#WILDLY IN LOVE WITH LIFE IS SOMETHING I STRIVE TOWARDS

[shatterthefragments]

16, 36, 48

I have no idea if I already sent you asks or not. The brain has been fuzzy lately. Feel free to ignore if you've already answered!

No worries!! I am still happy rambly so here’s a cut again:

16. Romantically, do you prefer men, women, both, any/don’t care, or are you aromantic?

I’ll maybe add that right now because Sleep Token is The Fixation I’m perhaps a bit more into men at the moment? But also infatuation is fickle and I have no clue I just love everyone 💖✨

Ooh but also a coworker had a girl she said would be perfect for me and even though it wouldn’t work out bc my poor lungs can’t take smoke and she smokes weed but even when just thinking about her I melt she’s THAT adorable 🥰

Idk. Just. People 🥹

36. What’s your favorite book?

Oh. Oh shit. A favourite… a favourite………… (I am looking at my bookcases) (my sister took a bunch of books though…)

ACTUALLY IGNORE EVERYTHING AFTER LETS GO WITH CALVIN AND HOBBES COLLECTIONS!!!!!!!!! 😁

Hmmm.

Will Grayson, Will Grayson and Ellen Hopkins’ books around 2010 ish are some of the first books I loved that I got and kept. As well as Looking For Alaska.

David Levithan’s Wide Awake I think is the copy I highlighted through my favourite parts?

For amount of rereads: I have lost count of how often I have reread Ellen Hopkins’ books (though her style of prose heavily inspired much of my poetry that I wrote grade 6 onwards and to this day sometimes too even though I hardly remember the stories now) and What They Always Tell Us. I know for sure I read Evernight(?) (Claudia Gray) 12 times before I returned it to the library. I tend to mostly read YA fiction? (I mostly read fanfiction TBH) I adore Maggie Stiefvater’s Wolves of Mercy Falls series so much!! (I had the fortune to go to a writing workshop of hers once!)

I love manga (gosh Fullmetal Alchemist has my heart of course but also some other faves: Our Dreams At Dusk, Genkaku Picasso, Grand Guignol Orchestra, and of course Fruits Basket)

I don’t read much nonfiction despite wishing to. I have a book on Gothic Architecture that I REALLY WANT to read but. Can’t yet. And there’s also a set of architecture books a sailing friend recommended to me but (subject to availability from library) couldn’t read that either even when I checked it out. Will have to try again later. Hopefully the invisible barriers drop.

48. Are you afraid of death?

Yes and no.

Yes because I’m no longer ready for it to be over. There’s so many friends to see, food to try, things to go and do, hobbies to learn and partake in, oceans and beaches to visit, things to cook, people to love, animals to pet etc etc like?!? You know what?!? Even if I just spent the rest of my time learning how to make music that’s so much time?!? There’s never going to be enough time to do everything I want to so I CAN’T CUT MY TIME SHORT!!! I just have to try to make the most of it and drag myself out of my Misery Hole when I can’t see it. There’s so many things I want to do and try and places to go!! Even just within a couple hours of where I live!!! I want to go pet some alpacas!! And there’s no reason why not!! one day I can make a day trip and go drive to go do this?! And tattoos to get! Art to make and admire!! So many endless possibilities!! (So many I can never choose ack) so I’m scared I won’t get to try to do even half of the things I want to. Or go to even one other continent. Cuddles too!!

And no because everything is kind of. A gift at this point? I never thought I’d live this long and don’t really have much of a plan. I definitely thought I’d be dead five+ years ago (whether by my own hand or getting clocked and murdered bc I DEFINITELY watched Boys Don’t Cry too young and I’m left with no memories but abject fear from it)

And I think that I *will* be scared when the time comes because I have a lot of regrets etc and I want to keep going for as long as I can and just. Enjoy what I can. Try to make things better if not hugely at least for my friends. And just. Take the highs when I can get them 😁

Reminder to myself to attach one of the things that popped into my head at reading this question: because even though Desperation to not be here anymore and not have to suffer still has me in its grips. Like? I’ve clawed my way out (and I’ll do it again) and I want to continue living. I want to live to the best of my ability. I want to make a home for myself. In my space. In my body. In my mind. And so I will do my best to.

[silversiren1101]

Hello! Would like to know your thoughts on Regill's personality. Do you think he has high self-esteem? (Used a translator, sorry!)

Hello Anon! Thank you for the question - I love to talk about Regill <3

Do I think Regill has high self-esteem? I do! But in a way I think is different from what those words usually imply.

Regill would be the first to argue that he has no ego, and that he only operates on the most logical and correct course of action rather than one driven by his pride as a commander. His dialogue when he says that "Regill Derenge is the first on his list" when it comes to scrutiny and that he strives to be an emotionless construct conveys what he thinks about himself... but what he thinks is wrong. He is incorrect in his assessments about himself, because trusting so much in your judgement and saying that it is the most logical and correct means that he thinks very, very highly of his reasoning and capabilities, and thus himself.

He might argue it is because he is so experienced and has lived through so many encounters and seen them first hand that he trusts himself so much, but there is more to it than that. There are some instances in the game where he questions his judgement and accepts he was wrong, and to me that suggests a high level of self-esteem. It's usually sensitive and low self-esteem people that get offended and defensive when proven wrong, as they see it as an attack on their character, capabilities, and worth. Regill does not get defensive in these situations. He is willing to accept new information and change his reasoning and opinions based on this information, suggesting he is confident in himself as a person and leader. He is willing to extend a hand in cooperation with people he dislikes and has disagreements with, and is more than willing to share his counsel and give advice (Sosiel, Seelah, Lann, etc) just as he is willing to accept critique and act upon it (Lann). This is not how someone with low self-esteem would act.

However, I would also say that he is not egotistical. He has an ego and he has pride, but he is not egotistical as he is not self-serving or conceited. His ego and pride go toward whatever cause he has devoted himself to, whether that be the grander cause of the Hellknights or something more immediate and "right now". An egotistical man would not sacrifice his entire life's career and reputation for the sake of someone else's success (his Act 5 quest and trial), but also, a man with no ego and no self-esteem would not consider the sacrifice of his career and reputation enough to make the Knight Commander beyond reproach. He strikes me as a man that very much knows his worth and is assured in it, yet also consciously views it as yet another tool to leverage. He is proud of his capabilities and successes not for personal reasons, but because he is proud to serve and advance his causes. If he is a cog in a machine, he is happy to be one of the central-most ones, as it means the machine runs better and more efficiently as a whole unit.

His personality is a complicated one and a simple one at the same time. I personally describe him as someone that feels very deeply, but has little to zero emotional intelligence. Someone that does not care passionately about order would not become a Hellknight, much less one so wildly successful as to reach the rank of Paralictor. He does not hesitate to proclaim himself a being of order and reason, and condemns actions driven by emotion, and yet most of his own actions are very much that: emotional. He just doesn't realize it, or, abjectly refuses to acknowledge it. He leaps to conclusions and makes bold calls to action immediately when events challenge his worldview or cause, often to an extreme degree. He cares deeply, very deeply, and feels things very strongly, but because of what he wants to be (an emotionless construct) and what he values, he has not developed an emotional intelligence and refuses to do so.

Someone that does not care would not offer to take in that Sarenite order with the words "No longer will you feel like helpless prey in the talons of a hawk." Someone that does not care would not have a hidden flag that gives you bonuses to your trust score with him the nicer you have been to Yaker, even challenging Regill himself when he goes too hard on the lad. Someone that does not care would not sacrifice his career and reputation for the sake of the Knight Commander's victory. Someone that does not care would not be willing to give Sosiel and Seelah combat advice (and compliments! which he does in various camp banter!) and work with them to build a more cohesive unit. And someone that does not care would not offer Greybor a referral to the Order of the Scar, the most respected and smallest of the Hellknight Orders.

I could go on, but I think I've conveyed enough :) Hopefully the translator is able to work with this!

Regill is prideful and arrogant (at times), but not egotistical. He is rather selfless, and his pride does not stop him from cooperating with people at odds with his beliefs. He feels deeply and is very passionate about what he believes in, but not emotionally intelligent enough to be fully conscious of how hypocritical he is. He is very hypocritical, and I love that about him <3

[wilquinones]

What is community? What does it mean to co-create with communities?

(Pictured above: 1898 U.S. Imperial Visions and Revisions at the Smithsonian American Art Museum)

I remember my first month in D.C. I felt disoriented, confused and lonely a majority of the time. This was mostly due to the fact that, here, I was no longer surrounded by people that shared something intrinsic about my identity; I felt like I had gone adrift from my community. Community itself is a difficult term to define, according to Crooke it can be “...constructed in a multitude of ways and take a variety of forms” (p. 177). However, I believe a community is a group of people, large or small, that share certain characteristics, interests, geographical location, life experiences, etc. This can include race, gender, sexual orientation, ethnicity, age and/or socioeconomic background. People that share the same enthusiasm for a book series can consider themselves to be part of a community. My classmates and I are now a part of the community of students of the Museum Education Program. Forming part of a community should also make individuals feel empowered, a community should lift each other up in times of need, as well as provide a safe space. These are all ideals to strive towards, but the word community can also become a double edged sword. If a community is based on similarities within a group, it is inevitable that a certain antagonism would begin to form towards the outsiders that are different from said group: “Worldwide, there are many examples of the use of the preservation of community identity, heritage, and culture to justify racism and genocide, perhaps the most tragic being the consequence of the use of “community” as justification for fascism in Nazi Germany” (p. 174). 

This being said, what I consider to be my community has shifted, or rather expanded with this new change in environment. There are friends who studied with me back in Puerto Rico who are now also studying and living in D.C. which I consider to be my small community of Puerto Ricans. We get together and cook what we loved to eat back home, listen to the music at full blast and talk about our island as if we aren’t over a thousand miles away. But now, because I’m surrounded by so many people that are unlike me, there is also a secret sense of community that I foster towards anyone that comes from Latin America, who gives me even the slightest resemblance of home. The family behind me at the park whose Colombian accents I relish, the server at the restaurant whose parents immigrated from Costa Rica, the Guatemalan woman shopping at the same Goodwill as me, my classmate who was born in Ecuador and who introduced me to Salvadoran pupusas. People that, if I was living in Puerto Rico, would feel wildly different from me, but are my lifeline from feeling incredibly alienated here. In many ways, my experience living in D.C. so far has reaffirmed my identity as not only a Puerto Rican woman, but a Latin American one as well.

Museums being involved within their respective communities is nothing particularly new, as Crooke explains: “The history of European museum development in the nineteenth century links directly to the rise of the nations and the need for those places to claim and present a national past” (p. 174). The difference is that now, museums as an institution are attempting to shift their attention from the predominant white and heteronormative narrative to a more inclusive and diverse one, which directly involves the community in its program and exhibition development. The most effective way to do this is by inviting outsiders in, as Bergeron and Tuttle phrase it. Welcoming cultural or civic leaders, or even the audience itself to “...freely share their resources, expertise and talent…at the early stages of idea development” (p.60).

 An example of this could be the District Six Museum in Cape Town, South Africa. District Six was a neighborhood that was declared all white under Apartheid, forcibly removing the people that already lived there from their homes, churches and schools, resulting in a traumatic event for those involved. The idea for the District Six Museum was conceived during the 1980’s with the community led program “Hands off District Six” which sought to protect the neighborhood from redevelopment, and in 1994 the museum was established. The museum is unlike the more European institutions found in South Africa: “...the building and space is modest; there are no glass cases; the curator has not taken authority; and the exhibition text is not fixed: former residents may add to the panels while they visit the exhibition” (Crooke, p. 175). Through this museum, the community is finally offered a space in which they can tell their own story in their own terms, to feel like their history is finally being acknowledged, to feel pride at an event that was supposed to make them feel shame; and as a result, the community has become stronger.  

Here in D.C. I have yet to find my community represented within museums. There is the National Museum of the American Latino that is starting to take shape, but as of today, it doesn’t occupy a building and it will be many years before the initiative can actually provide a space for Latin Americans. I had an impactful experience at the Smithsonian’s Museum of American Art exhibition: 1898: US Imperial Visions and Revisions. In said exhibit, the Smithsonian attempts to grapple with the United States’ imperialistic past (and present), but in my opinion, fails to fully grasp the negative aftermath that America inflicted on its colonies. In the section dedicated to Puerto Rico it says: “In general, Puerto Ricans welcomed the change of sovereignty from Spain to the United States in 1898. They hoped for more civil liberties, economic prosperity, and modernization. Later, against the backdrop of the First World War (1914–18), the United States granted citizenship to Puerto Ricans and established a popularly elected senate”. This does not include the fact that Puerto Ricans have fought for our independence for over a hundred years since the United States marched into our shores, and that this fight was met with violent massacres, attempts to suppress our language in schools and the Ley Mordaza (Gag Law) in 1948, which outlawed the display or ownership of the Puerto Rican flag. It also conveniently does not mention that after gaining control of the island, the United States used the Puerto Rican population as guinea pigs for experiments involving birth control, Agent Orange, as well as bombs on the coast of Vieques. Lastly, it mentions the fact that we were granted citizenship during WWI, but omits that the reason why was to send our men on the front lines of the war. 

When reading the panel I wondered who wrote it, and for whom. It seemed to me that this was created to provide comfort for Americans who might feel uneasy about their colonial heritage, a way to say: “What we did was bad, but you can feel better now! Pat yourself on the back for recognizing your problematic past in the first place, but don’t take any steps towards actually fixing the problem”. As a museum educator, I want to make sure I’m involving as many voices as I can, so that people from my community don’t feel as angry, and as small, as I felt that day inside of the Smithsonian.

Connect Through Art | District Six Museum

(source: Investec Cape Town Art Fair YouTube)

References: 

Bergeron, Anne, and Beth Tuttle. Magnetic : The Art and Science of Engagement. The Aam Press, 2013.

Crooke, Elizabeth, “Museums and Community” A Companion to Museum Studies. Edited by Macdonald, Sharon. Wiley-Blackwell, 2011, p. 170-185.

“Gallery Page | 1898: U.S. Imperial Visions and Revisions.” 1898exhibition.si.edu, 2023, 1898exhibition.si.edu/gallery.

[the-velvet-worm]

We need to talk about Mai.

The Avatar: The Last Airbender fandom is one that’s seen better days, that’s for sure. Even in its better days, it was full of ship wars and shit takes. It’s always been like that, despite how near-perfect the show is, and that’s nothing that can be helped. We all consume media differently, and that’s what makes so many movies and TV shows so great. Differing opinions are what create discussion and debate, and we should almost always at least entertain them to help get a better understanding of the thoughts and opinions of others. So… let’s dive into one of my most unpopular opinions.

Mai. We all know her as the knife-wielding goth girl, friend to Azula and girlfriend to Zuko. Many have come to the false conclusion that she’s all surface and no substance, that she never cared enough for Zuko, that she was too passive and uncaring and didn’t cater enough to the emotions of the people around her. She turned on Azula to save Zuko, and Ty Lee turned on Azula to save Mai. It’s one of (in my opinion, at least) the most badass and iconic moments of the show. Mai stealthily pinning down all the prison guards without spilling a single drop of blood, buying Zuko, Sokka, Suki and co. just enough time to escape the Boiling Rock is one of the best action scenes in all of ATLA, that much isn’t up for debate. But it’s also one of the most profound and selfless acts of love in the entire series. Zuko, whose mother poisoned his grandfather to save his life, who betrayed his uncle just as he was going to make a major heel turn as a person, was saved by a girl he broke up with… in a letter. I’ll get into the letter later. But for now, I want to unpack Mai’s sacrifice.

She knew exactly what she would be facing by saving Zuko. Azula was right there. And Mai still did it. She resigned herself to the fact that she would have to face Azula’s fury — and her lightning. Mai’s only defense? Her knives. It was a test of speed and precision. Or at least, it would’ve been, if Ty Lee hadn’t stepped between them and taken Azula down. The important part was that Mai was willing to die to save Zuko’s life. “I love Zuko more than I fear you,” is one of the most powerful lines of dialogue I’ve ever heard in my life. It confirmed two things: Mai loves Zuko (which she said with her actions as much if not more than her words) and Mai has only been friends with Azula as long as she has because she actually feared what Azula would do to her otherwise. It was never any secret who had the true power in the Fire Nation royal family — Mai knew that better than most. And still, even after Zuko ditched her in the middle of an invasion, she would’ve traded her life for his without a second thought.

Which leads me to my next point — the letter. Mai read a portion of it out loud. We saw Zuko write it just a few episodes prior. We know from context and dialogue that he didn’t want to leave her, he tells Sokka as much on their way to the Boiling Rock. In Zuko’s mind, he left Mai behind to protect her. But flipping it and looking at it from Mai’s perspective is so key to understanding why she was so hurt. This wasn’t just a case of a jerk boyfriend breaking up with his girlfriend through a text message. This was two traumatized teenagers who fell in love despite all odds, who were separated for three years, and were finally reunited… just for him to leave again. The first time Zuko left, he didn’t have a choice, as we all know. That’s fair. The second time? He did have a choice. He made the right choice. He knew it. We as the audience know it. But who didn’t know it was Mai — she expresses as much. She doubts herself and her relationship with Zuko because of it. She more or less infers that she feels their relationship has been built on a lie — and in truth, it partially has been. Zuko withheld information from her and withheld his feelings. Remember ‘The Beach’, toward the beginning of book 3? That episode where Mai and Zuko (and Azula and Ty Lee) all addressed their childhood trauma and finally began to be able to work through it? Mai didn’t shut down Zuko’s feelings — she actively encouraged him to share with her how he was feeling. In the same scene, Zuko claimed Mai didn’t care about anything, and at the end of the episode, she affirmed that although she had difficulty expressing her true emotions, she did care about Zuko. And I think it says a whole lot about her that even after having her heart broken by him, after opening up to him and offering a safe place for him and getting hurt as a result of that, she still couldn’t let him die.

What I’m getting at is… would a girl who REALLY didn’t care do that? I see a lot of people claim she didn’t listen to Zuko… when was that? In ‘Nightmares and Daydreams’, when she constantly tried to affirm him, comfort him, reassure him, and was met with silence? In ‘The Beach’ when he dumped all of his trauma on her and she sympathized with him but still held him accountable for his actions? She did nothing wrong in those instances. She was never in the wrong to demand decency from her boyfriend — he accused her of cheating because another man looked at her. In what world doesn’t she have a right to be upset about that?

Circling back to the first episode of book 3 — in a scene that many blow wildly out of proportion — Zuko is being his usual angsty self, having a moment of reflection and self-doubt. He’s afraid his father won’t accept him, that going home to the Fire Nation might be a mistake. It’s easy to forget that Mai wasn’t present for the death of Aang, so she has no idea what happened during that scene. She has no idea that Zuko wasn’t the one that killed Aang. She has no idea what Zuko’s been doing in the three years he’s been gone. So… in her head, she assumes Zuko’s just being his usual dramatic self, and makes a joke about not wanting to know his life story to put his mind at ease and assure him that his worries were misplaced. She wanted the same thing she thought Zuko wanted (and I say thought because, well… he never told her what he really wanted because *he* didn’t even know) and encouraged him to strive toward that. She waited for him for hours outside the war chamber in ‘Nightmares and Daydreams’, and when the meeting finally ended and he came back out, she enthusiastically congratulates him on it, she’s happy for him because with her limited knowledge of what’s actually going on in her boyfriend’s head, this is what he wants. Earlier in the same episode, he’s lamenting about not being invited, and then decides the meeting is dumb and he doesn’t want to go to it. And she agrees with him, again, simply just trying to affirm him and make him feel better. She supports him in all things — all things that she can to the best of her understanding of the things.

At the end of it all, communication is a two-way street — Zuko was shitty at expressing himself and so was Mai. That was something they both needed to work on separately in order to be able to come back together. Their separate and individual personal growth does not hinge on their relationship. Mai was not Zuko’s therapist, nor should she have been. She tried to be supportive and be there for him in the only ways she knew how with her very limited (but expanding) sense of sympathy. Mai was a person who never let herself care, at least not outwardly, lest she get her feelings hurt in the process. She did open up to Zuko, and encouraged him to do the same with her, offered him support, unconditional love, and a safe place, and he needed to do some growing away from her, and that’s fine. He should’ve communicated that to her a little better, and she should’ve tried to be more understanding from the start, but they’re still just teenagers. I don’t know many teenagers who can take what they know they are capable of emotionally handling and applying it to their interpersonal relationships as well as Mai does. I was a hell of a lot farther behind in my own emotional development than Mai was at 15.

[justiceraffles]

About the Gosho Boys and literary crime fiction

This is a lengthy text wall in which I ramble about detectives. It started out with me thinking about the Gosho boys and their relationship with classic mystery fiction and literary/fictional detectives and it ended up derailing into a Hakuba rabbit hole in which I overanalyse details pointlessly for hours because I guess that is simply how most of my free time is spent.

(Fair warning that this is probably ridden with mistakes because I am capable of only 1.3 thoughts at a time)

So, when it comes to Shinichi, Heiji and Kaito, they all have a literary character from classic detective fiction that they’re closely associated with. Namely, it’s Sherlock Holmes for Shinichi, Ellery Queen for Heiji, and Arsène Lupin for Kaito. The relationship they hold with each of these figures (and with crime fiction in general) is very different, but it’s quite telling of their personality, character, their relationship with literature, and their respective approach to their profession. I talk about each of them a little bit and then just spend half the time talking about Hakuba. 

Shinichi is born in a household where mystery fiction is extremely important. He is surrounded by this type of story and his parents nurture this interest actively. Detectives and mysteries permeate his life wholly. For Shinichi, Holmes is seen as the maximum exponent of a genre. Holmes is The Great Detective. The archetype, the one that defines what it means to be a detective and the one later writers will seek to emulate one way or another. Detective fiction is what it is today because of Holmes, so it makes complete sense for Shinichi to have him as his idol. Holmes is what he strives to be and it’s what people associate him with. 

Heiji is a lot more subtle than Shinichi is, but he is also very much a lit nerd. Ellery Queen is both a character and a pseudonym for the writers that created him. As a character, Ellery Queen is such a perfect choice for Heiji’s favourite detective. He’s a mystery writer who doubles as a sleuth and helps his father, a police inspector, in solving crimes. Wonder if that sounds familiar, huh. Aside from similarities in the character (I could go on about some passages that have such strong Heiji vibes I’d be here forever) the Queen novels challenge the reader very directly. They tell you to pay attention, that you are presented with the exact same clues as the detective and should therefore be able to solve the mystery as well. The mystery story is a competition and the author issues a challenge by presenting it to the reader. I love this because Heiji has a huge competitive streak, and this is highlighted from his introduction. To find that the stories he’s passionate about also encourage this side of him is just so fitting and appropriate. 

The case where Shinichi and Heiji meet always makes me think of the contrast between reading a Holmes novel and a Queen story. Personally, I feel like the enjoyment of a Holmes story often relies on letting yourself be awed by the deduction. You can follow along with the mystery but a big part of the charm is based on the detective himself and the way he explains the thought process that leads him to his conclusion. You’re meant to sit down and enjoy as Holmes explains himself, and admire his brilliance. There’s a focus on the truth and the way to reach it, which is very, very Shinichi. A Queen novel, on the other hand, invites you to play along as you read. You are on equal standing with the detective, and it’s up to you to reach the same conclusion he does. These are the principles of “fair-play” in mystery fiction. As it implies, it is very much a game! So Heiji challenging Shinichi to a battle of wits and deductions goes perfectly in line with what he’s reading. Holmes is the genius detective you look up to with admiration, Queen is a sleuth that invites you to solve the crime alongside him. These suit the vibes that Shinichi and Heiji give off themselves very well. 

Kaito is much, much different for obvious reasons. He’s not a detective, and he’s not nearly as much of a mystery geek as the others are. The entire KID persona is closely associated with Arséne Lupin because Toichi fashions it accordingly. Even if phantom thieves aren’t quite the same as Leblanc’s original idea for the Gentleman Burglar, they still have a clear origin in Lupin and there’s important similarities to be made between them. Storytelling-wise, KID heists work on the same principles as Lupin stories. You know the criminal is there, hidden amongst the cast presented to you, and you know he will carry out the crime. And, regardless of whether you have an inkling of an idea of how he’s going to pull it off or not, you still allow yourself to be amazed by his methods regardless when the trick is revealed! Even when the schemes are outlandish and border on the fantastical and unbelievable, the stories are best enjoyed when you suspend your disbelief and allow the plots and characters to be over the top. But well, the connection between Lupin and KID is fairly self-explanatory. So, rather than KID, I think it’s more interesting to think about the relationship between Lupin and Kaito himself.  

Kaito doesn’t seek to be seen as a modern day-Lupin in the same way Shinichi wants to be a modern day-Holmes. Unlike Shinichi who becomes a detective in great part because he has Holmes as his idol, Kaito doesn’t become a thief because of his admiration towards a literary character, but because of his love and admiration towards his father. Kaito dons the KID suit with pride because it’s something his father left behind, and he embraces each part of it because it can lead to answers and understanding. But, always cryptic, Lupin doesn’t provide a whole lot of answers and understanding, and neither does Toichi. Lupin admits that he struggles to recognise himself under all the disguises and roles he has played. The truth behind his father’s character seems to become more elusive the more Kaito becomes involved with thievery. The “gentleman thief” persona, despite being charming and theatrical, has consequences on a personal life. 

...And then there’s Hakuba. 

Hakuba is complicated. 

But, Raffles! You say, Saguru is another Sherlock geek!

Well, yes. Of course he is. The deerstalker outfit and him naming his hawk Watson make that clear. Hakuba is an absolute Holmes nerd. 

I’m here to read too deeply into it when it’s most definitely not that deep at all. But, there’s never enough information about Hakuba and I have a blast overthinking stuff. So that’s what we’re gonna do! 

Despite obviously being a big fan, Hakuba’s relationship with Holmes is different from that of Shinichi’s. 

First, we don’t get to see Hakuba nerding out about Holmes novels and stories in the same way Shinichi does. He doesn’t quote Holmes at length or go on about how much he loves the books. Instead, we know Hakuba’s a nerd because he’s apparently passionate enough about this character to include things associated with him into his own personal image and identity.

Second, there’s the way others perceive him. Shinichi and Kaito (as KID) get “Heisei Holmes” and “Reiwa Lupin”. Despite irking a couple officers every now and again, Heiji is held in high regard and considered a great detective by the police force. Hakuba has a considerable amount of fame, but he doesn’t receive the same amount of trust people place on Shinichi and Heiji. It’s easy to forget because Hakuba acts with a lot of confidence and familiarity around crime scenes, but several of his appearances highlight the way his presence is tolerated at heists because of his father’s influence and is generally seen as an outsider. The police take orders from Shinichi and look up to him for advice— it’s not quite the same with Hakuba. More often than not, Nakamori treats Hakuba like a visitor or observer than a consulting detective. All of this rambling to say that even though he presents himself that way, Hakuba isn’t (or, at least, isn’t seen as) the Holmes he admires.  

So, if not Holmes, is there anyone that suits Hakuba better?

I’d say yes and no. 

