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barbenheimer-core · 3 years

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AUDERE EST FACERE !

하나. chanel : part four — 3k words

Wangja crossed the street with a bag of two steaming bowls of ramyeon and red ginseng, speeding up his pace to prevent the noodles from getting too soggy while he walked the path over to his shop where he had left Ahyeong at, sighing as he thought about the new addition to the cast.

When he had walked into his store last night, he was not expecting a stage to commence immediately upon entering the lounge.

Thank the writer (this was the first and last time he was going to say that) that their conversation and actions had already been written out, or else the shop owner would've been gawking at the new girl for the entirety of the stage.

He had been immensely startled back then; it was unusual for him to not know the timing and plot of every stage because he always made sure to check the comic that permanently resided in a small, hidden corner of his shop every single day.

But when he had browsed the comic as soon as Ahyeong had left, he had been bewildered at the sudden shift in the book's contents.

The cast page had been altered to feature four main characters instead of the original trio, and as he had turned the pages, he had noticed the new stages being inked with interactions that had never been present as of before.

To think that an already complicated web of troubling relationships had not been enough for the writer, they had proceeded to add a love square to the mix.

Wangja grimaced at his creator's choices in life. They had definitely been influenced by someone to do so if it had been so last minute.

But one thing was for sure; out of all the stories that the writer had put him in, this was by far the most interesting.

"Ahyeong-ah! I'm back!" he yelled into the air as he stepped in, his voice echoing in the shop.

The silence was his only response.

Confused, he stepped through the streamers that decorated the lounge's archway, eyes searching for the girl while he set the food down on the coffee table next to the abandoned copy of Shiver.

"Ahyeong, are you here-"

He stopped abruptly, gaze finding the peach cover of True Beauty toppled upside down on the floor in front of a shelf he swore no one would notice.

With dread in his mind, he picked it up, turning it around, only to be faced by the drawn version of the person he was looking for.

Oh no. She'd seen it.

If Gilyeong had to describe his sister at that moment, he would've said she looked like she'd risen from a grave in a zombie apocalypse movie.

She looked dead. Alive, yes, but dead.

Like someone had told her whole life was a lie.

When Ahyeong had arrived back home from wherever she had dashed off to during the morning, she had looked like she'd gone through the five stages of grief, questioned the meaning of life, and ran a marathon through the streets of Seoul by how hard she was breathing.

He had almost asked her if she was okay, but that would've come off as him being "concerned for his dear sister," as Eunjung had so uselessly put it, and he hated proving people right. And besides, Ahyeong was clearly not okay.

"Oye, grinch," he called out across the table after seeing her actions.

She looked as if she hadn't even heard him. No annoyed flinch, no irritated twitching of her eyebrow; no reaction at all. Just her mindlessly trying to eat soup with chopsticks.

Eunjung looked at her with an extreme amount of concern.

Gilyeong almost puked at the feeling of worry in his gut.

Ahyeong was functioning on auto-pilot, her consciousness having taken a backseat as the only thing that moved her was sheer muscle memory.

She couldn't even remember how she had come back to her house, however, the stinging in her legs informed her of how she had deserted the shop and ran all the way back home, much to Driver Kwon's horror.

Her head felt empty.

Being in a comic? As a bully? That had to be the most ridiculous thing she had ever heard, or read, about herself.

It did not make sense. She was quite literally a model student, with a record as clean as glass. Being reduced to the likes of a bully? Impossible.

And then the derealisation came in.

This probably wasn't real after all. Maybe it was just one big practical joke blown out of proportion.

Yeah, that was it, she concluded as she finally became aware of her surroundings, dropping the chopsticks in her hands with a confused look and picking up a spoon to continue eating her soup, unaware of the small breath of relief from across the table.

That weird paralysis thing hadn't happened since the other day anyway, so she was probably going to be okay.

TURN.

What a fucking lie, you're kidding—

The doors to the house banged open, harshly knocking against the walls and startling the occupants of the dining room.

Song Hwayoung came inside the house, immediately making Eunjung receive her in a hurry and assist her with taking off her coat and setting her a pair of slippers.

Ahyeong was panicking. Why now? The universe was being unnecessarily cruel. Her body felt like a rock, cemented into the ground. The air got colder, the lights felt different, brighter somehow, as if someone was shining a spotlight down on her family, as if a grim situation was about to ensue.

Ahyeong almost got up to greet her mother, but sat back down after seeing the subtle shake of Gilyeong's head, who hastily looked down at his empty plate after Hwayoung came to sit at the head of the table.

Her mother looked like she had been trying to bottle up her anger the whole day, and the cap was finally about to burst.

Ahyeong felt unsettled at the sudden change in demeanor. Her mother had never gotten this furious before, ever. She attempted to stand, but she was glued to her seat and could only watch as Hwayoung glared daggers at Gilyeong.

She threw a stack of papers in front of Gilyeong, who shrunk into his seat when he saw its contents.

"What is this?" Hwayoung inquired, trying her best to appear calm.

The young boy mumbled a reply in a voice so small that it was barely audible.

Hwayoung flared her nostrils, "Say it louder!"

Both siblings flinched at the volume. "My report card," the youngest said shakily.

Why was her mum flipping over a simple report card? It's not like grades mattered—

"Even I know that it's a fucking report card. What I want to know is why your grades dropped to C's and D's and why the hell you're failing in math?"

Ahyeong's eyes widened, either involuntarily or of her own free will, she didn't know. Hwayoung cursing at her brother and raging over his academic report? That was quite literally the opposite of how her mother was. Hwayoung was supposed to be the sweetest person she'd ever known, understanding and supportive through every endeavor.

For a moment she considered if her mother had been replaced by a clone of a crueler version of her. With the bullshit that was happening to her right now, the theory did not even feel that far-fetched.

At Gilyeong's silence, Hwayoung scoffed, "All of this was happening and you didn't even bother telling me? I was in a phone call with your friend's mother who told me her son had scored first place but when she mentioned how you weren't even in the top ten do you know how humiliated I felt?"

She stood up abruptly, throwing her chair back, which was immediately caught by Eunjung, and scowled at the boy, not a single trace of warmth in her eyes that her daughter was familiar with, "What an embarrassment to the Song name. At least your sister fares better than you."

With that, she stalked away, heels clicking against the marble floors as she retreated to her room.

TURN .

Ahyeong got up as soon as she could control her movements, rushing over to Gilyeong whose eyes had become red and puffy as he sniffled.

She pulled him in between her arms, and he shook uncontrollably, Eunjung watching the ordeal with downtrodden eyes, wishing she could help.

This was far beyond what she thought would happen. No, that woman could not have been their mother.

As she put her brother to sleep that night, she came to a solution.

Stepping into the elevator to reach Cloud9 Officetel's terrace the next day, her resolve strengthened.

This nightmare was ending, one way or the other.

Jugyeong was quite possibly living the worst nightmare she'd ever had.

The world was too cruel. Beauty was only on the inside, they said. What a horrible lie.

She had been humiliated beyond measure. All she tried to do was convey her honest feelings to quite possibly the only person who had ever been genuinely kind to her. She would've been fine if Wang Hyunbin had simply rejected her and decided to stay as friends. But for him and Semi to destroy her pride and self-worth like that? Because of how she looked?

She felt her eyes burning with warm tears before they cascaded down her cheeks, the cold wind at the top of the building harshly biting at her skin and rattling her bones.

She shivered.

Cold, it was too cold. What a day to die.

Jugyeong's hands hovered over her phone's screen as she stared at her mother's contact. Would her family even mourn her? Good riddance, they would probably think.

But she had to tell someone, and even if her mother was harsh with her words, she still loved her. She had to tell her the reason why she was about to jump off of a building.

Just as her finger leaned down to press the call button, the door to the rooftop opened, and Jugyeong jumped in shock, turning around to see who had come in.

She did a double-take.

Was God personally consenting to her taking her own life? Because she was pretty sure he had sent down an angel to escort her soul into heaven.

Her glasses had been abandoned on the bench she'd been sitting on from when she had been trying to wipe her tears, so she couldn't really see the person properly, but even with bad eyesight, the stranger looked almost ethereal.

They were dressed in a black dress and heels, as if they had gone to a funeral, or were planning to go to one.

They stopped upon seeing Jugyeong's disheveled self.

Was God finally being kind to her in her final moments?

Mind in a haze and not thinking straight, Jugyeong broke down yet again.

Ahyeong was startled at the girl crying in front of her. She didn't think there was going to be someone else up there other than herself.

When she looked closer at the girl who was sobbing uncontrollably in front of her, she noticed who it was, immediately taking a few steps back on instinct.

Moon Gayoung? Why was she in a school uniform— oh.

You've got to be kidding me.

What luck she had, walking right into the girl this world literally revolved around.

She felt something pulling away at her in the back of her mind, sending warning bells down her spine, saying she wasn't supposed to be there. But why?

Ahyeong's heart almost burst out of her ribcage when Jugyeong threw herself at her, clutching almost painfully at her waist and sobbing into her dress.

She froze at the sudden contact, arms awkwardly hovering over the girl's shoulders.

Jugyeong had probably not recognized her yet, because there was no way she was hugging her future tormentor just like that.

"Th-thank y-y-you for c-coming," the girl said between choked breaths, "F-for being- for being here in my—" she struggled to say the words, "—my final moments."

Ahyeong stilled at that.

By the time her words had registered, she already knew what was happening.

This was the scene from the drama, she remembered, when Jugyeong had tried to kill herself because of the incident at school.

How ironic. Ahyeong almost laughed at her situation, they were here for the same fate for almost the same reason. Both didn't like the world that they lived in.

But for the Song girl, this was a test, really. A theory she came up with in the dead of the night.

The sensation of falling, that knee-jerk reaction, and the feeling of finally waking up from your dream. That was what she was hoping for. She wasn't here to die, she was here to go back to living her own life.

But the girl who clung to her was dead set on ending things, and frankly, that was a dreadful thought.

Ahyeong had no intention of leaving her as she was, be this a fictional world or not, Im Jugyeong was a human being who deserved a lot more than she got.

"Were you going to jump?"

Jugyeong's thoughts came to a halt as the Angel asked a question, the oddly familiar lilt of her voice bringing a strange mix of foreboding and warmth in her gut.

Still shaking, she only nodded against her shoulder.

"Why?"

"Because-" she sniffled, tightening her arms around them, "because everyone hates me," her voice faded at the end, and her wobbly knees gave in, making her sink into the hard floor and dragging the person along with her.

This time, the Angel wrapped her arms around her, rubbing soothing circles into her back.

"Jugyeong, things may seem horrible for you at the moment, and you have every right to be upset over what was said and done, but it is impossible to know answers to such questions when you're so overwhelmed."

The words cut through her haziness, her cries slowly stopping as what they said registered in Jugyeong's mind.

"You don't really want to die, do you?"

It felt weird, being told such things by a stranger.

Maybe deep down she had already known, but her despair had overtaken her senses and disregarded her common sense.

"Why were you really about to call your mother?"

Because she was hoping someone would stop her. To make sure someone really did care about her despite appearances.

The Angel patted her back, and slowly pulled away, only to firmly place their hands on Jugyeong's shoulders.

"Your family's waiting."

She didn't need to be told twice.

Maybe God was kinder than she thought.

It was getting dark now.

The cold evening air nipped at her skin as Ahyeong stood on the edge, heels digging into the concrete as she gazed down below.

What a hypocrite she was, telling all those things to Jugyeong.

She'd sent her home with a taxi after their ordeal, and Jugyeong had not even looked at her once through the whole thing.

She didn't know why.

The road was buzzing with activity, cars zooming past on asphalt, people walking home on the footpaths, vendors selling seasonal goods by the side.

It seemed to be a normal day.

She wondered how the rest of their day would go if her body suddenly flopped down there.

Gooseflesh rose on her arms. All of this was too real.

She slapped herself, the stinging spreading through her numb skin and making her wince in pain.

What was she doing? Was she really about to jump off a building just to test a theory out?

What if it failed? The pain in her cheek would pale in comparison to what would happen should she fall.

And the people waiting for her back home, thinking she was off paying her respects to an old friend. Gilyeong and Eunjung would be destroyed.

Ahyeong stepped back. No, she couldn't do this. She wasn't planning on dying today. Or anytime soon really.

She'd just have to get used to living here—

TURN.

Song Ahyeong stepped closer to the edge of the building, awaiting her doom.

What the fuck!? She didn't want to die, shit, shit, shit—

The LED screen behind her lit up in hues of pink and purple, colorful shadows falling on her dress that did nothing against the frigid wind.

Jung Seyeon's face graced the billboard in the distance, an ode from the people to celebrate the day he was born, and an apology for being the reason he died.

One more step and she would fall. No, no, one more step and she'd fall—

Ahyeong leaned forward closing her eyes for the last time.

NO!

And so, she fell backward.

Wait, backward?

TURN.

Ahyeong barely registered the iron grip on her wrist before it was tugged hard, her stiletto losing its balance and twisting her foot at an unnatural angle.

She widened her eyes as her vision blurred, surroundings moving too fast, and braced herself for the impact on the rough concrete.

It never came.

Instead, she fell on the person who had taken the liberty of pulling her back, and subsequently saving her. Groaning, she raised her head, squinting against the bright light of the advertisement.

"What a relief," Suho breathed out.

The ColorBeauty commercial cast the glow of its neon colors over their faces, and as the faint melody of Seyeon's voice filled the silence in the air, Song Ahyeong knew that somehow, she had fucked up.

masterlist

#true beauty #cha eunwoo #hwang inyeop #moon gayoung #lee suho #han seojun #im jugyeong #kang sujin #extraordinary you #lee suho x reader #lee suho x oc #korean drama #kdrama fanfic #kdrama imagine #kdrama scenarios #webtoon

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zalrb · 3 years

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So, now that you've watched them again, do you have any stand out favourite parts of the first 2 Shrek films? Which Villain do you like the most? Characters? Story? Scenes?

My favourite parts have actually remained the same

This cracked me up SO. MUCH. AGAIN.

the opening scene, like I said, still one of the best opening scenes

and what you have to understand about my relationship to All Star by Smash Mouth is that i LOVED that song when it came out and one day after school, my mom drove me over to my best friend’s house because her family was going to six flags for the weekend and invited me to go with them and my mother who was normally very strict said i could go and i was eating chicken strips from Burger King, which at the time, was like my FAVOURITE food but I hated Burger King fries and she was feeling nice that day so she got my chicken strips from Burger King and went across the street to get me fries from McDonald’s, i’m in the backseat eating like a fucking champion and then All Star started to play on the radio and i FREAK OUT and start dancing and eating my chicken strips on my way to my friend’s house for a sleepover before we leave for the States the next day and it was, like, the best day EVER to the point that i have not forgotten it so when shrek played All Star during the opening, i FREAKED OUT in the theatre and i still freaked out last night! so.

this is just hilarious.

baby bear crying because lord farquaad turned his mother into a rug is pretty fucking dark but it’s also one of my favourite details of shrek

this is so dark. and i love it so much.

and this is always hilarious

this joke that my mother snickered at but i didn’t quite get at the time and appreciate with every [rare] rewatch

this comeback

OGRES ARE LIKE ONIONS

that robin hood was a sleaze

the colourblind joke is such a children’s joke but i love it so much

this is hilarious

this line is so uncalled for, i love it

and for shrek 2

charming riding to get to fiona is actually a pretty visually nice sequence

now that i know the mermaid is eaten, it’s become a new favourite because it’s so unnecessary

when we see far far away

this is such a small scene but i love the delivery and the snark

just ... this

the fact that there is a bar called the poison apple for all the fairytale villains is probably my favourite thing about shrek 2

also the frog recognizing harold as foreshadowing for the ending

the pretty woman reference

this because it’s just so unnecessarily cruel and hilarious

i do like the “cops” reference with “knights” but probably not as much as some people, i don’t really get into it until they use pepper shakers as pepper spray

running from one farbucks into the other farbucks across the street

now i’m going to say something that is probably the most unpopular opinion i have ever had on this blog. i do not care for the “i need a hero” scene. i think it’s a fine scene, i don’t think it’s AMAZING.

in terms of which story that i like better, i think i like them equally because in the first i like the idea of a prince/king who hates fairytale creatures and then dumps them on shrek’s land and he just wants to be alone and the fact that he goes on the quest in exchange for his land back is actually pretty sensible and i appreciate that, i appreciate how grounded it is.

fiona being an ogre has me like ... i understand we find out what she is before the wedding so shrek and her can have that miscommunication but i also feel like i would’ve preferred the revelation until the wedding and i think it’s because, shrek is of course about shrek, about not running away from his feelings, not shutting people out and the broader theme of people aren’t always what they seem, don’t be so quick judge, i get that (super cute that the onion becomes their carriage -- yay symbolism) and i get that fiona finds someone who loves her and finds her beautiful despite/because she looks like an ogre but that part is not executed as well as the first part because we don’t know who fiona is before shrek and like, i prefer what penelope did where she had to love herself to break the curse but that’s really nitpicking.

with the second shrek, the, like, crafty fairy godmother who is trying to maneuver her son to be the prince is a fun concept and i also thought it was funny that charming had ventured to find fiona and shrek beat him to it but i thought those two concepts didn’t work together, like if charming was too late but was like an actual prince charming and he and fiona seemed to be getting along and shrek read her diary then his anxiety about the whole thing would play better in my opinion.

because if the whole point is to set up charming to be the prince, why would she put fiona in a tower guarded by a dragon how many miles away only for her son to be the one to rescue her, there are too many variables with that plan hence shrek getting there first or the fact that the magic mirror even knew about fiona at all.

also in terms of villains, i think the fairy godmother is a more charming villain but not a more evil one. like trying to force fiona to marry charming first through manipulation/outright lying and then through a spell and then holding her spell over harold is pretty fucked up but her evilness seems to be secluded to them. like we see at her factory that she does animal testing, which is also fucked up and the receptionist says that he doesn’t feel valued and they don’t have dental but we don’t actually see her be cruel to her employees or to anyone else.

farquaad displaced fairytale creatures, turning one of them into a rug, taunted another by decapitating its feet and playing with them in front of its face, was going to sacrifice as many knights as needed to get fiona, and was going to draw and quarter shrek if he wasn’t eaten by dragon. so in terms of who’s a better villain, i would say farquaad.

