#I am not in danger! My mom is just difficult and judgmental

[bluemoonrabbit]

I'm at my mom's house for the night, having seen her for the first time in almost three months. So far she has not tried anything but I am taking very shallow breaths.

[genievillain26]

Unnamed Human and Autistic Hellaverse AU Early Conception. Trigger Warning for domestic abuse

I've created a little au per se based of off Hellaverse characters that I would like to share. It's more of a human based au that is more set in reality and has elements from my own personal experiences. The character more based off of Octavia is more or less the main character. It's a rather emotional story. I don't really have set names for the characters yet, so let's just call them based on who they are based off of. Via is an autistic teenager who is raised by a gay couple that is rather prominent in the show scene. She is multi talented in singing, cooking, sewing due to her being homeschooled since she would not assimilate well in a school setting. Her parents are Stolas and another male character that isn't really based off of Blitz, but I might work him into that character somehow. Stolas's character is more developed than the other one.

The emotional part comes in when Loona's counter part who is an other autistic girl and about 4-5 years older years older than Via her meets her and the two have an automatic bond. Loona has a rough family life. Her parents have kids from previous marriages and the youngest of them is about 14 years older than her. She does not have have any whole siblings like her half siblings do. Her parents are much older and thus her dad's dementia is getting so bad that it's causing him to physically abuse her while she is in her early to mid 20's. Too many terrible things happen in Loona's life suddenly which include her finding out that she cannot afford to move somewhere that isn't run down and dangerous, her totaling her car after losing focus while driving, losing her car insurance making it impossible for her to drive legally, and having to quit her job because she cannot drive to work anymore.

Her meeting Octavia as well as Stolas heals her. One night, she ends up slipping the memo to Via that her dad is hitting her due to his undiagnosed dementia and severe anger issues. She tells her to not tell anyone about this because the last time she did, authorities got involved, but nothing came of it. All it did was leave her in an awkward position with her parents. Nevertheless, this news troubles Via deeply, so she tells her dads. They get in touch with the authorities which causes the friend to be separated from her parents. There is a problem with this due to how she is unable to tend to the house because she does not have the money to pay the bills and because she is also tapering off of a medication that hinders her judgment and decision making skills (something I am also going through). She's too old to be put in a foster home, but her half siblings live too far away and don't want to be bothered by looking after her. Because of this, the Goetia family agrees to allow her to live with them until things are sorted out with her parents such as her parents getting anger management and the dad getting a dementia diagnosis as well as treatment for it.

Via and Loona essentially become like sisters and Stolas and his husband become her surrogate parents. Sure said character is between 20-21 years old (with Via being 15-16 when this happens), but she needs them in her medication weening process as it causes her to have negative withdrawal side effects. With Via being homeschooled and autistic, it makes it harder for her to pick up on social cues and other things that are difficult for autistic people to detect. Her friend also being autistic allows her to empathize with her and the two become close friends. They have similar interests and talents so that helps the bond grow stronger.

Via is an IVF baby. Stolas's is the birth father. He acts as more of the "mom" dad who is somewhat over protective and also babys her which can sometimes cause her to act somewhat immature for her age. His husband is the "fun" dad, he has an energy similar to Bandit Heeler in a way. They don't want to coddle her as they do give her responsibilities and teach her independent living skills, but they also understand that there are somethings autistic people cannot do and they want to accommodate her accordingly. Stolas's family is where the autism came from as family planning centers tend to have several restrictions on who is allowed to donate eggs (and I assume who can donate sperm. I only know about the egg part as I have seen stories about autistic afabs applying to be egg doners and getting rejected because of autism running in the family).

I am a sucker for the running away trope and I have gone through a few different scenarios as to how Via would run away, what age she would, be why she ran away, and where to. The current scenario I am thinking of is where Via and her dad's are on vacation at a resort because they got a gig to perform there (mostly for Stolas). She's the same age as she is in the show and isn't as optimistic as she used to be. About a year has past since Loona had to live with the Goetia's. The two are still inseparable, but that is until the dad's get an invitation to perform at a city and have an all paid access trip to a resort where the city is in. Loona cannot come along as she is not a legal member of the family in order for the free trip perks to work for her. She could pay her way there, but there is no way she has the money for the luxury resort they are staying in.

I should have mentioned that OC's of Charlie and Vaggie are in this too and they act as her god parents. Charlie started out as Via's homeschool teacher for her elementary years. The two became close friends and so did she and Vaggie. When time came for Via to transition into middle school and thus get a new teacher, her parents allowed the two to become her god parents as Stolas's family wouldn't have it in them to properly accommodate Via with their more old school and critical approach to her disability and his husband's parents have grown too old to be able to properly look after her. They wanted people who were still relatively young so they could grow along with her in the case that she needs to live with them forever. While Via is a very capable and independent person, the issue comes in with there not being any affordable housing that is safe, clean, and quiet.

Shortly before Via turns 18, her god parents move across to the other side of the country due to Vaggie getting a much better job offer. Via is not able to see them in person as often and she's also entering that rebellious teenager phase. She hits this phase a little late because she is normally very kind and obedient. Unfortunately, her being exposed to Loona's family troubles and learning more about the injustice that autistic people (as well as disabled people in general) go through causes her to become jaded. This is when she is a little more like how Via in the real show is.

While on the resort trip, she joins one of those "teen hubs" that acts as an age appropriate daycare center for kids that were dragged along on the trip (if anyone has been to a resort or a cruise, you know what I'm talking about). While Via does attend social gatherings with kids her age and has for most of her life, those gatherings were more designed for other homeschooled kids, autistic kids, and both homeschooled and autistic kids. The teens at this resort are rather snarky, judgmental, and automatically pick up on Via's autistic mannerisms. This causes them to either talk down to her or make fun of her, but most importantly, they criticize her within earshot as if they think she cannot understand what they are saying, an experience autistic people get far too common.

Via obviously knows what these people are saying and when she confronts them, they gaslight her by saying they weren't talking about her or that she must have been hearing someone else. Via also feels like she is being pushed away by her parents since the performance work they are doing is more... adult centric and they don't scar her by being exposed to what they do (not because they want to shield her from anything sex related, but because they are her parents and her seeing her parents do the things they do on stage would scar her as it would for any person regardless of neurotype. Via is very close with her parents (so much so that when she was 11 years old said she never wanted to leave the household so she could be with them forever) so them pushing her off like this upsets her. All of this trouble causes Via to run off from the resort to have a little adventure of her own. This happens while attending the "teen hub" since the staff of that club do a horrible job of keeping an eye on the teens there.

The teen hub area she is in is for teens 15-17, so the workers assume that if the kids are this old, they wouldn't need to do much to prevent the kids doing anything that could cause havoc. Via's parents also omitted her autism diagnosis in her information chart (something they only do when it comes to non-medical and non-educational settings). This is because when people do know of her diagnosis, she is given the same treatment that the teens at the resort are giving her. Once the news of Via's elopement make it to her parents, they are obviously distraught. What's worse than a 17 year old running off in a city that is totally foreign to them is when said 17 year old is autistic and thus vulnerable to all sorts of dangers in the city. She is also rather trusting, so her parents are worried sick she is going to be kidnapped by someone pretending to befriend her to do who knows what to her.

[sailoryooons]

The Iron Ring | One | pjm (m)

❀ Pairing:  fae prince! Jimin x human! female reader

❀ Summary: After finding a mysterious ring while cleaning out your late grandmother’s attic, you receive the unlikeliest of visitors: a fae prince who claims you have something that belongs to him. Discovering the fairytales your grandmother told you are true is the least of your problems when you’re taken to a world dangerous and unfamiliar.

❀ Word Count: 3,432

❀ Genre: fantasy au, strangers to lovers, enemies to lovers

❀ Rating: 18+ Minors are strictly prohibited from engaging and reading this content. It contains explicit content and any minors discovered reading or engaging with this work will be blocked immediately. 

❀ Warnings: Heavy world building, funeral scene, mentions of death (elderly), brief mentions of toxic relationship between reader's mother and grandmother (not too serious), mentions of ailing mental states of the elderly, physical altercations (Jimin and reader fight this is action fantasy ok), Jimin is toxic (hard to understand what he wants, is prone to some violence), threatens to kill/ dismember reader (EMPTY THREATS HE THINKS HES TOUGH), mentions of daggers and swords, use of magical abilities, sexual tension, Fae Jimin is a warning in itself. 

❀ Published: May 25, 2022

❀ A/N: I am so thrilled to be writing this finally. Fantasy writing is my element - I feel like I write fantasy genre so much better than any of my other content. I do find a lot of people are as enthusiastic about it, but I really hope you enjoy this. Please note that this story is only 5 full chapter long - this means that each chapter I write will ALWAYS be around 20k-30k per chapter, because I'm doing this as a mini series. I find it much easier to do large works like this because it's less likely I lose motivation.

This first chapter does not have smut - I hope that does not turn you off, however I wanted to establish the dynamic between Y/N and Jimin before I really played up that part. I do promise for those of you just looking for some filth that it will be in the next chapter.

❀ Disclaimer: All members of BTS are faces and name claims for this story. This is entirely a work of fiction and by no means is meant to be a projection, judgment or representation of real-life people. Any scenarios or representations of the people and places mentioned in works are not representative of real-life scenarios.

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You know that funerals are meant for crying, but you find it difficult to produce tears. The folded chair beneath you is damp with the rain misting under the black umbrella held tightly in your hand. A morbid thought crosses your mind as they lower the casket into the freshly dug grave - it looks exactly like a scene from a mafia movie. The gray sky swollen with rain, the clusters of dark umbrellas catching droplets. 

Next to you, your mother sniffs, wiping her tears away. You can’t imagine what she is going through, but you think there is guilt there. Guilt for not being there in her mother’s last days. Guilt for writing off the ramblings and confusion of an old woman. 

In her last days, your grandmother was a nuisance to your mom. An old weight stressing her out with ailing health, a reason to take off numerous days from her incredibly important work as a fashion designer and owner of her own company. 

The fact that she is crying tells you how little your mother knew about grandma in her dying days. She wouldn’t want anyone to cry. She was old and lived a full life, and she had wanted peace in her last days. Waiting to join your grandfather, who had died much earlier. 

So you don’t cry. For your grandmother, for her legacy. Because though you’re sad, and though you will miss the soft stories whispered at your bedside as a child, you know that she’s wherever she was meant to be. 

That’s enough for you. 

Funerals, as expected, are a bleak affair. The gathering after is even worse. Catered food that is colder than it should be, dishes made in haste by neighbors and mourners. Escaping the stale perfume of your mother’s friends and those who knew your grandma is imperative. 

Your grandmother’s house is old, built in the 1800s with nooks and crannies and rooms leading into rooms in a dizzying maze. It’s well-kept, though some of the porch out front leans and the screens in the windows could do with replacing. 

It doesn’t matter. The home holds sentimental value to you. You wander up the creaking, carpeted stairs. It still has shag carpet, holding in every smell familiar to you as you climb. Your room is on the second floor facing the north and front of the yard, in the rounded part of the house above the reading room on the first floor. It’s quiet upstairs as you pause in the hallway, looking at the frames mounted in the hall, a wall of memories.

Your childhood stretches behind each piece of glass, contained within the woodwork and cardboard backing. 

After admiring each fragment of your history, you trail to your room. The door creaks when you open it. Gray light filters in through the window, the gossamer curtains pulled back. Dust motes float in the room. It is completely undisturbed. Your old twin bed is tucked neatly in the corner of the room, pink sheets tucked neatly. You sit on it, feeling the bed springs give under your weight. 

A mural painted with your grandmother’s careful hand stretches on the wall opposite your bed and around the wooden door leading to your closet. You look at the greenery and the vines crawling up old castles, faeries and sprites dancing around under the moonlight. A glowing sword held by a warrior maiden with a circlet of moons and stars around her hair. 

The painting is a collection of hundreds of stories your grandmother has told you growing up. They all revolve around land called Faerie, where creatures beautiful and deadly exist. The maiden in the story was always your favorite character, fashioned in the likeness of your grandmother herself. 

Sighing, you finally feel the threat of tears. You swallow past it and lay down on the bed, content to be in the room again. The bookshelf with the music box is untouched, but free of dust. Though time seems to freeze the room in place, you can tell that your grandmother kept it clean. The thought makes your lip wobble.

Instead of crying, you turn on your side and close your eyes. You imagine that she’s there next to you, brushing your hair with her soft hands and murmuring, There once was a princess without a crown. Don’t worry, she got her crown eventually, but she had to fight a monster to earn it… 

-

Darkness covers the room. You groan when you stretch your limbs, sore and cramped from sleeping on the uncomfortable bed. You’re still dressed in your funeral clothes. Grabbing your phone from next to the fairy lamp, you click your lock screen open. It’s near midnight. 

You see texts from your mother and roll your eyes. Of course she thought you left early - she hadn’t even bothered to check the rooms upstairs. Groaning, your joints pop as you get out of the bed, shuffling to the center of the room. Slipping your shoes back on, you make to leave the house and head back to your apartment. 

The hallway is night-still. Your steps break the silence as you use the screen of your phone to navigate the hall. Nearing the stairwell, you pause. You don’t know why, but something makes you turn and look at the opposite end of the hall. The small door that leads up the stairwell to the attic above your room beckons you. 

Something in you buzzes. The urge to walk to the other end of the hall and open the attic takes over. You don’t know where it comes from, only that you haven’t been in the attic in years. You were never allowed up there alone - it kept some of your grandparents most prized possessions. 

The world seems dull as you take a step towards the end of the hall and away from the stairs. A dull buzz enters your ears as you take another step, eyes fixed on the door. It would take only a moment to go up and look at what is there again. Trinkets and curiosities that you always loved to admire under the strict supervision of grandmother. 

Suddenly you’re outside the door. You reach for the knob and it feels like a tremor of electricity vibrates down your arm. Up up up your hand goes, closing around the brass knob and-

Your phone ringing makes you scream in surprise, dropping it entirely. You press your hand to your chest, heart pounding. The adrenaline shoots through you like an arrow, immediately making you feel sick from the sudden fear. 

Spell broken, you reach down, shining the phone face toward you, blinding you. It’s so much darker in the hallway than you remember. 

You slide your finger across the screen. “Hi, Joon. Yeah - sorry, I fell asleep after the funeral. I’m going home now - let’s have dinner tomorrow? Sounds good.”

You rarely blow off your best friend, but Namjoon is the kind of person who understands people the way you wish you could. He reads you like a book, always anticipating when you need space and always knowing what to say. He has been your rock during your grandmother’s ongoing health issues and passing - and he’d have been with you today, if you hadn’t assured him that his presentation at work was more important. 

The attic is forgotten about as you shake off the tired feeling. You head back to the stairs, jogging down them and shoving your phone in your pocket. Yawning, you lock up behind you and leave your grandmother’s old house standing alone in the night. 

-

Fabric clings to your shoulders uncomfortably. The blazer you’ve pulled on for your meeting is too tight in the arms, not allowing you to reach too far upward and feeling awkward as you shuffle out of the car. You reach to close the door, the sleeve straining against you. 

Formal wear isn’t your forte. You find it uncomfortable and you rarely need to use them unless you’re doing a signing or something official. Your usual clothes involve anything comfortable for writing children’s stories, weaving the tales from your childhood. Your grandmother had helped illustrate more than a few.

The thought makes you smile as you shift in the padded seat of the reception room of the legal office. You check your watch - the lawyer in charge of divvying up your grandmother’s estate is late. But so is your mother.

Next to you, the door opens. Your mother breezes in, dressed in a wonderfully tailored pantsuit and heels. She looks effortlessly beautiful, smiling when she sees you. You stand and press a kiss to her cheeks. You always wished you looked like her when you were younger - lithe and graceful with a sort of effortless movement. 

Now you’re happy that you look exactly like your grandmother - commanding and firm. You’re not graceful, but you’re strong. People listen to you when you speak, though that’s the one thing you share in common with your mother. 

“You look nice,” she says, sitting down next to her. You accept the comment, though you hate the outfit. “You should dress like that more often.” 

You love your mother. She is a strong woman who raised you primarily on her own while creating a fashion empire around herself. Though your childhood was filled with living at your grandmother’s when money was tight and more often than not having your grandparents keeping you during fashion weeks and long-weekends, your mother loves you. She isn’t unkind, and she tries to be supportive of your whimsical dreams. 

It’s just that you’re nothing like her. You’ve inherited the wandering mind from your father, his enchanting fascination with worlds of fantasy. And though that had attracted your mother to him in the first place because it reminded her of her mother, after your dad passed, her passion for anything magical vanished.

The struggle between wanting you to do something corporate and letting you live your dreams was constant for her. And you knew that she tried - she bought your books and she asked you about them. But the pinched brow and the twitch in her mouth always told you that she was disappointed. Because you reminded her of her late husband. Reminded her of the struggles with her own mother.

So you let the comment pass. It’s not an insult - she just wishes you were more like her. Carried you for nine months, she would joke. All for you to come out like grandma and your dad! 

“How’s your new book doing?”

It’s a question to broach the silence. You answer anyway, “Good. I’m glad grandma was able to illustrate for me.”

“She loved that you made her stories your own. I don’t know if you realize how much that meant to her - means to me.” You look up at your mom. For a moment, her face is older than you remember, more open and vulnerable. She touches your hand and you feel emotion well up inside you. “I’m glad we have those, for her. So thank you.” 

When the lawyer opens the door, the moment is gone. But you’re glad that it happens. 

Standing, you smooth your blazer and follow your mother into the man’s office. It’s stuffy and you feel claustrophobic. It smells like peppermint oil and tea tree. You notice that there are crystals lining his bookshelves, your eyes recognizing obsidian, tigers eye, smoky quartz. 

The lawyer himself is wire-thin and skittish, pushing his glasses up his pointed nose and apologizing profusely. He was dressed in jeans with paint stains and a shirt tucked in, evidence of a donut on his collar. You don’t know why, but he makes you smile as you sit down. You immediately imagine him as a willow man from one of your stories, a type of dryad made of willow bark, as flighty as the breeze. 

“I apologize for the delay,” he says again. “The lock box and papers went wandering off on their little feet - critters drive me nuts!”

You raise your brows. Your mother raises her hackles, fingers digging into the arms of her chair. “You almost lost my mother’s belongings?”

“Not permanently!”

Her nose flares. “Make this brief, please.” 

The lawyer - Mr. Willow, which makes you suspicious of your own mind - goes through the papers outlining your grandmother’s estates. It’s mostly split evenly, with certain heirlooms and keepsakes going to your mother. You can tell your mother is struggling with some of the items mentioned, something personal and meaningful to her.

The surprise comes when you get the house and specific belongings inside of it. You recognize objects kept in the attic that Mr. Willow goes over. Your mother goes rigid for some of them, and though you don’t know why, you find yourself nodding along. 

At the end of the meeting, you are much wealthier than you imagined being in your lifetime, and you have a house full of curiosities and memories.

Outside, the world is gray. It has rained most days since your grandmother has passed away. The imaginative side of you feels as though the world is weeping for her loss. The realist in you knows the rainy season is approaching. 

A touch on your wrist draws your attention to your mother. Her mouth is pinched, and nostrils are flared, sure signs of her annoyance as she tightens her hold. “You should sell off those items in the attic. No good comes from them.”

You frown. “Why?”

“They’re trinkets that inspired the delusions of your grandfather - grandmother too, in the end. You should be rid of them. They have sour memories.”

“I love the attic,” you protest. “I loved when grandma took me up there.”

“I can’t make you do anything, but you should think about what I’ve said. Objects have a weird way of holding memories that warp the mind.” She lets go of your wrist. It’s the most she's ventured to imply that objects can be mystical in years. “Try not to get lost in the stories. They’re nothing more than that.” 

With a firm kiss on your head, she turns and walks away. People look at her as she passes by them, heads turned to watch her go. She has always had a magnetic beauty, drawing people to her wherever she went. Your grandmother had that same quality, moving about the world with an intense gravity. 

Your drive through the city is aimless. You have nowhere to be. Nothing to do. The music is so low that you turn it off, listening to the hum of the tires on the pavement. Your hands guide you on instinct until you’re driving through winding hills toward your grandmother’s house. It isn’t until you’re stepping out into the silver moonlight that you realize you’re there. 

Pulling your phone out, you text Namjoon the address. You’re supposed to meet for dinner, but you want to explore a little. The house will be less creepy with him around. 

The house is dark. There are no lights in the window as you close your car door, a noise so loud that it makes you flinch in the silence of the night. You don’t move for a while, just examining the house. Vine climbs up the side of the house and tangles in the eaves. There’s a porch on the front, a single swing still hanging. Above it is a large balcony attached to your grandmother’s room, the furniture and plants still waiting for her return. 

Your eyes drift to the rounded front of the house - the reading room on the first floor, your room on the second, and the attic on the third. You used to have dreams about creatures slipping through the floor of the attic to come through your ceiling and fall on you while you slept. 

The dreams you had when you stayed with your grandmother were always strange. Filled with something other and always like you were waking from a memory, you sometimes recalled pixies and brownies creeping on the edge of your mind, speaking to you in hushed tones at the foot of your bed. 

Now, you’re alone without having one of those dreams in years. You walk up to the house, letting yourself in. It doesn’t feel like it’s yours, though it legally is. You cross the threshold and stare out at the dark home. Most of the things inside belong to you, a reality that seems far away. This will always be your grandmother’s home. It will always have her things. 

Your mother’s suggestion to sell off the items in the attic gnaws at you. Flicking the lights on in the home so you don’t feel so alone, you ascend the stairs. The clock in the reading room ticks loudly, a steady staccato as you climb the stairs, footsteps quieted by carpet. Your fingers trace the flowered wallpaper, some of the edges peeling where it meets the next panel. 

A memory comes to you and you smile. There was a time when you were around five that you got in trouble for drawing near the crown molding, sitting on the stairs with your Crayola and pressing the waxy tip into the wallpaper with vigor. Your grandmother had not been bothered and your mother was mildly annoyed until she saw the subject of your drawings: a warrior queen with stars in her hair.

You don’t remember what her and your grandmother fought about, but it had been loud and you waited in your room with tear-stained cheeks for it to be over. 

Hundreds of memories echo in the home. You feel them all as you open the attic door, looking up at the dark stairs. You flick the light up before taking the stairs carefully. They creak under your weight and you see the way the cobwebs dance as you walk by. 

The ceiling is low and you can see the little black spiders spinning away, wrapped up in their own machinations. You leave them to their spinning, sweeping your gaze around the room with a mix of excitement and sadness. It’s been years since you’ve been in the attic, and you don’t know where to go first. 

Following your own whims, you brush your finger along an old book collection. There’s dust on them, old folklore books and poems that your grandfather used to read often. Your grandmother had no interest in them when he passed, but she always kept them. Your finger tapped the cracked and aged spine of The Knight of the Cart, trailing to The Song of Roland. 

That one makes you smile. You imagine yourself as the Knight Roland, wielding his mighty sword Durendal, or sitting at the round table. 

A heavy chest with artfully crafted metal leaves and a gilded latch sits in the corner. You know it contains objects you were never allowed to see - a heavy lock keeps the polished leather lid shut. You go to it anyway - you’re sure there’s a key somewhere, perhaps in the safety deposit box you were given. Your fingers are curious as they trace the metal leaves. They're artfully done, with jewels set in, a green that is so vibrant you swear they’re emeralds. 

Your favorite part of the attic is the old school boudoir. You sit on the cushioned stool carefully, worried that the old wood will crack under your weight. The mirror is covered in dust. You carefully trace your finger through the dust, instinct guiding you before you realize what you’re doing. 

Mirrors can lead to other worlds your grandmother had whispered once. Maybe even different places of the afterlife. 

So you trace a single sentence on the mirror. I miss you. An oidche. 

You hope that wherever she is, your grandmother receives the message written in dust. 

Nudging around the items at the table, you pull open a drawer. Dust clouds out of it, making you wave your hand back and forth to try and clear it. Inside are some perfumes and a lethal looking letter opener. You take out the letter opener, eyebrows raised. It’s a little larger and heavier than normal - you dare to call it a dagger - with an ornate grip decorated with silver stars. The blade is thin and dark silver. 

Static crackles in the air. You feel something sizzle in your palm, sparking your skin. You yelp, dropping the letter opener to the floor. It clatters, but you ignore the dagger, looking at the palm of your hand. You swear theres a pink, faded outline where you gripped the handle, but when you blink, your hand is normal.

Picking up the letter opener from the floor, you put it back in the drawer. You start to close the drawer, but a velvet box captures your eye. You pull the midnight-blue box from the back of the drawer. It’s velvet and obviously a ring box. You pop it open, curious. A simple band of metal is inside, stars carved into the metal. You pull it from its snug seat in the box, holding it up toward the shotty light to examine it.

The band looks too large for your fingers. The metal is dark like the letter opener, almost black and yet shimmering somehow. The stars aren’t like the normal five-pointed drawings in popular media, but bursts that are all unique and beautiful in their own way. 

Experimentally, you slid the ring on your pointer finger on your right hand. It’s too loose at first - you blink in surprise. The attic is not brightly lit, but for a moment you swear the ring pulsed and grew smaller. It’s snug on your finger now, not too tight but not loose. You hold your hand up, admiring it. It isn’t full of diamonds or jewels, but there is something about it that glows from within. 

A tremor goes through you. You flinch and look around the room. You swear you felt something like a pulse of energy shiver through you and outward. The room is dark - your vision fades in and out for a moment as your eyes adjust from staring at the ring so much. 

Nothing seems amiss, but you feel… off. 

Shrugging you pull at the ring, ready to return it. The metal doesn’t come off. You frown and pull harder, but it doesn’t budge. You try a few more times, but the ring fits snuggly. You look at it again, frown deepening.

“What the fuck,” you mutter. 

No matter what you try, the ring won’t come off. You pull open other drawers, looking for lotion of some kind to help slide the ring off your finger. You find none. 

Something makes you acutely aware of the silence in the room. You look up at the mirror - it’s still dusted over, not showing a true reflection, but you see a figure in the corner near the door. Screaming, you shoot out of the seat and turn around, crashing backward into the boudoir. 

“Woah woah woah!” Namjoon holds his hands up in surrender, pushing himself against the wall. “Relax it's just me!”

“What are you doing here?!”

“You texted me to meet you!”

Oh yeah. You take a deep breath, trying to calm your pounding heart and the sudden urge to vomit from the terror. You close your eyes, letting your breathing regulate. When you open them again, Namjoon is still waiting for you. You relax, letting the breath woosh from your lungs. 

“Sorry, I think I’m just paranoid,” you say finally. 

“House is a little creepy at night.”

“A bit.” Shrugging off the weird thoughts of the ring, you cross the attic and beckon for him to follow. “Let’s go, I’m starving.” 

-

After a few days, it’s easy to forget about the fact that the ring won’t come off. On closer inspection, it appears that it’s made of something like iron. At night, you lie in bed and stare at it, hand held above you. It seems to glow whenever the sun sets, coming alive in the night. 

Though you never feel the same pulse of energy you did the night you put the ring on, you feel something. You can’t put your finger on it, but it lingers in the night. Though you were always a night owl, a new kind of insomnia slowly begins to take over. You find yourself inspired the moment the sun vanishes from the sky to write, creating your grandmother’s stories into something else fuller, more expanded. 

You’re suffering from another battle of insomnia as you stand in the kitchen, sipping chamomile tea in the dark. The ring reflects the night light hauntingly. Your eyes drift to inspect it again, following unknown constellations mapped in the metal. 

There are seven stars on the metal, dotted carefully. Something prods your mind. You narrow your eyes, staring at the constellations. They suddenly look familiar, almost like a distant memory. It’s on the edge of your thought, lingering there as you rotate your hand, holding it close to your face to get a better view.

Seven stars. Each burst its own shape and size. Your frustration mounts like an itch you can’t scratch, a pressure building as you struggle to think of where you know this pattern from, where you know those stars. 

You blink and almost drop your tea. You set it down quickly and rush to the light in the kitchen, flicking it on and making yourself flinch. When your eyes adjust, you hold your hand up, mouth agape as you count the stars. 