As far as I can recall, the series never makes any explicit comparisons or references to other detectives when Hakuba is concerned. That said, much like you’d associate the deerstalker and Watson to Holmes, Hakuba has some other quirks and behaviours reminiscent of other detectives. Now, I’m not here to say that Hakuba was made deliberately as a compilation of references to literary detectives. These similarities are admittedly mostly coincidences. That said, deliberate or not, I think an argument can still be made that the connections exist! And well, considering the lack of concrete information about Saguru, thinking about them is fun. So this is what I think: 

One of Hakuba’s most prominent quirks is his fixation with time and exactitude. His pocket watch is a memorable prop and being precise about minutes and seconds is an important part of his character. You can find very similar behaviour in Agatha Christie’s Hercule Poirot, who also carries a pocket watch around and is extremely particular about punctuality and numbers. Another thing interesting about Poirot is that he’s most interested in the psychology behind a crime, in understanding the mindset of the killer. Poirot mysteries have each of the suspects explaining their own version of events, because the detective wants to understand everyone’s version of perceiving the truth. In other words, Poirot mysteries have a focus on the whydunnit. 

You can probably tell that now I’m going to gesture wildly at Hakuba’s “Why did you do it”

Speaking of Hakuba’s signature question, it’s probably also worth mentioning the Father Brown stories by G.K Chesterton. The sleuth is a catholic priest, and after his deduction and identifying the culprit, the stories usually end with the priest spending time with the criminal. Before an arrest is made, Father Brown has a private meeting with the killer (or thief). It’s implied that this is carried out as a personal confession of sins, and expresses a need to seek out an understanding of the motive as perceived by the criminal themselves. 

I say this because the catchphrase does come off as a little strange. It’s curious that Hakuba asks why when we usually expect the detective to be able to sort it out by himself. But, it’s really not that strange to find equivalents to it in stories that focus on the psychological part of the crime and empathy towards them. 

(Also worth mentioning that both Christie and Chesterton were presidents of the Detection Club, a group of writers during the golden age of detective fiction that based their stories around the concept of “fair-play” that I mentioned earlier when I was talking about Heiji.  

Back on track: Hakuba and Poirot share key similarities. 

HOWEVER! There are also differences between them. I’m referring to the fact that Poirot puts the most emphasis on this psychological level of a crime. Poirot says “I am not one to rely upon the expert procedure. It is the psychology I seek, not the fingerprint or the cigarette ash” On the other hand, I’d argue that out of all of the Gosho boys, Hakuba is the most fastidious about procedure. He has some level of knowledge of forensic investigation and places importance upon it.

Sherlock’s methods do draw inspiration from precursors of forensic science, so you could trace it back to that. You could also go to R. Austin Freeman’s Dr. John Thorndyke, who is inspired by Holmes, but places a heavier focus on the scientific method behind deductions. Thorndyke is probably the one to properly kickstart the forensic/medical sleuth subgenre that grows later with the improvement and development of DNA evidence and technology. We have Hakuba being observant enough to find one of KID’s hairs, and then use Hakuba labs to narrow his identity down. It doesn’t resemble Poirot’s methods, it also isn’t quite Sherlockian, but it does resemble other classic british sleuths!

OKAY, COOL. WHERE ARE YOU GOING WITH THIS RAFFLES. 

I’M NOT REALLY SURE! I NEVER KNOW WHAT I’M DOING! I JUST WANTED TO TALK ABOUT HAKUBA AND DETECTIVE STORIES. 

Alright. This is more of a personal interpretation/headcanon than anything else, but unlike the other three Gosho boys, who have one  clear inspiration/basis/model, I like the idea of Hakuba reading a vast array of detective novels and picking up the little habits, methods, that he finds interesting or comforting. The deerstalker, the name for his hawk, his pocketwatch, his signature question, his methods, his knack for competition, all of them handpicked from the things that he enjoys most about detectives. 

It’s also worth mentioning that all of the authors for these stories I’m associating with Hakuba are British. The thought of him being passionate about English authors as a way to understand his English side of the family is a headcanon I quite enjoy. And, technically, the same could apply to his Japanese side as well. I can imagine young Saguru reading Rampo’s Kogoro Akechi stories and also wanting a rival like the Fiend of Twenty Faces and jumping at the chance of chasing KID because how much he resembles the character. Or appreciating Akako’s cryptic clues because Rampo’s fiction also has supernatural edge to it. 

I don’t know. I just like the idea of Saguru learning about the world, his family, and himself through literature? This is pure, unapologetic self-indulgence on my part, I have to admit. 

Though, if I HAD to assign one specific detective to Saguru, I think it would probably be Poe’s C. Auguste Dupin. Poe’s stories with the character as seen as the start of detective fiction, and Dupin serves as the prototype for detectives to come — even Holmes, even if he doesn’t get nearly as much recognition as Conan Doyle’s detective today. Despite the fact that Hakuba is the original teenage detective in the series, and he’s also often forgotten and neglected by both Gosho and a big portion of the fandom. Even so, he paved the way for Shinichi and Heiji, and is very important regardless. 

Anyway! I don’t know why I wrote this and I am now very embarrassed but thanks for reading all the way!

[bibbykins]

Tandem Heartbeats and Close Calls

A/N: Hi everyone! I had started this little drabble forever ago and recently finished it in a half-asleep stupor, so I hope you can forgive the quality. It’s not my best work, but I do want to give the time I spent finishing it justice by posting. Also, I know a ton of people want some sort of part two or continuance for Embroidery, and I do too, so until I can muster a proper part-two, please enjoy this drabble... which is also me committing myself to a series of fight/make up drabbles for the soft yan boys. Either way, I hope you all enjoy and have a lovely day/night!

Pairing: Soft Yandere! (Embroidery) Kim Taehyung x Reader

Word Count: 2.2k

Warnings: toxic relationship, unhealthy relationship, panic attack, sensory overload meltdown/reaction, mean/degrading words, dissociation (kinda), emotional manipulation- this is not a depiction of a good or healthy couple this is an installment in the dark romance that I write for a mature (18+ since the first installment is rated as such) audience and do not wish nor intend for anyone to glorify or strive for this kind of relationship and I do not think anyone in BTS would act like this at all IRL, this is a work of fiction depicting a relationship that could not exist as such or functionally IRL,I could go on for days about this but please know that much. Also if I left out anything else I should add in the warnings I am so sorry and please let me know. 

Summary: He just wanted to stand up for you and you just wanted to stand on your own. The thought of you doing anything on your own, without him,  shakes him to his very core. 

You hated tension. You hated anger and the silence that came from having no words to properly express emotions. Yet, here you were with Taehyung, sitting in  his living room as he paced wildly, the both of you still in your work clothes. The disagreement turned full-blown fight stemming from an issue that seemed so silly to you.

You looked at your nails, chipping off the polish as you spoke, “I don’t see why you’re overreacting to misogyny in the workplace like this.” You mumbled, "And mad at me for it." You huffed, only earning a scoff from the pacing man.

“I don’t see why you’re so intent on being pushed around by lazy workers.” He seethed, “Youngmin knows better than to throw his work on you, he’s a production manager!”

You fought the urge to roll your eyes at this. You already knew that. You were just about to tell Youngmin that before Taehyung stepped in needlessly. This had definitely not been the first time people dumped work on you purely because you were a capable secretary and someone who looked like a pushover. You knew how to handle these situations, regardless if you ended up doing the work. Taehyung, however, seemed to not have any such faith in you considering the scene he made on the entire accounting floor, embarrassing the life out of you.

“That doesn’t give you the right to make a scene on my behalf.” You hissed back, "I can stand up for myself, if you just gave me the chance."

Taehyung scoffed and it made your eyebrow twitch at his patronizing demeanor, “Well, what else do I do if you’re being pushed around?” You huffed at the comment.

“I’m not being pushed around.” You tried to reason but Taehyung wouldn’t have it.

“Well, I’m the one making sure of that!” You flinched at the volume of his voice, but he didn’t catch it from his pacing while you stood, making him freeze.

“Then why are you the only one pushing me around?!” You huffed, tears in your eyes while Taehyung felt his heart crack. You had never yelled at him before, let alone cried because if him. The same realization seemed to dawn on you as you faltered for a moment, “I-I can handle things myself sometimes, you know.” You spoke incredulously, “I was a person of my own before you, do you not get that?!”

“Oh yeah? Who?” He snapped and you gasped lightly. Is this what he genuinely thought about you? Did your own boyfriend think so low of you and you couldn't see it, “I just remember you being a receptionist that cried on the phone and couldn’t be bothered to so much as make her own lunch, so what were you, if not mine?” He finished his words with a hard glare fixated at you which immediately softened at your glassy eyes with betrayal lying in your pupils

"How could you say that to me?!" You seethed, your eyes void of any affection or love for the man before you, making him freeze, “Do you know how hard I’ve worked to be who I am, and that person is not just your girlfriend, do you want me to prove it?!" Your words felt like a veiled threat, like you would leave him and he felt your words like a spear to the heart.

He could not let that happen, under any circumstances. You could not leave him. He could never allow it. You were his world, his everything, his reason for existing.

Going into panic mode, the man spoke in a hushed tone “Baby, I didn’t mean-

You held your hand up, silencing him as you shook your head, “I need some time to, you know, figure out who I am." You spoke sarcastically but voice quiet as you shuffled to the door.

"W-What do you mean?" He tried to keep the panic in his voice at bay as you slipped on your shoes.

You shrugged, "I don't know." An honest answer did make the situation less frightening for the both of you. What the fuck did you mean? What the fuck were you going to do by yourself?

Wrong answer. In order for you to leave this place, he had to know you loved him and would still continue to do so.

"You know I love you, my Venus, right?" His restraint was hanging by a thread as he watched you slip on your shoes.

"Right." You spoke, barely above a whisper.

Strike two. You didn't say it back. Why would you not say it back? How could you not say it back?! Taehyung watched his nightmare unfold at his own hand. You were slipping away from him, and for the first time, he had no idea what to do.

"I don't want you to go home this late, my love." He took slow steps toward you as your shaky hands tied your shoes, not accustomed to this kind of conflict, "I can just sleep on the couch, and you can..."

You whimpered as you couldn't tie your damn shoes. Your hands were shaking along with the rest of your form as you couldn't focus on the task at hand. You were overstimulated to say the least by everything. From the work day, to the scene, to the fight, to the brokeness of everything around you. Taehyung and you rarely ever fought and each time it was mentally exhausted, but it had never been this bad. You had never felt so sub-human and worthless. Were you just an accessory this whole time?

Had Taehyung loved you or just your company? You felt like a burden to him and just like a shitty excuse of a human all around. What the hell are you if not his? Maybe he was right.

A whine sounded from your closed lips as tears fell to the ground. Your shaky hands had paused on your laces completely, the knots tangled and resembling nothing like the bunny ears you needed. Goodness, you couldn't even tie your damn shoes correctly. 

Taehyung's words evidently fell on def years as only distressed sounds and whines came from you. The word was blurrying from your tears and just being overwhelmed all around as your chest squeezed around itself and you opened your mouth to choke on a sob before two hands covered your ears, pushing your face into a familiar chest.

You fought against the embrace before falling on your bottom and defeatedly ceasing your struggles as you focused on the quickened heartbeat your partner had. Why was he so panicked? Surely you were not significant enough to make the ever cool Kim Taehyung's self-confidence shake, right? His heart was pounding furiously, just like yours, though. You thought back to his comment about tandem heart beats on your first night together. Now, the reasoning didn't sound so crazy as the synchronous heartbeats you both shared resounded between your forms. Your sobs evolved into just heavy breaths as your shoulders relaxed a bit, signaling the man holding you to pull back a bit. His hands slid down to cup your cheeks and stroked them softly, a sad smile adorning his beautiful face.

"It's okay, baby, it's okay, hm?" He kissed your forehead, eyes glossy as he pulled back, laying his forehead on yours, "I'm so fucking sorry I was being such a piece of shit." His voice shook, "Fuck, I never meant to hurt you like that, I didn't even mean what I said. I was just fucking projecting because I was nothing until you came into my life-"

"What a lie." You sniffled, "You have always been Kim Taehyung, campus prince, successful businessman, a fucking CEO- board member- whatever." You sighed out, "You've always been something-"

"None of that meant anything to me, barely does now, I never cared about anything until I met you." He breathed shakily, "I love you so much and you brought so much color to my world and I felt like all I had to offer you was protection and I have no damn idea how to be of use to you while you're so effortlessly the focal point of my existence." 

Your breath hitched at this, "I-I… What the hell are you talking about?" You huffed out, "This whole night I have felt like such a burden, like I was just a pet for you to look after, like I would be nothing without you- like you said-" Pain flashed across his face. He did say that. He didn’t mean it, but he said it and it affected you.

"Shit, I did not mean that at all, please believe me." He begged, voice cracking, "I am nothing if not yours, I can't take care of myself without you, my life is nothing without you in it." You opened your mouth to protest but he continued after a heavy breath, "I remember you as the receptionist who didn't care who liked her and who didn't, but you were still so shamelessly human and it was, and still is, fucking beautiful to see, you are so dedicated and hard-working. I felt the only way I could even get involved with you was through anonymous lunches because I was too cowardly to just approach you. Why would you like me to begin with? You never once needed me, but I have spent years now, needing you so shamelessly and it makes me feel so small when you don't need my help and I lash out like a child about it and say things I don't fucking mean, at all." He took a deep breath, "I love you more than anything, more than life itself, and I never want to make you feel like anything less than a fucking goddess and I'm so sorry I fucked up so bad." You couldn't find words as he gave you a short kiss on your nose before pulling away, averting his eyes as his cheeks glistened and he focused his hand on your shoes, "If you still need time on your own, I understand, and...and I will respect that." He spoke softly, defeated, as he gently undid the tangle of knots on your left shoe before beginning to tie it correctly, "Is that too tight?" He murmured.

You shook your head, tears heavy on your cheeks, "Stop, Tae-Tae." You pleaded softly but he could hardly register your words until you laid a hand on his, making him look up at you.

You studied his face, tears fresh on his cheeks with stains beginning to dry from previous ones, "Baby?" His voice was so broken.

"You can just take off the shoes, I-I want to lay down." You looked at him as he met your eyes with hopefully ones, "With you. I want to lay down… with you." He nodded before gingerly taking your shoes off, as if to give you time to change your mind, "I love you Tae-Tae, I really fucking do, and it's so scary because I want to be perfect for you like you are for me and I feel like I keep falling short and so to hear you say that earlier it just…" You shrugged, not sure how to vocalize how you felt.

He sighed, "I really didn't mean it, but it doesn't change the fact that I said it." He began to take off the other shoe, "I do think you're perfect and I need to be better with my stupid fucking insecurity about it and stop being such a dick." He slipped the other shoe off before pulling you into a tight embrace, "I love you, so much, and I would give up everything in a heartbeat just to be with you." You held him back, giving him peace of mind after being so vulnerable.

Your body was exhausted as he carried you to his bedroom. You could barely help him as he dressed you for bed and tucked you in carefully before sliding in next to you. He cradled you delicately in his arms, not squeezing until you held him against you tighter, "I forgive you." You whispered against his chest, "I love you, I really do."

"Thank you so much, my Venus." He sighed in relief at your words, "I love you too, so fucking much." He leant down as you kissed his lips softly. 

Taehyung lightly admonished himself for a moment. He nearly lost you. He could never let that happen again from his own foolishness. He couldn't live without you. He would never fuck up like that again, and he wouldn't. He vowed to never make a scene like that. He had to do that shit in private, obviously. He slipped up, but he would not be so obnoxious again. 

Before he could continue to curse his stupidity, you snuggled against him, "G'night, my love." You murmured and he relaxed instantly, head cleared with only thoughts of how much he loved you.

"Sweet dreams, my Venus." He kissed the crown of your head and you hummed in delight at the gesture before he joined you in closing his eyes and drifting away into a peaceful sleep after one of the scariest nights of his life.

Thankfully, Taehyung never made the same mistake twice. Especially a mistake so critical. Who knows what he would’ve had to do if you were dead set on leaving him? Again, thankfully, neither you, nor Taehyung, would not find out. Not that Taehyung  planned for you to ever find out just how far he was willing to go to keep you with him, to keep your requited love, to keep both of your hearts beating, together.

Masterlist

Donate to my ko-fi (if you want to ofc)

[hillbillyoracle]

Some Thoughts on Why White Pagans Need to Heal Their Relationships with Christianity

Note: I've been trying to write a piece like this for months and the only way I know how to write this is to be very vulnerable and personal. So just please keep that in mind as you read this. It isn't very refined and it's something I'm still very much in process with, to borrow a phrase from my charismatic Christian upbringing. It's more a diary entry than a finished piece and none of these thoughts are original or eloquent. My hope it's helpful to see someone thinking through these things though.

If you're white and you don't want to further colonization and imperialism in your spirituality, then going back to Christianity in some form is pretty necessary; to do the work of decolonizing it's doctrines and to prevent taking from traditions that aren't ours.

This is just the conclusion I've arrived at after a lot shadow working in and around both my ancestors and my religious trauma. My ancestors aren't all white Europeans. But given that I'm white and I don't have any way to carry on the traditions of those that weren't, I feel like the best way to honor those non-white ancestors is to go back to the spiritual traditions I do have access to and doing the work of reshaping them into something less harmful.

I have read and intellectually understood that culture forms the foundation of spirituality and that when you remove something from it's originating culture, that concept or tool no longer works properly, if at all. In working with my non-white ancestors, I really got it on a practical and emotional level. There was this sense that they'd love for me to know their traditions but that it required an understanding that just isn't possible for me given my upbringing and disconnection - "you don't know the words and there's no way to find a person who can teach you" as one ancestor put it. It was an important reminder that "this isn't for white people" isn't merely a categorical assertion but a cultural and practical one.

They've generally asked I stick to practices I have a cultural grounding in when honoring them, even though it is not theirs - the cultural and linguistic element is that important to them. They would rather an authentic expression of gratitude and care through a ritual that isn't theirs rather than an imitation of one that is or being left out of my practice all together. Which makes sense to me in a relational way I hadn't fully grasped before.

In working with my white ancestors, I've come to more viscerally understand that the present understanding of Christianity is wildly different than other historical understandings. One thing that surprised me was that some of my more recent ancestors have expressed more discomfort around my queerness and transness than many of my older ancestors but both root their understanding in the Bible. I enjoyed one ancestor who, when I explained that I'm partnered with a woman, to mean that I would have a life of service - "no men to distract you from God" - which I mean is not wrong on several levels. It really highlighted for me that Christian doctrine is far more flexible than I'd initially thought. It challenged ideas I'd picked up through traumatic religious experiences. So much of what I'd assumed was Christianity itself seems to be more Christianity right now.

The historical angle is really important me. One of the things that drove my interest in Paganism was trying to understand what came before Christianity, to connect with whatever had been cut off in that process. The more I've come to learn about imperialism within Europe - how various empires conquered and destroyed localized traditions indigenous to parts of Europe - it clicked for me that my white ancestors did to others what had been done to them. It is intergenerational trauma in a nutshell.

It's also striking to me that so many people term the traditions pagans pull from as "dead" religions or at the very least "not living". For years I took that to mean they were "safe" to take from, that I wouldn't hurt anyone by doing so. But I hadn't really understood the weight of what "dead" meant - that there was no one left alive who could teach me, that I can't live in a context where all of the beliefs, tools, and traditions make intuitive sense. And if it was important to my ancestors who had had a connection to their traditions, then what was I missing by reanimating these traditions without that link?

I don't have a full visceral understanding of what I'm missing to be honest. I have a feeling that'll develop as my practice evolves. But that question alone has marked a pretty important change in how I understand myself spiritually.

The living and cultural element to my practice is more important to me now. For me, just given the family, community, and area I was raised in, that means Christianity is the living tradition I have access to and I've been revisiting it. I was reading an interview the other day with someone who is both a Catholic theologian and a practicing Buddhist. I liked the way he put it when he referred to Catholicism as "one of his sources of wisdom". That better captures my relationship with Christianity that's been unfolding over the last few months.

Making sure that intergenerational spiritual trauma stops as much as possible with me is really important. I had mistakenly thought that meant abandoning Christianity all together, that it was the problem. Which in hindsight, is fucking wild - I hugely fucked up there. There's nothing stopping me from just enacting the harm I learned in the context of Christianity in a different context, a Pagan context. It doesn't get to the root of the issue. At the end of the day, I just want to be sure I do not use my religion, any religion, to further the harms of structural inequality and colonial oppression. That's the goal.

In reading around about this, I've come to feel pretty strongly that one of the best ways to work toward that is to strive toward animism. Animism has been a great antidote to the spiritual entitlement that colonial religions cultivate (including white paganism). Animism also builds a relational spirituality rather than a goal/individual centered one. White paganism isn't inherently animistic since white culture teaches values that undermine quality relationships - individualism, competitiveness, and seeking domination of some fashion in order to feel safe. An animistic lens requires you unlearn those values and cultivate new ones - mutuality, respect, and accountability.

So all this is to say that given my current understanding, I think trying to build a practice out of New Age concepts while trying to avoid appropriation sounds impossible and hellish. I also think it doesn't deal with the work that needs done. I'm choosing to take an animist lens to the living traditions I do have to see if that's a better space for both my spirituality and my evolving understand of decolonizing to grow in.

People will rightly question my use of the term "shadow work" given this perspective. Shadow work is a problematic term for a lot of different reasons that are beyond the scope of this piece.  Where I'm at with it right now is that most western religious traditions seem to have some understanding of what we might call shadow work which points to it being important and useful. However they all used different terms given their contexts so I'm still unsure of what term might be the most appropriate given where I'm at. So for right now, you might see me use it less in the title or body of work I write from here on out, but I still might use it as a tag to make it findable. There's a good shot this doesn't go far enough and I'm not sold on this approach. Just know it's something I'm trying to figure out.

So that's where I'm at right now. I think white pagans really need to be more serious about animism at minimum and hopefully also looking at the role living religious traditions play in their current practice as well. I think white pagans' unhealed reactivity around Christianity too often serves as a justification for spiritual appropriation and furthering colonial harm. Changes are definitely needed. What that looks like in practice for individuals will likely vary a ton. I'd love to hear from other folks doing work in this vein. What's worked for you so far? What hasn't? Where are you in the process?

[eureka-its-zico]

Half Bitten Part 4

Prologue  Part 1   Part 2   Part 3

A/N: So no one really asked for a continuation of this. I just work on stuff when I’m stuck on other things and I love supernatural stuff. My only hope is that someone out there enjoys this just a little. As always, thank you for reading. Much Love, Jenn

Jimin X Reader (for now?)

Words: 8620

Genre: Vampire supernatural goodness

Warnings: some slight gore

The surge of fear that rushed through you left a sickeningly sweet taste of copper on your tongue. For that brief moment, as your eyes focused in and out on his figure, you wondered if maybe you’d bitten your tongue. A mixture of shock from the wound on your leg and the frigid air making your teeth begin to clatter unapologetically from the cold. That wasn’t even mentioning the blood loss from your wounded leg was starting to show itself: your eyes running over him in doubles when you knew damn well there was only one of him. The spyglass vision made it increasingly harder to focus, and the more you did focus on him the more you felt the absurdity at noting how attractive he was. 

From Jimin to Namjoon and now this guy, they all held on to that otherworldly energy. It demanded to be admired and touched: a dangerous game to hypnotize right before they stroked. A small part of you wondered if there was a convention? A secret meeting place to find the most attractive people on the planet and turn them into vampires. 

It was the worst, most ridiculous, time for your thoughts to shift to the absurdity of looks but it also felt equally absurd that you were running for your life. From vampires. You knew the fear that quickened your blood should’ve been enough to send your feet packing in the other direction. Yet, there you were woozy from blood loss and your limbs on fire from adrenaline. 

You were vaguely aware that your new dangerous stranger was edging his way towards you. Blood soaked eyes smiling to the soft hum of a song he’d originally hummed but was now breathing into the space between you. It was hauntingly beautiful and serene. The words took ages to reach you, but when they did your heart thundered wildly. A scared rabbit caught in the view of a viper. 

“Your scent is so pure. It tastes so rich. You’ll try to hide.  you’ll never get far. I love the chase. I’ll find you wherever you are.”

The words danced sickeningly sweet inside your head. The angelic sound of his voice almost enough to make you overlook the words. But your brain knew something wasn’t right, and it sent you turning on your heels and attempting to sprint away from him. 

You’d felt like a fool. You’d been so starry-eyed as you watched him he’d already begun to pace towards you. A delicate shift of his feet that practically left him dancing and a few feet closer to you than before. 

Your late response to turn tail and run; digging in and shifting you forward, hopefully, as far away from him as your injured legs could carry, felt too late. The sensation was so overwhelmingly it took everything in you not to scream. To yell into the void of the night for a help that would never come. The anxiety of not knowing when his attack would come ripped your stomach apart and your heart nesting snuggly in your throat. 

With every pounding of your feet into the asphalt the nerves in your injured leg sent electrical jolts of pain throughout your body. A screaming reminder that you were wounded prey, and the agony you felt now wouldn’t compare to the future he had in store.

You held on to a dim hope you’d had a chance of getting away, but with the first brush of a body moving past you, faster than your brain could register, you knew that hope was non-existent. You barely had time to register the second gust of movement, now to your right, and you weren’t able to stop the soft yelp that crawled free from your throat. 

His windchime-like laughter resonated around you as if he was impossibly close. Behind you. Beside you. All around you. The playful sound erupted and consumed you until it was the only sound you could hear. 

He kept toying with you, herding you, whichever way he saw fit. The progress you thought you were making to safety dissolved quickly at the realization he had you moving in circles. Your mind was now blaring warnings wrapped up in frantic thoughts that left you dizzy with panic.

He wasn’t safe. He wasn’t Jimin who was there to care for you. He was obviously one of Namjoon’s people. This mystery man who tormented you. 

RUN!

Your brain kept scrambling the words around. The flight of nerves urging you to keep moving not caring that you were attempting just that. The neon of the Chinese food restaurant that’s been on your right now seemed on your left. Had he completely made you do a one-eighty? 

There it was again - that clamoring of panic in your chest. It definitely wasn’t helpful, and it sure as hell wasn’t going to help save you. Just another thing to add to your growing shit show of a day. It didn’t matter if you were going to be able to get away. Realistically, you knew the chances of that happening were narrowing down slim to none. It didn’t stop your legs from tearing to your left back down the street, legs pumping, and started saying a prayer that you’d magically turn into The Flash. If vampires and witches were suddenly real it didn’t seem like too much of a stretch to become a superhero. 

Gosh, how you’d seemed to find a street with literally no one on it seemed horrifically convenient. 

“Silly rabbit,” his voice whispered down your spine and instantly caused a scream to catch in your throat like bile. 

Somehow, it seemed even the buildings were helping him play tricks on you. The acoustics of his voice bouncing around as an endless echo to disorient you from knowing which direction he would come from. That knowledge alone made a soft hiccup of a sob leave you. You weren’t even aware of the tears stinging against your eyes; your only focus on your escape and cursing your legs as they struggled to pick up the pace. You bite down on your lower lip to keep from letting one tear escape. You refused to give him the satisfaction.

“There’s no place you can run that I won’t find you.”

If you were feeling good about your odds, you would’ve told him to go fuck himself. The declaration is already solidly forming on your tongue and patiently waiting for you to send it off. Unfortunately, the odds were never in your favor.

You didn’t have to look back to know he was still giving chase. 

