#i needed a cathartic explanation for the past two years

[haaam-guuuurl]

Gonna start manifesting a Rayla Alone flashback episode in S5 right now

[trickster-archangel]

Forgive the Father

I know my two cents in the 911 and Buddie fandom might be literally nothing. But in this fandom I’ve quickly found some of the most amazing minds I’ve ever read on this hell of a site. Their meta and analysis literally blow my mind every time I open a two sentences post, and I’m forced to go back more than 25 years when our pioneer teacher in high school decided we needed to understand how to tear apart tv and cinema media and understand what the authors were really trying to tell without saying.

This, and also the whole literary arc of Buck and Eddie, and specifically Eddie’s backstory, development and issues, his place in the world, his warring towards himself and his past, everything about his life experience and his soul-crashing repression, have gripped me to such a degree that every episode is a punch in the gut, and I have to stop, breathe in, breathe out, and stop to avoid hyperventilating and preventing panic attacks. Until the day after, that’s it. 

Probably I identify too much with Eddie and I try to read his experience through mine, so this is why when I started reading the wave of spec about 5x17, I have been forced to understand what kind of confrontation to expect. I owe these messy thoughts to @eddiediass post and post, and to @extasiswings post.

Post continues under the cut.

All we know is that Eddie visits Texas, where he attempts to reconcile with his father. It was the word reconcile that set my brain into whirring mode, so I tried to take a step back and understand the context, which is much more complex than some comforting, cathartic view we can read in fanfics. A reconciliation implies two people having an argument, a disagreement, some sort of dichotomy about life-turning events or facts, the kind of things that can split forever two people, if not set right. It’s not a synonym for forgiveness, nor for apology: Eddie doesn’t go to El Paso to confront his father about an obvious fault he received, some kind of hurt, or a shitty childhood made of violence and repression. It’s obviously something we could get to watch, but given the nuances and the depth of the writing, I don’t see it likely to have a violent, brutal, bigot Ramon crushing baby Eddie queerness in cruelty. 

The issue is between Eddie and his father. Helena is never mentioned. The problem, the argument was something shared only between Ramon and Eddie, which is why I don’t think Eddie was raised in an abusive environment. I think we need to dig deeper (40 feet under).

(sorry for the lack of gifs and for the lack of episodes reference, but I’m writing out of sheer memory and on a google doc, so…)

The first time we witness someone in the firefam facing the Forgive the Father Issue is Hen, in Haunted. 

Hen’s father is an absent father, but not necessarily a bad father. Simply, Hen didn’t know anything about him, so she couldn’t love nor hate him, she just had this imaginary father she could write to like a diary, deciding to build a positive image of him and trying to suppress the abandonment hurt by making up a good memory to cling to. What would have Hen done if she’d had the chance to confront her father in reality and ask him for explanations? for reasons? why had he abandoned her and her mother? if he loved her or if she was just a faraway guilt?

Truth is, she never got the chance to reconcile with her father. He was in a coma when they met, and she was there just to take a life or death decision in his place. During all of her life, Hen’d had just her mother as a parental figure, while her father had always been just a ghost, an afterimage. There was no reconciliation because there had never been a real exchange: only Hen writing to her ghost father, and her father following her from afar like a ghost.

In the end, Hen won’t get an answer because she didn’t get acknowledgement from her father. No reconciliation is possible in the absence of a real dialogue. Hen and her father were both leading their own personal soliloquy.

Then we have Chimney. Just like his best friend, he has to deal with an absent father figure, who is here absent not in a physical sense, but in an emotional one. Chimney’s father is stifling and overbearing, to the point that his mother (the only parental figure he’s always managed to deal with in a caring, constructive way, is his mother, apart from the Lee) leaves him and raises Chimney alone in LA. His father didn’t decide to leave him like Hen’s: he’s actually the one who was left, to be honest. But he never tries to win Chimney back, he considers him a lost cause like his mother, and simply decides to consider him as a ghost.

Again, we cannot have a real reconciliation because it’s not really a real argument they have: Chimney and his father talk, unlike Hen and his father, they speak, but without communicating. Chimney’s words never reach his father, and the things his father tells him never acknowledge Chimney’s existence. His only son is Albert, at least until he too runs away. There was no possible reconciliation because there had never been a real confrontation, about anything: Chimney didn’t exist to his father.

In the end, Chimney won’t get an answer, either, because he didn’t get acknowledgement from his father. Again, no reconciliation is possible in the absence of a real communication. Chimney and his father were both leading their own personal monologue, each one talking on his own even in presence of the other. 

Both Hen and Chimney had issues with their respective father figures. Not a single one with their mothers, who had been the only existing parental figures in their lives.

Then, we get Buck Begins. I won’t try to analyze Buck’s relationship with his neglecting parents in depth, but the point is: now we have two parents, both present, both existing, both kind of acknowledging Buck’s existence. And yet, again we miss real communication and dialogue, to the point that both his mother and his father chose to amputate his personal history of a pivotal part of information, both about Daniel AND the reason why Buck was born. They talked, they spoke, but hid the truth. They never hurt Buck, not directly, not physically, but they maimed his self-esteem and built a terrible abandonment issue in him by belittling his whole existence as if his mere being alive was an insult to the dead son. Their only son, Daniel.

I think, from what we saw in the bike accident, that it was probably Margaret the one deciding to erase Daniel’s memory and all that had belonged to him, with Philip simply following her orders: he sort of wanted to cling to the memory, by keeping that old bike among trash and things, a guilty permission to his grieving. It was Margaret declaring the damnatio memoriae over Daniel. Moving away, probably also disappearing from all of their extended families’ radar to avoid any kind of mention. 

When Buck finds out the truth, he asks for reasons, just like Hen did. why erasing Daniel? was Buck ever even loved? was he ever enough just by being himself? In the end, Buck won’t get an answer, nor an acknowledgment of his existence and his right to exist as an individual. His parents won’t acknowledge their mistake, won’t make amends, going to therapy with him but in the end simply disappearing once again, relegating Buck once again in the realm of ghosts. They weren’t bad people, violent people, they didn’t hurt him, but they founded their whole parenthood on the absence. Absence of truth. Absence of dialogue. Absence of love. Not something done to him, more like something never done: loving him for who he was.

Buck, though, will get a reconciliation: we have a confrontation here, even if just this one. Love me anyway. Love me for who I am. He talks to his parents, they talk, but they miss a common ground of agreement. They don’t recognize the hurt, not completely, and they simply go back to ignoring him once the afterglow of their encounter fades out. Maddie keeps in touch with them, not Buck. They cannot build back a relationship because the actors on stage will keep shouting their reasons at each other, instead of talking.

He won’t get a reconciliation from his parents, but he’ll decide to get one from himself, at least as far as his relationship with his parents is concerned. Buck 3.0. He decides to love himself more than what his parents ever did or will manage to do. He decides to start healing by acknowledging on his own the wrong he had to undergo. He’s not fine, but he has started.

So what to expect from 5x17? 

Eddie’s situation is very different from Hen’s, Chimney’s and Buck’s. Eddie doesn’t deal with absent father/mother. On the contrary, his family is seen as quite strong bonded, an extended family made of different generations. The communication is present, they talk even too much, they express their opinions very loudly and fiercely, and there are a lot of arguments. Which leads obviously to the word reconciliation. The problem here is that Eddie tries to reconcile with his father. Father, singular. Not parents, plural. All of the arguments we witness are between Eddie and his parents. Chris’s upbringing, Eddie’s juggling between jobs, the LA moving, Shannon’s death. And both of his parents are quite vehement when expressing their disagreement or chafe, just like Eddie is. Also, his mother is frequently the one mostly berating him, so she looks like the focal point of Eddie’s belittling, just like in Buck’s situation.

So, why does Eddie try to reconcile with his father?

I thought we should look to other two characters who have faced the Forgive the Father Issue, even if not directly belonging to the 118: Maddie and Taylor. Yes, Taylor too.

Maddie’s report with the Buckleys is very different from Buck’s, and I might say hers even resembles Eddie’s relationship with his own parents: there is dialogue, there is confrontation, there is rage, there are arguments. At least until the moment she runs away to be with Doug and they cut her away, like another dead child, forgetting about her existence until she gets pregnant, thus performing her function and being a good, satisfying daughter.

That’s not the hurt, though. That’s not what brought Maddie to the point of insanity, that’s not the kind of hurt that erased her self-esteem and self-awareness bit by bit. 

It was the secret. Maddie’s parents, both of them, forced her to keep a secret too big for a 10 years old. Probably, as said, it came from Margaret, but we see in Buck Begins that it’s Philip lashing at Maddie and berating her for disclosing the truth: her mother is upset and desperate, because talking about the thing, makes the thing real, present, breathing among them. But it’s the father the one actually having the argument with Maddie. It’s her father’s commandment which she broke. It’s her father the one not acknowledging her reason for telling the truth, and trying again to impose his reasons to keep the secret.

Maddie was broken and split open at the seams, day after day, because of the secret. It was one of the reason why in the end she broke down, because it forced her to put on a mask, to play pretend, to live a parallel life where she didn’t have a brother named Daniel, where she didn’t mourn him, where Buck was born because loved and wanted, where her parents didn’t give orders under the pretense of a greater good, of some sort of inevitability, of the impossibility to turn back time and undo what had happened. They gambled her future by pretending the past never existed, but her brother was part of her past, and in a way they killed that part of Maddie too, alongside Daniel.

It could’ve also been a good reason, if it hadn’t been brought to the extreme consequences: they could’ve told Buck, sometime in the future, when he would've been more mature and ready to understand and accept. The problem is that they didn’t. The secret in itself wasn’t bad, the grieving in itself wasn’t bad. It was the method, and the motivation under the decision: to erase what couldn’t be undone. Maddie didn’t get closure, didn’t get reconciliation, because even if she still apparently talks to her parents, nothing good comes from this monologue. She cannot forgive herself, nor them.

The same happened with Taylor. Even if we don’t know a lot exactly of what happened, we know that one day she had her little, happy family, just like the Buckleys before Daniel fell ill. Then one day someone, Taylor’s mother in this case, died. And that thing was what put a wedge between her and her father: because she needed to believe him, but she also loved her mother and no one had a strong explanation for a possible suicide. Taylor had to endure a life without her mother, a mother she surely loved, and pretend either her father was a liar and a killer, or that her mother was a liar and a depressed suicide. Either way, someone between the two of them had lied to her, and she had to keep going with this secret: she went away, living with her aunt, changed her name, became someone else because it was impossible to keep the secret and the person she used to be had become unbearable.

She metaphorically had to die alongside her mother and her father in order to survive and move on, but this choice killed a part of herself, the one who used to live before her mother's death, and face a world where every familiar bond was hidden or smeared. In the end, she faced a final confrontation too, directly with the father, when she had to speak to grant him his parole.

And Taylor decided not to reconcile with her father: he had done nothing wrong to her, nothing bad, and was a loving father, for all we know. Just, he probably had killed her mother and forced Taylor to pretend it had never happened. The problem wasn’t something bad her father had done to her. The problem was if Taylor wanted to keep pretending and going on with a charade, or scream her reasons and her pain, and deny him the same thing he had denied her: freedom. She let the mask fall, both hers and her father’s, because if his own daughter refuses to acknowledge his plea of innocence, then no one can believe him. He must be someone else than what he pretended to be. 

Taylor leaves and her secret, this one at least, falls behind. She doesn’t reconcile with her father, because in the end his reasons weren’t strong enough to justify her silence and the keeping of a mask.

So what about Eddie? I personally think that being a parent, and a spouse, is terribly difficult and dangerous. Nobody teaches you how, you can only try your best and hope it’s enough. The most important thing, though, is trust. And trust is built on openness and dialogue, explanations, motivations, acknowledgement. Not on secrets, not on masks, not on play pretend. 

If Eddie will follow Maddie’s (Buck’s sister) and Taylor’s (Buck’s girlfriend) pattern, I suppose that he’ll have to face a final confrontation about some thing. A secret. A secret between Eddie and his father, not a disagreement, but something much bigger, a life turning event happened when he was too young to oppose and refuse, probably a kid, or a teen at most. Something his father forced him to keep secret, hidden, forgotten. He forced Eddie to kill that part of himself. That’s why I think it won’t be something bad his father did to him, if the pattern stays and I’m not seeing things. 

It wasn’t about just Eddie and Ramon, but there was someone else involved. Someone who was there and there wasn’t anymore. I’d say someone died, but since the older brother and the mother have been already been used, I cannot say who else could’ve been. Someone belonging to the family? Surely it was something traumatic, because that’s what Frank asked him to do. Face the first trauma with someone who could’ve understood it exactly.

The Buckleys were suffering and were traumatized, but they forgot Maddie was too. They thought she would’ve been better by pretending nothing had ever happened, and in the end no one healed. Same with Taylor and her father: we will never know, we don’t have any means to know if he really killed his wife, but what if he didn’t, and he ended up innocent in prison, without the love of his life, and without his daughter too? that first trauma brought along a ton more for the two survivors.

So what have Eddie and Ramon been through, together, that they now keep as a secret? what horrible weight is burdening Eddie since when he was a kid, forcing him to erase a part of his soul, denying who he really is, putting on a mask and going on toughing up, swallowing down the blood and the screams, and keeping the march? 

While I’m sure this is Eddie’s journey toward embracing his queerness (@yramesoruniverse is my eye-opener on every tiny detail, in this specific case, so I cannot add anything more than she has already done for years), I’m also sure it’s not simply about a boy he kissed, he loved, and that his father forced to leave behind, denying that part of himself. It might be much more brutal and desperate. Something which forced a part of Eddie to die alongside this person. The episode title is Hero Complex, so I wouldn’t put past the writers to put in some terrible, tragic accident in his past, where both his father and Eddie were involved too, and which is now their shared secret.

Finally (if you’ve read until here I’ll cook for you a real, homemade Italian pizza), about what @eddiediass and @extasiswings already beautifully stated, I can only offer my own experience as a proof. I won’t enter in details about my life because it’s a sad, messy, bloody story. But I am real, living proof that even when parents want the best, when they have the best intentions and want to protect their children from what they’ve been through, it’s not given that it’ll be 1. successful, and 2. the right thing to do. Because we are not our parents, and there’s not only one path, and also because I’ve learnt the hard way that when you’re so focused on not doing your parents’ mistakes, you’ll probably do something equally, spectacularly wrong, or even the same thing under another disguise.

I was 9 years old and my grandfather, my mom’s father, had just died. Terrible accident, brutal thing, traumatic, investigations dragging on for months and discovering secrets and lies. My life had already been quite horrible and traumatic, but that even made it spiral into real hell, for a series of fallouts. I remember my mother taking me apart and giving me The Speech, the first one of a series of Three Speeches which brutally destroyed my every hope in a future, in happiness and in normalcy (as a human being at least, because I had already had quite a sharp notion of the fact that even if I had been born with a female body, I wasn’t certainly female, but not even male, that I didn’t want to identify with any gender, that I liked boys and girls alike but didn’t want to kiss them, and my mother had simply shrugged and told me I was what I was, but I had to put on a dress for Sunday Mass, and shut the fuck up).

She told me: “Listen to me. Things have been horrible until now, but now they’ll grow worse, because your father won’t have any kind of restraint now. He’s totally unreliable, and a liability, which is worse. I’ll have to take this house and this family in my hands and man up, and be strong even if I am not. But I cannot do this alone. I need you to grow up. Now. I need you to be an adult, responsible, functioning, not as a mature kid but as a functional adult. I need you to step up at my side and be strong, be the other pillar of this family. I must lean on you, and you must be strong to support me when I break down. So you cannot have problems, and cannot be a whiny girlie. You shut up, tough up, grit your teeth, man up, and go forward. No cries, no whines. We don’t do that. We are strong, and strong people don’t cry. We don’t do that, only when people die. If no one dies, we don’t cry. You must put aside silly dreams, hopes, fantasies, wishes, take away your head from the clouds and be a responsible adult. The world is a cruel place, and soft people like you cannot survive out there. My father made me become strong, and now you have to become too, because I won’t be strong for long without him. So you must step in. The world is cruel, people are cruel. We die alone, we are always alone. Don’t trust anyone but your strength, and be strong for me, for us, for your sister, because we can count only on the two of us. Wash away all of these kid silliness because in the end it’ll only weaken you, and you must be strong.”

She wasn’t mean, she intended to protect me from the pain. She is weak, she still is. I’m still the strongest, always have been. I’ve scooped up from the ground my mom’s pieces more often than I can count. But this sacrificed forever that 9 years old kid. I am not strong, but I have my mask. I am not the person I am, and I’ll never be anymore because time is running out and I have more burdens now than ever before. I am not strong but I can pretend and keep this a secret, because that’s what someone I trusted and loved taught me…and when you are a kid, you look up to your only role model, even if broken and hurt. And you’ll keep going this way, unless you find someone on your path that shows you you have other options.

Being a parent is a complicated job. I don’t think Ramon wanted to hurt Eddie, nor that he was forcibly homophobic. I think he meant good, and ended up messing Eddie forever, cutting deep into his soul, and probably not even noticing it. If he’ll ever acknowledge the wrong he did, that will be revealed in two weeks.

My mother’s answer, when I confronted her some years ago, when we were already so much older and tired, was that she had no other choice, that it was her only option to protect me and herself. A tiny sacrifice to avoid a bigger hurt. I think she still doesn’t realize why I’m so messed up.

I wish Ramon will.

[mountain-man-cumeth]

What Went Wrong: An In-Depth Analysis of Muriel's Route

*Youtuber voice*

Below are the opinions of an uneducated individual on what could’ve left the majority of The Arcana audience dissatisfied. I will explore the plot, tropes, themes and morals of the Muriel route and try to explain what may have gone wrong. I will be treating the game as a novel since it's advertised as one.

1. Consistency. If you are unfamiliar with the chekhov's gun; it's a story writing principle that dictates each element you introduce should come into play (foreshadowing). Now let's start with a few story beats that were later abandoned or concluded in an underwhelming manner:

Muriel's blanket

Muriel's magic mark (on his back)

Forest spirit (spirits in general)

Lucio's upbringing

Circumstances of MC's death

Figurines/whittling/charms

Muriel's blanket is teased to be a tapestry, which would tie in with his later fascination with them later on, as it had been the only thing he had left from his past. MC neither sees nor comments on the blanket, we only know it exists thanks to other playthroughs and short stories.

Magic marks are an important point in the game. Every main route emphasises on how it affects the chosen LI. It's reveal is important in a way that it serves as a passage to a new act where the reader explores magic and Arcana pantheon as they are a monumental part of the overall worldbuilding. This exact point applies to the Heart of the Forest and how spirits interact with the world around them as well.

Whittling and Charm making are the only hobbies we get from Muriel's isolated life, their introduction helps the reader humanise the character by giving us a crumb of his everyday life. It's never mentioned again after the scene where MC asks him what he does. He doesn't idly whittle during their journey and charms only come to play in an offhanded reference during reversed ending.

The other two are also ignored but I will touch on Lucio later on.

Why do these matter? A few abandoned plot points don't make or break the story but on a grander level it hinders the audience investment. When we read, we like to think the details we notice will come to play eventually, we like recognizing references that were introduced earlier. I'm sure I don't need to give examples on this one, I don't think anyone will disagree.

2. Themes. Thematic influences this story utilized are all over the place, and it seems to me like it stems from the improper application of certain tropes;

The Hero's Journey

Home Sweet Home

Shell-Shocked Vet

Last of His Kind

etc.

Some of these tropes tackle themes such as;

Slavery

PTSD

Survivor's Guilt

Genocide

I'm not going to try to explain How to Write any of these topics. I'm not remotely qualified. I think it's better if I just give examples from popular media because whether you know how to write it or not, you can still understand when it's written well;

AtLA deals with genocide and survivor's guilt. It's in the name; The Last Airbender. Aang is the sole survivor of a culture he'd only had an opportunity to engage in for a handful of years. He left them with a childish tantrum and now they're gone forever. I can't think of another mainstream series that shows the gruesome reality of war and genocide better than this one.

When Muriel realizes his true heritage and loses Khamgalai is the point of the story where Luke sees his family's farm burned down, Aang goes back to the air temple, Treebeard walks in on the demolished part of the forest. (The inciting incident)

(Could also have been forest spirit’s death but it was too early in the story so I don’t consider it a missed opportunity.)

Up until this point the hero has their doubts, they're going through the motions but they are either underestimating the enemy or they're a passive protagonist. Either way, this is the point where the hero has to take the reins of the story. What purpose does this serve in Muriel's route instead? It simply validates Muriel's beliefs. He's useless, he isn't strong enough. We as the reader need a point to see where the hero takes a step to drive the story forward or whoever takes that step will steal the spotlight, it will be their story. As it is, this is the point where it ceases to be Muriel’s story.