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robininthelabyrinth · 4 years

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Nie Mingjue and Wen Ning as conscious fierce corpse buddies

ao3 link

By everyone’s agreement (except his own), Wen Ning was the sect leader.

Of course, practically speaking, Nie Mingjue actually ran everything; he was the one with the experience in it, after all, and he claimed he was no good at teaching, which was the other thing they generally did.

This was, of course, a blatant lie – the few times he did agree to take on some classes, they were by far the most popular – but Wen Ning had yet to figure out how to get Nie Mingjue to do anything he didn’t want to do, and anyway he really was very good at all the work that went into being sect leader, so it all worked out quite well for everybody in the end.

How they ended up with a sect in the first place, Wen Ning will never know.

The school had been Song Lan’s idea, though; that much was certain. Or, well, Wen Ning supposed it was actually Xiao Xingchen’s idea to start with, or possibly both of them, but Song Lan had been the one to make it an operational proposal and anyway Xiao Xingcheng had been a scattered soul at the time so Wen Ning felt pretty comfortable ascribing the idea to Song Lan.

Xiao Xingchen’s back now.

So was Xue Yang, but that was unfortunately unavoidable – their souls had become so intertwined by the time they’d both died that there was really no bringing one back without the other, much to Song Lan’s annoyance. Out of lack of better options, Xue Yang was currently being kept very firmly under control, even lock and key if it seemed appropriate - he didn’t object as long as it was Xiao Xingchen applying the locks - and they hadn’t entirely decided if he was going to need to be executed for the good of society at some point.

Still, at least for the time being, he was being useful. No one could say that Xue Yang wasn’t a genius when it came to inventing new things, even if he wasn’t as good as Wei Wuxian, and their school was as much about research as it was teaching.

After all, demonic cultivation was pretty new. There was a lot out there to discover.

A lot out there to teach.

It wasn’t like not having anyone around to teach them stopped there from being demonic cultivators in the first decade or so after Wei Wuxian’s death, especially given how easily it could be picked up. Unfortunately, most of them weren’t very good at it, and there were pitfalls for any cultivation path, much less such a dangerous one, reviled by the whole world.

Song Lan, who’d picked up the basics during the time that he’d been controlled by Xue Yang, had argued that it was cruel to allow people to pick it up out of desperation and to charge ahead with no guidance – that without a firm hand to show them the way, most people would end up getting corrupted, or just mess something up and end up in a qi deviation.

(Nie Mingjue was understandably a bit sensitive about those, so that was the argument that had worked on him. Wen Ning, for his part, was a little bit bitter about everyone, and hadn’t much cared what happened ot them, but on the other hand what else did he have to do?)

So they’d started the school.

Only about a quarter of their disciples so far were there willingly – most of the others were dropped off by Jiang Cheng, who had some trouble dropping his habits of finding them wherever they were, and everyone agreed that their school was a better place for them than his dungeons – but the number was steadily growing as their reputation got out there.

Their reputation as teachers, that is. Everyone knew about the other thing.

The whole…fierce corpses thing.

Hard to avoid everyone knowing, what with Wen Ning, the Ghost General, being the sect leader.

Obviously in a perfect universe, Wei Wuxian would be the one in charge – of the school, of the sect they formed to support the school, of the whole demonic cultivation path that he invented – but he was busy in Gusu doing…something.

Mostly his husband.

At least he came by to visit on a regular basis?

Though actually now that Wen Ning thought about it, he didn’t actually like the times when Wei Wuxian and Xue Yang would get drunk together and came up with new ideas – it’d been Nie Mingjue who’d figured out how to restore a sense of taste to a fierce corpse, though he refused to divulge where he got the idea or how he’d come up with it but no one really cared to pry too much because it worked – because the ideas were invariably fascinating, innovative, and uniformly awful.

Also, Wei Wuxian visiting usually meant that Wen Ning needed to sit with Lan Wangji all night to make sure he didn’t accidentally liberate any of their staff, usually in the guise of keeping him company, and he knew the man didn’t like him. He always had a look of a man sucking a lemon whenever he visited.

…maybe that was just the name of their sect that he object to.

In their defense, neither Wen Ning, Nie Mingjue, nor Song Lan were especially creative people, Xiao Xingchen and Xue Yang hadn’t yet been revived, little A-Qing hadn’t yet been reincarnated nor revived her memories – they’d just picked the most straightforward name they could think of.

And, well, they were all gui. What was wrong with calling it the Gui Sect?

Sometimes Wen Ning thought that Lan Wangji was unnecessarily judgy.

“What are you brooding about?” a voice interrupted his thoughts, and Wen Ning looked up with a smile.

“Sect business,” he lied, and Nie Mingjue rolled his eyes at him, clearly not believing him for a moment.

“What about sect business? The trade disputes?”

Wen Ning frowned. “We have trade disputes?!” He hadn’t even heard about – oh, no, Nie Mingjue was laughing. “We don’t have trade disputes.”

“We’re supported by all four of the Great Sects, between Wei Wuxian at Gusu, Jin Ling at Lanling, Jiang Cheng – as a favor to the former two – in Yunmeng, and last but not least my brother. Who’s going to start a trade dispute with us?”

That was comforting. Sort of comforting?

“Are we bullying people with our resources?” he asked, worrying his lower lip with his teeth.

“Of course we are,” Nie Mingjue said, sounding satisfied. Ugh, sect leaders. Somehow – with some admittedly fairly major variations in style – they were all the same, always looking for an advantage for their sects.

Wait, he’s a sect leader now. Does that mean he’s like that?

No, he’s a terrible sect leader, which means he’s exempt. A bit like Nie Huaisang had been all those years, as the Head-shaker…on second thought, that was part of a giant plot that had in fact ended with the Nie sect ascendant above all the others – the Jin sect in tatters, the Jiang sect isolated as always, the Lan sect putting all their attention on having to corral Wei Wuxian – so maybe it wasn’t the best comparison.

Ugh. Why is this Wen Ning’s life?

“Stop thinking about running away to be a rogue cultivator again, it’s much too late for that,” Nie Mingjue advised him, not unkindly. Wen Ning hadn’t even said anything. “Besides, you like teaching juniors. Even delinquent juniors.”

“They’re mostly not delinquents anymore,” Wen Ning objected. It was really amazing how being forced to attend a class taught by Xue Yang was enough to drive most young people far away from the mere idea of being a delinquent again lest they risk turning into him – and to help identify the remaining ones that needed to be kept under very close supervision. “Speaking of teaching, when are you taking another class? Your training sessions with Baxia don’t count.”

“From the number of people watching, they should.”

“It still doesn’t count,” Wen Ning said firmly, even if it really probably should – watching Nie Mingjue, a fierce corpse, working seamlessly with a spiritual weapon specifically designed to eradicate fierce corpses was truly a fascinating sight.

Of course, most people were more fascinated by the fact that Nie Mingjue usually did his training shirtless – including Wei Wuxian, irritatingly enough, though interestingly Lan Wangji, who was usually the first one at the vinegar jar, didn’t seem to object – but nothing much could be done about that.

(Fierce corpses did not need to worry about the heat, or sweat, or any of the usual motivations for going shirtless, but Nie Mingjue claimed it was a psychological need based on years of habit-building. For anyone else, Wen Ning would think that they were vain and secretly enjoying the attention, but with Nie Mingjue…it probably really was just habit.)

“Fine,” Nie Mingjue said. “Give me one of the basic seminars; I’ll do that. Not one of the musical ones.”

Wen Ning had learned by now that there was no point in smothering smiles – after all, he was a sect leader, and no one had the right to criticize or yell at him for smiling too much or for taking too much attention to himself.

Take that, Wen Chao.

“No,” he said. “I haven’t forgotten that you’re nearly tone-deaf.”

“At least one of you hasn’t.”

“Xiao Xingchen means well,” Wen Ning said, even though honestly by this point it was pretty clear he was just forcing Nie Mingjue to try out new and increasingly exotic instruments for his own (and everyone else’s) amusement. “It’s a little funny.”

Nie Mingjue rolled his eyes again, looking long-suffering, but he had a pretty good sense of humor about these things.

Also, if he was ever actually upset about something, Nie Huaisang would have fixed it.

No one would have enjoyed Nie Huaisang fixing things, but he would still have fixed it. He always fixed things that affected his brother.

(Example number one: Jin Guangyao, his eventual demise, and everything that happened after that.)

“I actually came here to give you news,” Nie Mingjue said. “Would you like to hear it?”

Wen Ning had politely requested – a little desperately – that Nie Mingjue check first. The other man had a way of just saying things without any consideration for the anxiety of the person he was talking to, with things like “we’ve misplaced a student” or “don’t worry it wasn’t a student we actually liked” or “Xue Yang is on the loose and he’s summoned something again” or, one memorable instance, “Baxia decided to summon a dozen of her close friends and family and they may or may not be attacking the staff rooms, but honestly she’s having so much fun that I don’t really feel like stopping her, thought you should know.”

Wen Ning took a deep breath that he didn’t need, firmed up his emotional resiliency, braced himself, and said, “Yes.”

“A-Qing thinks she found your sister’s reincarnation,” Nie Mingjue said, and the air shot out of Wen Ning’s lungs as if he’d been punched. “You know that she’s been sensitive to these things ever since her rebirth, we did some investigating, and we’re pretty sure. How would you like us to handle it?”

Wen Ning scrubbed his face. “I – have no idea. I thought her spirit was still haunting the place where her ashes were?”

“Just one of her souls, and the new body is one short. They’ll have to be reunited eventually or else she’ll suffer the physical effects of missing a soul, but there’s a way to do it that maximizes the chances of her recovering her memory from her previous life and a way to do it to minimize it.”

Wen Ning put his head down on his desk. “I…I don’t know. Our life was pretty awful, so maybe she’d be better off not remembering? But I also want my jiejie back…I hate decisions. Why did I become a sect leader again?”

“We told you that you didn’t have a choice and you lacked the spine to resist.”

“…thanks.”

Nie Mingjue shrugged. “Sometimes I really do wonder what you did in a previous life to deserve this one.”

Ouch. “Thanks.”

“Anytime,” Nie Mingjue said. “Come out and spar with me, it’ll help you think it over.”

“I don’t have time to think about anything else while we spar, though…?”

“Exactly.”

“…do I get a choice about this?”

“No. Get a move on.”

Wen Ning let himself be dragged over to the training fields. “You do remember I’m sect leader, right?”

“So is my brother,” Nie Mingjue pointed out and – fair.

“Your brother is one of the most terrifying people in the cultivation world.”

“And he still lets me boss him around. What’s your point?”

…fair.

“No point,” Wen Ning said, and waved to some of their more promising students, who immediately perked up at the thought of getting to watch them spar. “No point at all.”

In the end, he thought, his life hadn’t turned out that badly after all.

#mdzs #wen ning #nie mingjue #my fic #my fics #Anonymous

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miazeklos · 3 years

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The things that GOT did better than the books?

FEMALE CHARACTERS oh god

Er. In an effort to elaborate (and sorry for the late response, but elaborating means I had to take some time ;D). By 'better' I mean mostly the authorial intent, or what I perceive it as, at least. I'm pretty sure I've mentioned this before - and again, being a die-hard Cersei stan probably plays into my view of those things - but at a lot of points in the books, it feels like the narrative is just so often unnecessarily cruel towards female characters that it leaves a bad taste in my mouth. And I do mean the narrative itself, not even the other characters around them - things are presented as irony or a dark parallel or whatever but it's very clear that they are being punished for things they wanted. Some of it is very heavy-handed - Dany forgetting the little girl's name, the story of Sansa wanting a life like in the songs and now 'by day she prayed for silence', literally the entire concept of Kevan (?) giving the idea for the walk of shame based on the even more misogynistic punishment for Tytos's mistress for the crime of, uh. Doing what Tytos allowed her to do, given that she would have had no power if it hadn't been given to her. Literally the entire thing is well-summarised in this quote:

Vain and proud she was, before so haughty you'd think she's forgot she came from dirt. Once we got her clothes off her, though, she was just another whorе.

Not to be a feminist on main but this is literally it, like. This feels like the main thesis about most female characters in general who have Ideas Above Their Station in this series and it makes my skin crawl. I'm probably get some interesting takes in my inbox for saying this, but this was so obviously written by a man lol.

The show, on the other hand...

The show never really does this, no matter how often it's accused of that. 'GoT punishes women in power' lmao where? Literally the last spoken lines in the show are Sansa's crowning as queen. Dany spent years ruling pretty successfully given her circumstances. Cersei spent two seasons on the Throne, meeting no real resistance from her subjects because she was an all right ruler and did her queenly duties to any extent she could. The idea that she and Dany were ~punished for wanting power has literally no basis in the text - Jon killed Dany not because she wanted power, but to protect his sisters after she explicitly said she's go after them if they don't kneel. Cersei died because that's always a risk when you're, you know, at war that you're an active participant in. None of this was in any way framed as punishment. They were, generally, presented as competent rulers who, while making mistakes, were also praised for their successes in-universe and their ambition was not presented as a bad thing (other than from characters who were presented in a negative light for doing so; I can elaborate on this, but not here, as this has got long enough already. ;D) I strongly doubt that that will be the case for either of them, especially Cersei, in the books.

Obviously I will have to reserve judgement until/if we see everyone's endgame, but here's - IMO - a summary of what drives me to that ^ whole point: In the books, that ambition is frequently presented as morally wrong, a case of greed or obviously misplaced confidence and often when things go wrong, it's the character getting what's coming for them. In the show, Sansa starts off dreaming of being queen, later berates herself for being 'a stupid little girl with stupid dreams who never learns', and then proves that wrong by becoming queen - demanding her kingdom's independence, at that - and no one in-story hates her for it. Just like Cersei was told 'you're the queen mother, nothing more' and several other such remarks and became queen in her own right; just as Dany was underestimated in the cities she eventually conquered. It's all seen as a natural conclusion, and it's tremendously refreshing.

So, yeah. This is one of the things I certainly think the show did better than the books.

#game of thrones #asoiaf #asks #meta #kinda

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andorerso · 4 years

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I have a rebelcaptain prompt for you if you wish to take it: Pirates (You can use it any way you want, feks the gang dresses up as a pirate crew, or that they are pirates)

Thanks so much for the prompt! I wasn’t gonna write anything for Halloween but it really inspired me. I'm really not a pirate person though, so I don't have a lot of knowledge about... pirate stuff, I guess. Basically, I just based the setting on my memories of playing Assassin's Creed: Black Flag. Italics are flashbacks, the rest is present day. Hope you enjoy and happy Halloween, guys! :)

She’s close, after all this time, she’s finally close to finding the goblet. She can taste it in the air, in the saltiness of the water; something is coming, something is changing.

Bodhi says, as he’s been saying for years, that she should forget about it. Move on and pillage other ships like normal pirates do. But how could she? She’s spent the last nine years looking for Captain Skywalker’s chest and she can’t give up before the finish line. No matter how dangerous it gets.

Bodhi, bless his heart, is just a little superstitious. Most pirates are, to be honest.

“It’s haunted,” he often warns her.

“I’ve heard,” Jyn responds every time.

It doesn’t scare her. She’s haunted too, has been her whole life, and she’s managed just fine so far. A few more ghosts won’t bother her. It’s the absence of them that might.

Jyn stands barefoot in the sand at sunrise, watching the waves crash against the bank. The early morning sun paints everything in a lovely shade of pink and gold, its warm rays like gentle fingertips across her skin, the soft breeze caressing her body. Nothing exists but her and the water – and memories long-gone of a life she never truly got to live.

She’s buried them all at sea, and times like these are when she feels most connected to her dead, each of them waiting below the surface. She feels almost as if they’re calling out to her from the deep, asking her to join them.

She couldn’t, not yet, but when the time was right, she would walk into the sea and disappear for good. Let the waves claim her body, let her become a part of them forever. It’s a peaceful thought. She’s always belonged to the sea, and she belongs with the rest of them, the ones that the water has already claimed for itself. It’s home to her, and home is calling her back.

For now, she settles for the sunrise. Just take a moment and watch the sunrise, a voice whispers in her ear, in her memories. Just come watch the sunrise with me, Jyn. Come on and be with me. You’ll have time for sparring later.

Jyn lets out a quiet breath and kneels next to the bank, her fingers grazing the water as if touching skin she’s once worshipped, as if reaching for a lover she’s once had. It’s a connection between them, this water. A link to him, a link to the past, a link between her and wherever he is now. Somewhere peaceful, she hopes.

A soft but sad smile tugs at her lips. “This one’s for you, my love.”

Jyn sits in a seedy tavern in Havana, eyeing Captain Andor with suspicion and a glare that screams, ‘try me and see what I can do.’ She has a hand on her knife in her pocket, the other lazily resting on the pistol in her holster. It’s an open warning, almost a challenge, but Captain Andor doesn’t rise to the bait.

If anything, he seems unbothered. Almost frustratingly calm.

