard, not quite catching the ending of either of them. In between, they talked. Topics like the queen’s opinion on Dan’s future, university, and paparazzi, were off limits. Instead, they discussed the colors in Phil’s eyes and how he once ate fish food as a kid. They talked about the wonderful nanny that cared for Dan and Adrian as kids and how she bakes the most amazing mince pies. They listed all the places they wanted to travel to together. Tomorrow morning Dan and Dennis would drive Phil to the ferry to the Isle of Man and Dan would be on his way to Windsor to spend Christmas with his family. They’d be apart for just shy of two weeks but it sounded like an eternity.

Winter mornings meant bright, glaring sun through the window. Dan rolled away from light and into the warmth of Phil. Phil always slept so deeply with Dan there in his bed. He didn’t even stir as Dan hooked his leg around his, pressing himself close to Phil’s side, nuzzling his nose into Phil’s neck, breathing in gingerbread scented body wash. Dan pressed his lips there, feeling the rhythm of Phil’s pulse and there was a hum of sweet satisfaction in response. Phil turned his body toward Dan and his arms enveloped this treasure of his.

“It’s not daytime. Go back to sleep.” He murmured, squinting as he opened his eyes..

“It is daytime, it’s bright in here.” Dan answered.

“Close the blinds, we can pretend it’s night and then we don’t ever have to go.” Phil held Dan as tight as he could.

“Just close your eyes.” Dan said and he kissed each of Phil’s eyelids as they fluttered shut. “There. It’s night. We have nowhere to be.” Dan’s lips met Phil’s and they kissed, slowly first, then building in tension and heat.

Phil moved his lips across Dan’s jaw and and bit at his earlobe. “Good. I wanna give you something to think about when we’re apart.” At those words, he disappeared under the duvet and the quiet house filled with Dan’s sighs. Dennis would just have to wait a little bit longer.

#Phanfic #phanfiction #sleeping beauty au #repose #wip

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talesofealdancynedom · 3 years ago

Photo

Emilia’s Epilogue stage costume. For all your pink, magical girl, magician inspired needs; Vanilla romance never tasted so sweet.

Tale 21: What The Wagon Was For (chapter 6 - Card Tricks 6/8 ) part 6. Stories of wizards

none

Spells that transform, or enchanted objects, and perhaps potions that heal; These are fascinating and useful types of magic. But there is also simple charming magic; When the impossible, entertains. With the flick of the wrist, and the performance of a lifetime, a crowd of people can be brought to laughter. Meet the magician: Someone absorbed in their wonder, thus sharing it with others. By simply believing, they can make anything exist or disappear, in a flash. This is the type of magic Emilia used. Where she’s from, it wasn’t fairies that made eyes sparkle, it was card tricks, mirrors, and a little bit of charisma. Emilia loved a good show. She wanted to perform on a stage some day. Emilia was stubborn, well natured, confident; And when it came to magic, absolutely silly. Furthermore, she was encouraged by her family. Emilia was obsessed since youth, and ran from home; Just to dazzle before a crowd of people. Emilia was everything Morgan wasn’t. Except for the magic part. They both loved that part. Soon, as their paths crossed, and they loved each other just as much.

When Morgan ran away, he found himself on quite the journey home. More importantly, he met the most adorable girl he had ever seen. Though, he hadn’t seen many girls. Morgan was a total shut in. He was so scared of saying the wrong thing and getting rejected, he never approached people. Emilia’s ambiance, made him feel warm though. As time went on, he became more and more comfortable around her. Emilia was the first human he trusted with his dreams and emotions. Nothing compared to Emilia; Everything she did made his day a little brighter.

But Emilia’s magic was different. Her magic shows weren’t intriguing, like the magic Morgan knew. It was small gimmicks, that made him giggle. Emilia’s cheesy lines, as she pulled things out of her cuffs, seemed so ridiculous. Something other then fey, was giving him joy. Emilia said his laugh was cute. Morgan wasn’t aware he was giggling, and suddenly became verry self conscious about it. It made Emilia like him more. She hated most boys. But Morgan wasn’t trying anything; He just had an obvious crush, with no expectations of requited love. He was sweet, quiet, and happy to be friends. The way he sparkled around magic, made her really feel like a proper magician. Emilia had met someone who understood, that not giving up on your dreams, and being led by passion, is valid. She was falling for his company. Even if Emilia’s magic as a magician wasn’t marketable anywhere outside her home, she as a person, was marketable to this wizardly boy. Emilia wanted to be above love; But two runaways spending a year together, can really build a relationship quickly.

Emilia was surprised to be summoned into Leo’s office. She petted Dolly, then placed her on Leo’s desk. Dolly thanked Emilia for the snuggles, while Leo grimaced. It’s bad taste to just touch someone’s familiar. Emilia didn’t even touch Icarus; But Dolly was a big kitty, and Emilia forgot it was sharing sensations with a student counsellor. Emilia, took a seat. She was jittery, as she had no clue because she was there. Out of all the teens facing adversity, Emilia was the most put together. Probably because she faked so much confidence, and trust in her magicianly performances, she started being that way all the time. Or maybe it was because Emilia knew reality was malleable for her, as a magician. Thoughts instantly became reality. If she believed there was a pink velvet staircase with a spotlight on her as she sang, there was. The only reason brooding wizards liked Emilia’s magic, was the same as Morgan; Performance. The way she used magic was so surprising, that it made the most experienced wizard laugh at its audacity. Leo liked her shows. The bad puns, pink, sequins, dancing, cards, and mirrors, was too adorable to resist.

“Why am I here? This isn’t about me being knocked up; Because I have a support network and-” Emilia said, interrupting Leo’s train of thought.

“No, no. I’m talking to people who are have relationships with Morgan. I’m securing his support network. How would you say your relationship is with him? Or more, his with you?” Leo asked.

“We turned out to be true loves; Cursing us with an undying love spell, even though we have one more year of school left. Personally, I have no complaints. He provides cuddles, encouragement, we share everything, practice magic together, do laundry for each other. Yeah, best happily ever after I never saw coming.” Emilia rambled.

“That’s amazing; I can’t even imagine him laughing, never mind cuddling someone. You both really love each other to the point of literal enchantment? Even though you’re so young?”

“The spell worked, didn’t it?” Emilia smiled. “I got an anklet as proof; Love magic requires genuine human attachment to perform, right?” She continued. Leo was fascinated. Morgan had somehow gone from being completely alone, to having all the relationships he needed; Yet Emilia seemed to be the only one, aside from Morgan’s friend Amadeus, that got a peep out of him. Even Uncle Cetus, and his teachers found Morgan silent outside of magic expos��.

“He opens up to you; I want to know how you did that. He’s frustratingly quiet. It’s a barrier to treatment. Medication and skills mean nothing, if he can’t access help in his environment as well. Non-magic related help. I believe his obsession is maladaptive.”

“If you want my honest opinion, I would say I got to know him by being myself. He was so bruised, and quiet when I first met him. So, I went with him on his awesome quests, and treated him like a person. It evolved into us bonding over the magic we were held back from, and the ball kept rolling.” Emilia shrugged. She was so confused why Leo was asking such nonsense.