PTSD got the worst end of the deal. Since Dragon Age fandom has a huge overlap with the Arcana I will use Fenris as an example; for those who are unfamiliar with the character, Fenris is an escaped slave. After the sex scene he vividly describes an experience that most people can easily identify as a flashback. The game never tells us that he was abused, it doesn’t show us him having a panic attack but it shows us that whatever transpired between him and the player character clearly triggered an unpleasant memory.

Arcana tries and initially succeeds to do something similar. We see that the character is untrustworthy, sensitive to touch, easily agitated, can’t sleep outside of his perceived safe environment… It introduces us the cause later on and the story has two options, each will drastically change the moral of the story:

Remember these as they will be important later on

Portray Muriel fighting as a bad thing; You can’t fight violence with violence angle or the fact that the villain’s forcing him into a situation where he’ll have to fight again makes the villain all the more intimidating.

Portray Muriel fighting as a good thing; He has the means to defeat the villain and he just needs encouragement. With great power comes great responsibility. By not fighting he willingly condemns everyone to an awful fate and that he is selfish.

I’d like to take a second to explore the 1. Option, I feel like the game may have intended to implement that idea but failed because of the implementation of Morga and choices presented for the player character: Morga is an Old-Soldier, these characters are often push the hero out of their comfort zone in an aggressive way towards complacency, they are a narrative foil to the mentor. For the first option to work the story had to show Khamgalai acting as a mentor and having the protagonists challenge Morga’s teachings(see Ozai-Iroh). As it is, Morga’s actions are never put under scrutiny (narratively) and her death feels hollow as a result. She didn’t sacrifice herself for the heroes due to her guilt, she died because she felt a moment of sympathy for her son which wasn’t explored before, she showed no intention to change nor any doubt.

It is clear the game choose 2. Option, it is a controversial choice given Muriel’s mental condition and the game is acutely aware of this, which is likely why Muriel’s PTSD will get carefully scraped from the story from here on out. (I won’t address other instances where his trauma wasn’t taken into account, I feel like this explanation should cover them as well.)

3. Morals. Every story, whether the author intends it or not, has a moral. The Villain most often acts against that moral and in turn can change the hero's perspective. Morals are not ideals; the morality of Killmonger isn’t that marginalised people should fight for their rights, it is that vengeance is just. Whether it’s right or wrong can be debated but what makes an ideal the moral of the story is in the portrayal. How the narrator depicts the events, how people around the heroes react... all are a part of portrayal.

The story choosing “Muriel fighting is a good thing” earlier puts in the foundation of a moral. The story tells us Muriel has to fight, it’s the right thing to do. He has to be brave for the people he loves.

This choice affects how his past actions will be perceived; now, him escaping the arena to save himself is cowardly, abandoning Morga is cowardly.

The story tells us it wasn’t, but shows us that it was. This is the end of the midpoint of the story, at this point we need to have a good grasp on what we should perceive as wrong or right for us to feel invested. If we zig-zag between the morals we won’t know which actions we should root for. But more than that, the conclusion will not feel cathartic as it will inevitably demonstrate the opposing ideals clashing at its climax.

Villain doesn't necessarily have to be sympathetic and Muriel's route makes no effort to make him as such, but they need to be understandable. What danger does Lucio pose to the status quo, what makes him a compelling villain? Whether he conquers Vesuvia or not doesn’t drastically affect Muriel’s way of life, he’s been in hiding for years. He doesn’t threaten to steal MC’s body, Muriel is not compelled to pick up arms to save his beloved. He wants to protect the people from going through what he’s been through, right? That is what the story wants us to think. But what has he been through? Fighting was his choice, Lucio tricked him into it. Lucio later tricked Morga, his own mother, to save his own hide. This tells us that Lucio is a manipulator, but he doesn’t manipulate his way into Vesuvia, he barges in with deus ex machina monsters. He doesn’t demonstrate his skills as a tactician by making deals with neighbouring kingdoms to get their armies. We don’t know his strengths therefore we don’t know his weaknesses. If he seems to be losing he can just conjure a giant dragon to burn everything down, we just can’t know. That is why the application of deus ex machina is highly taboo, the victories don’t feel earned and defeats feel unfair.

4. Tone. Playing with the genre is not uncommon and a game such as Arcana has many opportunities to do so. It is a romance story, everything else is the back-drop. The tone works best when its overall consistent but tonal changes act as shock for the audience to keep them engaged and keeping one tone indefinitely gets us desensitized. We can’t feel constant misery if we are not made to feel tinges of hope in between. Good examples of dramatic tonal change (that I can think of): Mulan - arriving at the decimated village, La Vita e Bella - the father’s death, M*A*S*H - death of Hawkeye’s friend. Two of these examples are mostly comedy which is why this tonal shift affects us so, it was all fun and games until we are slapped in the face with the war going on. There are no one liners in those scenes, the story takes a moment to show appropriate respect to the dead, it gives its characters time to digest and come to terms with loss. Bad examples are the majority of Marvel movies.

In Muriel’s route there’s never such a thing, Muriel has a panic attack and MC kisses him. This unintentionally tells us, the genre being romance, that the panic attack only served to further MC’s advances. It tells us that he’s never had the control of his life and it’s yet again stripped from him by the decisions of player character. This is not the only instance this happens. The story shoe-horns in multiple cuddle sessions between important plot beats. And it does the exact opposite during a moment where he is having a heart-to-heart with the person he loves by having the ghost of Morga appear to give an ominous warning/advice.

When he runs off during masquerade it’s built up to be an important plot point. Muriel will finally face his past, he’s been running away from it all along, and he will have an opportunity to be accepted back in. MC is supportive but ultimately, it’s meant to be Muriel's moment. But as I mentioned above this is not his story anymore so he’s not given any time to address his problems, instead a ghost appears to tell him what he needs to do, again. Because we need to wrap the story up, we don’t have time.

Remember how I said the 2 Options will be important later on, well here we are at the very end. Upright and reversed.

“Portray Muriel fighting as a bad thing”

This suggests that the triumph of Muriel won’t be through violence. Maybe he will outsmart Lucio in a different way, he won’t play his games anymore. This option suggests that Lucio will not be beaten by his own terms.

“Portray Muriel fighting as a good thing”

This option concludes with Muriel finally overcoming his reservations on violence and doing what's right to save the people he loves. And bringing justice to people who Lucio hurt.

If you are wondering why the upright ending feels random, this is likely why. The ending plays out as if the story was building on the 1st option while we spent chapters upon chapters playing out the 2nd one. It is unearned.

(The reversed ending, being reversed, also uses Option 1 path but in which Muriel can’t achieve his narrative conclusion)

The Coliseum is filled with people who are on their side against Lucio’s shadow goons. Because we can’t have people being on Lucio’s side without addressing the duality of human nature, even though it’s an important part of Muriel’s story. The people who watched and enjoyed Lucio’s bloodsport are no more, they are all new and enlightened offscreen. We completely skipped the part where Vesuvia comes to terms with its own complacency and Muriel simply feels at ease because the crowd is cheering on him now. This is what happens when you give the character a chance to challenge those who have been complicit in his abuse (masquerade scene) and completely skip it to move the story along.

Muriel doesn't get justice, ever. The people only love him now because he's fighting for them instead of his own survival. Morga or her clan doesn't answer for the massacre of Kokhuri, Vesuvia doesn't answer for the sick entertainment they indulged in and Lucio doesn't answer for Muriel's enslavement. It is not even acknowledged, nowhere in the story (except the very end of reversed ending, and even then it almost gets him killed so its clearly the wrong thing to do on his part) is a choice presented where Muriel has an opportunity to get any sort of compensation where he instead chooses to move on.

I don’t intend to straw man anyone but this is a sentiment I’ve seen a lot; “It’s a short story, a dating-sim, what do you expect?”

I expect nothing, I’m simply explaining why some people feel how they feel. It is a short dating-sim but it seems to me like it was aiming to be something more by borrowing elements that were clearly far above their weight range to tease something more and under deliver. It is okay to feel content with the story, and it’s okay to feel let down. If we had a unanimous decision on literature we would never be inclined to write our own stories.

[givemethatgold]

Fix’er Upper Pt. 5

Pairing: Frankie Morales x F!Reader

Warnings: Mentions of past abusive relationship, swearing, past drug use, alcohol

Word Count: 1.8k

Notes:

Parts ONE, TWO, THREE, FOUR

Your injury, and consequential recovery time, couldn’t have come at a better time. The harvest was done and the apples had to rest before being pressed, which meant Frankie was now free to start working on your home. The work didn’t often require more than two hands so the days found you doing menial tasks being his gopher.

“You know,” Frankie had had to explain to you, “Go’fer this, go’fer that.”

This mainly consisted of you passing him tools while he was swearing under his breath in the attic, or groaning after rapping his knuckles under the sink, or white-faced and clinging to the weathervane on the roof. 

You had discovered Frankie’s sweet tooth on the first day of renovations, not noticing until after he’d left for the day that more than half the cookies you’d baked that morning were already gone. Making sure he was kept happy, you had a new treat ready for when he walked in the door. 

He was a coffee drinker though, and while you owned a coffee press you had never actually used it yourself, preferring tea leaves for your dose of caffeine. You’d tried, the first morning, to make a cup for him. You even googled How to Make a Cup of Coffee? to make sure you didn’t fuck it up. 

You could laugh about it now, but the look on Frankie’s face after he’d taken his first sip made you worry you had poisoned him. He had spat the black sludge out and handed you back the mug with a look of bewildered disgust. Apparently, you needed to grind the beans first, who knew?

An efficient, if not quite comfortable, rhythm had been forged between the two of you over the past week and a half. Frankie would arrive at nine in the morning, scarf down half a dozen treats while discussing the day’s projects. You would run to town in his truck (yours was still at the autobody shop awaiting parts) and buy any supplies that would be needed while he set up the worksites and organized the tools that would be required.

You had added popping into the local café for a large coffee for Frankie and a red rooibos latte with almond milk for yourself. The first couple of days you had bought him a brownie too but stopped after he’d only half-finished the first one and mumbled through the crumbs in his mouth that yours were better. It only took you three days before the owner had your order ready for you before you even walked in the door, five days before you noticed the sidelong glances the little old ladies were giving each other as you walked out.

Small towns, you thought to yourself, rolling your eyes, had the unique benefit and downfall of everyone knowing everyone else’s business. They’d quit with the hardly-concealed smirks if they knew how awkward working with Frankie was becoming.

You had been sure, in the immediate aftermath of waking up in Frankie’s arms while his truck sat in your driveway, that he was never going to speak to you again. The two of you and hopped out and began explaining away whatever conclusions Jacquie and Mark had made. Then Frankie, without even looking in your general direction, told Jacquie to get you inside and have your wrist looked at. 

To his credit, he had taken care of everything regarding your truck for you. The tow truck came and hauled it to the yard, Frankie had commandeered the inspection report and, after calling them out on trying to swindle you into buying unnecessary parts, had ordered what was needed and paid. 

You had, naturally, argued against this but you both knew you weren’t in a position to afford it. Frankie shut down your arguments gracefully, and broke his apparent vow of silence, with a gruff “I’m just doing it so I can drive my damn truck without you changing the radio station.” The absolute charmer.

It was your damn house, though, so you decided you'd talk as much as you wanted and it would be up to him to interact. Either that or you had music blaring from the radio, never playing his favourite country station purely out of spite. 

Never quite sure if he was listening or not, you rambled on about anything and everything. You explained your vision for the house and the plans you had for a greenhouse in the yard. Memories from your childhood were described in great detail, as were embarrassing stories from your year in college. Baking tips, waxing poetic about your love for sunflowers, interesting animal facts, you'd even downloaded a Word of the Day App and made a game of fitting the words into your daily uninterrupted monologues.

It took three days for Frankie to break.

You had been reminiscing about your trip to Disneyland as a child when he abruptly cut in, voice muffled due to the nails being held between his lips.

"You never talk about it."

You assumed he was referring to the little all-day nap you’d shared in his truck, as it had yet to be spoken of, but were taken aback by the slight accusatory tone.

"Talk about what?"

He took so long to reply, you started to think that he had interrupted purely to shut you up. The silence demanded an explanation though, so you kept your mouth shut and waited.

Clambering down from the attic, where he had been strengthening the trusses throughout the sagging section of roof, Frankie pinned you with his gaze and softly repeated himself.

"You never talk about it. The time in your life when you were married." He must have seen your hackles rise because he quickly set down the hammer and held his hands up in a placating wave.

"You still haven't answered my question about being in the army," was your quick response, finished with an ever-so-mature, "so there."

With a resigned sigh, Frankie twisted his hat around backward and scrubbed his hands across his face. "Come on" -waving you towards the patio doors- "these kinds of conversations require fresh air and a drink."

Reluctantly you followed him outside but rather than sinking down onto the porch swing you opted to lean against the post facing it. Opening two ciders, which you now had free access to, you handed one to Frankie and watched him over the top of the bottle.

Half of your drink was gone and your mind had wandered to greenhouse and flower garden placement before Frankie spoke again. His voice low and quiet catching you by surprise.

"Yeah," he broke the silence with another ragged sigh, "I, uh, I served. Started in the Air Force, worked my way up to Special Tactics Squadron. Made enough noise there to get recruited to Delta Force."

"Oh, fuck," your exclamation was soft with shock "you've seen some shit then." Blast your runaway mouth and its inability to wait for your brain to catch up before blurting out your inner thoughts. "I'm sorry!-"

"No, it's okay" Frankie interrupted, trying to reassure you and remove the horrified look that had come across your face. 

"No, no, that was totally uncalled for. Brad, my um, my husband, he was a Marine. He hated talking about it, said no one liked talking about it. I should have known."

"It's not that," Frankie reassured you again, "You were the first person to ever ask me about it, in all the time I've lived here. Just took me by surprise."

Leaning over in the swing, Frankie pulled out his wallet from his back pocket and handed you a photo from inside it. Five men beamed up at you. You could recognize them from a few of the photos that had rested on Frankie's mantle, they looked older in this one.

"Tell me about them?" you asked, knowing that most of the request was due to curiosity but a small part of you hoped that if you kept him talking you could avoid the subject of your marriage.

The sun was beginning to set and you'd long moved inside to eat dinner by the time Frankie was done sharing. It must have been cathartic, you mused, for him to bare this much about himself. He had never looked more relaxed in all the time you'd known him, which wasn't saying much and it could just as easily been due to the amount of alcohol thrumming through his system.

The room fell into a companionable silence, each of you digesting the information that had been revealed. You were in awe of the fact that, despite the life of violence he had witnessed, Frankie still maintained his humanity. Even after a messy divorce and lost custody battle, Frankie continued to choose the path of healing. He was clean, was fighting for shared custody of his daughter again, running his own business, and still had found time to endear himself into the town's hearts.

Frankie was, for all his sharp edges and gruff words, a sweetheart.

It put into stark comparison how Brad had reacted to the lemons life had served him. Born into an upper-middle-class home, the only son, doted on by his parents, Brad had been raised into a life where every door was open to him. Despite this, or maybe because of it, he had grown hateful of those weaker than him. He was controlling but had just the right amount of charm to pass it off as caring.

"I've met men like that," 

You nearly jumped out of your skin from surprise. Looking at Frankie with wide-eyed shock you wondered again what the hell was in the cider. This was the second time you'd poured your heart out to a virtual stranger, but this time you hadn't even realized you'd started speaking your thoughts aloud. 

Squaring your shoulders and holding Frankie's gaze you continued, almost challenging him to find someone worse than Brad had been.

"He made me quit college because he said he wanted to start a family. Then berated me and acted like it was all my fault every time the pregnancy test came back negative. You know what that asshole did?" Tears were threatening to fall but you held on to Frankie's gaze, "He had gotten a vasectomy months earlier. I didn't find out about it until after he died; going through paperwork that had been stored in his desk."

Frankie was up on his feet now, pacing around the kitchen island, too distraught to keep still. How could anyone be so cruel? Let alone be so cruel to someone as sweet and pure as you. He hated seeing you cry but knowing you weren't receptive to people being in your personal space, wasn't sure how to comfort you. 

Acting on pure instinct he grabbed the kettle and started preparing you some tea, not allowing himself to ruminate how he knew which flavour you preferred. Setting your favourite pottery mug in front of you, along with the little honey pot, he also decided to grab the fluffy throw blanket off your couch. 

"I get it now," he thought to himself offhandedly, "why women have so many fuckin' blankets and pillows in every room."

Placing the throw around your shoulders he was preparing to say goodnight and let you have some peace but was stilled by your hand reaching up and covering his.

"Please. Stay."

Part SIX

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[ao3feed-piltovers-finest]

Given Up

by FF_Multifandom_writer_shipper

I wrote this instead of working on my summer work, blame Arcane for ripping apart my soul I had to get this off my chest This is the communication the two needed and never got (the explanation)

Idk how to write crazy characters (and I don’t mean that as an insult to Jinx bby)

Inspired by many Arcane fics I’ve binged read. I watched Arcane in 2 days :D my soul…I didn’t know what I was in for .

Idk how to write Jinx (x2), but I basically write her as if she’s given up because of all the constant pain, longing for sanity/normalcy

This is a divergent AU where Vi restrains Jinx (can we even call it if she just gives up) at the Dinner scene. She just glares daggers at Cait and spews shit. But she’s resigned. She threatens to shoot herself, just lets her arm limp pathetically with the gun down, no longer pointing at Cait, (“bullshit!”). Doesn’t point it at Vi, just sighs. Jinx gets sent to prison for 2 years, worsening her mental health being stuck in a cement box, but she gets therapy even if she doesn’t want it. She wants to feel better, doesn’t really feel she deserves it, and she doesn’t feel like there’s much she can do. Which leads us to now, house arrest. (I made this up on the spot)

Words: 3083, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English

Fandoms: Arcane: League of Legends (Cartoon 2021)

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Categories: Gen

Characters: Jinx (League of Legends), Vi (League of Legends)

Relationships: Jinx & Vi (League of Legends), Caitlyn/Vi (League of Legends)

Additional Tags: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Angst, Sisterly vibes, A Hurt Jinx, Communication that they needed, Divergent AU, Basically Jinx gives up, I promise you’ll like it, im very proud of this, Please read, Suicidal Jinx, Swearing, like heavy swearing, F Bombs, B word, BS, Angst with a Happy Ending, Kind of a self insert rant vent, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, I know Jinx is OOC not very crazy, prob gonna add more Mylo like a little repeat “fuckup” bit, that he was right, but can you blame me, i need healing, This was so soothing to write and cathartic, like I’ve never felt happier, i just needed to get this out of my system, I feel like a weight has been lifted off my chest, I’m very picky with wording, oh god how has a show wrecked my soul this badly, since MLP nostalgia how am I so affected by this beautiful creation, this was so healing to write, I need to edit this shit to be exactly how I want it, Sorry bout the formatting issues, docs is a pain in the ass to copy paste from mobile

from AO3 works tagged 'Caitlyn/Vi (League of Legends)'

[lightjenvlp]

With Eyes Open

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader

Summary: You won’t come out of your room and Dean’s worried about you. He convinces you to open up and let him in.

Warnings: loneliness, not eating, family losses, slight depression, lack of self care.

Word count: 1,574

A/N: Based on feelings about my grandparents, named after this song. (Exaggerated things for plot.)

You’ve been hiding inside your room the last two days, after you, Sam, and Dean got back from the recent hunt. An older couple was killed by the time the three of you had arrived to town. Turns out the granddaughter had been turned into a werewolf and ate their hearts.

The situation reminds you too much of your own grandparents passing. Similar to the murdered couple, yours had died in bed together, already asleep when they’d passed. Now back at the bunker, all you can see behind your eyelids is your grandparents’ funeral, the roses on the coffins and your tears blurring your vision.

It’s been almost three years since their death, but it feels like yesterday. This case brought back thoughts you’d kept buried for so long. You’d hidden your grief from Dean and Sam as well as you could during the case, but as soon as you were able, you locked yourself inside your bedroom.

The last two days had consisted of you crying into your pillow until it was soaked, chest aching so much it hurt to breathe. You stayed as quiet as possible, struggling in the silence of your room. The boys tried to convince you to come out and eat, but you ignored their pleas.

Your lights stayed off, the room consumed in darkness. Tear tracks dried on your cheeks, and you couldn’t bother to change out of your clothes from two days ago. The consuming pain of loss filled you with grief and loneliness. Your grandparents had meant everything to you, and there was no way to describe life without them, except empty.

Dean and Sam had found you about a year and a half ago, your parents killed by a wendigo. They taught you how to hunt and get past the loss. They gave you a new home and a new family. Over the last few months, you’ve grown closer to Dean, and him to you. Sam is like your brother you never had, but Dean feels different. Your relationship has always been farther advanced.