One star for winter, the first in the skies

One star for spring, when winter dies

One star for summer, cold winter’s twin

One star for autumn, when the veil is thin

One star for day, the brightest glow

One star for night, when the world is slow

One star on high, to rule alone

The soft rhyme your grandfather used to whisper to you comes back to you with a wave of emotions. You clutch the counter, trying to catch your breath as the rhyme circles your mind over and over again.

The seven stars of the faerie realm. You remember both of them telling you about it, the way each star represented a court. Those stories were your favorite. Your grandmother always wove beautiful stories about the warrior princess of the Night Court who fell in love with a knight of the Summer Court. You remember their story, remember the way they united to banish the power of the High Court, an ancient court draining the power of the six courts.

Grabbing your keys, you don’t even think. Trees and headlights blur by as you drive to your grandmother's house, hands twisting on the steering wheel. Something settles over you - a sense of foreboding that begins to twist in your stomach. You know what you’re going to find. 

And yet when you run through the house and up to your old bedroom, falling to your knees to inspect the mural your grandmother has painted you, you’re surprised. The warrior princess with stars in her hair holds her sword high over her head, ring glowing on her finger with power. 

You look down at your hand. It’s the same ring. 

Rushing up to the attic, you’re already convincing yourself that you’re going mad. Your grandparents were huge storytellers - your father too. It was something so consuming to them, their world of fantasy and mythological creatures. You wanted nothing more than for it to all be real as a child. 

You think of the way your mother purged your home of stories and fantasy when your father passed. How she hated any time your grandmother filled your head with those lies and fantasies. Of the way your mother told you to toss the items in the attic out.

Maybe she was right. Maybe there is a madness that runs in your family, a sickness of the mind that weaves fantasies and makes you think they’re real. There is nothing wrong with your grandmother having a ring she’s painted in your old room. There’s nothing wrong with a ring that won’t come off - it happens all the time. 

Upstairs in the attic, you’re rooting around the bookshelf for the tiny journal your grandfather kept with poems and pages filled with his delicate, slanted writing. You don’t bother to turn the lights on, spying it and snatching it. You crack it open, the yellowed pages familiar as you pace, flicking through the pages. 

You find the entry you want, stopping your pacing to pause and read the poem over again. It’s there, the seven courts of faerie, all ruled by the powerful High Court. You trace the words, shaking your head. Their twisted imaginations are so much more than you could have thought. Their stories are so heavily intertwined that it feels… real, like some sort of past they have shared.

But that is not possible. You write children's novels, inspired by your grandmother’s bedside tales, but they are nothing more than that. You can’t… you can’t fall into delusion that this is real, that these little snippets of this world they spoke of are tangible. 

You know it is. You don’t know why, but the word real pulses through you like the steady beat of your heart. Real real. Real real. Real real. 

It’s all real. 

“Has this world erased any sense of self-awareness you have?” 

The voice makes you scream in surprise, clutching the journal to your chest as your heart beats so wildly you think it’s going to explode. The soft purr belongs to a man standing in the corner of the attic, staring at you with keen eyes. 

“Do not come any closer!” You scream at him, the first words that come to your mind. 

He looks amused. “You were always a brat, but you’re in no position to order me around anymore.”  

Every hair on the back of your neck stands on end. You stare at the man who stands with his hands behind his back in the corner of the attic. He looks entirely out of place - a shirt made of a soft material that is almost see-through hangs loose on his narrow frame. It’s the shade of cotton candy but somehow brighter. The collar is open, revealing smooth skin and layered necklaces with pearls and other small jewels. His pants are tight fitted, something similar to leather and tucked into supple boots. 

There is a circlet resting on his silver head - something that would look ridiculous in any other situation but now commands power. It looks right on him - makes him look otherworldly and deadly.

His eyes are green, nearly glowing in the shadow of the attic. He looks out of place here, a being that isn’t made for your world. He steps forward and it’s soundless. The aged and cracked floorboards don’t dare to make a sound under his feet, the dust of the attic doesn’t move.

A pretty face belies something dark. Something terrifying. His face is beautiful but alien, like something about the features are too sharp. You feel unsettled by him, heart hammering as he edges soundlessly to you, like the air doesn't stir when he moves.

He’s not human. That’s for sure.

Something pulses in you. You stare at the strange intruder, ethereal and lost in his eyes but there’s something else you can’t place. You fight the urge to cross the space to him, something pulling on you like an invisible force. Your breath quickens as you fight something that feels like a physical tether pulling you toward him.

He watches you. Silver hair delicately styled back, his circlet like moonlight spun among the strands. There’s jewelry dangling in his ears, more exquisite than you’ve ever seen. An emerald dangles delicately, reflecting light so much that it almost pulses. Your eyes drifted up the silver cuff, made in the style of vines to the top of his pointed ears.

Your breath is stuck in your chest. 

Faerie.

Your mind races to put together the pieces of the tales your grandmother told you, of a world not your own. A world with sugared candies and blood oaths, of drinks so sweet they’d kill you but music and dancing so wonderful you could cry. 

The faerie watches you, head cocked to the side, a predator examining its prey. You clutch the book tighter in your hands, knuckles bone white.

“Why do you look so afraid, Yvaine?” 

You suck in a sharp breath. This faerie knows your grandmother’s name - thinks that you’re her. You’ve been told countless times how much you look like her - young portraits nearly identical. 

Every story she ever told you as a child comes rushing back to you. The way she described a knight who loved her deeply, the way she learned to wield a sword and go on glorious adventures. 

The fae are fickle beings, she once told you. Cruel and intelligent, but with the capacity to love and create in ways that you can hardly imagine. Never trust them implicitly, and always keep your name close to your chest.

“You startled me,” you finally answer. If he knows your grandmother, perhaps he’s one of the good fae she spoke of. You try to relax visibly. “It’s not every day-old friend appear in attics.” 

His eerie eyes drop down to your hand, zeroing in on the ring on your finger. You cover your hand with your grandfather’s journal, shielding the ring from his view. His eyes flash and he smiles. It’s not kind - it’s something else entirely that makes you want to back away from him. 

The faerie tsks, siren eyes dragging back up to fix on your face. “You’re not Yvaine.” 

“What a ridiculous notion.”

He scoffs. “Nothing startled her, much less me. And,” he adds with a saccharine grin, “Yvaine would hardly call me a friend. Pray tell, who are you?”

“Grandma told me to never speak names to the fae.”

His smile sharpens, teeth on display. He is beautiful and terrifying. His teeth are too sharp and his smile is too big. When you blink, he looks normal again. Glamour, you realize.

The faerie tilts his head toward you. “A good piece of advice. How about I introduce myself first: You may call me Jimin.” His eyes go back to the ring you’re hiding. “And you’re wearing something that does not belong to you.” 

“Everything in this house belongs to me.”

“That ring is not from this house.”

“Well it’s where I found it.”

“It does not change the place of origin.”

“Finders keepers,” you sneer at him. 

He frowns. “I am unfamiliar with the meaning of that phrase. Is it perhaps a greeting among thieves?” 

“So you admit you’re a thief.” 

Jimin is so painfully beautiful that only your fear keeps you snapping at him. You retreat backwards slightly, bumping against the boudoir. You remember the letter opener, positioning yourself so that your hand is behind your back, slowly opening the drawer. 

“I’m many things, a thief among them.” His eyes are glittering as he walks around the room, observing the bookshelf. You take the distraction as a moment to put your hand in the drawer, searching for the letter opener. It’s missing. “Looking for something?” 

Your eyes shoot up. Jimin is standing in front of the bookshelf, letter opener in hand. Your anger flares through you and you feel an energy ripple through you again. Jimin’s face twists, becoming unsettled as you yell, “See, you are a thief!”

“This belongs to me. Show me your hand, girl.” 

“Give me my letter opener.”

He makes a sour face. “Letter opener? This knife has belonged to An Oidhche for millennia. It is hardly made for opening letters. It was my-”

“What did you just say?”

“For Makers sake,” he growls and moves forward across the attic. He’s fast, faster than your eyes can follow before he’s in front of you. He smells like orange blossoms and a summer’s night, nearly hypnotizing you. Up close he is so angelic that you fight the urge to sink to your knees and bow. “Give me that ring, girl, or I will rip it from your dead hand, allegiance to Yvaine be damned.” 

“An Oidhche - that’s what my grandmother called me.”

“Congratulations.”

“What does it mean?”

It seems Jimin has met his tolerance for you leaning away from him. He reaches for you, lightning quick. Before you can defend yourself, energy ripples out of you. It hits him and you smell something sharp and metallic as he’s stunned backwards, nearly losing his footing. He looks up at you, eyes round and plush lips open in surprise.

“There’s no way,” he whispers, his lip curling. Shocked, you look at the ring on your hand. It’s glowing, a tingling sensation vibrating up your hand. “Iron?” 

You use his shock to your advantage. Grabbing whatever you can reach, you launch items at Jimin. He’s fast, but not fast enough, his shock still dulling his senses. A bottle of perfume hits him in the head. He snarls, the sound feral and deep as you bolt past him. 

Jimin is quick to recover. There’s a soft whistling sound before you're ripped backwards, a loud thwack startling you. You turn your head to see that Jimin threw the dagger at you, catching your shirt and pinning you to the door. You scream in frustration, pulling at the dagger. It doesn’t give as Jimin smirks, swaggering toward you.

“You tried to kill me!” you scream at him, enraged. Whoever this faerie is, he is clearly not one of the nice ones your grandmother spoke of. “You fucking bastard.”

“Told you I’d pry it from your dead hands.”

Jimin is only a foot away from you. Your instincts scream. You don’t even think. You kick out with your foot, hitting him in the chest. He hardly moves, pain shooting up your shin as though you kicked a wall. It doesn’t stop you. You scream at him, kicking out the other foot, pushing against the door for leverage as you aim higher at his head.

Jimin catches your foot this time, yanking you and the door forward into him. You use the momentum to throw your head forward, slamming your forehead into his face. Jimin curses as pain explodes through your head, stars blinding you. 

Pain. Dreadful, swelling pain spreads through your head. You’ve never headbutt someone before, but it looks so easy when the Avengers do it. You’re dizzy, the room spinning on a crooked access. You go limp against the door, unable to focus on anything but the way you can barely focus on Jimin in front of you.

Your vision is hazy on the edges as he holds a hand up to his nose. It comes away crimson. His green eyes are glowing, brighter than they were before. He surprises you as he begins laughing, tilting his crimson and moonlight face up to the ceiling as he laughs, full-bellied. The sound is like trickling water, trilling and beautiful.

“Fuck, you are certainly of Yvaine's bloodline.” The words reach you like they’re spoken through syrup, sticky and slow. “I cannot believe you headbutt me. And you did it all wrong. You used half your brow bone- oh lovely.”

You feel Jimin’s hands smacking your cheek lightly. You can barely register the touch beyond the pain. You feel sick - you know you’ve damaged yourself. At the least you’ve given yourself a terrible concussion. You feel heavy as you blink, Jimin swimming in your vision.

Jimin reaches for the ring again. You moan, trying to ask him to stop, to leave you alone. He doesn’t. His fingers brush the ring and he curses, yanking his hands away from it. “Fuck,” he spits, nursing his fingers, now tipped red. “Hey – come on, are you alright? Girl? Don’t pass out on me.”

A part of you is smug knowing you’re going to do the exact opposite of what he asks. Because being left alone with him after he’s attacked you is the last thing you want to do, but your vision is fuzzy on the edges and you feel a voice sweeping toward you to swallow you whole. 

“Fuck off,” you manage to slur, going slack against the door and letting the darkness drag you down.

-

Lilac skies stretch overhead. The water around your ankles reflects the same color. There seems to be no horizon in any direction, making you spin in a slow circle. Your feet don’t disturb the warm water as you shift. 

It’s hard to tell what is up and down, forever twilight everywhere all at once. 

“Where am I?” you wonder out loud. 

“You shouldn’t be here.” 

You whip around at the voice. Your grandmother stands a few yards away from you, younger than you ever remember. She’s in a gauzy dress, the material swaying in a breeze that isn’t there. She looks beautiful, face glowing as cool, silver eyes regard you. 

“Grandma,” you whisper.

“We must be quick.” You take a step toward her and she shakes her head, holding a hand out to stop you. “You must not step further into the twilight. You do not belong here.”

“Where is here?” 

“The twilight between life and death. I felt your pull when you entered the In Between.”

“I’m dying?”

She shakes her head. “You’re at the space between worlds - the road between Faerie and Earth and other realms.” You swallow and nod. At least you’re not dying. “You are with Jimin.”

“He’s awful.”

Her smile is fleeting. She looks so much like the woman she painted on the walls of your bedroom - she is that woman. “Jimin is a product of his environment. Given the chance, he usually chooses the lesser evil, however he is ruthless when it comes to protecting what’s his. I am fond of him, in a way, but don’t mistake me - Jimin is cunning and not to be trusted. What is he after?”

“This.” You hold up your hand. Your grandmother’s eyes widen, and she takes a hesitant step forward. 

Suddenly, you’re freezing cold. You shiver, the tips of your fingers trembling with the biting cold.

“Oh Jimin, what are you doing?” Your grandmother whispers. In a rush, she says, “Get away from him as soon as you can. Don’t let him take you to the Night Court. He will portal you south of his court near Hoseok’s home. If he takes you to the Night Court, you will not escape. You must not let him introduce you to Seokjin – the faerie who can lie.”

Again, cold douses you and the world around you dulls. You feel yourself moving away from your grandmother, the twilight shaking itself free of you. You cling to the image, begging, “What? What is that supposed to mean? What is this ring?”

“It isn’t about the ring anymore,” her face is pained. “There are so many things I wish I could tell you - just get away from Jimin and don’t let him take you to Seokjin. Jimin won’t realize the mistake he’s making, he doesn't know that Seokjin isn't who he thinks – he doesn’t know Seokjin killed your grandfather-”

Freezing cold water burns your face. You sputter, gasping for air. You choke on the icy tendrils, wiping your eyes with numb fingers, shaking. The dream - the place of twilight between life and death - vanishes and you’re stuck somewhere unknown dripping with cold.

Jimin is crouched at eye level, hypnotizing face fixated on you. He looks perfect as ever - the blood is gone though it stains the collar of his gossamer shirt, and there’s no bruising. No evidence you hit him at all, wiping out any satisfaction you have.

The cold is so bad it claws at you, head throbbing where you headbutt him. There’s a dry, bitter taste in your mouth. You cringe, unsure why you’ve woken up with something like hangover mouth parching you. 

“Finally,” Jimin mutters. His hands come to cup your face. You flinch away from him, earning a curled lip and a feral growl as he forcibly holds you face, tilting you upward to examine your forehead. Your eyes go upwards to look at the sky and the breath leaves your lungs. “Swelling is going down. You’ll be fine in a moment - forced some tonic in your mouth. I’d apologize for the bitter taste in your mouth, but I’m not actually sorry.” 

You ignore the rude comment. The pull toward Jimin is there again, making you stare at him for a few moments in silence. He lets you, eyes wandering your face, though you can’t tell what he’s thinking.

True to his word, the pain begins to fade in your head. Jimin stands up next to you, trailing towards a massive horse. You gape. It’s beautiful with a midnight coat and dark, leather saddle. The horse’s mane and tail are silver like starlight, silky and smooth as Jimin adjusts the saddle.

“Your horse is beautiful.”

Jimin’s mouth twitches. “Thank you. Her name is Umbriel.”

You look up at the sky. Constellations and colors like you’ve never seen swirl above, the black sky saturated with purple and pink stars, swirling galaxies that make your head spin. It’s so beautiful you can’t look away.

“It’s beautiful,” you whisper. You drop your gaze and look around. The forest is dark, but there are bioluminescent plants swaying in the breeze that smells like jasmine. A glowing, white butterfly brushes by you and you smile, despite yourself. “Everything glows?”

“It’s the Night Court,” Jimin grunts as though this is a huge fact you should have known. “Of course everything glows. Now get up.” 

Don’t let him take you to the Night Court. Your grandmother’s words ring in your head as you slowly stand. Your limbs are still cold. You spot a slow-moving stream a few feet away - perhaps the source of the freezing water Jimin doused you with several times. 

Jimin rolls his eyes when you stand, steady on your feet. He gestures to the horse. “Come on, human. We don’t have all day.”

“It’s night.”

“It’s only night here. But it is day in your scope of time.” 

“What direction is south?”

Jimin pointed behind you, face pulled into a sneer. “Do all human women ask such ridiculous questions? Now let’s-”

You don’t care what he’s saying. You pivot and run. Your shoes aren’t made for athletics - you’re still I fluffy slippers, leggings and a baggy sleepy shirt. The right shoe comes off and you leave it. The ground is soft under your feet, springy and damp. You lose the other shoe, arms pumping at your side as you race downhill. 

Colors blur on either side of you. You don’t hear Jimin behind you as you nearly trip over a vine. Your breath stings in your lungs and - 

A body slams into you. You screech as you crash into the bushes, the breath leaving your lungs. The world is a kaleidoscope of neon as glowing things flutter from the bushes, flying upward in panic as you wheeze in the bushes. Jimin’s grip on your wrists is like iron, pushing your hands into the foliage as he straddles your waist. 

The prince is gone. He is replaced with an angry, wild faerie, Jimin’s canines sharp as he snarls at you. There’s something alien about his face - he’s no longer the beautiful man who was standing in your attic. His eyes seem sharper and his features are too lupine to be anything but faerie, shocking you straight from panic to utter terror. You cringe away from him, screaming on top of your lungs. 

A hand clamps over your mouth as he growls at you to shut up. You squeeze your eyes shut, kicking underneath him and crying under the vice grip he has on your mouth.

This has to be a nightmare. You will yourself to wake up, for the weight of Jimin to vanish. You hope you’re just sleeping in your room, thrashing at the sheets as this strange nightmare continues.

Maybe your mother was right. There was some sort of twisted sickness in your family, an obsession of the mind with fantasy and creatures, and your mind is poisoned now. 

“You’re going to get us both killed if you don’t stop screaming,” Jimin seethes, his voice darker than you remember. You open your eyes as his grip on you lightens a fraction. He’s no longer the terrifying face he was a moment ago, but he’s serious as he lowers himself further to murmur, “The Dreadwolf is probably prowling about these parts. I’m not trying to hurt you.”  

Slowing your breathing, you try to run through your options. Jimin is faster than you and stronger than you- not to mention he has Umbriel at his disposal. He’s armed- you now see the dagger at his waist, next to a sword you did not see before. His grip on your wrist is bruising and he’s looking at you, waiting to see what you’re going to do. 

You’re not going to get away from Jimin. That much is clear. You swallow thickly.

You can’t remember the name Jimin. Your grandmother has talked about many names, but Jimin is unfamiliar to you. But you’re in the Night Court - Jimin said that himself. The place your grandmother told you not to let him take you to - or perhaps she meant it's a palace. 

The Night Court brings up a shiver as you gaze up at him. You remember your grandmother’s words, saying the Night Court is both the most beautiful and one of the deadliest places. A place where it is always night and glowing, full of magic and ancient fae. The Court of Mystery it is also known as - it is the second court to exist in Faerie after the High Court, home to the oldest fae. 

“Are you ready to listen to me?” Jimin’s voice is velvet again. It has a soothing effect on you and you melt into the ferns and nod. He removes his hand slowly, palm hovering over your bruised lips as he waits for you to scream again. “You cannot scream in the Night Court,” Jimin murmurs. A micro-expression you cannot decode flits across his face for a moment as he brushes your hair from your face. “There are things that live off of screams here. I don’t wish to introduce them to you.”

“Don’t you want me dead anyway?” you shoot back. 

His face doesn’t show a single reaction. “I don’t want to hurt you at all. But if you fight me, I’m going to have to. I don’t… know how else to do what I need to do.”

“Maybe try telling me what you need and being partners instead of kidnapping me?”

Jimin doesn’t answer for a moment. “I won’t kill you. I believe Yvaine will haunt me into eternity if I kill you. Grandmother, you called her?” You nod. His eyes are searching your face. “You have her beauty - not her eyes, though. What was your grandfather's name?” 

You hesitate. “Oberon.” 

Pain. Acute pain flickers across Jimin’s face as he rolls off you. It’s so fast you blink in surprise, a world of stars and sky greeting you. Jimin is several feet away from you, running a hand over his face. For a moment, you just watch him. His composure slips for only a second - and then he’s facing you again, giving you an impatient expression, hand on his hip. 

“By all means,” he gestures. “Lay in the ferns. You should know that you crashed into a massive web of spiders.” 

Alarmed, you roll to your feet, brushing yourself off anywhere you can reach. You hop around barefoot and disheveled, running your hands through your hair trying to free it from any creepy crawlies. Jimin whistles and beckons you. “There weren’t really spiders there, but at least you’re on your feet.” 

“I thought the fae couldn’t lie.” 

He arches his brows as you approach him. “So you do know of the fae.”

“That doesn’t answer my question.” 

“I didn’t lie. I said you crashed into spiders - I wasn’t specific about where and when. It was when we portaled here, landed right on the web earlier. I omitted the time.”

“Art of deception,” you mumbled. “Where are we going and what do you want with me? I’d give you this stupid ring if I could, but it won’t come off.” 

His smirk is rueful as he gestures to the horse. Though he’s shorter than Namjoon and floats like a wraith, he’s still taller than you. Dancer thin, but strong, muscles moving under his breeches and - you drag your eyes up, face red at the way you were drawn to the tight pants. 

“It won’t come off unless its maker takes it off you.” 

“Then why did you try?” 

“I had to be sure it was the ring I was searching for.” 

“What does a faerie want with an iron ring anyway? Isn’t it like kryptonite to you people?”

Umbriel is far too tall for you. You put your hand on the horn of the saddle, struggling to lift your foot. Jimin grabs you by the waist and lifts you like you’re nothing, placing you on the horse. He frowns as he hauls himself up behind you, setting your cheeks aflame and heart racing. “Like what?” 

“You don’t spend much time on earth, do you? Kryptonite - the one thing that can kill superman.” 

“He doesn’t sound very super if this… kryptonite can kill him. Iron won’t kill me, it just hurts.” He lifts his chin slightly. “And of course I don’t visit earth. I’m a crown prince of the Night Court, the Evening Star and heir to the High Throne of Faerie.” 

“Oh.” 

You’re not surprised - Jimin was obviously a prince. But of the Night Court - and the High Court? From what you can recall, the High Court had long since been removed as the seat of power in Faerie. There had been a dark king who was abusing his power over the courts. That power had been taken away - by your grandmother and a knight of the Summer Court, if your grandmother’s tales had been truthful. 

So did that mean… your eyes dart down to the ring, thinking about the way it showed the seven stars of the courts. The pulse of power you felt when you put it on, the way Jimin said the ring was his... 

A nasty feeling twists in your gut as you swallow, knowing there is only one reason Jimin could want the ring so desperately as the heir to the High Throne. 

“This ring has the power of the old High King, doesn’t it?” Jimin says nothing. He clicks his tongue, urging the horse forward. “Why else would you want it - as an heir? You said it was yours…” 

“It does - and it is.” 

“Then why is it made from iron?”

He sneers. “Because your grandmother is a clever little witch.” 

“She was not a witch!”

“You're right. She was a wicked little half-fae who became a hero.” He heaves a sigh. You feel the air expand in his chest before he lets it out. “But look where we are now, living the consequences of her actions. Her fix, however noble, was temporary and made without thought of the future. Of my future.” 

“My-” you shake your head. “My grandmother was not half-fae. She was human, like the rest of my family.” 

“Of course she was. Why do you think she lived in Faerie at all? Where did she get her gifts? Or how does she have fae artifacts in that creepy little room? The only reason you lived portaling here is because you’re part fae.” 

“Me?” 

“Is there an echo out here? Yes you - do you know nothing about her? You know things about the High Court and you don’t seem completely perplexed about where we are, but you know nothing of your history? Your grandmother was the bastard daughter to the old king of the Night Court and your grandfather was Oberon, one of the greatest knights this realm has ever seen. Ever.” 

You blanch. “We’re related?” 

“What?” He seems disgusted, pulling away from you slightly. “No - King Samar was not my father. Yvaine was whelped by Samar and a human housemaid whose name no one remembers. Queen Eun was my mother. My father was…” Jimin searches for the words. “King Malik of the High Court. He was once the High King of Faerie.” 

“Oh.” 

Silence as you ride. You picture your grandmother and father as… fae. It seems both ridiculous and yet, your instincts don’t rebel at the thought. You think about how you’ve always had dreams of strange places and creatures. How sometimes things happened around your grandparents that didn’t make sense - you always blamed it on your overactive imagination. 

“I didn’t know that about them,” you murmur. “They were only ever human to me.” 

“Well, settle in. You’re about to learn plenty about your family tree.” He glances at you. “You still haven’t given me a name.” 

You hesitate and decide to give him only your first name. He nods after hearing it, humming. “Beautiful,” he says so softly you almost don’t hear him. He doesn’t give you time to second-guess the compliment. “Sleep if you wish, Umbriel and I will not let you fall. We have a bit of a ride to Hoseok’s cabin where we can rest.”

-

You can’t sleep. You settle for uneasy silence, watching the world around you. You spot pixies and dryads floating between trees, and you hear things skitter underfoot.

Once in a while, Jimin reroutes Umbriel. Once, he even hissed at a dark alcove as you passed a copse of trees. The trees grow thicker, moving downhill as you enter a forest proper.

It’s hard to stay focused when you’re pressed against Jimin – he’s warmer than you expected, and he smells like orange blossom and late nights. 

You don’t care. You remind yourself that he’s a liar – in fae terms. And he’s kidnapped you, despite the draw you feel to him and despite his beautiful face.

The world around you has your attention instead.

The sky is a mystery in itself, shifting colors of dark twilight. You can’t get over how it looks like the entirety of space and all of the worlds are suspended above you, shifting with the ebb and flow of the aurora borealis back in your home realm.

Everything around you is both dark and glowing. The shadows are thicker and longer, but the world is line with soft color. Your hands brush branches as you ride – flowers vanish into their stalks at the touch of your fingers, lichen grows bright green at the heat of your hand.

“Stop touching the trees. You’ll wake them and I’ll have to threaten them to keep our passing to themselves.

You frown. “For a prince you’re not very nice. Aren’t you supposed to be polite to your subjects?”

“They aren’t my subjects,” Jimin snaps. “The Night Court answers to my adoptive brother.”

“Yeah, but aren’t you-"

“No. My mother, who was my only claim to the throne is dead. Jin lets me act as an emissary because I am little threat to him. He’s a Shade- only true heirs of the Night Court command the shadow flame.”

“Is he nice?”

Jimin doesn’t answer your question.

Instead, he offers, “The High Court are my people by blood. They’re why I need that ring that refuses to come off of your finger. Without the power of their court, they’re dying. Their lands are poisoned and being consumed, and neighboring courts are taking advantage of that. They’re-” He breaks off and growls, the sound vibrating through your back. “They’re hurting the high fae and they’re abusing them. I want that power back. Not for me, but for the faeries who are dying without it.”

“Isn’t that power what got them hurt in the first place because it was abused?”

“King Malik was sick. He didn’t deserve the power of the High King, but what’s happening in his abandoned lands isn’t right.” Jimin’s knuckles are bone white on the reigns. “A court is only as strong as the power in their lands. They High Court has nothing and no one, and the only heir of Malik doesn’t have so much as a drop of high fae glamour.”

“Oh. You weren’t born with it?”

“It was taken from me the same day it was taken from my father.”

Sadness stirs in the pit of your stomach. On one hand, Jimin seems to generally want you out of harm's way, despite his actions. Though he can deceive, the root of his goals is to protect his people. It’s obvious he cares for them, the way he grows angry at the thought of their suffering.

“You pity me.”

It wasn’t a question, but you shake your head. “I just wonder what you could have been if things weren’t taken from you. You sound like you have the potential to be kind.”

Jimin says nothing.