“Maybe if you want to get to know someone shy, you should take your time? Ask them about things they get excited about? Bond over a commonality or tragedy. Here! Try it with me!” She exclaimed, pulling a hat from her sleeve, and flipping it into a bouquet of fabric flowers. Leo laughed on impulse. Unfortunately, Leo had already tried Emilia’s suggestion. Though it let him learn about Morgan’s past, it didn’t say anything about his present. Leo needed more in order to refine Morgan’s treatment.

“I’ve been trying that for weeks. In order to get him to talk about feelings, I had him to bring some meaningful things, and he showed me a wagon. Do you know what the wagon is for? As a seer, Morgan is prone to tangents. I was told a very long story, and then another. All monotone and barely audible. He was tense the entire time.” Leo said.

“Sounds about right. The dumb wagon is for quests. Obviously. Takes it to the shadow veil, even though he can summon things. Does it every time he visits his beast kings. All of it makes sense when you think about it. I think it cute he always puts in the extra mile.” Emilia smiled. “Though, this year he hasn’t had as much time for fey anymore. Between finishing school, adoption, constant quests, and mage hunting wizards, I get scared he might break. He’s brave when it comes to facing bullies and magic, but when its ordinary people, he freezes. He’s made friends, sure; But there is still a wall. I also wish I knew what to do to help him. But I know better then to fix a broken tea cup, as his partner. That’s your job.” She explained. Leo slouched into his chair.

“One more question, then. Off the books. Its about you this time. I want to see why he likes his polar opposite. So, you have magic unlike anything in this world. It’s charming, and exclusively aimed at humans. Why do you like it to the point you would runaway to show it to people?”

“Because I get to be paid to be silly; That doesn’t sound awesome too you? To smile together with a bunch of people for a living?” Emilia said. “That’s how I escape, Master Greenwood. When I say ‘ladies and gentlemen!’ I know I’m about to have a good time.” Emilia laughed. Just as Morgan, she had that sparkle at the thought or discussion, of magic. This satisfied Leo a little.

“Alright, how about what you hate?”

“Nothing, anymore. I used to be so stubborn and reactive. Then I realized even if things change, I’s still myself. Even if I go back to school, or fall in love and have a kid, the stage still awaits, and I can still be happy.” Emilia chimed. She had done it; mindful inner peace. Leo sure wished his wand could cast that enchantment.

<---PREVIOUS

#art #tales of ealdan cynedom #story 21 #fantasy #short stories #emilia #morgan #icarus #dolly #leo

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looselucy · 7 years ago

Photo

November

Tally was going home for the weekend. I felt like I needed her there, really. Zayn and Harry had spent the entire of Friday bonding over lad-ish nonsense and tattoos and all the rest, and my only saviour had been Tally. Because I loved Mike, dearly, but he was the kind of boy who played video games and was slightly intimidated by big words, so there was no way he could save me from my misery in the same way Tally could.