Tap tap tap. Someone’s knocking on your bedroom door and you sniff. Your nose is stuffed from crying so much and your stomach hurts from lack of food. Your eyes stay shut, no point in opening them since it’s pitch black.

“y/n?”

It’s Dean.

“y/n, it’s me.” He pauses. “I just want to know you’re okay. You’ve been in there two days and I’m going insane.”

His feet shuffle behind the door, causing the lit space below the door to move.

“Let me in, please.” You breathe in shaky. Memories with your grandparents flash through your mind and it pulls the air from your lungs. “Please, y/n. I need you with me.”

How your body has any tears left, you don’t know. As they fall down your face and over your nose, your lips release a sob.

“y/n?” Dean’s voice is filled with concern as he stands behind the door. He tries the knob but it’s locked. “y/n please open the door!” He tries the knob again, but it’s futile to try.

You squeeze your eyes shut and tug your hair in agony. You want to open the door but you don’t want him seeing you like this; matted hair, puffy eyes, tear tracks, not eating.

“I’ll break the door down.” He says. “Please.” He pleads. His hand stays wrapped around the doorknob. You barely have energy to pull yourself up, much less stand. When you do, you sway side to side. You can’t see anything in the dark, only the line of light under the door. Stumbling towards it, your hand reaches for the door, making contact with the wood.

Dean must’ve heard you cause he doesn’t speak or bust down the door. Your shaky hand finds the doorknob and twists the lock. Turning the handle, the door creaks as it opens to the hallway. You squint at the increasing light coming through the opening, eyes adjusting.

You stare at Dean, a few inches from you, his face folded in worry and shock at your appearance. You take a breath, barely holding yourself up in his presence. He starts to move towards you - the faintest move of his arm - before he pauses, as if you’ll disappear when he touches you.

His mouth opens. “y/n?” He whispers and your face displays your grief. Your legs crumple, and you fall into his embrace as he catches you, his strong arms wrapping around your figure.

“Hey hey hey, it’s okay.” He speaks in a hushed tone. “You’re alright, I’ve gotcha.”

He lowers you to the floor, carefully positioning your back against the bunker wall, your feet in front of you, him to your right. Gently leaning your head back, his fingers move across your face and head as soft as butterfly wings. Tracing the tear tracks on your cheeks and running his fingers through your greasy hair, you breathe in deep.

“That’s it, sweetheart, breathe for me. I’ll be right back, alright?” You nod as he stands up and begins his jog back down one of the bunker’s many hallways. You breathe in and out and try to make yourself look a bit more presentable even though there’s no point.

When Dean returns with Sam on his heels, the older brother is carrying a washcloth, a pair of sweats, and one of his sleep shirts. Sam seems to have come from the kitchen, carrying toast, and a glass of water.

“Hey, y/n, how ya feeling?” Sam asks, squatting next to you and setting the food down, eyes filled with concern. You give him a watery smile and your chest aches again as a tear slips down your face. Dean squats in front of you and uses the warm washcloth to pat your sticky face free of the tears accumulated over the last two days.

“That’s okay, y/n.” Sam smiles gently. “We all have tough days. You’ll get through this.” He says. You reach out for his hand and he grabs yours in his, squeezing softly.

“y/n, do you think you can eat and drink something for us?” Dean asks calmer than when he first saw you in the hallway.

You nod, your throat begging for water. Dean picks up the glass, carefully brining it to your lips. You gulp down half before he stops you so you don’t get sick. “Good. Try to eat a bit of toast, too, darling.”

After you eat half of the piece of toast, Dean picks you up and helps you to the bathroom, running a bath before washing your hair and helping you into his clean sweats and sleep shirt. He takes you to his room, where Sam put the refilled water and remaining toast.

Helping you into the covers, Dean silently observes you with his eyes. You haven’t said a word since he came to your door earlier in the day. Making sure you’re comfortable, he changes into his own T-shirt and sleep shorts before climbing in bed next to you.

You initiate the embrace, moving closer and burying your face in his chest as his warm arms wrap around your body once more. He places a light kiss on your head and rubs your back, his calloused fingers tracing circles through your shirt.

“I’ve got you.” He whispers in your ear. He holds you for the longest time; your breathing evens out and you slowly melt into his hold, closing your tired eyes. You don’t fall asleep. The darkness consumes you and your body feels like it might implode.

“De-“ Your voice cracks. “Dean?” It’s the first thing you’ve said all day.

“Yeah, sweetheart?” The hunter replies, shocked to hear you talking.

Tears fill your eyes and you feel ashamed for locking yourself away from the brothers without any explanation.

“I’m sorry.” Your voice cracks as tears fall down your cheeks and just barely seep into Dean’s shirt. His hand moves to your jaw and gently pulls your face from his chest. You look at him with watery eyes.

“y/n, you don’t have to be sorry for anything. I’m not mad, Sam’s not mad.” He says and you nod your head. His mouth turns up into a small smile and it reassures you. You look away at one of the bedrooms walls, wiping your tears with your thumb.

“My grandparents,” you start but your throat clenches. “They passed almost three years ago. I just...the hunt...it...they died in their sleep.” A pained noise escapes your throat and Dean sighs, realizing. He grabs your hands in his.

“The hunt brought back memories.” He says and you nod, sniffling, looking down at the bed. “I’m sorry I didn’t know you’ve been struggling with this.”

You squeeze his hands gently and look into his eyes.

“It’s not your fault. I pushed it down and never dealt with it. It was bound to come out some time.” You let go of his hands and wrap your arms around his waist, tucking your head into his neck.

“I’m sorry for worrying you.” Your warm breath tickles his skin. “Thank you for taking care of me Dean.”

“I’ll always be here y/n. Your pain is valid and I love you so much.” He replies, holding your body to his and breathing you in, glad you’re with him now.

“I love you too, Dean.” You smile softly.

With Dean, you’ll be able to fight through the pain and find the light.

[seriouslyhooked]

Feels Like This (Part 13)

Emma Swan is a once lost girl who is now making good. She has made a way in the world for her and her young son, Henry, and after years of hard work, Emma is in her last stretch of schooling for the career she’s always wanted. Unexpectedly, she finds herself in a tiny nation no one’s ever heard of for her last year of study. She knows nothing about the place except that it’s beautiful, has a world-renowned child life program, and is filled with possibility. Meanwhile, Prince Killian is hardly happy with the title he received at birth. As the second in line for the crown, Killian has long tried shaking his royal duties. He built a career in the royal navy, and has stayed out of the limelight, but his ship has been called to port indefinitely at the request of his brother, the King. Fate (in her many forms) brings Emma and Killian together and the resulting fic is a cute, fluffy, trope filled romp featuring heart felt moments, a healthy dose of insta-love and an assured happily ever after. Story rated M and will have 12 parts. Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, Part 8, Part 9, Part 10, Part 11, Part 12. Available on FF Here and AO3 Here.

A/N: Hey everyone! I am so excited to be back with this story after the month I spent away, and I find it so wild that in that past month so much happened with royals in the actual world. I wouldn’t say it inspired this chapter at all, but it was cathartic to write a story where the Prince and Princess get a much healthier, more healing reception. I know how many of you love this fic, and it definitely has a special place in my heart as well. It’s been so important to me that I do the ending of this story justice, and so it took a bit of time to get my thoughts organized. This is one of the final chapters, and I only anticipate one more actual story installment and then maybe, someday far off in the future, an epilogue or two. That being said, this is a long-awaited milestone for CS and I have attempted to infuse all of my usual cuteness and romance. I hope that you all enjoy, I would love to hear what you think, and thank you all so much for reading!

Gazing out upon the overlook as the sun rose over the tree line in the Montenarran morning, Killian was comforted once more by the vastness of the world and the beauty that danced before him. The light shone with a color and vibrancy he’d come to know and love, but this morning the air hummed with languid layers of anticipation. Maybe it was Killian’s excitement and nerves, but he didn’t think so. No, if anything the world seemed to shimmer today, a sign from above that the timing was right and that he was ready to take this next big step.

The next time I visit this place, I’ll have Emma by my side, he thought to himself, soaking in the comfort of such a plan. 

This was on his list of places to share with his Swan, but he reasoned that he had all the time in the world for such gifts. Today, though, he was planning to make that assumption a reality. For finally, after nearly three days of being parted from his love, he was planning to propose, in a way befitting a woman of Emma’s caliber.

Instinctively, Killian’s hand moved to his pocket, drawing out a small black box which held a ring inside. The ring was beautiful and ornate, an overt and ostentatious display of love, but one with inherent meaning. This was the ring his grandfather had given his Gran, a ring forged for the purpose of real and lasting love. It was not exchanged at their wedding, but instead in a private ceremony the two of them shared some weeks later. Their wedding had been arranged, but still they’d found real love. This ring was a gift, however, given at the turning point where Killian’s grandfather knew that his love for his new Queen was more than mere arrangement – it was true and totally transformative.

“Your brother, as reigning monarch, has full claim to your grandfather and my wedding bands, and he will make good use of them with his Elsa, I am utterly assured,” Gran had claimed some weeks back when she stole Killian for a private moment. On that night, she was serious and sincere, most of her deeply playful nature tucked aside for a brief window of time. She glanced at her the matrimonial ring she still wore, years after the death of her dearly departed husband before looking back to Killian with conviction and calm. “The love between them grows each day, and is befitting of what me and your grandfather shared. But this ring I’m giving you, Killy… this ring is something else altogether. This is magic made metal. This is perfectly genuine affection forged into precious gems.”

“It is gorgeous, Gran,” Killian agreed when she presented the ring to him. “But I can’t take something like this from you. Not when it means so much.”

“That’s why you must have it, Killy. If your Grandfather were here, he would say the same. This ring bound us in life, but now we are bound through so much more.”

For the first time in years, likely since the death of his grandfather himself, Killian watched as tears trickled down his Gran’s face. It instantly pierced his heart, for this was a woman who always showed strength. Even when he was on deployment and gone for years on end, his Gran persevered. She may grow misty eyed or get choked up, but tears were a whole different story. Only the memory of her husband could prompt them, and Killian thought to himself not for the first time that she had been so strong for so long, going on without him.

“Our love is forever, living, thriving, singing its song for now and for always. I miss him, every day, every moment, I wish that he was here, but someday we will have each other again. And in the meantime, this ring deserves another union. It was made to be passed through generations. I will confess that I wondered if anyone should ever be worthy of it, if love like ours would find its way here again. But I needn’t have doubted. You and Emma are made for each other, and it would be my honor for Emma to wear this.”

Killian agreed whole heartedly with his Grandmother’s explanation, and he knew no more beautiful stone could be found the world over. This ring bore a remarkable yellow diamond, encircled with smaller stones of the same rare hue. The exact shade sparkled in the sunlight, but almost seemed dipped in the golden glow of a summer’s afternoon. It was pristine and poetic, warm and well beyond the pale, reminding Killian of the highlights in Emma’s hair and the lilt of her laughter. Her joy was precious, more precious than any stone, but as he gazed upon the rock, it felt quintessentially designed for his Swan. It was happy and bright, bold and beautiful, and he knew, despite its flair and size, that Emma would love it.

The only thing left to do is ask her.

The thought breathed new life into Killian, even more so than the Montenarran morning, and he walked back through the forest paths towards the palace once more, energized and ready for the day ahead. He had everything planned and had been working on this for some time. There were many moving pieces, but he’d squared them all away. In the end he would see to it that this was perfect, for that was exactly what his Swan deserved.

Arriving at the palace just after the sunrise, Killian moved with purpose and precision. He had only a little bit of time, and much to accomplish.

“The last of the parcels have been delivered, Your Grace,” one attendant announced as Killian walked through the palace doors. “The bulk of them are here, as you see, though some are in the green house for obvious reasons.”

“Excellent, Jacque. Thank you.”

“I beg your pardon, Sir, it’s just… are you certain you don’t need help arranging things? It’s a significant amount of work here. The staff is happy to assist.”

“I appreciate that offer, Jacque, but I’ve got things well in hand. I’ve been planning this for some time.”

A thoughtful smile appeared at the older man’s face, one that broke the traditional polite protocol and spoke to how long he had known Killian and the royal family. “Of course, Sir. Well, in that case, best of luck.”

Killian took the well wishes to heart, knowing he had a massive task before him. Perhaps he could have given himself more time to bring all of these pieces together, but to him, it already felt like too much time had been wasted. He was more than ready for this next step with Emma, and after three days spent apart, not seeing each other in person, or sharing much more than a few texts and facetimes, he was particularly desirous to see this through. He had been strategizing on how to get this right for quite a while, and by now he knew each assignment down to the letter.

“I assume that your dismissal of Jacques offer goes for us as well?���

Killian glanced up, finding his mother on the stairwell. From here she was stately and elegant, a poised dowager Queen with refinement and grace, but as she descended, she became more herself, and by the time she was in front of Killian, taking his hand in hers, she was no more and no less than a wonderful mother. His greatest support for many years, and someone who he knew would give anything she could to make this moment special.

“It does, at least for this. But with the children arriving in a few hours’ time -,”

“Not to worry on that front,” his mother said cheerily, her own happiness at the thought of all the Institute’s residents coming to the palace for a special premiere outing. “Your Grandmother and I have all in hand, and Liam and Elsa are set to help us. It’ll be a day to remember.”

“Good,” Killian said, looking around and finding his Gran already in full form, instructing the staff as to the desires she had for the outdoor space. Through the glass of the palace’s wall of windows, her words were muddled, but the humor was clear as day. This woman, frail and aged from outward appearance, was a firecracker, ruling over the days designs with an iron fist. “Surprising that Liam is giving Gran such a wide berth.”

“Well how could he not? He’s yet to come down for the day. Hard to give orders from a distance.”

Killian let out a whistle, and laughed as his mother swatted his arm and ‘tutted’ his boyish actions. Knowing when enough was enough, he left unsaid the clear reason that his brother would choose to stay abed so late in the morning. Killian would stake his life on the fact that a certain guest was here within the palace, and that she likely made a visit of the overnight variety.

“What are the chances that Gran doesn’t know?” Killian asked and his mother shook her head.

“Zero.”

“And the likelihood that she will say something?”

“That’s still to be determined.” Killian was shocked at his mother’s genuine opinion. He, for one, thought it undoubtable that Gran would make mention of this moment, gleefully commenting on the need for royal heirs or some such outlandish claim. “Eleanor is direct and prone to speaking her mind, but she is also strategic. If the calculated risk of such a comment is too high, she will deny herself. She would never do anything to jeopardize your brother’s prospects.”

“You really think a smart comment from an old woman is enough to keep them apart?” Killian asked, thinking back on the few weeks that Liam and Elsa had shared since finding each other again. They had been as close to inseparable as the schedule of a King would allow. It was clear that they were both entirely invested, so much so that a royal announcement would be made in the coming days announcing their relationship.

“Not for a second.”

“So, if you know that, and I know that… surely Gran must know that.”

At that exact moment a maid was walking back into the house, opening the glass doors. From the outside they could hear his grandmother calling out to Liam and to Elsa, who had been discovered somewhere in the backyard. They no doubt were trying to be more discrete, but Gran seemed to have no interest in allowing them that privacy.

“Oh Lord, it’s time,” Meera said with a mix of worry and also amusement. Her eyes were alight with the humor of the moment, but also the very real awkwardness that may soon transpire. “I best get out there and spare them from what I can.”

Killian nodded, but wasn’t ready for the impact of his mother’s arms around him squeezing tight. It was not in any way part of the royal protocol, but his family never paid much mind to that. Still, this was a big hug, one that was obviously filled with tremendous meaning.

“I’m so proud of you, my darling. You’ll give her everything she deserves, and the two of you will be happy. So wonderfully, beautifully happy.”

“Thanks, Mum. Love you,” he whispered, accepting her soft kiss on his cheek and her shared words of love in kind before she dashed off to help his elder brother. A Queen should never move so quickly, but then again, Gran could do quite a bit of damage in the seconds it would take to get from here to there. For his part, Killian only chuckled to himself before heading to the side of the palace towards the gardens for the day.

The next few hours were defined by attention to detail and purposeful precision. Before meeting Emma, Killian could safely say he never imagined the lengths and planning required for a proper proposal. The idea was so intangible, so unnecessary in his estimations, that he never dwelled on even the possibility. It seemed unlikely that his heart would ever be touched in that way. He assumed he’d go through life a bachelor, or worse yet, that he’d cave to eventual pressure and say yes to something arranged and designed without feeling or passion. Luckily for him he had escaped such a fate, and instead had been steered through the grace of all things good towards a woman who was far and away the most remarkable he’d ever met.

Emma was rare and extraordinary. He had known it from their first meeting, and he continued to hold onto this truth every day they were together. There was never a moment when he didn’t realize his good fortune, or when he took her presence in his life for granted. Emma had revived him. She anchored him into the goodness of the world, and she showed him what could be. She expanded his horizons, even brought with her a son, another key part of a growing family, and by her side, Killian felt like he was capable of anything.

He only hoped that the elements he’d gathered today would translate as he imagined they could. This was a memory in the making that could only be shared once. Killian wanted to be sure that it was what Emma wanted and deserved. Luckily, he’d had help and more than a little bit of intel, mostly provided by Henry and from a few other insiders who knew Emma best of all.

“Are all systems a go, Captain?”

As if he’d conjured Henry with the grateful thought of all the boy had done for him, he turned now to find Emma’s son in the garden. Killian watched as the lad took in their surroundings, his eyes growing wide, and his whispered ‘this is so cool’ a welcome sign that Killian’s efforts had not been for nothing. He stood from where he’d been bent down, tidying up the last of his efforts, and when he gazed upon it himself, he had to say he was happy with the outcome.

“Aye, Lieutenant. All the necessary components are accounted for.”

“Good. She’s going to lose it. In a good way though,” Henry said with a smile which burned bright.

“Is everyone arrived then?” Killian asked and Henry shook his head.

“Soon, but not just yet. Anna and I have been here for a while now. Gran needed help with the game set up, but I asked if I could see you first.”

The look of wonder and happiness that had clung to Henry since arriving colored to something a bit more pensive. The shift gave Killian some pause for the first time all day. “Everything all right, lad?”

“Everything’s great, I just – well I was wondering – I mean if Mom says yes – or rather when she says yes, because she’ll totally say yes, it’s just that, well I – I was wondering…”

“No need to be worried, Henry,” Killian said, placing a hand on the boy’s shoulder. “Whatever you have to ask me, I’m here to help. You have my word I will make it right.”

“I know. And you’ll love Mom forever, right?”

“Aye, lad. Forever and then some.”

“And you love me too,” Killian’s heart clenched as he automatically nodded.

“Yes, Henry. I love you both, undoubtedly.”

“And we’re going to be a family.”

Killian didn’t know what to say. Down to his bones he knew that they would be. He was confident in this union between him and Emma. They had made promises already, declarations of love. He would give anything to be her husband, and he knew that someday he would be, but to say it aloud to her son when Emma herself hadn’t had a chance to even be asked was something else entirely.  In the end, he decided to just go with his gut.

“In my heart, we already are.” Henry beamed up at him, the worry of the moment melting away. Still, Killian never imagined what he’d say next.

“Well then I was hoping that maybe, when you and Mom are married, maybe I could call you Dad?”

Killian was overwhelmed with the request. It was something he had wished for, but didn’t want to press. He knew Henry had no memories of his biological father, but he never wanted to assume. It was a massive move for a young man to ask such a question, but Killian’s answer to the query was instant and heartfelt.

“I would be honored, lad.”

“Cool,” Henry said happily, brimming with the excitement he’d had since Killian first told him about his plan to propose to Emma.

Henry moved forward, hugging Killian with the affection of an earnest hearted ten-year-old, and Killian savored it, knowing he would always see Henry as his son. He may not be his blood, but he lay claim to a large piece of Killian’s heart. He silently swore to always do right by Henry. To protect him and to teach him what he could. But mostly he would support him, and show love to Henry and his mother all the days of his life. Before Killian could speak to more of that, the sound of busses pulling up, and happy children streaming onto palace grounds wafted through the air. The time had come. This was the moment.

“You know the plan, son?” Killian asked, the word slipping off his tongue so easily, and bringing real joy to Henry’s eyes.

“Aye, aye, Captain. I’ll have Mom to you in five minutes. You can time me.”

Killian might have laughed at the fervor and excitement Henry shared, but unfortunately, five minutes waiting in a moment like this felt like a lifetime away. The only thing that got him through were the last-minute adjustments, and the journey that was needed from where he was, to where they’d start their memorable afternoon. Finally, the moment came where Killian was waiting at the start of the hedgerow, even further from the festivities and he could hear the woman he loved, unaware of his being here.

“Henry, seriously, what’s going on? The party’s only just starting. We have time for a tour later. We can go with the others.”

“Trust me Mom, this can’t wait.”