Instead, there’s a long, terrible howl that shatters the night. You suck in a sharp breath as Jimin stops Umbriel, who begins dancing back and forth nervously as Jimin swivels in the seat. The howl lowers, but the world feels colder now. A breath of wind tickles your face, blowing your hair northward.

“Fuck,” Jimin swears, turning in the seat. He wraps an arm around your waist and squeezes you to his chest. “Hold on to me. The Dreadwolf knows we’re here.”

Umbriel takes off faster than any horse you’ve ever ridden. Her hooves are like thunder, echoing in the forest as the world moves past you impossible fast. You dig your fingers into Jimin’s arm around your waist, letting him hug you as the horse picks up speed, guiding herself through the trees with little nudging from Jimin.

Panic begins to seize you when you hear the howl again – it’s further away, you think. You’re not sure, clutching to Jimin and trying not to unseat yourself as you turn to look over your shoulder.

“Sit still!” Jimin snaps.

You obey.

The rubbing of the saddle chafes you as Jimin navigates through the forest. The world drops dramatically into a dell, and he slows the pace, navigating Umbriel carefully down the slope. You feel him turn around for a moment, but you don’t dare look behind you. It feels like it’s been almost an hour since you’ve heard the Dreadwolf.

The name sounds so familiar and yet… you’re unable to place the label of something so dark that it scares Jimin.

A tiny, log home sits on the edge of the dell’s rise. Green smoke curls out of the chimney, the lights inside the windows a muted gold. Jimin leads the horse around the home, soundless. He stops at the front of what you suppose is the yard, sliding off gracefully and helping you down. You almost thank him but decide against it as he murmurs to Umbriel in a language you can’t understand. She takes off running and you make a sound of distress.

“She’ll lead the Dreadwolf away.” Jimin looks at you as he walks towards the steps leading up to the home. “Don’t worry – he won’t harm Umbriel. He’s rather fond of animals. If he so much as hurts my horse, I’ll give him hell.”

You scramble after him, trying to mute your steps as you cast your eyes to the owl watching on top of the roof. It’s so black it’s nearly invisible. You wouldn’t have seen it if not for two glowing eyes of gold.

At the front of the home is a small porch. There are plants hanging from the eaves and lining the windows. A small chair next to a table ringed with water stains stands alone.

Jimin raps his knuckles on the door thrice. There’s silence surrounding the home, the unsettling kind that has you shifted from foot to foot. The owl on the roof hoots loudly, making you flinch. Jimin eyes you from the side but says nothing, lifting his hand to knock again when the door opens suddenly.

“You’ve brought the Dreadwolf to my lands,” a hushed voice says. Jimin yanks you inside the cabin.

Quickly you feel warmth seep into your bones. You don’t realize how cold your extremities are until you feel the heat of the fire. You’re drawn to it, holding out your hands to feel the licking warmth of the green flames.

“These aren’t your lands,” Jimin huffs.

“I tend to them when your brother does not. Therefore – my lands.”

“Sounds like the human’s ridiculous phrase of finders keepers.”

You turn your head to look at the stranger whose home you’re now in – he has on a cloak and he’s rushing about the house shuttering the windows and blowing out the candles. It’s a small room with a single bed, a kitchen table, and a humble kitchen. There’s a door that leads to another tiny room, but it’s firmly shut as the man rushes past you to shutter the windows facing the dell.

All that remains is the green fire – dimmer than you remember it being – and a single orb of fire hovering over the man’s shoulder.

When he turns to greet you, your breath gets stuck in your throat. Like Jimin, he’s wonderful to look at. Smooth skin and high cheekbones, kind eyes that are playful and light brown. His ears are tipped with the sharpness of the fae and when he gives you a quick smile, you see the pointed teeth. Still, he does not terrify you the same way Jimin does.

“They call me Hoseok, though you may call me Hobi.” He bows at the waist before meeting your eyes with a smile. “I apologize we must meet under such circumstances.”

“And what are those circumstances?” Jimin asks. You glance at him over your shoulder. He’s lounging in the bed, legs spread wide as he gives Hobi a pointed glare while leaning back on his hands. He is every bit the arrogant prince now and yet… painfully beautiful. “Go on, Hobi.”

“Ignore him. I usually do,” Hobi says to you. He brushes past you and touches your shoulder gently. “Let’s get you a change of clothes.”

“Thank you,” you murmur. “Um – you can call me Y/N.”

“Oh I know,” he assures you. He opens a heavy trunk at the foot of his bed. Jimin watches with a silent glare and something verging on a pout. You’re pleased by this, for some reason. “You look just like Yvaine.”

“Why do you know her name?”

“I know more than you, Your Highness. That’s what watchers do – we watch.” Hoseok stands, clothes folding in his hands. He holds them out to you. “It’s spider silk,” Hoseok explains. “Tough, but light enough to travel quickly. The cloak is lined with fur – you’ll find it warm but light. You can change in the washroom.”

You don’t accept the clothes, eyes flicking up from the clothes to him. “They are lovely, but I don’t accept this gift.”

Hoseok lights up like a fire, smiling at you as he looks at Jimin, laughing with unfiltered glee. You’re unsure why he’s so happy – you’ve rejected his gifts in an attempt not to bind yourself to him. Another lesson from your grandma: never accept gifts from the fae. Acknowledge that they are lovely, and politely decline to accept them.

“She knows of the fae?” Hoseok asks Jimin, turning to you. “I offer these with no bargain, Y/N. These are gifted freely with no favors or debts do. I swear it.”

You hesitate. Jimin groans. “Faeries cannot lie, human.”

With a growl, you accept the clothes and storm to the washroom.

The moment you close the door to the small washroom, you hear whispering on the other side of the door. Hoseok sounds angry - you can’t make out what they’re saying, but even after thirty minutes of spending time with Jimin, you can recognize the softness of his voice. 

A shiver wracks your spine unbidden. You shove away thoughts of the prince just beyond the door and turn to look in the small mirror framed with antlers. You look disheveled and dirty. There is a slight bruise on your forehead, but Jimin was right - there’s no lump from where you tried to headbutt him.

The thought makes you smile. Causing him any amount of grief has quickly become your favorite thing to do. You don’t hate anyone that you can think of, but you already hate Jimin. Hate the way he ambushed you, hate the way he spoke to you, hate the way he looked down on you.

But most of all, you hate that he’s kidnapped you and brought you to Faerie- and that it excites you above all else.

Your grandmother told you terrifying stories of human children taken from their bed and replaced with faerie changelings. The children would be brought to Faerie and used as slaves and thralls, pretty pets for faeries to look at and taunt as long as the human lived - which was longer than usual, in Faerie - and how they lived lives both terrible and wonderful.

You couldn’t imagine being raised in a world like this - beautiful, surrounded by so much delicate beauty but filled with so much violence. And you know there is violence ahead. 

Hoseok hasn’t just given you soft leather breaches lined with a thin layer of wool and a long, black tunic - he’s given you a leather belt with a small dagger buckled to it. You slide the breaches on, raising your brows in surprise. They fit perfectly, if not a little long in the ankle. The tunic is long and green, embroidered with gold thread in swirling designs you realize are flames. Your fingers trace the fire on the sleeve.

The cloak is wonderful, thick to keep out the cold but light as a feather. In a sweeping motion, you tie it at your throat. Your hair is tangled, making you pull it up high in a ponytail and out of your way. 

You leave the dagger for last, carefully balancing it on the edge of the sink as you take time to wash your face. The water is freezing cold, burning your skin the same way the water had from the stream. There’s a soft linen rag and you use it to dry your face before glancing back up in the mirror. Not perfect, but doable. 

With curious fingers, you pull the unadorned hilt from the weapons belt. The blade is nothing special. It’s made from the same dark metal as the knife Jimin has taken from you. You have no idea how to use it, but a strong piece of advice from Game of Thrones comes to you: Stick them with the pointy end. 

It’s a good piece of advice, you think as you slide the dagger back home. The leather belt is snug around your waist. You’re unsure if Jimin knows Hoseok gave you the knife - somehow you think Jimin wouldn’t appreciate you being armed - so you hide it with your cloak. 

When you step out of the washroom, Jimin straightens on the bed. He goes quiet as Hoseok moves about the small kitchen, green eyes only for you. You swallow and shut the door behind you. 

Jimin’s gaze is unreadable. He stands and crosses the space to you, steps gentle. You freeze in place - not out of fear, but out of the way you feel the pull to him again. You clench your teeth, hating that something deep in the pit of your heart draws you toward him. 

You think it’s because of how beautiful he is. The siren eyes as he stops in front of you, eyes dipping up and down. The sultry curve of his sinful mouth frowning slightly. You avert your eyes, feeling heat creep up your next at his proximity and the tiny displeasure in his expression. 

“You were not made for Summer Court colors,” Jimin whispers. You glance at him, surprised. He brushes his fingers against the flames on the sleeve peeking out from your cloak. “You belong in midnight blue and silver.” 

Jimin doesn’t give you a moment to ask what he means. He drops his hand and brushes past you, joining Hoseok in the kitchen. 

Warily, you watch the two of them prepare a meal. They move in sync, leading you to believe they’re old friends. You hesitantly sit in a chair by the bed, eyes fixed on the pair of them. Jimin, though mostly polite and a bit cold, smiles more when Hoseok murmurs something to him.

Hoseok himself is like fire and warmth. He feels the room with a brightness than you can appreciate, and you feel like if your grandmother knew him, he was one of the good fae that she spoke about. She never mentioned many names, but you wish she had told you about Hoseok.

Other names you’re familiar with. King Samar of the Night Court – ancient and ruling for hundreds of years. Your grandmother always spoke his name with a hushed fear and a faraway look. You imagine now that she was remembering a father – a father, as it seems, who had little time or desire for her.

King Malik is a name you know even more. The High King of Faerie, who ruled for so long that he became mad. If your grandmother's stories were true, the death of his one true love began driving him to madness. He became obsessed with resurrection and violating the afterlife, looking for ways to bring back the woman he loved.

Your eyes trail to Jimin, who is rolling his eyes at something Hoseok says.

Eun. You realize the woman that King Malik went mad over is Jimin’s mother. Despite having a bad taste in your mouth for the prince, you feel yourself soften. It must be difficult, to lose one parent and the other go mad. What you don’t understand is how your grandmother came to take his father’s power, and how his father ultimately came to pass.

The High Court had dispersed after his passing, either becoming solitary faeries or joining other courts.

You wonder if Jimin knew them well. He had said the Night Court were not his subjects…

“Dinner is ready!” Hoseok chirps. “And don’t worry,” he adds at your wary look. “It’s not going to spell you to dance until your feet are blood stumps or sing until your bleeding from your throat.”

“Is that real?” you ask, inhaling the scent of the spiced stew.

“Of course it is,” Jimin answers around a mouthful of cheese. “On Beltane we make the humans-”

Hoseok hits Jimin in the back of the head so hard the prince chokes on the cheese. You widen your eyes as Hoseok levels a glare as he sits down at the small table, pulling a chair out for you. His burning gaze is on Jimin as he says, “We don’t do that anymore.”

Jimin says nothing, glowering as he bites into his bread.

After that, dinner is held in relative silence. Hoseok asks you about your life and your heritage, but you answer in hesitant pieces. You’re still not sure what you’re doing here or what is expected of you. To his credit, Hoseok never asks about the ring on your finger. Never even looks at it.

By the end, you’re full and satiated, drowsy as you help Hoseok with the dishes while Jimin peers out of a curtained window. When you’re done, wiping your hands dry, Jimin gestures to the bed. “Sleep. We have a long ride in a few hours.”

“I thought you said it was day. Shouldn’t I stay awake?”

Hoseok shakes his head, answering, “Asleep at true night in the Night Court is a bad idea if you’re not in court proper. It’s okay.”

Jimin scoffs, but you feel comforted. Hoseok leads you to the small bed, giving you blankets and a cup of tea before he joins Jimin in the kitchen, their conversation too quiet for you to hear.

The tea makes you sleepy. You fight it, too nervous to fall asleep. The bed dips suddenly next to you, making you flinch and open your eyes. Jimin murmurs and apology. Perhaps you’re already dreaming – you imagine that he brushes your hair back as he sits on the edge of the bed and murmurs, Sleep. I won’t let anyone hurt you.

As you drift, you believe the only one who can hurt you is him.

-

A long howl wakes you up. You shoot forward in bed, panting and searching in a fright. You find them both silent and near the window facing the dell. Hoseok looks at you and holds a finger to his lips, then beckons you. A nervous tingle goes up your spine as you cross the space hesitantly, taking place next to Hoseok. Jimin glances at you around Hoseok, frowning.

Perhaps that makes you a fool. You know how easy it is for the fae to deceive humans with false niceties. But there is something about his aura that feels warm. Standing next to him, he smells like citrus and blossom, the same way your grandfather used to smell.

The realization makes your eyes watery, and you glance at him as Jimin peaks out the window. “Are you Summer Court?” you whisper, voice barely audible. Hoseok looks shocked, nodding his head. “You smell like my grandfather.” 

He nods and whispers, “Oberon.”

“Shut up,” Jimin hisses and closes the window. “The Dreadwolf approaches.”

Something deep within you curls in fear.

Suddenly, you remember the name. The Dreadwolf was one of the darker parts of your grandmother’s tales. A faerie loyal only to the king of the Night Court, he was a servant and hunter to the king. Merciless and terrifying, the Dreadwolf could shift forms into a large, black wolf, hunting his prey to the ends of the realms.

Your grandmother assured you that he never lost his prey. Ever. 

Anxiety began to chew at your stomach. Jimin softly walked the circumference of Hoseok’s home, his eyes focused somewhere else, as though he were watching the wolf through some other lens. Your heart skipped in a nervous rhythm, moving from foot to foot as the silence pressed in. 

Jimin stopped walking in front of the door to the home.

Sensing your eyes on him, Jimin looks over his shoulder at you. His eyes are dark green, shining at the bottom of a deep lake. His eyes flicker for a moment before he looks at Hoseok and murmurs, “I apologize, Hoseok. I hoped to avoid going to the palace but...”

Hoseok looks as confused as you do when Jimin opens the door to the home. Hoseok makes a startled sound but Jimin is stepping outside, calling “Jungkookie,” Jimin calls as he looks back at the pair of you - regret flashes so quickly on his face, you’re sure you imagined it. “The watcher has found what we’ve been looking for. Don’t touch the girl or I’ll skin you.” 

“You fucking bastard,” Hoseok swears, unsheathing his dagger. You do the same, holding it awkwardly in your hand as Jimin steps to the side of the doorway, refusing to look at you. “They will kill me.” 

A deep growl comes from somewhere outside. It’s low, like the churning of hell underneath your feet, the house trembling. Your heart pounds faster as Hoseok shoves you behind him. “You cannot fight here. Go through the window behind us. Run south.”

A figure enters the doorway. Your breath rushes out of your lungs as you stare at the fae in front of you. Black hair hanging in his dark eyes, broad shoulders and ripping muscles. There are dark marks running down his arm, tattoos of glyphs and swirling ink that you can’t decipher. He’s much taller than Hoseok and Jimin, and his eyes are focused on you. He is impossibly handsome, your heart flipping. 

“Hello,” his voice is phantom soft. “Come out from behind Hoseok, won’t you?” 

A flash of blinding heat and flame erupts from the fireplace in the direction of Jungkook. You scream as you turn and bolt for the window. Hoseok is shouting something at Jungkook as he wields flame behind you, a fiery whip in his hand. Jungkook snarls, raising the hairs on the back of your neck. 

You sheath your dagger, clambering onto the dinner table and pulling the window open. You haul yourself through it, trying not to panic with the sounds of snarling and yelling behind you. You freefall for a moment until you hit the ground and roll. Your breath is knocked out of you for the second time that night, leaving you wheezing and holding your arm, sore from absorbing the fall. 

Crawling to your feet, you look up as a shadow looms over you. Jimin frowns. “You’re not very graceful.” 

You don’t think. You let survival instinct take over, ripping out the dagger from your belt and swiping at him. Jimin backs up, dancing away from you with a twitch of his lips. “He gave you a dagger?” 

“You betrayed him.” 

“Court is a game of betrayal, get used to it. Hoseok will be fine. Jungkook won’t kill him.”

“I thought perhaps you were different than you first appeared. Turns out I was wrong – do you even care about your people or was that another twist of words?”

Something like rage heats his face. You manage to get to your knees and swipe out again. Jimin dances away from you as a sharp, animal cry comes from the house. Jimin looks at the window, brows raised. “Good for Hoseok, sounds like he managed to wound the pup.” 

Jimin may not be able to lie directly, but he’s a deceitful bastard. He almost had you, telling you that he was worried about his people, that the absence of the High Court was poisoning the land. Now you knew what he really wanted - the ring, the power at your hand. For his selfish purposes, for the Night Court. 

On your feet now, you feel a tremor in your hand. Energy lights you up from the inside out. It’s a familiar sensation, one you felt when you put the ring on or when you touched the dagger you found in the drawer. It’s something like rage, hot and crackling. You remember how the ring defended you and channel it, launching a hand at Jimin. 

A dark flame ripples up your arm, and though it doesn’t burn you, you can feel a hot, decaying heat. You thrust your hand outward, urging the flame to shoot out at Jimin. It obeys, a blast of black fire licking toward him. He rolls away from it easily, the flame hitting a tree and turning it to… ash. Your face whitens as you drop your hand in shock. Jimin is on his feet again, surprised with his mouth parted. The flame dances along your arms, tingling your skin as you stare at the grayed ash of the tree. 

“Interesting,” Jimin murmurs. “You’re going to have to learn to control that, Shade.”

Somewhere you can’t see, Jungkook snarls loudly, followed by silence. Your flame gutters out immediately, thinking the worst. Terror shoots through you for Hoseok, for yourself.

“For what it’s worth,” Jimin murmurs softly, “I have no desire to hurt you. None at all. I apologize, but this is the only course of action. I wanted to take you to the Winter Court, but we have a new plan. I'm sorry.” 

Before you can figure out what he means, Jimin is in front of you, slamming you to the ground so hard it feels like the world shatters. 

The world fades. 

-

You drift. You search for that place of forever twilight but cannot find it. Your thoughts are nothing at all. They drift, unable to form memories and strings of ideas. You struggle in the space where you drift, unable to remember where you are or where you’re going. What you’re doing, or who you’re with.

There is dull pain. It might be your head, it might be your heart, it might be your toe. You don’t know where the pain comes from, but there is pain as you drift. 

Sometimes you feel almost awake. Other times there’s nothing- not even pain. 

Time is meaningless as you drift. You don’t know how long you’re in that space where there is nothing, but slowly your thoughts connect. You can identify it’s your head that hurts - and the rest of your body throbs. There’s a dullness to your senses like fog - you no longer feel that pulsing energy you located to try and fend off Jimin.

It’s just cold and muted.

With a groan, you open your eyes. It’s dim in the room, a single purple light burning low at the far corner. Your tongue feels heavy, your mouth like sandpaper. Movement in the corner of the room catches your eye. Fear seizes you as you push yourself away from the dark figure. You push yourself into a corner of the cot you’re on, sheets tangling you.

“Hey,” a familiar voice murmurs. “It’s me.”

Blinking away the blurriness on the edge of your vision, you realize it’s Hoseok. 

You’re both in a small room with two cots, end tables next to each. There is a tiny rug covering the stone floor, and a heavy wooden door without a handle. The purple light follows Hoseok - you realize it’s a tiny purple flame, licking the air and snapping next to his shoulder. A pair of glowing, white eyes blink to life in the flame and you squeak, wide-eyed and pushed against the wall. 

“Oh yeah,” Hoseok grins, looking at the fire. “I didn’t introduce you at the house because Jimin was there. This is Flare. He’s a fire spirit.” 

“Hello, Flare,” you croak, voice like sandpaper. Still, Flare snaps and pops with happiness, glowing pink at the edges for a moment. 

Hoseok rushes to your end table, grabbing a waterskin and passing it to you. You take it with greedy hands, uncorking it and chugging the cool water. It calms your throat immediately, earning a sigh. “Thanks.” You wipe the water running down your chin with the back of your hand. “Are you okay?”

You look at Hoseok - really look at him. His brown hair is matted and dirty, and there’s a bandage on his neck darkened with blood. You panic, sitting forward to tend to him when he holds a hand with a kind smile. “Already taken care of. That dog almost killed me.”

“I’m so sorry.”

“There’s nothing to be sorry for. Jimin is a traitorous bastard and Jungkook gets too enthusiastic. It isn’t the first time he’s bitten me.” 

“I thought you were friends.”

Hoseok snorts. “You never know where you stand with Jimin. He does everything on his own, that clever little mind of his making plots within plots. I think he did what was best in the moment, which meant letting Jungkook take us.”

“Why be friends with him at all, then?”

Hoseok looks sad when he glances at you. “Because he wasn’t always this way. Jimin is a product of his environment. He makes decisions that he thinks are best for his people, even if it puts friends in danger. His intentions are pure, his methods are brutal. But he is a prince of his people, for what it’s worth.” 

You think about that. It sounds like what your grandmother had told you. He is a product of his environment. You assume they’re talking about the Night Court. You think of the brief warmth in Jimin’s face in Hoseok’s home - those had not seemed fabricated, but you knew the fae were famous for mimicking emotion.

It really had been a ploy.

Knowing that bothers you more than you expect. You’ve only known Jimin a day, but something about him being exactly as you expected is incredibly disappointing. You fell for it just like he knew you would, and you’re all the dumber for it.

“Don’t beat yourself up,” Hoseok sighs, settling next to you on the cot with his back against the wall. “He may yet still be an ally, who knows. It’s hard to tell what his plans are.” 

“I don’t care what his plans are. I just want to go home.”

“You’re going to have to accept that going home is not an option.” 

“I have people there who are going to freak out that I’m missing.” 

Namjoon. Your mother. Your editor. The list is small, but it’s still a list of people who will look for you.

“Time moves differently here,” Hoseok explains. “What feels like a year in faerie might only be a minute in your world.” He glances sidelong at you. “That being said, I won’t tell you there is a guarantee that you’ll ever go home again. My best advice is to learn how to survive her first. Focus on home later.”

It’s an honest piece of advice. You know this, but it doesn’t hurt any less. You lean against the wall and close your eyes, feeling the urge to cry twist in your throat. If Hoseok notices, he doesn’t say anything. He lets you grieve in silence, mulling over the series of events that have landed you here in a room with him, held against your will.

You lift your hand, examining the ring. It glimmers in the dark, the seven stars looking at you. Tentatively, you pull at it again - it still doesn’t come off. You sigh heavily, dropping your hand to the bed. 

“Can I ask you something?” you ask softly, not looking at Hoseok but staring at the door. He nods. “This gives me power, right?” You hold up your hand, showing the ring. “I turned a tree to ash with a black flame. Was aiming at Jimin, though.”

Hoseok leans forward. You glance at him to see his brows knit, head tilted. “You summoned shadow fire?” You nod. “Huh. That is not a power of the High Court. That’s a gift unique to King Samar. You’re his descendent, though.” 

You pale. You hadn’t thought of that when Jimin told you of your grandmother’s heritage. You look up at the ceiling, chewing on the new information. You’ve never done something like that before. When you tell Hoseok as much, he seems lost in thought. 

“Have you touched anything beside the ring that was new? Anything that felt powerful?” 

You’re about to tell Hoseok no when you remember the spark of power you felt when you had picked up the dagger that Jimin now has at his waist. “The dagger,” you whisper. Hoseok looks confused so you elaborate, “There was a dagger in a drawer I thought was a letter opener. Jimin has it - he said it’s belonged to the An Oidhche for millennia.” 

“It’s your grandmother’s.” Hoseok smirks, leaning back against the wall. “A gift from Jimin’s mother to Yvaine on her birthday - a way to tell Yvaine that Eun didn’t hate her. Even if Eun wasn’t her mother.” 

“No wonder he didn’t give it back.”

“When you touched it, you unbound your power. Similar to the ring, but not nearly as powerful as a spell. Have you experienced any other powers?” You shook your head. “Hm. If you learned, you might be quite the fighter.” 

Silence envelops you. Flare floats closer to you, hovering near your face. You smile a little, feeling his warmth as you hold a finger out. He dances around your point finger before settling on the tip, balanced like a small bird. He makes a chattering noise and changes color, turning to a blush pink.

“He likes you,” Hoseok murmurs. “He’s afraid of most Night Court fae.”

“Why?” 

“They are dark.” 

You don’t ask him to elaborate. Instead, you welcome the silence. 

So much has happened in a few hours. You’re unsure how to keep track of everything. The urge to cry swells again. As though sensing your distress, Flare hops up your arm to jump in front of you, hovering just in front of your face as he takes different shapes. 

You watch him - he turns into a pink unicorn, a blue dragon, a purple serpent. Flare is magnificent, a tiny spirit of flame and colors and shapes. You don’t realize you’re crying until he squeaks, a distressed sound as he ping pongs back and forth in front of you, flashing from red to orange.

You laugh and wipe the tears, aware that Hoseok is watching. “I’m not upset,” you whisper to Flare. You hold out your hands, cupped. He lands in them, warming your skin. “You’re very beautiful. I’m crying because even though this is very scary, there is beauty here.” You sniffle. “Because everything my grandmother ever told me… it’s true.” 

-

A loud clang startles you awake. You don’t remember falling asleep, but the room is dark. Flare is nowhere to be seen, and Hoseok is gone. You scramble to your feet as the door opens, a burning torch appearing in the doorway. Jimin appears, settling the torch in an empty sconce on the wall. He slides in the door, shutting it firmly behind him.

Hatred bubbles up immediately. You reach for the swell of power, but it still feels muted, like the magic so new to you is locked behind a door. 

Jimin scoffs. “You were drugged so you can’t turn me to ashes, Shade.”

“So you’re afraid of me.”

“I take precautions for even the smallest ant that stings.” Your ball your fists at the insult. 

Jimin is dressed differently. Gone is the silk pink shirt. He’s in all black now, the collar opens loose at the neck to reveal glittering necklaces. The cuffs of the fine shirt are stitched with silver, phase of the moon artfully placed on the material. His dark pants are tucked into soft leather boots. The circlet in his hair is different than before - there are stars and moons in this one, glittering diamonds catching the firelight. 

He looks so beautiful that you avert your eyes, shame coloring your face pink. The draw to him again is so strong you want to bend over at the waist and gasp for air. It’s a magnetic pull that threatens to drive you to insanity, especially when he steps forward. 

“Are you okay?” he asks, brows pinched. 

“Like you care.” 

Something flashes in Jimin’s eyes. He straightens, looking down his nose at you, face impassive. “You’re right,” he deadpans. “I shouldn’t care about a half-human brat. Come. You’ve been summoned by the King of the Night Court.”

“I won’t help you. I don’t care if you torture me. You betrayed Hoseok, who was your friend. That bullshit you fed me about helping suffering fae? It was some sort of wordplay, wasn’t it? You want whatever this is,” You hold up your hand, “For yourself. Be honest with me.” Jimin opens the door, staring at you without a reaction. This enrages you further. Of course he’s unaffected. He doesn’t care.

“If you’re done with your speech, there are things to be done. You need to change for the ceremony.”

“What ceremony?”

Jimin winces then. He turns on a heel and storms out of the door, boots echoing in a hallway. After a moment’s consideration, you hurry after him.

The hallway is long and dark, lit with orange torches. Jimin is several strides ahead of you. You run to catch up with him, falling into pace as he marches, staring straight ahead. There are no windows, but doors line the hallway. You have no idea what horrors could be behind them.

You grab Jimin to stop him and he reacts immediately. You’re pressed against the wall in a moment, torch crackling next to you. You hold your breath as Jimin invades your space, pinning a wrist to the wall as he lowers his face to glower at you. “Don’t,” he growls lowly. “Touch me like that. Not here. Not during the ceremony. If you show an ounce of that disrespect, they will make me kill you.”

“Why should I believe anything you say? You deceive me and your friend and you ask for blind loyalty when you haven’t learned it. You’ve told me nothing.”