Thinking this over, I quickly grabbed my phone out and text Grace. Me: Still annoyed at you. Gracie Baby: Still? I guess your knobhead new flat mate isn’t helping me? Me: No. Making me more aware that you are the worst person ever. Some might even say selfish. Gracie Baby: SELFISH? Me: Yes. You may have hated uni BUT WHAT ABOUT ME? Gracie Baby: You’re the biggest loser I’ve ever met. “Get home safe!” Zayn shouted, pulling my attention away from my phone. I lifted my eyes to see Tally slinging a bag over her shoulder, giving us all a sweet little wave before she darted out the front door, running late, as usual. A thing I had found at uni, was that actually, weekends were usually the least fun times of the week. A complete contrast to the normal world. Midweek was when all the student nights happened, cheap drinks and practically everyone from campus in the same clubs. Weekends were just like a massive hangover from the week. “We got plans?” I asked Zayn, even though I knew the answer. “Nope.” “We gunna make plans?” “Nope.” “Sound.” We flicked through the TV channels, our options dire. Ringo was in her room, Mike was out with some guys from his course, and I didn’t have a clue where Harry was, nor did I care. “We’re gunna have to do what we do most Saturday nights.” He nodded. “Illegally stream a film online?” “Illegally stream a film online.” He confirmed. He stood up quickly and jogged off to his room to retrieve his laptop, because he knew I was too worried about mine and viruses and all the rest, because my mum and dad had spent a fortune to get me a laptop for uni and I didn’t want to take it home over Christmas just to have porn pop up out of nowhere whenever I pressed a button. He was back seconds later, the plug for his laptop dragging behind him, a dopey smile on his face because Zayn loved films. His top ten favourite films were all these arty foreign ones I’d never even heard of, and it was his ultimate pastime. It was a good one though, Zayn had deep knowledge of worlds that didn’t even exist, their people, their laws, and if you got him talking about it he could drag you into those worlds and make you feel a part of them, whether you had seen the film or not. He was so passionate. “So what we watching?” He grinned, attempting to use his laptop even though he was pretty much useless with any technology. “I think-” “Don’t even say it.” “- we should watch The Princess and The Frog.” “NO! For fuck sake, Pip.” “WHY?” “Because, I’ve known you for two months, and only two months, and we have watched The Princess and The Frog a grand total of eight times.” “But-” “Let me repeat that, Pippa. Eight. Eight times.” “It’s a Disney classic.” I shook my head at him, wanting a rise. “It is not a Disney classic. Why do you do this to me?” I laughed to myself as he finally set his laptop up, balancing it on the bin so that the wire could reach the TV that was attached to the wall. Just as I was about to become completely relaxed and completely happy, we heard the front door open, and I knew it was going to be Harry because the world hated me and liked to make a mockery of my life. He lazily sauntered into the kitchen, spotting me first and nearly turning around on the spot before he noticed Zayn was there too. “O’reyt.” Harry spoke glumly. “Reyt!” Zayn returned. “We’re gunna watch a film, you in?” “Depends what film.” “What kinda mood you in?” “A shit one.” He practically kicked the floor, before wandering over to the kettle. Zayn gave me a wide-eyed look whilst Harry’s back was to us, and I just shrugged my shoulders, not bothered to hear the story Harry was going to give us. “What’s up, man?” Zayn asked, taking a temporary seat in the camping chair. Harry filled the kettle up in silence and then flicked it on before he turned around and spoke, eyeing me up once like he didn’t care for me to hear his stories, but I wasn’t budging. It was my film night with Zayn. He wasn’t going to ruin it. “I took photos of this girl, for a project, right.” He started with a huff. “And she’s... topless. Like, I had her consent and everything. It’s sound. But like, they called me in today, on a fucking Saturday for some reason, even though I submitted them on Tuesday and I’ve had two lectures since then, to tell me that it’s inappropriate and I need to submit something else, or they’ll have to fail me.” It wasn’t quite what I was expecting. Whenever I walked into the kitchen exclaiming I’d had a shit day, it was usually because I was too rough at a lecture, or someone was rude to me in the street. I didn’t like Harry having actual problems, because it made him human, rather than just being the total bellend I saw him as. “Seriously?” Zayn looked disgusted at the whole idea. “I know!” Harry tightened his fist down by his side. “I’ve always had this idea for these pictures, but I knew at college they would have said no. But this is fucking university, and they’re still terrified about some girls tits? Like breasts are some taboo thing that we can’t even talk about, let alone see. It’s really pisses me off. The pictures were so cool, man. They were done on this Polaroid camera that my grandad gave me from back in the day, and they looked so sick. And now I have to think up something completely new for Friday, even though everyone else has been working on it since day fucking one. Because, of all fucking places, I can’t submit pictures of someone’s fucking tits, at uni. Can you fucking believe that shit? It was hardly like I walked in with a print screen off PornHub. Jesus wept!” I chuckled for the briefest moment, before forcing it to the back of my throat, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of knowing he had made me laugh, even though that comment really did get to me. “Tell you what proves how ridiculous that is.” Zayn animated with his hands. “Yesterday I was at a live-drawing session, with some fit as fuck thirty-year-old model, completely nude in front of me. Like, why can I do that but you can’t have arty pictures that you’ve put heart into for photography? Like, I’m literally in shock.” It was ridiculous, to think about. A part of me wanted to see the photos, see if they were arty like he made them out to be, or if they were just entirely sleazy, which was kind of what I pictured, but that’s just because I was being bitchy and I had my mind made up on him. “I know.” Harry grunted as the kettle clicked behind him. “So, any film that will cheer me up would be spot on.” “Well, Pip knows her funny films.” Zayn turned to me. “Pip-Squeak?” Harry scoffed, looking at me. “Thought you might be the Disney Princess kind of girl.” I scowled at how accurate he was and quickly snapped my head to Zayn, making sure he didn’t mention the Princess and The Frog fiasco we had had only moments ago. He kept shtum. “Yeah well maybe I’m not as one dimensional as you think I am.” I huffed. “I don’t think about you at all, so don’t worry.” He made himself a cup of tea without offering either of us a cup ourselves, which wasn’t really the etiquette in our flat; even Ringo would offer a round of tea if she had boiled the kettle. I could tell Zayn was uncomfortable with the way me and Harry were around each other, because they genuinely did get on, and he wasn’t about to take sides, especially when the way we attacked one another was so petty and stupid. So, he just cleared his throat as Harry moved and sat on the sofa, as far away from me as physically possible. “So go on Pippa, give us a film.” Zayn sighed. “Yeah, go on, blow my mind with your dimensions.” Harry joked. A part of me just wanted to walk away and not bother, he was already pissing me off so much. I wondered if it was just because he’d had a bad day, and that’s why he was being such an arse. Maybe it cheered him up. Maybe he disliked me just as much as I did him. But I wanted to watch a film, and I wanted to prove to him Zayn was my best friend, not his. “Let’s watch Kick-Ass.” I groaned, snuggling into the settee. “SHOUT!” Zayn cheered. “You seen it, Harry?” “Nah.” “It’s sick.” Zayn started searching for it on some horrible website, some dodgy ads popping up every 15 seconds or so, me and Harry sitting in noticeable silence behind him. I crossed my right leg over my left, subconsciously moving away from him, wondering why he had to impose himself. Eventually, Zayn found a successful link and came to sit down next to me, so I was nestled between the two of them, the sofa being perfectly big enough when you were between two people you liked, but when you were next to someone who despised you and the feeling was quite mutual, I couldn’t help but think it was that bit too small. We all became engrossed in the film pretty quickly, and we must have been around half an hour in when a serious topic of discussion sprung to mind, something I was surprised I hadn’t thought of earlier. “Ooh ooh ooh!” I tapped Zayn on the shoulder. “Did you speak to Louis about me?” “Yeah.” He shrugged and whispered back. “Said he thinks you’re sound, and you’re a good kisser.” “Brilliant. That’s all I need. I can die happy now.” I turned back to the film, smug as fuck about the whole thing. I mean, usually it wasn’t a big deal, but having something like that said about me by the likes of Louis, was something else. Of course, I was beaming with pride, it was understandable on all accounts. “That’s it?” Zayn chuckled under his breath. “That’s all it takes for you to feel accomplished?” “Well I’m a very easily pleased.” I informed him. “Clearly.” He huffed, still giving off a slight laugh. “Either of you want a brew?” ”Nah, man. I fancy a beer.” Harry huffed, his concentration fully on the film. “Good idea!” Zayn smiled, jumping up to his feet. I cursed under my breath, because I knew myself very well by the age of 18. If I had a drink, even just one, and nothing to wake up for the morning after, the fun bug would bite me good and hard, and I would want to be out, drinking and dancing and making terrible decisions. I loved the original idea of staying in, especially at the weekend, because if we were going to go out it would cost us more than it would midweek. But all it would take was one drink, one tiny little drink, and I knew I was going to have a change of heart. And Zayn knew this about me too, but the fact he threw me over one of his Carlsberg cans seemed to say that maybe he wanted to go out too. So did the cheeky little smirk on his lips. I knew where our evening was going from there. Harry took a big, final gulp of the tea he had made when he first walked into our shared home, and then cracked open his own beer, taking a large gulp before exhaling a satisfied hot press of air from his mouth, like that one taste had taken a huge weight off his shoulders. Zayn moved his hand to his mouth and signalled for me to have my first drink, so I clicked my can open and did as I was told, always holding his eyes and watching his grin widen. As soon as I placed the can back down, I groaned, loudly. “Oh for fuck sake, Zayn!” “What?” Harry puzzled, glancing between the two of us. “We’re going out.” I flopped my head back, disappointed in myself. “What?” He repeated, more confused this time. “Pippa can’t even have a sip of a drink without suddenly wanting to go out and get drunk. It’s one of her best and worst qualities.” Zayn informed him. Harry turned his head to me and gave me a disapproving look up and down, silently judging me as we remained uncomfortably close to one another, regardless of the fact Zayn had moved from the sofa. “You’re weak as fuck, you.” He scoffed. “WHAT?” I almost howled. “The more I see of you, the more I feel like the name Pip-Squeak is really, really fitting for you.” “Oh just fuck off, Harry.” “No.” He grinned, leaning a little closer. “You’re going to have to deal with me all night now. C’mon, let’s get drunk, Pip-Squeak.” I bit my tongue, just like I did every single time Harry made some stupid comment or called me that ridiculous name, which wasn’t very fitting at all, to be honest. “Please invite Louis.” I groaned to Zayn as I raised to my feet, going to get ready for the evening ahead. “He might save me a little sanity if I have to deal with this wanker all night.” “Nothing can save you from me, Pip-Squeak.” “Oh my fucking god.” I pressed my fingers against my temples. “I will fucking murder you, if you keep calling me that.” “You’re so aggressive, Pip-Squeak. And you swear like a sailor.” “Fuck off.” I stormed out of the shared area and right back into my bedroom, locking the door tight and desperate to scream into a pillow, before taking into consideration how damn thin the walls were. So, being as dramatic as ever, I searched for a blank piece of paper, and melodramatically ripped it to shreds, growling to myself as I let them all tumble to the floor. And that was enough of a release for me, so I started getting ready, both dreading and eager for the evening ahead. + + + “Pip, we’ll be out in a minute! I promise!” Zayn re-enforced. I stood with a sour face as Zayn and Harry scurried off into the toilets, trying to be as inconspicuous as possible, but it was more than obvious they were going in there to do drugs. But we weren’t in our normal spot, we had travelled further into the city, into one of the giant clubs, and that kind of activity was extremely common there. I doubted any of the lads were scurrying into the toilets to actually use them for their original use. I took a big sip of the drink I had bought myself, rolling my eyes and wishing they would just hurry up. Louis had said no to the night out, so I was stuck with Zayn and Harry all night, and I wasn’t sure how well I was going to cope. I really needed to drink to the point