Jyn would think that’s foolish or cocky, or perhaps he’s underestimating her simply because she’s a woman; but somehow, she doesn’t believe this is the case. There’s something about him that’s genuine. It’s not cockiness, she thinks, it’s confidence – and his confidence is earned.

He’s a dangerous man if the stories are true, but she’s a dangerous woman herself. If they could learn to trust each other, there would be no one better to find the hidden treasure of Captain Skywalker than the two of them.

The trust part, she’s not good with. But although she’s not sure yet what to make of the man in front of her, she’s willing to see if it works out in her favor.

“The goblet is haunted,” he comments lazily, though he doesn’t sound like he believes it. Jyn raises an eyebrow.

“I’ve heard.” Her tone is dismissive.

“According to legend, it brings back the dead you’ve lost,” he continues. “You find it and it gives them back to you.” A wry smile twists on his lips. “But then they will drag you down to hell with them.”

Jyn holds back a bitter laugh. How many times has she heard that story? How many times has her father conveniently forgot about the last part? How many times has she been left at strange ports with strange people while he went on his wild adventures to find the goblet that would bring back her dead mother? Her father had been a man of science once, but the loss of his wife weighed heavily on him, and sinister voices whispering in his ear convinced him that finding the goblet was a way to make their family whole again.

In truth, Orson Krennic was probably just a money-hungry, cruel, and bored aristocrat who had nothing better to do than manipulate vulnerable men into doing the dirty work for him. Jyn resents both him and her father for that.

No, she doesn’t want the goblet to bring back dead people from the grave. She doesn’t believe in those childish stories anymore. She wants the goblet to sell it.

And she wants it to prove that she could do it. Do what her father couldn’t. Finish what he started.

But she isn’t about to share that with Captain Andor.

“It’s a golden goblet with ruby stones. It’s just money.” She pauses, shrugging her shoulders. “And the legends make it easier to sell. What naïve and wealthy widow wouldn’t want a relic that brings back their beloved spouse?”

Captain Andor’s lips quirk up, barely noticeable. “If you leave out the part about being dragged to hell.”

Jyn finally lets go of her pistol and reaches for the jug of beer on the table. “I find that part,” she begins, her tone conversational, “is very easy to forget.”

This is the one.

Jyn knows in her heart that she’s found it. The island is unmarked on any maps, and the entrance to the cave is underwater, hidden by seaweed and algae. Her lungs burn when she breaks surface, gasping for breath as she pulls herself up to the cave floor.

This is the one.

It sings in her veins, pulses through her body. She’s going to find it, finally, the goblet, the treasure – everything she’s been looking for in the past nine years.

“It’s haunted,” Bodhi’s voice echoes in her mind.

Jyn stands, undeterred, and marches forward to the heart of the cave.

She hopes it is.

Jyn glares menacingly at the cruel-faced guard as he opens her cage and walks towards her. Her hands might be shackled but she has a mean kick, and if he tries anything –

To her surprise, the man reaches for the chains behind her and unlocks her hands. They clatter to the floor with a loud noise, but Jyn continues glaring at the guard in suspicion.

“You’re free to go,” he grunts.

“What?” She doesn’t trust this one bit.

Where’s the catch? Henry ‘Scar Face’ Whitlock is not known for his mercy. She stole his goods, blew up one of his (smaller) ships, and stabbed three of his crew members. One of them bled out. Another lost an arm.

She expected to be hanged or quartered for it – made an example, for certain.

He can’t just be letting her go now. It has to be a trap.

But what would he gain from such a lie?

“Move,” the guard says and gives her an unnecessarily forceful shove that sends her flying against the walls of the cage. If it wasn’t for the small chance that she was about to walk out of here scot-free, she would have kicked his legs out for that.

But if she’s really free… could it be true?

As she gets up and uncertainly walks up to the main deck, she half expects to be stabbed in the back. It’s just too easy – but she can’t figure out why they would trick her like this when they could just tie stones to her feet and throw her overboard. It’s only when she sees Cassian waiting for her next to Captain Whitlock that the situation begins to dawn on her.

He’s saved her somehow. Of course he has.

For a wild second, she thinks he traded himself for her – he would be entirely capable of it, but where’s the profit in that for Whitlock? He has no grudge against Cassian, only against her, and she can’t see why he would accept such a deal unless he realized that Cassian’s death would be a greater punishment than her own.

But she’s not that transparent yet. She thinks.

She hopes.

Then Whitlock gives her a foul grimace that says he would still very much kill her if he could, and gestures, with some reluctance, towards the ramp leading to the harbor.

“Get out of my sight, Erso. And don’t fuck with me or my crew again, or even your captain won’t be able to save you next time.”

Jyn doesn’t say anything until they reach the shore safely, burning with a thousand questions. A part of her still expects them to be ambushed at the last minute, but Whitlock and his crew watch in silence as they walk off the ramp and disappear into the night. How Cassian managed to pull it off is beyond her, but if anyone could, it would be him.

When they’re an appropriate distance away, Jyn can’t hold herself back anymore. She stops and rounds on Cassian, eyes wide and demanding.

“What did you give him?” she asks because if she’s sure of one thing, it’s that Whitlock didn’t just let her go for free.

Cassian lets out a quiet sigh and shrugs. His eyes, glowing in the soft light of the moon, won’t quite meet hers. There’s something strange about him. Like he’s trying desperately to underplay it.

Which doesn’t bode well for them. Jyn’s heart lurches – what the hell did he do?

“I gave him my ship,” Cassian admits quietly. For a moment, Jyn hears nothing but the song of the cicadas as she tries to process this information.

“You gave him your ship?” she echoes, breathless and eyes wide.

“Yes,” he confirms, very even, very steady.

“Cassian,” she begins, her words slow as if she was talking to a child, “captains need a ship. We need a ship. Where are we going to get a new one? We don’t have that kind of money! What about the crew? Kay is going to kill you –”

“Jyn, he had you,” he cuts her off, his tone leaving no room for argument. As if that trumped everything else. Jyn blinks at him in shock, half delirious with – with –

“You’re crazy,” she breathes in awe. She can’t take her eyes off him. Nobody has ever…

Nobody has felt – nobody has done –

Nobody has made her feel like this before. Like she matters. Like she’s loved.

“You treated your ship for me?” she asks, half laughing, hardly daring to believe it.

Cassian shrugs again, but there’s a smile on his lips, a smile just for her. It’s small and kind and full of devotion.

“It’s just a ship. What kind of captain would I be if I let my first mate die?”

“You’re crazy,” she laughs again, and that same second, impulsively, springs forward to kiss him. It’s been a long time coming, she thinks as Cassian kisses her back without hesitation, his hands tangling in her hair. Two years of working together, two years of building a relationship that couldn’t be betrayed, couldn’t be replaced. Jyn doesn’t remember a time that his presence didn’t leave her breathless, that a soft comforting touch on her shoulder didn’t make her long for more. Maybe in those first few days, in the beginning – but quickly, very quickly, he became everything to her, and she could never go on without him.

It’s been a long time coming, yes. And now she’s going to enjoy it.

It doesn’t bring her peace.

She didn’t think it would. But she thought it would give her satisfaction, at least. Look, Krennic, I got your little treasure. Look, Papa, I finished what you started. Look, Cassian, I did this for you. For us.

But it’s just… underwhelming. She can’t even bring herself to sell it. It would be worth more than the rest of the treasure combined, but she stares at it in her cabin during the night and she can’t sell it.

What use is it? Nothing would bring them back, bring him back. The money she’d get from the goblet, it’d just feel tainted, wrong. Blood money.

Maybe she’s irrationally attached but who can blame her? Her father spent half his life looking for the damned thing until a storm swallowed his ship whole and he was never heard from again. His obsession with the goblet had killed him and Jyn had hated it then, hated it more than ever, but still, she’d become similarly obsessed. Just to prove something.

And then it brought her Cassian. It gave her something after it took so much. The years they spent looking for it together, that was her treasure.

And now that he’s gone, she can’t relinquish it. If she does, what else is left of them? Only her memories – and memories rot.

Jyn sighs under her breath, sitting at a corner table of an inn with Bodhi, drumming her fingers on the wood as she stares out of her head. What is she meant to do now?

Bodhi watches her in silence for several minutes and Jyn is distantly aware that he seems contemplative, but she’s too lost in her own head to question it. Eventually, he lifts a hand to still her fingers.

“Liana,” he begins, and Jyn’s eyes snap to his. Bodhi is a good man and she trusts him more than she trusts anyone else, but even he doesn’t know her real name. It’s just easier this way – Jyn Erso dropped off the face of the earth five years ago, and she had to stay gone. But she thinks Bodhi has always known it’s not her true name, and he doesn’t mind. “Have you noticed anything weird since?”

She rolls her eyes and begins drumming her fingers again. “Don’t start, Bodhi. I’m not haunted.”

“I’m just asking. You should really sell it.”

She knows why he’s saying that. The legends, of course. Whoever is in possession of the goblet will be dragged to hell by their dead loved ones. Well, she’s been the proud owner for a few days now and she’s seen no signs of ghosts and no signs of hellfire. But if any is yet to come, Jyn is sure it’ll be entertaining.

“I can’t.”

“Isn’t that why you wanted it?”

“Yes,” she says, then stops. “No.”

“I don’t understand you sometimes.”

Jyn snorts, looking away. “I don’t understand me sometimes.”

And that should be the end of it. Jyn with her goblet and her money and the lack of purpose in her life now.

But fate has a different plan for her. And maybe she is fucking haunted.

Because when her gaze sweeps over the tavern, she swears she sees a familiar face push through the crowd and disappear out into the night.

Jyn stares at the door for long a time, frozen in place, her heartbeat running wild in her chest. The white noise in her head blocks out everything else. She thinks Bodhi might be calling her name, asking if she’s okay, but she can’t answer, can’t even turn her head to look at him. She stands on trembling legs, her body carrying her towards the doors – and then she’s running, taking off in the direction that she saw him heading.

The streets are dark and deserted. Only the sound of waves and the singing of cicadas break the silence. She looks around wildly, looking for a retreating shadow in the night or perhaps the sound of footsteps nearby, but there’s nothing. Nothing but the wind and her loudly beating heart.

She couldn’t have… did she imagine it? Perhaps she had too much to drink, Bodhi stuffing her head with his nonsense, but she could have sworn…

Jyn shakes her head, trying to let the fresh air clear her hazy mind of these childish thoughts. Bodhi is panting behind her, calling her name, her fake name, and Jyn finally turns to look at him, seeing his wide eyes filled with worry.

“Are you okay?”

Jyn gives a sharp nod, trying to ignore the wild beating of her heart. Better not to plague Bodhi with her hallucinations, he’s worried enough about her as it is. No need to fuel the fire.

“Just thought I saw someone who owes me some money,” she lies, ignoring the skeptical look he gives her. “It’s not a big deal.”

It can’t be.

She would be very cross with Cassian if he was really here to drag her to hell.

Cassian’s fingers are soft on her cheek, stroking her skin, carding through her hair. Her own hand rests on his chest, feeling his heartbeat steady under her palm. They’ve been silent for minutes but she hasn’t stopped looking at him, couldn’t stop touching him. She’s never felt intimacy like this before. Like someone could look at you, see your soul, see all the darkness and pain that you hide inside, and still choose to stay. Still decide that you’re worth the trouble.

She’s naked in front of him in more ways than one and she’s never thought it would feel so wonderful. So freeing.

Cassian has taught her a lot more than just love.

“Did you think we’d end up here when we first met?” she wonders, her tone quiet, matching the tranquility between them. Cassian chuckles.

“I thought you’d kill me in my sleep one day.”

She scoffs at that. “You didn’t seem afraid.”

“I wasn’t.”

“Hmpf. So ready to throw yourself at death’s door. You know, I actually thought you might have traded yourself for me.”

“I would have,” he admits, honest as always. “If that’s what it took. But not unless there’s no other choice.” His eyes bore into hers, dark and deep and almost frightening in its intensity. Her heart beats a little faster at the sight. “I don’t want to leave you behind.”

She swallows. “Please don’t.”

Cassian strokes her cheek, a gentle smile on his lips.

“I love you.”

It’s not a promise but it’s enough. Jyn beams back at him.

“I love you too.”

Who cares about the stupid goblet as long as she has him?

Jyn wakes to the sound of music in the middle of the night. For a second, her mind is pleasantly blank, merely enjoying the soft melody filtering through the window of her room.

Then she thinks:

Cassian. Cassian used to play like that.

And then:

Cassian is gone.

Blinking herself awake, Jyn sits up in bed. Her eyes dart around the room she’s rented for the night but nothing seems amiss. Her hand hovers above the lantern on the nightstand but a strange irrational part of her doesn’t want to draw attention to herself. She blames Bodhi for that.

His words, and Cassian’s, ring in her mind.

It’s haunted.

You find it and it gives them back to you. But then they will drag you down to hell with them.

Thinking about the sighting of Cassian from earlier, she gets out of bed and ambles to the window. The curtains are drawn and her fingers hover above the fabric, hesitant, somehow, to withdraw them. She’s trembling.

Jyn takes a deep breath and pulls back the curtains.

Cassian sits on a bench on the street, his eyes trained on his banjo. Jyn gasps in shock and reels back from the window like she’s been burned. He seems… so real. Sitting there, his fingers flying over the instrument, playing some slow, sorrowful melody that tugs at her heartstrings. A song of lost love.

He’s come for her after all.

Frozen on the spot, her breathing harsh and gasping, all she can do is watch as he plays his banjo. He never takes off his eyes the instrument and he doesn’t seem to notice her. Her room is on the second floor so she has a perfect view of him sitting outside, illuminated by the moonlight, while she remains shrouded in the darkness of her room.

But if he’s come for her… surely, he knows she’s here.

Jyn’s legs give out, and she sits under her window, pressing herself tightly against the wall to just… listen. She listens to his song. Listens to the melody, haunting and beautiful, like he is himself. Every sound, every note pulls at her heartstrings. A song for the lost and the dead.

And Jyn sobs. For him and for herself, for her parents, for everyone she’s ever lost. She sobs, quiet and gasping, until she has no more tears left, lulled back to sleep on the floor by the melancholy tune that Cassian’s ghost is playing.

Cassian comes to her in a dream. It’s a familiar one; one she’s seen many times before, and one she will see many times more. He’s not dead and not alive – he’s a revenant and he’s hers, just for tonight, until dawn breaks and morning takes him away.

But he’s different this time. Sturdier, steadier. Buzzing with a kind of unquiet energy that she’s not used to. Like he’s waiting for something. Jyn doesn’t want to mention it, their stolen moments together too precious to tarnish, but it weighs her mind with questions.

When their time comes and he gets up and heads to the door, she reaches after him. She does this on every occasion, tries to convince him to stay, tries to forcibly, physically make him stay – but her words are different this time, her desperation becoming an inferno, and his response is a mystery.

“Cassian,” she calls out to him, struggling to sit up and catch his arm. He’s already at the doorway, between life and death, between her and the sea, looking back at her and hesitating. “Don’t go. How could I live in a world where you don’t?”

He takes a step through the door, where nothing but the empty awaits him and gives her the strangest of smiles. “It’s almost time, my love. Almost time.”

“I think I’m haunted,” Jyn admits to Bodhi the next day, and he gives her a hard look. She thinks it’s the tone of her voice, sad and defeated, that stops him from telling her “I told you so.”

“What happened?” he asks instead, and Jyn shrugs, eyes downcast, looking at the mug on the table, the tea untouched and growing cold.

“I saw… someone,” Jyn admits slowly, pausing before she adds, “Him.”

Bodhi never had the chance to know Cassian. She met him after Cassian was already… gone. He knows a little about him; she’s admitted to having a dead lover in her weaker drunken moments, but she’s never talked about him much. Jyn always has preferred to live in denial, and Bodhi knows better than to ask.

Still, she knows with the way she says it, the way she gives him a meaningful look, that he knows who she’s talking about.

“I think he’s come for me.” She pauses, a bitter laugh escaping her mouth. “It makes sense. The goblet always was our adventure. It’s how we met, you know.”

The look Bodhi gives her is a mix of pity and worry. Jyn is uncomfortable with both, even though she knows he means well. Luckily, he doesn’t try to say anything stupidly comforting like “I’m sorry” or “it’s all going to be okay” because he knows her better than that, and he knows she might punch him in the mouth for it.

Instead, he looks her in the eye and tells her, “You should really get rid of it, Li. Before it’s too late.”

Jyn nods. She knows he’s right.

But some part of her is not ready to let go yet.

It takes less than an hour for everything to change.

Jyn wakes up that day like usual in the captain’s cabin she now she shares with Cassian and goes to sleep that night in a holding cage of a navy ship, alone in the world once again.

Krennic has a personal grudge. And so does she. So naturally, she can’t resist the opportunity to raid his ship, steal his cargo, and leave him wounded and nursing a broken ego.

In hindsight, she should have killed him then. But she thought the humiliation would be a more suitable punishment.

Six months later, he comes back with a vengeance and a small navy fleet, blowing a hole through their ship with his cannonballs. They fight valiantly when his crew boards their slowly sinking ship, but it’s a lost cause – Jyn knows it’s a lost cause, Cassian knows it’s a lost cause, and Krennic, especially, knows it’s a lost cause. He seems very pleased with himself too, and Jyn would punch the smirk right off his stupid smug face if her hands weren’t bound behind her back by one of his henchmen.

“Well, well, well. Didn’t think I’d catch up to you, did you?” Orson Krennic asks, strutting in front of her like a peacock, hands clasped behind his back. Jyn spits in his face.