“What is it Henwy?” a tiny voice Killian would know anywhere asked. Cecelia was with them, another sign from above that his plans were moving the way he wanted.

“Something magical,” Henry said and Killian could hear the sharp trill of an excited little girl.

“Like fairies?”

“Just wait, you’ll see.”

“Something magical, huh?”  Emma parroted, but at that moment they all stepped into view.

Three days may be but a blip in time to some, but to Killian it had felt like an eternity. The peace he now experienced at seeing his Swan again was profound, and somehow she was even more stunning than when he’d left her. The day’s light shone in her hair and in her smile. She was gorgeous and relaxed, dressed in a delicate pink sun dress designed to tease and torment. Her radiance outshone every flower in this garden, and in the moments before she saw him, he soaked in the sight of her. God she was beautiful, too beautiful to properly behold. His heart skipped and his muscles tightened, and then her eyes landed on him and he was whole.  The world was righted once more, and all because Emma saw him and felt the same pull he felt emanating from his chest. The surprise in her eyes was evident, followed immediately by relief, and joy, and love, and all of it was too sweet a call to resist. He moved towards her and the children, sending up one last prayer in this critical moment.

Please let her be mine. I swear I’ll deserve her. Whatever it takes.  For I am hers, body and soul, and I always will be.

………………

God he’s gorgeous, Emma thought instinctively upon finding Killian at the far end of the garden hedge. That thought was followed closely by, Wait, what is he doing here?

“Killy!” Cecelia cried out happily, letting go of Emma and Henry’s hands and sprinting towards him. Emma watched as Killian crouched down, accepting the hug from the little girl who effortlessly stole their hearts. He closed his eyes momentarily, soaking in the moment, and then he pulled back and pushed some of her wayward curls from Cecelia’s eyes, smiling at her with genuine affection.

“Good morning, little love. How are you finding the palace?” Emma’s heart clenched in her chest in the best way. He was just so sweet with her. He always had been.

“It’s so so good,” Cecelia replied, bringing a laugh out of all of them.

At the little girl’s enthusiastic endorsement, Killian thanked Cecelia and then stood once more, looking at Emma with those captivating blue eyes and that charming smile that always took her breath away. She was still trying to fathom his presence here. They had spent the last few days apart, days she found so much more difficult to manage than she expected, but he wasn’t set to return for a few more days. Liam had sent him on state business. She didn’t press for details, assuming it was confidential, but now, she was curious as to this wonderful turn of events. Before she could ask though, he walked over to her, taking her into his arms and kissing her surely. She leaned into this embrace, loathed to let him go, but he seemed to remember they were in the presence of little eyes. It was a fleeting kiss, but still invigorating all the same.

“I don’t understand. You’re supposed to be away the rest of the week.”

“I hope you’ll forgive my brother for that white lie,” Killian said, his hand coming up to scratch at his ear in that subtle show of bashfulness she’d witnessed a time or two. “If you’ll recall I never actually confirmed an itinerary, having sworn never to lie to you again.”

“So, you weren’t on a… huh, let’s see, how did Liam put it? A ‘mission for the future of the nation’ then?” 

��Not exactly. But then again, in some ways, that’s exactly where I was. Do you trust me, love?”

Emma nodded, and watched as his smile grew warmer. She knew that it meant to him to have her trust, but in her eyes, he had earned it ten times over. Killian was a good man – the best man she knew – and he made her feel safe. Of course she trusted him. She had never trusted anyone this much before.

“In that case, I’ve some things to show you. Henry, you’ll be sure to hold down the fort in the meantime?”

Emma looked over to her son, and only now realized that this was all planned somehow. Her boy looked pleased as punch, and even sent a salute Killian’s way. “Yes sir. And Cecelia will help, wont’ you Ceci?” The little girl nodded, joyously, thrilled at the prospect of helping. “We’ll see you both soon.”

Killian nodded, leading Emma in the direction of the garden. The further they moved into the hedgerow, the quieter it became, until the only songs around them were those of birds and breeze. Emma was amazed at all of this, but she was also still wrapped up in his return. It felt so good to be back with her hand in his, the glow of his presence enveloping her. She’d never missed someone like she had the past few days, never ached this way to be reunited with someone. It was a testament to all she felt for him and how much she’d come to love him. Quietly she stopped walking, pulling Killian’s attention. With a quick glance behind them, she saw no one had followed. They were totally alone and so she made her move. Pulling him down for another kiss, she said a proper hello, and shivered in delight at his reaction.

His hands were on her, seemingly everywhere, holding her close as they tasted each other. She felt his soft dark hair between her fingers, where she ran them through by the nape of his neck. She arched in closer, feeling the friction of their bodies together, and sighing in pleasure when they pulled apart. It couldn’t go further than that, but Emma felt more secure having shown him even in a small way how happy she was to see him.

“Hell of a welcome home, love,” he growled out, words low and throaty from his own swirling emotion. “If leaving wasn’t torture in itself, I’d consider more trips just for this.”

“No need to leave for these,” she whispered to him, leaning in for another kiss but then nipping him gently instead and stepping back out of his grasp. She smiled at his evident frustration, and laughed when he groaned in defeat. He knew he was had, but from the way he pulled her back into his arms, running his hand along the small of her back and looking at her adoringly, he didn’t seem to mind.

“You are a marvel, love. Have I mentioned that yet?”

“Maybe once or twice,” she teased, looking back to where they’d been walking and giving him silent permission to lead to their destination once more. “It’s beautiful out here.”

Beautiful was an understatement. In truth, Emma had never seen such intricate floral designs or such an array of colors and flower species. She had to imagine it was more than a palace garden. This had to be one of the most beautiful botanical spaces in all of Europe.

“Much of that is my mother’s doing. Her passion project, so to speak. She brought us out here when we were boys. Showed us bits and bobs. But this has always been hallowed grounds. Special, and perhaps, as Henry hinted, a little magical as well.”

Emma was poised to reply, but at that moment they turned a corner and things changed. They were still in a garden, but this time – oh lord it was difficult to describe. Magnificent was the first word that came to mind, and ethereal came soon after. For where there were blossoms and buds before, now there even more, hanging from pergolas above and winding through ivy vines on every hedge. Some were clearly naturally placed, but Emma noticed pieces woven into this area that she’d seen before, half a world away.

“Windchimes,” she murmured, looking at the gorgeous displays that reminded her of home.

There was a storefront, totally discrete from the street view and far off of the beaten path, deep in the heart of Chinatown, that she and Henry had found when he was younger. It was filled with artisan chimes and motifs and mobiles made from natural items and glass and more. The owners were amazing and known in crafting circles around the globe. The first day Emma and Henry visited taking refuge from a sudden winter chill, the couple who owned the store had taken the time to walk her son through their work. They’d then spent hours in the studio, and though Emma had very little by way of money for a purchase, they’d showed her and Henry nothing but the utmost kindness. She’d always found the pieces beautiful, comprised of shells and flecks of crystal or silver and gold, swirled into constellations that evoked a night sky or sense of wonder. 

Over the years she and Henry returned to the studio many times, and even bought a few pieces when she could save enough to treat herself to something precious. There was so much beauty crafted in each piece. Emma always found herself wanting more, and she loved their trips back over and over again. The style  of this artwork was one of a kind. Emma had never seen other pieces like these, but here, in this patch of the garden, there had to be a hundred intricate, delicate, interrelated art pieces dancing in the wind.

“How is this possible?”

“Henry may have mentioned something. Do you like it?”

“It’s gorgeous. God, the time it must have taken to put this all together…”

“Was time well spent, believe me, love.” Emma looked to him and she could have sworn from the look in his eyes and the tone of his voice that he was the one who had done this. But that was crazy. How could he have possibly had time for all this?

“But how did it all even get here?”

“I brought it.”

“You brought it?” Emma asked, stunned, her fingertips grazing the smoothed lines of one art piece dripping in sea glass. “You were in New York.”

“Aye.”

“But why?”

“Patience, love. There’s more to see.”

Emma had no idea how there could possibly be more, but she tucked her arm through Killian’s and walked with him to the next section of gardens. Here there was a sudden burst of purples and whites, and a scent she’d been missing without even realizing it. Lilacs, but none of them in season. Oh God, look at all of them.

“Killian,” she whispered, looking at what must have been thousands of bouquets of her favorite flower. It was unbelievable, but it was real, and she moved forward, seeing them all set up and displayed prominently in the midst of a garden with white roses. It was gorgeous and surreal. And now she was utterly dazed and more than a little confused.

“You and Henry are well known at the Brooklyn gardens love, as I’m sure you are well aware. I had it on good authority from a woman named Ella that lilacs are your particular favorite.”

“These can’t all be from there,” Emma said and Killian shook his head.

“No, these are admittedly sourced from a few specialty purveyors across the continent. But this,” he pulled out a polaroid of a small lilac tree that was recently planted. Looking at the surroundings, Emma realized that was outside Killian’s home here in Montenarro. “This is directly from the gardens. The same family and strain, all the way from New York.”

Emma was too shocked to speak, and felt the tears welling in her eyes. He had done so much for her, and she knew it was for one reason. He wanted to bring part of her home, part of a place that meant so much to Henry and her, here to his home. It was so thoughtful she felt tongue tied. What could she say? This was all so much.

Unbelievably there was even more, and over the next few minutes he took her through three more break away gardens, each filled with other staples of her one-time home. Food and culture and memories and more. This man had managed to find all of the best parts of her time in New York and he had brought them here. Some of them were things completely out of the realm of possibility.

“I can’t believe you found this,” Emma said, holding onto a years-old piece of construction paper that had been forgotten to time.

This picture was one of so many projects that her son had made in life, but Emma cherished the memories that went with it. Another example of the city’s serendipity, this painting chronicled a day of adventure for Emma and Henry. They’d wandered all through the city, and ended up in Queens for a special summer program for kids. She was always looking for magic moments for Henry, especially ones designed for a budgeting single Mom, and this one had delivered. There were story times and games, crafts and activities, and Henry had been thrilled. He made this picture of the two of them, and though it looked nothing like Emma, it had captured her heart. It also caught the eye of the librarians working that day and they’d selected it to put on the wall in the Children’s wing. Henry was oh so proud, his four-year-old heart filled with joy at getting to hang his art somewhere aside from their refrigerator door. It meant something to Emma, another example of her doing her best by her boy, and giving him all that she’d never had.

“There was a picture of you and Henry and this particular masterpiece in the Saturday Times.”

“Okay now how could you possibly know that?”

“Your neighbor, Mrs. Hubbard. She was very forthcoming, and she’d saved the article. Has it framed and everything.”

“You spoke to Mrs. H?” Emma asked completely bewildered, and Killian nodded. “And the library had it all this time?”

“Aye. In the archives. Nothing a few strategically planned favors couldn’t procure.”

“I don’t deserve this,” Emma said, letting the tears finally fall. This was all too much, but she was immediately comforted by the feel of Killian’s strong arms. His hand came to cup her cheek, his thumb wiping some of the tears as he shook his head, his eyes full of earnest feeling and emotion.

“That’s where you’re wrong, love. You deserve every good thing the world over. I know it’s presumptuous for a man like me to ask for such a treasure, but I swear to you I’ll spend my life giving everything I can.”

“I already have everything. I have you, and Henry,” Emma said. “This is beautiful, but it’s nothing to you.”

Killian hummed out a sigh of contentment, but where Emma expected a kiss, she watched instead as he pulled back, reaching for something in his pocket. “I was hoping you’d feel this way. Makes this next part a bit less nerve wracking.”

In a smooth gesture, he pulled out a small black box and lowered to the ground. Watching Killian drop down to one knee here in the gardens, Emma felt totally adrift from all cares of the world. She was stunned and yet deeply aware that this had all been a long time coming. There was no doubt in her heart that she loved Killian, and she held no fear over taking this next step. This man had shown her for months that he genuinely cared for her and her son. He would move mountains for them, if only for a possibility of their happiness. He was selfless and loyal and true, and he made her brave, emboldening her to believe that the risk was worth it. Love was worth it. Still, it was shocking, to be adored so deeply, and to know that someone truly felt the world began and ended with her.

“Emma, I realize that this is perhaps soon by some standards, but believe me when I say that I have been aching to ask you this question since the moment we met.”  

More tears formed in her eyes, thinking back on that day. Her world had truly shifted in the span of one morning. There was a time before Killian, before romantic love that ever made her hopeful, and then there was more. It all started at the center, but it built well beyond those four walls. Knowing what she did now, she had to call their encounter what it had been – love at first sight. Maybe she hadn’t admitted it then, and surely she hadn’t said it aloud, but that is what transpired. She took one look at this man, this extraordinary, incredible man, and she was hooked, plain and simple.

“You amazed me then, that first day at the Institute. I didn’t realize anyone like you could truly be real, or that I was capable of forming an attachment with such strength. I had seen too much, I reasoned, knew the darkness of the world in ways that may leave me lacking for the rest of my days. I thought such chances at something halfway near normal were beyond me, but those first sparks between us proved me wrong. I was totally ensnared, caught in a web you couldn’t help for making, and still, that immediate response can’t compare to all I feel now. Knowing you – loving you – I am more certain each and every day that you hold my heart in your hand. I am yours, Emma. I have been yours, and I will remain yours all the days of my life.”

There was absolutely no chance at stopping from crying now, but the sensation was one of happiness. She was actually living a fairytale. Her, the once lost girl who never had a nickel to her name, or a friend to keep her going. She had survived the cruelest affairs of the heart. She had been so terribly and tragically alone, but she persisted, and she learned, through the grace of her son, and the courage of her convictions, to live. Now with Killian she was starting anew, building up the small life she’d shared with Henry into something much bigger. To say she was exited at the prospect was an understatement.

“Emma Swan, will you -,”

“I want to adopt Cecelia!” Emma said abruptly, blurting out a seemingly unrelated fact in the middle of what had been the most beautiful proposal. She was mortified, but only for a moment. Because the smile on Killian’s face calmed the storm inside her.

“Ah, right. You see, I had anticipated that, though in the interest of full disclosure I envisioned this part of the conversation after your reply to the proposal. Regardless, I offer you this, love.”

Emma watched as he juggled the ring and instinctively she took it, holding the box and sparing another glance at the absolutely beautiful band. Her fingers itched to put it on now, but she knew it would be so much better to let Killian do the honors. She then watched in amazement as he pulled out a series of papers from inside his jacket. He opened the file containing them all and showed her an application for adoption. The child in question was Cecelia, and the forms listed both Emma and Killian as petitioning guardians. Now she was completely overwhelmed. He knew every single part of her. Every hope. Every dream. He was perfect.

“Family is so much more than blood, Swan, as we both know, and I think we’ve known for sometimes that Cecelia will always be our princess.”

“Yes,” Emma whispered. Yes to everything, yes to all of it.

“I’ve also spoken to Henry, not intentionally per se, wanting to speak with you first, but it would mean the world to adopt him as well. I don’t know how you’d feel about that, but I-,”

“Yes,” she said again, this time with even more conviction.

“Yes?” he asked with a hopeful grin and she nodded. “Well in that case. May I, love?”

She handed him the papers which he put down beside them with care. Emma watched as he took the ring box back from her other hand. He settled down on bended knee again, preparing himself for another attempt at asking her to marry him. It took everything in her to bite her tongue and let him actually get the request out.

“Emma Swan, love of my life, light of my spirit, and queen of my heart, will you please do me the honor of becoming my wife.”

“Yes.”

Everything from there went quickly as he slipped the ring on her finger, tossing the box without care to the group. Killian was up at full height in mere moments, pulling her in for a scorching kiss and Emma was complete. It may not have been a totally according to plan proposal, but Emma believed what they had was even better, because it was real and true and filled with so much love. She could think of no better way to start a beautiful forever, and when they pulled back, resting their foreheads against each other and soaking in the moment, Emma let out a sigh of sheer relief. This was what they meant when they said happily ever after, and it was so very worth the wait.

“I don’t think I’ve ever been so happy,” Emma murmured aloud.

“Neither have I,” an emotional voice said – only it wasn’t Killian. The voice continued. “Truly beautiful.”

“Gran,” Killian muttered shaking his head. Emma bit her lip and covered her mouth. They had absolutely just been caught out here, but when they both turned to see their unexpected audience, consisting of Killian’s family, Elsa and Anna, and Henry and Cecelia, a different person outside of all the rest, was revealed to be the culprit.

“You take that back, Killian, for you know better than that,” Gran said, standing beside a dressed up and dazzling looking Mrs. Hubbard. Mr. Hubbard was there too, his hand on Henry’s shoulder and his leg being held onto by a very friendly Cecelia. Emma never expected to see her dear, sweet neighbors. Their appearance here in Montenarro left her floored.

“My new friends are a treat, believe me,” Gran continued, walking forward, and seemingly giving everyone else the silent permission to do the same. “But their spying skills need work. I would never speak through such a moment, nor rustle these hedges with quite so much gusto. Not to worry though, they’ll learn.”

Everyone descended in that moment to wish them all well, but the most important reactions came from Henry and from Cecelia. The happiness of both of these kids – their kids – gave Emma tremendous joy and satisfaction. She was also thrilled to share this with their blended family, and with the friends who had become such strong bonds in her new life. After much congratulations, everyone returned to the party, and an announcement was made. If Emma believed the reaction to be enthusiastic from her loved ones, it was even bolder from all of the children at the center. Indeed, the happiness and infectious sense of hope made for the best party any of them had ever been to, and created an afternoon like none she’d ever experienced.

Hours later, Emma was still reeling from the high, and loving the fact that she and Killian had stayed together all day. He’d never let her go after her saying yes, always beside her, supporting her, adoring her, and loving her endlessly. She was so happy with him, but as the day drew to a close, her spirits dampened slightly. In his usual form, Killian caught on immediately.

“What’s the matter, love?” he asked, sure that no one else was listening, even though they were still amidst the party.

“Nothing,” Emma said automatically, though that was only half true. “This is one of the best days of my life. It’s just… the waiting…”

“Aye, I’ve considered that too. But I think I’ve arrived at a workable solution.” Emma looked at him curiously. “I will submit for a special license from the crown. The King and I are on decent terms you see.”

“Decent, huh?” Emma teased, looking over at Liam and finding him swaying with Elsa on a makeshift dance floor. There wasn’t even any music playing, but to this happy couple, and to the children dancing nearby, that didn’t matter in the slightest.

“He’s been in better spirits of late, as you might imagine.”

“Seems to be going around.”

“Mmm,” Killian hummed out, running his hand along her cheek and looking at her with sincerity and bliss. “We can have everything arranged in a week. It’ll be quite the undertaking, but the staff is up to the challenge.”

“A week?” Emma said, not believing it. Surely it must take longer than that, but she loved the idea. In truth, she’d marry him right now if she could. “Can we really do that?”

“Just say the word, Emma.”

“Yes,” she said nodding. “It’s crazy. Actually it’s totally insane, but yes, please, yes.”

“As you wish,” he replied kissing her again under the party lights and lighting her aflame once more. “In the meantime, I’ve no wish to be apart. We should be together, love, as long as that’s what you want.”

“I do.”

“Everything’s ready. I’ve been working for weeks on it. The rooms for Henry, for Cecelia, all of it. It’s merely a matter of moving your things in, all of which can be done tonight.”

“You’re serious?” Emma asked and he nodded.

“A magistrate’s already granted temporary custody for Cecelia. You can take her home now while the process continues. Please, love, say you’ll all come home to me.”

Emma looked over to Henry and to Cecelia, who were dancing together on the floor. Emma watched as her son already took so well to his new sister, and as if she’d conjured his attention, Henry glanced her way. He waved, a sign that Emma returned. Drawing attention to them set Cecelia in motion, and soon the little girl was dragging Henry across the party. Soon enough they were back together, the four of them a new but undoubtedly permanent unit. Cecelia jumped into Killian’s arms, and Henry came to Emma’s side looking up with his knowing expression.

“What’s up, Mom?” he asked and Emma smiled, unable to resist pulling him and pressing a kiss to the crown of his head.

“How would you feel about moving to Killian’s house -,”

“Our house,” Killian stressed and Emma chuckled.

“Sorry, our house, tonight?”

“That would be awesome!” Henry said excitedly. “Can we do that?”

“Aye.”

“And me too?” Cecelia asked hopefully.

“Yes, honey, you too,” Emma said, brushing a stray curl from Cecelia’s face. The kids made their feelings known. They were in, totally and completely. “Well I guess we have our answer then.”

“Aye, love. The best of answers, all around.”

And so, later that night, when the festivities of the day had ended, and the children all departed, Emma and Killian, Henry and Cecelia all headed home together, enjoying their first night in a place that would always be theirs. And though Emma knew they were in for a crazy week of planning and party design, and wedding wildness, she was truly joyful. For this was a life beyond her wildest dreams, and she knew, deep down to her core, that it was going to be breathtaking.