You struggled to stay focused. Your gaze landing on a liquor store - neon lights flashing with the grace of a motel vacancy sign - gave you a destination to strive for. The earlier choice of the Chinese restaurant now a thing of the past. He’d turned you around so much you weren’t sure if it was ever real. 

What you needed now was a home base that would possibly give a semblance of safety if only you could reach it. It felt damn possible. The feeling of the crazy bastard behind you somehow leaving you, but the anxiety of being chased still resided. 

You were mid-run, feet still lifted off the ground, when an arm snaked around your front and collided your back against a hard chest. A flutter of a moment passed, not long enough for his foreign touch to register, before your neck was exposed by a violent tug of your hair and sharp canines sinking down into the soft skin of your throat. 

That sob you’d held down ripped its way violently from your lips. Mixing together with a scream that shook through you and landed like an earthquake around you. His strong arms dominated you with ease, and continued to constrict across your body to keep your arms useless at your sides. 

The sensation was one that reminded you of your time in second grade. Mrs. Mann’s beloved python that sat motionless a majority of the time in the back corner of the class. You never seen it move until it was feeding time - never live bait - but even then you could still remember the abruptness and strength of the way it matched onto its food. The greedy way it swallowed its’ meal whole after its body made sure one last time the bunny was dead. 

This was what you remembered now as his arms continued to pull your body closer; impossibly closer. The hand that held your neck letting go to secure itself on your opposite shoulder. This man was your boa: squeezing his meal until he popped bones and killed every ounce of oxygen from your lungs.

The pressure was so great that it left your mouth hinged open. Your jaw unable to collapse, mostly due to your body howling for air. The flashing twenty-four hour liquor sign was a comical five feet away. The promised salvations hum of  low voltage electricity and spastic red glow turned into a blur. The tears you’d refused to shed now slid effortlessly down your cheeks. 

The only thing you could be aware of was that you weren’t breathing. Your mouth was still wide open, but your lungs refused to take in air. It didn’t matter that your body ached for it. It focused more on the sensation of a hungry mouth that sucked hungrily at your neck. The sharpened dog teeth that were sunk deep into the skin no longer ached. 

There was a moment you felt something hot slide down your neck and you wanted to yell. Your mind registering it as drool; not being able to comprehend it was your blood seeping between greedy mouthfuls as he drank. It was strange that after all this, your body was still aware of the placement of his hands. His arms still holding deathly tight, and yet you were placed securely up against his chest. 

If someone were to walk by all they would think was that you were just a young couple. Your boyfriend casually holding you from behind and laying kisses on your throat. They wouldn’t notice that the way his arms held yours it kept you from reaching out a pleading hand for help. At this point, you were so weak you weren’t even sure you’d have the strength to lift a finger, let alone a hand. 

The sting of his teeth that found their home in the hollow of your neck began to fade. Your mind was now only able to recognize the euphoric sensation that began to dance through every cell of your body. You no longer felt the need to fight him. Why would you when your body suddenly felt heavy and his arms so secure? 

In all the chaos of a few minutes the pain fueled down into an annoyance that went to the backdrop with the sensation of numbing pleasure. Whether it was blood loss, or defeat, your body began to relax against the undead stranger. A quiet urge to allow him to drink you down until you were nothing. You were sinking deeper against his strong chest; the euphoric feeling that coursed through you had now consumed you. 

You were vaguely aware that he was no longer holding you so tightly. An arm had found its way out of his hold and instead of fighting him off, it guided your hand up to his head. Your fingers now laced in his hair and holding on in pleasure. When your fingers dug and pulled against the hairs on his scalp, his arms moved to pull you closer but didn’t remove your hand. His mouth giving a -lord help you - playful bite that sent a thrill to the ends of your toes. 

And just like that, your lungs found air, and fuck - you moaned. 

A part of you hated the sound that escaped your mouth. That hatred growing stronger when you swore you could feel his lips curl into a smile. As fast as it all must have happened; it felt like an eternity. One you loathed and yet, were silently hoping would never end. You were so lost in the fuzziness of your thoughts, the sensation of him, that when you were flung violently from his arms the last bit of air you’d had left was knocked from them. The asphalt catching your body as it came to a painful multiple rolling stop. 

An eruption of a roar you knew came from the one who’d captured you: enraged at having his meal taken away was your only guess at how angry he truly sounded. You were too tired, too drained, to be afraid. The small part of you that was still capable of common sense knew you should’ve been terrified. To be terrified meant to flee but the amount of energy that would take was not something you had at that moment. 

You were barely able to muster enough of it to flip yourself onto your back. Your neck now alive with a bitterness at how rough he’d been. The feeling that was creeping back into your limbs made it inch by aching inch that it was not happy. A groan left your lips as you mustered another fit of strength to move yourself to your side. Your eyes landing on the one who’d rescued you. 

Jimin stood in the middle of you and the man. The other man who, even from this distance, plainly wore your blood smeared haphazardly around his mouth. A small amount decorating the hollow of his neck that he now wiped away in agitation. While he seemed particularly calm, annoyed, but calm Jimin seemed to reflect his opposite. 

Jimin’s body seemed consumed by a rage that reflected in the crease of his brow and the hard set of his shoulders. His jaw tight as he straightened out his body back to his full height. The other man before him appeared to be a few inches taller, but Jimin’s rage made him appear larger than what he was. 

“Jungkook!” Jimin’s voice rang out. The animosity in his voice radiated against your skin like a flame that threatened to eat you alive. “You dare taste her? Mark her?”

Jungkook didn’t give Jimin the satisfaction of answering him right away. Instead, you watched a coy smile spread on his blood-stained lips. His thumb dragging across the bottom and ended with it pressed inside his mouth. His tongue seductively working to clean up the mess you’d made. Jungkook didn’t let his thumb come back out until it was completely licked clean; his crimson eyes watching your face as he did it. The intensity of his gaze left an aching shiver on your skin and the heat on your cheeks enough to tell it wasn’t all completely out of fear. 

Jimin must have sensed it too. His gaze turning back to take you in at your current state, and finding your eyes glued to Jungkook’s position. The hurt Jimin showed wasn’t something that you could fully comprehend. You weren’t his to have. You belonged only to yourself. The person that he remembered, the woman he’d loved so many centuries ago, was not you. You were your own person. 

So why did the pain that rippled across his face make your heart ache? 

“You place an apple in front of Adam, Jimin and ask him not to take a bite.” He tsked him. The same finger he’d used to clean up your blood now teasing him in a tick tock motion. “You should remember: Adam always was a fool for the most delicious delights.” 

“She is not yours to have! You play me for stupid, Jungkook. I know that blood alone is not hers. Did you plan on making her drink from you?”

Your body became rigid as Jimin’s words embedded themselves into your chest. The fear that’d begun to reside came racing back and forced you to look at Jungkook closer now. You weren’t sure what it was that Jimin had seen that you did not. You feverishly scanned him until, there, the sleeve of his shirt that sat on his wrist was stuck to his skin. The blood there was still bright and fresh and only beginning to brown at its edges. 

It was the same side that held your head to him, neck exposed, earlier until he’d let it go. You’d thought Jungkook released you because he’d realized you were no longer going to put up a struggle and now the sickening feeling of knowing he’d meant to do something more ominous left you feeling nauseous. 

Jimin knew what he was trying to do. You knew from Jimin explaining about blood being a conduit that if you’d taken even a little of blood, Jungkook would’ve been able to find you. Wherever you were. No matter what. 

“I was only doing what MY King asked of me.”

“I could kill you for what you’ve done here.”

The playfulness that’d controlled Jungkook from the unfortunate moment you’d met him disappeared like smoke. His features hardened with a sinister look as he gave Jimin his entire focus. 

“You could try, old King, but you will fail.”

Jimin’s squared shoulders seemed eager to do just that until another voice joined the two men. 

“Now, now Jungkook. We don’t need an all-out fight on this beautiful night do we.”

You knew the owner of the voice long before Namjoon - the asshole himself - stepped out like magic beside Jungkook. A friendly hand resting on his shoulder until Namjoon moved to stand a few inches in front of him. But it wasn’t just Namjoon himself that appeared like magic from the curtains of the night. Two other figures joined at the edges of the men, making a symbol of an arrowhead, and one of these new introductions to this wildly fucked up play was holding the arm of your best friend. 

“Alice” 

At the sound of your voice it brought Namjoon’s full attention back to you. His brow creased in a momentary show of confusion at how cute you must have been looking: a bloodied heap in the middle of the road. He only needed to look to the man beside him on his left to understand your current state. Or perhaps he already knew. Jungkook’s earlier words of his orders swimming back to the surface of your recollection. 

Namjoon held you in his vision for breadth longer and moved his eyes over to the form of your friend. 

“You can still change her fate, Y/N. All you need to do is come with me.” 

Namjoon’s eyes held tightly to you: all of them seeming to watch your exhausted frame. Your mind struggled to comprehend what he meant and what it was exactly you’d have to do to change it. You’d barely been able to move up onto your knees. Your palms still needed on the asphalt of the road to keep you steady. Your whole body shuddered in exhaustion, but looking at Alice now, at what he had done was enough to make the exhaustion disappear and icy fury made your body rigid. 

“She won’t be going anywhere with you,” Jimin snarled. 

His comment snapped their attention back to him. You wanted to tell him yourself that you could make your own decisions. Not even he got to make them for you and yet, you couldn’t muster enough strength to care. Whatever you had left in you needed to be used to rescue Alice. Her lights still on with nobody home. 

“Jimin. I don’t think you’re in any place to be making threats, old friend.”

“It is more than just a threat.”

Namjoon took a step forward and splayed his arms out to indicate the men beside him. They were so caught up in their pissing contest. All you wanted was to know what you needed to do to get Alice back. All the way back and out of this trance he’d flung her in. 

“It took you long enough to come to your supposed “loves’” aid.” Namjoon’s words were filled with a sharp teasing; sharpened and dripping with sarcasm. “It took Jungkook using her as a snack for you to finally come running.”

“She enjoyed it.”

The heat in those three words were enough to send your cheeks heating with warmth and your eyes searching for the safety of the pavement. You wanted to shout your denial to Jungkook that he was wrong. Not a single part of you enjoyed what had transpired between the two of you, but that lie died long before it’d ever brushed your lips. 

Jimin must have realized it too, because now his earlier lividity returned. His eyes flickering with a murderous rage in Jungkook’s direction. 

“Hmm, maybe I should give her to Jungkook to finish what they’d started. What do you think, Jimin? Or I could always just give him Alice.”

Your head snapped back on Namjoon’s moving figure. His right hand resting under his chin as if he was stuck in a philosophical debate, and not the fate of an innocent woman. 

“You touch her and I’ll kill you.”

The coldness of your words stopped him short. Jimin, who’d been moving back towards you, didn’t take another step. You couldn’t believe it was you who’d spoken. Your own voice carrying a warning that was swept up in the air around you. Threatening something much darker than even you were able to understand. 

For a moment, you could tell you’d caught him off guard but Namjoon was quick on his feet. The hand that held his chin a second ago now moved to usher forward the man to his right. The one who was holding tight to Alice. 

“Oh, Y/N. Of course, I don’t want to do anything to your dear, sweet, and innocent little Alice. That’s why I’m giving you this choice.” 

The man whose face eerily held an angelic softness handed her off into Namjoon’s waiting embrace. Only taking a single step back; his dark almond eyes transfixed on you as if you were something dangerous, and not the other way around. His eyes speaking plainly: he wouldn’t let you do a damn thing to his King. 

“Stop giving her speeches of fairness. We both know you don’t have a fair bone in your body. All you know is how to do is take,” Jimin sneered. “I know even if she still says no you won’t stop hunting her until you have her.”

A flash of annoyance struck over Namjoon’s features like lightening and just as fast after it came, it was gone. His face smoothed back to its porcelain indifference. The only thing that showed his displeasure was the way his eyes were beginning to bleed crimson. 

“I would rather her to come willingly.” His reply was stated matter of factly. Namjoon’s eyes darting back to where you still sat on the floor and took a cautious step towards you. His hand on Alice’s arm forcing her to move with him. “But make no mistake, Y/N. I will have you. I will take you. One way or another.”

A scream echoed around you, and it took you a moment to realize it was coming from yourself. All the frustration. The guilt. Anger and grief that’d been building in the last twenty-four hours came out in a wave of exhaled air before you could stop it; before it could swallow you whole. 

“What will it take for any of you to get it through your thick stupid skulls! I am not a prize or some reincarnated lost love you two fought over because one was captain steal-your-girl. I’m literally no one! I’m just me.”

Namjoon released the grip he had on Alice’s arm and took another step toward you. His body language stating clearly he did not find Jimin’s presence between you in the least bit threatening. The pity that he showed you now, etched into the fine features of his face, only seemed to poke at the Amber’s of the animosity you felt towards him more. 

Why couldn’t any of them understand that you were not what they wanted you to be? You were yourself and always will be. And, at this point, you were more than happy to be your plain Jane ordinary self. 

He crouched down until he was leveled with your position on the pavement of the road. While he adjusted himself to your height you allowed yourself enough time to push up off your hands. Your butt now sitting on your calves and the pressure of the added weight sent the jagged pebbles deeper into your knees. As uncomfortable as it was you could deal. At least now you were looking him squarely in the eyes: no more cowering. 

“You really don’t understand, do you?”

“Namjoon.”

Jimin said his name as a warning. In return, Namjoon continued to ignore him. His brow furrowed tight at his attempt to intrude on his would-be heartfelt moment. 

“Your great-great-great grandmother is long dead. There is no bringing her back. Jimin and I have long accepted this. However.” Namjoon paused for a millisecond. Long enough to make your skin itch with the desire for him to hurry up and finish it. “The power that courses through your veins, Y/N it’s centuries old. Older than even she was. Your blood is what we are all after and the magic that flows in it.”

“I can’t even make a quarter disappear.”

Namjoon’s eyes sparked crimson to obsidian in a wild dance as he struggled to get his anger under control. While he didn’t seem to find your small joke funny you’d earned a snort of laughter from somewhere behind him. Even Jimin’s titled head wasn’t enough to hide the small smile that lifted his lips. 

“In time you will learn.”

“I don’t want to learn! What part of that aren’t you getting through your thick fucking skull.”

“That’s enough!” He roared. His face was fully changed now. All teeth and bleeding eyes with a power that shook the fabric of the night to its core. Namjoon’s change caused everyone around him to join in, until you were painfully aware you were the most human on of the group. “Either you come with us now or I rip your friends’ head open like a Pez dispenser.”

Your eyes zeroed in on him. The threat he made ruthless but one you knew deep down in your gut he’d meant. 

“I’d like to see you fuckin try.”

A mouth full of teeth smiled wickedly back at you. His feet obliging you by moving the few steps he’d taken away from Alice back to her side. Where she continued to stand patiently waiting like a zombie.  

There are moments in your life that don’t feel that important. These small decisions that you don’t realize put you on a deeper path to harder ones that you’ll have to make. Those small repercussions building themselves into a mountain of a moment.  

This is what it felt like now. All those decisions in your life you’d made suddenly seemed to expand like an endless sea of stars. So many of them that they couldn’t possibly be connected; and yet came together to create this constellation of your life.  

You watched Namjoon house the words you’d spoken in his mind. The way his face contorted into something that was worthy of pure nightmare fuel. The resolve of strength you’d had to tell him to basically go fuck himself was gone in that instant, because you were made painfully aware that the individuals before you were god-like. What could a helpless mortal do in the face of a god? 

Namjoon proved to you the answer to that was nothing. His speed moving him faster than you could process. You hadn’t even realized he’d moved at all until Jimin was simply in front of you; guarding you. He was now completely standing between Namjoon and yourself. Jimin’s hand catching Namjoon’s wrist; his fingertips milliseconds away from the tip of your nose. 

The two of them were locked in a battle of wills. The strength they commanded showing itself in the struggle of a dance of tug-a-war without any rope.  If Namjoon gained an inch Jimin was quick to take it back.  

“Move!” 

Without question you obeyed and were up on your feet immediately. Jimin didn’t give Namjoon another moment to force him back; his free hand shot out in a blur and connected with his chest. The sheer strength behind it sent him flying back almost a dozen feet before he gained back his footing. A snarl cutting through the air between them and Jungkook and the two other companions were at his side. 

Suddenly, you were painfully aware how outnumbered Jimin truly was.  

“Ugh – Jimin.” 

“Not now!” 

He waved you off as his eyes scanned in other bodies appearing from the shadows behind the four. Like a fool, you allowed yourself to hope that maybe some of these were on your side. By the way Jimin was staring at them, however, you knew that was most definitely not the case. 

“Where a little outnumbered here. Don’t you think!?” 

Was that your voice that cracked? No, no. You were perfectly calm. Super calm. 

Out of your peripherals you were able to catch a flash of movement. That flash was all you seen before teeth were inches from snapping in your face. A scream worked its way up your throat and was torn from your lips as foreign hands gripped your shoulders. You moved to block your face in a weak attempt just before those same hands disappeared.  

Jimin was behind him in seconds and ripped him off you. The two of them moved in a blinding speed of punches and blocking until Jimin’s hand exploded out the back of the other man’s back. Your hand flew to your mouth to stop a scream short; the gruesome mess left you feeling a bit lightheaded as you unwillingly noticed pieces of shirt and...other things dangling at the end of Jimin’s hand. 

It was a devastating wound. One that would’ve killed any normal man, but this wasn’t an ordinary man or a man at all. Jimin’s blow was only meant to wound, not kill, and this perfectly insane stranger was still trying to snap his way towards Jimin. His hands grabbed Jimin’s shoulder and used it to pull him forward. The movement made a sucking noise and made you question if the contents of your last meal were about to reappear like magic. 

Jimin knew the intentions of the other man and quickly drew his arm back. In the same breath, he followed it up with his palm slamming into your would-be attackers chest. The force of the blow sent him back like a limp ragdoll into Namjoon’s growing group.

“We need to get out of here!”

You couldn’t stop the panic dripping from your voice as you watched him narrowly escape another attack. This new body formed itself from the shadows and split free from its darkness with the flash of a blade. Jimin dodged each whirlwind of blows and strikes with an ease that you weren’t sure came from raw power or age. His attacker tried to switch up his attack by sending a flurry of double kicks towards Jimin’s abdomen. This must have been the opening Jimin had waited for. 

Jimin allowed him to land a kick to his side and when the man went to pull away Jimin locked his leg in place with his forearm. Jimin’s fist rushed in a speed of movement to land powerful blows into his exposed stomach and face. When the man tried to stab his blade into Jimin’s back, he easily grabbed his wrist and knocked the knife free from his hand. He was so focused on the knife that he wasn’t aware of the man coming from behind him. Your eyes danced back and forth, in decision on whether to speak or move weighing heavy on you. 

“Behind you!”

You decided on both. Your feet carried you forward as you shouted your warning to him. What you were going to do against a supernatural creature, you had no idea. You just knew you needed to do something. No matter how aware you were that you were incredibly useless in moments like this. Whatever happened when you finally reached him, you knew it was not going to end well for you. And that knowledge made your stomach turn until your body practically vibrated with anxiety.

The man with the blade was now on the floor under Jimin’s boot. Another came sprinting out of the darkness a mixture of snarling teeth and determination. Jimin used the man under him as a soccer ball and sent him flying into the other man. His body turning in a fluid one-eighty to to defend his back against another. 

You weren’t a hundred percent sure what overcame you. Why you felt the need to scream with what you figured was a war cry. The only thing that came out of it was now the singular attention that had been on Jimin now became equally shared between you. A man who’d been heading towards Jimin and the others derailed and was coming straight for you. Suddenly, that new found bravery dissipated and your fear sent the world around in slow motion. Your feet felt stuck in molasses; each step heavier than the last and a silent pleading for you to turn back. But you couldn’t turn back now. 

You braced yourself for whatever was about to happen. One minute, he was two feet from you, and the next he was screaming on the road. A man held on to the collar of his shirt and what was left of his upper body. The rest of him was laid out on the street in a mess of gore. 

The man who’d entered stage right held his own blade that looked more like a short sword. His arm slinging the blade back to whip off the blood onto the street. 

“I think I’m going to be sick.”

You spoke to no one. The words weight no more than a whisper and yet, to you, it felt like you’d been shouting. Crazy sword guy gave you the barest of glances before he was off. That blur of speed brought him to help clear the remaining men off of Jimin until the two of them were standing at each other’s backs. 

“Nice of you to finally make it, Hoseok.”

Hoseok, aka sword wielding-guy, had the grace to look embarrassed. Hoseok’s body bent at a stiff ninety-degrees towards Jimin who seemed too busy dusting off his coat to notice. 

“I apologize that Jin and I were not here sooner.”

Jimin waved him off. His eyes scanned the surrounding darkness and a part of you wondered what it was he saw there. You wanted to ask him, but the possibility of bad news kept you silent. 

“And where is Jin?”

“Waiting.”

What could he possibly be waiting for? You wanted to ask but in no way wanted anymore attention on yourself. A scream that demanded to be found sounded in the night around you. It circled around and asked to be followed. Your eyes locating the origin of the voice in a matter of seconds to Alice. No longer the vacant girl she’d been the last hour and more herself: the terrified edition. The terror in her eyes was enough to make your breath hitch in your throat. 

“V.” Namjoon motioned with a flick of his finger and the man obeyed.

V. He’d been the one who you thought looked Angelic. His eyes were bright, open, and reflected nothing but bad intentions. Pillow soft lips curled up into a sneer of a smile as he stepped forward. He dragged Alice with him pulling her with such force you were worried he would simply tear it from the socket out of boredom. The sounds Alice made to accompany his aggressive movements only solidified your assumption. 

For all the beauty their afterlife had given them, it did nothing to hide the monsters underneath. Even the devil was an angel once.

“Let’s speed thing up, shall we? Either you turn yourself over to me now, Y/N, or I’ll kill her.”

To prove his point, Namjoon reached out to take her from V. His large hand closing around her throat and lifting her up effortlessly. Her dangling feet struggled to kick him, flailing hands scratching at his arm, and to silence her Namjoon noticeably squeezed her tighter. 

“Stop it! Please!”

The words came out in a sob. Your body struggling to take a breath. A fear that if you did, if you moved at all, it would be all he needed to hurt her more. 

“If you want to stop this than I suggest you do as you’re told and get over here. Now.”

The previous cat and mouse coyness in Namjoon’s voice completely vanished. Every word he spoke sent a sliver of fear down your spine. You weren’t going to argue with him as the fight had left you the minute you’d heard her pleading. You moved to take a step forward and found your legs were refusing to move. The more you struggled against the sensation the heavier the feeling of sinking in quicksand became. 

“You aren’t going anywhere.”

The threat in Jimin’s voice was palpable. The anger that clutched his jaw made you want to instantly apologize for even considering leaving. Almost. Your own anger was bubbling to the surface finally and a hushed, “Fuck you,” rumbled free from your chest. 

“Why can’t I move?!”

“Because I’m not letting you.”

There was a split second where it crossed your mind that he had to be joking. You felt so sure it was a sick prank only to see no part of him was joking.

“What does that even mean? You aren’t letting me. I don’t need your permission.”

Jimin’s mouth opened but it was Namjoon’s voice that cut through.

“It means that this is pointless. You didn’t tell me he’d given her any of his blood.”

Why was he saying this towards Alice? Your brow furrowed as confusion began to roll through you in waves. There was no way your brain could comprehend what you were seeing. Namjoon’s arm no longer held her off of her feet. He’d set her down but kept a firm hold of her neck. And Alice. Your best friend. She no longer looked one bit terrified. Instead annoyance had taken residency all over her face. 

“Alice.”

You hated how little your voice sounded. How much it showcased the betrayal you felt. That annoyance that’d wrapped itself around her like a shroud only seemed to grow larger when she glanced in your direction.

“She never mentioned anything to me about him feeding any blood to her. Just that they’d had sex in a dream a few times.”

Heat washed over your face. A blend of anger and embarrassment with you not really knowing which one it was that colored your cheeks.

“Alice!”

Christ. Were you a broken record.

You might as well have been talking to the wind. Alice looked away from you and back at Namjoon. You couldn’t believe what you were seeing. Her eyes were strictly for him. A comical cartoon version with her eyes filled with hearts flashed in your head. And slowly, as you watched her continue to look at him like a lovesick puppy, a horrible realization began to spread. Your chest tight and ready for whatever heart break came next.

Months ago, Alice talked about meeting a guy at a bar. A night when you were supposed to join her, but lied about catching a stomach bug. She’d gone on and on about how he looked. She’d gone into even more detail about the way he’d fucked her. You’d thought he sounded like someone who just wanted a piece of ass. Hated him before you’d even met him. Now your mind was flooding with all the descriptions Alice had ever given.

It had been Namjoon she’d met that night in the bar. The night you’d ditched her.

Slowly, your eyes moved from her hopelessly devoted figure to the man who still held onto her neck. An unseen collar and his arm was the leash.

You never hated someone before. Not really. Sure, you’d said it nonchalantly in passing. Thought you’d understood exactly what it felt like in moments with people that you were sure the only emotion you’d felt was hatred. Looking at Namjoon now – you knew you were wrong.

This hatred was fire in your blood. It threatened to climb up your throat and release out from your mouth until all the air was spent from your lungs. Most of all, this hatred would only be sated by blood.

You hadn’t been aware that your body was moving until you felt a sharpness in your chest. Your hand moved up to clutch absentmindedly at your heart. Was it possible to feel your heart break and be this angry all at once?

“Y/N – stop!”

Jimin’s voice dripped with the command. A command you wanted to tell him to shove his commands up his ass, but your body listened nonetheless. You felt rooted to that very spot. You were too angry to make sense of this. It forced you to close your eyes and attempt to concentrate. No matter what you did you could not get yourself to move.

Jimin walked to where you stood. His body moved to stand in front of you and cut off what little you could see of Namjoon and Alice.

“Out of my way, Jimin!”

“No. You are too angry right now to see this is what he wants. It’s just another trick to get you where he wants you.”

“Well it’s working.”

“You need to try and calm yourself – “

“Fuck you,” you snarled. Your world was narrowing; wilting down to a tunnel vision that only housed enough room for two. “I’m done with being calm. I’m through with being scared.”

A snort of laughter brought your attention through the tunnel and landing on Alice. She was no longer held like a dog on a leash. She stood proudly behind Namjoon at his side. Her arms were crossed over her chest and her eyes stating plainly: you’re a joke.

“What are you going to do, Y/N? All you’ve ever been since I’ve known you is weak. I don’t even know why they’d even fight over someone as pathetic as you.”

Her words stung. Why would she say that? Was he making her say things like this to you?

“Alice. I know this isn’t you.”

Alice shook her head and moved forward. Her arms falling at her side as she regarded you with the same disgust she’d show a piece of shit on her shoe.

“And what do you actually know about me, Y/N? You’ve always known what I wanted you to know.  The person I made you believe I was, is all just someone made up. Imaginary.”

“How can you say that to me? After all the things we’ve been through. The things we told each other. You can act as tough as you want in front of Namjoon, but you and I know the truth.”

“Maybe,” she shrugged. “But how else do you think they found out where we lived? Why did it feel like someone was following you at all your favorite spots? I told him, Y/N. I told them everything I knew about you.”