“I’ve told you what won’t get you kill. You may be able to lie unlike the fae, but you’re not trained in the world of deception and the practice it takes. Faeries made a game of lying and you have no idea how to play.”

Silence stretches between you. You’re panting with rage, twisting in his grip. Jimin tightens his hand, pressing his waist against you. You freeze as the smell of orange blossoms and night fall over you. It’s hard not to shiver in his grasp, especially with his breath fanning you.

Jimin loosens his grip slightly as he lowers his face further, making sure he has your eye contact when he says, “I am going out of my way to value your life while I complete what I must. I cannot lie.”

You jut your chin out. “Faeries made a game of lying,” you quote back to him. 

“I’m not lying to you. I swear on the Maker and my mother Eun the Lightspear that I am not lying to you right now. I am trying to protect you. You have complicated this in ways you cannot fathom, but I will try to spare you.”

A beat of quiet passes between you to. You see the seriousness in his gaze, the way his breath quickens. It’s the most you’ve ever heard him swear something – and though you’re unsure what swearing in Faerie does exactly, it feels important. It feels binding.

So you nod. “Okay.”

“This is going to be unpleasant,” Jimin sighs as he lets you go. He backs up a few paces and you try not to follow him across the hall. “I mean it when I say I’m trying to keep you alive. But if you behave like that at court, they will eat you alive and call it entertainment.”

“Okay.”

You rub your wrist where he gripped you and his expression softens, just slightly. “I’m sorry if I hurt you.”

Instead of telling him it’s okay, you ask, “What ceremony were you talking about?”

“I’ve claimed you for the Night Court.” Jimin begins walking again and you scurry behind him to keep up.

“What?”

“Your grandmother is Yvaine, Daughter of Samar. She’s the half-sister to my adoptive brother, Jin.” He grimaces. “You have little claim to the throne has a half-fae, but you’re a Shade, which means something to the gentry around here. To save your life, I’ve pledged you to me. You cannot under any circumstances let my brother know that you're a Shade, he will see it as a threat.”

“What does that mean?”

Jimin opens a door at the end of the hall and ushers you through. There’s a set of stairs that you climb together before you’re outside in a beautiful garden. A found trickles in the center, a centaur depicted spitting water from his mouth as he plays a harp. There are birds singing and glowing butterflies flitting from tree to tree.

“It means I’ve claimed that you’re a personal member of my court and that you will swear fealty to me in front of the King and the Night Court.”

You look at him with wide eyes. “The fuck I am.”

“You’re right, how silly of me. Let me skip on up to dearest Jin and tell him that the descendent of Yvaine Darkbringer and Oberon Fireborn who also happens to be a Shade like her grandmother, and who also happens to be in possession of a ring with the High King Malik’s glamour bound to it doesn’t want to be here and we should let her go. That will work.”

You open and close your mouth. He’s using names and terms that you don’t understand. You don’t know what Darkbringer and Fireborn means, or the fact that he keeps calling you Shade. None of it makes sense, but Jimin’s implication is enough: it’s pledge yourself to his court or die as a threat to this Jin he mentioned.

“I’m not swearing an oath to you.”

“What does it matter? You can lie. Any promise of loyalty you make to me means nothing.”

“Fine.” You straighten your shoulders. “But don’t treat me like I’m a child. You will be respectful.”

“Respect given is respect earned,” Jimin quips, walking away from you and toward a maze of hedges. “Come along, Shade. I hope you’re as good at lying as you are at annoying me.”

-

Two fae move around you in a circle, their fingers working on pulling on the gown while the other pulls strands of your hair. In another life, you would appreciate the room. It’s massive, with one of the walls made up entirely of rockface, a waterfall dripping down the cool stone. There are glowing flowers on the rockface, pale in comparison to the side of the gardens below the balcony.

Curtains dance in the jasmine-scented breeze. They’re gauzy and dark blue, twisting in in their holdings. There are no doors that lead to the stone balcony that overlooks a dizzying garden-forest of glowing flowers and chittering creatures.

The main chamber of the room is commanded by a four-poster bed with live glowing vines crawling up the columns, their ends vanishing into the sapphire, velvet curtains secured to each post. The bed is larger than any you’ve ever seen with dark, rumbled sheets that smell like orange blossom and a smell you’ve begun to associate with Jimin.

Jimin.

The name ignites a war within you. It is both full of a bitter tang and a sweet… something that you’re unsure of. The walk to the bedroom was silent after declaring you were to pledge yourself to his court. He explained that if you were bound to his court, you had his protection.

Meaning the king – Jin – couldn't murder you for inheriting a power that should belong only to him.

You look anything but unassuming. You stare in the mirror as the fae move around you. You’re unsure what they are – they’re genderless and they look more like moving smoke than human beings. Their hands fade in and out of existence and their eyes are glowing white, like stars. The color of their cloudy skin shifts with shadow, and when they step toward the light, you can see through them.

Unassuming is not the word you would use. They have smeared a shimmering substance on your arms, chest and neck. Your eyes are lined with dark coal, a contrast to the silver glitter on the tops of your cheekbones. Your hair is pinned in a low bun, some curled pieces falling out. There are pins with stars in your hair, a constellation of stairs among the strands that the two smoke-faeries have managed to tame.

You look startlingly like your grandmother. Not the eyes, though – those still look like your grandfather. But the sloping features, the intensity in your gaze and the way you hold your shoulders back with purpose… you blink in surprise.

It’s the way you’ve always wanted to appear like your mom. Confident. Fierce.

An ache starts in your chest at the thought of your mom. You cling to Hoseok’s works and hope that time back home is moving slowly. You’ve been at the Night Court for over two days. Jimin had the heart to tell you that you were in that room for a while after he knocked you out, and even more when they had received Hoseok.

Jimin wouldn’t answer where Hoseok was. You have every intention on finding out.

Though you’re aligned to this plan for now, taking Jimin for the oath that he swore, you’re crafting plans of your own.

It was difficult to memorize the steps to the room, but you’re confident you can navigate down to the garden and the wall of hedges that you passed on the way to the room.

The two faeries step away from you. The motion drags your eyes back to the mirror, focusing on the way you’re dressed. You must admit that you don’t look human at all. Your hands drift to the tips of your ears – still round, though maybe a little pointed, you note. But not faerie ears.

Silver beading makes up the entire bodice of the gown. It’s form fitting, hugging the swells of your breasts with a unique keyhole design, baring the sparkles on your chest. The sleeves cut off at the arm, sheer black material falling behind you at the shoulder like a cape, stars and diamonds catching the lighting.

The beading disperses at the waist, trickling into a twinkling pattern in layers and layers of black material, sheer but soft. It gives the illusion that you’re wearing the night sky when you move, the beading and jewels catching the light to create a beautiful allusion.

You wear no jewelry save for the iron ring on your finger. The pins in your hair paired with the spectacle of a gown command enough attention.

The door opens, making you turn as Jimin enters.

You suck in a sharp breath when you see him.

Jimin is stressed in equal extravagance. There are silver threads laced in his hair, emphasizing the grey of his styled hair. The crown of stars and moons is atop his head once more – you realize it looks exactly like the pins in your hair. The black shirt he wears is scandalously sheer, showing the strong body beneath. You can tell his skin is glittered beneath the shirt, hard planes of his abs catching the light as he approaches you slowly, green eyes pinned to you.

And his eyes. His eyes are lightly kohled, intensifying his already burning stare. There are no necklaces around his throat – where you’re determined to keep your gaze and not trail further to the abs – but he has diamonds in his ear, a cluster of stars climbing up the pointed edges.

Jimin is a dream. He is every lullaby you’ve ever heard murmured come to life. He is spun from moonlight, and he is the light of the stars himself.

Something so beautiful should not be so rotten inside, you think.

“You look exquisite,” Jimin says after a while. His hands are still clasped behind his back, his haunting eyes only for you. “Better than the gold and green of summer, but still not as good as the blue and silver.”

“I don’t know what that means.”

Jimin smiles – it’s so rare that he smiles that you find yourself opening your mouth in surprise. It’s tiny, but it isn’t filled with malice.

“I brought you something.” He removes his hands from behind his back. There’s a bracelet in his hands, a cluster of stars and planets. You hold out your wrist and then retreat it, eyes narrowing. He chuckles. “I offer this with no bargain. I gift this freely with no favors or debts do. I swear it.”

With a hum of approval, you hold out your wrist. His fingers are nimble and quick as he clasps the bracelet on your wrist. Your skin feels like it's on fire where his fingers brush your skin – more so than necessary when he pulls his hands away, running his fingers along your palm.

“It was your grandmothers.”

You look up at him. “Really?”

He nods. “I can show you to her old room, if you like.”

“I would like that very much. You knew her well?”

“Well enough. We were allies, though perhaps not friends.”

“Why not friends?”

His smile is sad. “To save Faerie from the High King, she had to hurt me.” You don’t know what to say, so you say nothing at all. “I suppose it seems the obvious answer among destruction: sacrifice the one to save the many. But she was warned of the potential consequences.”

“I saw her in a dream,” you mention. “She seemed just as conflicted about you and your choices. Perhaps we cannot judge others with such limited point of views.”

“Keep thinking like that and you’ll die in minutes. There is no time to question if someone is good here.” Jimin steps back from you and holds out the crook of his elbow. “Come. It’s time to tolerate me the best you can.”

You cut him a dull stare. “Aren’t I doing well enough already?”

“I suppose.”

Heat radiates from where you loop your arm in Jimin’s. You steady a breath as he leads you out of the room.

The halls to the main palace were twisting, no room or wall the same. You passed a large courtyard with no ceilings, the night sky shimmering above. There’s a large, black tree in the courtyard, lights like stars dangling from it. There’s a power there, throbbing through the roots and through the floor of the yard. Will-o-wisps flit among the bare branches, dancing among the gnarled arms.

You hesitate as you pass it, looking over your shoulder, fixated on it.

“The Midnight Tree,” Jimin murmurs. “The palace was built around it. It was placed there by our Maker at the beginning of our time.”

“Why would the Night Court be built around it? I thought the High Fae came first.”

The corner of his mouth drags upward. “Someone has been listening. The High Court came first – but the first High Queen – the Maker, for we don’t know her name – was very in love with a handmaiden of hers. The handmaiden was in love with the night and the night sky, so the Maker planted this tree here. The power you feel. It’s what keeps the Night Court in eternal night. The Maker made it for her lover, so that she may live in her favorite scape.”

“That’s beautiful,” you murmur.

A hum of voices reaches you as you walk toward closed double doors. Guards line the doors, two to each side. Your fingers clutch the fabric of Jimin’s sleeve, going rigid. They are dressed in all black, tunic, leather vests and grieves over the dark material, inlaid with silver material depicting the moon and stars of the Night Court. There are swords at their hips, their eyes trained on you.

None of them move to stop you, but a shadow appears down the hall, whistling lightly to catch Jimin’s attention. Jimin freezes. You feel him go rigid as the figure steps into the light of the hall. The guards fidget as Jungkook grins at Jimin, waltzing to the pair of you.

Fear trickles down your neck as you watch him. His long hair is styled back, a single messy strand falling against his brow. You realize the underneath of his hair is shaved, shorter than the rest. The new look lets you spy a small, white brand behind his ear.

Jungkook is not dressed in finery like Jimin. He is in the same black shirt, open to reveal curls of tattoos on his chest that vanish into his sleeves. His pants are tucked into high boots. A belt hangs snug around his narrow waist, knives and a sword belted to him. A leather harness stretches to his leg, holding another sheath, bone handle gleaming.

“My eyes are up here, gorgeous,” Jungkook teases, earning flared nostrils and your eyes snapping up to his dark ones. A single earring dangles in his right ear, a dagger at the end of it. He is devilishly handsome, but there’s something unhinged in his gaze. “You’re a pretty little thing when you’re all dressed up.”

“Back up, dog,” Jimin growls, eyes like a dark, green storm. “You might rub your stench off on her.”

“I don’t answer to you,” Jungkook says to Jimin, never taking his eyes off you as he smirks. “I might answer to you, though. You look good enough to eat.”

“I’m not looking to adopt a stray animal,” you smile. “If you’ll excuse me, I have fealty to pledge.”

Jungkook drops the smirk, his e expression murder as you grin, pulling Jimin further. Jimin smirks as the guards open the doors for you, casting them open to reveal a room filled with a dizzying assortment of creatures and colors. You focus on Jimin’s low words as he says, “Impressive.”

“Hardly. He hurt Hoseok.” Jimin dips his head in the direction of a humanoid tree that is seven feet tall, his skin nut-brown and patched with bark. He is dressed in green finery, blinking two sleep eyes at you. “You will show me to Hoseok after this.”

“Oh? Will I?”

“Yes. Or I’ll tell everyone here that you’re having me pledge falsely so you can use my shadow fire and new ring to take over.” Jimin growls low in his throat. “Checkmate.”

“I haven’t an idea what that means.”

Faeries and creatures part like a sea as you walk through. You try not to look at the alien faces around you – fae with green skin and big, black eyes, trolls and faeries that look like wolves watching you with predatory interest. There are others who look like Jimin, beautiful and feather light on their feet as they trail after you.

The room is very obviously a throne room, a raised dais at the far end of the hall. The ceiling is... nothing. Faerie light hovers around the room in soft-white globes, but the ceiling is a churning black mass of nothingness. It unsettles you as you let Jimin lead you to a silver throne, a man who looks like an avenging angel rising to his feet from it.

Around you, the whisper of clothes move as the room bows. Jimin bows low at the waist, dropping your arm from his. You do the same, careful not to lose your balance.

When you straighten, the king of the Night Court is watching you. His tan skin is smooth and ageless, ancient charcoal eyes studying you. His lips are sinfully full and pink. Dark black hair is brushed delicately back, a silver circlet of silver with no adornment in his hair. He's dressed in a black tunic with diamond-studded cuffs and a silver tree with stars stitched among them. A single dark cape is on his shoulders, pined to his shoulders with moons.

“She certainly looks like her,” the king says to Jimin. “It’s uncanny. There’s no doubt of her heritage, you’re right.”

“I’m standing right here,” you blurt.

You snap your mouth shut audibly when Jimin stiffens next to you and the king turns his dark gaze on you. You feel hypnotized, unable to look away from him as his gaze sucks you in. His eyes are bottomless and you’re falling, falling, falling.

Suddenly there’s nothing else in the world. There’s just the darkness of the king’s eyes and you feel boneless, alone. The world is muted and you’re lost in a dark sea.

A despair unlike anything you’ve ever felt pulls at you, drowning you deeper and deeper. You begin to suffocate, the world closing in on you-

Jimin’s hand brings you back. The king adverts his gaze with a smirk, glancing at Jimin. “Mouth just like my sister, it seems.”

“Seokjin, please,” Jimin murmurs.

The name rings through you. Your grandmother standing in twilight rushes back, her words. You realize with horror that the man in front of you is Seokjin. You realize every time Jimin mentioned his adoptive brother Jin – it was short for Seokjin. The faerie who could lie. The man who killed your grandfather.

Seokjin grins at you, venomous. “Hello, niece.”

Next Chapter

[phoenixyfriend]

SW Suddenly-Omegaverse AU: Surrogacy, Worldbuilding, Obi-Mom

Truly the main irony of all this is that everyone considers Obi-Wan the Better Omega but Anakin is the one who's actually 👀👀👀 about pregnancy

Obi-Wan: I have the deepest respect for those who do it, but the idea of growing another person inside of me is weird and gross, no, thank you.

Meanwhile Anakin is like. Immediate baby fever. Someone actually approaches him like "hey... there are forms you can fill out to request an exception for pregnancy, and like... regulations" because he's that obvious about it.

I assume that if they've got safety nets for accidental pregnancies, then they're probably aware that there are people who want to do it on purpose? I feel like in an omegaverse where 'biological imperative to procreate' can be so much more intense, then maybe there's old precedent that stuck around even after suppressants got most of those hormones under better control.

Bit torn. Just know I want Anakin to Make Baby.

"Anakin, what are you--" "Do you think offering to be someone's surrogate would be acceptable to the council as a way to be pregnant without getting attached." "...what." "They'd probably accept that as a way to practice not getting attached, right?" "N...no, that's not... what?"

Anakin approaching Bail and Breha and being like “Do you... still want a kid? I would provide a kid. Do you want one here*?”

* in this dimension

Great way to give up the baby as a parent because he'd still be able to see them once in a while but also like... it's not HIS kid, technically. He can be a cool uncle who happened to give birth, which is distant enough to not be 'attached,' but close enough that his Tatooine-raised 'must ensure family is safe whenever possible' background doesn't flip out. It helps that 'Core World Royalty' is like... a top-tier family to be raised in.

(It would have to be post-war because he probably shouldn’t be risking his life while very pregnant. He needs to be reminded of that sometimes.)

Bail/Breha is an alpha/alpha relationship and while a pregnancy is still possible,* it’s a whole lot more difficult, and that's on top of Breha's canon medical issues that resulted in her heart and lungs getting replaced.

* AFAB alphas can get pregnant, and AMAB omegas can inseminate, but the success rate on that angle is much lower than the 'traditional' alpha/omega roles, as is any attempt at reproduction outside rut/heat. They're low-fertility overall for the non-dominant aspect of their reproductive system, which... ha, Anakin and Obi-Wan try to get explanations for why the senary system works the way it does, but it's a very longform history lesson that comes down to 'idk this got cemented so long ago that nobody really knows why anymore.'

AKA "why do you title these roles male omega and female alpha instead of intersex omega and intersex alpha since both parties have both genitals."

ANYWAY

Anakin: I want to make babies. But I don't want to get kicked out of the order. But I don't want to give up my own babies for adoption. But I can't keep my own babies if I want to stay a Jedi. So basically I want to have someone else's babies? Anakin: ...wait shit that's just surrogacy.

Anakin, calling up Obi-Wan: Hey are the Organas still struggling to have a kid? Obi-Wan: ...not really your business. Anakin: You're friends with Bail again though, right? Obi-Wan: I am, but-- Anakin: Do you think they'd want me to be a surrogate? Obi-Wan: What.

I can't decide if it's funnier for the Order to be like "I mean... technically there's no rules against this?" or if this is a precedent set by at least three omegas every generation because that's just how a/b/o manifested for omegas in a biological and cultural sense.

Bail: Wait, your former apprentice is... volunteering... to be our surrogate. Obi-Wan, exhausted: Yes. Bail: He barely knows us. Obi-Wan: He respects you and you're the closest people he knows that want a child and would be good parents. Bail: And he's just... volunteering? Obi-Wan: Yes. Also, you did say your primary worry was that a surrogate might be targeted for assassination and you couldn't ask someone to risk that, right? Anakin is very much able to avoid assassins, and would be staying primarily in the Temple anyway. Very safe, and not particularly scared of assassins in the first place. Bail: Your words say you approve, but your tone says otherwise. Obi-Wan: Anakin considers me his father. I'm not old enough to be a grandparent. Bail: Ah.

Anakin is a surrogate and enjoys it and everything is fine and then like a year later he's accidentally pregnant with his own and Rex's kid, and nobody knows how to ask if it's actually an accident.

A suggestion from @gelpenss:

OH MAN i.... have to drive home. But I just had a thought about like. I always want to poke at Betas in A/B/O like are they “normal” or different from our standard or.... but ANYWAY assuming they have a pheromonal thing I just think it would be neat if betas had the ability to be the Bucket of Cold Water. Like if caught early enough, and with the caveat it’s not permanent, a beta could arrest a rut or heat in its tracks until a more ideal time. Like. They aren’t birth control. But they are the remind me later button.

Okay done driving I am Returned to bring up why I brought up betas and it’s this: well okay 1. It plays nice with a popular but inaccurate dog breeding urban legend that female dogs will like, delay heat cycles? so that the bitches above them in pack hierarchy have first choice of mate selection. And I think in omegaverse it would be cool if that was a Bio Fact, and also historically enforced by the third designation. 2. It gives me an excuse to have betas have the Most Sensitive sense of smell because it’s their “job” to pick up on things before they go too far to be put on pause. 3. I’m just thinkin ‘bout a beta clone [...] just hovering around Obi-Wan because they found out how much stress his heat cycle causes and they’re like “okay cool I will help make sure it does Not”

I want to like a/b/o verses but betas niggle at me. I want to give them a hat and a Function that woulda helped before modern medicine.

I'm not sure how I feel about betas being able to delay heats, but I do like the idea of them having a more sensitive sense of pheromone smell than most. Most aliens assume it's omegas with the best sense of smell, and betas with the worst, but it's more complicated than that because they all specialize: Alphas are actually less attuned to pheromone smells, but more attuned to things that were useful back when humans were still a hunter-gatherer species. Omegas tend to be heightened towards danger smells like fire or aggression, and pheromones relating to children/care. Betas, as suggested above, are very sensitive to pheromone changes relating to mood and behavior of the community around them.

I like the idea that betas were historically the ones that ended up taking care children, unmated omegas, and so on during people's heats and ruts, because they kept their heads about themselves long enough to do things like cook and clean while someone was reeking of hormones. The checks and balances work out that betas may have lower fertility, but it makes them better able to support the network around them.

It works in with humanity's general collective history of thriving the most when working as a community.

Given that I decided that this is Jangobi, the clones might all subconsciously view Obi-Wan as Mom. Not intentionally, but, you know... Obi-Wan the not-evil stepmother. He doesn't know how he got into this situation, but he sure is here, and he sure as hell doesn't know how to get out.

Obi-Wan "I don't need to get pregnant, I have three million stepchildren" Kenobi

I definitely love "clones all want to make Obi-Wan's heats less stressful" but like in a different way from Whatever The Fuck Anakin's Got Going On.

Obi-Wan using the force to dull the pain in a Shiny's broken leg while the medic works on it and the Shiny just mumbles "Thanks mom" and everyone gets very embarrassed and pretends it didn't happen.

But then it happens again. And again.

Obi-Wan asks for an explanation from Cody and gets a halting response that, since Jango is technically their father, and his scent has been all over Obi-Wan recently... and Obi-Wan puts in a lot of effort to take care of them all.......

Anakin overhears the clones calling Obi-Wan "mom" and just. The most judgmental eyebrow raise.... Mostly in the sense of "You never let me call you dad" "Thought you said you weren't anyone's parent." "Hey, hey, Obi-Wan. What the fuck."

BOBA. BOBA ABSOLUTELY CALLS OBI-WAN MOM WHENEVER POSSIBLE. IT'S DEEPLY FRUSTRATING.

Obi-Wan eventually manages to admit that he's uncomfortable with it at minimum because of the gendering the word has for him, can they at least use the neutral 'buir' instead?

Word spreads like fire, takes like two days max for everyone to switch.

(Anakin demands cuddles as compensation for not getting to call Obi-Wan any true parental term for years.)

[aelaer]

Hi friend! You seem vast in your knowledge of Stephen and willing to share so please enlighten me as I don’t read the comics but I do watch the mcu movies, and do love Stephen.

I know he’s erratic and impulsive and reckless sometimes but didnt we already complete this arc in his first movie? Especially since we’ve watched him deal with the consequences of his actions for the entirety of the film and end of the movie Stephen was a different Stephen from the beginning of the movie.

IW Stephen seemed like a more mature version of the man we’ve met at the end of his first movie, a linear progression of the character, more responsible.

The spider man trailer is just a few minutes so I’ll further reserve judgment till I see the film, but he seems.. silly almost? I’m aware he has his funny moments but I’m just nervous they’re gonna make him the joke instead of having him make the jokes.

Do you notice anything weird about how the adults act in these newer marvel projects.? (I’m thinking of loki specifically) they all have a silly undertone to them? I cant put my finger on it but it’s definitely new and ..off

Is this a constant characterization for Stephen in the comics? Is this what he’s like all the time?

Regardless, thank you for your time if you see this xx

Oh yeah, Stephen's my favorite subject at the moment so I'm happy to give my thoughts!

Note that my answers apply to MCU!Stephen and what we've seen in the four films he's been in.

I know he’s erratic and impulsive and reckless sometimes but didnt we already complete this arc in his first movie? Especially since we’ve watched him deal with the consequences of his actions for the entirety of the film and end of the movie Stephen was a different Stephen from the beginning of the movie.

In my experience of just living, there are personality quirks that can be tempered out and made better, but not entirely eliminated, even if it's undesirable. In my opinion, Stephen's need to push himself and prove that he can Do A Thing is a trait that won't ever go away--especially as that trait has helped him more than hindered him. Examples would include the more mundane such as getting through a combined MD/PhD program and inventing surgical procedures at what is still a really young age for a neurosurgeon. We don't have a canonical age for Stephen, but Benedict was 40 when Doctor Strange was filmed and released; even if he's canonically in his mid-40s, that's still very young for him to be at his caliber after the necessary years of med school and residency in the United States. He's young and nowhere near the end of his career when he gets in the car crash. So with that information in mind, we know that he's very ambitious and throws himself into doing difficult work with gusto. That doesn't even go into everything he did as a sorcerer.

Why get into all of this? Because while we, the viewer who has seen the multiverse open at... some point (possibly, in a rewritten timeline, it's always been open now with what happened in Loki!), we have seen just how nuts it gets. We have seen the consequences. Stephen's smart, but I don't think it's a matter of strictly recklessness and more a combination of ignorance on this specific subject (erasing memories across the world or slightly rewriting time-- we don't know how he's doing it, but a memory spell makes more sense to me), hubris (of course), and the real desire to help Peter out. The latter two traits combined in intelligent people have proven bad in both fiction and reality.

The reason I don't think it's pure impulsiveness is because in the trailer, we see Stephen doing some meditation type thing in the underground area before the spell. He's also always doing research and as he tells Peter he'll help him, he clearly knows of a spell already and has some working knowledge of how it works. The conversation with Wong wouldn't have happened otherwise. But I personally get the vibe off him that he'd not do it without being very confident that he can do it -- and his history in the films has shown 0 failures in any of his spells once he's past novice-level, so in that aspect, his confidence makes sense. If he *should* do the spell due to the risks of failure, and lack of practicing precaution in the face of his confidence, is where his flaws lie, IMO. And in that sense people could say he was reckless for deciding to perform a complicated, dangerous spell, but that follows his M.O. completely -- he performed a very complicated, dangerous spell consistently with the Time Stone again and again, from how the sorcerers spoke about the Infinity Stone (and he casually just... throws himself into a time loop, then to look through time. He takes calculated risks, but they are very much risks).

One last thought on this statement - the biggest, biggest lesson that Stephen learned in his first film was that it was not about him. There was more to the world than his glory and his brilliance and even his happiness. He started doing things for the greater good rather than himself. And he started doing things for others -- fighting for the Sanctum in his own film, and protecting the Earth. Serving something greater than himself. But that doesn't make him suddenly humble, and it doesn't suddenly take away his strange (hah) sense of humor.

IW Stephen seemed like a more mature version of the man we’ve met at the end of his first movie, a linear progression of the character, more responsible.

He was more serious in that film. So was Tony. They still had some quips and arguments, but they were very serious. And it makes sense as to why -- it was the end of the world. So the mood of the setting would change anyone's demeanour. But he had very little chance to unwind in that film, considering that he was trying to protect one of six items that would destroy the universe, and also got freaking tortured in the middle of the film with little time to recover. But nearly every Avenger was super serious in that film, and for good reason.

It's a completely different setting from what is now Stephen's life which, from what little we've seen in the trailer, is weird enough that he got a magical snowstorm in the Sanctum. It's safe enough that Wong's off on vacation. It's been nearly a year since he returned from the dead. He's either figured out how to move on in the last year or, as some prefer, has gotten good enough to put on a facade and bury the trauma so far down that he's putting on a normal act - but that's up to debate until MoM. And we have no idea if old traumas are going to be brought up there or if it's just the new things.

I think the point is that it's possible to be both a responsible person and also to make colossal mistakes due to either emotional connections or hubris (or both - we don't know which way the film will go, if they'll explain it at all). They're not mutually exclusive. He can be protecting reality fantastically, while also believing that he's skilled enough to pull off the ability to pull off a dangerous spell which he did in his own film and in IW. He's guided the timeline down a specific path in IW/Endgame, after all - what's a little identity item compared to the fate of the universe, after all? Removing the Spider-Man/Peter association is, in comparison, child's play I imagine to a man like Stephen.