Post-Note: So… what did you think? Personally, I found it SO cathartic to write this scene. It’s been such a long time coming and I have pictured this outcome for Emma and for Killian even before writing the first word of this story. Almost a year ago to the day this story came to me, and my hope is to write out the final chapter by the one year anniversary in early May. Hopefully it won’t take quite so long, but please know that it has been a joy to write this and share with all of you. I hope this chapter and this fic have brought some brightness to your world and some magic to your moment. This has been an insane time, but I’ve been grateful to share it with all of you. Anyway, hope you all enjoyed, and I’d love to hear what your hopes for the end of this story are. Until next time, wishing you all well and healthy and safe! xE.

[lizacstuff]

i'd love (if you'd like ofc) to hear your thoughts on episode 20 as a whole! i personally really really enjoyed it.. it had some very good moments not only between edser but between serkan and his dad and selin. and of course were serving that angsty, but flirty, UST that we all love! it felt like a weight was lifted off serkan and he just became even more open with her, if that makes sense? what he says to her about leaving in the latest fragman kinda shows that too.

Are you sure you want my full thoughts? Because I'm about to get long winded, like novel long winded, lol. To start off, on a superficial note, can I say that casually dressed, brooding Serkan was pretty hot? Hello, Sailor! Can we see you in pullovers and hoodies and T-shirts more often? But just happier? He was soooo sad in the opening scenes, and honestly, when you think about it, it's pretty dark that he was so messed up that he didn't leave the house or attend to any business matters for those couple of days. Very unlike him, but he's probably never been at this depth of despair before. Now, since pretty much everyone knows he wasn't leaving the house while Eda was gone, I hope someone (cough Melo cough) tells Eda, she should know that. On a similar note, Eda's friendship with the girls is so lovely. They're indeed her family. Interesting juxtaposition that she took refuge with her friends, while Serkan holed up and stayed away from everyone who cares about him. 

I agree that once we got past the dark brooding and he had the talk with his mom about how if Eda was punishing him there was still hope, he was a lot lighter. I think finally being out from under the secret did him a world of good. He can finally stop pretending to be indifferent and can just be honest about how he feels.  What the “Gitme” line in the fragman tells me, is that he’s ready to put it all out there. He’s not going to risk miscommunications or hurt feelings anymore. Which is amazing and should lead to great things in the next couple of episodes.

More under the cut (a lot more):

I absolutely agree about the scenes between Serkan and his dad and Serkan and Selin. The writing was really terrific and Kerem just knocked both of those scenes out of the park. Serkan's suppressed fury was palpable, and it was extremely cathartic to finally watch him let loose on both of them. The scene with his father went deeper in the family trauma and it was so interesting to hear Serkan say outright to both of them that the reason he moved onto the property was because Aydan couldn't leave and his dad was never there, and was never there for him as a father at all. Which we saw from the beginning when Alpteken was actually at the house but refused to attend his son's engagement party. Regardless of the fact that Serkan sprung Eda on them, not walking 50 feet to make an appearance at your son's engagement party is an asshole move. I wonder how long he's been cheating on Aydan? Years? It's interesting how she foreshadowed that revelation to Ayfer, like she knew.

Also I can't believe he was just cavorting around a luxury hotel in Istanbul. The whole Bolat family are obviously figures in the upscale social scene, anyone who knew Aydan or Serkan could have easily spotted him with that woman and gleefully spread the gossip back. Did he want to get caught? Jerkoff.

As for Selin, we been waitin' for that explosion since she sold her shares without telling Serkan!  I like that Serkan was kind to her after Ferit left her at the altar, it spoke to him taking responsibility for the part he played in trying to manipulate her out of that relationship. However, she took advantage of the new, kinder Serkan (the one that exists courtesy of Eda) and went way too far into unstable territory. I, and many other people, were so confused about why Selin was so angry about uncovering the truth of the accident, like what right did she have to be that angry over it, to stomp over to his house, barge in uninvited and accuse him of being a liar at top decibel levels? Thank goodness the writing acknowledged that it was not her place, and that was the thing that enraged Serkan. They actually allowed him to say, "How dare you come to my house, and I don't owe you any explanations." Also, I'm glad he laid out his feelings for Eda, and his lack of feelings for her. Look... that is rough. Hearing from an ex that they never loved you.  But how she could have been in any doubt, after seeing the changes in him since Eda is beyond my comprehension. She even said early on, It's like there's two Serkans, the one before you met Eda, and the one after. For whatever reason it's like she thought Eda could come in and affect him, and then she could step in and get the Serkan who was in love with Eda, not the rigid, cold one who was in a relationship of convenience with her.  DELUSIONAL.

There was so much more about this episode I loved. It was nice to see Ayfer blossoming in her new business and getting a glimpse of Fifi's past. She comes from a society family, does she? I liked that Ferit helped them. I do agree that impressing Ceren was probably on his mind, but I like to think he's also just a nice man and he likes Ayfer and wanted to genuinely help as well. Interesting that we found out that Ferit's mom never liked Selin. Curious since you'd think she'd look great on paper, perhaps it was because of the speed at which they were moving, and I think she also stood them up, right? That made me like Ferit's mom a bit more than I otherwise would have. 

Aydan was in her element getting back to her charity work, I loved the way she plotted to put her name forward for the leadership position. She's just so savvy. That's why I'm glad she's now TeamEda!  Imagine what a formidable duo Eda and Adyan will make in this world, we saw a glimpse of it last week, but they'll be unstoppable! 

The contract was a neat device. I really appreciate how it was used. One of the things that Eda feels like she can't trust is the way Serkan has tried to control her. As I've said before, I think he's really trying to control the situation. And while that doesn't really make a difference to Eda in this instance, it does make a difference to me as a viewer. If he were being controlling in the sense of trying to dictate what she says or who she is, that would be upsetting. But that's not it, he really loves her for who she is already and he's not trying to change that, he's just, as I said, trying to control the situation. We know that he likes to think everything through and always has a plan and in this instance he was just trying to protect her, but she's right that he can't do that in a relationship. Proving to her that he can cede control is important and that's exactly what the contract did. We saw him do it willingly and blindly and it was actually really beautiful. Obviously, the Serkan apology to Erdem was hilarious, but more than how much I enjoyed how funny it was, I enjoyed how delighted Eda was by it. She loved every minute of it and it was so nice to see her relax a minute and genuinely laugh both at and with Serkan. Additionally, I think she was pretty surprised that he'd followed through with it. Lots of layers to that scene.  

The charity meeting he engineered was also pretty fun to watch. I loved how he calls Engin in to join them with no prep and then just expects Engin to reel off a bunch of good ideas for the girls education initiative. Good times. And Leyla rushing in to let him know that Melo had quit was hilarious, I love that Serkan was like "the whole situation is right here" meaning that Eda was in the room so whatever Leyla had to tell him could not possibly be important. Only Eda is important! LOL. Then Serkan doesn't even think before looping Engin in to go immediately hire Melo. You know what I hope this means!? That my crackship Mengin might actually sail!!!!  LET'S DO THIS MENGIN!!!!  Oh... I know, the show seems really committed to the mismatched duo of Engin/Peril, but I really think Engin and Melo are better suited to one another. And now maybe they'll get scenes together. Piril can dump him for being too... him, and Melo can help him pick up the pieces. They would be Serkan and Eda's big-hearted, teddybear couple friends!  

Watching Eda blossom creatively and professionally while working with Serkan has been a joy. She doesn't stand in awe of him at all as a person, but she does a little professionally, and it's wonderful to see how no matter how angry she is with him or where they are in their relationship she always craves his feedback, takes in his critiques and suggestions, and basks in his praise. While she didn't want his help with her schoolwork, I can't help but wonder if he ever comes up at school. I mean she's in the tabloids with him, and since he's extremely relevant to the field of study, and specifically to that school since he built the library, do her classmates ask her about him? Or does she mention something she did or learned working at ArtLife while in class? Inquiring minds want to know.

As for Eda's resolve to keep things professional, that pretty much was DOA. She definitely challenged him to break the contract there in that room, and I think she actually wanted him to do it, though I’m not sure how she would have reacted. she wants him, but she wasn’t there yet. She knows resistance is futile, deep down she recognizes her own feelings and his and knows they'll never stay away from one another and it's only a matter-of-time, but I think she needs this. She needs for him to understand what it means to be in a relationship, she needs him to know that he can't make decisions without her, and she needs to be sure he's ready to be a partner. Thankfully, he made a lot of headway in demonstrating all of those things in this episode. He signed without reading, he was willing to do anything and everything she asked, and while he's still him (asking Leyla for intel) he respected her wishes while still being there for her in a real way throughout the episode.  

Poor Eda fainting, but it's really romantic that he's always there to catch her. I assume this narcolepsy or whatever it is, like her claustrophobia, is related to the trauma around the retaining wall collapse and her parents' death. It was sweet the way he convinced her to let him be there when she met the contractor, and then during the confrontation he didn't intervene, he let Eda say what she needed to say and was there to move the guy along when it was time. He was pretty much perfect. I know we all NEEDED him to hug her, both Eda and Serkan NEEDED it as well, but she wasn't ready to ask for him yet and he was smart enough not to push it. But the loooooooooonging. 

It's a small detail that she asked him to deal with the paps and he went home and set about doing just that. Hopefully whatever he was doing will lead to the revelation that Selin is the one who planted the story in the first place. I need that, we all need that. And just when you think it's too late at night, he does their "thing" and shows up at her place with Sirius. So dang sweet. I like that he was respecting her pretense about colleagues while at the same time just outright saying, "I'm worried about you. Are you okay?"

The next day's car ride left me in a puddle. Serkan just out there telling her that he would do anything for her. But he didn't push it on her, he waited until she asked. He did a great job of pacing himself through the episode. I find it so romantic that she told him that he couldn't watch her speech. If they were together and settled and happy, I'd think she'd want him front row, center, but in their current state he just affects her too much. She'd be focused on him, worried about what he thought, distracted by him, he just sends her mind whiring and her pulse racing.

Though, it's pretty telling and super sweet that the first thing she wants to know when he approaches her afterward is what he thought of the speech. Oh, Eda, you're not fooling anyone. His opinion is most important to you, pretty much in all things. This scene gives us something that rarely happens, Engin being tone deaf and not reading the room!! WTF was wrong with him? Interrupting like that? Dude knows that Serkan is in a situation here, you don't interrupt for really no reason like that! Get your head in the game, son! Your his wingman, you help, not hinder!

The way Eda blushed and looked pleased every time he complimented her this episode was something else. She's trying to keep emotional distance, and he's breaking the rules when he does it, but still it makes her day. She's never portrayed as a vain character, at all, so it's just so sweet how his words and his compliments affect her. No one else can make her feel like that. 

Serkan was pretty sly in making his case as well. He gets her a bit mushy telling her she lights up the room and then brings up her speech and how it might apply to him. He was right in that she probably hasn't considered things from his perspective. How devastating it must have been for him to learn the truth. I want her to go back and piece together the timeline. She knew something wasn't right with him at the mall when she gave him the robot. Maybe it will help her deal with this if she realizes he had just learned the secret. She knew there was more to the story with the cut on his hand. Knowing he was so upset he put his hand through a coffee table might give her some perspective on his state of mind and why he acted the way he did.  But mostly I want him to tell her he overheard her conversation with Ceren. I think it's important for them both to confront how things unraveled if only to help prevent future miscommunications. 

Poor Eda having a good time using her powers of persuasion to tease Serkan into helping his mother only to find out that she had convinced him to auction himself off for a dinner date! I enjoyed her momentary discomfort at that. Welcome back, jealousy. Strictly work colleagues do not get jealous when one goes out to dinner with someone else, just saying, Eda.  And that smooth bastard bid on himself so he could go out with her only. We should have known! 

The conversation prior to the runway show was priceless, Eda's animosity and reserve sort of disappear and she's just unsure enough of what she's about to do that his reassurances are exactly what she needs.  And how Kerem Bursin can blush on demand, I don't know, but Serkan be red during that conversation, lol. 

I really loved all of Serkan's reactions as the ladies walked the runway. For Selin he was stone-faced and bored looking, for Fifi he gave a sly smirk as she passed as an acknowledgement of how different, and nice, she looked all cleaned up, Melo got the huge grin, we didn't really see Ceren since the camera was stuck on Ferit, but for Piril he gave her the fond, encouraging smile like he was proud of his friend. And then Eda. I don't even know what word to use for it. Enraptured? Dumsquizzled? Fuckstruck? Yes, let's go with fuckstruck. I'm not sure he remembered to breathe while she was walking, he was so affected by her.  This boy has it bad for this girl, ya'll. 

After that, the end was a punch in the gut. Our poor babies have been through so much, they really deserved to have that nice dinner.  Damn you, Selin! Obviously this was a delaying tactic, because once they sat down to dinner, you know they would have worked it out, so we wait. But the reconciliation is coming, don't you worry. I'm feeling it within the next 2 episodes for sure. 

[sophiamcdougall]

EXPLAINING SANREMO

(PART TWO) I am back. I have barely eaten or slept and Tumblr has tried to murder me and this post multiple times, but I have survived. Thank you for your patience.

Part One of my attempt to explain the seismic experience that is 2020 Sanremo Festival of Italian Song is here. 

Ready? I assure you, you are not, but let’s proceed. So Sanremo rages pitilessly on.  Now everyone knows what’s at stake, and everyone, including your humble recapper, is exhausted, but doing the gay/chaotic best they can.

As the final battle to save Amadeus, Rancore, Italy and THE WORLD approaches, Achille Lauro has a last message for the troops. And I’m not deducing this, he literally said it on Twitter. 

...Hold me I’m scared.

Meanwhile (sort of) (go with it) (time isn’t real at Sanremo)  a minor drama  has occurred offstage. Singer Tiziano Ferro made an ill-advised joke about Fiorello’s interminable comedy bits, some idiots on Twitter ran away with it, and poor Fiorello was upset! This is minuscule in Sanremo terms. But consider the flapping of a butterfly’s wings. Consider hurricanes. But who is Tiziano Ferro?

Hold on. We’ll get to it. For now ...

Fiorello is dancing seductively for an absolutely delighted Amadeus while dressed as a rabbit. And wearing a blonde wig. Is there a rational explanation for this? I mean, sort of. But also no.

And then he worries Amadeus might give him herpes, which causes Amadeus to freaking snap.

“No, no!” yells the mercurial Fiorello. Amadeus isn’t worthy of his kisses yet. He ricochets out of Amadeus’s arms and into the audience and “passes on” the kiss to a guy in the front row. 

“Incredible things are going to happen tonight!” yells Amadeus, who has no fucking idea. ”Beautiful things,” corrects Fiorello. 

But just because Fiorello is a mayhem elemental on a mission of love doesn’t mean he hasn’t got feelings. 

Enter Italy’s sweetheart, Tiziano Ferro.

Actually, Tiziano’s been there all along. He’s the specialest of special guests, singing through basically his entire back catalogue every night. Which why it really was unfair of him to pick on Fiorello --   it’s not his fault he’s literally got to stand there and babble nonsense for aeons on end, Tiziano! He’s just serving the hungry chthonic entity that is Sanremo, same as you.  

While the gay mayhem (the gayhem, if you will) surges around him, Tiziano  has been fighting the good gay fight in his own steadfast way, so far untouched. His mere presence is a message of hope in itself, he knows this, and is determined to make it count. Ten years ago he was closeted, convinced coming out would end his career, and suicidal. Now happily married and gloriously successful, he is here to demonstrate that “it gets better”. He radiates such wholesome joy and resilience that everyone loves him.

So anyway, Tiziano didn’t mean to hurt anybody because he would never, and now he wants to make things right. So will Fiorello forgive him?

Ah, what better gesture of reconciliation than to goofily sing a  love song written by Fiorello himself. Of course Fiorello forgives Tiziano, because Fiorello loves everyone, good and bad, (after all he loves Amadeus the most). But he is also a chaos being, and he is working harder than anyone else to channel the divine madness of this deranged Sanremo Festival into anyone who gets close. Tiziano, watch out!

Seems TIziano naively thought he could lean in for a staged, nearly kiss, but  Fiorello’s very soul is antithetical to “nearly” anything.

“My husband’s going to divorce me!”  wails poor Tiziano, but Fiorello has never felt so alive. This is Sanremo, bitches. Rules like “sixty-year-old men can’t be danger twinks, Fiorello,” have ceased to apply. He is an apostle of Achille Lauro, he has accepted the sermon of Benigni into his heart: it is time for PHYSICAL LOVE. While not quite ready (yet) to fuck everyone in the orchestra pit, he is throbbing with readiness, to frolic all over the theatre giving all the guys he can get his hands on THE KISSES OF HIS MOUTH.

Naturally this sparks further firestorms of chaos. “Do it again!” begs grizzled rocker and high-ranking competitor Piero Pelù. Electrified by the touch of Fiorello’s lips, he is later to be found running shirtless through the auditorium where he steals a handbag.

Everyone is kissing everyone, age and orientation be damned. Summoned by the gay sorcery unfolding, 65-year-old queer rock goddess Gianna Nanini manifests and is kissed worshipfully on the lips by 36-year-old duet partner Coez.

There’s also some kind of song competition going on I guess. 

This happens:

That’s Ghali, GUYS, IT’S NOT WORKING, rappers ARE DROPPING LIKE FLIES ALL OVER THIS STAGE, WE’VE GOT TO DO SOMETHING.

(...  it isn’t really Ghali and don’t worry. This is a gag? Which I still don’t really get? And nor does sweet anarchist cherub Fiorello whom we will later discover is currently being physically restrained from rushing onstage to tend to the fallen rapper’s wounds.)

The real Ghali raps in Arabic which among other things is a big old “me ne frego” of his own to Italian Trump-tribute act and failed wannabe prime minister Matteo Salvini. Then he gets close to Fiorello, which can only end one way.

All the boys are crazy for Fiorello’s kisses but Amadeus still can’t have any

It’s already a difficult night for Amadeus.  TV presenter Antonella Clerici enters and far from standing a step beside him, righteously rips the piss out of him, which to be fair he accepts with grace.

And as for Achille Lauro ... ...No.  Patience. The time to bear witness to the last stand of Achille Lauro is not yet come. There are other forces stirring at Sanremo.

Chaos has its dark side.

The gun on stage is cocked and loaded. This is it. ENTER MORGAN.

... and enter Bugo,  who trails in behind Morgan, looking dazed and haunted. But whatever, it’s a million o’clock in the morning, aren’t we all. 

They start to play.  Italian Tumblr dozes fitfully on its sofa, idly crackshipping Amadeus and Fiorello. Utterly unprepared.

So most of us don’t notice what’s happening ...

... until the music just stops.

No one’s paid attention to the Morgan and Bugo in days. As far as I’m concerned Fabrizio Moro has already been avenged and my bloodlust is slaked.  The song - apparently written wholly by Bugo - honestly, isn’t bad, but Morgan’s been tuneless throughout and their duet/cover last night was cringeable. There have been some major reversals in the rankings but at this point there’s almost no way they’re going to be one of them.  And Morgan is not happy.

So Morgan changed the lyrics (and this isn’t even last-minute improv, he fucking printed it) to attack the one person who still had faith in him, blaming Bugo and Bugo alone for their poor performance so far. On live TV. In front of millions. After screaming at Bugo backstage just minutes ago. And he expects Bugo to just stand there and take it.

"Me ne frego to that shit,” thinks Bugo, and becomes the unexpected self-care hero of Sanremo as he vanishes into the night.

And that’s how I learned the Italian word for pandemonium. 

Morgan has the absolute nerve to ask what’s going on. Amadeus breaks out in visible cold sweat. Fiorello is thrown bodily onstage to DO SOMETHING, ANYTHING, OH MY GOD.

It’s long past midnight and a bunch of worried middle-aged men in sparkly jackets are scampering around yelping “Bugo? Bugo! BUGO? BUGO!!!” and that, I am here to tell you, when you are already delirious from exhaustion and shitposting-induced hysteria, is more than enough to tip you right over the edge.

Italian Tumblr resigns itself to never sleeping again.The memes aren’t going to make themselves. 

Translation: ”Is Bugo there?” “What’s happening?” “Where’s Bugo gone?” “I have to go and see where Bugo is.” “Bugo left.” “BUGO!”

Morgan wants vengeance. Fiorello, adorably indifferent to the fact that he was shoved on stage to, you know, entertain the audience, wants to find the missing waif, wrap him in a blanket and feed him soup. So they both rush offstage and Amadeus is left alone in a living anxiety dream.

The audience are booing.  The 70th fucking Sanremo Festival of Italian Song is falling to pieces on his watch. For all he knows murder is going on backstage and he picked known powder-keg and scoundrel Morgan for the Festival. The buck stops with him. And he has no lines, no back-up, no idea what to do about it.