Krennic blinks once, twice, before he slowly wipes at his eyes with a headkerchief he produces from his breast pocket. The backhanded slap he gives her stings, sending her sprawling to the floor.

“You touch her again,” Cassian growls, straining against the guards holding him back, “and I’ll break every bone in your hand one by one.”

The glance Krennic gives him is dismissive, like Cassian isn’t even worth the time to look at. He gestures to the guards next to Jyn who haul her back to her feet. She stands proud, chin high, glaring at him even as her hands are tied behind her back. His ring has left a mark but she’ll be damned if she’ll let him humble her.

“Very feisty, aren’t you? I wonder if you’ll keep the same attitude once I have you locked away in Wobani for life.”

Jyn doesn’t react outwardly but her heart beats faster. Wobani is infamous for its cruelty and inhumane methods. Nobody leaves, not unless they’re dead. Only the worst of the worst, the most dangerous criminals end up there.

She supposes she belongs among them.

Another gesture from Krennic and the guards haul her towards the railing to transport her to Krennic’s ship. Stardust is slowly sinking and she knows it’s the least of her worries, as most of her crewmates lay dead at her feet, as Kay lays dead at her feet, but her heart aches at the sight. They’ve bought this ship together, Cassian and she, after he gave away his old one to Whitlock. It’s theirs. And it hurts to see it go down.

“What about him?” asks one of the guards holding Cassian.

“Leave him,” Krennic answers easily, a sick sort of smugness in his voice. “Let him go down with his ship, as all good captains do.”

“No!” Jyn shouts, struggling against her captors harder. She shouldn’t give away her weakness – she knows, she knows she shouldn’t give him ammunition – but Krennic has made up his mind anyway, so what difference does it make?

Too upset to think rationally, she begs him. “Don’t do this. He’s worth a lot more to you alive. He has a bounty on his head higher than mine.”

“I don’t need the money, you silly little girl,” he tells her, dismissive. “I just want you put away for good.”

“No!”

Jyn continues struggling as she’s dragged away, followed by Krennic and his guards. She watches the men holding Cassian tie him to the mainmast, making sure he can’t escape, before joining the rest of them. Krennic’s ship pulls farther away and Stardust sinks lower and lower into the ocean, but her gaze never leaves Cassian as long as she still sees him.

His eyes are regretful, apologetic. He looks resigned to his fate, a man who’s more concerned about leaving his lover behind than dying. Jyn knows he remembers their conversation in bed just as much as she does.

I don’t want to leave you behind.

Please don’t.

She watches until she can’t see him anymore, until he’s just a dot on a faraway slowly sinking ship. And Krennic, perhaps to drive the nail home, fires once again.

Stardust goes up in flames, pieces of wood scattering into the ocean, the mainmast falling with a loud splash. It takes a second and it’s all gone.

Jyn wails until she no longer has a voice. That night, a part of her too is gone.

She can’t bring herself to sell it so she settles for a compromise. She’s going to return it to the cave where it belongs, let some other poor clown find it if they can. It was never meant to be hers, never meant to be anyone’s, perhaps, but everyone has to learn from their own mistakes.

It should be fine, except the cave is gone. Which is ridiculous because she found it not even five days ago and it was here, she could have sworn the entrance was here, but somehow, she got lost or confused and disoriented, and the damn cave is gone. She dives underwater looking for the entrance several times, resurfacing periodically to catch her breath. All the while, the goblet weighs heavily in her hand, almost like –

It’s a stupid thought, but it’s almost like it’s trying to drag her down. Down into the deep where Cassian awaits her. And the more time that passes, the more she feels like this was a bad idea. She should have told Bodhi where she went, she should have brought him with her – she should just go back and sell the damn thing, but when she looks around, all she can see is water and water and more water. When did those dark clouds roll in? How could she have not noticed a storm approaching?

As soon as she realizes what’s happening, it’s like the sea comes alive around her. Jyn knows she’s in trouble. The waves toss her around like a ragdoll as she fights to stay above water. It keeps pulling her under, spraying saltwater in her eyes and mouth as she gasps for air and moves her limbs desperately to try and find land. She’s an excellent swimmer, but nobody can win against a storm.

She’s not sure how long she fights against the waves, but she’s getting exhausted. Her legs feel heavy, and it’s harder every time to push back to the surface when she goes under. The goblet weighs her down – distantly, she realizes she’s still holding it but she can’t make her fingers let go. Her strength is fading and still, her fingers remain locked tightly around its hilt like they have been welded together.

Then she hears it. Jyn! A voice calling her name, loud and desperate, a voice that sounds like…

Cassian. He finally called out to her.

She sees him in the distance before she goes under, blurry like a mirage. She knows why he’s here. It’d be so easy to join him, she realizes as the water engulfs her again. So easy to let go. Maybe it’s time, she thinks, and her fingers finally loosen around the goblet.

I’m coming, my love.

And just as she’s about to sink down into the deep, a hand seizes hers and drags her up, above the surface where she gasps and takes in large gulping breaths, coughing up water from her throat. Her lungs burn and her head feels dizzy, her vision blurry and darkening. But she can still make out Cassian’s face above her, staring at her with what seems like worry and relief at the same time.

“Are you here to take me with you?” she breathes, half resigned to her fate. She doesn’t hear his answer, if there is one, and she falls under with the comfort that at least her last moments were spent in the embrace of Cassian.

Jyn spends four months at Wobani before she and a couple of inmates manage to escape during a riot. The news spread quickly, causing unrest across every island from there to Havana. Nobody escapes Wobani, but they do and that doesn’t sit right with anyone. The people are scared, the authorities under pressure; there’s a massive search on every port across the Caribbean Sea. It means Jyn Erso must disappear. For good.

She takes on the name of Kestrel Dawn and returns to the place where she’s last seen Cassian alive. It’s the only thing she can think to do – he’s gone, Stardust is gone, Kay is gone, and the only person left alive who knows that a man named Cassian Andor once existed is her. It’s not enough, but as she stands on the beach at sunrise and places a bouquet of wildflowers on the water, she feels it counts for something.

It’s there, somewhere in the sea, that he lies at the bottom, waiting for her. As she looks out at the never-ending body of water, she feels a calm wash over her. He’s one with the sea now, everywhere, all around her, always with her.

The waves lap at her bare feet, the tide rising higher and more insistent. She feels like it’s trying to tell her something, trying to call her home.

She smiles, taking a deep breath. “Not yet, my love. Not yet.”

Jyn wakes up in her cabin and for a moment, all is normal. It takes a second to remember the storm, her losing battle against the waves, and… Cassian.

She sits up slowly, and Bodhi is suddenly by her side, pulling the blanket higher up her body like a worried mother hen.

“Thank god you’re awake! How are you feeling? You gave us quite the scare, Li,” he says all in one breath, and barely stops before adding. “Why didn’t you tell me where you were going?”

“I…” She squints, still a bit disoriented, staring off into space as memories slowly trickle in. She turns her head towards Bodhi, a realization sitting on her tongue. “I think he saved me.” Tears fill her eyes, too emotional to hide them. “He wasn’t here to take me with him, he was here to save me.”

She believed the legends, she’d given into thinking that he was here to drag her down. Appropriate revenge for a man who had been sacrificed like that for no good reason at all.

But that wasn’t Cassian, it couldn’t be. He’d never harm her, and he didn’t – not even in death. He wasn’t her grim reaper, he was her guardian angel.

“Liana,” Bodhi begins slowly, then awkwardly trails off. She can tell he’s not quite sure how to say what he wants to say.

“What?”

“I did save you,” says a voice from the doorway, and she knows who it belongs to even before she turns her head. Heartbeat in her throat, she lifts her head towards him, slowly, half-afraid that she’s not going to find anyone standing there.

But there he is. Leaning against the doorframe in all his glory, brown leather pants, and a loosely tied white shirt hanging from his frame, dark strands of hair curling against his neck. It’s longer than in her memories, and he’s thinner, too – too thin.

But he doesn’t seem so ghostly in the daylight, with the sun behind his back, and Bodhi looking at him too. He seems quite real, in fact. A gasp is stuck in her throat, her mouth dry at the sight of him. How is it possible…

When her gaze finally meets his, he seems just as shaken, awed, disbelieving. Jyn sits up fully, unable to look away as she methodically moves her legs off the bed. His eyes are misty and his hands are trembling a bit – but god, the way he looks at her… it’s the look of a man finding shelter in the middle of a storm.

He used to look at her like that in their private moments – when he was inside her, when they were in bed basking in the afterglow, when she cut down enemies with a single swipe of her sword before he even lifted his pistol.

It’s that look, more than anything, that convinces her this is real.

“You’re supposed to be dead,” she says at last, the only thing she can think to say. How are you not dead? Where were you?

“I’ll leave you two be,” Bodhi says. Shamefully, she’s forgotten he’s even in the room. He squeezes her shoulder in comfort before he goes, and she watches him give Cassian a small but encouraging smile as he passes him.

Once he’s gone, Cassian clears his throat. His gaze finally drops, the loss of its intensity making her chest tighten.

“I did save you,” he repeats, his voice rough with emotion. “I saw someone in the water. I didn’t realize it was you until… I was looking for the goblet.”

“I don’t understand,” Jyn gasps, shocked at how high her own voice sounds. She can’t swallow around the ball lodged in her throat.

“I’m not a ghost. I’m not dead, I never was.”

He still hasn’t moved from the doorway, almost like he’s too afraid to come closer. Jyn’s hand tightens around the bed frame.

“I saw the ship sink.”

“It did. And I almost drowned,” Cassian admits, his voice strained. The small laugh he lets out is humorless. “I don’t know how I survived, I really don’t. I guess I was just lucky that those idiots didn’t tie my hands well enough and I was able to break free before the last cannon hit the ship. I don’t remember much after that. I grabbed a plank floating in the water, just trying to hold on. I wasn’t sure if I’d ever make it to land, I must have been out there for days. I was trying so hard not to give up… for you. I had to make it back to you. But I was getting so tired. Eventually, I just…”

He shrugs, a small defeated gesture. His eyes drop to the floor, his shoulders hunched. He looks guilty, ashamed, and Jyn wants to get up, gather him in her arms and never let go, but she has to hear the rest of his story.

“I was washed ashore the next day, barely alive. It was a small remote island, no cities, no villages, no ships. No one lived there. I had no way back home. I was stranded there... for five years.”

He lifts his head up, and the despair she finds in his eyes almost has her doubling over.

“I wasn’t sure if I’d ever see you again,” he admits, small and heart-wrenching. Jyn closes her eyes, letting her tears run down her face and onto her lap.

“And then?” she croaks, her voice trembling.

“A merchant ship came by about three months ago. They took me back, brought me to Havana. I tried to look for you. I heard you escaped Wobani, but I couldn’t… well, there were no more mentions of Jyn Erso after that. No word of you for five years. I figured you had gone into hiding but I didn’t know how to find you. All I could think to do was… find the goblet.”

A sad smile plays on his lips, his eyes glassy.

“But you found it first. And I found you.”

Jyn takes in a shuddering breath, her whole body trembling.

“It’s gone. I think I let go of it in the water.”

“Good,” he breathes. His eyes find hers again, looking for a sign, an answer. When Jyn gives it to him, inclining her head just so, he cuts across the room in long strides and kneels in front of her. His tear-stained cheeks now match hers.

Tentatively, he takes hold of her hands, and a small desperate sound escapes her mouth at the touch. Her eyes flutter shut when his other hand reaches up to cup her cheek, trembling as she presses her face against his palm.

“Jyn,” he begins, voice hoarse. She can hear the fear in his tone. “Do you still…”

“I do,” she breathes without opening her eyes, without waiting to hear his question. “I do still. I do.”

She tugs on his hand to pull him up, and he goes willingly, his mouth finding hers like it was five years ago and they hadn’t been broken by the world and its cruelty yet. She clings to him desperately, clutching at the collar of his shirt, fingers slipping into his hair, trying to pull him closer as much as she can. The only thing that matters is that every part of her is touching every part of him.

She breaks away, the sound on her lips a strange mix between a laugh and a sob. His lips find her forehead instead and she buries her face in his chest, tears still in her eyes, but listening to his heartbeat steady under her hand.

There’s so much to talk about. So much to catch up on. It feels like a fever dream – she’s afraid to wake up and realize it hadn’t been real. But Cassian holds her tighter, and she knows that in his arms, nothing can hurt her.

They’re finally home.

#rebelcaptain #therebelcaptainnetwork #dailyrebelcaptain #my fics #pirate au #anonymous #replies

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popculturebuffet · 4 years

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Ducktales 87 Reviews: Working for Scales (CACC Finale): Islands in the Sky, Stereotypes on the Ground

The grand finale to Catch as Cash Can as commissioned by @weirdkev27! It’s a race to the finish as Scrooge, The Boys, Gyro and Launchpad hurry to get a now floating Atlantis to Macaroon before the deadline while Glomgold sets the Beagle Boys against them to stop them! Sterotyping, mother trucking balloons, Scrooge being a jerkhole again and one hell of a climax are floating on by under the cut along with the full review!

I made it! A full week almost of reviews, 4 episodes, and one big commission and with this it’s finally done. And it’s been a heck of a ride and i’ve thoroughly enjoyed doing it and hope to get more commissions in the future. For now though the Goal Line is in sight, let’s get going.

Previously on Ducktales:

And as for this series, if you haven’t been following along at this point, Scrooge is in a contest with Glomgold to get his fortune to Macaroon to be weighed in order to get marketing rights to the Lightbulb replacing world changing Firefly Fruit. He’s had to deal with Beagle Boys, Sea Monsters eating his ice cream that turn out to be robotic whales driven by smart morons, and a bunch of asshole frogs with on sense of anything in a really boring adventure best forgotten. Point is Scrooge found atlantis, that’s where his gold is and the contest is almost up. Everybody ready?

We open with Disney Plus giving me a very nice message.

I’d heard about this but it was my first time seeing it.. and I prefer this to the previous content warnings as instead it just flat out apologizes for it and tries to use this racist bollocks as a learning tool instead of just covering their ears and pretending they weren’t racist. Granted it took them a few months and is clearly to cover their own ass, but even an ass covering disclaimer can still have some good intentions behind it and given how big and unwieldly disney is it’s not suprising it took 6 months to put this on there. They still haven’t put House of Mouse, Wonder Over Yonder, Penn Zero: Part-Time Hero or American Dragon: Jake Long on here after a year, Disney can be slow sometimes. Dosen’t mean there isn’t some good that can come from this or that I don’t appricate them going as far as to put this one one of their tv shows. And given how they’ve basically had to be fought to get full gay content into one of their shows and they shot in a region of china where there’s concentration camps, I think there are bigger issues with disney than “oh no they took a bit to decide on how to readress their racist content oh no”. It was a nice gesture, I can give them that while still booing them for the other things.

Now that’s out of the way the episdoe itself opens in Macaroon where Glomgold is already there and at the scale and naturally is trying to get the Kishke to just end it already. The Kishke being a fair man though refuses as Scrooge still has an hour to get there and refuses to budge. And that’s ALL I can say good about this character. I already thought he was bad and racist in part one and let them know it but since Disney has acknowledged via this blanket statement that “It was wrong then and it’s wrong now” and he’s even worse now, I feel it’s my duty to lay the hell into this awful, obnoxious, annoying stereotype of a character who, as I must remind you, was played by a white dude. And unlike last time i’m not giving Hamilton Camp credit because I did my homework: This guy had plenty of rolls at this point, was an accomplished singer and song writer and could’ve walked away from the roll if he genuinely wanted to or put his foot down but clearly had no issue playing a “waccccckyyyy” foreign stereotype for a little extra dough. It’s just obnoxious to watch this outdated even by 1987 standards stereotype of an indian leader with a bit of a sultan thrown in because why not piss off the middle east too? Just make everybody good and justifably pissed off at this bullshit. The Kishki repeats words, is dumb enough to think glomgold’s coat is talking to him, and is just unplesant to watch. As Disney themselves said “It was wrong then and it was wrong now”, their own words. This character is terrible, obnoxious, offensive even for the 80s and think about that for a second and it’ll get worse for you and drags the episode down considerably any time he’s on screen. Scre the Kishke, screw hamilton camp for agreeing to this, screw the writers for thinking this was REMOTELY okay, and screw anyone who thinks i’m taking out unecessary time to bitch about this. It was bad then, it’s bad now. Nuff said.

SO yeah as you can tell i’ll be glossing over the bits of him and glomgold.. basically over the episode the beagle boys, we’ll get to them in amoment, will raido glomgold, the kishke will think his coat is talking.. it’s a whole thing and I’m not giving this uttelry stupid and offensive bit any more time than I have to and I just did.

Back to the main story, Glomgold , while publicly sure Scrooge lost, continues to be a good villain here: while I still prefer Keith Fergueson as his delivery’s are a lot more lively and he’s a lot more 3 dimensional, i’ve REALLY grown to like the original 2: He’s a clever mastermind who always has some trick up his sleeve and spends most of the four parter ahead of scrooge: None of his schemes link back to him in a meaningful way, and he basically has a straight shot to the Kishke and getting his gold there since Scrooge is too busy protecting his gold from Glommy’s Goons to retaliate and too honest to do so if he could anyway. He’s a fun villain to watch and is easily the best of this four parter and my opinion on him has gone up since the last few parts. He’s still not AS interesting as Magica or the boys, but he’s far more compelling than I gave him credit for .

Naturally he brought the beagles to Macaroon via air mail, a nice gag, though Burger quickly gets old fast as every sentence is some sort of “He likes food joke’ Get it...