where I didn’t care. I had also decided, for Zayn’s sake, I needed to make a bit more of an effort with Harry, rather than just ignore him or be rude to him all night. I needed to try, because if he and Zayn were going to continue being this pally, it meant I was going to be spending more time with him than I originally anticipated. So it was better to be nice. A few minutes later, they came out, both laughing away with each other, Harry wiping his nose with the back of his hand, just to make it a little more obvious. Once again, I rolled my eyes, before shouting at myself in my head, reminding myself about putting in that effort and not just rolling my eyes at every single thing he did. Zayn clapped his hands together, rubbing them fast and creating heat. “I need a drink.” He spoke quickly. I had noticed this about Zayn in the few times I had seen him take drugs, either it was a placebo type thing, or the effects of what he had taken really did hit him within a matter of minutes. It was weird. Harry was still totally fine, as expected, not that I was some kind of drugs expert, but Zayn was already bouncing off the walls, before we’d even gone back into the main part of the club. “Me too!” I said, downing the remainder of the one I already had. We began making our way in the right direction. The place we had chosen was huge, the complete opposite of Thimble. It was loud and crowded, playing unfamiliar music that just pounded into my ears, and I needed to be drunk to enjoy it. So we went to the bar, and I made my first attempt at being nice. “I’ll get a round in.” I smiled. “What do you both want?” “I’ll have a vodka and coke, please.” “Harry?” I quizzed. “I’m not bothered.” He shrugged. “For fuck sake, Harry, just tell me what you want!” The pace of me losing my patience was shockingly speedy. “Whatever you’re having.” “Fine.” I shook my head, turning to the barman. “Please can I have three triple vodka and cokes? Thank you.” “TRIPLES?” Zayn cried. “Yeah. I’m too sober for this shit.” We all cringed in time with one another after we had taken our first sips, the taste absolutely vile, but hopefully it would do its job. “Thanks, Pip.” Zayn clunked his glass to mine. “Yeah, cheers.” Harry gazed off into the distance whilst giving his pathetic attempt at a thank you. I scowled at him whilst he wasn’t looking, and stuck my tongue out like a child, but it genuinely made me feel a little bit better. Zayn couldn’t help but laugh, he patted me on the back and gave me a kiss on the cheek. “Thanks for trying.” He yelled in my ear, realising my efforts. At least someone did. + + + By the time it hit 1am, we were all completely gone; the lads more so, since they had a mix of things flowing through their systems. Myself and Harry had barely spoke all evening, but it was better than arguing with each other at least. We had just been dancing, stuck in the middle of the room, everyone going completely wild. I preferred Thimble, really. It was small and full of students, more familiar and welcoming. That place was huge, eerily dark with blue and red lights burning everywhere, some guy raised out from the crowd playing the music, reacting to the crowd. But it was good, I suppose. Good enough. “Oh shit!” Zayn cried, again. “She is so fit.” “For fuck sake, man, just do it!” Harry yelled. His pupils were so wide I was slightly concerned. Harry was acting relatively normal, the only thing that gave him away was the size of his eyes, how wide he held them open. Zayn’s eyes tended to keep shutting themselves, he reacted more obviously to what he had taken in every sense. “I can’t, man.” Zayn chewed on his lip and bobbed his head from side to side. “I can’t she’s too fit I can’t do it.” “If you don’t do it, I’m gunna fucking do it!” Harry called. “Nah, man, nah, she’s mine.” “THEN FUCKING GO! You’re pissing me off, man. Just go and kiss her!” Zayn started nodding, his head literally kept going up and down like fucking mad before he quickly pushed away from us, and made his way to the girl he had been talking about for at least an hour. It then struck me that it was now just me and Harry, and he realised it too, and we both got really awkward and exceedingly uncomfortable, taking big sips of our drinks to try and push past it. I encouraged myself, once again, to make an effort with him. For Zayn’s sake. “I have Zayn’s fags in my bag, you wanna go for one?” I rushed. He gave me a questioning look, wondering why on earth I had just offered him that, especially since neither of us even really smoked. He continued to just shrug his shoulders, and tilt his head towards the smoking area. He took off, leaving me uneasily trailing behind, having a lot more a difficult time pushing through the crowds than Harry did, thankful I wasn’t wearing heels because it would have been even more difficult. By the time I made it outside, Harry was already there, sitting on a bench waiting for me. The outside area had heating, thankfully, but you literally had to travel through a cloud of smoke, it was pretty disgusting. I sat down next to him, handing him a cigarette and putting one in my mouth, and lighting it, before passing the black lighter onto Harry, and he did the same thing. For around half the cigarette, we sat in silence, people watching, avoiding conversation, awkward as fuck. Until Harry had seemingly had enough of that, and sparked up a discussion, even though it made everything even more awkward. “So why don’t you like me?” He smirked. I was pretty drunk by this point, so I just burst out laughing, covering my mouth but unable to keep it in. “You don’t like me either!” I pointed out to him. “Yeah but, you know my reasons.” “Do I?” “Yeah, you’re annoying as fuck. Of course I don’t like you.” He huffed. “HOW AM I ANNOYING?” “See. That right there. Why did you have to shout that? Why? Shush.” Oh god. I hated him. I really fucking hated. Everything he did and said just made me want to punch myself in the face repeatedly, he was infuriating. I turned fully to him, trying to compose myself and sober up. “You wanna know why I don’t like you?” I shot. “Yeah.” “Because you’re arrogant as fuck. You think you’re something special-” “I am quite special.” He interrupted. “No. Just... Shut the fuck up. Just shut the fuck up, Harry. You were rude to me when we met, even though I was just making polite conversation. And you have continued to be really fucking rude to me. And I don’t get why? You’re like… fine with everyone else, but you’re really rude to me!” “You can’t say shit, Pip-Squeak!” He laughed in my face. “You’re rude to me too! That’s what we do, we’re rude to each other. It’s how we work.” “I haven’t even known you a fucking week, Harry. We don’t do anything. That is not what we do. You are so annoying, honestly. No one has ever annoyed me so much in my life. And this is after a few days. I have to live with you. I’m gunna go mad.” “You are so dramatic. It hurts my head. And also, you’re boring as fuck so I’m going inside.” He groaned. He raised to his feet, crashing into someone on the way as I dragged my hands down my cheeks, really needing to scream, and I had needed to do so for hours by that point. Harry stumbled backwards after knocking into the lad, who turned around and gave him a filthy look, looking him up and down. “Watch where you’re going, pal.” The bulky bloke said to him. “Alright, mate, calm down.” Harry chuckled. “So much aggression. Bloody hell. It was an accident.” “Then say you’re sorry.” I could see it coming before it happened, both their postures tensed and they were pretty much squaring up to each other for no reason. I stood up and grabbed at Harry’s elbow, gently tugging him, asking him to step away. “Y’know what?” Harry continued messing with him. “I was going to apologise but I just figure you’re too rude. And... I don’t want to anymore.” “You just made me spill some of my drink, say you’re fucking sorry!” He took a step closer. I tugged Harry a little harder after that, quietly whispering for him to step away, but it was pretty useless. There was no getting through to him, not taking him from that moment. I should have just left the two of them to it, rather than try to step in. “I’m not saying sorry. You can fuck off.” Harry smirked sarcastically. The lad began to crack his fingers, and I finally moved away, taking a quick step back from everything, cursing to myself over and over as the man warmed himself up in the most pretentious way possible, even doing a quick lunge before rolling his shoulders and cracking his neck. Despite how tense I felt, that was genuinely funny. I let out a very minor giggle just watching him prep for the fight he was anticipating. But as he did his warm ups, and I stood chuckling away to myself, Harry caught him off guard and just swung, his fist meeting his face in a heartbeat and knocking him straight out, flat on the floor and the drink he had been carrying all over his white t-shirt. “Shit!” I cried. “Okay, time to go.” Harry spoke quickly. He laughed so loud, clapping his hands together before shooting back inside, leaving me staring at the lad on the floor, my mouth wide, his friends staring right back at me with similar looks on their faces. “Shit. Sorry. Sorry about that.” I started backing away from them. “Sorry. I didn’t... I don’t really know him. Sorry... again. Bye. Sorry, bye.” I turned on the spot and ran away in a panic, soon finding Harry inside, who was stood clutching at his belly he as laughing so much. This was clearly hilarious to him. I hit him hard on the arm, still in complete shock. Never in my life had any of my friends, or anyone I really associated with, been the type of people who would start fights on nights out, never mind knock someone out like he just had. “What the fuck are you doing?” I screamed. “Better I get him before he got me!” “No! No better there are no fights in the first place. Fucking hell. Let’s go find Zayn and just go home. Please.” I started barging off into the crowd and Harry followed close behind, still giggling his little arse off, annoying me more and more by the second, something I didn’t think was possible at all. “C’mon, Pip-Squeak.” I heard him yelling behind me. “You never seen a fight before?” “No, not really.” I looked back over my shoulder to him. “I get in fights all the time.” He was too smug about the matter. “Oh good.” I stopped and stared at him face on. “Bloody brilliant, Harry. Round of applause for you, you fucking idiot. It’s nowt to be proud of!” He hunched his shoulders and smirked, disagreeing with me without having to say a word. I gestured with my hands that I wanted to strangle him, before turning hot on my heel and going on a mission to find Zayn, which we soon did, his tongue stuck down the throat of the girl he had been staring at earlier. I tapped his shoulder. No reaction. I could still hear Harry laughing behind me. I tried not to tear my hair out. I tapped Zayn again. Nothing. “ZAYN!” I yelled. He pulled away from the girl, turning around with drowsy eyes, but looking happy to see me. “Heeeeey, Pippa! What’s going on?” “Harry just knocked someone out cold, so we need to go. Quickly. Please.” Zayn turned around to the girl and then whispered in her ear, to which she shyly nodded, moving a little closer to him. “She’s coming with us.” He playfully raised his eyebrows. “Whatever. Let’s go.” I didn’t even care by that point as I started storming out of the place, leaving the three of them trailing behind me as I grabbed a beer off a nearby shelf, hearing it’s owner who had been closer than I’d been hoping cry out his disapproval as I slugged the cold substance down my throat, but it was hard to really give a shit in that frame of mind. I just wanted to go home. + + + Zayn was kissing the girl he’d brought back as they fell through the door to his bedroom, hearing it lock tight as soon as they were inside. I stumbled up to the kitchen, needing water, or a cup of tea, or anything to help me feel a little better, still drunk and confused about our night out and how out of hand it had gotten. For some reason, I noticed Harry was following me down to the kitchen, beginning to stumble a little now, a mixture of drugs and alcohol and a night gone wrong. I walked over to my food cabinet and began routing for chocolate, knowing I had to have some somewhere, because it was me. “Good night?” Harry asked, chuckling, joking with me. “The best.” “Hey, Pip-Squeak, I have a question.” “I’m not going to reply to you unless you use my real name.” “But you just replied.” He fucking thrived off my misery. “Holy fuck. What? What is your question?” “Do you like me now?” “Harry, my dear, I like you less.” That was exactly what he had been expecting from me, and he just started laughing again, leaning against the kitchen top and proper giggling, before biting his bottom lip and just staring at me, probably trying to think up the next thing he could say to wind me up. I was too drunk and too tired to even try to deal with him. I found my chocolate, and then stared back at him, slamming the cupboard door shut. “You hate me?” He smirked again. “Yeah. Pretty much. I’m going to bed.” “Can I come?” He raised an eyebrow. “Go. Away.” He laughed again as I stormed out of the kitchen, wondering how on earth I was supposed to cope living with him until May. It had been a few, short days, and I was not coping well. Not at all. “NIGHT, PIP-SQUEAK!” He shouted down the corridor. I stuck my finger up over my shoulder and made him laugh even more, and I knew he was going to do everything in his power, from then on, to wind me up as much as he physically could. And that little bastard was doing a really good job.