The spider man trailer is just a few minutes so I’ll further reserve judgment till I see the film, but he seems.. silly almost? I’m aware he has his funny moments but I’m just nervous they’re gonna make him the joke instead of having him make the jokes.

Do you notice anything weird about how the adults act in these newer marvel projects.? (I’m thinking of loki specifically) they all have a silly undertone to them? I cant put my finger on it but it’s definitely new and ..off

He was definitely silly in his own film. He was constantly trying to get Wong to laugh and there was a banter between Stephen and Christine after he gets stabbed. He's always been a bit awkward and a bit jokey--I think Thor showed that combination of humorous snark and good research rather well, though he was flippant in a way that didn't get to show his kinder side that is better established in his film. And now we get to see that sympathy in his agreement to help Peter (at least, in my opinion).

Because he was doing an amazing awesome spell not once, not twice, but *three* times in the trailer alone, I am not worried about Stephen just being a joke. He seems just as powerful as he was in IW and Endgame. The rest of the world is just getting reminded that he's definitely a bit of a socially awkward duck at times (or, if you prefer, Putting On a "I'm Fine" Front And It's Coming Across As Weird). So him being a big joke is not something I am personally worried about.

Situational humor has been a staple of Marvel films since Iron Man. I watched the films casually before 2016 when I fell head deep into Stephen Strange (or well, 2018/9 is more accurate as that's when I *really* went nuts), and my viewings before that time and after that time was a lot more analytical. And it's very easy to see where the silliness started, all the way back when Tony crashed into his own car and Dum-E sprayed him with a fire extinguisher. Thor was the butt of the joke in the "fish out of water" scene in a good, good chunk of the film. Even Captain America had some situational humor. And remember that Guardians of the Galaxy was back in 2014, which was halfway through the MCU's time thus far. The stars of these films are almost always the butt of some joke a couple times and do things that could be viewed as childish.

I don't know your age at all, but if you were born after 1990, what might be happening, rather, is that they are not getting sillier, but that you may be getting older. I was an adult (legally, at least) in 2008, but the way I view the adults of the films throughout the early 2010s as compared to now is night and day. It's just come with my own life experience, and wider understanding to media tropes. The jump is even more significant if you were younger in Iron Man/Avengers days and are an adult now. If you're an older adult than me, then I'd argue it's the matter of life experience adding to your overall knowledge of media plus, potentially, rose-tinted glasses giving you a better vision of the older movies while forgetting that the older movies had plenty of their own flaws (and silliness). Could be a lot of things- it's too individual to really say why your perspective has changed. But I don't think the MCU's largely changed their comedy formula since 2012/2013.

Is this a constant characterization for Stephen in the comics? Is this what he’s like all the time?

Oh the comics are a mess of characterizations. It's very difficult to find full consistency across writers, and some writers did him much better than others. At the moment, Jason Aaron's 2015 run is viewed as very good by a large amount of fans, while Waid's 2018 run is viewed with mixed reviews. It's largely a matter of preference as you'll see traits that are just so uncharacteristic in an arc and then it never happens again. He takes on secret identities, he kills billions to save trillions (along with the other Avengers!), he sells his soul, he's in a steady relationship for 30 years, then he's sleeping with a new woman every arc he co-stars in-- it's just so dependent on the writer over the decades. What Marvel thinks will sell. Right now Marvel thinks his death is gonna sell issues, so yeah :P You pick and choose with the comics and build a personality from there.

Thank you for the thoughtful ask. I hope this wasn't too much of a drag to read through; I get rambly on my favorite subjects. Or anything, really.

[mbti-notes]

Anon wrote: Hey. I'm INFJ. I want to ask about relationship problems. The relationship in question is between my ESTJ mother and I. Generally, I would describe our relationship as close and loving, but there is a conflict, and that came from our opposite ideology and political beliefs.

I want to say before continuing that we are neither American or European, so our ideology and politics shouldn't be understood from the "western" side of things, though to simplify by comparison, my views could be described as leftist and my mother's as conservative. I should also add that I used to hold her worldview when I was younger, but changed once I was old enough to form an opinion of my own. This caused my mother to imply many times in our discussions that I am "brainwashed" and dismiss me as "too young" and "too ideological". I should add that the latter (ideological) is a valid criticism. Still working on that.

Otherwise, I often tried to persuade, then later find middle ground with her, to no avail. We ended up arguing many times, until we decided to not talk politics with each other anymore. So, what's the problem, you might ask.

Recently, the political climate in my country got intense. Heated, even. I won't go into details, but there are protests again the government by young liberals/leftists-equivalent of my country. Many of my good acquaintances joined the protest. The government used police force against them, and it got violent. There are young unarmed protestors who were teargassed, beaten, and shot with rubber bullets and high velocity water jets. Some protestors were heavily injured. Some protestors were arrested and incarcerated in horrible conditions. My mother and I agreed to not speak about politics, so I said nothing.

Until my mother, right infront of me, with another family member, openly mocked the protestors, made judgments about them based on the goverment's propaganda, called them a nuisance, and implied that they "deserved it". It's not about her discussing it, but it's about how unempathetic she was when she said those things, towards those young people my age, with similar ideology to me, and how apathetic she was when she said that "nothing's going to change anyway". It was the first time that I saw my mother in that angle, the complete lack of humanity in her words. It still haunts me until now.

So my question to you is, how does one deal with that? I love my mother, I think I always will. I also know that she loves me, or at least the part of me that's still her child. But for a moment, I loved her less, and that frightened me. I began to wonder, what would happen one day if we have to actually take sides, because things are getting worse in my country, not better. This adds to other issues I have in my life and made me more depressed. A part of me tells me that I should tell her about how I feel, but how do you tell someone you love that they're one of the reasons for your sadness?

I'm sorry if this is stupid. I'm sure that this feeling I have is one-sided, and I wonder if I'm being selfish or ungrateful. Maybe it's because I'm too sensitive these days, so I thought if I have an outside neutral opinion, it will help illuminate my clouded mind. Thank you. I hope you had a good summer break!

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

The sentence that sticks out at me the most is: "It was the first time that I saw my mother in that angle, the complete lack of humanity in her words." I would argue that the problem doesn't lie with her. In fact, nothing about your mother had changed. She was still the same woman as before she uttered those words. The issue arises from your perception of her and the standards by which you evaluate her.

I follow world affairs very closely, so I think I know which region you are speaking of. One of the biggest problems in the manner that people think and talk about politics is the tendency to stereotype. Stereotyping is basically a form of cognitive oversimplification. It makes your thinking ability fast but also very dull and blunt, unable to understand situations with the nuance and sophistication that is required for good judgment and decision making.

It doesn't matter which country/culture you are from, there is always some variation of "right versus left". Why? Because in every society, there will always exist an underlying tension between those who don't want change and those who do. You may label these two opposing forces as right vs left, conservative vs liberal, regressive vs progressive, etc, but the fact of the matter is that these labels are gross oversimplifications of people's political belief systems.

When you divide people along an oversimplified dichotomy, it's too easy to stereotype them, in terms of believing that all people on each "side" hold all the same beliefs and values. Stereotyping goes along with the natural tendency of humans to be tribal. You start to view those on your side as being intellectually and morally superior to those on the other side. This leads to dehumanization and even demonization of the other side. In essence, you lose the ability to empathize with people, as long as you believe that they aren't on your side or the "right" side.

It seems that your political thinking has become too stark due to how extreme the situation has become. You have the feeling of fighting for your life because of the way that the situation has been handled by authorities, as they are indeed putting people's lives in danger. Your feelings about the situation are completely valid. But you fail to recognize that your mom's feelings about the situation are also valid. Certainly, there are hard-core fundamentalists and extremists out there that you can never reach because their beliefs and values are not based in any form of reason. However, I don't think your mom fits into that category, does she?

Do you know what it means to have no humanity? You are accusing her of something like psychopathy. Is that really true of her? I don't think so. She said: "nothing's going to change anyway". I don't consider this an expression of "apathy", as you assume. This is an expression of hopelessness. In that sentence, there is a real possibility that your mom is sympathetic at heart, but she disagrees that the chaotic actions of the protestors (i.e. the method) will lead to any meaningful change... and she may be absolutely right about that.

You haven't grasped the nuances of your mom's beliefs and values because your mindset has been so hardened by the extreme nature of the political conflict. This means that, when you engage in political discussion with her, you are unable to: 1) acknowledge how she feels, 2) acknowledge that there is some reason/merit/validity behind her beliefs, and 3) be open-minded enough to meet her halfway.

Put another way: If you met someone who wouldn't acknowledge your feelings as valid, dismissed all of your beliefs and values as completely wrong without proper investigation, and only sought to "convert" you, would you want to communicate with them? Probably not. This is the unproductive attitude that you now both bring to the table. This is the divisive attitude that arises when a conflict becomes too polarized and everyone is forced to "choose a side".

Unless one of you learns to listen and communicate more effectively, what will change? You say that you have tried to find middle ground with her but always end up arguing. Not finding middle ground is one thing, but getting caught up in interpersonal drama is a whole other thing. The option to amicably agree to disagree is always available. If you genuinely respect someone and respect their freedom to form their own beliefs, it shouldn't be hard to agree to disagree. Why do you find it so difficult to let her be her? Ultimately, you're not really interested in "middle ground"? You just want her agreement? Getting caught up in arguments all the time, especially on a recurring basis, indicates poor communication skills that stem from a troubling lack of objectivity. The more you argue with the intent to shame/change the other person, the more you push them away from your side, and the more myopic you get in your own beliefs.

You seem to have fallen into the trap of categorizing her into the tribe that you view as the enemy of your tribe, namely, the authorities that are cracking down on you young protestors. You've started to view her as the enemy, now you can't empathize with her, and even accuse her of having no humanity. You now consider yourself morally superior to her. If there is any possibility that she could be your ally, you've slammed the door on it.

You describe a very dire and desperate political situation that affects everyone, BUT, it doesn't affect everyone the same way. Different people have very different ways of dealing with intense emotions like fear, insecurity, grief, despair, helplessness, etc. Due to inferior Fi, ESTJs have extremely low tolerance for intense and uncontrollable emotions. Remember that one's ability to utilize the inferior function is not much better than a young child. If ESTJs can't neutralize or deflect their sense of powerlessness quickly, the burden of the emotions will quickly destroy them. I don't think you've really understood the thought process behind your mom's words and what is really motivating her "apathy".

Just because someone doesn't agree with your methods, doesn't mean that they don't have anything in common with you. Politics isn't just about good vs evil, as in, if you don't stand up for good, then you are evil. Everyone has their own way of looking at the situation because everyone has their own interests to take care of first and foremost, and everyone has their own ideas about the best methods to pursue. This is true for both you and your mom. It is possible to agree on beliefs but disagree on methods. For example, I'm assuming that you care about this cause so deeply because you care about your future. Sure, your ideas about the future differ from hers. But, certainly, you are both interested in securing your future, aren't you?

History has shown us that young people are always more willing to fight for causes because: 1) they would suffer less immediate material loss than the elder generation, 2) they have fewer life responsibilities, obligations, and commitments to take into consideration, and 3) their lack of life experience sometimes makes their thinking too simplistic when visualizing future implications.

Your interests aren't fully aligned with your mom's in this situation, perhaps because you are from different generations. However, this doesn't mean that your interests don't align in other important ways. At the end of the day, your mom is probably deathly afraid of seeing YOU on the news being beaten to a pulp and disappeared by the police, right? And it may be the case that she's passing harsh judgment on the protestors because she's trying to discourage you from meeting their horrible fate? That's hardly lack of humanity.

To be a good critical thinker, you need to learn to be more objective. Objectivity means understanding all aspects of the situation, or as many as you can manage. Objectivity and empathy often go hand-in-hand. You won't be able to empathize well unless you acknowledge that there might be some aspects of the situation that you're not seeing or understanding. When you take more time to get to the bottom of someone's thought process and why they really feel the way they do, you will discover all sorts of openings to influence their political beliefs in a friendly way. But when you can't even acknowledge that the other side might have an important point to be made, because you are so hardened in your stance, you've created a dead end for yourself.

[practicalmagicintuitions]

“The fates lead the willing and drag the unwilling”

I was thinking about that last MT podcast HC had when he mentioned stoicism and a book I have but I haven’t read yet. So I decided to deep dive in a little bit because I studied philosophy at the university at a very basic level but I always wanted to know more, so this seems a good occasion. I am also interested in what HC could see in this philosophy school. I think we all know at this point he is interested in things that interest his people, not necessarily him or he is dropping ideas, new things fast. So one part of this will be a summary of stoicism because I feel many people have misconceptions or don’t know what is this just saying this is sh*t even don’t have the slightest idea about it. The other part will be a little HC armchair analysis by me throughout this topic. And I also decided to read the book he mentioned - Viktor E. Frankl Man's Search for Meaning - and maybe I will walk through it or give you a summary if you interested. 

Bare with me, because this turned out to be long, but I had to get out his from my system.

Not soon after the pandemic and the lockdown started in 2020 Penguin Random House said the print sales of Marcus Antonius’s Meditations are up 28% for the first quarter of 2020 vs 2019, while print sales of Letters from a Stoic are up 42% for the same period. The ebook sales rose by 356% . This boom was because of the pandemic but the popularity of modern stoicism has been an upcoming thing for a while especially since people like Bill Gates or Warren Buffet allegedly used stoicism in their business and Thomas Kaplan is supporting a Stoicism Course at Brown University. But unfortunately, modern stoicism has become kind of a ready-made lifehack, a self-helping method, that’s why books like Ryan Holiday’s one could be published and becomes a success. This is where I see modern stoicism’s faults. 

Stoicism seems a good school to support or to follow in the pandemic because this is about we have to accept the things we have no control over. Probably that’s why the sales went up. This is about don’t letting uncontrollable things or events messing with your judgment and clarity. Fear, screams, panic, rages don’t help. And I think we can agree this is true. Aurelius wrote his Meditations in the middle of a battle when his men were dying not just because of the fights but because of a pox epidemic and top of that he was an Emperor. So to maintain his sanity he had become a stoic. He didn’t have an influence on the epidemic so he just accept it and didn’t spend his energy raging about it. 

Stoicism was founded by Zenon around 300 BC. And it was a thriving and popular school without huge wars or pandemics or anything. Back then it was not a reaction to something but a preparation for something. More directly prepare yourself the thing you cannot be prepared for. And probably this is the OG stoicism most valuable teaching that there are events in this world we simply cannot control. What we can control however how we react to those events. Are we remain calm or think this is a catastrophe. Let see a very basic example. We are mortals, we will die no matter what. This is a sure event we have no control over. What we can control that our view on this. Will we panic? Refuse to even talk about death or refuse to make a will because “OMG I will die then!!” Like spoiler alert, it will happen, will or no will. Or we understand our time is limited and try to enjoy it and not see smaller inconveniences are tragedies. I am sure we all know people who think if they spill themselves over with coffee or the handle of the grocery’s bag comes off it’s a pure tragedy and they are capable of thinking about this all day as something it is happening with them always an exclusively. 

Until this, I think it’s all good we can use this in our daily life. What is dangerous in the OG stoicism is that the stricter wing of it thought emotions as a whole or almost all of it cause confusion so you basically should eliminate emotions to have that clarity on life. That’s why Diogenes wrote that the wise is emotionless. And this is the main and very valid criticism again stoics, that with taking away the emotions they basically ripping of humans from something very unique valuable, important, because our emotions make us humans. And because living totally emotionless is kinda impossible this goal is not realistic, so it causes many frustrations ( oh my... even more emotions!) Because think about it, who are described as emotionless? Psychopaths. 

You have cases, events, when your emotions, even overflowing ones are right and acceptable and suppressing them, could be dangerous. Because realistic or not Marcus Aurelius and Seneca and the other stoics idea was not just watching the world and letting things happen, shrugging a shoulder and say nothing, no! Their philosophy and aim were to eliminate the bothering things which not let you think calmly. And since we are talking about philosophy the reality of this in practice is secondary. Critics also think ( and maybe the modern stoicism is going in this direction) that a hardcore stoics care only about themself and their egos while Seneca says friendships are important and in general most stoics accepted positive feelings (to a certain extent).

Stoicism comes back to life mostly in psychotherapy around 1900 by Paul Dubois ( before him there was another new wave of stoicism in the 16th century) and that’s where Victor E Frankle is connected to this topic. I haven’t read his book yet but I know his method is called logotherapy (logos= meaning) and this was born in the deepest existential crisis when his whole family was killed in a concentration camp and he felt he had remained only one personal freedom, the way how he reacts to the circumstances. Frankle invented his own method so he is not just planted some ancient in the modern world but he in fact thought Socrates and his philosophy is his inspiration. I won’t talk about this more until I read his book. 

* I wanted to listen to the whole podcast again, but I couldn’t so I just went to the part we care about now.

So they are talking about morning routines and he mention that one of his teachers in primary school said to him “Always expect the unexpected” This is pure stoicism and while I am not suggesting he is lying I noticed he likes to blend his current interest with his childhood memories like when he said at the WitcherCon how they had to build a fantasy castle in the school (or something) and this was such good preparation for him because he has a fantasy series now. Convenient right?

So he mentioned the teacher and a little later hinting that he is into stoicism lately. Question is, which comes first? The teacher with the stoic idea or the stoicism as a new interest somehow repainted his childhood memories? 

Then he again is talking about the stoic’s way of control. Or does he? 

“ focusing on the thing you can control and make yourself better to control them” 

This was never part of the OG philosophy because that is not about being a control freak. It is actually the opposite. If you cannot control something let it go, not force things to go on your way and if you failed then you let go. 

The next part it’s not about this topic but I have to mention it because I kinda overlooked it when I listed this at the first time.

He is asked about the fitness industry’s mistakes and he said

“I wouldn’t be the kinda person to point my finger at anyone and say there is a big mistake there…. I wouldn’t ever want to point to finger at anyone saying there is a mistake “

So… should I insert the FO post here? And I know the question and the answer was about fitness but he clearly has no problem pointing fingers at people. 

This leads to us again to the control topic. His FO post is creaming about controlling. “ You don’t like the way I am dating? You don’t like I have a covid romance? Then I will tell you what to do and how to behave because I need to have control over my fandom”

When the host asked him about overcoming obstacles he mention the book - Victor E. Frankl Man's Search for Meaning. (he also said it’s difficult to give advice…)

While he is talking about the book (and for me, it’s clear that the host doesn’t give a damn about this) so HC’s whole tone is changed. Just compare when he is talking about MT and training and so on, he is so irritating and unlistenable but here he is calmer, doesn’t use his voice so expressively, doesn’t emphasise that much in a sentence etc. This to me shows he is actually craving after something more, something deeper, something serious. Not just talking about his ties and blueberry smoothies. I don’t think is dumb (I think he has dumb choices thought) I think he could be more both as an actor both as an individual because when he was talking about the book I felt he has a true, genuine interest and it was a one-second opportunity to talk about something interesting not just fart powder.  

I feel his interest in stoicism is an attempt to validate why he is oppressing his feelings. I am sure he does this because he is uncomfortable with his feelings, past and present. For example, I think instead of the bullying his main trauma is being sent away from home to a boarding school and experiencing cold treatment from his mom (the infamous stop calling story). But he oppressing this because I guess all of his brothers he is looking up to loves their mom and he feels he needs to be a good son but questioning his mom means he is a bad one. So instead of admitting that he is hurt and damaged by it he is saying the bullying was his worst experience. 

This means to me he doesn’t understand stoicism, ancient or modern he just wants and moreover, he needs something he can hold and cling to, something that gave himself meaning. As a book’s title says: Man’s search for meaning. And I feel HC does this maybe a little bit desperately. Searching for the answers and this moment he thinks stoicism is the key to finding what he is looking for while in reality, the main problem is he doesn’t ask the right questions. And without them, he won’t find any answer. Or meaning. 

Title quote from Seneca

[joshscorcher]

Friendly Fire Philosophy

Unconscious Thoughts, Fiction, and Confession of Character

As an Internet Personality, I’m required to spend much time on the internet so I can stay up to date on recent trends and remain relevant. I spend a lot of time lurking on YouTube as a result. Recently, I stumbled across a video about unconscious/implicit bias and watched it (I will not link it for obvious reasons). The speaker told me that everyone, including the viewers watching, has biases and preconceptions of which they aren't even aware.

I don’t wholly disagree with this idea. Many times people have tastes that they can’t explain. Some think that blondes are the most good-looking kind of person. Some think Asians are the most good-looking. Some love green eyes. Some like freckles, scars, or traits not considered “Hollywood Hot.” A simple scouring of DeviantArt is very good evidence that no one agrees on universal bodily beauty (I really wouldn’t recommend doing that, by the way. It gets very weird very quickly). Point is, we all have different tastes that we cannot logically explain other than, “I just do” or “That’s how I was born, I guess.” It gets to the point that shaming someone for something they can’t really control seems not only like an exercise in futility but also cruelty and injustice.

I was silently nodding along to the video, thinking that’s where the speaker was going with this. Then the person made the statement that prompted this essay: They claimed that we all have unconscious prejudices and bigotry.

I thought the idea was shocking. We have bigotry that we don't even know about? How do we actually deal with that? How would we even know about something like that? I searched, but I could find no credible studies proving the existence of this. Not only did I believe this idea was logically flawed, I was personally upset by this concept.

This person is telling me that I'm a bigot and I didn't even know it? What an arrogant statement! They don’t know me nor can they read my thoughts. They’re implying they know so much about how the brains of millions of different people work, that they can accuse them of unsaid thoughts, or even unTHOUGHT thoughts? It sounded sillier the more I continued to think about it.

Of course, I rejected this idea. People aren't a monolith and no one acts the same way. Yes, the fact that we have professions of neuroscience, psychology, and psychiatry certainly lend credence to the idea that there are patterns of behavior between humans, and I also agree with the idea that our unconscious mind can influence our actions. However, this assumption that everyone is bigoted in some way? It was very hard for me to swallow.

The person continued. It was a very twee, platitudinous, and condescending speech about sensitivity, empathy, and being all kum-ba-yah. Suddenly, the person talked about how they confronted their own unconscious biases and hates and wished to spread their newfound enlightenment to others. In that moment, everything became clear:

I was being accused of something of which my accuser was guilty.

I stopped being angry at that point, because I understood. This person felt bad about their racism, and I shouldn’t be harsh on them for that. On the contrary, I believe it's very admirable that they did some thorough self-examination and attempted to safeguard their behaviors and ESPECIALLY their thoughts. Not many people are self-aware enough to police the way they think about people and many people underestimate the value of keeping your mind clean and disciplined. They also wanted to stop racist behaviors from manifesting in other places, again, not a terrible motivation. That being said, the road to hell is paved with good intentions. I still have an issue with them accusing me of being the same as them. Again, they didn't know me, so how could they make a sound judgment on me, especially something as serious as bigotry? Why is this person assuming everyone is like them?

I'm reminded of something Ralph Waldo Emerson once said, “People seem not to see that their opinion of the world is also a confession of their character.“ I can't say I disagree. Many times, the way we see the world, reveals a lot about our personalities. How often do nice people think the world is great? How often do unpleasant people think the world is terrible? How often do artistic types see beauty everywhere they go? Iroh from Avatar: The Last Airbender corroborates this idea: “If you look for the light, you can often find it. But if you look for the dark that is all you will ever see.” Heck, this concept can be said about the art we create as well.

Art is also commonly referred to as a self-portrait. Kehinde Wily for instance says that "All art is self-portraiture." Frequently, artists are very much encouraged to "write what they know." It can be argued that even the art we create is a confession of character. We often put a lot of ourselves into the art we create and I can't say I disagree with this idea.

Permit me to deviate from my point for a bit. Trust me, I have an endgame here.

My Dungeons and Dragons campaign “Welcome to the Show” has the underlying theme of redemption being open to those who seek it. In the story, the party is trying to get the deposed Queen Jeminya back on the throne of her kingdom, but they quickly hit a snag. As a devil-spawn, Jeminya's soul is damned to the Nine Hells no matter how "good" of a person she is, and she is made painfully aware of this reality. However, she continues to do good anyways, because she believes good is worth doing and it's worth believing in. Her god sees her pure intentions and offers her an escape from her fate; it will be a hard and bumpy road, but she will be able to achieve redemption should she seek it.

Sound familiar? It should. There are sprinklings of my faith littered all throughout the story, and many times I didn't even know I was doing it. I even unintentionally based Asmodeus, the head devil, off of Screwtape from C.S. Lewis' "The Screwtape Letters" because my trashy fanboyism has apparently seeped into my unconscious.

Some might have noticed that it is very difficult for me to create/act a character who is evil for the sake of being evil, often giving them sympathetic backstories or more often redemption arcs. This is mostly because I find it hard to imagine myself in the position of being pure evil; not having any other underlying motive. In fact, I doubt Pure Evil people even exist. Even Kefka Palazzo from Final Fantasy VI, whom I really enjoy playing and analyzing, I realize I don’t believe to be Pure Evil. Insane and dangerous? Definitely, but looking closer at him, there are some tragic elements to him; he was experimented on which made him insane. Throughout the game, he descends into a person who cannot comprehend love, happiness, or joy, and cannot find any meaning in life other than destruction. He’s not pure evil; like many of us he’s looking for personal fulfillment.

Many have noticed I take a very Don Bluth approach to my storytelling; "[If] you don’t show the darkness, you don’t appreciate the light. If it weren’t for December no one would appreciate May. It’s just important that you see both sides of that. As far as a happy ending…when you walk out of the theatre there’s [got to be] something that you have that you get to take home. What did it teach me? Am I a better person for having watched it?" This is also a very Christian concept, as we believe that as dark and hellish as it gets on earth, there's a paradise at the end of the journey.

Now back to my point.

I'm not denying the existence of unconscious thoughts influencing our conscious thoughts and behaviors, because I just gave some very good anecdotes of this very phenomenon. What I am denying is the accusation that everyone specifically has unconscious bigotry because one person found unconscious bigotry within themselves.

Have you ever noticed that we very often try to give people the advice that we need to hear ourselves? I'm no exception; very often I've told people that they need to not let their anger control them and to grow thicker skins. Anyone who's met me for two minutes is probably laughing right now, and I wouldn't blame them. They all can tell you that I get defensive and emotional very easily and taking criticism is difficult for me. I do NOT have a very thick skin.

And I HATE it.

I hate the fact that I'm that overly sensitive. I hate that I lash out at people who just want to help me improve myself. I hate that I empower people to control me by letting my emotions get out of hand, as it's caused me to make very stupid decisions that still affect me to this day. I hate the fact that I DESPERATELY want everyone to like me. I hate the fact that I'm the only one of my siblings that has this problem.

I've taken steps to improve myself, but it's still hard and every day is a challenge, especially as an Internet Personality. I took a test and found out my love language is Words of Affirmation. I'll never forget the sarcastic remark my mom made when she found out: "Your love language is Words of Affirmation, and yet you're an internet personality... good luck."

At some point, you realize that everyone is a hypocrite about something. My older brother loves to say, "We often fail to meet our own standards." We hate liars, but who here has never lied, even like a little white lie? We hate thieves, but who here has never stolen, even something small like downloading a $2.00 song? How many times have you taken a french fry from someone else's plate? Maybe you're the rare exception and haven't done any of these things, but this is my point: We often hold others to standards that we don't follow ourselves, and to claim otherwise is to claim one is perfect, which is impossible.

That's why I've stopped getting angry at accusations of closet racism or unconscious hate. These accusers rarely know anything about the people they accuse because they don't know others’ thoughts. In fact, due to what I’ve written above, I often believe in my heart of hearts that these people are projecting their own insecurities and biases onto others, but amusingly, that makes ME the hypocrite because I don’t know their thoughts to be able to make that judgement. All I and anyone else for that matter have to go on is merely our own thoughts.