It’s annoying it’s outdated and i’ts obnoxious. And frankly Fresh Price of Bell Air also took part in a lot of fat jokes.. but they still work on some level since they mostly come from Will, a snarky teenager who doesn’t know better and Geoffry, a snarky butler who probably has to put up with a LOT even with a healthy paycheck and thus has every reason to get his tiny digs in where he can. Here it’s just.. the joke is he’s a fat guy. This must be where a young Kevin James learned his schitck from.

But yeah the Beagles are there to watch for Scrooge since Glomgold can’t without giving away the fact he’s you know, tried to actively sabotage scrooge through most of this 4 parter. I almost typed 3 because I still wish Aqua Ducks never happened, though he somehow set up a radar station in the country without the Kishke knowing. Maybe it’s because the episode portrays him as “stupid because foreign”.. actually it’s exactly that *sigh* But Scrooge is Scrooge so he already has a clever plan.. since the gold was left on a now risen Atlantis he’s turned Atlantis into a makeshift airship, likely makeshift because he’s short on time and gyro had to rig something up fast. But it’s damn impressive and nicely wacky: Using a bunch of balloons tied to strings, a bike powered propeller and a small steering column, scrooge is floating his way to macaroon and can dump his fortune directly on the scale if he can find it. Launchpad is steering which makes perfect sense: He’s an ace pilot and in this series can steer anything especially planes, and has the best trained eyes to spot any last minute attacks by Glomgold or any sudden turbulence and adjust accordingly. Gyro is manning the bike and is near dead but the boys are supposed to swap out.. though Scrooge says their too busy working the cloud generator.. only for it to turn out their not there. Oh no! Scrooge panics and tries to get it going but it’s too late: The boys spot them on radar and after conferring with Glomgold, head out in some jets he also sneaked in to stop them.. with his logo on them. Looks like Heron isn’t the only one with issues about when and when not to use branding. But since their taking on scrooge their heading right into the

As for where the boys are they’ve been investigating the lost treasure of Atlantis after their bizarre absence last episode and soon realize OH CRAP WE LEFT THE MOST IMPORTANT THING ON THIS AIRSHIP MADE OUT OF THE RUINS OF ATLANTIS OFF! They rush off to apologize while Launchpad bemoans that he can’t counter attack. Gyro however naturally came prepared and has a miniture biplane hidden inside a briefcase, iron man style It’s neat even if it sadly is too slow for Launchpad to do anything. We then get .. this scene. The boys go to scrooge to apologize and explain themselves but Scrooge rather than hear it or understand their you know, ten year old or younger boys who just made a mistake, as big as it was and were still trying to help, berates them, refuses to hear it and tells them he thought they’d take up after him one day but probably not anymore. It’s just an unnecessarily cruel and harsh bit from him and I’ve started to notice that pattern of this scrooge being colder and meaner to people, and it’s not an isolated thing. I’d forgotten just how many episodes hinged on him firing or threatening to fire launchpad. This Scrooge isn’t bad, but the best scrooge stories hinge on a nice balance between his more jackass qualities and his underlying goodness. He is supposed to be gruff, mean and stingy, but not you know.. needlessly cruel with no regret shown at all till the very end after they already helped him. It would’ve worked better if the episode had just one bit of him regretting it before the boys proved to be useful. Both episodes now he’s been cruel to people, even if they’ve screwed up he’s gone beyond it and only turned around when they proved useful> This is the badly written scrooge of the comics, even under masters like rosa and barks, I get annoyed with: the one whose just cruel, mean and selfish and isn’t charismatic or interesting enough to override that. However the obvious solution, the boys popping the Ballons, fails, as Gyro steelbelted them.. somehow. I’ve learned not to ask at this point. But it’s clever and he also likely altitude protected them given how high up there are but that’s just as likely toon physics. Either way it’s neat. Glomgold has the boys do a plan b: anchor the island with some hooks and pull it in the wrong direction. While Gyro struggles to stop them, the boys decide to redeem themselves with an idea by Louie.. but since there’s no c4 or knives aboard he’ll have to go with his second plan which is improvise a slingshot and knock a rock into the hook freeing it and sending the beagles spinning. Naturally though this can’t go easy for them and the sudden jolt from the island being freed causes gyro’s bike to break off the hinges and knock him and scrooge off the island to what the boys assume is their deaths because their apparently both clever this episode and really really dumb. Launchpad catches them but accidently disengages the plane into a breif case, but luckily gyro, after a funny gag where he pulls out random stuff as they fall, always a classic, finds some napkins that turn into parachutes and the three float to the ground safety. Back on Atlantis, I do not get to say that enough, the boys decide to carry on and make sure Scrooge wins since it’s what he’d want and start steering the island into Macaroon. The Beagles land as a last ditch effort, Glomgold is pisseeeed and Scrooge is relieved and comes up with a clever way to mark where to drop the loot: he politely asks for some firefly fruit and makes a landing strip. It’d be a nice contrast moment with Glomgold if Scrooge wasn’t such a dick to everyone and thing except when it benefits him. But the episode frames it like some big character difference and not scrooge just being polite for one second to get what he wants. But the boys start dumping the cash by releasing some balloons, with the beagles doing the same with some others to dump it in glomgold’s pile, but the boys are able to do the trick one more time and thus the fortune’s are tied. Scrooge however cleverly wins for the moment by using his number one dime to tip the scales. Naturally though Glomgold is one step ahead, and has a dump truck full of money ready. Guess we know who made Kamp Krusty.

And now has more with only a minute left though the Kishke being good for this at least refuses to call it and the boys naturally decide to hunt for the lost treasure of atlantis. The beagles naturally follow, leading to the human chain moment above, but the boys find the fish, trick the beagles into coming down so they can get to the other fish, and dump all the money right onto scrooge’s side. And after four LONNNNNG episodes of adventure and stupidity, Scrooge wins. It’s also revealed the dumptruck was mostly lead bricks to the suprise of no one. Scrooge has won, he reconciles with the boys thanking them having leanred nothing, and the Kishke picks up the unfunny coat gag one last time while everyone laughs, at last, mercefully the end.

Final Thoughts on this one episode: This was a decent finale. Scrooge was a bit cruel to the boys but understandably enough that while it bothered me , didn’t make the episode actively worse like last time, they just laid it on a bit too thick is all. But the action is great and the pacing, minus the utterly grating Kishke bits, is top notch, with a tense flight to get to the kishke, tons of fun twists to it and the final push itslef being really thrilling as the boys dangle and then use the chekovs gun to win. It feels earned and it was a nice subversion with the dime bit which itself would’ve been a fine ending. It’s a thrilling and fun episode.. it’s just dragged down from excellent to decent by the utterly loathsome racist characture that is the Kishke who has I covered up top, is far more present here and far more stereotype and far less tolerable. It drags down the pacing and what’s otherwise a fun well paced episode and a good climax to a not so great 4 parter. Speaking of which. Final Thoughts on Catch as Cash Can:

This four parter was pretty lackluster all things considered. While it started off hot with “A Drain on the Economy” easily one of the best 87 Ducktales episodes i’ve seen, it quickly wore out it’s good will with the enjoyably bad “A Whale of A Bad Time”, Sea Monster Ate My Ice Cream Scene notwithstanding, the utterly dreadful “Aqua Ducks”, and the thrilling but also annoyingly racist “Working for Scales”. It started fine but it’s clear they didn’t have enough material for four full episodes here as the latter three ALL suffer from padding and it’s very noticable, with Whale of a Bad Time at least covering it up better with it’s convoluted plot. This plot REALLY didn’t need to be this long and would’ve been better, if still annoyingly racist, with just two, just having another expiation for the air ship which was awesome. Instead it’s just an overpadded mess with one excellent episode and one utterly masterful scene, and some good action in the last half and I can easily see why they only did serials for big events from then on out. It was a good idea to have more serials they just executed it really badly and it’s better this was the ONLY mid-season one from then on out if this was the best they can do. Truly disapointing.

Well that closes the book on Catch as Cash Can. I’d like to thank @weirdkev27 for commissioning these. While it wasn’t a fun sit sadly, I did get some good material out of them and it was a pleasure to dive into the original series and I plan to again some day. If you liked this review follow me for more as I review a new ducktales episode every monday and plan to still do at least one a week once the hiatus kicks in again, as well as loud house whenever new episodes come out and I can watch them and new amphibia when it comes back next year, as well as scattered reviews throughout the week. If you’d like to comission your own review, simply send me an ask or personal message or send an ask for my discord and we can get started. IT’s 5 dollars for one episode, 15 for movies and 5 dollars off when you order 3 or more. Until we meet again check your house for gary buseys and stay safe!

#ducktales #scrooge mcduck #flintheart glomgold #disney plus #huey duck #louie duck #dewey duck #launchpad mcquack #gyro gearloose #working for scales #catch as cash can

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all-good-things-dot-dot-dot · 4 years

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All Good Things… Say No To Bullies...

#Blog #Bloggerstribe #AllGoodThings… #Blacklivesmatter 15th June 2020

Hello, Chaps and Chapettes,

I had my break on Sunday as I promised I would and goodness, I needed it. As much as I enjoy writing these and getting into a steady flow of writing something almost every day, I do burn myself out now and again. It is good to have a scheduled break to stop and take stock that I have done enough to be proud of the achievement so far.

That said, today wasn’t a great day. Somebody set out to attack me on one of the places online where I enjoy meeting and conversing with friends. I am not going to give them air time, this blog is not about them. It’s not really about me either, I want it to be for you so that you do not fall into the same pitfalls and traps laid out by unkind people the way I seem to.

Bullies.

They come in all shapes and sizes. Sometimes you get a feeling from how they treat you or others straight away, sometimes it is a slow burn. Yet, we as a culture seem to link them to at least one place commonly which is schools. There is an assumption that bullying only occurs in those big grey houses of (a semblance of) learning and that when we leave there we are all big enough and dumb enough to never be bullied again. I’m afraid that is not the case and the world is waking up to that very, very slowly.

My experience at secondary school was horrible at times. There were some occasions when I enjoyed it but for the most part, I was pushed about, beaten up, called names like "lanky" and "Snowman" for being pale, blonde with a white puffer jacket (by kids of all races, before you make assumptions), and found it very hard to make and keep friends. One time I got my hand hurt to the point it no longer straightens properly. Another time I got pushed in front of a moving car and had my fear of nearly being run over laughed at. A particularly sweet child suggested something evil would happen to my mother.

I was happy to get out of that place but I also told myself I probably deserved it, because in primary school I’d been a nasty piece of work. At the start of that school, I befriended a kid called Anthony. By the time I finished and moved up to secondary, I had teased and belittled him for his mental capabilities, how he dressed, his cleanliness, and his attempts to continue to befriend me despite how much of an ass I was to him. I wasn’t alone in this but as an adult, I hold accountability for being a bully to someone who hadn’t deserved it. I don’t know where they are or what they do now, but I am sorry now for how I treated them then.

The problem with bullying, as I said, is that it has stuck to being a word used in playgrounds and told to teachers who seem to regard it as a buzzword rather than a call to action. While that in itself has been a big problem that as of yet still hasn’t been resolved, an equally problematic issue is that bullies grow up. Some grow out of it, the one who damaged my hand apologized, turned out pretty cool, and is still on my Facebook somewhere. Some don’t. Some get worse.

There are more facets than ever to be bullied on and more opportunities to be attacked. It could be on social media for using ill-judgment and sharing a thought or post you thought would be okay. It could be for knowing a person who isn’t popular. It could simply be because people saw you as an easy target. It could even happen if you starred in an innocent movie or sang a song that riled up the hordes of fans who wanted their vision, not yours, or that of a company or a director.

Even if you think you could be safe from social media because you aren’t on it that often or that influential, there are still plenty of places where the bad ones can find you. They could trick you into a friendship or even a relationship. I know a lot of strong people who have got themselves out of nasty situations with not-so-nice and sometimes abusive partners. I know a lot of strong people still in those situations too.

Closer still, it can come from the workplace. Bad apples, as they often like to call them, may not be as vocal about how they treat you, they may not resort to name-calling or rude gestures, but they can put you down in other ways. Refusing you the promotion you deserve, putting you on plans to ‘improve your performance’ when others feel you’re doing the same work like them, pushing you out of roles, making you feel stupid for trying your best and never meeting ‘their’ expectations… The list, I’m afraid, is endless.

Last, but not least, how close to home can you get but family. These people you trust the most and yet I’ve known people who have been treated poorly by their parents, their siblings, distant relatives, or their own children. It’s hurtful to think that the people you could not choose in your life could become cruel and unnecessarily nasty yet it can and does happen.

What is the purpose of this time? It all seems and sounds dark, doesn’t it? My purpose in sharing this is simple; to tell you that you are not alone. You don’t have to fear or be sad or angry at the world but it is okay to be because sometimes the world is the hardest hurdle to overcome. You can get help. Sometimes just reaching out to someone who does care can make the biggest change and if you’re even afraid of that, it’s okay.

If you are at rock-bottom, there are numbers to call and I’ll share a link to all of the international ones below. Additionally, my friend Dave Vickers has a wonderful little saying for rock bottom; it’s the best place to be because the only way to go now is up. My advice is to seek help from those you trust, get yourself as far from the bullies as you can, and never forget this. If you cannot see kindness in the place you are in, put your own kindness into it for those that deserve it so that somehow, more goodness can grow.

Stay safe, stay happy.

All good things, Love, Scaramouche. X #Blacklivesmatter

https://checkpointorg.com/global/

Also, I’ve built a new Discord server that you are welcome to join, for people who need friends and are accommodating to whom they might rub shoulders with. The Good Things Gathering Discord Server (Furries, Bronies and Kind-Hearts welcome) https://discord.gg/G6cykw

#allgoodthings #blacklivesmatter #blog #blogger

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the-quiet-winds · 5 years

Text

Let Me be the Ground Underneath Your Feet

or five times Jane soothed Katherine’s tears, and one time Katherine soothed Jane’s

She hears the sniffles first, coming from Katherine’s room. Quiet, concealed sniffles that Jane obviously isn’t meant to hear, but she does anyway. She makes her way upstairs very slowly, wondering if Kat would hear her and force herself to stop.

“Kat?” Jane quietly calls from beyond the closed door. “It’s mum, love, what’s going on?”

Katherine, somewhat surprisingly, opens the door almost immediately after. She’s clutching that pink teddy bear to her chest, holding it like it might fly away if she dared to lessen her grip.

“What’s wrong, kitty-kat?” Jane asks, catching her chin between two gentle fingers.

Without a word, Katherine shifts her grip on the stuffed toy, and Jane can very clearly see he is missing an ear.

“He got stuck,” she chokes out. “I’m so sorry.”

“Hey, it’s okay,” Jane murmurs. She runs a reassuring hand down her arm, stopping on her wrist and squeezing gently. “I can put him back together in no time, love.”

That’s when Katherine looks up with those eyes, so young and full of hope. “Really?”

Jane smiles. “Yes.” She tugs on Katherine’s hand. “I’ll show you how to do it.”

II.

After a particularly grueling week, it wasn’t uncommon for all the girls to basically go home and collapse. And this week had been anything but calm, so sleeping was an absolute necessity.

Jane is always the last to sleep and first to rise (except for when Parr pulls all-nighters, which she didn’t on this particular night) and by the time she arrives at her and Katherine’s shared room, her daughter is already sleeping.

Low moonlight infiltrates the room, and is the only thing that pulls Jane’s eyes to Katherine’s cheeks, decorated with starry tears and galaxy marks streaming down her face.

She climbs into bed beside Katherine, brushing gentle fingers against the girl’s cheek to wake her carefully. “Are you alright, honey?” She whispers.

Katherine’s eyes open slowly, finding Jane’s face. Once the face and name and place lock together into one coherent thought, she immediately lunges forward to wrap her arms around Jane’s waist. “I had a bad dream, mama,” she mumbles the explanation into Jane’s sleep shirt.

“It’s okay, love,” Jane says, catching the girl and beginning to rub slow circles up and down her back. “Whatever it was, it wasn’t real.”

Jane feels a few tears cling to the skin of her neck as Katherine gives a tiny half-sob, before settling into the warmth and security of Jane’s embrace, tucking her head under Jane’s chin, giving her mother ample ability to kiss her head, which she did, before whispering, “get some sleep, love. Mama’s got you.”

III.

Katherine had never wished to unread words more than in that particular moment, staring at those particular words on her social media.

They were rude, quite unnecessarily so, and she couldn’t stop looking at them, over and over, on the blazing white screen.

Logically, Katherine knows, the words shouldn’t even matter. One gross and hurtful comment amongst dozens of much kinder ones on a post on her Instagram shouldn’t be having the impact it is, but Katherine can’t help the tears that begin to make their way down her face.

And Jane, because, as Katherine likes to say, she’s caring and notices things and is overall the best mum ever, looks over from the kitchen to see the girl, curled on the couch, sniffling quietly to herself.

“Kitty-kat?” She quietly calls. “What’s wrong, love?”

Katherine doesn’t answer, her eyes fixed on the phone in her trembling hands. Jane sets down the dish towel, drying her hands on her jeans as she quickly crosses into the living room and kneeling in front of the couch where Katherine is curled up. She reaches up and takes the phone, Katherine giving zero resistance to her doing so, and she looks at the screen. Horribly cruel words take up part of the display, and Jane immediately feels anger well in her stomach.

“They’re wrong, love,” she says fiercely, but with that maternal warmth that reminds Katherine of heavy blankets and cups of hot chocolate when it snows. “You’re beautiful, every part of you.” Katherine sniffles and doesn’t respond. Jane takes her hand, then leans up to kiss her cheek. “And who cares what some person on the internet says?” She asks quietly. “They’re probably just jealous, because you, my love,” she accentuates the word with a tap on Katherine’s nose, “are perfect, just the way you are.”