#I've put out too much stuff this week I'm sorry #I LIKE FEEDBACK OKAY BYE #1DFF #Harry Styles #BB3 #bb

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autumnleaves--wintertrees · 8 years ago

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Made on June 10, 2017 9:17:23 pm Posted: June 14th, 2017 12:41:02 pm

the b.s. that women date jerks. fact: we don’t.

This post continues under the ‘Read More’/‘Keep reading’ break line below.

Here is the link to the original list. The post I am talking about in this list is number 16. If you just want to see the image I am talking about, I put that up too. I would have included the link I got from using ‘Open image in new tab’, but it is unverified.

http://whisper.sh/stories/cc9fc428-8cf1-4b3a-a613-4cefbaec4583/We-May-Have-Answered-The-Age-Old-Question-Of-Why-Women-Date-Jerks?page=2&root_story_id=cc9fc428-8cf1-4b3a-a613-4cefbaec4583&story_index=0

The person who wrote that Whisper headline is none too bright. (I’ve also noticed how cringey Whisper is at trying to relate to millennials and Gen Z with the words and phrases they use. It’s like several other online companies/products/businesses. It’s pathetic, cringey, desperate, and it doesn’t work.)

The white text with black shadow outline is displayed over an image of a large, white, clothes-filled closet, and says: Little girls are told that when a boy picks on you, it’s because he likes you. And guys wonder why women date jerks?

This picture from whisper still brings up a good point even though only some women date jerks, and god almighty I hate that question of “Why do women/men only date jerks?”. If you are asking that then you do not know much about women or people at all, do you? Plus, why don’t these two questions get as much attention?➜ “Why do guys only date bitches? Why do guys only go after women who use them?”

Do not try to push that “women date jerks because they are attracted to certainty and confidence.” That is the same thing as saying, “women don’t date a ‘genuine nice guy’ because a man cannot be a ‘genuine nice guy’ at the same time as naturally having certainty and confidence. Women also want to see certainty and confidence more than they wish to be respected.”

I actually do swing from rage to pity for men like this. I respond in their face with, “No you turdfuck misogynist, I am much more attracted to someone who respects me as a person, not ‘as a woman’ because there is no such thing, but just as a person than I would ever be towards something like you. Please get professional help.” The reaction is the same thing towards a KKK member or a TERF - swinging between rage and pity.