To be fair, they are correct in their implied point that actions speak louder than words and even thoughts. The Bible says in Matthew 7:16, “Therefore by their fruits you will know them.” So, the actions you take and the fruit you produce are also a strong indication of character, but context exists to complicate the issue. There’s a reason we categorize a human causing the death of another using terms like 1st degree murder, manslaughter, or self-defense. There's a difference between beating up an intruder threatening you and your family, and beating up someone because they called you a nasty name. 

If you do have inner thoughts that you might not be proud of, take comfort that someone might be feeling the same way. Certainly not everyone, but there’s a high chance another person is out there who’s going through what you are going through right now. Safeguarding your thoughts is important, and I would talk to someone reputable for their wisdom or an authority figure you trust on how best to do so.

But no matter what, remember: we are all flawed humans, so you’re not alone.

[takingcourage]

Restless

Pairing: Thomas x MC

Word Count: 2,450

Summary: On the night before Allison’s psych evaluation, sleep proves elusive. 

Note: If you’ve followed me for long, you may already know that I have zero patience for characters failing to communicate. While I completely respect Thomas’s position and his need for time, the way things ended at Drafthorse stressed me out. I needed something to tide me over until Friday, so this story is my attempt to fix things (just a bit). 

I hope you enjoy!

Of all the nights to have insomnia, this had to be the absolute worst. 

Allison scrunched the pillow beneath her head, rolling to her opposite side in a last-ditch effort to find a position that could coax her toward somnolence. She laid her head the center of the thick padding, brushing away the tangle of hair that tickled her cheek. Once settled, she willed herself to relax. 

It was only 3:00 am. Much too early for any sane person to be out of bed, but she was close to not being able to stand it anymore. 

If only she could afford a sleepless night. 

She’d learned how to operate on scant amounts of sleep back in college, and while pushing through her tiredness grew more difficult with every passing year, she could still call on her stores of natural energy when she needed to. When those started to run low, there was always caffeine. But caffeine couldn’t give her a well-rested complexion or the soundness of mind that came with a full night’s sleep. 

If she went into tomorrow’s psych evaluation running on autopilot and looking like death warmed over...

Well, the possibilities didn’t bear thinking about. 

“Just sleep!” She whispered the plea and screwed her eyes shut, fighting off the desperation that was threatening to lay hold of her sense. Even as her stomach churned, she forced deep breaths in through her nose and out her parted lips. 

But she knew the efforts were futile. Although she’d managed a little bit of sleep at first, it had been hours since she’d woken up. Hours of tossing and turning. Hours of being sick with worry about what tomorrow might bring. Hours of reliving her kisses with Thomas over and over and over. 

It felt insane to be thinking about him at such a time. From an objective view, whatever was going on between the two of them was the least her her concerns. 

And yet, the way he’d left weighed almost as heavily on her mind as her fears about the day ahead. 

She tried not to think about his fingers digging into the flesh of her thighs, his breath hot and shallow against her throat. Swallowing hard, she tried to forget the taste of his lips, the conviction in his voice when he told her how much he’d wanted her. She tried to ignore the molten desire he’d rekindled: desire that had been dormant for so long that she’d thought it was gone.  

Allison threw back the comforter she slept with to leave only the thin sheet behind. Body burning, she pushed in the switch on her bedside lamp. Sleep wasn’t going to come, and she didn’t like where her mind was headed in the darkness. 

Or maybe she liked it too much.

She propped her pillow against the headboard, sat up, and urged herself to be reasonable. 

But reasonable behavior would have been much easier to achieve if those moments with Thomas in the Drafthorse storeroom hadn’t taught her one very important thing: his patience had a limit. 

It was a weakness she knew she could exploit if she wanted to. And she had to admit, it was tempting. Having a man desire her in that way felt good. Coupled with the way she she felt toward him, it was better than good -- irresistible, almost. 

At the same time, it was absolutely terrifying. Allison didn’t know if she liked having so much influence -- having the power to make him act without rational thought, to do things he wasn’t really ready to do. Her mind insisted that rushing him would only make things worse, that she had to be incredibly careful until it was clear that he was well and truly ready to move on. 

And yet, those kisses had certainly felt like he was ready. 

Craving distraction, Allison reached for her phone and thumbed the password by rote. She scrolled through news headlines and social media feeds, searching for anything that could center the jumbled mess of thoughts within. When nothing sufficed, she opened her web browser and started typing. 

How to...

A list of options populated beneath the search bar. How to plan for a court-ordered psychological evaluation came up first. Shaking her head, she ran the search and began skimming over the same results she’d seen a dozen times before. 

Nothing new. Be honest. Be professional. Be prepared. 

An icy tendril of fear latched down the length of her spine. How prepared could she truly be on an hour of sleep? If she couldn’t even focus her thoughts in the privacy of her own home, was there any hope of producing coherent answers in front of a psychologist? 

The hours leading to the appointment were going to drive her mad. 

Before she even realized what she was doing, she’d typed out a message to Thomas. Doubt crept in as her finger hovered over the send button. 

If they talked, maybe she could get some of this off her chest. Maybe she’d be able to go into tomorrow’s appointment a little bit saner  -- a little bit more qualified to retain custody of her daughter. 

It seemed like the barest chance, but she was willing to take it. Besides, she knew his text notification was usually disabled. It wasn’t like she was in danger of waking him up. 

Could you call me sometime this morning? 

Allison stared at the screen dumbly, not quite believing that she’d sent the message so long before the sunrise. But by the time the screen faded to black, some part of her did feel better. Taking any action was better than tossing and turning. 

She was just coming back from the bathroom when she heard the vibration of her phone against the nightstand. In one fluid motion, she swept the phone to her ear and answered. “Hello?”

“I take it you can’t sleep either?”

Her surprise at the call changed to sympathy on hearing the crack in his voice. “Nope.”

“Sorry, stupid question,” he continued with a sigh. “What can I do?”

“Wait--” she interjected, feeling her forehead wrinkle with confusion. “Why are you awake right now? It isn’t even 4:00 yet.”

“I was trying to fall back asleep when I saw your text.”

“Then you should go back to sleep. It’s nothing urgent. Please?”

He chuckled quietly, though there was little humor in the sound. “If it’s keeping  you up, that’s urgent enough. What's on your mind?” 

She didn’t know where to start. 

Allison expelled a heavy breath and sat back on the mattress. How much should she tell him? Her better judgment told her that the wee hours of the morning were not the proper time to be having a heart-to-heart with the man she was half in love with, but impulse won out over sense. 

“It’s the middle of the night and I’m in an empty house because my terrible ex sabotaged me with my own daughter. I’ve got a psych evaluation first thing in the morning that’s going to decide whether I’m fit to continue raising said daughter, and...” she swallowed hard, trying to check her tone. 

Should she tell him that he’d been on her mind too? Biting the inside of her cheek, she resisted the urge. “And I feel like I’m thinking in circles. So, yeah. Sleeping’s been a little tricky,” she finished lamely. 

“We never did get a chance to talk about the evaluation this afternoon, did we? What time is your appointment?” he asked simply. 

“10:00.”

She could almost hear the wheels turning in his head.

“If you’d like, I could come by in the morning after I’ve dropped Luz at school. It would give us some time to talk things through and make sure you’re feeling confident.”

Allison’s throat grew thick at the generous offer. “That sounds amazing,” she whispered finally, hoping that he would interpret the weakness in her voice as yet another symptom of exhaustion.  

“Great. I’ll bring some coffee too.”

“Do you do this for all of your clients?” She inquired, the lighthearted tone masking the fact that she was on the verge of tears.

"You’re the exception to a lot of rules, Allison Day.”

A shiver coursed between her shoulders. With satisfied smile, she had to admit that she liked holding such distinction. As the immediate sense of pleasure wore off, she realized he’d continued speaking. 

“...shouldn’t worry about it in the meantime. That psychologist is going to see what everyone else already knows: you’re an incredible mom.”

“An incredible mom who had to call her lawyer in the middle of the night because she had insomnia...”

“That’s what I’m here for. Like I said, I’m your lawyer and your friend. And I fully meant that compliment. You’re the first person I turn to for parenting advice these days. That should tell you something.”

Mood lightening, she couldn’t help feeling a bit mischievous. “It tells me that you’re desperate.” She shifted her phone to the other ear, smiling as his laughter carried across the line.

“If you’re insulting me, you must be feeling better.”

“Much. Thanks for listening.”

“You’re welcome.” He paused for several long seconds Any longer, and Allison might have wondered if he’d fallen back to sleep. “Do you mind if I change the subject for a moment?”

“Not at all,” she responded, intrigued.

“I wanted to apologize again for what happened this afternoon. I can’t help thinking that I’ve contributed to your trouble sleeping.”

Her sigh was all the proof he needed.

“I’m sorry, truly. If I’d been thinking it never would have happened.” 

Back ramrod straight, Alison propped her head against the wall behind her headboard. They were treading into dangerous territory. If she wasn’t careful, she was going to dash headlong into something she couldn’t get out of. 

Then again, he’d been the one to bring it up... 

“Maybe I’m glad you weren’t thinking then,” she challenged finally. Half relieved, half mortified, she bit her tongue. There was no going back now. “Because even though you ran off afterward, that still might have been the best kiss of my life. I’ve been dying to kiss you for months.”

"Allison, I...”

She rose from the bed, shrugging into her robe before she made her way to the kitchen. “And I know you’re not ready to talk about it,” she went on, filling a glass of water at the tap. “That’s fine. But I’m working with an hour of sleep and a heck of a lot of stress right now, so I think I’m just going to come right out and say it. You don’t have to respond or decide anything now, but maybe it will help, somehow.”

His breath was slow on the other end of the line. “That’s more than fair. If it helps you to talk, I’ll listen.”

“No pressure, okay?” 

“Okay.”

“I’m not trying to rush you.” 

“Okay,” he agreed a second time. 

Taking a long sip of water, Allison lowered herself to the couch. This was a terrible idea. Unfortunately, any inhibitions she normally would have had were long gone. 

“I want to be with you, Thomas. In a real, committed relationship where we don’t have to question the consequences or worry about second thoughts. If there’s any possibility of that happening, I’ll wait as long as I need to...” she stopped at the sound of his sharp inhale. 

After a beat, he responded. “Thank you.”

Her heart sank at the continued silence. It wasn’t exactly the answer she’d been yearning for. Though she knew it was unlikely, some part of her had been holding out hope that his mind had changed since that afternoon. 

“You’re welcome. Uh, thanks again...for listening.” She drew the words out awkwardly, uncertain where to take the conversation from there. Now that the weight was off her chest, she had no sense of what needed to come next. 

Fortunately, Thomas filled the silence. “I’m happy to. And I...”

Her pulse skipped, growing giddy again with possibility. 

“I’m sorry for being so back and forth. But I have to be sure that when... if,” he amended after some hesitation, “I move on, it’s not just going to be some short-term relationship that will change after a few weeks or months. I couldn’t do that Luz. I’m not sure I could put myself through that either.”

"Believe me, Thomas. I understand. The last thing I want is to put Kira through any more change right now. But if you decide you’re ready for a relationship -- for something stable...” She trailed off, forcing herself to take another drink of water before her tongue could get her into further trouble. 

“You’ll be the first to know,” he promised. 

“Thanks.” With a smile, she set the empty glass of water aside. From the corner of her eye, she caught the time on the oven clock and winced. “Hey, I should let you get back to sleep.”

“Do you think you’ll be able to? You’d still be able to get a couple of hours if you went to bed now.”

“I think so,” Allison confirmed, already padding back in the direction of her bedroom. “Thanks again for listening.” 

“You’re welcome again. I’ll listen as much as you want in the morning -- the real morning,” he clarified dryly. “I’ll look forward to seeing you tomorrow, Allison. Sleep well.” 

“Goodnight,” she signed off with a yawn. After plugging her phone in to charge, she climbed back into bed. When she rolled to the other side of the mattress, there was a smile on her face. 

Talking with Thomas might not have solved anything, but it had still done her a world of good. As she nestled into the blankets, she almost hoped that this wasn’t the last late-night conversation in their future. No matter what was going on between them, he made a great sounding board. 

While warmth returned to her cold extremities, a baser part of her instinct took over. After all, she wanted him as more than just a confidant and ally.  Imagination running wild, Allison could almost feel him in the bed beside her. Within the dream, she melted into the heat of his body as he pulled her close, planting kisses along the curve of her throat. She turned to face him, lips greedy to taste his skin. 

The cold air on her face brought her back to reality. 

Groaning, she rolled over again and banished all thoughts from her mind. All thoughts, that is, save for one.

Thomas was definitely worth waiting for. 

[a-vulnerable-writer]

Zodiac letters

A letter to all the signs:

Capricorn:

I wish I was good enough for you. I wish I could be the image that you want me to be. I can’t help but always trying to want your approval constantly. Being around your atmosphere can be so draining because of all the judgments I feel within the first few minutes of being around you. My encounters with you I have seen you as strong and you stick with your own and not allow anyone to push you down but it allows you to come off as cold at times but yet you can be warm at the same time. How is that even possible? It is hard to be around you when all I feel like I couldn’t be what you wanted and it still makes me sad that I can’t give that to you.

Aquarius:

As an Aquarius I’m going to dismiss this because I feel like I’ll be biased. 

Pisces:

You are funny. Interesting. Charismatic. The ones I’ve encountered you have been scattered brain and sometimes you allow your emotions and the things you find so passionate a little bit far. You get so lost in your own emotions that you lose yourself through it. I have always been entranced by the way you talk and your viewpoints. I can always rely on you for a good time and to make me forget about the small stresses or even the big ones. You’ve taught me it’s okay to be a goof as long as you know when it’s time to stop.

Aries:

You have made me think of ways to become a better version of myself. You always inspire me and uplift me in the best positive way. Your stuborness and your need to be right can be annoying but your passion and strive is so different. you don’t care what anyone else thinks or at least that’s how it is percieved but you always do what ends up making you happy at the end. You write your own story and it’s amazing you don’t allow anyone else to write it for you. I am always in awe of what you do even if you don’t see it. You can be predictable but in the best way, you are one of the strongest people I’ve ever met.

Taurus:

You confuse the hell out of me but in a good way sometimes. But your minds and the way you think always grasps my attention. Our views can be the complete opposite at times and interests but you always take me out of my comfort zone. Without you I wouldn’t be who I am today. You challenge me every day with what you bring to the table. We argue and bicker we’re opposites it’s no shock. You stick with your gut and your intuition. You feel guilt fast but honestly you shouldn’t. You fight so hard for those you love but it becomes a hard place for you to argue with those close to you. it’s hard for you to concept that those you love can hurt you.

Gemini:

Ya’ll love to be right. There is always a sense of dominance to you. It appears almost natural. Geminis are twins and you can be two faced in a good way and a bad. You have many faces and facades that you give to different people usually to protect yourself. You can become bored quickly so when you find someone interesting enough to pick their brains you hang on for awhile but usually through our encounters, you never stick around in one place for too long.

Cancer:

Sensitive. You are so sweet and kind to others yet when it comes to yourself you doubt it. Some of you are very confident or maybe just good at hiding it. You are always willing to help others and sometimes you take on too much that you can’t handle and you don’t see it at all. You push through a lot of emotional turmoil but don’t allow anyone else to shake you down or those you love. You protect everything you have at least from what I see.

Leo:

So far, all the leos I’ve met quiet and awkward the complete opposite of a lion. Yet, you guys could be leaders if you tried and sometimes you don’t and it happens. You protect those you love and don’t give a shit on what anyone thinks I admire that. You got you and aware of it. If I piss you off enough you could come off as a lion but you are usually level headed and calm. Logical. Sometimes you don’t think and just go head on and it somehow always leads to well thought out plan. You have a lot of guts and the will to risk unless you know someone is in danger. You always come to rescue in those in need in the most awkwardest way. Also, you guys have a weird thing about your hair needing to look perfect all the time. Very independent and can seem cold but honestly one of the warmest people I’ve ever encountered in my life.

Virgo:

Dramatic. You guys have a lot of emotions and the only way I have encountered it is that you don’t hide it. You make sure everyone knows what you’re feeling and why. Usually complicated and trys to be logical but comes out cynical or like an ass. Can be slightly manipulative. Not all virgos are like this just the ones I’ve met. You love to roast people and tease and can be very nice but can go a bit far without realizing. Can be selfish but not on purpose I just usually see you as like a baby who always needs guidance. You find yourselves in the weirdest situations and make things a billion times more complicated than needed. For me, personally one of the hardest ones to trust.

Libra:

Sweet, loving, kind and naive. Probably one of the most innocent signs I’ve ever met. Sometimes, you allow the most toxic people to stay and I don’t know why. You have the need to be constantly liked which isn’t super necessary because naturally everyone already loves you. You appear child like in a sweet way. Being around you makes me feel like the mom friend and you’re so honest in the best way. If I ever needed a pep talk you are there. Even though, usually you’re one of the nicest signs I’ve had encounters with it can be difficult to talk to you because of those you surround yourself with, sometimes even you seem lost among the crowds that you’re in.

Scorpio:

I don’t know a lot of you, but I do know some. You can appear secretive but not in a bad way. You keep to yourself which I respect. You always put others first and always have a level head and logical explanations. Possibly one of the supportive people I know. You make me think through my plans and thoughts before I act or react.  Also, probably one of the most honest people I know even if it hurts or slightly sugar coated I still feel like you always get your point across no matter what really. You’re really good at explaining your thoughts coherently they’re never scrambled.  You’re also very balanced sometimes you give so much of your energy to others I wonder if you still have enough energy for yourself.  Lastly, you can act like a goof but you are so very intelligent in so many ways which is why I entrust a lot of my ideas with you. You are a very trustworthy person.

Sagittarius:

Very odd. Trying to understand this sign is actually one of the most difficult than the others. I should get along with your sign well but the vibes you give off never sit right with me. Sometimes, you just seem like a sweet talker and when you try to appear genuine but it justs looks like you’re lying. Your ideas aren’t very different from mine you can say the stupidest things and even though no one might understand you I do. . All the Sagittarius’s I’ve met can sometimes appear selfish and if it affects you or harms your image you leave immediately. You act tough but you are honestly very sensitive. But you fight for what you want which I admire but sometimes the way you get what you want isn’t always the most ethical way. You use people to your advantage and if they don’t agree with you, you throw a fit. These are just the few interactions I’ve had with you and honestly not my favorite encounters. Sorry.

[mst3kproject]

1009: Hamlet, Prinz von Dänemark

I spent a buck-fifty Canadian to download this movie. There’s not much you can get for a buck-fifty Canadian.  One sour soother, maybe, or a chipped coffee mug from a garage sale that has a photo of somebody else’s grandparents on it.  So now you know how much Hamlet is worth.

We all know the story of Hamlet, whether we wanted to or not. King Hamlet of Denmark was murdered by his brother Claudius, who then married Queen Gertrude and stole the throne.  We can’t be having that, so the king’s ghost appears to his son, Hamlet Jr, and tells him he must take revenge.  Junior then spends the whole rest of the play wandering around pondering the afterlife and battering his girlfriend Ophelia before finally running Claudius through during a climactic duel during which pretty much everybody else dies, too, except for the ones who were already dead.  Nobody has ever given me a convincing explanation of why these people have names like Horatio and Laertes instead of Svend and Rolf.

I’m definitely not going to try to review Hamlet itself, Shakespeare’s play, because I don’t know a damned thing about Hamlet.  I deliberately went out and murdered those brain cells with alcohol immediately after writing my final exam.  Instead I’m going to have to talk about this movie in itself, how it fares both as a film and as a retelling of this story.

That second point is a big one.  Hamlet has been done, a lot, and as the bots point out with their sketch about their all-percussion version, it’s really hard to do anything unique with it anymore.  If you’re an acting troupe who wants to give it a try, that’s cool because it means people will get to see live theatre, but if you’re making a movie you really need to bring something new to the table.  An interesting interpretation, an actor or director that people really want to see, an unusual setting or time period, something like that.  This Hamlet has none of that.

I am reasonably sure that what the movie is trying to do is to look like a stage play, much as The Magic Voyage of Sinbad was trying to look like an opera.  Sinbad pulled it off with extravagant sets and operatic bombast.  By contrast everything in Hamlet, from pillars to thrones to flights of stairs, looks like it’s made out of concrete.  There is very little music, which somehow makes the whole thing feel even more doom-and-gloom-y than Hamlet already does.  The costumes go for a semi-fantasy look somewhere between Elizabethan and medieval, which is very stagey, and the effect is heightened by the fact that most of the characters never seem to change their clothes. The actors don’t look comfortable in them, though, which means they look uncomfortable in their characters as well. Queen Gertrude in particular looks like she’s too worried about damaging her gown to move easily in it, and the giant chain around Claudius’ neck is absurd.

Adding to the impression that the movie was shot in somebody’s basement, it’s lit very pootly when it’s lit at all.  A lot of shots are quite dull, lit in a way that shows where things are but doesn’t create mood or drama.  The film is in black and white and the characters wear black, or at least colours so dark you can’t tell the difference, which leaves night shots (such as the one where Horatio and the guards are chasing after the king’s ghost) looking like a bunch of heads floating around.

It is, of course, very difficult to judge a dubbed performance. The actors we’re watching appear to be going for a sort of heightened melodrama, part of the idea that we’re meant to feel like we’re watching a stage play.  The dub actors, on the other hand, don’t seem to have gotten the memo.  A lot of them mumble, particularly Maximilian Schell as Hamlet, which is really weird because he’s dubbing himself.  Sometimes they manage to make the Shakespearean English sound very natural, but that often jars with the physical performances.  I have no idea what sort of accents some of them think they’re doing. There are a few who don’t seem to be trying to do an accent at all, while others sound like they’re aiming for British (because it’s Shakespeare?), German (because the movie’s German?) or Damn Worwelf.

Most of the actors are kind of bland-looking, and those who stand out do so because they look weirdly wrong for the parts they’re playing.  Polonius with his little mustache looks like a physics teacher who feels naked because he’s not wearing a necktie.  He’s also dubbed by John Banner, so if you keep hearing this is so klandinkto! every time he speaks… that’s why.  If Hamlet himself looks familiar, it may be because Maximilian Schell was Dr. Reinhardt in The Black Hole, or maybe it’s because he looks a lot like the guy in Atlantic Rim that I referred to as MacGuyver. He’s a very fine actor who won an academy award for Judgment at Nuremburg, but he’s way out of place as Hamlet.  His Hollywood good looks and crooked little smile make it feel like he’s trying to play Hamlet as a dashing heartthrob.

For all that, there are a couple of moments in this movie that I quite like.  The scene in which Hamlet is nodding and smiling to the wedding guests while the Too Too Solid Flesh soliloquy begins in voiceover is quite nicely done.  It gives you a very visceral sense of this man who is forced to bottle up his anger and grief.  I also like that during the Murder of Gonzago scene, the camera focuses not on the players but on the audience reaction.  Claudius and Gertrude smile at each other when the players talk about love, and then grow uncomfortable as the play condemns re-marriage.  Ophelia’s embroidery is an attempt at symbolism, the arum being a popular funeral flower.  Too bad it’s so in-your-face that it loses all subtlety.

On the whole, though, Hamlet is just dull.  The spartan, ugly sets and dark costumes offer us very little to look at, and in some of the darker scenes there’s almost nothing to see at all. The physical and dub performances don’t match, and neither hold the attention.  Watching it feels like a two-hour slog through a tarry morass of depression.

I kind of wonder what the purpose of this movie was supposed to be. It was made for TV in the sixties, and I guess it was an attempt to capitalize on the Germans’ love of Shakespeare – because Germans do definitely love Shakespeare, sometimes considering themselves to have a better claim on him than England because unlike the English, they respect him.  More Shakespeare plays are performed in Germany every year than in England, and in the leadup to World War II the Nazi regime tried to get rid of him, couldn’t, and had to settle for picking and choosing which translations were ‘German enough’ for them (this always reminds me of the joke about Hamlet being better in the original Klingon).

If this is the case, I would like to know what the Germans who saw this movie in its original broadcast thought of it.  Sixty-year-old reviews of made-for-tv movies in foreign languages are hard to find even online, so I honestly have no idea.  I know that people who have seen this English version hate it, and I have a hard time imagining it being much better in German even when you love Shakespeare unconditionally.  The fact that the Germans do love Shakespeare just makes it seem that much more likely that they’d consider this dreary pork-filled version an insult to him.

It’s also interesting to think about what made the Best Brains pick this one out as an MST3K project.  The movie is definitely bad, and in its own way it fits right in with a lot of the black-and-white crap from the Joel era that tries so hard to be important and just ends up being depressing.  Yet the source material remains as something a lot of people would consider untouchable (the Germans being high on that list… although Shakespeare himself, purveyor of fine penis jokes to Her Majesty the Queen since 1591, would probably be totally okay with the MST3K treatment.  He must have heard way more vicious audience commentary).  My guess it was something they considered a challenge to themselves, in the same way as RiffTrax tackled Casablanca just to see if they could do it.  The Amazing Colossal Transplanted Sci-Fi Channel Episode Guide entry on the episode is kind of interesting, as Kevin mentions the feeling that they had to be funnier than usual in order to live up to the play’s legend.

My high school English teachers (the same ones who inflicted The Most Dangerous Game on me) insisted that Hamlet is a play which should make you think.  I’m pretty sure this is not what they meant, but the thing I’ve always found myself thinking about while watching or reading it is the idea of marrying one’s brother’s widow.  The church of the time said that this was equivalent to marrying one’s own sister (Claudius indeed calls Gertrude our sometime sister) and frowned upon it most heavily, and this would have been common knowledge in Elizabethan England because it was Henry VIII’s excuse for divorcing Catherine of Aragon and marrying Anne Boleyn, Queen Elizabeth’s mother (never mind that he’d also fucked Anne’s sister Mary).  By portraying this as villainous behaviour, Shakespeare was sucking up to the Queen, emphasizing that her mom’s marriage was way more legit than Catherine’s.  Thank you for coming to my Ted Talk.

[alikssepia]

Childhood—Adolescence—Youth

This is a translation of my meta “Детство - Отрочество - Юность” originally written in Russian. @saturninefeline helped smooth my English style, for which I am very grateful to her.

Below, you will see text and pictures which are better perceived via tables, and this meta was written with tables in mind. I’m afraid much of its clarity will be lost due to the need to remove the tables for the publication on Tumblr. I encourage you to check the very same meta published on AO3 with all its tables. I promise, it’s worth clicking the external link.

If the middle part of the trilogy is Adolescence, then TFA is Childhood, and the forthcoming EpIX will be Youth. The sequel trilogy, through the eyes of a Reylo, is a story of three encounters of Kylo and Rey whose appearance and behaviour refer to three different psychological ages. 

On December 14, 2017, my Reylo friends and I left the cinema theater with and without a present. We wanted to scream "It's canon!" but our throats wouldn't make a sound.

Reylos after the movie

What was it? It was as if we’d gotten everything (Force bond, Kylo's naked torso, touching hands, back to back fighting) but, at the same time, our victory seemed hollow: why did their relationship feel so rushed? Why does she slam the door right in his face? Did Reylo become canon and then immediately die?

Rey’s behavior was terribly strange:

After just a couple of Skype calls with Kylo, she quickly leapt to far-fetched conclusions such as 'Ben Solo lives'.

She attacked Luke, her aging master, from behind, even turning оn him with a lightsaber.

She refused to listen to him, jumped into the Falcon and went off to "save Ben Solo".

On the Supremacy, she tried to use her feminine charms — for naught.

Followed Kylo’s lead and fought the Praetorian guards together with him.

After this fight’s romantic overtones, she got disappointed in Kylo and flew away.

Slammed the door of the Falcon, and the door to herself, in Ren’s face.

Kylo did no better:

Secretly chatted with the girl via Skype.

Confused her with his half-naked body.

Touched her (hand).

Handed her over to Snoke at their first "date".

But quickly changed his mind and threw the whole galaxy to her feet.

... while being casually rude.

Having been rejected, he got angry and promised to destroy her.