With no regard for the hard floor under the room’s carpet, Katherine pitches herself forward, Jane catching her on instinct as they fall backwards. Jane’s back collides with the floor with a sharp thud, but she pretends it doesn’t hurt as she lets Katherine cry into her shirt.

“It’s alright, lovey, I know it hurts,” Jane whispers. She sketches tiny patterns in and around Katherine’s spine as she cries into her shoulder. “It’s not true. I swear it’s not true.”

Katherine hiccups a sob and buries her face into Jane’s shoulder, the soft material of the sweater tickling her hot cheeks. “Thanks, mama,” she mumbles out.

IV.

The last show of the week, as a whole, had gone just as well as any other show had before. The crowd was engaged, the band on fire, and the girls had a blast, despite their tiredness. It was heading up to the dressing rooms after the show, however, when the trouble started.

Katherine, in her ridiculously high-heeled boot, missed one of the last steps, her foot twisting awkwardly as she tumbled down the stairs.

Aragon catches her before she gets too far, grabbing her beneath the arms to stop her momentum. Katherine bites down harshly on her lip to keep from crying out, which only adds to the pain as it cracks, splits, and starts to bleed. Aragon and Cleves help to carry her up the last of the stairs, Katherine desperately trying to keep tears back.

They bring her to the dressing room, setting her gently down on the couch, and Jane bursts in a few moments later. She hadn’t seen the event happen at all - she had still been on stage talking with Joan about something for her song, when Parr had yelled down the stairs to come quick.

Jane had never made it up to the dressing rooms as fast, and her heart nearly breaks when she sees Katherine on the dressing room couch, trying to hold back tears, blood staining her lips, her foot elevated by a pillow.

“Oh, love,” she murmurs. She moves slowly to grab a towel from the small bathroom, and when she turns around, Katherine is making what Jane calls ‘grabby-hands’, tears finally starting to fall as she silently calls for her mother.

Jane makes no hesitation and crosses the room to Katherine in a moment, kissing her forehead before moving to gently wipe the blood off her lips. After, she helps to get Katherine more comfortable, removing her shoe and helping her prop her foot better.

Katherine lets out a feeble whimper at the movement, but mostly silent tears fall.

“It looks like just a twist, love,” Jane says gently. “You should feel fine in the morning.” With a clean corner of the towel in her hand, she reaches to wipe some of the tear lines cutting down her cheeks.

Without another word or plead, Jane leans forward to kiss Katherine’s forehead, lingering there for several heartbeats before pulling back to look her girl in her red eyes. “You’ll be okay, my brave girl.” She knows those words always make Katherine feel just a little stronger, and there’s a slight adjustment in the jutted lip to show that Katherine reacted in exactly the way Jane wanted.

It unfortunately wasn’t uncommon for Parr to become so consumed in whatever she was working on that she’d forget about things.

That thing is the game of Scrabble she’d promised Katherine to start at exactly two sharp, allowing them plenty of time before the show that night.

But two comes and goes, and there is no Parr.

Katherine still waits.

She sits.

She waits.

Two-thirty comes. Still no Parr.

Katherine hates that she feels stupid tears in her eyes over it. It wasn’t Parr’s fault, she knows that rationally - Parr sometimes forgot to eat when she got hung up in her work.

She’s so intensely staring at the Scrabble board that she barely notices someone settling into the seat across from her, setting a mug of tea down for her to drink, then spelling out the word ‘rotary’ across the middle of the board.

Katherine looks up suddenly, and sees Jane’s face looking at her imploringly, that soft smile on her pale lips. She sips her own tea and waits for Katherine to react. When she doesn’t, Jane reaches over to brush some hairs out of her face, her thumb stroking Katherine’s cheekbone and catching a few tears.

She doesn’t speak, and Katherine is almost thankful for that. Shaking out of her stupor, Katherine looks down at her own tiles and tries to build off of Jane, which she does with ‘totality’.

Jane knows this is going to be a game she loses, but she frankly doesn’t care.

Jane

As the leaves turned to molten gold and the air constantly smelled of bonfire, it wasn’t hard to tell that Jane was falling into a depression.

She’s less smiley, Katherine notices, the affectionate pet names and loving strokes of her fingers are disappearing more and more rapidly.

It hurts Katherine, and she really wishes she could figure out what was behind it. But everytime she asks, all she gets is a slightly stilted, “nothing, love. Mum’s just tired, that’s all.”

About halfway through the month, Jane doesn’t get out of bed.

When Katherine wakes up that morning, she is startled to feel a weight next to her - Jane is almost always up and downstairs bustling around doing a million things at once by the time Katherine wakes up.

But no, there she is, curled up with her back to Katherine, still as a stone.

“Mum?” Katherine tentatively asks, laying a hand on her upper arm. “What is it?” The contact makes the older woman shiver, then begin to shake with more intensity. Surprisingly, Jane turns over, and Katherine sucks in a breath at how devastated her mother looks, all blotchy cheeks and red eyes and stains on skin.

“Mama,” Katherine whispers, hoping to catch her attention, “what’s up?” In a move her Jane so often did to her, Katherine reaches up to smudge some of the clear cut lines from her cheeks. Then she curls up like a cat, tucking herself under Jane’s chin.

It’s then and only then that Jane speaks, her voice shattered and splintered in her throat and barely coming out as more than a whisper.

“It’s his birthday.”

Katherine doesn’t need to ask who ‘he’ is, and just pushes herself closer to Jane. She feels arms wrap around her back, a half-kiss in her hair, then the usually immovable force of strength begin to shake with sobs.

Katherine doesn’t know what to say, never has when Jane talks about Edward, so she just huddles as close as she can, hoping to reassure Jane that she’s there, she’s not going anywhere.

“I love you, mama,” she whispers.

All she gets is a choked half-sob in response, but it’s more than enough to tell Katherine that Jane heard her, that she understood, and most importantly that no floodgate of tears could possibly ever separate them.

#six the musical #six musical #jane seymour #katherine howard #julie writes #let me be the ground underneath your feet

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not-my-givenchy · 5 years

Text

Tragic Fate pt. 3 (Tony Stark x Reader)

Summary: Saying you and Tony Stark had a tumultuous relationship was the understatement of the century, but no one could discount the love you had shared and the good you provided to each other’s lives.

A/N I started this story on my main blog many moons ago. So I’m moving it over to this side bloggy in hopes of finally finishing it.

Word Count: 2,421

Warnings: Drinking…mentions of cheating

Part 1|| Part 2 || Part 3 || Part 4

The shrill sound of your watch pulled you from the task in front of you. The day was finally done, and you leapt from the barn with excitement. This was the first night of the summer that you had plans with someone other than your parents and the cows, and lady time had been cruel and slow leading up to your release. It was nothing special, dinner and some drinks with an old high school friend you had grown apart from, but now that you wouldn’t be returning to school in the fall you figured you should start reconnecting. So you pushed down your self pity by remembering all the fun you and Bailey had in high school. Even more exciting was the fact you wouldn’t have to talk about milk for a change.

The screen door shook behind you as you ran through the hallway. You weren’t fast enough to sneak by your mother who came charging out of the kitchen with a wooden spoon.

“Boots!” Old man Jennings down the road could probably hear her shriek.

You stopped in your tracks and looked over at the muddy path you left. Before running up the stairs, you kicked them towards the door and planted a soft kiss on her cheek. Shouting your apologies as you ascended the creaking steps.

“I’ve raised enough pigs in my life, I don’t need another one!” She yelled at no one in particular.

Your clothes laid in a damp sweaty heap by the door. The neighbors had been kind enough to offer you extra work for cash, but your sore limbs were not happy with the extra labor. Normally, a cold shower would help soothe the knots in your back, but after an afternoon of hauling hay and mending fences you would need something a bit stronger. Working every hour of the day was the only way you suppressed the sadness of dropping out. The only time you weren’t thinking of everything you were leaving behind was when your hands were raw and your knees threatened to give out from under you.

Every decent article of clothing reminded you of Jennifer. When you finally pulled on a top, you could hear her voice clear as day asking if that was really what you wanted to wear. You were stuck there staring at your reflection for what seemed like hours, but the shrill ring of the phone downstairs snapped you back to reality

“Sweetie! You’ve got a phone call.” Your mothers voice carried into your room

“Coming!” You shouted back practically throwing yourself down the stairs.

Your mom raised an eyebrow as she passed you the phone. Your voice came out in a rush, “Hello this is Y/N.”

“Hello Miss. Y/L/N, this is Mrs. Labelle calling from the office of finances.” Her shrill voice hissed through the phone.

“What is this concerning?” You groaned.

“Well, I just wanted to inform you of a payment made to your account. Now I know you were in the process of withdrawing, but the remainder of your tuition for the year has been paid. We would hate to see you go right before graduation—,” you slammed the phone into the receiver.

“That asshole!” Stomping out of the house, you ignored your mothers calls behind you.

Behind you the phone was ringing madly, but as if on cue Bailey was pulling up the driveway. Urging her to drive, you practically threw yourself into the passenger seat. She took her time to look at you like a fool before rolling her eyes and obeying.

The pub had been crowded when you first arrived, families and couples scattered through the booths. However, Bailey’s cousins owned the tiny establishment, so you were seated in a favorable back corner booth. The t.v at the bar hummed in the background, as you and Bailey laughed at old memories. Your meals had long been replaced by drinks, and the families had retreated back to their homes. The bar was full of regulars, and every so often some high schoolers would stumble in for fries and act like they weren’t drunk off their parent’s liquor cabinet. It was a quiet night, and hours passed before you gained the courage to tell Bailey about your current dilemma.

Bailey tried to mask her laughter by taking a swig of her beer, but when you continued rambling in an attempt to validate yourself beer came shooting from her nose.

“Now look, you’ve gone and made a fool of me and you!” Her giggles were replaced by tiny hiccups and her arm knocked over the empty bottles as she wiped up the spill with her shit.

“What are you talking about!” Everyone in the pub was now staring at the two of you, so you lowered your voice, “I’d look more like a fool if I took the money.”

Bailey’s arms flailed in the air. “That bastard broke your heart, the least he can do is pay for your college. Hell, he’s probably got the money to buy this entire god damn state, your tuition is like pocket change to him!” Bailey huffed paying no mind to the attention her little scene was grabbing. “You’ve got the brains to get out of this god damn town, don’t waste them because your god damn ego.”

“Whatever, you don’t get it. I don’t even like it there Bails.” You returned to your drink with a grumble.

“Shut up.” Bailey’s eyes grew dark and her tone more serious. “You know what I’m going to be doing at the end of August?”

She dared you to speak, “the same god damn thing I do every year. I’ll be hauling hay and picking up shit! Literal shit! You don’t have to be hauling hay and picking up shit no more, so why the hell would you choose to.”

Hearing her voice break tore at your heart. When you were finally able to look her in the eyes you noticed they were glossed with tears. Your cheeks flushed red and your mouth opened and closed like a dumb fish. Everyone in the pub had gone quiet, and when your eyes frantically scanned the room they all avoided looking back

With a slam of her glass, Bailey shot to her feet. “Plus your mama would kill you if you didn’t go back. Anyway! Let’s get you home before 12 so she doesn’t have to kill you twice.”

You chuckled at her retort. As soon as you stepped onto the street the humidity slapped you in the face. Bailey wrapped her arm around your waist and leaned her head on your shoulder. For the first time in ages you could breathe deeply.

Only two cars had passed in the half hour you had been walking, and as the road turned to gravel you doubted you’d see any more. The two of you exited downtown, and your only reminder of life was the soft hum of crickets and the occasional hoot of an owl. With each step, your knees screamed, but your mind was finally calm. Throughout the walk you both commiserated over work and love; Bailey definitely had her share of relationship drama. Drunk, sore, and walking drunk down a dark deserted road complaining about life caused you both to go delirious. Soon enough, you were skipping hand and hand screaming songs from many summers past. For a brief moment, all of your stress and troubles washed away and you were just two friends in a happy world.

However, moments like that never last long, and with a quiet hug you wished Bailey a good night. You waited to turn towards the road until you saw that she made it safely indoors. The two of you had shared many nights like this in the past, and it made you realize how different you were now then you had been over four years ago. When the gravel beneath your feet changed to dirt, you knew you were reaching home. The alcohol had long left your system, but you were still blissfully unaware of the real world surrounding you. Along the way you realized that you would be returning to school in the fall, but that made the walk even more bitter sweet. You wanted to hope that after graduation you’d have a secure job somewhere in a city, but the little devil in your mind reminded you nothing was certain.

The crickets went quiet at the sound of a car pulling behind you. Squinting in the light, you failed to recognize the car. Your heart pounded violently in your chest, it was too fancy to belong to anyone around here, but only people that lived on this road drove down it and at this hour no one who lived on this road dared to drive. Your mind begged your feet to move, but you stood glued in place gaping as the strange car stopped beside you.

The window began to roll down, and your now sweaty hand gripped the flashlight tighter. Millions of worst case scenarios ran through your head, and you heard you mothers voice in the back of your head telling you to never walk alone at night. However, the reality was worse than you could have imagined.

“What the fuck!” You whisper yelled at the driver.

The bags under Tony’s eyes were on full display under your bright flashlight. His hand reached up to shield them, “What the hell are you doing out at this hour?”

Flicking off your flashlight, you let out a breathe you didn’t realize you had been holding in. “I could ask you the same thing!”

His eyebrows furrowed and he opened and closed his mouth searching for a response.

“Heck, what the hell are you doing on my street?” Your voice was unnecessarily loud.

He sighed, “just get in the car, I can explain.”

You practically chortled, “explain! Has that every worked for you?”

“Y/N. Get in the car.”

You rolled your eyes before walking towards the passenger door. It slammed harder than you had intended, and Tony jumped at the sound. The leather seat was cool against your exposed legs, and the AC that hit your face was a welcome release from the humidity.

“You’re on the wrong side of the road.” You grumbled looking ahead.

“No lines, no rules.” He retorted.

You rolled your head towards him, “God. Are you sure you’re not a country boy at heart?”

Tony laughed and looked over at you. “At least I don’t smell like one.”

You had barely started driving when nausea ripped through your stomach. It felt like some cruel joke. “Tony pull over.” Your voice cracked.

“If this is because I called you smelly—”

“I swear to god I’ll jump out.” You pleaded gripping the door handle. If it weren’t for the booze in your system Tony probably would have called your bluff, but he knew better.

Letting out a long sigh he put the car in park. He stared at your hand waiting for you to leave, but you were frozen in your seat. You too were looking at your hand trying to will it to work. Pinching your eyes shut you willed yourself to wake up. To leave whatever sick dream you were trapped in. However, when you opened your eyes your hand was still there clutching the handle. Your chest was rising and falling faster than you could think, and soon enough Tony’s hand was covering your own. Your eyes were glued to his as he enveloped your hand.

“Y/N.” Your name was but a whisper on his tongue, and in the moment you would’ve sworn your heartbeat was louder than him.

All you could look at were your fraying jeans. His thumb still rubbing yours and his eyes begging searching for your gaze.

“Tony.” As soon as you said his name your resolve cracked. Hot tears poured down your cheeks, but you didn’t feel like crying. Desperately praying they would stop, you pulled your hand from his to wipe them away.

“I’m sorry.” He tried to pull your hand into his again, but you folded it onto your lap.

“Stop.” Your voice cracked, this time his hand cupped your cheek. Closing your eyes, you leaned into it and allowed his thumb to wipe away the remnants of your tears. When you opened your eyes you saw his tired ones staring back.

“Why are you here?” There was no fight left in your voice, you had given up a long time ago.

“Well—I wanted to make sure you knew you could graduate.” He but his cheek nervously waiting to gauge your reaction.

You were expressionless. “Yea, but why are you here.” You emphasized.

“I—I don’t know.” He stammered now unable to meet your eyes.

You pulled your face from his hand and leaned against the headrest. “Well it’s almost midnight and we’re on a dirt road in the middle of nowhere, so I don’t know isn’t really an answer.”

Tony didn’t answer. Ashamed, he turned towards the road again.

“I’ve given you so much.” Your voice cracked. “And you—you shit on all of it.”

Your vision blurred as the tears began to fall again. It was the kind of cry you feel in your soul. When emotionally you have no more to give, but you can’t stop yourself from giving even more. Tony couldn’t bring himself to look at you, even after every fight he had never seen you like this. For so long you had lied to yourself and suppressed how all of the cheating and lying had made you feel. When he ignored you for weeks you had shrugged it off. Sitting there sobbing in his car long after the damage was done and the relationship had ended, you realized that you had only let yourself feel his love. For so long you had ignored the hurt, and it came crashing down on you like a tsunami wave. And through the tears, you managed to lift your head and observe him. He had his eyes squeezed shut and his chest rose and fell. Your hand threatened to reach out and stroke his hair. It had grown longer and more disheveled than you remembered. Feeling your eyes on him, he quickly rubbed his eyes trying to hide the tears in their corners.

“You didn’t deserve that.” His voice cracked, but his eyes didn’t leave your own.

All you could do was nod, there was nothing left to be said.