That fire that’d raged in your blood smoothed into ice. The shock of her words rocked you, and you knew that was exactly what she’d wanted. Alice was not who you thought she was. She’d made that abundantly clear. 

That girl didn’t exist. And all those times you’d come home terrified. Your heart crammed so deep in your throat you’d thought you were going to die from panic. All because you’d thought you were being followed. Alice joked and comforted you into believing it was just your mind playing tricks. When, in all actuality, it had been her doing the entire time.

Alice was a major key player in where you were standing. Surrounded by a pack of wolves.

You were vaguely aware of Jimin at your side. The faded sounds of his voice beside you eventually grew silent. His companion, Hoseok, somewhere off around you. The two of them faced Namjoon and his men. In between making sure they weren’t trying anything, he sent cautionary glances towards you. He must have been able to feel it; sense it.

The flame of your hatred, your betrayal, that had extinguished earlier was roaring back to life. The anger far surpassing what you felt capable of containing inside you. A dark part of you wanted to scorch the earth they stood on. 

Show them.

                                  Burn them.

The softness of the whisper tickled across your ear and raised the hairs on your arms. The sane part of you – what was left of it – knew something wasn’t right. You tried to play it off as just thoughts. The sinister feeling a part of you, a part that all humans had inside them when they were pushed too far. But it whispered again. This time gentler and promising: “Show them the price for a Witch's fury.”

“I don’t know how.”

Your words hung in the darkness of the night as you waited for a reply. The cautionary energy was pulsating now. All eyes wondering if you’d gone insane for talking to yourself. But they couldn’t hear them. The women who felt like friends; relatives.

“Whatever you hear – whatever they’re saying – you must fight them.”

Jimin was back inside your vision. His eyes searching yours to see if you were still with him. You were both present and not. Lost to voices that made you wonder if he could hear them too.

We can show you.

                         We can teach you.

Let

           Us

                         Innnnn…

Your eyes looked back over at Alice. The one person you’d held the closest in your life, second to your own mother. Flashbacks of every moment you’d shared together. From special drinks you’d created on girls’ nights while binge watching ‘The Great British Baking Show,’ and ‘Friends.’ The two of you, drunk, and believing you could easily make a three-tiered cake from scratch. The trips you’d taken. The help you’d given.

All of it had been a lie. A well-crafted play for her just to hand you over to the very monster she proudly stood beside. Looking at her now was enough for you to make your decision.

Jimin must have sensed it. His mouth framed in an unfinished shout that never got a chance to be heard. Silently, you let the sickly-sweet voice know you agreed and suddenly you weren’t the only one in your body.

It felt like dozens of women – yes, women – were housed inside you. Each of them held their own rage at a betrayal they’d suffered. Each deceit seeped into your bones like a cancer.

Jimin’s hand reached out to touch you; could feel the unspoken bound he’d made inside you make a weak attempt to soothe you. It was a warm sensation that moved from your core and up. A ghost of a hug that was only felt by its warmth. 

He was trying to drive whatever darkness you’d allowed in, but your wrath - your hatred - was too strong. It easily pushed back whatever weak attempt he’d tried to bring you back, and sent your hands out against his chest. The force of it sent him flying back; his feet struggling to stay grounded as his feet dragged on the asphalt.

“We are not your playthings.”

When you spoke, it wasn’t just your voice they heard. Your feet that had felt rooted were now moving forward. Your hands that had trembled were steady as they went to the wounds on your throat. The still pulsing wound in your leg. Each hand moved into the aching wounds to release fresh blood in your palms.

A voice inside the chaos came forward. An old oak among raging storms and housed itself there to teach you. All magic flowed through a balance in the universe. You could not give without it taking. This was how balance worked. A debt was owed when you used it for something dark, and this price you would pay with blood.

“Is this some kind of joke?”

Alice no longer looked smug or amused. She looked terrified as she moved to stand closer to Namjoon.

“That parasite will not save you from me, girl.”

Your voice was dry and worn with age. You rode out her fear and moved to kneel in the road a mere feet from her. Your bloodied hands working symbols into the ground as you began to chant in a tongue you did not know.

All you knew was that the fire full of rage that sat deep in your belly would soon consume her. When the last of the words left your lips, a blue flame snacked along the blood you’d spread until it grew and grew; spreading wings to create a small lake of fire between you.

You rose to your feet and looked out among the faces of those that’d wish to harm you. 

                                            Harm us.

You watched as their bodies became tight with anxiety; some of Namjoon’s lackies fear seeped into the air like a sickness. Good. They should be. With an unholy shriek the fire that crept around them spread wide as your arms rose around your head. The only driving thought you had was that you wanted it to cleanse them.

The fire rushed first towards Namjoon and Alice. V and the other broody one you’d yet to learn of his name, quickly grabbed her and were gone. Namjoon offered you a brief look of irritation before he dodged out of the way. The sound of screams brought your attention to your left and watched as your flame licked up, up, and up until it consumed. The vampire with the fist-sized hole in his chest was now struggling to put himself out.

A smile that was not yours curled your lips and a sickening feeling of joy at watching him die made you suddenly grow ill. This wasn’t you. This hatred. This destruction. You didn’t want to be a murderer. The sickly voice that’d whispered reassuringly earlier was now hostile. It wanted to stay.

Your feet began to back peddle away from everyone as best you could. You had no idea where it was you were going, but anywhere that would be safer for them. You turned to start running again and held your hands over your ears as a scream shook across your skull. Only you could hear them and how they pressed hard inside your skull. The pressure overwhelmed you and made you believe at any minute your eyes would be pushed out. 

You’d only gotten a block when your body could no longer take the pain. Your feet caught on the edge of the sidewalk and you went crashing down. The screaming in your head had only grown louder and caused your vision to begin to blur. Maybe your head really was going to explode after all.

You turned your face to look up towards the moon and were greeted by the sight of Jungkook. His fist connecting with your cheek was the last thing you seen before everything went quiet and dark.  

[the-crows-typist]

Time for the 3rd installment of our Valentine’s Event with none other than, Vil Schoenheit and the word: Kiss requested by @twstdaydreamer This was very fun to write and I hope all of you enjoy this as much as I did.

CW: Alternate Universe: Cinderella and The Beast, OOC, Dark past, and discussion of the death of a loved one. 

This ficlet features characters singing certain songs so links will be provided for added experience. 

While some lyrics are gendered, the reader still remains gender-neutral.

Word count: 7843

Other works: Chocolate Feat. Jade, Cards Feat. Floyd

A Heart from Me to You

There once was a house as beautiful as those who lived in it. Its Lord and Lady produced a beautiful heir who, at a young age, strived for beauty unequaled to anyone in the mortal plane but at the price of the beauty of his own heart. One day, an old woman with a face aged approached the manor to seek shelter from the blistering snow…Only to be turned away with looks of disgust. This angered the lady, removing her form to reveal herself as a powerful goddess who cursed all who lived in that house with an enchanted rose.

This selfishness was what brought upon the family’s curse that when night fell should the family follow. The beautiful boy suffered from the curse the most, in his transformation did he end up killing those loved.

Now, cursed and alone, the beautiful boy lived in a husk of his own home waiting the days for the earth to take him whole.

“How tragic.” You whisper, sitting by the fire with a book on your lap. You enjoyed break times by the fire and being able to read by your lonesome especially when the winters became bitter in Pyroxene. You closed the book just as the head maid came in.

“Oh look at you, you’ve got cinder marks in your uniform. Come here. You must be careful, dear. The cinder marks are harder to wash off than you think.” She said and wiping the still fresh marks off your sleeves. “It was getting cold,” You explained. “But I’ll be careful next time, I promise.”

“Please and thank you.” She smiled at you the way a mother would to her child. “Come along, Vil will be coming home soon. We should go ahead and greet him.” You follow her towards the door just as you thought about Vil. His father was a famous actor that traveled but it wasn’t often that the two of them were in the same house at the same time.

“Welcome back, Vil.” Said the maid and you, bowing your head. “How was the trip?

Vil Schoenheit stood before you, his winter coat shining with fresh snowflakes and noise a sore red. “It went as it should. May I ask for some hot tea with honey?” You could hear the pulled-back shiver in his voice. “Bring it to me in the bath.” His footsteps were quick even in those high-heeled shoes.

“Can I leave it to you?” The head maid asked. “I still need to finish cooking dinner.”

You nod your head and smoothing out your uniform, ready to take on another task as well as the scrutinizing eye of one Vil Schoenheit.

Three knocks on the door and Vil halted in his actions. “Come in.” You opened the door, pushing the tray carrying tea and small biscuits carefully into the warm room. Vil had already exited the tub and dressed in a robe. Just as you had been taught, you poured a cup of tea mixed with honey and presented it to him.

“Thank you.”

Vil was a beautiful being, he really was. The way his body was sculpted and toned made you think he was carved out of fine marble by the finest artisans. His gaze towards you made you realized you were staring too long. “I-I’ll be on my way, Mister Vil. Please enjoy the night.”

“You’re the new one here, aren’t you?”

Vil set down the cup and stood up, the robe seemed to act like a flowing dress that flowed at the floor as he drew closer and closer to you. “I believe you’re the one whose mother passed last autumn.” You nodded your head with a sigh, remembering the stressful days after your mother was laid to rest.

Times were hard for you and your family, after the sudden passing of your mother, all of you had to make ends meet whenever and wherever possible. Your step-father, Mozus Trein, got a position as a professor in a known school while your step-brothers, Angelo and Donovan, set for the Rose Kingdom.

Angelo became a baker’s apprentice while Donovan became a tailor for an apparel shop. You stayed behind in Pyroxene, snagging yourself as a position as part of the staff of the well-known Schoenheit family. While the pay was good, appearances needed to be kept at all times thus why the head maid was often uppity with you especially on your first days.

“Yes.”

“I offer my condolences to you and your family.”

“Thank you…” You say and you look down at your shoes, your chest feeling heavy and empty at the same time. “But the tears have already been shed. All I want to do now is take care of my father and help my brothers.”

There was a smile on his face and he reached over, patting your shoulder with a damp hand. Up close he smelled of clean soap with a hint of citrus. “You have a strong foundation to keep yourself stable. That’s what I want in the people who work here.” He pats your shoulder again with eyes of judgment. “But these marks on your uniform…”

Ah, crap.

“I stay by the fire during my break times.” You admit quickly and Vil only shakes his head. “It would do you good to stay further away. These cinder marks are unsightly.”

“I will keep that in mind, sir.”

He pulled back his arms and turned around as you were about to take your leave. “By the way, I would like to reiterate something while you’re here because I know the other staff will neglect to tell you this one important detail.”

The mirror before him reflected his serious expression, you gulped feeling as if you broke a rule. “When the sun begins to set. Don’t go to the second floor.”

“What’s so special about the second floor?”

All of you ate on a table, the head maid serving up some warm cream stew. “Ah, that.” You gave your bowl to ask for seconds and she much obliged you. The old lady smiled to herself. “Nighttime is the only time Vil can rest,” She explained. “He’s quite the light sleeper so even the softest of sounds will wake him up.”

The look in her eyes was distant and smile knowing as she handed the bowl back to you. “Do you need anything else? We still have some sweet corn and roasted chicken,” she asked, pushing some more food for you to take. You sip at the hot morsel of food after shaking your head. “No, I’m fine.”

The howling winter winds that rattled your window was something you could never shut out of your mind. For as long as you could remember, you had always sought refuge in the beds of your family whether it be your annoyed yet caring brothers or the understanding tiredness of your parents.

Your mother was the best at calming you, though. She always knew exactly what to do…She was your first teacher, your first friend, your primary protector after the split and she became all the more lively after meeting Mozus, your step-father. And while life adjusted itself perfectly for you and your new family, it didn’t hesitate to strike tragedy at the calmest of times.

Your mother, after all the years she had been fighting and keeping her sickness at bay, succumbed one day in front of your step-father. Even with all the magic remedies and medicines in the world to keep her alive, there was no reversing what had already been done.

“I love you.” She said on her death bed, Trein’s hand never leaving his wife’s. “I love all of you very much. I’m sorry I had to leave so early.”

You and your brothers dealt with the grief differently, all three of them going off to their little corners for days and never showing their faces to you. It was days after the funeral when you saw your father cry, holding a picture of your mother close to his chest.

Since then, you and your brothers always needed to remind each other that they needed to be strong for their father’s sake. Angelo and Donovan spared no time in snatching every opportunity that they could while you stayed behind.

Vil’s words to you repeated like a record in your head, reminding you of how he viewed you. “You have a strong foundation to keep yourself stable.” The winds rattled and you brought your knees to your chest. Was your resolve, your foundation as strong as Vil saw??

Cutlery colliding against each other broke you out of your thoughts and startling you back to reality. Slipping out of bed and into your shoes, you made your way into the kitchen with your hands holding your coat tightly for warmth. The plates clattered amongst themselves and you hear the tap opening and closing.

You listen in the dark, waiting for the next noises. The footsteps were erratic and almost cobbled, the clicking of plates loud and sudden as if something was trying to walk. Had someone tried to break in? You hear the door to the living room open and shut and you poise yourself to follow but grabbing a nearby frying pan to defend yourself.

Opening the door, you hear the pair of footsteps climb up the stairs and you begin to panic. Vil’s room was up there! Whoever it was, was targeting Vil. Your movements hesitated, remembering the rule Vil himself told you.

“When the sun begins to set. Don’t go to the second floor.”

The dead of night had already come and everything around you was dark save for the lamps that provided little help in the snowstorm. You hesitated to move, weighing the options and their potential consequences. Should you stay and let Vil rest knowing a thief was roaming the halls or should you break the rules and protect him with all you had?

You bolted up the stairs without a second thought and the frying pan clutched tight, panting as you got to the top and looking wildly and trying to listen for the familiar intermittent footsteps. You turn to your side with you hear another door opening and closing and suddenly all the lessons you’ve learned grappling with your stepbrothers come back to you in a flash.

You inch towards the room in the door, turning the knob to open the door with a soft creek that makes your insides cringe. In the middle of the room was a floating flower protected by a glass dome, it was red-pink petals shimmering and lightings its vicinity in the same color.

It was mesmerizing to look at.

Setting the pan down to your side, you walked towards it with your hand stretching out to touch the dome that protected it. You dropped the pan entirely to take the dome off the rose, its glow, even more, hypnotizing up close. Just as your finger touched its soft petals, the window to your side blew open in a torrent of cold wind and unfurling the curtains that moved like the waves of a dark sea.

“I wouldn’t touch that if I were you.”

From the darkness within the room, a pair of purple orbs glowed and a growl preceded a warning voice. The intermittent footsteps of a convulsing mannequin were not far off and its happy face brought a lick of terror to your heart.

The creature of the night crawled forwards, its sharp teeth jutting out of its mouth and form menacing and mangled. The windows were soon closed and the curtains dropped to the ground with your foot stepping on the soft fabric.

“Give me the dome.” The monster’s long claws reached out for you and before you stepped back, you slipped; hitting your head on the soft material behind you, the howling winds and the piercing orbs fading to black.

“…I told you not to come in here.”

You stood by the door of your step-father’s study with eyes facing the floor. Angelo and Donovan standing on either side of you. The yellow light gave off a sleepy and exhausted feeling in the realm of books and writing materials. In the very center was a diorama of your family, toys he wanted to surprise the kids with.

And now, the surprise was ruined.

You could feel shame boil in you, it had been only a few months since your mother remarried and you had new brothers to play with…And now your new dad was upset with you. “Come here.” He said, the man suddenly on one knee, your brothers coming over to him in a hug and you followed soon after.

“All of you, such curious little mice.” He said, patting each one of you on the back. “Next time, I want you to ask for permission before you enter the study, alright?” There was a laugh behind you, your mother smiling to herself while she leaned against the doorframe with a blanket over her shoulders. She never got used to the cold she was born in.

“Promise me that.”

“Yes, daddy.” All the children say.

And as you relished the warmth of your new father, something wet trickled down your cheek. Your brother, Angelo, was always the sensitive one of your step-siblings and would not hesitate to stop the sibling tomfoolery the moment things go awry. He held you close, his tears accidentally running down your cheek when you moved, while Donovan sat in the corner with shoulders hunched over. What was once your father’s sleepy study was now the empty hallway of a hospital.

The wind rattled against the windows of the hospital, your mother had succumbed to the sickness on a cold day. And your father was getting everything ready for the eventual end.

“Kids.”

Trein came out of the room, looking older than you remembered. “Your mother would like to talk to you.”

When you turned away from your brother’s embrace, you were seated on the side of your mother’s bed. Her body was sickly and the cold messed with what life remained in her. She smiled at all of you and your eyes began to sting.

“I love you.” She says, her eyes looking so tired. “I love you all very much.” And soon the tears began to fall from her face. I’m sorry I had to leave so early.” You blinked at the hand you held, your mother’s hand soon replaced with Donovan’s as he pulled you from your seat. In his suit, he looked more solemn and his usually long and wild hair was tied back with a ribbon.

“Let’s say goodbye.” He told you and tugged you to the coffin where your mother laid. “Where’s dad?” You turned your head, your hand now vacant and the space behind you a void of nothingness. The door of your father’s study slightly ajar and the familiar yellow light spilling through.

Your steps were echoed and slow, approaching the room slowly. When you were by the door, you peaked through the cracks; your father kneeling on the carpet and holding a figure to his chest. The diorama you once played with in your youth was set up on his table, your mother’s figurine nowhere in sight. There was a held back sob, Trein’s body shaking under his mourning robes.

You took a step back, letting him grieve in his own time.

You knew better than to come in there without permission.

You woke up with a start and a sudden sting to the back of your head. Above you was a chandelier you had no memory of seeing in your quarters and a bed your hands never recognized. Your chest heaved when you pushed yourself up the bed only to be pushed down by the head maid.

“Stay down.” She says, holding your shoulders. The light of the new day filtered through the large window of Vil’s room. Vil stood by the rose with his back facing you, holding the dome to himself just as your breathing leveled and normalized. “You hit your head pretty bad last night,” She explained and felt for the bump that made you hiss.

Last night…

“Was last night real?” You asked, your sudden burst of energy was off-putting especially when you remembered the events leading to the memories you wished to never relish again. “That rose. Was it really glowing? A-and that monster—!”

The dome was placed onto the rose with a loud clack, the glass roughly hitting the marble surface. “T-that’s beside the point!” The maid scolded.  “Vil warned you never go to the second floor after the sunsets! Not only did you disobey one of the rules given to you, you hit your head while doing so.”

You bit back a hiss of guilt and opened your mouth to try to retort at your apparent rebellion.

“Elena.”

Vil’s voice was soft yet strict, eyes calm yet sharp. He regarded you for a moment while leaning against the marble table. “Let them be for the day, they’ve hit their head too hard.” You felt yourself shrink under his gaze. “See to it that they have little heavy activities as possible and prioritize that the bump is given care immediately.”

Elena bowed her head, her upset anger still very much apparent.

“Yes, sir.”

Elena’s nimble hands making quick work of dirty dishes. Your head had been bandaged with a compress pressed to where you hit your head. You stared at your meal with little appetite before poking at the grilled fish. “Miss Elena, why does that rose glow?”

The clattering of cutlery stopped and the head maid only sighed, shaking his head. “Always the curious one, aren’t you?” She turned around, leaning against the sink with arms crossed. “That’s one of Vil’s most treasured possessions. An heirloom that came directly from his grandfather then to his father then to him.”

Elena’s eyes looked to the side as if to remember. “I should know. I was there for every passing down. Vil is highly protective of it.”

It might have just been a coincidence, you thought to yourself, that the story you read by the fire had mentioned a rose but that was all there was to it. You ate your breakfast quicker after that. “I’m sorry for my behavior.”  

“Next time, listen to your instructions.” She said, taking the plates from you before you could even move an inch to help her.

The feather duster slid against the books, your toes tipping to reach up for the shelves above your head. From there, you took your damp rag and swiped it across the polished wooden table. Yup, this was pretty much not so labor-intensive but it would get painfully boring unless you had some entertainment to go with you so you sang a small song taught to you in your youth.

“A dream is a wish your heart makes when you’re fast asleep.” Your mother loved to sing this song to you and soon, to your new family. Trein especially loved it when they danced together in the living room when the children were ‘seemingly’ asleep. “In dreams, you will lose your heartaches. Whatever you wish for, you keep.” You closed your eyes, feeling the memories of the past come with the melody of your song. You remember the first time you snuck out of bed with your brothers to see your parents slow dancing together. “Have faith in your dreams and someday your rainbow will come smiling through.”

You’ve never seen your mother smile so peacefully nor did you ever see her hug someone so intimately before Trein, in fact, you’ve never seen her do any of those things with your old dad. She was happy. “No matter how your heart is grieving...”

You only wished to see that happiness last longer than it should have. If only things stayed the way they did. “If you keep on believing…”

You envisioned your mother holding you close, singing to you one last time. Just like how she did when could still hold you to your chest. Just one last time…

“The dream that you wish…will come true.”

Sighing, you leaned against your broom saddened by what you made yourself remember.  “Oh, I’ll never get my work done at this rate.” You say, taking your equipment with you and almost running out the library with a huff. Next to the fireplace, Vil lay on one of the long couches away from sight. It was only when you went out that he rose from his seat and hunched forward to let his hair cover his face.

He stayed silent, relishing the sound of your voice in his head.

During your break time, you decided to stay outside with a group of mice that decided to keep you company. You never understood why but the small animals around your area always seemed to be kind and almost human-like. When one mouse decided to sit by you while nibbling a small piece of leftover cookies did you begin to speak your thoughts.

“Is there something being hidden from me? Or am I being too nosey?”

One mouse approached you, listening to you at your feet. “I know last night wasn’t a dream, I know what I saw.” You say then feeling for the bump on his head. “It was real, I just know it.” There was a small squeak, one of the female mice touched your hand with her small paw as if to say words of reminder.

‘You’re stressing yourself out.’

Grimacing, you pushed yourself up and patting your uniform off the crumbs and dust. “I know.” You tell them and the mice look up to you in curiosity and concern in their beady little eyes. “I’ll be fine, don’t you worry. I’m a strong mouse just like you! I’m sure I can get to the bottom of this, I just…Need to find a better opportunity.”

The mice squeak in affirmation which makes you giggle. “Ahah, I’ll have to figure it out as I go along.” You tell them and look to the house, knowing that you had to get back in quickly. “I should get going, I’ll come back with some good food tomorrow.” You wave at the mice who give sounds of greeting as you leave.

What you saw on the second floor was real. You know it is. And you were going to prove it. You stopped by one of the mirrors, fixing your appearance quickly. “Huh?” Your hand touches the surface, small cracks brushed by your tips as if someone had driven something sharp into it. Looking up at the sky, you smelled frost in the air. Strong winds would accompany the night again, it seems.

The accompanying snowstorm was as fitting as it ever gave you a feeling of stealth. You always wanted to be a kind of spy when you were younger and here you are living the dream, though some nice gear and some goggles would have helped greatly. The wind blows and rattles the windows harshly when you brought yourself up the stairs.

“Tale as old as time, true as it can be. Barely even friends then somebody bends unexpectedly.”

You walk to the door you saw the beast. Placing a hand on the door to listen. “Just a little change. Small, to say the least. Both a little scared Neither one prepared. Beauty and The Beasy” Hesitantly, you open to turn the door to hear more of the beautiful voice. The room was dark and only the glowing rose giving light to the room around it.

“Ever just the same, ever a surprise,”

A mannequin hunches over a familiar huddle of fur and purple light. The movements of both almost unearthly yet the voice passionate and real…And so familiar. “Ever as before and ever just as sure as the sun will rise.”

The winds rattle harshly again and the beast bundles into a ball in Vil’s bed, the mannequin’s hands shakenly placing its hand on the shivering being. “Tale as old as time, tune as old as song. Bittersweet and strange, finding you can change; learning you were wrong.”

You open the door a little wider and watch the scene unfold. Somehow, it wasn’t your place to interfere at such a moment so vulnerable. “Certain as the sun rising in the east, tale as old as time, song as old as rhyme. Beauty and the Beast ”

The shaking beast’s form calmed itself and the mannequin leaned down, its monotonous face pressing against the mass of fur. A kiss goodnight. The cold of the wind blew through, the mannequin looking at you with its painted eyes. The silence was light and your eyes never leaving each other. Taking a step back, you pulled the door with you until it was shut. Everything was finally coming together.

Vil was the beast.

Breakfast was quiet and the wraps on your head were taken off. Elena made no move or sound to acknowledge you as you ate. “So the beautiful boy cursed by the goddess.” You could hear her hand grip the wet plates tightly and you knew what was coming but, at this point, you didn’t care if you got scolded. “It was Vil, wasn’t it?”

“You were given specific instructions never to go up there at night.” She said sternly.

“It’s him, wasn’t it?” You press again.

“Why are you so pressed on this? What good will it do for you?”

“The mannequin was you, wasn’t it? You were singing to that beast.” Elena fuming, slammed her hand onto the table and that was what made you pull back. “Don’t call him that.” She says and sighs, pulling away from you and straightening her back. “The next time I see you on the second floor, you are out of this house. Do you understand me?”

She takes your empty plates and splashes them into the water. Her breath was harsh and her skin almost sickly looking. A cough leaves her lips and her shoulders shiver. “Would you like some tea?” You ask softly and her shoulders hunch over.

“Yes, dear. Please.”

Just as you took the teapot from the cabinet, she spoke to you again. “Please follow that rule this time. Don’t make this harder for Vil than it has to be.”

You open the kettle and reach for the leaves, hearing the old lady cough.

You were back in the library before the sun began to set and adding wood into the fire for warmth. The snowstorm hadn’t let up since the last night and you were afraid that your quarters was not enough to warm you through the night. Using the heating pair of tongs, you adjust the wood in a way that it would burn properly and not caring if the cinders would cling to your uniform.

During the coldest of nights, you and your mother would love to cuddle by the fire and sleep until the morning. It only became a festive event with the addition of your brothers and your father. She loved the heat, the sleeping feeling it gave her and she loved it the most when Trein held her close.

Your shoulders sag, that was probably the only time you’ve ever seen him at peace. After that…Shaking your head, you push those memories away. You had to be strong, you had to be for the sake of your family. Reaching up, you swat the tears from your face. Your tears had already been wept the day she was buried.

“Stay too close to the fire and your uniform will get singed.”

Vil stood behind the couch, a warm blanket over his shoulders and hair despite being messy made him look immaculate. “I have a request.”

“What is it?”

“You can sing, correct? And sing well.” Ah, you’re not sure if you could answer that one wholeheartedly. Gulping, you nod your head. “I can sing, yes, but well, not really—.” Vil’s huff was hard and eyebrows furrowed. “Do not hide what good you have. It will not grow unless you expose it.”

“O-of course.” You nod your head and Vil closes his eyes. You noticed bags, his skin slightly paled. “Are you here because of the storm, Vil?” Nodding his head, Vil sank down next to you with a sigh. “The windows become too loud at night…I don’t like the sound of it.”

“I understand. I’m not much a fan of it myself.”

“We’re veering off-topic.” He looks to you, “Can you sing for me? At least for a moment.” The windows rattle and he closes his eyes again. You move, patting your lap for him to rest on and he gives you a look. “My mother used to do this to me. It beats having to lay down on flat ground.”