Is this the love story we all hoped to see оn-screen? Why such haste, when the story could have developed slowly and smoothly?

As an excuse for the galactic idiots (and the idiot scriptwriter who made them that way), I could оnly recall Rian Johnson's point which he constantly repeated in many ways in his interviews: this is a coming-of-age story, Rey and Kylo are “two sides of the same coin” going through the difficult period of adolescence.

Is it really, though? Let’s take a look at the adolescent stage of development.

Typical adolescents:

get a sense of being independent entities from their parents/the adults in their lives

try to assert themselves and their wills against important adults

try to assert themselves among their peers

try out their sexuality

take self-reliant, often defiant steps

make hasty and harsh judgments

argue

feel more keenly

get easily fascinated and easily disappointed

"Adolescent" Kylo and Rey:

2. In the film, Kylo and Rey revolt against and detach from their mentors thus becoming "free from adults". From now оn, it's up to themselves to decide what lives to live.

(see above)

In this context, Hux is Kylo’s peer and competition for leadership. Kylo claims leadership using the Force. He acts as a bully towards Hux.

The hands scene, in the context of this meta, implies metaphorical adolescence of Kylo and Rey — it's the age when mutual interest manifests itself in just holding hands. Rey asks Kylo to cover himself — it's another reminder that, metaphorically, she's an adolescent girl confused by seeing the guy she likes half-naked — whereas, as we all know (wink, wink), she should enjoy it.

Rey disregards Luke's admonitions and undertakes a dangerous endeavour to entice Kylo Ren to her side.

Rey's opinion оf Luke makes a U-turn оnce she hears Ren's version of what had happened between him and Luke.

After Snoke's rebuke, Kylo is outraged and is struck with Force Lightning. The brawl between Rey and Luke is an example of confrontation between an adolescent and an adult when the younger person starts the conflict: aggression, accusations and refusal to listen to the other side.

Having realised Kylo won’t turn for her, Rey is in tears. Having realised that Rey has left him again, Kylo is enraged.

Just a few Skype calls in just a couple of days — and Rey already has an invented idealistic image of Ben Solo and is ready to cross half a galaxy to "save his soul". Daydreams of Prince Charming are quickly dashed. (Compare this to how often girls fall for participants of boys bands.)

Now let's see how the "adults" of this story behave:

Typical adults or adult abusers*:

are overprotective

forbid

* mock at youngsters' first awkward attempts to assert themselves

* use forceful methods to re-establish the previous boundaries of the relationship

* underestimate the physical strength of grown-up youngsters

"Fathers" Snoke and Luke

2. Luke storms into Rey's hut and breaks them up — a typical "busted!" situation.

(see above)

Snoke scoffs at Kylo and calls him immature: "Child in a mask".

Snoke strikes Kylo with Force Lightning in response to his attempt to argue.

Accustomed to being the dominant оne, Snoke is slain by an unexpected strike which he could have prevented if he had recognized the agency/power of Kylo.

In the summer of 2017, when first оn-set photographs emerged оn the internet, fans suddenly saw Rey's breasts. A romantic hairdo completed her fresh image which, it seemed, showed her growing into womanhood. In the light of this analysis, it is hard to escape a different conclusion: breasts develop when a girl is оn the point of puberty. In The Force Awakens, Rey's breasts were markedly flat, her hairdo pointedly childish, form very thin. In TFA, Rey is metaphorically a SMALL GIRL who is growing into adolescence in The Last Jedi.

If the middle part of the trilogy is Adolescence, then TFA is Childhood, and the forthcoming EpIX will be Youth. The sequel trilogy, through the eyes of a Reylo, is a story of three encounters of Kylo and Rey whose appearance and behaviour refer to three different psychological ages. Each age is coded in the actions of the two halves of our protagonist and the way the actors are dressed, carry themselves and play, which we will consider below.

I. CHILDHOOD (The Force Awakens)

II. ADOLESCENCE (The Last Jedi)

III. YOUTH (EpIX — forecast)

Slogan

I. That lightsaber. It belongs to me!

II. I'll destroy her. And you. And all of it.

III. [something balanced and wise]

General impression: Kylo

I. Petulant, sensitive, pretty, wearing "dress", angry, embarrassed, hysterical — Kylo Ren's image in TFA refers to a metaphorical child. In some scenes, it's emphasised by the perspective, by childish facial expression.

II. Obstinate, aggressive, daring, seeking privacy with a girl, irritated — Kylo's manners and facial expressions in TLJ remind us of those of a moody and awkward teenage boy.

III. Focused, consistent, self-assured, contained movements, even voice — in EpIX, we're going to see "the adult Kylo Ren", and outcries about "whiney boy throwing tantrums" and "teenage boy" will stop.

General impression: Rey

I. Naive, trusting, seeking for belonging, afraid of changes, playing dolls, waiting for mom to come back — here again, we have references to Rey's metaphorical childishness in TFA, but it's less noticeable because Rey is ten years younger than Kylo anyway and has been living in such circumstances that impeded her physical growing-up. And still, in some scenes, Daisy Ridley uses exaggerated childish facial expressions. For instance, see her chew:

II. Impulsive, fiery, sexy, touchy, self-reliant — Rey's image in TLJ reminds us that, metaphorically, she's a teenage girl.

III. Quiet, reasonable, seeking for an opportunity to reach understanding and sort things out, facing problems rather than running away, she will learn to accept both strengths and weaknesses of others — the adult Rey's personality will give Kylo Ren's haters no chance to see his future killer in her, even for the sake of the Light.

Appearance, hair style: Kylo

I. His helmet off, Kylo appears in TFA as a well-groomed arrogant boy — an entitled youngster like those that we've known from The Star Child by Oscar Wilde [image] and The Snow Queen by Hans Christian Andersen [image]. Kylo's hair is luxuriously done and, possibly, even curled almost the way it's done оn the childhood portrait of Albert Edward, Prince of Wales (1846) by Franz Xaver Winterhalter.

II. Instead of a fine hairstyle and waves, in TLJ, we have seemingly greasy hair a la Kurt Cobain which is another reference to rebellious teenage years.

III. Kylo Ren may keep a long hairdo in EpIX. His hair will be tidy, styled in an adult way. We might no longer see it wave, at least the way it did in TFA.

Appearance, hair style: Rey

I. Rey's hair is tied in three funny buns in TFA. Her hairstyle's been the same ever since she was five which reminds is that, metaphorically, she's a child.

II. In TLJ, Rey dives into a wet 'hairy' hole and emerges from it with her hair down оn her shoulders. A young girl's hairstyle refers to the symbolic age of puberty. Since Rey 'explored' the hole, she's been keeping her hair down.

III. Rey might have her hair loose in EpIX. Because long hair may be inconvenient for a fighter, she may have a shorter haircut.

Lexical coding

I. In The Force Awakens, they call Kylo 'boy' and 'son'. They say 'girl' about Rey. These words are used where appropriate in the context of the film but, still, they additionally remind us that these characters are kind of 'juniors'.

II. In The Last Jedi, Kylo still has two father figures who call him 'child in a mask' and 'kid'. Snoke calls Rey 'child' too. By the end of the film, both father figures are dead.

III. In EpIX, words 'girl', 'boy', 'son', 'kid' etc won't be used.

Behaviour with important adults

I. Kylo and Rey, lost children, found new important adults after having been left unattended by their parents. A child doesn't dare to disobey, and seeks praise for its obedience. In TFA, when Snoke demanded that Kylo does the inconceivable, Kylo reluctantly obeyed.

II. Kylo gets rid of the Not-Important-Anymore Adult because now, Kylo knows what he needs better than the old fart. In TLJ, his reverence for Vader gives place to radicalism and denial of authority: "Let the past die." Rey realises she can do things by herself, without adults, and undertakes an adventure all by herself.

III. EpIX: Kylo and Rey get accustomed to being adults. Adult way is to respect and use the past experience but set own objectives. Rey takes Jedi texts with her. She's оn her own but she admits she needs the legacy of the past. Kylo may dismiss the idea to destroy the past. It no longer impedes his moving forward.

Critical thinking/ Credulity

I. A child emulates their authority figure. Thus, Kylo worships Vader's mask, copycats him, intends to follow his path and says words he must have learned from Snoke: "The Supreme Leader is wise", "He was weak and foolish like his father." A child doesn't critically assess a given situation. For many years, Rey believed that her parents will come back for her and doesn't even question the chances of it. They may have long been dead, they may have no desire to return.

II. Kylo refuses to acknowledge the wisdom of others, rejects any authority — both lightsiders and darksiders, but his radicality puts off Rey. Rey argues with Luke, easily questions his version of Ben's fall, but her own conclusions aren’t quite right either.

III. Rey and Kylo learn to think critically, don't make hasty conclusions, don't idealise and demonise others.

Kylo and Rey's relative positions

I. Kylo offers Rey to be her teacher, i. e. expects to be a step higher than her.

II. Kylo offers Rey to rule the galaxy together, i. e. to be his peer.

III. Here I can't be certain about the future development:

— Will Kylo be humbled, and will Rey rise? — Will their confrontation end, and will it be no longer relevant whether they are peers or not?

Outcome of Kylo and Rey's fights

I. Rey wins.

II. No оne wins.

III. Here again, there's room for speculation:

— Will Kylo win? — Will there be no fight between Rey and Kylo?

Interaction between Rey and Kylo

I. TFA: Boys are stupid, girls are mean. He was pulling her pigtails — she hit him with her school bag. He started to cry and complained to adults.

II. TLJ: Wow, you can make friends with girls (guys). But it's safer to stay with your own people.

III. EpIX: Boy and girl form a couple. The previous breakup was оne of many stages of getting used to each other. This trope is not something unseen in romantic stories, such as The Two Captains by Russian writer Veniamin Kaverin. Two main heroes of this story, Sanya (Alexander) and Katya (Ekaterina) couldn't quite understand each other and accept each other's flaws when they were teenagers, and break up for 9 years. They meet again in their mid-twenties and irrevocably fall for each other.

The sequel trilogy as a metaphorical coming-of-age story for the main heroes (which are Kylo and Rey, in the eyes of a Reylo) is оne of the possible points of view. If this POV proves correct with the release of EpIX, then we'll get that very Reylo-canon we've been waiting for since TFA: romantic relationship of grown-up Kylo and Rey will get its smooth progress via ups and downs and will be based оn mature acceptance of not оnly merits but also flaws of each other.

[lilacmoon83]

Dreaming Out Loud

Also on Fanfiction.net and A03

Chapter 56: Second Chances

Emma worked on filling out the report in the back of Gold's shop while she waited for the morgue van to arrive. She kept a close on Regina, as the other woman sat on the floor beside her mother's body, nearly catatonic. She looked sad, but Emma could also see something else in the woman's eyes. Relief? Emma suspected that Cora had been pulling Regina's strings since she showed up in town and her presence couldn't have been easy to take for a woman that was used to being so in control. There was more of course, as her father had given her a brief explanation of the situation earlier involving her mother and for that reason, Emma could not be sad that Cora was gone. She was too dangerous in respect to her parents and subsequently Henry. She only hoped Regina could eventually see that her Mother would have hurt Henry in the same ways Snow had told her that Cora had hurt Regina.

But as Doc and Bashful arrived with the morgue van and tried to place a sheet over Cora's body, the fury in Regina's eyes returned.

"Get away…" she snapped.

"Regina...they need to move the body. We need to go through the proper channels according to this realm," Emma responded.

"Like hell…" the woman snapped, as she and the body disappeared. Emma sighed and looked at the two dwarfs.

"I guess you guys can go. She's probably not going to cooperate," Emma said, as she looked over at Gold and Belle briefly, before going out into the front of the shop where Neal stood. He was on the phone and she couldn't help but eavesdrop.

"Yeah...I'm not sure when I'll be back exactly. I want to spend some time with Henry," Neal said and then listened to the woman on the other end. He smiled.

"Yeah, I want you to meet him too," he said, as he listened again.

"Uh...yeah, I don't know about bringing him to New York yet. I'd have to talk to Emma about that kind of stuff. Plus he has an adoptive Mom too...it's kind of a mess," Neal replied, as he turned to see her watching him. He seemed to pale considerably, as he continued to listen to his fiance.

"Yeah, maybe you could drive up here for a few days. Listen, I need to go for now though," he said, as he listened again.

"I love you too...I'll talk to you later," he said, as he hung up the phone and they shared an uncomfortable silence.

"You really want bring her here?" Emma asked.

"She's part of my life, Emma. I'm going to marry her. She wants to get to know Henry and I love her," he replied. Emma didn't like how much it stung when he said that and brushed it away, refusing to deal with what it might mean.

"This isn't a normal situation though. Bringing an outsider here could be really bad!" she stressed.

"Yeah, this isn't a normal town for sure. I've been here ten minutes and there was already a murder. Maybe New York isn't such a bad idea for Henry," he countered. She looked at him in disbelief.

"You want to take my son to New York with you?" she asked.

"Our son...and I have a life in New York. We're going to have to figure out this whole custody thing," he stated. She looked at him in disbelief again.

"Is this your idea or hers?" Emma asked, as Gold and Belle came in from the back of the shop.

"Emma…" he started to say.

"Tell me the truth," she snapped.

"Am I going to be served with custody paperwork or something like that?" she asked. He sighed.

"Tamara might have suggested I hire a lawyer to work out a custody agreement, but I shot her down. I told her that we can do this without all the red tape," he replied.

"We have to do this without the red tape! There are people in Henry's life that I don't want people outside this town knowing about!" Emma exclaimed.

"Yeah, I doubt they'd buy that your parents are his grandparents," he commented.

"Not to mention if someone saw magic being used. If the wrong people found out about Storybrooke, everyone's lives could be in danger," she warned.

"Emma...neither Tamara and I would never want anyone to get hurt. And I don't even know how to begin to tell her about all this. You can trust me, I know that's hard considering," he replied. She sighed.

"I know you'd never want to do something that might hurt Henry. I'm not really worried about you, Neal. It's everyone else out there, including your fiance. I don't know her and I need to before she spends a bunch of time with our son," Emma said.

"Fair enough. Maybe Storybrooke isn't the best place for this. You mentioned your parents can leave too. Why not bring them to New York with us next time?" he suggested. She sighed.

"I'll talk to them...and if things calm down around here, maybe it will be possible," she offered. He nodded.

"That works for me. For now, I'm here and I want to get to know my son. How about dinner?" he asked.

"Granny's at seven. I'll bring the kid and my parents. We'll start with that," she replied. He nodded, as she left and he turned to his father.

"I guess I'm glad you're not dead," Neal mentioned, as he turned to leave.

"Bae...wait!" he called, as Neal stopped.

"My house...I have several guest rooms. One is yours if you'd like," Gold offered.

"Thanks...but I'm not ready for that. I think I'll get a room at the Inn," he replied.

"Bae...please," Gold pleaded.

"Look, just because I'm glad you're not dead doesn't change things between us. I'm here for Henry. End of story," he said harshly, as he left. Belle put her hands on his shoulders.

"Give him time," she said. He nodded. It wasn't like he had much choice.

~*~

David burst into the loft and sighed in relief, as he spotted his wife asleep on the bed. He knelt over her and gently brushed a hand through her hair. He caressed her face and she stirred. He leaned down and pressed his lips to hers in a tender kiss. Snow mewled into his kiss and kissed back, before her eyes flew open. Their eyes met and he sat down beside her, as she got her bearings.

"My mother…" she uttered. He nodded.

"What happened? How long have I been asleep?" Snow asked.

"Not long...but Cora is dead," he told her. Snow swallowed thickly.

"Then she did it…" the princess realized. She looked at him with warring emotions in her eyes and he watched the myriad of anger, sadness, and relief pass over her expressions.

"She didn't have to do that," Snow said sternly.

"You know why she did though," David replied.

"She can't just take choices away from me like that!" she cried.

"I don't exactly agree with how she did it, but I get why," he said. She crossed her arms over her chest.

"Of course you do," she murmured. He sighed and took her hands in his own.

"I once took an arrow meant for Regina to stop you from darkening your heart and I would do it again in a heartbeat," he confessed.

"Why? Why is it so important to everyone that they keep me as pure as my name?" she asked.

"Because I know that if you had done what your mother did that it would have weighed heavily on you," he replied.

"It's Cora...I'd never be sorry she was gone," Snow admitted.

"Maybe not, but I know you...I know your heart. Taking life is not what you do," he said.

"I've killed before," she reminded.

"In self defense...it's different," he argued.

"But this is self defense! Don't you see, Charming? Cora was going to take everything from me, just like Regina did! I think she's right!" Snow exclaimed.

"What do you mean?" he questioned.

"What has good ever really gotten me? I mean...I have always clung to what my...Eva taught me. Do good and good things will come to you," she recited.

"And that's true…" he said.

"Not really...because good got us cursed!" she cried.

"Snow…" he started to say.

"No...because I couldn't do the difficult thing and make that judgment, Regina was spared and then she cursed us. I lost you and my daughter for twenty-eight years," she stated.

"Yes, we had the saving grace of the dreamscape, but can you imagine what it would be like if we didn't?" she asked. He looked into her stormy eyes.

"Emma would have grown up not knowing us at all. She would have thought we just left her on the side of a road!" Snow cried, as the tears came then.

"She would have thought we didn't love her! That's what good would have gotten us," she hissed, as he took her in his arms and pulled her down into his lap.

"But that didn't happen and because we chose good, I like to believe we were rewarded with the dreamscape," he said.

"Because my mother wanted it," she reminded.

"But Morpheus had to grant the request. If he thought we weren't good, then he could have denied that request," he countered.

"I guess I didn't think about it that way," she murmured. He smiled and pressed a kiss to her hair.

"Would you have been mad at me if I had done it?" she asked.

"I don't think mad is the right word. I would have been really worried about you though. I know that you'd do anything to protect us, but I would have felt a bit helpless I think. Because you'd be hurting and there wouldn't really be anything I could do to make it better," he replied. She swallowed.

"If...if my heart wasn't untouched...would you love me less?" she squeaked. He shook his head.

"That's not possible...I've love you no matter what and I mean that. You know, I've heard it said that evil isn't born. It's made and yet, after everything that's happened to you...you never let it unmake. You remained good," he mentioned.

"Because I have you. Without you...I don't want to think about who I would be," she replied.

"It's the same for me," he agreed.

"Snow...I love you, no matter what. I know that if your mother hadn't stepped in and you had killed Cora, then it would have been because you were trying to save our family. There is nothing you will ever do that would make me stop loving you," he implored.

"Even if my heart turned black?" she asked, her eyes shining with tears.

"Even then...but it won't. I know that for sure," he replied.

"How?" she asked. He smiled and kissed her passionately, leaving her breathless, as their lips parted. Her eyes fluttered opened and she gazed into those sapphire eyes she loved getting lost in. He put his hand to her chest where her heart was.

"Because I know it better than anyone," he responded. She melted into him at that and their lips met again with ardent fervor. Their lips parted, as they heard the loft door open and were relieved to see Emma and Henry come in. Snow hurried to them and hugged her daughter, while Henry dove into David's arms.

"Dad told me what happened with Johanna. Are you okay?" Emma asked. She nodded sadly.

"I'll be okay...I have my family and that's all I need," Snow replied.

"But I know how much she meant to you. That had to hurt," Emma countered. Snow nodded.

"It does...but I don't have to go through this alone," Snow said, as they huddled into a hug with the boys.

"And the other thing?" Emma asked.

"I was really mad at first...but I know why she did it. And it probably saved us all," Snow replied, as she looked past them and at her Mother in the doorway.

"You have every right to be angry with me for doing that, but I won't apologize for protecting you," Persephone stated. Snow nodded.

"I know...I would have done the same to protect Emma," she said tearfully.

"I should have listened to you about Johanna...I'm sorry," Snow sniffed. Persephone hugged her fiercely.

"You have nothing to be sorry for, my sweet girl," she told her.

"Never apologize for trying to see the best in people...it is a quality that few have and is seriously lacking in this world," Persephone stated. Snow pulled back and smiled at her, before frowning slightly.

"How was Regina?" she asked.

"Very angry at me," Persephone replied.

"Does that mean my Mom might try to get revenge again?" Henry asked worriedly. Emma looked at her parents.

"She's hurting a bit right now, because someone she loves was a threat to everyone. It will not be easy for her to deal with, I'm afraid, Henry," Persephone said honestly. He lowered his head sadly.

"So if she tries to hurt people like Cora did...are you going to have to do the same to her?" he asked. The Goddess knelt before him.

"Your mother Regina is a very far cry from Cora. More importantly, Regina knows what her mother was. I am hoping, in time, she comes to terms with what I had to do. I never take a life lightly, Henry. I will only ever do so if there is imminent danger to this family," she promised. Henry was a boy that appreciated honesty and despite his young age, she felt there was no need to sugar coat it. Henry was very smart and she felt he deserved to know the entire gravity of the situation. Henry nodded.

"Should I call her?" he asked, looking at them.

"I think that would be a good idea, honey. I'm sure she'd love hearing from you," Snow suggested, as he went into his grandparent's bedroom to make the call. Emma sighed.

"On another note, Neal wants to have dinner with Henry. I'm tagging along and I really don't want to have another awkward meal with my ex. I was hoping my wonderful, loving parents would come too?" Emma asked, looking at them expectantly. Snow smiled and hugged her.

"We'd be happy to join you. It's time we were properly acquainted anyway, especially if he's going to be a part of Henry's life," Snow said. David grunted beside her.

"And you will behave," she added, eyeing her husband. He rolled his eyes.

"Hey, I already didn't punch him earlier. I'd say he's already getting off easy," David protested.

"I know, but you still can't punch him tonight," Snow warned.

"Yeah...if it wasn't for the kid, I'd say go for it. But let's not traumatize him more," Emma agreed.

"Emma…" Snow chided. David pouted and Emma smirked.

"Besides, he's already terrified of you," she told him. He perked up slightly.

"Really?" he asked. She grinned and nodded. He smirked.

"Well, he should be," he agreed. Snow sighed and slipped her arms around his neck.

"Please be nice...I'll make it worth your while," she purred softly, but not softly enough.

"Speaking of being traumatized…" Emma groaned, as Snow smiled sultrily at him.

"Fine...I'll be nice. For you and Henry," David agreed, as she kissed him on the lips and then the cheek. Persephone smiled at them, as Snow got a look in her eye.

"Oh, I'll go call Belle and invite her and Gold," she said.

"Wait Mom…I'm not sure that's good idea. Neal is still pretty ticked off at Gold," Emma warned.

"Oh…" she said sadly, but then got a coy look on her face. Charming had always affectionately dubbed it her "up to something" face.

"We'll just pretend I don't know that," she said.

"Baby, why don't you invite Jefferson," Snow added, as she went to make her call. Emma rolled her eyes and David chuckled, as he pulled out his phone, before dialing the Hatter.

~*~

Regina stared at her mother, as her body now lay in state in her family crypt. There was a time that she wanted this...to be rid of her mother completely. She wasn't a fool and knew how dangerous Cora was. But she had never been able to finish the job with her mother. Which was ironic, considering she had ended her father's life, though not without anguish. Still...it did not give that sanctimonious Goddess the right to do this. Especially all in the name of protecting her precious daughter. Snow White...her rage at her step-daughter had only been reignited by this turn of events. Why was it always her? What was it about her that made people move the Heavens and Earth to appease the little retch? She had everything, as usual. Snow's mother would do anything for her. In some ways, Cora would have done anything for Regina, but it was never the same. Cora had done unspeakable things to give Regina things that she didn't want. Like a husband three times her age and a crown she didn't want, at first. But Persephone had also gone to extreme lengths for Snow.

She was not without blood on her hands, for her inadvertent storm that had pounded the Enchanted Forest on the day of Snow's birth happened to kill more than just Johanna's husband. Many had been lost that day in the blustering cold. It was a storm that was still spoke of many years after it had happened and no meteorological event had ever rivaled the power of the storm on that day. Regina had never really made the connection between it and Snow's birth. But it made sense. Nothing good had ever come from Snow's existence, as far as she was concerned. Okay...maybe that wasn't completely true. It was not lost on her that Henry only existed, because Snow and subsequently Emma existed. But her being the Princess of the Underworld certainly made sense now. Nothing but death and destruction followed her. Never mind that Regina had caused a lot of that death and destruction because of her. Snow was just another woman in a long line of them that had caused war and strife in their Kingdoms. Her mother was willing to do anything to see to Snow's safety and happiness. Learning that Snow had been happy with her family in her dreams for twenty-eight years was a low blow for Regina. She thought she had truly won with the curse and enjoyed making Mary Margaret's life lonely and miserable, all the while, remaining unaware that she retreated to a utopian like dreamscape every night. She just wanted to win! But she never did. No matter what, Snow always won. Not only did she have a mother willing to do anything for her, but she had a husband willing to do anything to protect her as well. She knew David would willingly lay down his life for his family. She hadn't had anyone willing to do such things for her since Daniel and it hurt deeply. Then there was Emma, an ever prevalent thorn in her side that also obviously loved Snow very much, while Regina's own child had rejected her in favor of his biological family. As always, it all came back to Snow White.

Her step-daughter was also the key to making Persephone pay for her treachery. It was not lost on Regina either that she was no match for the Goddess' power. Her mother was almost evenly matched with her, but she had a feeling that Persephone had not unleashed the full potential of her power, even on Cora. Instead, she chose to humiliate her mother by exchanging her life for Rumpelstiltskin's of all beings and by using an artifact of dark magic of Cora's own creation. Making Persephone pay for it was only possible through hurting Snow though. How exactly to do that with so many people ready to jump to defend her, she wasn't sure yet. But she would find a way. Persephone would not get away with this and she would have her revenge. Someday, Henry would understand why she had to do this. He would see eventually that Regina was not the bad one. It was Snow and he would realize he was better off with her.

~*~

Hook opened his bleary eyes and tried to focus on his surroundings, as well as figure out what had occurred. The last thing he remembered was stabbing the crocodile with his Hook. But judging by the way his head was killing him, someone had knocked him out. He heard a peculiar clicking sound behind him and slowly turned, finding a dark haired woman standing above him with a pistol pointed at him. It was a much more sophisticated looking pistol than he had ever seen, but he definitely knew the danger of this weapon and put his hands up.

"Easy lass...no need for that," he said, surrendering to her.

"Get up," she snapped, as a man arrived and sized up the pirate.

"So this is him?" he asked. Tamara smirked and twisted his hook off, confiscating the appendage.

"The real thing," she said smugly.

"Then it's time," the man said, as he tied Hook up and marched him out the back way to a car.

"We're finally going to find my father and I'll have my revenge," he hissed.

"Ah revenge...now there's something I know about. Untie me...and I'd be glad to assist," Hook bargained.

"Nice try pirate, but I know the minute we untied you that you would double cross us," Tamara said, as her partner stuffed into the trunk at gunpoint.

"Did Neal invite you to Storybrooke?" the man asked.

"Not yet...but he will. Besides, now that we know there is magic there, the town might be visible again. It's time, Greg," she confirmed. He smirked.

"Then we'll find my father," he said. She smirked with a nod.

"And destroy magic," she added, as they got into the car. Tamara put Maine in as their destination on the car's GPS and they set out for their mission…

~*~

The Charmings entered the diner that evening and found Neal already had a booth for them. They moved a table over to join with the booth, allowing Emma and Persephone to sit in the chairs, while Henry sat beside his father and Snow and David slid into the other side of the booth. Neal seemed not to notice the other vacant chairs, for the silence between all of them was awkward at best.

"So...I'm Neal," he introduced himself.

"Yep," David said sourly, while Snow nudged him under the table.

"It's nice to finally meet you, Neal. I'm Snow and I think you've met David," she said, as he shook his hand. Her husband grunted beside her.

"Yeah...we met," he grumbled.

"Charming...behave," she hissed, as he loosened up a little.

"It's okay...he has every right to be angry with me, you both do. Maybe we should just get it all out now," Neal suggested.

"You sent our daughter to jail," David snapped.

"Actually...come to find out, it wasn't him," Emma interjected, as her parents looked at her.

"What do you mean?" Snow asked.