And then Fiorello, angel of misrule, avatar of lawlessness and love, strolls back onstage. He looks confident and relaxed, like a man with all the answers.  Which he is.

“Have you got Bugo?” Amadeus inquires desperately.

NO RULES, NO MASTERS, NO SPONSORSHIP MONEY. ME NE FREGO.

Everything is broken. And somehow everything is OK.

Everyone, Amadeus included, bursts into hysterical, cathartic laughter.

“Is this my fault?” Amadeus asks. “YES!” crows Fiorello, lovingly forcing Amadeus to face his sins and his nightmares in a healing atmosphere of radical acceptance and mass psychosis.

And that’s how Amadeus learned that the real Sanremo was inside us all along.  And what he needs in this glorious maelstrom was never a beautiful woman standing a step behind him. It’s a chaos pixie dream boy at his side.

It’s time to cast out toxic masculinity and become a better man.

So Amadeus wraps up the show as best he can and then out of pure human compassion, he and Fiorello personally wander the streets of Sanremo looking for Bugo until four in the morning.

Bugo and Morgan are automatically disqualified

And now let us witness the final passion of Achille Lauro. Who is this Achlle Lauro kid anyway? How intentional is all this? Is he the Messiah, or a very naughty boy?

SO YEAH. Anyway, everyone’s wondering what the fuck Achille and his producer/guitarist Boss Doms (yes, really) are going to do, and BE, next. Achille’s first three looks were inspired by St Francis of Assisi, David Bowie, and Marchesa Luisa Casati. 

So ... Freddie Mercury, maybe? Elizabeth I? Jesus Christ?  And after the flurry of kissing Fiorello whipped up .. 

Will they ... can they ... dare they...

Do you even need to ask?

I have no idea how the crazy bastards who guessed “Elizabeth I” did it. 

Achille thrusts his hips against Boss’s backside. Drops to his knees before him and lets the shape of the microphone speak for itself. Briefly chokes him. And throughout they are tender, elegant, and utterly, regally dignified.

And then, at last.

A  joyous chorus of maenad-like shrieks rings out across Europe. If you’re in the Greater London area and your ears are still sore, I’m sorry. That was me. 

That’s it. Achille Lauro and Boss Doms ascend into heaven and pass into history. 

Not even they can give more to Sanremo.

The dust settles. 

The dawn breaks.

WE FUCKING DID IT! RANCORE LIVES! WOUNDED (as are we all) BUT SMILING AT A WORLD TRANSFORMED! (Not only that but, after starting at the bottom of the leaderboard he’s been catapulted up into the top ten and wins the special prize for Best Lyrics!)

And Amadeus?

Well, let’s hear from him in his own words.

Because Fiorello asked him to, Amadeus is wearing a blonde wig to look like legendary TV host Maria de Filippi. Amadeus doesn’t normally sing, but because Fiorello asks him to, he joins him in song.“A WORLD OF LOVE! LOVE! LOVE!” they chorus. It’s the hymn of the new day. 

“He can make me do anything!” Amadeus sighs to the audience. So Fiorello asks him to slow-dance.  And they do.

The prophecy has been fulfilled. Amadeus has let love into his heart. He has surrendered to the holy power of gay chaos. He is a man reborn. 

He didn’t find Bugo on that long, gruelling dark night of the soul, because incredibly,  poor Bugo never left the theatre and spent the night literally hiding in a cupboard.

But he found something else. 

As Sanremo finally, mercifully approaches its end, Fiorello grapples him close and, all teasing cast aside, whispers fiercely in his ear:

And somehow it was.

And toxic masculinity?

To find out why don’t we - and I am sorry about this - check in on Matteo Salvini who would normally be rage-tweeting up a Trump-style storm by now. He loves bitching about Sanremo for being “rigged by the left”  or occasionally letting a non-lily-white performer win, and this year he even tried to organise a boycott. Let’s see how that’s going.

This, the gayest-ever Sanremo in history, is the most-watched Sanremo in 18 years, with an incredible 60% audience share.

“Me Ne Frego” flies to the top of the Spotify charts.  (And though the judges are still cowards and traitors who left Achille in 8th place, there is no doubt across the media who the real star of the festival was. ) And Salvini’s “boycott” just meant he effectively banned himself from making a peep about it.

So who won the festival?

ALL OF US.

Oh, you meant literally.

This guy. His name is Diodato and his song is called “Fai Rumore” (Make a Sound.) It’s fine.

And that was Sanremo. It wasn’t a dream, it was a place. And you, and you, and you were there.

[amanda-teaches]

The Piers of Brooklyn

Marvel Fanfic

Summary: After moving in with the Avengers, Bucky finds himself struggling to let go of his past and find himself again. What he needs is a little help to remind him that he’s home.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Word Count: 2144

Warnings: A lot of emotions, self-doubt and a glimpse of PTSD from Bucky, bittersweet fluff. This is canon-divergent where Bucky joins the group right after CATWS instead of going on the run.

A/N: This is my first attempt at writing for Marvel, and I’m really excited about it. It was written for one of my favorite people, @pinknerdpanda​, and her Birthday Challenge. This story was inspired by the song Beyond by Leon Bridges, and the lyrics are interspersed within. It was also written from a request for my 2k challenge from my beautiful friend, @hannahindie​, who was amazing enough to read this over for me. I was a little nervous writing for a new character and a new fandom, so any feedback you have would be greatly appreciated. 

When Bucky first moved into the tower, he did everything he could to adjust, to put his past behind him, become just another member of the team.

He attended the parties, trained with the others, smiled through the group dinners. But, there was always something missing. No matter how hard he tried, a part of him always had his guard up, keeping him separate, walled off from the others. He didn’t know if it was to protect himself from everyone else, or to protect them from him.

Steve was his usual puppy dog self, assuring him that everyone had moved past what he’d done, that they knew it was the programming, not him. His therapist said the same thing, that it wasn’t him, he was powerless to stop it, but every time he looked in Stark’s eyes, he saw his parents. Every time Natasha handed him a cup of coffee or he ran with Sam, he re-lived all of his sins, everything he’d done to hurt them and so many others.

Steve could say that they’d forgiven him all he wanted, but the truth of it all was that Bucky hadn’t forgiven himself. How could he ever expect anyone else to?

So, he moved through his days on autopilot, a part of him always struggling to rediscover that piece of him he’d lost when he fell into that river all those years ago. He saw glimpses of it when he was around Steve, but it felt like seeing someone above water when you were drowning. Blurry and unreachable. It wasn’t until he met you that he felt like he could finally start swimming to the surface.

You moved into the tower a few months after Bucky, having been stationed in D.C. before that. You’d fought against HYDRA during the Battle at the Triskelion, working closely with Steve, Natasha, and Sam, but you’d never actually crossed paths with Bucky. When the fight was over, and Steve had brought Bucky back to New York for rehabilitation, you’d stayed behind in D.C. to deal with the fallout.

With S.H.I.E.L.D essentially disbanded, you found yourself out of a job, so Steve invited you to join the Avengers in their missions to combat the ever-present threat of HYDRA. You’d accepted, packing up your things and making the move up the coast to Manhattan.

You’d settled in easily at the tower, proving yourself a valuable asset on missions and becoming fast friends with the others in the downtime. But, what Bucky found the most interesting was how you’d reacted to him. All of the others, though polite, had initially been distant with him, slow to trust until he could show the Winter Soldier wasn’t who he was anymore. But, you were the exact opposite.

You’d gravitated towards him. The second you moved in, you’d made it a point to invite him to work out with you and include him in activities, both inside and outside the tower. Every movie night, you sat next to him. Every trip to the zoo, you dragged him with you. He knew you were trying to help him heal, get him to find the joy in the normalcy of life, but you never forced him. You were just right by his side, holding his hand the entire way.

It was his lifeline. You were his lifeline. And, he knew, no matter how strong everyone thought he was, one of the biggest reasons he was healing was you.

For months, the two of you continued this way, falling into a comfortable pattern between missions. But, every Saturday, Bucky would break the pattern, going off on his own for a few hours and leaving you behind.

He knew it drove you crazy. When this started, you’d ask what he was doing when he returned at night, but he never told you. He couldn’t tell you.

Eventually, you stopped asking, assuming it was something too personal, a wall he wasn’t ready to let down yet. But, you never stopped wondering where he disappeared to every Saturday. And, he knew it. It was the part of himself he held back, and he vowed that, someday, he’d find the courage to show it to you.

Don't wanna get ahead of myself

Feeling things I've never felt

It's kinda hard for me to explain

Her personality and everything

Brings me to my knees, oh

She shines me up like gold on my arm

Do you think I'm being foolish if I don't rush in?

It was a rainy February Saturday when Bucky finally, fully, let you in.

Most of the Avengers were occupied for the day, either out or working in different parts of the tower. You knew today was Bucky’s day to disappear for the afternoon, so you popped some popcorn and set yourself up in front of Tony’s wide-screen movie-theater-worthy tv. You’d just picked up the remote to dig in when Bucky appeared in the doorway, leaning casually against the wooden frame.

“Hey!” you said, almost dropping your popcorn in surprise. “What’re you still doing here? I thought you’d left already.”

“Yeah, I was on my way.” He shot you a lop-sided grin, locks of his hair falling into his face. “I was wondering, maybe, you know if you weren’t busy, if you’d possibly want to come with me today.”

A rush of excitement flowed through you. You knew how important this alone time was to him and what it must have taken for him to ask you, so you knew how big of a deal this was. Plus, he looked so damn nervous, you couldn’t help but smile. “I thought no one was allowed to come with you, not even Steve.”

His grin wided, his eyes sparkling with amusement. “You’re my one exception. You comin’ or not?”

You laughed at his teasing bravado, but you jumped up immediately, following him to the garage.

You both decided to take Bucky’s bike, and, with your arms wrapped securely around his waist and your cheek pressed against his back, the two of you zoomed in and out of the New York traffic. At some point, the traffic began to thin out and Bucky began to slow, but you weren’t quite sure where you were.

He drew to a stop by a wide stretch of grass, and you could see the water beyond the trees, but not much else. “Where are we?”

He grabbed the helmet from you, placing it on the bike beside his, and smiled softly. “Brooklyn.”

You expected more of an explanation, but Bucky just turned, starting to stride across the grass without saying anything more, not even waiting for you to follow him. 

Damn, was he frustrating.

You sighed and hurried after him, trying to take stock of your surroundings as you worked to keep up. Bucky was a super soldier, so about three of your steps equaled one of his, but he slowed when you neared him, giving you an opportunity to look around.

The grassy area was ending, opening up to the expansive view of New York Harbor in front of you. A pier stretched out to your right, and Bucky made a beeline for it, with you following. You could see the Statue of Liberty in the distance, with the Manhattan skyline and the East River beyond it.

The pier was relatively short, with wavy, black curves painted on the concrete and old-fashioned street lamps punctuating the railing. They turned on while you walked, signalling that night was approaching.

Bucky didn’t stop until he reached the end of the pier, sitting down at a bench by the edge, like you assumed he’d done dozens of times before. You waited a beat before joining him, sitting silently down by his side.

“This is Valentino pier,” he explained softly, breaking the silence. “Back when Steve and I were growing up here, it was called Red Hook. We’d sneak down here sometimes to mess around, watch the boats out in the harbor.” His voice dropped, an edge of sadness underlying it. “It looked a lot different back then.”

Realization hit you, and your heart ached for what he must have felt coming back here, reconciling his memories with how the world had changed. You knew he’d grown up in Brooklyn with Steve, but you’d never thought about the when. When he left here, it was 70 years ago for you, but almost yesterday for him.

“When Steve first brought me back,” he continued, his face remaining expressionless to mask the emotion you could hear in his voice, “it took me a while to come back here. But, my therapist thought it would be good, cathartic or something, so eventually, I worked up the nerve. My old neighborhood had almost completely changed. It felt familiar, but different somehow, like I didn’t really belong anymore.”

You didn’t say anything, just reached out and grabbed his hand, holding it in your lap.

“The first time I came, I just wandered the streets for hours, trying to find something that felt like home. There were things I recognized, but nothing felt quite right, not ‘til I found this. It’s funny, because this whole park wasn’t even here when I was, but this view...” He gestured in front of him, motioning at the sunset that was brewing over the Harbor. “This felt like home. Coming here, I finally started to feel like me again.”

He looked over at you, a ghost of a smile crossing his face. “You know, I came here right before I shipped out.” He gulped, his eyes darkening. “That last night.”

You squeezed his hand gently, wishing you could take some of this weight on for him. “I thought you went to the Stark Expo?”

“I did,” he nodded. “But, the next morning, before sunrise, I came here, to the harbor. I watched the docks awaken, the ships begin to sail out as the sun rose over the horizon, breathing in the Brooklyn air one last time before I reported.” He took a deep, shaky breath. “I think I knew then I wasn’t coming home.”

You placed your free hand on his cheek, pulling his attention away from the dropping sun and over to you. “Bucky, you did come home. You survived. This sunset? This air? It’s the same you felt in 1943. You’re home, Buck.”

The relief on his face was soft, almost unrecognizable, but it was there. You let out a breath at the sight, unaware that a part of you had been holding that breath for months, waiting for this exact moment.

Looking away from him and out towards the water, you kept his hands in yours, the two of you sitting in silence as the sun sank down into the harbor in the distance, the dusk settling into a still darkness.

He began to rub his thumb across the inside of your palm, and you smiled, turning back to study his profile. His face hadn’t changed, but it looked lighter somehow, more relaxed than you’d ever seen. You didn’t know if that was from the view or…

“Buck, why did you ask me to come with you today? Don’t get me wrong, I’m happy you did, but this place seems very personal to you, and I’m just…”

His eyes snapped over to meet yours, the shifting blues churning as they scanned yours. “Just what?”

Your eyes dropped to his lips for the barest of seconds before jumping back to his eyes. “A colleague.”

Bucky’s entire face softened, and he pulled his hand from yours, resting it on your thigh. “You think that’s all you are? Jesus, Y/N…” He lifted his other hand, running it slowly through your hair. “You’re so much more than that.”

Everything in you soared at his words, and you ached to lean in and kiss him senseless, but you held back. He’d let you in, but you knew he was still fragile. He wasn’t ready for that, at least not yet.

“You’re more than that to me too, Buck,” you whispered, and his whole face lit up. For the first time since you knew him, he surprised you by pulling you into a hug, his strength and warmth enveloping you. He rested your head on his shoulder and gripped you tightly to him, like he was afraid you’d disappear if he let go.

But, you weren’t going anywhere. No matter how long it took, or what demons he had to fight, you were with him, for the long haul. “Come on, Buck,” you whispered, shifting back to look him in the eye. “Let’s go home.”

Do you think I'm being foolish if I don't rush in?

I'm scared to death that she might be it

That the love is real, that the shoe might fit

She might just be my everything and beyond

Thank you so much for reading!!! Since I’m new to the Marvel fandom, I wasn’t quite sure who to tag for this. I’m tagging the people who expressed interest, but if you would me to tag you in future Marvel fics, please send me an ask! My Marvel tags will be separate from my Supernatural tags.

Also, if you enjoyed this, I would really appreciate if you could please reblog, because I would love to reach as many people as I can. THANK YOU!

@pinknerdpanda @hannahindie​ @emoryhemsworth​ @okay-maybe-i-like-marvel-too​ @im-a-light-child​ @clarinette07​ @mysterious-398​  

[imasimpforstevengrant]

Why do we like this clown so much?

Change the "we" for "I" and you get an usual tag I use whenever I post my content in Tumblr. And it sounds funny at first but whenever you start diving into that phrase, the deeper it becomes. So, I finally have decided to share my thoughts about this strange but wholesome attraction to this deeply flawed character. It's not something I usually do since I don't know how to write down my feelings properly and also in english so please forgive any typos (I'm from Chile so don't be surprised lol).

So...Why do we like this clown so much?

Why was it that a character precisely designed to scare and to disgust the fuck out of us ended up unchaining a series of feelings that shouldn't have taken place in a beginning?

Let's take a look at the background: Joaquin Phoenix was cast as Arthur Fleck/Joker in 2018. The first image of him as the aforementioned character revealed a deeply disturbed man. We knew the plot. A man driven to insanity after a brutal history of abuse, creating concern in people if the upcoming film would inspire real life violence. Incel violence and mass shootings, more specifically.

(the image in question)

As 2019 arrives, the two trailers generated so much hype that media needed to fuel its concern about it. Since it wasn't your typical comic book film, media basically bombed our minds making us believe this film was going to be a total disaster, an excuse to cause harm to others among other nonsense, as if the film would justify everything Arthur would do in the film, eventually. As the release date is closer, the film receives thunderous applause and unanimous praise from critics. At this, fans rejoiced and expressed impatience to watch the film.

October 5th.

People left the theaters amazed, shocked and genuinely moved by the inhuman treatment Arthur received in the film. The fear media tried so desperately to infuse in us with all the incel bullshit and such turned out to awake one of the most positive, best feelings in humans:

E M P A T H Y

The word that so gloriously cleared away any dark thoughts or actions not only proves media was wrong but it turned out to ridicule it in way nobody will forget: Hundreds of people advocating for mental illness, calling out to the kindness that could change a person's bad day and questioning how politicians and rich people are indifferent to social problems proved how much as a society we have changed in comparison with the one shown in the film.

However, since we are on Tumblr, I'll get straight to the point and try to explain why the fuck does this clown has us dying out of love and compassion (and lust).

I. Background.

As nurturing as we women are for a biological matter, we see a man deprived of a good job, is on seven different medications, working like a slave to sustain his ill mother, putting aside his own health and well-being to look for her, struggling to make his dream of being a comedian despite everyone stepping on him, underpaid and treated like a freak for a disorder he did not ask to suffer, which makes it impossible to be indifferent to all the horrible ordeal that eventually will reach the limit of what he can tolerate without going insane. It is impossible to not say or think, at least, that someone (even if it's just one person) should stand for him just as it is impossible not to feel the need to throw ourselves at him to shield him from people who hurt him or simply offer him our shoulder whenever he has had a bad day, specially when he learns he was sexually assaulted by his step father.

This horrid behaviour terrifies newer generations because they get a taste of what being a social outcast was like more than thirty years ago in comparison with today, where there's more acceptance and treatment for mentally ill people like Arthur. We see in him someone who could have been saved with a proper education and emotional support instead of descending into madness as a criminal. Others simply saw themselves being treated like him at some point in their lives and couldn't help but put themselves in his shoes.

II. Personality.

TRUTH BE TOLD:

There's something called "attraction by proximity". It is the explanation to the eventual love you feel whenever someone doesn't catch your eye at first terms of physical attraction but his/her personality does attract you. This happens to be the base of this situation. His shyness, introverted nature, tenderness and innocent desire to make people laugh and put on a happy face awake some kind of tenderness we cannot resist. This combined with the gloomy background increases our understanding (but not justifying) of the bad decisions he'll eventually take during the course of the film. This traces a line of harsh, almost hurtful contrast of the violence he shows later on the film. Once again, it is not justified in any way but it is certainly understandable.

III. Appearance.

Arthur Fleck is unconventionally attractive.

This happens to be a plus for most women. He is out of the male beauty standards (no abs, not too muscly or particularly tall), which makes him even more unique. It is precisely the fact that he's not a model one of the reasons women love him. He could easily be your man next door or your colleague or the guy you always see but never dare to talk for fear to bother him Because it's about proximity. Arthur looks like your common neighbour. He's not meant to be your typical desirable male protagonist at all.

... And yet.

Jesus Christ, he's so fucking hot I can't even---

It's not about how beautiful his green eyes are, his long slender fingers, his hair or his smile only. It's the charm behind it.

Another "magnet point" is the way he dresses. I know he's impoverished and his wardrobe tend to be repetitive but it is so unpretentious, so simple that is hard to not fall for. The modesty of the shirts, ironed trousers reminds us of a mature man deeply withdrawn into himself, love starved and longing to be seen and loved by others, like a war veteran who still fights the most important war: with himself. Is someone who needs to be listened and understood.

AND OF COURSE WHAT'S NOT TO LIKE ABOUT IT?

He's also brought back the old gentleman outfit, white shirts, red/yellow vest, red suit and elegant dancing moves and the retro style of the film boosts this attractiveness.

People keep comparing him with the previous interpretation of Joker (Leto's) whose costume appealed to young women with a tattooed, gangster, mumble rapper crazy-guy wannabe which didn't connect with the audiences (young people in general). This supposedly was to match or even have a sexy, tormented and desirable villain like Marvel's Loki. We all know how that story ended but it's the link for the next point below.

IV. Transformation

This is a particularly strong point considering how much we loved to watch the process of this weak, powerless, forgotten caterpillar into a beautiful and visible butterfly that will gracefully stir its wings for everyone to see its colours.