Next Part

#Tony stark #Tony stark x reader #tony stark x you #young!Tony #young!Tony Stark #marvel #mcu #avengers #imagine #Tony stark imagine #marvel imagine #Tony stark series

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taylorswiftstylequestions · 5 years

Note

You probably have so many asks like this, but thoughts? It reminds me of SIO, but I’m actually getting into it. I think the key is to not take it so seriously and realize this song doesn’t represent the entire album (as it often is with T and lead singles). Just have fun when you listen to it and don’t try to dissect the lyrics.

i know you’re probably collecting all of our questions about your thoughts on the song in one post like you usually do but… thoughts about the song? i LOVE the aesthetic, it’s my favorite look since RED and i do like brendon a lot but i’m kind of disappointed the lead single is a feature? i’m not a fan of features in general i guess. the song itself is meh to me, i don’t dislike that most of her lead singles in the past but i also don’t love it. but she looks AMAZING

any thoughts on the song itself? it felt like it was very much on the same note as shake it off in how playful and repetitive / feel good it is. it’s already stuck in my head.

I know it usually takes you some time to formulate your opinions on lead singles (and you’ve probably gotten 1000+ asks like this already, hah, so answer when you’re ready) but: opinions on ‘ME!’ so far?

I assume you’re withholding asks about your opinion on the single bc otherwise how has nobody asked you yet??? Dying to know your thoughts

So Sarah! I know you’re probably INSANELY swamped right now, but when you get a chance, I’d love to know your thoughts on the ME! song and video! I was initially quite meh about it (loved the video visuals, thought the song was solidly mediocre), but I literally haven’t been able to stop playing it since, so that’s obviously false. Curious to hear your opinion!

honest thoughts on the song…

---

Oy. So I’ve had this post weighing heavy on my head since last week and of course it’s been your guys’ most asked question of me.

What I’ve been considering is how to weigh being truthful, critical, and honest, but also kind. TSS is not about being unnecessarily cruel. But it is a place to voice considered opinions openly.

I could make this post long, but I’ll do my best to keep it short.

... Or at least medium length.

The song is catchy and it is joyous. But it is also, in my opinion, Taylor’s weakest lead single she’s ever released.

If her goal was for people to not take the song seriously, I feel she accomplished her mission handily. But an unintended consequence is also that people may not take her or her remaining album material seriously by extension.

I have always held the hope (TS70s Predictions here) that TS7 would be about Taylor returning to her roots. I’ve been adamant and had my fingers crossed, breathlessly waiting for her to make all of her material as meaningful to the general public as we, internally, as fans know it to be. That in her quick approach to 30 that now would be that time.

I’ve repeated many times and have the sane-keeping knowledge that “WANEGBT” and “All Too Well” somehow co-exist on the same album as well as Taylor’s own words about the emotional breadth of TS7 keeping me from the precipice. I have faith that “ME!” is not an indicator of the entirety of the album and I’m still very much looking forward to what more this era brings. I believe that “ME!” is a single Taylor wanted to put out first and foremost as a joyous celebration of where she has been. And she is at her most shaking things off. More than she has ever been.

While I’m a little confused still by her making a lead album single a duet, I do have to say that Brendon and her are completely adorable. I think he’s cute, I love their chemistry together, and I hope his friendship to her is sincere and they remain in each other’s good graces. He genuinely seems like a wonderful human.

With that ... I listened to “ME!” first. Like actually listened. Without video. And then I watched the video. While I’m glad I did so I could focus solely on the audio, I steadfastly feel that lyrically and musically this is not Taylor’s best single. Happy music does not inherently mean that good lyrics need to be sacrificed. Especially when that song is being written by Taylor Swift. I don’t have anything against happy music. But I do have a hard time attaching myself to music that feels like weightless, airless fluff. And yes it is because I hold Taylor to a higher and unfair standard than i do other artists. She is my ride or die. My most gifted child. And I know she’s capable of more and better and that she will more than likely be delivering that with the remaining 10+ tracks on TS7. But “ME!” is not it.

And I can’t even talk about that bridge.

#opinion

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rose-tinted-nostalgia · 2 years

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today was not a good day, and I can tell that it was not a good day because I could not sing along to music in the car, and that seems ridiculous, but singing loudly and badly to throwback songs is my go-to method for cheering myself up, and it works every time. I could be in tears, and I’ll turn on a song, and start singing, and I’m fine by the time it ends, but today I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t smile, and I couldn’t sing, and when I tried, I almost cried, and I haven’t felt this sad in a long time.

my day started with picking up my dad at 5:30 a.m. he disappeared for hours, and i told him not to come back because this was the third time, and he texted me at 5:30 a.m., and for some god forsaken reason, even though my phone was dead, i spontaneously woke up with an urge to check my computer, and there he was begging me to come pick him up from downtown. and i did. on just a few hours of sleep, i climbed into my car, still shaking, and i found him sitting on the sidewalk next to the train tracks on an empty street, and he made a joke when he got in, and tried to make up some excuse, and i told him i cried myself to sleep, and he looked away, and he said, ‘i’m sorry, chelsea,’ and that broke me. that absolutely shredded me, and i might never recover, because it’s not really his fault, right? he’s a crack addict. he’s been an addict for more than 20 years, and he had cash, and he was next to his dealer, and how could i expect anything less? i know on some level he doesn’t want to hurt me, he cares, he doen’t set out intending to lie, to steal and pawn shit that was precious and irreplaceable, to disappoint my son, to tangle me in this web. i know it hurts his feelings. i see it in his face, his eyes are fucking sad, and his face is so drawn down, and i feel guilty for making him feel bad, for telling the truth. i feel so guilty i regret ever saying it. but this is why i avoided him for almost ten years, this is why i said no every time he needed something, because it might not be his fault, but it isn’t mine either, and i’m tired of being swallowed by these addictions i do not possess because of an empty i can’t seem to get rid of. and on top of that, everyone in my life has just seemed unnecessarily cruel, unwilling to help me out, unwilling to even let me vent when I feel like i must self-combust. i need to go back to work, but no one will babysit for me, or even help me get my kid to and from school, and the only people offering me help are toxic and abusive and people i so desperately want to be rid of, and i feel so goddamn alone. and i’m having health anxiety, and i had two doctors appointments today where i got properly violated, and it’ll still probably be months of referrals before I get answers, and I feel like an awful mom for wasting years of my sons life working and leaving him with a shitty excuse of a father and for subjecting him to our arguments, our toxicity, and it eats away at me, remembering these things, knowing that i’ve subjected him to this trauma he’ll never erase form his dna, i spiral into a panic attack, vomiting, in hysterics, every time i let the thought cross my mind because i was a good mom, and i never yelled, and i put him first, always, and these last two years, i’ve been shit because i’m so fucking traumatized, i can’t reglate my own goddamn nervous system, and he’s seen it all. my panic attacks, my outbursts, our fights, me being assaulted, holes punched in walls, and dents put in cars, and it’s terrified him. and it’s my fault. it’s my fault because I didn’t find a way to end it, and I keep telling myself it’s because I couldn’t afford it, it’s because I didn’t have help, and a part of me will always wonder what it would have been like to have a family who cared enough to help me escape, but still. people do it. every day people do it, and i couldn’t find a way to, and that’s on me. i’ll never forget. and i’ll never forgive myself. and somedays i think i’ll never be happy becaue of it. he’s the sweetest fucking kid, and he loves us both, and he’s still so goddamn good, but he deserved better than this. and i will give him better than this, and it’s never too late to do better, but.it will always be too late to undo what we’ve done and I really don’t know how to live with that. I hate myself for it, and I’ll accept this lonely, miserable life because I feel like I deserve it. and it’s just all piling up. my health & anxiety. my financial instability. the lack of support. the drug addicts. the guilt. so much fucking guilt. the fact that I don’t have one goddamn friend, and everyone wants me to give them so fucking much when I have nothing left. Everyone needs something, always, everything, but no one wants to give me anything in return. I’m tired. I’m sad, and I’m tired, and I’m doing my best.

#it's honestly better that I don't have people in my life right now #I have nothing left to give anyone #and I'm too much of a wreck to pretend #and no one deserves that #no one deserves to be responsible for my messes #for helping me heal #this is something I need to do on my own #I know that #it feels bad #but I know that #and I'm glad I'm not in a position to hurt anybody else #I'm sill having a bad day #ignore me

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emeraldlatias · 6 years

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Fictober 2018: Day 9

“You shouldn’t have come here.” he told her.

“I’m an adult, I think I can handle it.”

Admittedly, Rinoa knew that on some level her retort was more on principle than anything else. For all that could be said about his protective nature, Squall wasn’t one to protect her for the sake of being a shield - he respected her agency and didn’t patronize her in the slightest. While she hadn’t quite figured out if it owed to being keenly aware that she had the ability to fry people to a crisp at will with her sorceress powers or that she was a contrarian at heart and often did things simply because someone said not to, she was thankful nonetheless.

But in times like these, it made his warnings carry a little extra weight.

“I can’t stop you but...from the looks of things, it’s seen better days even when you factor out the wreckage from last week.” he warned her. “If you have good memories of this place, it might taint them.”

The truth was she’d only seen place through tabloid photographs of when her parents had just become an item and her mother’s song gained traction on the charts. Her mother had long left the bar scene once she married That Man.

She’d always meant to visit the Galbadia Hotel to see the bar where her mother played in person since she became of age but the prospect of being a little too late by a matter of days felt unnecessarily cruel.

“I don’t have any memories but...I have a feeling you’re probably right. No use barging in on a crime scene even if it’s just a case of petty vandalism.“ she lamented. “Maybe they’ll rebuild the bar once the police investigation is done.“

“Maybe.” he echoed. “If they don’t, I could ask Ellone to transport you to the lounge in the past if you wanted to see it for yourself. It wouldn’t be ideal but, it could work.“

“I’d like that, actually.” Rinoa told him. “But I have to ask, though. Didn’t you tell me once that Ellone could only transport people she knew in the present to view the past from the eyes of someone she knew back then?”

“I did.”

“Ok. So since I know you don’t make promises you can’t keep and process of elimination tells me that you’d seen my mom through either Laguna, Ward or Kiros’s eyes...how weird will it get if I take you up on that offer?”

“Weird enough. In short, Laguna was a super-fan of your mom. Thought she was pretty and chatted her ear off until he fell asleep. Your mom was gracious about it all.” he explained. “In hindsight, that and his other escapades made me question 50% of my DNA.”

"Not going to lie, that’s kind of adorable in its own way. The super-fan part, not the denying DNA part, I mean. I understand that feeling unfortunately.” she admitted. “At any rate, thank you for offering all the same. It...means a lot to me. You’ve no idea.”

#fictober18 #Final Fantasy VIII #Squall Leonhart #Rinoa Heartilly #Julia Heartilly #Laguna Loire

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rkxsungwoon-blog · 6 years

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✦ — MGA4 EPISODE 7: SKILLS SHOWDOWN #4048: HA SUNGWOON TEAM FOREVER YOUNG: @irenerk, @haknyeonrk, @rkxsicheng, @rkdoyexn, @yccjungrk, @rkjhyun performance: stay - zedd / center distribution

somehow, despite everything, sungwoon waits for the results with hope in his chest. he doesn’t expect their team to win (though it would be nice), but he wants some acknowledgement for his personal growth, some indication that he’s been improving, that his hard work isn’t going to waste, that he deserves to still be here in the competition. sungwoon wants better than a fourth place finish once again, barely skating through to the next stage by the skin of his teeth. he wants to feel pride for once—in himself, in his team, in their performance—and walk away from this stage with his head held high.

but the announcement of the two teams in contention for last place crush any of the hopes he might have been nursing. they’re not dead last, which is some consolation, but sungwoon can barely breathe as the ceos give them feedback and move onto eliminations. the dancing was lacking, the dancing was a problem. surely that means sungwoon is the one who fucked up? everyone else on his team are fair dancers; he’s the only one who can’t—he should be the one going home, shouldn’t he? he’s holding his breath and trying to calm his racing nerves when the ceos state that there will be no eliminations this week.

sungwoon almost swears on national tv in shock, relief, and anger, but his emotions are short lived as the next challenge is announced. he’s cautiously optimistic; a skill challenge means he should be alright if he can sing, but since mnet is not that generous, they’ll be choosing their songs based on their ranking. the singing groups have ten spots in total, and sungwoon prays that at least one is free by the time he has to choose. please, just let me have this. just let me sing. just once.

maybe it’s fate playing a cruel joke on him, or maybe—and this is more likely—he’s just run out of whatever luck has brought him this far in the competition. when sungwoon looks at the list, he finds both singing groups completely full. the two (0)s mock him, burn into his brain like they’re spelling his doom. sungwoon’s breathing becomes shallow as he looks at the available songs, panic setting in. dancing or rap—neither are his skills. he can’t showcase anything in either of these groups except his own ineptitude.

he swallows and finally picks stay. the song isn’t his kind of thing, but that hardly matters. it seems like the kind of song jei would do well with, and sungwoon hopes he’ll see her on the team. the only time he felt somewhat confident in his dancing abilities was with team dynamiq, and that was in large part because of jei and her support. with her, he thinks he can perhaps survive this. the staff members tell him to keep his pick a secret until the episode airs. sungwoon complies and heads home after that, hoping he didn’t make a poor decision, hoping that this week won’t be as bad as he thinks it will.

all he can do now is wait.

he’s no longer excited to visit the nova building, each step filled with trepidation as he makes his way to the practice room. sungwoon’s heart sinks further as he meets the rest of his teammates: rose, doyeon, yoojung, sicheng, and haknyeon. aside from rose, he hasn’t worked with any of them before, but he knows they’re all skilled dancers. for the most part, they seem to be okay with being here, probably because they’re looking forward to showcase their dancing skills. even if this wasn’t the song they perhaps wanted, he believes they’ll do fine. this is their area of expertise.

sungwoon, on the other hand, feels like a fish out of water. it’s one thing to know you’re going to be forced to do something you have no confidence in. it’s another to realize you are the only person in a group of six others who—can’t do it. the weak link, the one who could potentially screw up the entire performance. he takes in the looks of surprise and shock thrown his way with a stoic expression, refusing to betray his own distaste for this nightmare situation. truthfully, his regrets run deeper than just for himself; he’s sorry towards the rest of the team too. sungwoon doubts they want someone like him to be bringing the whole performance down, especially not so close to the end of the show.

when introductions roll around, all he can offer is his name, contestant number, and an apologetic smile. no promises of “i’ll work hard” or “i’ll do my best” or, god forbid, “i won’t let you down.” words are just words. he doesn’t want to make promises he can’t keep. sungwoon doesn’t know how much hard work or his best will matter in the end, anyway, and he seems to have gotten in the habit of letting people down.

it’s decided that rose and sicheng are going to work on the choreography for this round. sungwoon can’t offer any input or suggestions, so he mostly stays out of their way while they’re figuring things out. as a group, they pre-record the vocals for their stage pretty early on as well, and here sungwoon finally feels like he’s in his element. here, he finally feels free; his spirits sour as he pours every ounce of frustration, desperation, and longing he can into his voice. this recording won’t count for anything in the end, just a background piece to their actual choreography, but to sungwoon, it means everything.

at least in some small way, his voice will be heard.

practices kick off in earnest not long after. the choreography is unlike anything sungwoon’s had to do before; it’s elegant and graceful and smooth, so many things he’s just not sure he can overcome. despite his best efforts not to let his mood sink, with every mistake, every wrong move, every moment off beat, he finds himself growing increasingly angry at himself. he’s gone over the choreography so many times in his head, with rose and the others, by himself, and he just can’t seem to nail it down.

he feels like everyone is looking at him with pity and disgust in their eyes. why do we have to be with him? sungwoon wouldn’t blame them if they resented him for being here. he resents himself for not doing enough to avoid this, for not being better. it gets too much; the feeling bubbling up his chest threatens to choke him. the practice room feels too cramped, too small, too hot for sungwoon to handle and he slips out the minute practice is over, seeking fresh air. seeking some kind of escape from his own failures.