He is hesitant at first but follows after a few minutes of pondering. He lays on your lap, getting himself comfortable and you adjust the blanket on top of him. “Any requests?”

“Anything that will help me sleep.”

The winds rattle and his shoulders hunch. “Alright.”

“Oh, sing sweet nightingale. Sing sweet nightingale high above me.”

Vil’s eyes open ever so slightly, his violet eyes staring in the fire. Any moment, he would transform into the beast of the night. A curse passed down from generation to the next and yet, you stayed to sing. “Sing sweet nightingale, sing sweet nightingale high above.”

Elena had not been feeling well recently, her old age and the blistering cold made for one bad fever that she needed rest for. And while Vil was understanding of that, the winds that rattled the windows never ceased to let him sleep.

“Oh, sing sweet nightingale, sing sweet nightingale.”

But that soon changed when he heard you sing in this very library. It reminded him of the soft coo of a dove and the warmth of a wool blanket. “Oh, sing sweet nightingale sing…” His eyes felt heavy and soon his body became weightless, he yearned for the days he could walk out in the sun without fear of the night that was to come.

He yearned for the day he would no longer be afraid…

He yearned deep within his heart.

“Sing sweet nightingale…”

A black beast laid in the place where Vil once was, its gnarly teeth the same purple as Vil’s eyes. Your hands brushed the black fur as the fire crackled and spat cinders from within. The beast, no, Vil’s body laying peacefully on your lap. You move, leaning down to press a kiss to his cheek and his body only moving to keep warm against you.

“High above me…”

The enchanted rose glowed dimly, its first petals beginning to fall to the countertop beneath it.

Your eyes open and the wood that once fueled the fire was reduced to ashes. Elena stood over you while Vil, in his human form, slept peacefully on your lap. The two of you shared glances and you immediately opened your mouth.

“I didn’t go upstairs this time.”

She knelt, adjusting the blanket over the sleeping boy’s long figure. You noticed how his body looked in this position, not too lanky and not too toned…but skin so pale from the days he never went out. Come to think of it, he never usually went out unless he needed to. And when he came back, he would stay in for long periods before taking his leave again.

Suddenly, you thought about his parents and wondering if they knew of his situation. Where were they? What happened to them??

Were they affected by the curse as well?

“I’ll bring the breakfast here,” Elena says. “You stay here and watch over Vil.”

Vil had no qualms about eating in the library, given that the fire was warm and the meal was hot. It helped after the bad snowstorm that passed the house for days. You noticed he had a small appetite and a big penchant for drinking lots of fluids. Well, he is a model so you don’t blame him for following the strict regimens.

“You have a nice voice,” Vil says, putting down his cup. “Thank you for last night. I hope that my beastly form wasn’t much of a problem to you.”

Shaking your head, you quickly swallow the stew you were eating. “No, no, it’s quite alright. I’m happy you think that but…About that form.” You feel Elena’s gaze on you and you force yourself to bite back a lingering question.

Vil himself was also silent. “If they’re going to stay here then they should know.” Elena’s shoulders relaxed but her expression remained unsure. “Vil, are you—.”

“I know a person with ulterior motives when I see it.” He looks over to you with a small smirk and boy does it match the messy hair and too droopy clothing. “What we have with us is nothing more than a curious little mouse.”

And you don’t whether that was an insult or a compliment but your squinting eyes only fueled his laughter, those shoulders of his bopping under the protective blanket. “Then what I saw…”

“Everything you saw was real, down to the very last petal of the rose.”

You knew it! You were right!! A smile graced your lips and you sat back against the chair you sat on. Vil took a sip and proceeded to ask more questions, some of which you didn’t have a direct answer to. “Now that you have all the information you need, what will you do with it?”

You looked down at your plate, mulling it over. “Nothing.” You answer. “You called me a curious mouse with no ulterior motive so I’ll do nothing with it.”

Vil hid his smile behind the cup of tea and Elena only sighed, a small burden lifting from her shoulders as the two of you spoke casually.

Vil was moved to the second floor, letting him rest on a real bed. You look around the room, seeing it with proper lighting for the first time. All the mirrors were covered in cloth, some cracked. The paintings that hung on the wall looked immaculate, beautifully painted…Except for one figure whose face was splashed with black. Your brows furrowed, trying to identify who this person was.

“I assume you still have more questions, little mouse.”

Vil sat up, motioning you forward to sit on the edge. “Who is he?” The family’s portrait hung as a centerpiece, you could identify a baby Vil, and his parents sitting across from each other…But that one person standing over them; you couldn’t make heads or tails of it with all the black paint in the way.

“My grandfather.”

A long sigh left Vil, his finger tucking a hair behind his ear. “Before my father went into acting, he was part of the family business led by my grandfather.” He closed his eyes, imagining the warm shop that housed many items and the many people coming in and out to buy supplies. A small Eric would clumsily put grocery items into a paper bag and wrap it, his father looming over him as he collected payments.

“He was strict when needed but his anger knew no bounds when it was released.” Vil slid down onto his bed. “Running a business is difficult, I understand that, but these fits were often quite scary to witness.” Staring into the rose’s glow, the light formed shadows of a figure hunching over a screaming beast. “It led him down a path of ruin, they went out of business and struggled during the bad brunt of the storm season.”

“He wasn’t the best at controlling his emotions, was he?” Vil shook his head at your question. “Not by a long shot. That was the very same anger that led to all this in the first place.” He looked up at the painting with contempt as if the painting stared back at him the same way. “Try as he may, my father could never outrun the curse…Even after I saw born.”

You remembered the book, the story you read by the fire. “Then…”

Vil’s hummed a laugh, eyes blinking slowly. The shadows formed by the glow of the rose moved to a scared family and a shaking figure holding a shadow of the rose. “He yelled at the wrong people, made enemies of those with magic far stronger than anyone could ever imagine.”

The shadows drew dimmer, the beastly form taking shape, roaring at the rose with all its fury and behind it was a weeping family. It all dissipated like a breaking film tape under Vil’s sigh.

Now, cursed and alone, the beautiful boy lived in a husk of his own home waiting the days for the earth to take him whole.

Your heart felt heavy, remembering the last line of the story. “I’m sorry.” That was all you could say to him but he hunched his shoulders with a dismissiveness. “What happened has passed. As you said before: the tears have already been shed.” The rose’s petals fall to the floor below it.

“Is there a way to reverse this?”

“An open heart.” he looked over to you with a smile unable to be read. “That’s all.”

You hung your head, unable to say anything. Vil only wraps his blanket around himself tighter while you stare at the glowing rose until its ethereal color was seared into your memory.

There was a splash of water, Vil sits in the tub with you preparing his robe and other items. “The snow should have receded by now. We could take a walk if you’d like.” As days passed through the house, you and Vil had grown closer. Now that either of you had nothing to hide, the tension that once felt between you was almost nonexistent.

“It has been a while since I’ve gone out. Some sunlight would do all of us good.” He said, leaning back on the tub with eyes closed. “A day in the sun…”

“Indeed. It would be nice to feel some warmth.” You learned that you and he weren’t very different. Both of you loved music, loved the theatre, just anything to dance to. And you also found out that Vil himself had a wonderful singing voice, almost like velvet.

“All those days in the sun, what I’d give to relive just one. Undo what’s done and bring back the light.”

You found out that his mother passed when he was young and his father, Eric, raised him all on his own after his mother was out of the picture. He was Vil’s first teacher, first friend, his support clutch in understanding why he was the way he was. “Days in the sun will return. We must believe—.”

“As lovers do…”

Your voices mingled together and while embarrassed to admit it, you had listened to it to his movies while cleaning. He may have caught you a few times, though. “That days in the sun…Will come shining…Through…” His deep beautiful voice echoed through the chamber, you imagined hearing it in a large theatre. Oh, you were certain Vil would love to do that.

“I always wondered why you never tried theatre.” You didn’t need to turn around to know his expression. “Do you think I’ll make it there, little mouse?”

“You’re Vil Schoenheit, son of Eric Venue. Of course, you will!”

A comfortable silence followed his laugh while you continued to face away from him. The Zen between you two almost unbreakable in the warm bathing room. The flower’s glow dimmed in the emptiness and losing more petals that piled beneath it.

With the music playing in the back, Vil watched from the balcony after getting his fair share of sunlight after the storm had passed. The voice of his father was rich and melodious as his role of a man finally falling in love after years of isolation.

He watched as you trudged around the snow before going back to his room, not once looking at the dimming rose and straight to his television. “I was the one who had it all,” His father sang. “I was the master of my fate. I never needed anybody in my life. I learned the truth too late.” The first time he had transformed into the beast he knew today, he had scared the recently hired help.

“I’ll never shake away the pain.” They were very cruel with their words, to the point that it was Elena, of all people, who told them to leave the house. Though the terror had left, it left Vil with uncertainty and fear of his appearance.

Eric’s character peered out the window just as the heroine pulls out a horse, the determination not hidden from even the viewer. “I close my eyes but she’s still there. I let her steal into my melancholy heart, it’s more than I can bear.” And now you took that place. From the get-go, Vil knew you have gone through hardships of your own. He could see it just by looking at your steeled expression and the aura you held on your shoulders.

“Now I know she’ll never leave me even as she runs away.” Not only had you defied the rule twice, your curiosity only spurred you further on with your investigation. And even when you had all the information you needed and cracked the code, you did nothing with it. “She will torment me, calm me, hurt me, move me…Come what may.”

Vil stands up just as Eric’s character runs up the stairs, the spiraling staircase almost hypnotic from above. “Wasting in my lonely tower, waiting by an open door.” He comes back to the balcony and opens the door, seeing you and Elena hauling in the bag of chestnuts. “I’ll fool myself, she’ll walk right in…” The two of you catch each other’s line of sight.

“And be with me for evermore.”

As the two of you smiled at each other, the rose begins to wilt and hunch over with each petal falling from the stem. The smell of spring drew close, Vil took a deep breath in then sighed it out. When he closes his eyes, all he ever sees are the days he’ll spend with you.

And the envisioning of a grand theatre, the same one he first saw his father in. He begins humming a small tune, thinking of the harmonizing violins, the beautiful costumes, and designs. The rose wilts more, only one petal remains on its dying stem.

The days had passed all so quickly, the winter giving its way to spring them to summer. You stood in front of the theatre, your family next to you. Trein takes you by the hand “Shall we?” entering the grand theatre, you and your sibling marveled at the beautifully crafted designs, the plush seating, and the long curtains.

“It’s beautiful.” Said your father, his smile soft. “Thank you for bringing us here.”

Angelo and Donovan pushed along, overly excited for the play. “Come on, come on.” One of them says. “It’s about to begin! Let’s sit down.”

The lights dim and the curtains open, droves of characters coming in their beautifully crafted costumes. You see Vil in his costume, waltzing with another character in yellow. The horns placed onto him were just as beautiful as him yet, after seeing his breast-like form…It never stood a chance.

The stage dimmed when he took the stage, a single rose in hand. His voice was loud, pure, perfect as he sang the song of a man who found love after years of isolation. His expression perfectly encapsulating the sadness he had felt.

“I rage against the trials of love. I curse the fading of the light.”

You remember the very first moment he bore his heart to you, the moment he asked you to sing for the very first time. “Though she’s already flown so far beyond my reach, she’s never out of sight.” Gone were the days he hid within the confines of his room and gone were the days he needed to hide out of fear.

“Now I know she’ll never leave me even if she fades from view!”

He twirls, his eyes searching the crowd until he finds yours in the crowd. “She will still inspire me, be a part of everything I do.” The background behind him changes, the spiraling staircase he walks one moved at his every move until he reaches the balcony, leaning his hands to sing his heart out with a hopeful look. The both of you stare at each other as he sings his heart out, saying the words he wanted everyone to hear with a voice he no longer feared. “Wasting in my lonely tower, waiting by an open door.”

He breathes, the wind and strings instruments beginning their strong ascend in a crescendo of harmonizing and accenting melody. “I’ll fool myself, she’ll walk right in.”

The rose glows in his hand and he hunched his back, readying himself. “And as the long, long nights begin.”

Vil looks up into the light, his expression one of pure passion and love. “I’ll think of all that might have been.” And the grip on the rose tightens but only for a moment.

“Waiting here…For ever—.”

Vil lets the rose float out of his hand and ascends up to the center of the room.

“—More!” The flower burst into a rain of petals that add to his last note and accompaniment of the instruments.

The last petal of the glowing rose falls, the stem falling on a pile of dried rose petals following the applause of the crowd. Vil regains his breathing, his eyes listless as he stares up at the ceiling when the music ends, the curtains fall, and the lights go out.

You pass through the crowds of colors and thrills, looking for the familiar mop of blond and purple hair. “Vil!” You yell out to him just as he comes to view in the sea of people. His arms are ready to take it in, “You were amazing out there!”

The sun begins to set during the embrace, Vil’s face continued to smile at you and soon giving a solemn bow to your father and brothers. “Mr. Schoenheit, it’s a pleasure to meet you. That was a wonderful performance.” He says, smiling at him with eyes trained to your hands holding the actor’s. Ah, gets it.

“Thank you, Mr. Trein. I’m glad you liked it.”

“Vil Schoenheit, you’re needed for a picture.” Says one of the stage crew and Vil reluctantly pulls away. “Coming. I’ll see you later?” He asks you and you tip your toes to him, pressing a light kiss to his lips. “I’ll wait outside. Bye Vil.”

You run out of backstage and yet he had a feeling that finding you won’t be that much of a problem. He touches his lips. “So this is love…” He whispered to himself and made his way to his troop, readying himself for the pictures.

[missmentelle]

Hi MM/Bee! I'm a recent college graduate. I always worked hard in school and I matured a lot at college, but I'm realizing how low my self-esteem is. I'm obsessing over the things I haven't done/accomplished, scholarships I never applied for, my body image, my high school days, "not being as successful as my high school class", an old crush who I never talked to (who is already super successful), and some days I feel like I messed up my life beyond repair. How do I work on self-love? Thank you!

For starters, I think it’s important for you to know that you aren’t the only person feeling this way. I get similar questions all the time, often from people who aren’t even out of their 20s yet. It isn’t even remotely true that you need to achieve wild success by age 25 or you’ve wasted your life, but I can understand why so many people feel that way. 

Our culture is dangerously obsessed with productivity, youth and achievement, to the point that it is actively making all of our lives miserable. It’s not hard to understand where people get this idea that they’re failing in life if they aren’t a 20-something well-travelled millionaire - that is the message our culture throws in our faces all the time - and it’s so unbelievably untrue. We compile “top 30 under 30″ lists, celebrate incredibly young performers and entertainers, and hold up extremely high-achieving lifestyles as something that every one of us needs to be striving for, but we don’t - there is no timeline for “success”, there is no one true definition of success, and people will take wildly different paths in life to arrive at the same set of goals. What you think of as your failure is not actually your failure - it’s a cultural failure that so many of us fall victim to. 

I think it’s also important to remember that you haven’t messed up your life beyond repair: you’ve barely started your life yet. Your college years are supposed to be a time of growing and maturing, and that maturation doesn’t end the moment you cross the stage - you’re going to continue to learn and change and grow throughout your lifespan. And growth means you are always going to mess some stuff up - that’s how we grow. All of us have to make mistakes in this life, and all of us have to prioritize rest sometimes; there are always going to be tests we don’t do so great on, social situations we flub, scholarships we don’t apply for, crushes we don’t confess to, deadlines we miss, relationships we let fall apart and goals we don’t achieve. Nobody speedruns life with 100% completion. And that’s okay. Those missteps and mistakes are what teach us to do better next time, or they give us the time to rest and gather energy for the next goal we want to work toward. 

Of course, learning to accept yourself and let go of cultural conditioning is easier said than done. For many of us, it’s a lifelong journey, if not the overarching theme of our lives. I wish there was a simple way to achieve it. I do, however, have some tips that can help you get there:

Unplug from productivity and self-improvement culture. Going online and seeing “Shakespeare wrote King Lear in quarantine, here’s how to maximize your quarantine time” and “here’s how I became a millionaire by age 22″ is not actually that motivating - in all likelihood, it’ll just make you feel bad about yourself. The internet is an absolute firehose of content about how you can do more, achieve more, squeeze more out of your day, and it’s completely overwhelming; honestly, most of us feel better when we stop pointing that firehose straight at our own face. It’s easier to believe that you are enough when you stop consuming content that tells you that you aren’t. Self-improvement culture looks positive on the surface, but we aren’t actually making ourselves better people by obsessing over our work and productivity - we’re just making ourselves miserable. 

Ask yourself “who benefits from making me feel bad about myself?” It’s not a coincidence that we’ve built a culture obsessed with youth and productivity - that culture is making a lot of people very, very rich. Whenever you can be convinced that you aren’t thin enough, not pretty enough, not good enough, you can be convinced to run out and buy things that might fix the problem. That’s how we ended up with a $10 billion dollar self-improvement industry and a $532 billion dollar beauty industry. Content people are harder to sell to. Of course, knowing that people are profiting off your insecurities doesn’t magically make the insecurities go away - but it’s important to start thinking critically and asking yourself “where do my insecurities come from? Is there really something wrong with me, or is someone profiting from making people like me feel this way?”

Do things that make you happy, just for the sake of doing them. Paint a picture. Plant a garden. Learn to play the mandolin. Read cheesy romance novels. Find some things that you enjoy doing just for you - things that you don’t need to maximize, monetize or optimize. You don’t even need to be good at them. If you enjoy doing it, have at it. So many of us are encouraged to suck the joy out of our hobbies by turning them into a “side hustle” or another regimented form of self-improvement. Find some activities that just make your life better and do them, just for the sake of doing them. 

Examine the role of social media in your life. Most of us don’t post a complete, unedited view of our lives on social media - we just post the highlights and keep the tough stuff - the rejections, the times we got ghosted, the bad hair days - to ourselves. And even if you know that cognitively, it still sucks to log onto social media when you’re having a “blah” week and find yourself bombarded with other people’s engagement announcements, med school acceptances, wedding pictures and photos of the new homes people just bought. Social media forces you to compare your “average” to everyone else’s “best”, all the time. And the numbers don’t help - social media lets you do an exact comparison of how many followers and likes you have compared to someone else, and seeing someone get more positive feedback than you can sting. Working on self-love means taking a hard look at the impact social media is having on your self-esteem. How much of your time do you spend on social media? How do you feel after you use social media? Are you following accounts that make you feel better about yourself, or worse? Do you ever feel bad about the number of likes or followers you have? Do you feel like your time on social media is wasted? Do you follow accounts that make you feel better about yourself, or worse? Stepping away from social media for your mental health is an important move for some people - you can still be happy for your friends and loved ones while acknowledging that it’s not good for you to have their achievements broadcast to you 24/7. 

Surround yourself with good, supportive people. If you find that your circle of friends tends to diminish each other’s achievements, be overly critical of each other or go out of their way to one-up each other, that’s probably not a circle of friends that’s going to be good for you in the long run. Find people who are genuinely happy for you, and make you feel supported and loved for who you are. If that means you need to branch out of your current social circles, that’s okay - you can find great friends in surprising places, and it’s worth the initial awkwardness of getting to know a new person. 

Challenge your definition of “success”. Success does not have to look like a high-paying job and a giant house and expensive cars and 2.5 honour roll children. It certainly can look that way, if you feel that those are meaningful goals for you, but it doesn’t have to look that way. A doctor is not necessarily “more successful” than a poet, and a lawyer is not necessarily “more successful” than a stay-at-home parent. The only person who gets to define what a “successful” life looks like is you. It takes time to unlearn the social conditioning that “money and prestige = success”, but it can be done. Success looks different for all of us. 

Set goals that are personally meaningful to you. It’s important for all of us to think critically about what we want, and it’s even more important to think critically about why we want it. Do we want that degree program or that accomplishment or that job because it aligns with our interests? To impress others? To prove someone wrong? Or because we feel like we’re supposed to want it? Try to focus your energy on the goals that you want, that are personally meaningful to you. If that’s law school, great. If that’s selling homemade jam at the farmer’s market, that is equally great. 

Remember that success does not have a deadline. I know this is very hard to believe in your early twenties, but your dreams do not shrivel up and blow away the day you turn 30. Life doesn’t end when your 20s are over. You haven’t missed your shot, and you don’t have to figure everything out right now. Growth and achievement are lifelong journeys - people find their dream jobs, accomplish their goals, finish degrees and meet the love of their life in their 40s, 50s, 60s and beyond. The best book I read this year was “Where the Crawdads Sing” a novel that spent 32 weeks on the New York Times bestseller list. It also happened to be the author’s first novel, and it came out when she was sixty-nine years old. Your dreams do not have an expiration date. 

Capture the joy and positivity in your life. I think one of the most important ways to feel better about your life is to spend more time focusing on all the good things in your life, rather than focusing on all the ways you could be better. Rather than fixating on whether you could have applied for more scholarships or turned that B+ into an A-, spend more time reflecting on the happy memories you have of your time in college. Again, this isn’t something that will happen overnight - it’s a learned skill that you need to consciously work on. Interrupt yourself when you are starting to fixate on things you could have done better, and make yourself list out three things you enjoyed about college. Connect with old college friends you haven’t heard from in a while. Try to take more notice of good things in your life as they happen to you - take more pictures, keep a journal, make collages, start a scrapbook, keep a box of momentos. You don’t need to have a perfect life to be happy; it’s okay to work on being happy with the life you have. 

Best of luck to you! MM

[wordynerdygurl]

Skin Deep - Part 3

Author’s Note:  The story continues!  I appreciate everyone’s patience as I got this third piece of our tale completed.  I hope the wait will be worth for all of you! As always, please re-blog, share, comment and so on!  I’m accepting tags, so let me know if you want to be a Minx! I am also getting ready to celebrate a milestone here on Tumblr, so stay tuned for details!! I wanted to take a moment and send some specific love to two of my followers who, just by doing what great fan-fiction readers should, made my little life complete.  First, @iluvsumbucky​ ... this one, she read every chapter of “The Testing Kind” over 5 days and left the most meaningful, heartfelt reviews.  I can’t tell you how much it meant to me to see those comments and know that you loved my story as much as I loved writing it. Which brings us to @iamverity​ ... perhaps the single most thing a writer can hope for is someone to tell you that their work makes you feel.  I was paid this compliment and swear to strive for that in all my output going forward. Also, always, much thanks to @sammy-jo1977​ who had to listent o me whine while this one came together. Skin Deep Part 1 Skin Deep Part 2 Pairing:  Loki x Reader, Steve x Reader, Natasha and Bucky are around Summary:  Picking up where part 2 ended, Loki’s back... What will Steve do to keep you as his own?  How far will you go to find the truth? Warnings:  Angry, yelling, darker Steve.  Mentions of smut, property destruction, confrontations galore.

“PET!”  Watching you crumble, Loki was a blur of manic motion, moving with speed spurned by fear.  Knees scraping the antique rug, those long fingered hands cupped your head, keeping it from hitting the floor as Loki managed to catch you just in time. Malice, so foreign on his tongue, dripped from Steve as he rushed forward, “She’s not your pet, Loki.  Not anymore.” Crouched over you, protecting you in your delicate state, Loki stared down America's Man with a Plan.  Long hair swinging wildly, “Well, she’s certainly not your doll, Captain.”  Jostling for position, pushing close to you, Steve elbowed Loki harshly, “Like Hell!” With a flash, fully armored, Loki stood with you draped limply in his arms.  “Out of the way, Avenger.  You don’t want to fight me, not right now.”

Moving, keeping Steve in his sights, Loki stepped backwards, making his way toward the open door.  Steve, stomping forward slowly, intending to close the distance and eager to have you back in his arms, “Let me have the girl, Loki.” Growling a warning, Loki snarled, “Absolutely not.” “Loki, just walk away.  Leave her, just like you did before.”

“Captain-”  A sharp shock rocked through Loki’s back forcing his body to lock up.  Almost frozen from the burning heat blasting through him, his arms grew heavy, beyond his control.  There was no scream, only the perfectly round “O” of his mouth as the pain clamped onto each of his muscles.  Unable to support you any longer, Loki felt himself tipping forward, Steve stealing you to safety and out of his grasp.  Loki’s world went black as his arms were emptied of your weight. Gently, sweetly, your passed out figure is laid on your soft bed.  Straightening, Steve tucked the blanket under your arms, “Thanks for the assist.” “Sorry I’m late.” 

“Still, thank you.”  Natasha holstered her weapon, a strong taser with tech from Tony modified to take down an Asgardian, and cuffed the wrists of unconscious Loki.  “Think you can help me get him out of here?  Steve?”  “Hmm?  Oh, yea.  Sure.”  Distracted, Steve was looking down at you, grazing a hand over your cheek, tucking hair behind your ear.  It looked loving and tender to Natasha. “She’ll be fine, Rogers.  It won’t take us long to-” “He was me.”  

Softly spoken, Natasha barely heard the words, her head bent towards the alien god at her feet.  But something about his tone had her chin lifting.  “What do you mean, Steve?” “Shape shifted.  Glamoured.  However he did it...  Loki looked like me, sounded like me, was… me.” Natasha had an idea of where this was headed.  Bed sheets were rumpled, you were in a robe, your hair askew.  The unmistakable smell of sex filled the space.  Almost unrecognizable, Steve’s voice echoed a hurt that she had never heard before.  Not when he’d woken up, a man out of time and out of friends.  Not when Bucky was found, brain washed but alive.  No, this Steve sounded broken.  Wounded.  And wasting precious time. 

“Steve, let’s talk about this later.  Help me move Loki.  Fury will be here to collect him tomorrow at first light.” “She loves him, Nat.  Even as me.  She and Loki… they just…”  Looking back at you, tracing the swollen curve of your hard kissed lips, “They are perfect for each other.” “What are you saying, Rogers?” His sigh was a heavy, cumbersome thing.  “I’m saying… Let's get Loki secure.”

----

Fluttering open, you took in the lengthening shadows across the ceiling of the room you and Steve called your own.  The room where Steve had coaxed you away from your physical dependence on Loki’s love.  The room where Loki, appearing as Steve, forced you to reacquaint yourself with his addicting abilities.  Hearing Steve’s even tread on the stairs, you sat up just as he cleared the door.  Meeting Steve’s concerned gaze with your own, a gentle smile playing on his full lips, “Hey doll!  Welcome back!” 

Crossing to your side, long strides bringing him near, Steve lowered himself onto the bed.  Taking you in, Steve clasped one of your hands in his own, his fingers locking on yours.  Soothing, smoothing the damp hair off your cheek, “You fainted.” Your mouth was dry.  Unable to trust your rusty throat, nodding, you acknowledged his statement.  Fainting wasn’t something you did, but under the circumstances, you gave your strained mind a break.  With a cracking whisper you asked, “Loki?”  Steve’s look clouded at the name, as if he’d swallowed something disgusting, “He’s gone.”

Struggling, your loose robe falling open, a shrill tone that you didn’t recognize coming out of you, “Gone?  Loki just left?” Steve won’t look at you.  Maybe he can’t, but that doesn’t stop his words from sounding so strange.  You ask again, not understanding, “Loki’s gone?” With that, Steve focuses solely on your tear filled eyes, not the reddened skin of your clavicle or the indigo fingerprints rising on the surface of your breast.  Pulling your robe over you, covering the marks of passion on your shoulder for your sake, Steve shrugged, “Yes.”