When Arthur transitions to the Joker, it's so cathartic to see taking revenge on those who wronged him (even when we're not supposed to root for him) like seeing his shyness fading away into a vivid confidence when dancing half naked in the bathroom, or witnessing him making way to make his name known to people in Murray Franklin's Show:

Adding to this newly gained confidence, there's another turn on: the way he walks.

At the beginning, his pace is hunched and limping, displaying his submission to violence, which makes the viewer more satisfied to see his broken yet beautiful soul turning the past pain of his existence into art: he lets music guide his moves as a way to tell the world he's a new man by cutting most of the sick, evil roots that harmed him, that he's invincible, that no one can stop him. Watching this cathartic display of euphoria was the most iconic scene in the film, following his speech at the TV and the inevitable meltdown that caused Murray's death.

Going to further appreciation, even his clown make up is beautiful. Why? Simple. The combination of colours, shapes and the intimidating glare just embellishes even more the character.

The dark blue triangles in his expressive eyes makes the light green colour to highlight, specially in dark backgrounds, giving the impression he's piercing your soul whenever he stares directly at the camera. Same can be said about the red smile and emerald green hair. They boost an already intimidating look.

The cold and warm colours paint a picture of a man full of intense emotions, mirroring it in a simple yet masterful artistic way.

Another interesting point is the way Joker dresses. Usually we had almost every single live adaption of this character in purple coat, hat, etc. But this particular version is not following any comic, which gives more freedom to creativity and once again, out of the standards of what we could have expected.

Red is a colour related to passion, action, love, strength, motivation and excitement. As for yellow, it indicates freshness, happiness and enlightenment and finally, green. Green is renewal, growth and regeneration. Colours that represent a new stage in his life, a mirthful chapter at last. We finally get to see our battered, always humiliated protagonist (or hero) descending into madness, but finally free from his repressed man who held his soul captive like a bird to fly away, to never come back. An insanity that despite being his downfall, turned out to be his ticket to freedom as he walks to the light in Arkham Asylum dancing at the end.

Ladies and gentlemen: behold the film nobody asked... But the film we fucking deserved.

Thank you for coming to my TED talk

❤️💚💛

[engelhexe]

^ RANDOM BELIEF

Various stages in the belief cycle of the self are provided in the following sections. Try each or any of them for a week, a month, or a year. This exercise may save one an unnecessary incarnation or two. It may also help to make clear the aeonic mechanism which creates the various psychic milleniums of past and future history. The beliefs are given in order, with Number 1 understood to follow on from Number 6 in a circle. Atheism and Chaoism are presented in both their early and degenerate phases to make clear the stages of change, and to permit the use of the sacred cube.

^ Dice Option Number 1: Paganism

The gods show themselves in all things. In the elements, tempestuous and placid by turns; in the seas, the mountains, the green fields, in the hail and in the lightning. They show themselves as various animals and they show themselves in metals and in stones. Most of all they show themselves in the mind of man impelling him to love, to war, to fortune, or to disaster. The gods watch over everything in the world; there is no thing not under the auspices of some god or other.

For in all things there is both substance and essence. The gods came out of Chaos, and from the gods came the essences of all things — some gods giving essences to some things and others to different things. Man contains the essences of all the gods.

What is good or what is ill is what is pleasing or displeasing to the gods. But what is pleasing to Mars may not please Venus. Hence there is war in heaven even as there is war in man. Yet by making an appropriate invocation or offering we may set matters aright and gain their favors. If we live always in devotion to our patron god and do not displease the others overmuch, our shade will go at death to rejoin the essence of its deity.

^ Dice Option Number 2: Monotheism

There is but One God who created everything.

He created man in his own image.

He gave man free will to do good or evil.

Good is what pleases God, evil displeases him.

After you die God will reward or punish you

For pleasing or displeasing him.

God also created angels and demons.

These are spirits with free will,

Some remained good, some became evil.

These spirits help man to become good

Or tempt him to do evil.

If you stop doing something evil

God will be pleased.

If you stop doing something you enjoy

For God's sake, he is also pleased.

You may pray to God and ask him for help.

You may worship him with prayer also.

By this he will be pleased.

To know how to be good and please God

You must obey the teachings

And the authority of the religious hierarchy

He has established on earth

As the one true religion.

^ Dice Option Number 3: Atheism

The idea of God or a personal soul is an hypothesis we have no need of. Besides there is not the slightest scrap of material evidence that will stand up to examination. Let's stick to what's real, shall we?

There is always some sort of a reason or explanation for everything even if we haven't managed to work it all out yet. But we're doing pretty well. I mean, you've only to look around yourself, the whole universe works on a sensible cause and effect basis; it's only hocus pocus if you're too primitive to work out how it works. Free will, for instance, is probably just an illusion caused by some defect in the neuroelectro-biochemical plumbing in the brain. But we'll all go on using it till we find out. After all, enjoyment is the whole point in life. The only sort of morality or law worth having is that which stops fools from spoiling their own or other people's enjoyment in the long run.

And when you're dead, you're dead. Until we find evidence to the contrary.

^ Dice Option Number 4: Nihilism (Late Atheism)

Material causality is everything. Science can probably explain away everything. There is nothing which is not caused by something else. But this is no-explanation.

The world now seems accidental, arbitrary, and without meaning. We can know How everything happens but there is no reason Why. The universe has become predictable but meaningless. That is the burden of intelligence, of being able to see through it all. There is obviously no spirit or personal survival after death. Hence there is no reason to do anything, or for that matter, to restrain from doing anything. Even this is to deceive ourselves for there is no such thing as free will. One cannot help but get involved in doing because one happens to be. All motivation is just an attempt to put the body-brain in a lower energy, less tense state, even if by a roundabout route.

There are no absolutes in terms of importance, goodness, meaning or truth that do not arise from the accidental structure of the body brain and its surroundings.

We are just living out the chaotically complex forces which spawned us and which will one day reduce us to nothingness again. Everything we will ever do is just a result of how we are made and what happens to us. For all our pretense of free will, we are an accident running a fixed but unknown course.

^ Dice Option Number 5: Chaoism

As above, so below

I am the universe

The life force in us

Is the life force of the universe

The subtle force in us (aether)

Is the subtle force of the universe

The gross matter in us

Is the gross matter of the universe

To Chaos, nothing is true

And everything is permitted

Though it has limited itself

To the principle of duality

In building this world

for itself.

(For a further elucidation of these beliefs consult The Book of Chaos.)

^ Dice Option Number 6: Superstition (Low Chaoism)

All phenomena having come from the one source, there exist mysterious connections between things with similarities. All like things contain the same signature or essence; they share the same spirit. This essence or spirit can be made to go into other things by bringing the signature-bearing objects into contact with whatever is being treated. This is the principle of contagion.

All things being connected in diverse, mysterious ways, one can take augury from anything about anything of which it reminds one. There is nothing that is not an omen about something else to him that but has the wit to know it. And by similar wisdom, anything can be affected by performing the required action on some other thing that reminds one of it. Like attracts like, the principle of similarity.

Wisest of all are those who know the most deeply hidden connections. They are able to be reminded of the obscure by the more obscure. They know what sacrifices are to be made to adjust or placate the essences of things. Morality is the avoidance of misfortune. One's next incarnation will be as whatever creature of which one's activity in life is most reminiscent.

^ THE ALPHABET OF DESIRE

Except for the curious condition of laughter, which is its own opposite, emotion follows a dual pattern — love and hate, fear and desire, and so on. The following Alphabet of Desire includes all the basic root emotions arranged as complementary dualisms in a form suggestive of the classical gods, or Ruach of Kabbala.

Pagan philosophers saw human qualities mirrored in nature and cast these giant reflections of themselves as gods. It is therefore unsurprising that most pagan cosmologies contain a complete spectrum of our psychology in god form.

The main divisions of emotion have been equated with planetary god forms. Each of these principles manifests in three important forms represented here by the alchemical principles of

The Mercurial (exalting, spiritual) form indicates the cathartic, ecstatic, gnostic mode. Over-stimulation of any emotive function creates a mental paroxysm in which the whole consciousness may be caught up. This is experienced as a great release or catharsis, and at higher levels, ecstasy. Finally, the one-pointed consciousness essential to mysticism and magic may supervene in which the life force can act directly. The gnostic condition is also the key to radical changes of belief or conversion. Any belief presented in this condition is likely to be retained due to the hypersuggestibility of the vacuous state of the mind.

The Sulphurous (quickening, active) form indicates the ordinary basic drives to copulate, to destroy, to be attracted by favorable stimuli and repelled by harmful ones. This is the normal functional mode of the emotion from which the ecstatic and earthly modes are derived.

Table 2. Emotional Duality

Coagula

Solve

The principle of attraction,

coming together.

[belladonnaandulriched]

the dead of night | chapter eight

Frank's point of view

Syracuse looked very different that afternoon, as did Rochester. I never really went out that way that much, but there was always something about it that struck me sideways. Maybe it had to do with Joey hailing from near there, maybe it had to do with the ghoulish blue and green neon rising up from the tops of the buildings, maybe it had to do with the fact it was its own thing aside from New York City, but there was something precious about it to me. There was a part of me that said Francine hid out somewhere in there, somewhere inside of that donut surrounding the outskirts of the city.

I wondered if she knew that I wanted to find her after she went missing, and I wondered if she knew that I wanted to find her even after the trail fell cold. The murder trail on my brother fell cold, but I refused to let it go cold on her. She was my girl, my first girl, and she was Hannah's best friend aside from Joey.

But on the other hand, she might have been up in Canada. The only explanation for me was that she went missing in Canada, and therefore she stayed in Canada. There was no way she hid out there in upstate New York. And yet I knew it. I just knew it: she was there.

I peered over my shoulder to the car behind us. I thought about Hannah and her friendship with Francine: all I knew from Francine's account was she met Hannah when they attended school together and they just gelled like they were sisters. Both of them had no siblings so it made sense that they became like sisters: they also both had it rough a bit in life. Hannah was the California girl relocated to New York and grew up feeling like an outsider until she met Joey in her second year there in Oswego.

Francine had parents who wanted to separate but they stayed together for her. She sought solace in the arts from a young age and when she and Hannah attended high school in Rochester together, she took it to an almost cathartic. I recalled when first meeting her after Hannah introduced the five of us to her, that she foresaw everyone in Rochester knowing the combined force of nature that was Hannah Ellsberg and Francine Moody. And it almost came to a point shortly after Joey joined in the lead singer position.

We all saw Francine's agony in her artistry and yet she almost always checked out on a mental level most of the time. Hannah wanted her to be her manager for that reason: she could mentally check out and detach herself from the dark side of everything, and get a handle on everything. A great artist and protective of her best friend in her artistry herself, such that she was willing to promote it. She knew how to hook someone's attention, and it came to a point where she could by using nothing more than her own name. Maybe it was her last name: there was something memorable about the name of Moody, like Belladonna or even Bello, my last name.

I had just barely met Nancy but that was my assumption, too: who else would leave Seattle for the East Coast for anything, and strike up something with Geddy Lee among other things? All I could assume was these three women were sisters bonded by art and the scars of their own pasts.

I thought about Joey in that car with Hannah. Speaking of gelling... the fact the two of them had been able to bond and separate several times throughout the years always made me wonder abou them. Best friends since childhood and yet they managed to strike it up on a romantic level time and time again. It was something I had always wanted with Francine, and watching the Rochester skyline emerge through the darkening rain clouds made me wonder if it would even be possible.

She was out there somewhere and I had no idea if she had any time left.

Nancy led us to the first exit to the southern side of town, where I spotted a couple of people walking along the sidewalk as if it was a regular sunny day there in upstate New York, even though the rain was starting to come down in sheets upon our heads.

“Is that Alex and Neil?” Scott wondered aloud.

“No way,” Geddy said; his voice cut through me like a knife right there in the seat next to me. I took a second look at the two people there on the sidewalk, who appeared to be shuffling about the dampening concrete like a couple of puppets. A couple of puppets in short sleeved shirts and cut off shorts despite the cold rain. I swore I saw a bit of the neon glowing out from their heads, but then again, it could have been nothing more than my imagination doing that to me.

We reached the street corner and that was when the rain really began to fall upon us; Nancy flicked on the windshield wipers and they squeaked with each and every swish at the rain water.

“Okay—now if I remember where it's at...” Her voice trailed off as she hung a right around the corner. She ran into a puddle which had began to swell with the rain, but it wasn't large enough to warrant a huge splash.

“Do you even know Marcia and Sonia are in today?” Geddy asked her with a clearing of his throat.

“Positive,” she replied with a glimpse in the rear view mirror at him, “otherwise, I guarantee we wouldn't be going this way.” I noticed Scott peering out the windshield for himself, even though neither him nor I had any idea as to what to look for. “I'm pretty sure it's here—oh, wait, hang on, Hannah's flashing her lights at us again.”

“Sew Into You!” Geddy exclaimed right then.

“Oh, good eyes, babe!” Nancy followed up as she pulled up to the next intersection to flip a turn. She pulled up to the curb and yanked on the parking lever, and killed the engine right then. The rain pattered on the roof overhead; I watched Hannah and Joey park up ahead of us through the streams of rain water flowing down the outside of the glass.

Geddy and I climbed out of the backseat at the same time and onto the soaked pavement outside; he bowed his head and squinted his eyes against the rain. Nancy joined us outside with the hood of her jacket.

“I forgot my umbrella,” he confessed to her over the roar of the rain. Scott climbed out and led me to the car up ahead to join Hannah and Joey. There was a little bright lit shop behind us: tulles of fabric rested in the front window; beyond that stood a rack of tulles of thread.

“This is that upholstery shop we were talking about,” Nancy said from behind us.

“Let's go in and meet Marcia and Sonia,” Joey joined in right then. He lunged forward and held the door for us. We were greeted by the smell of clean brand new fabric and lemons; indeed, I spotted a pair of girls near the back of the front room both donned in heavy dark sweaters; they appeared to be talking about something about those fat quarters on the table in front of them. The one on the left had a hot pink headband across the crown of her head to separate her bangs from the rest of her straight jet black hair; while the one on the right had a messy head of hair to accentuate her round face. They both looked like twins regardless.

“Marcia, Marcia, Marcia,” Joey called out to one of them. The girl with the headband turned towards us, and her face lit up at the sight of us.

“Hey, you guys!” she declared as she set the two fat quarters on the table before her. “I was hoping you'd show up soon enough.” The girl on the left turned towards us and her eyes twinkled at the sight of Scott and me.

“Who are these two good looking bucks?” she asked Hannah and Joey.

“Scott and Frankie,” Joey replied with a running of his fingers through his jet black curls. “Two of the dudes from my gig.”

“Oh, the amazing Scott and Frankie,” the girl with the headband said with a toss of her hair back over her shoulder. She sauntered over to us, and towards Geddy.

“Hello, darling,” he greeted her with a little grin and a kiss on the side of the face, “good to see you again.”

“How's Alex and Neil?”

“Back home relaxing.”

“Please tell Neil I said hi,” Sonia said to him with a smile upon her face.

“Oh, you know I will,” he assured her as he gave her a kiss hello on the side of the face, “but I don't know if he will, though.” He turned his attention to the rest of the shop. “I never really saw the rest of this shop, if I'm honest.”

“By the way, Joey?” Marcia spoke up.

“Yeah?”

“How's that little outfit that I made for you?”

“Needs to be cleaned,” he said.

“She made you something?” Hannah asked him with a grin on her face.

“A little checkerboard thing.”

“We could make you two a quilt,” Marcia told Geddy and Nancy, “if you wish, anyways.”

“You guys are looking for Francine, right?” Sonia asked Scott and me.

“Yeah, we're—we're kinda helping,” Scott filled in.

“She was my girlfriend,” I added.

“Your girlfriend?”

“Yeah.”

She nibbled on her bottom lip: she had these deep olive colored eyes that comforted me in the same vein Francine's baby blues always did. She then raised a finger at me and motioned for me to follow her. She led me to the right side of the room while Marcia talked to the others there; Sonia led me to a rack full of different types of buttons. She showed me a little packet of silver buttons about the size of silver dollars. I took a second look to see a vein of neon green inside of the four holes in the middle.

“Don't tell anyone about this,” she whispered to me, “but these are for fixing humans.”

“Humans?” I echoed in a hushed voice.

“They're special buttons crafted over in Schenectady. They're crafted so all the robots can stay within intact—at least, that's according to Lars.” She handed the buttons for me.

“Why do you think I should need these?” I asked her.

“Keep them just in case,” she advised me. “The way things are right now, it's best to go about well equipped.” I sighed through my nose and put the buttons in my coat pocket.

“The world's going to fall apart soon,” she said, “believe me when I say that, too. I'm just saying that right now—you're going to have to find Francine before it's too late.”

I thought about the pandemic, three decades after that moment of time. Like Scott, I had no idea what year it was, but other than the date itself. And yet, she could have been referring to something else.

Something about Joey having done something huge in Seattle when neither of us were looking…

Marcia called out Sonia's name and she strode past me to meet up with her. She left alone there next to the buttons, so I could eye the blue ones next to my knee. Baby blues, like Francine's eyes.

“I'll tear up the earth until I find you,” I muttered under my breath.

******************************

that final line is a quote from miguel hernandez's poem “elegy”

[aion-rsa]

Riverdale Season 5 Episode 9 Review – Chapter 85: Destroyer

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The mundane mingles with the supernatural in a enjoyably goofy episode.

Riverdale Season 5 Episode 8

“It is better to know the truth and make peace with it.”

In a bit of selfless wisdom, Cheryl states the above words to Betty in tonight’s bonkers installment. The context being that Betty doesn’t want to tell her mother that it looks like Polly is a goner. So she goes to Cheryl basically to inquire whether she feels that her cousin’s life would have been better had she not known Jason’s true fate.

The from-the-heart response that Cheryl gives her is quickly ignored, and Betty hides the truth from Alice. Since this is an episode of Riverdale, Betty’s deception immediately backfires on her when her FBI superior Glen arrives at the Cooper household to reveal Polly’s probable fate and kick Betty off the case. (Somewhere in the night, Veronica does a breathy cover of The Thompson Twins’ “Lies”).

Anyway, let’s get back to that quote for a second: It is better to know the truth and be at peace with it. That’s going to be the mantra for this entire review, as there are fundamental truths I’ve touched upon in the past that demand to be recognized before the healing can be reached. They are:

1- Archie’s football storyline is a total snooze.

Riverdale may have leaped seven years into the future, but Archie remains as doltish as ever. Granted, K.J. Apa is killing it this season as a grizzled version of the character, but the problem of Archie’s messiah complex still drags on. There are a lot of fascinating things happening on this series right now, and all the Bulldogs stuff does is slow down the breakneck pace that those interesting storylines are moving in. Aliens are in Riverdale, nobody cares about high school football right now. C’mon.

All that said, Britta rules.

2 – Any time that this series isn’t focusing on Mothmen Aliens is wasted time.

The show is taking serious liberties by mashing up Mothman and alien abduction mythologies, which really upends my In Search Of-influenced ideology about how the world works. I’ll forgive this because putting “aliens” on Riverdale is a work of stupid genius but also because I love watching Cole Sprouse and his starter goatee running around looking totally frantic.

3 – Hiram Lodge should be eaten by Mothmen Aliens.

Am I alone in thinking this could actually happen? What a coup for the series that would be! We know that Hiram is involved in some shady business, and all his SoDale shenanigans are a cover for some big secret. Therefore the mystery of the Lonely Highway is directly traced back to Hiram. Is he working for the government? Did aliens cure his mystery illness of last year and in turn is he feeding them Riverdale’s castoffs? Nothing is off the table here. Hiram’s machinations have been the same since he first appeared, but what if he really was working for aliens THE WHOLE TIME? Wouldn’t that be insane/amazing? No other show could pull that kind of shit off.

What I’m saying here is that Riverdale has been dancing with insanity since day one and it’s time to consummate the relationship.

4 – Betty Cooper, Alien Hunter needs to happen.

She fights werewolves in the comics, so is this really that crazy?

The ultimate mystery of whatever is happening this season will likely have a logic-based answer. That’s disappointing, as the Archieverse can be shown to handle witches, so are extraterrestrials that far off? (I’m still burned by the conclusion of the Gargoyle King saga, so I’m not expecting much here). Imagine though, the writing staff wants you to think that everything will wrap up with a plausible explanation and then, boom, it gives you bona fide aliens! A dream is a wish the heart makes…

This episode did give us clarity on a few things. We learned that both Jughead’s and Betty’s investigations lead back to the Lonely Highway and the mysteries — either terrestrial or otherworldly — unfolding there. Additionally, we were reminded that even though he’s ostensibly the lead character of this series, Archie is straight-up boring when he isn’t being attacked by bears or escaping from prison. With only one more episode before an extended hiatus, I hope next week brings us some resolution even though deep down I know that it won’t.