The speaker of the nonsense claim thinks that there is a one-way ticket to attracting and keeping a woman and that it is to have confidence. The claim is mostly a lie, but works in giving men who may have low confidence or who may be a ‘fake nice guy’ a false sense of hope because they and the speaker all share similar and extremely limited experiences and shallow relationships with the female gender.

It might work to attract a woman for a short time before she realizes the truth. Most stories from women of having dated a jerk in their past begin with, “He started out as such a nice guy. He was helpful, generous, romantic, caring, attentive, charming, and sweet. Then after I moved in with him/after we got married/after I had the baby he changed. Or really, what was there before came out.” This is also what is said by women who escaped an abusive relationship, or a relationship with a serial killer or a sociopath. *So good job, men. Brilliant work.*sarcasm* On rare occasions though, simply having confidence is enough to keep her around... but that woman has an ulterior motive such as she is only looking for sex or money, or she has personal issues such as low self-worth.

It is not hard to treat another person as another living thing deserving of respect. It is a shame and a goddamn embarrassment that posts like these should ever need to be made as some kind of teaching tool, and that people still argue about this topic.

I’m going to mainly speak in terms of a female dating a male jerk for this list considering this post is centred on the ridiculousness of the “Women only date jerks and assholes.” saying. Also, all real life situations are different and complicated so don’t think anyone’s situation can easily be marked down as just one of these or even any of these. I may be a woman, but I shouldn’t have to think for you.

(I know it’s hard for someone who thinks in such narrow lanes about women, but try to use your brainpower in understanding this. I believe in you.) - If she (or he! It works the other way around too!) is dating a ‘jerk’ the 26 reasons may be: —————

1. They could be determined to stick with an unhealthy relationship out of stubbornly believing the relationship works, to have, change, heal, or help something, or stick with it out of fear of losing something or out of fear of the results (see #3), however unhealthy it is. - 2. Maybe “being a jerk” is a part of their kink, their sex life; it is consensual and conducted safely. In every other case when you are not around or they are in private, she/he treats them with respect. For example, there is such a thing as an embarrassment kink. If your boy/girlfriend is constantly making you feel badly, physical or other, that is not a kink. That is (a form of) abuse. Immediately seek help and find a way to leave the relationship safely. This brings me to #3, the most disturbing reason— - —3. This person may be in an abusive relationship. What appears as their partner making small verbal jabs at their weight and physical appearance in public plus a combative attitude with friends, it is actually much worse in private. They may not be able to leave the relationship. I am in no way an expert on this subject, there could be multiple reasons why an abuser reacts a certain way. However, the research is out that:

(These links provide posts and articles with gender-neutral information. I was determined not to post anything with phrases centred only on females that were in or are in heterosexual relationships. It is great when people acknowledge, “domestic violence and abuse can happen in any relationship regardless of sexual orientation, race, financial situation, religion, gender, age, or culture”, but then is hypocritical and unhelpful when the rest of the discussion only involves female pronouns and references to female-only sufferer and survivor cases. It supports the idea that only biologically born heterosexual females, females in heterosexual relationships, or biological females experience domestic violence and that those cases and women are more deserving of attention. It is close-minded, harmful, and ignorant when people ignore the effect their words or phrasing has.)

Leaving an abusive partner is the most dangerous time. by Lisa McAdams | Aug 22, 2016 | Lead the Way | http://lisamcadams.com/leaving-abusive-relationship-dangerous-time/ lisamcadams com leaving abusive relationship dangerous time **the link above and below are the same articles, but the one above is from the writer’s own website.** Leaving An Abusive Partner is the Most Dangerous Time Published on October 19, 2016 Lisa McAdams Domestic Violence Workplace Strategist | Speaker | Media Comme... https://www.linkedin.com/pulse/leaving-abusive-partner-most-dangerous-time-lisa-mcadams linkedin pulse leaving abusive partner most dangerous time lisa mcadams

Danger Assessment Updated: August 5, 2015 https://www.womenslaw.org/danger-assessment womenslaw danger assessment

What to remember about abusers during the most dangerous time in a relationship December 15, 2013 12:03 pm Updated: December 15, 2013 12:04 pm https://bangordailynews.com/2013/12/15/opinion/editorials/what-to-remember-about-abusers-during-the-most-dangerous-time-in-a-relationship/ bangordailynews 2013/12/15 opinion editorials what to remember about abusers during the most dangerous time in a relationship

The most dangerous time for domestic abuse sufferers is when they try to leave or do leave. Sometimes the abuser doesn’t make good on their threats of killing their partner or make any threats of that kind at all until their partner actually makes it clear they wish to leave or does so. The abuser’s mental state can devolve into something of “How dare you leave me” mixed with “If I can’t have you, no one will” or “you are never leaving me and you are staying here forever”. Concerning such a possessive and obsessed way of thinking as that, the abuser’s reaction does make sense; up until then there was no threat of the other person leaving, and now there is so the abuser grasps for control. They seek control. What the abused person needs right now is safety and support, and so again I repeat— If your boy/girlfriend is constantly making you feel badly, physical or other, that is not a kink. That is (a form of) abuse. Immediately seek help and find a way to leave the relationship safely. - 4. However inane the ideas that a jerk may be better in bed, more attractive, more fun, or more honest are it may be the way she thinks. - 5. Maybe she has only ever dated and been around jerks because she has only ever known jerks, so it is not as if she knows there is anything different. - 6. Some women who date jerks on purpose as in the women are aware and accepting of their behaviour, know where they stand with them. These women overlap with other women who don’t know what a real nice guy is, as in a genuinely good, honest, respectful person who just so happens to be of the male gender and confuses them with guys who are extremely shy or guys who let themselves be pushed around and controlled. –Maybe the guy has extreme anxiety, low self-esteem, low confidence, or a number of different things, but they can still be a jerk. ‘The extremely shy guy’, ‘the pushover’, and ‘the genuine nice guy’ are not the same things.–

Addition: There is such a thing as a ‘fake nice guy’. They can also be called a ‘fuckboy’. They like to believe that they are actually good people (or they like to pretend they are), and some women only date ‘obvious jerks’ because again, they know where they stand with them. “Obvious jerks don’t play games.” is the thinking here. These women’s opinions of ‘nice guys’ have been soiled, and now they only see ‘nice guys’ as liars, cheaters, and posers so they date guys who are honest and clear about who and what they are. Within this sense, these people want the ‘right’ jerk or a certain type of jerk. Therefore, you can thank all of the fuckboys and fake nice guys for doing that shitty thing where one or a few people ruins something for anybody else, in this case, her attitude. - 7. Look up to the picture. Now read all of the text or the verbatim text I provide underneath. Now let your brain process what you just read. - 8. Maybe she doesn’t know he is a jerk. He may never act that way around her. - 9. Maybe she wants to try something completely different. - 10. On the other side of the coin, she may be scared to try something completely different. She might be worried that she will fail at a healthy relationship. - 11. She doesn’t want to ruin you. - 12. Toxic masculinity and the patriarchy are two real and horrible things bringing up abusive or neglectful fathers, so yeah, your father not engaging with you → you seek relationships with the first man who gives you attention/affection. Your father abused you → you think pain and abuse mean love or that abuse is acceptable. Your father parented you with unbending religious values and rules → you think your places are in the kitchen, bedroom, and nursery, and so on. (Everything in life is situational, nothing is in black and white, and it certainly can’t be summed up in two lines of text.)