"Well...Emma and I were preparing to run off together to Canada when August tracked me down. For what it's worth, I loved your daughter and never had any intention of leaving her," Neal said, looking at them both respectfully. Finding out that they had indeed been there for Emma in her dreams and seeing how much she adored them had modified his original opinion of them. Especially since it was his father that was responsible for tearing them all apart in the first place.

"Where does August come into this?" David asked, his piercing gaze on Neal softening a little.

"He found me and told me that he knew who I really was. Then he told me about the curse and who Emma really was. I'll admit...I screwed up. I couldn't handle the possibility of facing my father then," Neal admitted.

"Then the anonymous call that sent Emma to prison?" Snow asked.

"August did that...he convinced me it was the only way for Emma to find her way here was if I either told her everything and went with her or...let her go. For what it's worth, I thought if I did tell her everything, she would have thought I was crazy. I didn't know that she already knew everything," he explained.

"But you still left her, because you didn't want to face your father," David said. His tone was a little less harsh now, since he learned about August's involvement. But he had always waited a long time to grill this man about what he did to his daughter. Snow squeezed his hand.

"Yes...but my father chose power over me. This world wasn't the first one I landed in and the one I did was hell," Neal explained.

"Is that how you know Hook?" Emma inquired. He sighed.

"Yeah...and make that the second world I landed in was hell. The first one was good. A nice family took me in, but it didn't last long. Pan's shadow showed up to take them, but instead of breaking up another family, I let him take me instead," Neal confessed.

"You met Peter Pan?" Henry asked in awe, but Neal couldn't smile.

"Yes Henry, but he's not like the stories in this world portray him. Pan is pure, unadulterated evil and no, I'm not exaggerating," he told them," Neal said gravely.

"I can confirm that he is correct about Pan," Persephone added.

"Have you met him, Mother?" Snow asked curiously.

"I haven't had the displeasure, but I have met the many people he has sent to the Underworld. His magic is very powerful and he is very dangerous," she replied.

"So you met Hook in Neverland and that's how you know how to sail his ship?" Emma asked. He nodded.

"Hook took me in for a while when he fished me out of the sea after I broke free from Pan's shadow. He had a sort of affection for me, because of my mother," Neal explained.

"The woman that left your father for him," David said and Neal looked surprised.

"He told you?" Neal asked. David shrugged.

"Believe it or not, your father and I do have a friendship of sorts," the prince replied.

"Do you know what he's done?" Neal asked.

"I know exactly what he's done," David retorted.

"He did it all for his child. I may not approve of everything he did and the effect it had on everyone else, but I get it. I'd do anything for Emma...even kill if it came down to it," David confessed.

"And you might not have understood that before, but something tells me you're starting to grasp exactly what you might be willing to do for your child," the prince added. Neal pulled back slightly and nodded, as the bell on the door rang.

"So Hook took you in?" Emma asked.

"For a while, but when Pan came to him and told him that he wanted me, Hook sold me out to him to save his own skin," Neal said bitterly. David snorted.

"That figures...this was the guy working with Cora," he said, as Gold, Belle, and Jefferson approached.

"What are you doing here?" Neal asked.

"I invited them...they're our friends," Snow answered, as they took their seats at the table.

"So you and Hook...care to share that tale?" David asked.

"Let's just say that he took delight in my humiliation before I was the Dark One. Then I paid him back by taking his hand," Gold replied.

"So that's why he wanted revenge," Emma surmised.

"Among other things," Gold said vaguely.

"Then it's true what he said? About my mother?" Neal questioned, as they looked at each other.

"She abandoned us, Bae. She left you to run off with that pirate," Gold reminded.

"And you killed her for it later," he said angrily.

"I did a lot of horrible things, especially after I lost you. I will not deny that. Letting you slip away will always be my biggest regret though," Gold confessed, as Belle squeezed his hand.

"And you've really forgiven him?" Neal asked Emma's parents. David shrugged.

"We have our family back. If not for your father, I might have found myself in a fake marriage to another woman if Regina had gotten her way. He may have gotten something out of it, but so did I," David said, as he put his arm around Snow.

"I got to fall in love with my wife all over again. I didn't expect to, but I got to fall in love with Mary Margaret, just like I fell in love with Snow. Regardless of why he did it, he still gave that to me," he said, as Snow looked at him with a dreamy stare.

"And it changed my life as Mary Margaret too. I felt like nothing until you came back into my life," she said, as he kissed her tenderly.

"Are they always like this?" Neal asked, as food arrived for them and Emma bit into an onion ring.

"This is mild, trust me. Wait till they start feeding each other or sharing dessert. It gets indecent and embarrassing really quickly," Emma commented, as she bit into her grilled cheese.

"You really think he deserves a second chance?" Neal asked her seriously and she looked up at him.

"Doesn't everyone?" she countered and he took a sharp breath, realizing that was talking about him. Emma didn't have to let him into Henry's life if she really didn't want to. At first, she thought maybe she was only doing it for the kid, but now he realized that she was granting him a second chance that he really wasn't sure he deserved considering all the pain he had caused her. Her parents certainly seemed to have quite the influence on those around them. He could see it now that they were all together as a group. There was an amiable comfort between all of them. Even his father seemed somewhat relaxed, which was something he hadn't really ever seen. Love and friendship certainly seemed to be far more powerful than he realized. And they were letting him in, maybe not for his sake, but for Henry's and his father's. He sighed and found himself finally starting to accept all this.

"Okay...he's got his second chance," Neal told her, knowing that everyone heard him. Belle grinned and squeezed his hand and even though Gold's expression remained stoic, she knew he was happier now than she had ever seen...

[jerseydeanne]

Roseberrycupcake for thoughts for today

Yesterday, my colleague came back after taking a week off from work for personal reasons. While I couldn’t begrudge him, him taking leave meant that my other colleague and I had to cover for his shifts. If I thought my extended 24-hour shifts were tough, they were nothing to 36 hours of constant vigilance (Mad-Eye Moody, anyone?). My patience was stretched very thin, and I realized just what fatigue could do to one’s mind. During these shifts, loneliness was one constant companion, and I had to stop myself from doing what I thought I wanted to do–and I wanted to share two of those things before making a point today.

#1. Turn my work phone off: During these shifts, I found myself literally flinching whenever I heard my phone go off. No one seemed to care that I just spent however many hours awake. Everyone seemed to care about one thing: making sure I did what they wanted me to do; and none of them seemed to realize that there were many others making the exact same demands. Whenever I got lucky enough to drag myself to an on-call room and get some sleep, my phone would ring; I thought I was going to lose it. I had to bite the inside of my cheeks to refrain from getting sarcastic. I knew it wasn’t their fault for calling me; I knew they somewhat knew I had spent a whole day on my feet without a proper meal and sleep; but I was just getting so angry and frustrated at being cordial. I knew I shouldn’t, but I can’t tell you how many times I was tempted to turn my phone off; in fact, despite knowing that there’s a perfectly good reason for these phone calls, I DID turn it off several times. Of course, I felt so guilty the moment I turned it off that I turned it back on right away–but I hated myself for doing so.

#2. Call people I knew I shouldn’t: You would think being so tired would drive loneliness away; it didn’t; it made it worse, because I felt like no one understood how difficult it was for me to smile and be polite as if nothing was wrong. I felt so isolated and misunderstood. Out of such desperation, there were many times when I wanted call men I shouldn’t and answer texts that should remain unanswered. During these temptations, I didn’t care that there were perfectly good reasons I made a conscious decision to end things–or ensure that they would never begin in the first place. After all, I absolutely hated the feelings of obligation and being tied down when I was in relationships and am very ambivalent about it. It didn’t matter that even if I could talk to them, it would only be for mere minutes before I had to hang up to pick up a work call. I just needed someone–anyone–who would pick up MY calls at two in the morning. The knowledge that I could talk to God anytime and that my family and best friends would pick up my calls whenever I called them was only just enough to keep myself from making poor decisions.

It was only after I got some sleep that I realized what a dangerous situation I was in. I nearly made choices that I would have surely regretted. Then I remembered an advice I had written in my journal to myself several years ago when I was preparing for my exams: “Don’t do what you want to do; do what you DON’T want to do.” Ironically, I wrote these words to remind myself to refrain from going back to an ex during such an important time in my life; they failed to keep me from making poor decisions back then, but it seems like I unconsciously followed them this time. To explain what I meant with this quote, allow me to illustrate the choices we have in this current situation.

A. Regarding Ms. Markle (I know this is going to be a very divisive and unpopular opinion, and I’m not going to hold it against anyone if they feel like this comment is inappropriate): I think we should pray for her. No, I’m not crazy. I genuinely mean this. I’m very aware that Ms. Markle displayed some very poor morals when it comes to decisions she has made. I know many people (well, many women, since men can’t be in the positions we women sometimes find ourselves in) would say that they would have NEVER done the things she did–and they’re right in saying so; but personally speaking, the only thing that kept me from making the sort of decision that Ms. Markle has made was God’s grace–and I think that holds true for all of us.

If we’re to believe in John Locke’s philosophy of tabula rasa (an empty slate), which states that our environment determines who we become in life, we know that Ms. Markle is someone to be pitied. I’m not saying she shouldn’t be held accountable for her actions; nor am I saying that she should be allowed to continue with her amoral actions fueled by her materialistic greed. I’m simply trying to portray the tragedy that is Ms. Markle.

Our values and morals come from our family–or at least from the world around us. While I personally believe that we’re born with some degrees of instinctual moral compass (it would explain why and how some people are able to break out of toxic families), I still agree that we first learn what’s good and what’s bad from our family. Based on Ms. Markle’s own words, it would seem that her mother did a poor job in teaching her some proper morals. While I don’t know how old Ms. Markle was when she received the advice that she should “never give the milk away for free,” it is a very jaded advice to give to an impressionable young woman. If the “milk” was a reference to general favors, it’s inappropriate; if it were a nod to sexual behaviors, it’s even more worrying. My own mother taught me from an early age that you do good to others without expecting anything in return, and I know for a fact that she would rather shave my head and lock me up in the cellar regardless of how old I am if I ever decided to use my own body for worldly gains than let me go down the path of sin. It’s not that my mom’s the “best mom in the world” for such teachings when the basic prerequisite of being a parent means you have the moral compass to guide your child to goodness; it’s that Ms. Markle’s mother failed in her job, and Ms. Markle’s soul is paying the price for her failures. What makes the situation even sadder is the fact that even if Ms. Markle’s mother guided her poorly, there should have been others who served as a guidance; but there wasn’t. No family is perfect, but many people whose morals are intact have relatives or friends around them who are able to compensate for the shortcomings of closer family members. Based on her actions, Ms. Markle either didn’t have such figures in her life or she lacks the internal moral compass to discern proper judgment.

Life becomes very empty once you begin chasing after superficial gains like Ms. Markle. Gold and fame does little to change the unbreakable progression that we’re born, we go to school, we date, we love, we get married, we have kids, we retire, then we die. Once you become dependent on others’ recognition, going through such “status quo” steps in life seems mandatory, and you lose yourself in fulfilling others’ expectations and chasing the “good ol’ days” of youth instead of seeking your own internal happiness. At the end of the day, you have this emptiness inside your heart that no amount of drugs and alcohol can fill; and that’s because that space was meant to be occupied by Jesus. But once you walk down the Godless path, how can you seek Him out and ask for His great mercy when you don’t even truly believe in Him? It’s a sad situation, indeed.

In order to prevent misunderstandings, let me make one thing clear: just because Ms. Markle is someone to be pitied, doesn’t mean Harry’s obligated to fix her. You don’t stay with someone out of pity and you can’t fix people. She has no right to hold Harry accountable for her parents’ failures when only God can ease the troubles in her heart. The reason I wrote this out wasn’t for Ms. Markle’s benefits; it was for Harry’s. Out of everyone involved, Harry will be the one who will face the greatest temptation to hold a grudge against her. Indeed, it’s always easier to hold onto anger towards someone than to pray for them; but it’s always better to pray and forgive than to hate. Forgiving someone doesn’t mean rekindling the relationship you once had with them; it just means understanding that God’s grace in your life was greater than theirs in the sense that God kept you from committing such sins. It means thanking Him that your own conscience is not suffering from guilt and praying that those who sinned against you find God as well.

B. Regarding the benefactor in this farce: I understand the interest in the identity of the very person who’s willing to finance such matter; but I don’t think it will be very helpful in solving this case. If such entity is rich enough to pay Ms. Markle’s articles and PR moves, I think they would have been smart enough to ensure that their trails would be well hidden. While this doesn’t mean that they will stay hidden for long, I think it will take some time. There’s just one thing we know for sure: whoever’s behind this mess is mortal–just like you and me. I know that last statement just seemed ridiculous and even laughable, but it IS a fact that I wanted to emphasize.

One of my favorite verses in the Bible states that “…‘No weapon formed against you shall prosper, And every tongue which rises against you in judgment You shall condemn. This is the heritage of the servants of the Lord, And their righteousness is from Me,’ Says the Lord.” (Isaiah 54:17 NKJV) God’s not the one against Harry; God loves Harry. The one against Harry is a fellow human being. A mere mortal whose life can be taken away by God at a moment’s notice. So if someone thought they could go out of their way to source amoral attacks on a God’s son, I pity them for their foolishness. Do they honestly think their plans will succeed when God knows their every move? God created THEM just as He created Harry. “Nothing in all creation is hidden from God’s sight” (Hebrews 4:13, NIV). He knows the evil that is fostered in their hearts just as He knows the goodness in Harry’s. Do they honestly think God would have recruited His children to speak for Harry and defend him if He didn’t love him? We’re not here by coincidence. We’re not. Do they honestly think their money will be enough to keep them away from receiving judgment? They won’t be taking their gold with them to their grave. THEY are the ones who will have to face God and their deeds WHEN they die (because we’re all mortals, and yes, we will all die one day).

In addition, the fact that they have enough time to foster a grudge and plan evil acts against another human being is not a reflection of their financial stability; it’s a statement of the vast emptiness in their lives. If they truly received God in their heart, they wouldn’t be driven to go after a man regardless of the family he belongs to. They would have followed the scripture that says, “Do not take revenge, my dear friends, but leave room for God’s wrath, for it is written: 'It is mine to avenge; I will repay,’ says the Lord.” (Romans 12:19 NIV). It’s truly, truly pitiful that they have to take upon themselves to plan such an attack when God Himself will fight for Harry. They will not win this fight against God.

We suffer our greatest temptations when we get emotional. We want to say and do things we know we shouldn’t. It’s easier to “go with the flow” and forget about the consequences of our actions, but we must remember that tomorrow will come. Often, the right decisions will be the ones you don’t want to do. Decisions to admit to your mistakes and to apologize require more bravery, because you will be fighting against your own ego. As hard as it may seem, don’t do the things you want to do and do things you don’t want to do. After all, it’s not the temptations that we suffer that define us; it’s the choices we make in the midst of them.

-Roseberrycupcakes (RCC)

I knew you were tied up but so was I, it’s been pandemonium and soon to get worse.  Be Proud of yourself, you didn’t lose it. I hope you get a day off soon. 

Thank you 

[ryanmeft]

Movie Review: Beast

What strange paths can a heart follow? What justifications can it invent for people who deserve none? What if you’re wrong? People on the sidelines of a horrific person, a corrupt politician, or a dictator or a killer, often look at the people in their lives and think “How could they let them get away with that?” Beast, the debut film from one Michael Pearce, questions the nature of guilt, shame, judgment and what it takes to enable or to destroy, but despite being technically structured as a thriller it offers no pat, nice answers. We will not be told what to believe about what we see. How refreshing.

In Jersey, England, 27-year-old Moll (Jessie Buckley) seems to live as a prisoner-in-all-but-name. Ostensibly, she is in her family home to care for her Alzheimer’s-suffering father, but she seems under the thumb of her proud, domineering mother (Olwen Fouere). She looks at her daughter as one might a pet, loved but unwanted for anything beyond decoration. At her 27th birthday party, her mom and her sister (Shannon Tarbet) sideline the woman of honor with their own lives. There are hints of her having done something bad, which we learn more of later.

She is in desperate need of escape. She tries to escape but winds up in trouble, and is rescued by the timely intervention of a mysterious hunter named Pascal (Johnny Flynn). The two slowly build a relationship, until Pascal appears on a list of suspects in a string of child murders.

This all sounds very workmanlike when I describe it. In the hands of Pearce, his actors and his crew, it is darkly effective in all sorts of ways I can’t accurately convey, a sort of midnight waltz where there are things of beauty, but never without a shadow. We get the sense that Moll’s apparent sentence is enforced on her by tight social strictures, rather than by the severity of anything she did. The camera of Benjamin Kracun makes the people of her town feel like a giant compress, with eyes on her everywhere and nary a moment when she isn’t being judged. When you find out her 14-year-sentence to outcast-dom is because she violently retaliated to bullying in her early teens, what was your reaction? I suspect those who have been there will by sympathetic, and Pearce is insightful: he knows society is often quick to blame the victim.

Now look at where Kracun’s camera goes whenever Moll is ostensibly freed from the stifling confines of her village existence. He could choose to take in sweeping vistas, to encompass the landscape like Emmanuel Lubezki, and he occasionally does. Yet he largely keeps the shots confined and close. When Moll and Pascal make love, the camera is tight on them in the dark, outdoors in the forest. Moments before, we had been worried, because maybe this man is dangerous and they are out in the woods alone. Somehow, though tension should pass when the moment of danger seems revealed as a ruse, it doesn’t.

The entire film is suffused with it. One of the favorite themes of Alfred Hitchcock was the idea that you might be living with a criminal. Most of the time in a Hitchcock film a character’s suspicions were in fact true, but it was his habit to draw out the pressure until it blew. It worked, proving his theory that suspense is more effective than surprise.

Pascal himself is the supporting man, and Moll is the focus. This ratchets up that suspense, because we care for her, but we also see her own flaws. Hitchcock was famously difficult to actresses, and for all his brilliance, his female characters were not people, but plot elements. Pearce follows Moll, and through the nuanced and complex performance of Buckley, we know her, and we see she is not flawless. She lies to investigators. She makes poor decisions. She is, herself, broken. None of this justifies the way the town treats her, but it brings something to the story that classic thrillers, with their perfect, delicate women so easily shattered, rarely had.

So did Pascal do it? Does it matter? We never see a killing in the film, just as we never go back in time and see bullying, and Moll’s mother never openly prevents her from leaving or doing something she wants. We have only the behaviors and statements of these characters to go on. We tend to believe what actors in movies tell us, because the eyes don’t lie, but of course they do. In Pearce’s vision, Jersey (his hometown, and in interviews much loved by him) is a place where people hide themselves whether they have anything to hide or not.

Like Ron Howard’s Allied, which eschewed frenetic modern thriller codes to adhere to an older school of thought, Beast deftly blends the kind of suspense that needs no shaky cam tricks with a modernized narrative approach that would not have been allowed in the “Golden Age”. It’s a rare film in which my mind did not wander; at no point did I think about dinner or my plans for the rest of the day or being in a theatre. There was just me, and this village where something was always slightly off, and the people who have to live there.

Verdict: Must-See

A casting note: I could not determine who played Moll’s father, nor am I 100% certain I identified her mother’s actress correctly. I also could not locate the name of the person responsible for the musical score. Any help would be appreciated.

[thisdaynews]

IPOB: Ohanaeze Writes Open Letter To Governor Wike [READ]

New Post has been published on https://thebiafrastar.com/ipob-ohanaeze-writes-open-letter-to-governor-wike-read/

IPOB: Ohanaeze Writes Open Letter To Governor Wike [READ]

The Deputy President General of Ohanaeze Ndigbo Worldwide, Dimm Uche Okwukwu, has composed an open letter to the Governor of Rivers State, Nyesom Wike.

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Naija News reports that in the letter routed to Wike, Okwukwu asked Wike to mercifully reexamine the 7pm-6am lockdown as of late pronounced in the state.

Review that the Rivers lead representative had on Saturday loosened up the check in time in Port Harcourt City and Obio/Akpor LGAs of the state from 8.30pm to 6am beginning compelling Sunday May 16, 2021.

He unveiled this when he tended to individuals of the state, in a transmission, Saturday evening.

Wike anyway reported that the time limitation time in different pieces of the state stays 7pm to 6am until additional notification.

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He encouraged the occupants to be cautious as they approach their legitimate organizations, guaranteeing that security authorities are on ground to address any condition of instability.

Wike had during a statewide transmission on tenth May 2021 said that the hoodlums liable for the killings were from Obigbo.

“We have audited the way and way the new assaults were executed and found that the culprits, who masked themselves as security officials, moved in unhindered from Oyigbo to dispatch the assault” Wike had said while forcing the time limitation before the survey.

However, the Ohanaeze tribal leader in his letter denounced the lead representative’s cases that the assaults where lauinched from Oyigbo.

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“It is unsatisfactory that our friendly Governor Wike, the principal lead representative to get in 2017 the recently chosen National Executive Committee, NEC, of Ohanaeze, attested in his tenth May 2021 transmission that the lawbreakers answerable for the killings were from Obigbo,” he said.

Okwukwu’s open letter peruses in full:

Your Excellency, thinking of you is a troublesome errand thinking about that at the miniature level I am Ikwerre; however at the large scale level I am Igbo. You are likewise Ikwerre and the performance center of this viciousness is Ikwerreland. Isiokpo, Omagwa, Choba and Elimgbu are all in Ikwerreland. I’m from Elele in the Ikwerre Local Government Area, LGA; the absolute first LGA where our daring law implementation specialists were murdered. Their killings are totally inadmissible, condemnable and savage.

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I sympathize with the dispossessed families while petitioning God for the quiet rest of the spirits of the withdrew. My fortitude is with the public authority and individuals of Rivers in their battle against fear. The culprits should be captured and made to confront equity. The Civil Defense, police, Department of State Service, DSS, and other law offices should be enabled to do itemized examinations with the perspective on capturing and indicting the guilty parties.

For record purposes, it is inadmissible that our friendly Governor Wike, the main lead representative to get in 2017 the recently chosen National Executive Committee, NEC, of Ohanaeze, affirmed in his tenth May 2021 transmission that the hoodlums answerable for the killings were from Obigbo. Your Excellency had said, “We have investigated the way and way the new assaults were executed and found that the culprits, who camouflaged themselves as security officials, moved in unhindered from Oyigbo to dispatch the assault.”

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Geo-deliberately speaking, I am not scrutinizing the astuteness of the lead representative as he is the Chief Security Officer, CSO, of the state with admittance to knowledge reports. What I question is the reasoning, the explanation, behind his statement.

From Obigbo to Isiokpo is about an hour’s drive. From Obigbo to Abua is around two hours’ drive. How is it possible that assailants would in the dead of the night drive from Obigbo to Isiokpo, given all the security designated spots in the middle, and murder security officials prior to getting away undetected? How is it possible that assailants would drive from Obigbo to Abua, slaughter warriors and break without being caught? What number of designated spots exist between the two focuses? That is the thing that I question. Let it not be that Your Excellency has depended on profiling and naming.

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I’m not saying it is preposterous that the executioners came from Obigbo. In the conditions, be that as it may, it is hard to persuade the standard man in the road. Profiling and naming were the thing to take care of during the EndSARS fight when Obigbo was totally secured; a lockdown that killed kids, ladies and the old from sheer appetite, separation and dissatisfaction. So this profiling, marking and pre-legal judgment should be dismissed by all benevolent Igbos, Nigerians and men of good still, small voice since they have a foundation. The foundation is that Your Excellency has been incited by certain components in Obigbo previously.

As an Igbo chief, I disagree with Your Excellency’s profiling and marking. A more definite examination concerning these killings ought to be completed before anybody can securely point a finger at where the executioners radiated. The security offices should be permitted to tackle their work in unwinding the secrets behind these assaults. Expecting, without surrendering, that the hooligans were from Obigbo, would they say they were as yet answerable for the destructions in Akwa Ibom, Ebonyi, Anambra and Imo? The appropriate response is no. So there is more than meets the eyes.

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I’m interested that these killings happened in the wake of the foundation of the Eastern Security Network, ESN, by the Indigenous People of Biafra, IPOB, and Ebubeagu by the five legislative heads of the South East. It is my dispute that the Igbo society is fellow and local area based. You can’t build up a security outfit without including the town associations, bosses, youth pioneers, local area and ladies initiatives.

The solitary security course of action that can work is the one that is base to top and not start to finish. The British procured disappointment when they took a stab at setting up political designs through and through. That prompted the Aba Women’s Riots of 1929. The British never comprehended the Igbo society. Our political design is connection structure where individuals assemble to take choices influencing their local area.

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So the ESN is a principal botch remembering that IPOB never counseled the socio-anthropological designs setting up it. The south East lead representatives, who ought to have known better with all their unique counsels and chiefs knowledgeable in Igbo history and culture, additionally committed a similar error. That clarifies why both the ESN and Ebubeagu are not working.

What we are seeing in Igboland is a collapse. It is this collapse that caused the IPOB initiative to accept that the extra-legal homicide of one of its administrators was approved by the South East lead representatives. This prompted reprisals. Rather than security, the foundation of ESN and Ebubeagu has prompted more noteworthy frailty. Who is simply the foe since we battle?

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Igboland is business exchange ruled in what I call “Akpata erie,” or endurance on-consistent schedule. In Rivers we have a 7pm-6am time limit. That is inadmissible in light of the fact that a many individuals rely upon the “Mom put” they sell in the evening between 6pm-10pm. Likewise, the individuals who lost their positions utilize their private vehicles to do “Kabu-kabu” in the evening. At the present time this help economy doesn’t exist as a result of the time limitation; and with it difficulty.

Mr Governor, I dread viciousness since its first casualty is the persecuted. Upheaval is a two sided deal. The progressive and those he leads into disobedience may die if their battle isn’t as expected oversaw. The supposed oppressor will get away from the fiery blaze just to return after the fire to make another request from the vestiges of the old. So we should be cautious.

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The supposed Fulani herders liable for every one of the killings are today being pardoned. We are presently battling ourselves. The lead representatives are under dangers. Cops are under dangers. Lawmakers are under dangers. Understudies are being seized. Is that how we will win the administration in 2023? That is my certifiable dread.

Lead representative Wike, I have three petitions worth your regarded consideration: One, Ndigbo in Port Harcourt are not battling you. From Eleme, Onne, Choba, and so on, Igbos surge home at sunset in acquiescence to your time limitation. On the off chance that they are angry most of them would transparently oppose you. However, they are submitting to you not disapproving of the difficulty your time limitation delivers on them.

My message to the two Igbos and non-Igbos, in this manner, is for them to keep on supporting their own lead representative in these difficult minutes. None should subvert the command Rivers individuals offered him to modernize their state. Anybody with valuable data on these assaults should converse with the Rivers Police Command.

Two, I appeal to His Excellency, Governor Wike, to benevolently rethink the lockdown. Any check in time from 7pm-6am is no longer time limitation except for a lockdown of eleven hours. This is awful for financial exercises of a group who for pretty much 2020 were under worldwide lockdown.

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Furthermore, three, Your Excellency should quit offering provocative expressions equipped for partitioning us and straining Rivers the more. It is inadmissible for His Excellency to say, for instance, that the individuals who completed an assault are from the Ikwerre LGA even before a proper examination is finished. Permit the security organizations to research and capture potential suspects. Their discoveries will at that point be given over to you as the CSO. The Ministry of Justice to charge and arraign those prosecuted is under you. Be that as it may, Your Excellency can’t be the specialist and investigator in your own case.

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Taking everything into account, sir, I put it on record that Governor Wike is one of few lead representatives to select a non-indigene as full chief. That is every bit of relevant information. Your Excellency designated Emeka Onowu, a non-indigene, as official. This grand record of yours must never be discolored in this last minute. For example, in the event that one does useful for a very long time just to begin doing terrible over the most recent four months of his office, individuals may fail to remember the beneficial things he did and judge him by the awful ones. Your Excellency ought to boost what you are doing well overall while limiting any evident misstep like this 7pm-6am time limitation.

None on the foundation of t