Riverdale Rundown

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• Jughead’s student who writes the troubling story about Mothman abduction is Lerman Logan, a reference to The Perks of Being a Wallflower and Percy Jackson franchise star.

• Old Man Dreyfus’ name is clearly inspired by Close Encounters of the Third Kind star Richard Dreyfuss, which is fitting as the supernatural elements of this season are riffing on the sci-fi blockbusters of the 1970s and ’80s. Further proof of this can be seen by Drefyus telling Betty and Jughead about how Riverdale was a hotbed of Mothmen activity in the summers of 1977 and 1982, ones in which Star Wars and E.T. respectively ruled at the box office.

• Mr. Weatherbee threatens to fire Jughead if he doesn’t stay out of Lerman’s problems, apparently forgetting that Jughead isn’t really even a teacher and is only volunteering.

• Even objectively, Archie is a terrible coach. Can we please fold him into the Jughead/Betty storyline somehow? It’s great to see him and Veronica back together but damn do they need better plots to work with.

• One of the teams that defeats the Bulldogs is the Baxter High Ravens. In case you forgot already, Baxter High was one of the schools that Sabrina attended in Chilling Adventures of Sabrina.

• One has to wonder how the Vixens must feel about Cheryl, a woman in her twenties who graduated seven years ago, returning to her alma mater to steal the thunder of teenagers who live in Murdersville, U.S.A. and have no other outlet besides cheerleading by performing a self-aggrandizing Lady Gaga cover. Cheryl does a lot of messed up stuff on this show, but this act struck me as especially cruel.

• There’s no Toni and very little Tabitha Tate tonight. Boo.

• I still think they should sell the Pop Tate bobbleheads they keep showing.

• Kevin gets put through the emotional and physical ringer this episode. We learn that disparaging remarks from his mother impacted his self-image so much that he turned to cruising in Fox Forest. (The fate of Mrs. Keller is unknown, so it is possible that she will make an appearance in an upcoming episode). The assault that Kevin endured was brutal to watch, but the scene between Kevin and his father was powerful and cathartic. It will be interesting to see where the character of Kevin goes from here, because it is absurdly beyond time the writers give him a personality trait other than chronic thirst.

• Someone on the Riverdale production staff must really love Friday Night Lights.

• I don’t believe for a second that Polly is actually dead. There’s more of a chance of Hiram being eaten by Mothmen Aliens or Archie getting a compelling A-plot.

• I hate on the football storyline a lot in this review, but I do find all the talk about tainting the podunk town’s football league’s prestige to be weirdly funny.

• Pop’s sells take out cold cuts too? Helluva business, that Chok’lit Shoppe.

• “I’m saying that things happen, especially in Riverdale,” declares Jughead, in the most obvious statement in the episode.

• Please let them do a Mulder and Scully thing with Jughead and Betty.

• I think there’s more Mr. Weatherbee in tonight’s episode than there has been in the entire series to date. That’s a fantastic thing.

• So is Reggie done with Hiram for good now? He is such a key figure in the comics that it would be fantastic if the series figured out what the hell to do with him.

• Having reviewed this show from the first episode, I’ve learned a thing or two about how Riverdale storylines work. Therefore I’m calling it now: Glen is the Trash Bag Killer. You think so too, I know it.

• So far this season has drawn influence from everything from cryptozoological monsters to the real-life crimes of Patrick Kearney. Next week marks the mid-season finale, and the promise of everything from aliens to Pop’s possibly being blown up by Hiram? Whatever happens, cherish it, as the show then won’t return until July.

The post Riverdale Season 5 Episode 9 Review – Chapter 85: Destroyer appeared first on Den of Geek.

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[arcadianambivalence]

World on Fire, Episode 4, or How We React to “Normal” in a Crisis

Spring 1940

Months have passed since the last episode, and characters have had time to steady their nerves.  Kasia’s previous reservations about killing Germans is largely gone, Lois has decided to have the baby and not involve Harry in her life, Webster and Albert have resolved to stay together, and Nancy has repeatedly tried to sneak her discoveries into her broadcasts (or to smuggle her research out of Germany) despite blackmail.  

Other characters have started to lose their determination.  Claudia and Uwe’s marriage is falling apart over their differing ideas about how to protect Hilde, Harry is struggling with his responsibilities in combat, and Grzegorz is grappling with his empathy and endurance.

(More under the cut)

The Winter of 1939 – 1940 has ended, and with it, the illusion of peace for Western Europe.  Stationed in Belgium, Harry’s group retreats closer and closer to the French border as the German army arrives with far more resources.  

Meanwhile, the American hospital in Paris receives wounded soldiers from the front.  Refugees fleeing the war need attention too, like a Jewish emigree couple attacked by Anti-Semites, much like Albert was attacked by fascists in the first episode.  Henriette, a nurse and Webster’s friend, confides in him that she is Jewish and had hidden that fact when she applied for work at the hospital.  

Albert and Webster count their days left together.  Webster is happy just to be with him, but Alfred is afraid of being seen.  They’ve been together for half a year, and the closest Alfred can get to public displays of affection is a brief kiss after a furtive look around.  The reasons for this become all too clear when they return to his apartment to find a swastika on the door and a severed pig’s head on the doorstep.  

“I’ll never be safe anywhere in this world,” he tells Webster.  “People have got plenty choice of what they might hate me for.”

(I would like to take a moment and appreciate this show for pointing out the fascist movements and rising acts of intolerance all over Europe in the late 1930s and 1940.  This is especially visible in the Paris subplot, drawing attention to the wide swath of cultures in the city without entirely romanticizing it as a place of absolute refuge from prejudice.  It makes me think the show is laying the foundation for exploring Occupied France and Vichy France next season...)

The German gains in the invasion bring new worry to the Rosslers.  “The better the war goes, the worse for Hilde,” Claudia says.  Uwe is not happy that Nancy and Claudia continue to meet.  Claudia discovers Uwe has registered as a Nazi to cover the family after his conversation with the workers last episode.  She is horrified, and the two have a big argument with Nancy uncomfortably caught in the middle.  “The Nazis are going to win,” Uwe says.  They must appear to be on their side.

Claudia refuses to take the same course of action.  She brings Hilde to Nancy to say goodbye, perhaps permanently.  Mother and daughter will be staying in a little cabin far away from the city and its watchful denouncers.  

Uwe will not be joining them.

Nancy gifts Claudia a bottle of spirits and Hilde American candy, then asks them to listen to her radio show and toast to a better future.

The way Nancy makes sure to place her hand firmly over Claudia’s hurts.

Douglas has concern for his own children’s safety.  Tom returns home on leave and confesses that he is thinking about deserting and becoming an official conscientious objector.  His father has reservations.  Tom could be executed for desertion, and then there are the political ramifications of a pacifist letting his own son into the movement.  Hurt and betrayed, Tom leaves home as if he does not plan on returning.

Things fare little better between Douglas and Lois.  Although Lois adamantly states that she does not want Harry or his mother involved in her life anymore, Douglas tells Robina that Lois is pregnant in the hopes that Robina’s sense of social (and financial) duty to her grandson will override any qualms about class. 

(The cautious back-and-forth between Douglas and Robina is great, as always, and if Harry and Lois don’t get back together, can their parents have something?)

In the middle of these life-changing historical events, characters continue to talk about relationships and their social lives.  Lois can’t bring herself to sing one night because she’s heartsick over the realization that her feelings for Harry was a love for a person that never truly existed.  Robina and Douglas still have small talk while the latter spoons cubes of sugar into his tea.  Stan teases Harry for his two girls back home.  Thomasz and Kasia’s interactions are sweet when they get to act like two young adults who aren’t in an occupied country with their lives at risk every minute...then they casually discuss killing a soldier like it’s a fact of life.  

Moments like this feel like a kick in the teeth.  

On one hand, you could argue that the characters are too blasé about the killings and the risks involved.  At one point, Thomasz arrives late to a rendezvous and gives “There was a round-up” as his explanation, almost as if it’s a regular occurrence.  On the other hand, wouldn’t it have been?  Poland had been occupied for half a year by this point, and maybe Robina was right last episode (to a degree), you do get used to it...or at least, you continue to live alongside it.

All characters undergo a great change in this series, but it’s still startling to see how they react to their circumstances, especially when their reactions are so different from who they were before or how we expected them to be.  

Kasia, Harry, and Grzegorz are all placed in perilous situations that ultimately lead to the decision of whether or not to take someone’s life.  

Kasia lures an SS officer to a secluded part of town with the expectation that Thomasz will kill him, but when Thomasz has not arrived and the officer starts to go too far, Kasia draws a gun from her purse and kills him.  In retaliation for the death of an officer, a new raid is carried out, leading Kasia to come face-to-face with the family of an innocent woman executed for what she did.  

The moral quandary in her storyline returns: if killing the enemy results in the death of innocents, do you kill the enemy?

When Harry kills the German sniper, he does it to save his own life, but he also does it to save the lives of the men in his troop.  It is one of the few sequences in this show that has the kind of heroics expected of war depictions.  But what could in other hands be cathartic violence against non-character antagonists in battle is undercut by Harry’s emotional reaction after the skirmish and the way he freezes at the beginning of the conflict.  

He’s not calm-under-fire war hero of fiction, but he’s not exactly a romantic hero, either.  Yes, he is the romantic lead of the show, but unlike last episode, he spends his few moments of quiet dealing with his deep-seated familial issues brought out by his powerlessness.

On the run from a death squad, Grzegorz holds a German soldier at gunpoint. The soldier, barely an adult and crying in fear, lowers his jammed weapon.  But instead of killing the soldier like Kasia and Harry do, Grzegorz offers his hand.  Despite all of the atrocities he has witnessed in the past year: his father’s death, people burned alive in Danzig, narrowly escaping execution, the massacre on the farm, the starvation and sleeping in the woods...and there is still a kind little boy thrown into something much bigger and meaner than he is underneath the exhaustion and self-preservation.  

It’s Konrad who kills the soldier, to Grzegorz’s horror.

“I killed one German, just like a German killed your dad.” “Not that German.”

The landscape of the woods around them changes.  Snow dusted ground gives way to moss and mud.  A spring fog cloaks their journey.  And just as the natural landscape subtly changes, so does their luck.

The two stumble across a troop of British soldiers (wait, where are they?) and quickly join the men.  Their relief is short-lived, though, and they are soon back in combat.  Konrad is shot through the head.  

In order to air with a certain rating, World on Fire has to clean up some of the images of violence.  You don’t see blood spurt out of people when they’re shot.  The scenes of death are not drawn out. 

But the image of Konrad, dead before he hits the ground, blood covering face, with a stunned Grzegorz kneeling over him shocked me.

When Grzegorz grieves, the loss of his family comes out, too, for his father Stefan and father figure Konrad.

In Grzegorz’s final scene, he stumbles through a forest, the British soldiers long gone.  Spring is here and beautiful, the snow has melted away, the birds are chirping, and green has returned to the Earth.  Grzegorz seems unaware of the world around him, only the journey ahead in the middle of anywhere and nowhere.

Spoiler

The next episode’s promo places him on a beach.  Is he transported out of Poland by a ship on the Baltic sea?  Or are we supposed to believe Grzegorz and Konrad have spent all winter and spring walking through Poland, Denmark, Germany, the Netherlands, Belgium, and finally into France?

Notes

Konrad calls Grzegorz son...

After a disastrous cup of tea with Douglas, Robina makes sure to pay for the both of their orders before leaving

Tom brings the canary home, a visual connector between Jan and his bird in the pilot and Tom now

When Kasia breaks the news to the Polish family of the executed woman, Thomasz notices a German officer kissing a Polish woman next door, which indicates that not all Poles consider Germans the same way they do (and raises the threat of someone recognizing them later)

Robina casually mentions the newly-appointed Churchill to see Douglas’s reaction

[emperorsfoot]

OC Spotlight: Lord Hode

I got a lot of positive feedback about my OC Hode from my fic series for She-Ra, “A Song of Steel and Light”. So, guess who’s featuring in my next OC Spotlight! 

This post contains spoilers for the fic. If you do not want spoilers, stop reading and scroll past now. 

Hode is one of the clones of Horde Prime, the same as Hordak. He is from an older generation than Hordak and, at the time that the main plot of the series takes place, he is dead. His character arc is told through flashbacks. 

Click the “Keep Reading” for a complete bio. 

When Hode was a fresh new clone, his name was not ‘Hode’. In my AU, only Prime’s generals are allowed to have names and at the time, he was just a soldier with just a serial number. 

66634-19-086

And he was assigned to the garrison occupying the planet Eternia. 

He was a competent soldier and became promoted to sub-Commander fairly quickly. Around that time, Eternia had an active rebel faction that was trying to combat and push out the Horde. Their leader of King Hiss and was at the top of the Eternian Horde’s ‘Most Wanted’ list. 

Zero-Eight-Six managed to deduce the location of King Hiss’ base -it was Snake Mountain- and he snuck in to assassinate the rebel leader. Zero-Eight-Six and a small contingent of soldiers managed to fight through Hiss’ Snake Men, allowing Zero-Eight-Six to get to the throne room where Hiss was. 

But someone else got there first. 

Zero-Eight-Six arrived just in the to watch an different Eternian -a Gar, a member of the blue skinned race- kill King Hiss instead. 

It was this Gar: 

Only younger than he appears in that picture. There are no young pictures of this character from the MotU franchise. 

Zero-Eight-Six is so confused. Weren't they all Eternian natives? Why would the Gar kill one of his own. (Spoiler: He had personal reasons, but this isn’t his bio, it’s Hyde’s.) When Zero-Eight-Six asks this, the Gar gives him this really maniacal grin, takes one of Zero-Eight-Six’s weapons and impales the already dead body with it. 

“I didn’t kill him. You did.” Says the unnamed Gar. “Congratulations, clone, you just killed Eternia’s Most Wanted.” 

He leaves. 

Zero-Eight-Six is left just standing there, blinking. Equal parts confused and impressed. His soldiers come in and see their sub-Commander standing over the rebel leader’s dead body with his weapon in it and they assume he was the one who killed him. There’s a round of congratulations and they go back to the capital victorious. 

The cabinet Lord who was overseeing the solar system at the time was so impressed that he promotes Zero-Eight-Six to Territory Captain. Zero-Eight-Six is not the highest ranking Horde officer on Eternia. He basically rules the planet now. 

Some time passes. Not much. Like, a year. Maybe two. 

A new rebel picks up where Hiss left off. King Miro this time. Calling himself the “rightful ruler of Eternia”. He has a stronger following than King Hiss did. Hiss was only supported by members of his own race, the Snake Men, while Miro has support among all the peoples and tribes of Eternia. He is a much, much bigger problem. Zero-Eight-Six is always stressed. He tired and over-worked. He tries deducing where King Miro could be hiding like he did with Hiss, but every place his soldiers raid, there are signs that rebels had been there, but no solid arrests. 

Until, one night, that same Gar from Snake Mountain appears inside the palace in Eternos -where the Horde set up their seat of control. Zero-Eight-Six has no idea how he got it (spoiler, it was secret passes, he used to live there). He is flustered, and angry, and bordering on hysterical. This isn’t like when they crossed paths at Snake Mountain, then the Gar had been calm, and cool-headed, almost icy and cruel. Here he was hot-headed and flustered. Cheeks flushed (a different shade of blue) and eyes puffy as if he’d been crying. 

The Gar glares up at him and growls darkly. “I can give you Miro.”

So, Zero-Eight-Six captured Miro. Alive at first. Then executes him. 

The Gar watches the execution with mixed and conflicting feelings. Afterwards, Zero-Eight-Six confronts his Gar informant for an explanation. 

The Gar explains that he is actually Prince Keldor, the eldest son of King Miro, the dude Zero-Eight-Six just executed. Keldor always assumed he was going to succeed his father as heir, but Miro decided to pass Keldor up for his younger brother, Randor. Keldor goes on to explain that Miro’s organization was much more organized than King Hiss and he might have killed Miro, but his lieutenants -and his heir- are still free and able to fight the Horde. Zero-Eight-Six  would need his help if he really wanted to put an end to any unrest on Eternia, once and for all. 

So, they became allies. 

Over the course of their alliance, Keldor helps Zero-Eight-Six become more familiar with Eternian culture and how Eternians think. All the different languages of the different peoples and tribes (most of which are not languages clones are programmed with). Keldor also teaches Zero-Eight-Six to READ the Eternian written language. Clone are programmed with the spoken language so there is no verbal language barrier between them, but clones cannot read the sigils of their writing. Reading Eternian writings, he learns about modern Eternian, middle-Eternian, and olde Eternian. (This becomes important later as his name, Hode, is derived from olde Eternian.)

Impressed with all his successes on Eternia, Horde Prime promotes Zero-Eight-Six to his cabinet. 

Zero-Eight-Six leaves Eternia. 

The night before he leaves, he tells Keldor that he’s being promoted and that its been fun but he’s got to go. 

Keldor tells him that he could still be useful. In such a short time, he went from sub-Commander, to Territory Cabinet, to the Emperor’s own ruling cabinet. Why stop there? Why not make a grab for the throne? Keldor could help. He’d been playing court intrigue and “game of thrones” (ha ha) his whole life. 

Zero-Eight-Six refuses at first. No one can replace Horde Prime. He’s not just their Big Brother. He’s their god!

Zero-Eight-Six leaves Eternia. 

Some time passes. 

Some sort of cathartic epiphany happens but this author hasn’t exactly decided what yet. 

In a moment of role reversal, Zero-Eight-Six comes to Keldor on Eternia. Flustered, breathing hard, the color high in his cheeks, second set of eyelids blinking frantically. He tells Keldor that he was right. Prime isn’t a god. They can supplant him. 

If they word together. 

That’s when he tells Keldor the name he chose for himself as a cabinet Lord. Its an olde Eternian word. 

Hode. 

Which means ‘to hide’ or ‘to conceal’. 

Hode puts Keldor in touch with other rebel faction across the known universe. Helps then get organized. Makes then stronger and a more significant threat. Chipping away at the Horde Empire from the outside. 

While Hode slowly takes out the other members of Horde Prime’s ruling cabinet and replacing them is people he knows he can manipulate, weakening Prime’s power base form the inside. 

Its a slow process. They went in for the long con. 

They meet occasionally in person. To give each other updates or information too sensitive to be sent over transmission. 

Over the years they grow closer. From allies to friends. 

As their plan becomes more and more complicated and they grow closer and closer to their goal, they have to meet more and more often. One time, during one of their rendezvous, one of them kisses the other. I haven’t decided which one yet. 

Then, BOOM, from friends to lovers! 

Suddenly they’re not meeting just to share the plan anymore. Now they’re meeting because they miss each other and wanna see each other. 

Keldor tells Hode about the original King Grayskull, the two swords, and teaches him the “Song of Steel and Light”. 

Since Hode had been consistently manipulating things to make the rest of the cabinet look incompetent, or framing some of them as traitors, Horde Prime comes to rely on Hode more and more and Prime eventually allows Hode into his Inner Sanctum. There, Hode sees a sword hanging on the wall and it looks exactly like the picture that Keldor showed him of the legendary swords. Hode plays it cool in front of Prime, but the moment he is able to get away, he goes straight to Keldor and tells him that Horde Prime has one of his legendary swords. 

Suddenly, their carefully laid plan goes out the window. 

Fuck the long con! Let’s get that sword! 

Keldor convinces Hode to sneak him onto the Velvet Glove and break into Prime’s Sanctum to steal the Sword. 

They do. 

They are inside Prime’s Sanctum. 

Keldor is holding the Sword in his hands. 

For one brief moment, it feels like they’re already won. Everything’s right with the universe and they’re victorious! 

Keldor raises the sword above his head and speaks the words:

“By the Power of Grayskull!”

But nothing happens. 

Keldor looks so betrayed and confused. 

But they don’t have time to ponder it, as Prime and a whole bunch of guards burst in. 

Hode grabs Keldor to get him off the Velvet Glove ASAP. Keldor drops the sword, but Hode won’t stop so Keldor can pick it up. Hode practically carries Keldor to the escape pods and shoves him in. But he can’t escape with him because Prime’s solders grab him and pull him away. Hode kicks the release button to launch Keldor’s escape pod as he’s being dragged away so that at least Keldor can live. 

Hode it thrown down in front of Prime. 

They exchange some words. 

Then Prime cuts his head off with the Sword of Power. 

Hode dies. 

((Meanwhile, Keldor’s pod enters the atmosphere of “Horde World” Capital Core, which has a highly acidic atmosphere. Trying to get back to Hode, Keldor damages his pod and a tiny bit of the highly corrosive atmosphere sprays through a breach in the air-seal. It melts Keldor’s face off and- well, if you look up Keldor on the Grayskull wiki, you’ll know what happens to him.))