Addition: The media/pop culture is also at fault because it is not just parents who end up raising a child, it is also their friends, teachers, the media, it’s the world around them. The media regularly spins toxic masculinity and the patriarchy into something called the ‘romantic jerk’ or the ‘bad boy’ for drama. The media loves to hold this character up to our daughters. This is the male character that plays a free spirit, wayward, tough guy attitude with life - “He may not have much money or a job or a care about anything, but fuck if he doesn’t fuck you into bliss. He is a man’s man on a motorcycle with bloody knuckles and a heart of gold only for you. Don’t worry, his manipulation, possessiveness, and stalking is just him expressing how much he doesn’t want to lose you, and how much he needs you in his life!” I’ll be clear: A guy like this doesn’t need you in his life, he needs a crutch. He needs someone to take care of him. He needed a mother (or a father) when he was little and he is turning you into that now, or he is trying to. He cannot be without you because he cannot stand on his own two feet. - 13. Maybe she doesn’t believe she’s good enough (for anything else). - 14. She may be a jerk herself, and aww look how cute, they found each other. Two pieces of shit have drifted towards each other in the toilet bowl. In which case, if two awful people can find each other, there is definitely someone out there for you. - 15. They have ulterior motives, which might include wanting a share in the jerk’s money/possessions, getting back at someone, or wanting a child. PSA: Please do not breed with jerks because you risk poisoning the human population with more of them if you do. - 16. She is grieving something or someone. Dating this jerk is liberating for her or is salving, possibly because of what little effort is expected from her to put into the relationship since the jerk puts in minor effort as well. Little effort creates few expectations creates little effort on an endless loop, and this might be good for her at this time in her life. - 17. She or he may be looking in the wrong place for a mate and are seriously under the misconception that “there are no good guys around to date”, and have now ended up settling for this. - 18. Maybe the jerk-gal (or jerk-guy) only mistreats everybody else but never her (or him), and she/he doesn’t care and/or likes that jerk-guy or jerk-gal is this way. - 19. She literally thinks she deserves bad treatment = she hates herself. - 20. For some people whether it is subconscious or not (there may be trauma, it can depend on the kind of environment they live in for ex: a bad neighbourhood, their attitude and the way they treat others, etc.), they are ‘magnets’ for jerks or they are drawn to jerks. They think they can only attract jerks, and therefore ‘jerks’ are as good as they will ever get. - 21. She or he does not want a committed relationship. They can rely on the jerk to be disinterested in a long-term committed relationship too, and that is just what she or he wants at that moment. In this case, they are (probably) perfectly aware of who they are dating and that it is not healthy. An actual good person is/will be the target date for something long-term. - 22. She/he is rebelling. She/he is acting out and/or trying to get attention and/or they are bored. Teenagers are usually the ones who date jerks for these reasons. - 23. The jerk keeps their partner around with sex or by buying them things, travel, or giving them money. - 24. Maybe the jerk just doesn’t like you. Maybe it’s you who is the problem- ooo plot twist: You are the jerk. - 25. Maybe this woman is a ‘beard’ for him. A beard is a term in lgbt+ culture that means - a man starts dating a woman, acquiring her as his beard, as a way to cover up the truth that he is gay. The man is not sexually attracted to her. She is not going to ‘turn’ him. A bisexual man, or a man who is questioning his own sexuality may use a beard as well, but the point is that ‘beard’ is an lgbt+ term. If she is the jerk’s beard, he sure is doing a shite job of keeping himself out of people’s attention. - 26. Personal reason: Maybe they seem like a jerk to you at first glance. However, some people need someone else to help keep them in line because of anything from childhood trauma to addiction to a mental/physical accessibility issue or other, and this looks like ‘being a jerk’ to you. It can be anything from helping to get them on and keep to a medication schedule, to keeping up with them when they are not on medication, to giving them an allowance because they can’t hold down a job. Some people do need that structure that comes with being with someone who a.) cares about them and b.) is able to put in the work to keep up with them (I use “keep up with” instead of “deal with” or “handle” because we are not anybody’s math problem or pet project)✨.

————— There definitely may be other reasons to add to this list that I just cannot think of, and again I say that each situation is different and complicated. What I have posted above are only linear, clear cut statements, but nothing in life is linear and clear cut, and again, I shouldn’t have to think for you.

Why is this discussion gendered in the first place? Anyone can end up dating a jerk. It doesn’t matter if you or the jerk is female or male! What, you think women are creatures made of pure love and compassion? You think women can’t be abusive? You think it is somehow better when a woman is the abuser because the abuse is easier to take, or that it doesn’t count as abuse? The saying runs with an air of the same stupidity as “Women are so confusing.” Women are not confusing - women are people, women are animals, and all people and all animals are different from one another, just like all men are different from each other, and men are animals too! Everybody is complicated. It’s very easy to understand, and much better than continuing to believe that all men are simple brutes who prioritize sex, and all women are too complicated and thus scary to ever really ‘know’.

Honestly, I would never date or even be acquaintances with anyone who asks, “Why do women/men only date jerks?”, and I would tell them to stop embarrassing themselves by asking things like that. Are the people asking these questions children or something? Maybe they’ve never spoken to their opposite gender? Then it is forgivable because with age comes experience. Otherwise, get your head out of your ass and stop asking astoundingly small-minded, sexist questions.

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bridgeinn-blog · 7 years ago

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Animal Activist or Troll? Our Foie Gras Journey

Is Foie Gras controversial? Yes. Is it a delicacy? For me definitely.

In my humble opinion Foie Gras is a beautiful thing and is incomparable to any other food stuff in the world. The velvety texture and buttery flavour is a thing of wonder. For me though it is also personal! Before I tried Foie Gras for the first time, I like many others watched a decade old Peta video online and declared I would never eat such a thing. Then came a trip to Paris, problems with my French meant I ended up accidentally trying it for the first time. Wow! This accident made it much harder for me to resist Foie Gras in the future. I am a self-confessed foodie and many of my happiest memories include food. My fist solo trip to Paris is definitely one of those memories as is the night I got engaged to my husband in Palma when we drank champagne and ate Foie Gras. He loves it to too by the way, more than he loves me, I think! When we decided to buy our second pub, a run down two room local that had not had any work done to it for over 25 years I don’t think we even had to discuss what we wanted to do with it. We just knew we wanted to bring everything we love about eating and drinking and share it with other people. What followed was a £650k refurbishment and a menu which allowed guests to try new flavours with those they love; a modern take on tapas if you will. It was a given that our version of the beautiful Foie Gras dish we ate the night we got engaged would be included on the menu. There it has sat on our menu since we opened in July 2016.

Activist Nonsense But what about the Peta video’s I hear you ask? Well in a nutshell here is the argument I have repeated 100’s of times over the last 3 weeks. I believe Foie Gras production is the same as all meat and dairy production – there is good and there is bad. You have battery eggs (lots of PETA videos available), free range eggs (no PETA videos available), Mass produced Beef (lots of PETA videos available), Free range grass fed Beef (no PETA videos available) and many other examples. I believe Foie Gras is exactly the same there are good farms and there are bad but Activist organisations clearly do not care, sentiment beings just shouldn’t be killed for our gratification and Foie Gras is up there with Fox, Seal and Whale Hunting.