Shaking Steve off, hands waving him away, “But that doesn’t make sense.” Scooting back, surveying you darkly, “It doesn’t?” “No.  I mean-”  Swinging your legs over the edge of the bed, a guilty look on your face at the appearance of purple on your inner thigh, “Why would he show up… and do what he did?” This type of behavior wasn’t like him.  This wasn’t Loki’s style.  He calculated, maneuvered, contemplated.  Risk over reward, pros and cons.  

No, he had come back with a plan.  Loki had come back for you.  As he’d promised you years ago, Loki was back and you had betrayed him.  You had betrayed him by falling into Steve’s bed.  You had let Loki down.  Would he be able to forgive you?  Could you forgive yourself? Fingers laying over your own, Steve squeezed them tight, misunderstanding the tears in your eyes.  “I’m sorry he hurt you, doll.  I should have been here sooner.” “He didn’t hurt me, Steve.  I mean, not physically…”, jerking your hand free, standing on wobbly legs, your sadness flashed into anger.  As you paced the room, Steve was forced to keep calm, even as he wanted to explode.  The marks of Loki’s love making were still fresh and just knowing that someone else had put them on your body made Steve’s pulse pound.  What’s more, you didn’t seem to care that you looked like a well used harlot, parading around, shoving Loki’s prowess down his throat.  With a raised tone, unfamiliar to you, Steve groaned in frustration, “Doll, look what Loki did to you!  He took advantage!”

That made you pause.  Did Loki cross a line?  Yes.  Coming to you as Steve, taking you to bed, making you feel all those delicious, dirty things… Things that Steve would never consider doing.  Things Steve wouldn’t be capable of doing, not to you, his perfect doll.  You should have known something was different about your stand-in Captain.  But, hadn’t it been a perfect combination of the two men?  Remembering it made your head swim, “I don’t know why Loki did this.  I don’t know why Loki… wasn’t himself.” “He’s not the only one.” scoffed Steve.

“What the hell does that mean?” Sighing heavily, resigning himself to the unspoken resentment he felt, “Nothing… I… Nothing.  Forget about it.  Let’s focus on tonight, ok?” Moody and on edge, you didn’t want to let it go, “Oh no.  You said it.  I want to know what you meant.”  Your hands found your hips, arms out like chicken wings, the air around you snapping with unchecked energy.

“Doll, let’s not.  Not right now.” “No.  Let’s hear it.  You clearly have something to say.  Say it.  Use your words, Steve.”  It was a phrase Steve loved to use on you when he felt like his sexual endeavors deserved more praise.  Now, you used it to goad him. "You let him-" Steve looked anywhere but at you, the memory of your body tight against his own, as a spectator, not participant made him bristle, “-have his way with you.”

Opening and closing your mouth, unable to find the words, shaking in your own unchecked fury and frustration.  "I thought it was you!"

"Did you really?", gravel filled and low, Steve’s anger simmered just under the surface of his perfect pout.  

You had a flashback, Steve stalking towards you, an almost predatory look on his handsome face.  He called you “pet”, pulled you to him with hungry hands, touched you in more than three places.  What you thought was, No, no I didn’t really think it was you.  But what you said was, "Y...yes.  Why?" 

"You've never been like that with me… so loose, so playful.  Loki could have asked you for anything.  Anything and you'd have done it."

It was a stinging truth, it’s acid filled tentacles wrapping around your heart, squeezing tightly because you definitely would have done anything that fake Steve had wanted.  Real Steve was right about that.  Dragging in a deep breath, almost afraid to ask, but needing to know, "How long were you watching, Steve?"

"Long enough.”

Searching his brooding eyes, you looked for the familiar light of the sensitive Steve you’d so recently grown to enjoy.  He was nowhere to be found.  Adding a pleading note to your voice, almost contrite, "It was you as far as I was concerned.  He tricked me, ya know?"

"You weren't complaining, in fact, it was the exact opposite.”  Rage snapped in Steve’s frosty glare as he finally lost the iron grip of his emotions, “You came for him!  Twice!" Matching his volume, “I came for you!” Mocking you, your breathless words of passion, “I won’t break Steve!  Please, Steve!  Don’t Stop!” “Steve!  Not Loki!  Steve!!  You said it yourself!” On his feet now, crowding you closer to the wall, his voice continued to rise. “You knew it wasn’t me.  Don’t lie!  You knew.  And… and you fucked him anyway!  Ah!”  Spinning, Steve yelled as his fist went through the door of your armoire, wood splinters and paint flying every which way. Ducking, you jumped out of the way, shouting too, "Jesus, Steve!  What are you doing?!” But Steve was on you in a heartbeat, using his super size to his advantage, “When did you know?  When did you know it was him?  When did you realize you weren’t fucking me?”

And there was the real issue, the thought hitting you like a freight train.  Cold, pea green, you touched my toy, jealousy.  

“Steve…”, his grip on your upper arms was vice tight, the vibration of his furious frenzy frizzling your confidence.  Your voice sounded so small, but it somehow reached through his envious green fog, “Stop, baby… please?” Deflating before you, Steve’s chest rose and fell as his breath evened out,  “Answer me.  Did you know it was Loki?” Catching your bottom lip between your teeth you nodded, whispering, lying, “No… I really believed it was you.” And that was the right answer, because Steve pulled you to him then, his mouth no longer spouting spite.  “Doll… I love you.  Seeing you with… anyone else, I just couldn’t…”  You heard him trail off, his grasp of you tighter than needed, but you didn’t dare move.  “I know honey.  I know.”  Feeling him press a kiss to your temple, Steve’s lips moved over your cheek before capturing your mouth with his.  You let him kiss you, kissing him back, eager to end the hostilities without any more destruction.  Placated, Steve’s chin rested on your head, “People are still coming over tonight.  It’s too late to cancel.  Will you be up for that?” Easy now, sweetly you responded, “Everything is pretty much done.  You just have to start the grill, babe.”  Laughing low, “Ok.  I’m going to get cleaned up and head out there.” Stepping out of his arms, looking up at him demurely, “Sounds good.”  Somehow you even managed a smile, normal and light, as if the afternoon hadn’t been filled with shrieks and shouts. Hugging you snuggly once more, Steve reached the door before turning back to you, “You need to shower.  You smell like him.  And, doll?” Frozen in place, you risked a glance at Steve, “Yes?” “Please keep yourself covered up.  You’ve got bruises everywhere.” Once Steve was gone, your resolve eroded completely.  Loki had disappeared again, Steve had lost his damn mind, and you had the nagging suspicion that everything was wrong.  Under the surface of all of these events, these wild happenings, was a connection that you couldn’t see.  Tears fell, hot and hard, scalding your cheeks. Over your sniffling you heard Steve’s steps on the stairs, thumping him towards the back yard.  Pushing yourself up off the floor, you saw the super soldier making his way to the shed, the little storage area seated between the house and the tree line.  Swiveling his head, checking for onlookers, Steve entered the security code, your first date, and stepped inside. Now, it wasn’t weird that Steve went to shed, per se.  It was his, on his property, and full of his stuff.  What made it weird was the glowing green light that flashed quickly through the windows after he was inside. Keeping vigil over that little shed for more than twenty minutes, eager to see Steve step out of that small space, your mind races.  What was going on in there?  What could he possibly be doing that would take so much time? Again, the windows glowed green and suddenly Steve was outside, shutting the door soundly.  He looked towards you, to the window you were gawking out of, but the sheer curtain hid you.  Satisfied, Steve moved to the patio, setting up the grill for his guests. Shivering through your shower, you quickly cleaned up, your hands running over the tender skin where Loki left reminders.  Steve wasn’t wrong.  You were covered from neck to knee with bruises and bites, stings and smacks. But how delicious it had been earning each and everyone of them.  

-----

He felt the familiar strain of shackles before opening his eyes.  Hands behind his back, some sort of water fed device from the feel of it, kept him from full use of his magic.  Loki knew then that Thor had provided inspiration for his current condition, even if it was unintentional.

Another set of cuffs.  Another version of prison.  Passing through his brain was a floating thought, What did I do this time?

Unable to dissect his predicament further, Loki heard the thumping steps of a visitor coming his way.  "Agent Romanoff… always a pleasure.  Are you the one responsible for my current-" shifting in his bonds, "-state?"

"You brought this on yourself, Loki."

Tilting his head, dark hair cascading downward, "Really?  And exactly how did I accomplish that?"

Natasha spread her feet, toeing the edge of Loki's cell, "I told you there was an easy way to do this.  Seems like you enjoy doing things the hard way."

Chuckling, if only she knew the truth of her words, "I do like it hard.  And rough.  And wild.  Just ask Rogers' woman.  Isn't that right, Captain?"

"Shut up, Loki."

"Why should I?  You have me here, trussed up like a stuck pig, bound and helpless.  What more can I do?"  His tone reflecting false innocence that neither agent believed, Loki smiled widely, seeming almost content in his confinement.

Steve ignored the rising ire Loki provoked.  Turning to Natasha, "Can you go and check on her?  She should be showering… getting dressed.  Make sure she…"  Now he glowered in Loki's direction, "Make sure she doesn't look like a whore."

Loki's answer was a raised eyebrow.

"You boys play nice until I get back.", her last words before retreating up the stairs, leaving Loki and Steve to stare at each other.

For a long moment neither spoke.  There was a lot to say, maybe too much, but both warriors were willing to wait the other out.  It was the equivalent of circling an opponent, only no one was moving, there was no parry, no thrust.

Loki, seemingly at ease, knew he could wait out the Super Soldier.  Roger’s approach was so utterly American, so typical of Midgard, Earthy.  No, it was clear that Steve didn't understand about patience.  Timing.  Not like Loki did anyway.

For his part, Steve was already battling a fierce fighter… himself.  When he told Nat that you and Loki had something special, something other, that wasn't a lie.  Steve would have to be blind or stupid not to realize the depth of feelings the two of you shared.

So the question circling his star spangled brain was this:  did loving you mean letting you go, even if that meant Loki won?  Or lying to keep you as Steve's own?

No answers came.  And that, the inability to settle his feelings once and for all, made Steve vibrate with uncontrollable anger.  Mad at himself for letting Loki get under his skin, under your skin, had Steve clenching his fists at his sides.

Furious at Fury for forcing him to use you, trading your broken heart for weapons technology, had Steve's toes tapping.  That he knew in his heart what he had to do, what the right thing was, even though Steve would lose everything… well that was the last straw.

As the electric bars Loki was kept behind fell, the deity couldn't help taunting, "Interrogation time, is it?"

Steve's answer was more feral grunt than words.  Loki followed him with his gaze until Steve crossed behind his broad back and out of sight, “You really think you love her.”  

"No."  

Loki's single syllable stalled Steve.  Had he heard the fallen God right?  Was it this easy to win you away from Loki?  Steve faced his captive, forcing Loki to look up at him, practically sneering, "No?"

“Love is too small a word.”

Shaking his head at the sweet sentiment, Steve's voice laced with unshed emotions, “I love her, Loki.”  Pounding on the skin over his heart, voice lifting with his bubbling anger, “Me.  I love her!"

Looking ahead, shrugging, Loki focused on the man before him, clearly in crisis.  Anyone else might empathize with the dear old Captain.  Not Loki.  What did Steve's feelings matter to a God like him?  

"Why couldn’t you just stay away?”  Questioning Loki, Steve wasn’t sure he wanted an answer, or, more precisely, wasn’t sure he could handle it.

Twisting now, coolly appraising your conflicted consort, Loki snorted, “You know why.  Why couldn’t you find your own girl, Captain?  What right do you have to take what is mine?”

“She’s not yours, Loki.  Not anymore.”  Bristling, Steve's words were steel, biting, brittle but it was a shallow shield.  Closing his eyes he saw it all play out again.  A loop of you, lusty eyes half closed, legs spread, lips parted as his body double brought you to paradise.  

As if he knew where Steve's mind had drifted, his half smirking smile rising, Loki cocked his head.  “Oh, I don't know about that.  She didn’t feel like yours when I had her cumming on my cock.”

Rocking on his heels as if he'd been struck, Steve challenged, “Do you have to be so crude?”

“Does that offend you?  I’m terribly sorry that my honesty is so odious.  Shall I lie to you instead?”

“I’m going to enjoy watching Fury dissect you.”  It was a threat, plain and simple.  Still, Loki wasn't convinced of its authenticity, no matter how much Rogers wanted him to cower.  

“Is that the plan then?  Cut me up, figure out ways to use me?”  Now, that was a troubling thought.  Torture was not something Loki enjoyed, having been on the receiving end of its hellish torments a time or two, and he had no plans to return to a testing chamber, thank you very much.

Nodding negative, Steve smiled back coldly, “There’s also all those Asgardian weapons, Loki.”

“Ah!  That sounds more like your Mr. Fury!  Drain my brain for technology that no one on the planet could hope to control.  Great idea.”

It was then, without real consideration, that Steve drove his fist into Loki's jaw knocking the once King of Asgard onto his side.  Loki, powerless to stop the sucker punch, had no choice but to accept the blow and allow momentum and gravity to do their best work.  His lip, exploding in a spray of blood, filled his mouth with warm copper, staining his leather doublet.

Spitting a wad of torn tissue and clotting red onto the cellar dust, "You son of a whore!  I thought we were doing so well!"

Steve, kneeling in the dirt, squeezed Loki's shoulder, pulling him upright.  Seeing the broken skin on his foe's face made him feel better.  Drawing back, Steve watched as Loki raised his chin, offering it up to the serum soaked soldier as a target.  Happily, Captain Rogers obliged him. Swinging his left arm, connecting with the sharp cut of Loki's right cheek, Steve felt the bone break under his hand.  Knuckles met nose as blood gushed over Loki's handsome face in a macabre cascade.  Still, Loki made no cry, offered no pleas.  Wordlessly he allowed Steve to pummel him, absorbing the blows of bitterness, stoking Steve's anger.

After a punishing pop that made Loki's ears ring, taunting, Steve offered, “I can do this all day.”

Wheezing through his broken nose, gurgling through the fountain that was one his face, “It takes a God, Rogers.  You’re still a skinny boy from Brooklyn compared to the cosmic forces at play here."

Pushing Loki flat to his back, towering over him, Rogers's own breath coming in pants of exertion.  "I could kill you.  For what you did today.  For what you've done."

"Is it your sense of misguided morality that stays your hand, Captain?"  Loki slurred through his split lip, one irritated eye swelling, as Steve flexed his rapidly healing fingers.

"No.  I told you, Nick wants you… alive."

"And you're always the good soldier aren't you?  Doing as you're told, no matter what you know is right?"

Turning his head away, Steve didn't want to see the consequences of his actions etched on Loki's face, "You don't know what you're talking about."

"Then let me go."

Slowly closing his eyes, Steve sighed, "Right.  Ya know, I'd have to be insane.  After what you did today?"  

"I came back for my lady."

Another flare of furious feeling flowed through Steve, instinct making him kick into Loki's ribs.  "She's not your lady!  God damn it!"

Curling into the new wave of pain inflicted on his person, “Oof!  Do what you want to me, Captain, you and Fury won't be the first.  Just-"  Loki, hiccuping softly as a lone tear tracked over his mottled skin, "-just, please.  Don’t hurt her.  It’s not her fault.”

Cold blood, coursing through his veins, pounded in Steve's ears at the idea that he might harm you.  “I would never!  I could never!  She thinks you’re already gone.  Left her behind like before.  And I’ll pick up the pieces... again."

Turning to leave, Steve's final blow, the most crushing, "She’ll never even know you’re down here, Loki.”

---

Digging through your shattered chest, towel clutched around you, desperately you searched for something to wear that hid as much of you as possible.  There was no sense in upsetting Steve further.  You weren’t entirely sure what he might do, not anymore. Mind whirling a mile a minute, your head was at war, silently cursing Loki and Steve equally for their behavior throughout the day.  Who was the more infuriating?  Right now you couldn’t decide between Loki’s cruel but carnal return, and Steve’s super soldier psychosis.

"Hey lady!"  

Snapping your head up with a shriek, "Damn it, Nat! You scared the shit out of me!"

Laughing lightly, stepping into the messy room, Natasha kept her eyes on you.  "Everything ok?  You seem… tense?"

Feeling your lower lip wobble, "Oh?  Do I seem that way?  And no.  Nothing's ok." 

"Tell me.  What happened?"

Flopping down to the bed, a dress clutched in your hand, you turned your filling eyes to your best friend.  Gulping quickly you started retelling the events of the last couple of hours.  Loki’s disguised return and almost immediate departure.  Steve’s over sized, out of character outburst, and the visible wreckage it had left behind.

Natasha let you prattle, bobbing her head and offering "No!" and "Oh my god!" and "What?" at the appropriate moments in your story.  Where the hell was Fury?  It was dangerous keeping Loki so close to you, didn't he realize that?  There was no telling what lengths he would go to in his quest to reclaim you.

When you had finished, finally reaching the moment she had found you, she was a million miles away.  "Natasha?  Earth to Nat?" 

Blinking herself back into the moment, "I'm just speechless.  Like, wow."

“I know, Right?”  Expecting some sort of response or advice, you scanned your friend’s face but something felt off.  Natasha’s eyes kept drifting toward the window, keeping the shed in sight, waiting for something.

And suddenly a thought popped into your head.  Something you didn’t want to ask, something you were afraid to answer.  Steve’s shindig was still an hour away from beginning, everyone was supposed to come up from the city together.  So, why was she already here? Feeling you shift away from her, just an inch or two of distance on the bedspread, Natash knew you were putting pieces together.  It was something she had seen before.  The moment a captive subject realized she wasn’t the good cop or the bad cop.  

“I’m going to need my sandals.  I think they’re in the room across the hall.  Hang here a minute, ok?”  Sounding bright and breezy, you went to stand, stopping with Natasha’s forceful tug on your wrist. “No.” “No? Come on, Nat…”  Pulling free of her grip, well trying to, your false smile slipping as you took a step backwards. Shaking her head, the woman who was your best friend swung you back towards the mattress, “Put on your dress.  Do your makeup. Finish getting yourself ready.” You were meeting the Black Widow for the first time.  Calculating, poisonous and cold.  Shivering at Natasha’s icy tone,  “Are you asking me or telling me?” Cocking her head, sending her blunt bob swinging, the look she gave you was answer enough.  “You’re going to sit here until Steve comes to get you.”

“Can you… will you at least give me the room?”  Natasha gave you a half nod before exiting, shutting the door behind her.  Waiting to hear her footsteps, a sign that she had drifted downstairs, you were disappointed to learn she was standing guard.  Of course it wouldn’t look that way to anyone but you.  No, to everyone else it would seem like your bestie was waiting for you to finish up, eager to get the party started. Pacing to the window, looking down like a princess trapped in a tower, you saw Steve chatting with Bucky the unsurprising first to arrive.  Your gaze kept drifting to that shed, more than certain that it contained the answers you needed, and that somehow, someway, you had to get into that space.  But first you had to get dressed.  

Drawing panties up your legs, you started getting yourself put together.  Next came the matching bra, the cups covering the fingerprints Loki left behind.  Shrugging into your maxi length wrap dress, the emerald green one with a sash belt that felt like a soft tee shirt, you at least felt pretty even if your heart was heavy. Willing yourself not to cry, you swiped eye shadow over your lids just like you’ve done countless times before.  Mascara, a pop of red lipstick, but no blush.  You didn’t need it.   

As you push your earring into place the door creaks open.  Steve, looking sheepish, rests a hip against your dresser watching you do all the little things that complete your look for the night.  He’s smiling sweetly, adoringly, in a way that’s meant to prove that he’s ready to put the day’s events behind you both. “You look… beautiful, doll.” “Thank you.”  Keeping it simple, you don’t let your stare linger on him, instead you sink down to buckle your strappy sandals in place.  Kneeling down at your feet, Steve lifts the second shoe, Prince Charming style.  And if today hadn’t been today, you might have felt moved by his gesture.  Now, more than ever, if solidified the idea that you were a kept thing, the princess, locked in a castle tower to be hidden away from the rest of the world. 

Only Steve wasn’t your prince.  He was the Lord of the Manner, to be obeyed in all things, keeping you behind closed doors.  Natasha, she was his enforcer, the knight guarding his treasure.  Oh, how you wanted to be rescued. Mortified and hurt, feeling trapped like a pent up tiger in a cage, you turn towards the door, "Where do you think you're going?" At Steve’s words you pause.  Worry must show on your face because he leans into you, brushing a kiss across your temple, wrapping your hand in his.  “You can’t go anywhere without me.” And it’s meant to reassure you.  That’s what Steve’s body language wants to convey.  Protector, defender, keeping you safe and secure.  On the landing you’re flanked by Natasha, pinned between them both, as you make your way down to the small gathering of guests already sipping sangria under the pretty lights you put out.

Pepper is the first to grab you and for a beat Steve doesn’t let go of your fingers, instead pressing a possessive kiss to the back of your hand.  “Don’t you look beautiful!  Captain, you can’t keep her all to yourself, you know!”, gathering you to her in a tight hug is almost enough to make you cry.  It’s the love you had expected from your best friend but been denied. Warily, watchfully, Steve works the crowd.  He’s poured beers for the boys and slapped steaks on the grill.  Natasha is chatting with Clint, but you feel her eyes on you just the same.  No one else is aware of the scrutiny you’re under and you realize that you’re dealing with two super spies who are great at what they do for a living.  Getting to the shed unnoticed is going to be difficult, but you’re going to make it happen even if it kills you, and it just might. Soft music is playing, the air is honeysuckle scented and in some other dimension, tonight is perfect.  Still, you can’t keep your thoughts on the party.  You’re waiting for a chance to sneak away, even as you make small talk with Wanda, “Oh, thank you!  I’m glad you like them, it’s a family recipe.” “Doll?  Got a second?”  You’d hardly have thought that Bucky Barnes would be your salvation, and yet, it’s his soft voice that pulls you away from the group in a way that doesn’t arouse suspicion.  Setting down your own glass, you tilt your head to Bucky, flashing Steve a small smile.  He returns it with a little nod, giving you the go ahead before you follow Bucky into the kitchen.   Reaching into the cabinet, you grab two shot glasses and the bottle from the freezer, “I kept the good stuff for us!” Bucky, chuckling low, pours out two icy vodkas.  Clinking your glass to his, you tip the alcohol down your throat, enjoying the white hot burn as it hits your belly.  Holding your cup out, Bucky refills it, “You ok, doll?” “Yea?  Why?” Raising his dark eyebrows, “You’re quiet.” “So?”  Defensiveness laced your response.

“Um… that’s just not like you.  I thought that tonight you’d be… relaxed.” Twirling your recently emptied shot glass, purposefully not looking into the brilliant blue eyes in front of you, “I’ve just got a lot on my mind today.” “I can imagine.  Steve told me about… Loki.” “He did?  What did he say?” Another heavy pour, another downed shot, and Bucky answered, “That he had come to see you.  Riled you up.” “That’s it?”

Bucky, catching your gaze held it, “No.  He’s afraid of losing you.  He loves you so much, you know?” “Ha!”  It burst out of you, unrestrained, and once the uncomfortable bubble popped it couldn’t be stopped.  Laughing uncontrollably now, you clutched the counter, knees buckling as you tried to stifle the giggles.  Hearing Bucky join you, that chortle of his gaining strength as the vodka took hold, only kept your own laughter going. “Bucky!  I’m gonna pee my pants!  Oh god!”  

Keeping your knees locked, scuttling to the bathroom, you ducked inside.  You heard the Winter Soldier fix himself another drink and shut the freezer door, “Doll, I’ll see you outside!”

Letting yourself out the front door, you snuck around the side of the house, entering again through the wide gate.  From this side, the shed was easy to access, and just far enough away from the noise of the party to keep you hidden from view.  You were also trusting Bucky to report your need for the bathroom, buying you a few minutes of snooping time, before you’d need to be back under the watchful eyes of Steve. Punching in the security code, the lock clicking gently, you pushed into the small room where all the landscaping and hand tools lived.  Smelling of gasoline and mold, the place was neat, but dirty, built solely for storage.  You were ready to give up your searching when you noticed footprints in the dust.  

Not just Steve’s boots either.  No, there was Natasha’s feminine foot shape as well as the long tapered outline of a third person’s shoe.  But that didn’t add up.  Following the tracks around a small work table you noticed a rug, still kicked up at the corner, where the footprints stopped.  Now, you were no Nancy Drew, out there solving the case of the extra footsteps in the shed.  It just all was too perfect, the clues matching up too well to be an accident. Rolling up the carpet revealed a small latch that sprung free with little effort.  In the gloom below, glowing faintly, was the same green light you remembered from Steve’s visit here.  Something about that light was familiar to your person.  It called to you and after swallowing a small wave of fear you used the narrow ladder like steps to descend into the murky space below. You didn’t need a flashlight.  What was in front of you illuminated the whole cellar with ghastly green light.  Narrow columns of light stretched from floor to ceiling, crackling with power, keeping you away from the shadowed prisoner on the other side. Realization, hitting you like a brick, brought burning bile to your throat.  You recognized the figure on the floor in front you, even with his purpled face and swollen eye, “LOKI!” “Oh, hello pet.” Getting as close to the shimmering bars as you safely could, “Oh god, Loki!  What’s happened?  I thought you left?  Steve told me you left!” “You thought I left?  That’s ludicrous.  I just got back.”, voice still rasping, Loki surveyed you from his good eye.

“What’s happening here?  I… I just don’t understand.” Sighing deeply, Loki rolled his still visible eye, “Can you turn off these ridiculous bars?  I can’t use my magic with all this… interference.” Spying the control panel across the room, you studied it for a moment before entering a set of numbers.  It wasn’t difficult to crack Steve’s code.  This one was your birthday.  Instantly the laser grid dropped, giving you access to the battered man cuffed on the dirt floor.  Wasting no time, you flung yourself towards Loki, your arms circling his neck as you kissed his split lips.  Falling into the dirt beside him, you clung to Loki, squeezing him until he begged to be let go. “Pet!  Please!  The cuffs, if you can release them I can heal myself.” Looking at the fancy restraint holding Loki’s wrists tightly, you didn’t find a keyhole, but rather a complex latch mechanism.  Pulling your earring free, you used the post to push open the catch, a whirring sound rising as the metal and liquid let go.  Laughing, “That should not have worked.” “It was created by men who don’t take women into account.  Of course your female magic would best them, darling.”

Loki turned your face to his, cupping your cheek, “Oh gods, I missed you.” Scalding tears began to flow, “I’m so sorry Loki.  I knew you were coming back.  I knew it… and still…” “Hush.  Hush now.  You were purposely misled, pet.  Rogers, Romanoff, Fury.  I was communicating with them the entire time.  And for their own reasons they kept you in the dark.”  Rocking together in the dank gloom of the shed, you let Loki hold you which is exactly what he had wanted to do for years now.

---

“Buck?  Where’s our girl?”  Trying to keep his voice light, Steve was battling internally, feeling that familiar pulse of anger start to throb. “Bathroom.  Give her a minute, we were hitting the Goose pretty hard.” Natasha was already on the move, pushing through the screen door, stomping through the kitchen.  Finding the bathroom empty, like she knew she would, Nat stopped for a second.  Where would you go? Steve was already moving towards the shed, knowing, somehow that you’d find your way there eventually.  “Just going to grab more champagne!  Hang tight!  Bucky, don’t let that chicken burn!” Meeting Natasha at the door, the two Avengers wordlessly agreeing to a covert attack plan, Steve entering the pin code.  Soundless, they sweep the space, finding it empty.  Steve, stopping short at the edge of the carpet, the cellar door still open to the darkness below.    