(he doesn’t find whatever he’s searching for).

sungwoon returns to practice. avoiding the issue isn’t going to solve anything, things are the same as before.it’s still hard to shake off the sense of hopeless sungwoon feels; it settles into his bones and makes his movements unnecessarily heavy and clumsy when he tries to keep up with the rest of his team. this isn’t choreography he can overcome with the force of his vocals or his charisma, it’s just—it’s just, and that’s the main problem. he’s trying to fit a square peg in a round hole and it’s not working. he doesn’t even know why the fuck he’s trying so hard.

no matter how much he wants to just give up and stop, he can’t. jonghyun is there to support him during the week, sticking next to sungwoon from day one whenever he takes extended breaks to try and clear his head. jonghyun is determined not to let sungwoon avoid the practice and the reality of their performance. he appreciates the kick in the ass and jonghyun’s support, though he can’t help but think that the boy would be better off just focusing on himself. they’re not really functioning as a team this week—no leaders, no reason to be helpful, no reason to care—but everyone else still seems determined to get through this together, sharing friendship and smiles in between the tense moments in practice.

and sungwoon wishes he could join in. he wishes he could just get out of his own head and enjoy this instead of drowning in stress. he wishes that he could accept his team’s—his friends’—help when it’s offered. he wishes he could believe people when they say he’s doing well, or that he’s improving, or that he can do this, but it all rings false in his ears.

even haknyeon’s gift of a tangerine and some encouraging words barely cheer him up, though he does crack a smile and say, “thanks for the orange,” before he leaves (and accidentally squirts some fucking citrus juice in his eye when he tries to eat it). everyone is too nice, too caring, and that’s the main reason sungwoon doesn’t walk out. he doesn’t want to let them down—isn’t it bad enough that they have to work around him? he’s not going to half-ass this and make them suffer more (though maybe they’d benefit more from his absence; who knows?)

when he’s feeling his lowest, his grandfather talks some sense into him. his words give sungwoon… not a renewed sense of purpose or even confidence, but it helps him put things into perspective. all he can do is see this week through and… well, when he’s done here, he can rest. but first: he has to get to the end.

sungwoon shows up to practice early the next day and focuses on nailing the moves down the best he can. when he falls, he gets right back up with gritted teeth. sungwoon doesn’t have lofty goals this time around; he just wants… he just wants to complete this. he doesn’t want anyone to watch him this week and say he deserves to go home because didn’t do all that he could. sungwoon isn’t a quitter, a coward, or someone who doesn’t give his all for everything he does. the fact is, at the end of the day, no one is going to care what he did and didn’t want. no one is going to give a shit about whether it was difficult for him or what he had to overcome this week.

all they’ll care about is what they see on stage.

so he’ll give them something to look at.

the staff pulls them aside for interviews and once they all return, rose suggests they talk about their feelings. sungwoon isn’t the only one who’s been… for the lack of a better word, down all week. other people are struggling too, and the whole mood of the group is somber for the most part. yoojung, notably, is a little quieter than the rest, and then there’s doyeon who struggled and fell during practice the other day. maybe it would be good for them to air out their concerns and grievances—objectively, of course.

truthfully, sungwoon doesn’t want to participate himself; he has a hard enough time trying to open up to people he knows, let alone complete strangers. he intends to just sit and listen to everyone’s concerns, sure they’re going to be far, far different from his own.

and sure enough, jonghyun starts with uplifting words for him, and sungwoon even manages a smile back at the younger man, but he thinks that jonghyun just doesn’t get it. doyeon is next with haknyeon following later, and while sungwoon genuinely feels for them, there’s a hollow space in his chest that says, they don’t get it either. rose and sicheng have different worries, and this sungwoon can relate to—the weight of responsibility is hard to carry, especially for a performance like this. he can only offer platitudes though, assurances that their choreography is good. it’s not the dance. the dance is great.

sungwoon doesn’t intend to speak, but he feels like it would dumb of him not to say anything. and looking at the relief on everyone’s faces after saying their pieces, he feels like he ought to contribute. maybe just take this moment to be honest for once. “i guess i’ll go next,” he says awkwardly, raising a hand. “uh, as many of you probably guessed, this group wasn’t my first choice. i only picked this song because all the positions for the singing group were taken and, uh, i guess the title just resonated with me. stay.” chuckling, he runs a hand through his hair and sighs.

“i’ve… struggled all week because i feel like this will be my final performance.” putting what he’s come to terms with into words is surprisingly difficult. the act of saying it out loud makes it more real somehow, and sungwoon feels himself choking up. “i’m not a dancer and i don’t think i ever will be. this past week, i’ve spent way too much time feeling sorry for myself and not enough time trying to adapt to the situation. i’ve probably been a bummer to be around, huh?” sungwoon is self aware enough to realize that he hasn’t been his usual mood-maker self.

“but i… i mean, every time i try to convince myself that i can do this or i’ll be okay, i realize that i’m light years behind where i should be to even take the stage. i’m scared that me being up there will backfire, not just on me on the rest of you guys too.” swallowing, he looks down and sighs. “so i’ve been trying, but the past few weeks have taught me that it’s not enough to just try. but i’m still foolishly running full speed ahead, and i don’t know what that makes me: stupid, or optimistic? i don’t have to have expectations because i don’t want to be disappointed, but i don’t want to… give up either.” this is as much as he wants to say. there’s more—so much more—but sungwoon feels shitty enough just admitting this much.

shaking his head, he tries to end on a more positive note. “i truly appreciate all the help and support you guys have given me this week,” he says, looking at each and every one of them. “and if there’s one good thing that came out of all this, it was the opportunity to work with you guys.”

“so: thank you.” standing up, sungwoon bows at the waist and holds the pose for a few seconds before sitting back down. “i hope all of you go through this week, and i will support you till the end of the competition.”

yoojung rounds off their honesty circle, and her words hit sungwoon like a ton of bricks. the things he’s been holding inside—she articulates them perfectly. it’s almost a relief to hear that someone else has the same worries and insecurities as him, even though he wishes she didn’t have to feel that way. still, he does feel a little lighter with things out in the open. everyone on their team had too much bottled up. with some release, he hopes they find peace.

the rest of the week is less heavy, less morose, though the practices are as intense as ever. sungwoon even brings in stolen pastries from work one day, and though they only last like one bite per person, they have haknyeon’s tangerines and rose’s cookies to round things off (sungwoon does claim a dramatic “death by tangerines” when haknyeon offers him another one, and his laugh after that is the first genuine one of the week. and—he’s missed this. laughing, having fun, not worrying about impending doom).

the final night, he doesn’t have much to say, except, “i hope we stay.” sungwoon hopes his teammates stay. he believes—no, he knows—that they have the skills to.

himself? he’s less sure he’ll make it through. he’s definitely not sure if he deserves (wants) to.

performance day comes too soon.

he’s jittery and it’s not just because of the caffeine. the nausea isn’t entirely his americano’s fault either. sungwoon was never going to be calm going into this, but this is a little extreme even for him. his hands shake as he waits backstage with the rest of his team. they look like a solid, cohesive unit, dressed in black and white for this performance to keep things classy. they also have a choker around their neck, what sungwoon playfully called a ‘leash’ backstage; it’s part of the choreography and he tries not to fiddle with it while they wait. “hey haknyeon, i could really use a tangerine now,” sungwoon jokes, nudging the younger boy to diffuse some of the tension.

it’s… painful to watch the other performances, especially the singing groups. some of these contestants would’ve done fine in dancing groups too, and maybe that is what hurts the most. he’s shocked to see that jinsoul isn’t in either of the vocal groups and prays that her week was a lot easier than his own. she’s someone who really deserved the chance to showcase her talent.

before long, it’s their turn to take the stage as team forever young. sungwoon shouts out the greeting with the rest of them, his expression full of confidence he doesn’t actually possess. it’s bravado, plain and simple, mixed in with a little bit of bullshit, but people tell you to fake it till you make it for a reason. once the introductions are over, he wipes his clammy palms on his pants and gets into formation with the rest of the team.

the choreography is beautiful. rose and sicheng should be commended for it. sungwoon may know nothing about dance, but he can recognize a good stage when he sees it. their outfits give the illusion of more grace, of lighter movements, and of smoother transitions. on people like rose, doyeon, yoojung, jonghyun, haknyeon, and sicheng, the effect is breathtaking. sungwoon is… clumsier, his movements lacking the easy flow of the others. he’s a lot more stiff despite his best efforts, and his inexperience and discomfort with the style of dance shows.

still, sungwoon powers through, putting more emphasis on his expressions and working with the camera. when it’s his turn to take centre, he lipsyncs along with the song, channeling a sort of sensual arrogance as he dances, tossing a smirk at the camera before moving into position with rose. he’s sweating, his heart beating fast, but sungwoon doesn’t stop, doesn’t let himself relax for a second as he dances.

living on my sofa, drinking rum and cola underneath the rising sun

then comes one of their killing points, the part that involves their chokers. a playful smile dances on sungwoon’s lips as he follows through, giving the illusion that he’s truly enjoying himself up there. and maybe if the circumstances were different, if the stakes weren’t so goddamn high, he would have. but all he can think about is the pressure. not only the pressure he put on himself, but the pressure he feels to not let his team down, to not let rose and sicheng’s choreography down.

the floorwork is the hardest part of the performance, in sungwoon’s opinion. he’s nowhere near the front, so his struggles are, for the most part, hidden from the audience. still, he’s a beat too late getting back inTo formation with the rest and it shows. he keeps his expression smooth and unperturbed by his mistake, but sungwoon knows it won’t be one easily forgiven. for a second there, they were out of sync as a group because he was slow. sungwoon wants to scream, but there’s no time for that. just as quickly, he’s in the center again while the others are on their knees.

all you have to do is stay

breathing hard, he fights to maintain his position and his expression as the song fades off. sweat drips down his back as he follows the rest of the team off the stage, unable to process what just happened. he fucked up. he fucked up. badly enough for it to be noticed, badly enough for it to matter. the only consolation sungwoon has is that they won’t be judged as a group, so the rest won’t be dragged down by his mistake. it’s… not much to hold onto, but sungwoon clings to it anyway. all you have to do is stay, he thinks, looking at all of them. please stay.

“i—” he swallows and licks his lips. sungwoon wants to say this one thing. “i’m proud of everyone, and believe me when i say you guys all deserve to be here. i hope the ceos can see that too. all you have to do is stay, right?” he finishes with a grin and slings an arm around jonghyun’s shoulders, acting a lot more nonchalant than he feels inside. but this is the only way sungwoon can cope right now, to focus on others before himself. “team forever young, forever.”

#rkmga4 #rkmga4skill #irenerk #haknyeonrk #rkxsicheng #rkdoyexn #yccjungrk #rkjhyun #( c: solo )#( this is the worst solo i have ever written but i'm so tired )#( i just wanted it to end lmfao )#( rip sorry mods )

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carrotcouple · 7 years

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I wish you would write LILEA FLUFF!! Please, my girl needs flowers and laughter. I need to see her smile.

This ended up a lot longer than I intended it to be but I swear it’s good!

“Lileeeeaa?”

Lilea’s eyes widened and she sat up. She had just heard the most impossible thing in the world. The sound of Rhys charging up the stairs at a pace that would usually make him cringe, him calling out her name when he could just walk to her room and knock on the door, stretching his vowels in a way that he could probably butcher himself for and was he using a playful tone?

She swung open the door as soon as he knocked.

“Are you drunk?” She asked him pointedly. His hair was ruffled and messy, but it always was like that at the end of the day. His tie had already been loosened and his blazer was hanging off of his arm. His eyes glowed with what she could almost call excitement. Despite the unusual behaviour, Rhys was completely sober.

“Huh? No, I’m not drunk.” Rhys quickly clarified.

“Sorry, first conclusion I came to when you ran up the stairs shouting my name like a teenage girl.” Lilea shrugged.

“I was not like a teenage girl!” Rhys sounded scandalized. Lilea couldn’t help but chuckle. It had become increasingly easy to talk to Rhys, to just let down the walls. There was no way that he was there to keep an eye on her. Perhaps it had been pure coincidence and the fact that she looked like Freya. For a moment, that irritated her. Well, it always irritated her.

“Alright then, whatever you say, Mr. Griffin.” Lilea tried not to very obviously grin. “What has you of all people excited?” Because really, that was the only explanation she could come up with. He had to be excited about something to make him behave in such a way.

“Uh, just something I ordered a couple of weeks ago came in and I think it’s something you might like.” Rhys quickly blabbered out and Lilea stared in wonder. The always collected and rational Rhys was showing her a completely new side of him.

“Something I would like?” Lilea asked in interest. She had of course noticed how he seemed to be really trying to make their marriage work out so she knew that it wasn’t the usual ‘new book I bought’ thing going on which had often seemed like the only similarity between them.

“I’ve been kind of wondering what to do with the shed behind the house for several months and so I ordered special wood and tools to make a special loft bed in the shed and clean it out so that it could become a really nice reading place and fortress, you know…I kind of like building things and…thought it seems like your kind of thing too…” Rhys trailed off, mumbling. Lilea’s eyes widened.

“Building a loft bed?!” She screeched in excitement. “Yes, it is completely my kind of thing! I didn’t know you liked building things! You’re not so boring after all!” Rhys had been nodding, beaming almost just as brightly at her.

“W-wait! Boring?” Rhys cried out in protest.

“Is everything already in the shed?” Lilea rushed back into her room and pulled her hoodie off. She noticed Rhys glance at her messy room - covered in books, thrown aside hoodies and the occasional pair of socks - with distaste.

“Yes, everything is already there.” Rhys nodded, picking up a yellow hoodie nearby the door. Lilea snatched the hoodie from his fingers and tossed it onto her bed and Rhys’ eyes watched it sail through the air in horror.

“Then let’s go!” Lilea ignored how bothered he was by the state of her room and instead grabbed his hand and dragged him out of the house. The shed smelt of fresh packaging and rich forest. Lilea’s eyes sparkled as she took in all of the tools and building materials. “I have never built anything with serious stuff like this. I always had to use random scraps I found in the orphanage.” Lilea whispered, giddy with delight. She turned when Rhys remained silent. He was staring down at the ground, an uncomfortable look on his face. “What’s wrong? Do you actually not like building things?”

“No, not that…just…things I’ve heard from you about the orphanage…are those really true? I didn’t know they were that bad.” Rhys sounded guilty. “I should do something to change it, shouldn’t I? It is my duty after all.” Warmth bloomed in Lilea’s chest and she found herself smiling fondly at him.

“You can try, really, but I don’t know if it would change.” Lilea softly told him, surprising herself when she heard the utter affection in her voice. Rhys looked up at her in question. “You can’t find many people who would look after scores of children, that are not their own, twenty-four seven as if they were their own. Even normal parents would try to discipline their own children and those manning the orphanages have to discipline so many on their own. It’s true that the orphanage staff are unnecessarily cruel and unjust, but you can’t change their mindset overnight and it doesn’t change the fact that there are several children in the orphanage that are more than what the average person can handle. You can’t blame the children of course, they’ve all watched their parents die, or abandon them, or abuse them and they grow up in the orphanage without any parental love and only scorn and indifference to their suffering.” Lilea shrugged. “Rhys, I think it’s a great idea to want to try and change the orphanages and I think you should really start working on it, but…I don’t know if it will change, or if it does, how long that change will last.” Rhys was staring at her.

“You have a mind for politics…” he said quietly. Lilea grinned.

“There’s a reason I was put on the marriage draft! I spoke out of turn for what was right!” Lilea said brightly and only realized a second later she had just said something she did not want him questioning. Rhys’ face slowly transformed into a grin that matched hers.

“I can see you doing that.” There was amusement in his voice and Lilea’s eyes widened and the warm feeling in her chest spread to her fingertips. “I can’t see why I never saw it, but since you have graduated at the top of your class at the age of sixteen, how about I give you some political control? You can dig out the injustice in places that I don’t see. I’ll leave the orphanages in your care and you can use my staff when you need and you can always discuss proposals with me when you want to.” Rhys’ eyes were sparkling as if he had just come up with the best idea. Lilea felt as if she had gone numb. Her entire brain was screaming in amazement and she felt as if her soul had left her body. “After all, you are my wife and therefore, First lady, Lilea Griffin.” Heat rushed to Lilea’s face and she resisted the urge to clap her hands against her cheeks.

“I…would like that…” Lilea whispered breathlessly.

“Oh and would you like to apply for college courses? I can assume the orphanage never offered you that option.” Rhys beamed at her and picked up the building manual next to him. Lilea nodded violently, feeling as if her heart would burst out of her chest in joy.

“I would really like that! I really would!” Lilea cried out happily. She paused as a sudden thought occurred to her. “I can ask you for these kind of things?” She asked hesitantly.

“Huh? Of course you can, you’re my wife aren’t you?” Rhys told her pointedly. “Come and take a look at this manual.” Lilea shoved aside all her worries. Her worries of Danya and Freya and the rest of the world and hurried over to Rhys side, peering over his shoulder.

“Eh, so that’s what the loft is supposed to look like! Well then, let’s get started!” Lilea excitedly remembered they were building a loft bed and quickly bounced towards the the wood and tools.

“Wait, we should read this first!” Rhys told her and he almost look like he was pouting.

“Come on, follow your gut! That’s how you should build things!” Lilea shot back at him good naturedly.

“You can’t build a complicated loft like this with just your gut, Lilea.” Rhys sighed.

“Fine then, you read that while I start measuring how much space we’ll need in here and therefore how we should set up things~” Lilea sang, picking up Rhys’ notebook, pencil and a measuring tape off the floor.

Both of them bickered on how they should arrange things and then they finally started to set things up.

“Oh! Let me set up a some music!” Lilea pulled out her phone. “There’s a playlist that we always listen to while doing work!” Lilea looked at Rhys.

“‘We’?” he asked curiously.

“Yeah, me, Tristan and Dan…ya…” Lilea froze as the girl’s name escaped her lips. How could she have forgotten Danya? What was she doing building a loft bed when she could be doing serious things? Lilea’s thumb slowly hit the play button and she sat dully on her heels.

“Something on your mind?” Rhys asked her in concern. Lilea shook her head.

“I’m fine.” She reassured him. She blinked when he put his hand on top of her head and warmly look down at her.

“If you ever want to talk to me about something, I’m here.” He told her. There was no lie in his eyes. He genuinely wanted her to know that he was there for her. The warmth from earlier spread down to her toes. The man in front of her was either the best actor she had ever met or the best person she could have ever accidentally married. And it didn’t matter if he was lying to her and he was actually acting and keeping an eye on her. She had never trusted anyone other than Tristan, Danya and Freya so much until him. He made her feel safer than she had ever felt before in her whole life. He understood who she was without having to dig around much. He didn’t care what kind of things she might have done in her past.

He was stiff, stuck up, boring, a hopeless romantic with cheesy ideas and a politician in a world filled with the worst kind of leaders. But he was also a bookworm, a history nerd, kind, logical, excited about wooden crafts and the best leader Lilea had ever seen.

“Oh, I haven’t heard this song in almost ten years!” Rhys exclaimed as he attempted to settle down his hair but only messed it up more. Lilea watched him as he started to sing ‘You Raise Me Up’. He turned and grinned at her.

Ah, Lilea thought as she smiled back at him. I’ve fallen in love with this dork.

Lilea turned back to the tools in front of her and sang with him as they started to make the loft bed.

#sunny answers #sapphiredragonprincess #sunny writes #sunny's ocs #lilea griffin #rhys griffin #i love my kids so much #like this is fluff #right?#it became long enough for me to put under #keep reading

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