Activists scream “but what about Gavage? How would you like to be force fed?” Well no I wouldn’t but I am not a goose and physiologically a goose and a human are very different. Geese have no gag reflex and they do not breathe in the same way humans do, so not only can they still breathe during Gavage but the oesophagus of a Goose is hard like a finger nail. Its not like the easily torn tissue of a human throat. Force feeding Geese which are migratory birds and naturally Gorge makes it ridiculous to compare force feeding a goose to a human. I do gain weight in winter as it happens but I blame all the stew and my own love of food. Put another way – I wouldn’t like to have a metal shoe nailed into my foot but then I’m not a horse and horses do not object in the slightest.

Beware it could happen to you! Three weeks ago, we received a public post on our face book wall. The post was from a lady who had dined with us and complimented both our food and service but went on to say she was dismayed to see we had Foie Gras on the menu and would not be returning until we removed it from the menu. I replied, thanked her for her kind comments and very politely explained that we do not believe in policing the choices of others and that I hoped she would change her mind about returning. Within 1 hour my phone was going crazy with notifications as one star reviews came flooding in from people all over the world and within 2 hours our previous unblemished five star Facebook rating had been reduced to 1.3 in just a few taps on a keyboard.

Either we had just had an international contingent descend on our pub and managed to deliver the worst service in the history of services or something else was going on. Turns out it was the latter. The lady who had originally posted her complaint had sent the response to her animal activist / internet troll friend who had posted it on over a dozen different animal activists websites and that was it, we were off on this crazy and horrifying journey! Naively believing that this was all a misunderstanding and that if we could just explain our position reason would prevail and the fake reviews would stop, we drafted a statement and posted it on our page. We may as well have poured vinegar on an open wound, calm the situation it didn’t it only seemed to aggravate. What I thought was a calm and rational explanation of our thoughts and feelings on animal welfare, fake reviews and the situation in general was met with abuse, ridicule, personal insults and a host of decade old pictures of Foie Gras production plastered all over our page.

This post went on to attract 1.2k comments and was seen by 20,000 people (every cloud and all that). To cut a long story short I blamed myself, blamed my writing, blamed Facebook and decided to correct the situation by writing a follow up post clarifying all the points from the first post that had been taken and twisted and identified me as the anti Christ.

Now I am not a writer as I am sure you are beginning to appreciate, but it whatever I or other supporters wrote it made no difference it was indeed just like groundhog day. So the abuse continued, day after day. We sought advice and were advised not to engage to just let them get on with it or take it off quietly and wait until they have gone away. I’m from Liverpool and rolling over to bullying and blackmail is just not a Scouse trait I am aware of. I challenge anyone to take that much abuse and say nothing to defend yourself. So I continued to engage with the individual posts believing that reason would prevail if I could just engage one on one, have a sensible discussion and help them understand that things have changed etc etc. Wow, was I was wrong, turns out that’s just not how activists / keyboard trolls roll.

We were broken Against everything we believe in we were about to cave in to bullying when Troll in Chief suddenly blackmailed us.

She explained she had organised a protest outside our premises but if we took Foie Gras off our menu she would cancel the protest & remove the fake reviews. We were to tag her with a link to our updated online menu and when our new menu was printed. Given that she is neither my mother (who I am indeed scared of), my priest (who I am also scared of) or my boss this was a step too far and the path ahead was sealed. We decided to fight back. We spoke to our local community and received the same message – this is idiotic don’t give in to them, the support was amazing. We also spoke to friends in hospitality and they spoke to their friends who spoke to their friends and support came flooding in from all over the world. Our review score started rising as five start reviews came flooding in. While many were real reviews from people who had just never rated us online before a lot were just fake reviews from supporters who had never been. Facebook doesn’t care if reviews are genuine so what the hell? Facebook reviews are like internet memes to me now – completely hilarious and totally irrelevant to my decision-making process.

In response we declared we would arrange an anti-online bullying protest in the home town of chief troll, this proved a popular idea and my inbox was full of messages from her previous victims. Mostly from mothers who had given their children meat and faced her wrath before. In troll land giving a child meat is as bad as giving them a cigarette apparently.

Three weeks later as I write this our Facebook page is gone. Not because we gave in but because frankly it took on a life of its own and we don’t have the time to moderate it and Facebook will not let you anyway. The journey for which there is no playbook continues, there has been international press coverage and their protest is planned for next week. Coverage made The Times, The Telegraph, & bizarrely Fox News

We didn’t contact the press, the activists did but then they didn’t like that the coverage sided with us so accused us of pulling a PR stunt. I have learnt much more about animal activists and online bullying in the last three weeks than I ever wished to. For instance, I can tell you that online harassment makes you feel threatened and alone. It makes you anxious and irritable and causes huge stress for yourself and your family and it must be stopped. I have had a glimpse of why 1 in 8 of young people who are bullied online ends up attempting suicide. We are older and have a great deal of support but for others; especially those who feel alone; the mental effects must be horrendous.

The Future Outlook Democratic protest is a right and I have no objection against those who wish to protest although I do wish they would get their facts straight and stop peddling the same old 10 year old propaganda but that’s another story and a battle for another day. I have also discovered it is not just Foie Gras that enrages them either, Jamie Oliver’s Bristol eatery was recently targeted and his only crime was to go on TV and encourage more people to buy Organic, Free range milk. His reasoning was that happy cows make tastier milk. A noble quest for animal welfare some might think but to the activists he made the fatal mistake of implying cows could be happy. There are no happy cows they wailed on their keyboards. I live surrounded by cows and they look pretty happy to me but as I am apparently devoid of any caring about animal suffering what would I know?

If they succeed in removing Foie Gras what is next? Who will next to face their wrath? Will they stop until we are all Vegan? Well its our business, we employed the capital and took the all the risk to create The Bridge Inn that has pleased our target audience and created new jobs in our community. Our guests like what we do, sales are growing and aside from the trolls feedback is excellent, so we soldier on.

If I could go back in time would I do anything differently? No I wouldn’t but only time will tell whether the playbook we have adopted works.

Foie Gras is still on our menu and will remain there for as long as our customers want it. We will not be bullied or blackmailed by an online mob to dismiss our own knowledge, judgements and values. We hope to see more restaurants stand up in the same way and hope that activist groups change their methods when they disagree with what a restaurant sells. We hope social media review sites and governments take more responsibility for the damage online attacks can have on individuals and business that are every economies engine of growth.

We are currently working with various people to try and put something together so people who do decide to stand up will have international support, resources and advice. We want an overhaul of the review system so restaurants can no longer be targeted with fake online reviews. We could not have done this without the support of our local community or our global chef community and we know we are incredibly lucky. We want to make sure every restaurant is afforded the same.

If people don’t like something about our business they can vote with their feet and choose not to dine with us. This is their choice. What we sell and why is our choice and will remain so.

Samantha

This article was written for the Chef Magazine called Culination in the USA.

#foiegras #animalactivist #freshfood #vegan

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