Lifting his wide eyes to Natasha, “They’re gone.” 

~ Part Four Coming Soon~ My Like Minded Minxes:  @sammy-jo1977 @vodka-and-some-sass @just-random-obsessions @brokenthelovely @lots-of-loki @thefallenbibliophilequote @iamverity @iluvsumbucky @unadulteratedwizardlove @wolfsmom1 @procrastinatinglikeabitch @mizfit2 @shxdowofdarkness @nonsensicalobsessions @ahintofkiwistrawberry @alexakeyloveloki @jessiejunebug @rorybutnotgilmore @crystalizedcaramel @lokislittlecorner @scrumptious-finicky-illusion @capcapcapsicle @jamielea81 @caffiend-queen @thenatalie 

[glumpiglet]

Beetlejuice meeting his S/O and shes a ghost?

Hi..Thank you for the request.. I had a lot of fun with this one.. It really got away from me lol I hope you like it <3 to those who requested I havent forgotten about you, it’s just easier for me to write on the weekend when I’m not working. K love you guys

Warning: bit of swearing.. basic beej innuendos... thats it.

If you had known that when you woke up that Wednesday, it would have been your last day alive, you probably would have done so not hungover. Stumbling out of bed, sheets still clutching at your legs, you swore at the morning sun shining once again for the high, wide windows in all the bedrooms. It was on the list to replace the sheer curtains, but fabric that long was hard to find and not cheap to buy.

When Great Aunt Gerdy left you her house, the only wish she had was to ‘preserve, protect, and breath life back into Windflew Manor.’

Sweet, naive Gertrude. Spun of sugar more than flesh, your great aunt had been the youngest of twelve and definitely your favourite family member. Growing up, you fondly remembered spending summers here, riding your bike through the halls on rainy days, playing ‘Pirates and Rogues’ in the backyard with Gerdy and her children.

When you got older you begged to still come to the Manor; Gertrude watched you grow and in her own mind, Auntie Gerdy had assumed you would follow the steps of the women in your family, hunker down with a fine man, pop out some kids every few years.

As you said, Gertrude was tragically naive. Never had the heart to ever tell her the truth. That marriage….Children? Had never even entered the equations of goals. You wanted a spontaneous, fun life full of breakable things. Adventure. 

But also it was known that if you didn’t take this house, it would have gone to an auction. It broke your heart the way her children acted, their mother was one of the greatest women you had ever met, a role model. It was what she wanted. You couldn’t do that to Aunt Gerdy. So with hesitant determination, you had set about restoring Windflew Manor.

Due to funds, you were forced to do most of the work, getting help for a few handier friends. But it had been coming along nicely, room by room the cobwebs and mold were disappearing. It was satisfying work.  

Resting your head against the shower wall, however, you didn’t think you could find the strength to tackle the gardens today. It was all your friend's fault, ‘one more drink (Y/N), we’ve worked so hard!’ 

Exiting the shower, wiping the fog from the mirror, you reflected on how tired the image looked as you moisturized, changing into comfy shorts and a tank top without bothering to properly dry yourself. It was a warm day and you liked the cool moisture mixed with the lotion slicking your skin.

Just as you began brushing your teeth, the doorbell rang multiple times. Who the hell was that this early in the morning? The sound came again, more insistent and you had to roll your eyes.

“I’m coming, I’m coming. Hold your horses..” Sprinting down the hallway, trying to steady on the banister, you felt the gravity shift as your feet slid across the hardwood.

You supposed everyone would lament your damned clumsiness, your carelessness. Imprinted on the skin, you held the reminders of how prone to accidents you had been. It had been a joke in the family for years. ‘(Y/N) is gonna kill herself one day!’ 

It was only a matter of time. 

Swing your hand wildly, nothing could be gripped as you felt yourself swinging forward, hurdling towards the twenty-six flight of stairs that as a child, never it was considered it would have spelled your end….  

**

Turns out, it had been nothing more than a neighbor, wanting to let you know the street sweepers would be out tomorrow. 

Life was funny that way. 

Watching in dull horror as the EMT’s took your body away, trying to process the following information.. It came to you so obviously even though it sounded crazy: You weren’t having some out of body experience… You hadn’t taken any hallucinogenic drugs lately.. You were dead. 

Thinking about what the afterlife would have been: Heaven, Hell, Purgatory…. Haunting Auntie’s empty house had not been on the top of the list. 

Time was meaningless now, you could look at the grandfather clock and see two p.m and look five minutes later and see eleven a.m. it was always cold. You cursed not wearing something warmer than your p.j’s that last morning, not that you thought it would have helped. 

Going outside had been a big no-no. Whatever fucked up colossal worm creature had been out there when you tried the one time to leave, was obviously meant to be keeping you here. So here you stayed.

It could have been only a day you spent dead and lonely in the house. Or a week. A month. Years. You were being a little dramatic, you knew it hadn’t been years. Friends and family came by, grieving openly, making your heartbreak; and removing all your items, which was even worse. Obviously to be sold off or stored in your old room. A time capsule.

On one of the many days that found you aimlessly wandering the halls, a book fell before you without pretense. Equal parts startled and puzzled, well as much as a ghost could be, you picked it up.  

‘Handbook for the Recently Deceased..’

Gripping the pages, intent to open, you were halted as your front door swung open. A dozen or so handsome, young men carrying multiple packed things burst into Aunt Gerdy’s foyer, laughing and chatting loudly.  

“Aw, dude this place is awesome!”

“Look at all the space!”

“Get that pong table over there!”

“What the fuck!?”

Stomping forward, you were about to raise your voice louder before you stopped yourself….Right, stupid... They couldn’t see you… The whole ‘being dead thing’.

Watching in impotent rage as they slammed their things on the hardwood floor, scuffing their sneakers on the expensive carpets you had saved every penny for…

This was not good. Not good at all.

**

You had been right.

It wasn’t hard to not like these kids. You weren’t really into the whole ‘boys would be boys’ excuse for male idiocy in their youths. 

You didn’t like the way they treated each other, the archaic ‘hazing’ they would often do leaving you feeling ill. You didn’t like the way they treated the girls they used and laughed as they were forced down the traditional ‘walk of shame’ making you furious.

You especially did not like the way they treated the Manor. It was terrible, gaudy streamers and tacky posters were pinned to the walls. Daily parties...Keggers…. Were held here, the place was a war zone. Litter and garbage cluttered every hall and you were beginning to tear your hair out in helplessness. 

They had turned your Aunt’s treasured home and your hardworking project into a frat house. It was just rude.

What were you gonna do? Time passed and you watched as the house grew further and further into decay when a lightbulb burst unexpectedly. 

Realizing your answer, you hoped the discarded handbook was still where you had dropped it. Returning to the living room, you sighed in relief at seeing the odd-looking text where you left it. Walking up to it, however, you noticed something there that wasn’t there before. 

A card, dusty, and sticking out of a random page. Bending down you began pulling at it, fingering the worn edges. You lifted it up into the light, trying to read it under all the dirt caked on. On the card, it just said one word three times, strangely compelled you said it out loud.

“Betelgeuse… Betelgeuse…. Betelgeuse?”

The burst of smoke made you hack instantly, it was like someone smoked weed in an embalming room, pungent and eye-watering. 

It was a man. Well, no. Not a human man in any case. Duh. You would say this was the weirdest thing to ever happen to you, but nothing was normal after you died apparently.

Observing as he waved his hands, stepping out of the cloud, you couldn’t help the widening of your eyes...He was.. Definitely interesting looking.. 

“Geez, did I come late to the party or what-… Woah.”  

He looked awful and smelt even worse, and why the hell was he here?

The… Character that stepped had gone silent. Awkward and stilted, you struggled to speak. It couldn’t help being noticed his... Hair was changing colour… Most certainly going from an almost neon green to baby pink…. What was he? 

“Don’t be afraid. You’re dead. I am also dead.” There was a moment before an incredulous giggle escaped your lips, you couldn’t help but realize it had been the first time you laughed since.. Well..

“Yeah, I figured that. From... You know… Seeing my dead body get taken away.” The two of you stared at each other for what felt like an eternity, the silence deafening. 

Before he pounced. Flouncing over in a comical manner, he began to circle you, the humour disappearing from you at the look in his eye. 

“Huh, that line usually doesn’t work.. You’re surprisingly calm..” Turning your head until you couldn’t anymore, you swiveled striving for eye contact. He completed his journey around and stood in front of you, seeming to be searching for something. Before he held his grimey hand out…. The intense desire to hesitate held you still. 

It didn’t seem to deter him in the slightest.

“Hello! A pleasure to meetcha-” Leaning forward, you realized in just enough time what he was doing before he could press his lips to yours, jumping back. 

“Uh, excuse me!?” 

“Can’t blame a demon for trying, babes. Anyways uh… What can I do for you?” He fidgeted with his jacket, pulling at the cuffs and flapping the lapels, wafting his stench towards you making you gag. Covering your nose you murmured beyond belief.

“What do you mean?”

“Well usually I only get called when someone needs something from me….. Bio-exorcism. Homicide. Sexual pleasure. I do it all.” This guy couldn’t actually be serious… You shook your head, none of this was helping. You had gone to the book for an answer and had only gotten even more questions. 

“I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about dude, I just found this card in this book. Anyways, what is happening right now? Who are you and why can you see me?”

Snickering, he continued to very eagerly invade your personal space and it was getting harder to find the space in the living room. The predator was cornering.

“You said my name, sexy. You called me.” 

What kind of name was Betelgeuse? Deciding immediately to shorten it for ease, you opened your mouth but apparently, he was on a roll, and continued. 

“And I already told you.. We’re dead. Deceased. Post Mortem.” Bumping into the wall, just hearing the words from someone else’s lips made you stop… Well, dead. Pun intended. Before they could be halted tears were gathering in your eyes… You weren’t even that emotional about it anymore, had already spent endless nights sobbing about what-ifs and regrets...Not for a while, still, it never got any easier to think about. 

Trying and failing miserably to hide the sniffles, you peered at BJ’s surprised expression. 

“Shit...shit..shit. I didn’t mean to do that…. Don’t cry,” Wiping at stubborn tears that fell against your wishes, you could see BJ shuffle his feet, looking extremely uncomfortable at your sudden breakdown. You tried to calm him, ironically.

“No, I’m fine. It’s just… Not been that great so far... Sometimes I think I might be in hell.” Staring at the ground, you had the overwhelming wish once again for it to finally swallow you whole and take you where you belonged.

“Is it… Your current occupants?”

“It certainly doesn’t help.” Looking up at BJ’s tilted head and rapt expression, the need to confide was making you continue.

“My Aunt left me this house and… I’ve hated seeing what they're doing to it.” BJ looked to be contemplating something before he spoke.

“I could help you.”

You looked at him “What do you mean?”

“I told you.. Again... Sweetheart, you’re smokin’ hot but your memory’s shit. I’m a Bio-exorcist. Getting breathers out is my forte. Well, most breathers can’t see me… But I can teach you! Breathers are waay more likely to see a ghost than a demon.” Riveted by what he was saying, you didn’t realize his pursuit until you felt his grip sound your waist, pulling you closer.

“Mmm… Get you in a little school uniform.. Give you extra credit...” Blatantly ignoring him, focusing on the important part of what he said. 

“What you’re saying is we can get these kids out of here?”

“Of course babes. I take my job very seriously.” Shooting him an incredulous look, you managed to extract from him without much ease, he was really touchy for someone you just met.

“Yeah, I noticed…”

This was insanity. You weren’t actually considering letting this.. Demon?! To teach you how to scare the young men living in your house. It was dangerous and crazy.

Even more, there was no other option. Desperate times.

“Then you’re hired,”

“Oh, this is gonna be so good!” Once again having to duck away from his advance, you pressed a hand to the dirty front of his suit, holding him at bay.

“Stop that,”

“Hmm... Playing hard to get, I respect that.”

Maybe this wasn’t a great idea.

**

In hindsight, it worked out perfectly. Beej, as he had assured, was very good at his job. Just because that job entailed scaring the shit out of anyone and anything around him shouldn’t be held against him. 

Once again, incredulously if you had known in your life that your love of horror movies would have come in handy in your afterlife, you would have paid much more attention.  

Beej was impressed with your novice skill. The voice throwing came naturally to you, and your favourite trick was hiding in the corner of one of their bedrooms, positioning your arms and legs at odd angles and whispering to the sleeping boys, stifling giggles as they awoke, petrified and flew downstairs, waking everyone else in the house.

None of them could actually see you, but you had sworn the one redheaded one had locked eyes in the bathroom mirror, the two of you paused before the urge to scare rapidly left and the need to leave arose. Walking out the bathroom his eyes had definitely followed. 

He never told his friends about it, but BJ had said he watched him lay awake more than one night, clutching his sheets a little too tight. 

Possession was something you felt was unnecessary. Beej had often offered to uh.. Show you how it worked but the thought of BJ well.. Inside of you… It made your skin crawl and you didn’t know if it was from repulsion or excitement.

BJ was.. Unexpected in the best way. Devilishly Intelligent. Hilarious and.. You saw glimpses of his sweetness. He bashfully gave you dead flowers from the garden and was constantly sending you praises that would make you blush if you still had blood. How beautiful you were, how great of a scarer you were…. After getting over the whole stink thing, he was really cute and you might have been... Falling for him. Just the thought made you terrified. 

It all came to an end gradually. It was unexpected, you thought it would have been some big final fright, using all of your cunning ghostly powers. But no, one by one they just disappeared. Claiming to be moving back with family, dropping out, or simply leaving for ‘reasons’.

On the day you stood in the kitchen, now empty save for a few left behind appliances, the beaming smile sent to BJ couldn’t be contained.

“We did it.”

“You did it, babes. I was uh- Just along for the ride, I guess.”

Shifting closer to him, you saw with amusement Beej staring at your lips. The BJ of before would have taken your closeness as an immediate seduction, trying his luck. Now the fact he was trying to control himself, made your heart swell. 

The moment was broken by the sound of the front door opening, you held your breath to see who, or what entered.

A beautiful couple entered, followed by an obvious real estate agent, discussing the house. The couple seemed too good to be true, polite, and awed at the house. Seeing the little bundle of a baby tucked in the mother’s arm as they continued their inspection. You supposed in a way Aunt Gertrude had gotten her wish. And that could be enough.

You turned to Beej watching the scene with an odd countenance.   

“Thank you BJ, really. I’ve had a lot of fun.” You finally noticed. There was purple in his hair, something was making him sad.

“Why does it sound like you're saying goodbye?” 

Oh. oh.

Struggling to answer him, you watched as he further sank in himself. “I read the book, BJ..The Netherworld… Shouldn’t I be…”

“Not yet! Once you get there… We won’t be able to see each other this much... Haven’t we been having fun?” 

“Of course but-”

“Don’t leave!” His voice was frantic, higher-pitched than you ever heard, you couldn’t find the words to calm him.

“Please! I’ll… I’ve been looking into something…” The moment took the oddest turn when Beej practically flew to his knees, reaching out to you to clasp your hands between his before clearly speaking two words you never imagined him saying.

“Marry me.”

The words shocked you. Scandalized, you said the one thing you could.

“Beetlejuice!” That wasn’t it, the look on his face broke you. It was pitiful, desperate.

“No nonono say something else babes, let me explain!” You reached out, stroking his stubble as his giant, golden eyes glittered at you with so many emotions swirling.

“I’m not gonna send you away Beej, stop please.” Taking deep breaths between you, the urge to sink to the floor with him ran over you. Somewhere in your mind you realized how stupid this was, two ghosts having a panic attack in the kitchen, but weirder things have happened.

“If I… Marry a breather. I get brought to life. So I’ve been thinking..” Beej was asking to marry you.. Could ghosts and demons even get married? Would you have a wedding? Invite other ghosts to the ceremony?

“I don’t know BJ… We don’t even know if it will work,” You hadn’t said ‘no’ yet. At the moment, you couldn’t find the desire to do so. You liked Beej, it was the little things in death you realized that mattered. 

“What have we got to lose?.. I thought..”

Looking at him, on the floor with you. Overwhelmed with affection, you leaned forward, noting with glee Beej’s astonishment. Kissing the ghost with the most was... Everything and nothing what you expected. His tasted like cigarettes and dirt, still you leaned into him more.

The one thing that could make death totally rad. Being with him. He was absolutely right. Pulling away, looking at his blissed out face, eyes staying closed, you gave him your answer. 

“Yes. Okay. I’ll marry you.”

[contagiousprincess]

i defy you, stars- Chapter 1

“From your first cigarette to your last dyin’ day”

Two households, both alike in dignity

(In fair Verona where we lay our scene)

From ancient grudge break to new mutiny,

Where civil blood makes civil hands unclean.

From forth the fatal loins of these two foes

A pair of star-crossed lovers take their life;

Whose misadventurous piteous overthrows

Doth with their death bury their parents’ strife.

The fearful passage of their death-marked love

And the continuance of their parents’ rage,

Which, but their children’s end, naught could remove,

Is now the two hours traffic of our stage;

The which, if you with patient ears attend,

What here shall miss, our toil shall strive to mend

-William Shakespeare

The Whispering Woods were once tangled growth, full of creatures and plants alike waiting for their chance to claw to the surface. The soil was fertile and the air was sweet, but the area was crowded. The so called “whispering” was the noise of the wind pushing and squeezing it’s way through the brush and tightly woven tree trunks. Or, according to legend, it was the noise of the wildlife twisting, changing, moving to confuse lost travelers. 

No one was quite sure how the first people managed to make their stake along the banks of the river that ran through the heart of the forest and emptied into the ocean. But they imagined that they had to follow the forest's rules, because otherwise they would have been eaten up and spit out like the bugs that crawled along the skin of the ground. However they did it, those people weren’t alone for long.

Soon enough, another group came to compete, on the other bank of the river. The two different clans of people could have cooperated, learned to help each other, and survived to tell the tale to others. But just like the wildlife and fragrant trees before them, the two seemed determined to push the other down to reach the top, drawing lines in the silence that separated them. 

Where before, the forest was one giant, breathing body, a new word was introduced to the area: border. They fought for control of the harbor and the trade route along the river, but they were so evenly matched that no one ever won, instead locked forever in an endless stalemate.

So, the two groups began a bitter rivalry. One that continued for many, many, many years. Long after a bridge was built, connecting the two sides of the river for trade (though neither group would dare suggest it was necessary). Long after The Whispering Woods no longer whispered since the trees were gone and the wind had grown hot and stale. Long after the bugs and skin of the earth was replaced with cobblestone streets and alleys. So much long after, that now when asked what they were fighting over, the groups could not even remember, only that if the Horde and the Alliance ran into each other on the streets, someone would walk away badly hurt or worse. 

And this was how on a particularly sweltering hot day, six people almost died.

“Did you just flip us off?” Though most of her thick hair was pulled into a band beside her face, Mermista brushed the remaining pieces of hair out of her eyes, as if to make sure she was seeing clearly, but her dark eyes and thick eyebrows were dangerous, daring anyone to mess with her.

“And what if I did?” Lonnie catcalled, the sound ringing through the street. She was shorter, but stood tall, her boots planted firmly on the street with her hands on her hips. The braids on her head framed her face and softened the defined lines, but there was nothing soft about the way her mouth curled as she taunted the other girl.

“I’d tell you that if you apologize for it, we won’t beat you into a stain on the street.” Mermista stood shoulder to shoulder with Sea Hawk, who might not have been the sharpest tool in the box, but could fight just as well as the next guy. His dorky mustache and dumb boot and bandana combo seemed harmless enough, but he had a tendency to burn down anything in his path. Literally.

Lonnie considered this, and turned to Rogelio, who was broad and as mean as nails, visually and physically intimidating. “Do you think we would get arrested if I flipped them off again?”

“Yes,” Rogelio said simply. A man of few words, so when he used them, it was prudent to listen.

She rolled her eyes. “Fine.” Lonnie looked Mermista up and down and called, “I didn’t flip you off, but I was flipping someone off! Now, why are you still here?”

“You picking a fight?” Rogelio said. 

“Me? Pick a fight? Never,” Mermista said, eyes flashing.

“Watch it,” Rogelio grunted. 

“Now why would I do that?”

“Because Shadow Weaver is behind you!” yelled Lonnie, suddenly. She pointed, fear flashing across her face. Mermista and Sea Hawk spun around wildly, craning their necks, but they were only met with the normal hustle and bustle of the harbor. 

Lonnie busted out into laughter, doubling over and eventually having to sit on the ground to catch her balance and breath. She held her stomach, tears running down her face as her laughs echoed through the street. 

Mermista and Sea Hawk turned around, faces red and now so furious, sparks practically flew off of them. Sea Hawk unsheathed his sword and started towards them, but his friend grabbed onto the collar of his shirt, but he still strained against her.

“Oh, we got ourselves a comedian, huh?” Mermista drew her sword and faced them. “Personally, my favorite joke is the one where we pummeled the two Horde scrum into dust and they got washed down the river. The punchline always gets me.” 

Lonnie finally started to rise from the ground, and pulled out a dagger. “I’d like to see you try.”

Rogelio turned toward her, drawing his sword, and quietly said “Don’t forget that parry maneuver we’ve been working on. It’s all in the footwork.”

“Not the time, Rogelio! We have bigger problems, like a princess and her big fat mouth!”

At that, Mermista released Sea Hawk, and the four lunged towards each other. As soon as the clang of metal swords started to echo through the city, a young male voice could be heard yelling for them to stop. 

After a minute passed with no avail, an arrow careened over the group's heads, making a horrible screeching noise and catching their attention for a moment. Taking advantage of the opening, Bow pushed his way into the center, driving them apart. A top notch archer, the dark-skinned teen was well respected in the Alliance. He wasn’t necessarily the strongest, but agility and cleverness kept him on his toes, as well as alive. 

“Everybody back up! Do you have any clue what you’re doing?!” he screeched, desperately holding his hands up in a feeble attempt to keep them from colliding again. He finally managed to wrest Mermista’s sword out of her hand and pushed her and Sea Hawk away from the Horde teens. 

“We stand on thin ice as it is,” he said to the two of them. “Whatever the Horde trash did to provoke you isn’t worth it.” Raising his voice, he called, “They aren’t worth any of your time.” He gestured to Lonnie and Rogelio with Mermista’s sword, glaring as he did.

Lonnie opened her mouth to defend herself, but she was interrupted by another member of the Horde. 

Scorpia was tall and extremely buff, making Rogelio look like a prepubescent boy. Her shock of white hair on top was cropped close to her head and her eyes, normally kind and warm, were furious and focused. Scorpia, drawn by the sounds of fighting, had started running over seconds ago but now was faced with the sight of Bow pointing a sword at her two friends. 

She stormed in front of the two and stared down Bow, who paled upon seeing her. 

“Threatening my friends, Bow?” She towered over the other boy, and he craned his neck to see her. “Hope you had fun, because I won’t let it happen again.”

“I was trying to get them to stop fighting, Scorpia!” Despite their difference in size, he set his jaw and didn’t back down.

“With your sword drawn?” She scoffed.  “A likely story! You Alliance brats are always so high up on your horse, yelling about peace, complaining about the fighting but then you come into our territory and attack us when we mind our own business, and I, for one, am sick of it.” 

Bow began to speak very slowly and deliberately, as if explaining something simple to a child. “I. am. not. attacking. anyone. But if I was, it wouldn’t be much of a fight,” he smirked. 

Scorpia, enraged, drew herself up to her full height, and faced him, head on. “Lets have at it then,” she said, voice deadly even. 

Bow hesitated, and then knocked an arrow and drew it. “Fine with me”

Scorpia charged at him, leaping towards his head with her bare hands. Bow quickly ducked and rolled underneath her, coming up behind Scorpia on one knee. Just as her feet hit the pavement, he released his arrow. The arrowhead fractured in midair and split, shooting out a web, the delicate filaments of wire and carefully placed weights searching for a target to ensnare. 

The web slammed into Scorpia’s shoulder, biting into her skin and pulling her down, but only managed to wrap itself around her arm, fortunately for her. Unfortunately for Bow, Scorpia grabbed hold of the web and began to swing it, transforming her trap into a weapon. 

She advanced on him, taking the weighted net with her. Bow tried to back up and pull another arrow, but she closed in on him, taking advantage of his lack of close range weapons. She swung the web at him, and he ducked the first time, narrowly avoided the second, but on the third she feinted towards his head, changed course and then used her net to sweep his feet out from underneath him. 

Bow fell flat on his back, his head hitting the ground with a sickening thud, and Scorpia towered above him. She raised the heavy weights above her and started to bring them down on him, but a shout stopped her cold in her tracks. 

A small crowd of citizens had gathered, circling the group, but they during the fight began to chant something that completely baffled the six enemies. 

“Down with the fight! Down with the Horde! Down with the Alliance!”

The racket grew and grew, gathering almost all of the citizens not affiliated with either the Horde or the Alliance. The cacophony reached its peak when a horn call sounded and the crowd cleared a walkway and silenced. They stared up in awe as the 3 most powerful people in Whispering Woods strolled in front of them: Hordak, Shadow Weaver, and Angella. 

Hordak was muscular but not overly so. He walked with an odd gait, and his greasy black hair and beady eyes that were almost red were disquieting. But he radiated power, and as he walked the citizens bowed. Hordak was the Prince of the Whispering Woods, and he would be obeyed. 

Shadow Weaver was the leader of the Horde, one of the feuding groups, and Angella was the leader of the Alliance, the other. The two were both tall, but the similarities ended there. Shadow Weaver was lanky, and had long dark hair. She was clothed in deep red, and wore a mask covering her face. Even though her eyes couldn’t be seen, anyone who felt her stare grew anxious. Angella, on the other hand, was willowy, with long, bright hair. Her face was kind, but sharp. This along with the circlet inlaid with a pearl that sat on her forehead, immediately gave the impression that this was someone who was to be listened to and obeyed without question. 

The Prince strode in front of the other two, but they stood as far apart as possible, shooting each other with dark looks that made the citizens uneasy. Hordak, commanding the attention of every person in the street, sauntered up to where Scorpia still stood over Bow. Without saying a word, he flicked his wrist and Shadow Weaver and Angella untangled the two and dragged them as well as the other four to opposite sides of the circle that the crowd had formed. 

“Citizens!” Hordak boomed. “I have heard countless complaints about the feud which has led to this incident.” He sneered as he said it, making the fact that the enemies had almost killed each other seem as insignificant as childhood tomfoolery, and in a way, it was. “This ancient grudge has interrupted trade, caused countless injuries, and endlessly fosters riots and unrest amongst my people. It is high time for it to break.”

Angella and Shadow Weaver began to stammer, no doubt trying to pin the blame on the other, but Hordak simply held up his hand and they fell quiet. 

“I recognize that I cannot control the… feelings of my citizens.” His lip curled. “However, something still must be done. The city cannot stand with its people constantly fighting in the streets. So, my decision is this: whichever of you causes any more disturbance in my city will pay for it with their life.”

The crowd broke out into anxious murmurings, and the feuding groups began to protest, but Hordak held firm.

“I have made my decision. Now all of you go before I regret not ending you all here and now.” He leveled a glare at both groups and the citizens, who hesitated but began to disperse. Hordak turned his gaze to the women who led both groups and called out to them. “Shadow Weaver, follow me. Angella, I will speak with you later.”

The Horde and Alliance members all hesitated for a moment. 

“Was I unclear? GO!” roared Hordak.

With one final glare at each other, the two groups broke apart. Shadow Weaver fell into step behind Hordak, Angella led her Alliance towards the other side of the river, and Scorpia took the Horde members in the direction of their manor.

None of them noticed what was left behind. As they all meandered away, muttering darkly about their respective foes, a clear mark of the fight remained. Though no one could say exactly who it belonged to, it didn’t really matter in the end. 

A singular smear of sticky, scarlet-red blood stained the cobblestone street, seeping into the cracks in the mortar, already beginning to dry in the sweltering hot sun. 

notes: hiya! im katie and the idea for this fic basically mugged me in the middle of the night and i had to do something about it. this is just a teaser i think theres like a part two of chapter one but it was bulky and i wanted to post something bc why not. im not quite sure what im doing with this fic but i dont care im having fun lmfao. ive never written any fic before so be nice or i will block you i dont give a shit! this will probably go up on ao3 as soon as i can get an invite so for now this will live on tumblr yee haw! anyways lmk what yall think but only if its nice kk byeeee xoxoxo

[actuallyrandomperson]

One of the main things I’ve found myself returning to during this quarantine is my love of Rick Riordan’s works. It’s always existed, of course, I’ve not been completely cut off from the fandom in the years since I was hella active in it, but something about this time has given me the urge to return to old favourites and reflect on how much Rick Riordan has impacted my life.

Nico Di Angelo was the first canonically gay character I came across in fiction. I’d been reading wolfstar fics since I was 10, and I grew up in a relatively progressive household so I knew gay people Existed, but I’d never actually seen proper representation in books. I was 12 years old, and I’d just come to terms with my first crush on a female. I cried when he came out in the scene with Cupid and Jason.

It was a solangelo author on ffn that I first saw use the terms pansexual and genderfluid, though only one of the words stuck out at the time. This was right around that same time, towards the end of year 7 when I knew I wasn’t straight, but didn’t think I was fully gay either. The way they defined pansexuality really stayed with me, and it didn't take that much more research for me to decide that’s what I felt fit.

Alex Fierro wasn't my first introduction to the concept of genderfluidity, but honestly they might as well have been. I was 14-15 years old, and a good 3 years off even vaguely acknowledging something was going on with me gender-wise. Alex resonated with me in a way I didn’t understand, and it wouldn’t be until late 2019 that the dots finally connected for me. Working out that my wildly different feelings of dysphoria and euphoria on a regular basis were because I wasn't actually experiencing the same gender every time was a trial and a half, but having the pre-existing framework of a genderfluid character (even an imperfect one!) eased the way.

Had Rick Riordan not written explicit lgbt+ representation into his books, my life would probably not be all that different. I would have (probably) eventually found representation in non specifically lgbt+ novels. I would have come across the term pansexuality in some other place, especially with my presence in both fandom and queer spaces. I almost certainly would still be identifying as gender fluid. But that’s not the point.

Rick Riordan made me feel seen in the time’s where I was most vulnerable. I was lucky enough to grow up in a loving family, and although my mother has her faults I know she genuinely tries to understand when I tell her things about the lgbt+ community. But so many people weren’t as lucky as me, and the representation he includes in his novels has almost certainly reached people that were even more vulnerable than me, and shown them that it’s ok to be themselves. That not everyone thought like their family/community. The tiny shimmer of happiness and of hope that I felt when I saw these characters and saw a little bit of myself in them was felt by so many people all over the world in varying degrees on strength, and thats what matters. Because everyone deserves to feel seen, and that’s something Rick Riordan has strived for since the very first Percy Jackson novel

[fuckyeahwarriorwomen]

Copy of article below thge cut, should the original ever go away

Leading up to the 20th anniversary of the March 10, 1997 premiere of Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Yahoo TV is celebrating “Why Genre Shows Matter” and the history of how these shows have tackled universal themes (e.g. how much high school sucks) and broader social issues.

Perhaps because they seek to imagine the world that’s possible rather than the world that is, genre shows have a long tradition of striving to expand the horizons of what’s possible for women on television. Within the realm of space operas alone, there’s a direct line that connects Lieutenant Uhura’s prominent perch amongst the Enterprise‘s largely male bridge crew on the original Star Trek to The Expanse‘s fiercely independent engineer, Naomi Nagata. And each point along this continuum helps inform the next: commanding officers like Babylon 5‘s Susan Ivanova and Voyager‘s Kathryn Janeway are linked by a devotion to duty, if not necessarily temperament, while Killjoys‘ scrappy bounty hunter, Yala, could have been a student of Firefly‘s highly-skilled soldier, Zoë Washburne. On this International Women’s Day, we celebrate the accomplishments of one such influential intergalactic heroine.

Her name is Aeryn. Officer Aeryn Sun if we’re being formal, one of the interstellar outlaws at the center of Farscape, the wildly ambitious Australian/American space serial that ran from 1999 to 2003 on the Sci-Fi Channel. Bred from birth to be a loyal Sebacean soldier in the Peacekeeper army that patrols her section of the galaxy, Officer Sun switches careers after inadvertently ending up aboard a living spaceship named Moya that’s occupied by a motley crew of jailbreakers. These convicts-turned-comrades include towering warrior Ka D’Argo, blue-hued priestess Zhaan, flatulent deposed despot Rygel XVI, and John Crichton, an Earth-born astronaut who is very, very far from home. Created by Rockne S. O’Bannon and produced by The Jim Henson Company, Farscape enjoyed a bumpy four-season stateside run that ended prematurely when the network declined to fund a fifth and final year. (Sci-Fi later aired, but didn’t finance, a wrap-up miniseries, Farscape: The Peacekeeper Wars, in 2004.)

The original cast of ‘Farscape’ (Credit: Everett Collection)

One of the joys of Farscape is that its defining house style is the lack of a defining house style. Episodes can range from standalone homages to body-switching comedies and vintage Loony Tunes cartoons to densely plotted multi-part stories that don’t conclude with conventionally happy endings. The primary constant amidst this narrative and tonal juggling is the turbulent love story between Aeryn Sun and John Crichton. Revisited today, Farscape stands as something of a bridge between eras of space opera, linking the last wave of episodic space adventures like Star Trek: Voyager and Stargate: SG-1 to the intensely emotional serialized narratives that later drove Battlestar Galactica and its ilk. Aeryn is both a traditional and transformational figure as well; raised to be an impersonal enforcer in the Imperial Stormtrooper mold, she comes to live out a promise that John makes to her in the very first episode: “You can be more.”

“Oh, I’ve got chills down my arm,” says Aeryn’s alter ego, Claudia Black, as she reflects on the character and those prophetic words nearly two decades later. “Her evolution as an individual takes off in an extraordinary way [after that].” Over the course of Yahoo TV’s hour-long conversation with the Australian actress, it’s clear that she does regard Aeryn as an individual unto herself, one who took on a life that sometimes superseded the actress’s own. “I was always happy to hand the character off,” Black says. “I would say [to the producers], ‘If I’m going in the wrong direction then please find someone to serve Aeryn, please. Because she deserves to have the full love of a person who can give you what you need.’ She was honestly such a privilege to play, and I never abused that privilege.”

And Black very nearly didn’t get that privilege. The role had already been cast when she first auditioned for Farscape, but the creative team encouraged her to read for Aeryn anyway. That reading later led to a screen test opposite Tennessee-born Ben Browder, who would be playing John Crichton. (Interestingly, Browder’s casting is, in part, what opened the door to Black inheriting the role from the English actress who had originally been chosen as Aeryn. “Because of the Australian co-production agreement, if they brought in a lead actor from America, the second lead had to be Australian,” Black explains. “So thank god for our union!”) Immediately recognizing the crackling onscreen chemistry between them, Browder pushed hard for her to land the role over network skepticism. “I was a controversial choice for sure,” Black says now. “I was just lucky in the end.”

Whatever the circumstances of how she got the role, Black climbed aboard Moya with strong ideas about how to play Aeryn. Superficially, the character is part of the wave of warrior women that swept through genre shows in the ’90s and early ’00s, whose ranks included Xena, Buffy, and even Cleo of Cleopatra 2525 fame. But as conceived by O’Bannon and carried forward by executive producer David Kemper, who became a driving creative force behind the show, Aeryn cuts against that archetype as well. Unlike Xena, she doesn’t necessarily relish battle; it’s something that’s been programmed into her. (Although, as Aeryn memorably remarks in The Peacekeeper Wars: “Shooting makes me feel better!“) She also reverses the arc traversed by Buffy and Cleo, which begins with them in places of perceived weakness — as a cheerleader and exotic dancer, respectively — and leads towards empowerment.

Because of her militaristic upbringing, Aeryn starts from a place of fierce strength. Her journey over the lifespan of the show, then, becomes about softening what Black describes as Aeryn’s “jagged edges” without surrendering her agency. “I’ve always loved science fiction because of the way it affords us an opportunity to look at humanity from an outsider’s perspective,” Black says. “And Aeryn really gets to experience it firsthand the best way that humans can, which is through love, in all of its forms. When I look at humanity, and my own life, we have to break before we can grow. That’s really what happened with Aeryn; she became stronger with softer edges.” (For the record, Aeryn may start out as a superior fighter to Buffy, but Black says that Sarah Michelle Gellar would easily mop the floor with her in real life. “Sarah has a black belt in karate, and I have two left feet! I always felt like a bit of an imposter [as Aeryn] just on the physical front. If I could push the reset button, I’d go back and get good at some form of martial art.”)

But that stronger-to-softer arc is also more treacherous to navigate than a traditional empowerment story, flirting, as it does, with the fanboy-friendly stereotype of the buttoned-up ice queen whose resolve (and inhibitions) melt when love, generally in the form of a strapping male hero, comes her way. The risk of falling headlong into that tired trope is something Farscape had to deal with throughout its run, especially as the core of the show was always the romance between John and Aeryn.

And while that romance takes a number of unexpected twists and turns — most boldly in a Season 3 storyline that saw Aeryn committing herself fully to a cloned version of Crichton, only to see him die and then have to re-learn how to love the original John — it ultimately culminates with two staples of a standard love story: a marriage proposal and a pregnancy. “It seemed pretty clear to me that Rockne’s intention in the pilot was that this was going to be a love story for the ages,” Black says. Not only that, but it was a love story penned by a largely male writing staff who had their own opinions about how to depict Aeryn’s gradual acceptance of Crichton’s love that sometimes ran counter to Black’s feelings. “I recall moments where they wanted me to be more vulnerable with Aeryn, and I didn’t want to be because I didn’t think it was time and I didn’t think she was ready,” she says. “But it wasn’t my place to say.”

Nevertheless, she persistently found ways to make her voice heard, whether it was by talking one-on-one with specific writers or her co-star, who was equally eager to avoid certain genre show clichés. Black recalls one instance early on in the show’s run when Browder actively pushed back against Sci-Fi’s directive that John Crichton demonstrate the same sex drive as James T. Kirk. “They wanted Crichton to have an alien girl of the week. Ben put his foot down and said, ‘No, he’s not that kind of guy. This isn’t the story I want to tell.’ And on my side I was saying, ‘Yeah, what does that say about Aeryn if she’s going to fall in love with a guy [like that]?’ We wanted to investigate and have them experience the more positive aspects of attraction, as well as what’s worth fighting for and what’s worth dying for,” she says. “Maybe the show would have continued longer if we’d been able to please the network! They know what they’re going to need in order to keep [viewers] interested and tuning in. But we’re very proud of what we managed to make regardless, because of those choices.”

The ongoing battle that Black personally waged throughout Farscape‘s run was ensuring that Aeryn maintained control over her own body. In the genre shows of her era, the female leads were stronger and savvier than ever, and that translated into fashion choices that expressed their own body confidence and sexuality. Xena rode into battle in a heaving breastplate, while Buffy fought vampires in halter tops and Relic Hunter‘s Sydney Fox always donned a tight tank top before exploring some ancient tomb. But flashing cleavage, leg, and midriff also made those characters desirable pin-ups for the male audience courted by networks and advertisers. (Farscape added its own version of a pin-up type midway through the first season in the form of Chiana, a grey-skinned con artist with a plunging neckline and a voracious sexual appetite.)

But those fashions didn’t make sense for a soldier fighting in an army where men and women’s bodies were interchangeable. In fact, Black remembers reading a very specific direction to the makeup department in the production notes for the pilot. “When I take my Peacekeeper helmet off [for the first time], the note read in big print, ‘She looks masculine.’ They thickened my eyebrows — which are already thick! — and shaded my face in very minimal makeup. All of the on-set gallery images of me in the first season are with that very masculine makeup.”

Aeryn in her ‘masculine’ Season 1 appearance (Credit: Everett Collection)

By Season 2, though, Aeryn’s appearance underwent a noticeable change; her hair got longer and straighter, and her Peacekeeper uniform gave way to outfits that walked a line between practical and revealing. Black, who describes herself as a feminist, agreed to these cosmetic changes as she felt they were part of a “natural progression” for Aeryn. “I was honoring where she had come from at the same time having to find a way to let her grow into whatever it is she was going to become,” she says. (This clip from Farscape‘s aforementioned Looney Tunes-inspired episode, “Revenging Angel,” neatly summarizes — and satirizes — the female body types commonly featured on genre shows that Aeryn deliberately defies.)

Already objectively beautiful, Aeryn’s sexuality continued to emerge as she grew into her new self. Even so, Black could sense it wasn’t emerging quickly enough to satisfy certain expectations. “I felt that I was being pushed to show more flesh than was necessary,” she admits, pointing to one incident in the show’s fourth season where it was written into the script that Aeryn would sit poolside in a bikini. “I just said, ‘I will get in a bikini for you if it makes sense, but this woman’s world is falling apart.’ It was the last thing I thought Aeryn would do [in that moment]. It felt really frivolous and superficial to me.” (Black had already donned a bikini to play pregnant Aeryn in a hallucinatory scene in the Season 4 premiere. “They not only had me in a bikini, but they gave me a pregnant belly as well, which is really hard to pull off and make it look naturalistic,” she says.)

Black remembers shooting down an even more egregious bit of flesh-flashing in an earlier episode. As an international production, Farscape frequently shot extra scenes for certain ad-free European markets that would fill the time normally allotted for commercials. The cast referred to these filler sequences as “Euro scenes,” and they rarely involved big story or character beats. According to Black, this particular episode dispatched D’Argo and Aeryn on a planetside mission, and the writers cobbled together a Euro scene that she describes as “absurd.” “They said, ‘Let’s have a scene where we cut to them by a lake, and Aeryn turns and sees a bunch of soldiers across the lake. Aeryn takes off her clothes, swims across the lake, and fights these soldiers completely naked, then comes back to D’Argo and off they go.'”

In later seasons, Aeryn naturally progressed towards more revealing fashion choices (Credit: Everett Collection)

“There were so many things about it that were so bizarre,” she continues. “I said, ‘You know what, please explain this to me, how this honestly can fit in.’ In the end, they just said, ‘All right, fine — we won’t do it.’ That’s what I felt I was having to haggle for a lot of the time: my right to keep my clothes on until it was appropriate. I’ve always felt as an actor — and I’m sure other females have felt like this as well — that when you sign on the dotted line and enter the business that somehow you’ve given your body away as a piece of property, and you spend the rest of your career haggling for pieces of it back.” And the actress credits Browder with backing her up in her fight for Aeryn to be in full control of her own femininity and, by extension, her destiny. “Aeryn is really as feminist as I am, but she’s nothing without Crichton, which is an interesting statement to make,” she says. “So as much as we praise Aeryn, we must give full credit to Crichton and to Ben for shaping him the way that he did. It’s the space that he gives her. He’s such an exquisite champion of her growth and development, that it becomes possible for her to grow to her full size.”

In the 13 years since the concluding Peacekeeper Wars miniseries, rumors have occasionally flown about Farscape‘s return. At one point, there was talk of a webisode series following John and Aeryn’s child, D’Ago Sun-Crichton, but funding never came to fruition. (The show did continue in comic book form for a time, but publication ceased circa 2011.) Black, whose recent credits include stints on The CW genre shows Containment and The Originals, has no updates on any future revivals, and jokes that if Aeryn and Crichton ever do return, they’ll be “tired, ornery, and not really wanting another battle.”

Claudia Black as Dahlia on ‘The Originals’ (Credit: Annette Brown/The CW)

In a way, though, Aeryn’s larger battle has already been won. One of the breakout characters on Battlestar Galactica — which premiered in December 2003, nine months after Farscape‘s series finale — was Kara “Starbuck” Thrace, who displays some of the same steely spine, and jagged edges, of Officer Sun. And today’s genre TV landscape is populated with women who, consciously or not, reflect Aeryn’s assertiveness, independence, and refusal to conform to societal (or genre) norms of appearance or attitude, whether it’s Orphan Black‘s Helena, Sense8‘s Nomi, or Jessica Jones.

For this Scaper, she lives on off-screen as well. When my wife and I learned that we’d be having a daughter, we thought about all the things we wanted for her life. To know that she, and she alone, is in control of her body. To be strong in the face of injustice. To be confident in her own power. And to know that when she chooses to give her heart to another person, that person will be her champion, and give her the space to grow to her full size. And so we picked a name that, for us, would embody all of our hopes and dreams for the individual she’s becoming with each passing year.

Her name is Aeryn.

[justsimplypretty]

goodnight -n- go (n.m.)

Storyline: Lena joins Nick on a winter family vacation while attempting to keep a good image... even after a heated night.

Author’s Note: My submission for chan’s 700 followers writing challenge using line #19! This took me forever to find the time between school and life to write and though it still didn’t turn the way I intended, I’m growing to love it. Enjoy everyone! @temperaryheart​

Warning: smut

Word count: 2.1k

Lena tossed and turned attempting to find any level of comfortable on this cold winter night. The freezing air still nipping at her toes as she struggled to bundle up in the enormous pile of knit blankets sprawled across the bed. The fire place had done her zero good being all too modern and puzzling, making it impossible to turn on. 

It was Nick’s yearly winter family vacation to their lodge cabin in Colorado that viewed just across the frozen over lake. Lena had been dating Nick for a little over a year now, making her officially invited to join the Nick’s family and bandmates on this adventure. And what an adventure it had been. Since Lena was a guest on this trip, she’d decided it would be best if her and Nick stayed in separate rooms for the duration of the vacation. Considering this was her first major impression on the extended family, she strived to make it a good one, being as endearing and charming with any chance she got. Which wasn’t too hard considering that was her typical personality. All the love-able qualities that made Nick fall wildly hard in the first place.

But the sleeping arrangement may have been tougher than she had originally anticipated. Lena and Nick typically spent every single night together wether it be at his place or hers. So the past two nights not having Nick by her side had definitely become an unbearable struggle.

Lena’s thoughts were cut short at the sound of a faint knock. Curious as to who it could be at the late hour, she wrapped one of the larger throws across her shivering body and hurried to the door. Her fingers numbed at the feeling of the frigid metal knob turning in her hand. Eyes in complete shock to find her sneaky boyfriend standing on the other side.

“You have got to be kidding me... have you lost your mind?” Lena quietly shouted as she yanked Nick’s body inside, quickly closing the door behind the two before anyone could catch them. “Are you lost or just intentionally trying to ruin my life?” Lena snapped sarcastically at an attitude filled Nick. His eyes rolling heavily in annoyance at his girlfriends words, having been told a million times this trip of the strict rules she’d made to be followed.

“Relax, I just need to grab the jacket I packed in your suitcase for snowboarding with Brandon and Austin tomo-” Nick assured before the chill of the room bit at his skin, cutting him off mid sentence. “Lena what the hell? It’s freezing in here!” he questioned as he wondered about room.

Lena sighed heavily as she pointed towards the source of all her problems, causing Nick to giggle and head over to tackle the fire place. His fingers began fumbling with the many different buttons as they toggled through settings on the side that Lena had spent hours trying to accomplish on her own. 

She caught herself biting gently on her bottom lip as she watched her boyfriend zero in on the situation. Something about the determination on Nick’s face to solve her dilemma surprisingly caused Lena to become flustered on this late winter night.

“You’re all set baby” Nick announced as flames rose to the tops of the brick trimming. The fire illuminated the dim room, inviting her to see all of Nick’s angelic features that she treasured so deeply. His hair a few shades darker from the dampness still clinging on after showering with the tones of his arms practically begging her to be wrapped in them. She’d be lying to say she wasn’t the slightest bit turned on by his presence. And between the sleeping arrangements and Nick’s prior family obligations, Lena felt as though she’d barely seen her boyfriend this entire vacation. It was rare they ever had a second alone.

It didn’t take long for Nick to catch on either. He knew his girlfriend better than anyone else. The way her legs crossed one in front of the other and how rushed she was to have him exit the room indicated all too well to Nick of her need for him. He even noticed the tiny infinite number of goosebumps that trickled down her arms.

“Cold angel?” Nick spoke as he let his fingers softly graze her shoulder, exposed ever so slightly from matching pajama top. He knew exactly what he was doing from the start. His plan all vacation long. He knew with just enough effort, he’d be able to have Lena right where he needed her.

Lena wanted his touch to linger, but still tried to fight it for awhile longer. “I-I’m fine.. I’ll be fine now that it’s fixed so you can um... head back now” Lena mumbled as she cursed herself mentally for the stutters that she knew would clearly indicate her need for more of him.

“You really want me to leave baby? Be honest now” Nick continued as he stepped behind her, now letting his hands run up either sides of her hips. Thin black sleep pants being the only thing keeping her from experiencing the warm touch she’d been missing so much this trip. Lena nodded her head up and down in reply to the boyfriend that knew she was close to giving in.

“Hmm... is that so...” Nick questioned as he let one hand slip Lena’s front and fall beneath the thin lace material, brushing past her soaked folds “...because it sure doesn’t feel like you want me to leave angel” he continued. He slowly slid two fingers inside of Lena as he watched her back arch against him. “So wet for me... just how I like it” Nick confirmed grinning at her mess. His fingers were soft and warm. Easily the most warm thing she’d felt in days. 

“But I can stop and go back to my room... if that’s what you really want” he went on as he removed himself from filling Lena. 

“N-no, please don’t stop baby” she confessed. “W-we really just can’t get caught though okay?” Lena trailed through muffled whimpers due to the immense pleasure she was feeling.

“Guess we better keep you quit then babygirl” Nick whispered as Lena felt chills roll down her spine.

••••

Lena wasn’t sure how or when things grew so intense, but it wasn’t long before Nick’s tongue was working wonders on her most sensitive area. He was nothing shy of amazing when it came to making her feel good. The way he moved quickly but still lovingly enough to make sure he devoured all the mess he’d caused. Something Lena knew she could never grow tired of. 

Glancing down to see his hooded eyes staring right into hers caused more of the sweet moans Nick treasured to slip from Lena’s lips, now incredibly more plump from the many bites she’d made to her bottom one. All failed attempts in keeping herself silent.

“Sh sh sh... remember baby no getting caught?” Nick reminded as he placed one hand over her mouth, allowing the other to make swift circles at the desperate bundle of nerves. He could always tell when Lena was close from the way her toes curled and eyes shut as she wondered into a complete spell.

“There you go baby, wanna cum for me?” Nick coaxed as he aimed to keep Lena’s body movements under control. She couldn’t have nodded any faster, realizing how badly she needed release only after feeling her boyfriends words vibrate against her. “Go ahead mamas let me have it” he replied as Lena let go for the first time that night. Nick was always delighted in how could he could make his girl feel. Sometimes believing he took more pleasure out of it than she did. Nick went on to strip himself of any remaining clothing, throwing it in the pile of Lena’s next to him. 

“I want you to ride me until you cum... can you do that for me baby?” he whispered sternly in her ear. This was always Lena’s most dominant position. It was rare that she ever took control in the bedroom. Her life was full of consistent decision making and being the most put together in any sea of people. So she greatly enjoyed having Nick take charge over her. But every so often, he indulged in seeing Lena get herself off using him.

Within an instant Lena was straddled on his lap, doing her best to slowly take every inch of him. His length took her by surprise each and every time, but the feeling was always intoxicating. No matter how long the two had been a couple, the love making was just as passionate and intense as their first time together. Their bodies always proving to be utterly made for one another.

Lena’s pace steadily increased as she adjusted to the fulfillment Nick was giving. Her head now arching back allowing Nick perfect access to leave markings all along her neck.

“You’re doing so good for me baby... fuck you always feel so good” Nick mumbled into her skin. Lena was doing everything possible to control the sounds that constantly wanted to break free, only allowing slight whimpers to part from her lips. She couldn’t contain the pleasure any longer as she let her high take over. It was everything she didn’t know she needed this trip.

Nick hardly allowed anytime for Lena to recover before his hips were bucking upward into her, knowing his girlfriends legs were too weak to take the lead any longer. The sensitivity hitting Lena so strongly that she couldn’t help but scream his name out so clearly.

“I c-can’t Nick I can’t keep quit anymore” Lena confessed as another extreme plea of his name escaped. The sound so melodic to Nick that he no longer wanted to keep her cry’s contained.

“I know mamas it’s okay...I know you’re feeling good huh? Does this dick make you feel good?” Nick encouraged as his speed grew. It was clear neither of them cared any longer about who heard or caught them in the act. The only thing that mattered was the sensation they both endured from one another.

“Y-yes daddy FUCK IT’S SO GOOD” Lena screamed before releasing on Nick for the third time that night. Hearing the name echo in the room was enough to bring Nick to his high at the same time, holding Lena in his arms for awhile after. So caught up in the moment, Lena had forgotten all about the fire place that had now warmed the room to comfort. She starred adoringly up at Nick as she lay serenely on his chest.

“I love you... you know that?” she affirmed as Nick gazed into her eyes.

“I love you more baby... so much more” he replied with every being in his body. Lena was everything to him. The way she dropped everything to be on this trip while putting up with weather conditions he knew she despised meant the world to Nick. And he truly knew in that moment that the future he saw with Lena... started with forever.

•••••

The next morning seemed to fly by quickly as the earlier festivities ended and packing for departure began. Nick and Lena made it a point to pack everyone’s bags tightly into the cars as Zion joined them outside.

“Need some help with that daddy?” he joked to Nick letting laughter consume him. 

“Wait don’t tell me you hea-...” Lena trailed, instantly becoming paranoid at who else might have heard the events that transpired between the two last night.

“Trust me, you’re just lucky Edwin and I switched rooms with Nick’s aunt yesterday for the extra space or the whole cabin would know by now about your little late night visit” Zion confirmed as he walked back into the house. Nick and Lena starred at each other in panic before busting out in laughter themselves.

“Hey, at least it was just Zion” Nick implied as Lena playfully shoved his arm. She wasn’t irritated in the slightest as originally predicted by her. She had gotten the best of both worlds, keeping her saint image to the family while also finally having a romantic night with Nick. There was little to complain about after experiencing more joy than she ever knew this trip could bring.